A HANDLE TO THE ENEMY.
When Lord Lamerton decided that a thing was to be done, he liked to have
it done at once, and now that he was thoroughly roused, he would brook
no delay in the matter of Patience Kite’s cottage.
Mrs. Kite had baffled the authorities. There was no question that her
house was unfit to be inhabited by a human being, and that her life was
not safe in it. A heavy gale might bring the roof and chimney down on
her in her bed and bury her. The relieving officer had complained and
remonstrated. The sanitary officer had viewed the ruin and had condemned
it. Mr. Macduff had ordered Mrs. Kite to put the cottage in repair. She
did nothing, and apparently nothing could be done with her. She
absolutely refused to leave her cottage, and to put it in habitable
condition was beyond her power. If this case had occurred anywhere in
Europe except in England, the police would have made short work with
Mrs. Kite, but in England, every man’s house is his castle, in whatever
condition the house may be. Now, had a drain from Mrs. Kite’s hovel
proved a nuisance to neighbours, she could have been dealt with, but she
had no drains at all; and her roof threatened no one but herself. The
authorities had necessarily consumed much time over Mrs. Kite, and all
to no purpose. The sanitary officer complained to the board of guardians
a month after viewing and condemning the house. The guardians waited
another month and then waited on the magistrates in petty sessions to
issue an order to Mrs. Kite to vacate her cottage. The order was issued
and served. Another month passed, and Mrs. Kite had not budged. At the
next petty sessions enquiry was made whether any further steps could be
taken. It appeared that Mrs. Kite was liable to a fine of ten shillings
for every day she remained after the order had been served, but, as the
sergeant of police observed to the magistrates, all her goods, if sold,
would not fetch ten shillings, and the clerk of the court could find no
precedent for evicting the old woman; all that could be done would be to
sell her goods, but that was the limit of their power.
She was, it was true, by her tenure, bound to keep the house in good
order, and accordingly Lord Lamerton, as lord of the manor, demanded
this, but she did nothing. It was true that he might, in the event of a
tenant neglecting to fulfil the stipulation, order the repair, and
distrain on the tenant for the costs. But Mrs. Kite was not worth
distraining, and the house was not worth rebuilding. No one, after the
old woman’s death, would care to live in such a lonely spot. To rebuild,
would cost a hundred and fifty or two hundred pounds. However, rather
than that the scandal should continue, Lord Lamerton resolved to
rebuild, when he learned that legally he might not pull down without
rebuilding. So Mrs. Kite was about to put his lordship to the cost of
nearly two hundred pounds to save her life in her own despite. We have
odd ways of doing things in England.[1]
The news that Mrs. Kite’s house was to be pulled about her ears rapidly
spread through the village, and many people assembled to see the
ejection of the hag and the demolition of roof and chimney.
Mrs. Kite was a personage not a little dreaded; she was what is called a
wise-woman; she was consulted when any of the cottagers were ill. The
medical man was sent for reluctantly, and little trust was put in his
medicines, but the wise-woman enjoyed the fullest confidence. To meddle
with her was a dangerous matter. She used her powers for good, but it
was quite possible for her to employ them otherwise. No one cared to
provoke her. Every one desired to stand on good terms with her. Before
the rector and Mrs. Cribbage, and my lady and the Macduffs, the
villagers spoke disparagingly of Patience Kite, but among themselves
they regarded her with respect.
Some ill would come of this action of Lord Lamerton, they argued; he
might be a great man, but there are things with which the greatest
cannot cope. Ill would come of it; how, no one could say, but somehow,
all agreed, it would come. Had not Patience’s uncle beaten her when she
was a child, and his house had been burnt down? True, folks said that
Patience had fired it, and true it was she had been sent to prison on
that account; but it was said she had done it only because they could
not otherwise account for the fire. There was Farmer Worth called her an
ugly name once, when she asked for skimmed milk, and sure enough his
cows had dropped their calves after till he got a goat to run along with
them. Moreover, the villagers argued, why should a woman be ejected from
her house? Her father had built the cottage, and it was on three lives,
his, his wife’s and child’s, and now it was Patience’s as long as the
breath was in her. If she chose to keep it in bad repair that was her
look-out. Because a woman wore rags, was that a reason why Lord Lamerton
and Mr. Macduff should pull her gown off her back? Because she had a bad
tooth or two in her head, had they any right to knock out all the sound
teeth in her jaw? Because she had not patent-leather dancing-pumps, was
she to be forced to go barefoot? Because she didn’t keep her hair over
tidy, was that a reason why she should have her head shaved? Lord
Lamerton had no right to interfere. England is a free country, in which
folks may act as they like, and live as they like, so long as they do
not interfere with their neighbours, and Mrs. Kite had no neighbours.
Her cottage was not within sight of Orleigh Park—it did his lordship no
injury. Did Mrs. Kite’s kitchen chimney threaten to fall on Lord
Lamerton’s head? Folks, even lords, have no right to interfere with
those who don’t interfere with them.
