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MISER FAREBROTHER.
A Novel.
BY B. L. FARJEON,
AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "GRIF," "IN A SILVER SEA," "THE
HOUSE OF WHITE SHADOWS," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
London:
WARD & DOWNEY,
12, YORK-STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1888.
[_Dramatic rights protected and reserved._]
PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C.;
AND MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--JEREMIAH PAMFLETT ASSERTS HIMSELF 1
II.--ARCADES AMBO 17
III.--MISER FAREBROTHER WELCOMES PHOEBE'S FRIENDS 26
IV.--A SACRED PROMISE--WON BY GUILE 39
V.--TOM BARLEY COMMENCES A NEW LIFE 49
VI.--THE FIRST NIGHT OF "A HEART OF GOLD" 63
VII.--DIPLOMATIC FANNY 78
VIII.--THE POOR AUTHOR'S HOME 97
IX.--WHAT THE NEWSPAPERS SAID OF "A HEART OF GOLD" 108
X.--HIDDEN TREASURE 124
XI.--MISER FAREBROTHER GIVES JEREMIAH A WARNING 131
XII.--A LITTLE PARTY IN CAPTAIN ABLEWHITE'S ROOMS 145
XIII.--JEREMIAH DISCOVERS A "SYSTEM" BY WHICH HE MUST
MAKE A LARGE FORTUNE 160
XIV.--A DAUGHTER'S DUTIES 174
XV.--PHOEBE IS STILL FURTHER ENTRAPPED 190
XVI.--THE ENGAGEMENT RING 208
XVII.--DARK CLOUDS ARE GATHERING 222
XVIII.--O RARE TOM BARLEY! 236
XIX.--A VISIT TO DONCASTER AND ITS RESULTS 251
MISER FAREBROTHER.
CHAPTER I.
JEREMIAH PAMFLETT ASSERTS HIMSELF.
The innocent fun and gaiety at the tea-table were long afterward
remembered. There was an animated discussion as to who should take the
head of the table. Phoebe wanted Aunt Leth to do so, but Fanny
interfered, and said no one should sit there but Phoebe.
"It is Phoebe's day," persisted the light-hearted girl, "and something
unlucky will happen if she doesn't pour out the tea. Mr. Cornwall, come
and court me at the bottom of the table."
"Didn't you say it was Miss Farebrother's day?" said Fred, as he took
his seat next to the young hostess. He was not wanting in resource, and
rather enjoyed Fanny's badinage.
The table was much more plentifully supplied than Phoebe expected, and
she cast many grateful glances at Mrs. Pamflett, who had certainly taken
pains to do honour to the occasion. Mrs. Pamflett received these tokens
of gratitude gravely and quietly; no one would have supposed that her
mind was occupied by any other consideration than the comfort of her
young mistress's guests. But nothing escaped her secretly watchful eyes;
every word, every look, every little attention from Fred Cornwall to
Phoebe was carefully noted and treasured up.
A merrier meal was never enjoyed; the buzz of conversation was
delightful to hear. Phoebe was the quietest, Fanny the noisiest.
Suddenly she became quite still, and gazed pensively at Fred Cornwall.
"A penny for your thoughts," said he.
"They are yours at the price," she replied, holding out her hand for the
penny. "I am feeling very sorry for you."
"Why?"
"Because I am convinced you would be much happier if you were at this
moment shelling peas with a certain young lady in Switzerland."
This caused a general laugh, and Fred enlarged upon the delights of his
trip, Fanny interrupting him a dozen times with some quizzical remark.
"You certainly want some one to keep you in order, Fanny," laughingly
observed her mother.
"I do," replied Fanny, dolefully. "Where _is_ that some one? Why _does_
he not appear?"
Toward the end of the meal Mrs. Pamflett swiftly left the room. Looking
out of the window she saw her son Jeremiah, and she hastened down to
him.
"Well, mother?" said he.
"What has made you so late?" she asked, anxiously.
"Now, don't nag!" he exclaimed. "I couldn't get here before; had a
hundred things to look after. The new clothes I ordered never came home,
and I had to go and bullyrag the tailor. How do I look, mother?"
