Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
“And it is good for us, madam,” I answered with indignation, “for beer is
my favourite beverage; and I am a credit to beer, madam; and so are all
who trust to it.”
“At any rate, you are, young man. If beer has made you grow so large, I
will put my children upon it; it is too late for me to begin. The smell
to me is hateful.”
Now I only set down that to show how perverse those foreign people
are. They will drink their wretched heartless stuff, such as they call
claret, or wine of Medoc, or Bordeaux, or what not, with no more meaning
than sour rennet, stirred with the pulp from the cider press, and
strained through the cap of our Betty. This is very well for them; and
as good as they deserve, no doubt, and meant perhaps by the will of God,
for those unhappy natives. But to bring it over to England and set it
against our home-brewed ale (not to speak of wines from Portugal) and
sell it at ten times the price, as a cure for British bile, and a great
enlightenment; this I say is the vilest feature of the age we live in.
Madam Benita Odam--for the name of the man who turned the wheel proved
to be John Odam--showed me into a little room containing two chairs and
a fir-wood table, and sat down on a three-legged seat and studied me
very steadfastly. This she had a right to do; and I, having all my
clothes on now, was not disconcerted. It would not become me to repeat
her judgment upon my appearance, which she delivered as calmly as if I
were a pig at market, and as proudly as if her own pig. And she asked me
whether I had ever got rid of the black marks on my breast.
Not wanting to talk about myself (though very fond of doing so, when
time and season favour) I led her back to that fearful night of the day
when first I had seen her. She was not desirous to speak of it,
because of her own little children; however, I drew her gradually to
recollection of Lorna, and then of the little boy who died, and the
poor mother buried with him. And her strong hot nature kindled, as she
dwelled upon these things; and my wrath waxed within me; and we forgot
reserve and prudence under the sense of so vile a wrong. She told me
(as nearly as might be) the very same story which she had told to Master
Jeremy Stickles; only she dwelled upon it more, because of my knowing
the outset. And being a woman, with an inkling of my situation, she
enlarged upon the little maid, more than to dry Jeremy.
“Would you know her again?” I asked, being stirred by these accounts of
Lorna, when she was five years old: “would you know her as a full-grown
maiden?”
“I think I should,” she answered; “it is not possible to say until one
sees the person; but from the eyes of the little girl, I think that I
must know her. Oh, the poor young creature! Is it to be believed that
the cannibals devoured her! What a people you are in this country! Meat,
meat, meat!”
As she raised her hands and eyes in horror at our carnivorous
propensities, to which she clearly attributed the disappearance of
Lorna, I could scarce help laughing, even after that sad story. For
though it is said at the present day, and will doubtless be said
hereafter, that the Doones had devoured a baby once, as they came up
Porlock hill, after fighting hard in the market-place, I knew that the
tale was utterly false; for cruel and brutal as they were, their taste
was very correct and choice, and indeed one might say fastidious.
Nevertheless I could not stop to argue that matter with her.
“The little maid has not been devoured,” I said to Mistress Odam: “and
now she is a tall young lady, and as beautiful as can be. If I sleep in
your good hostel to-night after going to Watchett town, will you come
with me to Oare to-morrow, and see your little maiden?”
“I would like--and yet I fear. This country is so barbarous. And I am
good to eat--my God, there is much picking on my bones!”
She surveyed herself with a glance so mingled of pity and admiration,
and the truth of her words was so apparent (only that it would have
taken a week to get at the bones, before picking) that I nearly lost
good manners; for she really seemed to suspect even me of cannibal
inclinations. However, at last I made her promise to come with me on the
morrow, presuming that Master Odam could by any means be persuaded to
keep her company in the cart, as propriety demanded. Having little doubt
that Master Odam was entirely at his wife's command, I looked upon that
matter as settled, and set off for Watchett, to see the grave of Lorna's
poor mother, and to hire a cart for the morrow.
And here (as so often happens with men) I succeeded without any trouble
or hindrance, where I had looked for both of them, namely, in finding a
suitable cart; whereas the other matter, in which I could have expected
no difficulty, came very near to defeat me. For when I heard that
Lorna's father was the Earl of Dugal--as Benita impressed upon me with a
strong enforcement, as much as to say, “Who are you, young man, to come
even asking about her?”--then I never thought but that everybody in
Watchett town must know all about the tombstone of the Countess of
Dugal.
This, however, proved otherwise. For Lord Dugal had never lived at
Watchett Grange, as their place was called; neither had his name become
familiar as its owner. Because the Grange had only devolved to him by
will, at the end of a long entail, when the last of the Fitz-Pains died
out; and though he liked the idea of it, he had gone abroad, without
taking seisin. And upon news of his death, John Jones, a rich gentleman
from Llandaff, had taken possession, as next of right, and hushed up all
the story. And though, even at the worst of times, a lady of high rank
and wealth could not be robbed, and as bad as murdered, and then buried
in a little place, without moving some excitement, yet it had been given
out, on purpose and with diligence, that this was only a foreign lady
travelling for her health and pleasure, along the seacoast of England.
