Полная версияThe Vicar's People
“I’ll never forgive you, Bess,” he said, in a hoarse whisper; “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
“I will tell her,” cried the girl, looking angry and flushed, “unless you promise never to touch Mr Trethick.”
The old man held on to her and drew her farther away, so as to make sure that no words of their altercation should be heard inside the cottage.
“Look here, Bess,” he said hoarsely, “doesn’t he come to see you?”
“To see me?” said the girl, scornfully. “Isn’t he a gentleman, and arn’t I a witch, as the people say, and arn’t you the worst character in these parts?”
“So they say,” said the old man, grimly. “The fools!”
“Is it likely that a gentleman like him would come after me?”
“That Tregenna did,” said the old man, suspiciously.
“Yes, till you threatened to break his neck,” said Bess, laughing.
“And I’d have done it too,” said the old man, with his eyes lighting up fiercely; “and so I will to this one.”
“He don’t come to see me, father,” said Bess, quietly. “You watch him next time he’s here. He’s not the sort of man to care about women at all, and – hush, father! here he is.”
There was the sound of a heavy foot on the stones above, and Geoffrey Trethick came into sight, looking fresh and breeze-blown as he strode along.
“She knows his step,” muttered the old man, grinding his teeth, “and I won’t have it.”
He glanced at his daughter, and saw that her warm colour was a little heightened as Geoffrey came up with a hearty “Good-morning.”
“Why, Bess,” he cried, “you look as fresh as a rose. Ah, Father Prawle, how are you? Look here, I’ve brought you an ounce of prime tobacco,” and he held out the little roll to the old man.
Prawle took it, looking vindictively at him, and made as if to throw it over the cliff into the sea, but jerked it back at the giver’s feet.
“I don’t want your tobacco,” he said, roughly. “I could buy you and yours up a dozen times over if I liked.”
“You are precious poor if you can’t,” said Geoffrey, stooping and picking up the tobacco. “Well, if you won’t smoke it I will. But look here, Prawle, what’s the matter with you? What have I done to offend you?”
“I don’t like your coming here, and I won’t have it,” cried the old man.
“Do you want to frighten poor mother?” exclaimed Bess, hastily. “Don’t mind what he says, Mr Trethick,” she continued; “mother is so glad for you to come – it makes such a change; but father won’t believe you come on purpose to see her.”
“Then what does he suppose I come for?” said Geoffrey, sitting down on a rough bench by the path. “Does he – Oh! I see,” he said, laughing; “he thinks it’s to see you, Miss Bess. Why, Prawle, Prawle,” he continued, getting up and clapping the old man on the shoulder, “what a queer set of people you are down here!”
Bess changed colour a little as she heard the visitor’s half-contemptuous tone when he alluded to her, but she forced a smile, and spoke out firmly, —
“Yes, Mr Trethick, that’s what he thinks.”
“Then he was never more mistaken in his life,” cried Geoffrey. “Here, come and sit down, old man, and we’ll smoke a pipe together till mother wakes, and then I’ll buy some sweets and be off again; but I want a talk with you. Amos Pengelly says you know more about the mines here than most men.”
“Maybe I do, sir,” growled Prawle, surlily, and apparently only half convinced.
“Sit down then, man, and speak out honestly. What do you know about Wheal Carnac?”
“Wheal Carnac!” said the old man, starting. “What do I know about it? Nothing at all – nothing at all.”
“Fill your pipe. Sit down and light up.”
Prawle hesitated for a moment, and glanced at his daughter, then back at their visitor, and ended by sitting down on the bench and knocking the ashes from his pipe to refill it from the tobacco brought by his visitor; while Bess, in whose eyes the tears were gathering, turned away and softly peeped into the cottage.
“That’s better,” said Geoffrey, as both pipes were lit, and they sat under the grey and purple cliff facing the sparkling sea. “Amos Pengelly says he believes you have a good deal of faith in that mine.”
“Amos Pengelly’s a psalm-singing, chattering fool,” said the old man, angrily.
“No he isn’t,” said Geoffrey; “he’s a very good, honest, sensible fellow.”
Bess turned sharply round and looked curiously at him.
“Bah! what does he know ’bout what I think?” growled Prawle.
“I don’t know; but he tells me you worked in it.”
Prawle nodded.
“Well, you must have seen a good deal of what the rock is like.”
“Like rubbish,” said the old man, hastily. “Thousands have been wasted there, and thousands more will be by anybody who’s fool enough to work it.”
“Humph?” said Geoffrey, between two puffs of smoke, “perhaps so. Is that your honest opinion?”
