The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-09-25 00:00:00

JAMES STATMAN

He was the mildest-minnererl man
That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.
—BYRO!st.
THERE was something odd about the new inhabitants
of the Rookery that puzzled those who came in contact
with them not a little. The simple Warwickshire
folks round about them called them foreigners, and
the dsrk complexion of the man, and the little
gold rings he wore in his ears seemed to warrant such
a suspicion. But such was not the case. James
Statmen—for so the man had given his name to Miss
Atherstone's man of business—was English to the
backbone, born within the sound of Bow Bells, of
cockney parents, and the lad he had with him was as
true a City arab as ever throve in a London gutter.
They made baskets—at least the elder of the two did—
deftly and neatly, and hawked them about; but he
did other things as well. It seemed to the country
folk that he could do everything; and a report was rife
that M. Statman, being wanted one day by a neigh-
bour, was found squatting on a table putting a patch
on a pair of inexpressibles as handily as any tailor.
Certainly the two required no woman's aid about their
one-roomed establishment. Everything was done in
a methodical, neat-handed fashion, which showed they
had been used to wait on themselves; and in the
clay-floored room every superfluous article was stowed
away in a manner suggestive of the master of the
establishment having been either a soldier or a
sailor, and accustomed to very little room for himself
and his belongings.
Indeed, the people round about called him a sailor,
though he never let fall a hint that that had been his
profession; nor was the boy any more communicative.
They were a strangely reserved pair, but they were
inoffensive, and were let alone. They had been at the
Rookery but a few weeks when Beryl paid them her
first visit, for James Statman had been confined to the
house with a sprained ankle part of the time, which
accounted for the heiress not having seen them. The
boy had been to Leamington and Warwick to dispose
of their wares, and had been strangely curious in the
former place about the residence of Mr. Carson,
having gone a good way out of his road to inspect
both the office and the dwelling house of the old
lawyer.
"I got a sight of the old bloke," he said to his
uncle, when he returned (uncle and nephew the pair
were supposed to be) "and I heard something, too.
The young un's all right, and he's coming home."
" Ah, then, we shall be of use," said Mr. Statman,
shortly. "It's a-coming round."
They were neither of them surprised to see Beryl.
They knew of her habit of going hither and thither on
her estate, and they fully expected that some bright
day would bring her to the wood and past their
door.
Noel saw Beryl's pale face, and, after a few common-
place words to the man and the boy, and a gift to the
latter—for the young mistress of the Grange never
went among her subjects empty-handed—they took
their leave.
"You are over-tired, dear," the young man
said, as they rode away. "But that the Rookery
doesn't seem toiboast as much as a chair, I should
have made you sit down and rest."
"It didn't look very inviting, certainly," she replied,
struggling to regain her composure, for she was much
agitated by something, Noel could not guess what.
"But I'm cold, I think. The day seems suddenly to
have grown chilly."
The day was the same— the chill was in her own
heart, which seemed to lie like lead in her bosom.
The opening of a door had shown her something which
chilled and terrified her—what, she alone knew. She
did her best to be lively during the ride home—to
laugh and jest as usual; but the laugh was hollow and
the jests were forced. Noel was preoccupied himself,
or he would have seen the restless look in the bright
eyes, the quiver on the pale lips, which would not re-
gain their colour, bite them as she would.
"What are you thinking of, Noel ?" she asked, giving
him a light tap on the arm with her whip. "You
look as though you were trying to see into the
future."
"Perhaps I was. Do you believe in presentiment,
Beryl?"
"In what ?"
" Presentiment—a sense of coming evil and dark-
ness 2"
"Well, yes. I suppose everyone does to some ex-
tent, though they deny it. Why ?"
"Because I have the feeling on me now."
"What has given it to you ?"
"I don't know—that boy's fece, I think. I have
seen it. before somewhere. I can't tell where."
Beryl made no answer, and he went on.
"It's a good face enough. leant imagine why I
should associate it with anything —evil. It puzzles me.
that is all. Ah, I have it I" he exclaimed, a sudden
light breaking in upon his mind. "I know where I
saw him."
"Where ?"
"On board the Psyche, when I came to Southampton
