PLEADINGS.
"But it will devour me the more. My mother cannot love me;" the poor
girl was obliged to think, as she sat in her lonely room again. "She has
laid this heavy burden on me; and I am to share it with no one. Does she
suppose that I feel nothing, and am wholly absorbed in love-proceedings,
forgetting all duty to my father? Sometimes I doubt almost whether Jemmy
Fox is worthy of my affection. I am not very precious. I know that--the
lesson is often impressed upon me--but I know that I am simple, and
loving, and true; and he takes me too much for granted. If he were
noble, and could love with all his heart, would he be so hard upon his
sister, for liking a man, who is her equal in everything but money? The
next time I see him, I will try him about that. If a man is noble, as I
understand the word, he will be noble for others, as well as for
himself. Uncle Penniloe is the only real nobleman I know; because to him
others are equal to himself."
This was only a passing mood, and not practical enough to be permanent.
However it was the prevailing one, when in came Jemmy Fox himself. That
young doctor plumed himself upon his deep knowledge of the fairer sex;
and yet like the rest of mankind who do so, he showed little of that
knowledge in his dealings with them.
In the midst of so many doubts and fears, and with a miserable sense of
loneliness, Miss Waldron was in "a high-strung condition"--as ladies
themselves describe it--though as gentle and affectionate as ever. She
was gazing at little pet _Pixie_, and wondering in her self-abasement,
whether there is any human love so deep, devoted, and everlasting (while
his little life endures) as that of an ordinary dog. _Pixie_, the
pug-dog, sitting at her feet was absorbed in wistful watching, too sure
that his mistress was plunged in trouble, beyond the reach of his poor
mind, but not perhaps beyond the humble solace of such a yearning heart.
In this interchange of tender feelings, a still more tender vein was
touched. "Squeak!" went _Pixie_, with a jump, and then a long eloquence
of yelp and howl proved that he partook too deeply of the woe he had
prayed to share. A heavy riding-boot had crushed his short but
sympathetic tail--the tail he was so fond of chasing as a joyful vision,
but now too mournfully and materially his own!
Dr. Fox, with a cheerful smile, as if he had done something meritorious,
gazed into Nicie's sparkling eyes. Perhaps he expected a lovely kiss,
after his long absence.
"Why, you don't seem to care a bit for what you have done!" cried the
young girl, almost repelling him. "Allow me to go to my wounded little
dear. Oh you poor little persecuted pet, what did they do to you? Was
his lovely taily broken? Oh the precious little martyr, that he should
have come to this! Did a monstrous elephant come, and crush his darling
life out? Give his Missy a pretty kiss, with the great tears rolling on
his cheek."
"Well, I wish you'd make half as much fuss about me;" said Fox, with all
the self-command that could well be expected. "You haven't even asked me
how I am!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon then;" she answered, looking up at him, with the
little dog's nose cuddled into her neck, and his short sobs puffing up
the golden undergrowth of her darkly-clustering hair. "Yes, to be sure,
I should have asked that. It was very forgetful of me. But his poor tail
seems to be a little easier now; and the vigour of your step shows how
well you have come back to us."
"Well, more than welcome, I am afraid. I can always make allowance for
the humours of young ladies; and I know how good and sweet you are. But
I think you might have been glad to see me."
"Not when you tread upon my dear dog's tail, and laugh in my face
afterwards, instead of being very sorry. I should have begged pardon, if
I had been so clumsy as to tread upon a dog of yours."
"Dogs are all very well, in their way; but they have no right to get
into our way. This poor little puggie's tail is all right now. Shake
hands, Puggie. Why, look! He has forgiven me."
"That shows how wonderfully kind he is, and how little he deserves to be
trodden on. But I will not say another word about that; only you might
have been sorrier. Their consciences are so much better than ours. He is
licking your hand, as if he had done the wrong. Your sister agreed with
me about their nobility. How is darling Christie?"
