The Two Householders
Extract from the Memoirs of Gabriel Foot, Highwayman.I will say this--speaking as accurately as a man may, so longafterwards--that when first I spied the house it put no desire in me butjust to give thanks.For conceive my case. It was near mid-night, and ever since dusk I hadbeen tramping the naked moors, in the teeth of as vicious a nor'-westeras ever drenched a man to the skin, and then blew the cold home to hismarrow. My clothes were sodden; my coat-tails flapped with a noise likepistol-shots; my boots squeaked as I went. Overhead, the October moonwas in her last quarter, and might have been a slice of finger-nail forall the light she afforded. Two-thirds of the time the wrack blottedher out altogether; and I, with my stick clipped tight under my armpit,eyes puckered up, and head bent aslant, had to keep my wits alive todistinguish the road from the black heath to right and left. For threehours I had met neither man nor man's dwelling, and (for all I knew) wasdesperately lost. Indeed, at the cross-roads, two miles back, there hadbeen nothing for me but to choose the way that kept the wind on my face,and it gnawed me like a dog.Mainly to allay the stinging of my eyes, I pulled up at last, turnedright-about-face, leant back against the blast with a hand on my hat,and surveyed the blackness behind. It was at this instant that, faraway to the left, a point of light caught my notice, faint but steady;and at once I felt sure it burnt in the window of a house. "The house,"thought I, "is a good mile off, beside the other road, and the lightmust have been an inch over my hat-brim for the last half-hour."This reflection--that on so wide a moor I had come near missing theinformation I wanted (and perhaps a supper) by one inch--sent a strongthrill down my back.I cut straight across the heather towards the light, risking quags andpitfalls. Nay, so heartening was the chance to hear a fellow creature'svoice, that I broke into a run, skipping over the stunted gorse thatcropped up here and there, and dreading every moment to see the lightquenched. "Suppose it burns in an upper window, and the family is goingto bed, as would be likely at this hour--" The apprehension kept myeyes fixed on the bright spot, to the frequent scandal of my legs, thatwithin five minutes were stuck full of gorse prickles.But the light did not go out, and soon a flicker of moonlight gave me aglimpse of the house's outline. It proved to be a deal more imposingthan I looked for--the outline, in fact, of a tall, square barrack, witha cluster of chimneys at either end, like ears, and a high wall, toppedby the roofs of some outbuildings, concealing the lower windows. Therewas no gate in this wall, and presently I guessed the reason. I wasapproaching the place from behind, and the light came from a back windowon the first floor.The faintness of the light also was explained by this time. It shonebehind a drab-coloured blind, and in shape resembled the stem of awine-glass, broadening out at the foot; an effect produced by thehalf-drawn curtains within. I came to a halt, waiting for the next rayof moonlight. At the same moment a rush of wind swept over thechimney-stacks, and on the wind there seemed to ride a human sigh.On this last point I may err. The gust had passed some seconds before Icaught myself detecting this peculiar note, and trying to disengage itfrom the natural chords of the storm. From the next gust it was absent;and then, to my dismay, the light faded from the window.I was half-minded to call out when it appeared again, this time in twowindows--those next on the right to that where it had shone before.Almost at once it increased in brilliance, as if the person who carriedit from the smaller room to the larger were lighting more candles; andnow the illumination was strong enough to make fine gold threads of therain that fell within its radiance, and fling two shafts of warm yellowover the coping of the back wall. During the minute or more that Istood watching, no shadow fell on either blind.Between me and the wall ran a ditch, into which the ground at my feetbroke sharply away. Setting my back to the storm again, I followed thelip of this ditch around the wall's angle. Here it shallowed, and here,too, was shelter; but not wishing to mistake a bed of nettles or anysuch pitfall for solid earth, I kept pretty wide as I went on.The house was dark on this side, and the wall, as before, had noopening. Close beside the next angle there grew a mass of thick gorsebushes, and pushing through these I found myself suddenly on a soundhigh-road, with the wind tearing at me as furiously as ever.But here was the front; and I now perceived that the surrounding walladvanced some way before the house, so as