THE BITTER CUP
Farmer Blaize was not so astonished at the visit of Richard Feverel
as that young gentleman expected him to be. The farmer, seated in
his easy-chair in the little low-roofed parlour of an old-fashioned
farm-house, with a long clay pipe on the table at his elbow, and a
veteran pointer at his feet, had already given audience to three
distinguished members of the Feverel blood, who had come separately,
according to their accustomed secretiveness, and with one object. In
the morning it was Sir Austin himself. Shortly after his departure,
arrived Austin Wentworth; close on his heels, Algernon, known about
Lobourne as the Captain, popular wherever he was known. Farmer
Blaize reclined in considerable elation. He had brought these great
people to a pretty low pitch. He had welcomed them hospitably, as a
British yeoman should; but not budged a foot in his demands: not to
the baronet: not to the Captain: not to good young Mr. Wentworth.
For Farmer Blaize was a solid Englishman; and, on hearing from the
baronet a frank confession of the hold he had on the family, he
determined to tighten his hold, and only relax it in exchange for
tangible advantages--compensation to his pocket, his wounded person,
and his still more wounded sentiments: the total indemnity being, in
round figures, three hundred pounds, and a spoken apology from the
prime offender, young Mister Richard. Even then there was a
reservation. Provided, the farmer said, nobody had been tampering
with any of his witnesses. In that case Farmer Blaize declared the
money might go, and he would transport Tom Bakewell, as he had sworn
he would. And it goes hard, too, with an accomplice, by law, added
the farmer, knocking the ashes leisurely out of his pipe. He had no
wish to bring any disgrace anywhere; he respected the inmates of
Raynham Abbey, as in duty bound; he should be sorry to see them in
trouble. Only no tampering with his witnesses. He was a man for Law.
Rank was much: money was much: but Law was more. In this country Law
was above the sovereign. To tamper with the Law was treason to the
realm.
"I come to you direct," the baronet explained. "I tell you candidly
in what way I discovered my son to be mixed up in this miserable
affair. I promise you indemnity for your loss, and an apology that
shall, I trust, satisfy your feelings, assuring you that to tamper
with witnesses is not the province of a Feverel. All I ask of you in
return is, not to press the prosecution. At present it rests with
you. I am bound to do all that lies in my power for this imprisoned
man. How and wherefore my son was prompted to suggest, or assist in,
such an act, I cannot explain, for I do not know."
"Hum!" said the farmer. "I think I do."
"You know the cause?" Sir Austin stared. "I beg you to confide it to
me."
"'Least, I can pretty nigh neighbour it with a guess," said the
farmer. "We an't good friends, Sir Austin, me and your son, just
now--not to say cordial. I, ye see, Sir Austin, I'm a man as don't
like young gentlemen a-poachin' on his grounds without his
permission,--in special when birds is plentiful on their own. It
appear he do like it. Consequently I has to flick this whip--as them
fellers at the races: All in this 'ere Ring's mine! as much as to
say; and who's been hit, he's had fair warnin'. I'm sorry for't, but
that's just the case."
Sir Austin retired to communicate with his son, when he should find
him.
Algernon's interview passed off in ale and promises. He also assured
Farmer Blaize that no Feverel could be affected by his proviso.
No less did Austin Wentworth. The farmer was satisfied.
"Money's safe, I know," said he; "now for the 'pology!" and Farmer
Blaize thrust his legs further out, and his head further back.
The farmer naturally reflected that the three separate visits had
been conspired together. Still the baronet's frankness, and the
baronet's not having reserved himself for the third and final
charge, puzzled him. He was considering whether they were a deep, or
a shallow lot, when young Richard was announced.
A pretty little girl with the roses of thirteen springs in her
cheeks, and abundant beautiful bright tresses, tripped before the
boy, and loitered shyly by the farmer's armchair to steal a look at
the handsome new-comer. She was introduced to Richard as the
farmer's niece, Lucy Desborough, the daughter of a lieutenant in the
Royal Navy, and, what was better, though the farmer did not
pronounce it so loudly, a real good girl.
Neither the excellence of her character, nor her rank in life,
tempted Richard to inspect the little lady. He made an awkward bow,
and sat down.
The farmer's eyes twinkled. "Her father," he continued, "fought and
fell for his coontry. A man as fights for's coontry's a right to
hould up his head--ay! with any in the land. Desb'roughs o' Dorset!
d'ye know that family, Master Feverel?"
Richard did not know them, and, by his air, did not desire to become
acquainted with any offshoot of that family.
"She can make puddens and pies," the farmer went on, regardless of
his auditor's gloom. "She's a lady, as good as the best of 'em. I
don't care about their being Catholics--the Desb'roughs o' Dorset
are gentlemen. And she's good for the pianer, too! She strums to me
of evenin's. I'm for the old tunes: she's for the new. Gal-like!
