Digby Heathcote: The Early Days of a Country Gentleman's Son and Heir

The sky had become overcast and the night was very dark. Poor little Kate ran on, looking anxiously on every side and calling out Digby’s name. – Snow, too, began to fall, and came down in large flakes on hat face. For herself she did not care, she did not feel the cold, but she thought of dear Digby, lying on the bare ground; and, perhaps, unable to move or to call out. Perhaps he might have attempted to leap, and got thrown, or his pony might have stumbled. Still it appeared so sure-footed and sagacious a beast, that that could scarcely have happened.

“Oh Digby, Digby, where are you?” she every now and then cried out in a piteous tone.

Not a ditch nor a recess in the road of any sort, escaped her scrutinising glance. But no Digby replied, no sign of him could she discover. On she went, it appeared that she had got a long way from home. The road, and the country seemed strange to her; she had scarcely ever been out at night during her life; she did not like to turn back, but she began to fear that she might be looking for him in one direction, while he might have gone another. She had just begun to think this, when a snow-flake fell on something shining on the ground, she stooped down, and she found that it was Digby’s whip. She had no doubt about it.

“He must be near! he must be near!” she exclaimed. “Digby, Digby, answer, where are you? it is Kate calls you. Digby, dear. Brother, brother, speak to me. Oh do! do speak, Digby, just one word that I may know where to look for you. It is so dark that I cannot see you. Digby, Digby, brother, brother, speak!” she screamed out almost frantically.

No answer came to her repeated calls.

“He must have dropped his whip as the pony was galloping on,” she thought; “he may have gone further than this before he fell; and yet Digby was not likely to be thrown off; no boy of his age rides better.”

So again the brave little girl ran on, crying out his name as before. Oh, what a loving affectionate sister was Kate, well worthy to be cherished. I fully believe that there are many such who would do the same, if occasion required, for their brothers’ sakes. She did not feel faint, or fatigued, or cold; she did not think of herself, all her thoughts were for Digby, as she pictured him lying maimed on the cold ground. The snow fell thickly, the north wind blew keenly, she did not feel it herself, but she thought he did. She would have run on crying out Digby’s name till daylight, or till nature had given way and she had sunk on the ground. She heard footsteps coming along the road.

“Oh, can you tell me anything of my brother Digby?” she cried out, “Mr Heathcote’s son, he is lost. He rode away and has not come back.”

“Mercy on me, my sweet Miss Kate, is this you?” exclaimed a voice near her. It was that of John Pratt.

“Dear, oh dear, we mustn’t be a losing two on you in one day. We cannot find him, Miss Kate; but bear up, dear. It will break my heart, that it will; but that’s no matter. We be a going back to get lanterns and torches, and more people, to help in the search. The Squire will be for sending out all the men and boys from the village to look for him. He must be somewhere, and not far off, that’s my opinion. But come along back, Miss Kate; you’ll be catching your death of cold, and they’ll be wondering what has become of you next at the Hall.”

John Pratt spoke so rapidly that Kate had not been able to put in a word. She at last told him that she had found Digby’s whip not far from where they were, and that she should know the spot by some high trees of peculiar form, which were near it. Many people would have picked up the whip, and afterwards would have been unable to tell where they had found it, but her natural sagacity at once showed her the importance of being able to return to the exact spot. John wanted to carry Kate, but she would not hear of it; she consented only to hang on his arm as he hurried along. He tried to keep up her spirits in his somewhat uncouth, though not rough way.

“He’ll come back, Miss Kate, no fear. It’s not likely any great harm could have happened to him. Mayhap he has got into some cottage, and the pony ran away. When we gets lights we’ll find him. He’ll be late for dinner. It can’t be that any great harm can have happened to the heir of Bloxholme; it’s impossible, Miss Kate, I am sure it is.”

