Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 61

Saying good-morning at the turning, Sir Dace and Verena branched off to Maythorn Bank. Coralie lingered yet, talking with Mr. Todhetley.

"My dear, how ill your father is looking!" exclaimed the Squire.

"He does look ill," answered Coralie. "He has never been quite the same since that night in London. He said one day that he could not get the sight of Pym out of his mind--as he saw him lying on the floor in s.h.i.+p Street."

"It must have been a sad sight."

"Papa is also, I think, anxious about Verena," added Coralie. "She has taken the matter to heart in quite an unnecessary manner; just, I'm sure, as if she intended to die over it. That must vex papa: I see him glancing at her every minute in the day. Oh, I a.s.sure you I am the only cheerful one of the family now," concluded Coralie, lightly, as she ran away to catch the others.

That was the last we saw of them that year. On the morrow we left for d.y.k.e Manor.

In the course of the autumn John Tanerton ran up to Timberdale from Liverpool. It had come to his knowledge that the Ash Farm, belonging to Robert Ashton, was to let--Grace had chanced to mention it incidentally when writing to Alice--and poor Jack thought if he could only take it his fortune was made. He was an excellent, practical farmer, and knew he could make it answer. But it would take two or three thousand pounds to stock the Ash Farm, and Jack had not as many available s.h.i.+llings. He asked his brother to lend him the money.

"I always knew you were deficient in common sense," was the Rector's sarcastic rejoiner to the request. "Three thousand pounds! What next?"

"It would be quite safe, Herbert: you know how energetic I am. And I will pay you good interest."

"No doubt you will--when I lend it you. You have a cheek!"

"But----"

"That will do; don't waste breath," interrupted Herbert, cutting him short. And he positively refused the request--refused to listen to another word.

Strolling past Maythorn Bank that same afternoon, very much down in looks and spirits, Jack saw Sir Dace Fontaine. He was leaning over his little gate, looking just as miserable as Jack. For Sir Dace to look out of sorts was nothing unusual; for Jack it was. Sir Dace asked what was amiss: and Jack--candid, free-spoken, open-natured Jack--told of his disappointment in regard to the Ash Farm: his brother not feeling inclined to advance him the necessary money to take it--three thousand pounds.

"I wonder you do not return to the sea, Captain Tanerton," cried Sir Dace.

"I do not care to return to it," was Jack's answer.

"Why?"

"I shall never go to sea again, Sir Dace," he said in his candour.

"Never go to sea again!"

"No. At any rate, not until I am cleared. While this dark cloud of suspicion lies upon me I am not fit to take the command of others. Some windy night insubordinate men might throw the charge in my teeth."

"You are wrong," said Sir Dace, his countenance taking an angry turn.

"You know, I presume, your own innocence--and you should act as if you knew it."

He turned back up the path without another word, entered his house, and shut the door. Jack walked slowly on. Presently he heard footsteps behind him, looked round, and saw Verena Fontaine. They had not met since the time of Pym's death, and Jack thought he had never seen such a change in any one. Her bright colour was gone, her cheeks were wasted--a kind of dumb despair sat in her once laughing blue eyes. All Jack's pity--and he had his share of it--went out to her.

"I heard a little of what you said to papa at the garden-gate, Captain Tanerton--not much of it. I was in the arbour. _Why_ is it that you will not yet go to sea again? What is it you wait for?"

"I am waiting until I can stand clear in the eyes of men," answered Jack, candid as usual, but somewhat agitated, as if the topic were a sore one. "No man with a suspicion attaching to him should presume to hold authority over other men."

"I understand you," murmured Verena. "If you stood as free from suspicion with all the world as you are in my heart, and--and"--she paused from emotion--"and I think in my father's also, you would have no cause to hesitate."

Jack took a questioning glance at her; at the sad, eager eyes that were lifted beseechingly to his. "It is kind of you to say so much," he answered. "It struck me at the time of the occurrence that you could not, did not, believe me guilty."

