Chantry House

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Chantry House

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Then he took this opportunity of consulting me on the chances for
Frith, telling of the original offer, and the quiet constancy of his
friend, and asking whether I thought Emily would relent. And I
answered that I suspected that she would,--'But you must get well
first.'

'I begin to think that more possible,' he answered, and my heart
bounded as he added, 'she would be satisfied since you would always
have a home with US.'

Oh, how much was implied in that monosyllable. He knew it, for a
little faint colour came up, as he, shyly, laughed and hesitated,
'That is--if--'

'If' included Mrs. Fordyce's not being ungracious. Nor was she.
Emily had found her as kind as in the old days at Hillside, and
perfectly ready to bring us into close vicinity. It was not caprice
that had made this change, but all possible doubt and risk of
character were over, the old wound was in some measure healed, and
the friendship had been brought foremost by our recent sorrow and
our present anxiety. Anne was in ecstasies over Emily. 'It is so
odd,' she said, 'to have grown as old as you, whom I used to think
so very grown up,' and she had all her pet plans to display in the
future. Moreover, Martyn had been permitted to relieve the Rector
from the funeral--a privilege which seemed to gratify him as much as
if it had been the liveliest of services.

We were to lunch at the Rectory, and the move of our goods was to be
effected while we were there. We found Mrs. Fordyce looking much
older, but far less of an invalid than in old times, and there was
something more genial and less exclusive in her ways, owing perhaps
to the difference of her life among the many classes with whom she
was called on to associate.

Somersetshire, Beachharbour, and China occupied our tongues by
turns, and we had to begin luncheon without the Rector, who had been
hindered by numerous calls; in fact, as Anne warned us, it was a
wonder if he got the length of the esplanade without being stopped
half-a-dozen times.

His welcome was like himself, but he needed a reminder of Clarence's
request for an interview. Then we repaired to the study, for
Clarence begged that his brothers might be present, and then the
beginning was made. 'Do you remember my showing you a will that I
found in the ruins at Chantry House?'

'A horrid old scrap that you chose to call one. Yes; I told you to
burn it.'

'Sir, we have proved that a great injustice was perpetrated by our
ancestor, Philip Winslow, and that the poor lady who made that will
was cruelly treated, if not murdered. This is no fancy; I have
known it for years past, but it is only now that restitution has
become possible.'

'Restitution? What are you talking about? I never wanted the place
nor coveted it.'

'No, sir, but the act was our forefather's. You cannot bid us sit
down under the consciousness of profiting by a crime. I could not
do so before, but I now implore you to let me restore you either
Chantry House and the three farms, or their purchase money,
according to the valuation made at my father's death. I have it in
hand.'

Frank Fordyce walked about the room quite overcome. 'You foolish
fellow!' he said, 'Was it for this that you have been toiling and
throwing away your health in that pestiferous place? Edward, did
you know this?'

'Yes,' I answered. 'Clarence has intended this ever since he found
the will.'

'As if that was a will! You consented.'

'We all thought it right.'

He made a gesture of dismay at such folly.

'I do not think you understand how it was, Mr. Fordyce,' said
Clarence, who by this time was quivering and trembling as in his
boyish days.

'No, nor ever wish to do so. Such matters ought to be forgotten,
and you don't look fit to say another word.'

'Edward will tell you,' said Clarence, leaning back.

I had the whole written out, and was about to begin, when the
person, with whom there was an appointment, was reported, and we
knew that the rest of the day was mapped out.

'Look here,' said Mr. Fordyce, 'leave that with me; I can't give any
answer off-hand, except that Don Quixote is come alive again, only
too like himself.'

Which was true, for Clarence took long to rally from the effort, and
had to be kept quiet for some time in the study where we were left.
He examined me on the contents of my paper, and was vexed to hear
that I had mentioned the ghost, which he said would discredit the
whole. Never was the dear fellow so much inclined to be fretful,
and when Martyn restlessly observed that if we did not want him, he
might as well go back to the drawing-room, the reply was quite
sharp--'Oh yes, by all means.'

No wonder there was pain in the tone; for the next words, after some
interval, were, when two happy voices came ringing in from the
garden behind, 'You see, Edward.'

Somehow I had never thought of Martyn. He had simply seemed to me a
boy, and I had decided that Anne would be the crown of Clarence's
labours. I answered 'Nonsense; they are both children together!'

