The Mystery of Cloomber Read online

  CHAPTER VII. OF CORPORAL RUFUS SMITH AND HIS COMING TO CLOOMBER

  In making this statement I have purposely couched it in bald and simplelanguage, for fear I should be accused of colouring my narrative for thesake of effect. If, however, I have told my story with any approach torealism, the reader will understand me when I say that by this timethe succession of dramatic incidents which had occurred had arrestedmy attention and excited my imagination to the exclusion of all minortopics.

  How could I plod through the dull routine of an agent's work, orinterest myself in the thatch of this tenant's bothy or the sails ofthat one's boat, when my mind was taken up by the chain of events whichI have described, and was still busy seeking an explanation for them.

  Go where I would over the countryside, I could see the square, whitetower shooting out from among the trees, and beneath that tower thisill-fated family were watching and waiting, waiting and watching--andfor what? That was still the question which stood like an impassablebarrier at the end of every train of thought.

  Regarded merely as an abstract problem, this mystery of the Heatherstonefamily had a lurid fascination about it, but when the woman whom Iloved a thousandfold better than I did myself proved to be so deeplyinterested in the solution, I felt that it was impossible to turn mythoughts to anything else until it had been finally cleared up.

  My good father had received a letter from the laird, dated from Naples,which told us that he had derived much benefit from the change, and thathe had no intention of returning to Scotland for some time. This wassatisfactory to all of us, for my father had found Branksome such anexcellent place for study that it would have been a sore trial to himto return to the noise and tumult of a city. As to my dear sister andmyself, there were, as I have shown, stronger reasons still to make uslove the Wigtownshire moors.

  In spite of my interview with the general--or perhaps I might say onaccount of it--I took occasion at least twice a day to walk towardsCloomber and satisfy myself that all was well there. He had begun byresenting my intrusion, but he had ended by taking me into a sort ofhalf-confidence, and even by asking my assistance, so I felt that Istood upon a different footing with him than I had done formerly, andthat he was less likely to be annoyed by my presence. Indeed, I met himpacing round the inclosure a few days afterwards, and his manner towardsme was civil, though he made no allusion to our former conversation.

  He appeared to be still in an extreme state of nervousness, startingfrom time to time, and gazing furtively about him, with littlefrightened, darting glances to the right and the left. I hoped that hisdaughter was right in naming the fifth of October as the turning pointof his complaint, for it was evident to me as I looked at his gleamingeyes and quivering hands, that a man could not live long in such a stateof nervous tension.

  I found on examination that he had had the loose rails securely fastenedso as to block up our former trysting-place, and though I prowled roundthe whole long line of fencing, I was unable to find any other placewhere an entrance could be effected.

  Here and there between the few chinks left in the barrier I could catchglimpses of the Hall, and once I saw a rough-looking, middle-aged manstanding at a window on the lower floor, whom I supposed to be IsraelStakes, the coachman. There was no sign, however, of Gabriel or ofMordaunt, and their absence alarmed me. I was convinced that, unlessthey were under some restraint, they would have managed to communicatewith my sister or myself. My fears became more and more acute as dayfollowed day without our seeing or hearing anything of them.

  One morning--it was the second day of October--I was walking towards theHall, hoping that I might be fortunate enough to learn some news of mydarling, when I observed a man perched upon a stone at the side of theroad.

  As I came nearer to him I could see that he was a stranger, and from hisdusty clothes and dilapidated appearance he seemed to have come from adistance. He had a great hunch of bread on his knee and a clasp-knifein his hand, but he had apparently just finished his breakfast, for hebrushed the crumbs off his lap and rose to his feet when he perceivedme.

  Noticing the great height of the fellow and that he still held hisweapon, I kept well to the other side of the road, for I knew thatdestitution makes men desperate and that the chain that glittered onmy waistcoat might be too great a temptation to him upon this lonelyhighway. I was confirmed in my fears when I saw him step out into thecentre of the road and bar my progress.

  "Well, my lad," I said, affecting an ease which I by no means felt,"what can I do for you this morning?"

