Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 34

Besides the breaking down of our antiquary's health, the club itself, as if by one accord, began to break up. Mr. Blackdeed went to London and became manager of a large theatre. Dr. Bleedem also retired to a fas.h.i.+onable quarter of the metropolis, where he soon had an extensive practice. Mr. Parna.s.sus became editor of a paper at Bath, and published a volume of poems. Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible likewise disappeared. The former travelled about the country giving lectures on geology. The latter bought a house near town, where he pursued his studies in chemistry.

Thus our antiquary was now left quite alone; _i.e._, with the exception of Mr. Hardcase. He managed to pa.s.s the time by writing voluminously, as if he intended to finish some important work before he died. In his intervals of rest from his labours, he would frequently take solitary rambles in the woods adjacent to the inn, or along one of the cross roads. On one of these excursions his footsteps led him to the old churchyard of Littleboro' with its old yews and cypress. As he entered the gate, the s.e.xton was at work digging a grave. The man ceased his labour at his approach; and, seating himself on the edge, began to fill his pipe, which he next lighted and began puffing at, apparently oblivious of anybody's presence.

It must be stated that the s.e.xton was looked upon as a character in the village. Certainly he was a strange looking object. He was very old and decrepit, exceedingly bow-legged, had a bald, mis-shapen head. Was toothless, hollow-eyed, with features that suggested a skull. He was stone deaf, and had, moreover, acquired a habit of uttering his thoughts aloud, whoever might be present, perfectly unconscious that he could be overheard. If addressed, he never gave himself any trouble to catch the meaning of his interlocutor, but always fluked an answer such as he deemed ought to fit the question.

Thus, when our antiquary approached with a "Good morning, Delves. Hard at work, I see. Whose grave may you be working at, now?" he received for answer, "Thank you, sir; I'm very well. Yes, as you say, it _be_ remarkable fine weather for this time o' the year, sure_ly_."

"But I didn't make any remark about the weather, Delves," persisted Oldstone. "You didn't understand me."

The s.e.xton made no reply, nor looked the antiquary in the face, but muttered very audibly to himself, "That be one o' them old fools of the Wonder Club--_Wonder Club_, indeed; ha! ha!" Here he gave vent to a mocking laugh. Then, "He should see some o' my wonders."

Our antiquary was accustomed to the eccentricities of this worthy, who was generally looked upon as a harmless idiot; but when he heard the Wonder Club sneered at, he took deep offence, and was about to utter some rebuke, when the grave-digger began muttering again to himself, and Oldstone, whose curiosity was being roused, forbore to speak, and thought he would listen instead.

"A little knows I seed un's corpse candle last night, he, he! Ay, he'll be the next. They can't, none o' them, fool me. Whenever they've got to die, old Delves allers sees their corpse candles fust. Wasn't I right before Lord Scampford and his bully met with their death, eh? Didn't I say that only one on' o' 'em ud be buried in this here churchyard, and wasn't one on 'em buried in that there corner just as I prognosticated, and didn't I see the corpse candle of 'is lords.h.i.+p go along the road towards London? They allers lets me know beforehand, my customers. Now, there's this here gent, the _h_antiquary, as they calls him--if I didn't see 'uns corpse candle last night a leavin' the _h_inn o' the ''Eadless Lady,' and settle down on this wery spot where 'e's a standin', I'll be shot, that's all. If a's not doo to-morrer, or next day, 'e's doo within this week. I never knowed one live more nor a week after I'd seen 'uns corpse candle."

Our antiquary, now intensely interested, determined to interrogate him anew, so he bawled out as loud as he could in his ear, making a trumpet of his hands, "Whose grave did you say that was?"

"Yourn, zur," replied the s.e.xton, with a grin.

"Mine!" exclaimed the antiquary, starting back: "but I'm not dead yet."

"Not dead yet--ain't ye; he, he! Well, you soon will be; ho, ho! I'll give ye three days. I don't think ye'll last longer nor that; but there's where you've got to lie, w.i.l.l.y-nilly," said the s.e.xton, pointing to the grave.

"You are making very sure of me," remarked the antiquary, with a grim smile.

