IN WHICH THE CONDITIONS ARE WINTRY
WINTER tightened its grip on the moor when the New Year came in. The
weather-wise knew it would be so, when night after night a deep halo of
gold and brown circled the moon, and the farmers gathered their sheep
together lest they should be lost in the drifts with which long
experience had made them familiar.
January passed, however, and their expectations were not realised; but
the long bent grass curved beneath the weight of its frosted jewels; and
the surface of the moor and the shelving sides of the hills were so
silvered that scarcely a hint of green was given over the whole extent.
The waters of the tarn were frozen, inches thick, and the ruts in the
road were hard as chiselled masonry.
Overhead the sky was faintly blue, and the sun pursued his daily course
from Cawden to Fountains’ Fell, shawled in mist, like an age-worn and
enfeebled pilgrim who will do his duty while he has strength to move at
all, but who has no warmth to spare for those who travel in his company.
If the sun was sluggish and ineffective no such fault could be found
with the winds that whistled over the moors and in the chimneys of farm
and cottage, for they were strong as wild horses, and biting as fine
hail. Woe to the ears that were exposed to the full force of the blast
upon the uplands, for they were seared as with hot irons! Yet who that
was healthy and stout of heart; who that was moorland born, and was,
with the ling and the cotton-grass part and parcel of the moor but felt
his pulse beat to a quicker and more joyous rhythm as he fought the wind
or leaned his back against it!
Of that doughty company was old Squire Harris, lord of the manor and
owner, though not master, of thousands of broad rebellious acres;
master, on the other hand, of the hearts of men and women who owed him
no allegiance governed by the purse; a man of whom Mawm was proud, and
whose kindliness and justice earned him the respect even of evildoers.
Heavy of body and light of heart he sat his horse on this cold February
morning, paying no heed to the stinging attentions of the wind, but with
an observant eye on the work that was going on in the yard of the home
farm.
“A good lad at his job, Yorke,” he said approvingly to the steward who
was standing at the stirrup; “Jagger always framed well from being a
lad; and Briggs has been a fool to part with him. Did you say his father
was about?”
“He left not ten minutes ago,” replied the steward. “You’ll overtake him
if you’re going towards the village.”
The squire nodded and moved away. Five minutes later he caught sight of
Maniwel’s sturdy figure and cantered up to his side.
“Well, Drake!” he said heartily as he checked his horse’s pace; “your
head would make the fortune of one of these new-fangled painters, for
it’s a study in bright colours—blue ears and pink cheeks!”
“A Happy New Year to you, Mr. Harris—what’s left of it!” returned the
other. “It’s better to be blue outside than inside, anyway; and after
all it’s a bit o’ real Yorkshire, is this wind; and what more can a man
want i’ February?”
“Right you are, Drake! A man who wants ought better wants a thrashing
for his greediness, eh? You and I drink life in with every breath, don’t
we? Beats all your orange-scented breezes into a cocked hat. A Happy New
Year to you, too, my friend, and prosperous! How are things looking?”
“Neither pink nor blue,” answered Maniwel with a twinkle in his eye,
“thank you kindly for asking. Some days they’re drab wi’ a bit o’ blue
in; and other some they’re drab wi’ a bit o’ pink.”
“But never black, I hope,” inquired Mr. Harris.
“I’m colour blind to black,” answered Maniwel, “when it gets as far as a
blue-drab I stir t’ fire up. There’s always something cheerful there.”
The squire looked down at the honest face admiringly.
“And what about these rumours that are flying round that you’re not
being treated fairly?” he asked. “Is there anything in them? Can I put
in a word usefully anywhere?”
“No, sir,” said the other firmly, “though it’s like you to name it. What
you’ve heard, I don’t know, but when tales begin to fly about they pick
up more than they started with, and I dare bet I’ve naught to put up
with i’ business no worse than what you’ve had i’ politics.”
“Perhaps not,” returned Mr. Harris with a laugh; “but if some of these
stories are true, or only partly true, they’re beyond what’s fair and I
shouldn’t hesitate to tell the parties so. However, I admire your grit,
and you shall have what I can put in your way, I promise you. I’ve told
Mr. Yorke so.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Harris; and you shall have honest work in return;
but as to putting a word in wi’ them ’at wish us harm it ’ud happen only
breed more slyness and bitterness. I’ve a notion ’at t’ best way o’
dealing wi’ ill-will is to live it down and try to make a’ enemy into a
friend. It’s a slow way, and it doesn’t always come off, but it’s worth
trying.”
