The Smuggler Part 7

Every uncustomed spirit, every prohibited ware, physical and intellectual, there finds its mart; and the chief art that is practised is to cheat as cleverly as may be--the chief science learned, is how to defraud without being detected. We are improving in the country, daily--daily; but we have not reached the skill of London yet. Men make large fortunes in the country in a few years by merely cheating the Customs; but in London they make large fortunes in a few months by cheating everybody."

"So they do in India," replied Mr. Radford, who thought he had hit the tender place.

"True, true!" cried Mr. Croyland; "and then we go and set up for country gentlemen, and cheat still. What rogues we are, Radford!--eh?

I see you know the world. It is very well for me to say, I made all my money by curing men, not by robbing them. Never you believe it, my good friend. It is not in human nature, is it? No, no! tell that to the marines. No man ever made a fortune but by plunder, that's a certain fact."

The course of Sir Robert Croyland's dinner-party seemed to promise very pleasantly at this juncture; but Sir Edward Digby, though somewhat amused, was not himself fond of sharp words, and had some compa.s.sion upon the ladies at the table. He therefore stepped in; and, without seeming to have noticed that there was anything pa.s.sing between Mr. Radford and the brother of his host, except the most delicate courtesies, he contrived, by some well-directed questions in regard to India, to give Mr. Croyland an inducement to deviate from the sarcastic into the expatiative; and having set him cantering upon one of his hobbies, he left him to finish his excursion, and returned to a conversation which had been going on between him and the fair Zara, in somewhat of a low tone, though not so low as to show any mutual design of keeping it from the ears of those around. Young Radford had in the meantime been making up for the loss of time occasioned by his absence at the commencement of dinner, and he seemed undoubtedly to have a prodigious appet.i.te. Not a word had pa.s.sed from father to son, or son to father; and a stranger might have supposed them in no degree related to each other. Indeed, the young gentleman had hitherto spoken to n.o.body but the servant; and while his mouth was employed in eating, his quick, large eyes were directed to every face round the table in succession, making several more tours than the first investigating glance, which I have already mentioned, and every time stopping longer at the countenance of Sir Edward Digby than anywhere else. He now, however, seemed inclined to take part in that officer's conversation with the youngest Miss Croyland, and did not appear quite pleased to find her attention so completely engrossed by a stranger. To Edith he vouchsafed not a single word; but hearing the fair lady next to him reply to something which Sir Edward Digby had said. "Oh, we go out once or twice almost every day; sometimes on horseback; but more frequently to take a walk," he exclaimed, "Do you, indeed, Miss Zara?--why, I never meet you, and I am always running about the country. How is that, I wonder?"

Zara smiled, and replied, with an arch look, "Because fortune befriends us, I suppose, Mr. Radford;" but then, well knowing that he was not one likely to take a jest in good part, she added--"we don't go out to meet anybody, and therefore always take those paths where we are least likely to do so."

Still young Radford did not seem half to like her reply; but, nevertheless, he went on in the same tone, continually interrupting her conversation with Sir Edward Digby, and endeavouring, after a fas.h.i.+on not at all uncommon, to make himself agreeable by preventing people from following the course they are inclined to pursue. The young baronet rather humoured him than otherwise, for he wished to see as deeply as possible into his character. He asked him to drink wine with him; he spoke to him once or twice without being called upon to do so; and he was somewhat amused to see that the fair Zara was a good deal annoyed at the encouragement he gave to her companion on the left to join in their conversation.

He was soon satisfied, however, in regard to the young man's mind and character. Richard Radford had evidently received what is called a good education, which is, in fact, no education at all. He had been taught a great many things; he knew a good deal; but that which really and truly const.i.tutes education was totally wanting. He had not learned how to make use of that which he had acquired, either for his own benefit or for that of society. He had been instructed, not educated, and there is the greatest possible difference between the two. He was shrewd enough, but selfish and conceited to a high degree, with a sufficient portion of pride to be offensive, with sufficient vanity to be irritable, with all the wilfulness of a spoiled child, and with that confusion of ideas in regard to plain right and wrong, which is always consequent upon the want of moral training and over-indulgence in youth. To judge from his own conversation, the whole end and aim of his life seemed to be excitement; he spoke of field sports with pleasure; but the degree of satisfaction which he derived from each, appeared to be always in proportion to the danger, the activity, and the fierceness. Hunting he liked better than shooting, shooting than fis.h.i.+ng, which latter he declared was only tolerable because there was nothing else to be done in the spring of the year. But upon the pleasures of the chase he would dilate largely, and he told several anecdotes of staking a magnificent horse here, and breaking the back of another there, till poor Zara turned somewhat pale, and begged him to desist from such themes.