to meet you."
Beryl laughed a short, unmirthful little laugh, and
dragged at the button of her riding glove.
"Nonsense, Noel; you must be mistaken. What
could a basket-maker be doing on board the Psyche 2"
"lie's not a basket maker; it is only the man who
makes them, I believe, and he's a sailor—it shows
itself in everything about him, in every word he
utters. Dear Beryl, don't look so white. What is the
matter ?"
"Nothing, nothing," she replied. "I am only cold.
Are you sure you saw the boy there ?"
"Quito. I remember him staring at you with his
eyes wide open, and thinking what a rude young cub
he was for gazing in that way. Don't shiver so,
darling. Let's get into a canter o,nd warm ourselves.
I was a brute to mention the Psyche to you at all. I
see you have not yet got over the recollection of that
miserable time."
"No, I haven't, Noel, and I think I never shall.
The memory of it was enough to last through life.
Ah ! you can never tell what I suffered—what I.
suffer still when I think of it. Poor Ursula's face
haunts me yet—will haunt me till I die."
"My darling Beryl, I had no idea-- "
"No. nor anyone else," she said, passionately. "I
have striven to hide it—striven to be gay and happy,
but sometimes I feel rather than have the memory of
that death-ted before me, I would give all up and be
the poor struggling actr ss once more."
"Let us talk of something else, dear," the young
man said, with a grieved look upon his face, "and we
must all see if we cannot do something to exorcise
this demon of memory. lam afraid the coming of
that dear old lady has done you no good."
He was grieved to find how much Beryl still brooded
over the unhappy events of her voyage, and made up
his mind to speak to his mother about it; but she had
regained her spirits before they reached home, and
laughed at herself, and made him promise to keep
what she called her stupidity a secret.
James Statman had not seemed to stare at Miss
Atherstone particularly—indeed, he had behaved with
the utmost respect and decorum during her brief
• visit; but he had watched her furtively from under-
neath his shaggy eyebrows, -and marked the strange
change which had come over her face as she looked
at the lad.
"The young 'un wasn't selling me after all," he said
to himself. "She knows him sure enough."
"Do you believe me now ?" asked Master Jack
Blogg, for it was he and no other who had come to
the Grange estate with James Statman.
"Ay, my lad, I think I do."
"And you understand it ?"
"As you tell it to me—yes. If it's true, and you
are in no ways mistaken, our fortune's as good as
made. You came to the right shop with that yarn of
your'n when you came to James Statman."
"It is true. I tell you I knew Miss Atherstone
Melbourne as well as I know your grizzly old mug;
and I knew Miss Rhodes, her as died on board ship,
too. I'm off after her now."
What for r
7To get the first instalment of our fortune out of
her," replied the boy, with a -laugh. She'ii give it to
me, and we'll-have a jolly supper."
He went out, banging the rude door till the crazy
tenement shook, and starteel oci by a crcespath to
waylay Beryl on her road home. Noel saw him first,
perched on a stone te, the reedside, and saw, too, the
sick change that came over his cousin's face at the
sight of him. He was evidently waiting for en op.
portunity to speak, so he accosted him.
"Now, then, what do you want?" he asked.
"To speak to the lady, sir," the lad answered.
"Well, then, speak away."
"By herself, if you please, sir."
"Nonsense. Miss Atherstone Can't give private
audiences to everyone who comes bothering her. If
you have anything to ask her, speak out; if not, be
" I don't think Miss Atherstone would like it, sir.
If she says speak out. I will. It's about Miss Rhodes,
miss—her as died on board the Psyche—that I want
to say something. I knew her very well in Australia,
and aboard ship, tco. Maybe you don't remember
me. I was only a cabin boy, miss."
He had come quite close up to Beeyl's horse., and
spoke without the slightest fear or shyness, as though
quite sure of an interview. Noel was puzzled, and
not a little annoyed. Beryl did not speak for a
moment, and he turned angrily to the boy.
"Say what you have to say and be off," he said.
"low dare you speak to Miss Atherstone on such a
subject ?"
The boy looked up fearlessly enough, and an-
swered boldly, but without any impudence in his
tone:
"I do dare, as you see. sir; and it would, maybe,
be better if the lady would come where I could speak
to her for a minute. If she does not, maybe I shall
talk when she wont like it so well."
"Oh, yes, yes !" Beryl said, hastily. "I will come.
It is something about the Psyche and poor Ursula, he
says. Let me go, Noel. I must speak to him"
"Must. darling?'