  The fellow's face was the colour of mahogany with exposure to theweather, and he had a deep scar from the corner of his mouth to his ear,which by no means improved his appearance. His hair was grizzled, buthis figure was stalwart, and his fur cap was cocked on one side so as togive him a rakish, semi-military appearance. Altogether he gave me theimpression of being one of the most dangerous types of tramp that I hadever fallen in with.

  Instead of replying to my question, he eyed me for some time in silencewith sullen, yellow-shot eyes, and then closed his knife with a loudsnick.

  "You're not a beak," he said, "too young for that, I guess. They had mein chokey at Paisley and they had me in chokey at Wigtown, but bythe living thunder if another of them lays a hand on me I'll make himremember Corporal Rufus Smith! It's a darned fine country this, wherethey won't give a man work, and then lay him by the heels for having novisible means of subsistence."

  "I am sorry to see an old soldier so reduced," said I. "What corps didyou serve in?"

  "H Battery, Royal Horse Artillery. Bad cess to the Service and everyone in it! Here I am nigh sixty years of age, with a beggarly pension ofthirty-eight pound ten--not enough to keep me in beer and baccy."

  "I should have thought thirty-eight pound ten a year would have been anice help to you in your old age," I remarked.

  "Would you, though?" he answered with a sneer, pushing hisweather-beaten face forward until it was within a foot of my own.

  "How much d'ye think that slash with a tulwar is worth? And my foot withall the bones rattling about like a bagful of dice where the trailof the gun went across it. What's that worth, eh? And a liver like asponge, and ague whenever the wind comes round to the east--what's themarket value of that? Would you take the lot for a dirty forty pound ayear--would you now?"

  "We are poor folk in this part of the country," I answered. "You wouldpass for a rich man down here."

  "They are fool folk and they have fool tastes," said he, drawing a blackpipe from his pocket and stuffing it with tobacco. "I know what goodliving is, and, by cripes! while I have a shilling in my pocket I liketo spend it as a shilling should be spent. I've fought for my countryand my country has done darned little for me. I'll go to the Rooshians,so help me! I could show them how to cross the Himalayas so that itwould puzzle either Afghans or British to stop 'em. What's that secretworth in St. Petersburg, eh, mister?"

  "I am ashamed to hear an old soldier speak so, even in jest," said Isternly.

  "Jest, indeed!" he cried, with a great, roaring oath. "I'd have done ityears ago if the Rooshians had been game to take it up. Skobeloffwas the best of the bunch, but he's been snuffed out. However, that'sneither here nor there. What I want to ask you is whether you've everheard anything in this quarter of a man called Heatherstone, the samewho used to be colonel of the 41st Bengalis? They told me at Wigtownthat he lived somewhere down this way."

  "He lives in that large house over yonder," said I, pointing to CloomberTower. "You'll find the avenue gate a little way down the road, but thegeneral isn't over fond of visitors."

  The last part of my speech was lost upon Corporal Rufus Smith; for theinstant that I pointed out the gate he set off hopping down the road.

  His mode of progression was the most singular I have ever seen, for hewould only put his right foot to the ground once in every half-dozenstrides, while he worked so hard and attained such a momentum with theother limb that he got over the ground at an astonishing speed.
r />   I was so surprised that I stood in the roadway gazing after this hulkingfigure until the thought suddenly struck me that some serious resultmight come from a meeting between a man of such blunt speech and thecholeric, hot-headed general. I therefore followed him as he hoppedalong like some great, clumsy bird, and overtook him at the avenue gate,where he stood grasping the ironwork and peering through at the darkcarriage-drive beyond.

  "He's a sly old jackal," he said, looking round at me and nodding hishead in the direction of the Hall. "He's a deep old dog. And that's hisbungalow, is it, among the trees?"

  "That is his house," I answered; "but I should advise you to keep a morecivil tongue in your head if you intend to speak with the general. He isnot a man to stand any nonsense."

  "Right you are. He was always a hard nut to crack. But isn't this himcoming down the avenue?"

  I looked through the gate and saw that it was indeed the general, who,having either seen us or been attracted by our voices, was hurrying downtowards us. As he advanced he would stop from time to time and peer atus through the dark shadow thrown by the trees, as if he were irresolutewhether to come on or no.