"Ay, by ----, I am," rejoined the grave-digger, "for when I've once seen a man's corpse candle----"

There is no knowing how much longer the conversation might have lasted, if at this moment two villagers had not entered the churchyard, so Oldstone, not wis.h.i.+ng to be overheard, nodded to the s.e.xton, and added, "Till we meet again." He then bent his steps towards the inn, and, arriving there, was greeted by his friend Rustcoin, who had just arrived. It was years since these two friends had met, and doubtless each found the other vastly changed.

"Why, surely, old friend, you are not so bad as you try to make out,"

observed Rustcoin. "You look hale and hearty still. You are up, and walking about."

"Well, do you know how much longer they give me to live?" asked Oldstone.

"No. Who?" inquired Rustcoin. "The doctor?"

"Well, not exactly. A prophet."

"A prophet, eh? That's interesting; and who may this prophet be, if I might ask?"

"The grave-digger."

"The grave-digger! What does he know about it?"

"Says he saw my corpse candle last night, and he is at this moment digging my grave on the strength of it."

"My dear fellow, you're joking. Pray, don't give these sort of people any encouragement in their antiquated superst.i.tions. You were always given a little that way yourself, I remember."

"Come, let's go inside, and have lunch together. You are, doubtless, hungry," said Oldstone. "We'll have a good long chat over our meal."

Then leaning on his friend's arm, both entered the inn.

Our host and hostess were, of course, delighted at the arrival of the long-absent member, and many allusions were made to old times. Dame Hearty hastily laid the cloth, brought in the lunch of cold beef and pickles, the remains of a rabbit pie, some bread and cheese, with a jug of nut-brown ale, home-brewed and left the two companions to themselves.

"And so our young friend, Vand.y.k.e McGuilp, has gone and made a d----d fool of himself," said Rustcoin, after a pause in the conversation.

"Well, I thought him a more sensible man. What! one of _his_ talent and position to sink himself to the level of a dish-clout! Why! it's sheer madness."

"My dear fellow; don't talk like that," cried Oldstone. "If you'd only seen the girl, I a.s.sure you----"

"Bah! I make no doubt but that she's pretty--that's not the point. You won't pretend that she was any better educated than the rest of her cla.s.s," maintained Rustcoin.

"Educated! _educated!_" exclaimed Oldstone. "She had something in her far beyond what _you_ would call education--by which you probably mean book learning, or that flimsy social veneer which anyone can acquire who chooses to move within the radius of a certain narrow circle, where all is artificial, unreal, cold, hypocritical, and false. This is a girl of character, truth-loving, sweet, and unselfish--pure as an angel--intelligent, and with fine sensibilities."

"Nonsense," broke in Rustcoin, testily. "These country wenches are ever stubborn, hard-headed, self-interested, exacting, undocile, unteachable.

Peasant she was born, and peasant she will remain to the end of her days. G.o.d help the poor idiot with such a one for a mate! She may be well enough as a wife to some country b.u.mpkin, but for any rational being to hamper himself with one of these clods----"

"But she's not one of these clods," persisted Oldstone. "I tell you this is quite an exceptional case."

"Just because she is pretty, forsooth," interposed Rustcoin. "I believe you are gone on her yourself."

"Oh! as for me--I love her as my own daughter," replied Oldstone. "I've seen her grow up from a child, and have had plenty of time to study her disposition. I have ever found her dutiful to her parents, diligent in her duties, naturally intelligent, and of the highest principle. Her surroundings have not been altogether those that fall to the lot of a girl of that cla.s.s, and she possesses all the qualities that any rational man should expect in a wife."

"Such a paragon as you describe, I confess, never came within my experience, and I have gone through something in my youth. More than once I have been on the point of making a fool of myself. At the time, I thought my G.o.ddess the most perfect being in creation, but I was soon undeceived in every case, and now I thank my stars that I have always managed to steer clear of trouble, and have remained an old bachelor."

It was the third day since Rustcoin had appeared upon the scene, since which time Oldstone had been sinking fast. At this moment he was seated, propped up by cus.h.i.+ons, in an easy chair, in dressing gown and night cap. His friend Rustcoin was by his side, receiving instructions as to the publication of a pile of MSS, whilst Mr. Hardcase, the lawyer, whom we have mentioned as still being on the spot after the others had left, was now engaged in putting the antiquary's will into legal form.

