Book: The Blue Pavilions

S >> Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch >> The Blue Pavilions




Captain Runacles uncrossed his legs and addressed Dr. Beckerleg.

"Doctor, haven't you brought this gentleman to the wrong pavilion?"

"Wait a moment."

"I should rather say," Mr. Finch continued, "that a life interest
only was bestowed upon Margaret Salt, the bulk of the estate going to
the anticipated heirs of her body, and being (also by anticipation)
apportioned among them on a principle of division which need not
occupy our attention, for (as it turns out) she has left but one
child. My client made this will soon after receiving the news of his
niece's marriage with Captain Roderick Salt, and before he had any
reason to suspect that gentleman's real character. It was therefore
natural that in selecting a couple of trustees he regarded the
Captain as the man who, of all others, might be reckoned on to look
after the interests of the child or children. When, however, the
unamiable qualities of Captain Salt reached his ear, he would
doubtless have made some alteration in the will, but for the tidings
of that officer's death in the Low Countries. He had such confidence
in the surviving trustee--"

"Man alive!" Captain Runacles broke in, "if you are talking of
yourself, let me advise you to quit England by the first ship that
sails. The child is already furnished with a guardian--a guardian,
my dear sir, who will nullify your legal claim upon the child by the
simple expedient of taking your life."

"But, excuse me--"

"You will waive your claim, of course. But let me advise you also to
conceal it; for Captain Barker is quite capable, should he get hold
of this will, of regarding your mere existence as an insult."

"But, dear me--if you'll allow me to speak--I am not talking of
myself."

"No?"

"No; I am not the child's legal guardian."

"I congratulate you. But who is it, then?"

"It is you, Captain Runacles."

"What!" The Captain leapt up and glared at Mr. Finch incredulously.

"Here is a copy of the will; read for yourself. My friend, Silvanus
Tellworthy, remembered you as a friend of his early days and as a man
of probity. He had heard also, from time to time, news of your
public actions that increased his esteem. He was informed--pardon me
if I mention it--of your sincere and honourable affection for his
niece; and, indeed, hoped, I may say--"

"No more on that point, if you please."

"Sir, I am silent, and ask your pardon."

"But--but--Doctor, this is simply astounding. Do you hear what this
gentleman says?--that I--I alone--am Tristram's guardian after all?"

Mr. Finch and Dr. Beckerleg exchanged an anxious look. The Doctor
cleared his throat and took up the story.

"No, my dear Captain, I regret that you make one mistake. You said
'alone.'"

"What? Is there another trustee?"

"There is the man already mentioned--Roderick Salt."

"Tut, tut--he's dead."

"I fear, on the contrary, that he's alive."

"But he was drowned, confound him!"

"Some meddling Netherlander, cursed with too much humanity, must have
baulked the will of Heaven by dragging him out of the ditch and
reviving him. He was rescued, sir, and clapped into prison; escaped
by turning traitor and entering the service of the Prince of Orange--
in what capacity I dare not say, but likely enough as a spy, or
perhaps a kidnapper of soldiers. There are plenty of the trade along
the frontiers just now. He has changed his name, but has been
recognised by more than one Harwich man at The Hague, and again at
Cuxhaven. For a year now I have heard nothing of him. Belike he is
off upon a dirty mission to some German principality no bigger than
your back-garden; ambassadors of his size are as easy to find on the
Continent of Europe as a needle in a bottle of hay. Or maybe he
wanders on some gaming campaign of his own."

The face of Captain Runacles, as the Doctor proceeded, went through
three rapid changes of colour--white, scarlet and purple.

"You knew all this?" he shouted, the congested veins standing out
upon his temples; "you knew all this, and kept us in the dark?"

"I did. It affected the child in no way. The fellow clearly knew
nothing, or cared nothing, about Tristram. Even supposing--which was
absurd--that he would wish to burden himself with the boy, I felt
pretty sure of Barker's ability to cope with him at the briefest
notice. Moreover, considering his mode of life, I hoped by waiting a
very short while to be able to tell you that Captain Salt's career
was ended by the halter. You see, he was evidently not born to be
drowned, and I drew the usual inference. But Mr. Finch's news puts a
very different complexion on the business. Tristram being heir, as I
understand, to some fifteen hundred pounds per annum--"

"Mr. Finch," said the Captain calmly, stepping to the door and
locking it, "have you, by any chance, the intention of seeking out my
co-trustee?"

"H'm: I am bound, sir, to consider my duty as a professional man."

