THE NE'ER-DO-WEEL
Anxious to make the best impression on her father, Eva Strode ran up
to her room to put on an evening gown. Mr. Strode supplied her
liberally with money, for whatever his faults may have been, he
certainly was not mean; therefore she possessed a fairly extensive
wardrobe. She did not see Mrs. Merry on entering the cottage, as that
good lady was occupied in looking after the dinner in the little
back-kitchen. The table was laid, however, and after making herself
smart, Eva descended to add a few finishing touches in the shape of
flowers.
Cheered by the view Allen took of her dream, and still more by the
fact that he had gone to the Red Deeps, Eva arranged many roses, red
and white, in a great silver bowl which had belonged to her mother. As
a matter of fact, Eva had been born in Misery Castle, and being sickly
as a baby, had been christened hurriedly in the cottage out of the
bowl, an heirloom of the Delham family. Mrs. Merry had taken
possession of it, knowing, that if Lady Jane took it away, her husband
would speedily turn it into money. Therefore, Mrs. Merry being a
faithful guardian, the bowl was still in the cottage, and on this
night Eva used it as a centrepiece to the prettily decorated table.
And it did look pretty. The cloth was whiter than snow, the silver
sparkled and the crystal glittered, while the roses blooming in the
massive bowl added a touch of needed colour.
There were evidences of Eva's taste in the small dining-room. Mrs.
Merry had furnished it, certainly, but Eva had spent much of her
pocket-money in decorating the room. Everything was charming and
dainty and intensely feminine. Any one could see at a glance that it
was a true woman's room. And Eva in her black gauze dress,
bare-necked and bare-armed, flitted gracefully about the tiny
apartment. Her last act was to light the red-shaded lamp which hung
low over the table. The window she left open and the blind up, as the
night was hot, and the breeze which cooled the room made the place
more bearable.
"It's quite pretty," said Eva, standing back against the door to get
the effect of the glittering table and the red light and the flowers.
"If father is dissatisfied he must be hard to please," she sighed,
"and from what Nanny says, I fear he is. A quarter to eight, he'll be
here soon. I'd better see when the dinner will be ready."
But before doing so, she went to the front door and listened for the
sound of wheels. She certainly heard them, but the vehicle was
driving towards, and not from, the common. Apparently Mr. Strode was
not yet at hand, so she went to the kitchen. To her surprise she
heard voices. One was that of Mrs. Merry, querulous as usual, and the
other a rich, soft, melodious voice which Eva knew only too well. It
was that of her foster-brother Cain.
This name was another of Mrs. Merry's eccentricities. Her husband,
showing the brute within him a year after marriage, had disillusioned
his poor wife very speedily. He was drunk when the boy was born, and
still drunk when the boy was christened; Mrs. Merry therefore
insisted that the boy would probably take after his father, and
requested that the name of Cain should be given to him. The
curate objected, but Mrs. Merry being firm and the curate weak, the
boy was actually called after Adam's eldest son. Had the rector
been at home such a scandal--as he regarded it--would not have
occurred, but Mr. Quain was absent on a holiday, and returned to
find an addition to his flock in the baby person of Cain Merry. The
lad grew up handsome enough, but sufficiently wild and wicked to
justify his mother's choice of a name. Yet he had his good moments,
and might have improved had not his mother nagged him into
wrong-doing.
"Well, Cain," said Eva, entering the kitchen, "so you're back?"
"Like a bad penny," cried Mrs. Merry, viciously stabbing some potatoes
with a fork; "six months he's been away, and----"
"And I'd remained longer if I'd thought of getting this welcome,
mother," growled Cain sulkily. "But I might have known."
He was a remarkably handsome lad of eighteen, almost as dark as Allen
Hill. As Mr. Merry had gipsy blood in his veins, it was probable
that Cain inherited the nature and looks of some splendid
Romany ancestor. With his smooth dark skin, under which the
rich red blood mantled, his eyes large and black as night, and
clearly-cut features, Cain looked as handsome as a picture. Not
even the rough dress he wore, which was that of a labourer, could
disguise his fine figure and youthful grace. He looked like a young
panther, sleek, beautiful, and dangerous. Cap on head, he leaned
against the jamb of the outer door--his mother would not allow him to
come further--and seemed a young Apollo, so slim and graceful did he
appear. But Mrs. Merry, gesticulating with the fork, had no eye for
his good looks. He reminded her too much of the absent Merry, who was
just such a splendid outlaw, when he won her to a bitterly regretted
marriage. Cain, meeting with so unpleasant a reception, was sulky and
inclined to be defiant, until Eva entered. Then he removed his cap,
and became wonderfully meek. He was fond of his foster-sister, who
could do much with him.
