Chantry House

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Chantry House

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My mother was very still and calm, hardly shedding a tear, but her
whole demeanour was as if life were over for her, and she had
nothing to do save to wait. She seemed to care very little for
tendernesses or attentions on our part. No doubt she would have
been more desolate without them, but we always had a baffled
feeling, as though our affection were contrasted with her perfect
union with her husband. Yet they had been a singularly
undemonstrative couple; I never saw a kiss pass between them, except
as greeting or farewell before or after a journey; and if my mother
could not use the terms papa or your father, she always said, 'Mr.
Winslow.' There was a large gathering at the funeral, including Mr.
Fordyce, but he slept at Hillside, and we scarcely saw him--only for
a few kind words and squeezes of the hand. Holy Week was begun, and
he had to hurry back to Beachharbour that very night.

The will had been made on my father's coming into the inheritance.
It provided a jointure of 800 pounds per annum for my mother, and
gave each of the younger children 3000 pounds. A codicil had been
added shortly after Griffith's death, written in my father's hand,
and witnessed by Mr. Henderson and Amos Bell. This put Clarence in
the position of heir; secured 500 pounds a year to Griffith's widow,
charged on the estate, and likewise an additional 200 pounds a year
to Emily and to me, hers till marriage, mine for life, 300 pounds a
year to Martyn, until Earlscombe Rectory should be voided, when it
was to be offered to him. The executors had originally been Mr.
Castleford and my mother, but by this codicil, Clarence was
substituted for the former.

The legacies did not come out of the Chantry House property, for my
father had, of course, means of his own besides, and bequests had
accrued to both him and my mother; but Clarence was inheriting the
estate much more burthened than it had been in 1829, having 2000
pounds a year to raise out of its proceeds.

My mother was quite equal to business, with a sort of outside sense,
which she applied to it when needful. Clarence made it at once
evident to her that she was still mistress of Chantry House, and
that it was still to be our home; and she immediately calculated
what each ought to contribute to the housekeeping. She looked
rather blank when she found that Clarence did not mean to give up
business, nor even to become a sleeping partner; but when she
examined into ways and means, she allowed that he was prudent, and
that perhaps it was due to Mr. Castleford not to deprive him of an
efficient helper under present circumstances. Meantime she was
content to do her best for Earlscombe 'for the present,' by which
she meant till her son brought home a wife; but we knew that to him
the words bore a different meaning, though he was still in doubt and
uncertainty how to act, and what might be the wrong to be undone.

He was anxious to persuade her to go from home for a short time, and
prevailed on her at last to take Emily and me to Dawlish, while the
repairs went on which had been deferred during my father's
feebleness; at least that was the excuse. We two, going with great
regret, knew that his real reason was to have an opportunity for a
search among the ruins.

It was in June, just as Martyn came back from Oxford, eager to share
in the quest. Those two brothers would trust no one to help them,
but one by one, in the long summer evenings, they moved each of
those stones; I believe the servants thought they were crazed, but
they could explain with some truth that they wanted to clear up the
disputed points as to the architecture, as indeed they succeeded in
doing.

They had, however, nearly given up, having reached the original
pavement and disinterred the piscina of the side altar, also a
beautiful coffin lid with a floriated cross; when, in a kind of
hollow, Martyn lit upon the rotten remains of something silken,
knotted together. It seemed to have enclosed a bundle. There were
some rags that might have been a change of clothing, also a Prayer-
book, decayed completely except the leathern covering, inside which
was the startling inscription, 'Margaret Winslow, her booke; Lord,
have mercy on a miserable widow woman.' There was also a thick
leathern roll, containing needles, pins, and scissors, entirely
corroded, and within these a paper, carefully folded, but almost
destroyed by the action of damp and the rust of the steel, so that
only thus much was visible. 'I, Margaret Winslow, being of sound
mind, do hereby give and bequeath--'

Then came stains that defaced every line, till the extreme end,
where a seal remained; the date 1707 was legible, and there were
some scrawls, probably the poor lady's signature, and perhaps that
of witnesses. Clarence and Martyn said very little to one another,
but they set out for Dawlish the next day.

