Chantry House

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We all thought the days of civil war were really begun, as the heads
of this account were hastily gathered; but there was not much said,
only Mr. Frank Fordyce laid his hand on Griff's shoulder and said,
'Well done, my boy; but you have had enough for to-day. If you'll
lend me a horse, Winslow, I'll ride over to Eastwood. That's work
for the clergy in these times, eh? Griffith should rest. He may be
wanted to-morrow. Only is there any one to take a note home for me,
to say where I'm gone;' and then he added with that sweet smile of
his, 'Some one will be more the true knight than ever, eh, you
Griffith you--'

Griffith coloured a little, and Lady Peacock's eyes looked
interrogative. When the horse was announced, Griff followed Mr.
Fordyce into the hall, and came back announcing that, unless
summoned elsewhere, he should go to breakfast at Hillside, and so
hear what was decided on. He longed to be back at the scene of
action, but was so tired out that he could not dispense with another
night's rest; though he took all precautions for being called up, in
case of need.

However, nothing came, and he rode to the Rectory in Yeomanry
equipment. Nor could any one doubt that in the ecstasy of meeting
such a hero, all the little misunderstanding and grief of the night
before was forgotten? Ellen looked as if she trod on air, when she
came down with her father to report that Griffith had gone,
according to the orders sent, to join the rest of the Yeomanry, who
were to advance upon Bristol. They had seen, and tried to turn
back, some of the villagers who were starting with bludgeons to
share in the spoil, and who looked sullen, as if they were
determined not to miss their share.

I do not think we were very much alarmed for Griff's safety or for
our own, not even the ladies. My mother had the lion-heart of her
naval ancestors, and Ellen was in a state of exaltation. Would that
I could put her before other eyes, as she stood with hands clasped
and glowing cheek.

'Oh!--think!--think of having one among us who is as real and true
knight as ever watched his armour -

'"For king, for church, for lady fight!"
It has all come gloriously true!'

'Should not you like to bind on his spurs?' I asked somewhat
mischievously; but she was serious as she said, 'I am sure he has
won them.' All the rest of the Fordyces came down afterwards, too
anxious to stay at home. Our elders felt the matter more gravely,
thinking of what civil war might mean to us all, and what an awful
thing it was for Englishmen to be enrolled against each other.
Nottingham Castle had just been burnt, and things looked only too
like revolution, especially considering the inaction of the
dragoons. After Griff had left Bristol, there had been some
terrible scenes at the Custom House, where the ringleaders--unhappy
men!--were caught in a trap of their own and perished miserably.

However, by the morning, the order sent from Lord Hill, the arrival
of Major Beckwith from Gloucester, and the proceedings of the good-
humoured mob had put an end to poor Brereton's hesitations; a
determined front had been shown; the mob had been fairly broken up;
troops from all quarters poured into the city, and by dinner-time
Griff came back with the news that all was quiet and there was
nothing more to fear. Ellen and Emily both flew out to meet him at
the first sound of the horse's feet, and they all came into the
drawing-room together--each young lady having hold of one of his
hands--and Ellen's face in such a glow, that I rather suspect that
he had snatched a reward which certainly would not have been granted
save in such a moment of uplifted feeling, and when she was thankful
to her hero for forgetting how angry he had been with her two days
before.

Minor matters were forgotten in the details of his tidings, as he
stood before the fire, shining in his silver lace, and relating the
tragedy and the comedy of the scene.

It was curious, as the evening passed on, to see how Ellen and Lady
Peacock regarded each other, now that the tension of suspense was
over. To Ellen, the guest was primarily a distressed and widowed
dame, delivered by Griff, to whom she, as his lady love, was bound
to be gracious and kind; nor had they seen much of one another, the
elder ladies sitting in the drawing-room, and we in our own regions;
but we were all together at dinner and afterwards, and Lady Peacock,
who had been in a very limp, nervous, and terrified state all day,
began to be the Selina Clarkson we remembered, and 'more too.' She
was still in mourning, but she came down to dinner in gray satin
sheen, and with her hair in a most astonishing erection of bows and
bands, on the very crown of her head, raising her height at least
four inches. Emily assures me that it was the mode in use, and that
she and Ellen wore their hair in the same style, appealing to
portraits to prove it. I can only say that they never astonished my
weak mind in the like manner; and that their heads, however dressed,
only appeared to me a portion of the general woman, and part of the
universal fitness of things. Ellen was likewise amazed, most likely
not at the hair, but at the transformation of the disconsolate,
frightened widow, into the handsome, fashionable, stylish lady,
talking over London acquaintance and London news with my father and
Griff whenever they left the endless subject of the Bristol
adventures.