"When did you come back, Cain?" she asked.
"Ten minutes ago, and mother's been ragging me ever since," he
replied; "flesh and blood can't stand it, Miss Eva, I'll go."
"No you won't," struck in Mrs. Merry, "you'll stop and give the mother
who bore you--worse luck--the pleasure of your company."
Cain grinned in a sleepy manner. "Not much pleasure for me."
"Nor for me, you great hulking creature," said Mrs. Merry,
threatening him with a fork. "I thought you'd grow up to be a
comfort to me, but look at you----"
"If you thought I'd be a comfort, why did you call me Cain, mother?"
"Because I knew what you'd turn out," contradicted Mrs. Merry, "just
like your father, oh, dear me, just like him. Have you seen anything
of your father, Cain?"
"No," said Cain stolidly, "and I don't want to."
"That's right, deny the author of your being. Your father, who
was always a bad one, left me fifteen years ago, just after you
were born. The cottage was not then my own, or he'd never have
left me. But there, thank heaven," cried Mrs. Merry, throwing up
her eyes to the smoky ceiling, "father didn't die and leave me
well off, till Giles went! Since that I've heard nothing of him.
He was reported dead----"
"You said you heard nothing of him, mother," put in Cain, smiling.
"Don't show your teeth in that way at your mother," snapped Mrs.
Merry, "what I say, I say, and no mistake. Your father was
reported dead, and as he's left me for seven years and more, I
could marry again, if I were such a fool. But I haven't, hoping
you'd be a comfort to the mother who brought you into the world.
But you were always a bad boy, Cain. You played truant from
school, you ran away to become a navvy at thirteen, and again and
again you came back in rags."
"I'm not in rags now," said Cain, restive under this tongue.
"Then you must have stolen the clothes," retorted his mother; "I'll be
bound you didn't come by them honestly: not as they're much."
While this pleasant conversation was going on Eva stood mute. She
knew of old how impossible it was to stop Mrs. Merry's tongue, and
thought it best to let her talk herself out. But the last speech
made Cain laugh, and he was cool enough to wink at Eva. She knew
Cain so intimately, and really liked him so much in spite of his
wickedness, that she did not take offence, but strove to turn from
him the wrathful speech of his mother.
"I am sure Cain has turned over a new leaf," she said, smiling.
"He's turned over volumes of 'em," groaned Mrs. Merry, dashing
down a pot on the range, "but each page is worst nor the last.
Oh, I know what I'm saying," she went on triumphantly. "I was a
farmer's daughter and had three years' schooling, not to speak of
having mixed with the aristocracy in the person of your dear ma,
Miss Eva, and your own blessed self as is always a lady. But
Cain--oh, look at him."
"He looks very well," said Eva, "and he looks hungry. Don't you
think you might give him a meal, Mrs. Merry?"
"Kill the fatted calf, as you might say," suggested Cain impudently.
"Calf!" screeched Mrs. Merry, "you're one yourself, Cain, to talk
like that with Miss Eva present. Ain't you got no respect?"
"Miss Eva knows I mean no harm," said the goaded Cain.
"Of course you don't," said Miss Strode; "come, Mrs. Merry, the boy's
home for good now."
"For bad, you mean."
"I'm not home at all," said Cain unexpectedly. "I'm working at
Westhaven, but I came over just to see my mother. If she
don't want me I can go back to those who do," and he turned
to go.
"No. Stop," cried Mrs. Merry, whose bark was worse than her
bite. "I shan't let a growing lad like you tramp back all them ten
miles with a starving inside. Wait till I get this dinner off my mind,
and the pair of us will sit down like Christians to eat it."
Eva stared and laughed. "You forget nurse: this dinner is for my
father. He should be here in a few minutes."
Mrs. Merry turned grey. "I ain't forgot your dream, my dear.
He'll never eat it for want of breath, nor you for sorrow. Now,
Cain----"
Miss Strode, who had a temper of her own, stamped a pretty slippered
foot imperiously. "Hold your tongue, Mrs. Merry," she cried, the
colour rising in her cheeks, "my father will arrive."
The old woman glanced at the American clock which stood on the
mantelpiece. The small hand pointed to eight. "He ain't come yet."
"Cain," said Eva, turning, still flushed, to the lad, "you came along
the Westhaven road?"
Cain nodded. "Twenty minutes ago, Miss Eva," said he.
"Did you see my father? No, you don't remember my father. Did you
see a fly coming along?"
"No. But then I didn't come along the road all the time. I took a
short cut across country, Miss Eva. I'll just have a meal with
mother, and then go back to my business."