'The nonsense was elsewhere,' he said. 'They always were devoted to
each other. I saw how it was the moment he came into the room.'

'Don't give up,' I said; 'it is only the old habit. When she knows
all, she must prefer--'

'Hush!' he said. 'An old scarecrow and that beautiful young
creature!' and he laughed.

'You won't be an old scarecrow long.'

'No,' he said in an ominous way, and cut short the discussion by
going back to Mrs. Fordyce.

He was worn out, had a bad night, and did not get up to breakfast; I
was waiting for it in the sitting-room, when Mr. Fordyce came in
after matins with Emily and Martyn.

'I feel just like David when they brought him the water of
Bethlehem,' he said. 'You know I think this all nonsense,
especially this--this ghost business; and yet, such--such doings as
your brother's can't go for nothing.'

His face worked, and the tears were in his eyes; then, as he partook
of our breakfast, he cross-examined us on my statement, and even
tried to persuade us that the phantom in the ruin was Emily; and on
her observing that she could not have seen herself, he talked of the
Brocken Spectre and fog mirages; but we declared the night was
clear, and I told him that all the rational theories I had ever
heard were far more improbable than the appearance herself, at which
he laughed. Then he scrupulously demanded whether this--this (he
failed to find a name for it) would be an impoverishment of our
family, and I showed how Clarence had provided that we should be in
as easy circumstances as before. In the midst came in Clarence
himself, having hastened to dress, on hearing that Mr. Fordyce was
in the house, and looking none the better for the exertion.

'Look here, my dear boy,' said Frank, taking his hot trembling hand,
'you have put me in a great fix. You have done the noblest deed at
a terrible cost, and whatever I may think, it ought not to be thrown
away, nor you be hindered from freeing your soul from this sense of
family guilt. But here, my forefathers had as little right to the
Chantry as yours, and ever since I began to think about such things,
I have been thankful it was none of mine. Let us join in giving it
or its value to some good work for God--pour it out to the Lord, as
we may say. Bless me! what have I done now.'

For Clarence, muttering 'thank you,' sank out of his grasp on a
chair, and as nearly as possible fainted; but he was soon smiling
and saying it was all relief, and he felt as if a load he had been
bearing had been suddenly removed.

Frank Fordyce durst stay no longer, but laid his hand on Clarence's
head and blessed him.

CHAPTER XLVII--THE FORDYCE STORY

'For soon as once the genial plain
Has drunk the life-blood of the slain,
Indelible the spots remain,
And aye for vengeance call.'

EURIPIDES--(Anstice).

Still all was not over, for by the next day our brother was as ill,
or worse, than ever. The doctor who came from London allowed that
he had expected something of the kind, but thought we must have let
him exert himself perilously. Poor innocent Martyn and Anne, they
little suspected that their bright eyes and happy voices had
something to do with the struggle and disappointment, which probably
was one cause of the collapse. As to poor Frank Fordyce, I never
saw him so distressed; he felt as if it were all his own fault, or
that of his ancestors, and, whenever he was not required by his
duties, was lingering about for news. I had little hope, though
Clarence seemed to me the very light of my eyes; it was to me as
though, his task being accomplished, and the earthly reward denied,
he must be on his way to the higher one.

His complete quiescence confirmed me in the assurance that he
thought so himself. He was too ill for speech, but Lawrence, who
could not stay away, was struck with the difference from former
times. Not only were there no delusions, but there was no anxiety
or uneasiness, as there had always been in the former attacks, when
he was evidently eager to live, and still more solicitous to be told
if he were in a hopeless state. Now he had plainly resigned himself
-

'Content to live, but not afraid to die;'

and perhaps, dear fellow, it was chiefly for my sake that he was
willing to live. At least, I know that when the worst was over, he
announced it by putting those wasted fingers into mine, and saying -

'Well, dear old fellow, I believe we shall jog on together, after
all.'

That attack, though the most severe of all, brought, either owing to
skilful treatment or to his own calm, the removal of the mischief,
and the beginning of real recovery. Previously he had given himself
no time, but had hurried on to exertions which retarded his cure, so
as very nearly to be fatal; but he was now perfectly submissive to
whatever physicians or nurses desired, and did not seem to find his
slow convalescence in the least tedious, since he was amongst us all
again.