"I cannot think how men can be so barbarous," she said. "Their whole pleasure seems to consist in torturing poor animals or killing them."

Young Radford laughed. "What were they made for?" he asked.

"To be used by man, I think, not to be tortured by him," the young lady replied.

"No torture at all," said her companion on the left. "The horse takes as much pleasure in running after the hounds as I do, and if he breaks his back, or I break my neck, it's our own fault. We have n.o.body to thank for it but ourselves. The very chance of killing oneself gives additional pleasure; and, when one pushes a horse at a leap, the best fun of the whole is the thought whether he will be able by any possibility to clear it or not. If it were not for hunting, and one or two other things of the sort, there would be nothing left for an English gentleman, but to go to Italy and put himself at the head of a party of banditti. That must be glorious work!"

"Don't you think, Mr. Radford," asked Sir Edward Digby, "that active service in the army might offer equal excitement, and a more honourable field?"

"Oh, dear no!" cried the young man. "A life of slavery compared with a life of freedom; to be drilled and commanded, and made a mere machine of, and sent about relieving guards and pickets, and doing everything that one is told like a school-boy! I would not go into the army for the world. I'm sure if I did I should shoot my commanding officer within a month!"

"Then I would advise you not," answered the young baronet, "for after the shooting there would be another step to be taken which would not be quite so pleasant."

"Oh, you mean the hanging," cried young Radford, laughing; "but I would take care they should never hang me; for I could shoot myself as easily as I could shoot him; and I have a great dislike to strangulation. It's one of the few sorts of death that would not please me."

"Come, come, Richard!" said Sir Robert Croyland, in a nervous and displeased tone; "let us talk of some other subject. You will frighten the ladies from table before the cloth is off."

"It is very odd," said young Radford, in a low voice, to Sir Edward Digby, without making any reply to the master of the house--"it is very odd, how frightened old men are at the very name of death, when at the best they can have but two or three years to live."

The young officer did not reply, but turned the conversation to other things; and the wine having been liberally supplied, operated as it usually does, at the point where its use stops short of excess, in "making glad the heart of man;" and the conclusion of the dinner was much more cheerful and placable than the commencement.

The ladies retired within a few minutes after the desert was set upon the table; and it soon became evident to Sir Edward Digby, that the process of deep drinking, so disgracefully common in England at that time, was about to commence. He was by no means incapable of bearing as potent libations as most men; for occasionally, in those days, it was scarcely possible to escape excess without giving mortal offence to your entertainer; but it was by no means either his habit or his inclination so to indulge, and for this evening especially he was anxious to escape. He looked, therefore, across the table to Mr.

Croyland for relief; and that gentleman, clearly understanding what he meant, gave him a slight nod, and finished his first gla.s.s of wine after dinner. The bottles pa.s.sed round again, and Mr. Croyland took his second gla.s.s; but after that he rose without calling much attention: a proceeding which was habitual with him. When, however, Sir Edward Digby followed his example, there was a general outcry.

Every one declared it was too bad, and Sir Robert said, in a somewhat mortified tone, that he feared his wine was not so good as that to which his guest had been accustomed.

"It is only too good, my dear sir," replied the young baronet, determined to cut the matter short, at once and for ever. "So good, indeed, that I have been induced to take two more gla.s.ses than I usually indulge in, and I consequently feel somewhat heated and uncomfortable. I shall go and refresh myself by a walk through your woods."

Several more efforts were made to induce him to stay; but he was resolute in his course; and Mr. Croyland also came to his aid, exclaiming, "Pooh, nonsense, Robert! let every man do as he likes.

Have not I heard you, a thousand times, call your house Liberty Hall?

A pretty sort of liberty, indeed, if a man must get beastly drunk because you choose to do so!"

"I do not intend to do any such thing, brother," replied Sir Robert, somewhat sharply; and in the meanwhile, during this discussion, Sir Edward Digby made his escape from the room.

CHAPTER VIII.

On entering the drawing-room, towards which Sir Edward Digby immediately turned his steps, he found it tenanted alone by Mrs.

Barbara Croyland, who sat in the window with her back towards the door, knitting most diligently, with something pinned to her knee. As it was quite beyond the good lady's conception that any body would ever think of quitting the dining-room so early but her younger brother, no sooner did she hear a step than, jumping at conclusions as she usually did, she exclaimed aloud, "Isn't he a nice young man, brother Zachary? I think it will do quite well, if that----"

Sir Edward Digby would have given a great deal to hear the conclusion of the sentence; but his honour was as bright as his sword; and he never took advantage of a mistake. "It is not your brother, Mrs.

