As butler at Oakshotts I was a busy man no doubt, with a mighty good
master who knew he'd got a treasure. Because wine and tobacco be second
nature to me, and though very sparing in the use of both, I have great
natural gifts and a sort of steadfast and unfailing judgment for the best.
And as master be fond of saying in his amusing way, the best is always
good enough for him, so Sir Walter Oakshott of Oakshotts trusted in me,
with great credit to himself and applause from his guests. Never was such
an open-handed man, and being a widower at fifty, with no mind just then
to try again, he let his sociable instincts run over for his friends, and
Oakshotts, as I sometimes said, was more like an hotel than a country
house. For he had his gardening pals come to see his amazing foreign
rhododendrons in spring, and his fishermen pals for his lakes and
river-banks in summer; while so soon as September came, it was sportsmen
and guns and dogs till the end of the shooting season.
So I was a busy man and also a prosperous, because money cleaves to money
and Sir Walter's friends were mostly well-to-do, though few so rich as
him; and the gentlemen were experienced and knew a butler when they met
one.
But few be too occupied for romance to over-get 'em sooner or later, and
at forty I fell in love--a tiresome thing at that age and not to have been
expected from a bachelor-minded man same as me. And if I'd had the second
sight and been able to see where the fatal passion was going to take me,
I'd have kept my eyes off Jenny Owlet very careful indeed.
But so it was, though fifteen years separated us there's little doubt
Jenny loved me very well afore Tom Bond appeared. Because I'd never loved
before I saw her, and even an elderly man--and a butler's always elderly
by virtue of his calling--has a charm to the female mind if she knows he's
never loved before. In me Jenny saw a well-set-up and personable party,
inclined a thought to a full body, but smart and active, clean-shaven and
spotlessly clean every way, with brown eyes and a serious disposition, yet
a nice taste for a seemly bit of fun. My hair was black and kept sleek and
short, of course, and my voice was slow and deep, and my natural way of
approaching all women most dignified, whether they belonged to the kitchen
or the drawing-room. And, of course, she well knew I was a snug man and
her worldly fortune would be made if she came to me. That was what I had
to offer, while for her part she was a high-spirited thing and good as
gold, aged twenty-five, with a cheerful nature and a great art for taking
what pleasure life had to offer the second kitchen-maid at Oakshotts,
which weren't very much. But she never groused about her hard career, or
was sorry for herself, or anything like that. I liked her character and I
liked her good sense and I much liked her nice and musical voice; and if
she'd been educated, she'd have shone among the highest by reason of her
back answers, which I never knew equalled. Not that she had any chances in
that direction with me, because I'm not a man to let my inferiors joke
with me, though none knows how to put 'em in their place quicker than I
do.
Her eyes were betwixt blue and grey and sometimes favoured one colour and
sometimes t'other, and her hair was a light brown and her figure inclined
to the slim. But she was very near about five foot eight--two inches
shorter than me--and of an amazing activity and enjoying most perfect
health. Her home was in Little Silver, which is our village; and only
poverty and the need for work had took her out of it. There she tended her
widowed father, and he had such a passion for the girl, her being his only
one, that 'twas only the shadow of the Union Workhouse ever steeled him to
part from her. But she saw him oftener than her day out and would many a
time run like a lapwing the mile to his cottage, so as he should have a
glimpse of her. And it was her wages that helped the man to carry on. He
hated her working at Oakshotts and prayed ceaselessly to her to come back
and starve along with him, for he was a very unreasonable fashion of
man--a dog-like man with one idea and one worship and one religion, you
may say. In fact he lived for Jenny alone, and when I came to be acquaint
with him, I feared it was to be war to the knife between us. He always
proved queer and difficult, and nought but my great love for Jenny would
have made me tolerate a man like Joshua Owlet for a moment.
You couldn't absolutely say there was a screw loose in him, because to
love your only child with all right and proper devotion is in the order of
nature; but to come between a daughter and her future mate, when the mate
was a man like me, seemed weak-minded, to say no more. A very selfish man
in fact, and the thought of Jenny having a home of her own away from him,
though to any decent father a right and proper thing to happen, got Joshua
Owlet in a rage, and I had to exercise unbounded patience. He was a
small-brained man, and that sort is the most obstinate.
"Such a woman be bound to wed, Mr. Owlet," I told him, "and lucky for you
in your humble way of life that she's fallen in with one that can make her
a home worthy of her and lift her up in the land. And if you love her so
fierce, surely the first thing you did ought to feel is that, when she
takes me, your mind will be at rest about her for evermore. I ain't
retiring yet and, be it as it will, I'm Devonshire, and the home I
determine upon won't be very far ways off, and she'll be within call and
you'll find yourself welcome under my roof in reason."
He scratched in his grey beard and looked at me out of his shifty eyes,
and if looks could have killed he'd have struck me dead, for he was a
malicious sort of man and a pretty good hater. Owlet wore rags for choice
and he picked up a living making clothes-pegs and weaving osier baskets.
That was his mean fashion of life, and he was allowed to get his material
down in Oakshotts swamps, where the river overflowed and the woodcock and
snipe offered sport in winter. But the keepers hated Owlet poking about,
because they said he took more than withies from the osier beds.
