Mrs Glaire lived in a great blank-looking red-brick house in the main
street, two ugly steep stone steps coming down from the front door on to
the narrow kidney pebble path, and encroaching so upon the way that they
were known as the tipsy-turvies, in consequence of the number of excited
Dumfordites who fell over them in the dark. Though for the matter of
that they were awkward for the most sober wayfarer, and in a town with a
Local Board would have been condemned long before.
The ugliness of the Foundry House, as it was called, only dwelt on the
side giving on the street; the back opened upon an extensive garden,
enclosed by mighty red-brick walls, for the greater part concealed by
the dense foliage, which made the fine old garden a bosky wilderness of
shady lawn, walk, and shrubbery.
For Mrs Glaire was great upon flowers, in fact, after "my son,
Richard," her garden stood at the top of her affections, even before her
niece, Eve, whom she loved very dearly all the same.
Mrs Glaire was a little busy ant of a woman, with a pleasant, fair
face, ornamented with two tufts of little fuzzy blonde curls, which
ought to have hung down, but which seemed to be screwed up so tightly
that they took delight in sticking out at all kinds of angles, one or
two of the most wanton--those with the rough ends--that had been
untwisted by Mrs Glaire's curl-papers, even going so far as to stick
straight up.
On the morning when the new vicar made his entry into Dumford, Mrs
Glaire was out in her garden busy. She had on her brown holland apron,
and her print drawn hood, the strings of which seemed to cut deeply into
her little double chin, and altogether did nothing to improve her
personal appearance. A little basket was in one hand half-filled with
the dead leaves of geraniums which she had been snipping off with the
large garden scissors she held in the other hand--scissors which, for
fear of being mislaid, were attached to a silken cord, evidently the
former trimming of some article of feminine attire, and this cord was
tied round her waist.
She had two attendants--Prince and the gardener, Jacky Budd--Jacky: for
it was the peculiarity of Dumford that everybody was known by a familiar
interpretation of his Christian name, or else by a _sobriquet_ more
quaint than pleasant.
Prince was a King Charles spaniel, with the shortest of snub noses, the
most protrusive of great intelligent eyes, and long silky ears that
nearly swept the ground. Prince had a weakness, and that was fat. He
had been fed into such a state of rotundity that he had long ceased
running and barking, even at cats, against which he was supposed to have
a wonderful antipathy, and he passed his time after his regular meals in
sleeping, when he was lying down, and wheezing when he was standing up,
and never if he could possibly help it did he move from the position in
which he was placed.
Jacky Budd, the gardener, was a pale, sodden-looking man, the only tinge
of colour in his countenance being in his nose, and that tinge was given
by a few fiery veins. He had a knack when addressed of standing with
one thumb stuck in the arm-hole of his ragged vest, which was stretched
and worn in consequence, and this attitude was a favourite with him on
Sundays, and was maintained just inside the south door till all the
people were in church, when he went to his own sitting beneath the
reading desk, for Jacky Budd, in addition to being a gardener, was the
parish clerk.
Jacky had his weakness, like Prince, but it was very different from that
of the dog; in fact, it was one that troubled a great many of the people
of Dumford, who looked upon it with very lenient eyes. For though the
gentleman in question had been suspended by the late vicar for being
intoxicated in church, and saying out loud in reading the psalms, "As it
(hic) was in the beginning (hic) is now (hic) and ever shall be (hic),"
he was penitent and forgiven at the end of the week, and he sinned no
more until the next time.
The late vicar was compelled to take notice of the backsliding, even
though people said he was troubled with the same weakness, for Miss
Purley, the doctor's sister, burst out laughing quite loud in
consequence of a look given her by Richard Glaire from the opposite pew.
Her brother was there, and to pass it off he made a stir about it, and
had her carried out, to come back after a few minutes on tip-toe and
whisper to two or three people that it was a touch of hysterics.
Those who knew Jacky could tell when he had been drinking from the
stolid look upon his countenance, and Mrs Glaire was one of those who
knew him.
