Mr. Marx's Secret by E. Phillips Oppenheim
CHAPTER I. NEWS FROM THE PACIFIC.
My home was a quaint, three-storeyed, ivy-clad farmhouse in a Midlandcounty. It lay in a hollow, nestled close up against Rothland Wood, thedark, close-growing trees of which formed a picturesque background to theworn greystone whereof it was fashioned.
In front, just across the road, was the boundary-wall of Ravenor Park,with its black fir spinneys, huge masses of lichen-covered rock, clearfish-ponds, and breezy hills, from the summits of which were visible thesombre grey towers of Ravenor Castle, standing out with grim, ruggedboldness against the sky.
Forbidden ground though it was, there was not a yard of the park up tothe inner boundary fence which I did not know; not a spinney where I hadnot searched for birds' nests or raided in quest of the first primrose;not a hill on which I had not spent some part of a summer afternoon.
I was a trespasser, of course; but I was the son of Farmer Morton, an oldtenant on the estate, and much in favour with the keepers, by reason of afamous brew which he was ever ready to offer a thirsty man, or to drinkhimself. So "Morton's young 'un" was unmolested; and, save for anoccasional good-humoured warning from Crooks, the head-gamekeeper, duringbreeding-time, I had the run of the place.
Moreover, the great estates of which Ravenor Park was the centre knew atthat time no other master than a lawyer of non-sporting proclivities, sothe preserves were only looked after as a matter of form.
I was eight years old, and an unusually hot summer was at its height. Itwas past midday, and I had just come out from the house, with theintention of settling down for an afternoon's reading in a shady cornerof the orchard. I had reached the stack-yard gate when I stopped short,my hand upon the fastening.
A most unusual sound was floating across the meadows, through thebreathless air. The church-bells of Rothland, the village on the otherside of the wood, had suddenly burst out into a wild, clashing peal ofjoy.
In a country district everybody knows everyone else's business; and,child though I was, I knew that no marriage was taking place anywherenear.
I stood listening in wonderment, for I had never heard such a thingbefore; and, while I was lingering, the bells from Annerley, a village alittle farther away, and the grand, mellow-sounding chimes from thechapel at Ravenor Castle, breaking the silence of many years, took up thepeal, and the lazy summer day seemed all of a sudden to wake up into astate of unaccountable delight.
I ran back towards the house and met my mother standing in the cool stoneporch. The men about the farm were all grouped together, wondering. Noone had the least idea of what had happened.
And then Jim Harrison, the waggoner, who had just come in from the homemeadow, called out quickly, pointing with his finger; and far away, alongthe white, dusty road, we could see the figure of a man on horsebackriding towards us at a furious gallop.
"It be the master!" he cried, excitedly. "It be the master, for sure!There bean't no mistaking Brown Bess's gallop. Lord-a-mercy! how 'e bea-riding her!"
We all trooped out on to the road to meet my father, eager to hear thenews. In a few moments he reached us, and brought Brown Bess to astandstill, bathed in sweat and dust, and quivering in every limb.
"Hurrah, lads!" he shouted, waving his whip above his head. "Hurrah!There never was such a bit o' news as I've got for you! All Mellboroughbe gone crazy about it!"
"What is it, George? Why don't you tell us?" my mother asked quickly.And, to my surprise, her hand, in which mine was resting, was as cold asice, notwithstanding the August heat.
He raised himself in his stirrups and shouted so that all might hear:
"Squire Ravenor be come to life again! They 'a' found him on an island inthe Pacific, close against the coral reef where his yacht went down sixyears ago! He's on his way home again, lads. Think of that! Sal, lass,bring us up a gallon of ale and another after it. We'll drink to hishomecoming, lads!"
There was a burst of applause and many exclamations of wonder. Mymother's hand had moved, as though unconsciously, to my shoulder, and shewas leaning heavily upon me.
"Where did you hear this, George?" she asked, in a subdued tone.
"Why, it be in all the London papers this morning," he answered, takingoff his hat and wiping his forehead. "The steamer that's bringing himhome 'a' sent a message from some foreign port, and Lawyer Cox he's gotone, and it's all written up large on the walls of the Corn Exchange. Ireckon it'll make those deuced lawyers sit up!" chuckled my father, as heslowly dismounted.
"Lord-a-mercy! Only to think on it! Six year on a little bit o' anisland, and not a living soul to speak a word to! And now he's on his wayhome again. It beats all story-telling I ever heerd on. Why, Alice, lass,it 'a' quite upset you," he added, looking anxiously at my mother."You're all white and scared-like. Dost feel badly?"
She was standing with her back to us and when she turned round it seemedto me that a change had crept into her face.
"It is the heat and excitement," she said quietly. "This is strange news.I think that I will go in and rest."
"All right, lass! Get thee indoors and lie down for a bit. Now, then,lads. Hurrah for the squire and long life to him! Pour it out, Jim--pourit out! Don't be afraid on it. Such news as this don't coom every day."
And, with the vision of my stalwart yeoman father, the centre of a littlegroup of farm-labourers, holding his foaming glass high above his head,and his honest face ruddy with heat and excitement, my memories of thisscene grow dim and fade away.