"Everybody is a darling, except me to-day! Christie is well enough. She
always is; except when she goes a cropper out of a trap, and knocks
young men's waistcoat-buttons off."
"How coarsely you put it, when you ought to be most thankful to the
gentleman who rescued her, when you left her at the mercy of a half-wild
horse!"
"I don't know what to make of you to-day, Miss Waldron. Have I done
anything to offend you? You are too just and sensible, and--gentle, I
should like to say--not to know that you have put an entirely wrong
construction upon that little accident with Farrant's old screw. It was
Christie's own fault, every bit of it. She thought herself a grand whip,
and she came to grief; as girls generally do, when they are bumptious."
"You seem to have a great contempt for girls, Dr. Fox. What have the
poor things done to offend you so?"
"Somebody must have been speaking against me. I'd give a trifle to know
who it is. I have always been accustomed to reasonable treatment."
"There now, his dear little tail is better! Little _Pixie_ loves me so.
Little _Pixie_ never tells somebody that she is an unreasonable
creature. Little _Pixie_ is too polite for that."
"Well, I think I had better be off for the day. I have heard of people
getting out of bed the wrong side; and you can't make it right all the
day, when that has happened. Miss Waldron, I must not go away without
saying that my sister sends you her very best love. I was to be sure to
remember that."
"Oh, thank you, Dr. Fox! Your sister is always so very sweet and
considerate. And I hope she has also been allowed to send it where it is
due, a thousand times as much as here."
"Where can that be? At the rectory, I suppose. Yes, she has not
forgotten Mr. Penniloe. She is not at all fickle in her likings."
"Now that is a very fine quality indeed, as well as a very rare one. And
another she has, and will not be driven from it; and I own that I quite
agree with her. She does not look down upon other people, and think that
they belong to another world, because they are not so well off in this
one as she is. A gentleman is a gentleman, in her judgment, and is not
to be cast by, after many kind acts, merely because he is not made of
money."
"Ah, now I see what all this comes to!" exclaimed Fox, smiling
pleasantly. "Well, I am quite open to a little reasoning there, because
the whole thing is so ridiculous. Now put it to yourself; how would you
like to be a sort of son-in-law to good Mother Gilham's green
coal-scuttle? A coal-scuttle should make one grateful, you will say.
Hear, hear! not at all a bad pun that; though quite involuntary."
"The bonnet may be behind the age, or in front of it, I know not which;"
said Nicie, very resolute to show no smile; "but a better and sweeter
old face never looked----"
"A better horse never looked out of a bridle. It is bridle, and
blinkers, and saddle, all in one."
"It is quite useless trying to make me laugh." Her voice however belied
her; and _Pixie_ watching her face began to wag the wounded tail again.
"Your sister, who knows what bonnets are, to which you can have no
pretension, is well acquainted with the sterling value----"
"Oh come, I am sure it would not fetch much now, though it may have cost
two guineas, or more, in the days before 'my son Frank' was born."
"Really, Jemmy, you are too bad, when I want to talk seriously."
"So long as I am 'Jemmy' once more, I don't care how bad I am."
"That was a slip. But you must listen to me. I will not be laughed off
from saying what I think. Do you suppose that it is a joking matter for
poor Frank Gilham?"
"I don't care a copper for his state of mind, if Chris is not fool
enough to share it. The stupid fellow came to me this morning, and
instead of trying to smoothe me down, what does he do but blow me up
sky-high! You should have heard him. He never swore at all, but gave
utterance to the noblest sentiments--just because they were in his
favour."
"Then I admire him for it. It was very manly of him. Why were all large
ideas in his favour? Just because the small ones are on your side. I
suppose, you pretend to care for me?"
"No pretence about it. All too true. And this is what I get done to me?"
"But how would you like my brother to come and say--'I disapprove of Dr.
Fox. I forbid you to say another word to him'? Would you recognize his
fraternal right in the matter, and go away quietly?"
