Mrs. Anthony Cragg
"WHEREVER are you off to now, I wonder?" demanded Mrs. Cragg.
"Business, my dear."
"That's something new. I thought you always said you didn't choose
to do business out of business hours."
"Well, then, it's amusement, if you like," said Mr. Cragg.
"I don't see why you need pretend that a thing is what it isn't,
either."
Mrs. Cragg tilted her head in a superior fashion. She was vexed that
evening, because she had just passed Mrs. Smithers, the chemist's
wife, coming out of the chemist's snug house beyond the church. It was
a standing grievance with Mrs. Cragg that her husband would
obstinately persist in living under the same ample roof with his
goods. Other tradesmen of his level in the place had their private
houses at a distance, where their wives and children might disport
themselves at pleasure, free from touch of shop-keeping. Mrs. Cragg,
who loved to describe herself as "a lawyer's daughter," considered
that she had taken a downward step in the world by marrying Cragg;
and she could not forgive him for refusing her the private house
for which she thirsted.
That he actually could not afford such a step was of course absurd—
ridiculous! Mrs. Cragg knew better. Though he had as good as told her
so, she did not believe it. She had married the man whom she regarded
as the richest and most successful tradesman in Putworth, and it would
have taken a good deal to shake her belief in his prosperous
circumstances. She ascribed his refusal entirely to his overweening
devotion to Dot, of whom, though Dot was her own child, she felt
actually jealous.
No doubt Cragg would have sorely missed the child's presence under his
roof all day. Now he could run for a peep at her if he had but five
minutes to spare; and often the little one would creep into that part
of the building where he happened to be, drawn by secret strings, and
always content if he were near. If she were living away in another
part of the town, he would seldom see her, except in the early morning
and on half-holidays, unless, indeed, he went home punctually to early
dinner. None the less, the avowed reason was true, although it did not
stand alone.
"It may be business, and yet not shop-business," Cragg said,
in explanation.
"If you'd been brought up as I was, you wouldn't be so desperate fond
of talking about 'shops,'" quoth Mrs. Cragg, nose in air. She had a
considerable nose, which required much tilting before it would rise
to the occasion.
"My dear, you knew pretty well how I was brought up, before you
married me," Cragg answered calmly. He could afford to be calm. He was
a man known and liked and trusted in the country round; and not a
gentleman within ten miles did not enjoy stopping for a chat with
"Cragg of the Furniture Warehouse," when opportunity served. Cragg
knew this, of course—quietly, and without conceit. His was the right
sort of self-respect, which means an absence of all pretence. Cragg
was perfectly well aware that his own family name had been untarnished
for at least three generations past, while that of his wife's father
and grandfather had been of a shady nature—in spite of which he had
married her. In the opinion of his friends, he had been the one to
take a downward step. But the idea of reproaching her with these facts
never so much as occurred to him. He was content with his own
certainties.
"Where are you off to?" she inquired.
"Going to see if the Dales are settled in all right."
"If you're not demented about those Dales I don't know who is. You'd
better have taken my warning. That man isn't to be depended on. You'll
be sorry some day."
"We shall see."
"Well, if you are, you can remember what I said. I don't know what
in the world you can see to like in them. It's 'Dales, Dales, Dales,'
morning, noon, and night with you."
Mrs. Cragg had only herself to blame if things were so. She could not
see her husband cross a road without smartly requesting to be told his
destination. This was her way of being wifely and confidential. If he
opened a letter in her presence she demanded to hear the contents; and
if he unlocked a drawer she wished to be told what he had lost. After
forty years of undisturbed bachelorhood Mr. Cragg was reserved in his
ways, and seven years of married life had not effected a cure.
Perpetual questioning still gave him a succession of shocks.
He would not be easily betrayed into a loss of temper, which also
means a lessening of self-respect, but he detested jars and arguments.
The natural result of his wife's prying tendencies was in him a
growing inclination towards secretiveness in small things. More and
more he concealed in his own breast the things that he thought or that
he meant to do.
He certainly was aware of an unwonted interest in "those Dales,"
as his wife called them. He liked the man, though Dale perplexed him,
and he liked and was sorry for the girl. She looked so old and so
serious for a child of her years. Not that Cragg knew her years; and
he would have been surprised to learn that she had passed her
sixteenth birthday. He supposed her to be about twelve or thirteen,
and he often told himself that he would not like merry little Dot
to look in eight or nine years like Pattie Dale.
Despite Mrs. Cragg's opposition, he did not change his intention of
going to the house to see if his new tenants were comfortable; but he
started in an opposite direction, simply to evade further remarks.
It would be easy to work his way round outside Putworth.
The ruse was of small avail. Mrs. Cragg watched him go, and tossed
her head.
"As if I didn't know!" she said aloud. "He's crazed about those
people. He'll go to-night before he comes home if it takes him
two hours to get there. He's as obstinate as an old mule, once he
takes a notion into his head. We poor women have a lot to put up with
in the men, and no mistake! Anyway, I'm sure I have."
It never occurred to Mrs. Cragg that her husband might also find a
great deal to put up with in her.
"I'm sure I can't think why in the world women ever marry. They're a
deal happier without. A lot better keep oneself to oneself, and not be
bothered."
But she would have been astonished to learn that the very same wonder
had more than once occurred unbidden to Cragg,—regarding the man's
side of the question. He had known less "bother" as a bachelor than
as a husband.
Still, the question was answered differently by Mr. Cragg. Being a
man, he thought of other circumstances in connection with the main
point. Dot had to be considered. Had he remained a bachelor, there
would have been no tiny loving daughter to rejoice his heart.
