working-clothes. He managed to sit on the shaft or somewhere, and to
drive us back, as Jack of course had no idea of the direction; and,
judging from the solitariness of the scene, we should not have been
wise to depend upon chance passers-by to direct us.
Arrived at last, we found the Cottage was just two shades better
than the trap. It was a tiny abode, as desolately situated as it was
possible to conceive; the only redeeming point about it being that it
was clean.
The next morning, which happened to be a very wet misty one, we
surveyed our garden and domain generally. The tennis-lawn was spacious
enough, and the garden, to do Mr Challacombe justice, was well stocked;
but the place itself was like the city of the dead—so silent, so quiet,
so lonely.
But as the weather improved, we got out most of the day, which rendered
us very independent of the small low-roofed rooms. Jack and I took long
walks, and occasionally we utilised the pony-trap, taking with us our
little Rose and her nurse.
We began to think soon of asking some of our relations to visit us;
and the first to whom I sent an invitation was an elderly cousin, who
resided in London, and who was in rather delicate health. I candidly
explained the out-of-the-way nature of the place we were in, but
descanted upon the great pleasure it would be to have her, and my
entire conviction that the air would do her an immense amount of good.
She came; and it was very fortunate for me that she did so, as about
three days after, a telegram had reached us requesting my husband
to lose no time in returning to town, in consequence of one of his
partners being taken ill. It was raining when he left us; and I watched
the wretched shandrydan disappear down the road with feelings I could
scarcely repress—a sense of foreboding evil seemed to oppress me. I
tried in vain to shake it off, but only partly succeeded in doing so.
Cousin Susan endeavoured to console me by reminding me constantly that
Jack had promised to return in a day or two.
Jack had just been gone for one week, when Rose’s nurse, a pleasant
girl of about twenty, came to my room and informed me of the occurrence
I have already alluded to—‘A prisoner had escaped.’
Nothing could have frightened me more, and I was afraid it might alarm
Cousin Susan, so I charged Margaret on no account to let it reach her
ears. Very likely, even now the man was captured; it was rare, indeed,
that a convict ever escaped; but I had heard stories of their eluding
capture, until, driven by sheer starvation, they often surrendered
themselves to any stray passer-by, to whom the reward might or might
not be of some consequence.
That very morning, we had arranged to drive to rather a distant spot to
get some ferns. I would fain have deferred the expedition; but Cousin
Susan was already preparing for it, so I could only have postponed
it by giving my reasons; and the chance of encountering the convict
seemed too small to risk terrifying her by telling her of it at all.
It was a lovely morning when we started, and Cousin Susan became quite
enthusiastic over the ‘frowning tors and wind-swept moors.’
‘Don’t you admire them, Helen?’ she said.
‘They are very grand,’ I admitted.
‘Oh, so lovely, so wild!’ said Susan.
I was glad she liked them.
The ferns were to be found in a sort of ravine, which was reached
by a narrow lane; on one side was almost a precipice, overhanging
a streamlet, now nearly dry, but one which the winter rains soon
transformed into a torrent; on the other side was a wood, composed
principally of stunted oak-trees, with hardly any foliage, and
singularly small; but all around the trees was a thick sort of
underwood.
We had left Tom the stable-boy with the trap by the roadside, and I
had privately resolved not to let my cousin penetrate farther into the
ravine than I could help; but she was so charmed with its wealth of
rare ferns, that she skipped from one point to another with an amount
of dexterity and nimbleness I had never before given her credit for.
‘I do think we might collect quite a hamperful, Helen!’ she said,
kneeling down as she spoke to dig up a root most energetically.
‘We had better come another day, then,’ I responded. ‘I don’t want
to be late of getting back, so, if you don’t mind just taking a few
specimens—when Jack is with us, we can come again.’
‘Now or never!’ gaily rejoined my cousin, little imagining how soon her
own words were to be applicable to ourselves. She pounced joyfully upon
her ferns, and had collected quite a small heap, when I suggested that
we had better tell Tom to tie the pony to a gate, and come up to carry
them down for her.
