The Toll-Gate (7 page)

She gave a little gasp, and retorted: "Very true—if I had anything to confide! I assure you, I have not!"

"No, don't do that," he said. "I don't mean to tease you with questions you don't care to answer. But if you think, at any time, that I could be of service to you, why, tell me!"

"You—you are the strangest creature!" she said, on an uncertain laugh. "Pray, what service could I possibly stand in need of?"

"I don't know that: how could I? Something is troubling you. I think I knew that," he added reflectively, "when that would-be Tulip of Fashion put you so much out of countenance this morning."

Her chin lifted; she said, with a curling lip: "Do you think I am afraid of that counter-coxcomb?"

"Lord, no! Why should you be?"

She looked a trifle confounded, and said in a defiant tone: "Well, I am not!"

"Who is he?" he enquired.

"His name is Nathaniel Coate, and he is a friend of my cousin's."

"Your cousin?"

"Henry Stornaway. He is my grandfather's heir. He is at this present staying at Kellands, and Mr. Coate with him."

"Dear me!" said John mildly. "That, of course, is enough to trouble anyone. What brings so dashing a blade into these parts?"

"I wish I knew!" she said involuntarily.

"Oh! I thought I did know," said John.

She threw him a scornful look. "If you imagine that it was to fix his interest with me, you're quite out! Before he came to Kellands, I daresay he did not know of my existence: he had certainly never seen me!"

"Perhaps he came into the country on a repairing lease," suggested John equably. "If he teases you, don't stand on ceremony! Give him his marching orders! I'm sure his waistcoat is all the crack, but he shouldn't sport it in the middle of Derbyshire."

"Unfortunately, it is not within my power to give him his marching orders."

"Isn't it? It is well within mine, so if you should desire to be rid of him, just send me word!" said John.

She burst out laughing. "I begin to think you have broken loose from Bedlam, Captain Staple! Come, enough! I am sure I do not know how it comes about that I should be sitting here talking to you in this improper fashion. You must be thinking me an odd sort of a female!"

She rose as she spoke, and he with her. He did not reply, for Ben chose that moment to appear upon the scene, with the announcement that Farmer Huggate said he was welcome to stable Beau in the big barn.

"Well, that's famous," said John. "You shall show me where it is presently, but first go and see if you can prevail upon Mrs. Skeffling to come up to the toll-house tomorrow. Promise her as many pig's babies as you think necessary, but don't take no for an answer!"

"What'll I say?" demanded Ben. "She'll think it's a queer set-out, gov'nor, 'cos what would anyone want with her coming to clean the place every day?"

"You may tell her that your cousin, besides being the worst cook in the Army, has picked up some finical ways in foreign parts. Off with you!"

"Wait!" interposed Miss Stornaway, who had been listening in considerable amusement. "Perhaps I can help you. I collect you wish Mrs. Skeffling to come to the toll-house each day. Very well! I daresay I can arrange it for you. Go and ask her, Ben, and if she says no, never mind!"

"Admirable woman!" John said, as Ben went off down the road. "I'm much in your debt! What will you tell her?"

"Why, that you seem to be a very good sort of a man, but sadly helpless! Have no fear! She will come. Did I not tell you that they call me the Squire? I shall ride down the road directly, to visit her, which is a thing I frequently do. She will tell me, and at length, of your summons, and certainly ask my advice. You may leave the rest to me!"

"Thank you! Will you assist me in one other matter? I must contrive somehow to ride to Tideswell tomorrow, to make some necessary purchases, and the deuce is in it that I've no notion of what, precisely, I should ask for. I must have some tolerable soap, for instance, but it won't do just to demand soap, will it? Ten to one, I should find myself with something smelling of violets, or worse. Then there's coffee. I can't and I won't drink beer with my breakfast, and barring some porter, the dregs of a bottle of rum, and a bottle of bad tape, that's all I can find in the place. Tell me what coffee I should buy! I'll make a note of it on my list."

Her eyes were alight. "I think I had better take a look at your list," she decided.

"Will you? I shall be much obliged to you! I'll fetch it," he said.

She followed him into the toll-house, and he turned to find her standing in the kitchen doorway, and looking critically about her. "Enough to make poor Mrs. Brean turn in her grave!" she remarked. "She was the neatest creature! However, I daresay Mrs. Skeffling will set it to rights, if she is to come here every day. Is this your list?"

She held out her hand, and he gave it to her. It made her laugh. "Good heavens, you seem to need a great deal! Candles? Are there none in the store-cupboard?"

"Yes, tallow dips. Have you ever, ma'am, sat in a small room that was lit by tallow dips?"

