JANE.
"Oh, memory, creature of the past!
Why dost thou haunt me still?
Why thy dark shadow o'er me cast,
My better thoughts to chill?
I spread my fingers to the sun,
No stain of blood is there;
Yet oh! that age might see undone,
The deeds that youth would dare!"
ANON.
Mrs. Marks had returned home. Her mother was dead, and she had brought
back Jane as she had threatened, much to Matthew's intense disgust. He
was afraid of his wife's tongue, but had been so long accustomed to hear
it going, that he could not understand a woman who could keep hers
quiet, and sit the whole day long by the fire-side, scarcely saying a
word, in his own favourite corner too,--seldom lifting her eyes from
her knitting. As he watched the progress of the socks she was making, he
vowed in his own mind never to wear them when they were finished,
believing as many of the ignorant in his class of life do, that they
would be bewitched, and cause him to meet with some harm, perhaps fulfil
Goody Grey's prophecy that some one in the cottage was going to die.
He found it more difficult than ever to resist the temptation of going
to the "Brampton Arms," now that his home was even more uncomfortable
than it used to be. How could he seat himself at the other corner of the
fire-side, and smoke his pipe, with his sister-in-law's eyes so
constantly and intently fixed on him? Matthew longed to see Goody Grey
to ask for a new charm to spirit away Jane and her unholy presence,
which was a constant irritation to him. Meanwhile he had twice tried the
effect of the charm and each time apparently without the slightest
success; as not only had Mrs. Marks eyes, but her tongue also, flashed
ten thousand furies at his extraordinary silence, while Jane, to whom
during the storm he looked for sympathy, sat perfectly heedless, and
mindful only of her dreadful knitting.
William Hodge was still with the Marks', when he heard of the poaching
affray and its consequences. His mind was at once filled with alarm, and
he determined on going into Standale. What if his son should be one of
the men taken, and now lodged in the jail there?
Hodge kept very quiet at first, and talked it over with Mrs. Marks,--who
had returned a few days after,--and at length made up his mind to go to
the town and gain a sight of the two men; but this was easier said than
done, he had to wait quietly until they were brought up before the
magistrates; when he returned to the cottage with the satisfactory
intelligence that neither bore the slightest resemblance to his son Tom.
Still he was more certain than ever that Tom was down there, for on
mentioning his name casually to the landlord of the inn where he had
put up, a man seated in the bar had turned round suddenly, eyed him
keenly, and asked him to join him 'in a glass.' This, Hodge, who had his
wits about him, was not slow to do, and both played at cross questions
with the other, and tried to find out where each came from, and where
bound to; but each proved a match for his fellow in cunning and
sharp-sightedness, and they parted mutually dissatisfied, certain in
their own minds that each could have revealed something of interest in
which they both took part, had he so willed it.
A few days after Hodge's return, as he was going across the fields, he
again met with his acquaintance of the inn, who passed him close by
without renewing their former intimacy, indeed, without a word or
greeting of any kind, as though they were strangers, and now met for the
first time. Hodge thought he must have been mistaken in his man; but
no--a second and yet a third time, he met him on different days; and now
Hodge was convinced he was right--they had met before; but why this
apparent forgetfulness on his part? Why this perpetual crossing of his
path? Hodge grew uneasy, perhaps the man was employed as a spy to watch
him? If it was so, there was nothing for it but to return home; but the
thought of his wife's sorrowful face, as he should tell her of his
fruitless search, deterred him, and he waited yet another day, hoping
that a few hours might disclose his son's whereabouts, and unravel the
mystery of his absence; but no, the days crept on, and still found him as
far from the clue as ever, while he never stirred from the cottage
without seeing his mysterious friend, or it might be enemy, either close
by or in the distance, too far off to distinguish his features; but
there was the unmistakable slouching walk, awkward gait, and
broad-brimmed hat.
"Mrs. Marks, Ma'am," said Hodge one day, when they were alone, with only
Jane in the chimney-corner for company, and she was supposed to be just
nobody, "I've come across that man again, and I don't like the look
things are taking--I think they look sort of queer. I never done no
harm to nobody, why should this chap follow me about like a dog? I'm
beginning to think he's a kind of spying to find out what my business is
down here, leastways, I can't see what else brings him so often in my
road."
"Why not up and ask him, like a man?" exclaimed Mrs. Marks.
"Well, Ma'am, you see, that's just what I would like to do. Many's the
time I've had it in my heart; but somehow I'm afeard to."
"Afraid! Well, Mr. Hodge, I thought you'd more pluck. I know there's few
men would frighten me, if I was in your place. Good Lord! what's the
world coming to when all the men's so chicken-hearted!" said she,
indignantly.
"And the women so uppish!" retorted Hodge, somewhat angrily. "I wouldn't
be afraid to knock him down with one blow of my fist," and he stretched
out his strong muscular arms, and clenched his knuckles, "if he came to
me openly and insulted me; but it's this underhand way of going to work
that bothers me. I'd like to pick a quarrel with him, Ma'am, that I
would, and bad luck to his walks for the future, if I did; that's all!"