"Hardly that. I should leave it to you. And if you held by me, I should
snap my fingers at him."
"Of course you would. And so would anybody else; Frank Gilham among the
number. And your sister--is she to have no voice, because you are a
roaring lion? Surely her parents, and not her brother, should bar the
way, if it must be barred. Just think of yourself, and ask yourself how
your own law would fit you."
"The cases are very different, and you know it as well as I do. Frank
Gilham is quite a poor man; and, although he is not a bad kind of
fellow, his position in the world is not the same as ours."
"That may be so. But if Christie loves him, and is quite content with
his position in the world, and puts up with the coal-scuttle--as you
call it--and he is a good man and true, and a gentleman, are they both
to be miserable, to please you? And more than that--you don't know
Christie. If Frank Gilham shows proper courage, and is not afraid of
mean imputations, no one will ask your leave, I think."
"Well, I shall have done my best; and if I cannot stop it, let them rue
the day. Her father and mother would never allow it; and as I am
responsible for the whole affair, and cannot consult them, as things are
now, I am bound to act in their place, I think. But never mind that. One
may argue for ever, and a girl in a moment can turn the tables on the
cleverest man alive. Let us come back to our own affairs. I have some
news which ought to please you. By rare good luck I have hit upon the
very two men who were employed upon that awful business. I shall have
them soon, and then we shall know all about this most mysterious case.
By George, it shall go hard indeed with the miscreant who plotted it."
"Oh don't--oh don't! What good can it be?" cried Nicie, trembling, and
stammering. "It will kill my mother; I am sure it will. I implore you
not to go on with it."
"What!" exclaimed Fox with amazement. "You to ask me, you his only
daughter, to let it be so--to hush up the matter--to submit to this
atrocious wrong! And your father--it is the last thing I ever should
have thought to hear."
In shame and terror she could not speak, but quailed before his
indignant gaze, and turned away from him with a deep low sob.
"My darling, my innocent dear," he cried in alarm at her bitter anguish;
"give me your hand; let me look at your face. I know that no power on
earth would make you do a thing that you saw to be shameful. I beg your
pardon humbly, if I spoke too harshly. You know that I would not vex
you, Inez, and beyond any doubt you can explain this strange--this
inconceivable thing. You are sure to have some good reason for it."
"Yes, you would say so if you knew all. But not now--I dare not; it is
too dreadful. It is not for myself. If I had my own way--but what use? I
dare not even tell you that. For the present, at least for the present,
do nothing. If you care about me at all, I beg you not to do what would
never be forgiven. And my mother is in such a miserable state, so
delicate, so frail, and helpless! Do for my sake, do show this once,
that you have some affection for me."
Nicie put her soft hand on his shoulder, and pleaded her cause with no
more words, but a gaze of such tenderness and sweet faith, that he could
not resist it. Especially as he saw his way to reassure her, without
departing from the plan he had resolved upon.
"I will do anything, my pretty dove," he said with a noble surrender;
"to relieve your precious and trustful heart. I will even do this, if it
satisfies you--I will take no steps for another month, an entire month
from this present time. I cannot promise more than that, now can I, for
any bewitchment? And in return, you must pledge yourself to give your
mother not even a hint of what I have just told you. It would only make
her anxious, which would be very bad for her health, poor thing; and she
has not the faith in me, that you have. She must not even dream that I
have heard of those two villains."
This was a bright afterthought of his; for if Lady Waldron should know
of his discovery, she might contrive to inform them, that he had his eye
upon them.
"Oh, how good you are!" cried Nicie. "I can never thank you enough, dear
Jemmy; and it must appear so cruel of me, to ask you to forego so long
the chance of shaming those low people, who have dared to belie you so."
"What is a month, compared to you?" Jemmy asked, with real greatness.
"But if you feel any obligation, you know how to reward me, dear."
Nicie looked at him, with critical eyes; and then as if reckless of
anything small, flung both arms round his neck, and kissed him.
