Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 104

"I hope so," answered Ben. "You look fluttered, Mrs. Cramp."

"I'm more fluttered than I care to be; I am living in a chronic state of flutter," avowed Mrs. Cramp. "It's over that tenant of mine; that woman down yonder," pointing towards North Villa.

"Why should you flutter yourself over her?" he remonstrated. "She is not your tenant."

"Indeed but she is my tenant. To all intents and purposes she is my tenant. The Miss Dennets left the house in my hands."

"How was it you did not have references with her, Mrs. Cramp?"

"That donkey of an agent never asked for any," retorted she. "He was thrown off his guard, he says, by her sending him the first month's rent in advance, and telling him she had only one or two old servants, and no children, and the furniture would be as much cared for as if it were made of gold. Last night she sends to me the advance rent for next month, though it's not due for two days yet, and that has fluttered me, I can tell you, Mr. Benjamin, for I was hoping she wouldn't pay, and that I might be able to get her out. I am now going there with the receipt, and to try again to get to see her: the woman who left the money never waited for one. Afraid of being catechised, I take it."

Picking up her green skirts she sailed down the road. Coralie Fontaine was leaning over the little gate, and opened it as we approached. A beautiful cashmere shawl, all scarlet and gold, contrasted with her white dress, and her drooping gold ear-drops glittered in the autumn sun. She made a dainty picture, and I saw Dr. Benjamin's enraptured eyes meet hers. If they were not over head and ears in love with one another, never you trust me again.

"Mrs. Cramp is in a way," cried Coralie, as we strolled with her up the garden, amidst its old-fas.h.i.+oned flowers, all bloom and sweetness. "I'm sure that black lady is as good as a play to us."

"News came to me this morning from my sister," said Benjamin. "She and the Archdeacon are coming home; he has not been well, and has six months' leave of absence."

"Do they bring the children?" asked Coralie.

"As if they'd leave _them_! Why, Coralie, those two small damsels are the very light of Margaret's eyes--to judge by her letters; and of Sale's too, I shouldn't wonder. Margaret asks me to take lodgings for them. I think Mrs. Boughton's might be large enough--where Sale lodged in the old days."

"Lodgings!" indignantly exclaimed Coralie. "I do think you Europeans, you English, are the most inhospitable race on the face of the earth!

Your only sister, whom you have not seen for years, of whom you are very fond, is coming back to her native place with her husband and children for a temporary stay, and you can talk of putting them into lodgings?

For shame, Benjamin!"

"But what else am I to do?" questioned he, good-humouredly laughing at her. "I have only one bedroom and one sitting-room of my own, the two about as large as a good-sized clothes-closet; I cannot invite a man and his wife and two children to share them, and he an archdeacon! There wouldn't be s.p.a.ce to turn round in."

"Let them come here," said Coralie.

"Thank you," he said, after a few moments' hesitation: and it struck me he might be foreseeing difficulties. "But--they will not be here just yet."

He had some patients at Islip, and went on there; I said adieu to Coralie and walked homewards, thinking of the ups and downs of life.

Presently Mrs. Cramp's green gown loomed into view; her face red, her bonnet awry. I saw she had not met with any luck.

"No, I have _not_," she said. "I walked up into their porch as bold as you please, Johnny Ludlow, and I knocked and I rang, letting 'em think it was the Queen come, if they would. And when the woman with the sour face opened the door an inch, she just took the receipt from me; but as to seeing her mistress, I might as well have asked to see the moon. And I heard a scuffle, as if people were listening. Oh, it's those Indians: trust me for that."

Away she went, without further ceremony, and I went back to the ups and downs of earthly life.

It was not so very long ago that Thomas Rymer had lain on his death-bed, brought to it by the troubles of the world, and by the anxiety for his children, for whom no career seemed to present itself, saving that of hard, mean, hopeless drudgery: if not something worse for Benjamin.