Verena s.h.i.+vered. As if his steady gaze were too much for her, she turned her own aside towards the blue sky.

"Good-bye," she said faintly, putting out her hand. "I only wanted to say this--to let you know that I believe in your innocence."

"Thank you," said Jack, meeting her hand. "It is gratifying to hear that _you_ do me justice."

He walked quietly away. She stood still to watch him. And of all the distressed, sad, _aching_ countenances ever seen in this world, few could have matched that of Miss Verena Fontaine.

V.

Spring suns.h.i.+ne, bright and warm to-day, lay on Timberdale. Herbert Tanerton, looking sick and ill, sat on a bench on the front lawn, holding an argument with his wife, s.h.i.+elded from outside gazers by the clump of laurel-trees. We used to say the Rector's illnesses were all fancy and temper; but it seemed to be rather more than that now. Worse tempered he was than ever; Jack's misfortunes and Jack's conduct annoyed him. During the past winter Jack had taken some employment at the Liverpool Docks, in connection with the Messrs. Freeman's s.h.i.+ps.

Goodness knew of what description it was, Herbert would say, turning up his nose.

A day or two ago Jack made his appearance again at the Rectory; had swooped down upon it without warning or ceremony, just as he had in the autumn. Herbert did not approve of that. He approved still less of the object which had brought Jack at all. Jack was tired of the Liverpool Docks; the work he had to do was not congenial to him; and he had now come to Timberdale to ask Robert Ashton to make him his bailiff. Not being able to take a farm on his own account, Jack thought the next best thing would be to take the management of one. Robert Ashton would be parting with his bailiff at Midsummer, and Jack would like to drop into the post. Anything much less congenial to the Rector's notions, Jack could hardly have pitched upon.

"I can see what it is--Jack is going to be a thorn in my side for ever,"

the Rector was remarking to his wife, who sat near him, doing some useful work. "He never had any idea of the fitness of things. A bailiff, now!--a servant!"

"I wish you would let him take a farm, Herbert--lend him the money to stock one."

"I know you do; you have said so before."

Grace sighed. But when she had it on her conscience to say a thing she said it.

"Herbert, you know--you know I have never thought it fair that we should enjoy all the income we do; and----"

"What do you mean by 'fair'?" interrupted Herbert. "I only enjoy my own."

"Legally it is yours. Rightly, a large portion of it ought to be Jack's.

It does not do us any good, Herbert, this superfluous income; you only put it by. It does not in the slightest degree add to our enjoyment of life."

"Do be quiet, Grace--unless you can talk sense. Jack will get no money from me. He ought to be at sea. What right had he to give it up? The _Rose of Delhi_ is expected back now: let him take her again."

"You know why he will not, Herbert. And he must do something for a living. I wish you would not object to his engaging himself to Robert Ashton. If----"

"Why don't you wish anything else that's lowering and degrading? You are as devoid of common sense as he!" retorted the parson, walking away in a fume.

Matters were in this state when we got back to Crabb Cot; to stop at it for a longer or a shorter period as fate and the painters at d.y.k.e Manor would allow. Jack urging Robert Ashton to promise him the bailiffs post--vacant the next Midsummer; Herbert strenuously objecting to it; and Robert Ashton in a state of dilemma between the two. He would have liked well enough to engage John Tanerton: but he did not like to defy the Rector. When the Squire heard this later, his opinion vacillated, according to custom: now leaning to Herbert's side, now to Jack's. And the Fontaines, we found, were in all the bustle of house-moving. Their own house, Oxlip Grange, being at length ready for them, they were quitting Maythorn Bank.

"Goodness bless me!" cried the Squire, coming in at dusk from a stroll he had taken the evening of our arrival. "I never got such a turn in my life."

"What has given it you, sir?"

"What has given it me, Johnny? why, Sir Dace Fontaine. I never saw any man so changed," he went on, rubbing up his hair. "He looks like a ghost, more than a man."