Kitabı oku: «A Drake by George!», sayfa 17
CHAPTER XX
THE GLEANERS
When Bessie and Robert returned to Highfield; when the people discovered how the light railway, which originally had been a matter of electricity, and then had degenerated into an affair of steam, was in fact a proposal of gas entirely; when Windward House remained empty and unswept, with the giant tortoise lord of the manor; and when the niggardly Dyer was attacked on all sides as the confederate of the public enemy – there unfortunately existed no genius of the lamp competent to continue the parochial record from the point where Captain Drake had closed it. Genii of the lantern undoubtedly did exist, and these made another story, a kind of fairy tale, which was not told outside the village. All the water was spilt near the pump. Nobody took part in the revolution which followed, causing an alteration in the landscape; at least nobody in particular; but there was not a man, woman, or child of destructive age who did not give a hand towards the general rubbing of the lamp. When the furniture failed to arrive at the banks of the Drivel, and inquiry elicited the fact that all had passed into the hands of dealers, Kezia fell into a state of melancholy which not even her favourite Sunday walk around the cemetery was able to relieve; and when the cruel truth of George's unassailable title to Windward House was broken gently room by room, despondency increased upon her to such an extent that she actually paid a visit to the electric theatre.
Miss Yard laughed merrily at the humorous idea of buying new furniture, and told everybody about her provincial escape from the fire which had destroyed everything she possessed, and how a young gentleman called Sidney had rescued her from the flames at great personal risk. She was so grateful that she suggested he might become engaged to Nellie, and he had done so at once; which showed how absurd it was to say that young men of the present day were rude and disobedient. Of course it was understood that the engagement was only to continue during her lifetime. As for Nellie, she breathed a great sigh of relief. The loss of the furniture might be a serious matter, so far as Kezia's future and Miss Yard's banking account were concerned; but it meant the total eclipse of George. He could not show his face either in Highfield or Drivelford; he had done for himself completely. She refused to listen to Sidney's proposal of instructing Hunter to institute proceedings.
"By doing nothing we get rid of him for ever," she said.
"Anyhow, we can take action against the people who bought the things," he urged.
"We shall do nothing of the kind. It would worry the old lady into her grave; and I believe that's your object."
"I want to punish the brute for bullying you and preaching at me."
"You can't make a thick-skinned creature like George feel anything," she answered. "If he were put in prison, he would congratulate himself upon living free of expense. And if he refunded the money, he would insist upon coming here and living with Miss Sophy. It would be no use turning him out. He would come back like a cat and make us all miserable. Leave him alone, and we shall hear no more of him."
She prophesied truly. Those who had been honoured by the society, and somewhat doubtful friendship, of George Drake were not privileged to look upon him – or on his like – again. After gathering in his harvest, he retired into the privacy of lodgings, having a sum of sixteen hundred pounds to his credit, and spent a couple of years drinking tea, smoking cigars, and trying to make up his mind whether his landlady's daughter "would do."
This young lady was of a more orthodox type than Nellie. She possessed a head of golden hair, upon which much time and dye had been expended; her eyes were dull; her countenance was flaming. George secretly admired that style of beauty. The young woman could make tea, arrange cushions, fetch and carry slippers, stand in a deferential attitude; she showed unmistakable signs of honesty, and obeyed the call of her mother instantly; she had no conversation, the possession of which was a gift that marred so many women; she giggled respectfully when addressed; nor did she shrink from admitting that gentlemen of Mr. Drake's magnificence unhappily grew scarcer every year.
George became highly delighted with Matilda which, he remarked, was a sweet, old-fashioned name, suggesting to him somehow the odour of lilac and honeysuckle. He congratulated himself frequently upon having thrown over that designing young woman, Nellie, just in time; and, at the expiration of eighteen months of indolence, he informed her – for in such a matter he disdained all questions – of the social position that awaited her. She was capable of improvement, he admitted, and no doubt she would improve. Grace she would acquire by watching him. The heavy tramping about the house might be exchanged for a gentle footfall by the use of more appropriate footwear. He begged her to bear these things in mind, and above all never to forget that out of all the women in the world he had selected her.
Matilda appeared quite satisfied. So did her mother, who was deep in debt, and had no scruples against adding to the burden, when informed by her future son-in-law that his resources were practically unlimited.
"It has just occurred to me I have a property on Dartmoor worth a couple of thousand," he said in the grand manner, well suited to his wealth and indolence. "I have not been near it for the last two years. It's a fine house – a beautiful Elizabethan mansion – but it has a somewhat peculiar history," he added.
"Is there a ghost?" asked Matilda's mother, who was greatly impressed by everything George said.
"There are several ghosts," he replied.
"Don't ye ask me to live there then," said Matilda, with her giggle which ought to have been illegal.