Thus rambling on in his talk, John, with poor Kate, reached the Hall. Everybody there was in a state of consternation. In the first place, Kate had been missed, and it was supposed that she had been spirited away, as had been Digby. Then, not far from the Hall, the Squire and Thomas had been set upon by half a dozen men or more, whose aim seemed to be to inflict a severe injury on them. The Squire cried out who he was, but they only seemed the more eager to conquer him. Fortunately his thick stick stood him in good stead; and Thomas being armed in a similar manner, they had for some time kept their assailants at bay; but the Squire was at length brought on his knees, being very severely handled, and almost overpowered, when some of the men who had gone out to look for Digby, came up, and his assailants fled. He called on his people to pursue, but, much injured as he was, he stumbled and fell before he got far, and the ruffians escaped. His condition was deplorable. He was brought back to the Hall, his mind racked with anxiety at the disappearance of his son, and indignant at the way he himself had been treated. He was puzzled to ascertain whether the two circumstances were in any way connected. As soon as he was a little recovered, and had been able to collect his thoughts, he sent off to the village to demand the services of most of the male population, as John Pratt had suspected he would do. He also sent off in every direction to borrow lanterns, and anything that would serve as torches.

John Pratt, on his return with poor little Kate, was heartily welcomed. The Square was too ill to direct the search, so he desired John to make all the arrangements he thought necessary, and to carry them out without delay. He wished to go out again himself, and would have done so had not Mrs Heathcote and his daughters entreated him to remain within.

The attack on the Squire had naturally created a new cause for alarm about Digby. It seemed more than probable that the same ruffians who had attacked him had got hold of his son. Still it was not supposed that they had killed him; the very idea was too dreadful.

Through the active measures taken by John Pratt, the inhabitants of every cottage and house for miles round were aware of what had occurred; but John’s hopes that he might have got into some cottage were disappointed; not a trace of him could be found.

A sleepless night was passed by all the inmates of the Hall; no one thought even of going to bed. Everybody sat up expecting to receive information about Digby; but though people continued constantly to return, no satisfactory information was brought. The place where Kate had found her brother’s whip was carefully searched by men with torches and lanterns, but nothing else belonging to him could be discovered in the neighbourhood. It became evident, at last, that they must wait for daylight to make a more satisfactory search.

Never had the inmates of Bloxholme Hall passed a more anxious and miserable night. The morning brought no news of the lost one; not a trace of him could be discovered. The snow lay thickly on the ground, and must completely have covered up all marks of every description, if any had been left.

Poor Kate wandered about the house more like a ghost than a thing of this world, watching anxiously for every person who came in, and trembling at every footstep she heard.

Early in the day, cousin Giles – or rather Mr Woodcock, for that was his proper designation – arrived with Arthur Haviland. They, of course, were very much shocked at what had occurred. Arthur was eager to go out at once to assist in the search.

Mr Giles Woodcock had seen a great deal of the world, and had profited by what he had seen. He was an acute, sensible, energetic man, full of life and spirits, and fun too, which he was always ready to exercise in its proper time and place. He was more, also, than all that – he was a devout, serious-minded Christian, and never ashamed of acknowledging the motives of his conduct. His arrival at the moment was most opportune.

The Squire, although up and dressed, was, both in mind and body, so prostrate that he could not take that active superintendence of all the arrangements which were necessary.

Cousin Giles saw the state of things, and at once set to work. He called everybody in, and made them give their reports, of which he made notes. He called for a map of the district; he inquired whether anybody in the neighbourhood could have a motive for attacking Digby and the Squire. He strongly suspected that the men who had assaulted Mr Heathcote were in some way concerned in the disappearance of his son. How to find out who they were, and to get hold of them, was the difficulty. Although, however, he suspected one thing, he did not, as is often the case, exert himself to prove his suspicions correct to the neglect of all other points, but he directed the search to be continued and inquiries to be made in every possible direction and way.

At last John Pratt returned after another prolonged search over the country.

“Well, John,” said cousin Giles, “this is a sad matter. We won’t waste words, though. Have you a suspicion who has got hold of the lad? Had anybody any reason for attacking the Squire? Can you suggest any means of finding this out?”

John thought a little. “Old Dame Marlow may tell us something about it, zur,” he said, after scratching his head vehemently. “She knows zomething of everything; and if she don’t know, nobody does.”

Cousin Giles, having made further inquiries as to the dame’s character, was about to dispatch John to bring her to the Hall, when Mr Bowdler arrived.