'Found' was indicated to us, but no more, for they arrived late, and
had to sleep at the hotel, after an evening when we were delighted
to hear my mother ask so many questions about household and parish
affairs. In the morning she was pleased to send all 'the children'
out on the beach, then free from the railway. It was a beautiful
day, with the intensely blue South Devon sea dancing in golden
ripples, and breaking on the shore with the sound Clarence loved so
well, as, in the shade of the dark crimson cliffs, Emily sat at my
feet and my brothers unfolded their strange discoveries into her
lap. There was a kind of solemnity in the thing; we scarcely spoke,
except that Emily said, 'Oh, will she come again,' and, as the tears
gathered at sight of the pathetic petition in the old book, 'Was
that granted?'

We reconstructed our theory. The poor lady must have repented of
the unjust will forced from her by her stepsons, and contrived to
make another; but she must have been kept a captive until, during
their absence at some Christmas convivialities, she tried to escape;
but hearing sounds betokening their return, she had only time to
hide the bundle in the ruin before she was detected, and in the
scuffle received a fatal blow.

'But why,' I objected, 'did she not remain hidden till her enemies
were safe in the house?'

'Terrified beyond the use of her senses,' said Clarence.

'By all accounts,' said Martyn, 'the poor creature must have been
rather a silly woman.'

'For shame, Martyn,' cried Emily, 'how can you tell? They might
have seen her go in, or she might have feared being missed.'

'Or if you watch next Christmas you may see it all explained.'

To which Emily replied with a shiver that nothing would induce her
to go through it again, and indeed she hoped the spirit would rest
since the discovery had been made.

'And then?'--one of us said, and there was a silence, and another
futile attempt to read the will.

'I shall take it to London and see what an expert can do with it,'
said Clarence. 'I have heard of wonderful decipherings in the
Record Office; but you will remember that even if it can be made
out, it will hardly invalidate our possession after a hundred and
thirty years.'

'Clarence!' cried Emily in a horrified voice; and I asked if the
date were not later than that by which we inherited.

'Three years,' Clarence said, 'yes; but as things stand, it is
absolutely impossible for me to make restitution at present.'

'On account of the burthens on the estate?' I said.

'Oh, but we could give up,' said Emily.

'I dare say!' said Clarence, smiling; 'but to say nothing of poor
Selina, my mother would hardly see it in the same light, nor should
I deal rightly, even if I could make any alterations; I doubt
whether my father would have held himself bound--certainly not while
no one can read this document.'

'It would simply outrage his legal mind,' said Martyn.

'Then what is to be done? Is the injustice to be perpetual?' asked
Emily.

'This is what I have thought of,' said Clarence. 'We must leave
matters as they are till I can realise enough either to pay off all
these bequests, or to offer Mr. Fordyce the value of the estate.'

'It is not the whole,' I said.

'Not the Wattlesea part. This means Chantry House and the three
farms in the village. 10,000 pounds would cover it.'

'Is it possible?' asked Emily.

'Yes,' returned Clarence, 'God helping me. You know our concern is
bringing in good returns, and Mr. Castleford will put me in the way
of doing more with my available capital.'

'We will save so as to help you!' added Emily. At which he smiled.

CHAPTER XLII--ON A SPREE

'Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,
Like twilight too, her dusky hair,
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn,
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.'

WORDSWORTH.

Clarence went to London according to his determination, and as he
had for some time been urgent that I should try some newly-invented
mechanical appliances, he took me with him, this being the last
expedition of the ancient yellow chariot. One of his objects was
that I should see St. Paul's, Knightsbridge, which was then the most
distinguished church of our school of thought, and where there was
to be some special preaching. The Castlefords had a seat there, and
I was settled there in good time, looking at the few bits of stained
glass then in the east window, when, as the clergy came in from the
vestry, I beheld a familiar face, and recognised the fine
countenance and bearing of our dear old friend Frank Fordyce.

Then, looking at the row of ladies in front of me, I beheld for a
moment an outline of a profile recalling many things. No doubt,
Anne Fordyce was there, though instead of barely emulating my
stunted stature, she towered above her companions, looking to my
mind most fresh and graceful in her pretty summer dress; and I knew
that Clarence saw her too.