  "He's reconnoitering!" whispered my companion with a hoarse chuckle."He's afraid--and I know what he's afraid of. He won't be caught in atrap if he can help it, the old 'un. He's about as fly as they make 'em,you bet!"

  Then suddenly standing on his tip-toes and waving his hand through thebars of the gate, he shouted at the top of his voice:

  "Come on, my gallant commandant! Come on! The coast's clear, and noenemy in sight."

  This familiar address had the effect of reassuring the general, for hecame right for us, though I could tell by his heightened colour that histemper was at boiling point.

  "What, you here, Mr. West?" he said, as his eye fell upon me. "What isit you want, and why have you brought this fellow with you?"

  "I have not brought him with me, sir," I answered, feeling ratherdisgusted at being made responsible for the presence of thedisreputable-looking vagabond beside me. "I found him on the road here,and he desired to be directed to you, so I showed him the way. I knownothing of him myself."

  "What do you want with me, then?" the general asked sternly, turning tomy companion.

  "If you please, sir," said the ex-corporal, speaking in a whining voice,and touching his moleskin cap with a humility which contrasted strangelywith the previous rough independence of his bearing, "I'm an old gunnerin the Queen's service, sir, and knowing your name by hearing it inIndia I thought that maybe you would take me as your groom or gardener,or give me any other place as happened to be vacant."

  "I am sorry that I cannot do anything for you, my man," the old soldieranswered impressively.

  "Then you'll give me a little just to help me on my way, sir," said thecringing mendicant. "You won't see an old comrade go to the bad for thesake of a few rupees? I was with Sale's brigade in the Passes, sir, andI was at the second taking of Cabul."

  General Heatherstone looked keenly at the supplicant, but was silentto his appeal.

  "I was in Ghuznee with you when the walls were all shook down by anearthquake, and when we found forty thousand Afghans within gunshot ofus. You ask me about it, and you'll see whether I'm lying or not. Wewent through all this when we were young, and now that we are old youare to live in a fine bungalow, and I am to starve by the roadside. Itdon't seem to me to be fair."

  "You are an impertinent scoundrel," said the general. "If you had been agood soldier you would never need to ask for help. I shall not give youa farthing."

  "One word more, sir," cried the tramp, for the other was turning away,"I've been in the Tarada Pass."

  The old soldier sprang round as if the words had been a pistol-shot.

  "What--what d'ye mean?" he stammered.

  "I've been in the Tarada Pass, sir, and I knew a man there calledGhoolab Shah."

  These last were hissed out in an undertone, and a malicious grinoverspread the face of the speaker.

  Their effect upon the general was extraordinary. He fairly staggeredback from the gateway, and his yellow countenance blanched to a livid,mottled grey. For a moment he was too overcome to speak. At last hegasped out:

  "Ghoolab Shah? Who are you who know Ghoolab Shah?"

  "Take another look," said the tramp, "your sight is not as keen as itwas forty years ago."

  The general took a long, earnest look at the unkempt wanderer in frontof him, and as he gazed I saw the light of recognition spring up in hiseyes.

  "God bless my soul!" he cried. "Why, it's Corporal Rufus Smith."

  "You've come on it at last," said the other, chuckling to himself. "Iwas wondering how long it would be before you knew me. And, firstof all, just unlock this gate, will you? It's hard to talk through agrating. It's too much like ten minutes with a visitor in the cells."

  The general, whose face still bore evidences of his agitation, undid thebolts with nervous, trembling fingers. The recognition of Corporal RufusSmith had, I fancied, been a relief to him, and yet he plainly showedby his manner that he regarded his presence as by no means an unmixedblessing.

  "Why, Corporal," he said, as the gate swung open, "I have often wonderedwhether you were dead or alive, but I never expected to see you again.How have you been all these long years?"

  "How have I been?" the corporal answered gruffly. "Why, I have beendrunk for the most part. When I draw my money I lay it out in liquor,and as long as that lasts I get some peace in life. When I'm cleaned outI go upon tramp, partly in the hope of picking up the price of a dram,and partly in order to look for you."

