The Parson O' Dumford
Seekers for derivations of signs had puzzled themselves a good deal over the connection between a bull and that familiar gourd of the cucurbitaceae known as a cucumber. It is perhaps needless to add that the learned were baffled, but the incongruity was never noticed by the people of Dumford, and as their pronunciation of the sign was the Bull and Cow-cumber, the connection did not sound at all out of place.
Mr Selwood heard Sim return, and lay for some time listening to his patriotic utterances – fragments, in fact, of the speech he had delivered at the meeting – and it became very evident to the new occupant of the vicarage that life with Mr Simeon Slee beneath his roof would not be very pleasant.
“I don’t like the idea of turning out the poor woman, either,” he said to himself, as he lay turning from side to side, courting the rest that would not come.
“I’ve been a bit excited to-day, I suppose,” he muttered; and then he tried all the known recipes short of drugs for obtaining rest, from saying a speech backwards to getting out of bed and brushing his hair.
But sleep would not come till close upon morning, for that face before him was the sweet appealing face of Eve Pelly, and in the stillness of the night he seemed to be hearing her words again and again – “Don’t judge dear Richard harshly from what you saw this morning.”
“Dear Richard, dear Richard, dear Richard” – he found himself repeating over and over again. “And she loves him, and believes in him. He is everything to her, and if she found out that he was a scoundrel it would break her heart.”
“And set her free,” something in the corner of his own seemed to whisper; and he started, and sat up in bed with the perspiration standing on his brow.
“Am I sane? Am I in my right senses?” he said, feeling his pulse and counting its beats. “I must be a little out of tone. Humph! I’ll have such a walk to-morrow! Bah! it’s the excitement of coming down here, and it has been rather a lively day.”
He punched and turned his pillow fiercely, threw himself down, and closed his eyes once more, shutting out the dimly-seen lattice window, with its fringe of ivy leaves; but as he did so there was Eve Pelly’s face again, and that gentle look which accompanied the appealing curve of her lips, as she said, “Don’t judge dear Richard harshly.”
The would-be sleeper started up in bed again, and sat there feeling hot and feverish for some time.
“Look here, Murray, dear boy,” he said at last. “You are down here for a great purpose. You have here in your charge some four thousand souls to teach and tend, and help on in life’s course. Don’t fidget, my boy. I’m not going to preach, only to say a few words to the point. Now, look here: You are the spiritual head of the parish; you have your Master’s work to do. In short, you are a teacher. Now mind this, a teacher who cannot govern himself is a broken reed. Are you a broken reed?” This was all said in a low voice, and then for a few moments there was silence in the room, to be broken by the young man saying in a somewhat louder voice in answer to his own words: “I hope not.”
“Good,” he continued, in the former tone. “I like that: it sounds humble and hopeful. Now look here, you will see a great deal of what goes on in this place. In fact, you have seen a good deal already, and you have learned what is the state of affairs with one of the principal families. You have heard that Richard Glaire is engaged to his cousin; that the said cousin loves him; and that this weak young man is playing fast and loose.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Well, your duty is plain; the young fellow doubtless has his good points. Make him your friend, and improve them – for her sake – gain an influence over him. You can, and you will, Murray Selwood. Yours may be a hard duty, but you must do it.”
“Yes, verily, and by God’s help so I will.”
“Good. Now you may go to sleep.”
After this he lay down, and by a strange exercise of will, and in the belief that he was going to conquer a feeling absolutely new to him, he fell asleep directly.
But it was no peaceful rest such as generally came to his pillow, for he lay tossing in dreams of Eve Pelly turning to him constantly for help from some great trouble that was ever pursuing her – a danger that he could not avert. Then Richard Glaire had him by the throat, charging him with robbing him of his love; and then he was engaged in a mad struggle with the young man, holding him over a gulf to hurl him in, incited thereto by the young workman.
Then once more Eve Pelly’s appealing face was before him, praying him to spare dear Richard, the man she loved, and then —
“Thank God, it’s morning!” he exclaimed, waking with a start, to consult his watch, and finding it was half-past six.
Volume One – Chapter Ten.
Sim Slee Busy
Banks, the foreman, stayed late at the foundry on the night of the disturbance. His master remained in the counting-house smoking cigars till he was very white and ill, feelings which he attributed to the assault made upon him that day – a very sudden one by the way, and one which had arisen, as has been intimated, on account of a rather unfair reduction that had been made in the rate of pay.
