IN WHICH NANCY’S BABY IS BORN AND JAGGER LOSES
HIS TEMPER
THERE are some men who take an almost scientific interest in
compassing the ruin of others. Along certain channels the current of
humane and kindly feeling may flow as with other men, but let some
particular individual injure them, or stand in the way of their
advancement, and their conduct becomes inhuman; and they will watch the
sufferings they produce with something of the detached and impersonal
interest of the chemist who expects that his mixture of chemicals must
ultimately shatter the vessel that contains it, and whose only care is
to safeguard himself from injury in the process.
Inman was of this class. It afforded him positive pleasure to see how
the coils he wound so cunningly tightened about his unsuspecting victim.
The knowledge that he was unsuspected added to his enjoyment; tickled
his sense of humour. He believed with all his soul that Baldwin’s
motto—“all for my-sen” could not be bettered; it was the view of life
held by all healthy animals—by the cross-grained buck-rabbit as much as
by the stoat; and the game of stalking the stalker was one that afforded
him endless amusement.
It gratified him too to realise that he was succeeding in another
direction: that the villagers were looking upon him with a less
unfriendly eye as Baldwin’s increasing demoralisation and coarseness of
language cooled their already luke-warm sympathies. It was to the man’s
credit, they said, that he should keep his head and his temper, and work
industriously and cleverly in his master’s interests, when everybody
knew what provocation to wrath the master offered. Inman never
manifested ill-temper; never advanced beyond a half-humorous sneer;
maybe (they argued) he showed his worst side to the world, as the men of
his wild country were said to do. There were others, however, who shook
their heads meaningly, and kept firm hold of their distrust.
Meantime Inman’s grip upon his master tightened, and a more domineering
note crept into his voice when he addressed him; but only when they were
alone; only when evening brought them to the council-room and the
bottle.
“I tell you,” said Inman, “Nancy’s gone as far as she will go. If you
think you can do better than I’ve done, try her yourself—_I’m_ willing.
I daresay in spite of all your foul language and black looks she loves
you as much as she does me.” There was a harder note than usual in his
voice, as if his patience was almost exhausted, and his lip took an ugly
curve as he spoke of Nancy’s love, for she had been irritable of late,
and once or twice hot words had passed between them.
They were sitting at the table in the dimly-lit office, each with a
glass in front of him; but Inman was making a mere pretence of drinking.
“You’ve taught her her lesson too well for her to forget it,” he
continued as Baldwin merely sent Nancy to an unknown destination.
“She says a man who’s all for himself isn’t to be trusted without
security, and what can I say? _You_ wouldn’t do it if you were in her
place.”
Baldwin scowled and said nothing that could be distinguished.
“There’s one way out and only one, that I can see; but I’ve mentioned it
till I’m tired. _I’ll_ lend you five hundred;—it’s all I can lay my
hands on; but five hundred’ll see you out o’ the ditch; five hundred’ll
put you on your feet. And what do I ask for it? Five per cent., that’s
all; just what you pay Nancy; and you boggle at it!”
“I do naught o’ t’ sort,” flashed Baldwin fiercely. “I’ll pay you ten;
I’ll pay you a damned sight more’n you’ll get anywhere else; but I’ll
see you blaze before I’ll give you a bill o’ sale; so there you have
it!”
Inman turned on his seat with a gesture of restrained impatience.
“You’d sooner sink in the bog than clutch a dirty rope and be saved!
It’s damned folly! I don’t like bills o’ sale, who does? But if you
think I’m going to lend my money for your creditors to grab if the worst
comes to the worst, you’re mistaken. I can save the business yet; but
I’m man and not master, and may be sacked at a minute’s notice, same as
you sacked Jagger. It’s either a bill o’ sale, or we flounder on for
another month or so and then—”
He shrugged his shoulders; but Baldwin was not looking. He had emptied
his glass and the bottle and his eyes were on the table. Inman watched
him, and a smile, that was nearly as ugly as the frown it replaced,
spread over his face.
“What objection is there to it?” he went on with less heat. “I only want
it for security; it isn’t same as I was taking aught from you. Has to be
registered, you say? Well, you’ll be registered a deal more in another
month or two if you don’t do it. And that’ll go against the grain when
the _Herald_ and all the other papers have you listed as bankrupt.”
The other’s face became distorted with passion, but the oaths he poured
out left Inman unmoved.
“I’m trying to save you, aren’t I?” he continued; “but you’re same as a
man that’s drowning; you kick and struggle till you’d pull a strong
swimmer down with you, and I’m not having any. Will five hundred set you
on your feet? Are you sober enough to answer me that?”
It was the first time that he had adopted this tone with his victim, but
he had measured his distance and knew how far he could go.