‘O no!’ said Cousin Susan. ‘I will carry them myself. Do help me here
just a minute, Helen.’
By this time we were some distance up the ravine; the walk was narrow
and winding; we had gone farther than even I had intended. I bent
down to give her the assistance she wanted in raising up some lovely
lichen from the trunk of a dead tree. As I did so, my eyes wandered
some distance from where we were standing towards a fallen tree. I
fancied—perhaps it was only fancy—I knew I was in a very nervous state,
and apt to imagine, but I fancied I saw a movement just beyond the
tree—it was within twenty paces of us. I felt my face grow icy cold;
my veins seemed chilling; for a moment I feared I was going to faint.
Death must be something like what I felt on that sunny day in August
when I stood in the Devonshire ravine with my unconscious cousin. I
looked again. There it was more distinctly visible than ever—a line
of drab-coloured clothing, and presently a side-view of the most
villainous-looking countenance it was ever my fortune to behold. If I
could, without alarming her, get my cousin to retrace her steps about
ten yards, we should have turned a corner, and then I could tell her
enough to hurry her onwards. I knew she was nervous—more so, perhaps,
than myself; but I knew we were in imminent peril while in such
close proximity to this desperate and, from his very escape, doubly
desperate man.
‘Susan,’ I said—my voice seemed so hard and dry and strange!—‘you have
passed all the best ferns here.’
‘O no; I haven’t,’ said Susan joyously, approaching two steps nearer
the crouching convict.
‘Am I to throw these away?’ I continued, holding out one of her best
specimens, and, as carelessly and indifferently as I could, moving one,
two, three steps nearer the corner.
‘No; of course not,’ she exclaimed, hurrying towards me now. ‘Why,
Helen, what are you thinking of?’
I moved a few more steps on; and in a few more, Susan and I would both
be out of sight of that fallen tree.
‘There is a much better one here,’ I said, keeping my face well
averted, for I felt if she looked at me she would see its ashy paleness.
‘Where?’ she asked. ‘Wait a minute, and I’ll come for it.’ To my
horror, she retraced her steps towards her heap of ferns, and carefully
counted them, whilst I waited in a state of terror words cannot
describe. But she came at last, and I tottered with her round the
fateful corner.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ I said; ‘but come quickly; ask no questions. Do
as I tell you, Susan.’
She paused, affrighted. ‘Good gracious, Helen, have you seen a wild
beast?’
‘Worse,’ I murmured. ‘Do not run, but lose no time.’
I ventured to glance behind. Nothing was visible; but every moment was
precious; we must reach the pony-trap and Tom. Once all together, the
convict would surely not venture to attack us, and I knew that being
on the high-road, alone would in itself insure our safety. But we had
not reached it yet; a long rough narrow path had to be traversed. If
the man suspected we had seen him, nothing would be easier than for him
to overtake us and make short work of us. I thought of Jack, of Rose,
of my happy life. Everything seemed to float through my mind as I half
led, half dragged Susan after me. We had gone perhaps a shade more
than half-way, when I once more turned round, in the distance, on the
path over which we had just passed. To my unutterable consternation, I
beheld the convict hurrying towards us.
‘Run, Susan!’ I panted—‘run for your life!’
Another twist in the road hid us momentarily from his sight; but I knew
he was after us, running now as fast as, or perhaps a good deal faster
than we were, though we were now both of us flying along at a pace
which only the peril we were in could have enabled us to sustain.
‘For your life!’ I repeated. ‘Run, Susan!’
I held her hand. Narrow as was the path, we managed to struggle onwards
together and to keep ahead of our pursuer. Mercifully, we had had a
good start; and it had only been on second thoughts, some minutes after
we had disappeared, that the man had elected to follow us. I felt if
I once let Susan’s hand go, she would be lost. Ever and anon, she
stumbled; once she nearly fell; but she recovered herself well, and
though panting terribly, showed no signs of succumbing.
But he was overtaking us; I heard him coming faster and faster, nearer
and nearer. I heard him breathing behind us, and I felt another instant
and he must be upon us.