"Come along, Prince," she cried in a shrill chirpy treble, and stooping
down she lifted and carried Prince a few yards, to set him down beside a
rustic flower-stand, rubbing his leg with the rim of the basket, and
Prince went on wheezing, while his mistress began to snip.
Jacky followed slowly with a pot of water, a fluid that he held in
detestation, and considered to be only useful for watering flowers.
"Now, Jacky," exclaimed his mistress, "these pots are quite dry. Give
them all some water."
"Yes, mum," said Jacky; and raising the pot, he began with trembling
hands to direct erratic streams amongst the flowers, then shaking his
head, stopping, and examining the spout as if that were in fault.
"Stone got in it, I think," he muttered.
"You've been drinking again, Jacky," exclaimed his mistress, shaking the
scissors at him threateningly.
"Drinking, mum! drinking!"
This in a tone of injured surprise.
"Yes, you stupid man. Do you think I don't know? I can smell you."
"Drinking!" said Jacky, putting his hand to his head, as if to collect
his thoughts.
"Yes, so I did; I had a gill of ale last night."
"Now, Jacky, I won't have it," exclaimed Mrs Glaire. "If you try to
deceive me I won't keep you on."
"What, and turn away a faithful servant as made this garden what it is,
mum, and nursed Master Dick when he was a bit of a bairn no bigger
than--"
Jacky stooped down to try and show how many inches high Dick Glaire was
when his nursing days were on; and as the gardener placed his hand
horizontally, it seemed that about six inches must have been the stature
of the child. But this was a dangerous experiment, and Jacky nearly
overbalanced himself. A sharp question from his mistress, however,
brought him upright, and somewhat sobered him.
"Have you heard any more about that, Jacky?"
"'Bout Master Richard, mum?"
"Yes, Jacky. But mind this, I hate talebearing and the gossip of the
place."
"You do, mum; you allus did," said Jacky, winking solemnly to himself;
"but that's a fact."
"I won't believe it, Jacky," said Mrs Glaire, snipping off sound leaves
and blossoms in her agitation.
"It's a fact, mum, and I don't wonder at your feeling popped."
"I'm not cross at all, Jacky," exclaimed Mrs Glaire, with her face
working, "for I don't believe my son would stoop in that way."
"But it's a fack, mum; and you must send him away, or he'll be taking a
wife from among the Midianitish women. That's so."
"Now, I don't want to hear gossip, man; but what have you heard? There,
do stand still or you'll tread on Prince."
"Heard, mum? Lots. You should say, `What have you seen?'"
"Seen! Have you seen anything?"
Jacky put his thumb very far into his arm-hole, and spread his fingers
very wide, as he rolled his head solemnly.
"You won't tell Master Richard as you heard of it from me, mum?"
"No, Jacky, no; certainly not."
"And get me kicked out without a moment's notice?"
"No, no, certainly not. Now tell me directly."
"Well, mum, Missus Hubley says as she knows he's always arter her."
"What, Daisy Banks?"
Jacky nodded.
"But she's a mischief-making, gossiping old woman!" exclaimed Mrs
Glaire; "and her word isn't worth anything. You said you had seen
something."
Jacky nodded, and screwed up his face as he laid his finger beside his
nose.
"If you don't speak directly, man, I shall do you a mischief," exclaimed
the little woman, excitedly. "Tell me all you know this instant."
"Well, you see, mum, it was like this: last night was very dark, and my
missus said to me, `Jacky,' she says, `take the boocket and go down to
Brown's poomp and get a boocket o' watter.' Because you see, mum, the
sucker being wore, our poomp's not agate just now."
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs Glaire, impatiently.
"Well, mum, I goes round by Kitty Rawson's corner, and out back way, and
I come upon Master Richard wi' his arm round Daisy Banks's waist."
"Now, Jacky," exclaimed Mrs Glaire, with a hysterical sob, "if this is
not the truth I'll never, never forgive you."
