The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
It was a long time before he fell asleep, but he did so at last, for
Insomnia is a demon who rarely finds his way into Arcadia. But, all at
once, he was awake again,--broad awake, and staring into the dark, for a
thousand voices seemed to be screaming in his ears, and eager hands were
shaking, and plucking at window and lattice. He started up, and then he
knew that the storm was upon them, at last, in all its fury,--rain, and
a mighty wind,--a howling raging tempest. Yes, a great, and mighty wind
was abroad,--it shrieked under the eaves, it boomed and bellowed in the
chimneys, and roared away to carry destruction among the distant woods;
while the rain beat hissing against the window-panes.
Surely in all its many years the old house of Dapplemere had seldom
borne the brunt of such a storm, so wild,--so fierce, and pitiless!
And, lying there upon his bed, listening to the uproar, and tumult,
Bellew must needs think of her who had once said:
"We are placing all our hopes, this year, upon the hops!"
CHAPTER XXIII
_How Small Porges, in his hour of need, was deserted by his Uncle_
"Ruined, sir!--Done for!--Lord love me! they ain't worth the trouble o?
gatherin'--w'ot's left on 'em, Mr. Belloo sir."
"So bad as that, Adam?"
"Bad!--ah, so bad as ever was, sir!" said Adam, blinking suspiciously,
and turning suddenly away.
"Has Miss Anthea seen,--does she know?"
"Ah! she were out at dawn, and Oh Lord, Mr. Belloo sir! I can't never
forget her poor, stricken face,--so pale and sad it were. But she never
said nothing, only: 'Oh, Adam!--my poor hops!' An' I see her lips all of
a quiver while she spoke. An' so she turned away, an' came back to the
'ouse, sir. Poor lass! Oh poor lass!" he exclaimed, his voice growing
more husky. "She's made a brave fight for it, sir,--but it weren't no
use, ye see,--it'll be 'Good-bye' for her to Dapplemere, arter all, that
there mortgage can't never be paid now,--nohow."
"When is it due?"
"Well, according to the bond, or the deed, or whatever they calls
it,--it be doo--tonight, at nine o'clock, sir,--though Old Grimes,--as
a special favour, an' arter much persuading,--'ad agreed to hold over
till next Saturday,--on account o' the 'op-picking. But now--seeing as
there ain't no 'ops to be picked,--why he'll fore-close to-night, an'
glad enough to do it, you can lay your oath on that, Mr. Belloo sir."
"To-night!" said Bellew, "to-night!" and he stood, for a while with bent
head, as though lost in profound thought. "Adam," said he, suddenly,
"help me to harness the mare, I must drive over to the nearest rail-road
depot,--hurry, I must be off, the sooner, the better."
"What!--be you--goin' sir?"
"Yes;--hurry, man,--hurry!"
"D'ye mean as you're a-goin' to leave her--now, in the middle o' all
this trouble?"
"Yes, Adam,--I must go to London--on business,--now hurry, like a good
fellow." And so, together they entered the stable, and together they
harnessed the mare. Which done, staying not for breakfast, Bellew
mounted the driver's seat, and, with Adam beside him, drove
rapidly away.
But Small Porges had seen these preparations, and now came running all
eagerness, but ere he could reach the yard, Bellew was out of ear-shot.
So there stood Small Porges, a desolate little figure, watching the
rapid course of the dogcart until it had vanished over the brow of the
hill. And then, all at once the tears welled up into his eyes hot, and
scalding, and a great sob burst from him, for it seemed to him that his
beloved Uncle Porges had failed him at the crucial moment,--had left him
solitary just when he needed him most.
Thus Small Porges gave way to his grief, hidden in the very darkest
corner of the stable, whither he had retired lest any should observe his
weakness, until having once more gained command of himself, and wiped
away his tears with his small, and dingy pocket-handkerchief, he slowly
re-crossed the yard, and entering the house went to look for his
Auntie Anthea.
And, after much search, he found her--half-lying, half-kneeling beside
his bed. When he spoke to her, though she answered him, she did not look
up, and he knew that she was weeping.