“Very well,” said the squire cheerily, “but it takes a deal of oil to
soften the grindstone, Drake! However, you can but try. Is Jagger of
your way of thinking? I thought he was looking well, if just a wee bit
frost-bitten.”
“Jagger was converted as sudden as a Methody, t’ night o’ Boxing Day,”
replied Maniwel; “and t’ penitent form was t’ saw-bench in t’ new shop.
If he isn’t altogether o’ my way o’ thinking he has his face that road.”
“Converted? How so?” The squire turned puzzled eyes on the other, who,
looking up and catching the expression, allowed a smile to overspread
his face.
“Aye, converted! Put away childish things and became a new creature! You
wouldn’t know him for t’ same man, if you had to live wi’ him. He was
always more of a lass than his sister; but from that night he’s been a
man; and that’s what I call conversion, though it happen isn’t what ’ud
go by that name wi’ t’ Methodies.”
“I see,” laughed the squire, “I suppose there was a cause for the
change?—but you needn’t tell me. Yorke gave me a hint when I remarked
on the improvement in Jagger’s bearing. His disappointment won’t be an
unmixed evil, I hope. Well, good luck, Drake! Let me know if I can be of
service to you.”
The horse leaped forward at a touch of the bridle and Maniwel was left
to his reflections; but before he had covered another mile the squire
reined up again, as he overtook a second solitary pedestrian.
“So it’s you, Mistress Nancy, is it?” he said, looking down
mischievously into the face that was upturned to his own. “Isn’t the air
fresh enough down below that you must needs come up here for your
promenade? Or is your skin too hard to be turned into a pin-cushion for
the wind? Mine is stabbed in ten thousand places!”
“It nips a bit, sir,” she answered; “but that’s nothing. I thought a
sharp walk on the moor would do me good.”
“I see!” The squire was reading the face that had been quickly turned
away from his scrutinising gaze. The girl was not ill at ease in his
company, but her expression was hard in harmony with her surroundings,
and there was nothing in her voice that responded to the squire’s
geniality. All the same she was an attractive picture, for the tawny
cheeks were suffused with a rich red, and the black eyes sparkled like
polished jet, besides which she had a good figure and an elastic step,
and held her head like a woman of spirit.
“I see!” he repeated; and paused before he continued—“You’ve been
entering into the holy estate of matrimony, I’m told, whilst I was away.
I’m afraid I forget the name; but you must allow me to wish you much
happiness. Mistress Nancy.”
“Thank you, sir. The name is Inman,” she replied; and though she had
schooled herself to repeat the word without revealing the abhorrence it
caused her, a slight curl of the lip and contraction of the brow
afforded signs the squire was not slow to interpret, especially as the
information had been given in the coldest of tones.
“I shall be making your husband’s acquaintance, no doubt,” he said
kindly. “Meantime I wish you a Happy New Year—the happiest you have
ever experienced!”
“Thank you, sir,” she answered in the same unemotional voice. “I wish
you the same!”
When he was out of sight she stopped and stamped her foot.
“Why can’t they leave me alone?” she muttered angrily. “The happiest I
ever experienced! It’s likely, isn’t it?”
She had reached a point in the road which was on a level with the top of
the Cove, a hundred yards distant, and as she raised her clouded face
she caught sight of the familiar landmarks and raised her hands to her
eyes as if memory as well as vision could be blotted out. Then, with an
impatient exclamation she turned and opening the gate on the opposite
side of the road, raced across the crisp grass of the moor as though she
fled from a pursuer.
It was in vain, for the huntsman was within her breast, and when she
stopped from sheer exhaustion on the steep slopes of Kirkby Fell, she
realised the fruitlessness of flight and laughed at her folly.
“Fool and coward!” she said aloud; and her feelings found relief in the
very sound of her voice though it was charged with scorn. “Can’t you lie
on the bed you’ve made for yourself without whining and crying like a
chained puppy? Are you going to let everybody see what an idiot you’ve
been? ‘Marry in haste and repent at leisure!’ That’s what they’ll say,
wagging their wise heads. What business is it of theirs if I do
repent—the twopenny-ha’penny gossips?”
