"You ring, sir?"
"Yes, Dally; go up to Miss Leo's room, and say we are waiting
breakfast."
"Yes, sir," said Dally, and her blackcurrant eyes gave a malicious
twinkle.
"Oh, how I should like to know," she muttered to herself, as she left
the room.
"It's so tiresome," exclaimed Salis testily; "busy as I am this
morning--letters to write. I must answer this last letter of May's.
More complaints--more complaints! Oh, what a wretched curate he has
got!"
Mary looked up from her seat, with her gentle smile, for she knew how
the harsh crystals of annoyance would melt away with the first cup of
tea, and her brother be all smiles again.
"Wouldn't you like to begin, dear?"
"Begin? Without Leo! You know, Mary, how particular she is, and how
she would feel it as a slight. Tut--tut--tut! How late she is! Mrs
Berens, too, been writing. Do you know, Mary, I wish that woman would
leave the place!"
"She is not likely to, Hartley," said Mary, who was propped up with
cushions at the head of the table, having lately taken her old place
once more; "and she is very kind and good."
"Yes, that's the worst of it," said Salis grimly. "If she were a
disagreeable old harridan, it would not matter so much. Oh! here she
comes."
Leo came quickly into the breakfast-room, looking strained about the
eyes, to cross to Mary, put down her right cheek to be kissed, and then
to go to her brother, extend him her hand, and lower her left cheek for
a second salute.
"That's right, dear," said Salis cheerily; "but you are terribly late.
I'm so busy this morning."
"Why did you not begin?" said Leo, as she languidly took her place.
"Without you? Not likely. Pour out, Mary, dear. Why, Leo--not well?"
"Not well?" she said, repeating his words calmly enough. "I am quite
well, dear."
"But you look--"
"As if I had overslept myself," said Leo quietly. "Any letters?"
"Yes. One sent on by Mrs Berens about the parish poor. Must bring
that up this morning. One from May. That wicked old man! I know he
keeps on with this persecution--there, I can call it nothing else--on
purpose to get me to resign."
"And you will not resign, Hartley," said Leo; "you will set him at
defiance."
"I don't know. I do love a quiet life, and I cannot get it. Now,
here's this morning. Letters to write--more tea, Mary. Ten-o'clock
meeting in the vestry."
"Ah!"
"Why, Leo, dear!" cried the curate, half starting from his chair, while
Mary gazed wonderingly at her sister.
"There's nothing the matter, good people," said Leo contemptuously. "A
touch of toothache! The weather, I suppose."
"You quite startled me," said Salis cheerily. "Visit to the dentist
imminent, my dear. Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes! Vestry meeting at
ten," he continued, turning to a memorandum-book; "Sir Thomas Candlish
to preside, by special request."
Leo's face was ghastly, but she mastered her emotions by a tremendous
effort of will; and, rising from her seat, she fetched a book from the
sideboard, opened it as she returned to her place, and went on reading
with her breakfast.
"Ah! you'll be glad to hear this, Mary," said Salis. "North is going to
bring up the question of those four dilapidated cottages. He says they
are regular fever generators, and that Sir Thomas shall have them pulled
down, for they are a disgrace to the place."
"They certainly are not fit for human habitation, Hartley," said Mary,
who could not keep her wondering eyes off her sister, making a pretence
of eating and reading, but doing neither. She could do nothing but
listen to the recital of peril after peril accumulating round her, and
all following upon a pert, insolent reply given her by Dally Watlock as
she was coming down.
"I expect we shall have a storm," continued Salis, as if to himself.
"It's like asking the arbitrary landlord to have a tooth out, to pull
down a labourer's cottage."
Leo Salis had the spirit and cruelty of heart of an old Roman woman.
She could have viewed with a feeling of intense delight a gladiatorial
exhibition, and turned down her thumb with the worst of them for the
death-warrant of any poor wretch who had not displayed a sufficiency of
courage. To her the new-born passion of Horace North had been a matter
of intense satisfaction, and she had revelled with a malicious joy in
the feeling that she had made him her slave--one who would never meet
with the slightest reward. But while she was careless of the pain she
inflicted upon others, she could suffer keenly at times, and this was
one of these occasions. She loved as a tigress might love, and her
affection had become centred upon the brutal, coarse-minded, athletic
scoundrel, who ranked as a gentleman, but whose tastes and ways were
those of a low-class stable helper; and now, after a night of miserable
anxiety lest her lover should have been injured by North, while she dare
make no inquiry as to what had occurred--she found herself obliged to
sit there chained as much by inclination as by necessity to hear that
Tom Candlish and the doctor were to be brought face to face before her
brother in the scene of the previous night's encounter.
