THE DOLLS
"Jar," said Mrs. Weekes, "you be getting on home to fifty years old,
and since I first slapped your breech, when you'd been in the world a
matter of six months, you and me have never had no grave difference
of opinion."
"What then?" asked the man.
Sarah Jane was spending a soft May evening at the cottage of Mary;
but, not desiring to be in her presence, Jarratt left them and went
to see his mother. For some time Hephzibah had expressed a desire
for private conversation with him, and now Jarratt gave her the
opportunity. But quickly he regretted it. Rumour had reached his
mother's ears, and she felt very agitated to learn that some strange
and most unusual event was pending. Only whispers and hints had
reached her, and since such shadowy insinuations were specially
offensive to her mind, she commanded her son before her and ordered
him to be plain.
"What then?" repeated Jarratt.
"Then 'twould be an everlasting shame and misfortune if we fell out
now--you in your prime and me with my white hair and coming to the
end of my days. You've never hid much from me that I know of, and
nothing that I didn't find out if I wanted to. So don't try now.
There's all manner of beastly whisperings in the air; and you be in
them. Wherever I go to have a talk, people say, 'What's this here
thing Mr. Jarratt be up to?' And when I tell 'em I don't know, they
shut their mouths and change the subject."
"So much the better. It don't concern you, anyway."
"You can say that! But it do concern me, and I will know the truth
of it. From all I hear it concerns everybody called Weekes; for the
credit of a family be of some account, though 'tis only a family of
dormice, like your father's family. I was born a Mudge; and that's a
lasting blessing to me; and you've got my blood in you and ban't
going to demean it, I should hope."
"If old Huggins have been talking--or William Churchward either, I'll
wring their necks!"
"Jar," answered his mother. "'Tis an old saying, and true as old,
that Satan finds mischief for idle hands. Hard luck you've had of
late, and to my cost I know it; but because you've been forced to
wait and use patience, and haven't had the usual chances to be busy,
that ban't no reason why for you should use your time ill. Guy
Fawkes and angels! Isn't the world full of chances to do right?
Better bide home and nurse the babbies than go out to do other folks
a wrong turn."
"When I'm hit, I hit back."
"I don't know nothing about the parties, and don't want to know. If
a man's hurt you, hit him back from the shoulder so hard as you know
how. But this--this thing I hear. Even if 'tis true, and some poor
unhappy girl have made a slip--good God Almighty!--you ban't a coward
to lift your hand to a woman, be you?"
"What d'you know, and what don't you know?" he asked.
"I don't know no names, and 'twasn't Val, nor yet Adam Churchward's
son who told me that you'd got a plot afoot. Philip Weekes it was
who heard it--your own father; and very properly he put the thing
afore me. There's a middle-aged spinster down to Little Lydford,
that Bill Churchward be rather silly after, and she've screwed a bit
of news out of him seemingly. She's one of them nasty 'have you
heard?' sort of women, always with a bit of news on her
lips--generally untrue. And she told your father that you and
another here and there was caballing and hatching up a cruel joke at
the expense of a certain man and woman very well known round these
parts. I hope 'tis a lie, and I hope you'll tell me 'tis. Then I'll
go early to market next Friday and stop at that female's house, and
say a thing or two as'll be worse than a mustard poultice to her mean
heart."
"Better mind your own business. There's a bit of fun in the
air--that's all. Sometimes a nod's as good as a wink to a blind
hoss. There's a few self-righteous, damned fools about that won't be
any the worse for hearing a thing or two they don't know."
"I don't like to hear you tell that way, and I wish to God you was
busier about your own affairs; then you wouldn't be stirring on other
people's. Are you the man to set this wrong right? Ax yourself that
afore you go farther."
"Yes, I am."
"For my sake, Jar, think better of it."
"Too late now."
"Tell me about it, then."
"You'll know soon enough. 'Tis only a joke, when all's said. We are
going to let the rough truth loose for once, and tell a psalm-smiting
fool a thing or two he don't know seemingly. Or, if he do know and
have winked at it, for his own ends, then so much the more shame to
him. Anyway, he shan't think Lydford be in the dark--not after next
Monday night."
"You won't tell me what's doing?"
"Go to that field called 'Thornyside,' what miller Taverner owns up
above the gorge, presently after nightfall, if you want to know any
more. I'll let you hear when the day is fixed. 'Tis only following
out an ancient custom. You like the old ways and you like buryings,
so the business will just suit you."
"One of them mock funerals!"
"Just so."
"Then you're going to show up a bit of secret sin as you've found
out--is that it?"
"If it is?"
Mrs. Weekes was much concerned.
"For my son to meddle in such work as that!" she gasped.