Popular sympathy went altogether with Patience Kite. Perhaps at another
time the villagers would have been more disposed to judge reasonably,
but at this juncture they were smarting under the sense of wrong caused
by the closing of the manganese mine, and were therefore disposed to
make common cause with any one against whom his lordship acted with
apparent rigour.
When Macduff and his workmen came to the hovel, they found a number of
sympathisers assembled, mostly miners out of work and some women.
Outside the cottage sat Thomasine. She had been sent back to her mother
from Court farm because of her sprained ankle, which incapacitated her
for work. Archelaus Tubb was there also. He, likewise was out of
work—not an unusual condition with him, for he was a bad workman
whatever he took up, and got his dismissal wherever he went. The girl
was pouting; she had her hands folded in her lap, and her brows bent.
She looked wonderfully handsome, with a dash of savagery in her beauty.
Within the house was Mrs. Kite. She had put together her few valuables
in an oak chest, and sat on it, near her hearth, with her feet on the
hearthstone and her arms folded. She would not move. The house might be
dismantled about her, but there she would remain to the last.
Mr. Macduff entered the cottage, and received a scowl from Thomasine as
he passed her. He endeavoured, but in vain, to persuade the woman to
come outside.
“But,” said Mr. Macduff, “they’re about to pu’ the roof down over your
head.”
Mrs. Kite made no answer.
Then he became angry, and ordered two masons to enter the ruin and
remove the old woman; but this they were afraid to do. They pretended
that the reason was lest she should bring an action against them;
really, lest she should “overlook” them; that is, cast an evil eye upon
them.
“I’ll give half a sovereign to any who will bring her out,” offered the
agent.
The men shrugged their shoulders, and a miner who was lounging against a
tree in the rear muttered, “If you’re so anxious to get her out, you and
his lordship had best drag her out yourselves.”
“Begin with the demolition,” ordered Macduff.
The workmen scrambled on the roof, and commenced tearing off the old,
thin and rotten thatch, beginning at the end furthest removed from that
where the old woman sat.
A few groans and exclamations of “shame!” issued from the lookers-on.
As the thatch was being riven away, plaster from the rotten ceiling
fell, and with it drifts of straw, into the cottage. Dust rose, thick
and blinding, but Mrs. Kite refused to stir. She would stifle there
rather than desert her hearth.
Again Macduff went to the door to expostulate. The woman answered with a
snarl as a wild beast worried in its lair.
“Go on,” shouted Macduff to the men.
Then suddenly a tie-beam gave way, and fell through, with a crash, to
the cottage floor.
Immediately ensued a rush of lookers-on to the cottage door and windows,
but the dust drave out in their faces, thick as steam, preventing them
from seeing anything. But, though Patience could not be seen, her voice
was heard muttering behind the fog of lime and dust of rotten wood.
Macduff did not relish his task. Lord Lamerton was not present; he had
gone to a ploughing match, where he was to distribute the prizes. If my
lord had been at home, the agent would have asked for further
directions; but, as he was away, he felt bound to proceed according to
his orders.
The workmen engaged on the roof now discovered that their lunch hour had
arrived, and they descended the ladders with alacrity to regale
themselves on the cake and cold tea they had brought with them.
The pause allowed the dust to clear away, and Macduff, looking through
the doorway, descried Mrs. Kite, powdered with lime, her hair almost
white, still crouched on her box in the same place, resting her chin in
her hands, and her elbows on her knees.
What was he to do? He bit his lips, and swore in broad Scotch. The
masons were eating and joking among themselves. The miners were
muttering.
Leisurely—before Macduff had decided on a course, and reluctantly, the
masons refolded their bundles, and returned to the ladders.
“Rip off the straw,” said the agent, “but be varry careful not to
disturb the principals. If the old creature finds she has nae cover o’er
her head when the rain comes, maybe she’ll depart of her own accord.”
The stripping off of the thatch was resumed, and the dust fell thicker
over the part of the room where Mrs. Kite sat; it poured out of every
opening, it rose from where the roof had been torn; the cottage
resembled a smoking dunghill, and the cloud spread over and enveloped
the whole clearing, powdering grass and bushes, and the coats and boots
of the spectators.
All at once, a shout from a mason, then a crash. He had been astride on
a principal when it had given way and the man had fallen through the
ceiling into the room beneath, tearing down the laths and plaster with
him, He was not injured, he came forth a moment later, coughing and
sneezing, as dusty as a miller, and was saluted with laughter.
“Halloo there!” shouted Macduff. “The roof is going.”
The failure of one principal entailed the fall of the rest; they were
dragged out of place; they slanted on one side, parted from the chimney,
but remained on the walls, inclined.
Thomasine, alarmed for her mother’s safety, now clung to the door, and
cried to her to come forth. She could see nothing for the cloud that
filled the cottage. Thomasine, lamed by her sprained ankle, stood at the
door and limped painfully a step forward.
“Oh, Arkie! Arkie!” she cried, appealing to her lover, “do run in and
force mother to come out.”