As he spoke he gazed full in the old man’s eyes, which met his without flinching for a few moments, but only to sink before the searching gaze and take refuge on the ground.
“Never you mind what’s my honest opinion. I’m not an Amos Pengelly to go and chatter about my affairs.”
“A still tongue makes a wise head, Master Prawle,” said Geoffrey, “even about little smuggling and wrecking jobs.”
“What do you know about smuggling and wrecking?” cried Prawle, angrily.
“Very little,” said Geoffrey, “only this cove looks to me about as convenient a place as well could be for any little job of that sort.”
“Mother’s awake, Mr Trethick,” interposed Bess, as she saw her father’s wrath rising at Geoffrey’s bantering comment.
“I’ll come directly,” said Geoffrey, as he saw her appealing look. “There, I won’t joke you about your private affairs, Master Prawle. So you won’t tell me any thing about Wheal Carnac?”
“Not a word,” said the old man, angrily.
“Not this time,” said Geoffrey, rising, “but think it over. Now, Miss Bessie, how is our invalid to-day?”
Mrs Prawle’s face lit up as Geoffrey’s form darkened the door, and she held out her thin white hand eagerly, as, in his bluff way, her visitor asked after her health.
“Very sadly, sir, very sadly,” she said, turning a fresh article of attire and spreading it upon her knees; “but do you – do you want – I’m so glad to do a little to save being a burthen to them.”
“Want sweets?” said Geoffrey. “Yes, I’ve got a commission to spend a whole sixpence; and see here, Miss Bessie, above half are to be those transparent red gentlemen.”
He looked merrily in the girl’s face, little thinking of the pain he gave her, and how her woman’s vanity was touched by his utter indifference. She smiled back, however, filled a paper bag with what he required, and went out to resume her knitting by the door, while Geoffrey sat on chatting, and listening to the poor woman’s plaints.
“She’s such a good girl, my Bess,” she said, proudly, as her mother’s heart throbbed high at the thought of what a thing it would be if this well-spoken gentleman from London should take a fancy to her child, and raise her to his position.
“Yes, she seems to be,” said Geoffrey, little suspecting her thoughts.
“So patient and so good; and you will not heed what they say about us, sir?”
“Not I,” said Geoffrey.
“They say, you know, that she’s almost a wise woman; and they’ve been very bitter against us ever since Mrs Polwhyn’s cow died.”
“Indeed!”
“Oh yes,” said the poor woman, earnestly; “they say Bess ill-wished it, and that she has ill-wished Mrs Vorr’s boy, who is a cripple.”
“You are a curious set of people down here,” said Geoffrey; “but do you mean to tell me that they believe such things as that?”
“Indeed they do,” said the poor woman, with tears in her eyes.
“And about witches?”
“Oh yes,” she said, laying her hand on the big Bible by her side; “and, of course, that is true, sir. You know King Saul went to see the witch of Endor.”
“Yes,” said Geoffrey, dryly.
“But it is too bad about my poor Bess, who is such a good and patient girl, and waits upon me day and night. He’ll be a lucky man who wins her for a wife!”
“I’m sure he will,” said Geoffrey.
“Then they say such cruel things about Prawle, and call him wrecker and smuggler.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, laughing, “I wouldn’t swear he has never helped the landing of any thing in the cove.”
“Don’t ask me, please sir,” said the old woman, looking terribly troubled; “but he is the best and truest of men, and, though he’s very rough, never a hard word has he said all these weary years that I have been nothing but a burthen and a care.”
“Oh, come, come!” said Geoffrey, taking her hand, as he saw the tears trickling down her furrowed face, “don’t talk like that; there’s always a pleasure in doing things for those we love. Hallo! who’s this?” he cried, starting up as the doorway was shadowed, “Miss Penwynn!”
“Mr Trethick!” cried Rhoda, flushing slightly, “you here?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing frankly, as he shook hands, “I’ve come to buy some sweets. Mrs Prawle’s an old friend of mine. Let me recommend the transparent red fellows, with acid in them,” he continued, merrily. “Miss Bessie, here’s a fresh customer.”
Rhoda laughed and looked pleased at the way in which he kept up the pleasant fiction, as he immediately resigned his seat in her favour, and after a few cheery words about the weather and the like, he bade the invalid good-by, asked after. Mr Penwynn, and left the cottage.
“He’s a brave, good young man, my dear,” said Mrs Prawle, wiping her eyes, “and he often comes over and spends a sixpence here.”
“Does he?” said Rhoda, quietly.
