OSBORN'S PRIDE GETS HURT
Soon after the farmers met at Ashness, Bell, feeling sore and resentful,
sat one evening in the Tarnside library. Osborn, after fixing a time for
his visit, had kept him waiting twenty minutes, and Bell had come to
think himself a man of a little importance. The spacious library was very
cold and the end of a small log smouldered among the ashes in the grate.
Bell knew he had been brought into the library because it was Osborn's
business room; but the latter might have ordered the fire to be made up.
His neglect rankled, although Bell had something else to think about. He
had lowered his price for coal another shilling, without attracting
buyers, and now admitted that the dales folks' resistance was getting
dangerous. To some extent, the Askews were accountable for this, but
Osborn got a large share of the profit Bell had hoped to make. One did
not pay a high rent for nothing. By and by Bell looked at Hayes, who
stood by the hearth.
"The next time I come to Tarnside Mr. Osborn will wait for me," he
remarked.
Hayes made a warning gesture, there were steps in the passage, and Osborn
came in. He sat down at the end of the table and looked at his watch.
"I can give you about a quarter of an hour," he said. "Perhaps we had
better begin."
The big room was nearly dark, but the men sat in the light a shaded
lamp threw across the table. Osborn looked half bored and half
impatient, Hayes was urbanely inscrutable, while Bell's mean face was
marked by greed.
"Mr. Bell finds his stock of coal accumulating faster than he likes,"
said Hayes. "He must pay on delivery, and since his customers have
combined against him, feels he's entitled to some relief."
"I don't see how that is my business," Osborn rejoined. "Bell might get
over the difficulty by lowering his price."
"I've putten it doon," Bell broke in. "The price I can sell at is fixed
by my rent."
"To some extent, the argument is logical," said Hayes.
"Then am I to understand that Mr. Bell expects me to reduce his rent?"
"Not to begin with," Hayes answered, giving Bell a warning glance. "He
imagines he might gain his object almost as well if we stopped Askew
cutting peat."
"You cannot stop him. The peat is his."
"We might embarrass him. While the snow lasts, it saves some awkward
labor to cross Creighton's field and use his lonning. A tenant is not
entitled to grant a way-leave."
"Allowing a friend to use the lane for a week or two can hardly be called
a way-leave."
"Well, although Askew owns the moor, it's doubtful if he is entitled
to remove peat for sale, unless by arrangement with the lord of the
manor. I have seen Sir Gordon's agent and he is not unwilling to
dispute the point."
"At my cost?" said Osborn with a sarcastic smile. "Enforcing the old
manorial rights, which nobody knows much about, would be an expensive
business, and I have no money to risk. However, if Bell is willing to pay
the lawyers--"
"I'll pay nowt but rent. It's high enough," Bell declared.
Osborn shrugged. "Very well! It would cost too much to try to frighten
Askew off. He's confoundedly shrewd and obstinate."
Bell was silent for a few moments, but his face got hard as he fixed his
eyes on Osborn.
"There's another matter. T' mill lease will soon fall in and I canna tak'
it on again, unless I get the repairs and improvements done. Mr. Hayes
has t' list."
The agent took out the list with some builders' and millwrights'
estimates, and Osborn frowned as he studied the documents. It was obvious
that Bell meant to use pressure.
"I don't like to be threatened," he replied.
"It's not a threat," said Bell, with a cunning smile. "If I'm to lose my
money at coal yards, I must earn some at mill, but unless I get t'
repairs and new machines, mill willunt pay to run." He paused and
studying Osborn's face resumed: "There'll be nea peace for either o' us
while the Askews gan aboot makin' trouble."
"I suppose that is so, to some extent," Osborn agreed.
"Then is it fair to leave me to fratch wi' them? After aw, they're mair
your enemies than mine."
"I don't understand you; I have no coal to sell."
Bell looked up with a sour grin. "There's worse ways o' hurting a proud
man than touching his pocket. If you dinna ken what's going on, it's time
you watched young Kit. I'll say nea mair, but aw t 'oad wives are
cracking and you can ask Mr. Hayes. He kens!"
Osborn's face got red, but he gave Bell a haughty look.
"Anything that touches me personally is my private concern--and we are
talking about the lease of the mill. I cannot make all the improvements
you ask for, but perhaps something can be done. When we have studied the
matter Mr. Hayes will let you know."
Bell got up and when he went out Osborn turned to Hayes. "What did the
fellow mean? He said you knew!"
"It's dangerous ground and I frankly wish he'd told you to ask somebody
else. However, there is some gossip--"
"Go on," said Osborn sternly. "Whom are they gossiping about?"
"Miss Osborn, since you insist."
Osborn clenched his fist and the veins rose on his forehead as he said,
"And young Askew?"
Hayes made a sign of agreement and Osborn, getting up, walked across
the floor. He came back with a savage sparkle in his eyes and stood in
front of Hayes.
"Tell me what you know."