But this was not all, for the fact was, that after being left to go on in its quiet, old-fashioned way for years, probably from its insignificance, Dumford had suddenly been leavened by Sim Slee with a peculiar version of his own of the trades-union doctrines of some of the larger towns – doctrines which he had altered to suit his own ends.
Hence arose a society which was the pride of Sim Slee, and known amongst the workmen as the Brotherhood. Meetings were held regularly, speeches made, and Simeon Slee, who heretofore had confined himself to idleness, drink, and local preaching, till expelled as a disgrace to the plan, became a shining light in the brotherhood, on account of what the more quiet workmen called his power of putting things, though the greater part held aloof, from the contempt in which this leader was held.
In previous days, with one or two exceptions, the word of the master of the works had been law, and wages were raised or lowered as trade flourished or fell, with nothing more than a few murmurs; but now times were altered, men had begun to think for themselves, and the behaviour of Richard Glaire had grown so arbitrary and unjust that the consequence was the riot we have seen.
Richard Glaire was about as unsuitable a person as it is possible to imagine to have such a responsibility as the management of a couple of hundred men; but he did not believe this, and he sat, after the departure of his mother, nursing his wrongs, and making plans for the punishment of his workmen.
At one time he was for having the assistance of the military, but as he cooled down he was obliged to acknowledge that his request would be ridiculed.
Then he determined on getting summonses against about twenty of the ringleaders, whom he meant to discharge.
Once he called Banks, and asked him what it would be best to do.
“Put the wage right again,” said the foreman.
Whereupon Richard Glaire turned upon him in a burst of childish passion, and declared that he was in league with the scoundrels who had assaulted him.
“There, I shall go till you’ve had time to cool down,” said Banks, grimly. “Your metal’s hot, Master Richard, and it wean’t be raight again till you’ve had a night’s rest.”
Richard made no reply, but sat biting his lips and making plans till dusk, when he cautiously stole out of the building by a side door, of which he alone had the key.
Banks stayed on for another couple of hours, plodding about the building, examining doors, the extinct forges and furnaces, looking at the bands of the huge lathes, and displaying a curious kind of energy, as by means of a small bull’s-eye lantern he peered in and out of all sorts of out-of-the-way places.
“There’s no knowing what games Master Sim might try on,” he remarked to himself; “blowings up and cutting bands, and putting powther in the furnace holes; he’s shack enew for ought, and I dessay some on ’em will be stupid enough to side wi’ him. What’s that?”
He stopped and listened, for it seemed to him that he had heard a noise below him in the ground floor.
The sound was not repeated, so he went on cautiously through the great black workshop, with its weird assemblage of shafts, cranks, and bands, looking, in the fitful gleams cast by the lantern, like a torture-chamber in the fabled Pandemonium.
A stranger would have tripped and fallen a dozen times over the metal-cumbered floor; but every inch and every piece of machinery was so familiar to the foreman that he could have gone about the place blindfold, even as he did once or twice in the dark when he closed his bull’s-eye lantern, thinking he heard a noise.
All seemed right in this workshop, so he descended to the foundry, going over it and amongst the furnaces, now growing cold.
Then he threaded his way amongst the sunken moulds for castings; looked up at the cranes, paused before the massive crucibles used for melting bell-metal or ingots for the great steel bells, and ended by stopping again to listen.
“I’ll sweer I heerd a noise,” he muttered, taking a short constable’s staff from his pocket, and twisting its stout leather thong round his wrist. “It will be strange and awkward for somebody if I find him playing any of his tricks here.”
He went cautiously on tip-toe in the direction from which the noise had seemed to come, going up a short ladder to a raised portion of the foundry, which formed an open floor where lighter work was done.
He advanced very cautiously in the dark, holding his staff ready to deliver a blow, or guard his head, and the next minute there was the sound of some tool being moved on a bench, and then something alighted at his feet, setting up a soft purring and beginning to rub up against his legs.
“Why, Tommy,” he said, “you scar’d me, my boy. It was you, was it? After rats, eh, Tommy? Poor old puss, then.”
He turned on his lantern, took a good look round, and then, apparently satisfied, he pulled out an old-fashioned silver watch and consulted its face.
“Eight o’clock, eh? Why, they’ll think at home that I’m lost.”
As he spoke he made his light play round for a few minutes, and then, apparently satisfied, he put it out, placed the lamp on a shelf, and went out and across the yard to the kind of lodge, where a man was waiting to take the duty of the watchman for the night.