"'Tis fun, I tell you. Damn it all, be I to live my dreary days
without never a joke or a laugh to make life better worth? If you
knowed a half or a quarter of the dull dog's life I lead now and the
hardships I've had of late, you'd be only too glad for me to amuse
myself sometimes."
"Don't think to fool me," she said. "You ban't the sort of man--no
better than a savage monkey--who'd do a thing like this for fun.
You've got your reasons. You be going to strike an enemy."
"Leave it at that, then, since you're so clever."
"Will he leave it at that? I should judge what you be wanting just
now are friends, Jar, not enemies. You are going to hurt a man in a
terrible tender place. And if you can't make good this charge--what
then?"
"I've thought of that. I'm not attacking any man; I'm punishing a
man for attacking me. I want money. I go to a chap who is rolling
in it. I beg for a trifling loan, and he refuses, for no reason but
unkindness and want of charity. 'Tis he has made me his enemy. And
now I'll show him up. He's either a blind fool, or else a knave--and
the world shall know it one way or t'other."
Mrs. Weekes partly read the remark.
"He's a husband, then, and you be going to let folk know he's--what?
wronged or wronging?"
"Go to Jacob Taverner's field and find out," he answered. "I'll say
no more at all upon the subject. 'Twill all be done very decently
and in order, I promise you. There be those about who remember the
same thing often in the past."
"And so do I," said Hephzibah, "and also what comed of one of those
May games. A man had another man's life for it after the funeral was
over, and the murderer swung in Exeter gaol, though recommended to
mercy. You mind what you're doing--else your childer may be orphans
and your wife a widow afore hay harvest."
Philip Weekes appeared at this moment, and Jarratt took himself off.
He did not go home, but visited the field of Jacob Taverner already
mentioned. It lay upon the southern side of Lyd, and Weekes crossed
the river by the bridge over the gorge, then entered the croft,
climbed its steep side, and knocked at the door of a cowshed which
stood in one corner. It was locked from inside, and light and the
sound of voices issued from the chinks of the wooden building.
"Who be that?" cried somebody.
"Me--Weekes," answered Jarratt.
The door opened, and he entered, to find three men. One was busy
about a strange task; the other two sat on empty cider-barrels and
watched him.
"It's getting out," said Weekes. "One of you fools--or else some of
the singing boys--have been chattering. 'Tis you, I believe,
William, for my father heard it down to Little Lydford from that old
maid you'm so fond of."
William Churchward looked up from his work on the ground. He dropped
a bundle of long straw and assured Weekes that he must be mistaken.
"I only just said, in a vague way, that one of them famous funerals
of the living was on hand, and advised her to be up at Taverner's
field on a night I'd let her know."
Jacob Taverner, another of the company, also spoke.
"All the same, we must let the people hear about it. We want all
Lydford there on the night, else the fun's spoiled. The more the
merrier, surely. It must be blazed abroad."
"In reason. But there's some won't hold with it, and will try to
stop it at the last moment."
"They can't," declared old Huggins. "Take care of your pipe, Jacob,
or else you'll set William's straw alight and spoil all. They can't
stop you, Jarratt, because you'll be 'pon private land. 'Tis Jacob's
field, and nobody in the kingdom--not the Queen of England's
self--have the power to say what Jacob shall not do on his own
ground. The constable may be allowed in to keep the peace, and
that's all."
"When will you have the dolls done, William?" asked Mr. Taverner.
Young Churchward desisted from his labour, rose to his feet, and with
an artist's eye regarded two headless dummies upon which he was
engaged. They were of full human proportions and represented a male
and female. The man's image showed a long and thin figure. It wore
brown leggings, riding breeches, and a Norfolk jacket. Spurs were
attached to its boots, and from its hand, modelled in putty and
painted, there hung a hunting-stock.
"What fashioned tie did the man use to wear?" inquired William.
"Red as often as not," answered Weekes.
"I've nearly done him. The legs loll out too much yet, but when
young Prowse have knocked up the coffin, we'll fit him in all natural
as life."
Then he pointed to the other puppet.
"That's the very daps of _her_ round shape," whispered 'the Infant'
aside to Weekes, and Jarratt nodded.
"It is," he admitted.
Then he remembered what his mother had said and turned away with a
qualm. Anon he fortified his spirit and sneered at himself.
"'Tis a good joke, sure enough. Won't hurt nobody really. But
'twill make a certain psalm-singing fool of a husband come down a peg
or two. And well the man deserves it."
For his own comfort Weekes made this remark.
"How if the man breaks your head?" asked Taverner.
"Two can play at that game."
"When be us to know the parties?" piped Mr. Huggins. "I'm all on
fire to hear who 'tis."