After a short sleep, she had awoke at dawn to ask herself what she
should do--whether she should fly from the Rectory, and bid Tom Candlish
take her away, so that she should not be called upon to face the
scornful looks and contempt of North.
But after a time her stubborn and determined nature had taught her that
she would be at a great disadvantage with Tom Candlish if she went to
him. He would be no longer the suer but the sued, and she was
determined that he should make her his wife.
"North dare not speak to me; and if he did, what then? He is my slave,
and I will meet him. Let him come, and say what he likes. I am no
sickly, sentimental girl who feels bound to obey every one in turn. I
will not go. I'll face it all."
She could not conceal her aspect, but her heart was strong when she came
down that morning till the troubles seemed to accumulate, and a black
cloud of care, which she could not penetrate, appeared to be rising.
Salis went on hurriedly with his breakfast, talking of the business in
the vestry; and all the time Leo was wondering how it was that North
could have known of their meetings--how the vestry looked that morning--
what the old sexton would say, and how this trouble would settle down.
She glanced furtively aside, and saw that Mary was watching her.
This set her wondering whether her sister knew anything, and of whether
her nocturnal escapades would reach her brother's ears.
It was not likely, she told herself; and she was gradually growing more
composed, when Dally presented herself briskly at the door, her eyes
twinkling, and a quiet, satisfied look about her which seemed to show
that she was pleased with the task she had in hand.
"Note from Dr North, sir! No answer."
"Hah! about the cottages," said Salis, smiling as he opened the note,
Dally closing the door after darting a triumphant glance at Leo, which
was not seen. "Ammunition to use against the enemy. How provoking!"
"Is anything wrong, Hartley?" said Mary, while Leo bent lower over her
book.
"Wrong? Yes! There always is something wrong. Poor Horace is unwell
this morning, and cannot attend the vestry."
Leo's heart gave a bound. Her brave, strong lover had beaten the
wretched intruder, and he had curled up in his hole, afraid to come out.
There was nothing to fear from Horace North but his contempt, and she
could meet that with her scorn.
"My poor people's cottages!" sighed Salis. "They'll have to wait.
Well, I'm not malignant, but if a fever is generated there, I hope the
landlord will be the first to catch it."
"Hartley!" cried Mary, in remonstrant tones.
"I didn't say and be cut off," cried Salis, laughing, glancing at the
window. "I meant to read him a severe lesson. Hallo! Job redivivus!
I'm Job. Here comes another messenger. Why, what does old Moredock
want?"
Leo's heart sank. She felt that she knew, and shrank from the ordeal,
as Dally meekly opened the breakfast-room door.
"Please, sir, gran'fa says can he speak to you a minute?"
"Certainly, Dally; bring him in. Port wine, Mary!" he added, as soon as
the maid had left the room; and he recalled certain words he had let
fall about the missing bottles of tent, and his promise to give the old
fellow wine if he were unwell.
"Surely, Hartley, you are not going to have that dreadful old man in
here!" panted Leo, who felt half suffocated by her emotion, as she
recalled the last night's scene in the vestry. "Why not, dear?"
"It is too horrible--the sexton!"
"Nonsense, child! Poor old fellow! His stay on earth cannot be for
long; let's make it as free from social thorns as we can. Morning,
Moredock!" he cried, as Dally ushered the old man in, to stand bowing to
Mary and her sister before making a scrape or two before the curate.
"Mornin', young ladies! Mornin', sir! Smart mornin', sir! Sorry to
trouble you at braxfus, but I was obliged to come."
Leo acknowledged the bow without rising, bent lower over her book, and,
with teeth set hard, stole one hand under the cloth to grasp the edge of
the table and grip it with all her might.
"What, about the vestry meeting--to tell me Dr North was ill?"
"Doctor ill! Is he though, sir?" croaked Moredock, as his red eyes
wandered from face to face.
"Yes, he is unwell, Moredock, and cannot come."
"Bad job--bad job, sir! Doctors has no business to be ill. S'p'ose I
was took bad, I shouldn't like to trust Dr Benson. I never did have no
faith in King's Hampton folk at all. But it warn't about that."
