HONOURABLE INTENTIONS
Every evening at nine Mrs. Drake drank a cup of coffee. This was a
custom of some historical importance, and it originated after the
following manner:
Captain Drake had a great liking for a small glass of whisky and water
after his evening pipe; but, during the first few weeks of married life,
refrained from divulging this weakness to his wife, who could not
understand why he became so restless at the same time every evening. The
Captain explained that, when he had finished smoking, he suffered from
an incurable longing to arise and walk about the house. Mrs. Drake
advised him to take exercise by all means, and the Captain did so,
wandering towards the dining room at nine o'clock, and returning about
ten minutes later in a thoroughly satisfied state of mind. But one
evening the lady heard him whisper to the servant, "Water, my child!
Water!"--the Captain never could whisper properly--and upon another
evening she distinguished the creak of a corkscrew, while every evening
she was able to detect a subtle aroma which could not have been
introduced as one of the ordinary results of walking about the house.
"So you are fond of whisky," she said sharply.
"Well, not exactly fond of it, my dear," stammered the Captain. "Really
I don't care for whisky, but I like the feeling it gives me."
"I don't like hypocrisy, and I dislike still more the feeling it gives
me. In future we will drink together. When you take your glass of
whisky, I will have a cup of coffee," she replied.
After the arrival of Miss Yard at Windward House, she too was offered
the cup, but declined, as she abhorred coffee.
"But it's cocoa," explained Kezia.
"Why do you call it coffee then?" asked Miss Yard, who had quite enough
to perplex her poor brain without this unnecessary difficulty.
"Mrs. Drake used to have coffee once, but, as she never cared for it
much, she took to cocoa. She has drunk cocoa for twenty years, but we
always call it coffee."
Bessie and Robert stayed every evening to drink coffee, which was
generally cocoa, but sometimes beer. One evening Nellie was so late that
Kezia declared she should wait for her no longer. It was Thursday, and
Nellie, who sang in the choir, had gone out to attend the weekly
practice. Suddenly Robert withdrew his head from a steaming bowl and
declared he heard voices in the garden. All listened, and presently
Nellie's laughter passed in at the back door, which stood open as the
night was warm, but Nellie did not accompany it.
Robert made a signal to the others, and they tiptoed out like so many
conspirators, to discover the young lady enjoying a confidential
conversation with somebody else who sang in the choir, and whose voice
had been described by the schoolmaster-organist as a promising baritone.
It looked as if it was promising then.
A few minutes later Kezia and Bessie appeared in the parlour, and asked
Mrs. Drake if she had any objection to Sidney Brock drinking a cup of
coffee.
"Who is Sidney Brock?" demanded Mrs. Drake, like a learned judge of the
King's Bench.
"He'm the grandson of Eli Brock, and he sings in the choir."
Mrs. Drake expressed her approval, but required to know more about the
family before she could issue a permit to Sidney entitling him to drink
coffee.
"They'm the new folk to Black Anchor," explained Bessie. "Mr. Brock used
to keep a post office, they ses, but it failed, and now he'm farming wi'
Sidney, and they ha' got no woman, and they took Black Anchor because
'twas to be had vor nothing nearly, and 'tis wonderful, Robert ses,
what a lot they ha' done already."
"The post office failed!" exclaimed Miss Yard, who had been listening
intently with a hand behind her ear. "What a pity! Now I shan't be able
to write any more letters."
"Mr. Brock's post office, miss," cried Bessie. "It was a shop as well,
but it didn't pay."
"How much does he want?" asked Miss Yard, searching for her reticule.
"Nothing, miss."
"What's he come for then? I hope he hasn't brought a telegram."
"He's one of the choirmen, Sophy," exclaimed Mrs. Drake, adding, "But I
don't know why he should come here."
"He's just brought your Nellie home," said Kezia.
"Oh, I am so thankful!" cried Miss Yard. "I knew Nellie would be lost,
going out these dreadful dark nights."
"She only went to choir practice, miss. Sidney is her young man now, and
they'll make the best looking couple in Highfield," said Bessie.
"How silly of you to tell her that!" said Mrs. Drake crossly.
