The Man with a Shadow

by George Manville Fenn

The doctor was not well pleased, for the society of his cousin bored him just at a time when his mind was full of great ideas which he was anxious to carry out; but he submitted with as good a grace as he could assume, and at the funeral they sat side by side in one of the carriages, and then occupied the same position in a pew. And while the Reverend Maurice May spoke with tears in his throat of the departed brother, the doctor thought of science, and his cousin of money, and of the brother who had not departed.

Mrs Berens uttered a loud, hysterical sob once during the service, for she had gone so far as to hope at one time that she might become the mistress at the Hall.

This sob came from one part of the church, while a second sob came from the Rectory pew, where Leo sat—another who had once thought it possible that she might become the lady of the Hall through the deceased; and, as she sat there, she recalled certain love passages which had taken place between them, prior to Luke Candlish displaying a greater fondness for a love of a more spirituous character, when his brother stepped into his place, and the fierce quarrels which had been common nearly ceased.

There were spectators in all parts of the church, Dally Watlock being the best placed, and out of sight of the congregation. She sat aloft, with her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands, watching two people—Leo Salis and Sir Thomas Candlish.

The girl’s eyes flashed, and displayed her nervous excitement, as, with her head perfectly motionless, she watched, with her gaze now in one pew, now in the other, ready to trap the first glance. For to her it was no solemn scene, only a worldly battle, in which she had made up her little mind to come out victor.

The service proceeded, and Tom Candlish half sat, half knelt in his rarely occupied place, close to the grotesque effigy of his ancestors. He did not kneel, for he had an antipathy to making the knees of his new black trousers dusty; but his mien was quite contrary to established custom. When he did attend Duke’s Hampton church, he spent as much as possible of his time standing, with his hands resting over the side of the pew, staring at every woman in the place. Now, to Dally’s great satisfaction, he did not once look about him, but kept his chin upon his breast—his way of displaying his grief.

Leo, in her place in the Rectory pew, was as careful of mien, and an ordinary watcher would have been content. But Dally Watlock was not an ordinary watcher, and she had settled in her own mind that Tom Candlish and Leo would, sooner or later, look at one another, if only for a moment, and it was to catch that glance she waited.

Dally was right, and the glance was so keen and quick that she was the only one who noticed it. But there it was, sure enough, just at the moment when the rector stepped down from the reading-desk, and there was a shuffling noise in the centre aisle, where the undertaker’s men were busy. One quick interchange at one moment, as if those two instinctively knew that the time had come, and Dally Watlock drew a long breath between her set teeth, while her little eyes glittered, and again seemed to flash.

Then the church slowly emptied, the churchyard filled, and the people formed a half-circle about the mausoleum, whose railing-gates stood open, and whose door at the foot of the stone steps gaped, while a faint glare came from within, to shine upon an end of the coffin, as the sun shone upon the other.

The Reverend Maurice May’s pathetic voice rose and sank through the rest of the service to the time when the coffin was borne down the steps, and there rested once more; and his words sounded even more tearful still as he finished, closed the book, and with bent head took four steps into the vestry, and sat down and sighed, before removing his gown, bowing to his curate as if too much overcome to speak, and returning to his carriage, to follow the others to the Hall.