“Yes, very often; but Prawle don’t like it, though I can’t see why, my dear, for no young man could be nicer; and if he has took a fancy to our Bess, and should marry her, it would be the happiest day of my life.”
“But – do you think – ”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the invalid, glad of an opportunity to prattle on; “she’s a good and a handsome girl, as she showed in the way she sent that Mr Tregenna about his business, and it was a merciful thing that Prawle never did him a mischief; he’s that violent, and Mr Tregenna was always hanging about to see our Bess.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rhoda, colouring, “I know about that;” and then, her woman’s curiosity prevailing over her dislike to hear gossip, she continued, “but you don’t think Mr Trethick comes to – ”
“See our Bess, my dear? Well, I can’t say. He’s quite a gentleman, and I’m sure if he does he means honourable to her.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Rhoda, hastily, “but he is quite a stranger.”
“Yes, my dear, and it may be all my fancy; but gentlemen do sometimes marry poor girls – not that my Bess is poor, or will be poor,” she said, proudly. “There’s many a farmer’s or captain’s daughter will be worse off than she.”
“But I thought,” exclaimed Rhoda, “that Bess had a sweetheart – that lame man, Pengelly?”
“No,” said the invalid, “I don’t think that’s any thing. He’s a good young man – so religious, and sings and prays beautifully. He prayed here by me one Sunday for a whole hour; but it is not nature that my Bess should care for the likes of him, even if he does worship the ground she walks upon.”
The old woman prattled away, but Rhoda did not hear her, for somehow her mind was busy running on with Geoffrey Trethick’s career, and she was thinking how strange it would be if he married the old smuggler’s handsome daughter, who, it was reputed, would have plenty of money when her father died, but was to be avoided on account of the possession of the evil eye.
At last the visit was brought to an end, Rhoda promising, somewhat unwillingly, to come soon again; when Bess was summoned to come in, with her fearless erect carriage, to do up the parcel of sweets that the visitor purchased.
As they were taken, the eyes of the two girls met, each gazing searchingly at the other, and to Rhoda it seemed that there was a calm, triumphant smile on the face of Bess, who almost looked at her mockingly, though there was a bitterness in the curl of her lip.
Somehow Rhoda grew very thoughtful as she slowly made her way back. Geoffrey Trethick was nothing to her, but he had been their guest, and it seemed to be almost an insult that he should know them, and yet stoop to the pursuit of this common peasant girl.
“But why should I trouble about it?” she said, merrily; and all thought of what had been said was chased away upon her seeing the object of her thoughts upon the cliff track, in company with the Reverend Edward Lee.
Meanwhile Bess Prawle had gone out, knitting in hand, to where her father was busy in his garden, and stood beside him for some time in silence, till he looked and saw her gazing at him, with a settled frown upon her face.
“Well, father,” she said rather huskily.
“Well, lass.”
“Do you think now that Mr Trethick comes over to see poor me?”
Chapter Eighteen
Meeting a Volcano – and a Placid Lake
Geoffrey came swinging along the path, with his head thrown back and his chest forward, smiling at something that crossed his mind, when he stopped short, for Amos Pengelly suddenly stood in his way.
“Ah, Pengelly,” he said, heartily, “how are you, my lad?” and he stretched out his hand.
To his astonishment, the miner struck it savagely aside, closed with him, caught him by arm and waistband, and by a clever Cornish wrestling trick, and the exercise of his iron muscles, literally lifted him from the ground.
Geoffrey was powerful, and full of youth and vigour, but his antagonist’s dwarfish legs gave him another advantage, and he could have thrown the young man heavily to the ground, but in the very act of dashing him upon the rocks he relented, and let him recover himself.
“Have you gone mad, Pengelly?” cried Geoffrey, warmly. “Hang it, man, if you don’t control that confounded temper of yours you’ll be on your trial some day for murder.”
“Maybe it’ll be yours,” cried Amos, fiercely. “What have I done to you that you should serve me in this way?”
“I? Serve you?” cried Geoffrey, in astonishment, for he had resumed his unruffled manner. “What’s the matter, Amos?”
“Where have you been, master?”
“Been? Down to Gwennas Cove.”
“There, you own it,” cried Amos, with his passion rising again.
“Look here, master, there are things that make me mad. I’ve fought like men with beasts at Ephesus, as holy Paul says, and my beasts are the beasts of passion that rise up in me. I’ve fought and I’ve prayed, and I’ve mastered them again and again, but there’s one thing lets them loose, and I can’t keep them down.”