The widow had gained a good deal in beauty since her early girlhood,
having regular features, eyes of an uncommon deep blue, very black
brows, eye-lashes, and hair, and a form of the kind that is better
after early youth is over. 'A fine figure of a woman,' Parson Frank
pronounced her, and his wife, with the fine edge of her lips
replied, 'exactly what she is!'

She looked upon us younger ones as mere children still--indeed she
never looked at me at all if she could help it--but she mortally
offended Emily by penning her up in a corner, and asking if Griff
were engaged to that sentimental little girl.

Emily coloured like a turkey cock between wrath and embarrassment,
and hotly protested against the word sentimental.

'Ah yes, I see!' she said in a patronising tone, 'she is your bosom
friend, eh? That's the way those things always begin. You need not
answer: I see it all. And no doubt it is a capital thing for him;
properties joining and all. And she will get a little air and style
when he takes her to London.' It was a tremendous offence even to
hint that Ellen's style was capable of improvement; perhaps an
unprejudiced eye would have said that the difference was between
high-bred simplicity and the air of fashion and society.

In our eyes Lady Peacock was the companion of the elders, and as
such was appreciated by the gentlemen; but neither of the two
mothers was equally delighted with her, nor was mine at all sorry
when, on Tuesday, the boxes were packed, posthorses sent for, and my
Lady departed, with great expressions of thankfulness to us all.

'A tulip to a jessamine,' muttered Griff as she drove off, and he
looked up at his Ellen's sweet refined face.

The unfortunate Colonel Brereton put an end to himself when the
court-martial was half over. How Clarence was shocked and how
ardent was his pity! But Griffith received the thanks of the
Corporation of Bristol for his gallant conduct, when the special
assize was held in January. Mrs. Fordyce was almost as proud of him
as we were, and there was much less attempt at restraining the terms
on which he stood with Ellen--though still the formal engagement was
not permitted.

CHAPTER XXIII--QUICKSANDS

'Whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?'

TENNYSON.

It was in the May of the ensuing year, 1832, that Clarence was sent
down to Bristol for a few weeks to take the place of one of the
clerks in the office where the cargoes of the incoming vessels of
the firm were received and overhauled.

This was a good-natured arrangement of Mr. Castleford's in order to
give him change of work and a sight of home, where, by the help of
the coach, he could spend his Sundays. That first spring day on his
way down was a great delight and even surprise to him, who had never
seen our profusion of primroses, cowslips, and bluebells, nor our
splendid blossom of trees--apple, lilac, laburnum--all vieing in
beauty with one another. Emily conducted him about in great
delight, taking him over to Hillside to see Mrs. Fordyce's American
garden, blazing with azaleas, and glowing with rhododendrons. He
came back with a great bouquet given to him by Ellen, who had been
unusually friendly with him, and he was more animated and full of
life than for years before.

Next time he came he looked less happy. There was plenty of room in
our house, but he used, by preference, the little chamber within
mine, and there at night he asked me to lend him a few pounds, since
Griffith had written one of his off-hand letters asking him to
discharge a little bill or two at Bristol, giving the addresses, but
not sending the accounts. This was no wonder, since any enclosure
doubled the already heavy postage. One of these bills was for some
sporting equipments from the gunsmith's; another, much heavier, from
a tavern for breakfasts, or rather luncheons, to parties of
gentlemen, mostly bearing date in the summer and autumn of 1830,
before the friendship with the Fordyces had begun. On Clarence's
defraying the first and applying for the second, two more had come
in, one from a jeweller for a pair of drop-earrings, the other from
a nurseryman for a bouquet of exotics. Doubting of these two last,
Clarence had written to Griff, but had not yet received an answer.
The whole amount was so much beyond what he had been led to expect
that he had not brought enough money to meet it, and wanted an
advance from me, promising repayment, to which latter point I could
not assent, as both of us knew, but did not say, we should never see
the sum again, and to me it only meant stinting in new books and
curiosities. We were anxious to get the matter settled at once, as
Griffith spoke of being dunned; and it might be serious, if the
tradesmen applied to my father when he was still groaning over
revelations of college expenses.

