Chapter XXI.

Otago Witness, Issue 1005, 4 March 1871, Page 19

Chapter XXI.

WHAT FOLLOWED AT CHESTERTON HOUSE. The magistrate was left sitting in his room — revolving, like the pious many things in his mmd — while Philip Stanfield was led quietly across the yard, upon each side of which stood a series of

small closets, that looked as much like tool- houses of a country house as anything else. Inspector Stevenson was much struck with bis prisoner's behaviour. Here was a great question to him : Was this swell a rogue or a fool ? As regarded

Old Forster, it was certain he could not make a mistake. Mr Forater was too clever to be taken in : he had got the right man, he had. Well, then, -what on earth did this swell mean by not having an alibi ready, and not pressing for bail, and having his old governor up ?

His old governor ! Poor man ! the bitterest feeling, which came every now and then with recurrent force, was that which told Philip that his father would soon find out the new disgrace that had befallen him.

In the meantime, the whole basement of Chesterton House was revolutionised by the news. We, who live in the parlours, think that our servants know nothing about our private affairs ; and that we can do this or that without being observed. How loftily we say, " Oh, those people take no interest in us. We can discuss these matters before them quite easily ; they are beyond their comprehension." And all the while Jenny knows more than her mistress ; and Joseph the page boy, with his smooth face, is in possession of one or two secrets which, if you knew that lie knew, your ears would tingle.

Chesterton House was as well ordered as any house in the three kingdoms, especially below stairs. The servants, who reflect the habits of their superiors — aB, indeed, most of us do, if we be not superior ourselves — were thoroughly orderly and good ; indeed, the steward's room was a pattern to many a gentleman's house.

Mr Roskell, when he creaked back again, in his pumps and Scotch cap, after his morning's walk, quietly read the Morning Post and Mr Rumford Coaster's " News of the Aristocracy." " Let me see," he would say, " what is doing. Is Lord Splinterbar going to sell his stud yet ? Is young Lord Boohoo coming of age ? — 'cos we are going down there when he does do so, to assist at those festivities. Bother festivities ! say J, from my point of view. What's old Mother Guernsey going to do? Thedansant is she — a mean old hunk ? Whenever Lord Wimpole goes to one of them this dansanis, he comes home as hungry as a hunter."

In the steward's room, the company, duly waited upon by the lower servants, consisted of the Earl's valet, out of livery ; Mr Roskell ; Mr Gurgles, the butler ; and young Mr Checkettß, Lord Wimpole's valet, also out of livery. These gentlemen were honest, honourable, good servants ; quite content to do their duty — and doing it, too, very much better, and with very much less noise and fuss, than some of the upper class of society.

Mr Gurgles, the butler, had good wages and certain perquisites. These he strictly adhered to. Out of these perquisites he furnished his friends with a very good bottle of wine now and then ; and he and Mr Roskell drank as good wine as did the Earl. But for these perquisites and wages — and the Earl of Orford, the Prime Minister, the Marquis of Bute, the Mistress of the Robes to Queen Caroline, and a few other noble swells of the bluest blood, have looked after their perquisites as well— Mr Gurgles did his duty thoroughly. The Earl, he took care, never had a bad bottle of wine at his table ; and indeed, never bought a bad bottle of wine— which is more than many a nobleman, or •many a king, can say j nor did any one take away or waste a bottle, Mr Gurgles ! was severely honest, read the " Gospel Magazine" — which he called the " Gorspel Mag" — and quoted it upon occasion, and tried to improve the morals of the servants below him.