"Truth, mum," said Jacky, in an ill-used tone. "I've been clerk here a
matter o' twenty year, and my father and grandfather before me, and
would I tell a lie, do you think? Speak the truth without fear or
favour. Amen."
"Go away now," cried Mrs Glaire, sharply.
"Wean't I water all the plants, mum?"
"No; go away, and if you say a word to a soul about this, I'll never
forgive you, Jacky, never."
"Thanky, mum, thanky," said Jacky, turning to go, and nearly trampling
on Prince.
"No, come here!" exclaimed Mrs Glaire, whose face was working. "Go
round to the foundry, and tell Joe Banks I want to speak to him. Tell
him I'm in the garden."
"Yes, mum."
"Jacky," she said, calling him back.
"Yes, mum."
"Don't you dare to say a word about what it's for."
"No, mum."
Jacky went off round by his tool-shed, out into the street, and down to
the foundry gates, where, after a word with the gateman, he went on
across the great metal-strewn yard in search of Mrs Glaire's sturdy
foreman.
Meanwhile that lady caught up her dog, and carried him to a garden seat,
where, upon being set down, he curled up and went to sleep, his tail and
ears combined, making a comfortable coverlid. Then taking off her
scissors and placing them in her basket, Mrs Glaire seated herself,
sighing deeply, and taking out from a voluminous pocket, which took
sundry evolutions with drapery to reach, a great ball of lambswool and a
couple of knitting pins, she began to knit rapidly what was intended to
be some kind of undergarment for her only son.
"Oh, Dick, Dick," she muttered; "you'll break my heart before you've
done."
The knitting pins clicked loudly, and a couple of bright tears stole
down her cheeks and dropped into her lap.
"And I did not tell him to hold his tongue before Eve," she exclaimed,
sharply. "Tut-tut--tut-tut! This must be stopped; this must be
stopped."
The sighing, lamenting phase gave place by degrees to an angry one. The
pins clicked sharply, and the pleasant grey head was perked, while the
lips were tightened together even as were the stitches in the knitting,
which had to be all undone.
Just then the garden door opened, and a broad-shouldered grizzled man of
seven or eight and forty entered the garden followed by Jacky. Foreman
though he was, Joe Banks had been hard at work, and his hands and lace
bore the grime of the foundry. He had, however, thrown on a jacket, and
wiped the perspiration from his forehead, leaving a half clean line over
his pale blue eyes, while a pleasant smile puckered such of his face as
was not hidden by his closely cut grizzled beard.
"Sarvant, ma'am," he said, making a rough bow to the lady of the house.
"Good morning, Banks," said Mrs Glaire. "Jacky, go and nail up that
wistaria, and mind you don't tumble off the ladder."
Jacky looked injured, but walked off evidently making a bee line for the
tool-shed--one which he did not keep.
"Little on, mum," said the foreman, with a wise nod in Jacky's
direction. "Wants a month's illness to be a warnin'."
"It's a pity. Banks, but he will drink."
"Like lots more on 'em, ma'am. Why if I was to get shut of all the lads
in the works there who like their drop of drink, I shouldn't have half
enew."
"How are things going on, Banks?" said Mrs Glaire.
The foreman looked at her curiously, for it was a new thing for his
mistress to make any inquiry about the foundry. A few months back and
he had to make his daily reports, but since Richard Glaire had come of
age, Mrs Glaire had scrupulously avoided interfering in any way,
handing over the business management to "my son."
"I said how are things going on in the foundry, Banks," said the lady
again, for the foreman had coughed and shuffled from one foot on to the
other.
"Do you wish me to tell you, ma'am?" he said at last.
"Tell me? of course," said Mrs Glaire, impatiently. "How are matters?"
"Bad."
"Bad? What do you mean?"
"Well, mum, not bad as to work; 'cause there's plenty of that, and
nothing in the way of contracts as is like to suffer by waiting."
"Then, what do you mean?"