On the ensuing Saturday, Clarence showed me Griff's answer--'I had
forgotten these items. The earrings were a wedding present to the
pretty little barmaid, who had been very civil. The bouquet was for
Lady Peacock; I felt bound to do something to atone for mamma's
severe virtue. It is all right, you best of brothers.'

It was consolatory that all the dates were prior to the Hillside
fire, except that of the bouquet. As to the earrings, we all knew
that Griff could not see a pretty girl without talking nonsense to
her. Anyway, if they were a wedding present, there was an end of
it; and we were only glad to prevent any hint of them from reaching
the ears of the authorities.

Clarence had another trouble to confide to me. He had strong reason
to believe that Tooke, the managing clerk at Bristol, was carrying
on a course of peculation, and feathering his nest at the expense of
the firm. What a grand discovery, thought I, for such a youth to
have made. The firm would be infinitely obliged to him, and his
fortune would be secured. He shook his head, and said that was all
my ignorance; the man, Tooke, was greatly trusted, especially by Mr.
Frith the senior partner, and was so clever and experienced that it
would be almost impossible to establish anything against him.
Indeed he had browbeaten Clarence, and convinced him at the moment
that his suspicions and perplexities were only due to the ignorance
of a foolish, scrupulous youth, who did not understand the customs
and perquisites of an agency. It was only when Clarence was alone,
and reflected on the matter by the light of experience gained on a
similar expedition to Liverpool, that he had perceived that Mr.
Tooke had been throwing dust in his eyes.

'I shall only get into a scrape myself,' said Clarence despondently.
'I have felt it coming ever since I have been at Bristol;' and he
pushed his hair back with a weary hopeless gesture.

'But you don't mean to let it alone?' I cried indignantly.

He hesitated in a manner that painfully recalled his failing, and
said at last, 'I don't know; I suppose I ought not.'

'Suppose?' I cried.

'It is not so easy as you think,' he answered, 'especially for one
who has forfeited the right to be believed. I must wait till I have
an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Castleford, and then I can hardly
do more than privately give him a hint to be watchful. You don't
know how things are in such houses as ours. One may only ruin
oneself without doing any good.'

'You cannot write to him?'

'Certainly not. He has taken his family to Mrs. Castleford's home
in the north of Ireland for a month or six weeks. I don't know the
address, and I cannot run the risk of the letter being opened at the
office.'

'Can't you speak to my father?'

'Impossible! it would be a betrayal. He would do things for which I
should never be forgiven. And, after all, remember, it is no
business of mine. I know of agents at the docks who do such things
as a matter of course. It is only that I happen to know that Harris
at Liverpool does not. Very possibly old Frith knows all about it.
I should only get scored down as a meddlesome prig, worse hypocrite
than they think me already.'

He said a good deal more to this effect, and I remember exclaiming,
'Oh, Clarence, the old story!' and then being frightened at the
whiteness that came over his face.

Little did I know the suffering to which those words of mine
condemned him. For not only had he to make up his mind to
resistance, which to his nature was infinitely worse than it was to
Griffith to face a raging mob, but he knew very well that it would
almost inevitably produce his own ruin, and renew the disgrace out
of which he was beginning to emerge. I did not--even while I prayed
that he might do the right--guess at his own agony of supplication,
carried on incessantly, day and night, sleeping and waking, that the
Holy Spirit of might should brace his will and govern his tongue,
and make him say the right thing at the right time, be the
consequences what they might. No one, not constituted as he was,
can guess at the anguish he endured. I knew no more. Clarence did
not come home the next Saturday, to my mother's great vexation; but
on Tuesday a small parcel was given to me, brought from our point of
contact with the Bristol coach. It contained some pencils I had
asked him to get, and a note marked PRIVATE. Here it is -

'DEAR EDWARD--I am summoned to town. Tooke has no doubt forestalled
me. We have had some curious interviews, in which he first, as I
told you, persuaded me out of my senses that it was all right, and
then, finding me still dissatisfied, tried in a delicate fashion to
apprise me that I had a claim to a share of the plunder. When I
refused to appropriate anything without sanction from headquarters,
he threatened me with the consequences of presumptuous interference.
It came to bullying at last. I hardly know what I answered, but I
don't think I gave in. Now, a sharp letter from old Frith recalls
me. Say nothing at home; and whatever you do, do not betray Griff.
He has more to lose than I. Help me in the true way, as you know
how.--Ever yours, W. C. W.