“Look here, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, quietly, “I had hoped when the day came that I could get a good engagement to have you as one of my best men; but, hang me! if I can trust a fellow who has always got a volcano in him ready to burst out.”
“Then why do you cross me like this?”
“Cross you, my good fellow?” said Geoffrey, as he fixed the miner with his eye. “I’m not going to cross you. There, come along back to Carnac, and let’s talk about yonder mine.”
“I want no dealings with such a treacherous man,” cried Amos, fiercely. “But, look here, I warn ye. You’re well-shaped and good to look upon, while I’m only a cripple; but I can’t – there’s that in me that won’t let me – stand by and see another man take up with her as flouts me for what I am.”
“Flouts? Take up with her?” said Geoffrey, wonderingly, while the miner’s breast heaved as he seemed to be battling hard to contain himself.
Then a light burst upon Geoffrey, and he was ready to burst into a fit of laughter; but he saw that the subject was too serious for mirth, and he exclaimed, in a tone of vexation once more, —
“Are all you people mad here upon questions relating to the sexes? Why, my good fellow, where do you think I’ve been?”
“You said – to Prawle’s.”
“Yes, of course; but what for?”
“You’ve been to see her. You’ve been again and again, master, till I can bear it no more. Oh! Master Trethick,” he cried, piteously, “it may be play and trifling with you, but it’s killing me.”
“Amos Pengelly,” cried Geoffrey, laying his hand on the miner’s shoulder, “if you think I go over yonder to see Prawle’s daughter you, never made a greater mistake in your life.”
Amos drew back and looked full in his eyes, which never flinched for a moment, but frankly returned the gaze.
“Say that again,” said the miner, hoarsely.
“I won’t,” cried Geoffrey. “Hang it, man! there are bounds to every thing. It’s absurd, it’s – ”
He stopped short as he saw the man’s emotion, and said kindly, as he held out his hand, —
“Pengelly, my lad, as I am a man, I never bestowed a thought on Bessie Prawle, but have been there to sit half-an-hour with her poor sick mother.”
The miner’s face changed, and he was about to speak, but he turned sharply round, and limped away with wonderful activity, disappearing amongst the rocks; and, after waiting a few minutes to see if he would return, Geoffrey gave himself a shake, and then stooped to pick up something that fell tinkling on the granite path.
“That’s one of my brace buttons gone,” he said pettishly. “Hang the fellow! he’s as strong as a horse. It was enough to break all one’s buttons. So that’s Cornish wrestling, is it? I thought myself pretty clever, but he could have thrown me like a baby.”
“Poor fellow, though,” he said to himself, as he went on, “I suppose he did feel cut up and savage with me. But what a set they are – down here, to be sure. Seems to me that they think of nothing but love-making, and that it isn’t safe to look at a woman in the place. What a blessing it is that I am so constituted that all women seem to me to be mothers and sisters – mothers and sisters – sisters – yes, sisters,” he mused, as he looked at his right hand, opening and closing the fingers gently, as he seemed to feel within it a soft, shapely white hand, and traced each tapering finger where Rhoda’s had so lately been.
“She would have been a very sweet sister to a man. Full of firmness, and ready to advise and help a fellow in his troubles. It must be very nice to have a sister – such a one as she.”
He walked on very slowly, growing moment by moment more thoughtful, and somehow his thoughts were of Rhoda Penwynn; but they were all chased away by the sight of the Reverend Edward Lee coming along the track.
“Ah, Mr Lee!” he cried, holding out his hand, “how are you getting along?”
The young clergyman started and looked confused. There was a shrinking manner about him as he unwillingly put out his hand to be heartily pressed; but somehow Geoffrey Trethick’s will seemed always to master his, and he replied nervously to his inquiries.
“I’ve been going to call upon you over and over again,” said Geoffrey. “Coming for advice, and that sort of thing; but I suppose you are terribly busy over your new cure?”
“I am – very busy,” said the other, with a half sigh, as he recalled some of the difficulties of his task; and he looked nervously in Geoffrey’s eyes, and felt constrained to say that he would be very glad to see him.
“That’s right,” said Geoffrey, “I shall come. One has not too many cultivated acquaintances down here. And I’m a parishioner, you know.”
The Reverend Edward Lee grew bolder for this suggested duty.
“And I have not called upon you,” he said. “I have been remiss.”
“Ah, well, you’ll make up for that,” said Geoffrey.
“Is – is that why I have not seen you at church?” he said.
“Oh, no!” said Geoffrey. “That’s because I have been remiss and – ah, here’s Miss Penwynn.”
