Sir Henry Pembury received his young clerical visitor in the Great Hall of the Castle. He apologized for not rising to greet him by pointing to his right foot, which, heavily bandaged, rested upon a stool in front of the large armchair in which he sat.
“I must ask your pardon also for having put you to the trouble of climbing Lympne Hill, but, you see, Doctor Syn, since this mountain of gout could not go to Mahomet, I had to ask you to come to me instead. Also the nature of the request I have to put to you makes it more convenient for you to be here, so that you may see with your own eyes what you are letting yourself in for. But first may I ask you when you think of journeying back to Oxford?”
“A week today, sir,” replied Doctor Syn.
“And how did you propose to get there?” went on Sir Henry. “By the stagecoach or private conveyance?”
“By neither, sir,” returned the Doctor. “I ride there on horseback, and I am glad to say that my good friend Tony Cobtree is to ride with me.”
“But I understand from Sir Charles that his son had finished with the University.”
“So he has, sir. More than a year since. He is revisiting the town on a more romantic mission than book-learning. He is taking a proposal of marriage to the lady of his affections.”
“That's capital!” cried the Squire of Lympne heartily, as, without thinking, he brought his had crashing down on to his bad leg. That caused him such excruciating pain that it was some time before he could continue speaking.
In the meantime Doctor Syn expressed his sympathy by saying that he was surprised that so young a man as Sir Henry should be plagued with an old man's disease.
“Aye,” replied the other, as he slowly recovered. “I'm still just on the right side of fifty, but I'm running to fat, and refuse to give up my two bottles of port for the whole faculty of doctors. My tailor could as easily persuade me to wear an ill-fitting coat. But to return to this Oxford business. You may or may not be aware that I undertook recently a Government mission to Spain. While in Madrid, my wife and I were lavishly entertained by a wealthy South American family. We naturally extended to them the hospitality of Lympne Castle if by any lucky chance they visited England. It has proved, however, a most unlucky chance that has brought them here. The father died suddenly, and the mother and daughter are now travelling to deaden their grief. In short, they have been with us here for the last fortnight. Lady Pembury is very attached to them both, and wished them to stay indefinitely, but it so happens that they have to transact some business with a gentleman of Oxford concerning a mutual property in Spain, and since the roads are none too safe for foreign ladies travelling alone, I wonder now whether you and young Cobtree will undertake to be Squires of Dames and ride as their escort, since you are also bound for Oxford?”
“For myself, sir, it will be an honour,” replied Doctor Syn, “and I know I can say the same for Tony.” Sir Henry leaned forward and whispered. “You will not regret it. The widow is beautiful, but the daughter is ravishing. The mere fact that young Cobtree has already given his heart to a girl in Oxford will give you a clear field with the young beauty.” Doctor Syn smiled. “I had no idea you were a matchmaker, sir.” Sir Henry winked. “You wait till you see her, my lad,” he laughed. But then his face went grave and he shook his head. “Ah, no, of course not. I had forgotten your cloth.”
“There is nothing against a parson marrying, sir,” said Syn.
“Like enough,” returned the other, “but everything against an English parson wedding a Spanish Catholic, I should say.”
“Well, that question need hardly trouble us, sir,” smiled the Doctor, “for I have not yet seen the lady, much less fallen in love with her, and even though I did, 'tis ten to one that the lady might not fall in love with me.”
“I think there is no need for you to mortify yourself,” said the Squire. “You seem to me to be a young gentleman who will always get what he wants in this world.”
“I hope you are a true prophet, upon my soul, sir,” replied Syn. As he looked up the door opened and she was standing there, like a fresh painting set in the old oak panelling. The young scholar gasped in wonder, and slowly rose to his feet. He knew that he was gazing at what he wanted more than all the world.
She was dressed simply in the black mourning for her father, with a priceless mantilla crowned high and falling in cascades of lacy folds. The only colour a red rose caught into the meshes of her black hair. The elegant aloofness of the young scholar in his black riding dress had arrested her in the same bewildered astonishment. They forgot the presence of Sir Henry, who, secretly amused, was the first to break the spell.
