Sir John Dering

“ For, hid within John Dering I am conscious of a soul, Rose, a soul so very much greater than John Dering that ’tis great marvel John Dering is not greater than John Dering, seeing John Dering is the outward though very imperfect manifestation of John Dering’s soul—a soul that will live and love and go marching on when poor John Dering is dust. And, look you! True love being not passion of the flesh but virtue o’ the soul, ’tis therefore sure that I, John Dering, shall some day love with a love exceeding great, a love as imperishable as John Dering’s soul. ”

“ Be this another o’ your honour’s clever guesses?”
“And so, Rose,” he went on placidly, “if you must laugh indeed, laugh behind his back; do not let him see, for ’twould wound him deeply——”
“And d’ye think I don’t know it!” she exclaimed furiously. “Do you think I don’t see in him all that is lacking in yourself, Sir John Dering? Simplicity, unselfishness, a noble innocence—the child in the man, thinking no evil. ”

“ What is to be, will be, let us strive and struggle how we will. And ’twill soon be dark, so ha’ your pistol ready——”
“I—I do not fear the dark!” she answered, quite forgetting to yawn.
“Nay, ’tis not of the dark I warn you but of myself, child!” he sighed. “Great pity is it you should ha’ found me out so soon, for as John Derwent I was in every sense a gentle, worthy and reverent soul, but—as Sir John Dering, ’tis a vastly different matter, for [66] the censorious world expects me to live up to, or down to, my reputation, so ha’ your pistol ready, girl!” ”

“ Pray believe that my gratitude is yours, now and ever!”
“Indeed,” said she, noting his earnest face, “you are strangely unlike the Sir John Dering I anticipated. Your—your reputation, sir——”
“Aye, my reputation!” he repeated wearily. “’Faith, madam,’tis my incubus that hath me in a strangle-gripe. For years I have endured it with a fool’s content, but now when I would be rid on’t I may not. ’Tis a haunting shadow, a demon mocking my best endeavours. Evil is naturally expected of [144] me, virtue—never. ”

“ Don’t you see we are driven forth of Sir John Dering’s inn on Sir John Dering’s land by men wearing Sir John Dering’s livery and acting under instructions of Sir John Dering’s steward! It is all quite delightfully grotesque! So get our things, Bob, nor seek to ruin so exquisite a situation by violence; let us rather steal humbly away. We will try Alfriston, Bob. ”

“ Scarsdale, “now you mention it, I did——”
“Hid?” cried Lord Aldbourne. “What did ye hide for, sir, and where?”
“My lord, I say that I caught a brief glimpse of Sir John Dering’s ‘buxom wench’!”
“Oh, rat me, but did ye so, Scarsdale?” piped Mr. Prescott. “And was she handsome indeed—come?”
“Let me parish, sir, if she wasn’t!” cried Mr. [137] Scarsdale, ecstatic. “A magnificent crayture, on my life! A plum, sir, a glorious piece——”
“We believe you, sir!” quoth Captain Armitage. “Dering ever had an infallible eye, a most exact judgment!” ”

“ Sir John, having carefully wiped his boots under Sir Hector’s strict supervision, took occasion to glance round and behold the wonders achieved, for indeed chaos had given place to comfort and a dainty orderliness; it beamed and shone, it winked and twinkled in polished brass and silver, it stirred gently in the curtains at open lattice, it lay in the rugs upon raddled floor, it gleamed in the polished andirons on the spotless hearth, and breathed in fragrance from the bowl of flowers upon the mantel.
“’Tis marvellous what a woman can achieve, Hector!” ”

“ Turning heavy head, Sir John saw about him a huddle of crouching men who all peered in the one direction, heard an incoherent, passionate muttering that changed to a groan, a gasping cry, and a man rose to his knees with rigid arms out-thrust, staggered to his feet and leapt down the grassy steep; hereupon the others awoke to sudden action; ensued a desperate scrambling, a wild babblement, a thudding of desperate feet, and Sir John lay staring on the empty dark alone save for the horse that cropped the grass near by. ”

“ If your tenants be minded to duck a notorious witch, ’tis no affair o’ mine. And I warn ye, sir, that in yon old hag’s cottage we have found indisputable evidence that——”
“Tush!” exclaimed Sir John, “do not weary me [321] with the details o’ your man-hunting trade, sir. Your arm is strong enough to flourish a whip, I perceive, and mine, you’ll observe, is less sound than it might be. Come, then, my lord—the grass is smooth and level on Dering Tye—let us forthwith earnestly endeavour to make an end o’ one another—for, by heaven, I’ll wait no longer!” ”

