A Dark Night's Work (19 page)

Of course, while all eyes were directed on the new canon, he had to learn
who the possessors of those eyes were one by one; and it was probably
some time before the idea came into his mind that Miss Wilkins, the lady
in black, with the sad pale face, so constant an attendant at service, so
regular a visitor at the school, was the same Miss Wilkins as the bright
vision of his youth. It was her sweet smile at a painstaking child that
betrayed her—if, indeed, betrayal it might be called where there was no
wish or effort to conceal anything. Canon Livingstone left the
schoolroom almost directly, and, after being for an hour or so in his
house, went out to call on Mrs. Randall, the person who knew more of her
neighbours' affairs than any one in East Chester.

The next day he called on Miss Wilkins herself. She would have been very
glad if he had kept on in his ignorance; it was so keenly painful to be
in the company of one the sight of whom, even at a distance, had brought
her such a keen remembrance of past misery; and when told of his call, as
she was sitting at her sewing in the dining-room, she had to nerve
herself for the interview before going upstairs into the drawing-room,
where he was being entertained by Miss Monro with warm demonstrations of
welcome. A little contraction of the brow, a little compression of the
lips, an increased pallor on Ellinor's part, was all that Miss Monro
could see in her, though she had put on her glasses with foresight and
intention to observe. She turned to the canon; his colour had certainly
deepened as he went forwards with out-stretched hand to meet Ellinor.
That was all that was to be seen; but on the slight foundation of that
blush, Miss Monro built many castles; and when they faded away, one after
one, she recognised that they were only baseless visions. She used to
put the disappointment of her hopes down to Ellinor's unvaried calmness
of demeanour, which might be taken for coldness of disposition; and to
her steady refusal to allow Miss Monro to invite Canon Livingstone to the
small teas they were in the habit of occasionally giving. Yet he
persevered in his calls; about once every fortnight he came, and would
sit an hour or more, looking covertly at his watch, as if as Miss Monro
shrewdly observed to herself, he did not go away at last because he
wished to do so, but because he ought. Sometimes Ellinor was present,
sometimes she was away; in this latter case Miss Monro thought she could
detect a certain wistful watching of the door every time a noise was
heard outside the room. He always avoided any reference to former days
at Hamley, and that, Miss Monro feared, was a bad sign.

After this long uniformity of years without any event closely touching on
Ellinor's own individual life, with the one great exception of Mr.
Corbet's marriage, something happened which much affected her. Mr. Ness
died suddenly at his parsonage, and Ellinor learnt it first from Mr.
Brown, a clergyman, whose living was near Hamley, and who had been sent
for by the Parsonage servants as soon as they discovered that it was not
sleep, but death, that made their master so late in rising.

Mr. Brown had been appointed executer by his late friend, and wrote to
tell Ellinor that after a few legacies were paid, she was to have a life-
interest in the remainder of the small property which Mr. Ness had left,
and that it would be necessary for her, as the residuary legatee, to come
to Hamley Parsonage as soon as convenient, to decide upon certain courses
of action with regard to furniture, books, &c.

Ellinor shrank from this journey, which her love and duty towards her
dead friend rendered necessary. She had scarcely left East Chester since
she first arrived there, sixteen or seventeen years ago, and she was
timorous about the very mode of travelling; and then to go back to
Hamley, which she thought never to have seen again! She never spoke much
about any feelings of her own, but Miss Monro could always read her
silence, and interpreted it into pretty just and forcible words that
afternoon when Canon Livingstone called. She liked to talk about Ellinor
to him, and suspected that he liked to hear. She was almost annoyed this
time by the comfort he would keep giving her; there was no greater danger
in travelling by railroad than by coach, a little care about certain
things was required, that was all, and the average number of deaths by
accidents on railroads was not greater than the average number when
people travelled by coach, if you took into consideration the far greater
number of travellers. Yes! returning to the deserted scenes of one's
youth was very painful . . . Had Miss Wilkins made any provision for
another lady to take her place as visitor at the school? He believed it
was her week. Miss Monro was out of all patience at his entire calmness
and reasonableness. Later in the day she became more at peace with him,
when she received a kind little note from Mrs. Forbes, a great friend of
hers, and the mother of the family she was now teaching, saying that
Canon Livingstone had called and told her that Ellinor had to go on a
very painful journey, and that Mrs. Forbes was quite sure Miss Monro's
companionship upon it would be a great comfort to both, and that she
could perfectly be set at liberty for a fortnight or so, for it would
fall in admirably with the fact that "Jeanie was growing tall, and the
doctor had advised sea air this spring; so a month's holiday would suit
them now even better than later on." Was this going straight to Mrs.
Forbes, to whom she should herself scarcely have liked to name it, the
act of a good, thoughtful man, or of a lover? questioned Miss Monro; but
she could not answer her own inquiry, and had to be very grateful for the
deed, without accounting for the motives.

