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“Remember, I have said what I desire,” and turned off in another direction; while those left behind held such an “indignation meeting” as Oakby had never seen.
Chapter Seven.
No Use
“Learn that each duty makes its claim
Upon one soul, not each on all;
How if God speaks thy brother’s name,
Dare thou make answer to the call?”
Cheriton had encountered greater sorrows, he had met with more startling disappointments, but never, perhaps, had he endured such a complication of feeling as when he turned away and left Alvar in the stable yard. Perhaps he had never been so angry, for Alvar’s accusation was peculiarly galling, peculiarly hard to forgive, and impossible to forget. And then there was the bitter sense of utter failure – failure of influence, of tact, of affection, and, in so far as he identified himself with the place and the people, there was yet a deeper sense of injury. Every old prejudice, every old distaste, surged up in his mind, and yet he loved Alvar well enough to sharpen the sting. He walked on faster and faster, till want of breath stopped him, and brought on one of the fits of coughing to which overhaste or agitation always rendered him liable. He just managed to get back to the house and into the library, where Jack started up, as he threw himself into a chair.
“Cherry, what is the matter?”
Cherry could not speak for a moment; and Jack, much frightened, exclaimed, —
“What have you been doing? Let me call Alvar.”
Cheriton caught his arm as he turned away; and, after a few moments, as he began to get his breath, —
“Don’t be frightened. I walked too fast up hill.”
“How could you be so foolish?”
“Jack, I suppose I must tell you; indeed, I want to find out the rights of it; and I can ask no questions,” he added, with a sudden hurry in his accent.
“What do you mean? What has happened?”
The instinct of not irritating Jack enabled Cheriton to control his own indignation, and he said very quietly, —
“When I went up to the stable I found Alvar giving little Chris Fleming a tremendous licking. He was very much vexed with me for – I suppose for trying to interpose; but there were so many people about that we could not discuss it there. I wish you would go and ask old Bill what Chris had been doing, then come and tell me. Don’t say anything to Alvar about it.”
Jack was keen enough to see that this was not quite an adequate account of the matter. He saw that Cheriton was deeply moved in some way; but he was so unfit for discussion just then, that Jack thought the best course was to hurry off on his errand.
He came back in about half-an-hour, looking very serious – too much so to be ready to improve the occasion.
“Alvar has given old Bill warning – do you know that?”
“No. What was that for?” cried Cheriton, starting up.
“He would not speak a word to me, and Chris had gone off to his brother’s; but John Symonds told me what had passed.” Here Jack repeated the story of the ointment, old Bill’s disobedience, and Chris’s declaration that it had been done by Cheriton’s orders.
Cheriton’s face cleared a little.
“Ah, I understand now. No wonder Alvar was vexed! I can explain that easily. But old Bill, it was very unjustifiable; but if Alvar will not overlook it I do believe it will kill him.”
“I don’t see what he would have to live on,” said Jack. “You know that bad son spent his savings. But Alvar will let him off if you ask him, I daresay.”
“I think you had better do so,” said Cheriton quietly.
At this moment Alvar came into the room, and Cheriton addressed him at once.
“Alvar, when old Bill asked me about the ointment, I did not know that you had been giving any orders about it. I am very sorry for the mistake.”
“It is not of consequence,” said Alvar. “Do not trouble yourself about it.”
The words were kind, but the tone was less so; and there was something in Alvar’s manner which made it difficult even for Jack to say, – “I’m afraid old Bill Fisher was provoking. He should have told you that he could not get the stuff; but he is such an old servant, and so faithful. I hope you won’t dismiss him for it. He seems to belong to us altogether.”
“I shall not change,” said Alvar.
“But it’s an extremely harsh measure, and will make every one about the place detest you,” said Jack, still considering himself to be speaking with praiseworthy moderation.
“I will judge myself of the measure.” Then Cherry conquered his pride, and said pleadingly, —
“I wish it very much.”
“I am sorry to grieve you,” said Alvar, more gently; “but I have determined.”
“Well,” said Jack, losing patience, “we spoke as much for your sake as for Bill’s. Every one will consider it harsh dealing and a great shame. You’ll make them hate you.”
“I will make them fear me,” said Alvar.
“Claptrap and nonsense!” said Jack; but Cheriton interposed, —
“Hush, Jack, we have no right to say any more. What must be must.”
To do Alvar justice, he was not aware how deeply he was grieving Cheriton; he felt himself to be asserting his rights, and in the worst corner of his heart knew that any relenting would be ascribed to his brother’s influence.
It was a very miserable day. After some hours of astonished sulking, the poor old groom put his pride in his pocket, and came humbly “to beg t’ squire’s pardon,” and to entreat Cheriton to intercede for him, recapitulating his years of long service, and his recollections of the old squire’s boyhood, till he nearly broke Cherry’s heart; and induced him to promise to make another attempt at interceding – a promise which was not given without quite as severe a rebuke as Alvar had ever inflicted, for disrespect to his master’s orders.