“All raight, Mester Banks?”
“All right, Rolf,” was the reply. “I’ve been all round.”
Directly after the old foreman was on his way homeward, but he had hardly taken a dozen strides down the lane under the wall, before the head of Simeon Slee was cautiously raised above the edge of one of the great crucibles, or melting-pots, and then for a time he remained motionless.
“You’re a clever one, Joe Banks, you are,” he said at last, as he raised himself up and sat on the edge of the great pot. “You can find out everything, yow can; you can trample on the raights of the British wucking-man, and get the independent spirits discharged, eh? But you’re one of the ungodly bitter ones, and you must be smitten wherever you can. Let’s see how the wuck ’ll go on to-morrow.”
The speaker threw his legs over the side, and then paused to dust his trousers and his coat before proceeding further.
“It’s hot lying in hiding there,” he muttered, pulling off his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “I have to toil and moil like a slave for the cause.”
His next proceeding was to open a great clasp knife and try its edge, which was keen as that of a razor; and then, armed with this, and quite as much at home in the works as the foreman, he went about with lithe steps as cautious as a cat, and, cutting through the bands that connected the wheels of the lathes with the great shaft that set them in motion, he dragged them down and piled them together till he had collected a goodly heap.
This was not accomplished all at once, and with ease, for, setting aside the watchfulness with which the task had to be done, and the care to ensure silence, the bands were heavy, hard to cut, and they had to be borne some distance. Altogether it took Sim Slee a good hour’s arduous labour, and he perspired profusely. In fact, it was his habit to take more pains to achieve a bad end than would have sufficed to get a good living twice over.
“Phew! it’s hot,” he muttered in one of his pauses, during which he ran to the nearest door, and listened. “What a slave I am to the cause.”
Then he chuckled and laughed over the mischief he had done, and ended by laboriously dragging all the great leather bands and straps to the uncovered hole of a furnace, down which he dropped them, so that they fell far back from the mouth below, which opened on the stoke-hole; and he knew that the chances were ten to one that if the present heat did not destroy them, a fire would be lit by the careless stokers, and the bands consumed before they were missed, as, if business were resumed on the following day, the firemen would be there long before the ordinary workers.
“Theer,” said Sim, when he had finished, “I wonder what Joe Banks would say now if he knew o’ this?”
He resumed his coat, out of the pocket of which he took a piece of strong line, some fifteen feet long, and walked cautiously, listening the while, towards one of the windows which looked down on the lane, one side of which was formed by the works and the wall of the yard, and from which the little door before mentioned gave access to the proprietor’s private room in the counting-house.
Sim Slee had entered by this window, being a light, active man, and he was about to descend from it, and make his escape by hitching the strong light steel hook attached to the end of his rope to the sill, just as he had entered by throwing it up till it caught, it being so constructed that a sharp wave sent along the slackened rope would set it free. But before descending Sim stood, rope in hand, listening, watched by the cat at a respectable distance, that sage black animal being evidently impressed with the fact that the intruder in the works was wonderfully rat-like in his actions.
Tommy did not approach him, nor yet purr, but crouched there watching while Sim stood with one ear close to the window, then sharply turned his head and thrust it out into the night air, drew it back again as sharply, and then cautiously thrust it out once more, so that unseen he could see and listen to what went on below.
For there were two figures just below the opening, and as Sim listened, holding his breath, one of them exclaimed:
“I won’t, I won’t, Mr Richard, and you’ve no business to ask me.”
“Mr. Richard,” said the other, reproachfully; “I thought it was to be Dick – your own Dick.”
“Oh, don’t – don’t – don’t talk like that,” sobbed the other. “Oh, I wish I really, really knew whether you meant it all.”
“Meant it all, Daisy! how can you be so cruel, when you know how dearly I love you? But come into the counting-house, and we can sit there and talk.”
“I can’t – I won’t!” said Daisy; “and you know you oughtn’t to ask me, Mr Richard. What would father say if he were to hear of it?”
“Father would only be too pleased,” whispered the young man, “for he believes in me, if you don’t, Daisy. He’d like you to be my own beautiful darling little wife, that I should make a lady.”
“But, do you really, really mean it, Mr Richard?” said Daisy, with a hysterical sob.
“‘Really mean it! Mr Richard!’” said the young fellow, reproachfully. “Oh, Daisy, have you so mean an opinion of me? Do you take me for a contemptible liar?”