to form a narrow courtlage.So much of it, too, as faced the road had been whitewashed, which madeit an easy matter to find the gate. But as I laid hand on its latch Ihad a surprise.A line of paving-stones led from the gate to a heavy porch; and alongthe wet surface of these there fell a streak of light from the frontdoor, which stood ajar.That a door should remain six inches open on such a night wasastonishing enough, until I entered the court and found it as still as aroom, owing to the high wall. But looking up and assuring myself thatall the rest of the facade was black as ink, I wondered at thecarelessness of the inmates.It was here that my professional instinct received the first jog.Abating the sound of my feet on the paving-stones, I went up to the doorand pushed it softly. It opened without noise.I stepped into a fair-sized hall of modern build, paved with red tilesand lit with a small hanging-lamp. To right and left were doors leadingto the ground-floor rooms. Along the wall by my shoulder ran a line ofpegs, on which hung half-a-dozen hats and great-coats, every one ofclerical shape; and full in front of me a broad staircase ran up, with astaring Brussels carpet, the colours and pattern of which I can recallas well as I can to-day's breakfast. Under this staircase was set astand full of walking-sticks, and a table littered with gloves, brushes,a hand-bell, a riding-crop, one or two dog-whistles, and a bedroomcandle, with tinder-box beside it. This, with one notable exception,was all the furniture.The exception--which turned me cold--was the form of a yellow mastiffdog, curled on a mat beneath the table. The arch of his back wastowards me, and one forepaw lay over his nose in a natural posture ofsleep. I leant back on the wainscotting with my eyes tightly fixed onhim, and my thoughts sneaking back, with something of regret, to thestorm I had come through.But a man's habits are not easily denied. At the end of three minutesthe dog had not moved, and I was down on the door-mat unlacing my soakedboots. Slipping them off, and taking them in my left hand, I stood up,and tried a step towards the stairs, with eyes alert for any movement ofthe mastiff; but he never stirred. I was glad enough, however, onreaching the stairs, to find them newly built, and the carpet thick. UpI went, with a glance at every step for the table which now hid thebrute's form from me, and never a creak did I wake out of that staircasetill I was almost at the first landing, when my toe caught a loosestair-rod, and rattled it in a way that stopped my heart for a moment,and then set it going in double-quick time.I stood still with a hand on the rail. My eyes were now on a level withthe floor of the landing, out of which branched two passages--oneturning sharply to my right, the other straight in front, so that I wasgazing down the length of it. Almost at the end, a parallelogram oflight fell across it from an open door.A man who has once felt it knows there is only one kind of silence thatcan fitly be called "dead." This is only to be found in a great houseat midnight. I declare that for a few seconds after I rattled thestair-rod you might have cut the silence with a knife. If the househeld a clock, it ticked inaudibly.Upon this silence, at the end of a minute, broke a light sound--thetink-tink of a decanter on the rim of a wine-glass. It came from theroom where the light was.Now perhaps it was that the very thought of liquor put warmth into mycold bones. It is certain that all of a sudden I straightened my back,took the remaining stairs at two strides, and walked down the passage asbold as brass, without caring a jot for the noise I made.In the doorway I halted. The room was long, lined for the most partwith books bound in what they call "divinity calf," and littered withpapers like a barrister's table on assize day. A leathern elbow-chairfaced the fireplace, where a few coals burned sulkily, and beside it, onthe corner of a writing table, were set an unlit candle and a pile ofmanuscripts. At the opposite end of the room a curtained door led (as Iguessed) to the chamber that I had first seen illuminated. All this Itook in with the tail of my eye, while staring straight in front, where,in the middle of a great square of carpet, between me and the windows,stood a table with a red cloth upon it. On this cloth were a couple ofwax candles lit, in silver stands, a tray, and a decanter three-partsfull of brandy. And between me and the table stood a man.He stood sideways, leaning a little back, as if to keep his shadow offthe threshold, and looked at me over his left shoulder--a bald, graveman, slightly under the common height, with a long clerical coat ofpreposterous fit hanging loosely from his shoulders, a