by John Trevena
CHAPTER XVI
GEORGE TAKES CONTROL
Miss Yard shuffled contentedly downstairs, nicely dressed for herevening meal, which usually consisted of thin soup, a milk pudding, andboiling water; peeped into the parlour, drew a deep breath and peepedagain, uttered a few exclamations, then shuffled back to the stairs,called Nellie, and announced:
"There's a great big man in the house!"
"It's only old George," whispered the irreverent girl.
"I don't know anybody of that name; but there used to be several KingGeorges, and they were followed by William, and then came our dear goodVictoria, who was taken in the prime of life just when she seemed tohave settled down, and after that I don't remember anything," said MissYard.
"George is the name of our present King--and of about ninety per cent,of his loyal subjects," said Nellie.
"What's he doing here? This isn't Windsor Castle," stammered Miss Yard."Has he called for a subscription? Gentlemen who come here always wantsubscriptions. Does he want to hide? I do hope there's not a revolution.Go and show him into a cupboard, Nellie, and tell him how loyal we are."
"My dear lady," laughed Nellie, "you are clean muddled, confoozled, andastern of the times. This gentleman is your much respected relative,George Drake."
"Why couldn't you say so at once, without talking a lot of wickedrubbish about a revolution and the Royal Family hiding on Dartmoor?"demanded Miss Yard snappishly.
"Of all the injustice!" sighed Nellie; but the old lady had left her.Toddling at full speed into the parlour, she embraced George, and saidhow well she remembered him, though twenty years had passed since theyhad met. "I knew you at once, directly I looked into the room Irecognised your stooping shoulders and your bald head," she added,looking at a portrait on the wall and describing that accurately.
"Nellie couldn't make you out at all," she continued, "but then she wasa baby when you went away. Nellie, dear, where are you? Come and bekissed by your uncle. I told you he would come back some day."
"The soup is on the table," cried Nellie as she fled.
The mind of Miss Yard roamed in a free and happy state about thenineteenth century, enabling her, during the progress of a meal, to passthrough a number of different periods. While taking her soup and sippingher boiling water, she informed the others that the first railway hadrecently been constructed, and it ran between Highfield and Drivelford,and for her part she was very glad of it, as she thought it was quitetime the coaches were done away with, and she fully intended travellingby the railway if Mr. Stephenson would let her.
"Whoever is Stephenson?" inquired George, who ought to have knownbetter.
"It's wonderful what things she does remember," replied Nellie. "Shewould forget me if I left her tomorrow; yet she can remember the man whoinvented railways."
"I think you had better go tomorrow," said George, taking the cue.
"Yes, I should like to be one of the first," Miss Yard admitted.
"Why have you put that idea into her head? It may stick, and then she'lldrive me crazy," scolded Nellie; it being perfectly safe to speak openlybefore the old lady.
"Send her off with Kezia at once," urged George.
"I must go with her."
"Then take Kezia too. If she stays she will split to Bessie. Even if shetries her hardest not to, she won't be able to help herself. You can'tkeep anything a secret for long in a place like this. You clear off, andI'll go into lodgings--and read more novels."
"Won't that look queer?"
"It would if Kezia stayed: it won't if she goes. I can't put up herewith nobody to look after me."
"And you will undertake to move the furniture?"
"I will," he promised.
"Very well," she murmured after a pause. "We can't possibly get awaytomorrow, as it will take me a day to pack; but we will go the dayafter."
"Oh, well, it's no good bothering now," said Miss Yard in a voice ofbitter resignation, pushing back her plate and kicking at her footstool."They've started without us."
George occupied his old bedroom, positively for the last time, and inthe morning went out to wrestle with his difficulties. His reception bythe villagers was colder than ever because, during his absence, theDismal Gibcat had made a speech directed mainly against the man who haddared to interfere with local progress. The Dismal Gibcat preferred tobe in a minority of one, but such was his gift of eloquence that asingle speech sometimes swung the majority over to his side; which wasan embarrassing position only to be escaped from by repudiating hisformer opinions. This speech had done its work, as George was presentlyto discover when the Dumpy Philosopher and the Wallower in Wealthapproached him with questions concerning the Dartmoor Railway Company.
"That scheme is done for. It was one of my uncle's bubbles, but I havepricked it," he replied, groping his way back to popularity.
"Us wur told a lot of American gentlemen wanted to build the railway wi'something they called a syndicate," said the Wallower in Wealth.
"I told 'em the country is hardly flat enough," said George.
"It wur flat enough vor Captain Drake, and it wur flat enough vor youwhen you fetched that millionaire down along to look at it," said theDumpy Philosopher.
