At the coroner's inquest, held in the card-room at Iffley, it was apparent to the conspirators that no hint of suspicion that a trick had been played upon them had entered the minds of the jury. Indeed, the coroner himself opened the proceedings by stating that the case was a straightforward one, and need not detain them long. In the absence of her mother, who was too ill to attend, Imogene recounted to the court the details of their cruel abduction from White Friars. She stated that while her mother was locked in one room, the deceased had attempted to love her forcibly in the very room in which the court was sitting. She told them of the letter which the Squire had sent to Doctor Syn, and which had been the means leading to their rescue. The unexpected arrival of Captain Nicholas Tappitt, who had known them in Spain, backed by the presence of Doctor Syn and his friend Mr. Cobtree, had insured their safety, but not before the Squire had heaped such insults upon her mother and herself as Doctor Syn, as a man of honour and her betrothed lover, could not tolerate. The result was the meeting next morning in Magdalen Fields.
The three young men were then called, and told the same story. They had agreed that no mention should be made of Sommers or of the secret stairway, but Doctor Syn found himself continually staring at the panel, half expecting the avenging farmer to appear and tell the truth. But having accomplished his work of vengeance, Sommers was wise enough to remain on his side of the river.
After the details of the duel had been given by the seconds, the pistols and fatal bullet were exhibited, and the two gipsies took their stand as witnesses.
The coroner said that there was no doubt in his mind that the duel had been carried out with the strictest regularity between gentlemen in an affair of honour, the jury agreeing that everything was perfectly regular. As a matter of course they were asked to view the body in the shuttered bedroom of the deceased, where the surgeon bewildered their simple minds with the longest medical words at his disposal, and the most of them were thankful that the stiffened dead man's hand was completely covering the actual wound.
A verdict of “Death in an Affair of Honour” was returned, and the coroner wound up proceedings with a tribute to the young parson's courage, and to Captain Tappitt's impartiality. The Captain's behaviour had been gentlemanly throughout, and he hoped he would live long to enjoy his sudden inheritance.
The results of the inquest brought another flood of congratulations to Doctor Syn from all classes of the town and countryside, to which Syn replied wistfully that he had yet to face the Bishop of The Diocese on a charge of violating his cloth.
But the Bishop, neither wishing to fly in the face of public opinion nor to give the appearance that he was swayed by it, pretended to be ill, and begged the Chancellor to take over full responsibility and advise him of the results. The Chancellor pointed out to his Lordship that although nominally Head of the University, and conveniently resident in Oxford, the duty of presiding over such a court must fall upon the Vice-Chancellor, who was responsible for keeping the peace in the colleges. Fortunately for Doctor Syn, this important official was also his good friend, so that when two days later the young Doctor took his stand before an assembly of clergy convened in the Sheldonian Theatre, he felt confident that the court would take no drastic steps against him.
The Hall was packed, not only with students, but with all the fashion of the neighbourhood, and although the Vice-Chancellor thundered against the evil practice of duelling, warning the students that should any of them take part in such an affair he would be sent down in disgrace, yet he owned that in this particular case he felt obliged to deal mercifully with such a brave young man.
Thus was Doctor Syn acquitted, and that very night a supper was given in his honour by the students. Both Tony and Nicholas went with him, and since it was held in an upper room of the old Mitre Inn, the wine that flowed was more than plentiful. In hours of wild enthusiasm, which Doctor Syn was in no mind to check, the jolly students drank themselves beneath the table. Neither Tony nor Nicholas could outdrink Doctor Syn, and they afterwards confessed that although he drank as much as any, he was the only one who remained sober.
Nicholas swore that such a grand capacity was wasted in a parson. But Doctor Syn was yet to know how useful it was to be able to consume more bottles than the next man and yet come out clear-headed.
In the days that followed, Doctor Syn discovered that an admiration which he had never quite resisted for Nicholas had developed into a fast friendship.
Possessed now of his uncle's wealth, the young man began to enjoy life with zest, and insisted that his friends should do the same and share his fortune with him. Nothing could daunt his kindness and concern, and he would wave aside their continual gratitude with “I am a friend of the family, I hope?” Imogene especially delighted in his company, and Doctor Syn was glad of this, since, owing to the mother's illness, Imogene was kept somewhat a prisoner in White Friars. Nicholas was a welcome relief to the girl from the monotony of nursing.
It was delightful to talk of her beloved Spain to someone who knew it well and could converse in excellent Spanish. He was also a proficient performer on the guitar, and could sing her favourite love-songs.
Seeing that Imogene loved to speak her native tongue and hear it spoken, Doctor Syn resolved to learn, and in this he was helped as much by Nicholas as by Imogene herself. On one occasion when Nicholas had praised him for an improved accent and an ever-growing vocabulary, the Doctor cautioned him in jest with:
“You must take care, you know, for I shall soon be understanding all you say to one another.” At which Nicholas laughed and said:
“I have no guilty secret, since I have always told you to your face how much I am in love with Imogene, and one of the things that makes me love her more is that she is in love with one for whom I have the deepest affection. Aye, and for Tony too. He also is a man after my own heart.” This affection he took every means to prove, and at this time the lovers owed him much, for when the question of their immediate marriage had been breached, the Se—ora had proved querulous, complaining that her daughter was regarding her as a hampering invalid. This unjust accusation hurt the lovers deeply, but Nicholas, laying the blame upon the mother's nerves rather than any settled wish, at once began to set the matter right, and his business in their affairs had a happy and speedy result; for at his first argument upon the matter, he returned and told his friends that he had persuaded her to admit that she was fond of Christopher, thought him a suitable husband, and that her chief desire was to get well quickly in order that she could take her rightful part in the wedding festivities.