"Nothing would induce me to go near the place," said George with perfect truth. "I ought to have sold it long ago, but these little things escape one's memory. I will dispose of it at once, and buy a cottage, with a bit of land. I shall keep bees and prune the rose trees; while you look after the poultry and the cow, do the cooking, mind the house, and attend to me."
Matilda was a poor mathematician, but even to her this did not appear a fair division of labour. Already she was running up a little account against her future husband. His courtship was not of that vigorous order she had a right to expect; his indolence seemed to her a type curable only by the constant application of a broomstick; his craving for tea and tobacco, unless checked, might easily become morbid. Matilda possessed some wits; not many, but ingenious ones; and, until George was safely tied to her by matrimony, she was going to pretend she had no conversation.
When George observed that the Dartmoor property had just occurred to his memory, he intended perhaps to say he had thought of little else during the last two years. He had almost succeeded in believing that his disposal of the furniture had come perilously near actual dishonesty; by which he meant to imply his action had been unbusinesslike and foolish; though he had the satisfaction of knowing that Nellie had been justly punished for her offences. He had planned to sell, or to let, Windward House immediately; but had reckoned without his cowardly nature, which conjured up visions of all manner of people seeking vengeance against him. Bessie and Robert would be clamouring for his arrest; Kezia might have taken her scraps of paper to some solicitor; Nellie might have placed the matter in the hands of Hunter; the dreary Dyer might be forced to bring an action for conspiracy to clear his own mean character. George had been so terrified by these fancies that, for several months, he hardly dared to stir from his lodgings, and could not look a policeman in the face.
But now that two years had passed, and nobody had tapped him on the shoulder, he decided it would be perfectly safe to emerge from his obscurity to the extent of communicating with a land agent in Exeter, which city was a satisfactory distance from Highfield, and instructing him to offer the property for sale by public auction or, should an opportunity arise, to dispose of it at once by private treaty. For sake of convenience George requested that letters should be addressed to him at a certain post office, as he still thought it advisable to protect the sanctity of his private residence.
The land agent replied that a sale by auction was generally the most lucrative manner of disposing of a property, and suggested the despatch of a clerk skilled in valuation to inspect the premises. He mentioned also that applications for houses in the Highfield district reached his office continually, and he would be pleased to issue orders to view the property which by the description appeared a valuable one.
George agreed to everything, but was inclined to lay stress upon the private sale if possible, as he did not wish the local inhabitants to know that the ownership of the house was about to change hands. Included in the sale, he mentioned, would be a giant tortoise – or the animal might be offered separately – more than half a thousand years old. This reptile, which would appeal alike to animal lovers and to antiquarians, was a fixture with the garden, above which it browsed one half of the year, and below which it slept for the other half.
Some days passed, during which George became a prey to various emotions. Then came a letter which puzzled him exceedingly. The land agent would be much obliged if Mr. Drake could make it convenient to call at his office in order that certain misunderstandings might be removed. He did not care to say anything more definite at the moment, as it was quite possible he had read Mr. Drake's instructions wrongly. If this was not the case, something very mysterious had happened.
George thought of all manner of things, but above all he suspected treachery. If he entered the office, he might find himself trapped; with Bessie in one corner, Kezia in another, Dyer in the third, and Nellie in the fourth; with that notorious oppressor of widows and orphans, Hunter himself, standing vindictively in the centre; not to mention a horde of howling Highfielders outside the office. So he decided to take Matilda with him. It would be a nice outing for the girl. He could send her into the office to spy out the land; and, if necessary, he could sacrifice her to the violence of the mob.
However, no precaution was required for, upon reaching the office and peering anxiously through the glass portion of the door, George discovered one clerk sprawling over a desk asleep, and another reading a newspaper. Reassured by these peaceful signs of business as usual, he told Matilda to go and look at the shops, and to cultivate a gift of imagination by selecting those articles of dress and adornment which she most desired; then entered, and asked the clerk, who seemed more capable of action, whether his master was disengaged. The reply being favourable, George gave his name, though with less noise than usual, and was immediately invited to step upstairs and to open the first door that occurred. He did so, reproaching himself bitterly for the shameful timidity which had kept him in hiding for two years, and entirely convinced that the purloining of the furniture was a very ordinary and straightforward piece of business.
But this fine humour was knocked out of shape when the land agent, after a few preliminary remarks concerning hurricanes and anticyclones – appropriate under the circumstances – remarked courteously:
"In what part of Highfield parish is the property situated?"
"Near the end of the village street, just above the post office," answered the astounded George.
"So I judged from your description. It sounds a very remarkable thing to say, Mr. Drake, but – we can't find it."
"What the deuce do you mean?" George stuttered. "Not find it! Not find Highfield House! Why, it's the only gentleman's residence in the village. It stands out by itself. It hits you in the eye. It's as obvious as Exeter Cathedral."
"Then you have no explanation to offer?"