Well, the man most steadfastly refused to sanction the match and held off
and cussed and said he was Jenny's duty and she didn't ought to dream of
leaving him under any conditions. Of course he held no power over her and
at heart she never liked him very much, because he'd served her mother bad
and she remembered it. But she told me straight that I was first, father
or no father, and that she'd come to me when I was ready to take her. So I
could afford to feel no fear from Joshua and went my own way and dwelt on
a clever scheme by which I'd bide along with Sir Walter after marriage and
see my wife uplifted in the establishment--to help the housekeeper or
something like that. For well I knew my master would pleasure me a long
way before he'd lose me. I'd served him steadfast and we'd faced death
together in the Great War.
And so I settled down in my usual large and patient spirit and just kept
friendly touch with Jenny's father and no more. Nor did Jenny say much
upon the future when she was home, and so, no doubt, Joshua got to hope
he'd have his way in the long run.
And then came Tom Bond upon the scene of action and the fearful affair of
the woodstack began to take shape. We wanted a new first footman, and he
offered, and his credentials looked so right that Sir Walter, in his
careless way, didn't bother about 'em, seeing by his photograph that Tom
was a good-looking man and hearing he stood six feet two inches. And
certainly, after his arrival, nobody thought no more of his character, for
a cleverer and more capable chap you couldn't wish to meet. He knew his
job from A to Z, and I will say here and now that, merely regarded as a
first footman, Tom was never beat in my experience. He had an art to
understand and anticipate my wishes and a skill to fall into my ways that
gave me very great satisfaction, and he pleased the gentlemen also and
shone in the servants' hall. In fact I seldom liked a young man better,
and what followed within six months of his arrival came as a fearful shock
upon me, because by that time I'd grown to feel uncommon friendly to the
wretch.
He was amazing good-looking, with curly hair and blue eyes and very fine
teeth. And he was one of those men that win the women by their nice
manners and careful choice of words. You never heard him speak anything
unbecoming, and he was just as civil to the humblest as he was to the
housekeeper herself. A care-free man seemingly, with his life before him
and such gifts that he might be expected to make a pretty good thing of
it. An orphan, too, or so he said.
Thirty-two he claimed to be, but I judged him to be a bit more in reality.
Then came the fatal cloud. Knowing that I was engaged to Jenny, he took
good care to keep the right side of her on my account, but all too soon
there dawned the making of the future tragedy and he was pleasuring her
for her own sake. He hid his games from me, of course, and it was an easy
thing to do, because I stood above any suspicion with regard to Jenny; but
a time came when he didn't hide his games from her, and it was only when I
began to see queer signs about her I couldn't read that any uneasiness
overgot me. I do think most honest that she didn't know what was happening
to her for a long time, because she loved me, or thought she did; but
little by little her old gladsome way along with me wilted and I found her
wits wandering. She'd be dreaming instead of listening to my discourse,
and then she'd come back to herself and squeeze hold of my hand, or kiss
me, and ask me to say what I'd just said over again. I passed it off a lot
of times, and then on the quiet had a tell with her father, thinking,
maybe, if there was anything biting her, he might know it.
But he said little. He only scowled and glowered and wriggled his eyebrows
like a monkey--a nasty trick he had.
"If there's trouble on her mind," said Joshua, "you may lay your life it's
the thought of deserting a lonely father. And if conscience works in her,
as I hope to God it will, then you'll find yourself down and out yet,
William Morris."
That's how he talked to me; but my great gift of patience never deserted
me with Owlet, and seeing he knew nothing about any real disquiet in his
daughter's head, I left it at that and hoped I was mistook.
Mighty soon I found that I was not, however, and then, in the hour for my
daily constitutional, which I never missed, rain or shine, I turned over
the situation and resolved to approach Jenny on the subject and invite a
clean breast of it.
There was a woodman's path ran on the high ground behind Oakshotts, and
here I seldom failed to take an hour's walk daily for the sake of health.
Up and down I'd go under the trees in the lonely woods, and mark the signs
of nature and rest my mind from the business of the house. And sometimes
Jenny would come along with me, but oftener I went alone, because our
regular afternoon out gave me the opportunity for her company and she
couldn't often break loose other times.
There was an ancient woodstack on the path hid deep in undergrowth of
laurels and spruce fir, and not seldom in summer I'd smoke a pipe with my
back against it; but oftener I'd tramp up and down past it, where it
heaved up beside the narrow way. They was always going to pull it down,
but there never rose no call for wood and it was let bide year after
year--a very picturesque and ancient object.
During an autumn day it was that I went there, with the larches turned to
gold and the leaf flying from the oaks and shining copper-red on the beech
trees. And I resolved once for all to challenge Jenny upon her troubles,
because if her future husband couldn't throw no light on 'em and scour 'em
away, he must be less than the man I took him for.
I'd about spent my hour and was turning back to the house half a mile
below when Jenny herself came along, well knowing where I was; and so I
wasted no words, but prepared to strike while the thought of her set
uppermost in my mind. She spoke first, however, and much surprised me.
'Twas her way of breaking into the matter did so, and she well knew that
what she had to tell would let the cat out of the bag.
"William," she said, "I couldn't bear for you to hear the thing what's
happened except from me, and I want for you to be merciful to all
concerned."
She was excited and her hair waving in the autumn wind so brown as the
falling leaves. Her eyes were wild also, and her mouth down-drawn, and a
good bit of misery looked out of her face.
"I'm known for a merciful man where mercy may be called for, my lovely
dear," I said to her. "Us'll walk up and down my path once more since
you've come. I've long known there was a lot on your mind and went so far
as to ask your father what it might be; but he only said 'twas your
conscience up against you leaving him."
"'Tis my conscience all right," she answered, "but not like that--a long
sight more crueller than that. Tom Bond has gone to see father this
afternoon and--oh, William, I wish I was dead!"