"Don't, Auntie Anthea,--don't!" he pleaded. "I know Uncle Porges has
gone away, an' left us, but you've got me left, you know,--an' I shall
be a man--very soon,--before my time, I think. So--don't cry,--though
I'm awful' sorry he's gone, too--just when we needed him the most,
you know!"
"Oh Georgy!" she whispered, "my dear, brave little Georgy! We shall only
have each other soon,--they're going to take Dapplemere away from
us,--and everything we have in the world,--Oh Georgy!"
"Well, never mind!" said he, kneeling beside her, and drawing one small
arm protectingly about her, "we shall always have each other left, you
know,--nobody shall ever take you away from me. An' then--there's
the--Money Moon! It's been an awful' long time coming,--but it may come
to-night, or tomorrow night. _He_ said it would be sure to come if the
storm came, an' so I'll find the fortune for you at last. I know I shall
find it _some day_ a course--'cause I've prayed, an' prayed for it so
very hard, an' _He_ said my prayers went straight up to heaven, an'
didn't get blown away, or lost in the clouds. So--don't cry, Auntie
Anthea let's wait--just a little longer--till the Money Moon comes."
CHAPTER XXIV
_In which shall be found mention of a certain black bag_
"Baxter!"
"Sir?"
"Get me a pen, and ink!"
"Yes, sir."
Now any ordinary mortal might have manifested just a little surprise to
behold his master walk suddenly in, dusty and dishevelled of person, his
habitual languor entirely laid aside, and to thus demand pen and ink,
forthwith. But then, Baxter, though mortal, was the very cream of a
gentleman's gentleman, and the acme of valets, (as has been said), and
comported himself accordingly.
"Baxter!"
"Sir?"
"Oblige me by getting this cashed."
"Yes, sir."
"Bring half of it in gold."
"Sir," said Baxter, glancing down at the slip of paper, "did you
say--half, sir?"
"Yes, Baxter,--I'd take it all in gold only that it would be rather
awkward to drag around. So bring half in gold, and the rest in--five
pound notes."
"Very good, sir!"
"And--Baxter!"
"Sir?"
"Take a cab!"
"Certainly sir." And Baxter went out, closing the door behind him.
Meanwhile Bellew busied himself in removing all traces of his journey,
and was already bathed, and shaved, and dressed, by the time
Baxter returned.
Now gripped in his right hand Baxter carried a black leather bag which
jingled as he set it down upon the table.
"Got it?" enquired Bellew.
"I have, sir."
"Good!" nodded Bellew. "Now just run around to the garage, and fetch the
new racing car,--the Mercedes."
"Now, sir?"
"Now, Baxter!"
Once more Baxter departed, and, while he was gone, Bellew began to
pack,--that is to say, he bundled coats and trousers, shirts and boots
into a portmanteau in a way that would have wrung Baxter's heart, could
he have seen. Which done, Bellew opened the black bag, glanced inside,
shut it again, and, lighting his pipe, stretched himself out upon an
ottoman, and immediately became plunged in thought.
So lost was he, indeed, that Baxter, upon his return was necessitated to
emit three distinct coughs,--(the most perfectly proper, and
gentleman-like coughs in the world) ere Bellew was aware of
his presence.
"Oh!--that you, Baxter?" said he, sitting up, "back so soon?"
"The car is at the door, sir."
"The car?--ah yes, to be sure!--Baxter."
"Sir?"
"What should you say if I told you--" Bellew paused to strike a match,
broke it, tried another, broke that, and finally put his pipe back into
his pocket, very conscious the while of Baxter's steady, though
perfectly respectful regard.
"Baxter," said he again.
"Sir?" said Baxter.
"What should you say if I told you that I was in love--at last,
Baxter!--Head over ears--hopelessly--irretrievably?"
"Say, sir?--why I should say,--indeed, sir?"
"What should you say," pursued Bellew, staring thoughtfully down at the
rug under his feet, "if I told you that I am so very much, in love that
I am positively afraid to--tell her so?"