It was nearly a month before he was disposed to recur to the subject
of his old solicitude again, and then he asked what Mr. Fordyce had
said or done. Just nothing at all; but on the next visit paid to
the sick-room, Parson Frank yielded to his earnest request to send
for any documents that might throw light on the subject, and after a
few days he brought us a packet of letters from his deed-box. They
were written from Hillside Rectory to the son in the army in
Flanders, chiefly by his mother, and were full of hot, angry
invective against our family, and pity for poor, foolish 'Madam,' or
'Cousin Winslow,' as she was generally termed, for having put
herself in their power.

The one most to the purpose was an account of the examination of
Molly Cox, the waiting-woman, who had been in attendance on the
unfortunate Margaret, and whose story tallied fairly with Aunt
Peggy's tradition. She declared that she was sure that her mistress
had met with foul play. She had left her as usual at ten o'clock on
the fatal 27th of December 1707, in the inner one of the old
chambers; and in the night had heard the tipsy return home of the
gentlemen, followed by shrieks. In the morning she (the maid) who
usually was the first to go to her room, was met by Mistress Betty
Winslow, and told that Madam was ill, and insensible. The old nurse
of the Winslows was called in; and Molly was never left alone in the
sick-room, scarcely permitted to approach the bed, and never to
touch her lady. Once, when emptying out a cup at the garden-door,
she saw a mark of blood on the steps, but Mr. Philip came up and
swore at her for a prying fool. Doctor Tomkins was sent for, but he
barely walked through the room, and 'all know that he is a mere
creature of Philip Winslow,' wrote the Mrs. Fordyce of that date to
her son. And presently after, 'Justice Eastwood declared there is
no case for a Grand Jury; but he is a known Friend and sworn Comrade
of the Winslows, and bound to suppress all evidence against them.
Nay, James Dearlove swears he saw Edward Winslow slip a golden
Guinea into his Clerk's Hand. But as sure as there is a Heaven
above us, Francis, poor Cousin Winslow was trying to escape to us of
her own Kindred, and met with cruel Usage. Her Blood is on their
Heads.'

'There!' said Frank Fordyce. 'This Francis challenged Philip
Winslow's eldest son, a mere boy, three days after he joined the
army before Lille, and shot him like a dog. I turned over the
letter about it in searching for these. I can't boast of my
ancestors more than you can. But may God accept this work of yours,
and take away the guilt of blood from both of us.'

'And have you thought what is best to be done?' asked Clarence,
raising himself on his cushions.

'Have you?' asked the Vicar.

'Oh yes; I have had my dreams.'

They put their castles together, and they turned out to be for an
orphanage, or rather asylum, not too much hampered with strict
rules, combined with a convalescent home. The battle of sisterhoods
was not yet fought out, and we were not quite prepared for them; but
Frank Fordyce had, as he said, 'the two best women in the world in
his eye' to make a beginning.

There was full time to think and discuss the scheme, for our patient
was in no condition to move for many weeks, lying day after day on a
couch just within the window of our sitting-room, which was as
nearly as possible in the sea, so that he constantly had the
freshness of its breezes, the music of its ripple, and the sight of
its waves, and seemed to find endless pleasure in watching the red
sails, the puffs of steam, and the frolics of the children, simple
or gentle, on the beach.

Something else was sometimes to be watched. Martyn, all this time,
was doing the work of two curates, and was to be seen walking home
with Anne from church or school, carrying her baskets and bags, and,
as we were given to understand, discussing by turns ecclesiastical
questions, visionary sisterhoods, and naughty children. At first I
wished it were possible to remove Clarence from the perpetual
spectacle, but we had one last talk over the matter, and this was
quite satisfactory.

'It does me no harm,' he said; 'I like to see it. Yes, it is quite
true that I do. What was personal and selfish in my fancies seems
to have been worn out in the great lull of my senses under the
shadow of death; and now I can revert with real joy and thankfulness
to the old delight of looking on our dear Ellen as our sister, and
watch those two children as we used when they talked of dolls'
fenders instead of the surplice war. I have got you, Edward; and
you know there is a love "passing the love of women."'

A lively young couple passed by the window just then, and with
untamed voices observed -

'There are those two poor miserable objects! It is enough to make
one melancholy only to look at them.'

