The Vicar's People
“They do it in partnership like, sir,” said the miner, eagerly, as he gazed in the new-comer’s face, as if attracted by the sound of the word “adventurer.”
“One of them goes up on the highest part of the cliff yonder, Pen Dwavas that is, and he watches till he sees a school coming.”
“How can he see a school of fish coming?”
“Colour,” growled Tom Jennen, who had now turned round, and was trying to spit upon a particular boulder on the shore below.
“Yes, by the colour, sir,” said the miner, Amos, or more commonly Preaching Pengelly – “colour of the water; and then he signals to his mates. That’s them gone off in yon boat.”
“I see.”
“They have their boot ready with the seine in – long net, you know – and rows out, just as you see them now.”
“Yes; but what’s the use of his waving those things now?”
“Them’s bushes, sir,” continued the miner, who was talking, and reading the new-comer at the same time. “Don’t you see, them in the boot being low down, couldn’t see which way to go, so he waves them on with the bushes.”
“To be sure, yes,” said Geoffrey. “I see now. They are throwing something over – yes, of course, the net. So that dark, ripply patch, then, is where the fish lie?”
“Yes, sir, that’s them,” said the miner, who seemed strangely attracted; “but you’ve got good eyes.”
“Think so?” said Geoffrey, smiling. Then, nodding his thanks, he walked farther along the cliff to watch what was a novelty to him – the taking of the shoal of mackerel.
“Ha, ha, ha?” laughed Tom Jennen. “On’y to think o’ the ignorance o’ these foreigners! Here’s a big, awkward chap of a good thirty year of age, and knowed nothing about bushes and a seine boat. If it had been you, Amos Pengelly, as is always grubbing down under the earth, like a long lug-worm, I shouldn’t have wondered; but a man as dresses up fine, and calls hisself a gentleman. Lor’, such gashly ignorance do cap me.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Amos, staring down at his section of conger eel, which he was carrying by a string. “Some folks seem to know a deal too much, Tom;” and, with a good-humoured nod, he followed the new-comer as if eager to see more of one who might be an adventurer, and the opener out of some great vein of tin or copper, till he saw him stop.
Geoffrey Trethick found that he was not the only one interested in the seine boat, for silvery mackerel meant silver coin to the fisher-folk of Carnac. The news had spread, and group after group began to assemble, and to note the progress of those shooting the net.
For, after rowing in various directions, as guided by the waving bushes on the point, the men in the boat had begun to pass their dark brown net rapidly over the stern, while those in the bows rowed steadily on, forming the arc of a circle, which was to enclose the fish; while these latter, having swum closer in, could now be seen to make the bright waters of the bay all a ripple of blue and silver sheen, with here and there a dash of pink and gold, as if the fish had left upon the surface the impress of their glowing sides.
It was an interesting sight to a stranger from town, and as Geoffrey Trethick watched he could hear the remarks of old hands around him canvassing the probability of the fish escaping, or the nets getting entangled among the rocks.
But the boat went steadily on, the men cautiously dipping their oars so as not to alarm the mackerel, and fathom after fathom of the piled-up brown stack of net glided into the sea, being passed out so skilfully that as the corks dotted the water the meshes stretched and fell softly down lower and lower till they formed a frail fence of umber thread in the bright waters of the calm bay, every fathom increasing the wall that was soon to encircle the shoal.
One dart of a frightened fish towards the unenclosed part, and away would have gone the whole school; but the mackerel seemed to be intent on playing near the surface, and the seine boat went on shaking out fathom after fathom of the net till seaward there was a half-circle of brown corks, ever increasing to three-quarters.
And now Geoffrey Trethick, who had become deeply interested, unaware of the fact that he was the chief object of attraction to the people on the cliff, saw for the first time that a small boat, managed by a couple of men, remained by the other end of the net, and that as the first boat came nearer towards making a circle, the lesser boat was put in motion.
These were the most anxious moments, and the little crowd upon the cliff seemed to hold its breath. Then as the dark dots that represented the corks were seen to have nearly joined, the two boats being in the open space, there was a bit of a cheer.
“Tchah! Fools!” said a harsh voice close to Trethick’s ear. “They have not caught them yet!”
Geoffrey turned, and found that the words proceeded from a little, withered, yellow-faced man, in a very old-fashioned dress. He was well-to-do, evidently, for a bunch of heavy gold seals hung from a black watch-ribbon, his Panama hat was of the finest quality, and there was something dapper and suggestive of the William the Fourth gentleman, in the blue coat, with gilt buttons, and neat drab trousers.