"No, never!"

"Then take my advice, and do not!"

"I won't. But wax candles in a kitchen! Mrs. Skeffling will talk of it all over the village. Soap—blacking—brushes—tea——" She raised her eyes from the list. "Pray, how do you propose to convey all these things from Tideswell, Captain Staple?"

"I imagine there must be a carrier?"

"But that will not do at all! Conceive of everyone's astonishment if such a quantity of goods were to be delivered to the Crowford gatekeeper! Depend upon it, the news would very soon be all over the county that an excessively strange man had taken Brean's place here. It must come to the ears of the trustee controllers, and you will have them descending on you before you have had time to turn round."

"I am afraid I am quite cork-brained," said John meekly. "What must I do instead?"

She glanced at the list again, and then up at him. "I think I had best procure these things for you," she suggested. "That, you see, will occasion no surprise, for I very often go shopping in Tideswell."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "But I must buy some shirts, and some shoes and stockings, and you can hardly do that for me, ma'am!"

"No," she agreed. She considered him anew, and added candidly: "And it will be wonderful if you can find any to fit you!"

"Oh, I don't despair of that! There are bound to be plenty of big fellows in the district, and somebody must make clothes for 'em!" said the Captain cheerfully. "As a matter of fact, I saw a fine, lusty specimen not an hour ago. Cowman, I think. If I'd thought of it, I'd have asked him the name of his tailor."

She gave a gurgle of laughter. "Oh, if you can be content with a flannel shirt—or, perhaps, a smock——!"

He grinned at her. "Why not? Did you take me for a Bond Street beau? No, no! I was never one of your high sticklers!"

"I take you for a madman," she said severely.

"Well, they used to call me Crazy Jack in Spain," he admitted. "But I'm not dangerous, you know—not a bit!"

"Very well, then, I will take my courage in my hands, and drive you to Tideswell tomorrow, in the gig—that is, if you can leave the gate in Ben's charge!"

"The devil's in it that I can't," he said ruefully. "The wretched boy has informed me that he must muck out Mr. Sopworthy's hen-houses tomorrow!"

"Oh!" She frowned over this for a moment, and then said: "It doesn't signify: Joseph—that's my groom!—shall keep the gate while you are away. The only thing is——" She paused, fidgeting with her riding-whip, the crease reappearing between her brows. Her frank gaze lifted again to his face. "The thing is that it is sometimes difficult for me—now—to escape an escort I don't need, and am not at all accustomed to! But I fancy—I am not perfectly sure—that my cousin and Mr. Coate have formed the intention of driving to Sheffield tomorrow. You will understand, if I should not come, that I could not!" He nodded, and she held out her hand. "Good-bye! I will ride to Mrs. Skeffling's cottage now. Oh! Must I pay toll? I have come out without my purse!"

He took her hand, and held it for an instant. "On no account!"

She blushed, but said in a rallying tone: "Well for you it is not thought worth while to post informers on this road!"

She picked up her skirts, and went out into the road. Captain Staple, following her, unhitched her horse from the gate post, and led him up to her. She took the bridle, placed her foot in his cupped hands, and was tossed up into the saddle. As the hack sidled, she bent to arrange the folds of her skirt, saying: "I mean to visit one of my grandfather's tenants, so don't look for me again today! My way will take me over the hill."

A nod, and a smile, and she was trotting off down the road, leaving John to look after her until the bend hid her from his sight.

She was not his only visitor that day. Shortly before eight o'clock, the wicket-gate clashed, and a heavy knock fell on the toll-house door. Ben, who was engaged in whittling a piece of wood into the semblance of a quadruped, in which only its creator could trace the faintest resemblance to the Captain's Beau, jumped, but showed no sign of the terror which had possessed him during the previous evening. Either he did not connect his father's mysterious visitor with an open approach to the office-door, or he placed complete reliance on Captain Staple's ability to protect him.

John went into the office. He had left the lantern on the table, and by its light he was able to recognise the man who stood in the open doorway. He said: "Hallo! What can I do for you?"

"Jest thought I'd drop in, and blow a cloud with you," responded Miss Stornaway's groom. "Stretching me legs, like. The name's Lydd—Joe Lydd."

"Come in!" invited John. "You're very welcome!"

"Thank'ee, sir!"

"The name," said John, pushing wide the door into the kitchen, "is Jack."

Mr. Lydd, who was both short and spare, looked up at him under his grizzled brows. "Is it, though? Jest as you please, Jack—no offence being meant!"

"Or taken!" John said promptly. "Sit down! Saw you this morning, didn't I?"

