JASON IN THE WAY
Jason had lighted a candle, and had made himself comfortable in the
settle. Pepperill stood staring at him in speechless anger and
uncertainty.
“Where’s the sister? Where’s Kitty?” asked Jason in unconcern.
“What are you doing here?” roared Pasco, convulsed with sudden rage. “Is
this your house, that you dare come in and use it as your home?”
Quarm looked at his brother-in-law in surprise.
“Get out of the place at once,” shouted Pasco. “If I happen to go away
for ten minutes, is that a reason for every Jack and Tom to come here,
as if it was ‘Beggars’ Hall’?”
“Why, what on earth has put you out?”
“What has put me out? you—by coming in here. This is my house, not
yours.”
“Brother-in-law,” said Jason, puzzled at the strange humour of Pasco,
“is not that a sufficient answer, when I give you that title? Zerah is
my sister—I have ever been welcome here. Kate is my daughter—she lives
with you. Why am I here? Put it—I have come to see my sister, come to
kiss my child.”
“Neither is in the house.”
“Then where are they?”
“I am not bound to answer you,” shouted Pepperill in anger, vexation,
and fear, aggravated by the coolness with which Quarm answered him.
“Yes, you are. I have ties of blood, and ties of affection, your bad
temper can’t snap. I ask, where is my daughter?”
“Gone back to the moor.”
“That can’t be—alone.”
“She is not alone.”
“Is Zerah with her?”
“No, she is not; Zerah is at Teignmouth, gone there to get me out of one
of the difficulties into which you have plunged me.”
“I—I got you into difficulties? I am always showing you rope’s-ends by
which you may crawl out.”
“Who else but yourself has now put me in such an upsetment that I do not
know under what stone to look for money; that I’m threatened with legal
proceedings; that the bailiffs are on the way to my house?”
“It is your own doing, not mine. Who threatens you?”
“There is my bill for the wool unmet. There is my account for coals
unpaid.”
“I have had to do with neither. You acted like a fool about Coaker’s
wool—buying when in all the papers it was told how that there had been
an importation from New South Wales.”
“I never read the papers.”
“Then you have no right to do business. You do it at inevitable loss.
But this is neither here nor there, above nor below. Where is Kate?”
“I have told you—gone to the moor.”
“When?”
“An hour or two ago.”
“With whom?”
“With me.”
“Then how came you here?”
“Because I had left the doors unlocked against impertinent fellows
coming in. I left Kate with the trap whilst I ran back. Now, are you
content? Out of my house immediately. I want to lock up and go back to
her.”
“This is a queer tale,” said Quarm. “I have myself but just arrived. I
must have passed you on the way.”
“Not at all, if we had gone into a friend’s for a cup of tea.”
“With what friends were you?”
“I shall not stand and be catechised by you. I say, get out. I am going
to lock up.”
“Now look here, Pasco, and be reasonable. I would not have returned to
Coombe and left the men at Dart-meet unlooked after, had I not good news
to communicate.”
“Good news?” mocked Pepperill. “The best of news would be that you were
going to take yourself off.”
“I believe we shall sell the oak.”
“I have heard of that already—from Coaker.”
“Well, I tell you it is so. The authorities at Portsmouth will take it
at a reasonable price, if we deliver it.”
“There is the thing we can’t do—that spoils it all.”
“Yes, we can—deliver it here in the Teign. There is the Stover Canal—we
can send it down by that and ship it all to Portsmouth right away.”
Pepperill was silent. This was indeed a rift in the cloud. “The only
difficulty is not this—it is that we must have the timber sawn at
Brimpts, and sent down and put on board in planks. They cannot freight a
vessel with rude oak timber unsawn. Now I have a scheme—there is the
river Dart pouring down its volumes of water of no good to anyone. Let
us put up a saw-mill, and we shall have the oak run into planks and
ready for transport in a jiffy.”
“And the cost?”
“Forty pounds.”
“Forty pounds?” roared Pasco, and thrust Quarm from him by a rude stroke
on the shoulder. “Where am I to look for forty pence?”
“It is our only chance. I must agree to-morrow, or the thing is off. If
I engage to saw up the timber and despatch it by water, we shall get a
very tidy profit—not what we had hoped, but something. If I do not
accept the offer, then I really do not see my way to disposing of the
oak at all. The felling of the Okehampton Park oaks has spoiled the
market in this country. Come, what say you, Pasco—shall I settle?”