Miss Yard said nothing for a few moments. She stared at the mummy, then
at the grandfather clock, which was no longer in working order; and
presently her poor old face began to twitch and tears rolled down her
cheeks. She tried to rise, but Kezia restrained her with kindly hands,
saying, "Don't worry, miss. Sidney is a very nice young man, and I'm
sure Nellie couldn't do much better."
"She never told me," sobbed Miss Yard.
"Perhaps she did, but you know you don't remember anything," said Mrs.
Drake soothingly.
"My memory is as good as yours. I can remember you eating a lot of
chocolate on your fifth birthday, and being suddenly sick in the fender.
Nellie has run away and got married--and I never gave her a wedding
present--and I can't get on without her. You know, Maria, I never did
like that fat woman at the post office."
"What has she got to do with Nellie?"
"You told me Nellie had to marry the man because the post office
failed--and that woman opens my letters and reads them."
"Call Nellie and tell her to put Miss Sophy to bed," ordered Mrs. Drake.
"The young man's waiting outside," Kezia reminded her.
"Ask him in, and give him a cup of coffee. And, when she has gone to
bed, tell him to come in here. I want to see what he is like. Get
Nellie, quick!" cried the lady; for Miss Yard had got away from her
chair and was knocking things over.
Nellie appeared in full flower, to scold her mistress for not remaining
dormant until her usual bedtime; but on this occasion Miss Yard rebelled
against discipline.
"You have deceived me," she said bitterly. "You have been a little
viper. Everybody in this house deceives me, and keeps things from me,
except George. He is the only gentleman here. He's the only one who
knows how to behave properly. When I hit my head upon the door, he was
sorry for me; but you laughed, and my sister laughed, and everybody's
laughing now except George. He knows how hard it is to walk out of a
room without hurting yourself."
"It's so easy to laugh somehow," said Nellie.
"Why did you marry the postman without telling me?"
"I have not married the postman, and I'm not thinking of getting
married; and what's more I won't marry while I have you to look after,"
Nellie promised.
"But you went out and got lost, and some man found you, and they all say
you married him."
"There wasn't time," said Nellie. "Now come away to bed, and we'll talk
about it in the morning."
"I hope we shall be able to forget all the malice and wickedness. Maria,
do let us try to begin all over again," said Miss Yard earnestly. "This
evil speaking and slandering is so dreadful. You tried to take away
poor Nellie's character; you heard Kezia say she was a regular bad girl;
and that horrid Bessie, who will _not_ stop growing, said it was because
the woman at the post office couldn't sell her stamps, and then the
postman tempted her to run off with him."
"But he didn't succeed," said the laughing girl, as she conveyed Miss
Yard towards the stairs.
As they disappeared George entered the house, and observed to his aunt
that the night was warm. Mrs. Drake felt cold towards her nephew, whose
letter of appointment had not yet arrived, but she thawed sufficiently
to inquire whether he knew anything about the Brocks. George became
suspicious, and answered guardedly:
"The old man is a marvel. He cooks the food and keeps the house tidy,
and puts in a good day's work as well upon the worst farm in the parish.
But the people don't like him much."
"Why not?" demanded Mrs. Drake.
"They think it's queer a man should do a woman's work; and some of them
say it's not quite decent."
His voice died away into a gasp of amazement, for that moment Kezia
announced Sidney, and that young fellow appeared upon the carpet. George
had been about to give him a remarkably good character, but was now
disposed to reconsider his decision; especially when Mrs. Drake, after a
few preliminary remarks, introduced the name of Nellie. George
immediately withdrew to a back window and began to search for flies.
"She is a very good girl, and my sister is wonderfully attached to her,"
Mrs. Drake resumed.
"Same here," said Sidney promptly.
"I don't know whether you are engaged to her," said Mrs. Drake.
"Well, we don't exactly get engaged. We just walk together until we can
get married, and then we do it," exclaimed Sidney.
"I hope you won't ask her to marry you while my sister is alive."
"Nellie wouldn't leave Miss Yard, and 'twould be no gude my asking her."
"Do you think the farm will pay?" was Mrs. Drake's next question.
"We'll get a living out of it, sure enough," replied Sidney cheerfully.
"The last folk left it in a pretty bad state--they let the bog get into
the best field, and the whole place is vull of verm--but there's plenty
of gude soil. 'Twill take a year to get straight, and after that we
shall go ahead. Grandfather's past seventy, but he's vor ten hours a day
yet."