He had been absent from home, and immediately on his return, hearing what had occurred, set off for the Hall.

Cousin Giles told him what he was about to do.

“She may know something about the matter, but not by supernatural means, as these poor ignorant people suppose,” he remarked. “A magistrate’s warrant, in the hands of a constable, will have the best effect in eliciting the truth from her. The Squire can issue it; a constable is in attendance; we will send it off at once. A grandson of her’s was lately apprehended and transported through the Squire’s means, and it is probable that she has instigated some of her friends to this act, to revenge herself.”

In less than an hour the wretched old woman was brought up to the Hall.

Mr Bowdler first endeavoured by gentle persuasion to induce her to confess all she knew; but she was deaf to all his exhortations. Though she put on a stolid, dull look, and answered only in monosyllables, there was a cunning twinkle in her eye, which showed that she fully understood what was said to her, and was evidently not ignorant of the matter.

Cousin Giles next tried to draw some information out of her by threats. She looked up several times with an inquiring look to ascertain whether he had the power of doing what he threatened. When brought before the Squire, she scowled fiercely at him, and not a word could be drawn from her. She was sent under charge of the constable to remain in the servants’ hall.

“Give her food and treat her kindly,” said the Squire; “she is an old woman, and feels the loss of her grandson.”

The old woman heard what was said, but made no remark.

“At all events I am convinced she can, if she will, give us some of the information we require,” remarked cousin Giles; “she completely betrayed herself by her looks and gestures. I remarked particularly her fear of me, not knowing who I was, and her hatred of the Squire, while she had made up her mind to turn a deaf ear to your exhortations, Mr Bowdler.”

“What do you advise, then?” asked the clergyman.

“Keep her here, and work upon her fears. Then show her that it is her interest to tell us what we want to know,” answered cousin Giles; “force will not do. I doubt if even the judges of the Inquisition would get much out of her.”

The whole day passed by and no clue as to what had become of Digby was obtained. Even John Pratt was knocked up, and was obliged to go to bed to recover strength, that he might continue the search.

When it was known that Dame Marlow was had up to the Hall, two men came in and stated that they had heard her threaten both the Squire and his heir with her vengeance, though they supposed that she intended to carry it out by means of her incantations. Their evidence, however, was sufficient to enable the Squire to detain her at the Hall. A bed was made up for her in a little room where people, who came to speak to him on magisterial business, were put till their turn arrived to see him. She much wanted to be left alone.

“No, no, old lady,” answered the constable, laughing; “you’d be flying up the chimney, or burning the house down, or playing some prank or other. That would never do.”

Arthur Haviland felt very sorry. He was very anxious to be doing something, but did not know what to do. Kate very naturally took him into her confidence.

“Oh, I wish that I was a boy,” she exclaimed. “I would roam the country round till I found Digby, or cross the seas, and search for him through every land, if I thought he had been carried there. But they will not let me go. Mamma says I must not, and Miss Apsley made me promise to obey, and so I must submit; but it is very cruel.”

“Fortunately I am a boy, and I will go,” cried Arthur, enthusiastically. “He saved my life, and I am sure that my father would not disapprove of my going.”

“Thank you, Arthur, thank you,” she answered. “I am sure that he is alive. I should have felt very differently had he been dead. I could not have borne that thought. You will find him; I feel that you must find him, remember that. Poor mamma and my sisters think that he has been killed by those dreadful men who attacked papa.”

This sad event made Arthur at once feel himself at home, and one of the family. He was prompt in all he did. He went at once to Mr Woodcock, and asked him to obtain a man to accompany him, saying that he would set off the next morning at daybreak, and prosecute his inquiries through the neighbouring districts.

“Perhaps I may find out something which has escaped the notice of the people here,” he remarked.

“I like your zeal and spirit, and will gladly aid your plan,” answered cousin Giles.

Arthur was ready at the hour he had arranged; and he found a lad of about eighteen prepared to be his companion. Adam Hodder seemed a very intelligent fellow; and Arthur felt that he would rather have him than an older person.

