King of the Castle

“How’s that?”

“Ah, well, I don’t care who knows it now, sir. Mebbe if she heard how it’s talked about, and the man’s disappointment, she may get better, and alter her mind.”

“She? The lady?”

“Yes, sir; the lady, as I may say I’d engaged myself to; but she’s took bad and strange, and I suppose it’s all off.”

“Ah, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said the stranger, looking amused, and as if he thought the man he addressed was a little wanting in brains.

“Thank you, sir, kindly. Lodgings? – no. You see this isn’t a seaside place.”

“Then what do you call it?” said the stranger.

“Call it, sir? Well, we calls it Danmouth, or, mostly, Dan’orth, because you see it’s shorter, and more like one word.”

“Oh, yes, I know the name; but what do you call it if it isn’t a seaside place?”

“I calls it a port, sir, and as good a little port as there is anywheres about this coast. Dinton and Bartoe and Minxton’s seaside places, with lots of visitors and bathing machines, and bands and Punch and Judies. Lodgings, eh? Let me see. Lodgings for a gentleman? What do you say to the Harbour Inn? They’ve got as good a drop of beer there as a man could wish to drink.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be at a public house. I’m here for a fortnight’s fishing, and I want nice, comfortable apartments.”

“And you want comfortable apartments?” said Brime respectfully, as he rubbed his sunburned face with the stem of his pipe. “Fishing, eh? You mean pottering about with a rod and line; not going with a boat and nets?”

“Quite right.”

“I’ve got it,” said the gardener. “Mrs Sarson; she lets lodgings. Stop a moment. I’ll take you on to the museum.”

“Museum! Hang it all, man, I’m not a specimen.”

Brime laughed for the first time for a month.

“No, sir, you don’t look as if you was stuffed. I was going to take you to our barber’s. He knows everything; and he’ll tell us whether Mrs Sarson can take you in.”

“Is it far – the museum?”

“Only yonder. Just where you see that man looking out of the door.”

“Ah, yes,” said the stranger sharply. “Yours seems a busy place.”

“Tidy, sir, tidy.”

“Whose castle’s that?”

“Mr Gartram’s, sir. Leastwise it was. He’s gone.”

“Oh! Dead?”

“Yes, sir. The hardest and the best master as ever was. Some on us’ll miss him, I expect.”

“Curious kind of master, my lad, and likely to be missed. Gartram? Oh, yes, I know; the stone quarry man. Mr Trevithick, in our town, has to do with his affairs.”

“If you talked all night, sir, you couldn’t say a truer word than that. Mr Trevithick, sir, very big man, lawyer.”

“Yes; they call him Jumbo our way.”

Kck!

Brime burst out into a monosyllabic half laugh, and then stopped short as Wimble was drawing back into his den to let them pass.

“Here, Mr Wimble, sir, this gent wants to ask something about Mrs Sarson.”

“Eh! Yes!” said the barber sharply; and the suspicious look which had been gathering of late in his face grew more intense. “Step in, sir, pray,” he added eagerly.

“Oh, that’s not worth while now,” said the stranger, passing his hand over his chin. “Give you a look in to-morrow. My friend here thought you could tell me about Mrs Sarson’s lodgings.”

“Yes,” said Brime; “and – of course, this gent wants to go fishing, and Mr Lisle’s always fishing.”

“Mr Lisle?” said the stranger. “Christopher Lisle?”

“That’s the man, sir,” said the barber sharply. “You know anything about him, sir?”

“Only that he has a good heavy account with our bank.”

Wimble looked sharply at the stranger, with his head on one side, and more than one eager question upon his lips. But the new-comer felt that he had made a slip by talking too freely, and prevented him by asking a question himself.

“Do you think Mrs Sarson could accommodate me?”

“No, sir,” said Wimble, looking at him searchingly. “No: she has no room, I am sure. Take the gentleman up to Mrs Lampton’s at the top of the cliff road. I daresay she could accommodate him.”

“Why, of course,” said Brime; “the very place. I never thought of that.”

“No, Mr Brime,” said Wimble patronisingly, as he looked longingly at the visitor with cross-examination in his breast. “Say I recommended the gentleman.”

“All right. Come along, sir, I’ll show you; and if you want a few worms for fishing, I’m your man.”

“Worms?” said the visitor, laughing. “I always use flies.”

“Most gents do, sir. Mr Chris Lisle does. But the way to get hold of a good fish in a river is with a whacking great worm.”

“Do you know Mr Lisle?”

“Know him? Poor young man, yes.”

“Poor? I don’t call a gentleman who lately came in for a big fortune poor.”

“Big fortune, sir? Mr Chris Lisle come in for a big fortune, sir? Hurrah! Our young lady will be glad.”

The visitor was ready to pull himself up again sharp, for this was another mistake.