"That's all a mistake. Mr. Jenkins came here to buy a pair of vases,"said George, speaking the truth with disastrous results; for the twoelders were not quite such fools as to believe a gentleman would travelfrom London to Highfield for the sake of purchasing a shilling's worthof crockery.
"They'm out o' cloam in London, I fancy," remarked the Wallower inWealth.
"And in America," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
"Mr. Jenkins is a collector of vases," explained George.
"He never come to look at mine. There's a proper lot o' cloam inHighfield, and he didn't crave to see it. Us ha' heard he come to buildthe railway, and you stopped him from adoing it."
"Well, perhaps I did," replied George, trying to score a point by lying."I know you are all against the scheme."
"Us wur agin it very strong, because it had never been properlyexplained," said the Wallower in Wealth. "Us hadn't been told they meantto put a terminus in Highfield. I ha' been to terminuses. 'Tis placeswhere trains start from."
"And where 'em pulls up," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
"Where they starts from and where they pulls up again. It don't make nodifference. I ha' started from terminuses, and I ha' stopped in 'em, soI knows what I'm telling about. A terminus brings a lot of money into aplace. When they makes a terminus a town is soon built all round it.There's one or two in Highfield who ha' seen Waterloo, and that's aterminus. And they ses 'tis wonderful what a big town ha' been built allround it. A hundred years ago it wur just a ploughed field, where thattremenjus big battle was fought what made us all free volk vor ever; andnow 'tis all terminus as far as you can see. That American gentlemancome here wi' his syndicate...."
"'Tis something vor levelling the ground, I fancy," said the DumpyPhilosopher, when his colleague paused.
"He would ha' levelled the ground as flat as your hand, and made theterminus; and we would ha' sold our land vor what us like to ask. Nowyou've ruined us, sir. You ha' stopped the terminus--and you stole mymusical box," said the Wallower in Wealth, combining his grievances inone brief indictment.
"You're talking like a child. How can I steal my own property?" criedGeorge angrily.
"Mrs. Drake left all your furniture to Kezia," shouted the Wallower inWealth.
"And the rest of it to Bessie," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
"They ha' got paper to prove it, Robert ses."
"Why did you offer me money for the musical box, then?" asked George.
"To try your honesty," replied the Wallower in Wealth. "And you warn'thonest. You wouldn't take my money because it warn't big enough. Thenyou go and steal the musical box, wi' a lot of other things, fromKezia."
"And from Bessie Mudge," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
"And if you don't get sent to prison--"
"It won't be for the same reason that you aren't put away in a lunaticasylum," George finished; wondering, as he went on to engage a lodging,how it was his uncle had succeeded in ruling this community ofwranglers.
A devout widow let religious rooms opposite the churchyard: they werereligious because tables were piled with theological tomes, and wallswere covered by black and white memorial cards, comforting texts, anddiscomposing pictures of Biblical tragedies in yellow and scarlet whichhelped to warm the house in chilly weather. Towards this dwelling Georgemade his way, knowing the importance of being respectable, although hecould not help feeling he had done nothing to deserve those pictures.But presently he swung round, and went off in the opposite direction. Anidea had come to him: he remembered the Art Dyers.
That name described a married couple; not a business of giving a newcolour to old garments; but the vocation of bread baking, cake making,and specialising in doughnuts. Arthur Dyer was the stingiest man inHighfield; he gave away no crumbs of any kind; had any one asked a stoneof him, he would have refused it, but would assuredly have put thatstone into his oven and baked it, hoping to see some gold run out. Hewent to church once a week, no entrance fee being demanded, and alwaysput two fingers into the offertory bag, but whether he put anything elsewas doubtful. He was also Robert's employer. Mrs. Dyer had learnt inthe school of her husband until she was able to give him lectures ineconomy; and in times past she had implored George, out of his charity,to drive the wolf from their door by finding her a lodger.
"She will ask a stiff price, and I shall get nothing to eat except breadpuddings," he muttered, "but the game will be worth starvation."
George might also have remarked with poetic melancholy he had lived toreceive his warmest welcome in a lodging house, when Mrs. Dyer had takenhim in, showed him a bed, certain to be well aired as it stood above theoven, and promised to be much more than an ordinary mother in herattentions. The rooms appeared somewhat barren, but the air wasexcellent, being impregnated with an odour of hot fat which was a dinnerin itself, and might very possibly be charged as one.
