The Adventures of Dick Trevanion: A Story of Eighteen Hundred and Four, Page 2

  CHAPTER THE SECOND

  John Trevanion Returns Home

  About half-an-hour before Mr. Mildmay left the Squire's supper-table sohurriedly, a man laboured up the last few feet of the winding pathleading from the beach of St. Cuby's Cove to the cliff-top, which hegained at a point rather more than half-a-mile from the spot where Dickand Sam had previously ascended. He was a tall man, his build andfigure indicating a capacity for lithe and rapid movement, so that theheaviness of his gait was probably due solely to the size and weight ofthe leathern trunk he carried. Like Sam Pollex, he paused for a momenton reaching the top to recover his breath and mop his brow; then,shouldering his trunk, he struck into a narrow footpath that led overthe cliff. It branched into two after a few yards, the right-handbranch going direct to the Towers, the left-hand running away from thesea to join a rough, ill-made road which led past the gate of the Towersto the village.

  On reaching the fork the pedestrian did not hesitate, as a strangermight have done, but took the left-hand path. After proceeding a fewsteps along it, however, he made a sudden half-turn, and stopped,looking across the open ground towards the Towers, where one room on theground floor made a patch of light against the dark background of skyand sea. The man stood but a moment, then resumed his march along thepath in the same direction as before. A smile wreathed his lips, and hemuttered to himself. He went on at a smart pace over the level ground,turned to the right when he came to the road, passed the Towers' gates,which he observed were broken, and walked for another quarter of a milebefore he again halted. Then he set his burden down by the roadside,sat upon it, and wiped his heated face, where the smile had beenreplaced by a frown.

  "I daresay I'm a fool," he muttered in a growling undertone. "Why did Ichafe and gall myself with carrying this plaguey trunk? However, maybe'tis best."

  While he was still resting, he heard footsteps upon his right hand, andlooked round quickly. The moon was up, and he saw a young fishermanrolling along a path that ran into the road a few paces distant.

  "Ahoy, there!" cried the traveller in a deep and mellow voice.

  The fisherman, who had not as yet perceived him, came to a sudden stopas the silence of the night was broken thus unexpectedly and so near athand; then, catching sight of the figure on the trunk, he slipped offthe path on to the grass and began to run.

  "Ahoy, there! What ails you?" cried the man. "D'you want to earn agroat?"

  Reassured, apparently, at the mention of so material a thing as a groat,the fisherman turned and came slowly towards the speaker.

  "Did you think I was a ghost?" the stranger went on with a laugh. "Iwant you to carry this trunk to the village, and I'll give you a groatfor your pains."

  "I'll do it, maister," replied the fisher, shouldering the trunk. "Butye give me a fright, that ye did."

  "Why, you never saw a ghost with a brown face, and a black hat, and ablue coat, not to speak of brown breeches and long boots, did you?"

  "I won't say I did, but the neighbours do say there be ghostesesup-along by St. Cuby's Well. Maybe yer a furriner, maister?"

  "No, no; I'm good Cornish like yourself," replied the man, who knew thatto Cornishmen all who lived beyond the borders of the duchy wereaccounted foreigners.

  "Well, I can see plain ye be a high person, and jown me if I know why yecarry yer own bag and traipse afoot, instead o' coming a-horseback, orin a po'chay."

  The traveller shot a glance at the lad. He saw a rugged profile, a browon which thought had carved no furrows, a half-open mouth: thephysiognomy of a simple countryman. Then, after a scarcely perceptiblepause, he said:

  "Well, I hate close folks who make a secret of everything, so I'll tellyou. I got a lift in a travelling wagon from Newquay, but the wretchthat drove it was bound for Truro, and point-blank refused to bring mefarther than the cross-roads a couple of miles back. So now you know,my man, and I daresay you could tell a stranger what I've told you."

  "Sure and sartin. You be come from Newquay in a wagon, and when ye gotto cross-roads driver said he'd be jowned if he'd carr' 'ee a stepfurder."

  "You have it pat; and now step out; 'tis getting latish."

  They proceeded along the silent road at a good pace toward the village,the traveller dropping a remark now and then from which the fishermanunderstood that he was not a complete stranger to the district. Just asthey reached a spot where the road dipped somewhat steeply, there weresounds of rapid footsteps behind them, and in a few moments two men cameup, one Mr. Mildmay, the revenue officer, the other an oldweather-beaten fellow in seaman's clothes. He wore a black shade overhis right eye, and the unnaturally short distance between his nose andthe tip of his chin showed that he had lost his teeth. This was JoePenwarden, the veteran exciseman who had been mentioned at SquireTrevanion's supper-table. On leaving the Towers, Mr. Mildmay had gonefirst to the right, and fetched Penwarden from his little cottage on thecliff, and then retraced his steps through the Squire's grounds. Had hebeen a few minutes earlier, he could hardly have failed to see thepedestrian trudging with his trunk on his shoulder along the path thatran a score of yards from Penwarden's cottage.

