The Dew of Their Youth - Samuel Rutherford Crockett (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📗

us on their hill. In a minute more we were at the gate. My grandfather called, and through the door of the kitchen came a long vertical slab of light that fell in a broad beam across the yard. Then one of the herd-lads hurried across to open the barred "yett" and let us in.
"Is all safe?" said my grandfather.
"As ye left him," was the answer. "The mistress and the lads have never taken their eyes off him for a moment!"
"Take this gentleman's horse, Ben," said my grandfather. But Mr. Richard preferred to be his own hostler, nor did he offer to go near the house or speak a word of his business till he had seen his splendid black duly stalled.
Then my grandmother was summoned, the children brought down, and immediately stricken, Sir Louis with an intense admiration of the great strong man in riding boots, and Miss Irma with a dislike quite as intense. I could see her averting her eyes and trying to hide it. But over all the other women in the house he established at once a paramount empire. Even my Aunt Jen followed him with her eyes, so much of the room did he take up, so large and easy were his gestures, and with such a matter-of-course simplicity did he take the homage they paid him.
Yet he seemed to care far more about Miss Irma than even my grandmother, or the fellow of his name whom he had ridden so far to see.
He asked her whether she would rather stay where she was or come to Dumfries, to be near the theatre and Assembly balls. As for a chaperon, she could make her choice between Mrs. Hope of the Abbey and the Provost's lady. Either would be glad to oblige the daughter of a Maitland of Marnhoul--and perhaps also Mr. Richard Poole.
Then, after hearing her answer, he asked for pen and paper and wrote a few lines--
"As Miss Irma Maitland urgently desires that her brother and she
should remain under the care of Mr. William Lyon and his wife at
Heathknowes, and as the aforesaid William and Mary Lyon are able and
willing to provide for their maintenance, we see no reason why the
arrangement should not be an excellent and suitable one, at least
until such time as Sir Louis must be sent to school, when the whole
question will again come up. And this to hold good whatever may be
the outcome of this interview with the person calling himself
Wringham Pollixfen Poole,
"For Smart, Poole and Smart,
"R. Poole."
He handed the paper across to my grandmother, in whom he easily recognized the ruling spirit of the household.
"There, madam," he said, "that will put matters on a right basis with my firm whatever may happen to me. And now, if you please, I should like to see my double at once. I suspect a kinsman, but do not be afraid of a vendetta. If Master Robin, of whose prowess I have already heard, has crushed in a rib or two, so much the better. Even if he had broken my worthy relative's back, I fear me few would have worn mourning!"
They found the three young men still in the room, and my grandmother did no more than assure herself of the presence of the still white-wrapped figure on the shakedown in the corner, before leading Mr. Richard into the parlour.
He went out from us with a jovial nod to my father, a low bow to Miss Irma, and mock salutation to little Sir Louis, his head high in the air, his riding whip swinging by its loop from his arm, and as it seemed, a vigour of blood sufficient for a dozen ordinary people circulating in his veins.
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said to my uncles, as soon as he had looked at the bed and lifted the kerchief which Mary Lyon had laid wet upon the brow. "I recognize, as I had reason to expect, a scion of my house, however unworthy, with whom it will be necessary for me to communicate privately. But if you will retire to the kitchen, I shall easily signal you should your services become again necessary."
He stood with the edge of the door in his hand, and with a slight bow ushered each of my uncles out. I was there, too, of course, seeing what was to be seen. His eye lighted on me, and a slinking figure I must have presented in spite of my usual courage, for he only turned one thumb back over his shoulder with a comical smile, and bade me get to bed, because when he was young he, too, knew what keyholes were good for.
The word "too" hurt me, for it meant that he thought I was going to eavesdrop, whereas I was merely, for the sake of Irma and the family, endeavouring to satisfy a perfectly legitimate curiosity.
I did, however, hear him say as he shut and locked the parlour door, "Now, sir, the play is played. Sit up and take off that clout. Let us talk out this affair like men!"
It was now night, and we were gathered in the kitchen. I do not think that even Rob took much supper. I know that but for my grandfather the horses would have had to go without theirs--and this, the most sacred duty of mankind about a farm, would for once have been neglected. We sat, mainly in the dark, with only the red glow of the fire in our faces, listening to the voice of a man that came in stormy gusts. The lamp had been left on the parlour table to give them light, and somehow we were so preoccupied that none of us thought of lighting a candle.