But how things had changed! Benjamin, pulling himself up from his ill-doings, was--what he was. A man respected; clever, distinguished, with probably a great career of usefulness before him, and about to be married to a charming girl of large fortune. While Margaret, whom her father had so loved, so pitied, was the wife of a man high in the Church, and happy as a queen. For, as you have gathered, the Reverend Isaac Sale, who had given up Herbert Tanerton's humble curacy to go out as chaplain to the Bahama Islands, had been made an archdeacon. Ups and downs, ups and downs! they make the sum and substance of existence.

Glancing at the blue sky, over which fleecy white clouds were softly drifting, I lost myself in wondering whether Thomas Rymer could look down and still see his children here.

The chemist's shop at Timberdale had been sold by Benjamin Rymer to the smart young man who had carried it on during his absences, one James Boom, said to be Scotch. Benjamin had his rooms there at present; good-sized closets, he has just called them; and took his meals with Mr. Boom. Mrs. Rymer, the mother (having appropriated all the purchase-money), had set up her home in Birmingham amidst her old friends and relatives, and Benjamin had covenanted to allow her money yearly from his practice.

Public commotion increased. It spread to Oxlip Grange. One night, Ozias was sitting back amidst the laurels at the side of the house to smoke his pipe, when Maria came out to ask him what he had done with the best tea-tray, which they couldn't find. As she stood a moment while he reflected, there came two figures softly creeping round from the front--women. One wore a close bonnet and full dark cloak, the other was altogether enveloped in some shapeless garment that might be yellow by daylight, out of which a jet-black face and jet-black hands shone conspicuously in the rays of the stars. Maria, very much frightened, grasped hold of the old man's shoulder.

The pipe trembled in his hand: he had a mortal dread of a.s.sa.s.sins and housebreakers. "No speaky, no speaky," whispered he. "We watch, you and me. They come hurt Missee."

The figures made for the lighted window of the large drawing-room, which was at the end of this side of the house. Coralie was sitting alone within it, expecting visitors to tea. The blind was not drawn quite down, and they stooped to peer in, and remained there as if glued to the window. Maria could stand it no longer, but in creeping away, she rustled the laurels frightfully: we are sure to make the most noise, you know, when we want to be silent. The women looked round, and there came from them a rattling hiss, like that of a snake. With a scream, Maria made for the refuge of the kitchen-door; Ozias flew after her, dropping his pipe.

It must have disturbed the women. For just about then, when the Squire, holding my arm, arrived at Miss Fontaine's gate, they were coming out: two disguised figures, who went swiftly down the road.

"Mercy be good to us!" cried the Squire, aghast. He had drawn back in politeness to let them pa.s.s through the gate, and had found the black face come nearly into contact with his own. "Johnny, lad, that must be Mrs. Cramp's tenant and her servant!"

They brushed past Mrs. Todhetley coming along with Tod. Maria and Ozias were in the drawing-room when we got in, talking like wild things. The other guests soon arrived, Dr. Rymer, Mrs. Cramp, and Tom Chandler and his wife from Islip. Ozias gave an opinion that Missee (meaning Coralie) was about to be a.s.sa.s.sinated in her bed.

At this Coralie laughed. She had no fear, but she did not like it. "I cannot see what they could possibly want, looking in at me!" she cried.

"It was very rude."

"They want Missee's diamonds," spoke Ozias. "Missee got great lot beauty diamonds, lot other beauty jewels; black woman come in this night--next night--after night--who know which--and smother Missee and take dem all."

Poor Mrs. Cramp, sitting in the biggest arm-chair, her sandalled shoes stretched on a footstool, was quite taken out of herself with dismay.

The Squire rubbed his face incessantly, asking what was to be done. Dr.

Rymer said nothing in regard to what was to be done; but he gave his head an emphatic nod, as if he knew.

The next morning he presented himself at North Villa, and asked to see its tenant. The woman-servant denied him--over the chain. Ben insisted upon his card and his request being taken in. After a battle of words, she took them in, shutting the door in his face the while; and the doctor cooled his heels in the porch for five minutes. As she drew the door open again, he caught sight of a black face twisted round the sitting-room door-post to peep at him, a black hand, with rings on it, grasping it. She saw him looking at her, and disappeared like a shot.

