VI

Rain!--how it pelted the September fields day after day and week after

week, as though to remind a world still steeped in, still drunk with the

most wonderful of harvests, that the gods had not yet forgotten their old

jealousy of men, and men's prosperity. Whenever a fine day came the early

ploughing and seeding was in full swing, and Rachel on one side of the

largest field could watch the drill at work, and on the other the harrow

which covered in the seed. In the next field, perhaps, she would find

Betty and Jenny lifting potatoes, and would go to help with them, digging

and sorting, till every limb ached and she seemed to be a part herself of

the damp brown earth that she was robbing of its treasure. For a time

when the harvest was done, when the ricks were thatched ready for

threshing, there had been a moment of ease. But with the coming of

October, the pressure began again. The thought of the coming frost and of

all those greedy mouths of cattle, sheep, and horses to be filled through

the winter, drove and hunted the workers on Great End Farm, as they have

driven and hunted the children of earth since tilling and stock-keeping

began. Under the hedges near the house, the long potato caves had been

filled and covered in; the sheep were in the turnips, and every two or

three days, often under torrents of rain, Rachel and the two girls must

change the hurdles, and put the hungry, pushing creatures on to fresh

ground. On the top of the down, there was fern to be cut and carted for

the winter fodder, and fallen wood to be gathered for fuel, under the

daily threats of the coal-controller.

Rachel worked hard and long. How she loved the life that once under other

skies and other conditions she had loathed! Ownership and command had

given her a new dignity, in a sense a new beauty. Her labourers and her

land girls admired and obeyed her, while--perhaps!--Janet Leighton had

their hearts. Rachel's real self seemed to be something that no one knew;

her companions were never quite at ease with her; and yet her gay,

careless ways, the humanity and natural fairness of her mind, carried a

spell that made her rule sit light upon them.

Yes!--after all these weeks together, not even Janet knew her much

better. The sense of mystery remained; although the progress of the

relation between her and Ellesborough was becoming very evident, not only

indeed to Janet, but to everybody at the farm. His departure for France

had been delayed owing to the death in action of the officer who was to

have been sent home to replace him. It might be a month now before he

left. Meanwhile, every Sunday he spent some hours at the farm, and

generally on a couple of evenings in the week he would arrive just after

supper, help to put the animals to bed, and then stay talking with Rachel

in the sitting-room, while Janet tidied up in the kitchen. Janet, the

warm-hearted, had become much attached to him. He had been at no pains to

hide the state of his feelings from her. Indeed, though he had said

nothing explicit, his whole attitude to Rachel's friend and partner was

now one of tacit appeal for sympathy. And she was more than ready to

give it. Her uprightness, and the touch of austerity in her, reached

out to similar qualities in him; and the intellectual dissent which she

derived from her East Anglican forbears, from the circles which in

eighteenth-century Norwich gathered round Mrs. Opie, the Martineaus, and

the Aldersons, took kindly to the same forces in him; forces descended

from that New England Puritanism which produced half the great men--and

women--of an earlier America. Rachel laughed at them for 'talking

theology,' not suspecting that as the weeks went on they talked--whenever

they got a chance--less and less of theology, and more and more of

herself, through the many ingenious approaches that a lover invents and

the amused and sympathetic friend abets.

For clearly Ellesborough was in love. Janet read the signs of it in the

ease with which he had accepted the postponement of his release from the

camp, eager as he was to get to the fighting line. She heard it in his

voice, saw it in his eyes; and she was well aware that Rachel saw it.

What Rachel thought and felt was more obscure. She watched for

Ellesborough; she put on her best frocks for him; she was delighted to

laugh and talk with him. But she watched for Mr. Shenstone, too, and

would say something caustic or impatient if he were two or three days

without calling. And when he called, Rachel very seldom snubbed him, as

at first. She was all smiles; the best frocks came out for him, too; and

Janet, seeing the growing beatitude of the poor vicar, and the growing

nervousness of his sister, was often inclined to be really angry with

Rachel. But they were not yet on such terms as would allow her to

remonstrate with what seemed to her a rather unkind bit of flirtation;

seeing that she did not believe that Rachel had, or ever would have, a

serious thought to give the shallow, kindly little man.

But though she held her tongue, Janet showed her feeling sometimes by a

tone, or a lifted eyebrow, and then Rachel would look at her askance,

turning the vicar's head none the less on the next occasion. Was it that

she was deceiving herself, as well as trying, very unsuccessfully, to

deceive the lookers-on? The progress of the affair with Ellesborough made

on Janet a curious and rather sinister impression, which she could hardly

explain to herself. She seemed to see that Ellesborough's suit steadily

advanced; that Rachel made no real attempt to resist his power over her.

But all the same there was no happy, spontaneous growth in it. Rachel

seemed to take her increasing subjection hardly, to be fighting obscurely

against it all the time, as though she were hampered by thought and

motives unknown to the other two. Ellesborough, Janet thought, was often

puzzled by the cynical or bitter talk with which Rachel would sometimes

deliberately provoke him. And yet it was clear that he possessed the

self-confidence of a strong man, and did not really doubt his ultimate

power to win and hold the woman he was courting.