“I’m as sober as you,” the other growled thickly. “Five hundred ’ud pull
me through; but I tell you I’ll see you hanged before I’ll give you that
bill!”
“Very well,” said Inman calmly. “Perhaps before we separate you’ll tell
me why, and what you propose to do instead. My money’s right where it is
even if it doesn’t bring in five per cent.”
Baldwin said nothing; and Inman regarded him for quite a minute in
silence. He then remarked:
“I’ve finished with that suggestion now. Next time it’s mentioned it’ll
come from you; but there’s one thing I want to point out. These folk
you’ve dealt with all these years aren’t willing to do much for you now
’at you’re down; and you’ve no bank to give you a helping hand. Suppose
you had to come to grief in the end what harm would it do you if I was
to get the machinery, and leave the other creditors to whistle for their
brass? What have they done for you that you’ve to consider them?”
He looked at his watch, and without waiting for an answer rose and went
out, turning his steps towards the moors, where there was other game to
be snared; and Baldwin sat on, staring moodily at the chair his foreman
had vacated.
An hour later Nancy’s baby was born and news spread through the village
that the mother’s life was despaired of. The event had not been expected
so soon, but there was plenty of competent help available, and it was
not the midwife’s inefficiency that caused the old doctor, who had been
summoned by telegraph, to shake his head.
“Where’s the father?” he inquired. “Tell him I want him, sharp.”
Keturah hastened to the workshop, but found only Baldwin whom she could
not waken from a drunken sleep. Hannah ran home to ask her brother to
seek him.
“He’s not in t’ ‘Packhorse,’” she gasped. “Go fetch him, lad. It’s for
poor Nancy’s sake!”
“And bridle your tongue and temper!” said Maniwel. “If you’ll take the
moor road, I’ll walk down Kirkby way.”
Just beyond Baldwin’s workshop Jack Pearce caught Jagger’s arm.
“Are you after Inman?” he asked; and putting his lips to the other’s ear
whispered something that caused Jagger to fling off the detaining hand
and clench his fists.
“Are you sure, Jack? As certain as there’s a God in heaven if I catch
him at that game I’ll lay him out!”
“I’d like to help you at that job,” said Jack; “but I’m best away. I’m
dirt in her eyes. If I caught ’em together there’d be murder done,
though he could pay me wi’ one hand.”
“He can’t me!” said Jagger grimly; and he strode away into the darkness.
It was not really dark, for in September day lingers on the uplands to
chat with night; but there are gloomy places in the shadows of the great
hills which those who love the light are careful to avoid. It was
towards one of these that Jagger hurried with a fierce anger at his
heart that made him oblivious of everything except his mission, and even
that was obscured by the deeper purpose of punishment.
Of punishment—not revenge. Nancy lay dying, perhaps by this time was
already dead; and the man who ought to have been at hand in the
emergency: the man whose quick brain might have suggested something,
however impossible or futile: the father of the child who was to lose
its mother; was indulging in an amour with another woman—a child whose
hair until a few months ago was hanging down her back.
Mountain linnets rose from their nests in alarm as his feet crunched the
stiff grass. A couple of gulls wheeled over his head. Even in the dim
light the moor was rich in colour, and the mantle night had thrown down
upon it could not wholly hide the madder-brown of the soil that peeped
out in patches from amidst the orange and crimson bushes, the russet-red
fronds of dead bracken, and the sober array of grasses, straw-coloured
and green. If this riot of subdued colour failed to reach Jagger’s
perceptions it was because a warmer tint was before his eyes—he was
“seeing red.”
Strangely enough, when he stumbled upon the guilty pair and found that
he had been observed, although too late for escape or concealment, he
held himself well in hand. Like a voice by telephone his father’s words
vibrated on his brain—“Bridle your tongue and temper!” Until that
moment he had given them no second thought; reaching him now by that
mysterious wireless that baffles explanation they served to bring him to
his senses and to push Nancy’s need into the forefront of his thoughts.
Polly had released herself from Inman’s arms and stood by, half-tearful,
half-defiant, looking on Jagger whose stern eyes had never once been
turned to her face. Inman, with an uneasy sneer upon his lips, had
thrust his hands deep into his pockets and was putting on a front of
dare-devilry and scorn.
“I’m seeking you, Inman,” Jagger began. He had walked hotly and was a
little out of breath, but the words came steadily enough.
“Your baby’s come, and Nancy’s dying—maybe dead. Get away down, as
straight as you can go, and I’ll see Polly safe.”
The girl gave a startled gasp, and shrunk farther back into the deeper
shadows of the rock that overhung them. Inman’s face lost its look of
disdain and for once the man found himself at a loss for words.