“Se?orita,” he called, “let me present to you my good young friend Christopher Syn, a learned Doctor of Oxford. Doctor Syn, this is Miss Imogene Almago, of whom we were but now talking.” The Doctor was the first to move. He crossed the room with long, easy strides. The girl watched his approach, and smiled when he bent over her hand and raised it gently to his lips.
“I should add to my introduction,” went on Sir Henry, “that this gentleman is to be your escort when you leave our county for Oxfordshire.”
“I am greatly honoured,” said Doctor Syn in a voice that was low, yet clear and caressing.
“Bring the se?orita to a chair over here,” said Sir Henry. “And I shall delight in seeing you two the better acquainted.”
Then Doctor Syn heard Imogene speak for the first time, in a voice mellow with the richness of the South. Her English was perhaps slow and a trifle stilted, but King's English for all that.
“I was sent by Her Ladyship to ask of you, Sir Henry, whether there was aught you needed before we take our usual walk round the improvements on the Castle grounds. They await me with the flower baskets upon the terrace, where the peacocks walk.”
“Then take Doctor Syn with you, child, and become the better acquainted yourselves, or with Lady Pembury's help,” replied Sir Henry. “But is there aught you can do for me, you say? Aye, there is. Two requests to one man.
Summon that rascally old butler of mine and tell him that Sir Henry would take the physic ordered him by the Doctor Sennacherib Pepper. It is, tell him, a full flagon of sherry sack, and in it, my dear young friends, I shall drink to your good healths. I am sure, too, Se?orita, that you will remember enough of our English to inform him that Doctor Syn, your escort here, is consenting to stay with us for dinner.” Doctor Syn bowed his thanks to the Squire of Lympne, saying, “I am neither impertinent enough nor so stupid as to disobey your orders, sir.” Then, turning to the girl and offering her his arm, added, “May I help you, Se?orita, to find the butler and deliver Sir Henry's commands?” The young Doctor, knowing the Castle well, escorted his beautiful charge on air to the pantries, where he delivered the Squire's messages. He then took pains to take a roundabout way to the terrace, finding, to his great relief, that Lady Pembury and the Spanish widow had left it solitary but for the peacocks.
Imogene, who, owing to her father's death and the strangeness of a foreign land, had been considered reserved and shy, found herself talking more freely than she had thought possible to this young scholar. And Doctor Syn, who had been so often rallied by his friend Tony for not attempting a success amongst the ladies, realized that in this young girl was a cure for all his shyness and aloofness. He knew also that in her companionship he could be more than compensated for the loss of parents and relatives that had forced his young life into a loneliness that was unnatural.
Now, like all good Marshmen, Doctor Syn had been bred to understand their natural enemy, the sea: the sea which angrily waited to destroy the great seawall which kept their pastures safe. He was a fine swimmer, and knew something of sail, of tides and winds. But he confessed afterwards to Tony Cobtree that he had never been so proud of his skill in navigation as he was that morning in successfully avoiding a meeting in the wide grounds of Lympne with Lady Pembury and the girl's mother. No sooner did he descry them in the distance than he tacked away on another course which kept himself and his consort on an uninterrupted steering. Therefore, by the time he exchanged greetings with the elder ladies on their return to the Castle, the two young people had learned a good deal about each other.
Having spent many happy years at the University, and knowing the best families in the district, Doctor Syn was naturally interested to know what house they were visiting in Oxford. The daughter, who spoke English more fluently than her mother, explained that they were bound to Iffley, on the outskirts of the town, and were to reside there with the Squire until such time as certain business connected with her father's will could be settled. The Squire's nephew, on Nicholas Tappitt, had secured an important position under the British Ambassador at Madrid. Through some unfair treatment, as the girl pointed out sympathetically, the young man had lost his post, and having a liking for Spain as well as for the sea, he had enlisted the influence of Se?or Almago, who provided him with a ship in which to carry his own fruit-produce to England and the Netherlands. In this way Nicholas, for whom they seemed to have a liking, was able to remain in Spain in spite of his lost position. “My dear father believed in Nicholas,” said the girl. “And whatever the trouble may have been at the Embassy, we were all convinced that Nicholas was not to blame.” Doctor Syn, knowing something of the said Nicholas, thought otherwise, for this plausible young rascal had been sent down from his college owing to an unsavoury scandal connected with a serving-wench. He kept his opinion, though allowing himself to consider Imogene's fine sympathy wasted on such a rapscallion.