white cravat,black breeches, and black stockings. His feet were loosely thrust intocarpet slippers. I judged his age at fifty, or thereabouts; but hisface rested in the shadow, and I could only note a pair of eyes, verysmall and alert, twinkling above a large expanse of cheek.He was lifting a wine-glass from the table at the moment when Iappeared, and it trembled now in his right hand. I heard a spilt dropor two fall on the carpet. This was all the evidence he showed ofdiscomposure.Setting the glass back, he felt in his breast-pocket for a handkerchief,failed to find one, and rubbed his hands together to get the liquor offhis fingers."You startled me," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, turning his eyesupon me, as he lifted his glass again, and emptied it. "How did youfind your way in?""By the front door," said I, wondering at his unconcern.He nodded his head slowly."Ah! yes; I forgot to lock it. You came to steal, I suppose?""I came because I'd lost my way. I've been travelling thisGod-forsaken moor since dusk--""With your boots in your hand," he put in quietly."I took them off out of respect to the yellow dog you keep.""He lies in a very natural attitude--eh?""You don't tell me he was stuffed?"The old man's eyes beamed a contemptuous pity."You are indifferent sharp, my dear sir, for a housebreaker. Come in.Set down those convicting boots, and don't drip pools of water in thedoorway. If I must entertain a burglar, I prefer him tidy."He walked to the fire, picked up a poker, and knocked the coals into ablaze. This done, he turned round on me with the poker still in hishand. The serenest gravity sat on his large, pale features."Why have I done this?" he asked."I suppose to get possession of the poker.""Quite right. May I inquire your next move?""Why?" said I, feeling in my tail-pocket, "I carry a pistol.""Which I suppose to be damp?""By no means. I carry it, as you see, in an oil-cloth case."He stooped, and laid the poker carefully in the fender."That is a stronger card than I possess. I might urge that by pullingthe trigger you would certainly alarm the house and the neighbourhood,and put a halter round your neck. But it strikes me as safer to assumeyou capable of using a pistol with effect at three paces. With whatmight happen subsequently I will not pretend to be concerned. The fateof your neck"--he waved a hand,--"well, I have known you for just fiveminutes, and feel but a moderate interest in your neck. As for theinmates of this house, it will refresh you to hear that there are none.I have lived here two years with a butler and female cook, both of whomI dismissed yesterday at a minute's notice, for conduct which I will notshock your ears by explicitly naming. Suffice it to say, I carried themoff yesterday to my parish church, two miles away, married them anddismissed them in the vestry without characters. I wish you had knownthat butler--but excuse me; with the information I have supplied, youought to find no difficulty in fixing the price you will take to clearout of my house instanter.""Sir," I answered, "I have held a pistol at one or two heads in my time,but never at one stuffed with nobler indiscretion. Your chivalry doesnot, indeed, disarm me, but prompts me to desire more of youracquaintance. I have found a gentleman, and must sup with him before Imake terms."This address seemed to please him. He shuffled across the room to asideboard, and produced a plate of biscuits, another of dried figs, aglass, and two decanters."Sherry and Madeira," he said. "There is also a cold pie in the larder,if you care for it.""A biscuit will serve," I replied. "To tell the truth, I'm more for thebucket than the manger, as the grooms say: and the brandy you weretasting just now is more to my mind than wine.""There is no water handy.""I have soaked in enough to-night to last me with this bottle."I pulled over a chair, laid my pistol on the table, and held out theglass for him to fill. Having done so, he helped himself to a glass anda chair, and sat down facing me."I was speaking, just now, of my late butler," he began, with a sip athis brandy. "Does it strike you that, when confronted with moraldelinquency, I am apt to let my indignation get the better of me?""Not at all," I answered heartily, refilling my glass.It appeared that another reply would have pleased him better."H'm. I was hoping that, perhaps, I had visited his offence toostrongly. As a clergyman, you see, I was bound to be severe; but uponmy word, sir, since Parkinson left I have felt like a man who has lost alimb."He drummed with his fingers on the cloth for a few moments, and wenton--"One has a natural disposition to forgive butlers--Pharaoh, forinstance, felt it. There hovers around butlers an atmosphere