The Earl's man, Mr Slates, was a good, quiet, soleman man, with no observation, no penetration, no smile or laugh nor fun about him at all — one who did his work well, was always at his work ; who was thoroughly absorbent of jokes, talk, or anything else. Whatever he heard never came out. He was, however, a capital man to listen j and next to the Earl, he loved and admired — in the quiet manner that aa orderly old cow or a walrus might love and admire— Mr Roskell. We have said that he was absorbent ; JliWWlO,ta»Qj»wayfltti%nQn e| %9J% 9J

and then, when he was left at home, and when the Earl went out, as he often did, attended only by Mr Roskell, or when he asked permission to go to the theatre, Mr Slates would get quietly and thoroughly drunk ; and then, with aheadache, a pale face, and a languid gait, would go on with his work the next morning u» w«ll as ever. Upon these occasions Mr Gurgles would quote Goißpel Mag" to him, with the weight and authority of the Bible itself. Indeed, it must be said that Gurgles, who apparently read the Scriptures very seldom, usually quoted St. Paul, or St. David, or St. John himself, as the editor's own words. "Now, my dear friend, Slates," he would say, " why do you do these things ? The editor of the ( Gorspel Mag' says expressly, ' Be sober, be temperate,' and he urges with great force that ' strong drink is as a raging lion.' "

" 'Twasn't at the Lion," said Slates. "They give you good stuff there. We had a little dinner of our society, and — in short, it's the mixed siuif they give you."

"The 'Gorspel Mag' says," urged Gurgles, " that ' men are deceitful upon the scales,' and 'above measure.' And he says thiß with force, although 1 think he might have said below measure ; for they give you too little when they can. " Here Mr Checketts broke in with a song. Mr Checketts had rißen in life. He had been a groom ; but being as honest a fellow as ever lived, and having risked his life to save Lord Wimpole's with as much sang froid as he would have cleaned his boots, he had been promoted. " Born in a kitohen, in a garret bred, Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head"— was, as we know, a terrible offence in Lord Byron's eyes. Mr Checketts had not been born ia a kitchen, for his father was a respectable publican ; and his mother's first floor, where Checketts first saw light, was as nice a bedroom as one might well desire. But Checketts had been promoted ; and he was full of fun, good humour, slang, and poetry ; so that he exercised the soul of Gurgles greatly. But, for all that, he was a great favourite of all the inhabitants of the steward's room. Mr Roskell, Gurgles, and even the dull Slates, whose eyea were as brilliant as those of a codfish, missed him when he was absent. When Gurgles quoted the 'Gorspel Mag' as having accused men of being deceivers, Mr Checketts broke out with the convivial and Shakapearean song — " ' Men were deceivers ever ;' They water yonr gia and they salts your beer, And they says, oh, aint it clever !"

Ohecketts had this peculiarity about him, that he recollected only the first line of any quotation ; " and, having a good ear for rhyme, filled it up in his own fashion.

" Really, Mr Cheoketts, you must not show unbecoming levity. Mr Slateß's little fault, which we will not mention — " " ' Oh, no, we nerer mention him,' I will not say a word ; A friend of mine got out last night, As chirpy as a bird. Well, you was chirpy, wasn't you, Mr Slates ? I like to see you gettin' on that way now and then — not always. It brightens you up ; it does, indeed. Well, you need not look so glum, Mr Gurgles."

"Mr Checketts," replied that venerable man, " the prophet, as the ' Gorspe] Mag* remarks, going down to Jericho, met with a lion in his path — " "• We met, 'twas in a crowd,' And I thought he would shun me j He bolted down a conrt, And I knew that he'd done me.

Yes, he had indeed, Mr Gurgles"— all these gentlemen were very careful to put Mr before the surname of their fellowa when they addressed them — "he lad indeed. It was only half a crown, but I call it mean to rob a poor man of his browns."

Upon this, bursting out like a lark in full song, Checketts whistled an operatic air like an angel. He was a dab at whistling. He had acquired that accomplishment when collecting or pollishing the paternal pots ; and many a time, in the country or in town, had the artless young fellow enlivened the steward's room with his whistle.

| The conversation was but a slow one between Slates and Gurgles ; partly because Slates was a languid fellow at any time to talk to, and partly because Gurgles had very little to say which he had not urged before. The two men, therefore, listened to Mr Checketfs whißtle, and he gave them the " Bay of Biscay" in fine Btyle. In the midst of the da capo he broke out with-^-"Why, them's my lord's b\ots outside. Dash my brass buttons ! <|tes that boy call them cleaned ? Day and martin U all hookey, if they won't poliah no bettor, The eat «« is looking into the

back of a gentleman's Hessian boot, previous to shaving off his own whisker*, would fiy at 'em. I'll give 'em a turn myself."

