when mr. bradbury returned to the cottage on the following evening, my mother would not allow me to remain in the room to hear what passed. she would have had me go to bed immediately on mr. bradbury’s knocking at the door; recollecting then, that from my room i must inevitably hear all that passed, she bade me wait in the garden, until her conversation with him was ended.
she had refused in the interval between his visits to answer any of my eager questions; she offered me no information. to be sure, my head was full of notions; this much i knew: that my grandfather was wealthy; that my father and mother had assumed her name—for what reason i could not conjecture, and that mr. bradbury, if he had his will, would surely make me known as the only son of richard craike, and, may be, heir to old edward. ay, and that charles, my father’s brother, was an enemy of my mother; that he and his wife had wronged her cruelly in the past; that she hated him, and that the p. 40prospect of revenge on him inclined her to accede to mr. bradbury’s wish.
through the day my mother went about her household duties calmly, as was her wont. she insisted that i should go to my studies with mr. vining and tony as on any day; only stressing that i should say nothing to my friend concerning mr. bradbury. but, i promise you, i had no mind that day for latin grammar, or for the letters of cicero; the event was inevitable,—mr. vining caning me soundly, with a display of wrath ill-fitting a clergyman, even as, i took it from tony’s uneasiness and writhing on his chair, he had chastised his son for his late return the night before. i was all eagerness for the night and the coming of mr. bradbury.
he came stealthily—wrapped in his black cloak. as he entered, my mother bade me leave the room and wait in the garden. i waited all impatiently. i could scarcely refrain from sneaking up under the window, and listening to their conversation. an hour or more their voices sounded from within; at no time did my mother raise her tone; often i heard mr. bradbury dictatorial, occasionally persuasive; i believed at last from his laughter that he had prevailed. i lounged drearily about the garden, until i heard the door opening, and saw mr. bradbury coming p. 41out, his cloak about him and his hat bent down over his brows.
as i stepped forward to open the gate for him, he paused in his path, and eyed me smiling. “so, mr. john craike,” he greeted me. “so!”
“mr. john craike!” i repeated.
“from now on, mr. john craike. or from the moment of your departure from the village, mr. john craike. can you forget, sir, that you were ever john howe?”
“i don’t understand, sir?”
“necessarily, no, mr. craike. but i am to have your company to london a week from now. you, sir, are to honour my house, until i have communicated with my client, mr. edward craike; then i trust to have the pleasure of presenting you to your grandfather.”
“what has happened, mr. bradbury?” i asked eagerly. “what has my mother told you?”
“nay, there, mr. craike, i must be silent. i must leave it to your good mother to satisfy your curiosity, if she will, sir; if she will. till this day week, sir”—and with a polite bow he slipped past me, and was gone.
i hurried into the cottage. my mother sat by the table, her hands clasped; so rapt was she that she did not hear me when i came in; she p. 42did not heed me till i caught her arm, crying, “what has happened, mother? tell me!”
she said then, “what has happened! what i have prayed would never come to pass!”
“dear, what is the matter?”
“that for all my prayers,” she went on, as if speaking to herself; “that for all my hope to keep my son from that doomed house,—this yet should be! dear god, if it be thy purpose that out of evil shall at last come good—” but broke off and looked wildly at me.
i held her hands, and, wondering, asked, “who are the craikes, then? what is the doomed house? why have we passed for all these years as howe, and lived as village folk at chelton, if our name be craike? hiding from them—my father’s kinsfolk?”
“yes, yes, hiding from them, and from their wealth—their ill-gotten wealth.”
“ill-gotten,—how?”
“you’ll know—oh, soon enough, you’ll know.”
“mr. bradbury said a week to-day i go away with him. and you—what of you, mother?”
“i stay here!”
“you stay here alone, and i go to london and on to my grandfather’s house? not i!”
“yes, you go! you go to your grandfather—to be rich—his heir. you go to bring to nothing p. 43all your uncle’s years of plotting, all the hurt that he has ever done to mine and me. surely you go! but never shall i set foot in that accursed house.”
“and yet you’d have me go.”
she answered, “i’d have you go to your own. i’d have you go, thinking i’ve made you man—not as old edward craike or his son charles. your father’s son.”
“my father, you have heard of him? he is alive?”
“i have heard nothing—nothing. i think him dead. he does not come to me in dreams as living. charles craike would have him dead; and he is surely dead. and oh, at last to have my reckoning with charles craike—to have my reckoning, as surely i shall have!”
“tell me more! i do not understand. why do you hate the craikes so much? what wrong have they done you? tell me all!”
she rose up from her chair and drew her hands from mine. “your father, whom we loved so much,” she said, “was taken from us. whether he was done to death, or carried out of england by the plotting of charles craike, i do not know. i think his brother guilty, knowing his hate for him and me. charles craike has thought to profit by your father’s death. i’d have you go p. 44with mr. bradbury to your grandfather. i am assured by mr. bradbury that you shall go in safety and return in safety. i fear charles craike—i fear for you, as i have feared these years that we have hidden here. i fear the fortune of old edward craike, piled up by sin and cruel wrong to others, will bring no good or happiness to you or any of his house. i fear—and yet because i hate charles craike, and i would punish him, and bring his sins to nothing, i’d have you go. believing that you will avenge your father, and come again to me; believing heaven wills it so!”