Both Arthur and his companion were warmly clad and well prepared to brave the cold. Arthur had put on his roughest clothing, but still he looked the gentleman. They carried some provisions in a bag that they might not have to go out of their way to obtain them: but they had taken a good breakfast in the dark, that no time might be lost of the short day of that season. The air smelt pure and fresh as they stepped out in the grey light of the early dawn; and as they walked on briskly Arthur found his spirits rising, and he felt sure that he should again see his friend.

“Well, Adam Hodder, what do you think can have become of Master Heathcote?” he asked.

“That’s more than I can say, sir,” answered Adam. “But I don’t think with some of the people about here, that old Dame Marlow has spirited him away. It’s more than likely that some of her people may have got hold of him, and will either carry him away out of the country, or make the Squire pay pretty largely before they give him back.”

This was a new idea to Arthur, and it served to help him in his inquiries. He told Adam also to make his own observations, and to gain certain information at every cottage they visited. He learned that some men in the dress of seamen had been seen in the parish. They had not spoken to any one, and no one knew where they were going. Then, again, these were the men probably who had attacked the Squire, and they might possibly have had nothing to do with Digby’s disappearance. Still, from their being dressed as seamen, Arthur resolved to prosecute his inquiries towards the coast. He accordingly sent a messenger back to the Hall to say what he had heard, and what he proposed doing. He hoped to get as far as Osberton that night. He had gone some way when he heard some horses’ hoofs clattering along the hard road. He looked round, and, as the riders approached, he saw that it was John Pratt and another man.

“I’ve come after you, sir, to tell you that we’ve got hold of some information that may lead us on the right scent,” said John, jumping from his horse. “I am to go along with you, sir. If you like to ride there’s a horse, if not, I’ll send him back.”

“I infinitely prefer walking such weather as this,” answered Arthur. “Send the horse back, and now tell me the news.”

“Why, sir, first, Mr Woodcock sent off to London for what they call a detective, a sort of ferrety-like fellow, who pokes his head in everywhere, and finds out everything. When Dame Marlow heard of it she was in a great taking, and asked what reward she would have if she tried to find out where the young Squire is?

“‘I’ll tell ye what, Dame,’ says Mr Woodcock to her, ‘if he isn’t soon found, you’ll have very much the contrary to a reward, let me tell you. When the detective comes down, you’ll find that tricks like these can’t be played, and you go unpunished. However, I’ll tell you what, Dame, we don’t want to be hard upon you, and if you help in any way to find the young master, depend on it the Squire will be liberal to you, and you’ll be a richer woman than you have been for many a day.’

“She made no answer, but sat smoking a pipe they had given her over the fire, for a long time; she smoked and smoked away. At last, says she, ‘I want to speak to that strange gentleman. He can see better with half an eye than all you people can with two; and I have a respect for him.’

“When Mr Woodcock went to her, says she —

“‘I may put you in the way of finding the young Squire, but send at once; there’s no time to be lost. Look out an honest man, if you can find such. It won’t do to be sending a beak, remember that. Send a lad with him; he may want somebody to help him.’

“Mr Woodcock at once thought of me, as he knows that no one loves the young Squire better; and so he sent for me, and told the old dame that I was the man he would send, and that he was sure you, Master Haviland, would wish to go also. She seemed well satisfied at this, and then went on to tell me what to do.

“‘A mile to the west of Osberton, in Luccombe Cove, there’s a fisherman’s cottage, close down to the beach,’ said she; ‘there’s no other near. You’ll find an old man there. Ask for Jem the Spotsman. Say that I sent you to him. Tell him that if he shows you where the young Squire is you’ll give him five golden guineas. He’ll not do it for less. If he says he knows nothing about the matter, tell him that the beaks will be on him, and that he’d better do as I bid him. If you can get another fearless man to go with you it may be better. Jem will lead you to a strange place, where you’ll meet strange people. Speak them fair; you’ll not do much by force. Tell them that you’ve plenty of friends at your back, who know where you are, and will come and look for you if you don’t soon return to them. I tell you this because I don’t want any more mischief to come out of the matter. Again I say, you mustn’t lose time. It’s just possible that, even now, you may be too late, and that the lad is on his way to far distant lands. That’s no fault of mine, remember. Those who have got him may be thinking of taking him, or they may not. It is not very likely that they will be wishing to send him back after they have shown him their hiding-place, and let him into other of their secrets.’

