Under a Cloud; or, Stranger Things have Happened

Front matter

UNDER A CLOUD, ■£aflantjme -press BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON MALCOLM AND THE MATCH-BOY.— Page I. UNDER A CLOUD; OB, STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED. BY T. S. MILLINGTON, VICAR OF WO0DH0USE EAVES. AUTHOR OF / "BUY AND MAN," "STRAIGHT TO THE MARK," &C. LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. 1IDCC0LXXXIH. CONTENTS. CHAP. rAO.E I. A GREAT SWELL t II. "TAKING HIM down" 16 III. THE MYSTERIOUS TRAP-DOOR 30 IV. NEW-LAID EGGS 46 V. A FIGHT 60 VI. A CATASTROPHE 74 VII. FIRE ! FIRE ! S9 VIII. "WHO DID IT?" I04 IX. ON THE TRAMP I 1 7 X. FOUR-IN-HAND 1 30 Xf. FIVE POUNDS REWARD . . . . . . I48 XII. ON THE TRACK 164 XIII. MOVED ON 17S XIV. MR. JULIUS BOND 190 XV. THE TRACK RECOVERED

Chapter I

A GREAT SWELL. " Buy a box of matches, sir ? Do please buy a box of matches." It was a little ragged barefooted boy who spoke. He had a dirty face and rough matted hair, and was running by the side of a rather stylish-looking young gentleman, and thrusting his little tray of wares under his nose. " Buy a box sir, please, sir ; only a penny, sir," he kept on repeating. " I don't want anything of the sort," said the other, looking straight before him and swinging a light cane round and round as if he had been turning a wheel. " Only a penny, sir ; just to get me a bit of bread, sir. I'm so hungry, sir." " I tell you I don't want any. Get out of my way, do." A Raising his hand with the cane in it to warn the boy out of his path, the point of the cane caught the street-boy's tray of matches and swept the little fellow's whole stock-in-trade into the mud.

Without pausing to look at the mischief he had done, the young gentleman passed on, looking very red and uncomfortable, and murmuring to himself, " It was his own fault ; I did not want to spoil his things ; he ought not to have got in my way." " You should have more consideration," said a working man who overtook him a few yards farther on. " That boy has to get his living." The youth looked at the speaker as much as to say, " What right have you to talk to me ? " But the other went on, quietly — " You have spoilt his boxes ; and he will have a difficulty in selling them." " Serves him right," was the answer. " If you were in his place you would not think so. I hope you may never know what it is to have to sell matches in the streets for a livelihood." "There's not much chance of that," said the boy, disdainfully.

" Why not ? Stranger things have happened," the man replied. "You don't know who I am," said the young gentleman, tossing his head. " Oh yes, I do. You are the son of Mr. Frere the banker. Your father would never have upset a poor boy's matches into the mud ; or if he had done so by accident he would have stooped to pick them, up again, rather than he should lose them, for all he's a rich man. Ask him ? " " How cheeky these fellows are ! " said Malcolm Frere half aloud, as the man quickened his step and left him. " I did not want to upset the boy's things : he ought not to .have got in my way. It serves him right." But although he thus excused himself, his con science smote him, and he wished all the while that he had not been so impatient. It was quite true, as the man had said, that his father would have acted very differently.

" If I see the boy there to-morrow," he said to himself, " I'll give him sixpence." It was very doubtful whether the boy would be there on the morrow. He might have returned and given him the sixpence then; and it would, no doubt, have been accepted gratefully. But he had not yet got the mastery over himself sufficiently to acknowledge to others that he had lost his temper and had done wrong. So he went on his way. Malcolm Frere, the banker's son of Shuttleborough, was rather a stylish young gentleman in his own opinion. He was only about thirteen years of age, but had the manners and address of one much older. He was particular about his costume, especially when walking through the streets. At such times he sported a chimney-pot hat, smoothly brushed, and wore very neatly-fitting well-polished boots.

He was not quite so careful about his other gar ments; the head and the foot, the hat and the boots, were sufficient, in his opinion, to mark the gentleman. Of course he liked to be correct in the intermediate parts ; but the extremities were of most importance. The little match-boy had splashed his boots, not altogether by accident, Malcolm thought ; and soon afterwards a misfortune happened to his hat. A boy who was flying a kite just outside the town, ran across the road, looking over his shoulder at his plaything, and nearly came into collision with the young gentleman. He was only kept from running into his bosom by the point of the cane, held out to meet him. " Look out ! " cried Malcolm. " Look out yourself," said the other, who had received the end of the cane in his stomach, and was smarting with pain.

