Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 102

The disparagement did not affect William Lake. He proved as indefatigable as Rector as he had been as curate, earning the golden opinions he deserved. And he and his wife were happy.

But he would persist in declaring that all the good which had come to him was owing to me; that but for my visit to London at that critical time, Sir Robert Tenby would never have heard there was such a man as himself in the world.

"It is true, Johnny," said Miss Deveen. "But you were only the humble instrument in the hand of G.o.d."

MRS. CRAMP'S TENANT

I.

It was autumn weather, and we had just arrived at Crabb Cot. When you have been away from a familiar place, whether it may be only for days, or whether it may be for weeks or months or years, you are eager on returning to it to learn what has transpired during your absence, concerning friends or enemies, the parish or the public.

Bob Letsom ran in that first evening, and we had him to ourselves; the Squire and Mrs. Todhetley were still in the dining-room. I asked after Coralie Fontaine.

"Oh, Coralie's all right," said he.

"Do the old ladies go on at her still?" cried Tod.

Bob laughed. "I think they've stopped that, finding it hopeless."

When Sir Dace Fontaine died, now eighteen months ago, the two girls, Coralie and Verena, were left alone. Verena shortly went back to the West Indies to marry George Bazalgette, Coralie remained at Oxlip Grange. Upon that, all the old ladies in the place, as Tod had ungallantly put it, beginning with Bob's mother, set on to lecture her: telling her she must not continue to live alone, she must take a companion of mature age. Why must she not live alone, Coralie returned: she had old Ozias to protect her from robbers, and her maid-servants to see to her clothes and her comforts. Because it was not proper, said the old ladies. Coralie laughed at that, and told them not to be afraid; she could take care of herself. And apparently she did. She had learnt to be independent in America; could not be brought to understand English stiffness and English pride: and she would go off to London and elsewhere for a week or two at a time, just as though she had been sixty years of age.

"I have an idea she will not be Coralie Fontaine much longer," continued Letsom.

"Who will she be, then?"

"Coralie Rymer."

"You can't mean that she is going to take up with Ben!"

"Well, I fancy so. Some of us thought they were making up to one another before Sir Dace died--when Ben was attending him. Don't you recollect how much old Fontaine liked Ben?--he'd have had him by his side always.

Ben's getting on like a house on fire; has unusual skill in surgery and is wonderful at operations: he performed a very critical one upon old Ma.s.sock this summer, and the man is about again as st.u.r.dy and impudent as ever."

"Does Ben live down here entirely?"

"He goes up to London between whiles--in pursuit of his studies and the degrees he means to take. He is there now. Oh, he'll get on. You'll see."

"Well, what else, Letsom?" cried Tod. "You have told us no news about anybody yet."

"Because there's none to tell."

"How do those two old dames get on--the Dennets?"

"Oh, they are gone off to some baths in Germany for a twelvemonth, with suppressed gout, and their house is let to a mysterious tenant."

"Mysterious in what way?"

"Well, n.o.body sees her, and she keeps the doors bolted and barred. The Dennets left it all in Mrs. Cramp's hands, being intimate with her, for they started in a hurry, and she put it into a new agent's hands at Worcester, and he put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the papers. Some lady answered it, a stranger; she agreed to all conditions by letter, took possession of the house, and has shut herself up as if something uncanny were inside it. Mrs. Cramp does not like it at all; and queer rumours are beginning to go about."

"What's her name?"

"n.o.body knows."

The house spoken of was North Villa, where Jacob Chandler used to live.

When the Chandlers went down in the world it was taken on lease by the Miss Dennets, two steady middle-aged sisters.

The first visit we paid the following morning was to Oxlip Grange, to see Coralie. Meeting the Squire on the way he said he would go with us.

North Villa lies not far from us, soon after you turn into the Islip Road, and the Grange is about a quarter-of-a-mile farther on. I took a good stare at the villa in pa.s.sing. Two of the upstairs windows were open, but the mysterious tenant was not to be seen.

Old Ozias was in the Grange garden, helping the gardener; it was how he professed to fill up his time; and the door was opened by a tall, smart maid, with curled hair and pink bows in her cap. Where had I seen her?

Why, at the lodgings in the Marylebone Road in London! She was Maria, who had been housemaid there during the enacting of that tragedy.

Coralie Fontaine sat in her pretty parlour, one opening from the large drawing-room, flirting a paper hand-screen between her face and the fire, which she would have, as Sir Dace used to, whether it might be cold weather or hot. Small and pale, her black hair smooth and silky, her dark eyes meeting ours honestly, her chin pointed, her pretty teeth white, she was not a whit changed. Her morning dress was white, with scarlet ribbons, and she was downright glad to see us. The Squire inquired after Verena.

"She is quite well," replied Coralie. "At least, she would be but for grumbling."

"What has she to grumble about, my dear?"

"Nothing," said Coralie.

"Then why does she do it? Dear me! Is her husband not kind to her?"

Coralie laughed at the notion. "He is too kind, Mr. Todhetley. Kindness to people is George Bazalgette's weakness, especially to Verena. Her grievance lies in George's sister, Magnolia Bazalgette."

"What a splendacious name!" interrupted Tod. "Magnolia!"

"She was named after the estate, Magnolia Range, a very beautiful place and one of the finest properties on the island," said Coralie. "Magnolia lives with George, it was always her home, you see; and Verena does not take kindly to her. She complains that Magnolia domineers over the household and over herself. It is just one of Verena's silly fancies; she always wants to be first and foremost; and I have written her one or two sharp letters."

"Coralie," I said here, "is not the girl, who showed us in, Maria?--she who used to live in those lodgings in London?"

Coralie nodded. "The last time I was staying in London, Maria came to me, saying she had left her place and was in want of one. I engaged her at once. I like the girl."

"She is an uncommonly smart girl in the way of curls and caps," remarked Tod.

"I like smart people about me," laughed Coralie.

Who should come in then but Mrs. Cramp. _She_ was smart. A flounced gown of s.h.i.+ny material, green in one light, red in another, and a purple bonnet with white strings. She was Stephen Cramp's widow, formerly Mary Ann Chandler; her speech was honest and homely, and her comely face wore a look of perplexity.

"I don't much like the look of things down yonder," she began, nodding her head in the direction of North Villa and as she sat down her flounces went up, displaying her white cotton stockings and low, tied shoes. "I have been calling there again, and I can't get in."

"n.o.body can get in," said Coralie.

"They have put a chain on the door, and they answer people through it.

No chain was ever there before, as long as I have known the house. I paid no attention to the things people were saying," continued Mrs.

Cramp; "but I did not much like something I heard last night. I'll see the lady, I said to myself this morning, and down to the house I went, walked up the garden, and----"