‘Help!’ I shrieked.
‘Help!’ echoed poor exhausted Susan, in a still shriller treble.
I heard an oath, awful in its profanity, hurled at us; but the steps
seemed to pause.
‘Help! help!’ I shrieked again.
We plunged forwards. I heard as in the distance the sound of horses’
feet galloping towards us. Another moment and we were on the high-road;
Susan speechless, her dress half torn off her with our terrible race,
her hat gone, and otherwise in a dishevelled condition; I feeling faint
and sick—but safe—thank God! both of us quite safe—with not only Tom,
seated in the shandrydan, staring in mute amazement at us, but with
three stalwart mounted warders, who were even then in quest of the
convict.
They captured him an hour afterwards, after a terrific struggle, which
was made all the more terrible from the fact of his having possessed
himself of a knife, with which he attempted to stab the warders.
Jack came back the next day; and as his partner’s illness had assumed
rather a serious aspect, he told me he must give up Morleigh Cottage,
and we could finish our holiday at Eastbourne or some place nearer
town. ‘I never could leave you here again, my darling,’ he said;
‘after such an escape, I can’t risk another.’ So we all, Cousin Susan
included, returned to our cosy house in Seymour Street, and afterwards
proceeded to the seaside, where in due time Susan and I both fully
recovered from the shock we had received in that Devonshire ravine.
FAMILIAR SKETCHES OF ENGLISH LAW.
III. MASTER AND SERVANT.
The relation of master and servant depends entirely upon a contract
of hiring and service. If the contract is not to be fully performed
within the period of one year, it is void if not in writing; and this
necessity for a written contract is not confined to cases where the
service is intended to be for more than one year. If a servant be
hired on Monday for the term of one year, to commence on the following
Saturday, the contract ought to be in writing, as a verbal contract
would be void on the ground indicated above—namely, that it was not
intended to be fully performed within one year from the date on which
it was entered into. If, however, the service was to commence on the
Monday on which the verbal contract of hiring was entered into, no such
objection would arise.
Assuming that a valid contract is entered into, there are still some
peculiarities attached to certain kinds of service, which do not affect
others. Thus, in England, both domestic servants and agricultural
labourers are usually engaged for a year; but the former class may put
an end to the engagement at any time by giving one month’s notice;
while the latter are irrevocably bound for the entire year, unless the
hiring be determined by mutual consent. This difference is founded
upon universal custom, which has the force of law. Probably the custom
had its origin in early ages, and was founded upon considerations of
convenience. The work of an agricultural labourer is distributed very
unequally over the year, being much more heavy at some seasons than at
others; and therefore it is reasonable that a man who receives wages by
the year should not be allowed to take his money for the light season,
and leave his situation when the work is heavier. Domestic servants,
on the other hand, have their work more evenly distributed over the
entire year, although they also have sometimes to do more work than at
other times, but not to the same extent as agricultural labourers; and
being brought into more immediate contact with their master’s family
(especially the mistress), it might in many cases be very unpleasant
to be obliged to carry into full effect the hiring for a whole year.
Hence, either master or mistress on the one hand, or domestic servant
on the other, may at any time give ‘a month’s warning,’ and so dissolve
the engagement. In Scotland, domestic servants are generally hired
for a month or for ‘the term,’ which is half a year, but agricultural
labourers for a year, as in England.
The more highly paid class of servants, such as managers, cashiers,
clerks above the grade of copyists, &c., are generally engaged for an
indefinite term, subject to three months’ notice. Such an engagement
as this, although it may possibly continue for several years, need not
be in writing, because it may be dissolved within the year; and it is
only when a contract which is entire and indivisible cannot be fully
performed within that time, that writing is necessary. It is, however,
desirable that the terms of the engagement should be in writing,
for the sake of certainty and in order to avoid misunderstanding.