Croyland," he said; and then Mrs. Barbara starting up with a face like scarlet, tearing her gown at the same time by the tug she gave to the pin which attached her work to her knee, he added, with the most benevolent intentions, "I think he might have been made a very nice young man, if he had been properly treated in his youth. But I should imagine he was very wild and headstrong now."

Mrs. Barbara stared at him with a face full of wonder and confusion; for her own mind was so completely impressed with the subject on which she had begun to speak, that she by no means comprehended the turn that he intended to give it, but thought that he also was talking of himself, and not of young Radford. How it would have ended, no mere mortal can tell; for when once Mrs. Barbara got into a sc.r.a.pe, she floundered most awfully. Luckily, however, her brother was close enough behind Sir Edward Digby to hear all that pa.s.sed, and he entered the room while the consternation was still fresh upon his worthy sister's countenance.

After gazing at her for a moment, with a look of sour merriment, Mr.

Croyland exclaimed, "There! hold your tongue, Bab; you can't get your fish out of the kettle without burning your fingers!--Now, my young friend," he continued, taking Sir Edward Digby by the arm, and drawing him aside, "if you choose to be a great fool, and run the risk of falling in love with a pretty girl, whom my sister Barbara has determined you shall marry, whether you like it or not, and who herself, dear little soul, has no intention in the world but of playing you like a fish till you are caught, and then laughing at you, you will find the two girls walking in the wood behind the house, as they do every day. But if you don't like such amus.e.m.e.nt, you can stay here with me and Bab, and be instructed by her in the art and mystery of setting everything to wrongs with the very best intentions in the world."

"Thank you, my dear sir," replied Sir Edward, smiling, "I think I should prefer the fresh air; and, as to the dangers against which you warn me, I have no fears. The game of coquetry can be played by two."

"Ay, but woe to him who loses!" said Mr. Croyland, in a more serious tone. "But go along with you--go along! You are a rash young man; and if you will court your fate, you must."

The young baronet accordingly walked away, leaving Mrs. Barbara to recover from her confusion as she best might, and Mr. Croyland to scold her at his leisure, which Sir Edward did not in the slightest degree doubt he would do. It was a beautiful summer's afternoon in the end of August, the very last day of the month, the hour about a quarter to six, so that the sun had nearly to run a twelfth part of his course before the time of his setting. It was warm and cheerful, too, but with a freshness in the air, and a certain golden glow over the sky, which told that it was evening. Not wis.h.i.+ng exactly to pa.s.s before the dining-room windows, Sir Edward endeavoured to find his way out into the wood behind the house by the stable and farm yards; but he soon found himself in a labyrinth from which it was difficult to extricate himself, and in the end was obliged to have recourse to a stout country lad, who was walking up towards the mansion, with a large pail of milk tugging at his hand, and bending in the opposite direction to balance the load. Right willingly, however, the youth set down the pail; and, leaving it to the tender mercies of some pigs, who were walking about in the yard and did not fail to inquire into the nature of its contents, he proceeded to show the way through the flower and kitchen gardens, by a small door in the wall, to a path which led out at once amongst the trees.

Now, Sir Edward Digby had not the slightest idea of which way the two young ladies had gone; and it was by no means improbable that, if he were left without pilotage in going and returning, he might lose his way in the wood, which, as I have said, was very extensive. But all true lovers are fond of losing their way; and as he had his sword by his side, he had not the slightest objection to that characteristic of an Amadis, having in reality a good deal of the knight-errant about him, and rather liking a little adventure, if it did not go too far.

His adventures, indeed, were not destined that night to be very remarkable; for, following the path about a couple of hundred yards, he was led directly into a good, broad, sandy road, in which he thought it would be impossible to go astray. A few clouds that pa.s.sed over the sky from time to time cast their fitful and fanciful shadows upon the way; the trees waved on either hand; and, with a small border of green turf, the yellow path pursued its course through the wood, forming a fine but pleasant contrast in colour with the verdure of all the other things around. As he went on, too, the sky overhead, and the shades amongst the trees, began to a.s.sume a rosy hue as the day declined farther and farther; and the busy little squirrels, as numerous as mice, were seen running here and there up the trees and along the branches, with their bright black eyes staring at the stranger with a saucy activity very little mingled with fear. The young baronet was fond of such scenes, and fond of the somewhat grave musing which they very naturally inspire; and he therefore went on, alternately pondering and admiring, and very well contented with his walk, whether he met with his fair friends or not. Sir Edward, indeed, would not allow himself to fancy that he was by any means very anxious for Zara's company, or for Miss Croyland's either--for he was not in the slightest hurry either to fall in love or to acknowledge it to himself even if he were. With regard to Edith, indeed, he felt himself in no possible danger; for had he continued to think her, as he had done at first, more beautiful than her sister--which by this time he did not--he was still guarded in her case by feelings, which, to a man of his character, were as a triple s.h.i.+eld of bra.s.s, or anything a great deal stronger.