A coach met the train at a station about ten miles from Hamley, and Dixon
was at the inn where the coach stopped, ready to receive them.

The old man was almost in tears at the sight of them again in a familiar
place. He had put on his Sunday clothes to do them honour; and to
conceal his agitation he kept up a pretended bustle about their luggage.
To the indignation of the inn-porters, who were of a later generation, he
would wheel it himself to the Parsonage, though he broke down from
fatigue once or twice on the way, and had to stand and rest, his ladies
waiting by his side, and making remarks on the alterations of houses and
the places of trees, in order to give him ample time to recruit himself,
for there was no one to wait for them and give them a welcome to the
Parsonage, which was to be their temporary home. The respectful
servants, in deep mourning, had all prepared, and gave Ellinor a note
from Mr. Brown, saying that he purposely refrained from disturbing them
that day after their long journey, but would call on the morrow, and tell
them of the arrangements he had thought of making, always subject to Miss
Wilkins's approval.

These were simple enough; certain legal forms to be gone through, any
selection from books or furniture to be made, and the rest to be sold by
auction as speedily as convenient, as the successor to the living might
wish to have repairs and alterations effected in the old parsonage. For
some days Ellinor employed herself in business in the house, never going
out except to church. Miss Monro, on the contrary, strolled about
everywhere, noticing all the alterations in place and people, which were
never improvements in her opinion. Ellinor had plenty of callers (her
tenants, Mr. and Mrs. Osbaldistone among others), but, excepting in rare
cases—most of them belonged to humble life—she declined to see every
one, as she had business enough on her hands: sixteen years makes a great
difference in any set of people. The old acquaintances of her father in
his better days were almost all dead or removed; there were one or two
remaining, and these Ellinor received; one or two more, old and infirm,
confined to their houses, she planned to call upon before leaving Hamley.
Every evening, when Dixon had done his work at Mr. Osbaldistone's, he
came up to the Parsonage, ostensibly to help her in moving or packing
books, but really because these two clung to each other—were bound to
each other by a bond never to be spoken about. It was understood between
them that once before Ellinor left she should go and see the old place,
Ford Bank. Not to go into the house, though Mr. and Mrs. Osbaldistone
had begged her to name her own time for revisiting it when they and their
family would be absent, but to see all the gardens and grounds once more;
a solemn, miserable visit, which, because of the very misery it involved,
appeared to Ellinor to be an imperative duty.

Dixon and she talked together as she sat making a catalogue one evening
in the old low-browed library; the casement windows were open into the
garden, and the May showers had brought out the scents of the new-leaved
sweetbriar bush just below. Beyond the garden hedge the grassy meadows
sloped away down to the liver; the Parsonage was so much raised that,
sitting in the house, you could see over the boundary hedge. Men with
instruments were busy in the meadow. Ellinor, pausing in her work, asked
Dixon what they were doing.

"Them's the people for the new railway," said he. "Nought would satisfy
the Hamley folk but to have a railway all to themselves—coaches isn't
good enough now-a-days."

He spoke with a tone of personal offence natural to a man who had passed
all his life among horses, and considered railway-engines as their
despicable rivals, conquering only by stratagem.