The wind whistled on the height and stung her ears until they became
ashen-coloured rather than blue; but she experienced no sense of
physical discomfort, though after the one hot outburst she turned her
feet homewards. By and by she raised her eyes, and looking eastwards saw
the great sweep of the Cove far below, and again averted her head. But
she recovered herself in a moment, and forced her gaze back.
“You silly fool!” she said. “The Cove’ll neither tell tales nor snigger
at you!”
She lashed her soul with scorn as mercilessly as the wind scourged her
body, and what the force outside of her could not accomplish the spirit
inside effected with ease, for she shuddered as she looked on the scene
of her frustrated hopes, though she made her eyes sweep the whole
circumference of the crag.
“Now!” she said in a quieter tone; “go back, Nancy Inman, and speak
smoothly to your lord, and put blinkers on your eyes when Baldwin and
Keturah sneer at you.”
The mid-day meal had been in progress some minutes when Nancy entered
the kitchen, and the girl read in the black looks of each face promise
of an impending storm.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, with an indifference that belied her
words; “I went further than I thought.”
Baldwin contracted his brow until the pepper-coloured tufts above his
eyes pointed straight towards her; but he remained silent and Keturah
merely sulked. Inman looked steadily into his wife’s face and said:
“It isn’t just a question of being late. There’s your share of the work
to do, and Keturah says you’re leaving it all to her——”
Before he could finish the reproof or Nancy could reply Keturah’s
resolution gave way, and raising her apron to her eyes she broke in——
“What’s t’ use o’ talking about me? I’m just my lady’s servant, to fetch
and carry for her from t’ time she gets up in a morning to when she lays
her down at night. I knew what it ’ud be, well I did, when Baldwin said
we mud all live together, for if I don’t know her fine-lady ways ’at’s
brought her up from a child I’d like to know who does. But it’s come to
a nice pass when one o’ my years, and ’at’s been a mother to her, has to
be her slavey.”
Baldwin pushed back his chair with a hasty exclamation.
“Slavey be ——!” He used an expression that was not fit for the women’s
ears, and followed it up with the usual succession of spluttered oaths;
until Inman whose vexation had not been deep and was rapidly changing to
contempt took advantage of a lull caused by the older man’s choking to
remark coolly:
“There’s no need to talk about slaveys or anything of the sort; and
there’s no need to spill either water or—aught else over the job.
Nancy’s made a mistake that she won’t repeat——”
Nancy had drawn a chair up to the table, but the space in front of her
was empty, for Baldwin was too excited to serve her; and at her
husband’s words she threw back her head. Inman fixed an eye of steel
upon her.
“That she won’t repeat,” he said again with slow emphasis, and Nancy’s
lip curled though she remained silent. “It’s right that there should be
a fair division of labour, and Nancy’ll do her share——”
Baldwin’s face had been working strangely during this judicial delivery
and he now seized the carving knife and brought the handle down upon the
table with such vehemence that Keturah screamed.
“And who the devil are you to lay down the law same as you were master
and I was man? A nice pass, as Keturah says, if we’ve to be set i’ wer
places i’ wer own house. For two pins I’ll bundle you both out, neck and
crop. A man ’at can’t make his wife toe t’ line isn’t fit to be wed; but
you’re not going to lord it over me, if Keturah cares to sup all Nancy
gives her. You’re sadly too ready, young man, with your wills and your
won’ts, as I’ve told you before; and I’m beginning to be sorry I ever
set eyes on you, for there’s been t’ devil to pay ever since.”
“You see what a storm you’ve raised,” said Inman, looking across at his
wife, who was sitting back in her chair, pleating the edge of the
tablecloth between her fingers. His voice was stern but there was a
scornful look in his eye which partly counteracted the tone. As she made
no reply he turned to his master.
“If you hadn’t lost your temper you wouldn’t blame me for what I
couldn’t hinder. It isn’t my fault that Nancy wasn’t here to help with
the dinner, and I’ve said it shan’t happen again. I can say no more. As
to turning us out neck and crop——” he paused and looked significantly
at Baldwin who scowled in reply; “perhaps Nancy and I had better talk
things over between ourselves.”
There was no mistaking the veiled threat though the voice was quite
calm, and Baldwin fired again; but before he could speak Inman continued
in a more conciliatory tone.