"You leave that to me," answered William. "When you see their heads
stuck on, you'll know who they be well enough. I've had to take
Jarratt's word for the man; but the woman everybody in Lydford will
swear to, or I'm no painter."
"Be the putty dried out, 'Infant'?" asked Weekes.
"Very nearly. I've got the paints mixed and a fine lot of corded
rope the very colour of----"
"Stop! That'll tell 'em!" cautioned the elder.
Then William rose and whispered to the senior conspirator.
"And the very thing for the eyes--a piece of luck. I was wandering
along thinking of 'em, when what should I see in a rubbish heap but a
broken plate--blue as the sky! I've chipped a pair of eyeballs and
put the pupils in."
He showed enthusiasm for his unlovely task, and Weekes encouraged him.
Then Churchward returned to his dummy and filled the nether garments
of the male figure with straw.
"Mustn't have too much," he said, "for by all accounts he's a thin
man--a mere skeleton of a man."
Mr. Huggins rose.
"I be going, souls," he said. "These here lifeless carpses be
getting to make me go goose-flesh along the spine. That true to
life--that cruel true they be--that I shall dream bad dreams about
'em if I sit here gloating any more. They be a masterpiece of horror
and dreadfuller without their heads than with 'em. I'll ax you to
see me up the hill, Jacob, for 'tis a very difficult task for me to
breast it alone at my age."
"So I will, then," answered Taverner. "And we'll drop into Noah
Pearn's at the top."
"Spirits 'twill be for me, if anything," said Valentine. "I'm a bit
down-daunted along of this gashly spectacle, and I'm almost sorry now
I called upon my memory to help. 'Twill vex somebody for certain,
and at my great age us ought to rise above politics. 'Tis a terrible
gift of likeness-making the 'Infant' have got; but for my part I'd
sooner be a common man, wi'out any such devilish cleverness."
"Don't you fear," said William. "Nobody will pull your old nose."
The painter, quite oblivious of the grave issues behind this outrage,
pursued his operations in a light and cheerful spirit. Once taken in
hand, he became exceedingly interested in his bizarre task; and now
he had grown enthusiastic. He regarded the dolls as an advertisement
of neglected talents, and he was only sorry that so much careful work
must presently be buried in the earth. But he hoped it might be
possible to dig his masterpieces up again.
At home, under lock and key, he had fashioned two heads of putty.
One, albeit still unpainted, indubitably resembled Sarah Jane; the
other--a shrunken visage, with eyes made of grey slate and high
cheek-bones, represented the farmer, Hilary Woodrow. A mass of
bright tow hair fell about the female face; the male puppet wore a
round hat. Presently William intended to paint these effigies up to
the colour of life. Sarah Jane he had secretly studied when she came
to visit his sister. Her pure, bright skin, just beginning to take
the kiss of the sun as he warmed the spring again, he already knew.
As for the male doll, putty-colour came almost near enough to the
cadaverous deterioration of the original.
"How long will it be afore all's ready?" asked Jarratt.
"A matter of three days. I'll bring the heads up in a basket an hour
before the show. Taverner's going to look after the torches, and
Dicky Prowse fetches up the coffins after dark Sunday."
"I'm only thinking of the man. Monday's the best day for him. He
goes into Tavistock often of a Monday, and comes home by Lydford way.
The point is to hit on a night when he'll be passing by here just at
the proper moment. We must made dead sure of him. If he don't
actually come face to face with the funeral, half the fun's out of
it."
William Churchward assented to this opinion.
"I'd dearly like to coax her here also; but perhaps that would be a
thought too rough," he said.
"Yes, we can't do that. I'm not desirous to hurt her at all. 'Tis
him I'm aiming at--just to let the gas out of him a bit and larn him
that he ain't under the special care and charge of Providence, but
have to share the rough edge of things along with his betters."
William nodded.
"Of course you've got proof positive," he said.
"I have--my own eyes and another pair. Besides that I've got her,
come to think of it. You know her fashion. 'Tis true, I reckon,
that she never told it; but when 'tis blowed, she won't deny it,
whatever the farmer might be tempted to do. Anyway, he's at death's
door, so we shan't hurt him."
"If 'twas a thing of yesterday, I should be rather frightened of the
job," confessed William. "But seeing the matter's five years old and
more--what's the odds to any sensible person?"
"Quite right. If they let it hurt 'em--more fools them. Anyway, the
man's no friend to me, or anybody else, for all his cant. He's
brought this on himself."
"There--that's about all I can do for this pair of legs," said
William. "Now we'll lock up and be gone. Come and see 'Sarah Jane.'
You'll want to kiss her when I've painted her!"