ARCH-CONSPIRATORS.
When Mary Tiffin, who had been in the employ of the Townsleys ever
since their marriage, excitedly entered the parlor ten minutes after
the events narrated, it was empty. Mary was a comely maiden of
forty-three, of comfortable proportions and goodly to look upon. Her
cheeks were still attractively round; her glossy black hair was, with
much placidity, smoothed over her temples, cunningly brought above her
ears, and twisted in an alluring knot at the back of her head. Her
eyes were of that deep peculiar blue which generally is such a menace
to the peace of the sterner sex, and over which lovers are wont to
expatiate so tryingly to bosom friends.
Wringing her hands and ruefully shaking her head, Mary walked first to
one end and then to the other of the long room. Finally she broke out
in healthy Yorkshire dialect: "Wheere, oh, wheere can that lad John
be? I'm crazed wi' all this trouble; nivver did I see the missus so
worked up before, and she winna change her mind, no matter what is
said. I'm just as sure as I can be that if they part now they'll
nivver come together again. Who'd a thow't it 'ud ever come to this
between 'em." She fairly panted with the burden of her feelings.
Just as she was about to break out into fresh lamentations, the door
slowly opened, disclosing the sober face and lean figure of John
Herbert Bedford Lawson, confidential servant to Mr. Townsley.
"Eh, lad, but I'm right glad to see thee!" exclaimed Mary, as she
caught hold of John's meagre arm and unceremoniously hurried him into
the room. For some reason or other, Mr. Lawson evinced no especial
pleasure at seeing the comely Mary, as was clearly demonstrated by the
ungallant manner in which he tried to brace himself back as she drew
him forward.
When finally released, he said in a sceptical voice, as he indignantly
put to rights his disturbed linen:
"Oh, thou art glad to see me, art thou? P'raps thou art; strange
things happen in this world. Yet I'll be bound that it's not for
myself thou art glad." While speaking, he knitted his eyebrows in a
most menacing manner. He was a small, thin man, about forty-five
years of age, and clean shaven. As he stood eyeing Mary through his
glasses he looked a crusted character enough.
"Nay, lad," she said reproachfully, putting her hand on his arm,
"don't thou talk in a tone like that and look so sour; it don't become
thee; it's not natural, too, and thou knows it." Then she went on
anxiously: "Thou knows what is troubling me; thou art the maister's
private servant, and he must have told thee what has happened. Now we
mun think o' something, John, to stop 'em from breaking up in this
way. We daren't go and tell anyone else about the trouble, so do, lad,
do try and think o' something, for there's no time to be lost." In her
excitement and distress she almost shook him.
The repellent look was still on John's face as he replied more
ungraciously than before: "Nay, I can think o' nowt. I can tell thee,
though, that the maister's told me to have the carriage ready to catch
the train that goes east at nine" (he turned and looked at the clock
on the mantel--it was 8.15), "and, as thou sees, that'll be in
forty-five minutes. Of course, thou knows that I shall go wi' him."
"Eh, but how the world will talk, and what she'll have to bear!" broke
out Mary vehemently, as she sank back on a chair almost in tears. "And
in my heart I believe that she loves him, too. And thou must believe
that, too, and yet theere thou stands wi' that unnatural frown on thy
face, and will do nowt at all, although in thy heart thou knows thou
likes the missus as well as thou does the maister."
Suddenly springing to her feet, she caught him by the sleeve, and said
desperately: "Could thou not manage, John, lad, for the maister to be
just a little too late for the train?"
Without doubt John Herbert Bedford Lawson was in a most
ill-conditioned mood, for instead of being moved by the palpable
distress of the attractive suppliant, he turned his back ungraciously,
thrust his hands viciously under his ample coat-tails, elevated his
chin aggressively, and said airily, as he kept up a warlike tattoo on
the carpet with one of his heels: "John Lawson, thou art reet; it's
not the thow't o' thee going away that's causing her any trouble--thou
canst go to the uttermost parts o' the earth for all she cares, lad."
Turning and facing her, he said grandly: "I say once more that I know
o' nowt that can be done, Miss Mary Tiffin." He turned again, and this
time pulled out his watch.
For a few moments Mary sat in deep thought, and then a smile broke
over her face--she had realized where her base of operations had been
weak. Banishing the smile from her lips, to find refuge in her
twinkling eyes, she arose--to vanquish Mr. Lawson.