He was closely followed by the eldest of the Fleming brothers, in great indignation.
Nowhere but at Oakby, as the young man took care to observe, would Chris have been allowed to take such a situation, in spite of his love of horses, and troublesomeness at home.
“Chris was impertinent to Mr Lester,” said Cheriton, hardly knowing what line to take.
Young Fleming was very sorry; in that case he was better at home, and he hoped it would not be inconvenient if he took him away at once.
“I suppose it might be best,” said Cheriton, thoroughly sympathising with the grievance, and thankful to Fleming for not obliging him to hear or say much about it.
“Then, sir, maybe you will tell the squire that such is our wish.”
“No; I think you had better write him a note about it.”
The two young men looked at each other, and though Cheriton turned his eyes quickly away, he knew well enough that Fleming understood the whole matter.
“As you please, sir,” he said; “I wouldn’t wish for you to be annoyed, Mr Cherry, and so I’ll keep out of the squire’s way. But Westmoreland men are not black slaves, which no doubt the squire is accustomed to, and accounts for his conduct. It’s plain, sir, to any one that can read the newspapers, that there’s no liberty in foreign parts, where they’re all slaves and papists. Education, sir, teaches us that. And folks do remark that the squire doesn’t keep his church as others do; and I have heard that he means to establish a Popish chapel like the one at Ravenscroft.”
“Then you have heard the greatest piece of nonsense that ever was invented. Education might cure you of such notions,” said Cherry. “You must do as you think best for Chris. I am very sorry.”
The last words were involuntary, and Cherry hurried away before he was betrayed into any further discussion.
Some hours later, as it was growing dusk, he was lying on the window-seat in the library, thinking of how he could plead old Fisher’s cause without giving offence, and coming slowly to the conclusion that his presence there was doing far more harm than good, that he was risking peace with Alvar, and had better give up the straggle, when Alvar himself came into the room, and came up to him.
“Are you not well?” he said, rather constrainedly.
“Only very tired.”
“What have you been doing?” said Alvar, sitting down on the end of the broad-cushioned seat, and looking at him.
The words certainly gave an opening; but Cheriton, famous all his life for the most audacious coaxing, could not summon a smile or a joke.
“I have been tired all day,” he said, to gain time for reflection.
“See,” said Alvar suddenly, “you are unhappy about this old man, whom I have dismissed.”
“Yes. I don’t defend him, far from it; but he is old and crochety, and I think you were harsh with him,” said Cherry resolutely.
“But it is I who should decide what to do with him,” said Alvar.
“Of course. Don’t imagine I dispute it,” said Cheriton, thinking this assertion rather foolish.
“You tell me that I should be master; you have told me so often. Well, then, I can be harsh to my servants if I please.”
“If you please, remembering that you and they serve the same Master above.”
Alvar paused for a moment, then said, —
“I do not please, at present. I have grieved you, as when I hurt Buffer. I will not be ruled by any one, but the old man shall live in his cottage, and have his wages; but he shall not come into the stables nor near my horses. Does that please you, my brother?”
Cherry had his doubts as to how old Bill might regard or fulfil the conditions, and certainly forbidding a servant to do any work was rather an odd way of punishing him; but he answered gratefully, —
“Yes, thank you, you have taken a great weight off my mind.”
“You cough,” said Alvar, after a few moments; “the weather is getting too cold for you.”
“I thought,” said Cherry, forcing himself to take advantage of the excuse, “that I would go to the sea for a little while before the winter.”
“Yes; where shall we go?” said Alvar, in a tone of interest. “Look,” he continued, with wonderful candour; “here we vex each other because we do not think the same. We are angry with each other; but we will come away, and I will take care of you. Then you shall go to London, and I shall come back, and you will see, I will yet be the squire. Where shall we go, mi caro?”
It was almost a dismissal, and so Cheriton felt it to be; but after all it was his own decision, and the return of Alvar’s old kindness was very comfortable to him.
“I had hardly thought about that,” he said.
“Well,” returned Alvar, “we can talk about it. Now, it is cold here in the window; come nearer to the fire and rest till dinner-time.”
As Cheriton sat up and looked out at the stormy sunset, he saw little Chris Fleming coming up the path that led round to the back door.
“Ah,” said Alvar cheerfully, following his eyes, “I do not wish to punish that boy any more. He has had enough, that little rascal.”
Evidently, Alvar’s conscience was quite at ease, and he did not suppose that he had in any way compromised himself. He began to perceive that Alvar had his own ideas as to what would make him really master of Oakby.
Just after dinner a note was brought to Alvar.
“If you please, sir, this note was found in the passage, just inside the back door.”