in whichcommon ethics lose their pertinence. But mine was a rare bird--a blackswan among butlers! He was more than a butler: he was a quick andbrightly gifted man. Of the accuracy of his taste, and the unusualscope of his endeavour, you will be able to form some opinion when Iassure you he modelled himself upon me."I bowed, over my brandy."I am a scholar: yet I employed him to read aloud to me, and derivedpleasure from his intonation. I talk with refinement: yet he learned toanswer me in language as precise as my own. My cast-off garments fittedhim not more irreproachably than did my amenities of manner. Divest himof his tray, and you would find his mode of entering a room hardlydistinguishable from my own--the same urbanity, the same alertness ofcarriage, the same superfine deference towards the weaker sex. All--allmy idiosyncrasies I saw reflected in him; and can you doubt that I wasgratified? He was my alter ego--which, by the way, makes it harderfor me to pardon his behaviour with the cook.""Look here," I broke in; "you want a new butler?""Oh, you really grasp that fact, do you?" he retorted."Why, then," said I, "let me cease to be your burglar and let mecontinue here as your butler."He leant back, spreading out the fingers of each hand on the table'sedge."Believe me," I went on, "you might do worse. I have been in my time ademy of Magdalen College, Oxford, and retain some Greek and Latin.I'll undertake to read the Fathers with an accent that shall not offendyou. My taste in wine is none the worse for having been formed in othermen's cellars. Moreover, you shall engage the ugliest cook inChristendom, so long as I'm your butler. I've taken a liking to you--that's flat--and I apply for the post.""I give forty pounds a year," said he."And I'm cheap at that price."He filled up his glass, looking up at me while he did so with the air ofone digesting a problem. From first to last his face was grave as ajudge's."We are too impulsive, I think," was his answer, after a minute'ssilence; "and your speech smacks of the amateur. You say, 'Let me ceaseto be your burglar and let me be your butler.' The aspiration isrespectable; but a man might as well say, 'Let me cease to writesermons, let me paint pictures.' And truly, sir, you impress me as noexpert even in your present trade.""On the other hand," I argued, "consider the moderation of my demands;that alone should convince you of my desire to turn over a new leaf.I ask for a month's trial; if at the end of that time I don't suit, youshall say so, and I'll march from your door with nothing in my pocketbut my month's wages. Be hanged, sir! but when I reflect on the amountyou'll have to pay to get me to face to-night's storm again, you seem tobe getting off dirt cheap!" cried I, slapping my palm on the table."Ah, if you had only known Parkinson!" he exclaimed.Now the third glass of clean spirit has always a deplorable effect onme. It turns me from bright to black, from levity to extreme sulkiness.I have done more wickedness over this third tumbler than in all theother states of comparative inebriety within my experience. So now Iglowered at my companion and cursed."Look here, I don't want to hear any more of Parkinson, and I've apretty clear notion of the game you're playing. You want to make medrink, and you're ready to sit prattling there plying me till I dropunder the table.""Do me the favour to remember that you came, and are staying, on yourown motion. As for the brandy, I would remind you that I suggested amilder drink. Try some Madeira."He handed me the decanter, as he spoke, and I poured out a glass."Madeira!" said I, taking a gulp, "Ugh! it's the commonest Marsala!"I had no sooner said the words than he rose up, and stretched a handgravely across to me."I hope you will shake it," he said; "though, as a man who after threeglasses of neat spirit can distinguish between Madeira and Marsala, youhave every right to refuse me. Two minutes ago you offered to become mybutler, and I demurred. I now beg you to repeat that offer. Say theword, and I employ you gladly; you shall even have the second decanter(which contains genuine Madeira) to take to bed with you."We shook hands on our bargain, and catching up a candlestick, he led theway from the room.Picking up my boots, I followed him along the passage and down thesilent staircase. In the hall he paused to stand on tip-toe, and turnup the lamp, which was burning low. As he did so, I found time to flinga glance at my old enemy, the mastiff. He lay as I had first seen him--a stuffed dog, if ever there was one. "Decidedly," thought I, "my witsare to seek to-night;" and with the same, a sudden suspicion made meturn to my conductor, who had advanced to the left-hand door, and waswaiting for