The string of the kite caught Malcolm's hat at the same moment and tilted it from his head ; it fell into the dirt, and Malcolm, so far as his gentility depended on his get-up, ceased to be a gentleman for the remainder of the day. In his anger he struck at the kite with his cane, and destroyed it. The owner retaliated by calling him a swell and throwing a handful of mud at him ; and Malcolm, angry and indignant as he felt, had no alternative but to retreat as quickly as possible. He could not fight in the street with boys who threw mud. On reaching his home he entered the house with out being observed, and hastening upstairs, changed his clothes, muttering to himself all the while in a very angry and incoherent manner. And yet Malcolm Frere was not altogether such a bad or foolish fellow as this introductory account of him might lead our readers to suppose.

He had been unfortunate in his " broughtens up," as Mr. Slick would express it. He was an only child, and had lost his mother while he was very young. His father, who was doatingly fond of him, kept him too much at home, and humoured and indulged him. Mr. Frere had now married again, and the son was not quite so much thought of. Still he had his own way in most things ; and a foolish way it was too often. His chief fault was self-conceit : he had too good an opinion of himself; it was not to be wondered at, since he had so little opportunity of comparing himself with other people. He was proud of his name and family. Malcolm was his father's name as well as his own, and had been his grandfather's. The name descended from one to another as if it had been a surname. If there had been a dozen sons they would all have been christened Malcolm : Malcolm Edward, or Malcolm Wallace, or Malcolm Bruce, for the sake of distinction, but all Malcolms.

Malcolm was the hat, and Frere the boots ; the name that came between was useful, but not so much thought of. The hero of this story (if, after such a beginning, we may venture to call him so) was the eldest and only surviving son of his father, and therefore Malcolm only ; the heir to his father's name with all that belonged to it. A great name is worth having, especially if a great fame goes with it. A man whose ancestor has been celebrated as a leader or benefactor of his race, will be careful not to bring dishonour upon the name by unworthy conduct. It may not be a very powerful motive in the absence of any other, but it is not without its value. There had been Malcolms in Scotland who were kings ; and Freres in France who were brethren of some religious or benevolent community. That was where the pre sent Malcolm Frere, thirteen years of age, was sup posed to have started from.

It will be seen before this history is ended, where he will be likely to arrive. Malcolm shut himself up in his room, after his adventure with the matches and the kite, very much out of temper with the world in general, but more especially with that small part of it which had its seat in his own bosom. He felt conscious that he had made a fool of himself, as people generally do when they give way to their temper. He hoped he should not meet with any of those rude, ill mannered boys again. They were rude certainly ; but they might not perhaps have been so if he had let them alone in the first instance. He had not been over-polite himself; and now they would be sure to look upon him as a fair mark for their satire, or even for their mud. He wished they could know that he was sorry for his part of the affair, and then they would perhaps be sorry for theirs.

Not that he was afraid of them. A Malcolm should never be afraid of anything — except losing his temper and doing wrong. If they had been boys of his own age and standing, he did not doubt that he could have thrashed them all, one after another ; but they were small, and threw mud, and would not have cared much if mud had been thrown at them. They were little dirty street boys, selling matches and flying kites ; we will not repeat the name he gave them ; it was an ugly and contemp tuous one, used often to distinguish those who make and sell matches and such things from those who only buy and use them. And what had they called him ? "A swell ! A howling swell ! " After all, there was nothing very bad or offensive about that. He was a swell, and had no objection to be told so in a proper manner.

Those little ragged boys would have liked it themselves ; they would all have been swells if they could. Of course the " get up " would not have made gentlemen of them, any more than it did of him. He was a gentleman already — at least he hoped so. But then being a gentleman, and having the advantage of them in that respect, he ought, as he told himself, to have acted as such, and to have set them a good example. What the working man had said was perfectly true, his father would not have scattered a poor boy's match-boxes in the mud ; and to suppose that a Malcolm of the earlier generations ever did such a thing was absurd upon the face of it. Not more absurd, however, than the idea which had been started at the same time that he, Malcolm Frere, the son of the rich banker of the city of Shuttleborough, might some day want to sell a box of matches himself for a meal, and find nobody to buy them.

