Roger Trewinion Part 33

Still, I expected a few servants would be at home, and mother, and, perchance, Wilfred. He would never mix with the rowdy villagers, as he called them, and would probably be in the library following some favourite literary pursuit. What should I do? Go home and proclaim myself as Roger Trewinion, owner and master of everything? No, I did not like to do that--yet I must know how things stood. I must know about everything, where Ruth was, and what position she held!

And still I stood gazing on the old house on the cliff until I saw a man come out and slowly saunter down the drive.

It was Wilfred.

I started to go forward and speak to him, but stopped immediately after. Long years of foreign travel and pa.s.sing through dangerous scenes had made me careful. I knew not how I should be received, and I must not give Wilfred the whip hand of me. No, I would find out what had happened at home during the intervening years. I would go on to the village green, and there, perchance, I should see those who knew me in the past, and should give them a chance of recognising me.

Pa.s.sing near the church, however, I could not resist the temptation to enter. To an ordinary sightseer, it would doubtless possess small attraction, but to me who accompanied my father there more than twenty years before, and where I had received what little religious instruction I possessed, it was of more than ordinary interest.

Besides, my father was buried beneath the altar steps, and I longed to see the place again. Accordingly I entered the churchyard, and finding the church door open, entered the sacred building. Instinctively I found my way to the eastern end of the church, and there experienced one of the strangest sensations of my life. On the wall just above my father's tomb was a tablet erected to the memory of my father, giving not only the year of his birth, but the manner of his death. But this was not what affected me. I had expected to see some memorial of my father, but what startled me was the sight of another tablet immediately beneath it, on which were written these words:--

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

ROGER TREWINION

ELDEST SON OF THE ABOVE

WHO MET HIS DEATH BY DROWNING, AND WHOSE BODY WAS DISCOVERED ON THE SANDS.

"_Thy brother shall rise again!_"

THIS TABLET WAS ERECTED BY HIS LOVING MOTHER AND BROTHER.

Whether wonder or anger were strongest within me I know not, but both strove mightily. For first of all it is a strange experience for any man to see his own tombstone, and in spite of myself I could not help s.h.i.+vering. But strong as was this feeling, anger well-nigh overcame it. It seemed to me that both my mother and brother were so eager for me to be dead, that they were glad of any excuse for making me appear so, and I determined that I would understand what it all meant.

Accordingly I walked towards the village and soon found myself in the midst of about two hundred people, which was regarded as a great crowd in that neighbourhood. In one corner of the green was a wrestling ring, and in another was a group of young folk dancing to the music of two or three instruments, which had evidently been specially obtained for the occasion. Some very coa.r.s.e sweetmeats were being sold at the sweet stalls and a general holiday air pervaded the scene. I saw as I came up that I was curiously regarded. My dress was of foreign make, and I was bronzed by years of exposure. My beard, too, was long, and my whole appearance was different from those whom the people would be likely to see. Moreover, it was very seldom a stranger visited that neighbourhood, and thus naturally I was regarded as a sort of curiosity.

I looked from face to face, but could see no one that I knew. During these years middle-aged men seemed to have grown old, and children to have sprung into men and women. I made my way towards the wrestling ring, where two youths struggled with each other, while the people looked at them with open mouths. Here I saw two or three farmers whom I knew, but I did not care to enter into conversation.

It was very strange. I was home, and yet no one knew me. The parish was called by my name, the church was called Trewinion Church, and yet I, Roger, the oldest male member of the house, was a stranger, and looked at curiously by the people. Eleven years before I had been at the feast, and then everyone had paid respect to "Maaster Roger"; but now, the bronzed, bearded, foreign-looking man, was an alien.

At length one of the two men who had been wrestling was thrown, and then I heard a voice which I thought I knew, saying, "That's a feir vall." It was spoken by the man who had been selected as umpire, and when I caught sight of his face I recognised Bill Tregargus, the man who climbed the "Devil's Tooth" on the stormy night when Ruth was rescued. I had always remained friendly with Bill up to the time I left. I determined I would speak to him.