I need not dwell on the misery of those days. It was well that my
father had ruled that our letters should not be family property.
Here were all the others discussing a proposed tour in the north of
Devon, to be taken conjointly with the Fordyces, as soon as Griff
should come home. My mother said it would do me good; she saw I was
flagging, but she little guessed at the continual torment of
anxiety, and my wonder at the warning about Griff.

At the end of the week came another letter.

'You need not speak yet. Papa and mamma will know soon enough. I
brought down 150 pounds in specie, to be paid over to Tooke. He
avers that only 130 pounds was received. What is my word worth
against his? I am told that if I am not prosecuted it will only be
out of respect to my father. I am not dismissed yet, but shall get
notice as soon as letters come from Ireland. I have written, but it
is not in the nature of things that Mr. Castleford should not accept
such proofs as have been sent him. I have no hope, and shall be
glad when it is over. The part of black sheep is not a pleasant
one. Say not a word, and do not let my father come up. He could do
no good, and to see him believing it all would be the last drop in
the bucket.

N.B.--In this pass, nothing would be saved by bringing Griff into
it, so be silent on your life. Innocence does not seem to be much
comfort at present. Maybe it will come in time. I know you will
not drop me, dear Ted, wherever I may be.'

Need I tell the distress of those days of suspense and silence, when
my only solace was in being left alone, and in writing letters to
Clarence which were mostly torn up again.

My horror was lest he should be driven to go off to the sea, which
he loved so well, knowing, as nobody else did, the longing that
sometimes seized him for it, a hereditary craving that curiously
conflicted with the rest of his disposition; and, indeed, his lack
was more of moral than of physical courage. It haunted me
constantly that his entreaty that my father should not come to
London was a bad sign, and that he would never face such another
return home. And was I justified in keeping all this to myself,
when my father's presence might save him from the flight that would
indeed be the surrender of his character, and to the life of a
common sailor? Never have I known such leaden days as these, yet
the misery was not a tithe of what Clarence was undergoing.

I was right in my forebodings. Prosecution and a second return home
in shame and disgrace were alike hideous to Clarence, and the
present was almost equally terrible, for nobody at the office had
any doubt of his guilt, and the young men who had sneered at his
strictness and religious habits regarded him as an unmasked
hypocrite, only waiting on sufferance till his greatly deceived
patron should write to decide on the steps to be taken with him,
while he knew he was thought to be brazening it out in hopes of
again deceiving Mr. Castleford.

The sea began to exert its power over him, and he thought with
longing of its freedom, as if the sails of the vessels were the
wings of a dove to flee away and be at rest. He had no illusions as
to the roughness of the life and companionship; but in his present
mood, the frank rudeness and profanity of the sailors seemed
preferable to his cramped life, and the scowls of his fellows; and
he knew himself to have seamanship enough to rise quickly, even if
he could not secure a mate's berth at first.

Mr. Castleford could not be heard from till the end of the week.
Friday, Saturday came and not a word. That was the climax! When
the consignment of cash, hitherto carried by Clarence to the Bank of
England, was committed to another clerk, the very office boy
sniggered, and the manager demonstratively waited to see him depart.

Unable to bear it any longer, he walked towards Wapping, bought a
Southwester, examined the lists of shipping, and entered into
conversation with one or two sailors about the vessels making up
their crews; intending to go down after dark, to meet the skipper of
a craft bound for Lisbon, who, he heard, was so much in want of a
mate as perhaps to overlook the lack of testimonials, and at any
rate take him on board on Sunday.

Going home to pick up a few necessaries, a book lent to him by Miss
Newton came in his way, and he felt drawn to carry it home, and see
her face for the last time.