"Now, fancy you remembering that!" marvelled Mr. Lydd. "Because I didn't think you noticed me, not partic'lar."

John had gone to the cupboard, but he turned at this, and stared across the kitchen at his guest. Mr. Lydd met this somewhat grim look with the utmost blandness for a moment or two, and then transferred his attention to Ben. "Well, me lad, so your dad's hopped the wag, has he? What sort of a fetch is he up to? Gone on the spree, I dessay?"

"Gone up to Lunnon, to see me brother," said Ben glibly. "'Cos he heard as Simmy ain't in the Navy no more."

"Fancy that, now!" said Mr. Lydd admiringly. "Made his fortune at sea, I wouldn't wonder, and sent for his dad to come and share it with him. There's nothing like pitching it rum, Ben!"

John, who was drawing two tankards of beer at the barrel beside the cupboard, spoke over his shoulder, dismissing his imaginative protégé to bed. Ben showed some slight signs of recalcitrance, but, upon encountering a decidedly stern look, sniffed, and went with lagging step towards the door.

"That's right," said Mr. Lydd encouragingly. "You don't want to take no risks, not with your gov'nor looking like bull-beef,
I
wouldn't!"

John grinned, and handed him one of the tankards. "Is that what I look like? Here's a heavy wet for you! Did you come to discover where Brean is? I can't tell you."

Mr. Lydd, carefully laying down the clay pipe he had been filling, took the tankard, blew off the froth, and ceremoniously pledged his host.

After a long draught, he sighed, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and picked up his pipe again. Not until this had been lit, with a screw of paper kindled at one of the smouldering logs, did he answer John's question. While he alternately drew at the pipe, and pressed down the tobacco with the ball of his thumb, his eyes remained unwaveringly fixed on John's face, in a meditative and curiously shrewd scrutiny. By the time his pipe was drawing satisfactorily, he had apparently reached certain conclusions, for he withdrew his stare, and said in a conversational tone: "Properly speaking, Ned Brean's whereabouts don't interest me. If you like to set it about he's gone off to visit young Simmy, it's all one to me."

"I don't," John interrupted.

"Well, it ain't any of my business, but what I say is, if you're going to tell a bouncer let it be a good 'un! However, I didn't come here to talk about Ned Brean."

"What did you come to talk about?" asked John amiably.

"I don't know as how I came to talk about anything in partic'lar. Jest dropped in, neighbourly. It's quiet up at the Manor, these days. Very different from what it used to be when I was a lad. That was afore Sir Peter ran aground, as you may say. A very well-breeched swell he was, flashing the dibs all over. Ah, and prime cattle we had in the stables then! Slap up to the echo, Squire was, and the finest, lightest hands——! Mr. Frank was the same, and Master Jermyn after him—regular top-sawyers! Dead now, o' course. There's only Miss Nell left." He paused, and took a pull at his beer, watching John over the top of the tankard. John met his look, the hint of a smile in his eyes, but he said nothing. Mr. Lydd transferred his gaze to the fire. "It's not so far off forty years since I went to Kellands," he said reminiscently. "Went as stable-boy, I did, and rose to be head-groom, with four under me, not counting the boys. Taught Master Jermyn to ride, and Miss Nell too. Neck-or-nothing, that was Master Jermyn, and prime 'uns Squire used to buy for him! He wouldn't look at a commoner, not Squire! 'Proper high-bred 'uns, Joe!' he used to say to me. 'Proper high-bred 'uns for the boy, if I drown in the River Tick!' Which he pretty near did do," said Mr. Lydd, gently knocking some of the ash from his pipe. "What with his gaming, and his racing, it was Dun Territory for Squire, but he always said as how he'd come about. I dessay he would have, if he hadn't took ill. He had a stroke, you see. Mr. Winkfield—that's his man, and has been these thirty years—he will have it it was Master Jermyn being killed in the wars that gave Squire his notice to quit. I don't know how that may be, because he wasn't struck down immediate: not for some years he wasn't. But he wasn't never the same man after the news came. He don't leave his room now. Going on for three years it is since I see him on his feet. A fine, big man he used to be: not as big as you, but near it. Jolly, too. Swear the devil out of hell, he could, but everybody liked him, because he was easy in his ways, and he laughed more often than he scowled. You wouldn't think it if you was to see him now. Nothing left of him but a bag of bones. He sends for me every now and then, just to crack a whid over old times. Mr. Winkfield tells me he remembers what happened fifty years ago better than the things that happened yesterday. Always says the same thing to me, he does. 'Not booked yet, Joe!' he says, for he likes his joke. And, 'Take good care of Miss Nell!' he says. Which I always have done, of course—so far as possible."