"Oh it is so kind, so kind of him!" she declared to herself, to excuse
herself; while he thought it was very kind of her. And she, being timid
of her own affection, loved him all the more for not encroaching on it.
Jemmy rode away in a happy frame of mind. He loved that beautiful
maiden, and he was assured of her love for him. He knew that she was far
above him, in the gifts of nature, and the bloom that beautifies
them--the bloom that is not of the cheeks alone, but of the gentle dew
of kindness, and the pearl of innocence. Fox felt a little ashamed of
himself, for a trifle of sharp practice; but his reason soon persuaded
him, that his conscience was too ticklish. And that is a thing to be
stopped at once.
While jogging along in this condition, on the road towards Pumpington,
he fell in with another horseman less inclined to cheerfulness. This was
Farmer Stephen Horner, a younger brother of Farmer John, a less
substantial, and therefore perhaps more captious agriculturist. He was
riding a very clever cob, and looked both clever and smart himself, in
his bottle-green cutaway coat, red waistcoat, white cord breeches and
hard brown hat. Striking into the turnpike road from a grass-track
skirting the Beacon Hill, he hailed the Doctor, and rode beside him.
"Heard the news, have 'e?" asked Farmer Steve, as his fat calves creaked
against the saddle-flaps within a few inches of Jemmy's, and their
horses kept step, like a dealer's pair. "But there--come to think of it,
I be a fool for asking, and you always along of Passon so?"
"Only came home yesterday. Haven't seen him yet," the Doctor answered
briskly. "Haven't heard anything particular. Nothing the matter with
him, I hope?"
"Not him, sir, so much as what he've taken up. Hath made up his mind, so
people say, to abolish our old Fair to Perlycross." Farmer Steve watched
the Doctor's face. He held his own opinion, but he liked to know the
other's first. Moreover he owed him a little bill.
"But surely he cannot do that;" said Fox, who cared not a jot about the
fair, but thought of his own concern with it. "Why, it was granted by
charter, I believe, hundreds of years ago; when Perlycross was a much
larger place, and the main road to London passed through it, as the
pack-saddle teams do still sometimes."
"So it were, sir, so it were. Many's the time when I were a boy, I have
read of Magner Charter, and the time as they starved the King in the
island, afore the old yew-tree come on our old tower. But my brother
John, he reckoneth as he knoweth everything; and he saith our
market-place belongeth to the Dean and Chapter, and Fair was granted to
Church, he saith, and so Church can abolish it. But I can't see no sense
in that. Why, it be outside of Church railings altogether. Now you are
a learned man, Doctor Fox. And if you'll give me your opinion, I can
promise 'e, it shan't go no further."
"The plain truth is," replied Jemmy, knowing well that if his opinion
went against the Parson, it would be all over the parish by supper-time,
"I have never gone into the subject, and I know nothing whatever about
it. But we all know the Fair has come down to nothing now. There has not
been a beast there for the last three years, and nothing but a score of
pigs, and one pen of sheep last year. It has come to be nothing but a
pleasure-fair, with a little show of wrestling, and some singlestick
play, followed by a big bout of drinking. Still I should have thought
there would be at least a twelvemonth's notice, and a public
proclamation."
"So say I, sir; and the very same words I used to my brother John, last
night. John Horner is getting a'most too big, with his Churchwarden, and
his hundred pounds, he had better a' kept for his family. Let 'un find
out who have robbed his own Churchyard, afore 'a singeth out again' a
poor man's glass of ale. I don't hold with John in all things; though a'
hath key pianner for's dafters, and addeth field to field, same as rich
man in the Bible laid up treasure for his soul this night. I tell you
what, Doctor, and you may tell John Horner--I likes old things, for
being old; though there may be more bad than good in them. What harm, if
a few chaps do get drunk, and the quarrelsome folks has their heads
cracked? They'd only go and do it somewhere else, if they was stopped of
our place. Passon be a good man as ever lived, and wonnerful kind to the
poor folk. But a' beginneth to have his way too much; and all along of
my brother John. To tell you the truth, Doctor, I couldn't bear the job
about that old tombstone, to memory of Squire Jan Toms, and a fine piece
of poetry it were too. Leap-frogged it, hundreds and hundreds of times,
when I were a boy, I have; and so has my father and grandfather afore
me; and why not my sons, and my grandsons too, when perhaps my own
standeth 'longside of 'un? I won't believe a word of it, but what thic
old ancient stone were smashed up a' purpose, by order of Passon
Penniloe. Tell 'e what, Doctor, thic there channging of every mortial
thing, just for the sake of channging, bain't the right way for to fetch
folks to church; 'cordin' at least to my mind. Why do us go to church?