"I should say--very remarkable, sir!"
Bellew took out his pipe again, looked at it very much as if he had
never seen such a thing before, and laid it down upon the mantelpiece.
"Baxter," said he, "kindly understand that I am speaking to you
as--er--man to man,--as my father's old and trusted servant and my early
boy-hood's only friend; sit down, John."
"Thank you, Master George, sir."
"I wish to--confess to you, John, that--er--regarding the--er--Haunting
Spectre of the Might Have Been,--you were entirely in the right. At that
time I knew no more the meaning of the--er--the word, John--"
"Meaning the word--Love, Master George!"
"Precisely; I knew no more about it than--that table. But during these
latter days, I have begun to understand, and--er--the fact of the matter
is--I'm--I'm fairly--up against it, John!"
Here, Baxter, who had been watching him with his quick, sharp eyes
nodded his head solemnly:
"Master George," said he, "speaking as your father's old servant, and
your boyhood's friend,--I'm afraid you are."
Bellew took a turn up and down the room, and then pausing in front of
Baxter, (who had risen also, as a matter of course), he suddenly laid
his two hands upon his valet's shoulders.
"Baxter," said he, "you'll remember that after my mother died, my father
was always too busy piling up his millions to give much time or thought
to me, and I should have been a very lonely small boy if it hadn't been
for you, John Baxter. I was often 'up against it,' in those days, John,
and you were always ready to help, and advise me;--but now,--well, from
the look of things, I'm rather afraid that I must stay 'up against
it'--that the game is lost already, John. But which ever way Fate
decides--win, or lose,--I'm glad--yes, very glad to have learned the
true meaning of--the word, John."
"Master George, sir,--there was a poet once--Tennyson, I think, who
said,--'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at
all,' and I know--that he was--right. Many years ago,--before you were
born, Master George, I loved--and lost, and that is how I know. But I
hope that Fortune will be kinder to you, indeed I do."
"Thank you, John,--though I don't see why she should be." And Bellew
stood staring down at the rug again, till aroused by Baxter's cough:
"Pray sir, what are your orders, the car is waiting downstairs?"
"Orders?--why--er--pack your grip, Baxter, I shall take you with me,
this time, into Arcadia, Baxter."
"For how long, sir?"
"Probably a week."
"Very good, sir."
"It is now half-past three, I must be back in Dapplemere at eight. Take
your time--I'll go down to look at the machine. Just lock the place up,
and--er--don't forget the black bag."
Some ten minutes later the great racing car set out on its journey, with
Bellew at the wheel, and Baxter beside him with the black bag held
firmly upon his knee.
Their process was, necessarily, slow at first, on account of the crowded
thoroughfares. But, every now and then, the long, low car would shoot
forward through some gap in the traffic, grazing the hubs of bus-wheels,
dodging hansoms, shaving sudden corners in an apparently reckless
manner. But Baxter, with his hand always upon the black leather bag, sat
calm and unruffled, since he knew, by long experience, that Bellew's eye
was quick and true, and his hand firm and sure upon the wheel.
Over Westminster Bridge, and along the Old Kent Road they sped, now
fast, now slow,--threading a tortuous, and difficult way amid the myriad
vehicles, and so, betimes, they reached Blackheath.
And now the powerful machine hummed over that ancient road that had
aforetime, shaken to the tread of stalwart Roman Legionaries,--up
Shooter's Hill, and down,--and so into the open country.
And, ever as they went, they talked. And not as master and servant but
as "between man and man,"--wherefore Baxter the Valet became merged and
lost in Baxter the Human,--the honest John of the old days,--a gray
haired, kindly-eyed, middle-aged cosmopolitan who listened to, and
looked at, Young Alcides beside him as if he had indeed been the Master
George, of years ago.
"So you see, John, if all things _do_ go well with me, we should
probably take a trip to the Mediterranean."
"In the--'Silvia,' of course, Master George?"
"Yes; though--er--I've decided to change her name, John."