“Oh no, no, no,” sobbed the girl; “but they say – I always thought – I believed that you were engaged to Miss Eve.”
“A poor puny thing,” said Richard, in a contemptuous tone; “and besides, she’s my cousin.”
“But she thinks you love her,” said Daisy.
“Poor thing!” laughed Richard.
“And I believe you love her.”
“Indeed I don’t, nor anybody else but you, you beautiful little rosebud. Oh, Daisy, Daisy, how can you be so cruel!”
“I’m not, I’m not cruel,” sobbed poor Daisy; “but I want to do what’s right.”
“Of course,” whispered Richard. “But come along, let’s go in the counting-house – to my room – it’s safer there.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” cried Daisy, indignantly. “At such a time of night, too! You oughtn’t to ask me.”
“I only asked you for your own sake,” said Richard, “because people might talk if they saw you with me here.”
“Oh yes,” sobbed Daisy; “and they would. I must go.”
“Stop a moment,” said Richard, catching her wrist. “Perhaps, too, it was a little for my own sake, because the men are so furious against me.”
“Oh yes, I heard,” cried Daisy, with her voice shaking; “but they did not hurt you to-day?”
“Not hurt me!” said Richard. “Why, they nearly killed me.”
“No, no,” sobbed Daisy.
“But they did; and they would if I hadn’t been rescued.”
Daisy suppressed a hysterical cry, and Richard passed his arm round her little waist, and drew her to him.
“Then you do love me a little, Daisy?” he whispered.
“No, no, I don’t think I do,” sobbed the girl, without, however, trying to get away. “I believe you were going to meet Miss Eve this morning, and were disappointed because I was there.”
“Indeed I was not,” said Richard. “But I’m sure you were expecting to see that great hulking hound, Tom Podmore.”
“That I was not,” cried Daisy, impetuously; “and I won’t have you speak like that of poor Tom, for I’ve behaved very badly to him, and he’s a good – good, worthy fellow.”
“‘Poor Tom!’” said Richard, with a sigh. “Ah, Daisy, Daisy.”
“Don’t, Mr Richard, please,” sobbed Daisy, who was crying bitterly.
“‘Poor Tom – Mr Richard,’” said the young man, as if speaking to himself.
“Don’t, don’t, Mr Richard, please.”
“‘Mr Richard.’”
“Well, Dick, then. But there, I must go now.”
“Not just now, darling Daisy,” whispered Richard, passionately. “Come with me – here we are close by the door.”
“No, no, indeed I will not,” cried Daisy, firmly.
“Not when I tell you it isn’t safe for me to be in the streets at night, for fear some ruffian should knock out my brains?”
“Oh, Dick, dear Dick, don’t say so.”
“But I’m obliged to,” he said, trying to draw her along, but she still resisted.
“I wouldn’t have you hurt for the world,” she sobbed; “but, Richard – Dick, do you really, really love me as much as you have said?”
“Ten thousand times more, my darling, or I shouldn’t have been running horrible risks to-night to keep my appointment with you.”
“And you – you want to make me your wife, Richard – to share everything with you?”
“You know I do, darling,” he cried, in a low, hoarse whisper.
“Then, Dick, dear, it wouldn’t be proper respect to your future wife to take me there to your works at this time of night,” said the girl, simply, as she clung to him.
“Not when the streets are unsafe?” he cried.
“Let’s part now, directly,” said Daisy. “I would sooner die than any one should hurt you, Richard; but you’d never respect your wife if she had no respect for herself. Good night, Richard.”
“There, I was right,” he cried, petulantly, as he snatched himself away. “You do still care for Tom.”
“No, no, Dick, dear Dick. I don’t a bit,” sobbed the girl. “Don’t, pray don’t, speak to me like that.”
“Then will you come with me – only because it isn’t safe here?” whispered Richard.
“No, no,” sobbed the girl, firmly, “I can’t do that, and if you loved me as you said, you wouldn’t ask me.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Richard, angrily. “Go to your dirty, grimy lout of a lover then;” and as the girl clung to him he thrust her rudely away.
Sim Slee, more rat-like than ever, had been rubbing his hands together with delight, as he looked down at the dimly-seen figures, and overheard every word.
“There’ll be a faight, and Dicky Glaire will be bunched about strangely,” muttered Sim, as Daisy gave a faint scream, for a figure strode out of the darkness.
“She wouldn’t have far to go,” said the figure, hoarsely.