“I said, Tchah! Fools!” repeated the little man, on noticing Geoffrey’s inquiring gaze. “They have not got them yet!”
“Many a slip betwixt cup and lip, eh?” said Geoffrey, quietly. “Yes: one pull of the net over a rock – one blunder, and away goes the school; and that’s life?”
“You mean that’s your idea of life,” said Geoffrey. “No, I don’t, boy. I mean that’s life!”
“According to your view,” said Geoffrey, smiling.
“According to what it is,” said the old man, testily. “What the devil do you know of life, at your age?”
“Ah! that would take some telling,” replied Geoffrey. “You and I would have to argue that matter out.”
“Argue? Bah! Do I look a man with time to waste in argument?”
“Well, no; nor yet in getting out of temper, and calling people fools,” said Geoffrey, with a smile.
The old man thumped his thick malacca cane upon the stones, and stared aghast at the stranger who dared to speak to him in so free and contradictory a manner in a place where, after a fashion, he had been a kind of king.
“Here, you: Rumsey!” he cried, panting with anger and pointing at Geoffrey with his cane, as a fair, fresh-coloured man in grey tweed came slowly up; “who the devil is this fellow?”
“Don’t be cross, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “I will tell you my name if you like.”
“Confound your name, sir! What the deuce are you – a bagman?”
“No,” said Geoffrey; “but look,” he added quickly, as he pointed to the circle of nets. “What does that mean?”
“Ha, ha, ha! I told you so,” chuckled the old man, whose face underwent a complete change. “They’ve got on a rock, and the whole school has gone.”
“Poor fellows! What a disappointment,” said Geoffrey.
“Bah! A man must expect disappointments here. Rumsey, I’m horribly bilious this morning,” he continued, turning to the fresh-coloured man.
“Yes, so you seem,” was the reply; and Geoffrey smiled at the frank confession. “Exceeded your dose last night.”
“Dose?” said the old gentleman. “Hang it, man, don’t call a glass of spirits and water by the same name as your filthy drugs. Good-morning, boy! and don’t you laugh at me.”
Hooking the fresh-coloured man by the arm, he was moving off.
“Good-morning,” said Geoffrey, smiling. “But stop a moment. Perhaps you gentlemen can help me.”
“Come away, Rumsey!” cried the old fellow, with mock horror in his thin face. “He’s a book canvasser, or a collector for some confounded charity. Who the devil are you, sir; and what do you want?”
“Why, what a jolly old pepperbox you are!” cried Geoffrey, merrily. “Have you been out in India?”
“Yes, sir – I have been out in India,” cried the old man, turning yellow with anger once more. “Confounded puppy!” he muttered, thumping down his stick.
“I thought so,” replied Geoffrey, coolly; “I had an uncle just like you.”
“Confound your uncle, sir!” cried the choleric old man. “Hang it all, Rumsey, don’t you hear the fellow insulting me? Why don’t you knock him down, or poison him?”
“Have I the pleasure of addressing Dr Rumsey?” said Geoffrey.
“That is my name,” said the fresh-coloured man, looking suspiciously at the speaker as one who seemed too lusty and well to be in his way.
“I am coming to live here, doctor,” said Geoffrey, in a free, frank way that seemed to set him at ease with those whom he had addressed. “I only came in by the coach this morning. Where can I get comfortable, inexpensive apartments – just a bed and sitting-room, you know? I have been asking everywhere, but there seems to be no such thing to be had.”
The doctor glanced at the old gentleman, and the old gentleman returned the look, following it up by poking Geoffrey in the side with his cane.
“Here, young fellow – you, sir! Who are your – what are you?” he exclaimed.
“Who am I, my unceremonious old friend, and what am I? Well, my name is Trethick, and I’m a mining engineer.”
“But are you respectable?”
“No,” said Geoffrey, solemnly. “I am very poor; so I don’t think I am.”
“Confound you, sir!” cried the old gentleman. “Your eyes are twinkling. You’re laughing at me.”
“True, oh, king,” said Geoffrey.
“But can you pay regularly for your lodgings?”
“I hope so,” replied Geoffrey, whom the choleric old fellow thoroughly amused.
“Come here,” cried the latter, dropping the doctor and hooking Geoffrey by the arm, as if taking him into custody. “You’re good for the bile! Rumsey, I’ll take him up to Mrs Mullion’s, or she’ll be letting her rooms to the new parson out of spite.”
Chapter Six
Apartments to Let
Geoffrey looked in astonishment at the old gentleman, and then glanced at the doctor.
