As the days passed, and no information could be obtained respecting
Daisy Banks, and the efforts of the police to trace the two strangers
proved utterly fruitless, John Maine was in a state of mind not to be
envied. By degrees it oozed out more and more that he had been seen
with the two men, and the police came down to the farm, to question him,
looking suspiciously at him, as he told them that they were men he had
met once before in the neighbourhood of Nottingham; and when the
constables left he had the annoyance of feeling that he would be
watched, for it was evident that he was looked upon with suspicion.
Joe Banks had been nearly mad with excitement, and leaving his sobbing
wife day after day, he had searched and researched the country round,
aided by Tom Podmore, Harry, and a score of the other men. Richard
Glaire had made no show of assisting after the first day, for he had
awakened to the fact that the town was not a safe home for him, and it
was fully his intention to leave the place for awhile; but, for his own
reasons, he preferred to wait a little longer.
Sim Slee was about now a good deal, and another encounter had taken
place between him and Richard, after which Sim had gone round to the
vicarage back-door, to implore help from his wife, asserting that he was
half killed, and begging her to come home and attend on him.
As it happened, the vicar heard him, and came to see how bad were his
injuries, and to offer to set his housekeeper at liberty.
"I'll manage without you, Mrs Slee, if you like," he said kindly.
"But I don't like," said Mrs Slee; "there'll be fifty people here soon
for soup and bread, and how can you get shoot of 'em all wi'out me?"
"Thou must come home, lovey," said Sim, in a dismal voice. "I'm very
bad. I've got money enew, too, now to keep us for weeks."
"Where dids't thou get money from?" said Mrs Slee, sharply.
"Never thou mind," said Sim. "I've gotten it, and now come home."
"But how did you get knocked about like that?" said the vicar, smiling
to himself.
"That cursed Dicky Glaire set upon me," moaned Sim, one of whose eyes
was swollen up, while there was a cut across the bridge of his nose.
"He's mad wi' me because I wouldn't help him to carry off Daisy Banks to
London, and he's leathered me this how. But I'll hev it out of him
yet."
"Did Dicky Glaire want yow to get her away?" said Mrs Slee.
"Yes, a coward, and I wouldn't," said Sim, "so he's done it his sen."
"Be careful what you are saying, Mr Slee," said the vicar, snipping a
strip of sticking-plaister off a piece in his pocket-book with his
nail-scissors, and breathing upon it to make it warm.
"Keerful," said Sim; "he deserves to be hung for it."
"Do you mean to assert that Mr Glaire has done this? Because if so,
you will have to substantiate your statement before a magistrate."
"I don't say for certain as he has," said Sim; "but he wanted me to, and
I wouldn't. Oh! oh! oh!"
"Stand still, man, and don't be such a cur," cried the vicar, sharply,
for he had been applying the plaister to Sim's slight cut, and the hero
had begun to howl dismally.
"It's half killing me," cried Sim, again.
"Take hold of his head, Mrs Slee; the cut is nothing at all."
Mrs Slee seized Sim pretty roughly, and held him by his ears, while the
plaister was affixed, the great orator moaning and flinching and
writhing till he was set at liberty.
"Is it bad, sir?" said Mrs Slee, then.
"So bad," said the vicar, "that if a schoolboy of nine or ten received
such a drubbing from a playmate, he would have washed his face and said
nothing about it."
"Said nowt about it!" cried Sim. "Aye, it's easy for them as aint hurt
to talk. Thou'lt come home wi' me, lovey?"
"No. Go thee gate," said Mrs Slee.
"Do 'ee come, lovey," said Sim.
"I wean't," said Mrs Slee, shortly; and without more ado, she took her
lord by the shoulders, and guided him to the door, which she closed upon
him, leaving him to make his way up the street, vowing vengeance against
Richard Glaire, the parson, and all the world.
In fact, mischief was brewing, and would have come to a head sooner but
for the episode of Daisy's disappearance. A deputation of the men had
waited upon Richard Glaire, and offered terms for coming back to work;
but he had obstinately held out for the reparation to be made,
increasing the value he had previously set upon the destroyed bands, and
declaring that if he were not paid a hundred and fifty pounds damages,
he would keep the works closed.
"Thou'lt be sorry for this, Maister," said the man who acted as
spokesman.
"Sorry!" said Richard, defiantly. "I'm sorry I ever had such a set of
curs to work for me."
"But we've telled you as it was none o' us."
"I don't care who it was," retorted Richard; "I want a hundred and fifty
pounds for the damage done; and I ought to have payment for my losses by
the foundry standing still."