Copying-clerks, journeymen, and persons occupying positions of a
similar kind, are usually subject to one month’s notice. In all
cases, the obligation as to notice is reciprocal, and equally binding
on both parties, mutuality being essential to the agreement. There
is, however, one distinction which has a substantial reason for its
existence: a master may pay his clerk or manager three months’ salary,
or his journeyman or copying-clerk one month’s salary, and dismiss him
immediately; but the servant must give the proper notice, and cannot
throw up his engagement by sacrificing salary in lieu of notice.
The reason for this is obvious: if a clerk gets his salary without
working for it, instead of working out his notice, he is not in any
way injured, but may be benefited by the prompt dismissal; for he may
obtain an engagement elsewhere before the time when the notice would
have expired. But it would be difficult to estimate the loss which
might be sustained by a master in consequence of the sudden withdrawal
of a confidential clerk or manager. For any breach of contract an
action of damages will lie at the instance of either party, and the
measure of damages will be the probable loss to the servant before he
can find a new situation, or to the master before he can find a new
servant.
Whenever a person is hired without any stipulation as to notice,
the engagement will be subject to any custom which may exist in the
particular trade or business for which he was engaged. In some
branches of business, commercial travellers claim to be engaged
absolutely by the year, and this custom has been proved and allowed in
court; a traveller obtaining a verdict for the balance of his year’s
salary, when he had been dismissed in the middle of the year. Ordinary
labourers, engaged by the week, are only entitled to one week’s notice;
but miners are by custom required to give, and are entitled to receive,
fourteen days’ notice.
Gross misconduct on the part of the servant is in all cases a
sufficient reason for dismissal without notice; and generally, if the
misconduct be sufficient to justify this extreme course, the wages
actually earned by the offender are forfeited, and he or she cannot
recover the same by legal proceedings. A manager who imparts his
master’s secrets to a rival in business; a cashier who cannot account
for the cash intrusted to his care; a journeyman who recklessly
destroys any of his master’s goods—may all be summarily dismissed. So
also may any kind of servant who persistently disobeys his master’s
orders, or frequently absents himself without leave. A female domestic
servant who without reasonable cause stays out all night, or who is
known to be guilty of immorality, is within the same category. It is
scarcely necessary to add that any dishonest act by a servant, such
as misappropriating his or her master’s money or goods, ought to be
followed on detection by immediate dismissal, even though it may not be
thought necessary or desirable to prosecute the servant.
In the absence of any special agreement on the subject, a servant
cannot be compelled to make good the loss occasioned by accidental
breakages; and any deduction from the salary or wages earned in respect
of such breakages would be illegal, unless the master were to establish
a claim for reparation in respect of fault or gross negligence; just as
in the case of a lawyer or a doctor who has bungled the duty intrusted
to him through want of skill or due care.
The death of the master terminates the contract. In England, the
servant may be paid wages up to the time of his master’s death, if
the executors do not retain his services, which would amount to a new
hiring so far as relates to notice; but in Scotland he is entitled to
be paid wages and board-wages up to the end of his engagement, unless
a new situation should in the meantime be procured for him either by
himself or the executors. He is at anyrate entitled to be kept free
from loss, because he was ready to fulfil his part of the contract.
On the bankruptcy of the master, each clerk or servant, labourer or
workman—if the assets be sufficient—is entitled to be paid in full
the salary or wages due to him in respect of services rendered to the
bankrupt during four months before the date of the receiving order,
if the amount do not exceed fifty pounds, before any dividend is paid
to ordinary creditors. For any excess, the servant must rank against
his master’s estate as an ordinary creditor, with whom he will rank
for dividend thereon. This right of priority is, however, subject to
the right of the landlord to distrain for the rent due, not exceeding
a twelvemonth, and is shared with the collectors of rates and taxes
within certain specified limits. If the net amount of assets in hand,
after paying expenses, should be insufficient to cover the preferential
payments, the money must be divided among the parties entitled, by way
of preferential dividend. In Scotland, the farm-servant’s claim for
wages is preferable to the landlord’s claim for rent.