"What, then? Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Ay; but it be, sir," croaked the old man, staring for a moment at Mary,
and then fixing his eyes upon Leo. "It is very ser'ous. Some un's been
in the night and made a burgly in the chutch."
"What!" cried Salis, starting up. "Great heavens, Moredock! is this
true?"
"Ay, it be true enough, parson."
"But they haven't taken the plate?"
"Nay, the plate be safe, though."
"The poor-boxes, then? Thank goodness, Mary, I emptied them the day
before yesterday. How providential!"
"They never touched poor-boxes," croaked Moredock: "and if I might make
so bold, parson, I'm a bit weak i' th' legs yet, and I'd like to sit
down."
"Yes, yes, sit down, Moredock; but pray speak out."
"Well, you see, sir, they didn't get into my chutch: only into vestry."
Leo felt that she must get up and leave the room, but she lacked the
power.
"The vestry!" cried Salis. "What have they taken?"
"Well, as far as I can make out, sir, they broke in at window, and then
they must ha' been skeered, for they only thieved one thing."
"What!--the wine?"
"Nay, nay, nay. Wine's all right--locked up in the cupboard," croaked
Moredock. "They've stole your surplus, sir."
"Impossible!" cried Salis, giving the table a sounding thump with his
closed fist, and bursting into a roar of laughter.
"Impossible, Mary. I haven't any surplus for them to steal."
"Ay, well," grumbled the old sexton, looking wonderingly at the curate
and then at Leo and Mary in turn; "you may say so, parson, but I know.
It were a hanging up on peg alongside o' the gownd, and they'd pulled
'em both down to take away, when they must have been skeered, and they
chowked the gownd down in the corner by the oak chesty, and the surplus
is gone."
"Ah, well, it might have been worse," said Salis, with a sigh. "It was
my new one, though, and the old one is terribly darned. Leo, dear, you
will have to get out the old one again. Mary has the keys."
"It be a bad job, parson."
"It is, Moredock, a very bad job; but I'm glad the wretches were scared.
I won't believe it was any one from Duke's Hampton."
"Nay, it were some of the King's Hampton lot, safe, parson. Ugh!
they're a bad set out yunder. I thought it my dooty to come on and tell
you, sir, and now I'm going away back."
"Let me give you a cup of tea, Moredock," said Mary; "you look tired."
"Bless your sweet eyes and heart, miss, and thankye kindly," said
Moredock. "Cup o' tea's a great comfort to a lone old man. And thankye
kindly for undertaking to take care o' my Dally, as wants it, like most
young gels. Why, Miss Mary, I've know'd you since you was quite a
little thin slip."
"You have, Moredock," said Mary, smiling, as she handed the tea to her
brother for the old man, who paid no farther heed to Leo. "I was only
fifteen when I first saw you."
"Ay, and you was as bright and quick as now you're--Well, never mind
that, my dear. Better be an angel as can't walk about than some
beautiful gels as can."
"Why, Moredock," said Salis, laughing, "was that meant for a
compliment?"
"I dunno, parson," said the old man, staring hard at Mary; "'tis only
what I felt. Heaven bless her! I never see her face wi'out thinking o'
stained glass windows, wi' wire outside to keep away the stones; and I
says, may no stones never be throwed at her."
The old man gulped down his tea, and rose to go.
"You'll be on at vestry room, sir?"
"Yes, Moredock; and once more I'm glad it's no worse."
"Like me to go over in Badley's donkey-cart, sir, to tell the police?"
"Well, yes, Moredock. We must give notice about the scoundrels, I
suppose, or they may come again."
"Mornin', then, sir, and my service to you, Miss Mary, and thankye
kindly, my dear," said the old man, hobbling off without a word or look
at Leo; and, oddly enough, as he reached the road he wiped a tear from
each of his watery eyes.
"And so she is," he muttered, "a real angel. My Dally never said, `Have
a cup o' tea, gran'fa; you're hot and tired.' Ah! gels is made
different, but my Dally's worth two o' that tother one."
"Police, eh?" he muttered, as he went on. "I was 'bliged to take it
away twissened up into a rag, and if it had been washed somebody would
have known. Ah, well, I know what to do wi' that."
So the old man went straight home, and fastened the door, before taking
the soiled and crumpled surplice from his oak chest; and then carefully
picking it to pieces and rolling it up.
"My Dally shall wash that, first time she comes, and nobody'll know it's
a surplus now. She might ha' asked her old gran'fa to have a cup o'
tea."
Volume 2, Chapter XVIII.