"Our wives and bairns 'll soon be pined to dead," said another man.
"You should have thought of that before," said Richard, coldly. "A
hundred and fifty pounds made up amongst you, and the fires may be lit,
and we'll go on once more; till that's paid I'll keep the place locked
up if I'm ruined by it."
Then came the disappearance of Daisy Banks, and it wanted but little on
the part of Sim Slee to half madden the weaker spirits against the man
who was starving their wives and children, and had robbed Joe Banks of
his daughter.
It so happened that Joe Banks, on the day following Sim's doctoring,
about a fortnight after the disappearance, during which time he had not
seen Mrs Glaire, but only Eve, who had been again and again to try and
administer comfort to Mrs Banks, came upon a knot of men, listening to
an oration made by Sim Slee, who, as soon as he saw Joe coming up in
company with Tom Podmore, who was his staunch and faithful ally
throughout, cried loudly:
"Here he comes! Here comes the downtrodden, ill-used paytriot, who has
served the rotten family for thirty year, and then been robbed for his
pains. He's agoing to join my brotherhood now, lads--him and Tom
Podmore."
"Hooray!" cried the men.
"And he'll be a captain and a leader among us as is going to beat down
the oppressors and robbers of our flocks and herds. He's agoing, lads,
to pull down with us the bloated Aristorchus, as is living on his oil
olive, and honey, while we heven't bread to put in the mouths of our
bairns."
There was a groan here from the little crowd, some of whom readily
accepted Sim Slee's Aristorchus, as they would have taken in any
loud-sounding word in their present humour.
"Come on, brave captain, as hev had your eye-lids opened to the malice
and wickedness of your employer, and join them as is going to groan no
more under the harrows and ploughshares of oppression. It is said as
the ox or beast shan't be muzzled as treadeth out the corn, and we aint
agoing to let that oppressor, Dicky Glaire, muzzle us any more."
"Hooray!" cried the growing crowd.
"Come on, then, brave captain. Lads, Joe Banks is a man as we'll be
proud to serve wi'; and wi' Tom Podmore too, for they've cast off their
slough"--Sim called this "sluff"--"of blindness, and hev awaked to the
light and glory of liberty. Come on."
"What do you mean?" said Joe Banks, firmly.
"Mean, brave captain and leader!" cried Sim, making his plaid waistcoat
wrinkle with his exertions; "why, that we're going to trample down him
as robbed thee of thy bairn."
"Who's that?" said Joe Banks, sternly.
"Who's that? Ask anybody here if it aint Dicky Glaire, the oppressor,
as is going to sneak outer the town to-night to catch the mail train
over yonder at the station, and then going to laugh and sneer and mock
at the poor, grey old father as he's deceived, and--"
"It's a lie," roared Joe. "Who says Richard Glaire took away my poor
murdered bairn?"
"Everybody," said Sim, who was standing on a wall about five feet high,
his plaistered face giving him rather a grotesque aspect. "Everybody
says it."
"No," roared Joe, "it's you as says it, you lying, chattering magpie.
Howd thee tongue, or I'll--"
He seized the speaker by the legs, and had him down in an instant,
clutched by the throat, and began shaking him violently.
"Go on," said Sim, who this time preserved his presence of mind. "I
aint the first paytriot as has been a martyr to his cause; kill me if
you like."
"Kill thee, thou noisy starnel of a man! Say as it's a lie again your
maister, or I'll shake thee till thou dost."
"I wean't say it's a lie," cried Sim. "Ask anybody if it aint true."
Joe Banks looked round furiously, and a chorus broke out of, "It's true,
lad; it's true."
"There," cried Sim, triumphantly. "What hev you to say to that? Ask
Tom Podmore what he thinks."
"I will," cried Joe Banks, who was somewhat staggered by the unanimity
of opinion. "Tom Podmore, speak out like a true man and tell these all
as it's a lie."
Tom remained silent.
"D'ye hear, Tom? Speak out," cried Joe.
"I'd rather not speak," said Tom, quietly.
"But thou must, lad, thou must," cried Sim. "Are you going to see a man
a martyr for a holy cause, when you can save him?"
"Speak! speak!" cried Joe, panting with rage and emotion; "tell 'em you
know it's a lie, Tom."
"I can't," said Tom, who was driven to bay, "for I believe Richard
Glaire has got her away."
"Theer, I telled you," said Sim. "He wanted me to help him, only you
wean't believe."
"No, no, no," roared Joe; "and I wean't believe it now. He wouldn't, he
couldn't do it. He told me he hadn't; and he wouldn't tell me a lie."