The message brought out by the servant was that her mistress was an invalid, unable to see visitors: if Dr. Rymer had any business with her, he must be good enough to convey it by letter.

"Very well," said the doctor, in his decisive way: "I warn you and your mistress not again to intrude on Miss Fontaine's premises, as you did last night. If you do, you must take the consequences."

At this, the woman stared as if it were so much Greek to her. She answered that she had not been on Miss Fontaine's premises, then or ever; had not been out-of-doors at all the previous night. And Ben thought by her tone she was speaking truth.

"It was one of those Indian brothers disguised in a cloak and bonnet,"

said we all when we heard this. And Coralie's servants took to watching through the livelong night at the upper windows, turn and turn about, growing thin from dread of the a.s.sa.s.sins.

Altogether, what with one small item and another, Mrs. Cramp's tenant kept us alive. A belief had prevailed that the woman-servant was the same who had attended the Indians; but this was dispelled. A housemaid of ours, Nancy, a flighty sort of girl, often in hot water with her elders thereby, whose last service had been with old Lawyer c.o.c.kermouth, at Worcester, was out on an errand when she met this woman and recognized her for an old acquaintance. During Nancy's service with the lawyer she had been there as the cook-housekeeper.

"It is Sarah Stone, ma'am, and n.o.body else!" cried Nancy, running in to tell the news to Mrs. Todhetley. "She left for her temper, soon after I left; I heard say that old Miss c.o.c.kermouth wouldn't put up with it any longer."

"Are you sure it is the same, Nancy?" asked Mrs Todhetley.

"Why, ma'am, I know Sarah Stone as well as I know my own mother. 'What, is it _you_ that's living here with that there black lady?' I says to her. 'What is it to you whether I'm living with a black lady or a white 'un,' she answers me, crustily: 'just mind your own affairs, Nancy Dell.' 'Well,' says I, 'there's a pretty talk about her; it's not me that would like to serve a wild Indian'--and that set Sarah Stone off at a strapping pace, ma'am."

Thus things went on. North Villa seeming to grow more isolated day by day, and its inmates more mysterious. When the rent for the next month was nearly due, Mrs. Cramp found it left at her house as before: and poor Mrs. Cramp felt fit to have a fever.

One evening, early in November, Mr. Cole, the surgeon of Crabb, was seen to go into North Villa. He was seen to go again the following morning, and again in the afternoon, and again in the evening. It transpired that the black lady was alarmingly ill.

Naturally, it put the parish up in arms. We made a rush for Cole, wanting to ask him five hundred things. Cole, skimming along the ground like a lamplighter, avoided us all; and the first to succeed in pouncing upon him was Miss Timmens, the schoolmistress. Very downright and honest, she was in the habit of calling a spade a spade, and poured out her questions one upon another. They had met by the yellow barn.

"Well, no," answers Cole, when he could get a word in, "I don't think that any murderer is at North Villa; do not see one about, but there's a baby." "A baby!" shrieks Miss Timmens, as she pushed back the bunches of black curls from her thin cheeks with their chronic redness, "a baby!"

"Yes, a baby," says Cole, "a new baby." "Good mercy!" cries she, "a baby! a black baby! Is it a boy or a girl, Mr. Cole?" "It's a boy,"

says Cole. "_Good_ mercy! a black boy!--what an extraordinary sight it must be!" Cole says nothing to this; only looks at her as meek as a lamb. "And now, between ourselves, doctor," goes on Miss Timmens, confidentially, "did you see the Indians there?--those men?" "Did not see any man at all," answers Cole, "saw no sign of a man being there."

"Ah, of course they'd take their precautions to keep out of sight,"

nodded Miss Timmens, thinking old Cole uncommonly stupid to-day. "And how do you relish attending on a black patient, doctor? And what's she like?" "Why," answers Cole, "black patients are much the same as white ones; have the same number of arms and legs and fingers." "Oh, indeed,"

says Miss Timmens, quite sharply; and she wishes Cole good-day. And that was the best that could be got out of Cole.