A QUESTION OF LABOUR
So that was how William had taken his protest! No word to him, but
this--it seemed like ill-tempered--order to put an end to the work. His
anger was hot against Coombe, whom he accused in his mind of putting him
in a hole for the sake of doing so, and then coming to see how he would
take it. But towards William his feeling was more one of sorrow.
He had been giving him credit for generosity and kindly feeling. Surely
it was unworthy of him to behave in that way, even if he had allowed
himself to be unduly annoyed over the tone of the protest made to him.
What must have been his attitude when he sent that telegram to his
servant, and sent no word to his brother? He must have known that to
dismiss his labourers in that way at a moment's notice would make
trouble--trouble that would affect his brother who was on the spot. Yet
he had left him to find out the high-handed action he had taken for
himself. Why couldn't he have given him an opportunity of withdrawing,
if he really thought that he had vetoed the undertaking, which had been
in hand for a week? He _couldn't_ have thought that; the letter written
to him was not a prohibition.
What was to be done now? If that confounded fellow Coombe had come to
him before dismissing the men, he would have wired to William and put
it all right. Yes, he would have done that, pocketing the hurt to his
dignity; for he did recognize that he had given some cause for offence,
though William had been in the wrong to take it in the way he had.
Was it too late to do it even now? It was he who had induced the word to
be given that had stopped the work, and it was for him to give the word
for it to go on. It was simply Coombe's insolence that had refused to
take it from him. Coombe would find that he had overstepped the bounds;
for he had for the time made it impossible to take the course that his
master must wish to have taken. If matters were to be put right, it
could only be by sending a long telegram to William. He began to
formulate it in his mind. He must say that his letter had not meant that
he wished the work to be stopped; he must make it plain that he wanted
it to go on; he must say that Coombe had already dismissed the outside
labour before telling him of the orders he had received, and had refused
to take orders from him to re-engage the men. It would be best to get
William to wire to Coombe to act upon Colonel Eldridge's authority until
he came to Hayslope himself.
It would be a complete surrender on his part; but he was ready to make
it. The mood in which he had entered the house still influenced him; if
William chose to act in this way towards him, he would not accept it as
an offence without giving him a chance to alter his attitude. They could
have it out together when they met; that would be better than writing
letters, which were apt to be misunderstood.
He had sat down at his writing-table to compose his message, when the
maid came in and said that some men had called to see him. Who were
they? One was Jackson, from the Brookside cottages, and another was
Pegg, from Crouch Lane. There were two more whom she didn't know. She
was told to show them in.
Jackson was an elderly man of good character well known to Colonel
Eldridge, who had employed him himself for some years, until he had been
obliged to reduce his labour bill. Pegg was a younger man, who had
worked on various farms, and since the war, in which he had been
wounded, had never remained long in one place, because his small
pension, and the greatly increased wages for agricultural labour, had
enabled him to indulge his taste for occasional spells of leisure. The
other two men were younger still, and one of them wore a discoloured
khaki tunic. Colonel Eldridge did not know either of them, but a shrewd
glance told him that they were of the agricultural labourer class,
probably smartened up a bit by their military service. They stood before
him, Jackson slightly in advance.
"Well, Jackson! Well, Pegg! Hope your leg hasn't been giving you any
more trouble. Who are these two?"
The man in the khaki tunic answered for himself, smartly. "Thomas Dell,
Colonel, late of Second Battalion Downshire Regiment." The other
followed suit. "Albert Chambers, Colonel, late of Army Service Corps."
He asked them a few questions about themselves. They had served their
country; the soldier in him must pay tribute to that first of all. They
could be seen expanding in modest pride, as they exercised the mode of
address they had learnt in the orderly room, standing before their
officers as they now stood before him. He approved of them. Men who had
served unwillingly in the army and taken their discharge would not have
answered him in that way.
"Well, what is it you want? Jackson!"
"We were took on at Mr. William's, beg your pardon, Sir William's, sir,
and now we're turned off. It don't seem hardly fair, and we thought we'd
come to you about it."
"How were you taken on? By the week?"
"Yes, sir. But--"
"Coombe has just been here, and told me that you've had a week's wages
instead of notice. So there's nothing unfair in it."
"Well, sir, we were told that it would be a two month's job. That's what
Coombe told us."
"Coombe took you on, I suppose; not Sir William?"