"Ah!--very natural--under the circumstances, Master George," said honest
John, his eyes twinkling slyly as he spoke, "Now, if I might suggest a
new name it would be hard to find a more original one than 'The Haunting
Spectre of the--"
"Bosh, John!--there never was such a thing, you were quite right, as I
said before, and--by heaven,--potato sacks!"
"Eh,--what?--potato sacks, Master George?"
They had been climbing a long, winding ascent, but now, having reached
the top of the hill, they overtook a great, lumbering market cart, or
wain, piled high with sacks of potatoes, and driven by an extremely
surly-faced man in a smock-frock.
"Hallo there!" cried Bellew, slowing up, "how much for one of your
potato-sacks?"
"Get out, now!" growled the surly-faced man, in a tone as surly as his
look, "can't ye see as they're all occipied?"
"Well,--empty one."
"Get out, now!" repeated the man, scowling blacker than ever.
"I'll give you a sovereign for one."
"Now, don't ye try to come none o' your jokes wi' me, young feller!"
growled the carter. "Sovereign!--bah!--Show us."
"Here it is," said Bellew, holding up the coin in question. "Catch!"
and, with the word, he tossed it up to the carter who caught it, very
dexterously, looked at it, bit it, rubbed it on his sleeve, rang it upon
the foot-board of his waggon, bit it again and finally pocketed it.
"It's a go, sir," he nodded, his scowl vanishing as by magic; and as he
spoke, he turned, seized the nearest sack, and, forthwith sent a cascade
of potatoes rolling, and bounding all over the road. Which done, he
folded up the sack, and handed it down to Bellew who thrust it under the
seat, nodded, and, throwing in the clutch, set off down the road. But,
long after the car had hummed itself out of sight, and the dust of its
going had subsided, the carter sat staring after it--open-mouthed.
If Baxter wondered at this purchase, he said nothing, only he bent his
gaze thoughtfully upon the black leather bag that he held upon his knee.
On they sped between fragrant hedges, under whispering trees, past
lonely cottages and farm-houses, past gate, and field, and wood, until
the sun grew low.
At last, Bellew stopped the automobile at a place where a narrow lane,
or cart track, branched off from the high road, and wound away between
great trees.
"I leave you here," said he as he sprang from the car, "this is
Dapplemere,--the farmhouse lies over the up-land, yonder, though you
can't see it because of the trees."
"Is it far, Master George?"
"About half a mile."
"Here is the bag, sir; but--do you think it is--quite safe--?"
"Safe, John?"
"Under the circumstances, Master George, I think it would be advisable
to--to take this with you." And he held out a small revolver. Bellew
laughed, and shook his head.
"Such things aren't necessary--here in Arcadia, John,--besides, I have
my stick. So good-bye, for the present, you'll stay at the 'King's
Head,'--remember."
"Good-night, Master George, sir, goodnight! and good fortune go with
you."
"Thank you!" said Bellew, and reached out his hand, "I think we'll shake
on that, John!"
So they clasped hands, and Bellew turned, and set off along the grassy
lane. And, presently, as he went, he heard the hum of the car grow
rapidly fainter and fainter until it was lost in the quiet of
the evening.
CHAPTER XXV
_The Conspirators_
The shadows were creeping down, and evening was approaching, as Bellew
took his way along that winding lane that led to the House of
Dapplemere.
Had there been anyone to see, (which there was not), they might have
noticed something almost furtive in his manner of approach, for he
walked always under the trees where the shadows lay thickest, and
paused, once or twice, to look about him warily. Being come within sight
of the house, he turned aside, and forcing his way through a gap in the
hedge, came by a roundabout course to the farm-yard. Here, after some
search, he discovered a spade, the which, (having discarded his stick),
he took upon his shoulder, and with the black leather bag tucked under
his arm, crossed the paddock with the same degree of caution, and so, at
last, reached the orchard. On he went, always in the shadow until, at
length, he paused beneath the mighty, knotted branches of "King Arthur."
