Читать книгу Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England - Matthew Stanley Kemp - Страница 12

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"OFF WITH HIS HEAD."[3]

[3] "King Richard III."

It was still twilight when the squire reached the Manor. Hastily giving the cob into the hand of Sloan, he hurried into the hall and seated himself by a large window, where was stationed a large oaken table littered with a motley array of books and papers. This was the squire's position when any petty case was brought before him. Whether the books were kept for show or use no one knew. The only time the squire was known to look at them was during a trial, and this he did with the air of a Lord Chief Justice, which air had a very perceptible effect upon the trembling culprit.

If the truth were told, the squire had a more intimate knowledge of fishing, hunting, farm and mine management, the origin of ancient village plays and customs, than about law. Law always was a perplexing study to him. But as a compensation for his lack in this respect, he more than made it up in the learned dignity of his demeanour.

There were approaching steps heard on the veranda, and then the opening of a door, and in a moment more Stephen Blunt and Ande Trembath stood before him.

The steward took the chair that he was accustomed to occupy, ushered to such position by a wave of the squire's hand, and sharpened his quill pen preparatory to writing. Ande, neither invited to sit down nor stand, remained near at hand. His mother in her fond delight, thinking that he was to be rewarded for his morning heroism, had determined that he should be dressed in a manner suitable for the occasion. He presented a very creditable appearance in his snow-white trowsers, neckerchief, and neat blue jacket. His feelings were not as pleasant as his garments. Since he was evidently going to be rewarded for his services in saving the life of Mistress Alice, he felt exceedingly out of place. He rested his weight on one foot, fidgeted with the other, and fumbled his cap in a nervous manner. He grew restless under the steady eye of the master of Trembath Manor, and his restlessness increased the suspicions in the mind of the latter.

"Master Trembath."

The lad felt relieved that the silence was at length broken.

"Master Trembath, you were nigh the estate of late?"

"Yes—s, sir. I frequently go through the Manor woods, sir."

"Note that down, Master Blunt."

A bewildered look passed over the lad's face.

"You were nigh the estate last evening, and will you now tell us what you were doing in that place at that time?"

Ande grew more amazed and confused; amazed because he knew not what the squire was trying to ascertain, confused because he had been there and even in the gardens, but for a purpose he did not wish to divulge. A wave of crimson swept over his countenance, rivalling the sanguine hue of his locks.

"Take notice of his confusion, Master Blunt," and then in a stern voice to the lad, "You may as well out with it, we know all the facts of the affair."

Ande tried to answer, but his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. His heart seemed to sink lower and lower in his chest.

"Sir, sir,—I—I——"

"You were in the gardens last evening," thundered the squire, his wrath getting the better of him. "You were in the gardens, were you not? Answer on your honour?"

"I was," falteringly.

"And for what purpose?"

"That I cannot tell."

"And why not?"

The youth was silent. He had the appearance of a culprit, and felt wretched and miserable. The squire continued to question and cross-question, but of no avail, and at length, growing nettled and peevish, he said, "I will state the case plainly to you, Master Trembath. You were in the gardens last evening, last Wednesday night and last Monday night. On Monday night you drained the fish-pond and stole the best fish; on Wednesday you ruined the shrubbery beds; last evening you took a stone from the hedge and killed my faithful mastiff, Borlase. What answer do you make to these accusations? Make a clean breast of it and it will be better for you, my lad."

The accusation, thus plainly stated, had a directly opposite effect upon the crestfallen lad. All his diffidence and confusion fell away from him like a garment. He flung up his head like a young lion cub, his blue eyes scintillated, and his red locks shook like the mane of a savage beast under rising passion. Blunt was alarmed and the squire was awed.

"What have I to say to these accusations? I say they are lies! They are false! I was not here on Monday or Wednesday. I never stole your fish or drained the pond, or trampled the shrubbery, or killed the dog. Who accuses me? Who, I say?" The lad advanced to the table, boldly, all his confusion gone, and the wild soldier blood of his ancestors coursing like molten fire through his veins. "Why am I brought here in the home of my fathers to be insulted? Have not you, Squire Vivian, and the Lanyans, done enough evil to our family but that you must charge me with being a thief, and——"

"Silence!" thundered the squire, who had been stirred up by the lad's charge of injustice. Ande stood silent, with heaving breast. The squire mastered himself before he continued.

"Your charge against me is not to the point. If you do not know, I will tell you that this estate was bought from the government by services rendered, which had no connection with your family. Your family affair, neither my father nor myself had anything to do with; that is between the Lanyans and yours."

Ande Trembath had heard for the first time that the Vivians had had no hand in the confiscation of the Manor, and there was a revulsion of feeling within him. The squire nor his family, then, were enemies of his. He felt, notwithstanding the accusation against him, a better feeling, and even a little gladness within his heart. Why, he did not know.

"I beg your pardon, your honour. I had never heard it put that way."

"That is neither here nor there," said the squire, sternly, "and has no connection with the case. You were seen nigh the grounds. You confess to being on the grounds a short time before last evening's outrage, yet you say you are innocent of the charge."

"I am innocent."

"Well, why were you on the grounds?"

Again the lad flushed painfully and was silent.

"Now," said the squire, "since there is no direct evidence, but only circumstantial, I shall dismiss you with a reprimand, and a caution to be careful in the future and amend your ways, or Newgate will have you yet, and"—here the squire pushed his countenance into a large law-book, as if consulting reference—"and as to punishment, I will let you off lightly. Master Blunt, call Sloan."

The steward dropped his writing and left the hall, returning soon with the stout, old hostler.

"George, take Master Trembath out and put him in the stocks for one hour."

The old hostler opened his mouth slightly in amazement, as if to say something, but the frown on his master's brow checked him. Without a word, George Sloan and Stephen Blunt took the dazed lad out of the hall, down the garden avenue, and out through the gates to the very scene of his morning exploit, where was situated the village stocks. Resistance was out of the question, and so he submitted, as if his spirit was crushed.

"I am sorry for 'ee, my lad," said old George, "but us has to hobey horders. To think that the grandson of old squire shud be shut in th' stocks," and old George shook his head, for he felt the disgrace as keenly as the lad.

Stephen Blunt, who was not a native of the section, but had come in with the squire's father from the East, said nothing. The Trembaths were nothing to him, having never known them intimately. But old George Sloan, Ned Pengilly and others native to the soil, who had served with their fathers under the Trembaths, took great umbrage at the shabby treatment of the "young squire."

Ande thought of the misery of the disgrace; he, the best scholar in the parish school, condemned and punished as a common thief. He thought of his father and his grandfather. They were of the bravest gentry in Cornwall. None could show a better record in the annals of the county. They had taken their part in every prominent movement in the nation. The last of the line, branded as a thief, and, like a common vagrant, imprisoned in the stocks! He thought of his mother and her pride in him. He gave an impatient wrench to free his imprisoned ankles, but the framework was too heavy to be opened in his position. He thought of the parson's sermon of the previous Sabbath. Yes, he was like Joseph. The iron was entering his soul. He gave vent to his pent up feelings in tears.