Yet " Stranger things have happened," as the man had said. It was an unpleasant remark for any one to make. Malcolm could afford to laugh at it ; it was only said to vex him. Yet he did not laugh at it. The thought took hold of him and he could not shake it off. It must be very bad to run about the streets in all weathers, barefooted and half-naked, and to beg of every one who passed to " buy a box of matches." The more he thought of it the more sorry he felt that he had behaved so unfeelingly to the poor boy. He hoped his father would not hear of it ; and that nobody would remember it, nor repeat it, nor report it. He would be more upon his guard in future. A few days after Malcolm's adventures in the streets of Shuttleborough, Mr. Frere announced to his wife that he had made arrangements for taking a long holiday.

They had not yet made what they called their wedding tour, and intended to go to the south of France and to Italy. Malcolm was to go with them, and after his return to be sent to school, an arrangement with which he was very well contented. He longed for the excitement and novelty of travelling abroad, and was anxious also to do as other Malcolm Freres had done before him — win prizes at a public school. They started ; but were detained at a watering place in the south of England by Malcolm, who fell sick. He was usually healthy enough ; but the doctor who came to see him thought he must have " caught something," and this so alarmed Mrs. Frere, who it must be remembered was not his own mother, that it was thought best to place him in a lodging by himself, until he should be pronounced safe from infection.

He was not very ill ; and his father came to see him daily, and spent as much time with him as he could ; but he was a long while recovering his strength, and Mr. and Mrs. Frere were both anxious to proceed on their journey, as the time at their disposal was limited. " What are we to do with the poor boy ? " said Mr. Frere to his wife, after Malcolm was conva lescent, though Mrs. Frere was still rather afraid of him. " I'm sure I don't know," the lady answered. " We cannot take him with us, I suppose ? " " Oh, no. It would be a great anxiety." " And we cannot leave him here." " Alone ? No ; that would hardly be right." " Of course not. I should not think of it. And there's nowhere else that we can send him to. Shuttleborough would be too long a journey for him, and the house is full of painters and work people."

Poor young Malcolm Frere was, it must be con fessed, rather awkwardly situated. He could not stay where he was, and he could not go anywhere else. What was to be done with him ? While the question was still under discussion, a servant entered the room and announced that " a person named Mrs. Bott wished to speak to Mr. Frere." "Bott," said that gentleman. " Bott— Bott ? I have heard the name somewhere ; but I have no recollection as to who owns it. You had better show her up." In a few moments a middle-aged woman, apparently from the country, plainly dressed, but with long flowing ringlets surmounted by a hat rather too gay with ribbons and feathers, stood at the door of the room bowing and smiling. " You have forgotten me, Mr. Frere," she said ; " but I saw your name in the list of visitors, and as I was here for a day or two I thought I should like to see you and dear Master Malcolm."

" Why, it's nurse Gunn ! " said Malcolm, who was standing at the open window, not too near Mrs. Frere. " So it is, my dear," she exclaimed, turning to wards him with a fond look. "You haven't forgot your old nurse, have you ? Bless his little heart ! " Malcolm did not approve of " little heart " as applied to himself, but he was glad to see the woman who had taken care of him at a time when that description would have been more justly ap plicable. He did not remember very much about her, for he had not been long under her care. She had left Mr. Frere's house to marry a farmer to whom she had been previously engaged, in the south of England, and they had lost sight of her. Mrs. Bott talked a great deal about Master Malcolm's infantile doings and sayings, and won his father's heart by her evident affection for her nursling.

He fancied she had been rather a hasty tempered woman when in his service ; but matri mony had perhaps sweetened her. She had no children of her own, she said, and thought the more of those who used to be under her care. She had never forgotten Master Malcolm, and never should. Mr. Frere asked after Mr. Bott and the farm, upon which latter topic Mrs. Bott had a great deal to say. " It was a nice place ; so pretty, and so healthful. She wished Master Malcolm could see it ; and the horses as he always used to be so fond of; and the moo-cows, bless him!" And she laughed and shook her ringlets at him, till in spite of himself he could not help laughing with her. While this was going on an idea occurred to Mrs. Frere, which she communicated in a whisper to her husband. Would Mrs. Bott take charge of Malcolm at the farm for a few weeks ?

The question was worth considering, and Mr. Frere in few words explained to Mrs. Bott the difficulty of their position. " Take charge of him ! " she exclaimed, with ardour. " What ! take him to my own home, and — and — bosom," she was going to say, but she saw that Malcolm had anticipated the sentiment and did not like it, so she stopped short. " Why, Mr. Frere," she continued, after a pause, as if her feelings had been too many for her, " it is the very thing of all others I should most enjoy. Often have I said to my dear husband, ' Bott,' says I. ' What ? ' says he. ' Bott,' I says again, ' if I could only have that dear boy here on a visit for to show him the farmyard, and the horses, and the cows, and for to run about and amuse himself, I should wish for nothing else in this world.' 'And a good job that would be,' he would answer, though I am sure there is no one more easily pleased and contented amd satisfied than I am ; so he need not have been so sharp with me, Mr. Frere, had he ?