“ Might you ha’ chanced to see a man ... or, say, two ... hereabouts, as you come along?”
“Not a soul!”
“Ah! An’ wheer might Sir John Dering be now, Mus’ Robert, d’ye s’pose?”
“I left him at ‘The Cross,’ but he usually walks abroad of an evening.”
[348]
“Aye, so ’e do, Mus’ Robert ... but ... doan’t ’ee let ’im goo out o’ your sight this night.”
“Why not? What d’ye mean, George?”
“Well, rackon it bean’t no-wise ’ealthy-like for Sir John to goo a-walkin’ to-night alone, ah—an’ p’r’aps not then.”
“And why? Ah ... d’ye think——”
“Aye, I do think!” nodded Mr. Potter. ”

“ Good artenoon, sirs!”
“An’ mind this,” added the Ancient One, bony finger a-wag, “it bean’t nowise ’ealthy-loike for no man to go nowheres nohow, nowhere an’ nowhen i’ the dark ’ereabouts—no!”
Hereupon Mr. Potter touched his horse with the whip and away went that likely animal at such pace that the rattling cart and its occupants were very soon out of sight.
“Ha!” quoth Sir John thoughtfully, as they pursued their way towards High Dering. “Hum! The hunting of spectres would seem to be a highly dangerous sport, Bob.” ”

“ To bring his slippers. To cook for the pure joy of watching him eat. To perform those humble, lowly, feminine duties small in themselves yet that, in the sum, make for the glory of true womanhood and lift her nigh the angels.... Thus it went somewhat, the rest I ha’ forgot.”
“Pipe?” murmured the bewildered Duchess. “Slippers? Whose?”
“Thy monster’s, aunt.”
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“Herminia, my poor child! Thou’rt distraught—’tis the sun to-day——”
“Nay, aunt, ’twas Sir John Dering, weeks ago.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the little Duchess loudly, and sitting up with sudden new interest. “What of the dear man?” ”

“ I think I have the honour to address Sir John Dering?”
“The same, sir.”
The gentleman sheathed his sword and bowed.
“My name is Scarsdale, sir,” said he. “I had the pleasure of meeting you in Paris lately—at the Marquise de Sauvray’s rout, if you remember?”
“I do not, sir.”
Mr. Scarsdale took out his snuff-box, stared at it, tapped it, fumbled with it and bowed.
“My dear Sir John,” said he, “if I had the curst misfortune to ... ah ... to cross you in the matter of ... an ... Yon rustic Venus ... poach on [36] your preserves, ’twas done all unwitting and I apologise.... A delicious creature ”

“ Dumbrell, perched in George Potter’s cart behind the likely horse, blinked at the setting sun and shook his head; quoth he:
“The longer oi live, Jarge, the more sartin-sure be oi that there be no sich thing as gratitood nowheres, no!”
“What be troublin’ of ’ee now, Gaffer?”
“Thinkin’ o’ Sir John Dering, oi be. Oh, ’e’s mebbe this an’ that an’ t’other, but oi calls ’im naun but a ongrateful young barrynet!”
“Lord, old ’un,” remonstrated Mr. Potter, “ain’t ’e given ye your cottage, rent free?”
“Wot o’ that?” snarled the Aged Soul. “Ain’t ’e got ’unnerds an’ thousands o’ cottages? ”

“ I’m too old for ye, my sweet maid.... O Ann, I’m forty-five and——”
“Why, Bob,” she cried, between laughing and crying, “as if age mattered—doan’t ’ee be fullish! An’ if your ’air be a bit grey-like,’tis so I do love it best!” And, drawing his head down, she kissed him upon each temple where the hair was greyest. “And so, dear Robert, if you’ve lost your place wi’ Sir John Dering you’ve—found me!”
“O Ann—my sweet,” said the Corporal, his voice more unsteady than ever, “listen a bit more! ’Tis true Sir John hath discharged me ... I mean as his valet, but—O Ann ... ”

“ Sir John turned to find her regarding him in speechless wonder.
“Well, child?” he questioned.
“O sir!” she whispered. “’Tis all—so—marvellous true. Now tell me, oh, please your honour—tell me o’ the future. Shall I ever be a fine, grand lady—shall I?”
“God forbid!” he answered. “Nature formed thee a better thing! Thou’rt artless as the flowers that bloom, and the birds that sing because they must, for pure joy of it. Thou’rt sweet and fresh as the breath of Spring—heaven keep thee so, if ’tis indeed to Paris you journey, child.” ”

“ At this Sir John frowned and was silent. “Aweel, aweel,” quoth Sir Hector, “there’s England waitin’ ye, aye, and happiness, I trust——”
“Happiness!” repeated Sir John scornfully.
“Why not, lad? ’Tis time ye married and settled doon——”
“Horrific thought!” growled Sir John.
“Why, then, John,” quoth Sir Hector, his English suddenly very precise, “you might begin to take an interest in your own affairs, particularly your estates; they are damnably mismanaged, I hear, more especially at High Dering ... where you were born and your mother died ... sweet soul!”
“High Dering!” repeated Sir John. ”