Why, because can't help it; 'long of wives and children, when they
comes, and lookin' out for 'un, when the children was ourselves. Turn
the bottom up, sir, and what be that but custom, same as one generation
requireth from another? And to put new patches on it, and be proud of
them, is the same thing as tinker did to wife's ham-boiler--drawed the
rivets out, and made 'un leak worse than ever. Not another shilling will
they patchers get from me."
Farmer Steve sat down in his saddle, and his red waistcoat settled down
upon the pommel. His sturdy cob also laid down his ears, and stubborn
British sentiment was in every line of both of them.
"Well, I won't pretend to say about the other matters;" said Fox, who as
an Englishman could allow for obstinacy. "But, Farmer, I am sure that
you are wrong about the tombstone. Parson did not like it, and no
wonder. But he is not the man to do things crookedly. He would have
moved it openly, or not at all. It was quite as much an accident, as if
your horse put his foot upon a nut and cracked it."
"Well, sir, well, sir, we has our own opinions. Oh, you have paid the
pike for me! Thank 'e, Doctor. I'll pay yours, next time we come this
way together."
The story of the tombstone war simply this. John Toms, a rollicking
Cavalier of ancient Devonshire lineage, had lived and died at
Perlycross, nearly two centuries agone. His grave was towards the great
southern porch, and there stood his headstone large and bold,
confronting the faithful at a corner where two causeways met. Thus every
worshipper, who entered the House of Prayer by its main approach, was
invited to reflect upon the fine qualities of this gentleman, as
recorded in large letters. To a devout mind this might do no harm; but
all Perlycross was not devout, and many a light thought was suggested,
or perhaps an untimely smile produced, by this too sprightly memorial.
"A spirited epitaph that, sir," was the frequent remark of visitors.
"But scarcely conceived in a proper spirit," was the Parson's general
reply.
The hideous western gallery, the parish revel called the Fair, and this
unseemly tombstone, had been sore tribulations to the placed mind of
Penniloe; and yet he durst not touch that stone, sacred not to memory
only, but to vested rights, and living vein of local sentiment. However
the fates were merciful.
"Very sad accident this morning, sir. I do hope you will try to forgive
us, Mr. Penniloe," said Robson Adney, the manager of the works, one fine
October morning, and he said it with a stealthy wink; "seven of our
chaps have let our biggest scaffold-pole, that red one, with a butt as
big as a milestone, roll off their clumsy shoulders, and it has smashed
poor Squire Toms' old tombstone into a thousand pieces. Never read a
word of it again, sir--such a sad loss to the churchyard! But quite an
accident, sir, you know; purely a casual accident."
The Curate looked at him, but he "smiled none"--as another tombstone
still expresses it; and if charity compelled Mr. Penniloe to believe
him, gratitude enforced another view; for Adney well knew his dislike of
that stone, and was always so eager to please him.
But that every one who so desires may judge for himself, whether Farmer
Steve was right, or Parson Penniloe, here are the well-remembered lines
that formed the preface to Divine worship in the parish of Perlycross.
"'Halloa! who lieth here?'
'I, old Squire Jan Toms.'
'What dost lack?' 'A tun of beer,
For a tipple with them fantoms.'"