The great voice of Mr. Richard dominated us--so full of contempt and anger it was. We could not in the least distinguish what the impostor said in reply. Indeed, Rob and I could just hear a kind of roopy clattering like that of a hungry hen complaining to the vague Powers which rule the times and seasons of distribution from the "daich" bowl.
There was something very strange in all this--so strange that when my grandfather came back, for the first time in the history of Heathknowes, no chapter was read, no psalm sung or prayer read. Somehow it seemed like an impiety in the face of what was going on down there. Mr. Richard talked far the most. At first his mood was all of stormy anger, and the replies of the other, as I have said, almost inaudible.
But after a while these bursts of bellowing became less frequent. The low replying voice grew, if not louder, more persistent. Mr. Richard seemed to be denying or refusing something in short gruff gasps of breath.
"No, no--no! By heaven, sir, NO!" we heard him cry plainly. And somehow hearing that, Irma crept closer to me, and slid her hand in mine, a thing which she had not done since the night of watching in the Old House of Marnhoul.
Somehow both of us knew that it was a question of herself.
Then suddenly upon this long period of to-and-fro, there fell (as it were) the very calmness of reconciliation. Peace seemed to be made, and I think that all of us were glad of it, for the suspense and an increasing tension of the nerves were telling on us all.
"They are shaking hands," whispered my grandmother; "Mr. Richard has brought him to his senses. Fine I knew he would."
"I wonder if they will put him in prison or let him off because of the family?" said Rob, adjusting the bandage about his wounded leg. "Anyway, I am glad of the bit tramp he got from my yard clogs!"
"Wheesht!" whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction of the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur.
"They will be writing something--some bond or deed, most likely."
"They are long about it," said William Lyon uneasily.
The silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My grandfather fidgeted in his chair. At last he said in a low tone, "Lads, we have endured long enough. We must see what they are at. If we are wrong, I will bear the weight!"
As one man the four moved towards the door, through the keyhole of which a ray of light was stealing from the lamp that had been left on the table.
"Open!" cried my grandfather suddenly and loudly. But the door remained fast.
"Is all right there, Master Richard?" he shouted. Still there was silence within.
"Put your shoulders to it, lads!" Eben and Tom were at it in a moment, while strong Rob, springing from the far side of the passage, burst the lock and sent the door back against the inner wall, the hinges snapped clean through.
Mr. Richard was sitting in a quiet room, his head leaning forward on his hands. His loaded riding whip was flung in a corner. The window was wide open, and the night black and quiet without. Sweet odours of flowers came in from the little garden. The lamp burned peacefully and nothing in the room was disturbed. But Mr. Wringham Pollixfen was not there, and when we touched him, Mr. Richard Poole was dead, his head dropped upon his arms.


PART III
CHAPTER XXII
BOYD CONNOWAY'S EVIDENCE
The loop of the riding-whip on Mr. Richard's wrist was broken, and behind his ear there was a lump the size of a small hen's egg. There were no signs of a struggle. The two men had been sitting face to face, eye to eye, when by a movement which must have been swift as lightning, one had disarmed and smitten the other.
Tom, Eben and Rob armed themselves and went out. But the branches of Marnhoul wood stood up against the sky, black, serried and silent. The fields beneath spread empty and grey. The sough of the wind and the fleeing cloud of night was all they saw or heard. They were soon within the house again, happy to be there and the door barred stoutly upon them.
Except for little Louis, who was already in bed on the other side of the house where his chamber was, and so knew nothing of the occurrence till the morning, there was no sleep for any that night at Heathknowes. At the first clear break of day Tom and Eben took the cart-horses and rode over to tell Dr. Gillespie, General Johnstone, and Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe, who were all Justices of the Peace, of what had happened. They came, the General the most imposing, with a great army cloak and a star showing beneath the collar.
In the little detached sitting-room, which till the coming of the Maitlands had been used as a cheese-room, Mr. Richard Poole sat, as he had been found, his head still bowed upon his arms, but on his face, when they raised it to look, there was an absolute terror, so that even the General, who had seen many a day of battle, was glad to lay it down again.
They took such testimony as was to be had, which was