“Do you hear me?” continued Jagger, speaking in a low passionless voice
that ought to have warned the other of danger. “Why don’t you go?
Haven’t I told you your wife’s dying? For her sake—at any rate until t’
sod covers her,—I’ll say naught about what I’ve seen. Get you gone!”
“All in good time!” replied Inman in a cold voice as he recovered
himself. “You’ve delivered your message, and there’s no need for you to
stop any longer. I’ll go down when it suits me, but not at your
bidding.”
The look of a madman was in Jagger’s eyes, and a madman’s unreasoning
anger was in his heart. His father’s warning slipped into the
background, yet his voice remained low as he said:
“So you’ll stop up here, you dirty blackguard with your light o’ love,
while the wife you stole lies dying! If I served you as you deserve I’d
kick you every step o’ t’ way home; but I’d be doing her a better turn
to lay you out here on t’ hillside, and leave t’ crows to pick your
stinking bones.”
He paid the penalty of his violence the next moment, and though anger
now blazed in Inman’s eyes it was not he, but Polly, who turned the
tables upon him. Her white face quivered with passion as she left
Inman’s side and confronted Jagger.
“Light o’ love, am I? Then whose light o’ love is Nancy, I’d like to
know? Who is it goes kissing and cuddling i’ t’ Cove of a night, Jagger
Drake? It’s _you_ ’at ’ud better be by her bed-side, if so be ’at she’s
dying; _you_, ’at she’s rued she didn’t wed, and gives her kisses to! T’
pot might well call t’ pan, Jagger Drake!”
“Is this true, Polly?” said Inman, seizing the girl by the shoulders and
looking into her face.
“I’ve seen ’em with these eyes and heard ’em with these ears!” she
replied. “I wasn’t spying on ’em neither. They were one side o’ t’ wall
and me t’other.”
“And you never told me!” he went on, tightening his grasp on her
shoulder until the pain made her wince.
“And I never would ha’ done,” she answered doggedly. “It was six o’ one
and half-a-dozen o’ t’other”; and she began to sob.
He pushed her away roughly and turned to Jagger, who was standing
utterly crestfallen and unhinged, deprived of the power of thought and
action by this unexpected development.
“I could be almost glad of this,” said Inman, as he bent forward until
his face approached his opponent’s; “but I’ve got to thrash you for it.
Strip!”
“Aye, by gen I will!” A fierce joy arose in Jagger’s heart. The sense of
discomfiture and humiliation fled like the gloom of night at a clear
daybreak. His coat was instantly on the ground and he was rolling up his
sleeves. “But there’s one thing I’ll say to you first, chance you don’t
live to hear it after, or me to tell it. I never wronged you but wi’ one
kiss, and it wasn’t Nancy’s wish. She’s always walked t’ straight road,
and barring that one time so have I. Now I’m ready for you!”
The fight had not been in progress a minute before Polly covered her
eyes with her hands and ran away screaming. They were both strong and
powerful men; and if Jagger had attacked in the heat of his anger it
might have gone badly with him, for Inman’s passion never suffered him
to lose his self-control. Now, however, the one was no whit cooler than
the other, and the result was not long in doubt. No boxer or wrestler on
the moor could stand up to Jagger Drake with any hope of success. Every
native for miles round knew it; but Inman was not a native, and the fact
was unknown to him; at the same time the knowledge would probably have
made no difference, for cowardice was not among the number of his vices.
He got in a few heavy blows whilst Jagger awaited his opportunity, and
the seeming ineffectiveness of his opponent perhaps threw him off his
guard, for the first knock he received on the jaw sent him like a log to
the ground.
His white face looked ghastly in the darkness as Jagger bent over it. He
was unconscious, but Jagger’s practised eye and ear told him there was
no danger; and moistening his handkerchief in a near-by runnel he bathed
the prostrate man’s brow until the quivering of the eyelids showed that
sense was returning.
A little later Inman sat up. “Pass me my coat,” he said; and Jagger
handed it to him without a word.
“You’re a better man than me with your fists,” he continued, as he
looked up with proud defiance into the other’s set face. “You know how
to hit, and where. _So do I._ I’ll hit where it’ll hurt, you bet; where
it’ll hurt till hell ’ud be a picnic. I’m no saint, and I neither forget
nor forgive. You needn’t wait, Mr. Drake. I’ll come down at my leisure.”
“Very good!” said Jagger contemptuously. “Get on with your hitting!” and
turned away.
“If it was only me,” he said to himself as he walked slowly towards the
village, “I daresay he’d find a way to ruin me, for he’s the devil
himself; but he can’t hurt father.”
He was thinking of the business; but the business had not been in
Inman’s thoughts.