As this was the last "hitch" of the day, the ring was broken up, and I saw Bill going with the rest towards the village alehouse.

I went up to him and touched him upon the arm.

"You seem to be a man of some importance here," I said.

Bill looked very modest, but nodded.

"I want to have a little talk with some respectable man in the parish,"

I said: "one who knows the worth of land and one who knows the people."

"Wal, I think as 'ow I knaws everybody," said Bill; "I've bin ere oal my life, and don't owe n.o.body nothin'. I've got three booats, and a daicent little farm."

"I can quite fancy that," I said, "by the way people regard you. Is your farm your own land now, or do you rent it?"

"n.o.body farms their own land in this ere parish," replied Bill, "it do oal belong to Squire Trewinion, but who be you and what do you want to knaw about the parish for?"

"I'm a stranger," I said, "and I used to know young Roger Trewinion; can you tell me anything about him?"

"Knaw young Maaster Roger, did 'ee?" cried Bill, "why he was a friend to me; ain't 'ee 'eard un spaik of Bill Tregargus?"

"Bill Tregargus?" I said; "many a time! why, did you not go out with him one night and rescue a young lady whose s.h.i.+p was wrecked upon a great rock?"

"Why, iss," said Bill excitedly, "ded a ever tell 'ee 'bout that?"

"How should I know it else?" I said; "but now I want to know about him and the family."

He took me away from the people by a pathway that led through a meadow.

"You was a friend of Maaster Roger's," said Bill, "zo I can tell 'ee.

He's dead, and there's been foul play."

"Foul play? How?"

"It's my belief 'ow 'e've bin murdered, zur."

"Murdered! Why should you think that?"

"When did you knaw Maaster Roger, sur?"

"Oh, twelve years ago, just before he came of age, I think."

"Well, sur, ther've bin awful doin's up at th' House since then, things, sur, as I'm amooast 'fraid to tell 'ee, 'cause----"

Then a frightened look came into Bill's eyes, and he looked round nervously.

CHAPTER XVII

REVENGE!

"You doan't belong to this neighbourhood, do 'ee?" said Bill, at length.

"I have not been in England for years," was my reply.

"Well, sur, I'll tell 'ee oal about it. Perhaps you knaw that the young lady who was saved was stayin' at the house?"

"Yes, I've heard of it. Miss Morton was her name, wasn't it?"

"Iss, that's it. Well, Maaster Roger and Maaster Wilfred was boath in love wi' her; and Maaster Wilfred he stood the best chance 'cause Mrs.

Trewinion dedn't like Roger, and she amoast wors.h.i.+pped Wilfred. Of course, we doan't know all about it, but we've heerd as 'ow there was somethin' in Squire Morton's will which made Miss Ruth marry the Squire of Trewinion. Anyhow the ou'll squire got killed, and jist after that, altho' Maaster Roger wur maaster of everything, he runned away and left Wilfred to be the squire. Of course, everybody wondered at that, and grieved too, for Maaster Roger wur a fav'rit' with us all. Then we heerd from the sarvents that Mrs. Trewinion and Maaster Wilfred had worked it out. She had tould Miss Ruth that young Roger had been boasting that she would 'ave to marry him, although 'ee didn't care anything 'bout 'er, and we heerd as 'ow she tould Maaster Roger that Miss Ruth loved his brother, but couldn't marry him 'cause he was in the way, and that the thought of marryin' him, that is Maaster Roger, was drivin' her mad. We doan't knaw 'bout oal these things, sur, but anyhow, Maaster Roger was missin' dreckly after his father's funerl, and hev never bin seed alive since. Well, after he was gone, Miss Ruth nearly broke her heart. You never see such a pale thing as she went to."

"But I think I heard that she liked Wilfred best; at least, Roger told me so."