"Well, you see, ma'am, Mr Richard don't get on wi' the men. He wants
to have it all his own way, and they want to have it all theirn. Well,
of course that wean't work; so what's wanted is for the governor to give
way just a little, and then they'd give way altogether."
"But I'm sure my son Richard's management is excellent," said Mrs
Glaire, whose lip quivered a little as she drew herself up with dignity,
and began a fresh row of her knitting.
Banks coughed slightly, and remained silent.
"Don't you think so, Banks?"
"Well, you see, ma'am, he's a bit arbitrary."
"Arbitrary? What do you mean, Banks?"
"Well, you see, ma'am, he turned Sim Slee off at a moment's notice."
"And quite right, too," said Mrs Glaire hotly. "My son told me. The
fellow is a spouting, mouthing creature."
"He is that, ma'am, and as lazy as a slug, but it made matters worse,
and just now there's a deal of strikes about, and the men at other
places listening to delegates from societies, and joining unions, and
all that sort of stuff."
"And have you joined one of those clubs, Joe Banks?" said Mrs Glaire,
sharply.
"Me join 'em, ma'am? Not I," said Banks, who seemed immensely tickled
at the idea. "Not I. _I'm_ foreman, and get my wage reg'lar, and I
don't want none of their flummery. You should hear Ann go on about
'em."
"I beg your pardon, Banks," said Mrs Glaire. "I might have known that
you were too sensible a man to go to these meetings."
"Well, as to being sensible, I don't know about that, Missus Glaire.
Them two women folk at home do about what they like wi' me."
"I don't believe it, Joe," said Mrs Glaire. "Daisy would not have
grown up such a good, sensible girl if she had not had a firm, kind,
sensible father."
"God bless her!" said Joe, and a little moisture appeared in one eye.
Then speaking rather huskily--"Thank you, ma'am--thank you, Missus
Glaire. I try to do my duty by her, and so does Ann."
"Is Ann quite well?"
"Quite well, thank you kindly, ma'am," said the foreman. "Don't you be
afeared for me, Missus Glaire. I worked with Richard Glaire, senior,
thirty years ago, two working lads, and we was always best of friends
both when we was poor, and when I saw him gradually grow rich, for he
had a long head, had your husband, while I'd only got a square one. But
I stuck to him, and he stuck to me, and when he died, leaving me his
foreman, you know, Mrs Glaire, how he sent for me, and `Joe,' he says,
`good bye, God bless you! You've always been my right hand man. Stick
to my son.'"
"He did, Joe, he did," said Mrs Glaire, with a deep sigh, and a couple
of tears fell on her knitting.
"And I'll stick to him through thick and thin," said the foreman,
stoutly. "For I never envied Dick, his father--there, 'tain't 'spectful
to you, ma'am, to say Dick, though it comes natural--I never envied
Master Glaire his success with his contracts, and getting on to be a big
man. I was happy enough; but you know, ma'am, young Master Dick is
arbitrary; he is indeed, and he can't feel for a working man like his
father did."
"He is more strict you see, Banks, that is all," said Mrs Glaire,
stiffly; and the foreman screwed up his face a little.
"You advise him not to be quite so strict, ma'am. I wouldn't advise you
wrong, as you know."
"I know that, Joe Banks," said Mrs Glaire, smiling pleasantly; "and
I'll say a word to him. But I wanted to say something to you."
"Well, I've been a wondering why you sent for me, ma'am," said the
foreman, bluntly.
"You see," said Mrs Glaire, hesitating, "there are little bits of petty
tattle about."
"What, here, ma'am," said the foreman, with a hearty laugh. "Of course
there is, and always was, and will be."
"But they are about Daisy," said Mrs Glaire, dashing at last into the
matter.
"I should just like to get hold of the man as said a word against my
lass," said Banks, stretching out a tremendous fist. "I'd crack him, I
would, like a nut. But what have they been saying?"
Volume 1, Chapter IV.