“ Sir John, deep-plunged in gloomy abstraction, was suddenly aroused by the noisy entrance of two travellers, very elegant gentlemen who, cramped from their chaise, stamped and yawned and stretched, and damned the dust, the road, the inn, the landlord and all creation save themselves. Loudest of the twain was a tall, youngish man who wore a stupendous periwig, a gentleman very small as to eyes and large as to teeth that gleamed between the lips of a heavy mouth. ”

“ IN WHICH SIR JOHN DEVOTES HIMSELF TO THE MUSE
Dering of Dering being home again and his fame on every lip, it befell, to Sir John’s dismay, that the ‘Market Cross Inn’ was generally a-throng with visitors: sporting farmers who trotted up on their “bits o’ blood,” country gentry, bucks of the quality, and not a few ladies of fashion, all hither come to pay homage in their several ways to “the Wicked Dering.” ”

“ So after I’d put her to bed—and such a bed! I crept out o’ the inn—and such an inn! And lost my way ... and a man ... ran after me and so I ... I found you, sir. An’ now I must be a-goin’ back an’t please you, sir, for I must be on my road to Paris, along o’ my lady an’ all to stop two gentlemen fightin’ each other!”
“Ha, a duel, child? Do you chance to know these gentlemen’s names?”
“For sure, sir, my lady talks o’ naught beside! One’s Viscount Templemore, an’ t’other’s Sir John Dering—‘the Wicked Dering,’ as they call him at home.”
“Humph!” said Sir John, staring up at the moon again. “Ha!” ”

“ Sir John is right, indeed—I myself love to hear the carolling brook—I mean the rippling bird—— There, see how you ha’ fluttered me! Sit down, Herminia—do! And you, Sir John! Be seated—both o’ you, instead of standing to stare on each other like—like two fond fools foolishly fond! So! Now, surely, Sir John, a man’s reputation is his own, to make or mar?”
“Nay, ’faith, your Grace, doth not a man’s reputation make or mar him, rather? And whence cometh reputation but of our friends and enemies who judge us accordingly. So the world knows us but as they report. ”

“ The mob is out ... my Lord Sayle will do nothing. They’ve wrecked her cottage.... I’m for Sir Hector MacLean and any who are men ... pray God we be in time! You, sir—quick, I beseech ... High Dering.”
“Sayle?” repeated Sir John. “Is he there?”
“Sir, ’twas by his orders they ransacked her cottage [319] seeking the man Potter.... God help the poor soul! Haste, sir, if ye would be o’ service!”
Next moment Sir John was before the ‘Market Cross Inn’ shouting for horse, ostlers and the Corporal. ”

“ Sir John was in the act of sheathing his sword, when he turned at sound of a light footstep.
“Ah, Rose,” sighed he, gazing into her troubled eyes, “yonder go two of your ‘grand gentlemen’—Paris teems with such! Better surely an honest English lover in homespun than be hunted by Brutality in lace and velvet. Did they fright thee, child ... and despite thy prayers and little cross?” Here she hid her face in her hands. “Nay, Rose, if they reverence not thy virgin purity how should they revere aught else! And Paris reeks of such as they ... to hunt thy fresh young beauty! ”

“ Meanwhile I am, as ever, thy wholly devoted, loving
“John Derwent.
“P.S.—I have taken the girl Rose with me.”
Having duly sealed and directed which missive, he arose, took up his pistols, examined flint, charge and priming and thrust them into the capacious pockets of his riding-coat; then he enveloped himself in the cloak, softly unbarred and opened the door and, hat in hand, bowed his companion out of the silent inn.
“Come, child,” said he, “let us, confident in Fate and each other, seek the unknown together, nothing doubting.” ”

“ Oi knowed ’e wur quality moment oi seed ’im, oi did, fur a gen’leman be arlways a gen’leman!”
“Why that be true enough, Gaffer, but——”
“Hesh!” snarled the Aged Soul. “Don’t goo fur to arg’ wi’ oi! As fur you, Tom Nixon, ‘whatsoever a man sows that shall ’e rip!’ You let ’em turn Sir John Dering out o’ ‘The Dering Arms’ an’ it be only nat’ral as Sir John Dering’ll turn you out likewise.”
“Doan’t ’ee say so, Gaffer!” pleaded the mournful landlord.
“But oi du say so, Tom ... turned out ye’ll be sure-lye, sarten-sure-indeed, my pore lad, ah—an’ mebbe hung or trans-ported ... ”

“ Sir John sighed and drew in his head.
“Y’ are very right, child; the sooner we start the better! In the corner yonder you will find my cloak and pistols; pray bring ’em whiles I scribble a line to my friend.” And sitting down forthwith he took pen and paper and indited the following epistle:
[45]
“My dear Hector,—I have departed for England, but will meet you in High Dering at the earliest moment, where you shall inquire for one, John Derwent. ”