A slight difficulty arose regarding terms, owing to a sudden increase inthe price of commodities and a shortage of domestic labour. Everythinghad got so dear Mrs. Dyer could not understand how people lived: itseemed almost wicked of them to make the attempt, but then a funeral hadgot to be such a luxury it was perhaps cheaper to struggle on. That waswhat she and her husband were doing from day to day, with everythinggoing up except their income. Luckily they were still able to sell afew doughnuts: people insisted upon them for their tea. The localdoctor spoke highly of them, and most of the babies in the parish werebrought up on their doughnuts, with a little beer occasionally--thedoctor said it helped. After sleeping in that atmosphere Mr. Drake wouldfind one good meal a day--a chop followed by bread-and-butterpudding--would be almost more than he could manage. She did not want tomake a profit, but if he could pay five shillings a day, she thoughtwith careful management she might not lose much.
This matter arranged, George returned to Windward House, where thepackers were as busy as a hen with one chicken. Miss Yard, feeling shemust be doing something, was pinning sheets of newspaper round themummy. Bessie was hindering Kezia from filling all manner of cases withvarious ornaments and photographs, which it was the custom to take awayfor the annual outing, although they were never removed from the boxes.Bessie felt uncomfortable, as it appeared to her Kezia was dismantlingthe place.
"You don't want to take all them pictures," she said at last.
"I'd feel lonely without 'em," explained Kezia.
"You never took 'em last time you went to the seaside. You'm not goingto be away more than two weeks."
"Miss Sophy might fancy to be away a bit longer. I do like to have mylittle bits o' things round me, wherever I be."
"What's the name of the place you'm going to?"
"Miss Nellie will tell ye. 'Tis worry enough vor me to get ready withoutbothering where we'm going," replied the harassed Kezia.
"Miss Sophy ses 'tis Drivelford."
"'Tis something like that, I fancy," admitted Kezia, beginning to breakdown under cross-examination.
"That's where Miss Sophy come from. It ain't seaside."
"A river ain't far off," Kezia muttered.
George had arrived and, hearing these voices, he tramped upstairs tosave the situation.
"They are going to Drivelmouth," he said.
"I fancied Miss Nellie said Drivelford," remarked the futile Kezia.
"I know she did, and that's where Miss Sophy come from. Why does shewant to go back there again?" Bessie inquired warmly.
"You ought to know by this time it's no use attending to what Miss Yardsays. Drivelford is quite a different place from Drivelmouth, whichhappens to be on the sea just where that beautiful river, the Drivel,runs into it. There's a splendid sandy beach--and it's quite a newplace they've just discovered," explained George.
"Seems funny, if 'twas there, they never found it avore," said thesuspicious Bessie.
"It has just become popular. It was a little fishing village, and nowthey are making roads and building houses because doctors havediscovered there's something in the air," George continued.
"That's what Miss Nellie told me. There's an amazing big cemetery, and'tis a wonderful healthy place," said Kezia.
"You see, doctors recommend the place so highly that old people go thereand die. That accounts for the cemetery, which is not really a localaffair, for Drivelmouth is the healthiest place in England," saidGeorge.
"Miss Nellie ses there be a thousand volks, and seven be took, and onegets paralytics," commented Kezia.
"Drivelmouth is a great place for general paralysis. The paralytics arewheeled up and down the front all day. People go there just to seethem," said George recklessly.
"Wish I wur going," Bessie murmured.
"Surely you are not going to take all those things!" George exclaimed,indicating a teaset, dinner service, and a quantity of art pottery.
"That's what I tells her. She don't want all them things away with her,"cried Bessie.
"I don't like leaving them behind--wi' thieves breaking into the houseto steal. I ha' lost enough already," said Kezia plaintively.
This was a fortunate remark, as it disconcerted Bessie and put a stop toquestions, while at the same time it removed her suspicions. It was notsurprising that Kezia should wish to take away as much treasure aspossible. She would have done the same herself. Still, she did not liketo see that dinner service go out of the house. Robert had been about tomove that.
"How long be 'em going away for, Mr. George?" she asked presently, whenKezia had gone to gather up more of her possessions.
"That depends on the weather," came the diplomatic answer.
Packing continued steadily: boxes, crates, and hampers were piled up inthe hall awaiting transport; Kezia had been prevented from leaking; MissYard continually inquired whether the railway was quite finished.
The calm of exhaustion prevailed, when there came a defiant knock uponthe front door, and the bell rang like a fire alarm.
"It must be a telegram," said George gravely.
"I hope nothing has happened to Mr. and Mrs. Taverner," said Nellie.
"Why shouldn't something happen to them?" George muttered.
"What do they say? Is there any hope?" cried Miss Yard.