With a pretense of reluctance, Hayes obeyed. He told Osborn about
Grace's visit to Railton's and hinted that she had gone to find out if
Kit had brought the sheep. Then he narrated their meeting in the dark
near Creighton's farm and stated his grounds for imagining she had
ridden down the hill on the first load of peat. Hayes was tactful and
apologetic, but he made it plain that the girl was in Kit's confidence
and had known his plans.
Osborn stopped him with a savage gesture. His face was deeply flushed and
his voice was hoarse as he said: "That is enough. The thing looks
impossible! I must try to find out what foundation there is for the
ridiculous tale."
"I shall be relieved if you do find it is ridiculous," said Hayes, who
went off soon afterwards.
For some minutes Osborn leaned against the mantel with his hands
clenched, for he had got a shock. He admitted that the Osborns had some
faults, but they were the Tarnside Osborns and had ruled the dale for a
very long time. It was something to spring from such a stock, and the
wilful girl had disgraced them all. Osborn had suspected Grace of holding
dangerous modern views, but it was unthinkably humiliating that she had
engaged in a flirtation with a farmer's son.
He had declared the thing impossible, but he feared it was true. Hayes
had been very clear about her visit to Railton's, and her coming down
Malton Head on Askew's sledge was ominous. She must have been strongly
attracted by Kit since she had done a thing like that. Besides, she
had obviously sympathized with, and perhaps helped, his plans. This
was treachery, because it was a tradition of the Osborns that they
stood together.
By and by he heard voices in the hall and braced himself. He must go down
to receive his guests and was glad that they had come, since he did not
want to tell his wife about the matter yet; in fact, he did not think he
would talk to Grace. The thing was humiliating, and there was a
possibility that Hayes had been mistaken. Osborn resolved to watch the
girl and then insist on a reckoning if she gave him grounds for doing so.
He went down and carried out his hospitable duties. Next morning he
arranged for a day's shooting; the snow had nearly gone and there were a
few pheasants left in Redmire wood. The party started early, taking their
lunch, and in the afternoon Grace left Tarnside and walked down the dale.
She had no particular object, but the day was fine and she wondered
whether Kit had brought all the peat from Malton Head.
There was no wind and the frost was not keen. Gray clouds trailed across
the sky that was touched with yellow in the west, and soft, elusive
lights played about the dale. Patches of snow on the fellsides gleamed
and faded; mossy belts glowed vivid green, red berries in the hedgerows
shone among withered leaves and fern, and then the light passed on and
left the valley dim. Something in its calm beauty reacted on the girl and
made her thoughtful. She loved the dale and felt that she might be happy
there if it were not for her father's poverty and overbearing
temperament.
After all, they were not really poor; they had enough to satisfy their
needs. Their clinging to out-of-date traditions caused the strain. One
gained nothing by pretending to be rich and important; there was no
logical reason for trying to live like one's ancestors, and the effort
cost the Osborns much. It meant stern private economy, public
ostentation, and many small deceits. Grace was getting tired of this
pretense; she wanted something simpler and dignified. For the most part,
the dalesfolk looked happy and she had come to envy them. They had their
troubles, but they were troubles all mankind must bear, and they had joys
one did not properly value at Tarnside: human fellowship and sympathy,
and freedom to follow their bent. A shepherd's daughter, for example,
could marry whom she liked and was not forced to accept a husband who had
wealth enough to satisfy her parents.
Grace blushed as she thought of Alan Thorn and contrasted him with Kit.
She did not want to marry yet; but perhaps, if Kit were not a working
farmer's son--She pulled herself up, with a smile, for it looked as if
she had not broken free from the family traditions. After all, it did not
matter if Kit were a farmer's son. He was honest and generous; he had a
well-modeled figure, bright eyes, and a clean brown skin. But since Kit
was not her lover, she was indulging in idle sentiment; and then she
admitted that he might love her, although she did not yet love him.
Indeed, if she must be honest, the thing was possible--she had seen his
face brighten and remarked his satisfaction when they met.
Then she stopped abruptly as she saw him coming down the road. There was
a path across a field close by, but it would be admitting too much if she
tried to avoid him, and she went on. Kit came up, dressed in rough
working clothes, with muddy leggings, and a hedge stick in his hand. Two
dogs ran before him and it looked as if he had been driving sheep. Grace
was very calm when he took off his cap and he thought the hint of
stateliness he sometimes noted was rather marked. It did not daunt him;
he, felt it was proper Grace should look like that. She noted that he was
hot and breathless.
"I saw you as I was bringing the sheep down Burton ghyll," he said.
"Then you must have good eyes," Grace remarked. "It's a long way, and I
don't wear conspicuous clothes."
Kit laughed. "I'd have known you much farther off. There's nobody in the
dale who walks like you."
Grace gave him a quiet glance that he met without embarrassment. She saw
that he had not meant to offer her a cheap compliment; yet the compliment
was justified. A dancing master had told her that she walked and carried
herself well.