“You can’t do better, Mr Trethick,” said that individual, “for those are the only decent apartments you are likely to get here.”
“Of course,” said the old gentleman. “Come along, boy;” and thumping the ferrule of his cane down upon the granite paving-stones, which in rough irregular masses formed the path, he led the way along the cliff, and then turned off up a very steep zigzag path, which led up higher and higher, the old fellow pausing at every turn to get breath, as he pointed with his stick at the glorious prospects of sea and land which kept opening out.
“Lovely place, boy,” he panted. “Come along. Takes my breath away, but it’s better for the bile than old Rumsey’s drugs. Suppose you could run up here?”
“I dare say I could,” said Geoffrey; “or carry you up if I tried.”
“Confound your ugly great muscles! I dare say you could. But look yonder – that’s some of your work.”
“My work?” cried Geoffrey, as the old man pointed to the great granite engine-house on the promontory already known to the new arrival as Wheal Carnac.
“Well, the work of you engineering mining fellows. Thousands of pounds have gone down that hole.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Geoffrey, as they still ascended, until the old gentleman stopped short before a pretty granite-built house in a nook of the huge cliff that sloped down to the sea. It was well sheltered from the north and east, and its broad terrace-like garden was blushing with bright-hued flowers. In one corner was a well-built summer-house, which served as a look-out over the shimmering sea, and from which the putting out of the fishing-fleet, or the sailing to and fro of the great vessels in the Channel, could be plainly seen.
“Ah! this looks homely and snug,” said Geoffrey, as he noticed the clean windows, white curtains, and pleasant aspect of the place.
“Yes, it’s pretty well,” said the old gentleman, who was always furtively watching his companion, and as he spoke he laid his hand upon the green gate at the foot of a rough granite flight of steps. “This is the way up from the cliff; there’s a road from Carnac town on the other side. Will it do?”
“Depends on terms and accommodation,” said Geoffrey, sharply, as he followed his guide up to the pleasant green terrace lawn.
“Humph! Go and see Mrs Mullion, then, and say Mr Paul sent you. I am going in here to smoke a cheroot,” and he pointed to the summer-house.
“Do you live here, then?” said Geoffrey, for the old man seemed quite at home.
“Live here?” said the choleric old fellow, sharply. “Of course I do. Didn’t see a shell on my back, did you? Where the deuce do you suppose I lived?”
As he spoke he drew out a handsome silver cigar-case, and selecting a very long, black cheroot, held it out to his companion.
“Here,” he said, “can you smoke one of these?”
“To be sure I can,” said Geoffrey. “Try one of mine.”
“It’s strong. Mind it don’t make you sick, boy,” said the old fellow grimly, as Geoffrey took the black cheroot, and then opened his own case – an effeminate silk-worked affair – which he handed to his companion.
The old man turned it about with the yellow corners of his lips curled down in disgust.
“Girl work that for you?” he said, with quite a snarl.
“No! Mother,” said Geoffrey, abruptly.
“Ho!” said the old gentleman, picking and turning over one cigar after another, and then replacing it. “There, take your case, boy; I can’t smoke your town-made trash.”
“Town-made trash, eh?” said Geoffrey, laughing. “Why, they’re as good as your Trichinopolies.”
“Rubbish!” said the old fellow.
“Real Havanas, given me by old Sir Harry. Dunton.”
“Not Harry Dunton, Governor of Ginjaica?”
“Yes! Do you know him?”
“Did once,” said the old fellow, with asperity. “Here, boy, I’ll have one. Now go and see about your lodgings; and come back to me,” he added imperatively.
Geoffrey stood smiling at him for a few moments.
“I say, old gentleman,” he said, “how many coolies used you to have under you in the East?”
“Over a thousand, sir,” said the old gentleman, irascibly.
“I thought so,” said Geoffrey, and he turned on his heels, and walked up to the clematis-covered porch that shaded the open door.
“I’d give some thousands to be as young and strong, and – and yes, confound him! – as impudent as that fellow. Hang him! he hasn’t a bit of veneration in him,” muttered the old gentleman, entering the summer-house, and striking a match for his cheroot. “He’ll just be right for them, as they’ve lost the parson. Hang ’em, how I do hate parsons!”
He took a few pulls at his cheroot, and emitted cloud after cloud of smoke, as he stood in the shade of the summer-house, looking at Geoffrey’s back.
“He’s a good-looking fellow, too, and – phew!” he added, with a long-drawn whistle, “what a fool I am. There’s Madge, of course, and at the door first thing.”