"Yes, sir. It was like this--"
"I've just heard all about it from Coombe. There has been a mistake.
When you came in, I was just about to telegraph to Sir William. What
you'd better do is to wait till I get an answer, and I've no doubt that
to-morrow you'll be going on where you left off. You'll have had a day's
holiday at full pay, and you won't have anything to grumble at, eh?"
He said this with a smile. He liked old Jackson, and had often stopped
to have a word with him, when he had been employed on estate work,
mending a fence, clearing a drain, or whatever job it might be that had
to do with the land on which he had worked since boyhood. He was full of
homely wisdom; a true son of the soil, with few desires that were not
connected with it. Such men appeal to the fatherly instinct that is born
in the best type of landowner towards those dependent on him. Their
simplicity must be respected; their reliance upon the justice of their
"betters" must be met by the most careful consideration of their
troubles.
Old Jackson hesitated. "Well, sir," he said, "begging your pardon, we're
not wishful to take on work again under Coombe. Sir William, he'd always
treat us right, same as you would, if he wasn't too occupied to look
after things himself, as I've told these others who've been working
along of us. Pegg'll bear me out there."
Pegg bore him out, with a mumble of acquiescence, and Colonel Eldridge
waited for him to go on.
"Coombe don't come from these parts," said old Jackson, and came to a
stop.
"That's nothing against him, if he acts as he should. What's the
complaint against him?"
But Jackson had come to the end of his powers of expression. He could
only repeat: "He don't come from these parts."
Dell, in the khaki jacket, took up the tale. "He's desirous of making
mischief, sir. We were told, after you came down the other morning, that
there'd be trouble about the work we were doing, and if we were turned
off of a good job we'd better look to you for another one."
Colonel Eldridge had not expected anything of this sort. But he was
sitting in the seat of justice now, and the bearing of such a statement
on himself must wait for consideration until later.
"Who was that said to? Tell me the exact words that were said."
Old Jackson found his tongue again. "That's how it was, sir," he said.
"There was me and Pegg heard it, and Dell, and another who ain't here. I
up and said myself that he'd no call to talk like that of you, and
whatever Mr. William done with his land you'd stand by."
"You were quite right there, of course. Was there anything more said, or
only just that speech?"
"He told me to go on with my work and not sauce him back, or I could lay
down my tools and take myself off. I ain't used to being talked to in
that way, sir; and Coombe don't belong to these parts."
"He told Warner, one of the other men took on, sir, that you didn't like
Sir William having more money nor what you've got--begging your pardon
for reporting his true words--and that if you could stop the work what
we was engaged on, you'd do it."
This was from Chambers, the other ex-soldier, and Dell added: "That's
right, sir. And he said we could see for ourselves that you were looking
ugly about it, and meant mischief."
"That's enough. I don't want to hear any more insolent speeches. If
you've just come to repeat that sort of thing to me, I'd rather you had
let it alone. Jackson and Pegg are my tenants, though neither of them
work for me. I dare say they wouldn't like to stand by and let that go
on without speaking up. But it would have been better to report it to
Sir William, instead of to me. I don't see what it has to do with you
two at all."
They showed some surprise at that, for his anger was plain to see, and
his gaze was directed straight at them. "I've told you," he said to
Jackson, "that I was on the point of wiring to Sir William to ask him to
give instructions to Coombe to proceed with the work. That would have
meant taking you all on again. If you don't want to be taken on, I can't
do anything more for you."
Old Jackson seemed to have nothing further to say, and the two
ex-soldiers were still under the influence of the rebuke administered to
them. It was Pegg who spoke, with a preparatory clearing of the throat.
"Jackson said you was thinking of mending the road through the park,
sir."
"Mending the road!"
"It wants doing," said Jackson, speaking now in quite a different tone,
as an expert, whose word carries weight. "It wants doing bad. Put it off
any longer and 'twill mean laying a new foundation here and there, and
steam-rolling and all, when take it in time and a bit of metal will
serve. There's a hole by the three oaks that never ought to been allowed
to get so. You can maybe patch it up to-day, but I wouldn't answer for
what you could do with it to-morrow. Nothing's been done to the road for
a matter of five years or more."
"You may call it six," said Colonel Eldridge. "It was mended last in the
winter before the war, and it was mostly your doing, Jackson."