"Explain! What do you want me to explain?"
"Why my clerk, also a possible purchaser, both acting on the same day though independently, were unable to locate the property. And why the local residents have no knowledge of its existence."
"Of course, they went to the wrong village."
"There is only one Highfield in Devonshire. I will tell you precisely what happened. Upon receiving your instructions, I directed my valuation clerk to go to Highfield and inspect the property. I also displayed a notice in the window. Houses on Dartmoor are selling well just now, as very few are available, and the district has become highly popular as it is said to be the healthiest part of England. Hardly was the notice in the window, when a gentleman called and asked for an order to view the property; and he travelled in the same train as my clerk, though neither was aware of the other's existence; nor did they meet in Highfield, as my clerk had left the village – supposing that a mistake had been made – before the gentleman arrived. Since then several people have inquired after the property, but I had to put them off until I had seen you. Now, Mr. Drake, surely you can explain the mystery."
"Mystery – there can't be one. There's the house simply blotting out the landscape! If they couldn't find it they must have been blind and paralysed," George shouted.
"My clerk could see no signs of a gentleman's residence in the village, and when he asked one or two of the inhabitants they knew nothing about Windward House. He did not press his inquiry, as he naturally supposed you had somehow sent the wrong instructions."
"I should like to know what part of the world he did go to," George muttered.
"The gentleman who went to view the property, returned here in a pretty bad temper, as he thought I had made a fool of him," continued the agent.
"He too inquired of the local inhabitants where Windward House might be situated, and received the same answer. They either did not know, or would not tell him."
"Are you making this up? Have you received instructions from people answering to the names of Hunter, Mudge, Dyer, Blisland, Kezia, Brock, to humbug me?" cried George.
"Certainly not, sir," said the agent sharply.
"Then I'm confounded! I don't believe in magic, ghosts, witches, evil eye, Aladdin's lamp, or pixies. Have you ever heard of such a thing in your life? Have you ever known a fine, big, well built, modern residence to vanish off the face of the earth, together with the ground it stood on, and the garden around it? Do you believe such a thing is possible? Because, if you do believe it, I am ruined."
And having thus spoken George wiped away the most genuine moisture that had ever dimmed his vision.
"I cannot offer any explanation, Mr. Drake, but it's certain your house has disappeared. Don't you think the best thing you can do is to go there yourself and find out what really has happened?"
"I won't go near the place," cried George. "I wouldn't be seen in it. I – I might disappear too."
"Then will you put the matter into the hands of the police?"
"I'll have nothing to do with them either," declared George.
"Shall I go myself and make inquiries of the vicar or some other reliable person?"
"All right," said George heavily. "It means more expense, but that's nothing to me now. If my house has gone, I may as well go to my last home at once. It's no use trying to kick against the powers of darkness," he muttered.
So the agent travelled to Highfield and collected a few details from certain inhabitants, who did not altogether approve of the local revolution, but were not going to make themselves unpopular by refusing to take a rub at the lamp themselves. Having learnt so much, it was easy to add to his information by assuming hostility to George and expressing approval of the punishment which had been meted out to him.
"Mr. Drake said one thing and meant another all the time he wur here," explained the Dumpy Philosopher. "Us didn't mind that, but when he started to treat us as human volks wur never meant to be treated, us had to learn 'em a serious lesson. His uncle promised to build us a railway, and they do say he left money vor it; but Mr. Drake did all he could to stop it from a-running. American gentlemen come here – a lot of 'em – to make the railway; but he said us didn't want it, and he drove 'em away, and he wouldn't let 'em spend a shilling. Said they'd come here to buy cloam. Said he'd rather see us all starve. Said he'd build the railway himself out of his own pocket, and he'd put a big waterwheel atop o' Highfield hill to draw the trains up; though us knew he couldn't, vor there ain't enough water coming over in summer to draw up a wheelbarrow. Said he'd make Highfield House a station and put a terminus in the back garden. I don't know what else he warn't going to do, but he wur talking childish day by day. And when he'd deceived us more than us could bear, he run away."
"What he done to poor and honest volk don't hardly seem possible," said the Gentle Shepherd. "Mrs. Drake left 'en Highfield House, and all the furniture she left to Bessie Mudge what married Robert Mudge who works vor Arthur Dyer. They ses she left part of the furniture to Kezia, but Bessie ses that part o' the will be so mixed up it can't be hardly legal. Mr. Drake kept on going away, and coming back again; and one day he come back, and drove Miss Yard and Kezia out of the place; and he goes to Dyer and bribes 'en to send Robert and Bessie away vor a holiday; and when they'm gone he brings up vans and clears out all the furniture; and he breaks into Robert's house and steals a lot of his furniture, what he bought and paid vor wi' his own money; and he sells the lot by auction avore us could recover from the shock; and he ain't never been seen nor heard of since. And I fancy 'tis the most disgraceful deed what can ha' happened since the creation of the world."
