The following day, Saturday the 15th January, was very cold, but there was no more snow. After lessons, I took the boys for a long walk in the park. They wished to visit the ruins again, for Harmwell’s story had given them the notion that they might find the monastic treasure if they succeeded in enlisting the assistance of a benevolent ghost.
“If a monk was burnt at the stake,” Edgar said with the callousness of youth, “he would naturally linger upon the earth, chained to the scene of his torment.”
“But why should he tell you where the treasure is?” I asked. “If there is any treasure.”
“Because we shall treat him with benevolence,” Edgar explained. “Even though he is a Papist. After all, it was not his fault, not in those days.”
“He will be so gratified by our kindness, after hundreds of years of solitude and persecution, that he will wish to do anything in his power to help us,” Charlie said. “And he will not mind us having the treasure. Why should he? What use is it to him now?”
That at least was unanswerable. While the boys searched the ruins yet again, I walked to and fro, staring down at the roofs of Grange Cottage. A man on a skinny skewbald mare was picking his way up the lane from the turnpike road.
“If he didn’t put the treasure here,” Edgar said, “he must have put it where the ice-house is. That was probably the site of the crypt or hermitage or –”
“You must not search in there,” I said. “The ice-house is dangerous and unhealthy.”
“Besides,” Charlie pointed out in the smug voice of reason, “we can’t. It’s locked.”
When at last we returned to the house, we discovered that Sir George Ruispidge had called. He was closeted with Mr Carswall. The boys and I joined the three ladies in the small sitting room. Miss Carswall was unusually quiet. She applied herself to her account book, in which she was entering her purchases at Gloucester.
“Sir George has brought a letter from Mrs Johnson,” Mrs Lee said to no one in particular. “He and his brother are so attentive to their unfortunate cousin. He called on her earlier today – did you know she is back at Grange Cottage? – and I’m sure she wished to write in order to express her gratitude for the way Mrs Frant and Miss Carswall nursed her so devotedly during her illness.”
Sophie got up and left the room.
Mrs Lee continued speaking in a loud whisper, directing her conversation to Miss Carswall: “Poor Mrs Johnson! She was never quite the same after a certain gentleman went away. She used to be so high-spirited. Wilful, almost. I remember Lady Ruispidge telling me that Mrs Johnson was more headstrong than her sons.”
“I cannot think Sir George was ever headstrong, ma’am,” Miss Carswall said. “Was not he too good?”
“What? Sir George is good? Oh, indeed. Even as a boy, his thoughts were often on higher things. I’m sure he was beaten less than his brother.”
Pratt came into the room, and Miss Carswall jerked like a fish on the end of a line. Mr Carswall asked if it would be convenient for her to join them in the library. She leapt up, and flew to the mirror where she peered anxiously into her eyes and patted her curls. She glanced round the room, at me, Mrs Lee, the boys, though I doubt if she saw any of us. Then she was gone.
A moment later, Mr Carswall himself came in. He glared impartially at us, as if to ask us what we did there, and began to pace up and down, humming discordantly. No one dared to speak to him. I murmured to the boys that we should return upstairs to our books, and they followed me with remarkable willingness. I do not think Mr Carswall noticed our departure.
Upstairs, Charlie burst out: “So what is afoot?”
“I know what I think,” Edgar said slowly.
The boys exchanged smiles.
“That is enough,” I said. “We will return to Euclid, and you may keep your thoughts to yourselves.”
And return we did, though without much profit to any of us. After a while we heard a horse on the drive. I strolled over to the window and looked out. There was Sir George riding away.
Soon afterwards, when we gathered in the drawing room before going into dinner, Miss Carswall’s face made all as plain as day. It was as if she had lit a candle inside her. Carswall himself was, in his own way, equally elated.
The news would not keep. “You must give me joy, Cousin,” Miss Carswall burst out, rushing up to Sophie. “I am to be married.”
“Sir George has offered?”
“Yes, my love, and everything has been done as it should. He talked to Papa first, and asked if he might pay his addresses. And then Papa called me in, and he left us alone.”
It is at this point in novels that young ladies blush. Miss Carswall did not blush. She looked like the cat who has licked the cream.
Sophie embraced her. “Oh, my dear, I do indeed give you joy. I hope you will be very happy.”
“He would not dine with us,” Mr Carswall put in. “He would have liked to, of course, but he felt obliged to ride back to Clearland and inform Lady Ruispidge of what had passed. Very proper, I’m sure; I should expect no less of him.”
We went into dinner, where the presence of servants inhibited conversation. The engagement was not to be announced until Lady Ruispidge had been told. No doubt the servants knew, because servants always do, but neither we nor they could admit it. This left Miss Carswall and her father in a sort of purgatory because they so desperately wanted to talk about the subject. When the ladies had left, and the cloth had been withdrawn, Mr Carswall crooked his finger at me. Mr Noak had not come down to dinner and the servants were gone, so only the two of us were in the room.
“Stay and take a glass of wine with me, Shield.”
I returned slowly to my chair, hardly caring whether my reluctance showed.
“Now the servants with their long ears are out of the way we shall drink a toast,” he said, seemingly oblivious to my distaste for him. “A bumper, mind, I’ll have no damned heeltaps tonight. To my little Flora, God bless her: to the future Lady Ruispidge.”
I drank the toast and then we drank another to Sir George.
“Carswall Ruispidge,” the old man murmured. “Sir Carswall Ruispidge, Baronet. It has a fine sound, does it not? Sir George assures me that if the union is blessed – and why should it not be, for both parties come of sound English stock? – when the union is blessed, I say, their eldest boy shall be called Carswall. That is handsome, eh? It is a pleasure to deal with a gentleman, Shield. I tell you plainly: I shall have no more to do with scrubs. I give you another toast: to Carswall Ruispidge, may God bless him. Come, recharge your glass.”
Whatever mood possessed him, Carswall lived it to the full. There were more toasts, more bumpers. I fancy he was already more than a little cut before we sat down to table. In under an hour, he was slumped in his chair, his eyes glistening with moisture and his waistcoat spotted with wine. I confess I was a trifle the worse for wear myself, for Carswall had urged me to drink glass for glass with him, and a dark, despairing mood had possessed me since I had been alone with him. I drank in the hope of forgetting all that I desired and would never have.
“When will the marriage take place, sir?” I inquired.
“Sir George and I have settled on June. That will give the lawyers time to tie up everything as tight as need be. Then I shall give away my little Flora.” He grunted and stared at the fire. “Ready money, my boy, that’s the secret. As I told you before, the man with ready money is king. He may purchase anything he wishes.”
I understood his meaning, though he would never put it into words, perhaps even to himself. His money had wiped away the stain of his daughter’s bastardy. It had made a titled gentleman overlook Mr Carswall’s lack of gentility. And, best of all, it had bought him the prospect of a vicarious immortality in the persons of his unborn grandson and all the little Carswall Ruispidges that might descend from him and lord it over all and sundry.
The old man took out his watch but did not open it. He pressed the button and the repeater emitted its tiny chime.
“Has one of the servants blabbed about my grandfather?” he said. “Before he went to London, he was clerk to the steward of Monkshill when old Mr Frant had the estate. I came here once as a boy, and watched the fine gentry through the trees by the lake.” Carswall tapped the watch’s case, yawned and added in a gloating, childish whisper: “But who is master now, eh? Tell me that: who is master now?”