"An example for some men," commented the lady, with a shrug of her
shoulders towards the fly killer. "The finest man in the world--that's
grandfather. There ain't hardly a job he can't do, whether 'tis man's
work or woman's work."
"How old are you?"
"Past nineteen."
"Would you marry a girl older than yourself?"
"If her name wur Nellie Blisland, I would."
"I hope you will get on," said Mrs. Drake in her kindliest fashion. "You
may come in any evening for a cup of coffee with the others, and tell
your grandfather to stay to supper with you on Sundays after church."
"Thankye kindly," said Sidney.
"That's what I call a man, though he is only nineteen," observed Mrs.
Drake, when she and her nephew were alone again.
"Oh yes, he's a nice boy, a clever boy. A bit mealy-mouthed, and all
that sort of thing," said George indifferently.
"Do you know anything against him?"
"I can see what's going on. The old man is one of the best, but Sidney
isn't quite straight. This singing in the choir, you know, is just a
blind. Nellie's not the only girl."
"Do you mean to say the boy is a humbug--like you are?"
"Find out for yourself," replied George fiercely, and stalked out of the
room.
Local rumour was brought to Windward House every day by Robert, but
Mrs. Drake had no direct communication with him. She inquired of Kezia
concerning Sidney's character, and Kezia appealed to Bessie, who knew
quite as much as her husband, although she could not speak with his
authority. Robert declared he liked Sidney, and had never seen him with
more than one young woman at a time; but he admitted some rather unkind
things were being said against the two occupants of the lonely farm,
especially by the women, who were of opinion that old Brock had disposed
of his former relations by means of those illegal methods which made the
ordinary Sunday newspaper such interesting and instructive reading. At
all events, a man who was independent of female labour could not expect
to be regarded as a Christian, even though he did attend church and had
grown a patriarchal beard. The Brocks, in short, were not like other
men; they were therefore mysteries; and anything of a mysterious nature
was bound to be intimately connected with secret crime.
These things Robert admitted, quite forgetting--if the fact had ever
dawned upon him--that it was the custom in Highfield, as in other places
about the Forest of Dartmoor, for the parishioners to revile each other
amongst themselves, and to defend one another against all outsiders. In
the bad old days a certain vicar of Highfield had been a notorious
drunkard, and was so hated by his people that he could hardly appear in
the street without being insulted; but when the authorities sought to
procure evidence against him, all were for their vicar, and the very men
who had carried him home drunk the previous night swore they had never
known him the worse for liquor. Mrs. Drake did not know of this
peculiarity, and was therefore forced to the conclusion that Mr. Brock
had a past, which was not wonderful considering his age; and that, if
Nellie married Sidney and went to live at Black Anchor, it was quite
possible she would not have a future. So she instructed Kezia not to
encourage the young man, and advised Nellie to fall out of love as
tactfully as possible.
In the meantime, George appeared to be passing through the throes of
reformation. Although actually the same unprofitable person, he
succeeded, by a skilful change of methods, in making his aunt believe
industry was now the one and the only thing he lived for. He displayed a
passion for railways; talked of little but express trains and
timetables; constructed a model of a railway station out of a few
packing cases; and drew caricatures of locomotives. He fumed every
morning because the long expected letter from headquarters still failed
to arrive. Mrs. Drake, who was easily deceived, quite supposed George
had turned over a new leaf; and he had done so, but without changing
his book. He had not the slightest intention of quitting Windward House,
but he could see no prospect of carrying out his programme by
persevering in the old methods. He continued to idle away his time; but
he did so in a different fashion.
His next step was to develop the programme, and to indulge a few of the
leading items to the other person whose name was writ large upon it.
This was no easy matter, since opportunity, resolution, and guileless
speech would have to be obtained simultaneously. George's eloquence was
of the meanest description; he was master of no honeyed phrase, while
his method of expressing affection for another consisted in advertising
the virtues of himself.
One afternoon he was lying beneath a favourite apple tree, when a fine
specimen of the fruit fell upon his chest. He sat up, rubbed his eyes,
and looked round. Then he ate the apple and listened. The silence was
profound; he seemed to be indolent monarch of a lazy world. George
remembered that, shortly before sleep had gently touched his eyelids,
Mrs. Drake and Kezia had passed out of the garden. Miss Yard would be
contentedly muddling through the maze of some missionary magazine. While
the only other person in the house might be sitting beside a window at
the back.