A master is liable for any damage done to the property of strangers
by his servant in the course of his ordinary employment, but not
otherwise. For example: a groom who is sent out by his master with a
horse and carriage, and drives so negligently as to injure another
person’s horse or carriage, renders his master liable to an action for
damages. An engine-driver who disregards a danger-signal, and causes a
collision, involves the Railway Company in a liability for reparation
to every passenger who may be injured. But a master is not liable if
the servant act beyond the scope of his employment; if, for example,
the groom were accidentally to wound a passer-by with the gamekeeper’s
gun, or even if the gamekeeper himself were voluntarily to wound a
poacher, unless it were proved that he was actually ordered by his
master to do it.
Before January 1, 1881, a master was not liable to an action for
damages in respect of any injury sustained by any person employed by
him through the negligence of a fellow-servant; though he might be held
responsible if the accident which caused the injury were caused by his
own negligence. But the law has been altered, and a workman is now
entitled to compensation for accidental injury sustained by reason of
the negligence of any foreman or superintendent in the service of his
employer; or of any person whose orders the workman was bound to obey;
or by reason of anything done in compliance with the rules or bylaws
of the employer, or in obedience to particular instructions given by
any person duly authorised for that purpose: or in the case of railway
servants, by reason of the negligence of any signalman, pointsman,
engine-driver, &c. But the right to compensation is not to arise in
case the workman knew of the negligence which caused the injury, and
failed to give notice to the employer or some person superior to
himself in the service of the employer; nor if the rules or bylaws
from the observance of which the accident arose had been approved by
the proper department of the government; neither would a workman who
by his own negligence had contributed to the accident be entitled to
compensation: the common-law rule as to contributory negligence being
applicable. In case of any accident which is within the provisions of
the Act, notice of the injury must be given to the employer within six
weeks, and any action must be commenced within six months after the
occurrence of the accident; or in case of death, proceedings must be
taken within twelve months from the date of death. The compensation
must not exceed in amount three years’ earnings; and the action must
in England be brought in the County Court; in Scotland in the Sheriff
Court; and in Ireland in the Civil Bill Court; the proceedings in
each case being removable into a superior court at the instance of
either party. The benefits of the Act do not extend to domestic or
menial servants, but are available for railway servants, labourers
agricultural and general, journeymen, artificers, handicraftsmen, and
persons otherwise engaged in manual labour.
In case of the illness of a servant—unless such illness be caused by
his or her own misconduct—the master cannot legally refuse to pay the
wages which may accrue during the time of such illness; but the service
may be terminated by notice in the usual way; the principle being that
no man can be held accountable for what is beyond his own control. The
servant being willing to do his duty, but rendered unable to do so by
circumstances beyond his own control, he must not be punished for such
inability by being deprived of his wages. A master is only liable to
pay his servant’s medical attendant when the master has employed him,
but not when the doctor is employed by the servant himself.
A master may bring an action against a stranger for any injury done to
his servant, whereby he (the master) suffers loss or inconvenience, or
for enticing his servant away, and inducing him to neglect or refuse to
fulfil his engagement.
When a servant applies to any person for a new engagement, it is usual
for him to refer to his previous master for a character, as it would
be objectionable for a stranger to be employed without some means
of knowing whether he was competent and respectable. In answering
inquiries as to character and ability, it is necessary to be very
careful to say neither more nor less than the exact truth. If an
undeserved bad character be given, the servant may recover damages,
on establishing malice and want of probable cause, in an action for
libel or slander, according to the mode in which the character was
given, in writing or verbally. On the other hand, suppression of
unfavourable facts may have still more serious consequences. If a
servant be known to be dishonest, and his master ventures to recommend
him as trustworthy, he will render himself liable to make good any loss
occasioned by subsequent acts of dishonesty which may be committed by
the servant in his new situation, and which without such recommendation
could not have been committed. When nothing favourable can be said, the
safest way is to decline to answer any inquiries on the subject. But
it would be unfair to adopt this course without adequate cause, for
such refusal would inevitably be construed as equivalent to giving the
servant a bad character, and would frequently prove an obstacle to his
obtaining another situation.
HEROINES.