Gammer Gurney dwelt quite alone and none had seen the alleged mariner her
son, for the occasions of his visits were hidden in nocturnal mystery.
Upon one point at least no doubt existed: the dame could vend choicest
cognac to a favoured few at a shilling a pint; and those whom it
concerned also knew that no such tobacco as that she sold, whether for
smoking or chewing, might be otherwise procured nearer than Exeter.
There was a whisper, too, of French silks and laces, concerning which the
wives of the quality could have told a tale; and gossips of that district
were prepared to swear upon the Book how more than once in moments of
high excitement Gammer Gurney had uttered words and whole sentences of
words in a heathen tongue. Yet, despite her powers and accomplishments,
she always went her humble rounds with an old donkey in an older cart.
Ostensibly she purchased rags and bones and other waste from farm
kitchens; and those who knew not her peculiarities and pitied her lean
apparition in its iron pattens, old sunbonnet and “dandy-gorisset” gown,
would give her cast-off garments and orts from the table to keep life in
her. Others, better informed, well understood what was hidden in the
donkey cart, and Gammer came as an honoured if a secret guest to many a
great house on the countryside. Indeed half a hundred sea-dogs were her
sons, and the smugglers thought a ten-mile tramp over Dartmoor no
hardship when the Gammer’s great discretion and the liberality of her
prices for matters contraband came to be considered. In addition to
these dark practices Mother Gurney was reputed a witch in her own right,
but a witch of the better sort—a white wonder-worker, whose marvellous
knowledge enabled her to combat the black necromancers that haunted Devon
in those days to the detriment of honest folk. Their power of the evil
eye; their unpleasant habit of overlooking innocent men and women, was
quelled and crushed by Gammer’s stronger if less sinister charms. To
gain private ends, she fostered this vulgar opinion concerning her
accomplishments; was much rapt in secret studies and claimed wide skill
in medicaments and cures by drug and amulet for beast and man.
Recoveries, indeed, were laid at her door with frank thankfulness; though
whether the moorland herbs and rare simples, ostentatiously plucked at
times of old moons and eclipses, were to be thanked so much as that
ingredient of strong French brandy which entered into her prescriptions,
may be left a matter of conjecture.
Upon the door of Gammer Gurney’s mysterious home John Aggett knocked,
then a little nut-brown woman opened to him, nodded without affectation
of superior parts, and even curtseyed in old-fashioned style at sight of
Timothy.
“Your sarvant, young maister,” she said. “Be pleased to step in, an’
you’m welcome, I’m sure, though ’tis the home of poverty. Rest free, if
that’s your errand—rest; an’ theer’s a gude cushioned chair to hold ’e
tu, though you mightn’t count to find such here.”
The white witch had no peculiarities. She merely suggested a venerable
and time-worn body whose life had not lacked tribulations and whose
tether must be near at hand. But her dark eyes were very bright and her
activity of body was still apparent.
Timothy lolled in the great “grandfather” chair and a red peat glow
flamed on his leather gaiters from the fire; John sat near the door with
a wandering and uneasy eye, ready to discover mystery and read secrets at
every turn. He knew that to ask openly for the cordial he desired had
been to make a hole in his manners. He therefore waited for his master
to speak.
Gammer Gurney mended the fire and chattered briskly.
“Theer’ll be little more huntin’ ’pon the high Moor ’fore the snaw come.
An’ ’tis near now. It be given me to knaw ’bout what fashion weather us
may look for by the birds an’ berries, by the autumn colour of leaves, by
tokens hid in still waters an’ the callin’ of the cleeves.”
“The reds was in the sky this marnin’,” said John, “a savage, sulky
sunrise, I warn ’e.”
“I seed un; an’ a terrible braave sight of snaw unshed in the elements;
an’ the airth ripe for it. Gert snaw an’ ice be comin’, wi’ sorrowful
deep drifts an’ death to man an’ beast, an’ awfullest floods to follow
arter. I’ve knawn this many days an’ laid in store against it.”
Timothy now saw his opportunity.
“And I’m going to add to that store if you’ll let me. There’s a fine
hare in the bag.”
“A hare, did ’e say? They’m dark, fanciful beasts, an’ if I was anything
but a honest woman, I’d not touch no such thing. But I knaw what I knaw.
Wheer did ’e find un?”
“I shot un,” said John, dragging the animal forth. “Her was sittin’
aquott under a tussock nigh Horn’s Cross on Holne Moor.”
“Then ’tis a pure, natural beast wi’ no dark tricks to un, if ’twas
theer. A witch hare wouldn’t go in them plaaces. A right hare—sure
enough, an’ heavy tu. Thank ’e kindly; an’ if you comes round arter
Christmas I’ll cure the skin for ’e, Jan Aggett. ’Twill make a proper
cap against the hard weather.”