Hearing that Doctor Syn was acquainted with Squire Tappitt, the Spanish ladies pressed him for information concerning him and the Iffley estate. Here the young Doctor found himself in an awkward dilemma, for certainly what he knew of the uncle was a good deal more unpalatable than his knowledge of the nephew, for, known as Bully Tappitt, the Iffley Squire was shunned by all God- fearing people in the neighbourhood. Coarse, and brutally strong, with the worst reputation where women were concerned, he was the last man Doctor Syn would have wished to play the host towards his new-found friend and already adored Imogene. So he answered all their questions concerning Iffley and the Squire as evasively as possible, inwardly rejoicing that he was to be their escort, and determined that they should transact any necessary business with the Squire of Iffley from some quiet lodgings in the town, where he and Tony could keep protective watch.
During dinner, set out on a round table, where Doctor Syn sat between Lady Pembury and the Spanish girl, the latter talked so much about Nicholas that the young cleric for the first time in his life suffered the worst pangs of jealousy.
She afforded him the acutest agony as she recounted the many churches, parties and theatres to which the rascal has escorted her. She told him how very fond she was of him, how vastly he amused her with his funny ways, how much she admired his adventurous spirit in becoming a businessman after his forced failure as a diplomat.
“But I loved him best,” she said—“oh yes, very much indeed—when he told me he was desperately in love with me, but even better still when he most solemnly asked me to marry him.” With his spirits at the lowest ebb, Doctor Syn managed to ask her, “And what did you answer?”
“I?” she whispered. “Why, I laughed in his face. I told him that my very life would be in danger from all the other women he had put the same question to that very day. And it is true. He has a way with him. But oh, too reckless! They say that when he goes up to woo a lady in her drawing-room, he will make proposals to the serving-maid upon the stairs. He is a rake, my dear sir.”
“I admit he was when I knew him,” returned Syn. “And so neither of you took the proposal very seriously, I take it?” he added, with his heart much lighter.
“He did,” she laughed. “At one time he was so serious in he protestations that he ran out of our house to the nearest church, embraced the Catholic Faith, and was surprised that such devotion did not sway me. But how could I marry a man who would forget the fact whenever he saw another petticoat in view?”
“Also you would not think of marrying a fool,” whispered Doctor Syn. “And the man who, having once seen you, could think of another woman would prove himself the worst of fools, in my thinking.”
“That is very kindly put,” she answered. “But, do you know, I think that you are even quicker than poor Nicholas in saying the pretty thing.”
“But I have never said a pretty thing to a lady before in all my life,” he replied. “And except to you, I never shall. From the first moment I saw you in the doorway, I knew well that I loved you. I do love you, and for me there will be no other woman.”
“Then may I ask you a favour—a great favour?” she whispered.
“I will do anything for you,” he whispered back. “What is it?”
“That you will tell me that again when we are alone beneath the stars? Will you?”
“I hope so,” she breathed back gently.
Now, it was easier than might be imagined for these two young lovers to whisper about such intimate things. First the girl's mother, who sat directly opposite, was slow to understand English, and both her host and hostess had moved their chairs as close to hers as possible, so that they could speak the plainer in her ears. Also Sir Henry, who was secretly enjoying this ripening love affair, tactfully moved a large bowl of flowers, which screened their faces into a comparative privacy, and of this Doctor Syn certainly made the best advantage, for just before Lady Pembury suggested that they should retire to the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their port, he had taken Imogene's hand in his beneath the table, had felt an answering pressure to his own, and then seen, to his utmost joy, her lips frame silently the words, “I love you too.” Then, owing to Sir Henry's gout, he claimed the privilege of escorting the ladies to the door, and since the girl was last to leave, he managed to whisper without the butler hearing, “Upon the terrace. Soon. Beneath the stars.” And the look she gave him was assent.
All very romantic, and cleverly done. But Doctor Syn had really no cause to think, as he did, that he had deceived not only Sir Henry, but the butler; for as he gazed after the girl until she disappeared into the drawing-room, Sir Henry was guilty of bestowing a solemn wink upon the ancient and stately manservant, who respectfully and solemnly returned the wink to his master. But of this Doctor Syn was ignorant, as he returned to the table and, picking up his glass, toasted “All beneath the roof of Lympne Castle.”