is Yee

"Why 'must,' Beryl, dear? Are you afraid or
him?"

"Oh, no; but don't stop me. I'll be back directly;
I'll only ride on a little way and hear what he has to
say."
"There's no call for the lady to be afraid, sir,"
said the boy. "Three minutes will serve me for all I've
got to say. But I don't think you'd better hinder
her."

Noel made no further remark, but reigned in his
horse, and let his cousin ride on, with the boy walk-
ing by her side. He could not understand the mystery
that seemed to be springing up around her. Who
was this boy, and what was her connection with
him? Was there some shameful secret in her life of
which this low born, lad was cognisant? He dismissed
the idea as soon as it was formed—thczre could he
nothing shameful in anything connected with his pure-
minded Beryl.
"Upon her brow shame is ashamed to sit,"
he quoted to himself as he looked at her, for she was
not out of sight, only out of earshot. The conversation
did not seem very agitating. Beryl was bending down
from her saddle, speaking earnestly to the boy, who
was looking up at her, with his hand on the horse's
bridle. Still she had seemed frightened and worried,
and she should not be worried by such people as
these. She might keep what secret she chose, but
this man and boy must go. They must be turned
out of the Rookery somehow, even if they had to be
pensioned off to make them go somewhere else. While
he sat on his horse thinking of all this, he saw the
boy touch his cap respectfully and go. The colloquy
had not exceeded the promised five minutes, and
-when he had leaped nimbly through a gap in the hedge
and disappeared, he saw Beryl drop her bridle, and,
bending her head upon her hands, burst into
passionate weeping. In a moment he was by her
side.

"What is it, my darling ?" he asked. " Has the,
young ruffian been frightening you? What has he
been saying to you ?"
Beryl roused herself at the sound of his voice.
"Nothing," she said, struggling for calmness.
"He wasn't in the least rude. He only talked about
poor Ursula and Mrs. Dalton. He knew them both
very well, and he knew me, too, out yonder. Of
course everybody knew me—an actress's face is
common property—and his talk set me thinking, that
is all."

"I wish he had been at the deuce before you saw
him or spoke to him, dear," said Noel, as the lips
quivered again, and big tears filled the lustrous eyes.
"The young brute; to come and worry you like
that."
"He wasn't to blame, Noel. It is always before
me! I would give all my fortune to have the past
back again—to be the girl I was before this great
change befel me."
"Would you give me up, Beryl ?"
"No, no ! ' she replied, passionately. "I could not.
You do love me, Noel, do you not?"
Did he not? Was not his love making him blind,
deaf, dead to everything but the knowledge of his
own enthralment and her own witching beauty?
What he answered to her question let those in love
answer. He soothed away her tears, and told her
how his life was hers alone, and made her look at him
with answering smiles till she seemed herself once
more.

_
"You will always love me Noel ?"
"While my life lasts, my darling?"
"And always trust me?'
"Where there is love there is faith," he slid,
quoting from an old-fashioned seal he sometimes
used. 'The one cannot exist without the other, my
darling."
"If all the world turns on me, and scorns and reviles
me, you will love me then?"
"My dear Beryl, don't you imagino hideous im-
possibilities. Nothing could change my love. 'fry
and believe that. You are nervous and frightened
still."

"No, lam not. Act long as you love me fear won't
come near me. Ah, Noel, how all the girls in the
county must envy me your love."
"I am very much afraid all the girls in the county,
and everyone else, will scorn me as the poor man who
courted an heiress for her money. They will not un-
derstand that my love would have been jtlst the same
if there had been no filthy lucre in the business.
They will misjudge me, my darling."
"That they will. Promise me one thing, Noel, before
we go home."
"A hundred things, if you like."
"No. only one."

" What is it ?"
"Promise me never to talk about my past life to
me or anyone else. My past experiences were not so
pleasant that I care to rake them up; and some of
them, as you know, were very painful."
"My darling, they shan't be talked about."
"I want them to be as though they had never been,"
she said, passionately. "Let all my old experiences
of life die with the hours that fly past. I'd blot them
out altogether if I could."
"We'll do our best to forget them, dear," he said,
lifting the hand she had laid on his to his lips. "And
now we must make haste home; you'll barely have
time to get in by dinner time if we don't hurry."
"Oh, we on srallop from ban,' .rieht np to Lk.
Grange," Beryl said. The north lodge is sure to be
open. The sound of hoofs on the road always seems
to act on the old man there like a trumpet on a war-
horse, and he flings the gate open in time to prevent
anyone's pulling up."
They started off at a good pace, and the road led
them within sight of the Rookery once more. James
Statman and the boy were at the door, looking out,
and the former chinked some money he held in his
hand, as he looked after her.
"You're a pretty young lady, and a sweet-spoken,
nice young lady, Miss Beryl Atherstone," he said,
"and you make a bonny mistress of the Grange; but
for all that you're my mach cow, my bank that I can
draw on at sight, and you'd better honour my notes of
hand, ma'am,'or put on the screw, and then where
will you be, I wonder? Under my heel, ma'am, and
Jem Statman's heel treads heavy when it comes
down."