my grandfather, pulling the bell-rope, summoned thrale, and ordered curtly, “send barwise and her man to me!” as thrale vanished, the old man said to me, “i’ve orders for ’em, john—orders. she’s housekeeper; he’s butler, and their son nick’s groom. rogues all!”
he chuckled, and sought his snuff-box; so he made play with it that i observed it cut from ebony, with a silver skull and bones patterned upon it. he ceased his senile chuckling at the rapping on the door; i saw him grip the arms of his chair and hold his head high, as if to make a show of strength and sanity before barwise and his wife.
the woman held my attention rather than the man. she had been a fine handsome woman in her day; she bore herself still stiffly erect, though she was very old. a black silken gown hung loosely about her shrunken body; keys in a little basket on her arm rattled like fetters. she had a high, white mob-cap on her thick, iron-grey hair; the skin was drawn and withered about the p. 186bones of her face; her mouth was firm yet, and her eyes clear and black,—of all the rogues who served my grandfather, i came to like none so ill as the barwise woman. her husband was a fat, bald, old rogue, clad in shabby black, his paunch protruding; rolls of fat beneath his chin; his hands were fat and oily. his sunburn was ripened to the rich glow of wine; his little eyes were bloodshot. the woman made a curtsy; the clash of her keys startled me with a notion that all her bones were rattling. barwise bowed.
my grandfather addressed the woman with the strong and measured utterance he had employed to mr. bradbury. “i’ve sent for you, barwise, and your man there,” he said, “as i’d have you know that this young gentleman, my grandson, is to be obeyed.”
she curtsied once more; for an instant her eyes rested balefully on me.
“i’d have you so instruct your folk,” my grandfather proceeded. “while he’s in my house, you’ll all treat him as your master—d’ye understand me?”
she nodded, staring at him curiously as if remarking a strength become strange to her.
“he’s likely to be master after me, d’ye hear?” my grandfather added. “you take your orders p. 187now from me; whatever orders he chooses to give, you take them as from me.”
the woman croaked, “it’s well for you, mr. craike, to have the young gentleman by you. i mark a change in you already.”
her bold eyes warred with his; as understanding her meaning that she knew him near to decay and that this assumed strength was no more than the flash of a dying fire, he roared out, “i want no words from you, mistress! you’re old; you’re presuming on your service. mark me, i’ll be obeyed!” and started to his feet, and rapped his cane upon the floor with such bullying wrath and strength that she quailed before him and shrank back, her husband staring at him and quivering like a jelly.
she muttered, “i meant nothing!”
“ay, meant nothing! time was—” but he broke off, hesitated, at last cried out, “ay, and the time is yet. i’ll be obeyed. you’ve thought me old, barwise—you and the lazy crew i support here of my bounty. take care i don’t make a sweep of ye all—of ye all—d’ye mark me?” mastering himself then and dropping heavily back in his chair, “that’s all, barwise. you’ll obey mr. john craike—all of ye!”
propping his chin upon his cane, he sat glaring at them, till, with a venomous look at me, p. 188the woman whisked from the room, her husband shuffling after. so he sat stiffly till the door was shut; then lay back in his chair and fell again to senile chuckling. “eh, john; but they think me near to dying,” he said. “eh, john, did ye mark how i took the wind from her sails? eh, but i’m stronger for having richard’s son beside me. i thought to die captain of my ship many a time. and i think to die master of my own house,” and so, sat chuckling and shaking, his strength leaving him as suddenly as his will had summoned it. he rambled on, “she’s an ill fowl—eh, john? she’s a skeleton held together by her skin—no more. barwise’s woman,—she’d looks once,—hair black as the storm and eyes as black. she’d wear silks and gold rings. she took a fat picking from my men, when i sailed my ship. she’d a tavern shadwell way.” he broke off, and looked dully at me. he muttered, “can you not see, lad, the manner of man i was? can you not see the wreck i am? how i ruled ’em once and how now that they think me broken—they’d mutiny, they’d rob me; they’d have what they’ll never set their fingers on?”
“surely my uncle would discipline them at a word from you. clear the house of them.”
“ay, ay, charles! charles watches me, as they, and thinks to rob me!” he gasped, and p. 189huddled in his chair; ghastly now, and the sweat beading his brow.
i said swiftly, “shall i ring for thrale? you’re ill, sir!”
he croaked, “and let ’em see me so!”—and clawed in his pocket and poked a slim key into my hands, and whispered, “hey! the press there—the bottle—pour me a dram!”
i unlocked the press beside him, and taking out a bloated green bottle—much as the bottle at mother mag’s—poured some spirit into a glass; and his hands now shaking, so that he must have spilt the drink, i held it to his lips, until he swallowed it down, choking and coughing. whatever the stuff, it lent him speedy strength and colour. he sat blinking at me with those evil old eyes of his. i could feel scant pity for him, save for the thought that he had been so strong, and was now old and weak, and that the rogues who had formed his crew, and whom for some odd fancy, or fear, he had kept about him would now tear him down, as they would have torn him down, had he been less strong and ruthless, on his ship.
i said, “you’ve a pretty crew of rogues about you, sir. give me but the word, and i’ll drive off and have mr. bradbury back here, and we’ll make a sweep of the whole company.”
p. 190he answered, “no. rogues, but they serve me well. and i ruled ’em once. and i’ll rule ’em till i’m dead. you’ll stay by me, john—ay, ay, and you’ll profit by it, and charles shall pay for his sins. now you may leave me, lad. they’ll obey you. they’ll fear you, fearing me still. there are many books in the old house. there’s a horse in the stable. there’s the wench, milne; and there’s the whelp, oliver, who’ll ride with you, and drink with you, and rook you. ay, and there’s guineas for the spending”—clawing suddenly into the pocket of his gown, and drawing out a purse and slinging it to me. it rang with gold, as i caught it in my hand.
