Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and IIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction
There was no carriage-way through the wood up to the house, and for
about a quarter of a mile there did not appear even a cart-road; but
there was an excellent, well-beaten footpath, wide enough for a horse
or two abreast, which led out into the way made for the wood-carts,
and thence to a small by-road, by which the fishermen sent up their
fish to the county town. Those were not days when everything on earth
went to London.
The house itself was neat, the garden kept in beautiful order, and, in
a warm situation upon a genial coast, was prolific of every kind of
flower that had been at that time introduced into England; but
although these were signs of a landsman's tastes, there were not
wanting indications of nautical habits and associations. There was a
tall pole, with a vane at the top, carried sufficiently high above the
neighbouring trees to indicate truly what wind was blowing at the
time. A difficulty having been found in carrying this pole up to the
proper height in one piece, it had been managed as a mast, with a step
and sort of topmast; and, to make the whole sure, various stays and
braces had been carried down and made fast to the roof of the house;
so that, seen over the tops of the trees, it appeared exactly like the
mast of a ship rising out of the wood. In the garden was seen a little
summer-house, formed from a large boat sawn in two; and at the other
end of the house, opposite to the mast, was raised a flagstaff, with a
block and pulley, for running up and down a flag upon occasion.
As far as description goes, this will be enough; and we will now
immediately proceed to the dwellers in that house, and those with whom
they were in communication about six-and-thirty hours previously to
the period at which we last left Charles Tyrrell.
The evening sunshine was at that time bright over the world; but it
reached not the house or the gardens around it, the trees throwing
them at that period into shadow. The door, however, was open, and
leaning against one of the doorposts was a stout, elderly man, strong
in limb, rather bulky in size, and with a form apparently better
adapted for the exertion of slow but vigorous efforts, than for
anything like grace or activity. His features were good, though
somewhat heavy; except, indeed, the eyes, which were keen and even
sharp in expression. His complexion was of that dark brown hue which
is generally called weather-beaten, and his hair was gray and rather
short, except, indeed, behind, where it was gathered into an
enormously long, thin queue, as was not uncommon among seamen at that
time. This queue was bound tightly up with black riband, and in
colour, form, and length resembled very much a lady's riding-whip of
the present day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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