  "Halt, in the King's name!" cried Mr. Mildmay, as he overtook the twomen who had preceded him along the road.

  "'HALT, IN THE KING'S NAME!' CRIED MR. MILDMAY"]

  "I'll halt if 'ee bid me in the King's name," said the fisher,recognising the revenue officer, whom he, like the population ofPolkerran generally, held in detestation mingled with unwilling respect,"but I bean't doin' nowt agen the law, I tell 'ee, carr'in' a genel'um'straps for a groat."

  "A gentleman, is it?" said Mr. Mildmay, turning to the traveller. "Imust ask you to tell me your business."

  "And you shall have an answer. I come from Newquay, and am going toseek a night's lodging at the Five Pilchards, if you have no objection,captain."

  Mr. Mildmay looked suspiciously at the speaker, whose accent was that ofan educated man. He was not the type of person to meet afoot with histrunk on the high road. Old Penwarden's single eye also was fixed onthe stranger's swarthy, bearded face.

  "No more objection, my dear sir, than you will have to my taking a lookat the inside of that trunk of yours. In the King's name!"

  "With all the pleasure in life. Amos, or whatever your name is, setdown the trunk for the inspection of this exceedingly zealous officer ofHis Majesty's."

  The trunk was opened, and Penwarden turned over its contents, Mr.Mildmay looking on. He found articles of apparel, a sword, some bundlesof papers, a bag of money, a large leather-bound book, a brace ofpistols, and sundry insignificant articles, none of which was chargeablewith duty.

  "Thank you, sir," said Mr. Mildmay, when the inspection was concluded."I am sorry to have detained you, but in these times----"

  "Quite so, captain," interrupted the other. "In these times one cannotbe too particular. I bid you good-night, and better luck at your nextexamination."

  Mr. Mildmay hurried on with Penwarden, and was soon lost to sight.

  "Who's that popinjay?" said the traveller, when the lieutenant was outof hearing.

  "That be Maister Mildmay, the preventive officer, and a drattedfurriner," replied the fisher. "He've been in these parts two yearsnow, and a meddlesome feller he be too. Hee! hee! He got nowt for hispains this time, maister, and if there's one thing I do like to see,'tis the preventives fooled. Hee! hee!"

  "Old Penwarden looks the same as ever, except for the shade over hiseye."

  "Do 'ee know him, maister?"

  "I used to, years ago."

  "Iss, old Joe be a decent good soul of his trade, and we was vexed,trewly, when 'a got his eye put out in a fight by Lunnan Cove. Butthere, he shouldn' meddle with honest free-traders. Lawk-a-massy! I bespeakin' free."

  "Oh, you're quite safe with me. I'm a bit of a free-trader myself, inmy way."

  They went on, and in a few minutes came to an inn at the lower end ofthe village near the b
each. This was the Five Pilchards. The villageboasted another inn, a hundred yards away, called the Three JollyMariners; but it belied its name, being frequented mainly by farmlabourers.

  The traveller paid and dismissed the fisher, and rapped at the closeddoor. It was opened by the innkeeper himself, a podgy, red-nosed,blear-eyed fellow, with an underhung lip, and a chin like a dewlap. Asmall candle-lamp hung above in the doorway, showing a dim yellow rayupon the smiling face of the visitor. The innkeeper started back.

  "I startled you, eh?" said the visitor. "Yes, it is I myself--JohnTrevanion come home again. I am getting on in years, Doubledick, and Ifelt I should like to die among my friends."

  "Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" laughed the innkeeper. "'Tis Maister John, for sure,come home with his little jokes. Come along in, maister, come in; dazeme if I bean't as pleased as pigs to see 'ee."

  "Take me to a room, Doubledick, and get some clean sheets, will you?And send me up something passable to eat and drink; I'll sup alone."

  "Iss, sure. I'll give 'ee the best I've got in the house. What do 'eesay, now, to collops and fried taties, or a nice bit o' bass, or a disho' pickled pilchurs, and some real old--you know what, Maister John?Hee, hee!"

  "Whatever you like, Doubledick, only be quick about it."