“If I am any thing of a judge, you are a very pretty girl,” said Geoffrey to himself, as his summons was answered by a merry-looking brunette, in a very simple morning dress and print apron, a book in one hand, a feather dusting-brush in the other. Her rather wilful hair, of a crisp, dark brown, had evidently been touched by the sea-breeze, for a waving strand was brushed hastily back as the girl saw the visitor; and the same, or other breezes, had given a rich tone to her complexion, which was heightened by the flush which came to her cheeks, as she hastily threw brush and book on to a chair, and gave a tug at the string of her apron, which absolutely refused to come off.
“Can I speak to Mrs Mullion?” said Geoffrey, unable to repress a smile at the girl’s vanity and confusion.
“Oh! yes. Please will you step in?”
“Who’s that, Madge?” cried a voice from somewhere at the back. “If it’s Aunt Borlase, we don’t want any fish to-day, and tell her – ”
“Hush, mamma!” exclaimed the girl, turning sharply, but without checking the voice, whose owner – a very round, pleasant-looking little matron – came forward, with a piece of black silk in one hand, a sponge in the other, and bringing with her a peculiar smell of hot irons lately applied to the material she held.
“Well, my dear,” she said, volubly, “how was I to know that it was company? Oh! good-morning, sir.”
“Good-morning,” said Geoffrey, who was pleasantly impressed by the mother and daughter, who now led the way into a comfortable old-fashioned parlour, whose window looked direct upon the foam-fringed promontory on which stood the ruined mine. “A Mr Paul, whom I have just left, advised me to see you about your apartments.”
“Oh! yes,” said the elder lady, smoothing herself down in front, as if trying to free herself from a little exuberance – the younger lady having now got rid of brush, book, and apron, and given a furtive touch to her pretty hair. “You are Mr Lee, our new clergyman,” she continued volubly, “and – ”
“Indeed I am not!” said Geoffrey, laughing, and glancing at the younger lady, who blushed, and gave her head a conscious toss.
“But I sent word to the hotel that I should be glad to take him in,” said the elder lady; “and now that’s just the way with that Aunt Borlase. Madge, dear, they never got the message.”
“Is this one of the rooms?” said Geoffrey, to stem the flood of eloquence.
“Yes, sir; and Mr Paul, who is my late husband’s half-brother, has the other front parlour, which we sometimes share with him when he is in a good temper. When he isn’t, my daughter and I – this is my daughter, sir – sit in the – ”
“Oh, mamma, hush!” exclaimed the younger lady, acknowledging Geoffrey’s bow.
“Well, my dear, it’s the simple truth,” said mamma. “I hope you don’t object to the smell of black silk being ironed, sir?”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Geoffrey, smiling.
“It’s the being sponged over with beer first,” continued the little woman. “It makes it so stiff, and when it’s done it looks almost as good as new.”
“But, mamma,” remonstrated the younger lady.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Quite superior people turn their black silks, and have them re-made over and over again. There really is no cheaper wear than a good black silk.”
“But about the apartments,” said Geoffrey, to the younger lady’s great relief.
“Oh! yes; of course. To be sure,” continued the little lady. “I let the bedchambers over the rooms, sir. One to each.”
“Exactly,” said Geoffrey, who was much amused at the simplicity of the elder lady, and the assumption of gentility on the part of the younger; “but do I understand you to say that the apartments are engaged?”
“Well, sir, I feel as if I ought to wait and see if Mr Lee, our new clergyman, wants the rooms, especially as there are no other apartments fit for a gentleman to be had in Carnac, and where he could get proper attention. Not that I make a profession of letting lodgings, sir. Oh, dear, no! Mr Paul is a relative, and he occupies – ”
“Mamma, dear,” said the younger lady, “I don’t think this gentleman will care to hear that.”
“But how can he understand my position, Margaret, if I do not explain it?” remonstrated the elder.
“You hold out very pleasant prospects,” interposed Geoffrey, hastily. “No other apartments to be had. But suppose Mr Lee does not take them?”
“Who the deuce is Mr Lee?” said a sharp voice at the open window. “Come: what is it – terms? Haven’t you settled yet?”
“Mr Lee is the new clergyman, brother Thomas,” said the plump little lady, giving herself another smooth down, “and if he wants the rooms that Mr Owen had, dear, why of course – ”
“He’ll have to want them,” said the old gentleman, sharply, as he sent a puff of smoke into the room. “I won’t have another parson in the house while I stay. If you mean to have him here, I go.”