One bitterly cold evening at the very end of September, Ellesborough,

arriving at the farm, was welcomed by Janet, and told that all hands were

in the fields "clamping" potatoes. She herself left a vegetable stew

ready for supper, safely simmering in a hay-box, and walked towards the

potato field with Ellesborough. On the way they fell in with Hastings,

the bailiff, who was walking fast, and seemed to be in some excitement.

"Miss Leighton--that old fool Halsey has given notice!"

Janet stopped in dismay. Halsey was a valuable man, an old-fashioned

labourer of many aptitudes, equally good as a woodman, as an expert in

"fagging" or sickling beaten-down corn, as a thatcher of roofs or ricks,

as a setter of traps for moles, or snares for rabbits. Halsey was the

key-stone of the farm labour. Betts was well enough. But without Halsey's

intelligence to keep him straight--Janet groaned.

"What on earth's the matter, Hastings? We raised his wages last week--and

we did it before the county award was out!"

Hastings shook his head.

"It's not wages. He says he's seen the ghost!"

Janet exclaimed, and Ellesborough laughed.

"What, the defunct gamekeeper?"

Hastings nodded.

"Vows he's seen him twice--once on the hill--on the green path--and once

disappearing round the corner of the farm. He declares that he called to

the man--who was like nobody he had ever seen before--and the man took no

notice, but went along, all hunched up--as they say the ghost is--and

talking to himself--till all of a sudden he vanished. I've argued with

him. But nothing'll hold him--old idiot! He vows he'll go---and if he

talks to the others they'll all go."

"Has he gone home?" asked Janet.

"Long ago. He left the horses to Jenny, and just marched off. In the lane

he met me, and gave notice. Such a cock-and-bull story as you never

heard! But I couldn't do anything with him."

"I'll go and tackle him," said Janet at once. "We can't lose him. The

work will go to smash."

She waved a farewell to Ellesborough, and ran back to the house. The

others, watching, saw her emerge on her bicycle and disappear towards the

village.

"Well, if anybody can move the old fellow, I suppose it's Miss Leighton,"

said Hastings disconsolately. "She's always managed to get the right side

of him so far. But I'm nearly beat, captain! Things are getting too hard

for me. You can't say a word to these men--they're off in a moment. And

the wages!--it's sinful!"

"We're supposed only to be fighting a war, Hastings," said Ellesborough

with a smile as they walked on together. "But all the time there's

revolution going on beside it--all over the world!"

Hastings made a face.

"Right you are, captain. And how's it going to work out?"

"Don't ask me!" laughed Ellesborough--"we've all got to sit tight and

hope for the best. All I know is that the people who work with their

hands are going to get a bit of their own back from the people who work

with their heads--or their cheque-books. And I'm glad of it! But ghosts

are a silly nuisance. However, I dare say Miss Leighton will get round

the old man."

Hastings looked doubtful.

"I don't know. All the talk about the murder has come up again. They say

there's a grandson come home of the man that was suspected sixty years

ago--John Dempsey. And some people tell me that this lad had the whole

story of the murder from his grandfather--who confessed it--only last

year, when the man died."

"Well, if he's dead all right, and has owned up to it, why on earth does

the ghost make a fuss?"

Hastings shook his head.

"People get talking," he said gloomily. "And when they get talking,

they'll believe anything--and see anything. It'll be the girls next."

Ellesborough tried to cheer him, but without much success. The "poor

spirit" of the bailiff was a perpetual astonishment to the American, in

the prime of his own life and vigour. Existence for Hastings was always

either drab or a black business. If the weather was warm, "a bit of cold

would ha' been better": if a man recovered from an illness, he'd still

got the "bother o' dyin' before him." He was certain we should lose the

war, and the rush of the September victories did not affect him. And if

we didn't lose it, no matter--prices and wages would still be enough to

ruin us. Rachel grew impatient under the constant drench of pessimism.

Janet remembered that the man was a delicate man, nearing the sixties,

with, as she suspected, but small provision laid up for old age; with an

ailing wife; and bearing the marks in body and spirit of years of

overwork. She never missed an opportunity of doing him a kindness; and

the consequence was that Hastings, always faithful, even to his worst

employers, was passionately faithful to his new mistresses, defending

them and fighting for their interests, as they were sometimes hardly

inclined to fight for themselves.

After showing Ellesborough the way to the "clamps," Hastings left him. In

succession to the long days of rain there had been a sudden clearing in

the skies. The day had been fine, and now, towards sunset, there was a

grand massing of rosy cloud along the edge of the down, and windy lights

over the valley. Rachel, busy with the covering of the potato "clamps,"

laid down the bundle of bracken she had been handing to Peter Betts, and

came quickly to meet her visitor. Her working dress was splashed with

mire from neck to foot, and coils of brown hair had escaped from her

waterproof cap, and hung about her brilliant cheeks. She looked happy,

but tired.

"Such a day!" she said, panting, as they met. "The girls and I began at

six this morning--lifting and sorting. It was so important to get them

in. Now they're safe if the frost does come. It's a jolly crop!"

Ellesborough looked at her, and her eyes wavered before the ardour in

his.

"I say! You work too hard! Haven't you done enough? Come and rest."