And away went Mr Cheoketts, to the surprise of the scandalised Gurgles, who, though he quoted the "Gorspel Mag," did not seem to have found in that excellent, and even then venerable, publication, any text which bade him do his fellow- servants' work. As he remarked to Mr Slates —

"As the editor justly observed, a c merry heart doeth good like a medicine.' Our young friend is very impuhive; but he bemeans himself too much."

At this time Mr Slates was summoned by Lord Wimpole's bell, since he was good-natured enough to answer for his fellow- servant. He returned very soon. Paler than usual, hia stolid reticence^ seemed to be melted out of him by fright. His fish- like eves were wider open, his jaw had fallen.

" Why, good gracious. Mr Slates ! what jb the matter with you ? Are you going to have a fit?" ' *

Mr Slates sat down, wiped his forehead, and pointed upwards. " Your master," said he to Cheokettß, "is-" "What, man?" cried the ci-devant groom. '• Is he iilial — ia he in a'fit ? "

He dashed down the boots, and prepared to run upstairs.

"Don't go!" cried the startled Slates. " It's of no use. I know them before, where I lived. It's officers !"

He laid his hand upon the sleeve of Checketts. *

"If it was the devil," said that young enthusiast, " I'd slip into him." " Stop !" said Mr Roskell, very authoritatively. "Don't Btir. This is some awful mistake, and the fellows will get into no end of a row. Are you sure what you say, Slates ? Who is it ?"

"Only Stevenson, that was of Bowstreet. In the new uniform, but I know him. There, the door opens. They are going to take him off, so help me Davy !''

Even Mr Roßkell was no proof against this new and terrible news. Leading the van, he crept and creaked upstairs, and heard the door close; and then, peering through the side windows at the hall door, they saw Lord Wimpole quietly ascend the hackney coach with the heraldic panels, followed first by Inspector- Stevenson, and then by Mr Tom Forater.

" 'Tis Stevenson. I know him before," said Checketts, turning very red. " What has he to do with our house, d— "

"Don't," said Gurgles, putting his hand on the young man's mouth, and stopping the world cleverly. " ' Be angry, and sin not,' as the * Gorspel Mag ' Bays. At the same time, I'm free to own that you might knock me down with a feather."

"Is my lord awake ? " asked Mr Roskell. "There's some horiid mistake here."

" He's not the man to make a mistake," said poor Checketts, as if he knew all about it. " That man Stevenson knows his business too well, I am afraid. My poor master, what has he been at ? I'll lay my life he's innocent."

" That was the man," said Roskell— " the man with the boots and the curled hat — that I saw this mornin» prowling about this neighbourhood. What right has he about a house like this ?"

There these men stood, in the hall, utterly dumbfounded, and knowing not what to do, when a rustling was heard, and the housekeeper stood before them. It was Mrs Preen, stiff and rustling in her silks— prim, pretty, and precise. She, even, who was never caught napping, was astonished at the different attitudes of grief and astonishou nt of the men.

"Gentlemen," said she, "pray tell me what is the matter."

Mra Preen dropped her keys, and was really ready to drop. " What ! do you mean to say that the Earl of Chesterton—? "

"No, 'tisn't him," said Checketfs. "Wish it waa, almost. He'd make it all right with the House of Lords. No, mum; they've been and nabbed my master. "

" 'Tis some matter of debt — a quarrel — probably a mistake," urged the housekeeper. " Does the Earl know of this ?"

"No ; and he's not to know just yet," returned Slateß. " A sud}en trouble has fallen upon us. But it is no use waiting here. Come downstairs, and let us say nothing about this. Lord Wimpole evidently did not mean any one to know of it— at any rate, down below."