John scraped and offered respectful thanks; then refreshments became the
subject of Timothy Chave’s speech.
“You haven’t a cup of milk by you, mother? I’m thirsty as a fish.”
“Milk—ess fay; but none for you. Ban’t drink for grawed men, if you ax
me. But I’ve—well, no call to name it. Yet ’tis a wholesome sort o’
tipple took in reason an’ took hot. You bide here. I’ll be back
direckly minute.”
She disappeared through a low door at the side of the kitchen and locked
it behind her. In five minutes she returned with the promised
refreshment and poured it from a square earthenware crock into two large
cups. These she half filled with brandy, then added hot water from a
kettle, and finally dropped a lump of yellow candy into each, with
mingled spices from a shining black box.
“’Twill do ’e a power o’ gude an’ keep away evil an’ make heroes of ’e,”
declared the woman. Then she watched the drinking men, with pleasure in
her bright eyes, and shewed that she appreciated their grunts and gurgles
of satisfaction.
“Better’n milk?” she said.
“A godlike brew!” declared Timothy; and John, who had waited to see his
master drink first before venturing upon the witch’s gift, now gave
Gammer Gurney the compliments of the blessed season with all respect,
then drained the last drop of his refreshment and scraped out the
remaining spice and sugar with his fingers.
“Sure I feels like a mighty man o’ Scripture compared to what I was a bit
ago,” he declared, as the spirit moved him.
“You’d make your fortune if you set up a sign in a city and sold that
stuff to all buyers,” prophesied Timothy.
“I wants no fortune, Maister Chave. I be here, an auld sawl well thought
’pon an’ wi’in call o’ friends. I tell no tales an’ breed no troubles,
an’ what goes in my ear doan’t come out at my mouth wi’ a new shape to
it, I assure ’e. No tale-bearer me. Tongue an’ ear strangers—that’s the
wise way.”
“You’m wise enough, ma’am; everybody knaws that.”
“Not that I set up for anything above my neighbours, though I may have
done ’em a gude service here an’ theer.”
“A many of ’em—Lard, He knaws how many,” declared John, eagerly. “Taake
my awn case. Didn’t ’e tell me how to win my maid for a silver sixpence,
an’ didn’t I do as you bid an’ worrit her marnin’, noon an’ night till
she said the word? An’ didn’t Digory Crampiron, the shepherd, come to ’e
’pon the same cause an’ ax what fashion woman ’twas as he’d best pay
court to? An’ didn’t you say her’d be a dark maid? An’ sure enough dark
her was; an’ a gude wife an’ mother these many days now.”
“That’s the thing I’d like to hear!” cried Timothy. “Read me riddles,
Gammer. Tell me my fate in marriage, and when the girl is coming, and
what she’ll be like. Tell me, and I’ll give thee a golden guinea!”
Now it fell out, strangely enough, that the white witch knew certain
facts hidden from her questioner—facts that none the less concerned him
in some measure. She had that forenoon visited Bellever Barton to find
the household of the farm in some confusion. The Christmas guests had
arrived three days earlier than they were expected; that circumstance
being explained by an opportunity to travel cheaply to Moretonhampstead
on a stage-coach, some of whose passengers had failed it. From Moreton
to Postbridge was no great matter, and the male travellers had ridden
that distance, bringing their luggage on a packhorse and their ladies
upon pillions behind them. In the bustle and confusion caused by this
premature advent, Gammer Gurney was kept waiting in the buttery—treatment
very rarely extended to her dignity. But this delay had not been wasted.
A garrulous housekeeper explained circumstances to the old woman and
added that one of the newcomers, a girl of a fair face, reserved manners
and great good sense, had won Farmer Chave’s heart, and was by him
secretly destined for Timothy without that young man’s knowledge. This
maiden the Gammer had seen and spoken with before she departed homeward;
but as for Tim, he knew nothing of the business. Thus it may be guessed
what excellent matter for a prophecy was now at the hand of the white
witch. Indeed, she had oftentimes done miracles in the public esteem
with less promising material. Nevertheless, this circumspect woman
shewed no eagerness to take young Chave at his word.
“Best to think twice ’fore you ax me that,” she answered. “’Tis a
serious deed, boy, and not to be undertaken in a light spirit. Mind this
tu: the truth ban’t always sweet or what our ears are best tuned for
hearin’.”
Her respectful manner vanished upon the introduction of this theme. She
now spoke as the young man’s superior. Timothy was not frightened from
his purpose, however, and screwed his face into solemnity. Then he
winked behind Gammer Gurney’s back at John Aggett, who, knowing well how
witches have eyes behind and before, doubted not that the action had been
observed and was much discomfited in consequence.
