Chapter 9

VILLAGE GOSSIP.

When he returned to his camp and had despatched his midday meal, Dan had a meditative smoke. There was no chance of his being interrupted, as Tinker Tim had gone on business to a neighbouring hamlet, and Mother Jericho was confined to her tent with rheumatism. It was just as well that he was left to his own thoughts, as he wished to think out the position in which he now found himself. Dan was a very masterful and practical person, and when he came to the conclusion that anything was wrong, always wished to remedy it at once. Not long after he left Merle's house, he decided that there was something very wrong indeed in the parish of Farbis, and that the something was connected with Meg.

Recalling his conversations with Mother Jericho, Tinker Tim, and the doctor, it seemed to him as though they all had more or less of an understanding with one another. He was satisfied that the gipsies did not know him, and yet it appeared strange that they should be so friendly. Mother Jericho had prophesied that he should meet his fate at the Gates of Dawn. The very next morning he met with Meg. After his fight with Tim, that pugilist had remarked ambiguously, "None other shall have her;" and reading this mystical utterance by the light of recent events, Dan decided that it referred to Meg. Lastly, when he suggested that Miss Linisfarne should adopt the girl, Merle had come out with that curious remark anent Tinker Tim. Taking all these things into consideration, Dan saw a connection between them which seemed to hint at some mystery regarding Meg. This being the case, he also, from the promptings of his heart and the utterances of the gipsies, was implicated in some way unknown to himself.

"They can't possibly know who I am," he said, filling a fresh pipe; "no one but Jack knew of my idea of the caravan. I don't suppose those carriage-builders would say a word. If, then, the old man and the tinker only know me as 'Dan,' why are they always hinting and talking about Meg? So far as I can see, they wish me to marry the girl, but for what reason? Merle has an understanding with these vagrants, or he would not have mentioned Tim. And why did he turn pale when I suggested Miss Linisfarne as an adopted mother? There's something wrong here, I'm certain; but what it is I can't make out."

He eyed Peter in an absent manner, and Peter, meeting his eye, began to slink off, thinking he had done something wrong. Dan raised himself with a laugh at Peter's fears, and called back the conscience-smitten terrier.

"Come here, you fool dog," he said, catching him by the scruff of the neck; "I wish to talk to you. Sit up and cross your paws, sir."

Peter, noting a twinkle in his master's eyes, sat up laboriously and stared meekly in front of him. Having thus procured a listener, Dan addressed him, emphasizing his remarks with the stem of his pipe.

"Peter," said he solemnly, "I am very much afraid that I take a greater interest in Diana of Farbis than is advisable. I am not in love with her, because a man of thirty is scarcely fool enough to fall in love with a woman he has only seen twice. But I take an interest in her, Peter, because I pity her wasted life. And if you think pity is akin to love, Peter, you think wrongly. This is a matter of head and heart. We had intended to go away to-morrow, Peter; but I have decided to stay and find out what all this is about. I don't like mysterious gipsies hatching plots against me, and prophesying me into marriage. You and I, Peter, will turn detectives, and ferret out the meaning of these things. Therefore, Peter, as a first step we will go into the village and listen to public opinion concerning Dr. Merle and his daughter. The audience is at an end, you rascal, so sit down."

Peter dropped like a shot and yawned. He did not understand a word of this long speech. How could he? There was not a word about bones in it from beginning to end. When Dan put on his cap and picked up his stick, the actions were more intelligible to Peter than the previous words, and he whirled frantically before Dan in token of his delight at the prospect of a walk. Simon only tossed his head and looked. He had been down to the seashore that morning, and took no interest in anything save grass. Having thus ascertained the feelings of his four-footed friends, Dan cast a farewell glance around to see that everything was in good order, and strode off, followed by the barking terrier.

All that afternoon Dan pottered about the village. He talked to stray labourers of crops and weather, artfully leading the conversation round to the gentry question; he gossiped with voluble women, on the plea of seeking a laundress for his linen, and learned indirectly their opinion of the doctor. It did not appear to be a very high one.

"Th' ould doctor bean't nowt but a sleepy-head," they said contemptuously. "'A ain't vit vur nowt. 'A gits oop, 'a lies down--aw ain't niver no good. That 'a bean't!"

From which speeches Dan gathered that Dr. Merle was not highly prized as a physician in Farbis. He stayed in his dismal house and soddened himself with laudanum. His patients resented the little interest he took in them, and proclaimed their views boisterously in broad rural dialect. It took all Dan's time to fathom the meaning of some of their words.

In process of time he drifted into the Red Deer, more to quench his thirst than for any other reason, but found an unexpected mine of information in the landlord. That worthy brought him a tankard of ale with a jolly smile, and when Dan mentioned casually that he had been to see the doctor, burst out with unlimited information.

"'A has nowt, zur," said the host; "'a stuck-up un, 'a be."