"And what is your business, I'd like to know?" questioned Mrs. Merry
sharply; "a fine business it must be to take you from your mother."
"I'm in a circus."
"What, riding on horses in tights!" cried Mrs. Merry aghast.
"No such luck. I'm only a groom. I got the billet when I was in
London, and glad enough I was, seeing how hard up I've been. It's
Stag's Circus and a good show. I hope you'll come over to Shanton
to-morrow, Miss Eva; there's a performance at night, and you'll see
some riding. Ah, Miss Lorry can ride a bit!"
"Miss who?" asked Eva, who, with the kitchen door open, was straining
her ears to hear if Mr. Strode was coming.
"Some low female, I'll be bound," snorted Mrs. Merry. "I've seen 'em
dancing in pink stockings and raddling their brazen cheeks with
paint. She's no better than she ought to be, not she, say what you
like."
Cain grew angry. "You're quite wrong, mother," said he. "Miss Lorry is
very much respected. She rides her own horse, White Robin, and has
appeared before crowned heads. She's billed as the Queen of the Arena,
and is a thing of beauty."
"Ha!" said Mrs. Merry sharply, "and you love her. Ho! You that told
me you loved that freckle-faced, snub-nosed Jane Wasp, the daughter
o' that upsetting Wasp policeman, with his duty-chatter, and----"
"I don't love any one," said Cain, putting on his cap; "and if you
talk like that I'll go."
"To marry a circus rider. Never enter my doors again if you do. I've
got this cottage and fifty pounds a year, inherited from my father, to
leave, remember."
"Dear nurse," said Eva soothingly, "Cain has no idea of marrying."
"Miss Lorry wouldn't have me if I had," said Cain sadly, though his
black eyes flashed fire; "why, Lord Saltars is after her."
"What!" shrieked Mrs. Merry, turning sharply. "Miss Eva's cousin?"
Cain looked astonished. "Is he your cousin?" he asked.
"Yes, Cain--a distant cousin. He is the eldest son of Lord Ipsen.
My mother was the daughter of the last Earl. Is he in Westhaven?"
"Yes, miss. He follows the circus everywhere, for love of her."
"We don't want to hear about those things," said Mrs. Merry sharply;
"leave your Lorries and rubbish alone, and go and wash in my room.
I'll get the dinner ready soon, and then we can sit down for a chat."
"Another bullying," grumbled Cain, throwing down his cap and
preparing to take a seat. But he never did. At that moment there came
a long shrill whistle with several modulations like a bird's note.
Cain started, and cocked his handsome head on one side. The whistle
was repeated, upon which, without a word either to his mother or Miss
Strode, he dashed out of the kitchen.
"There," said Mrs. Merry, waving the fork, "to treat his own lawful
mother in that way--to say nothing of you, Miss Eva."
"He'll come back soon," replied Eva.
"Oh, he will, if there's money and food about. But he'll get neither,
after behaving in that way. That my son should belong to a circus!
Ah, I always said Cain was born for the gallows, like his father."
"But you don't know if his father----"
"I know what I know," replied Mrs. Merry with dignity, "which is to
say, nothing. But Giles is what Giles was, and has everything
likely to bring him to a rope's end. I'll be the wife of one
hanged man," added the old woman with relish, "and the mother of
another. Then my cup of misery will be full enough. But, bless
me, Miss Eva, don't stay here, getting that pretty dress all
greasy. Go and wait for your pa in the doring-room, and I'll
bring in the dinner as soon as I hear him swearing--for swear he
will, if he arrive."
"Of course he'll arrive," said Eva impatiently, looking at the
clock, which now indicated five minutes past eight; "he's a
little late."
Mrs. Merry shook her head. "He'll not come. He's in the Red Deeps,
lying face downward in the mud."
Eva grew angry at this persistent pessimism, but nothing she
could say or do, was able to change Mrs. Merry's opinion. Finding
that more talk with the prophetess only made her angry, Eva
returned to the front of the house, and, sitting in the
drawing-room, took up the last fashionable novel which she had
borrowed. But not all the talent of the author was able to
enchain her attention. She kept thinking of her father and of the
Red Deeps, and kept also looking at the clock. It was drawing to
nine when she went again to the front door, subsequently to the
gate.
There was no sign of Cain coming back. He had appeared like a
ghost and had vanished as one. Why the whistle should have made
him turn pale and take so abrupt a departure, Eva was not able
to say. Moreover, the non-arrival of her father fully occupied
her attention. She could not believe that her dream, vivid as it
had been, would prove true and set down her nervous fears, which
were now beginning to get the upper hand, to Mrs. Merry's chatter.