"We don't know anything yet," replied Nellie.
"The railway has gone wrong. I was afraid it would--they were soventuresome. You were reading about letters coming without wires."
"Telegrams," corrected Nellie, listening to the voices outside.
"Yes, the postmen are very wonderful. You said they were using the stuffwe eat in puddings, tapioca--or was it macaroni?"
"You mean Marconi wireless messages, Aunt," said George.
"I always mean what I say," replied the lady curtly.
In the meantime Kezia and Bessie had advanced together, preparingthemselves to face the police inspector, but
hoping it would be nothingworse than the tax collector. Bessie opened the door, while Kezia sidledbehind her. The next moment they both groaned with horror.
"Is Miss Blisland in?" asked a pert young voice.
"She might be," replied Bessie hoarsely.
"Ask her please if she'll come out and speak to me."
"Oh, my dear, shut the door and bolt it!" Kezia whispered.
This was done, and they presented themselves in the parlour with woefulfaces.
"It's her!" Bessie announced. "She wants to see you. She's standing onour doorstep!"
"Who?" cried Nellie.
"The last of 'em--the one that come yesterday. She didn't tell us hername."
"She's ashamed of it," said Kezia.
"Perhaps Mr. George'll go and send her off," suggested Bessie.
"Who are you talking about?" asked Nellie impatiently.
"The wench from Black Anchor. She ain't no more than a child, but theway her stared on us wur awful."
"Sent a shiver through me--so bold and daring!" Kezia added.
"Miss Teenie, is it?" George muttered. "Sit down, Nellie; I'll go andtalk to her."
"I can do my own business, thanks," said Nellie, going towards the door.
"I'll come with you anyhow," he said.
"You will do nothing of the kind," replied the young lady coldly.
Out she went, while Miss Yard stood trembling on the hearthrug, andBessie listened at the keyhole, and Kezia sniffed beside the window.George was trying to persuade himself that no young woman would ventureto trifle with his noble nature.
"Is it very bad?" asked Miss Yard.
"Yes, miss," replied Bessie. "She's brought her in--she's taken her intothe dining room--she's shut the door. Oh, Miss, they're laughing!"
"I never did think Miss Nellie would go like this," Kezia lamented.
"She was here just now," said Miss Yard simply.
"Yes, miss, but she's gone now--gone to the bad."
"What's it all about?" asked the old lady, appealing to George whoseemed to be the only comforter.
"I am sorry to say Nellie has got into bad company--into the very worstcompany--and we shall have to be very stern with her."
"Yes, indeed we must, or she will lose all her money. I know what thesecompanies are. I get a lot of circulars, and I always tell Nellie she isto burn them," said Miss Yard in sore distress.
"Just listen to 'em talking!" cried Bessie.
"I can't abear much more," Kezia wailed.
The next minute Miss Yard was struggling towards the door, rejectingthe advice of George, pushing aside the arms of Bessie; declaring thatnobody should prevent her from dragging Nellie out of the pit offinancial ruin. She stumbled across the hall, banged at the door of thedining room until it was opened to her; and then came silence, butpresently the old lady's queer voice could be heard distinctly, andafter that her bursts of merry laughter. Miss Yard had fallen into thisvery worst company herself. Kezia and Bessie crept silently toward thekitchen. The whole house was polluted. George searched for flies tokill.
"Oh, I say, what tons of luggage!" cried a childish voice.
"Yes, we are off first thing in the morning," said Nellie; and thenfollowed some whispering, with a few words breaking out here and there:
"Miss Yard wants to be among her old friends again ... a great secret,you know" ... "of course I shan't tell anyone, but Sidney will be" ..."I'm so sorry, but it can't be helped" ... "there's such a thing as thepost" ... "good-bye! I'm so glad you came."
The door shut, George jumped out of the window in time to see the younggirl racing down the lane; then he returned to the house and askedsternly, "What's the meaning of this?"
"Really and truly I don't know," replied Nellie. "But I am at leastsatisfied that Highfield needs a missionary."
"Now you are shuffling. You invited that miserable little creature intomy house, you encouraged her to cross my doorstep, I heard you laughingand talking as if you were enjoying yourself. You actually gave away thesecret about Drivelford. Come outside!" said George, as if he meant tofight.
"I mean you can't believe a word that Highfield says," she explained,following obediently. "That little girl's as good as gold."
"To begin with, who is she?" George demanded, scowling like the DismalGibcat.
"That is more than I can tell you. She told me her name wasChristina--sometimes Chrissie--but those who love her generally call herTeenie."
"What did she want?"