“Oh, pray don’t talk like that, brother Thomas!” cried Mrs Mullion, hastily, her aspect showing plainly enough that she was greatly in awe of the old man. “Of course you know, dear, that I will do precisely as you wish.”
“What I wish? Do what I wish?” snapped out the old gentleman. “Do what you like. But you told me distinctly that you were very eager to let these two rooms, and I take the trouble to put myself out, and go out of my way when I had a pressing engagement with Dr Rumsey, to bring up a – a – somebody who wants them. What more would you have? You, Madge,” he added fiercely, “don’t make eyes at strangers like that: it’s rude.”
“Oh, uncle?” cried the girl, indignantly, and her face was scarlet.
“So you were. Give me that letter off the chimney-piece.”
The girl obeyed, fetching a large blue missive ready directed for the post, and stood holding it while the old gentleman, smoking away the while, took some stamps from his pocket-book, and tore one off.
“Now then,” he continued, sharply, and to Geoffrey Trethick’s great astonishment, “put out your tongue.”
“I’m – I’m quite well, uncle,” stammered the girl.
“Put out your tongue, miss!” cried the old fellow, sharply. “I don’t care how you are: I want to wet this stamp.”
“Oh, uncle!” cried the girl, in confusion, and she rushed out of the room, leaving the old man chuckling with satisfaction.
“Ah, well; I must lick it myself,” he said. “I hate licking stamps. Here, Jane, you put it on,” he continued, handing letter and stamp to the little woman, who proceeded to obey his command. “Well, now then, are you going to let the rooms, or are you not? This gentleman can’t stop shilly-shallying all day.”
“I shall be very happy to let them, I’m sure,” stammered the poor woman; and, after the settlement of a few preliminaries, it was arranged that the new-comer’s luggage should be fetched from the hotel, and he took possession at once, after the old gentleman had suggested that a month in advance should be paid for, which was done.
Chapter Seven
Uncle Paul Utters Warnings
“You see, you are quite a stranger,” said the old gentleman, in a kind of gruff apology; “and I’m obliged to look after that poor woman’s interests. Now, then,” he continued, leading the way into the garden, “light up and come into the look-out, boy; I want to talk to you.”
Geoffrey followed him, and as soon as they were seated they smoked and stared at each other in silence for a time, the young man rather enjoying his elder’s keen scrutiny.
“Pleasant woman, my sister-in-law,” said Mr Paul, at last.
“Yes; she seems homely and nice. Takes pride in her house.”
“Humph! Yes.”
“Widow, of course?”
“Yes: didn’t you see she was?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“For confirmation. Is yours a bad cigar?”
“No. Why?”
“Because it don’t seem to act as a sedative. A good one always makes me calm and agreeable.”
“Then you think I am disagreeable?” said the old man, sharply.
“Not to put too fine a point upon it – yes; very.”
“I always am,” said the old gentleman, with a harsh laugh. “What do you think of my niece?”
“Very pretty,” said Geoffrey, quietly.
“Oh! You think so?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“Humph! Yes. But, look here, young man, you are from London, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then none of your town manners, please. No putting silly notions in that girl’s head. It’s full enough already.”
“Who? I? Put silly notions in her head?” said Geoffrey, showing his white teeth as he removed his cigar from his lips and exhaled a great cloud of smoke. “Don’t be afraid, old gentleman. I’m a man without a heart. Besides which, I’m engaged.”
“More fool you. Bah! Look at me.”
“I have looked at you,” said Geoffrey, coolly; “I know you by heart already.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the old gentleman, testily. “Engaged – married – insanity! A young man madly makes up his mind to keep a woman and a lot of children in bread and butter, like poor Rumsey, our doctor. Thinks it is going to be a pleasant burthen, and dreams on till he wakes – poor devil!”
“You don’t approve, then, of matrimony?”
“Approve? No, I don’t. I have seen too much of it in others. Young half-brother of mine marries that woman there; keeps poor in consequence; dies poor, leaving her and her child poor – paupers both of ’em.”
“Hah! yes,” said Geoffrey; “there are more poor than rich in the world.”
“Their own fault. Don’t you make a poor man of yourself.”
“Don’t mean to,” said Geoffrey, quietly. “My mistress – my wife, if you like – is Science. Do you like bad smells?”
“Do I like what?”
“Bad smells. Because my chemicals will be down in a few days. I try experiments, and sometimes strong odours arise.”
“Humph!” growled Uncle Paul. “Open the window, then. So your wife’s Science, is she?”