"If those are your opinions, William Hodge, I'm sorry I spoke. I've
never set eyes on the man myself; but I think you're over-suspicious,
maybe."
"Not a bit too much so. What for should he come across me wherever I go.
I saw him the other night as Matthew and I came home. It was broad
moonlight, and he was hidden away under the shade of the trees, just
before you come to the mile-stone; but I saw him for all that, and so I
do most every time I set foot outside the cottage. What the devil can he
want with me? and why was I such a born fool as to tell my real name?"
"That's it," said Jane, from the chimney-corner, as if talking to
herself. "It's the devil puts all the badness into our hearts."
"Don't mind her," said Mrs. Marks, seeing Hodge looked startled. "She
understands nothing, and is only talking to herself. And now what do you
mean to do?"
"I must go home agin, as wise as I was when I came."
"And without a word of Tom? Why Mrs. Hodge will nigh break her heart."
"It can't be helped. I've done all I can. You see, I've been thinking
this man may be a kind of spy of the Squire's, and on the look-out for
Tom, and if so, I may do him more harm than good by staying here. Who
knows? perhaps he's guessed I'm Tom's father, and so thinks, by dodging
me, to catch him, so, you see, I'd best be on the road home; he won't
learn nothing there, save a cracked crown, if he comes that way
meddling."
"I tell you what it is," said Mrs. Marks, "you go along home, and leave
me to ferret it all out. I've never said nothing all this time you've
been racking your brains, and walking about most over the whole country,
till I should think you knew every stone and stick in it. I warrant a
few weeks don't go over my head before I get at the bottom of it all.
You men think yourselves mighty clever; but, after all, there's nothing
like getting a woman to help you over the stile."
"Well, Mrs. Marks, I believe you're most right. It's certain I couldn't
leave the business in better hands. I know you'll do the best you can
for me."
"Of course I will, there's my hand on it. And now just point out this
chap in the wide-awake, and I'll be bound to say I'll find out every
secret concerning him. And if he knows anything about Tom, why I'll find
that out, too; so just rest easy in your own mind, and keep quiet, and
bid Mrs. Hodge do the same; and take my advice, and be off home
to-morrow--you won't do no good down here, only harm."
And home Hodge went.
A few days after his departure, as Matthew was lounging at the turnpike
gate, who should pass through but Goody Grey. As she came in sight at
the turn of the hill, Matthew began to prepare his thoughts as to what
he should say to her. She would be sure to ask about the success of the
charm; he felt proud at the idea of being able to tell he had not added
to the number of stones in the box, but on the contrary two had been
thrown away. What a fortunate thing for him Mrs. Marks was out, he could
talk to Mrs. Grey without a chance of her shrill voice calling him and
bidding him attend to his business, and not be gossiping out there.
"Good morning, Mrs. Grey," began he, taking up a position so as to
command a view of the whole road by which the enemy, in the shape of his
wife, should first come in sight on her way home.
"The same to you," replied she civilly, and was passing on, when--
"I've tried the charm, Ma'am," said Matthew, mysteriously.
"The what?" asked she sharply.
"The charm, Mrs. Grey. The box with the gravel in it, that you give
me."
"True, I had forgotten. What was the result?"
"If you mean what good did it do, why then it just did no good at all,"
said Matthew, sorrowfully.
"How often have you tried it?"
"Twice, Ma'am, I'm proud to say; and a hard matter I found it, going so
nigh the Public, that I could most smell the baccy, and hear the drawing
of the beer; but there I stuck to the 'structions yer give me, and
turned back home agin, but only to hear my wife's tongue going faster
and sharper than ever."
"I dare say, at first, it may be so; but persevere, and in the end your
wife will be silenced."
"I wish I could think so," he replied; "but I'm afraid, Ma'am, her
tongue have been going so long now, that nothing 'cept a miracle won't
stop it."
"Is Mrs. Marks at home?"
"No, Ma'am, she's out. And that's another thing bothers me, she's taken
to going out all hours now, no matter what kind of weather 'tis. It's a
puzzle to me where she goes to, tramping about in the mud."
"Well, I cannot help you there," replied Goody Grey, "her tongue I might
stop, but not her actions, you must look to those yourself."
"And so I mean to, Mrs. Grey, so I _will_," said Matthew, determinately.
"I only thought so this very day, as I was leaning on this very gate,
just before I saw you."
"It is a wise resolution, but fools see wisdom or learn it sometimes."
"Don't you begin that old story agin, Ma'am, nor say one word about the
trees that's going to fall; for I can't abide it, and don't want to know
nothing about what's going to happen. Death's near enough for us all,
but we don't want to be knowing when he's going to knock us up."
"Where there's a storm there's sure to be a wreck," said she.
"Stop there, Ma'am," replied Matthew, "and don't be after looking that
way at the cottage. What do yer see?"
"I saw the face of a woman at the window."
"No, that yer couldn't," replied he, "Mrs. Marks is out!"
"Are you sure she is out?"