“I cannot do it,” answered Pepperill, a cold sweat breaking out over his
brow.
“There is an old mine wheel available. I can buy it for a song,” said
Quarm.
“I have no money. Have I not told you that—or must I knock it into your
brain with my fist—or the house key?” He raised his hand threateningly.
“Be reasonable, Pasco. I cannot tell what has come over you to-night.
You are not yourself. If you do not care about the outlay for a
saw-mill, we must saw all up by hand, and that will come costlier in the
end. I fancy if you bestirred yourself you could raise a loan.”
“I will not. I will have but one thing now—your absence. Get out of my
house!”
“Where be I to go to?” asked Quarm, settling himself from one leg to the
other. “There’s Jane Redmore in my cottage, with all her children.”
“Well”—
“I can’t go there—the place is full.”
“You are a fool to have suffered it.”
“Kate begged and prayed of me”—
“Take the consequences, and be homeless.”
“I cannot, for to-night. You are going to Brimpts, and it is as well the
men should see you. I shall return to-morrow, but to-night I must house
me somewhere. Let me stay here; there is no one in the place, and I’ll
keep guard for you if you wish.”
“There is nothing here to guard, but emptiness. I want no help of
yourn.”
“But I must have a roof over my head at night.”
“Any roof but mine. Will you go, or must I fling you out and down the
steps?”
“You’re in a wonderful queer temper to-night. What is up?”
“My temper, as you say, is up; and like to be so—when it is through you
I am brought to ruin and beggary.”
He caught Jason by the shoulders, whirled him round, and with hands and
knees thrust him out of the door, and then he slammed it behind him and
turned the key. Next moment he blew out the light. Then he threw himself
panting on the settle and buried his head in his hands.
He had not sat there many minutes before Quarm was kicking at the door,
and calling him by name. Transported with anger, Pasco sprang to his
feet, took down the blunderbuss that was over the kitchen fire, and,
going to the door, half opened it and thrust forth the muzzle of his
piece.
“Go away, or I will shoot.”
“This is rank folly!” bawled Jason. “Are you gone demented? Give me
shelter for the night; I will do no harm. What do you mean by refusing
me such a reasonable request? I tell you I can’t go home—all the
Redmores are there packing every corner.”
Jason thrust up the end of the blunderbuss, and put his shoulder to the
door.
“I’ll kill you if you trouble me further,” said Pasco between his teeth.
“Take the consequences of befriending scoundrels and their families.”
He drove Quarm back and refastened the door, then he stood at the door
listening, with the butt of the gun on his foot. He heard his
brother-in-law growl and pass remarks upon him. He heard him limp away,
and then all was still.
Pepperill stepped to a window and looked out, to observe the direction
taken by Quarm, but the darkness was too great for him to see anything.
He went back to the settle and tried to think.
The elaborate precautions he had taken to dissemble his return, to make
believe that he had departed before sunset, had been made futile by the
appearance of Jason on the scene. Should what he purposed take
place—then he could not declare that he had been from home at the time.
What availed it that he had paid the miller’s bill at a quarter to
seven, when his brother-in-law could aver that he had been back at the
Cellars an hour later?
What was to be done? Should he abandon his intention because of this
mischance? Rage against his brother-in-law ate into his heart. All had
promised so well. Everything was moving with such smoothness, till Quarm
appeared. What but a malevolent mind could have brought this fellow back
from Brimpts to cross him?
What was to be done? It was of no practical use storming against Jason.
Should he abandon his purpose or defer it?
To abandon it seemed to him an impossibility. By carrying it out alone
could he be released from his present pecuniary difficulty. To defer it
was difficult, for he wanted immediate relief; moreover, when again
could he calculate on having the ground so clear now—his wife as away in
Teignmouth, his niece waiting at a distance with the cart?
What if Jason had seen him? Would he dare to give evidence against
him—his own brother-in-law? Was it not to Jason’s interest that he,
Pasco, should be flush of money, and ready to embark in the proposed
scheme of erecting a saw-mill?
Even if Jason spoke of having seen him, he could deny it. Pasco sprang
from the settle. He would run the risk. It was worth it.