His companion started, and a slight colour came into his pale cheeks as Rhoda came round one of the rocky buttresses of the cliff, and, in spite of himself, as his keen eyes detected the change, Geoffrey felt a suspicion coming upon him that the Reverend Edward Lee had had some idea that Rhoda was walking in this direction, and had turned his steps that way so as to meet her.
“Why, she’s blushing, too!” said Geoffrey to himself, as Rhoda came up and shook hands with Mr Lee.
“I need not shake hands with you again, Mr Trethick,” she said. “By the way, it is very kind of you to call and talk to that poor Mrs Prawle.”
The vicar darted a quick glance from one to the other, and then, without making any pretence of going further, he turned round, and walked back beside Rhoda towards Carnac, Geoffrey coming behind, for the path did not admit of three abreast. The consequence was that he only came in for a stray word here and there, and told himself that being the third party he was de trop.
All the same, though, he found himself taking note of Rhoda’s figure, the carriage of her head, and her free, firm step on the rugged path. This path seemed to trouble the young vicar, who, being short-sighted, more than once caught the toes of his thin boots against some irregularity in the granite, as he talked on in his smooth, easy-flowing way, only interrupted by Rhoda turning her head occasionally to point out some place of interest in the distance.
“Parson’s like the rest!” said Geoffrey to himself, as he turned off to the cottage. “He’s touched. I wonder whether she knew that he was coming to meet her, for that he went on purpose, I’ll swear. I wonder whether any thing could be made of Wheal Carnac? What a nice sister she would make! Hallo! Pengelly, you here again? No, no; stand off, my lad: I’ve no more brace buttons to spare. One of your hugs is enough for a day. What?”
“I beg your pardon, Master Trethick,” said the miner, humbly; and he stood with his hat off in the track, “I beg your pardon humbly, sir; I do indeed.”
“Oh, tut – tut, man, that’s all past,” said Geoffrey, heartily.
“No, sir, it arn’t,” said Amos. “I feel that shamed o’ myself that I haven’t got words to speak it. Only please say that you forgive me, and won’t think of it any more.”
“Forgive you! Yes, Pengelly, of course; but next time you suspect one of any thing wrong, just bark out aloud before you bite, will you? – it will give a fellow a chance to get out of your way.”
“Ah, sir, you don’t know how foolish I feel.”
“Do you? Then don’t feel so any more. And now look here, my lad, I want to have a few words with you again about Wheal Carnac.”
“Yes, sir – when?”
“Oh, soon – say to-morrow morning. I’ll meet you there at your own time.”
“Say six, sir. I’m not on at the mine till nine,” said Amos, with his face lighting up; and they parted, for Geoffrey to become aware, as he entered the gate, that Madge Mullion was at the window ready to smile at him as he went in, and a shrewd suspicion smote him that she had been watching for his return.
Chapter Nineteen
At Wheal Carnac
“I’ve got Wheal Carnac on the brain,” said Geoffrey, as he leaped out of his bed soon after five o’clock, made a great deal of noise and splashing over a tub, and ended by standing up fresh, healthy, and dressed, and calling himself a fool. “Why, I might have taken a towel and had a dip in the sparkling waters,” he said, as he gazed out, to see the ripples stained with blood-red and gold, orange and brilliant topaz with the rising sun. “Why, it would have been a bath in Falernian wine! Never mind – live and learn.”
“By George, what was I dreaming? Oh! I remember: that I fell down the old pit-shaft and went on falling into infinite space, with some one like that Tregenna laughing at me the while.”
He went softly out of his room and down-stairs, so as not to disturb the other occupants of the house, to find, to his surprise, that the door was open; and, on stepping out into the garden, he came suddenly upon Madge, looking very bright and rosy, with her rich auburn hair taking a fresh tinge from the early morning beams.
“Ah, Miss Mullion! Good-morning. You up so soon?”
“Yes,” she said eagerly, “I often go out for an early walk down to the sea.”
“Not to play at mermaid, and sport in the briny wave!” he asked laughingly.
“Oh, dear, no!” she cried with a shiver, “I’m so afraid of the water.”
“Are you?” he said, smiling. “Well, it would be a job to get all that pretty hair dry again.”
Madge coloured with pleasure.
“It is so nice walking over the rocks quite early,” she said.
“Yes, I suppose so. Well, I must be off.”
“Are you going for a walk?” she said naïvely.
“Yes, but only on my way to work. Good-by for the present. I say, Miss Mullion, a nice bit of brown fish for breakfast, please. I shall be as hungry as a hunter when I come back.”