That old woman appeared at her elbow while she leaned over the
gate, looking down the road.
"He ain't come," croaked Mrs. Merry. "Bless you, deary, of course
he ain't. I know where he is, and you saw him in your dream."
"Nonsense," said Eva, and ran out on to the road. A few people were
passing--mostly villagers, but Eva was well known and no one was
surprised at seeing her hatless. Even if any one had expressed
surprise, she was too anxious to trouble much about public opinion.
"Aaron," she asked an old man who came trudging down from the common,
"did you see my father coming along in a fly?"
"Why, miss," said Aaron scratching his shock head, "it's a matter
of five year since I saw your father, and I don't rightly know as
I'd tell him. But I ain't seen nothing but carts this evening, ay,
and you might say bicycles."
"No fly?"
"Not one, miss. Good-evening. I dare say your father will walk,
miss, by reason of the hot evening."
This suggestion was the very reverse of what Mr. Strode would do,
he being a gentleman mindful of his own comfort. However, after the
rustic had departed, Eva ran up as far as the common. There was no
sign of any vehicle, so she returned to the cottage. Mrs. Merry met
her at the door.
"The dinner spiling," said Mrs. Merry crossly; "do come and eat
some, Miss Eva, and I'll keep the dishes hot."
"No, I'll wait till my father comes. Is Cain back?"
"Not a sign of him. But, lor bless you, deary, I never expected
it, not me. He's gone to his circuses; to think that a son of
mine----"
But the girl was in no humour to hear the lamentations of Mrs.
Merry over the decay of her family, and returned to the
drawing-room. There she sat down again and began to read--or try
to.
Mrs. Merry came in at half-past nine, and brought a cup of tea,
with a slice of toast. Eva drank the tea, but declined the
toast, and the old woman retired angrily, to remove the
spoilt dinner. Then Eva played a game of patience, and at ten
threw down the cards in despair. The non-arrival of her
father, coupled with her dream, made her restless and uneasy.
"I wish Allen would return," she said aloud. But Allen never
appeared, although by now he had ample time to reach the Red
Deeps and to return therefrom. It was in Eva's mind to go to
Mr. Hill's house, which was at the further end of Wargrove
village, but a mindful thought of Mr. Hill's jokes, which were
usually irritating, made her hesitate. She therefore went back to
the kitchen, and spoke to Mrs. Merry, who was crooning over the
fire.
"What are you doing?" she asked snappishly, for her nerves, poor girl,
were worn thin by this time.
"I'm waiting for the body," said Mrs. Merry grimly.
Eva bit her lip to keep down her anger, and returned to the
drawing-room, where she wandered hopelessly up and down. While
straining her ears she heard footsteps and ran to the door. It
proved to be a telegraph boy, dusty and breathless. Eva
snatched the wire from him, although she was surprised at its
late arrival. As she opened the envelope, the boy explained
needlessly--
"It come at four," he said, "and I forgot to bring it, so the Head
sent me on all these ten mile, miss, at this hour by way of
punishment. And I ain't had no supper," added the injured youth.
But Eva did not heed him. She was reading the wire, which said that
Mr. Strode had postponed his departure from town till the morrow,
and would then be down by mid-day. "There's no reply," said Eva curtly,
and went to the kitchen for the fifth time that evening. The messenger
boy grumbled at not getting a shilling for his trouble, quite
forgetting that the late arrival of the wire was due to his own
carelessness. He banged the front gate angrily, and shortly rode off
on his red-painted bicycle.
"My father's coming to-morrow," said Eva, showing the telegram.
Mrs. Merry read it, and gave back the pink paper. "Let them believe it
as does believe," said she, "but he'll not come."
"But the wire is signed by himself, you stupid woman," said Eva.
"Well and good," said Mrs. Merry, "but dreams are dreams, whatever you
may say, deary. Your pa was coming before and put it off; now he put
it off again, and----"
"Then you believe he sent the wire. There, there, I know you will
contradict me," said Miss Strode crossly, "I'm going to bed."
"You'll be woke up soon," cried Mrs. Merry after her; "them knocks----"
Eva heard no more. She went to her room, and, wearied out by
waiting and anxiety, retired speedily to bed. Mrs. Merry remained
seated before the kitchen fire, and even when twelve struck she
did not move. The striking of the clock woke Eva. She sat up
half asleep, but was speedily wide awake. She heard footsteps,
and listened breathlessly. A sharp knock came to the front door.
Then four soft knocks. With a cry she sprang from her bed, and
ran to the door. Mrs. Merry met her, and kept her back.
"They've brought him home, miss," she said; "the dream's come true."