“But she will not come,” remonstrated he.
Another shout—now of dismay.
“The chimney! the chimney!”
A crack had suddenly revealed itself. The rotten loosely-compacted wall
had parted.
“It will be down in a minute! save her!”
“Five—I mean one sovereign to any who will bring her out,” shouted
Macduff.
Then Thomasine grasped Archelaus’ shoulder. “Come,” she said, “I will
go—help, we must save her.”
“I will do it,” said the lad and plunged into the cottage.
For a moment every one held his breath. Thomasine limped away from the
doomed cottage. All heard the young fellow’s voice shouting to Mrs.
Kite.
Then, suddenly, the whole chimney came down with a rush. It was as
though it had closed into itself like a telescope. A dull, heavy thud,
muffled by the dense enveloping fog of dust, was heard, and then volumes
of yellow smoke-like fumes poured out in gushes and spirals, and rose in
a column above the cottage.
Dense though the cloud was, in through it rushed the men, stumbling over
heaps of stone, and choking in the thick air, but saw nothing whatever,
could see nothing; and came forth coughing, rubbing their eyes half
suffocated, half blinded.
Nothing could be done, the extent of the mischief could not be
discovered till the volumes of fine powder, pungent as snuff, had been
given time to clear away, at least partially.
Now Macduff plunged in, and stumbled against Thomasine weeping and
wringing her hands; blindly groping in the opaque atmosphere, thick as
soup. “My mother! My Arkie! They are both dead! Both taken from me!”
“Stand aside!” shouted the agent. “What creatures these women are.” He
coughed and growled. “If anything has happened, it is her fault, she was
warned. But the blame will be put on me.” Then he shouted, “Tubb! Tubb!
Mrs. Kite!” but received no answer.
In at the door came the men again, miners and masons together, and by
crouching they obtained clearer air, and were better able to see. The
fallen chimney formed a great heap, and the ruins were spread over the
whole floor; but how high the heap rose they were unable to distinguish,
for the dust-mist hung about it, dense, impenetrable, disclosing only,
and that indistinctly, the base of the mound.
Then a cry from Thomasine. She had clasped a hand that protruded from
the rubbish pile.
“It is Arkie! It is Arkie!” she cried. “He is dead, he has been killed.”
“Run,” ordered Mr. Macduff. “Run, some of you fellows, for picks.”
“If he’s dead, you’ve killed ’n,” growled a miner. “That is—you and my
lord.” The man went forth, whilst the rest, crouching, wiping their eyes
on their cuffs, and wiping the dust into them, clearing their throats
and choking again, began to pull the stones away. But the chimney had
been built of as much clay as stone. Though so close to a lime-kiln,
little lime had been used in its construction, and the slaty stone
itself corroded by weather and the lime which had lain between its films
in the quarry had dissolved to black powder. A pick did not suffice to
remove the rubbish, shovels were required as well. The dust did not
disperse, every upturn of the heap sent forth fresh volumes mingled with
soot; but many hands were now engaged, and in ten minutes Archelaus Tubb
had been extracted, and was carried forth and laid on the turf outside.
He was so covered with dust that he looked as if made of dark earth, all
of one colour—face, hair, clothing, hands.
“Run for a doctor,” called Macduff. “Where is he to be taken to? Go on
some of you turning over the heap. Look for Mrs. Kite, she must be
there. Confound the obstinacy of the woman. I shall be blamed for this,
of course. Always so. The saddle put on the wrong horse. Some of you get
water, and wash his face, and see where the lad is hurt. Please stand
back, Thomasine, you can do no good. I will go back and help to find
Mrs. Kite. Why the de’il could she not have come forth when bidden? She
had warning enough given her.” Then he returned to the cottage. He was
now himself so covered with dust that the natural colour of his face and
the tincture of his garments could not be distinguished. Looking up from
inside the cottage was like looking into a London fog. There was a great
gap where the chimney had stood, the roof was stripped of its covering
and the principals were inclined out of their proper positions.
“Well,” said Macduff. “Have you come on her?”
“We haven’t come on nothing but Arkie Tubb,” answered one of the men.
“There’s a lot of rummage more to be cleared away.”
“Look sharp about it,” said the agent. “If she be buried, the only
chance of life for her is to be dug out at once.”
“Not much chance of life, then,” said one of the men.
A quarter of an hour passed, and Patience had not been exhumed.
A diversion of interest was caused by the arrival of the surgeon. He
examined the young man, and pronounced that, though he was not dead, he
was so injured that he could not live beyond an hour.
The last heap of fallen chimney-ruin had been cleared away, and Mrs.
Kite had not been found.
“She has been spirited away,” said the men. “We always knew she was a
wise woman.”
“I wouldn’t have had this happen,” growled Macduff, “not for ten
pounds—I mean, two pounds ten. What a handle this will give to the
enemy!”
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Footnote 1:
As already said, this is an actual case. The magistrates’ order was
issued in February 1887, and has been defied to present date,
September 1889.