This news delighted Tony as much as the lovers, for it had been his idea that a double wedding would be the grandest occasion, since his parents treated Doctor Syn as another son. But it was Nicholas who made all the arrangements, and through his energy both sets of banns were cried upon the very next Sunday at Christ Church. The invitations were sent out immediately, and at his own request Nicholas was appointed Best Man in attendance under Doctor Syn.
Some days before the actual ceremony, the Pemburys and the Cobtrees set out with a vast retinue of servants from distant Romney Marsh. All through the preparations Doctor Syn had nothing but admiration for Nicholas, who seemed capable of running everybody's business and his own as well. He it was who even arranged the two honeymoons.
“I suggest,” he said, “that Tony and his bride accept my offer of the Iffley Farm in the Cotswolds. The house is comfortable, though remote, and the scenery romantic. They will be well cared for by my tenants. Then, since Sir Charles and Lady Cobtree are to be in London for their annual visit, what better than that you, Christopher, should take Imogene to Dymchurch? You have been offered the Court-House during the family's absence, and Imogene will have opportunity to know the village which will be her future home, when you decide to leave Oxford and become Vicar of the Marsh.”
He also undertook to convey the Se—ora back to Spain aboard his tradingship, for the Se—ora had decided to return to her own people after the wedding.
Altogether Nicholas proved himself a “friend of the family” indeed.
Needless to dwell on the gay happiness of those festivities. Thanks to Nicholas, all went with a swing, and when at last the radiant couples drove off in their respective carriages, the many guests declared that never had young married people started out upon the voyage of mutual responsibilities under more favourable auspices. The one tinge of sadness was Imogene's parting from her mother, but it was understood that as soon as times permitted, she and her husband would take passage with Nicholas and visit her.
The days that followed were the happiest of the Doctor's life. He had been granted a month's vacation from his College duties. He was then to return to Oxford work until his induction to the Dymchurch living. Sir Charles had arranged that this should be as soon as possible, since the old Vicar was only too anxious to retire to private life. This kindly old man allowed the young couple free access to their future home, and Doctor Syn was thus enabled to plan the various alterations which Imogene suggested for the house. On the assurance from his uncle, Old Solomon Syn, the Lydd attorney, that there was no great need to study economy, the young parson spent freely, buying whatever furniture and house trimmings pleased his bride. These two rooms were to be thrown into one, to afford the Doctor a more spacious study. This he allowed on her suggestion, on condition that she allowed the breakfast-room to be discarded to give more space to her drawing-room. Each proposal gave birth to a dozen more, until the bewildered old Vicar mildly remarked that they might as well pull the old house down and start to build afresh.
“Oh no!” cried Imogene. “I love these whitewashed walls. They remind me of the white walls of Spain. And if we built another wing to match that of the new kitchens, the old Vicarage would be like an ancient gem in a new setting.” And so another wing was planned.
“But what use we shall put the extra rooms to, I cannot imagine.”
“I suggest,” said the old man—“and hope so too—that ere long you may need nurseries.”
“Of course,” replied the delighted Imogene, without the vestige of a blush.
“We must have house room for the children, Christopher.” Eyeing the back of the house, where the garden ran down in a gentle slope to meet a broad dyke, Imogene clapped her hands as a new idea was born.
“Although I must not disturb you when you work in your library, we would feel nearer to each other if we joined our rooms upon the outside. We could keep our windows wide open and feel we were in the same room.”
“Whatever do you mean?” laughed the Doctor.
“Outside our bedroom window,” she explained, “we could build a balcony.
Supported by pillars from the garden which we can pave, we would have a lovely Spanish alcove outside our sitting-rooms. In the sun, if it ever shines here, we could sit under it, and when Nicholas comes to visit us he will be able to sing us his lovely Spanish songs. Oh, Christopher, I shall always sit there if you will have it built. You will? You must. To please me?” All this was duly explained to the builder, an old friend of the Syn family and a Dymchurch man, who could build anything from a boat to a castle. His name was Wright, and he it was who first opened Doctor Syn's eyes to something about his wife which he would never have thought possible.
“I should think well, Reverend Sir,” he advised. “These alterations will cost money which will be wasted should your lady wife decide to move. She is no lover of our marsh, I can see.”
This attitude had never occurred to Doctor Syn. Loving the Marsh as he did in all weathers, he imagined that others would feel the same appreciation for it.
This worried him, and whenever he saw a sad look come into his bride's face, he wondered whether it was homesickness for Spain and mother, or dislike of the place that was to be her home.
When she realized that he was disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm for the Marsh, she pretended a growing liking for it, but as the time approached for their return to Oxford she could not disguise her joy. He did not know whether this was occasioned by the thought of leaving the Marsh, or the prospect of returning to White Friars, where they had taken rooms. When he asked her outright she gave a different reason. She wanted to be at Oxford to welcome Nicholas on his return from Spain.
“Of course you do,” cried Syn cheerfully. “And so do I. I miss the jolly rascal more than I can say.”