Never did conspirator glance about him with sharper eyes, or hearken
with keener ears, than did George Bellew,--or Conspirator No. One, where
he now stood beneath the protecting shadow of "King Arthur,"--or
Conspirator No. Two, as, having unfolded the potato sack, he opened the
black leather bag.
The moon was rising broad, and yellow, but it was low as yet, and "King
Arthur" stood in impenetrable gloom,--as any other thorough-going,
self-respecting conspirator should; and now, all at once, from this
particular patch of shadow, there came a sudden sound,--a rushing
sound,--a chinking, clinking, metallic sound, and, thereafter, a crisp
rustling that was not the rustling of ordinary paper.
And now Conspirator No. One rises, and ties the mouth of the sack with
string he had brought with him for the purpose, and setting down the
sack, bulky now and heavy, by Conspirator No. Two, takes up the spade
and begins to dig. And, in a while, having made an excavation not very
deep to be sure, but sufficient to his purpose, he deposits the sack
within, covers it with soil, treads it down, and replacing the torn sod,
carefully pats it down with the flat of his spade. Which thing
accomplished, Conspirator No. One wipes his brow, and stepping forth of
the shadow, consults his watch with anxious eye, and, thereupon,
smiles,--surely a singularly pleasing smile for the lips of an
arch-conspirator to wear. Thereafter he takes up the black bag, empty
now, shoulders the spade, and sets off, keeping once more in the
shadows, leaving Conspirator No. Two to guard their guilty secret.
Now, as Conspirator No. One goes his shady way, he keeps his look
directed towards the rising moon, and thus he almost runs into one who
also stands amid the shadows and whose gaze is likewise fixed upon
the moon.
"Ah?--Mr. Bellew!" exclaims a drawling voice, and Squire Cassilis turns
to regard him with his usual supercilious smile. Indeed Squire Cassilis
seems to be even more self-satisfied, and smiling than ordinary,
to-night,--or at least Bellew imagines so.
"You are still agriculturally inclined, I see," said Mr. Cassilis,
nodding towards the spade, "though it's rather a queer time to choose
for digging, isn't it?"
"Not at all, sir--not at all," returned Bellew solemnly, "the moon is
very nearly at the full, you will perceive."
"Well, sir,--and what of that?"
"When the moon is at the full, or nearly so, I generally dig, sir,--that
is to say, circumstances permitting."
"Really," said Mr. Cassilis beginning to caress his moustache, "it seems
to me that you have very--ah--peculiar tastes, Mr. Bellew."
"That is because you have probably never experienced the fierce joys of
moon-light digging, sir."
"No, Mr. Bellew,--digging--as a recreation, has never appealed to me at
any time."
"Then sir," said Bellew, shaking his head, "permit me to tell you that
you have missed a great deal. Had I the time, I should be delighted to
explain to you exactly how much, as it is--allow me to wish you a very
good evening."
Mr. Cassilis smiled, and his teeth seemed to gleam whiter, and sharper
than ever in the moon-light:
"Wouldn't it be rather more apropos if you said--'Good-bye' Mr. Bellew?"
he enquired. "You are leaving Dapplemere, shortly, I understand,--aren't
you?"
"Why sir," returned Bellew, grave, and imperturbable as ever,--"it all
depends."
"Depends!--upon what, may I ask?"
"The moon, sir."
"The moon?"
"Precisely!"
"And pray--what can the moon have to do with your departure?"
"A great deal more than you'd think--sir. Had I the time, I should be
delighted to explain to you exactly how much, as it is,--permit me to
wish you a very--good evening!"
Saying which, Bellew nodded affably, and, shouldering his spade, went
upon his way. And still he walked in the shadows, and still he gazed
upon the moon, but now, his thick brows were gathered in a frown, and he
was wondering just why Cassilis should chance to be here, to-night, and
what his confident air, and the general assurance of his manner might
portend; above all, he was wondering how Mr. Cassilis came to be aware
of his own impending departure. And so, at last, he came to the
rick-yard,--full of increasing doubt and misgivings.