Whereat we simultaneously burst out laughing; perhaps because a
choking, very far from misery, was in our throats.

At any rate, Clarence was prepared to be the cordial, fatherly
brother, when Martyn came headlong in upon us with the tidings that
utterly indescribable, unimaginable joy had befallen him. A
revelation seemed simultaneously to have broken upon him and Anne
while they were copying out the Sunday School Registers, that what
they had felt for each other all their lives was love--'real, true
love,' as Anne said to Emily, 'that never could have cared for
anybody else.'

Mrs. Fordyce's sharp eyes had seen what was coming, and accepted the
inevitable, quite as soon as Clarence had. She came and talked it
over with us, saying she was perfectly satisfied and happy. Martyn
was all that could be wished, and she was sincerely glad of the
connection with her old friends. So, in fact, was dear old Frank,
but he had been running about with his head full, and his eyes
closed, so that it was quite a shock to him to find that his little
Anne, his boon companion and playfellow, was actually grown up, and
presuming to love and be loved; and he could hardly believe that she
was really seven years older than her sister had been when the like
had begun with her. But if Anne must be at those tricks, he said,
shaking his head at her, he had rather it was with Martyn than
anybody else.

There was no difficulty as to money matters. In truth, Martyn was
not so good a match as an heiress, such as was Anne Fordyce, might
have aspired to, and her Lester kin were sure to be shocked; but
even if Clarence married, the Earlscombe living went for something
(though, by the bye, he has never held it), and the Fordyces only
cared that there should be easy circumstances. The living of
Hillside would be resigned in favour of Martyn in the spring, and
meantime he would gain more experience at Beachharbour, and this
would break the separation to the Fordyces.

After all, however, theirs was not to be our first wedding. I have
said little of Emily. The fact was, that after that week of
Clarence's danger, we said she lived in a kind of dream. She
fulfilled all that was wanted of her, nursing Clarence, waiting on
me, ordering dinner, making the tea, and so forth; but it was quite
evident that life began for her on the Saturdays, when Lawrence came
down, and ended on the Mondays, when he went away. If, in the
meantime, she sat down to work, she went off into a trance; if she
was sent out for fresh air, she walked quarter-deck on the
esplanade, neither seeing nor hearing anything, we averred, but some
imaginary Lawrence Frith.

If she had any drawback, good girl, it was the idea of deserting me;
but then, as I could honestly tell her, nobody need fear for my
happiness, since Clarence was given back to me. And she believed,
and was ready to go to China with her Lawrence.

CHAPTER XLVIII--THE LAST DISCOVERY

'Grief will be joy if on its edge
Fall soft that holiest ray,
Joy will be grief, if no faint pledge
Be there of heavenly day.'

KEBLE.

We did not move from Beachharbour till September, and by that time
it had been decided that Chantry House itself should be given up to
the new scheme. It was too large for us, and Clarence had never
lived there enough to have any strong home feeling for it; but he
rather connected it with disquiet and distress, and had a longing to
make actual restitution thereof, instead of only giving an
equivalent, as he did in the case of the farms. Our feelings about
the desecrated chapel were also considerably changed from the days
when we regarded it merely as a picturesque ruin, and it was to be
at once restored both for the benefit of the orphanage, and for that
of the neighbouring households. For ourselves, a cottage was to be
built, suited to our idiosyncrasies; but that could wait till after
the yacht voyage, which we were to make together for the winter.

Thus it came to pass that the last time we inhabited Chantry House
was when we gave Emily to Lawrence Frith. We would fain have made
it a double wedding, but the Fordyces wished to wait for Easter,
when Martyn would have been inducted to Hillside. They came,
however, that Mrs. Fordyce might act lady of the house, and Anne be
bridesmaid, as well as lay the first stone of St. Cecily's restored
chapel.

It was on the day on which they were expected, when the workmen were
digging foundations, and clearing away rubbish, that the foreman
begged Mr. Winslow to come out to see something they had found.
Clarence came back, very grave and awe-struck. It was an old oak
chest, and within lay a skeleton, together with a few fragments of
female clothing, a wedding ring, and some coins of the later
Stewarts, in a rotten leathern purse. This was ghastly
confirmation, though there was nothing else to connect the bones
with poor Margaret. We had some curiosity as to the coffin in the
niche in the family vault which bore her name, but both Clarence and
Mr. Fordyce shrank from investigations which could not be carried
out without publicity, and might perhaps have disturbed other
remains.