Dr. Bleedem having retired to London, his successor, Dr. Dosemore, had been called in to attend the patient. He could do no more however than his predecessor had done--viz., to warn him of his approaching end informing him that he would succ.u.mb to internal gout, which would encroach upon his system, until it reached the heart, when it would take him off suddenly. The new doctor had just left the room, and the antiquary was addressing his old friend in feeble tones, as follows:--

"This pile of MSS," he said, "is a collection of tales, which I have jotted down from memory as nearly as possible in the words of the narrators, and which I desire to be bound and published, under the t.i.tle of 'Tales of the Wonder Club, by Dryasdust.' I believe I am conferring a boon upon society in rescuing these precious doc.u.ments from oblivion, and publis.h.i.+ng them broadcast, for the benefit of humanity at large. See that they be ill.u.s.trated by the first artists of the day, so that the book may obtain all the readier sale. So shall my soul rest in peace, and my blessing remain with those I leave behind. Tell my young friend Vand.y.k.e that my last thoughts were of him and his fair bride."

Then extending one hand to his friend Rustcoin and the other to the lawyer, he sank back on his cus.h.i.+ons and spoke no more.

"So he has gone at last, the poor old gentleman," said Hardcase, disengaging his hand from that of the corpse.

"Ay, just _three days_ from my arrival, as predicted by the s.e.xton--strange, isn't it?" remarked Rustcoin. "What a fine old head it is. It's a pity a cast should not be taken of it. I should so like to possess a bust of my old friend."

"Nothing is easier," said the lawyer. "I will get the new doctor to take one. I know he can, because he told me so."

Dr. Dosemore was immediately recalled, and before the day was over, a successful mould was taken of the face, which, with as little delay as possible, Rustcoin despatched to Rome, to a sculptor friend of his of some renown, with injunctions to execute for him a bust of his old friend, in the best Carrara marble, with pedestal of scagliola.

The bell was tolling at the old church of Littleboro'. A solemn procession, all clad in deep mourning, entered the churchyard gate, and followed the coffin to the grave. The s.e.xton was at his post, bearing a certain air of triumph about him, as if he were saying to himself, "There, I told you so. They can't none of 'em fool me. What I perdicts is _sartin_."

The same old vicar who so lately had joined together the hands of our hero and heroine in holy matrimony has now a sadder task to perform. Our host and hostess, of course, are present, as well as our friends Hardcase, Rustcoin, and the new doctor, besides several strangers. All stand reverently bareheaded during the reading of the burial service, until the usual three handfuls of earth are strewn upon the coffin, after which the s.e.xton, with a deft and businesslike, though hardly a reverent manner, tumbles the earth hurriedly on to the top of the coffin, and all is over.

Soon after the ceremony Rustcoin and Hardcase take leave of each other, and likewise of our host and hostess, when each departs by a different route. Rustcoin returns no more to Rome, but settles in York, his native town, where he purchased a house, which he has been at some pains to fit up according to his tastes. Over the mantelpiece in his study hangs the portrait of his brother antiquary, painted by our artist, Vand.y.k.e McGuilp, while in a corner of the room is a well executed bust in the best Carrara white marble, representing the same features. He has also inherited the whole of his friend Oldstone's collection of antiquities, which are now added to his own, and make, together, a very respectable museum, which he is ever proud of showing to his visitors when they call.

Let us now return to the hostel of the "Headless Lady," where our host and hostess are left alone in their glory, for even Mr. Hardcase has at length taken his departure and settled in some neighbouring town. They are seated at some distance apart from each other, no longer looking tenderly and lovingly into each others' faces as of yore, but askance, as if they had had some matrimonial quarrel, which neither felt inclined to be the first to make up. Jack Hearty's hands are thrust deeply into his pockets, his legs extended, his brows knit, and his eyes fixed upon the ground; while his spouse, usually so active and so busy, to whom nothing was greater pain than being forced to be idle, was now lolling in a listless att.i.tude, her arms dangling idly at her sides with an expression on her face of the most intense boredom. One who knew them both would no longer recognise in these two melancholy persons our jovial host and hostess of former days.