"Beautiful, Jeremiah, beautiful!" she said, enthusiastically.
On his feet were patent-leather shoes; on his head the shiniest of
belltoppers; on his hands lavender-coloured kid gloves; round his neck a
light blue scarf, with a great carbuncle pin stuck in it; and he wore a
tourist's suit of russet-brown of a very large check pattern.
"Rather licks 'em, doesn't it?" he asked, in a tone of self-admiration
and approval, turning slowly round to exhibit his points.
"That it does, Jeremiah."
"Look at this," he said, taking off his hat.
"Why, you've had your hair curled, Jeremiah!"
"Slightly! Nobby, ain't it?"
"Beautiful! My own dear boy!"
"Keep your fingers to yourself, can't you? There, you've gone and put it
all out!" He drew from his pocket a small mirror, and anxiously
readjusted the curls his mother had touched. "Now just you be careful.
Eyes on, hands off!"
"They must have cost a lot of money, Jeremiah."
"They did; a heap; but in for a penny, in for a pound. There's one
comfort; it's all spent on myself. Catch me spending it on anybody else.
They cost, altogether--Well, never mind; we're going in for a big thing,
ain't we? I ain't particular to a pound or two when the stake's worth
it."
"You have the heart of a lion!" said Mrs. Pamflett.
"What will she think of me, mother? Look at me well; reckon me up."
"She can't help thinking as I do, Jeremiah."
"She's a ninny if she don't. She won't get another chance like it, I'll
bet."
"What is that you're carrying, my boy?"
"A bouquet. Here, I'll just lift the paper, so that you can see it.
Roses, stephanotis, and maidenhair. Now, who'll say I ain't a plucky
one? Just wipe this dust off my boots."
In her full-hearted admiration Mrs. Pamflett had lost sight of her
conversation with Miser Farebrother, and of the presence of Fred
Cornwall in the room above; but now, as she carefully wiped Jeremiah's
boots, it all came back to her. Bidding him to give her his best
attention, she told him everything; he listened to her attentively, and
put a good many questions to her when she had done, the most important
of which related to his master.
"He didn't shy at it, then?" he asked.
"No," she replied; "he seemed to take to it kindly."
"You're sure he understood you?"
"He couldn't be off understanding me; I put it to him pretty plain. All
you've got to do is to play your cards well."
"I'll do that. When I've got a winning hand I know what to do with it."
"Are you pleased with me, Jeremiah?"
"Yes; it was a bold stroke; only don't do it again. Let me play my own
game. I don't mind telling you something if you'll keep it dark." He
paused a moment before continuing. "Do you see my thumb?" He held out
his right hand, palm upward, with the thumb arched over it. "I've got
the London business like this; I've got Miser Farebrother like this.
He's under my thumb, mother, and he doesn't know it. If I left him he'd
lose thousands, and if the worst comes to the worst I can put it to him
like that in a way he can't mistake."
"Don't be rash, Jeremiah," implored Mrs. Pamflett; "be humble with him."
"Oh, yes; I'll be humble with him as long as it suits me. Do you think
I've been working all these years for nothing? Do you think I've had the
office all to myself for nothing? Does _he_ think I didn't take his
measure years and years ago, and that I didn't make up my mind what to
do?"
"Jeremiah! Jeremiah!" cried Mrs. Pamflett, "be careful. He's cunning,
he's clever; he can see with his eyes shut."
"I can beat him at his own game. Cunning as he is, I'm cunninger; clever
as he is, I'm cleverer; I could see without any eyes at all. Wasn't it
as clear to me as daylight, if I'd been content to be his slave, taking
his miserable few shillings a week, and trying to live on it, that I
should be no better off at seventy years than I was at seventeen? Oh,
no; not at all! I was a fool, I was, and didn't know how many beans made
five! I was born yesterday, I was! There now; I've said enough. You'll
live to see something that'll make you open your eyes. Oh! hanged if I
wasn't forgetting. What did the governor do with that beggar, Tom
Barley?"
"Discharged him. He's gone for good."