"Let me entreat you also to reconsider it."

The little attorney glanced over his shoulder at the closed door.

"Sir," he replied with dignity, "I perceive that I have been
unfortunate enough to give you a wrong notion of my character.
Let me say that, in interpreting my duty, I am even less likely to be
coerced by threats than by the strict letter of the law. I will not
be dragooned. And I decide nothing until you have opened that door."

"And that's mighty well said," commented Dr. Beckerleg.

Captain Jemmy slipped back the bolt.

"I shall nevertheless hold you to account," he growled.

"Thank you; I am accustomed to responsibility. And now let me say
that as the child seems to be in good hands--"

"On the contrary, he's in outrageously bad ones."

"--Or rather, in the hands of an upright and kindly gentleman, I
think we may perhaps agree that these rumours about Captain Salt
are--shall we say?--too good to be true. May I ask Dr. Beckerleg
here if he believes in ghosts?"

"Firmly," answered the Doctor, hiding a smile.

"I have known occasions," the attorney went on, with a serious face,
"when a cautious belief in ghosts has proved of the very highest
service in dealing with apparently intractable problems. Or suppose
we call it an hypothesis, liable to correction?"

"That's it," assented the Captain heartily. "I can believe Roderick
Salt to be a ghost until he comes to me and proves that he is not."

"Decidedly."

"And then I'll make him one."

The corners of Mr. Finch's mouth twitched perceptibly.

"Gently, dear sir! Remember, please, that I am only concerned with
the immediate situation. To-morrow I start again for Bristol,
leaving the future to be dealt with as your prudence may direct.
But I have no doubt," he added, with a bow "that you will act, in all
contingencies, with a single eye to the child's welfare. It is
understood, then, that the child, Tristram Salt, remains under the
care of Captain Barker, your friend, and his adoptive father--"

"Not at all."

"I think so," said Dr. Beckerleg quietly, looking straight into the
Captain's eyes.

"That's for me to decide, Doctor."

"Tut, tut! it was decided the moment you were born."

"I think," Mr. Finch interposed, "it is time I gave Captain Runacles
some necessary information about the boy's inheritance."

It was close upon four o'clock when the little blue door which, until
that morning, had remained shut for over four years was opened a
second time and Captain Runacles stepped through into Captain
Barker's domain. His wig was carefully brushed and he carried a
gold-headed cane. Whatever emotion he may have felt was concealed by
the upright carriage and solemn pace proper to a visit of state.

Captain Barker, who stood at the lower end of the garden and stooped
over his beloved tulips, started at the sound of footsteps, looked
round, and hastily plucking his wig from the handle of a spade that
stood upright in the mould by his elbow, arranged it upon his bald
scalp and awaited the other's advance.

The pair did not shake hands.

"I have come to speak with you about--er--Tristram." The name stuck
in Captain Jeremy's throat.

"The boy strayed into your premises to-day. I know it. If you are
aggrieved by such a trifle--"

"I am not. If you doubt the sufficiency of my excuse for calling
upon you, let me say at once that I come as the boy's guardian."

"Upon my word--"

"As his legal guardian."

"Bah! This is too much! Do you conceive yourself to be jesting?"

"Have you ever known me to jest?"

"Not wilfully."

"Not, at any rate, upon parchment. Be so good as to run your eye
over this."

The little man took the copy of Silvanus Tellworthy's will and
fumbled it between his fingers.

"Is this some dirty trick of lawyer's work?"

"It is."

"Do you really wish me to read it?"

"Unless you prefer me to explain."

"I do--vastly."

"Very well, then."

And Captain Runacles proceeded to explain the will in a hard,
methodical voice, nodding his head whenever he reached a point of
importance at the parchment which rustled between Captain Barker's
fingers. For a while this rustle sounded like the whisper of a
gathering storm.

"It follows from this," concluded Captain Runacles, "that I am
responsible for the child's upbringing. Can you carry the reasoning
a step farther?"

The little man looked up. The wrath had clean died out of his
puckered face; and in place of it there showed a blank despair,
mingled with loathing and unspeakable bitterness of soul.

"Yes, I can," he replied very slowly, and turning away his face leant
a hand on the spade beside him. "Oh, Jemmy, Jemmy!" he muttered.

There was no entreaty in the words, but they pierced Captain Jemmy's
heart like two stabs of a knife. He took a step forward and
stretched out a hand as if to lay it on his old friend's shoulder.
The little man jumped aside, faced him again, hissing out one word--

"_You!_"

The arm dropped.