With this recollection in his mind, Cragg went off, smiling happily
to himself. He had just spent an hour in Dot's company before she was
put to bed, and he had found her very good company. She was full of
fun and full of talk. Nobody called Dot a pretty child, but she was
a most loving one to her father, and that was all that really
mattered. When he and she were together the two were perfectly happy.
It did not take Cragg two hours, but it did take more than one hour
to saunter round by the outskirts of Putworth to the north end of the
town, where lay his new possession and its inmates.
Cragg, on the way thither, imagined his own arrival, and pictured a
pleasant reception from the tall man and the sad-faced girl, both of
whom in different ways had captured his fancy. He thought he would
apologise for calling, and would make a feint of going away at once,
after just asking if everything was comfortable and to their minds.
Then perhaps Mr. Dale would persuade him to stay for a little chat,
and he might give in to the proposal. Cragg enjoyed chatting with Mr.
Dale, who seemed to be a well-read, intelligent man, with pleasant
manners, though disposed to melancholy.
But in all Cragg's picturings of what was to happen, he never
approached the reality.
After quitting the town he had to walk a little way along a road, with
rough ground on either side. No other houses lay near, except one row
of small workmen's cottages down a lane to the right. Cragg passed
that lane, and went straight on. He could see the newly built house
clearly, and a figure seated in the front window over the dining-room
drew his attention. That was at the moment when Pattie noticed him,
and remarked upon him to her father.
"It's a nice evening," Cragg murmured aloud. "Shouldn't wonder if Mr.
Dale was to think the place pretty to-day."
The croak of a frog on the border of a muddy stream beside the road
made him turn his eyes in that direction. He stopped, and poked
absently among the herbage. While doing this, he became aware of a
prolonged rumble.
"Thunder! Dear me, I shouldn't have thought it!" uttered Cragg.
He looked at the clear sky, dotted with tiny cloud-fleckings, and
wondered—could it be thunder?
Cragg turned towards the house, and stood petrified. Part of the
building was still there, dimly visible through a cloud of dust; but
something very strange had happened.
He might be a slow man generally. At this moment he was anything
rather than slow. The first shock over, he literally bounded forward.
A greyhound or a deer could hardly have improved upon the speed with
which he covered the space between him and the ruin.
For a ruin it was. As he drew near, gasping audibly for breath, he saw
that only the front wall and portions of the two side walls remained
intact. The remaining portion of the house had disappeared. When the
dense cloud of dust slowly lessened, he detected a slight figure in
the window above, clinging there in a convulsed and terror-stricken
stillness. Beyond was chaos—a dark gulf, into which the building had
disappeared.
No voice spoke, no human being stirred. Cragg could see nothing of Mr.
Dale, or of the maid-servant. Only Pattie Dale was visible, and Cragg
hurried beneath the window.
"What does it all mean? Are you hurt?" he cried. He was close enough
to render shouting unnecessary.
Pattie made no reply. She seemed to be dazed, perhaps hardly
conscious. He could see that her blue eyes were widely-opened in
a fixed stare.
"My dear," he called, "you must wake up; you must let me help you
down. It isn't safe there." A shudder passed over him, as he realised
that at any moment this wall, too, might descend into the gulf,
carrying her with it. "Rouse up, my dear. Try to hear what I'm saying.
I'm Cragg, you know, and I want to get you down. You must drop into my
arms. See?"
She seemed to him a mere child, and he was thinking of Dot—feeling
unspeakably thankful that Dot was not in Pattie's place. The thought
of Dot made him the more eager to rescue Pattie. "Come, my dear,—
come!" he called.
At first Pattie paid no heed, but gradually her eyes turned in his
direction, and a look of consciousness crept into them.
"What is it? I don't understand," she said at length. "Why am I here?"
"You're not going to stay there. Things have gone wrong, and we've got
to put them right," called Cragg cheerfully, relieved to have her
attention. "See!—I'm close by. I want you just to edge your feet over
this side, and to let yourself drop. Don't be frightened—move slowly.
No hurry. Just slowly—gently—"
He was in deadly fear lest she should fall on the other side of the
wall, or lest the slight additional shake of movement on her part
should seal the fate of the wall itself, and it too should go down,
carrying her to death. She did not move at once, but after a little
pause said vaguely:
"What am I to do? I don't understand."
"My dear, look this way,—this way—this!" urged Cragg, with intense
earnestness, standing below the window and holding up his arms. "Don't
think about anything else. Look at me, and think of me. Keep your head
this way, and just bring your feet over the sill—quietly. Don't hurry.
Don't look anywhere else. It's all right. I'll catch you. I won't let
you fall. So—yes—that's grand-both feet over. You'll do it directly—
and then—"
There was no need for any further exhortations. Pattie's strength
proved equal to the moment's need so far; but the instant both feet
were over, it failed her. She fell sideways, helplessly; and Cragg
caught her, as he had promised. Though the height was not great, the
ceilings being low, her weight brought him to the ground. He was
undermost, however, and started up again, regardless of bruises.
"Not hurt, are you?" he asked anxiously.
Pattie seemed to be awakened by the shock of her fall. She sat up,
looking with troubled eyes.
"No, I'm not hurt," she said slowly. "What does it mean? What has
happened? Where is father?"
To this serious question Cragg dared not attempt at once to find
an answer.
"Come a little way farther off," he said.
"That wall might go down too. Come this way. You're feeling queasy,
aren't you?"
"Yes. I don't know where I am. I don't know what it means."
Pattie spoke slowly, like one bewildered. Then her eyes went to the
ruined house, and recollection flashed up. Till then she had been
stunned. A cry broke from her.
"Father! father! He was on the roof. Where is he?"
But for Cragg's detaining grasp she would have rushed to the edge
of the depth. He caught her, and held her back by main force. She
struggled fiercely, then fell back, senseless.
"Thank God for that!" muttered Cragg, tears in his eyes.