But Mr. Bott must have his joke. He often makes a joke, Master Malcolm, though perhaps you wouldn't know it if you was to hear it, for he looks as solemn as a bishop all the while ; but that is his way, and you'll get used to it, as I did." " What do you say, Malcolm ? " Mr. Frere asked. " Should you like to go to Mr. Bott's for three or four weeks ? " " I can hardly tell," said Malcolm. " We should make a deal of you ; you'd be the greatest man in the place, and could have your own way in everything." "I should have nothing to do," said Malcolm, dejectedly. " Oh yes, you would, plenty ! else I would not ask you to come. The worst occupation a young gentleman can have is doing nothing. You know who it is finds work for idle hands to do, Master Malcolm, don't you ? " " Do you mean Mr. Bott ?

" Malcolm asked, innocently. " No ; I was not thinking of Mr. Bott," she an swered, with a laugh. " But Bott would set you agoing. You could go about the farm ; and there's a great hill covered with gorse close to it, and full of rabbits ; you could shoot the rabbits, if the squire would give you leave ; they do a deal of mischief. Oh, you'd find plenty to do." " You could make him comfortable, I suppose ? " Mr. Frere asked. " Oh yes, certainly. It's a nice house for a farm ; Clare Hall they call it ; though it is not the Hall, of course. The Hall itself is not far off, though. Our house used to be a castle once, and there's some of the old castle left. We call it 'The Castle' still sometimes. Oh, it's quite a romantic spot, I assure you, Mr. Malcolm ; and you would be as happy there as the day is long."

"Well, Mrs. Bott, I think, with your leave, I will send him to you," said Mr. Frere. " That's right, Mr. Frere. I'm going home to morrow, and he can come as soon as he likes, and stay as long as he likes. I can't say fairer than that, can I ? The rail will bring him to Bubbenhoe Station, within three miles of Clare Hall, and Mr. Bott will send a servant with the carriage, if he don't drive over his own self to meet him."

Chapter II

"TAKING HIM DOWN." Malcolm Frere was not particularly happy at the prospect of spending three or four weeks among strangers in an out-of-the-way farmhouse instead of accompanying his father to the Continent. But he resolved to make the best of it. For some things it might be pleasant enough. It would be all new to him. He liked the idea of the Castle, and the gorse-covered hill, and the rabbits. There were horses, too, which he supposed he could ride, or Mrs. Bott would not have mentioned them. He would receive a great deal of attention, and should be able to astonish the country folks, and perhaps teach them something. Mrs. Bott had said so, or hinted as much, and it had pleased him more than he would have cared to confess. He arrived at Bubbenhoe Station at the appointed time, and looked out for Mr. Bott and the carriage, but could not see either the one or the other.

He expected they would have been there waiting for him, and thought it rather slighty of them to have failed, especially as the train was late. The only person who remained after the train had passed on was a tall, elderly man, with a heavy countenance, having the appearance of a labourer from the plough tail, and the only carriage in view was a spring-cart, well bespattered with mud, which had been suffered to accumulate upon the body and wheels for weeks or months perhaps. The man had a cart-whip in his hand, a worn and battered hat upon his head, and a pair of clod-crushers on his feet — Malcolm could not call them boots. This individual followed Malcolm about with his eyes for some minutes, and then shuffled up to him and said, in a husky voice, " Are you the young gent as I'm a-looking for ?

" Malcolm had a particular objection to be called a " gent," and he was unwilling to admit the idea which had crossed his mind that this man and that cart had been sent to convey him to Clare Hall Farm, or the " Castle." So he answered rather shortly, " How can I tell ? " " If you can't, who can ? " said the man. " Mr. Bott sent me to look for a young gent as was coming by that there train as is gone. If you are the young gent as Mr. Bott expects, you are to go along with me." " If Mr. Bott sent you," said Malcolm, " I suppose I must be the gentleman in question." c " A young gent," the man repeated — " a young gent, Mr. Bott said, by the name of whatd'yecall'm —I forget the name again; but it's of no consequence." " Frere my name is — Malcolm Frere," the young gentleman replied, drawing himself up.