I had never heard Mr. Fordyce preach before, as in his flying visits
his ministrations were due at Hillside; and I certainly should have
been struck with the force and beauty of his sermon if I had never
known him before. It was curious that it was on the 49th Psalm,
meant perhaps for the fashionable congregation, but remarkably
chiming in with the feelings of us, who were conscious of an
inheritance of evil from one who had 'done well unto himself;'
though, no doubt, that was the last thing honest Parson Frank was
thinking of.

When the service was over, and Anne turned, she became aware of us,
and her face beamed all over. It was a charming face, with a
general likeness to dear Ellen's, but without the fragile ethereal
look, and all health, bloom, and enjoyment recalling her father's.
She was only moving to let her pew-fellows pass out, and was waiting
for him to come for her, as he did in a few moments, and he too was
all pleasure and cordiality. He told us when we were outside that
he had come up to preach, and 'had brought Miss Anne up for a
spree.' They were at a hotel, Mrs. Fordyce was at home, and the
Lesters were not in town this season--a matter of rejoicing to us.
Could we not come home and dine with them at once? We were too much
afraid of disappointing Gooch to do so, but they made an appointment
to meet us at the Royal Academy as soon as it was open the next
morning.

There was a fortnight of enjoyment. Parson Frank was like a boy out
for a holiday. He had not spent more than a day or two in town for
many years; Anne had not been there since early childhood, and they
adopted Clarence as their lioniser, going through such a country-
cousin course of delights as in that memorable time with Ellen.
They even went down to Eton and Windsor, Frank Fordyce being an old
Etonian. I doubt whether Clarence ever had a more thoroughly happy
time, not even in the north of Devon, for there was no horse on his
mind, and he was not suppressed as in those days. Indeed, I
believe, it is the experience of others besides ourselves that there
is often more unmixed pleasure on casual holidays like this than in
those of early youth; for even if spirits are less high (which is
not always the case), anticipations are less eager, there is more
readiness to accept whatever comes, more matured appreciation, and
less fret and friction at contretemps.

I was not much of a drag, for when I could not be with the others, I
had old friends, and the museum was as dear to me as ever, in those
recesses that had been the paradise of my youth; but there was a
good deal in which we could all share, and as usual they were all
kind consideration.

Anne overflowed with minute remembrances of her old home, and
Clarence so basked in her sunshine that it began to strike me that
here might be the solution of all the perplexities especially after
the first evening, when he had shown his strange discovery to Mr.
Fordyce, who simply laughed and said we need not trouble ourselves
about it. Illegible was it? He was heartily glad to hear that it
was. Even otherwise, forty years' possession was quite enough, and
then he pointed to the grate, and said that was the best place for
such things. There was no fire, but Clarence could hardly rescue
the paper from being torn up.

As to the ghost, he knew much less than his daughter Ellen had done.
He said his old aunt had some stories about Chantry House being
haunted, and had thought it incumbent on her to hate the Winslows,
but he had thought it all nonsense, and such stories were much
better forgotten. 'Would he not see if there were any letters?'

There might be, perhaps in the solicitor's office at Bath, but if he
ever got hold of them, he should certainly burn them. What was the
use of being Christians, if such quarrels were to be remembered?

Anne knew nothing. Aunt Peggy had died before she could remember,
and even Martyn had been discreet. Clarence said no more after that
one conversation, and seemed to me engrossed between his necessary
business at the office, and the pleasant expeditions with the
Fordyces. Only when they were on the point of returning home, did
he tell me that the will had been pronounced utterly past
deciphering, and that he thought he saw a way of setting all
straight. 'So do I,' was my rejoinder, and there must have been a
foolishly sagacious expression about me that made him colour up, and
say, 'No such thing, Edward. Don't put that into my head.'

'Isn't it there already?'

'It ought not to be. It would be mere treachery in these sweet,
fresh, young, innocent, days of hers, knowing too what her mother
would think of it and of me. Didn't you observe in old Frank's
unguarded way of reading letters aloud, and then trying to suppress
bits, that Mrs. Fordyce was not at all happy at our being so much
about with them, poor woman. No wonder! the child is too young,' he
added, showing how much, after all, he was thinking of it. 'It
would be taking a base advantage of them NOW.'

'But by and by?'

