by break of day a week thence i waited by the highway for the coach and pair which should carry me with mr. bradbury up to london. my mind was yet confused for the swiftness of events. my mother, after her first outburst on the evening of mr. bradbury’s second visit, had become secretive; she whose life had seemed to me so open and simple, had grown inscrutable; she would satisfy me fully on none of the matters of most concern to me. this much i gathered—that i was john craike, son of richard craike, who had passed by the name of howe; that my grandfather was possessed of considerable means, and that for greed of this charles craike, my uncle, had plotted against his brother, bringing about his disappearance from england, if not his death. i believed that my mother at the time of her marriage had held some menial position in the service of mrs. charles craike; that the match had excited bitter opposition from the craike family, and that my father and she had been wedded secretly, and had lived under her p. 46name in london, fearing charles craike and his hostility. and that she had found from the first the hand of charles craike in the disappearance of her husband, and had fled away to live at chelton through her concern for me and the enmity of charles.
but of my grandfather’s fortune—“ill-gotten,” she named it,—and of “the doomed house,” she would say no more; her secrecy hung like a shadow over us for that last week of mine at chelton. she went quietly about her preparations for my journey, refusing to listen to my appeals that i should stay with her; insisting that, if i loved her, i should give myself wholly into mr. bradbury’s hands. “for,” she said, “i believe in him—nay, i know him for a friend of yours and mine. and he has great influence with your grandfather, and will insure your safe return to me.” only from all the week of wondering and doubts unanswered i realised the bitterness of her spirit toward charles craike, and the keenness of her desire that i, as only son of the elder son, should come between him and the inheritance for which he had planned; this hate of him and this desire for his punishment outweighed even her fears for me. though mr. bradbury had convinced her that he would insure for me a safe journey and a safe return.
p. 47but at the time of parting,—ere the dawn was come,—her hardness passed from her. i saw, as i had never seen, since the day of my father’s disappearance, tears falling from her eyes. she clasped me to her, as if she would never loose me from her arms. not my first separation from her—i believed then it would be brief, and that, when mr. bradbury had made me known to my grandfather, i would return to her; and all would be as before,—alone affected her. i understood now, indeed, she feared for me, and that her terrors surging up almost induced her thus late to break her word to mr. bradbury. looking back, ere i passed out of sight from the cottage, i saw her standing as a grey shadow in the doorway; i waved my hat back to her; and so i left her.
and then the spirit of adventure and new experience took me, and i swung out on to the highway. i had put on my best black clothes, and the fine frilled shirt my mother had stitched and starched for me. i carried only a little knapsack containing such few articles as i should need on my journey up to london with mr. bradbury; there, my mother had told me, i would be fitted out with garments more suitable to my condition than she could fashion for me. at the first milestone from the village i stood to wait by p. 48the highway for the coming of mr. bradbury in his coach; it was his wish and my mother’s that my departure with him should not become a matter of village gossip. i had parted regretfully from my friend tony; giving him only to understand that i journeyed up to london with mr. bradbury to be made known to my father’s folk, assuring him that i would soon return, and binding him to secrecy.
the morn came chill and grey. a drear wind was abroad; the pale dust whirled down the highway. i waited in the cold for a good half-hour—the sun was up, and the countryside leaping in its light from blackness and greyness into the rich green of spring—ere the coach and pair bearing mr. bradbury approached, driven rapidly from chelton. as the driver pulled up for me, mr. bradbury’s gloved hand let down the glass; nodding his head to me in welcome, he hastened to admit me into the coach. it had been repaired from the damages of its overthrow; it was cushioned luxuriously; my body sank into its warm depth, and mr. bradbury, with all politeness, hastened to wrap a robe of furs about me for the chill of the morning. he embarrassed me by his close scrutiny; i assumed that he regarded superciliously my rustic appearance in the best clothes i had; realising my confusion, p. 49he said, laughing, “forgive me, mr. craike, i marvel only that a lady of your mother’s intelligence should ever have thought to keep your kinship to the craikes a secret.”
“she has left me, sir, very much in the dark,” i told him. “a week since i was john howe. to-day i am john craike and ride with you. i do not understand your interest in me.”
“mr. craike,” he said, leaning towards me, “if you have your father’s look, you have a little of your mother’s, too. i esteem highly her prudence and intelligence. and, sir, your likeness to your mother encourages me to be frank and open with you, realising that, whatever passes between us is said in confidence,—i, acting in your interest, and in the interest of mr. edward craike, whose adviser i have the honour to be.”
“to be sure, sir, i ask for frankness, and pledge my word of honour to you.”
he said earnestly, “mr. craike, in serving your interest i believe that i shall best serve the interest of my client. i purpose, to be sure, to take you to london and prepare you for presentation to your grandfather. i purpose to accompany you to his house. you are by no means assured of a welcome from him; you are assured only of the hostility of your uncle p. 50charles,—your mother’s enemy—and mine! ay,—and mine! i have a purpose in promoting your interests. i have the purpose of keeping from the inheritance of a great estate—charles craike!”
“a great estate!”
“no great acreage, but wealth such as few commoners in england own. i would keep this from the hands of charles craike, knowing that if it pass to him, it becomes a force for evil, surely it becomes.”
“why?”
he answered swiftly, “a week or more from now, mr. craike, you’ll know charles craike. judge for yourself.”
“but from where did my grandfather derive his fortunes?” i asked, remembering my mother’s words after mr. bradbury had left her that night at the cottage. “by trade, or as an inheritance?”
i believed that his eyes flickered and that he hesitated. he answered glibly, “the fruits, mr. craike, of his own industry.”
i stared at him and muttered, “what should my mother mean, mr. bradbury, by the words ‘that doomed house’ and ‘the wealth ill-gotten’?”
he said swiftly, “doomed, if the inheritance p. 51go to charles craike! surely doomed! ill-gotten! gotten as honestly as most!”
“mr. bradbury, forgive me,—are you frank with me?”
he took snuff ere he replied. “mr. john craike, at your grandfather’s house you’ll learn the answers to your questions. will you forgive me if now i do not answer you?”
“well, then, concerning this house—its whereabouts? i know nothing.”
he laughed a little. “craike house,” he said, “passes among the folk of the neighbourhood—it is far from here—by an odd name. ‘rogues’ haven,’ sir. ‘rogues’ haven.’”
“from the reputation of my kinsfolk?”
“surely not,” he answered, “but from the retired nature of your grandfather’s life, and from the practice of the vulgar to ascribe mystery and evil where their curiosity is not satisfied. and from the charity of your grandfather in keeping about him his old servants and dependants. an odd company, maybe, mr. john—a very odd company. but judge of the house and its inmates yourself, sir. i warn you only—i am bound to warn you—against mr. charles craike.”