“I didn’t stop to hear more, but I just got a couple of brace of pistols, and came away at once to overtake you. We might have ridden all the way into Osberton, but Mr Woodcock cautioned me to go in quietly, lest the smugglers or the people, whoever they are, who have got Master Digby, should hear of our coming, and suspecting treachery, should carry him off elsewhere.”

“I am rejoiced to hear what you tell me,” exclaimed Arthur, when John Pratt had finished his account. It is impossible, by the by, to do justice to the quaint and thoroughly provincial way in which he expressed himself; so that Arthur at times could scarcely understand him. “There can be but little doubt, from what you tell me, that he is alive, and that we are in a fair way of recovering him. We must proceed, I see, with caution and courage; and as we may employ another man, I know one who will gladly aid us. He is a friend, too, of Digby’s – Toby Tubb is his name. If we want help, he can help us better than anybody.”

“He may be a friend of Master Digby’s, and I hope he has many friends, but he can’t be a greater, nor one who would give every day he has to live for him,” exclaimed John, with a very natural burst of feeling.

They were walking on all this time rapidly towards Osberton. On arriving there, they first went to Mr Nugent’s house. He had been made aware of what had occurred, and had already consulted with Toby Tubb on the subject. While Arthur took some tea, and rested, he sent off for Toby.

When Toby, who had been thinking the matter over, as he said, arrived, and was told Arthur’s errand, he slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, “I thought it was so. I know the gang; a set of daring ruffians as ever lived. Poor Master Digby; it was hard for him to fall into their power. But we will get him out again as soon as we can, if they haven’t spirited him away.” Toby had come prepared for an expedition. He begged Mr Nugent to lend him a brace of pistols. Arthur and John Pratt were already armed. Adam Hodder had gone back with the horses. Arthur, with his two attendants, therefore, John and Toby, immediately set forth on their undertaking. As Toby Tubb knew every inch of the way, they soon reached the high ground above Luccombe Cove.

“There’s the cottage,” he observed, pointing to a hut low down on the beach. “I know Jem the Spotsman well – a terrible old ruffian he is. Do you, Master Haviland and John Pratt, go in and give him your message. If he refuses to help you, call me, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Arthur, followed by John Pratt, stepped boldly in. The expedition, independent of the object, had peculiar charms for him; there was so much romance and excitement in it. He did not stop to knock, but flung open the door of the hut, and unhesitatingly entered. An old man, in a blue Guernsey frock, sat bending over a drift-wood fire, which spluttered and smoked as he kept piling on the yet damp chips. He looked round at the noise, and, seeing strangers, rose with considerable activity to his feet. He scowled at them beneath his white shaggy eyebrows.

Arthur had begged that he might be the spokesman; he felt fully up to the emergency. At an early age, indeed, he had learned much to rely on himself. “Jem the Spotsman, I have a message for you,” he began.

“Who told you that was my name?” asked the old man, with a growl.

“Never mind, if it is your name,” said Arthur. “We’ve come to do you good, and show you how to gain five golden guineas.”

“Time was when I could gain fifty without much trouble,” interrupted the old man.

“You cannot now, though; and five guineas is a good sum,” observed Arthur. “You’ll get that, but not more. Dame Marlow bids me tell you that the beaks will be on you; that you know where the young Squire of Bloxholme is hid away, and that if you would keep your neck out of a noose, you will show us where he is to be found.”

The old man sat down and began to rake the ashes of the fire with a stick. He did not ask his visitors to take seats, though, but he kept watching them warily out of the corners of his eyes. “Five golden guineas, five golden guineas,” he kept muttering. “Who are you who make the promise?”

“A friend of Mr Heathcote’s,” answered Arthur. “It will be faithfully kept with you, depend on that.”

“Who’s that man with you?”

Arthur told him.

“Ay, he looks as if he had the hay-seed in his hair,” observed old Jem. “I’d rather trust a seaman.”

“If I bring a seaman, one, perhaps, whom you know, will you trust him?” asked Arthur.