"Jack--I'm sorry; but you have drawn the wrong conclusion."

The pair looked each other in the face for a moment, and Captain
Runacles went on, but more coldly and as if repeating a task--

"Yes, the wrong conclusion. For my own part, as you once pointed
out, I have a girl. I may add that I propose to train up Sophia; and
I haven't the faintest doubt that, in spite of her sex, I can train
her to knock your Tristram into a cocked-hat in every department of
useful knowledge. At the same time it has occurred to me that, as
his guardian, I am at least bound to give the boy every chance.
You are teaching him gardening?"

Captain Barker nodded, with a face profoundly puzzled.

"You object to it?" he asked.

"Decidedly, under your present conditions. You are cramped for
space."

"We are using every inch between the road and the marsh."

"You forget my back-garden, which lies waste at present."

"My dear Jemmy!"

"By knocking a hole in the party hedge you gain two and a half acres
at least. Then, as to water--you depend on the rainfall."

"That's true."

"But there's an excellent spring between this and Dovercourt; and the
owner will sell."

"It's half a mile away."

"God bless my soul! I suppose I am not too old to design a conduit."

Captain Jack's arm stole into Captain Jemmy's.

"You'll be saying next," the latter went on, "that I'm too old to set
about draining the marsh. Then, as to sundials: you're amazingly
deficient in sundials. Now half a dozen here and there--and a
fish-pond or two--unless you'd like to have a moat. I could run you
a moat around the back, and keep it supplied with fresh water all the
year round. By the way, talking of moats and fresh water, did I tell
you that Roderick Salt was not drowned, after all?"

"Eh? How did he die, then?"

"He's not dead."

"Good God!"

"He has been seen at The Hague, and again at Cuxhaven, by men of this
very port. Beckerleg will give you their names."

"But you tell me--the will, here, says--that he's joint guardian--"

"Yes: it's serious, if he finds out. Mr. Finch--I may say I've a
large respect for that attorney--Mr. Finch suggests that it may have
been his ghost. I think, Jack, we must take that explanation."

"Rubbish!"

"Ghosts have some useful properties."

"Name one or two."

"Well, to start with, they can be disbelieved in until seen."

"I begin to see."

"Then, again, should one appear, he can be believed in and walked
through. This is a rule without exceptions. If you have reason to
believe that a ghost stands before you, your first step would be to
make a hole in him to convince yourself."

"But if one should be mistaken?"

"If the apparition gives up the ghost, so to speak, and you find
yourself mistaken, I see no harm in owning it. As co-trustee of
aggrieved man, I will at any time listen to your apologies. By the
by, I have asked Mr. Finch to call upon you to-morrow and explain his
theory, among other matters of business. You will understand that I
bear no affection towards this boy of yours: on the contrary, I
sincerely desire my Sophia to shame him with her attainments.
It is a mere matter of my duty towards him; and I'll be obliged if
you keep him, as far as possible, out of my sight. Now about those
dials--"

Captain Barker understood, but replied only by tightening for a
moment the hand that rested on his comrade's sleeve. The old friends
moved on beside the flower-borders and fell into trivial converse to
hide a joy as deep as that of sweethearts who have quarrelled and now
are reconciled.



CHAPTER V.


A SWARM OF BEES.

The green volumes in which, for the next thirteen years, Captain
Barker kept accurate chronicle of Tristram's progress, and of every
fact, however trivial, that seemed to illustrate it, have since been
lost to the world, as our story will show. There were thirty-seven
of these volumes; and as soon as one was filled Dr. Beckerleg
presented another. It is our duty to take up the tale on the 1st of
May, 1691--the very day upon which misfortune stopped Captain
Barker's pen and (as it turned out) closed his _magnum opus_ for
ever.

Let us record only that during these thirteen years Tristram added so
much to his stature as to astonish his friends whenever they looked
at him; and that he took little interest in the affairs of the world
beyond the privet hedge--affairs which just then were extremely
unsettled and disturbed the sleep and appetite of a vast number of
people. To begin with, King Charles had died without doing his
faithful subjects the honour of explaining whether he did so as a
Protestant or a Papist, an uncertainty which caused them endless
trouble. The religion of his brother and successor, though quite
unambiguous, put them to no less vexation by being incurably wrong;
and after four years of heated controversy they felt justified in
flocking, more in sorrow than in anger, round the standard of
William, Prince of Orange, who agreed with them on first principles
and had sailed into Torbay before an exceedingly prosperous breeze.
King James having escaped to Saint Germains, King William reigned in
his stead, to the welfare of his people and the disgust of Captain
Barker and Captain Runacles, who from habit were unable to regard a
Dutchman otherwise than as an enemy to be knocked on the head.
Moreover, they retained a warm respect for the seamanship of their
ejected Sovereign, under whom they had frequently served, when as
Duke of York he had commanded the British Fleet.