George comprehended that the falling apple had been a call to seize the
opportunity; resolution he seemed to have acquired by devouring it;
eloquence alone was wanting. But big words, he knew, could never fail
brave people.
Fortune was smiling in the kindest way from the little upstairs window,
where Nellie's head was bobbing over a sewing-machine, which she fed
with yards of summer-cloud material. George went on steadily reforming
and strenuously gazing; but Nellie did not condescend to throw a glance
in his direction.
"There's a nice view from your window," he said at last; an unfortunate
beginning, as the girl could see little except himself.
"Lovely," she said, without looking around.
"Are you sewing?" George inquired gently.
"Learning the typewriter," she replied.
George wanted to go into the house and procure a glass of cider, but
dared not lose the opportunity.
"Nellie," he said, making as many syllables possible of her name, "do
you mind me talking to you a little about yourself?"
"I can't prevent it unless I shut the window, and don't want to do
that," she said.
"I wanted to say that--to remind you that my aunt is not going to live
for ever," George continued.
"That's not talking about me."
"Ah, but I'm coming to you presently."
"You can stay where you are," she said coldly.
"Miss Yard won't live for ever either," said George, more confidently.
"She can't leave you anything, because all her money goes to my beastly
cousin Percy. I know she is always promising to leave you money, but she
can't do it."
"I am to have her furniture anyhow," said Nellie, removing her hands
from the machine, and turning at last towards the window.
"Oh no! I get that. Aunt Sophy's furniture is to go with the rest."
"Is that really true?" asked Nellie, who had good reason to be
suspicious of Miss Yard's promises.
"Yes, it all comes to me," said George eagerly. "I shall have the
furniture, and the house, and the cash my aunt leaves. The two Chinese
vases aunt keeps underneath her bed are worth a thousand pounds; that's
a great secret, and I wouldn't tell any one but you. The other things
will fetch five hundred pounds. Then I shall have the money that aunt
leaves--perhaps another five hundred. Then the property will bring
another thousand. So you see, when the old ladies die, I shall have pots
of money."
"It will mean more to be you then than it does now," said Nellie darkly.
"Yes, I shall be quite rich. You see, there's no reason why I should
work, as aunt is well past seventy."
"But I thought you were going to do something great and wonderful on the
railway?"
"That was an idea, but I can't afford to leave the place; that's another
secret, Nellie, and I wouldn't tell any one but you. I am so afraid aunt
may give away the vases. She's getting a bit queer in her memory too,
and she's always giving away things. When I went to see about a job on
the railway she sent a lot of my things to a rummage sale. She has given
Kezia the bed she sleeps on, and a lot more things; but they all belong
to me, and I shall claim them when she dies."
"She has promised me the round table in the parlour," said Nellie.
"Of course I don't mind what she gives you," said George awkwardly.
"Many thanks. Now I must go and put on the kettle for tea. You have told
me such a lot about myself."
"Yes, and I've got still more to say. I shall have quite three thousand
pounds--and my tastes are very simple. I don't expect much, and I don't
ask for much. It's my own belief that I can put up with almost anybody."
"Now I'm in for it!" Nellie murmured, with a scorching glance at the
somewhat dejected figure in the garden.
"I have always flattered myself," George rambled on, with the feeling
that eloquence had come to him at last, "I can get along anyhow with
anyone."
"You mustn't be too complimentary. Flattery alone is not worth much, you
know," she said carelessly.
"I mean all that I say, and--and I'm not so idle as they make out, but
what's the good of breaking your back when you are coming into
thousands? It's only taking a job from some other fellow. I can draw
quite well, and paint, and prune roses, and I shall have all my uncle's
famous furniture, and the house, and the money--"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't keep on talking about me," cried Nellie.
"If you won't let me say anything more, I'll write it all down," said
George delightedly. "I have tried, but it's so hard to find a word to
rhyme with Nellie, while Nell is just as bad. Now if your name had been
Mary, there's dairy, and fairy, and hairy--"
"And wary," laughed the girl, as she ran away from the window.