  The innkeeper led his visitor along a passage past the open door of thebar-parlour. John Trevanion glanced in as he went by. A number ofrough fishermen in various garments sat drinking on settles along thewall. The most noticeable among them was a man of vast breadth, brawnyand muscular, his strong features tanned copper-colour by years ofsea-faring, his thick hair and beard the hue of ebony. The sleeves ofhis scarlet jersey were turned up, revealing brown and hairy forearmsthat would have befitted a Hercules.

  "Tonkin is still flourishing, I see," said Trevanion in an undertone tothe innkeeper as he passed.

  "Iss, Zacky Tonkin be as great a man as ever he wer, and a tarribleplague o' life to the preventives. Mr. Curgenven--ye mind of him,Maister John?--died two year back, and they sent a furrin feller,Mildmay by name, to look arter us mortals--hee! hee! He be a good fellerat his job, a sight better than Curgenven, who loved an easy life, as'ee could remember; but Zacky do know how to deal wi' un, he do so. Oh,'tis a rare deceivin' game he plays wi' un. He's up-along anddown-along, and this Mildmay feller atraipsin' arter un, by sea andland, 'tis all one to Zacky. Here's yer room, Maister John. Do 'ee setyerself down and I'll bring 'ee up a supper fit for a lord in no time."

  He looked at his visitor doubtfully for a moment.

  "I'd axe 'ee one thing," he said. "Be I to let 'em know down below asyou be in house?"

  "To be sure, Doubledick, there's nothing to conceal. You might rememberto say that I've come from London--no, hang me, I am forgetting; fromNewquay directly, from London ultimately. You understand?"

  "Iss, I understand. No matter where 'ee come from, if 'twere from oldNick hisself, they'll be glad to see 'ee, that they will."

  John Trevanion kept to his room until the morning. At nine o'clock heleft the inn and made his way through the village by back lanes, toescape the notice of such fishermen as might remember him, and proceededat a quick pace along the road to the Towers. He was dressed thismorning in a black hat turned up at one side with a rosette, abottle-green frock coat, white kerseymere breeches, and long boots. "Helooks summat older and nearer graveyard, as must we all," remarkedDoubledick to a crony as he watched him depart, "but he's a fine figureof a man still."

  Arriving at the Towers, John Trevanion lifted the latch of the doorleading to the inhabited portion, and entered with the freedom of one ofthe family. The Squire was at breakfast with his wife and son.

  "Come in," he shouted, in answer to a tap on the door, and rose from hischair as the well-dressed visitor entered, thinking, as might have beengathered from his manner, that it was one of the few friends who had thefreedom of the house. But at a second glance his demeanour altered.

  "You have made a mistake, I think," he said stiffly, resting both handson the table. His fine face was flushed, and Dick, looking on inwonderment, noticed that the riband that bound his queue of grey hairwas quivering.

  "Surely, Cousin Roger, you'll let bygones be bygones," said JohnTrevanion suavely. "'Tis now--I don't know how many years ago."

  "When I last saw you, sir, I bade you never enter my door again. I donot call back my words, and see no reason to do so. You will oblige meby relieving me of your presence."

  The words came sternly from his trembling lips. Dick felt himself go hotand cold.

  "Is there no word repentance in your dictionary, Roger Trevanion?" saidhis cousin bitterly. "You're a good Christian, I suppose--go to churchand say the Commandments, 'love your neighbour,' and all that; butyou'll harden your heart against one of your own kin that had theill-luck to offend you----"

  "Stop!" thundered the Squire. "The offence to me I make nothing of; youhave shamed your name and put yourself beyond the pale of honest men.'Ill-luck,' you call it! 'Twas no ill-luck--though we Trevanions haveenough of that, God knows!--but the act and nature of a scoundrel. I amashamed you bear my name. I disown you. Take yourself out of my sight."

  His wife laid a gentle hand on his arm.

  "A pretty welcome, on my soul, for a man who has lived down the faultsof his youth," said John Trevanion. "I tell you, Roger Trevanion, Iwill not put up with such usage--I will not! I don't want yourforgiveness; a fig for your friendship! But I demand decent treatmentfrom you, and----"

  "By the Lord that made me," cried the Squire, "if you do not instantlyremove yourself from this house I will have you thrown out. Do you hearme, sir?"

  John Trevanion's eyes glittered as he returned his cousin's wrathfullook. He half opened his mouth, closed it with a snap; then aninscrutable smile stole upon his face. He shrugged, turned on his heel,and went silently from the room.

  The Squire sank into his chair. The flush had vanished from his face,leaving it ashy pale. His hands trembled with excess of indignation.

  "My dear, calm yourself," said his wife soothingly. "He is gone."