Alvar took the letter, lit one of the candles on the chimney-piece, and proceeded to read it.
“Moor End Farm, September 29th.
“Honoured Sir, – After the events of this morning, I consider it for the best that my brother Christopher should leave your service at once. I have no objection to forfeit any wages due to him, as I do not feel able to give the usual month’s notice after what has passed.
“I remain, honoured sir, —
“Your obedient servant, —
“Edward Fleming.”
Alvar coloured deeply as he read. “What is this?” he exclaimed. “May I not punish even a little boy, who insults me? Look!” and he threw the letter to his brother.
“It is very awkward,” said Cheriton.
“I think it is insolent,” said Alvar.
“I think there is a great effort to avoid any want of respect in the letter.”
“To take the boy away because he was punished!”
“Well, Alvar, if you or I were in Ned Fleming’s place, we shouldn’t have liked it.”
“Did you know that this letter was coming?”
“Yes, I did.”
“It is perhaps as you have advised Fleming?”
“No. I gave him no advice; but I knew he would not let the boy stay here.”
“Do you then approve?” said Alvar, in a curious sort of voice.
“From their point of view – yes. You are right in saying that you must make yourself felt as the master; but there is no good in enforcing your authority in a way that is not customary, to say the least of it. In England we can’t lay hands on other people; and they might have summoned you for an assault, you know.”
“What! before a judge?”
“Before a magistrate.”
“I?” exclaimed Alvar, in a tone of such amazement that Cheriton nearly laughed. “Who would listen to that little boy against me, who am a gentleman and his master?”
“The little boy is your equal in the eyes of the law, and might meet with more attention just because you are his master. Not that I mean to say it would not be regarded as very annoying to convict you,” said Cheriton, thinking of the feelings of Sir John Hubbard on such an emergency.
“I will myself be a magistrate,” said Alvar.
“That you never will,” said Cherry, losing patience, “while these stories get about, for no one would trust you.”
“Can I not be a magistrate if I choose?”
“Not unless the Lord Lieutenant gives you a commission, of course.”
“I think there is power for every one but me!” said Alvar. “I may not punish that little – what is your word? – vulgar, common boy. I do not like so much law. Gentlemen should do as they wish. You talk so much about my being landlord and squire. What is the use of it if I may not do as I will? Well, I will send away Fleming from his farm – that is mine at least.”
“I am afraid he has a twenty-one years lease in it,” said Cheriton, rather wickedly, and Alvar, fancying himself laughed at, suddenly put the letter in his pocket and turned away, as the gong sounded for dinner. He disappeared afterwards when they went back to the library, and Cheriton had the forbearance to abstain from giving Jack the benefit of Alvar’s peculiar views on the British constitution, though they could not fail to speak of the events of the morning, and Jack said, —
“Well, at least he has heard reason about old Bill, and that was of most consequence; but I should think you would be glad to be back in London, and out of the way of it all.”
“I am not quite sure about London, Jack,” said Cheriton, after a moment.
“What, don’t you feel well enough?”
“I don’t think I shall ever be good for much there; and besides – I think I should like to talk to you a little, Jack, if you’ll listen.”
“Well?”
“You know how I always looked forward to settling in London, and how Uncle Cheriton wished it, and meant to help me on. In fact I never thought of anything else.”
“Yes, I know,” said Jack, briefly.
“There was a time when I desired that sort of success intensely, and when things were very much changed for me, I thought it would still – be satisfactory.”
“Yes?”
“But of course, as you know, I soon perceived that the hard continuous work, necessary for anything like success, was quite out of the question for me – I feel sure that it always will be; and, moreover, I never felt well in London. I was much better here when I first came back.”
Poor Jack looked as if the disappointment were much fresher and harder to him than to the speaker himself.
“You must know,” Cheriton continued, “that a doctor once told me at Oxford that the damp soft air there was very bad for a native of such a place as this, and I see now that the last few months there began the mischief; and London has something the same effect on me. That seems to settle the question.”
“I suppose so,” said Jack, so disconsolately, that Cherry half smiled, as he resumed, —
“Otherwise the pleasant idle life there might have its charms. Though, after all, Jack, I shouldn’t like it as things are now. When I expected to be a London man, I expected, as you know – a good deal else. And afterwards even, while all home ties here were safe and sound, one would not get selfish and aimless. But now I couldn’t be happy, I think, without a home-world that really belonged to me.”
“And so home is being spoilt for you too?” said Jack.
“I see,” returned Cheriton, “that it won’t do. If Alvar is left to himself here, he will fight his way now, I think, to some means of managing proper to himself.”
“Or improper,” said Jack.