While she's with me she shall be taught things use'l. She can
parley-voo a good 'un and foot it, as it goes; been in France a
couple of year. I prefer the singin' of 't to the talkin' of 't.
Come, Luce! toon up--eh?--Ye wun't? That song about the
Viffendeer--a female"--Farmer Blaize volunteered the translation of
the title--"who wears the--you guess what! and marches along with
the French sojers: a pretty brazen bit o' goods, I sh'd fancy."
Mademoiselle Lucy corrected her uncle's French, but objected to do
more. The handsome cross boy had almost taken away her voice for
speech, as it was, and sing in his company she could not; so she
stood, a hand on her uncle's chair to stay herself from falling,
while she wriggled a dozen various shapes of refusal, and shook her
head at the farmer with fixed eyes.
"Aha!" laughed the farmer, dismissing her, "they soon learn the
difference 'twixt the young 'un and the old 'un. Go along, Luce! and
learn yer lessons for to-morrow."
Reluctantly the daughter of the Royal Navy glided away. Her uncle's
head followed her to the door, where she dallied to catch a last
impression of the young stranger's lowering face, and darted
through.
Farmer Blaize laughed and chuckled. "She an't so fond of her uncle
as that, every day! Not that she an't a good nurse--the kindest
little soul you'd meet of a winter's walk! She'll read t' ye, and
make drinks, and sing, too, if ye likes it, and she won't be tired.
A obstinate good 'un, she be! Bless her!"
The farmer may have designed, by these eulogies of his niece, to
give his visitor time to recover his composure, and establish a
common topic. His diversion only irritated and confused our
shame-eaten youth. Richard's intention had been to come to the
farmer's threshold: to summon the farmer thither, and in a loud and
haughty tone then and there to take upon himself the whole burden
of the charge against Tom Bakewell. He had strayed, during his
passage to Belthorpe, somewhat back to his old nature; and his being
compelled to enter the house of his enemy, sit in his chair, and
endure an introduction to his family, was more than he bargained
for. He commenced blinking hard in preparation for the horrible dose
to which delay and the farmer's cordiality added inconceivable
bitters. Farmer Blaize was quite at his ease; nowise in a hurry. He
spoke of the weather and the harvest: of recent doings up at the
Abbey: glanced over that year's cricketing; hoped that no future
Feverel would lose a leg to the game. Richard saw and heard Arson in
it all. He blinked harder as he neared the cup. In a moment of
silence, he seized it with a gasp.
"Mr. Blaize! I have come to tell you that I am the person who set
fire to your rick the other night."
An odd contraction formed about the farmer's mouth. He changed his
posture, and said, "Ay? that's what ye're come to tell me, sir?"
"Yes!" said Richard, firmly.
"And that be all?"
"Yes!" Richard reiterated.
The farmer again changed his posture. "Then, my lad, ye've come to
tell me a lie!"
Farmer Blaize looked straight at the boy, undismayed by the dark
flush of ire he had kindled.
"You dare to call me a liar!" cried Richard, starting up.
"I say," the farmer renewed his first emphasis, and smacked his
thigh thereto, "that's a lie!"
Richard held out his clenched fist. "You have twice insulted me. You
have struck me: you have dared to call me a liar. I would have
apologized--I would have asked your pardon, to have got off that
fellow in prison. Yes! I would have degraded myself that another man
should not suffer for my deed"----
"Quite proper!" interposed the farmer.
"And you take this opportunity of insulting me afresh. You're a
coward, sir! nobody but a coward would have insulted me in his own
house."
"Sit ye down, sit ye down, young master," said the farmer,
indicating the chair and cooling the outburst with his hand. "Sit
ye down. Don't ye be hasty. If ye hadn't been hasty t'other day, we
sh'd a been friends yet. Sit ye down, sir. I sh'd be sorry to reckon
you out a liar, Mr. Feverel, or anybody o' your name. I respects yer
father though we're opp'site politics. I'm willin' to think well o'
you. What I say is, that as you say an't the trewth. Mind! I don't
like you none the worse for't. But it an't what is. That's all! You
knows it as well's I!"
Richard, disdaining to show signs of being pacified, angrily
reseated himself. The farmer spoke sense, and the boy, after his
late interview with Austin, had become capable of perceiving vaguely
that a towering passion is hardly the justification for a wrong
course of conduct.
"Come," continued the farmer, not unkindly, "what else have you to
say?"
Here was the same bitter cup he had already once drained brimming at
Richard's lips again! Alas, poor human nature! that empties to the
dregs a dozen of these evil drinks, to evade the single one which
Destiny, less cruel, had insisted upon.
The boy blinked and tossed it off.
"I came to say that I regretted the revenge I had taken on you for
your striking me."
Farmer Blaize nodded.
"And now ye've done, young gentleman?"
Still another cupful!