  He made no reply. Dick sat silent, every nerve tingling withexcitement. In a minute his father rose, leaving his coffee halffinished, and strode heavily from the room.

  "Mother, what does it mean?" asked Dick breathlessly. "Was that cousinJohn?"

  "Yes, my dear. Do not name him to your father. I will go to him; Ifear he will be ill. Finish your breakfast, Dick, and go to theParsonage. You had better stay there all day; Mr. Carlyon will give yousome dinner."

  She followed her husband, leaving Dick to his breakfast and hiswondering thoughts. He faintly remembered his cousin John Trevanion,who ten years before had lived in the now empty Dower House, between theTowers and the village, as his father had done before him. JohnTrevanion had then been a gay, careless, happy-go-lucky young man ofthirty, who lived on the Squire's bounty, riding his horse among thecounty yeomanry, hunting with his neighbours, roistering it with themost rakish young blades of the adjacent manors, joining in daredevilescapades with the smugglers. His antics and riotings became a byword inthe country-side, and Dick remembered how, when a young boy, he hadwitnessed several violent scenes between his father and John after someparticularly outrageous exploit. Old Pollex had told him that theSquire had threatened many times that unless John reformed he would nolonger be allowed to occupy the Dower House, and had forgiven him overand over again. At last a day came when John disappeared. Dick hadnever learnt the true reason; the Squire never mentioned his cousin;Pollex, when questioned, shook his head and pursed up his lips, and saidthat John Trevanion was a villain; and Dick had formed the conclusionfrom stray hints that the ne'er-do-well cousin had been driven out ofthe country by some criminal act. For ten years he had not been heardof, and he had wholly slipped from Dick's thoughts.

  Having finished his breakfast, Dick took his cap and set off for histwo-mile walk to the Parsonage, where he went daily to receive lessonsin classics and literature f
rom Mr. Carlyon, the vicar. He had neverbeen to school, his father's resources being incapable of bearing theexpense. A few years before this time the Squire had been seriouslydisturbed about his son's education. He was himself a sufficientlycompetent tutor in mathematics, but what classics he ever had had whollyleft him, and he was miserable in the thought that the boy was growingup without the elements of the education of a gentleman. At this pointthe vicar stepped in with a proposal. He was a liberal-minded, genialman, a fellow of his college, a student of his county's antiquities, andin his 'varsity days had been a notable athlete. Now, though well on inyears, he would often, on a Sunday afternoon after church, lend hiscountenance to wrestling bouts and games of baseball among the villageyouths. He rode to hounds, and judged at coursing matches, these andsimilar avocations probably accounting for the fact that a history ofthe parish, which he had commenced twenty years before, was stillunfinished. One day he suggested to the Squire that he should give Dicklessons in Latin and Greek, to keep himself from rusting, as the worthyman delicately put it, but really to make good the deficiency due to hisfriend's straitened means. Mr. Trevanion gladly accepted the offer, andDick had now been for five years under the parson's capable tuition.

  When Dick returned home in the evening he was met by Sam Pollex in astate of considerable excitement.

  "I say, Maister Dick," he said, "this be a fine mossel o' news. Yercousin John--a rare bad 'un he be--have come home-along."

  "I know," replied Dick. "I've seen him."

  "Have 'ee, for sure? I hain't seed un, but I heerd tell on un invillage. Ike Pendry were goin' along road last night when up comes mygenel'um and axed un to carr' his bundle for a groat. He wer traipsin'along from St. Cuby's Cove way, about an hour, it do seem, arter we comeup from fishin'."

  "Where had he come from?"

  "Newquay, 'a said; but 'tis my belief he come out o' the smack we seed,and clomb the cliff, same as we."

  "That's nonsense. He wouldn't come in a smack, and if he did hewouldn't land at the Cove. He has made no secret of his return, andthere's no reason why he shouldn't land at the jetty."

  "Ah, well, things be as they be; but I reckon he come in the smack, allthe same."

  "What is he doing in the village?"

  "He bean't there no longer. This arternoon he packed up his traps andrid off on one of Doubledick's hosses to Trura. Feyther seed un go. 'Acalled to un as he rid by. 'Hoy, Reuben!' says he, ''tis a coldcountry, this!' That just 'mazed Feyther, 'cos it was a frizzlin' day.'Spect he've been in furrin parts, wheer what's bilin' to we is nawthin'but chill-off to they. So 'tis, to be sure."

  At this piece of news Dick felt much relieved. He hoped that Polkerranhad seen the last of John Trevanion. But it turned out that the returnof the native was only the first scene in a series of strange happeningsthat were to be long remembered in the village, and were vitally toaffect the fortunes of the family at the Towers.