No consequence, indeed ! Such a name as his ! " Ah, well ! it was something of that sort, I do think ; but it don't signify. You are to come along with me." " Has Mr. Bott sent his carriage ? " Malcolm asked, ignoring the spring-cart. " What'say ? " Malcolm repeated the question. " Carriage ? No ; not as I know on. He has sent the trap, though. There it is." Malcolm, though bursting with vexation, had no alternative but to call to the only porter on duty to carry his luggage to the trap, but the porter was very busy talking to some one, and did not immediately reply. " You take one handle, and I'll take the t'other," said the old man ; " the portmantle won't break us down." Malcolm, after another glance at the industrious porter, did as he was requested, and they were soon ready to start. The horse — a clumsy animal, with long hair about its fetlocks — stood dozing between the shafts, and had to be waked up with sundry jorks of the reins before he would move on.

" Mrs. Botts said I was to ask if you could drive ; 'cause if you could, you might." " Much obliged to her," said Malcolm. " Yes, I can drive a pair of ponies, but I don't want to drive that creature ; he does not look as if he had any go in him." " One can't judge of a horse by the look of him," said the man, " any more than one can of a young gent. Poppitt can shack along pretty sharp when he gets started ; but you needn't drive unless you like." There was a public-house close by, and Malcolm, notwithstanding his annoyance, thought it would be the right thing, and perhaps add something to his importance, if he offered the man who had come to meet him some refreshment. " Will you take anything ? " he said. " What 'say ? " " Will you take anything ? " " Yes ; I'll take my departure if you're ready.

" I meant, would you" take anything to drink ? " said Malcolm, thinkijig the man had not understood him. " No, thank you ; I be'ant dry. And yet I be ; I be always Dry ; I were born Dry, and shall be Dry as long as I live." " Is that your name, then ? " "Yes, it be. Daniel Dry; that's how I were born and christened." Before they had gone far Daniel Dry pointed to a little shop, and said, " Will you take anything ? " " What do you mean ? " said Malcolm. " A peppermint, or a sugar-stick ? " " No," said Malcolm ; he could not bring himself to add " thank you " to such an offer. " One good turn deserves another," said old Dry. " It's a different thing, though," said Malcolm, hardly knowing whether the old man was serious or making fun of him. "Yes," said Dry ; " I be old and you be young ; that's the difference."

When they had gone about a mile, Poppitt drew up at a farmhouse by the roadside. " I've got another passenger a-coming in here," said Dry. " There's no room," Malcolm answered. " We'll make room," said Dry. By the time he had cleared a place at the back of the cart, a calf was brought from the farmyard with much pushing and pulling, and was lifted into the vehicle. The calf did not seem to like the trap any better than Malcolm did, and a strong net was brought and tied across the rails to keep it from jumping down into the road. This did not prevent it from thrusting its nose over Malcolm's shoulder and mo-a-a-ing incessantly close to his ear. " I wish it would not make that noise," said Malcolm. " What 'say ? " Daniel Dry had a habit of asking in a sharp voice " What 'say ? " almost before the person who addressed him had done speaking.

Malcolm did not like it ; it was not respectful, and it gave him the trouble of speaking a second time. " I wish it would not make that noise," he re peated, in a loud voice. " What ! don't you like it ? " Dry asked. " No, I should think not." " You see it has been taken from its mother, poor thing ! " " That's no reason," said Malcolm. "You don't look for reason in a poor creetur like that, do you ? " " Mo-a-a-a," said the calf. " Now if I understand right," Dry continued, "you are in the same case yourself; and the calf might be aware on it. She thinks, perhaps, there's a pair on you." " Mo-a-a-a," said the calf again " Come, I say ! " Malcolm exclaimed, looking up at his companion angrily. "No offence," said the other, gravely; "no offence, Mr. Milkum." " Malcolm, my name is." " Well, it's no odds about a name," said Dry ; " no offence is intended, and none should be took."

" Mo-a-a-a," said the calf. " I shall get down and walk," said Malcolm. " How far is it to the Castle ? " " The what ? " " Clare Hall— Mr. Bott's farm." " Ho ! ho ! " laughed Daniel Dry ; " the Castle ! Ho, ho, ho ! Well, the farm is — ever so far, so sit ye still. Ho, ho, ho, ho ! " " I won't," said Malcolm. " I'll get down and walk." " Come up," said Diy, addressing the horse this time, and giving him a pull with the rein ; " Shack on, Poppitt ! " Then turning to Malcolm and jerk ing with his head towards the calf, he added, " Why you are as restless as that there t'other one. Mr. Bott should have sent another calf-net, and I would have put it on. No offence, you know ; where none is intended none should be took." Malcolm looked as if he did not think much of the assurance that no offence was intended.