"Is he a good doctor?"

"Aw yis! 'A be mazing clivir, but thur bean't no use fur un; folk doan't git ill here. Look at t' doctor's lass, measter. She be vine an' strong."

"Yes; a splendid-looking girl! Is she not a great friend of Miss Linisfarne?"

The landlord nodded, and went into a long story about Miss Linisfarne's kindness to Meg. How Dr. Merle had neglected his daughter to shut himself up in seclusion, and how the lady at the Court had taken upon herself to look after the neglected girl. Mr. Jarner, the parson, was also mentioned by the host as one who had interested himself in the matter. He knew more about the gentry than any one else, and had been rector of the place for over a quarter of a century.

Dan cut short the landlord's eloquence by asking where he could see Mr. Jarner and have a chat with him. He was directed to the vicarage, which was on the other side of the church, and, thinking that it would be as well to have an intelligent person to talk with, went off to seek the rustic divine.

Farbis Church and graveyard were much neglected. The long grass grew nearly as high as the weather-stained tombs, and these in many cases had fallen down. The tower was in a most dilapidated condition, and though it had a clock and Chimes, the first had stopped and the second were silent. An air of mournful decay pervaded the whole place, and it could be easily seen that the present incumbent was not an energetic man. Certainly the place itself was not conducive to work.

Not being pressed for time, Dan did not immediately repair to the vicarage, but sauntered idly through the churchyard, reading the quaint epitaphs, and watching the swallows wheeling round the hoary tower. Judging from the grass-grown pathway from lych-gate to porch, the Farbis folk did not come often to their devotions. The whole village--its wretchedness, its somnolence, its isolation--was typified by the shabby church. It was as though the place had gone to sleep in the Middle Ages, and had not yet been wakened by the tumult of the nineteenth century. Such infinite dreariness made Dan feel wretched.

Not being able to take Peter inside the church, he set him to guard his cap in the porch by way of keeping him quiet. It may be here stated that the front of this cap--which was not the one he usually wore--was embroidered with the arms of Magdalen College, Oxford. Considering his pretence of vagrancy, it was foolish for Dan to decorate himself with so damning a piece of evidence regarding his worldly position. Nevertheless, being busied with his new thoughts of a possible conspiracy, he unthinkingly snatched up the cap before leaving the dell, and thus set Peter to watch it at the church door. Such negligence led to his undoing, and he recognized his carelessness when it was too late.

Quite unaware of what awaited him, he examined the interior of the church, and found it in a similar condition to the graveyard. There were one or two painted windows and a finely carved reredos, but the first were broken in several places, and the second was spoilt by the damp. As usual, there was a collection of mouldy old tombs, which Dan, for reasons of his own, examined with great interest. Among them he found a crusading ancestor of Lord Ardleigh, carved in alabaster, with crossed legs and a formidable sword. Beside him lay Joan, his wife, with prayerful hands and monstrous head-dress. Faded scutcheons bedecked the worn sides of the tomb, and a long Latin oration, which nobody had the patience to decipher, set forth the many virtues of the deceased pair. Poor dead folks, resting so quietly in that dreary church, who thinks of you now?

Afterwards Dan explored the leper chapel near the high altar, where those wretched pariahs heard the blessed mutter of the mass through a chink in the wall. The lepers were gone now, as were crusading lord and lady, and the high altar itself with its gold and silver and tall candles. A plain deal table, covered with a red cloth, whereon were set a cross and two bunches of flowers, did duty for the communion-table. The Vicar of Farbis was evidently in sympathy with Low Church doctrines, for there was no attempt at the sweeping or cleansing or garnishing of the house of prayer.

From the contemplation of these melancholy things he was called to the porch by the furious barking of dogs. He recognized Peter's voice, and knew that the terrier was in trouble. At the door he found a large burly man thrashing two fox-terriers who had attacked Peter. It was a task of some difficulty, for all three dogs were determined to enjoy themselves. At length Dan picked up Peter by the scruff of the neck, and, assisted by the burly man, kicked away the assailants. When quiet was restored, the two had leisure to examine one another. At a glance Dan recognized the parson, and saw with dismay that he was holding that tell-tale cap with the Magdalen badge.

The Rev. Stephen Jarner was tall and ponderous, with a red face and heavy jowl. To the waist he was a parson in orthodox collar, hat, and coat, but his nether limbs, invested in breeches and high boots, had a decidedly sporting appearance. He was a parson of the old school, fond of a good glass of wine and a well-spread board, but still fonder of dogs and horses. A hunting-crop was tucked under his arm, and the fox-terriers, eyeing Peter in Dan's embrace, sat at the feet of their clerical master. Dan was much amused at the group.

"Here's a character," he thought. "A doctor addicted to opium, a pair of gipsies, a recluse lady, a lovely huntress, and a sporting parson. Decidedly I have got among queer folk!"