"Yes, sir. And there was a tidy bit of metal got out of the lower quarry
what we didn't use all of. You'd only have to break it up and lead it;
and lead some gravel to put on it. 'Tis true that I did say to Pegg and
these two that us four 'ud make a good job of it in four weeks, maybe
five--I wouldn't undertake not to make a tidy job of it in less. Put it
off and it'll take longer."
Colonel Eldridge sat considering, his eyes on the papers in front of
him. "What about the other two who were taken on at the Grange?" he
asked.
"They've gone off, sir," said Dell. "They didn't like the job, and
wouldn't have stayed anyhow."
"They _have_ gone off? They're not hanging about the village?"
"No, sir. They took their money, and went off by train to Southampton
where they belong to the docks."
"Where are you two lodging?"
They told him, and he made no comment, except to say: "If I take you on,
you'll have to work under Jackson, and you'll have to keep quiet in the
village. A glass or two at the inn I don't mind, but we never have any
trouble with drink at Hayslope, and I wouldn't put up with it."
Chambers looked scandalized, and asserted himself to be a teetotaller.
Dell said: "I'm a respectable man, Colonel, and if anybody's been
putting it about that I'm otherwise that man's a liar, begging your
pardon for the language."
"Very well. I accept what you say. I'll take the four of you on from
to-morrow, by the week. What wages were you getting at the Grange?"
They told him, and he said they were too high. "You know that, Jackson.
Wages have gone up enormously. I don't grudge them to men like you, who
do your work as it ought to be done. But I'm not going to pay more than
the current rate. If Coombe took you on at the Grange at the rate you
say, he ought not to have done it."
They expressed themselves in their various ways as satisfied with what
he offered them, and old Jackson said: "Who am I to take my orders from,
sir, now Bridger has gone?"
"You'll take them from me. I'm my own bailiff now. Meet me in half an
hour at the three oaks, and I'll settle with you what's to be done."
He wanted a little time for consideration, and when the men had filed
out of the room and left him alone, he rose and walked up and down, as
his habit was when he had to think anything out.
He wanted to be quite sure that he had done right. The cost of these
repairs would be heavy, but the state of the drive would not admit of
much further delay, as old Jackson had said, unless it were to become
almost impassable here and there, and involve a larger expenditure later
on. He had been ashamed of it only half an hour before, when Lord
Crowborough had turned off on to the grass of the park to escape the
worst place, and shown, by making no comment on it, that he knew why it
had been left as it was. He was rather relieved at having had his hand
forced about it, for it didn't do to shirk making necessary repairs out
of unwillingness to spend money on them at the right time. Only bad
landlords did that, and they suffered for it in the long run. The cost
would be inconvenient at this moment, but it could be met. Jackson would
do the work thoroughly, and he was glad to have the old fellow back in
his employ. It might even be worth while to keep him on, for now that he
had got rid of his bailiff there was nobody to whom he could delegate
any overseeing, and he was more tied than he wanted to be. Pegg was a
bit of a rolling stone, but would keep up to the mark as long as the job
lasted. The other two seemed good sort of men, and would probably do as
well as any.
All that was satisfactory enough; but it wanted thinking about as it
affected his relations with William.
The idea of wiring to him in the terms he had intended must be given up.
That had settled itself, for the extra labour he had employed was no
longer available. Two of the men had gone off, and the other four had
refused to continue with it. That was Coombe's fault, without any
question. He had always suspected that fellow of being a mischief-maker,
and now he stood revealed. The report with which he had come to him had
been immediately proved to be absolutely groundless. Of the men of whom
he had professed to be so suspicious that it was necessary to come and
give a warning--for the good name of the village--two belonged to
it--which he didn't--and were well known, two had already left it, and
from the other two there was nothing to fear. The impudent readiness
with which he had turned the few questions of the other morning into a
mischievous attack showed him for what he was. Colonel Eldridge hardly
felt indignation on account of it. The man had given himself away, and
was as good as done with. Whatever their differences, William would
never keep in his employ a man who had misbehaved in that way.