“Tom!” cried Daisy, shrinking to the wall.
“Yes, it’s Tom, sure enew,” said the new-comer. “Daisy Banks, it’s time thou wast at home, and I’m goin’ to see thee theer.”
“How dare you interfere, you insolent scoundrel!” cried Richard, striding forward; but he stopped short as Tom drew himself up.
“Look ye here, Richard Glaire – Mester Richard Glaire,” said Tom, hoarsely, “I’m goin’ to tak’ Daisy Banks home to her father wi’out touching of you; but if yow try to stop me, I’ll finish the job as I stopped them lads from doing this morning. Now go home while you’re raight, for it wean’t be safe to come a step nigher.”
Richard Glaire drew back, while the young fellow took Daisy by the wrist, and drew her arm through his own, striding off directly, but stopping as Richard cried:
“You cowardly eavesdropper; you heard every word.”
“Just about,” said Tom, coolly; “I come to tak’ care o’ Daisy here; and if she’d said ‘Yes,’ by the time yow’d got the key of your private door theer, I should ha’ knocked thee down and had my foot o’ thee handsome face, Mester.”
He strode off, Daisy having hard work to keep up with him, sobbing the while, till they were near her home, when she made an effort to cease crying, wiped her eyes, and broke the silence.
“Did – did you hear what I said, Tom?” she whispered.
“Ivery word, lass, but I only recollect one thing.”
“What was that?”
“That thou did’st not love me a bit.”
Daisy gave a sob.
“You mustn’t mind, Tom,” she said, in a low voice, “for I’m a bad, wretched girl.”
“I should spoil the face of any man who said so to me,” he said, passionately; and then he relapsed into his quiet, moody manner.
“There’s plenty of better girls than me, Tom, will be glad to love you,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, softly, “plenty;” and then with a simple pathos he continued bitterly, “and I’ve got plenty more hearts to give i’ place o’ the one as you’ve ’bout broke.”
Daisy’s breath came with a catch, and they went on in silence for a time – a silence that the girl herself broke.
“Tom,” she said, hoarsely, and he gave quite a start. “Tom, are you going to tell mother and father what you’ve heard and seen?”
“No, lass,” he said, sadly, “I’m not o’ that sort. I came to try and take care o’ thee, not as I’ve any call to now. Thou must go thy own gate, for wi’ such as thou fathers and mothers can do nowt. If Dick Glaire marries thee, I hope thou’lt be happy. If he deceives thee – ”
“What, Tom?” whispered the girl, in an awe-stricken tone, for her companion was silent.
“I shall murder him, and be hung out of my misery,” said Tom. “There’s your door, lass. Go in.”
He waited till the door closed upon her, and then strode off into the darkness.
Meanwhile Sim Slee leaned cautiously from the window watching Richard, who stood now just beneath him, grinding his teeth with impotent rage as he saw Daisy disappear.
“Why didn’t that fool smash the lungeing villain!” said Slee to himself; and then he leaned a little further out.
“I’d like to drop one of these ingots on his head, only it would be mean – Yah! go on, you tyrant and oppressor and robber of the poor, and – oh, my! what a lark!” he said, drawing in his head as Richard Glaire disappeared, when he threw himself on the floor, hugging himself and rolling about in ecstasy, while the cat on a neighbouring lathe set up its back, swelled its tail, and stared at him with dilated eyes.
“Here’s a lark!” said Sim again. “Why, we shall get owd Joe Banks over to our side. Oh yes, of course he sides with the mesters, he does. He hates trades unions, he does. He says my brotherhood’s humbug, and he’s too true to his master to side wi’ such as me. Ho, ho, ho! I shall hev’ you, Joe Banks, and you’ll bring the rest. I shall hev’ you; and if you ain’t enrolled at the Bull before a month’s out, my name ain’t Simeon Slee.”
“Let me see,” said Sim, sitting up sedately and brushing the dirt from his coat, “I’ve to speak at Churley o’ Tuesday. I’ll let ’em have it about suthing as ’ll fit exact to the case. An’ it’s a wonderful power is speech. Hey! that it is.”
He looked out and listened for a few minutes, and then, all being apparently clear, he placed his knee on the window-sill, slid down the rope, gave it a jerk which set the hook free, caught it nimbly, and rolling the line up, went on preening and brushing himself still like a rat till he reached the Bull and Cucumber, where he was received by the party assembled with a good deal of pot-rattling on the table.