He walked on, however, and he walked on; not, indeed, with a very slow pace, but with none of the eager hurry of youth after beauty; till at length, when he had proceeded for about half an hour, he saw cultivated fields and hedgerows at the end of the road he was pursuing, and soon after came to the open country, without meeting with the slightest trace of Sir Robert Croyland's daughters.

On the right hand, as he issued out of the wood, there was a small but very neat and picturesque cottage, with its little kitchen-garden and its flower-garden, its wild roses, and its vine.

"I have certainly missed them," said Sir Edward Digby to himself, "and I ought to make the best use of my time, for it wont do to stay here too long. Perhaps they may have gone into the cottage. Girls like these often seek an object in their walk, and visit this poor person or that;" and thus thinking, he advanced to the little gate, went into the garden, and knocked with his knuckles at the door of the house. A woman's voice bade him come in; and, doing so, he found a room, small in size, but corresponding in neatness and cleanliness with the outside of the place. It was tenanted by three persons--a middle-aged woman, dressed as a widow, with a fine and placid countenance, who was advancing towards the door as he entered; a very lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen, who bore a strong resemblance to the widow; and a stout, powerful, good-looking man, of about thirty, well dressed, though without any attempt at the appearance of a station above the middle cla.s.s, with a clean, fine, checked s.h.i.+rt, having the collar cast back, and a black silk handkerchief tied lightly in what is usually termed a sailor's knot. The two latter persons were sitting very close together, and the girl was smiling gaily at something her companion had just said.

"Two lovers!" thought the young baronet; but, as that was no business of his, he went on to inquire of the good woman of the house, if she had seen some young ladies pa.s.s that way; and having named them, he added, to escape scandal, "I am staying at the house, and am afraid, if I do not meet with them, I shall not easily find my way back."

"They were here a minute ago, sir," replied the widow, "and they went round to the east. They will take the Halden road back, I suppose. If you make haste, you will catch them easily."

"But which is the Halden road, my good lady?" asked Sir Edward Digby; and she, turning to the man who was sitting by her daughter, said, "I wish you would shew the gentleman, Mr. Harding."

The man rose cheerfully enough--considering the circ.u.mstances--and led the young baronet with a rapid step, by a footpath that wound round the edge of the wood, to another broad road about three hundred yards distant from that by which the young officer had come. Then, pointing with his hand, he said, "There they are, going as slow as a Dutch b.u.t.ter-tub. You can't miss them, or the road either: for it leads straight on."

Sir Edward Digby thanked him, and walked forward. A few rapid steps brought him close to the two ladies, who--though they looked upon every part of the wood as more or less their home, and consequently felt no fear--turned at the sound of a footfall so near; and the younger of the two smiled gaily, when she saw who it was.

"What! Sir Edward Digby!" she exclaimed. "In the name of all that is marvellous, how did you escape from the dining-room? Why, you will be accused of s.h.i.+rking the bottle, cowardice, and milksopism, and crimes and misdemeanours enough to forfeit your commission."

She spoke gaily; but Sir Edward Digby thought that the gaiety was not exactly sterling; for when first she turned, her face had been nearly as grave as her sister's. He answered, however, in the same tone, "I must plead guilty to all such misdemeanours; but if they are to be rewarded by such pleasure as that of a walk with you, I fear I shall often commit them."

"You must not pay us courtly compliments, Sir Edward," said Miss Croyland, "for we poor country people do not understand them. I hope, however, you left the party peaceable: for it promised to be quite the contrary at one time, and my uncle and Mr. Radford never agree."

"Oh, quite peaceable, I can a.s.sure you," replied Digby. "I retreated under cover of your uncle's movements. Perhaps, otherwise, I might not have got away so easily. He it was who told me where I should find you."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Croyland, in a tone of surprise; and then, casting down her eyes, she fell into thought. Her sister, however, carried on the conversation in her stead, saying, "Well, you are the first soldier, Sir Edward, I ever saw, who left the table before night."