“Sit down here, Doctor,” said the Squire of Lympne. “I told you that you seemed to be the sort of young man who can get what he wants, and I am most eager to help you.”
“That is very good of you, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, with a smile of gratitude.
“I suggest,” continued Sir Henry, “that I despatch one of my stable-men down to Dymchurch with a note from me to say that you are staying the night with us here, for it has occurred to me that the evenings being still long, the stars may be plaguey late coming out upon the terrace.”
“Faith, sir,” laughed the Doctor, “either I talk too loud, or your hearing is very acute.”
“Or your speaking is always clear, even in your whisperings,” said Sir Henry. “But listen to my further suggestions, and see if they commend themselves to you. Tomorrow you will escort the lady and her Spanish companions to Dymchurch, and make them acquainted with our good friends, the Cobtrees. Sir Charles, being your guardian, will no doubt be glad of the opportunity of looking well upon the face and person of the Se?orita, for I may drop such a hint to him in my letter. I then suggest that while he talks with our Spanish ladies, you take the opportunity of packing up your traps and having them put into the boot of my coach. I then suggest that you persuade the Cobtrees how very essential it is for you to return to Lympne and finish your vacation with us. Young Cobtree will certainly excuse you, since he must be in the same frame of mind which your visit to Lympne has framed you in too. My further suggestion is that, since the Se?orita is a keen horsewoman, and owing to the fact that your whisperings inside the coach might be too clear, you two shall ride behind the coach at a distance sufficient to avoid the dust of the wheels. I mention the back of the coach in order that my good coachman shall have nothing to distract his attention from the horses before him. And now, if you are in agreement, bring me those writing materials, and I will pen the letter on the table here. But let me first recharge our glasses, and drink to Doctor Syn, and one other that shall be nameless.”
“And to our kind host,” replied the Doctor.
“And since I like to be undisturbed when toiling with the pen,” went on Sir Henry, “I suggest that when you have helped me finish this bottle, you rejoin the ladies in the drawing-room.” Before carrying out this last suggestion, Doctor Syn unfolded his anxiety concerning the Squire of Iffley, telling Sir Henry in confidence all that he knew of the uncle and the nephew.
To this, Sir Henry listened gravely, and then asked, “How long is it since you visited these Tappitt people, then?”
“For nearly a year I have avoided Iffley,” replied Syn. “I formed the opinion they were not the sort of people with whom a clerical official of my college should be associated. I have too many young and impressionable youths under my charge, and have to set them an example. Warning them against such rakes as the Tappitts, I had in all honesty to take the warning to myself.”
“And have you heard nothing of the uncle since?” asked Sir Henry.
“Nothing to his credit, believe me, sir.”
“You tell me that he had a bad reputation where women were concerned,” went on Sir Henry. “But when you knew him, he was a bachelor, I understand.”
“He certainly had no wife to insult with the presence of the many questionable ladies that resorted there.”
“Then, since a woman can so often change a man for the better,” said Sir Henry, “perhaps even Bully Tappitt has mended his ways. I have a letter here that you may read. The Se?ora had another couched in the same terms. As you see, this is addressed to Lady Pembury and myself, telling us what a pleasure it will be to receive our Spanish guests, and asking when they may expect them. It is signed, as you see, by Elinor Tappitt, wife to the Squire of Iffley.” Saying which, he handed the parson a letter which he took from his pocket.
Doctor Syn read the letter through, and then glanced up at Sir Henry. “Well, sir,” he said, “at the risk of seeming suspicious and perhaps uncharitable, I believe this letter to be false.
“The Squire of Iffley thinks, quite rightly, that if our Spanish ladies realize he is a bachelor and has no wife to welcome and protect them, they would decline to sojourn under his roof. This would not suit Bully Tappitt. He needs money for his gaming, and if he can get our friends into his power he will do what he likes with their money. Now, I know a landlady in Oxford of the strictest integrity, where our friends could be lodged most comfortably, and I suggest, sir, in my turn, that we shall be fortunate in having Tony Cobtree in our company, for since he has already been called to the Bar, his advice on any document that may be presented to the ladies for signature will be of the greatest help.”