“Well, to be honest, I am afraid he will make a great many mistakes, and do a great deal of mischief. But if I were here – I mean if this place were still to be home to me so that I still felt – as I should feel – a personal concern in all the old interests, Alvar would quarrel with me. I might prevent individual evils; but in the long run I should do harm. He thought at first that I should guide him. Perhaps I thought so too; but it is a false and impossible relation, and it must be put a stop to.”
“But, Cherry, I think father looked to you to keep things straight.”
“Yes,” said Cherry, “but not to make them more crooked, by such disputes as we have had lately.”
Cheriton spoke resolutely, though with a quiver of the lip, and Jack could guess well enough at the pain the resolve was costing him. “Alvar is quite changed to you!” he said, savagely.
“Yes, because he himself is changing. He is different in many ways, and conscious of all sorts of difficulties.”
“But what do you mean to do?”
“Oh, nothing desperate, nothing till the winter is over. Probably I shall go to the sea with Alvar, as he suggests. Then if I am pretty well, I shall go and see granny. I have a notion that I should be better here in the cold weather than in London. I want to try.”
“Had you all this in your mind when you settled to buy Uplands?” said Jack suddenly. “Yes – in part I had.”
“But, you are not thinking of living there! What are you driving at, Cherry, I can’t understand you?”
“Well, Jack,” said Cherry, slowly and with rising colour, “I will tell you, but I wanted to show you the process. And you must remember that it is only an idea known to no one, and very probably may prove impossible, perhaps undesirable.”
“Tell me,” said Jack, more gently. Any scheme for the future was a relief from listening to the laying aside of hopes which he knew had been so much a part of Cheriton’s being.
“Well,” said Cherry again, “I’m afraid my motives are rather poor ones. You see, after Oakby there’s no place for me like Elderthwaite. I want the feeling, as I say, of a place and neighbours of my own. I suppose I am used to playing first fiddle, and to looking after other people’s concerns. Granny always said I was a gossip. Then I’m narrow-minded, perhaps I have had too much taken out of me to think of starting fresh. And you know the old parson will always put up with me, and so will Elderthwaite people. And I want an object in life – if you knew how dreary it is to be without one! If they had a strange curate he would set them all by the ears, and the parson would make a fool of himself! So if Mr Ellesmere thinks the bishop would consent, and approves, and if I am fit for anything, I thought that I would try.”
Jack was silent for some moments. He understood Cheriton well enough to “follow the process,” but it affected him strongly, and at last he said, gravely, —
“I am afraid all the vexation here has put this into your head.”
“Partly,” said Cherry, simply, “this actual thing. I can’t say anything of other motives of course, Jack. I know that it looks like, that in fact it is turning to this – which ought to be the offering of all one’s best – when other careers have failed me. And I know that those who sympathise the least will be the most inclined to say so. But it is not quite so. I have always wished to be of use, of service, here especially. I thought I saw how. I have the same wish still, and this seems to offer me a way. It is but a gathering up of the fragments, but I trust He will accept.”
Jack’s view rather was that the plan was not good enough for his brother, than that his brother was not good enough for it.
“You were always good enough for anything, if that is what you mean,” he said. “But I do understand, Cherry, about wanting an object; only – only it’s such an odd one.”
“I tell you,” said Cherry, brightly, for the disclosure was a great relief to him, “that that’s the very point. I don’t think I get on amiss with any one, even with the Sevillanos, but down at the bottom of my heart, Jack, I’m not far removed – we none of us are – from ‘There’s a stranger, ’eave ’alf a brick at him,’ and when I think of any direct dealing with people, anything like clerical work, why, except to my own kith and kin, I should have nothing to say. The self-denial of missionaries seems to me incredible. I could not do as Bob means to do, I think, if health and strength were to be the reward of it. It’s a very unworthy weakness, I know, but I can’t help it.”
“You would get on very well anywhere,” said Jack; “that is all nonsense. I don’t believe Elderthwaite would agree with you, and you could overwork yourself just as well there as anywhere else.”
“Well, as to the place agreeing with me, that remains to be proved. It’s a very small church, and a small place; and I hope I might be able to do the little they are fit for – at present. But I know it may prove to be out of the question.”
Jack was silent. He could not bear to vex Cherry by opposing a scheme which seemed to offer him some pleasure in the midst of his annoyances, and if his brother had proposed to take orders with more ordinary expectations, it would have been quite in accordance with the Oakby code of what was fitting. But there was something in the consecration of what Cheriton evidently viewed as a probably short life and failing powers to an object so unselfish, and yet, as it seemed to Jack, so commonplace, it was so like Cherry, and yet showed such a conquest of himself – there was such humility in the acknowledgment that he was only just fit for the sort of imperfect work that offered itself, and yet such a complete sense that no one else could manage that particular bit of work so well – it was, as Jack said, “so odd,” that it thrilled him through and through, and he was glad that Alvar’s entrance saved him from a reply.