Now, shortly after daybreak upon May morning, 1691--which fell on a
Friday--his Majesty King William the Third set out from Kensington
for Harwich, where a squadron of five-and-twenty sail, under command
of Rear-Admiral Rooke, lay waiting to escort him to The Hague,
there to open the summer campaign against King Lewis of France.
This expedition raised his Majesty's spirits for more than one
reason. Not only would it take him for some months out of a country
he detested, and back to his beloved Holland--the very flatness of
which was inexpressibly dear to his recollection, though he had left
it but a month or two--but the prospect of this year's campaign had
awakened quite an extraordinary enthusiasm in England. For the first
time since Henry the Eighth had laid siege to Boulogne, an English
army commanded by an English king was about to exhibit its prowess on
Continental soil. It became the rage among the young gentlemen of
St. James's and Whitehall to volunteer for service in Flanders.
The coffee-houses were threatened with desertion, and a prodigious
number of banquets had been held by way of farewell. The regiments
which marched into Harwich on the last day of April to await the King
were swollen with recruits eager for glory. Addresses of duty and
loyalty met his Majesty at every halting-place, and acclamations
followed the royal coach throughout the route. The townsfolk of
Harwich, in particular, had hung out every scrap of bunting they
could find, besides erecting half a dozen triumphal arches, which by
their taste and magnificence were calculated to leave the most
favourable impression in the Sovereign's mind.

The first of these arches, bearing the inscription _God Save King
William, Defender of our Faith and Liberty_, was erected on the
London road, a dozen paces beyond the Fish and Anchor Inn, Captain
Barker having refused the landlord--who desired to build the arch
right in front of his inn-door--permission to set up any pole or
support against the privet hedge. In fact, he and Captain Runacles
had sworn very heartily to sit indoors, pull down their blinds and
withhold their countenances from the usurper.

Nature, however, which regards neither the majesty of kings nor the
indignation of their subjects, made frustrate this unamiable design.

At twenty minutes past four that afternoon a hiveful of Captain
Barker's bees took it into their heads to swarm.

It was a warm afternoon, and the little man sat in his library
composing a letter to Mr. John Ray, of Cambridge University, whose
forthcoming _Historia Plantarum_ he believed himself to be enriching
with one or two suggestions on hibernation. Narcissus Swiggs was
down at the Fish and Anchor drinking King William's health.
Tristram, who was supposed to be at work clipping the privet hedge
around the apiarium, was engaged in the summer-house, at the far end
of it, upon business of his own.

This business--the nature of which shall be explained hereafter--
completely engrossed him. Nor did he even hear the restless hum of
the bees at the mouth of the hive, ten paces away, nor the noisy
bustle of the drones. It was only when the swarm poured out upon the
air with a whir of wings and, darkening for an instant the sunny
doorway of the summer-house, sailed over the yew hedge towards the
road, that Tristram leapt to his feet and ran at full speed towards
the pavilion.

"The bees have swarmed!" he called out, thrusting his head in at the
library window.

Captain Barker dropped his pen, bounced up, and came rushing out by
the front-door.

"Where?"

"Down towards the road."

Years had not tamed the little hunchback's agility. Without
troubling to fetch hat or wig, he raced down the garden path, and had
almost reached the gate before Tristram caught him up.

"Up or down did they go?" he asked, standing in the middle of the
road, uncertain in which direction to run.

"Across, most likely; but higher up than this, by the line they
took," Tristram answered, pointing in the direction of the town.
"Hullo!"

"What is it?"

"Why, look: there--under the arch!"

Beneath the very centre of the triumphal arch, and directly under the
sacred name of King William, there hung a black object larger than a
man's head and in shape resembling a bunch of grapes. It was the
swarm, and a very fine one, numbering--as Captain Barker estimated--
twenty thousand workers at the very least. He ran under the arch,
and nearly cricked his neck staring up at them.

His excited motions had been seen by a small knot of wagoners and
farm-hands, who were drinking and gossiping on the benches before the
Fish and Anchor, to wile away the time of waiting for the King's
arrival. At first they thought the royal cavalcade must be in sight,
though not expected for an hour or more; and hurried up in twos and
threes.