"He's gone for bad, you mean. He'll come to a nice end, and I'll help
him to it if I can. So the old hunks discharged Tom Barley, did he?
Well, I settled his hash for him, at all events."
"It shows what influence you have over the master," observed Mrs.
Pamflett.
"I'll have more before I've done with him. Hallo! Just hear how they're
laughing upstairs. I say, mother, couldn't you call Phoebe down here?
I don't care about giving her the flowers with all that lot looking on
and sniggering. Just you go and whisper to her that a gentleman wants
very particularly to see her. Wait a minute; is my scarf right?"
"Yes, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett, and was about to leave him, when he
cried again, nervously:
"Wait a minute, can't you? What a hurry you're in. What would you say to
her, mother, when you give 'em to her?"
"Wish her many happy returns of the day, Jeremiah; and you might ask if
she will give you a cup of tea. That will give you an excuse for
following her; she can't very well leave the people upstairs long to
themselves."
"All right; I'll do it." And Jeremiah struck an attitude, and waited for
Phoebe, who had received a message, not that "a gentleman" wanted
particularly to see her, but that a friend was below who was anxious to
wish her many happy returns. When Phoebe heard this, she thought for a
moment that it might be faithful Tom Barley, whom Mrs. Pamflett, in her
good-nature, had allowed to enter, and she was startled when she saw
Jeremiah Pamflett.
"It's me, miss," said that worthy. "You're not sorry, I hope?"
"No," she said, awkwardly; "not at all."
"Seeing it was your birthday," said Jeremiah, "I thought I'd give you an
agreeable surprise. Just look at this." He took the blue paper off the
bouquet, and held it up for her admiration.
"It is very pretty," said Phoebe.
"I should rather say it was. It cost enough, anyhow: eight and six I
gave for it."
He paused for a reply, and Phoebe said, "Yes?" not knowing what else
to say.
"Half a guinea they asked, but I beat 'em down. They _do_ try to take
you in, the shopkeepers; but I get up a little too early for them. When
they try their games on me, they try 'em on the wrong party. Don't you
think so?" He made a motion with his elbow, with the intention of
digging it playfully into her side; but she shrank back, and frustrated
his amiable design. "I went to Covent Garden myself to pick it out." He
paused again, and as she did not speak, he thought, "Hang it! why
doesn't she say something?" comforting himself, however, with the
reflection that his resplendent appearance had "regularly knocked her
over," as he would have openly expressed it in his choice vernacular.
Feeling that he was not getting along as well as he wished, he wound up
with, "For you, miss; wishing you many happy returns of the day."
"You are very kind," said Phoebe, having no option but to accept the
bouquet, "to spend so much money upon me."
"Oh," said Jeremiah, boastfully, "I can do a thing swell when I've a
mind to. I never laid out so much on flowers before, but I wouldn't mind
doing it again--for you, miss."
"Pray don't think of it," said Phoebe, not knowing whether to laugh or
to cry.
"Well, I won't say whether I will or not. It all depends." He spread
himself out airily in order that she might have a good view of him. He
took off his hat, touched his curled hair gingerly, put his left arm
akimbo, and stood at ease, with his right leg out-stretched. He was
rather proud of his manners, and thought he was making an impression.
The question whether Phoebe should laugh or cry was determined by his
attitude, and Jeremiah was somewhat confounded as a light hysterical
laugh escaped her.
"What at, miss?" he asked, the smirk on his face changing to a frown.
"At that boy," said Phoebe, looking at the back of him; "he is so
funny."
Jeremiah, turning, really saw a ragged little boy approaching them. It
was a fortunate escape for Phoebe, who went toward the little fellow
and asked him what he wanted.
"I wants to see the young lady of the 'ouse," said the boy. "Are you
'er?"
"Yes."
"I'm to give yer this, and run away."
A faithful messenger. He gave a small brown paper parcel to Phoebe,
and scuttled away as fast as his little legs would carry him. Phoebe,
wondering, opened the parcel, and there lay a few wild daisies,
accompanied by a piece of white paper, upon which was written, "With Tom
Barley's humble duty. For ever and ever." It was shocking writing, and
Phoebe had some difficulty in deciphering it; but it brought the tears
to her eyes. She put the paper in her pocket, and pinned the daisies at
her bosom.