'If she should be still free when the great end is achieved and the
evil repaired, then I might dare.'

He broke off with a look of glad hope, and I could see it was
forbearance rather than constitutional diffidence that withheld him
from awakening the maiden's feelings. He was a very fine looking
man, in his prime--tall, strong, and well made, with a singularly
grave, thoughtful expression, and a rare but most winning smile; and
Anne was overflowing with affectionate gladness at intercourse with
one who belonged to the golden age of her childhood. I could
scarcely believe but that in the friction of the parting the spark
would be elicited, and I should even have liked to kindle it for
them myself, being tolerably certain that warm-hearted, unguarded
Parson Frank would forget all about his lady and blow it with all
his might.

We dined with the Fordyces at their hotel, and sat in the twilight
with the windows open, and we made Anne and Clarence sing, as both
could do without notes, but he would not undertake to remember
anything with an atom of sentiment in it, and when Anne did sing,
'Auld lang syne,' with all her heart, he went and got into a dark
corner, and barely said, 'Thank you.'

Not a definite answer could be extracted from him in reply to all
the warm invitations to Beachharbour that were lavished on us by the
father, while the daughter expatiated on its charms; the rocks I
might sketch, the waves and the delicious boating, and above all the
fisher children and the church. Nothing was wanting but to have us
all there! Why had we not brought Mrs. Winslow, and Emily, and
Martyn, instead of going to Dawlish?

Good creatures, they little knew the chill that had been cast upon
Martyn. They even bemoaned the having seen so little of him. And
we knew all the time that they were mice at play in the absence of
their excellent and cautious cat.

'Now mind you do come!' said Anne, as we were in the act of taking
leave. 'It would be as good as Hillside to have you by my Lion
rock. He has a nose just like old Chapman's, and you must sketch it
before it crumbles off. Yes, and I want to show you all the dear
old things you made for my baby-house after the fire, your dear
little wardrobe and all.'

She was coming out with us, oblivious that a London hotel was not
like her own free sea-side house. Her father was out at the
carriage door, prepared to help me in, Clarence halted a moment -

'Please, pray, go back, Anne,' he said, and his voice trembled.
'This is not home you know.'

She started back, but paused. 'You'll not forget.'

'Oh no; no fear of my forgetting.'

And when seated beside me, he leant back with a sigh.

'How could you help?' I said.

'How? Why the perfect, innocent, childish, unconsciousness of the
thing,' he said, and became silent except for one murmur on the way.

'Consequences must be borne--'

CHAPTER XLIII--THE PRICE

'With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine.'

LORD BYRON.

Clarence would not tell me his purpose, he said, till he had
considered it more fully; nor could we have much conversation on the
way home, as my mother had arranged that we should bring an old
friend of hers back with us to pay her a visit. So I had to sit
inside and make myself agreeable to Mrs. Wrightson, while Clarence
had plenty of leisure for meditation outside on the box seat. The
good lady said much on the desirableness of marriage for Clarence,
and the comfort it would be to my mother to see Emily settled.

We had heard much in town of railway shares; and the fortunes of
Hudson, the railway king, were under discussion. I suspected
Clarence of cogitating the using his capital in this manner; and
hoped that when he saw his way, he might not think it dishonourable
to come into further contact with Anne, and reveal his hopes. He
allowed that he was considering of such investments, but would not
say any more.

My mother and Emily had, in the meantime, been escorted home by
Martyn. The first thing Clarence did was to bespeak Emily's company
in a turn in the garden. What passed then I never knew nor guessed
for years after. He consulted her whether, in case he were absent
from England for five, seven, or ten years, she would be equal to
the care of my mother and me. Martyn, when ordained, would have
duties elsewhere, and could only be reckoned upon in emergencies.
My mother, though vigorous and practical, had shown symptoms of
gout, and if she were ill, I could hardly have done much for her;
and on the other hand, though my health and powers of moving were at
their best, and I was capable of the headwork of the estate, I was
scarcely fit to be the representative member of the family.
Moreover, these good creatures took into consideration that poor
mamma and I would have been rather at a loss as each other's sole
companions. I could sort shades for her Berlin work, and even solve
problems of intricate knitting, and I could read to her in the
evening; but I could not trot after her to her garden, poultry-yard,
and cottages; nor could she enter into the pursuits that Emily had
shared with me for so many years. Our connecting link, that dear
sister, knew how sorely she would be missed, and she told Clarence
that she felt fully competent to undertake, conjointly with us, all
that would be incumbent on Chantry House, if he really wanted to be
absent. For the rest, Clarence believed my mother would be the
happier for being left regent over the estate; and his scheme broke
upon me that very forenoon, when my mother and he were settling some
executor's business together, and he told her that Mr. Castleford
wished him to go out to Hong Kong, which was then newly ceded to the
English, and where the firm wished to establish a house of business.

