Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 12

  CHAPTER XII.

  No need to recount my bitter farewell to all the scenes and objects Ihad loved so long, to all which possessed a dark yet tender interest,and most of all to my father's grave. That some attention might stillbe paid to this, I entrusted it to the care of an old housekeeper ofours, who was living in the village. My last visit was in themoonlight, and dear mother was there. I carried rather than led heraway. Slight as my knowledge has been of lightsome and happy love, I amsure that a sombre affection is far the stronger and sweeter.

  As we began our journey, a crowd of the villagers met us beyond thelodge, and lined the Gloucester road as far as the old oak-tree. Whileour hired conveyance passed between them, the men stood mute with theirhats in their hands, the women sobbed and curtseyed, and blessed us, andheld up their children to look at us.

  Our refuge was the small estate or farm in Devonshire, which I havementioned as my mother's property. This, which produced L45 a-year, wasall that now remained to us, except a sum of L1,000 left to me by agodfather, and of which I could not touch the principal. The residue ofthe personalty, and the balance at the banker's, we had refused to take,being assured that legally we were responsible to Mr. Vaughan, even forthe back rents of the Gloucestershire estate. Of course we had plentyof jewellery, some of it rather valuable, but the part most precious washeirloom, and that we had left behind. Most of our own had been myfather's gift, and therefore we could not bear to sell it.

  As regarded myself, this comparative poverty was not of very greatmoment, except as impairing my means of search; but for my mother's sakeI was cut to the heart, and lost in perplexity. She had so long beenaccustomed to much attention and many luxuries, which her weak healthhad made indispensable to her. Thomas Henwood and poor Ann Maplesinsisted on following our fortunes, at one third of their previouswages. My mother thought it beyond our means to keep them even so; butfor her sake I resolved to try. I need not say that I carried all myrelics, difficult as it was to hide them from my mother.

  When we reached our new home, late in the evening of the second day, afull sense of our privation for the first time broke upon us. It wasmid-winter, and in the gloom of a foggy night, and after the wearinessof a long journey, our impressions were truly dismal. Jolted endlesslyup and down by ruts a foot deep and slaty stones the size ofcoal-scuttles, entombed alive betwixt grisly hedges which met above uslike the wings of night, then obliged to walk up treadmill hills whilethe rickety fly crawled up behind; then again plunging and lurching downsome corkscrew steep to the perpetual wood and rushing stream at thebottom; at length and at last along a lane so narrow that it scraped uson both sides as we passed, a lane which zig-zagged every thirty yardswith a tree-bole jutting at every corner, at length and at last we cameto the farmyard gate. It was not far from the lonely village ofTrentisoe, which lies some six miles to the west of Lynmouth. This partis little known to London tourists, though it possesses scenery of ararer kind than Lynmouth itself can show.

  Passing through an outer court, with a saw-pit on one side and what theycall a "linhay" on the other, and where a slop of straw and "muck"quelched under the wheels, we came next to the farmyard proper, and so(as the flyman expressed it) "home to ouze." The "ouze" was a lowstraggling cottage, jag-thatched, and heavy-eaved, and reminded mestrongly of ragged wet horse-cloths on a rack. The farmer was not comehome from Ilfracombe market, but his wife, Mrs. Honor Huxtable, soonappeared in the porch, with a bucket in one hand and a candle stuck in aturnip in the other. In the cross-lights, we saw a stout short woman,brisk and comely, with an amazing cap, and cheeks like the apples whichthey call in Devonshire "hoary mornings."

  "A massy on us, Zuke," she called into the house, "if here bain't thegenelvolks coom, and us be arl of a muck! Hum, cheel, hum for theelaife to the calves' ouze, and toorn out both the pegs, and take thepick to the strah, and gie un a veed o' wets."

  Having thus provided for our horse, she advanced to us.

  "So, ye be coom at last! I be crule glad to zee e, zure enough. Bainte starved amost! An unkid place it be for the laikes of you."

  So saying, she hurried us into the house, and set us before a wood-fireall glowing upon the ground, beneath an enormous chimney podded withgreat pots and crocks hung on things like saws. These pots, likeDevonshire hospitality, were always boiling and chirping. The kitchenwas low, and floored with lime and sand, which was worn into pits suchas boys use for marbles; but the great feature was the ceiling. Thiswas divided by deep rafters into four compartments lengthwise. Acrosssome of these, battens of wood were nailed, forming a series of racks,wherein reposed at least a stye-ful of bacon. Herbs and stores of manykinds, and ropes of onions dangled between.

  Mrs. Huxtable went to the dresser, and got a large dish, and then turnedround to have a good look at us.

  "Poor leddy," she said gently, "I sim her's turble weist and low. Butlook e zee, there be a plenty of bakken yanner, and us'll cut a peg'sdrort to-morrow, and Varmer Badcock 'll zend we a ship, by rason ourn beall a'lambing." Then she turned to me.

  "Whai, Miss, you looks crule unkid tu. Do e love zider?"

  "No, Mrs. Huxtable. Not very much. I would rather have water."

  "Oh drat that wash, e shan't have none of thiccy. Us has got a browngearge of beer, and more nor a dizzen pans of mulk and crame."

  Her chattering warmth soon put us at our ease; and as soon as theparlour fire burnt up, she showed us with many apologies, and "hoppingno offence" the room which was thenceforth to be ours.

  After tea, I put my dear mother to bed as soon as possible, and sat bythe dying fire to muse upon our prospects. Not the strangeness of theplace, the new ideas around me, not even my weariness after railroad,coach, and chaise, could keep my mind from its one subject. In fact,its colour had now become its form.

  To others indeed, all hope of ever detecting and bringing to justice theman, for whose death I lived, might seem to grow fainter and fainter.Expelled from that place, and banished from those recollections, where,and by which alone, I could well expect ever to wind up my clue, robbedof all means of moving indifferent persons and retaining strong ones;and, more than this, engrossed (as I must henceforth be) in keeping debtat bay, and shielding my mother from care--what prospect was there, naywhat possibility, that I a weak unaided girl, led only by set will andfatalism, should ever overtake and grasp a man of craft, and power, anddesperation?

  It mattered not: let other things be doubtful, unlikely, or impossible;let the hands of men be clenched against me, and the ears of heaven bestopped; let the earth be spread with thick darkness, as the waters arespread with earth, and the murderer set Sahara between us, or turnhermit on the Andes; happen what would, so God were still above us, andthe world beneath our feet--I was as sure that I should send that manfrom the one to the throne of the other, as he was sure to be draggedaway thence, to fire, and chains, and gnashing of teeth.