And as the poor thing never spoke, and several of her servants and her
baggage looked so foreign, and she herself died in a collar of lace
unlike any made in England, all Watchett, without hesitation, pronounced
her to be a foreigner. And the English serving man and maid, who might
have cleared up everything, either were bribed by Master Jones, or else
decamped of their own accord with the relics of the baggage. So the poor
Countess of Dugal, almost in sight of her own grand house, was buried in
an unknown grave, with her pair of infants, without a plate, without a
tombstone (worse than all) without a tear, except from the hired Italian
woman.
Surely my poor Lorna came of an ill-starred family.
Now in spite of all this, if I had only taken Benita with me, or even
told her what I wished, and craved her directions, there could have been
no trouble. But I do assure you that among the stupid people at Watchett
(compared with whom our folk of Oare, exceeding dense though being, are
as Hamlet against Dogberry) what with one of them and another, and the
firm conviction of all the town that I could be come only to wrestle, I
do assure you (as I said before) that my wits almost went out of me.
And what vexed me yet more about it was, that I saw my own mistake, in
coming myself to seek out the matter, instead of sending some unknown
person. For my face and form were known at that time (and still are so)
to nine people out of every ten living in forty miles of me. Not through
any excellence, or anything of good desert, in either the one or
the other, but simply because folks will be fools on the rivalry of
wrestling. The art is a fine one in itself, and demands a little wit of
brain, as well as strength of body; it binds the man who studies it to
temperance, and chastity, to self-respect, and most of all to an even
and sweet temper; for I have thrown stronger men than myself (when I was
a mere sapling, and before my strength grew hard on me) through their
loss of temper. But though the art is an honest one, surely they who
excel therein have a right (like all the rest of man-kind) to their own
private life.
Be that either way--and I will not speak too strongly, for fear of
indulging my own annoyance--anyhow, all Watchett town cared ten times as
much to see John Ridd, as to show him what he wanted. I was led to every
public-house, instead of to the churchyard; and twenty tables were ready
for me, in lieu of a single gravestone. “Zummerzett thou bee'st, Jan
Ridd, and Zummerzett thou shalt be. Thee carl theezell a Davonsheer man!
Whoy, thee lives in Zummerzett; and in Zummerzett thee wast barn, lad.”
And so it went on, till I was weary; though very much obliged to them.
Dull and solid as I am, and with a wild duck waiting for me at good
Mistress Odam's, I saw that there was nothing for it but to yield to
these good people, and prove me a man of Somerset, by eating a dinner
at their expense. As for the churchyard, none would hear of it; and I
grieved for broaching the matter.
But how was I to meet Lorna again, without having done the thing of all
things which I had promised to see to? It would never do to tell her
that so great was my popularity, and so strong the desire to feed me,
that I could not attend to her mother. Least of all could I say that
every one in Watchett knew John Ridd; while none had heard of the
Countess of Dugal. And yet that was about the truth, as I hinted very
delicately to Mistress Odam that evening. But she (being vexed about her
wild duck, and not having English ideas on the matter of sport, and so
on) made a poor unwitting face at me. Nevertheless Master Odam restored
me to my self-respect; for he stared at me till I went to bed; and he
broke his hose with excitement. For being in the leg-line myself, I
wanted to know what the muscles were of a man who turned a wheel all
day. I had never seen a treadmill (though they have one now at Exeter),
and it touched me much to learn whether it were good exercise. And
herein, from what I saw of Odam, I incline to think that it does great
harm; as moving the muscles too much in a line, and without variety.
CHAPTER LVII
LORNA KNOWS HER NURSE
Having obtained from Benita Odam a very close and full description of
the place where her poor mistress lay, and the marks whereby to know it,
I hastened to Watchett the following morning, before the sun was up,
or any people were about. And so, without interruption, I was in the
churchyard at sunrise.
In the farthest and darkest nook, overgrown with grass, and overhung by
a weeping-tree a little bank of earth betokened the rounding off of a
hapless life. There was nothing to tell of rank, or wealth, of love, or
even pity; nameless as a peasant lay the last (as supposed) of a mighty
race. Only some unskilful hand, probably Master Odam's under his wife's
teaching, had carved a rude L., and a ruder D., upon a large pebble from
the beach, and set it up as a headstone.
I gathered a little grass for Lorna and a sprig of the weeping-tree, and
then returned to the Forest Cat, as Benita's lonely inn was called.
For the way is long from Watchett to Oare; and though you may ride
it rapidly, as the Doones had done on that fatal night, to travel
on wheels, with one horse only, is a matter of time and of prudence.
Therefore, we set out pretty early, three of us and a baby, who could
not well be left behind. The wife of the man who owned the cart had
undertaken to mind the business, and the other babies, upon condition of
having the keys of all the taps left with her.
As the manner of journeying over the moor has been described oft enough
already, I will say no more, except that we all arrived before dusk