“Here’s your guinea, mother; that’ll shew you I’m in solemn earnest upon
this matter.”
The wise woman instantly swept up the coin. “If you will, you will,” she
said.
As a preliminary to the fortune reading, two rush candles were lighted
and the table cleared. Then upon it the sibyl drew a half circle with
black charcoal and spread ancient cards round the circumference. Next
she set up in the midst a lump of shining quartz, of the sort known as
Cornish crystal, and into a natural cup within this stone she poured the
black contents of a small, strangely shaped bottle. Now, bidding them be
silent and motionless, with impenetrable gravity she went upon her knees
beside the table and so remained for a long five minutes. Sometimes she
gabbled to herself, sometimes she set her hands upon a conjunction of the
outspread cards; but her eyes, as it appeared, never closed for a moment
and never for a moment wandered from the little black lake in the quartz
discerning-glass.
John, deeply impressed, sat with his mouth open; and even the scholar
felt his scepticism waning a trifle.
Presently Gammer Gurney began to talk, and after much moonshine and a
whole rigmarole of promises, predictions and cautions, the witch broke
off and scanned the crystal with increased intensity.
“Terrible coorious!” she murmured in an audible aside. “No such thing as
this ever happened afore, I should judge. What’s the day of the month?”
“Eighteen of December,” said John.
“Exacally so! An’ if—theer! Of all straange fallings-out!”
She gazed blankly at her guest until Timothy, despite his education at
Blundell’s, grew a little uncomfortable.
“Well, well, what’s amiss, mother? Out with it for good or ill. What
pitfall is waiting for me—an early marriage?”
“A maiden be waitin’ for ’e, Timothy Chave; an’ this very day—a grey-eyed
young girl wi’ bright hair an’ cherry lips—this day—by picture an’ by
crystal! She’m nearer than the coming snow—she’m at your elbow, man!
Ess fay, first young woman as you see an’ speak with come the
owl-light—her an’ none other will be your lifelong mate!”
“Merciful to me! ’Tis ’most owl-light now!” gasped John Aggett.
“By St. George, and the dragon too, I’m near my fate then! Up and off,
John! I’ll see my bride before nightfall. Come on.”
The woman huddled up her cards, cleaned the table and poured the black
liquid into the fire. Timothy was eager to be gone, and now took an
abrupt leave of his soothsayer; while as for Gammer Gurney, she stood
like one in a dream and regarded Tim with vacant eyes. It was her custom
thus to appear elevated in the spirit after exercise of her remarkable
gifts. So they left her at her cottage door and started for home at a
good pace. The fresh air contributed much to blow superstition out of
Timothy’s mind; but his companion continued taciturn and was evidently
impressed by what he had seen and heard.
“She gave I goose-flesh down the spine, for all her outlandish fiery
drink,” he said.
“You’re a fool, John; an’ I’m a greater. A good guinea wasted.”
Nearing home, they turned off the Moor, passed the cottage of Aggett’s
mother, and proceeded along the hill. Then it was that John, desiring to
shift the game-bag from his girdle to his shoulder, hung back some forty
paces. His fingers were cold and the buckle was stiff; his master
therefore gained upon him and, passing the corner of a plantation, went
out of sight. Mending his pace to overtake the other, John heard hidden
voices, the hour then being dusk; and, a moment later, coming round the
corner of the woodlands, he saw Timothy Chave in conversation with a
woman. She was clad in scarlet flannel even to the snug hood round her
ears, and her figure shone brightly through the gloaming.
He heard words half laughing, half annoyed, in the girl’s uplifted voice.
“Who be glazin’ at then? Make way, caan’t ’e? Do ’e think I be a ghost
out the wood?”
“Not a bit of it! A good fairy, more likely. And forgive me; I wanted
so much to hear you speak.”
“You’m a very impident chap then, for all your gert gashly gun awver your
shoulder!”
The woman passed Timothy light footed, then, turning quickly down a lane,
she disappeared, just as John joined his master. The young man was in an
extremity of excitement.
“Good God! Did you see her—that red girl? An’ after what the hag said!
Her eyes, man! Eyes like stars in the dark and a voice like the wood
doves! I came straight upon her peeping out of her red hood, like the
queen of pixies! Who is she, John? Who’s her father? And where has she
vanished to? Speak if you know. ’Tis a marvellous miracle of a thing
that I should meet her in this way. I could swear I was dreaming; yet
I’m as much awake as she was alive. Who in the name of wonder is she?
Speak if you know.”
“She’m a maiden by the name of Sarah Belworthy, darter o’ Smith
Belworthy; an’ she’m tokened to me,” said Aggett, stolidly.