Part 12 (1/2)

Not that I had any troublesome friends.h.i.+p for Ladd, who was no sort of a man to think about; yet I could not forget that he was a buyer, and it seemed both wise and likely to be profitable to warn him. Possibly I had reared a fine superstructure of suspicion upon a mere flimsy basis of prejudice; but in any case I could do no harm, I thought, and might even sell the old scoundrel a parcel of jewels in the attempt. His house, as I then knew, lay over by the hills of Caversham; and I remembered that I could take it by a circuitous route which would bring me to Pangbourne, after I had pa.s.sed through Mapledurham and Whitchurch. In the end, I resolved at least to see the old man; and when I had dined at a ridiculously early hour with Barisbroke, I crossed the river by the white bridge, and in thirty minutes I was at the gate of Yore Hall.

I am no archaeologist, and have an exceedingly poor eye for a building; but my first impression of this hall was a pleasing one. It is true that the wooden gate of the drive was broken down, and the garden-land beyond it nothing but a tangle of swaying gra.s.s, thistle, and undergrowth, preparing one for poor things to come; but the house itself was a ma.s.sive and even a grand attempt at a towered and battlemented structure, built in stout stone with Norman windows, and the pretense of a keep, which gave strength to its air of antiquity. When I came near to it, I saw that many of the gargoyles had fallen from the roof of the left wing, which seemed to be unfinished, and the parapet was broken away and decaying above the porch; while--and this was even more singular--there did not seem a single curtain to the house. It was now upon the hour of seven, and a glimmer of sunlight s.h.i.+ning redly upon the latticed cas.e.m.e.nts lit up the facade with a greater brilliance than one looks to see out of Italy. There were rooks circling and cawing in the great elms by the moat which ran round three sides of the house; I could hear the baying of a hound in the courtyard by the stables--but of man or woman I saw nothing, though I rang the great bell thrice, and birds fled from the eaves at the clatter, and the rabbits that had sported by the thicket disappeared in the warren.

Some minutes after the third ring, and when I was preparing to drive off and leave Jabez Ladd to his own affairs, the stable door opened, and a girl came out, dressed, it seemed to me, curiously in a smart white frock; but with untidy hair, though much of it; and an exceedingly pretty face, which had been the prettier for a little scouring. The creature had great dark eyes like a _grisette_ of Bordeaux; and when she saw me, stood swaying upon her feet, and laughing as she bit at her ap.r.o.n-strings, as though my advent was an exceedingly humorous thing.

Then she said,--

”Is it Mr. Ladd you're wanting?”

I told her that it was.

”You'll not be a county man?” she asked.

”I'm from London,” said I, ”and my name is Bernard Sutton. Tell Mr.

Ladd that I'll not keep him five minutes.”

”There's no need,” said she, simpering again; ”he's been a-bed since the milk.”

”In bed!” cried I amazed.

”Yes,” said she, ”it's over late for company; but if ye'll write something I'll run up with it; the housekeeper's away sick.”

She seemed to think that all this was a good joke, and wondered, I doubt not, that I did not simper at her again. I was on the very point of whipping up the nag, and leaving such a curious household, when one of the landing windows went up with a creak, and Ladd himself, with a m.u.f.fler round his throat, was visible.

”What d'ye want in my grounds?” he roared. ”Here, you hussy, what are ye chattering there for?--thought I was asleep did ye--ha!”

”Good evening, Mr. Ladd,” said I, quietly; ”I'm sorry, but I appear to have disturbed you. I've a word for your ear if you'll come down.”

”Hullo,” cried he, in his cracked and piercing voice; ”why it's you, is it? egad, I thought you were the butcher! What's your business?--I'm biding in bed, as you can see.”

”I can't shout,” said I, ”and my business is private.”

”Won't it wait?” he snarled. ”You haven't come to sell me anything?”

”I don't sell stuff in the street,” said I; ”come down and I'll talk to you. But if you don't want to hear--well, go to bed.”

His curiosity got the better of him at this point, and he snapped out the words, ”I'm coming down,” and then disappeared from the window. But he had no intention of opening the front door, as I found presently when of a sudden he appeared at a cas.e.m.e.nt upon the ground floor, and resumed the conversation.

”You're not asking after my health,” said he, ”but I'll let you know that I'm eat up with cold; can ye have done with it straight off?”

”Yes,” said I, leaning over from the dog-cart to spare my voice. ”Do you know a tall man with yellow hair who's got two emeralds to sell?”

At these words his face whitened in the sunlight, and he opened his great mouth as though to speak, but no sound came. Then quickly he drew a small box from his pocket, such as I had seen in the hands of the velvet-coated man, and took a tabloid from it.

”I'll be about letting you in,” said he, as he went to shut down the cas.e.m.e.nt.

But I said, ”I think not, there's a drive of five miles to Whitchurch before me, and this horse trips.”

”For the love of G.o.d,” cried he, suddenly putting off all self-restraint, ”don't go till I've heard you--man, my life may depend upon it!”

”How's that?” said I.