“And the very nature of his journey will keep him in Oxford some time, no doubt,” laughed Sir Henry. “Well, my lad, since you are to be the ladies' escort, you must be allowed your own discretion in regard to their welfare, and should this Squire of Iffley be contemplating any rascally tricks, I warrant you and young Cobtree will be more than a match for him.”
“I hope we may be, sir,” replied Doctor Syn. “For my part, I shall depart from the usual custom of my cloth and buckle on my father's sword.”
“But however brave your steel,” cautioned Sir Henry, “see that it is tempered with good caution, for to make enmity with a noted duellist is no light undertaking.”
“At the worst, sir, I should not be unprepared,” replied the Doctor, “for since taking orders I have never given up the practice of many accomplishments. In riding, fence and marksmanship I have been in continual training, and with right upon my side and a reasonable amount of luck, backed by mine own skill, I have yet to meet the man whom in a righteous quarrel I should avoid.”
“And since Christ says in Holy Writ that He brought a sword to the Earth, I fail to see why His own parsons should be scorned to be skilled in 'em,” said the Squire of Lympne solemnly.
After which understanding between these two gentlemen, Doctor Syn went to join the ladies.
And long after the Squire of Lympne had despatched his rider with the letter for Sir Charles Cobtree upon Romney Marsh, the early night stars played their romantic parts upon the terrace of the Castle, so that when at last good-nights were said in the corridors of Lympne, Doctor Syn was confident that his authority with the Spanish ladies went a little further than mere escort, for Imogene gave him cause to believe that their families were almost united.
Certain it was that Doctor Syn desired no better.
The next day the faithful coachman to Sir Henry reported to his master that the expedition to Dymchurch-under-the-Wall was a great success. His “Everything-seems-very-promising-your-Honour” was optimistic news to Sir Henry, and it did the coachman no harm in reporting it, for Sir Henry, despite his gout, was still romantically inclined, and happened to be fond of both his young Spanish guest and the brilliant nephew of his own attorney Solomon Syn.
Imogene loved Dymchurch, and all the good folk she met there. Sir Charles Cobtree went out of his way to make the place seem attractive to her.
“Persuade young Christopher to marry, my dear, and then tell him to leave Oxford and retire here as our Vicar. The people need a married parson here.
Our present incumbent wishes to retire. Well, he is old, I'll admit. But I've badgered the old fellow to stay on till my good young friend is ready to take his place. Let him bring Dymchurch a Vicar's wife, and the living's his.”
“I love it all, my Christopher,” she whispered on the ride back to Lympne beneath the stars. “But oh, my dear, your little churches, and your great ones too, of the Protestant Faith are so very plain and dull compared with the glories of ours. But I love you, dear. Yes, I put you before religion.”
“But could you change your faith for mine?” asked the parson.
“Oh, but I could do more for you than ever the stupid poor dear headstrong Nicholas did for me,” she answered. “If he could change his faith for mine because of love, cannot my love make me change mine too, because I happen so to think of you? My church is now you, and my faith and ritual is my love for you. Do you love me as well?”
“I think I would give up all for you,” he answered. “But you could never ask me to give up faith and honour. You also could never give up honour, and I do not ask you to give up your own country's faith.”
“But I shall, and of my own free will; and yes, because of you. But you must still allow me to think that the churches of the Protestants are, oh, so dull!”
“Your presence in them will make them the more lively,” he smiled back.
But that speech of hers he was destined to remember through a twenty years' Odyssey of bitterness.
However, there was no thought of bitterness during that blessed week, so skillfully prepared by the Squire of Lympne, and certainly no bitterness in that long ride beside the coach to Oxford. A face at the coach window. A beloved rider outside. A loyal companion in the handsome Tony Cobtree, who lingered for his friend's sake, although so impatient to reach their goal for his own ends.
A long, romantic journey, and no mishap to mar it. But everything to make it wonderful. Romance and Love. Until at last Doctor Syn rides out to Iffley to inform the Squire that his betrothed, one Imogene Almago, and her mother are awaiting to receive him in their lodgings at Oxford, and that their attorney will be there at his convenience any morning to discuss business.