"But he couldn't take the house, nor yet look after it, vor us wasn't going to have him back again after the way he'd used us, and us wasn't going to have 'en letting or selling the place neither, and making money out of our misfortunes," said the Wallower in Wealth. "He tried to ruin us all, he ha' brought the Mudges to awful poverty, and he ha' pretty near drove the Dyers into the asylum, and he stole a musical box what ha' been in my family vor generations out o' mind. It wur a fine house, sure enough, but 'tis all gone now. There's nought left but foundations, and there's not much o' them, and you can't see 'em, vor they'm covered wi' grass. The trees be all cut down, and the shrubs ha' got moved, and the garden wall ain't there no longer. The house warn't there one day, and gone the next, as some volk say. It seemed to go so gradual that no one noticed it really was a leaving us. Us all knew why it wur going, and how it wur going; but us didn't talk about it much, vor what be everybody's business ain't nobody's business."
"The youngsters started it," said Squinting Jack. "They smashed the windows and got inside. They sort o' took possession of the place and played there every day. They played at soldiers mostly. One lot o' children climbed up into the roof, and defended themselves wi' tiles and laths, while another lot attacked 'em wi' doors and window frames. And when they'd finished play, they took home all the broken stuff vor firewood. That wur the beginning, but in an amazing short time the house began to alter; it wur never the same place after the children got playing in it. When an old woman wanted wood vor the fire, she just went vor it; and when any one wanted a new door or window, they knew where one wur handy. Then one or two started building a cottage, and as the cottages went up Windward House come down. Some mornings us missed a bit o' wall what seemed to ha' fallen in the night, but nobody asked questions, vor us all had a hand in it, but there's no evidence to prove it. You won't find anything worth taking away now, not if you was to search wi' a miscroscope. The house didn't vanish away suddenly, not by no manner of means."
"It seemed to me," said the Gentle Shepherd, "as if it melted."
"It vanished in small pieces," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
The Wallower in Wealth had nothing more to say. The giant tortoise had transferred itself to his garden, having apparently engaged a wheelbarrow for that purpose. Either it was anxious to adopt the Wallower in Wealth, or he desired to study its habits in order that he too might attain eternal life. Or possibly he was determined to obtain some compensation for the lost musical box, through the possession of a genuine antique, which might with some propriety be styled the sole remaining item of the Captain's furniture.
The Dismal Gibcat said nothing whatever, although at one time he had been exceedingly loquacious. His was the only voice raised in protest against those who pillaged windows and door posts, or flitted at moonlight with joists and floorings. He publicly rebuked a poor old dame whom he caught staggering homeward with her apron full of laths. He explained the law as to wilful damage and petty larceny, and he dealt with the moral aspect of the matter till all were weary. Finally he announced his intention of protecting the property of the absentee owner by taking care of it for him: and he removed at least one half of the material and, by judicious guardianship of the same, succeeded in doubling the accommodation of his house.
George had no difficulty in speaking like a whale, but when he tried to talk like a sprat he made a mess of things. Therefore he could not bring Matilda and her mother to understand how a rascally trustee, whose name was Hunter, had sold his property and made off with the cash. They were sorry but firm; Matilda asserting it cost very little to keep a woman; while her mother pointed out with considerable fluency that matrimony was always less expensive than breach of promise actions. George gave way – having a horror of the fierce light of publicity which beats upon law courts – and became very melancholy. Nor was he much restored to gaiety by the joys of married life; for Matilda rapidly developed a flow of small talk which astounded him; when George ordered her to bring him a cup of tea she prescribed herself a glass of beer; and when he called for his slippers she threw the dirty boots at his head and told him to clean them. Matrimony was not all bee-keeping and rose-pruning for George.
Still more tragic were affairs at Drivelford, where Nellie and Sidney had come to realise that, for them at least, the married state was unattainable. Old ladies can be very selfish sometimes, and in that stimulating atmosphere, which shared with many others the distinction of being the healthiest in the land, Miss Yard grew no weaker daily. She suffered from a slight cold last winter, but was all the better for it in the spring. Indeed in merry May-time she made the shocking suggestion that Sidney should teach her to ride the bicycle.
With such dispiriting examples as the Yellow Leaf, whose longevity was becoming a public scandal, and whose conduct was disgraceful, as he would not be refused his right to wed the youngest grandchild of one of his middle-aged connections; and the giant tortoise, who found fresh lettuces more luscious than the weeds of his fifteenth century diet; and the eternal obstacle, Miss Yard, who was continually giving children's parties because she felt so young herself; with such monuments of senile selfishness before them, Nellie and Sidney did indeed appear condemned to single blessedness.
But happily, according to the latest report from Drivelford, Miss Yard was not feeling very well. She was suffering from broken chilblains.