All unconscious of his trouble and of his intentions, the good lady
told him of her strong desire to hear a celebrated preacher at a
neighbouring church on the Sunday evening, but said that in her
partial blindness and weakness, she was afraid to venture, unless he
would have the extreme goodness, as she said, to take care of her.
He saw that she wished it so much that he had not the heart to
refuse, and he recollected likewise that very early on Monday
morning would answer his purpose equally well.

It was the 7th of June. The Psalm was the 37th--the supreme lesson
of patience. 'Hold thee still in the Lord; and abide patiently on
Him; and He shall bring it to pass. He shall make thy righteousness
as clear as the light, and thy just dealing as the noonday.'

The awful sense of desolation seemed to pass away under those words,
with that gentle woman beside him. And the sermon was on 'Oh tarry
thou the Lord's leisure; be strong, and He shall comfort thine
heart; and put thou thy trust in the Lord.'

Clarence remembered nothing but the text. But it was borne in upon
him that his purpose of flight was 'the old story,'--cowardice and
virtual distrust of the Lord, as well as absolute cruelty to us who
loved him.

When he had deposited Miss Newton at her own door, he whispered
thanks, and an entreaty for her prayers.

And then he went home, and fought the battle of his life, with his
own horrible dread of Mr. Castleford's disappointment; of possible
prosecution; of the shame at home; the misery of a life a second
time blighted. He fought it out on his knees, many a time
persuading himself that flight would not be a sin, then returning to
the sense that it was a temptation of his worse self to be overcome.
And by morning he knew that it would be a surrender of himself to
his lower nature, and the evil spirit behind it; while, by facing
the worst that could befall him, he would be falling into the hand
of the Lord.

CHAPTER XXIV--AFTER THE TEMPEST

'Nor deem the irrevocable past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If rising on its wrecks at last
To something nobler we attain.'

LONGFELLOW.

All the rest of the family were out, and I was relieved by being
alone with my distress, not forced to hide it, when the door opened
and 'Mr. Castleford' was announced. After one moment's look at me,
one touch of my hand, he must have seen that I was faint with
anxiety, and said, 'It is all right, Edward; I see you know all. I
am come from Bristol to tell your father that he may be proud of his
son Clarence.'

I don't know what I did. Perhaps I sobbed and cried, but the first
words I could get out were, 'Does he know? Oh! it may be too late.
He may be gone off to sea!' I cried, breaking out with my chief
fear. Mr. Castleford looked astounded, then said, 'I trust not. I
sent off a special messenger last night, as soon as I saw my way--'

Then I breathed a little more freely, and could understand what he
was telling me, namely, that Tooke had accused Clarence of
abstracting 20 pounds from the sum in his charge. The fellow
accounted for it by explaining that young Winslow had been paying
extravagant bills at a tavern, where the barmaid showed his
presents, and boasted of her conquest. All this had been written to
Mr. Castleford by his partner, and he was told that it was out of
deference to himself that his protege was not in custody, nor had
received notice of dismissal; but, no doubt, he would give his
sanction to immediate measures, and communicate with the family.

The effect had been to make the good man hurry at once from the
Giant's Causeway to Bristol, where he had arrived on Sunday, to
investigate the books and examine the underlings. In the midst
Tooke attempted to abscond, but he was brought back as he was
embarking in an American vessel; and he then confessed the whole,--
how speculation had led to dishonesty, and following evil customs
not uncommon in other firms. Then, when the fugitive found that
young Winslow was too acute to be blinded, and that it had been a
still greater mistake to try to overcome his integrity, self-defence
required his ruin, or at any rate his expulsion, before he could
gain Mr. Castleford's ear.

Tooke really believed that the discreditable bills were the young
man's own, and proofs of concealed habits of dissipation; but this
excellent man had gone into the matter, repaired to the tradesfolk,
learnt the date, and whose the accounts really were, and had even
hunted up the barmaid, who was not married after all, and had no
hesitation in avowing that her beau had been the handsome young
Yeomanry lieutenant. Mr. Castleford had spent the greater part of
Monday in this painful task, but had not been clear enough till
quite late in the evening to despatch an express to his partner, and
to Clarence, whom he desired to meet him here.

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