Part 20 (2/2)

The path was narrow: there was room for only two abreast. Miss Willoughby and Scremerston led the way, and were soon lost to sight by a turn in the path. As for Lord Embleton, he certainly seemed to have drunk of that fountain of youth about which the old French poet Pontus de Tyard reports to us, and to be going back, not forward, in age. He looked very neat, slim, and cool, but that could not be the only cause of the miracle of rejuvenescence. Closely regarding his host in profile, Logan remarked that he had shaved off his moustache and the little, obsolete, iron-grey chin-tuft which, in moments of perplexity, he had been wont to twiddle. Its loss was certainly a very great improvement to the clean-cut features of this patrician.

'We are a very small party,' said Lord Embleton, 'only the Prince, my daughter, Father Riccoboni, Miss Willoughby, my sister, Scremerston, and you and I. Miss Willoughby came last week. In the mornings she and I are busy with the ma.n.u.scripts. We have found most interesting things.

When their plot failed, your ancestor and mine prepared a s.h.i.+p to start for the Western seas and attack the treasure-s.h.i.+ps of Spain. But peace broke out, and they never achieved that adventure. Miss Willoughby is a cousin well worth discovering, so intelligent, and so wonderfully attractive.'

'So Scremerston seems to think,' was Logan's idea, for the further he and the Earl advanced, the less, if possible, they saw of the pair in front of them; indeed, neither was visible again till the party met before dinner.

However, Logan only said that he had a great esteem for Miss Willoughby's courage and industry through the trying years of poverty since she left St. Ursula's.

'The Prince we have not seen very much of,' said the Earl, 'as is natural; for you will be glad to know that everything seems most happily arranged, except so far as the religious difficulty goes. As for Father Riccoboni, he is a quiet intelligent man, who pa.s.ses most of his time in the library, but makes himself very agreeable at meals. And now here we are arrived.'

They had reached the south side of the house--an eighteenth-century building in the red sandstone of the district, giving on a gra.s.sy terrace. There the host's maiden sister, Lady Mary Guevara, was seated by a tea-table, surrounded by dogs--two collies and an Aberdeens.h.i.+re terrier. Beside her were Father Riccoboni, with a newspaper in his hand, Lady Alice, with whom Logan had already some acquaintance, and the Prince of Scalastro. Logan was presented, and took quiet notes of the a.s.sembly, while the usual chatter about the weather and his journey got itself transacted, and the view of the valley of the Coquet had justice done to its charms.

Lady Mary was very like a feminine edition of the Earl, refined, shy, and with silvery hair. Lady Alice was a pretty, quiet type of the English girl who is not up to date, with a particularly happy and winning expression. The Prince was of a Teutonic fairness; for the Royal caste, whatever the nationality, is to a great extent made in Germany, and retains the physical characteristics of that ancient forest people whom the Roman historian (never having met them) so lovingly idealised. The Prince was tall, well-proportioned, and looked 'every inch a soldier.'

There were a great many inches.

As for Father Riccoboni, the learned have remarked that there are two chief clerical types: the dark, ascetic type, to be found equally among Unitarians, Baptists, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Catholics, and the burly, well-fed, genial type, which 'cometh eating and drinking.' The Father was of this second kind; a l.u.s.ty man--not that you could call him a sensual-looking man, still less was he a noisy humourist; but he had a considerable jowl, a strong jaw, a wide, firm mouth, and large teeth, very white and square. Logan thought that he, too, had the makings of a soldier, and also felt almost certain that he had seen him before. But where?--for Logan's acquaintance with the clergy, especially the foreign clergy, was not extensive. The Father spoke English very well, with a slight German accent and a little hoa.r.s.eness; his voice, too, did not sound unfamiliar to Logan. But he delved in his subconscious memory in vain; there was the Father, a man with whom he certainly had some a.s.sociations, yet he could not place the man.

A bell jangled somewhere without as they took tea and tattled; and, looking towards the place whence the sound came, Logan saw a little group of Italian musicians walking down the avenue which led through the park to the east side of the house and the main entrance. They entered, with many obeisances, through the old gate of floreated wrought iron, and stopping there, about forty yards away, they piped, while a girl, in the usual _contadina_ dress, clashed her cymbals and danced not ungracefully.

The Father, who either did not like music or did not like it of that sort, sighed, rose from his seat, and went into the house by an open French window. The Prince also rose, but he went forward to the group of Italians, and spoke to them for a few minutes. If he did not like that sort of music, he took the more excellent way, for the action of his elbow indicated a movement of his hand towards his waistcoat-pocket. He returned to the party on the terrace, and the itinerant artists, after more obeisances, walked slowly back by the way they had come.

'They are Genoese,' said the Prince, 'tramping north to Scotland for the holiday season.'

'They will meet strong compet.i.tion from the pipers,' said Logan, while the Earl rose, and walked rapidly after the musicians.

'I do not like the pipes myself,' Logan went on, 'but when I hear them in a London street my heart does warm to the skirl and the shabby tartans.'

'I feel with you,' said the Prince, 'when I see the smiling faces of these poor sons of the South among--well, your English faces are not usually joyous--if one may venture to be critical.'

He looked up, and, his eyes meeting those of Lady Alice, he had occasion to learn that every rule has its exceptions. The young people rose and wandered off on the lawn, while the Earl came back and said that he had invited the foreigners to refresh themselves.

'I saw Father Riccoboni in the hall, and asked him to speak to them a little in their own lingo,' he added, 'though he does not appear to be partial to the music of his native land.'

'He seems to be of the Romansch districts,' Logan said; 'his accent is almost German.'

'I daresay he will make himself understood,' said the Earl. 'Do you understand this house, Mr. Logan? It looks very modern, does it not?'

'Early Georgian, surely?' said Logan.

'The sh.e.l.l, at least on this side, is early Georgian--I rather regret it; but the interior, northward, except for the rooms in front here, is of the good old times. We have secret stairs--not that there is any secret about them--and odd cubicles, in the old Border keep, which was re-faced about 1750; and we have a priest's hole or two, in which Father Riccoboni might have been safe, but would have been very uncomfortable, three hundred years ago. I can show you the places to-morrow; indeed, we have very little in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt to offer you. Do you fish?'

'I always take a trout rod about with me, in case of the best,' said Logan, 'but this is ”soolky July,” you know, and the trout usually seem sound asleep.'

'Their habits are dissipated here,' said Lord Embleton. 'They begin to feed about ten o'clock at night. Did you ever try night fis.h.i.+ng with the bustard?'

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