Quietly walking up behind him she gently laid one plump hand
caressingly on his shoulder. Wondrous was the change that stole over
his doughty face: the corrugated lines on his forehead gradually
vanished, his eyebrows hovered no longer belligerently near the lids,
while his chin--really a well-modelled one--receded slowly, but
surely, back to its accustomed position, revealing a very pleasant
mouth indeed. It could now be seen that the thin face of Mr. Lawson
was a most kindly one.
"John," began Mary, in a dangerously soft tone: "I--I think more about
thy going away than thou thinks. But thou knows how afeered I am that
they'll nivver come together again, and so--and--so, just only for the
moment, my thoughts had gone away from thee. And now thou knows this,
lad, won't thou make some effort to save 'em from wrecking their
lives? Maybe we can't do much, John, but we mun try and do something.
Now, if we can prevent the maister from going away to-night, something
may turn up to-morrow that'll give 'em a chance to talk it over, and
then it may come all reet between 'em once more. As for the train,
lad, if the maister should miss it" (both hands were on his shoulders
now, and her comely head was very near his), "he simply couldn't get
away till to-morrow."
By this time John's face was gloriously radiant, and he was just about
to turn around and promise her anything under the sun, when a shrewd
expression flashed into his eyes, and composing his countenance, he
said, in a somewhat independent, yet nervous tone, as he faced her and
adjusted his now disturbing spectacles: "Er--er, Mary, think o' the
trouble I'd likely get into if I intrigued for the maister to miss the
train; and what should I get for all my trouble? But still, lass, I'm
willing" (the glasses were needing no end of adjusting now) "to do
what I can--that is, of course, on--on condeetions."
A somewhat embarrassed look came across Mary's face as she covertly
glanced at the man of conditions, who was now looking anything but
imposing.
"And what may the condeetions be, Mr. Lawson?" There was a touch of
wonder in her tone.
Mr. Lawson looked past her, again thrust his hands under his
coat-tails, which he waved slowly to and fro like signals of distress,
and said, as he raised his eyebrows and tried to appear perfectly at
ease, "I--I guess thou must remember, Mary."
Evidently Mary's memory was not all that could be desired, for she
shook her head dubiously, and seemed more ill at ease than ever.
Being thus suddenly brought to bay, John did what men generally do
when they are cornered--he rushed into the thick of the battle,
regardless of consequences.
"I axed thee, as thou knows, a year ago," he broke out aggressively,
as he gazed past her, "to have me. Thou didn't say much in reply; but
what thou did say meant No, and now I ax thee once more, wilt thou
have me? I had not meant to ax thee again--though I like thee just the
same. A man like me, lass, has got a little pride, and I don't want to
thrust myself upon any woman. But I mun say that, when I seed how
worked up about the missus thou wert, and about the maister, too,
going away--and hadn't a thow't for me--my feelings did get a little
the best o' me, and I couldn't help exposing 'em again summat. So now
thou knows the condeetions, Mary." The coat-tails by this time were
simply acting in an unheard-of manner, while Mr. Lawson's not very
stalwart back was strikingly erect--his whole manner, in brief, was
that of a man determined to bear the worst, should it come, as becomes
a man. As he was still looking over her head he did not see her look
of admiration as she stood and surveyed his warlike figure.
"The condeetions are--are extraordinary ones, Mr. Lawson." She lowered
her eyes so that he might not catch the light in them.
"Oh, are they indeed?"--the swing of the coat-tails was now nothing
less than phenomenal--"then, Miss Mary Tiffin," he continued, as
bravely as he could, throwing out his chin a little more as he
continued to look past her, "that means, I suppose, that thou doesn't
agree to the condeetions, and that thy answer again to me is No?"
Facing quickly about, he began to march independently to the door.
"Eh, lad, but thou does take me up so, not giving me a chance to
say--say--" She sank down distressfully on a chair.
The collapse of Mr. Lawson was amazingly sudden; his erect shoulders
fell, his chin lost its lofty altitude; and facing suddenly about, his
glasses all awry, he hurried to Mary's side, and taking her hands from
her face began a most treacherous tirade against himself, his
master--yea, and even men in general--for their shameful treatment of
the weaker sex. Presently his voice grew very low, and then their
heads got dangerously close together. When at last they arose, after
an eloquent pause, John's spectacles were lying forlornly on the
floor, his coat-tails once more were hanging in peace and quietness,
his arm was around her, and he had the audacity to waggishly inform
her that they were the best "condeetions" that he had made in his
whole forty-five years of life.