CHAPTER XXVI
_How the money moon rose_
Evening had deepened into night,--a night of ineffable calm, a night of
an all pervading quietude. A horse snorted in the stable nearby, a dog
barked in the distance, but these sounds served only to render the
silence the more profound, by contrast. It was, indeed, a night wherein
pixies, and elves, and goblins, and fairies might weave their magic
spells, a night wherein tired humanity dreamed those dreams that seem so
hopelessly impossible by day.
And, over all, the moon rose high, and higher, in solemn majesty,
filling the world with her pale loveliness, and brooding over it like
the gentle goddess she is. Even the distant dog seemed to feel something
of all this, for, after a futile bark or two, he gave it up altogether,
and was heard no more.
And Bellew, gazing up at Luna's pale serenity, smiled and nodded,--as
much as to say, "You'll do!" and so stood leaning upon his spade
listening to:
"That deep hush which seems a sigh
Breathed by Earth to listening sky."
Now, all at once, upon this quietude there rose a voice up-raised in
fervent supplication; wherefore, treading very softly, Bellew came, and
peeping round the hay-rick, beheld Small Porges upon his knees. He was
equipped for travel and the perils of the road, for beside him lay a
stick, and tied to this stick was a bundle that bulged with his most
cherished possessions. His cheeks were wet with great tears that
glistened in the moon-beams, but he wept with eyes tight shut, and with
his small hands clasped close together, and thus he spoke,--albeit much
shaken, and hindered by sobs:
"I s'pose you think I bother you an awful lot, dear Lord,--an' so I do,
but you haven't sent the Money Moon yet, you see, an' now my Auntie
Anthea's got to leave Dapplemere--if I don't find the fortune for her
soon. I know I'm crying a lot, an' real men don't cry,--but it's only
'cause I'm awful--lonely an' disappointed,--an' nobody can see me, so it
doesn't matter. But, dear Lord, I've looked an' looked everywhere, an' I
haven't found a single sovereign yet,--an' I've prayed to you, an'
prayed to you for the Money Moon an'--it's never come. So now, dear
Lord, I'm going to Africa, an' I want you to please take care of my
Auntie Anthea till I come back. Sometimes I'm 'fraid my prayers can't
quite manage to get up to you 'cause of the clouds, an' wind, but
to-night there isn't any, so, if they do reach you, please--Oh! please
let me find the fortune, and, if you don't mind, let--_him_ come back to
me, dear Lord,--I mean my Uncle Porges, you know. An' now--that's all,
dear Lord, so Amen!"
As the prayer ended Bellew stole back, and coming to the gate of the
rick-yard, leaned there waiting. And, presently, as he watched, he saw a
small figure emerge from behind the big hay-stack and come striding
manfully toward him, his bundle upon his shoulder, and with the moon
bright in his curls.
But, all at once, Small Porges saw him and stopped, and the stick and
bundle fell to the ground and lay neglected.
"Why--my Porges!" said Bellew, a trifle huskily, perhaps, "why,
Shipmate!" and he held out his hands. Then Small Porges uttered a cry,
and came running, and next moment Big Porges had him in his arms.
"Oh, Uncle Porges!--then you--have come back to me!"
"Aye, aye, Shipmate."
"Why, then--my prayers _did_ reach!"
"Why, of course,--prayers always reach, my Porges."
"Then, oh!--do you s'pose I shall find the fortune, too?"
"Not a doubt of it,--just look at the moon!"
"The--moon?"
"Why, haven't you noticed how--er--peculiar it is to-night?"
"Peculiar?" repeated Small Porges breathlessly, turning to look at it.
"Why, yes, my Porges,--big, you know, and--er--yellow,--like--er--like a
very large sovereign."
"Do you mean--Oh! do you mean--it's--the--" But here Small Porges choked
suddenly, and could only look his question.
"The Money Moon?--Oh yes--there she is at last, my Porges! Take a good
look at her, I don't suppose we shall ever see another."
Small Porges stood very still, and gazed up at the moon's broad, yellow
disc, and, as he looked the tears welled up in his eyes again, and a
great sob broke from him.