  "You'll excuse us talking about these private matters, West," thegeneral said, looking round at me, for I was beginning to move away."Don't leave us. You know something of this matter already, and may findyourself entirely in the swim with us some of these days."

  Corporal Rufus Smith looked round at me in blank astonishment.

  "In the swim with us?" he said. "However did he get there?"

  "Voluntarily, voluntarily," the general explained, hurriedly sinking hisvoice. "He is a neighbour of mine, and he has volunteered his help incase I should ever need it."

  This explanation seemed, if anything, to increase the big stranger'ssurprise.

  "Well, if that don't lick cock-fighting!" he exclaimed, contemplating mewith admiration. "I never heard tell of such a thing."

  "And now you have found me, Corporal Smith," said the tenant ofCloomber, "what is it that you want of me?"

  "Why, everything. I want a roof to cover me, and clothes to wear, andfood to eat, and, above all, brandy to drink."

  "Well, I'll take you in and do what I can for you," said the generalslowly. "But look here, Smith, we must have discipline. I'm the generaland you are the corporal; I am the master and you are the man. Now,don't let me have to remind you of that again."

  The tramp drew himself up to his full height and raised his right handwith the palm forward in a military salute.

  "I can take you on as gardener and get rid of the fellow I have got.As to brandy, you shall have an allowance and no more. We are not deepdrinkers at the Hall."

  "Don't you take opium, or brandy, or nothing yourself, sir?" askedCorporal Rufus Smith.

  "Nothing," the general said firmly.

  "Well, all I can say is, that you've got more nerve and pluck than Ishall ever have. I don't wonder now at your winning that Cross in theMutiny. If I was to go on listening night after night to them thingswithout ever taking a drop of something to cheer my heart--why, it woulddrive me silly."

  General Heatherstone put his hand up, as though afraid that hiscompanion might say too much.

  "I must thank you, Mr. West," he said, "for having shown this man mydoor. I would not willingly allow an old comrade, however humble, to goto the bad, and if I did not acknowledge his claim more readily itwas simply because I had my doubts as to whether he was really what herepresented himself to be. Just walk up to the Hall, Corporal, and Ishall follow you in a minute."


  "Poor fellow!" he continued, as he watched the newcomer hobbling up theavenue in the ungainly manner which I have described. "He got a gun overhis foot, and it crushed the bones, but the obstinate fool would not letthe doctors take it off. I remember him now as a smart young soldier inAfghanistan. He and I were associated in some queer adventures, which Imay tell you of some day, and I naturally feel sympathy towards him, andwould befriend him. Did he tell you anything about me before I came?"

  "Not a word," I replied.

  "Oh," said the general carelessly, but with an evident expression ofrelief, "I thought perhaps he might have said something of old times.Well, I must go and look after him, or the servants will be frightened,for he isn't a beauty to look at. Good-bye!"

  With a wave of the hand the old man turned away from me and hurriedup the drive after this unexpected addition to his household, while Istrolled on round the high, black paling, peering through every chinkbetween the planks, but without seeing a trace either of Mordaunt or ofhis sister.

  I have now brought this statement down to the coming of Corporal RufusSmith, which will prove to be the beginning of the end.

  I have set down soberly and in order the events which brought us toWigtownshire, the arrival of the Heatherstones at Cloomber, the manystrange incidents which excited first our curiosity and finally ourintense interest in that family, and I have briefly touched upon thecircumstances which brought my sister and myself into a closer and morepersonal relationship with them. I think that there cannot be a bettermoment than this to hand the narrative over to those who had means ofknowing something of what was going on inside Cloomber during the monthsthat I was observing it from without.

  Israel Stakes, the coachman, proved to be unable to read or write, butMr. Mathew Clark, the Presbyterian Minister of Stoneykirk, has copieddown his deposition, duly attested by the cross set opposite to hisname. The good clergyman has, I fancy, put some slight polish upon thenarrator's story, which I rather regret, as it might have been moreinteresting, if less intelligible, when reported verbatim. It stillpreserves, however, considerable traces of Israel's individuality,and may be regarded as an exact record of what he saw and did while inGeneral Heatherstone's service.