Suddenly remembering her mistress's troubles, the happy light died out
of Mary's face, and turning anxiously to her now contented lover she
said eagerly, "And now, lad, do try and think o' something to help
them. If nothing else can be done, there is the train; if it is missed
there will be so much more time."
"Nay, lass," John answered, as he sat down, "the train scheme is no
good; for I'm sure the missus would, as she has threatened, leave the
house if he didn't go to-night."
Picking up his glasses and slowly polishing them, John continued
ruminatingly, "Like thee, Mary, I believe her heart's warm towards
him, but it's her pride, and that can only be broken down by deeply
moving her heart. Sure, sure, lass, there's no other way." He was
silent for a brief space and then went on, quietly, speaking to
himself, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the carpet. "And if the boots
don't reach her heart and soften it towards him, there's nowt in this
world that will, sure."
"Now, John, lad, don't ramble on like that; I'm right anxious. Tell me
what's in thy mind," broke in Mary, restlessly, seating herself on a
chair by his side.
"That I will, lass," answered John, briskly, shaking off his
contemplative mood, "for I believe we've now got the key to the
sitiwation. Thou remembers," he went on eagerly, "how, soon after
their little lad's death, the maister ordered that all his toys and
clothing should be taken away from the house, as he couldn't bear to
see 'em around?"
"I do, lad, I do, and it went hard wi' the missus to let 'em go; but
she didn't like to thwart the maister, he wur so restless and morbid.
But it never should have been done, lad; it wer'n't becoming like."
"Thou art reet, Mary, it wer'n't the thing to do; for in getting rid
o' the things nowt wur left to bring tender memories back to 'em o'
him, and so, having no common sorrow, their hearts grew narrow--as wur
to be expected--and they began to misunderstand each other and drift
apart. Sure as thou lives, Mary, getting rid o' the little lad's
things wur wheere the mistake came in, in their lives."
Springing excitedly to his feet, he continued quickly, "Thou remembers
the night, too, thou gave me the bundle wi' the little things in to
take to the charitable institoote? Well, I didn't go straight theere
wi' it; I took it first to my room and opened it, just to have one
more look at 'em; and lass, the first thing my eyes fell on wur a
little pair o' his boots--thou remembers the pair--the ones that had a
little hole in one o' the toes. Well, Mary, that little hole staring
me in the face touched my heart and melted it as few things in this
world ever did, and so, lass, I just couldn't send 'em away, and I
took 'em out and put 'em in my trunk, wheere they still are. Now,
Mary, if those little worn boots could break down such a real worldly
man as me--and when the lad wur not my own, too--does thou think for a
moment that, if the maister and the missus could be got to come across
'em just about at the same time, sweet memories, that they've
forgotten, would not rush over 'em, and that their hearts would not be
moved to the very core, and that they would not just _have_ to forgive
each other? Why! I can fairly see 'em together now, lass, and it's
going to be all reet, and--and--and--" He was actually too full for
further utterance, and bending down clasped his equally moved listener
in his arms, and just hugged her.
When Mary finally managed to extricate herself from his arms, he gave
further vent to his feelings by cutting a series of remarkable capers,
doubtless a species of ancient dance, in which (undignified as
doubtless it would have been) Mary, who had caught the contagion of
his happiness, would, I believe, eventually have joined, had he not
suddenly hove to.
Hurrying to her side, he said, between his gasps for breath, "And now
for the plot, lass. I'll go and get the boots, wrap 'em up, and put
'em on the table theere. Then thou must go and tell the missus that
there's a parcel for her on the table. Thou wilt manage, of course, to
get out o' the room before she can tell thee to fetch it. As for me,
when I know that she's found it, I'll go to the maister and deliver a
like message to him, and also get away before he can tell me to bring
it. And then, lass, he'll catch her when her heart's full--and then we
shall see!"
His genial old coat-tails were flashing out of the room before Mary
could say a word in reply.
As she sank breathlessly down on her chair, she exclaimed: "Ah, but I
am excited and moved!"
She had scarcely time to wipe her eyes when John flashed back again,
his spectacles in one hand and a small parcel in the other. "Theere
they are, lass," he almost shouted as he laid the parcel hurriedly on
the table. "And now, Mary, quick, go and tell her, and as soon as she
finds 'em I'll go and fix the maister."
Mary needed no second bidding, but hurried away, while John left by a
door that led to his master's study.