Deadham Hard | Page 5

the
fellow must be a most confounded blackguard, up to the eyes in all
manner of ungodly traffic. By rights we ought to have kicked him out
years ago. But," his lordship chuckled--"I scruple to be hard on any
man. We're none of us perfect, live and let live, you know. Only my
dear fellow, I'm bound to put you on your guard; for he'll stick to the
place like a leech and blood-suck you like a leech too, as long as there's
a chance of getting an extra guinea out of you by fair means or foul."
To which process of blood-sucking Mr. Verity was, in fact, rather
scandalously subjected before Tandy's Castle passed into his possession.
But pass into his possession it finally did, whereupon he fell joyously
to the work of reconstructive redemption.
First of all he ordered the entrance of the underground passage, leading
to the river foreshore, to be securely walled up; and, with a fine
disregard of possible unhealthy consequences in the shape of
choke-damp, the doorways of certain ill-reputed vaults and cellars to be

filled with solid masonry. Neither harborage of contraband, cruel
laughter of man, or yell of tortured beast, should again defile the
under-world of Tandy's!--Next he had the roof of the main building
raised, and given a less mean and meagre angle. He added a wing on
the left containing pleasant bed-chambers upstairs, and good offices
below; and, as crowning act of redemption, caused three large
ground-floor rooms, backed by a wide corridor, to be built on the right
in which to house his library and collections. This lateral extension of
the house, constructed according to his own plans, was, like its designer,
somewhat eccentric in character. The three rooms were semicircular, all
window on the southern garden front, veritable sun-traps, with a low
sloped roofing of grey-green slate to them, set fan-wise.
Such was the house at Deadham Hard when Mr. Verity's labours were
completed. And such did it remain until a good eighty years later, when
it was visited by a youthful namesake and great-great nephew, under
circumstances not altogether unworthy of record.

CHAPTER II
ENTER A YOUNG SCHOLAR AND GENTLEMAN OF A HAPPY
DISPOSITION AND GOOD PROSPECTS
The four-twenty down train rumbled into Marychurch station, and Tom
Verity stepped out of a rather frousty first-class carriage on to the
platform. There hot still September sunshine, tempered by a freshness
off the sea, met him. The effect was pleasurable, adding delicate zest to
the enjoyment of living which already possessed him. Coming from
inland, the near neighbourhood of the sea, the sea with its eternal
invitation, stirred his blood.
For was not he about to accept the said invitation in its fullest and most
practical expression? Witness the fact that, earlier in the day, he had
deposited his heavy baggage at that house of many partings, many
meetings, Radley's Hotel, Southampton; and journeyed on to
Marychurch with a solitary, eminently virgin, cowhide portmanteau,

upon the yellow-brown surface of which the words--"Thomas Clarkson
Verity, passenger Bombay, first cabin R.M.S. _Penang_"--were
inscribed in the whitest of lettering. His name stood high in the list of
successful candidates at the last Indian Civil Service examination. Now
he reaped the reward of past endeavour. For with that deposition of
heavy baggage at Radley's the last farewell to years of tutelage seemed
to him to be spoken. Nursery discipline, the restraints and
prohibitions--in their respective degrees--of preparatory school, of
Harchester, of Oxford; and, above all and through all, the control and
admonitions of his father, the Archdeacon, fell away from him into the
limbo of things done with, outworn and outpaced.
This moved him as pathetic, yet as satisfactory also, since it set him
free to fix his mind, without lurking suspicion of indecorum, upon the
large promise of the future. He could give rein to his eagerness, to his
high sense of expectation, while remaining innocent of impiety towards
persons and places holding, until now, first claim on his obedience and
affection. All this fell in admirably with his natural bent. Self-reliant,
agreeably egotistical, convinced of the excellence of his social and
mental equipment, Tom was saved from excess of conceit by a lively
desire to please, an even more lively sense of humour, and an
intelligence to which at this period nothing came amiss in the way of
new impressions or experiences.
And, from henceforth, he was his own master, his thoughts, actions,
purposes, belonging to himself and to himself alone. Really the position
was a little intoxicating! Realizing it, as he sat in the somewhat stuffy
first-class carriage, on that brief hour's journey from Southampton to
Marychurch, he had laughed out loud, hunching up his shoulders
saucily, in a sudden outburst of irrepressible and boyish glee.
But as the line, clearing