That"s the way I enjoyed myself when I was your age, sir."
To this, Joe made no answer, but beckoning Hugh, leaped into thesaddle and rode away; and a very stalwart, manly horseman helooked, deserving a better charger than it was his fortune tobestride. John stood staring after him, or rather after the greymare (for he had no eyes for her rider), until man and beast hadbeen out of sight some twenty minutes, when he began to think theywere gone, and slowly re-entering the house, fell into a gentle doze.
The unfortunate grey mare, who was the agony of Joe"s life, floundered along at her own will and pleasure until the Maypole wasno longer visible, and then, contracting her legs into what in apuppet would have been looked upon as a clumsy and awkwardimitation of a canter, mended her pace all at once, and did it ofher own accord. The acquaintance with her rider"s usual mode ofproceeding, which suggested this improvement in hers, impelled herlikewise to turn up a bye-way, leading--not to London, but throughlanes running parallel with the road they had come, and passingwithin a few hundred yards of the Maypole, which led finally to aninclosure surrounding a large, old, red-brick mansion--the same ofwhich mention was made as the Warren in the first chapter of thishistory. Coming to a dead stop in a little copse thereabout, shesuffered her rider to dismount with right goodwill, and to tie herto the trunk of a tree.
"Stay there, old girl," said Joe, "and let us see whether there"sany little commission for me to-day." So saying, he left her tobrowze upon such stunted grass and weeds as happened to grow withinthe length of her tether, and passing through a wicket gate,entered the grounds on foot.
The pathway, after a very few minutes" walking, brought him closeto the house, towards which, and especially towards one particular window, he directed many covert glances. It was a dreary, silentbuilding, with echoing courtyards, desolated turret-chambers, andwhole suites of rooms shut up and mouldering to ruin.
The terrace-garden, dark with the shade of overhanging trees, hadan air of melancholy that was quite oppressive. Great iron gates,disused for many years, and red with rust, drooping on their hingesand overgrown with long rank grass, seemed as though they tried tosink into the ground, and hide their fallen state among thefriendly weeds. The fantastic monsters on the walls, green withage and damp, and covered here and there with moss, looked grim anddesolate. There was a sombre aspect even on that part of themansion which was inhabited and kept in good repair, that struckthe beholder with a sense of sadness; of something forlorn andfailing, whence cheerfulness was banished. It would have beendifficult to imagine a bright fire blazing in the dull and darkenedrooms, or to picture any gaiety of heart or revelry that thefrowning walls shut in. It seemed a place where such things hadbeen, but could be no more--the very ghost of a house, haunting theold spot in its old outward form, and that was all.
Much of this decayed and sombre look was attributable, no doubt, tothe death of its former master, and the temper of its present occupant; but remembering the tale connected with the mansion, itseemed the very place for such a deed, and one that might have beenits predestined theatre years upon years ago. Viewed withreference to this legend, the sheet of water where the steward"sbody had been found appeared to wear a black and sullen character,such as no other pool might own; the bell upon the roof that hadtold the tale of murder to the midnight wind, became a very phantomwhose voice would raise the listener"s hair on end; and everyleafless bough that nodded to another, had its stealthy whisperingof the crime.
Joe paced up and down the path, sometimes stopping in affectedcontemplation of the building or the prospect, sometimes leaningagainst a tree with an assumed air of idleness and indifference,but always keeping an eye upon the window he had singled out atfirst. After some quarter of an hour"s delay, a small white handwas waved to him for an instant from this casement, and the youngman, with a respectful bow, departed; saying under his breath as hecrossed his horse again, "No errand for me to-day!"
But the air of smartness, the cock of the hat to which John Willethad objected, and the spring nosegay, all betokened some littleerrand of his own, having a more interesting object than a vintner or even a locksmith. So, indeed, it turned out; for when he hadsettled with the vintner--whose place of business was down in somedeep cellars hard by Thames Street, and who was as purple-faced anold gentleman as if he had all his life supported their arched roofon his head--when he had settled the account, and taken thereceipt, and declined tasting more than three glasses of oldsherry, to the unbounded astonishment of the purple-faced vintner,who, gimlet in hand, had projected an attack upon at least a scoreof dusty casks, and who stood transfixed, or morally gimleted as itwere, to his own wall--when he had done all this, and disposedbesides of a frugal dinner at the Black Lion in Whitechapel;spurning the Monument and John"s advice, he turned his stepstowards the locksmith"s house, attracted by the eyes of bloomingDolly Varden.
Joe was by no means a sheepish fellow, but, for all that, when hegot to the corner of the street in which the locksmith lived, hecould by no means make up his mind to walk straight to the house.
First, he resolved to stroll up another street for five minutes,then up another street for five minutes more, and so on until hehad lost full half an hour, when he made a bold plunge and foundhimself with a red face and a beating heart in the smoky workshop.
"Joe Willet, or his ghost?" said Varden, rising from the desk atwhich he was busy with his books, and looking at him under hisspectacles. "Which is it? Joe in the flesh, eh? That"s hearty.
And how are all the Chigwell company, Joe?"
"Much as usual, sir--they and I agree as well as ever."
"Well, well!" said the locksmith. "We must be patient, Joe, andbear with old folks" foibles. How"s the mare, Joe? Does she dothe four miles an hour as easily as ever? Ha, ha, ha! Does she,Joe? Eh!--What have we there, Joe--a nosegay!"