me, with a hand on the knob."One moment!" I said: "This is all very pretty, but how am I to knowyou're not sending me to bed while you fetch in all the countryside tolay me by the heels?""I'm afraid," was his answer, "you must be content with my word, as agentleman, that never, to-night or hereafter, will I breathe a syllableabout the circumstances of your visit. However, if you choose, we willreturn up-stairs.""No; I'll trust you," said I; and he opened the door.It led into a broad passage paved with slate, upon which three or fourrooms opened. He paused by the second and ushered me into asleeping-chamber, which, though narrow, was comfortable enough--a vastimprovement, at any rate, on the mumpers' lodgings I had been used tofor many months past."You can undress here," he said. "The sheets are aired, and if you'llwait a moment, I'll fetch a nightshirt--one of my own.""Sir, you heap coals of fire on me.""Believe me that for ninety-nine of your qualities I do not care atinker's curse; but for your palate you are to be taken care of."He shuffled away, but came back in a couple of minutes with thenightshirt."Good-night," he called to me, flinging it in at the door; and withoutgiving me time to return the wish, went his way up-stairs.Now it might be supposed I was only too glad to toss off my clothes andclimb into the bed I had so unexpectedly acquired a right to. But, as amatter of fact, I did nothing of the kind. Instead, I drew on my bootsand sat on the bed's edge, blinking at my candle till it died down inits socket, and afterwards at the purple square of window as it slowlychanged to grey with the coming of dawn. I was cold to the heart, andmy teeth chattered with an ague. Certainly I never suspected my host'sword; but was even occupied in framing good resolutions and shaping outa reputable future, when I heard the front door gently pulled to, and aman's footsteps moving quietly to the gate.The treachery knocked me in a heap for the moment. Then, leaping up andflinging my door wide, I stumbled through the uncertain light of thepassage into the front hall. There was a fan-shaped light over thedoor, and the place was very still and grey. A quick thought, or,rather, a sudden, prophetic guess at the truth, made me turn to thefigure of the mastiff curled under the hall table.I laid my hand on the scruff of his neck. He was quite limp, and myfingers sank into the flesh on either side of the vertebrae.Digging them deeper, I dragged him out into the middle of the hall andpulled the front door open to see the better.His throat was gashed from ear to ear.How many seconds passed after I dropped the senseless lump on the floor,and before I made another movement, it would puzzle me to say. Twice Istirred a foot as if to run out at the door. Then, changing my mind, Istepped over the mastiff, and ran up the staircase.The passage at the top was now dark; but groping down it, I found thestudy door open, as before, and passed in. A sick light stole throughthe blinds--enough for me to distinguish the glasses and decanters onthe table, and find my way to the curtain that hung before the innerroom.I pushed the curtain aside, paused for a moment, and listened to theviolent beat of my heart; then felt for the door-handle and turnedit.All I could see at first was that the chamber was small; next, that thelight patch in a line with the window was the white coverlet of a bed;and next that somebody, or something, lay on the bed.I listened again. There was no sound in the room; no heart beating butmy own. I reached out a hand to pull up the blind, and drew it backagain. I dared not.The daylight grew minute by minute on the dull oblong of the blind, andminute by minute that horrible thing on the bed took something ofdistinctness.The strain beat me at last. I fetched a loud yell to give myselfcourage, and, reaching for the cord, pulled up the blind as fast as itwould go.The face on the pillow was that of an old man--a face waxen andpeaceful, with quiet lines about the mouth and eyes, and long lines ofgrey hair falling back from the temples. The body was turned a littleon one side, and one hand lay outside the bedclothes in a very naturalmanner. But there were two big dark stains on the pillow and coverlet.Then I knew I was face to face with the real householder, and it flashedon me that I had been indiscreet in taking service as his butler, andthat I knew the face his ex-butler wore.And, being by this time awake to the responsibilities of the post, Iquitted it three steps at a time, not once looking behind me.Outside the house the storm had died down, and white daylight wasgleaming over the sodden moors. But my bones were cold, and I ranfaster and faster.
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