The little crowd opened as the true-hearted old fellow strode away,
without turning his head, and Tom Podmore followed him towards his home,
and at last spoke to him.
Joe turned upon him savagely.
"Go away," he cried. "I've done wi' you. I thowt as Tom Podmore were a
man, instead o' one o' them chattering maulkin-led fools; but thou'rt
like the rest."
Tom Podmore stopped short, with his brow knit, while Joe Banks passed on
out of sight.
"He'll find out, and believe different some day," said Tom, slowly.
"Poor old man, it's enough to break his heart. But I wean't break
mine."
As he stood, the noise of cheering came from where he had left Sim Slee
talking, and he stood listening and thinking.
"They'll be doing him a mischief 'fore they've done, and then they'll
end the old works. Damn him! I hate him," he cried, grinding his
teeth; "but I can't stand still and let Sim Slee's lot bruise and batter
his face as they would till they'd 'most killed him. He's soft, and
smooth, and good-looking, and I'm--well, I'm a rough un," he continued,
smiling with contemptuous pity on himself. "It's no wonder she should
love him best, poor lass; but she'd better hev been a honest lad's
wife--missus to a man as wouldn't hev said an unkind thing to her to
save his life. But they say it's womankind-like: they takes most to him
as don't keer for 'em."
He stood thinking irresolutely, as the noise and cheering continued: and
once he turned to go; but the next moment he was himself, and saying
softly:
"Daisy, my poor little lass, it's for thee--it's for thee;" he strode
hastily to the Big House, knocked, and was admitted.
"Tell Mr Richard I want to see him," said Tom; and the servant-girl
smiled pleasantly at the fine, sturdy young fellow.
"I don't think he'll see thee, Mr Podmore," said the girl, "because
he's so cross about the foundry people. I'll tell him a gentleman wants
to see him."
She tripped away, and in a few minutes Richard came down to stand
scowling at him.
"What do you want?" he said, glaring at his rival.
Tom Podmore writhed mentally, and his nerves tingled with the desire to
take Richard Glaire by the throat, and shake him till he could not
breathe; but he controlled himself, and said sturdily:
"I come to tell thee some ill news."
"What is it?" said Richard, thrusting his hand into his breast, for his
visitor had taken a step forward.
Tom Podmore saw the motion and smiled, but he paid no further heed, and
went on bluntly:
"Thou wast going away by train to-night."
"Who says so?" cried Richard, turning pale.
"The lads out there--Sim Slee's gang," said Tom; "and I come to warn
thee."
"Warn me of what?" said Richard.
"To warn thee as they mean to lay wait for thee, and do thee a
mischief."
"Who says so?"
"I know it," said Tom: "so if you'll tak' a good bit of advice thou'lt
stay at home, and not go out."
"It's a trick--a trap," cried Richard. "If it were true, you're not the
man to come and tell me."
"Why not?" said Tom bluntly.
"Because you hate me, and believe I've taken away your wretched wench."
"Damn thee!" cried Tom, seizing him by the arm and throat; and as he
brought the young fellow to his knees, quite paralysing his effort to
get his hand into Iiis breast; "thou may'st say what thee likes again
me; but if thee speaks ill of her I can't bear it; so I warn thee. Hate
thee I do, and yet I come to tell thee of danger, and--"
A faint shriek made Tom start, for, pale as death, Eve Pelly rushed to
Richard's help, and clutched at Tom Podmore's sturdy arms, which dropped
at her touch as if those of Eve had been talismanic.
"Aw raight, Miss," he said smiling. "I wean't hurt him; but I come to
do him good, and he made me mad."
"Mad, yes," cried Richard, who had regained his feet, and now drew a
pistol. "You were mad to come here; but I'm ready for you and the rest
of your rascally crew, and for all your malicious traps and plans."
"Richard!" shrieked Eve, who tried to catch his arm; but she was flung
off, and would have fallen, but for Tom Podmore, before whom she stood,
screening him as she begged him to leave the house.
"Yes, Miss, I'll go," said Tom, smiling; "not as I'm afraid of him and
his pistol. What I did he browt upon himself. I've done what I thowt
was raight, so he must tak' his chance. I on'y come to warn him as
there's a dozen or two of the lads as listen to Sim Slee made themselves
into a gang agen him."
"What, our workmen?" cried Eve.
"Well, only some o' the outsiders, Miss; t'others wean't have nowt to do
wi' it. That's all."
As he spoke he smiled sadly at the poor pale face before him, and then
was gone.
Volume 2, Chapter XIII.