"But where are the sheep?" she asked.
"I left them in the field at the beckfoot," he answered with a touch of
awkwardness. "We can bring them down afterwards; I remembered I wanted
something at Allerby."
Grace turned her head to hide a smile. It was obvious that he had
remembered he wanted to go to Allerby when he saw her.
"Oh, well," she said, "I am going part of the way. However, I mustn't
stop you if you want to get back to the sheep."
"It isn't at all important," Kit declared. Then he paused and Grace
thought he was studying his old and rather muddy clothes. "But, of
course," he resumed, "it's possible you'd sooner go on alone."
She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Askew! I think you know what I
mean. I didn't want to keep you from your work."
He looked relieved. "Yes. Although I'm not very clever at this sort
of thing, I generally do know what you mean. I can't tell if it's
strange or not."
"It certainly is not worth while puzzling about. I expect I'm rather
obvious--for that matter, so are you."
"Frankness often saves you some trouble and I don't know if it gives your
opponent the advantage some folks imagine. However, it's not our rule in
the dale to say all we feel."
"It's not Bell's, for example. How is the coal campaign getting on?"
"Well," said Kit, thoughtfully, "so far as that goes, I believe we have
beaten him. There's a new notice that lowers the price seven-and-six
altogether, and last night we advised folks to buy. But I don't know if
the fight's over. Bell may find another way of putting on the screw."
"I hope he will give it up," Grace replied. "I tried to help, because I
felt I must; but of course you see I can't help again."
Kit made a sign of understanding. "Yes; you showed us how to bring the
peat down. Now I don't know what to say. It's awkward ground."
They were silent for some time afterwards, for both had said enough and
knew that Osborn's resentment must be reckoned on. It made them feel like
accomplices and drew them together. They were young and not given to
looking far ahead, but they saw the threat that the friendship both
valued might be broken off.
By and by three or four reports rang through the calm air and Grace came
near to stopping, but did not. She had forgotten Osborn was shooting in
Redmire wood and she and Kit must pass its edge. For all that, she could
not turn back. Kit would guess why she did so; it would be an awkward
admission that she was afraid of being seen with him by Osborn or his
friends. She was afraid, but she was proud, and went on, hoping that Kit
had not noted her hesitation. He had not, but was puzzled by her resolute
and half-defiant look.
The guns were silent when they came to the wood, which rolled down the
hillside below the road. Here and there a white birch trunk and a yellow
patch of oak leaves shone among the dark firs; the beech hedge was
covered by withered brown foliage. A belt of grass ran between the wood
and road and Grace took the little path along its edge. Her feet made no
noise and her tweed dress harmonized with the subdued coloring of dead
leaves and trunks. The light was not good and she thought she would not
be visible a short distance off; besides the sportsmen might be at the
other side of the wood. She hoped they were, since she vaguely perceived
that if Osborn saw her it would force a crisis she was not yet ready to
meet. Then her thoughts were disturbed, for somebody in the wood shouted:
"Mark cock flying low to right!"
A gunshot rang out close by and a small brown bird, skimming the top of
the hedge, fluttered awkwardly across the road. Next moment dry twigs
rustled and a young man leaped on to the grass with a smoking gun in his
hand. As he threw it to his shoulder, Kit ran forward and struck the
barrel. There was a flash and while the echoes of the report rolled
across the wood a little puff of smoke floated about the men. Grace stood
still, trembling, for she knew she had run some risk of being shot.
"Why don't you look before you shoot?" Kit shouted in a strange, hoarse
voice. "You've no business to use a gun on a public road. It's lucky I
was quick."
"That is so; my fault!" gasped the other, who took off his cap as he
turned to Grace. "Very sorry, Miss Osborn; didn't see you. Wanted to get
the woodcock. Hope you're not startled much."
Grace forced a smile. She had physical courage and was shaken rather by
what she saw in Kit's face than the risk she had run. Kit looked
strangely white and strained. He had obviously got a bad shock, but she
thought he would not have looked like that had he saved anybody else from
the other's gun.
"My dress is hard to see against the trees. You really needn't be
disturbed," she said.
The young man renewed his confused apologies, and when he pushed through
the hedge and they went on again Grace looked at Kit. He had not got his
color back, his lips were set and his gaze was fixed. The shock had
broken his control and brought her enlightenment. He loved her, but she
needed time and quietness to grapple with the situation. Her heart beat
and her nerves tingled; she could not see the line she ought to take. Yet
he must be thanked.
"You were very quick," she said as calmly as possible although she was
conscious of a curious pride in him. "Somehow I knew if there was need
for quickness you would act like that. I believe I was stupid enough to
stand still until you jumped. Well, of course, you know I thank you--"
She stopped, for Kit, who turned his head for a moment turned it back and
looked straight in front. He durst not trust himself to speak, and they
went on silently.