# At this speech, Mr Gurgles went to console himself with his favourite magazine. Mr Roskell, like a man demented, betook himself upstairs to see that Lord Chesterton's dressing-room was in order ; and Checketts, rushing upstairs, saw the door of the study and bed-room open, and looked round with dismay. There was the morning coat, there the cravat of his lordship. With on eye to everything, and knowing every artiple in the hou#e,

Cheoketts soon di? covered that iom« strange hand had been at the draweri.

" There's a pair of trousers gone, and a pair of boots, some gloves, and a cigar tube his lordship smokes. I put it on that mantel-shelf myself. Now, what is this ? Let me think back."

Checkettß did think back. What had Lord Wimpole been doing? Ho had been out several times very late, very late indeed. That was nothing unusual. If he had been like any other of the young fellows, fond of twisting off knockers ; if, like a certain marquis, he had carried a prizefighter about with him for the exprrs3 purpose of beating the new Police ; if he had delighted in painting the inn signs of a brilliant scarlet colour, and had taken pleasure in usinjj his "bunch of fives," like Corinthian Tom and his elegant friends in the "Life in London" — Mr Checki t s could have easily fathomed the matter. In that caae, in fact, he would have been used to such little epitodes in the life of a young nobleman. But, as Mr Roskell had said, Lord Wimpole was a pattern. He had been out late during the past three or four weeks ; and, contrary to all custom, Mr Checketts had not been with him.

" Let me think again," muttered the servant to himself. " Why, he was out precious late on the twenty- ninth as wai — Michaelmaß Day. I won a goose at a raffle, and sent it to grandmother ; and it turned out a rum 'un, I hear. If he wasn't in love now —

1 She's all my fancy painted her, She's lovely, ehe'a divine 1' But what he is arrested for — well, I'm Mowed if I can gueßS ! I wonder what that lawyer called for, and what he has to do with it? He has something, I'll swear. His father Lot to know just yet 1 Well, 'just yet' has passed. He shall know, by jingo !" With this oath of mickle might on his lips, Mr Checketts jumped suddenly on his feet, like one who has taken a hasty resolution. fie hurried to the door to open it ; but a hand was on the outside. It opened inwards. Slowly and feebly it opened, and Lord Chesterton stood before him — not the erect, stalwart nobleman of yesterday, but an older man, with stooping shoulders and hesitating gait, his feet has'ily thrust into his slippers, his dressing-gown pulled closely over his thin shoulders, his hair unkempt, his cheeka fallen and thin.

"Philip," he murmured, "I have sought you — " "My lord," said Checketts, humbly, "I beg pardon. I have come to see whether my lord' 3 room is right." " Well, Checketts. well ; and his lordship, Lord Wimpole "— the Earl seemed to hesitate and Bearch for a word — "is he well ? Perhaps not so. Where is he?"

"Why, please your lordship, his word was given not to tell you. He is gone out."

"Gone! Where— when? You hesitate —you gasp, man ! Are you afraid 1 What is it ?"

" He's gone out with two— gentlemen/ stammered Checketts. " Not the kind of gentleman he usually knows — with two officers. "

"Two officers 1 " gasped the miserable father. " What officers ? "

Then, with a sad. silent stupor, he looked straight before him ; and the words that his son said, about trials that it was impossible to endure, came back to him. The room swam before him, and he caught hold of the arms of the chair to support himself. "Great heavens!" he thought, "my dream has come true ! My unhappy son is arrested—and for the murder of his own brother ! "

Mr Checketts opened bis eyes with even greater wonder as he saw the grand old nobleman, whom he thought as firm as a rock op the Bank of England, fall quickly, but very gently, back in a swoon.

"By all that's good, I've been and killed the Earl of Chestertoa," cried Checketts to hhnself, as he knelt, in a confused and helplesß manner, at hij master's feet, after nearly » pulling the bell out by the roots," as he afterwards described his action.