So on the ensuing night there was a strange, quiet funeral service
at Earlscombe Church. Mr. Henderson officiated, and Chapman acted
as clerk. These, with Amos Bell, alone knew the tradition, or
understood what the discovery meant to the two Fordyces and three
Winslows who stood at the opening of the vault, and prayed that
whatever guilt there might be should be put away from the families
so soon to be made one. The coins were placed with those of
Victoria, which the next day Anne laid beneath the foundation-stone
of St. Cecily's. I need not say that no one has ever again heard
the wailings, nor seen the lady with the lamp.

What more is there to tell? It was of this first half of our lives
that I intended to write, and though many years have since passed,
they have not had the same character of romance and would not
interest you. Our honeymoon, as Mr. Fordyce called the expedition
we two brothers made in the Mediterranean, was a perfect success;
and Clarence regained health, and better spirits than had ever been
his; while contriving to show me all that I was capable of being
carried to see. It was complete enjoyment, and he came home, not as
strong as in old times, but with fair comfort and capability for the
work of life, so as to be able to take Mr. Castleford's place, when
our dear old friend retired from active direction of the firm.

You all know how the two old bachelors have kept house together in
London and at Earlscombe cottage, and you are all proud of the
honoured name Clarence Winslow has made for himself, foremost in
works for the glory of God and the good of men--as one of those
merchant princes of England whose merchandise has indeed been
Holiness unto the Lord.

Thus you must all have felt a shock on finding that he always looked
on that name as blotted, and that one of the last sayings I heard
from him was, 'O remember not the sins and offences of my youth, but
according to Thy mercy, think upon me, O Lord, for Thy goodness.'

Then he almost smiled, and said, 'Yes, He has so looked on me, and I
am thankful.'

Thankful, and so am I, for those thirty-four peaceful years we spent
together, or rather for the seventy years of perfect brotherhood
that we have been granted, and though he has left me behind him, I
am content to wait. It cannot be for long. My brothers and
sisters, their children, and my faithful Amos Bell, are very good to
me; and in writing up to that mezzo termine of our lives, I have
been living it over again with my brother of brothers, through the
troubles that have become like joys.

REMARKS.

Uncle Edward has not said half enough about his dear old self. I
want to know if he never was unhappy when he was young about being
LIKE THAT, though mother says his face was always nearly as
beautiful as it is now. And it is not only goodness. It IS
beautiful with his sweet smile and snowy white hair. ELLEN WINSLOW.

And I wonder, though perhaps he could not have told, what Aunt Anne
would have done if Uncle Clarence had not been so forbearing before
he went to China. CLARE FRITH.

The others are highly impertinent questions, but we ought to know
what became of Lady Peacock. ED. G. W.

REPLY.

Poor woman, she drifted back to London after about ten years, with
an incurable disease. Clarence put her into lodgings near us, and
did his best for her as long as she lived. He had a hard task, but
she ended by saying he was her only friend.

To question No. 2 I have nothing to say; but as to No. 1, with its
extravagant compliment, Nature, or rather God, blessed me with even
spirits, a methodical nature that prefers monotony, and very little
morbid shyness; nor have I ever been devoid of tender care and love.
So that I can only remember three severe fits of depression. One,
when I had just begun to be taken out in the Square Gardens, and
Selina Clarkson was heard to say I was a hideous little monster. It
was a revelation, and must have given frightful pain, for I remember
it acutely after sixty-five years.

The second fit was just after Clarence was gone to sea, and some
very painful experiments had been tried in vain for making me like
other people. For the first time I faced the fact that I was set
aside from all possible careers, and should be, as I remember
saying, 'no better than a girl.' I must have been a great trial to
all my friends. My father tried to reason on resignation, and tell
me happiness could be IN myself, till he broke down. My mother
attempted bracing by reproof. Miss Newton endeavoured to make me
see that this was my cross. Every word was true, and came round
again, but they only made me for the time more rebellious and
wretched. That attack was ended, of all things in the world, by
heraldry. My attention somehow was drawn that way, and the study
filled up time and thought till my misfortunes passed into custom,
and haunted me no more.

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