Coombe was so patently the fount and origin of the break-up that had
come upon William's plans that it was a little difficult to go back to
what had given him his handle. When he turned his mind to it, he
experienced a droop of spirit. It was his protest that had started the
trouble, and he had no inclination to shirk that fact, though it was
also true that if William had not received it in the spirit he had, no
harm would have been done. He had some effort to put himself in
William's place, and did arrive at the conclusion that he had probably
not received his letter until his return from his visit that morning,
and that he _had_ probably written in answer to it, which answer he
would receive the next morning. That softened the effect of his
peremptory order, but by no means justified it; for unless he had
intended to show his annoyance by it, he would surely have sent him a
wire at the same time.
The result of his cogitations was that nothing could be done then to
mend the matter. He must wait to see if there was a letter from William,
and, whether there was or not, it would be better to write no more
letters, but to wait further until William came down on Friday evening,
which he usually did. The garden should be made somehow, with another
than Coombe to direct it. He wanted to see the garden made now, almost
as much as William did.
He went out and made the arrangements with old Jackson, and then again
returned to the house, slowly, and with very different thoughts from
those which had borne him company on the same road an hour before. He
did not want to think any more about the unpleasantness that had come
upon him. No doubt it would work itself out, but he did not feel that he
was free of it yet. And the vision of the larger freedom that had come
to him had faded. He was in no mind now to go to William and ask him for
the money that would settle all his difficulties.
After supper, which had taken the place of dinner at Hayslope Hall on
these long summer evenings, he walked with his wife in the garden, and
told her of what had happened.
She was more disturbed than he had been over William's telegram to
Coombe, and his failure to communicate at the same time with him.
"You're _sure_ you didn't actually forbid him to go on?" she asked.
Yes, he was quite sure; but in answer to a further question he could not
declare with such certainty that he had not written in a way that could
arouse annoyance. "I'm afraid I did express myself rather strongly," he
admitted. "But I always have said straight out what I meant to William,
and he has never taken it like this. Besides, my impression is that I
showed him, in what I wrote afterwards, that I didn't mean it
seriously--or not so seriously as all that. I intended to, anyhow."
"Ah!" she sighed. "You ought to have shown me the letter before you sent
it. I could have told you whether it was right or not. I wonder if
Eleanor saw this telegram before William sent it! I'm sure to hear from
her to-morrow, and I think you are sure to hear from William."
"William ought not to have done it," he said, in a tone of finality. "I
can't think that he would have behaved like this a few years ago."
"Oh, my dear, of course he wouldn't."
"Why do you say that?" he asked in some surprise.
"It's quite plain, isn't it? William was nobody much then, compared to
you. Now he is a notable, and expects to be treated as such."
"He has never shown that he expected us to treat him any differently."
"Oh, as long as we keep our places, and don't presume."
He did not smile at this. "I didn't know you felt like that about him,"
he said. "You don't about Eleanor, do you?"
"No. Eleanor has a more level head. I haven't really much fault to find
with William either. I was only laughing at him. One does laugh at
people who go up in the world, and show themselves so delighted with it,
doesn't one? It's the best way to take them, especially if you're not
going up in the world yourself. Or perhaps it isn't the best way. I'm
not sure. Perhaps it shows you're a little jealous of them. But I'm
certainly not jealous of Eleanor, and I'm sure you're not jealous of
William. Poor William! I'm a little sorry for him."
"Sorry for him!"
"Ye--es. His success hasn't improved him. I don't like him as well as I
did, and of course I'm sorry for the people I don't like, just as I'm
rather inclined to envy the people I do like. I'll tell you what I think
about all this bother. I don't believe William has the slightest
intention of giving up his garden. He'll expect you to be overcome with
remorse at having rebuked him, and beg him to go on. What does it matter
to him, paying six men a week's wages, with no work done for it? Add
there's no hurry, you know. They weren't going to plant in any case
until October. There will be plenty of time to get new men to work at
it, and get it finished in time."
"Do you really think that is what he has in his mind? Something of the
same sort occurred to me, but I don't want to think such a thing."
"Well, dear, you had much better follow your own ideas about it than
mine. You can't expect a woman to take the broad view of something that
touches her that a man can. I dare say you're more likely to be right
about William than I am. You have always treated him with great
forbearance, and until now you have kept good friends with him."
"You do think that--that I've treated him with forbearance?"
She stopped, and with a light laugh, looking up at him, put her hands on
his shoulders. "My dear kind-hearted conscientious old man!" she said.
"I'll tell you what I think. If you don't make a stand now, William will
very soon be everything at Hayslope, and you will be nothing."