"I should be very much obliged," Richard formally began, but his
stomach was turned; he could but sip and sip, and gather a distaste
which threatened to make the penitential act impossible. "Very much
obliged," he repeated: "much obliged, if you would be so kind," and
it struck him that had he spoken this at first he would have given
it a wording more persuasive with the farmer and more worthy of his
own pride: more honest, in fact: for a sense of the dishonesty of
what he was saying caused him to cringe and simulate humility to
deceive the farmer, and the more he said the less he felt his words,
and, feeling them less, he inflated them more. "So kind," he
stammered, "so kind" (fancy a Feverel asking this big brute to be so
kind!) "as to do me the favour" (_me_ the favour!) "to exert
yourself" (it's all to please Austin) "to endeavour to--hem! to"
(there's no saying it!)----
The cup was full as ever. Richard dashed at it again.
"What I came to ask is, whether you would have the kindness to try
what you could do" (what an infamous shame to have to beg like
this!) "do to save--do to ensure--whether you would have the
kindness"---- It seemed out of all human power to gulp it down. The
draught grew more and more abhorrent. To proclaim one's iniquity, to
apologize for one's wrongdoing; thus much could be done; but to beg
a favour of the offended party--that was beyond the self-abasement
any Feverel could consent to. Pride, however, whose inevitable
battle is against itself, drew aside the curtains of poor Tom's
prison, crying a second time, "Behold your Benefactor!" and, with
the words burning in his ears, Richard swallowed the dose:
"Well, then, I want you, Mr. Blaize,--if you don't mind--will you
help me to get this man Bakewell off his punishment?"
To do Farmer Blaize justice, he waited very patiently for the boy,
though he could not quite see why he did not take the gate at the
first offer.
"Oh!" said he, when he heard and had pondered on the request. "Hum!
ha! we'll see about it t'morrow. But if he's innocent, you know, we
shan't mak'n guilty."
"It was I did it!" Richard declared.
The farmer's half-amused expression sharpened a bit.
"So, young gentleman! and you're sorry for the night's work?"
"I shall see that you are paid the full extent of your losses."
"Thank'ee," said the farmer drily.
"And, if this poor man is released to-morrow, I don't care what the
amount is."
Farmer Blaize deflected his head twice in silence. "Bribery," one
motion expressed: "Corruption," the other.
"Now," said he, leaning forward, and fixing his elbows on his knees,
while he counted the case at his fingers' ends, "excuse the liberty,
but wishin' to know where this 'ere money's to come from, I sh'd
like jest t'ask if so be Sir Austin know o' this?"
"My father knows nothing of it," replied Richard.
The farmer flung back in his chair. "Lie number Two," said his
shoulders, soured by the British aversion to being plotted at, and
not dealt with openly.
"And ye've the money ready, young gentleman?"
"I shall ask my father for it."
"And he'll hand't out?"
"Certainly he will!"
Richard had not the slightest intention of ever letting his father
into his counsels.
"A good three hundred pounds, ye know?" the farmer suggested.
No consideration of the extent of damages, and the size of the sum,
affected young Richard, who said boldly, "He will not object when I
tell him I want that sum."
It was natural Farmer Blaize should be a trifle suspicious that a
youth's guarantee would hardly be given for his father's readiness
to disburse such a thumping bill, unless he had previously received
his father's sanction and authority.
"Hum!" said he, "why not 'a told him before?"
The farmer threw an objectionable shrewdness into his query, that
caused Richard to compress his mouth and glance high.
Farmer Blaize was positive 'twas a lie.
"Hum! Ye still hold to't you fired the rick?" he asked.
"The blame is mine!" quoth Richard, with the loftiness of a patriot
of old Rome.
"Na, na!" the straightforward Briton put him aside. "Ye did't, or ye
didn't do't. Did ye do't, or no?"
Thrust in a corner, Richard said, "I did it."
Farmer Blaize reached his hand to the bell. It was answered in an
instant by little Lucy, who received orders to fetch in a dependent
at Belthorpe going by the name of the Bantam, and made her exit as
she had entered, with her eyes on the young stranger.
"Now," said the farmer, "these be my principles. I'm a plain man,
Mr. Feverel. Above board with me, and you'll find me handsome. Try
to circumvent me, and I'm a ugly customer. I'll show you I've no
animosity. Your father pays--you apologize. That's enough for me!
Let Tom Bakewell fight't out with the Law, and I'll look on. The Law
wasn't on the spot, I suppose? so the Law ain't much witness. But I
am. Leastwise the Bantam is. I tell you, young gentleman, the
Bantam saw't! It's no moral use whatever your denyin' that ev'dence.
And where's the good, sir, I ask? What comes of 't? Whether it be
you, or whether it be Tom Bakewell--ain't all one? If I holds back,
ain't it sim'lar? It's the trewth I want! And here't comes," added
the farmer, as Miss Lucy ushered in the Bantam, who presented a
curious figure for that rare divinity to enliven.