'You can't think of it,' she exclaimed, and the sound fell like a
knell on my ears.

'I think I must,' was his answer. 'We shall be cut out if we do not
get a footing there, and there is no one who can quite answer the
purpose.'

'Not that young Frith--'

'Ten to one but he is on his way home. Besides, if not, he has his
own work at Canton. We see our way to very considerable advantages,
if--'

'Advantages!' she interrupted. 'I hate speculation. I should have
thought you might be contented with your station; but that is the
worst of merchants,--they never know when to stop. I suppose your
ambition is to make this a great overgrown mansion, so that your
father would not know it again.'

'Certainly not that, mamma,' said Clarence smiling; 'it is the last
thing I should think of; but stopping would in this case mean going
backward.'

'Why can't Mr. Castleford send one of his own sons?'

'Probably Walter may come out by and by, but he has not experience
enough for this.'

Clarence had not in the least anticipated my mother's opposition,
for he had come to underestimate her affection for and reliance on
him. He had us all against him, for not only could we not bear to
part with him; but the climate of Hong-Kong was in evil repute, and
I had become persuaded that, with his knowledge of business, railway
shares and scrip might be made to realise the amount needed, but he
said, 'That is what _I_ call speculation. The other matter is trade
in which, with Heaven's blessing, I can hope to prosper.'

He explained that Mr. Castleford had received him on his coming to
London with almost a request that he would undertake this
expedition; but with fears whether, in his new position, he could or
would do so, although his presence in China would be very important
to the firm at this juncture; and there would be opportunities which
would probably result in very considerable profits after a few
years. If Clarence had been, as before, a mere younger brother, it
would have been thought an excellent chance; and he would almost
have felt bound by his obligations to Mr. Castleford to undertake
the first starting of the enterprise, if it had not been for our
recent loss, and the doubt whether he could he spared from home.

He made light of the dangers of climate. He had never suffered in
that way in his naval days, and scarcely knew what serious illness
meant. Indeed, he had outgrown much of that sensibility of nerve
which had made him so curiously open to spiritual or semi-spiritual
impressions.

'Any way,' he said, 'the thing is right to be done, provided my
mother does not make an absolute point of my giving it up; and
whether she does or not depends a good deal on how you others put it
to her.'

'Right on Mr. Castleford's account?' I asked.

'That is one side of it. To refuse would put him in a serious
difficulty; but I could perhaps come home sooner if it were not for
this other matter. I told him so far as that it was an object with
me to raise this sum in a few years, and he showed me how there is
every likelihood of my being able to do so out there. So now I feel
in your hands. If you all, and Edward chiefly, set to and persuade
my mother that this undertaking is a dangerous business, and that I
can only be led to it by inordinate love of riches--'

'No, no--'

'That's what she thinks,' pursued Clarence, 'and that I want to be a
grander man than my father. That's at the bottom of her mind, I
see. Well, if you deplore this, and let her think the place can't
do without me, she will come out in her strength and make it my duty
to stay at home.'

'It is very tempting,' said Emily.

'We all undertook to give up something.'

'We never thought it would come in this way!'

'We never do,' said Clarence.

'Tell me,' said Martyn, 'is this to content that ghost, poor thing?
For it is very hard to believe in her, except in the mullion room in
December.'

'Exactly so, Martyn,' he answered. 'Impressions fade, and the
intellect fails to accept them. But I do not think that is my
motive. We know that a wicked deed was done by our ancestor, and we
hardly have the right to pray, "Remember not the sins of our
forefathers," unless, now that we know the crime, we attempt what
restitution in us lies.'

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