"What's the to-do, Captain?"

"Where's that lumbering fool Narcissus?" demanded Captain Barker,
stamping his foot and pointing to the cluster over his head.

Mr. Swiggs came forward, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
He had been the last to arrive, having lingered a minute to attend to
the half-emptied mugs of his more impatient fellows.

"Here," he announced.

"Fetch a ladder, and bring one of the new hives--the one I rubbed
with elder-buds the day before yesterday. Tristram, run to the house
for my gloves and a board. Quick, I say--here, somebody kick that
one-eyed dawdler! What the plague? Haven't there been kings enough
in England these last fifty years that you waste a good afternoon on
the look-out for the newest?"

"You'll be careful of my arch, Captain?" the landlord hazarded
nervously. "His Majesty'll be coming along presently--"

"I'll be careful of my bees. D'ye want me to leave them there till
he passes, and maybe to lose the half of my swarm down the nape of
his royal neck? I can't help their wearing the orange: they were
born o' that colour, which is more than you can say, landlord, or any
man Jack here present. But I can prevent their swarming and buzzing
in his Majesty's path like any crowd of turncoats. Ah, here comes
Tristram with the ladder! Set it here, my boy. Take care--don't run
a hole through _King William_--leave that to his new friends. So--
now pull on the gloves and step up, while I come after with the
hive!"

Tristram, having fixed the ladder firmly a little to the right of the
swarm, began to ascend. Captain Barker, giving orders to Narcissus
to stand by with the flat board, took the empty hive, and holding it
balanced upside-down in the hollow of his palm, was preparing to
follow on Tristram's heels, when an interruption occurred.

Round the corner of the road from Harwich town came a red-coated
captain, riding on a grey charger, and behind him a company of foot
marching eight abreast, with a sergeant beside them.

"Hullo!" cried the Captain, halting his company and riding forward.
He was a thin and foppish young gentleman in a flaxen wig, and spoke
with a high sense of authority, having but recently sacrificed the
pleasures of his coffee-house and a fine view of St. James's Park to
seek even in the cannon's mouth a bubble reputation that promised to
be fashionable.

"Hullo! what's the meaning of this?"

"Bees," answered Captain Barker shortly. "Narcissus, is the board
ready?"

"Do you know, sir, that his Majesty is shortly expected along here?"

"To be sure I do."

"Then, sir, you are obstructing the road. This is most irregular."

"Not at all--most regular thing in the world. A little early,
perhaps, for the first swarm."

"Be so good as to take down that ladder at once, and let my company
pass."

"A step higher, Tristram," said the little man, turning a deaf ear to
this order. "Better use the right hand. Wait a moment, while I get
the hive underneath."

"Take down that ladder!" shouted the red-coated officer.

"You must wait a moment, I'm afraid."

"You refuse?"

"Oh dear, yes! Keep back, sir, for the bees are easily frightened."

"Sergeant!" foamed the young man, "come and remove this ladder!"

He spurred his horse up to the arch as the sergeant stepped forward.
The beast, being restive, rubbed against the ladder with his flank
and shook it violently just as Tristram dislodged the swarm overhead.
Captain Barker reached out, however, and caught them deftly in the
upturned hive. Into it they tumbled plump. But the little man,
exasperated by the shock, had now completely lost his temper.
With sudden and infernal malice he inverted the beehive and clapped
it, bees and all, on the officer's head.

With that he skipped down to the ground, and Tristram, foreseeing
mischief, slid down after him quick as thought.

The officer roared like Hercules caught in the shirt of Nessus.
Nor for a few seconds could he get rid of his diabolical helmet: for
a couple of bees had stung the charger, which began to plunge and
caper like a mad thing, scattering the crowd right and left with his
hoofs. When at length he shook the hive off, the furious swarm
poured out upon the air, dealing vengeance. The soldiers, whose red
coats attracted them at once, fled this way and that, howling with
pain, pursued now by the bees and now chased into circles by the
lashing heels of the grey horse. The poor brute was stung by degrees
into a frenzy. With a wild leap, in which his four legs seemed to
meet under his belly, he pitched his master clean over the crupper
and, as a wind through chaff, swept through the people at a gallop
and off along the road towards the town.

"Phew!" whistled Captain John Barker: and stepping quickly to the
prostrate officer he whipped the unhappy gentleman's sword from its
sheath and handed it to Tristram.

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