"She invited me to tea at Black Anchor Farm on Sunday. She also promisedto chaperon me."
"The infamous urchin!" groaned George.
"I should have gone," she said steadily.
"Then you must be altogether--absolutely wrong somewhere. Go there totea! Sit opposite that wicked old man, beside that abandoned youth, andpositively touching that shameless child who hasn't got a surname! Afterall that has passed between us, after all your promises to me, afterall that I have done for you--all my kindness and self-sacrifice--youwould drink tea out of their teapot, and let yourself be talked about asone of the young women of Black Anchor!"
"My suspicions are not quite gone. But directly I saw little MissChristina I knew the horrible things we have heard are all lies. She's ayoung lady. She goes to school at Cheltenham."
"That makes it worse. You know old Brock--he's an ordinary labourer.While Sidney is a common young fellow who can't even speak English. Theyare not fit to lick the polish off your shoes."
"But then I don't want the polish licked off my shoes; it's enoughtrouble putting it on. I do not understand the Brocks, and I can'timagine why Miss Teenie wouldn't tell me her whole name. If I could havegone to Black Anchor on Sunday, I might have found out something."
"These Dollies and Teenies, and painted females, are no relations ofsuch common chaps. And I won't have you speaking to any of them."
"Really!" she murmured with great deliberation.
"No, I won't; and they are not to write either--I heard something aboutthe post. Just suppose you had thrown yourself away utterly, suppose youhad lowered yourself so fearfully as to have got engaged to this Sidneyinstead of to a Christian gentleman--how awful it would have been!"
Nellie changed colour and gazed significantly at her left hand, whichwas unadorned by any lover's circlet.
"You would not only have lost me, which would have been bad enough, butI should have lost the furniture, all my dear uncle's preciousantiquities and priceless curios--"
"Which would have been far worse," she added.
"It would have been dreadful. Now I have secured all the furniture toyou--"
"I did that for myself; I got it from Mr. Taverner," she interrupted.
"But I advised Aunt Sophy to make her will. Of course I was thinking ofmyself--we must do that sometimes--but I was quite unselfish in thematter. I knew if the furniture was left to you, it would be the sameas--as--"
"Be careful, or you'll spoil the unselfishness," she broke in gently.
"Things have come to a head now," George continued. "You are going awaytomorrow, and, of course, you will never see these horrible peopleagain. We must do something, Nellie--we must be reckless, as we are bothgetting on in life. This is the third of September, and I do thinkbefore the month is out we ought to--I mean something should be done.Shall we settle on the last day of the month? I have quite made up mymind to live with Aunt Sophy; it will be good for her, and cheap forus."
"This is what the Americans call a proposition," she murmured.
"Then when she dies, there will be the furniture all round us. And Keziacan go on living with us, imagining that the furniture is hers, untilshe too departs in peace. We can teach Aunt Sophy how to save money, andshow her how to invest it for our benefit. It looks to me as if we'd gotthe future ready-made."
"Is there anything very serious in all this?" she asked.
"Well, it's not like a bad illness, or any great disaster. It's comfort,happiness, all that sort of thing. When we are in for a jolly goo
d time,we don't regard that as serious."
"But what is to happen on the last day of the month?"
"It has just occurred to me we might do the right thing--obviously theright thing. Don't you think so, Nellie? What's the good of waiting, andwearing ourselves out with ceaseless labour? On the thirty-first of thismonth, the last of summer, let us make the plunge."
"Do you mean it?" she asked, with a queer little laugh, which wasperhaps a trifle spiteful; but then the lover was so very callous.
"I have thought over it a great many times, and I've always arrived atthe same conclusion."
"But what do you want me to do on the thirty-first?"
"To go to church."
"I go every Sunday."
"For a special purpose."
"I always have one."
"To hear the service read."
"Will that make any difference to me?"
"Why, of course it will."
"It will change my present B. into a lifelong D.?"
"That's a very artistic way of putting it," said George, rubbing hishands.
"On the thirty-first?"
"It will suit me nicely."
"For the sake of peace and quietness I agree. But I want you to promiseone thing--don't waste money over an engagement-ring; as, if you do, Iwon't wear it."
"That's a splendid idea! But all the same, Nellie, I should never havethought of going to any expense."
"You are so economical. It's the one thing I like about you."
"And the one thing I like about you," said George, not to be outdone incompliments, "is your willingness to listen to good advice."
They parted, with quite a friendly handshake. George went to his bed,and was baked so soundly above the oven that, before he reached WindwardHouse the following morning, Miss Yard and her attendants had departed.