By-and-by Ellinor passed on to a subject the consideration of which she
had repeatedly urged upon Dixon, and entreated him to come and form one
of their household at East Chester. He was growing old, she thought
older even in looks and feelings than in years, and she would make him
happy and comfortable in his declining years if he would but come and
pass them under her care. The addition which Mr. Ness's bequest made to
her income would enable her to do not only this, but to relieve Miss
Monro of her occupation of teaching; which, at the years she had arrived
at, was becoming burdensome. When she proposed the removal to Dixon he
shook his head.

"It's not that I don't thank you, and kindly, too; but I'm too old to go
chopping and changing."

"But it would be no change to come back to me, Dixon," said Ellinor.

"Yes, it would. I were born i' Hamley, and it's i' Hamley I reckon to
die."

On her urging him a little more, it came out that he had a strong feeling
that if he did not watch the spot where the dead man lay buried, the
whole would be discovered; and that this dread of his had often poisoned
the pleasure of his visit to East Chester.

"I don't rightly know how it is, for I sometimes think if it wasn't for
you, missy, I should be glad to have made it all clear before I go; and
yet at times I dream, or it comes into my head as I lie awake with the
rheumatics, that some one is there, digging; or that I hear 'em cutting
down the tree; and then I get up and look out of the loft window—you'll
mind the window over the stables, as looks into the garden, all covered
over wi' the leaves of the jargonelle pear-tree? That were my room when
first I come as stable-boy, and tho' Mr. Osbaldistone would fain give me
a warmer one, I allays tell him I like th' old place best. And by times
I've getten up five or six times a-night to make sure as there was no one
at work under the tree."

Ellinor shivered a little. He saw it, and restrained himself in the
relief he was receiving from imparting his superstitious fancies.

"You see, missy, I could never rest a-nights if I didn't feel as if I
kept the secret in my hand, and held it tight day and night, so as I
could open my hand at any minute and see as it was there. No! my own
little missy will let me come and see her now and again, and I know as I
can allays ask her for what I want: and if it please God to lay me by, I
shall tell her so, and she'll see as I want for nothing. But somehow I
could ne'er bear leaving Hamley. You shall come and follow me to my
grave when my time comes."

"Don't talk so, please, Dixon," said she.

"Nay, it'll be a mercy when I can lay me down and sleep in peace: though
I sometimes fear as peace will not come to me even there." He was going
out of the room, and was now more talking to himself than to her. "They
say blood will out, and if it weren't for her part in it, I could wish
for a clear breast before I die."

She did not hear the latter part of this mumbled sentence. She was
looking at a letter just brought in and requiring an immediate answer. It
was from Mr. Brown. Notes from him were of daily occurrence, but this
contained an open letter the writing of which was strangely familiar to
her—it did not need the signature "Ralph Corbet," to tell her whom the
letter came from. For some moments she could not read the words. They
expressed a simple enough request, and were addressed to the auctioneer
who was to dispose of the rather valuable library of the late Mr. Ness,
and whose name had been advertised in connection with the sale, in the
Athenaeum
, and other similar papers. To him Mr. Corbet wrote, saying
that he should be unable to be present when the books were sold, but that
he wished to be allowed to buy in, at any price decided upon, a certain
rare folio edition of
Virgil
, bound in parchment, and with notes in
Italian. The book was fully described. Though no Latin scholar, Ellinor
knew the book well—remembered its look from old times, and could
instantly have laid her hand upon it. The auctioneer had sent the
request onto his employer, Mr. Brown. That gentleman applied to Ellinor
for her consent. She saw that the fact of the intended sale must be all
that Mr. Corbet was aware of, and that he could not know to whom the
books belonged. She chose out the book, and wrapped and tied it up with
trembling hands.
He
might be the person to untie the knot. It was
strangely familiar to her love, after so many years, to be brought into
thus much contact with him. She wrote a short note to Mr. Brown, in
which she requested him to say, as though from himself; and without any
mention of her name, that he, as executor, requested Mr. Corbet's
acceptance of the
Virgil
, as a remembrance of his former friend and
tutor. Then she rang the bell, and gave the letter and parcel to the
servant.