“I meant no offence in what I said a while back, and nobody can say that
I’ve tried to be master. I’ve served you well, and you know it, but if
we can’t live peaceably together we must make other arrangements. Hadn’t
we best let t’ matter drop now and get on with our dinner?”
“I’m sure,” said Keturah with a timid glance at her brother who had at
length suffered himself to fill Nancy’s plate and push it across the
table; “it’s no wish o’ mine to make trouble; but there’s things flesh
and blood can’t stomach, and when a body isn’t as young as she once was
it stands to reason ’at she can’t be expected to wait hand and foot on
them ’at’s years younger——”
Nancy rose and walked round Keturah’s chair in order to reach the
mustard, and Inman smiled grimly though he remarked:
“It isn’t to be expected. Nancy didn’t give it a thought or she wouldn’t
have done it; but as you’ll have no reason to complain again I’d let it
drop now if I were you.”
Nancy smiled provokingly and by ill-luck Baldwin saw her and his wrath
blazed out afresh. He had been only half placated by Inman’s smooth
words—indeed his foreman’s coolness always irritated him more than an
outburst of temper as he had sense enough to know that it placed him at
a disadvantage. He now turned to Nancy, the veins on his forehead
swelling into tense blue cords.
“You ——!” Imagination must supply the coarse expressions that sent
Keturah’s hands to her ears and a scowl to Inman’s brow. “You sit there
making game o’ us; same as you’d naught to do but pull t’ strings and we
should all dance to your tune. But you’ve t’ wrong pig by t’ ear, I can
tell you, when you’ve Baldwin Briggs to deal wi’. A nice fool I should
ha’ been to turn t’ business over to another man just because you’ve wed
him. Shut your mouth!” he roared, turning angrily about as Inman
interjected a word; “You’ve had your say; and I don’t doubt but what
you’re hand-in-glove wi’ t’ lass for all your smooth talk. Partners!
I’ll see you both blaze first. I wasn’t born i’ a frost. ‘Do nowt and
take all!’ that’s your motto.”
His eyes were on Nancy again, and for the first time she deigned a
reply.
“That only shows what a good scholar I’ve been,” she said with calm
contempt. “‘All for my-sen’ has been the watchword in this house ever
since you came into it, so why blame me for adopting it?”
Amusement and something not unlike admiration was in Inman’s eyes; but
he veiled his feelings. The next moment he said:
“We’ll have no stirring up strife, Nancy. Mr. Briggs knows that it was
none o’ my doing to ask to be made partner; and whether he believes me
or not I want no partnership. But he can’t blame a wife for seeking t’
best she can get for her husband, and especially when she takes ‘No’ for
an answer and makes no more to do about it. I say again we’d best forget
what’s been said and try to cool down. I’ve told you you’ll have no more
trouble with Nancy.”
The girl met his meaning glance defiantly, but allowed her expression to
speak for her; and Baldwin made no reply of any sort.
When the meal was finished Inman signalled to his wife to follow him
into the parlour, which had been allocated to their use.
“You silly fool!” he began when they were alone; lowering his voice to a
whisper and in a tone that was entirely without malice. “Why can’t you
play your cards patiently when you’ve a handful of trumps? You’ve only
to wait a while and you shall be lady to your heart’s content; but
you’ll spoil all if you set Baldwin against me.”
She looked up into his face disarmed by the unexpected gentleness.
“There was nothing whatever to do,” she replied. “It was cold meat; the
potatoes were ready for the pan, and Keturah allows nobody to mix her
puddings. If I’d laid the cloth it would have been as much as I should
have done.”
“Very likely,” assented Inman. “The time’ll come maybe when you can set
Keturah her work; but it isn’t yet, and we’ve got to lie low for a
while. Partner!”—he laughed with sinister meaning and looked into his
wife’s eyes which reflected none of his humour. “We’ll have no
partnerships now, my lass. ‘All for my-sen’ is a game two can play at,
and the cleverest wins.”
He said no more nor did he kiss his wife as he took his leave of her,
matrimonial trimmings of that kind not being to his taste—for which
relief Nancy was thankful. She remained standing with her eyes on the
ground for quite a long time after he was gone, professing to debate
with herself her future line of conduct but fearing all the time that
she would obey. The power of those steely eyes was over her awake and
asleep.
“Silly fool indeed!” she muttered as she returned to the kitchen.