"I beg your pardon for leaving you," said Phoebe to Jeremiah. "And now
I must go to my friends."
"You might offer me a cup of tea, miss," he said.
"Yes, I will, though I am afraid it is almost cold."
"Nothing can be cold where you are, miss," said Jeremiah, gallantly.
"I'll come up with you. Why do you wear those rubbishing flowers? You
can pick 'em up in the fields."
"They are from an old friend," said Phoebe, loyally. "I value them
quite as much as if they had cost--" She stopped, frightened at her
rashness; she was about to add, "eight and six." Jeremiah completed the
sentence for her, supplying the precise words in her mind.
"As if they cost eight and six, miss," he said, quietly. There was a
venom in his voice which made her shudder. "I'll think of that."
She felt it necessary to mollify him, and though she hated herself for
her duplicity, she was very gracious to him as they ascended the stairs,
so that when they entered the room his equanimity was restored. It may
have been the grandeur of his appearance, or perhaps it was something in
Phoebe's face, that caused an awkward pause in the merriment upon
their entrance. Fortunately for the situation, Mrs. Pamflett was in the
room, and as Phoebe made no attempt to introduce Jeremiah to the
company, Mrs. Pamflett said, in a distinct, measured voice, "My son, Mr.
Pamflett, Mr. Farebrother's manager."
Mr. Lethbridge rose and offered the young man his hand.
"Glad to know you," said Jeremiah. "You're Mr. Lethbridge. How do you
do, all of you?"
Mrs. Lethbridge inclined her head, perceiving that something was wrong.
Fanny with difficulty repressed a giggle, Bob looked supercilious, while
Fred Cornwall scarcely glanced at the new arrival.
"Will you give Mr. Pamflett a cup of tea, aunt?" said Phoebe.
"No," said Jeremiah, "not from your aunt, if you please; from you. Then
I sha'n't want any sugar in it. Anything the matter with you, miss?" He
addressed this question to Fanny, from whom an uncertain sound of
laughter was proceeding.
"Something in my throat," replied Miss Fanny.
"Shall I slap you on the back, miss?"
"No, no!" cried Fanny, suddenly quite sobered.
Jeremiah drank his tea quite slowly, looking alternately from one to the
other. There was a dead silence in the room.
"Shall my niece pour you out another cup?" asked Mrs. Lethbridge,
politely.
"If it will oblige her," said Jeremiah, with cold malignity, "she may."
Without a word Phoebe poured out the tea and handed it to him. He
drank it even more slowly than he had done the first cup. When it was
finished, Mrs. Lethbridge said, "There is no more in the pot."
"That is a pity," said Jeremiah, "because we are enjoying ourselves so."
"I propose," said Mrs. Lethbridge, "that we go into the open air. It is
a most lovely evening."
They all rose, glad of the escape. Jeremiah pushed himself between Fred
Cornwall and Phoebe, and walked by her side down the stairs. When they
were in the open he said to her, "You have forgotten your bouquet. I
will go and bring it to you. Shall I?"
"If you please," she answered, faintly. She could make no other reply.
His mother met him in the passage. "Miser Farebrother wishes to see you,
Jeremiah. You can join Miss Phoebe afterward."
"All right," said Jeremiah; "I will. Look here, mother. Is that Cornwall
fellow sticking up to Phoebe?"
"That is for you to find out, Jeremiah. If you are my son you are not to
be easily beaten."
"Easily beaten!" he echoed, with malignant emphasis. "When my back's up,
I generally let people know it. Did you notice how they behaved to me at
the tea-table?"
"You paid them out for it, Jeremiah," said Mrs. Pamflett, exultingly. "I
am proud of you."
"You shall have more reason by-and-by. Paid them out for it! Why, they
didn't have a word to say for themselves! I just looked at them, and
shut them up! As for Phoebe, let her look out; that's all I say--let
her look out! Did you ever see a cat play with a mouse?"
"Often, Jeremiah."
"Well, let her look out for herself. That's all I've got to say."