"Lord save yer, Mrs. Grey, in coorse I am. Didn't I watch her out? and
wouldn't I have heard her voice calling out after me, long afore this,"
and Matthew grinned at the very idea.
"Who was it then?"
"Yer couldn't have seen no one. There's only crazed Jane in the place,
and she don't never move out of the chimbly corner for no one. She's no
curiosity, like Mrs. Marks says I have."
"Who is crazed Jane? Where does she come from? and what does she in your
cottage?"
"Just nothing save to be knitting all day long, and follering me about
with her big eyes. She's my wife's sister, yer see, and is living with
us, she don't need no charm to keep her tongue quiet. She's just the
only woman I ever met as could, saving yer presence, Ma'am; and is every
bit as knowing as yerself, and could tell yer a deal if yer liked."
"About what?"
"About whatever yer liked to ask her. It's my belief she could tell the
weather just every bit as well as yerself. If yer'd lost anything she'd
know where to clap eyes on it again, just as yer did the bit of copper
t'other day, and a deal of other things as don't cross my mind now."
"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" exclaimed Goody Grey fiercely.
"If I did--I'd tear her very heart out, if she didn't tell me."
And she passed on, leaving Matthew horrified at her words. He watched
her all the way down the road, which she traversed with a quick, hasty
step, striking her staff defiantly into the ground as she went, until
the turn of the road took her out of his sight.
"What a fearful body she is!" thought he, as he turned into the
cottage.
But there his horror and astonishment was still further increased at
finding crazed Jane lying in a heap on the floor.
At first he was for rushing to her aid; but on second thoughts, he
reached his hat off the peg, and darted out of the cottage. There taking
to his heels he ran as fast as his legs could carry him along the road
Goody Grey had taken.
"For the love of Heaven!" said he overtaking her, "come back!"
"Come back!" exclaimed she, "and what for should I come back?"
"To take away the curse and witcheries yer've put upon Jane; or she'll
die."
"What are you raving about? What have I to do with Jane and her curses?"
"Yer know well what I mean, Ma'am; yer've most killed her with yer evil
eye. I know yer're a fearful 'ooman, and a wise 'un too, but for the
love of Heaven don't leave her like that, but come back."
"You're a fool!" replied Mrs. Grey, "I've no more power over her than a
fly," and she passed on, bidding him seek his wife's help.
And again Matthew started off faster than before to find Mrs. Marks,
with an inward malediction on Goody Grey.
He was scarcely out of sight ere she halted;--hesitated--then turned
back with rapid steps towards the cottage.
Jane had fallen near the window from which Goody Grey had seen her
gazing, and lay almost under it, so as to be entirely concealed from the
broad glare of its light. She lay on her side with one arm across her
face. Her visitor gently moved away the arm, and looked at her. It was
but a momentary glance, and the fainting woman rested, as I have said,
away from the light. Was it this made Goody Grey fail in recognizing
her? or was it the sharp, pinched features, and worn haggard face, with
those deep furrows ploughing it so roughly in every direction.
Filling a jug with water, Goody Grey lifted Jane, and tried to force
some down her throat, then dashed the rest over her face and forehead,
but her efforts at restoring life were useless, and after a few more
ineffectual attempts she left her, and went and seated herself by the
fire, thinking perhaps it would be but neighbourly to remain and await
Mrs. Marks's return.
Not many minutes elapsed ere Jane opened her eyes, and the first object
they rested on was the old woman's face and figure, as she sat looking
at the fire, her profile fully marked out, and apparent to Jane's gaze,
whose face assumed a terrified, horror-stricken look, as she almost
glared at her, seemingly too fascinated or frightened to look away.
Evidently Jane's memory served her better than Goody Grey's did, for she
recognized her, although the old woman did not, and after a minute or
two she sat up on the floor, and clasping arms round her knees, buried
her face in them and groaned aloud.
Goody Grey started and turned at the sound, then rose and went over to
her.
"Are you better?" she asked kindly, "you've had a long faint."
Jane made no answer, only moaned and shivered from head to foot.
"You are too cold to drink this water. Is there no brandy anywhere that
I can get you? Try and get up, and I will help you over to the fire."
It was astonishing to hear the gentle, almost soft, sweet voice with
which she spoke, so different from her usual harsh, sharp manner. But
the more gentle she was, the less Jane seemed to like it, never raising
her head or answering a word, but moaning and rocking herself backwards
and forwards as she sat; and Goody Grey, seeing words or deeds, however
well meant, were alike wasted upon her, rose to go; saying as she did
so,--
"I'm sorry to see you so sullen, woman. Have you never a word of thanks
to give me?"
But Jane continued silent as before.
"Well, well," she muttered, in something of her old, impatient, sharp
voice, as she stepped across the threshold of the door. "That fool said
she was a 'dafty.'" Then in a milder, almost sorrowful tone, she added
"it is better to be crazed than broken-hearted."
Jane raised her head as she caught the last sound of Goody Grey's voice;
then, as the last foot-fall died away, she got up stealthily, and closed
and bolted the cottage door.