§ 1
The first weeks of the New Year were depressing. It was mortal cold on
the ’bus. Thomas Helier was cutting his teeth, and turned night into day
at the parsonage. Mr. Marchbanks was harassed out of his usual sweet
temper by his choir’s insistence on singing the Magnificat and Nunc
Dimittis to Cathedral settings, and Jess Harman was irritable and
unfriendly for reasons unknown.
At the back of these minor disturbances lay the thundery conditions at
the Crown, giving Daniel a continual sense of little-ease. He did not go
again to see Ernley and Belle. He kept away unhappily and
self-consciously, feeling that he could do no good either by going or by
staying away. Curiosity urged him to go--apprehension kept him away. Now
and then he met Belle or Ernley in the village, and they exchanged
greetings and perhaps a few more meaningless words, but there was no
reopening of confidence on Ernley’s part, no return of motherly
sweetness on Belle’s. They were both aware of the insight he had had
that night into their home life, and felt shy of him in consequence.
Daniel learned most about them from the young man at the George. The new
tenants at the George were going out on Lady Day. Their tenancy had been
a failure.
“There ain’t room for two pubs in this place,” said the young man
sadly--“at least, not two good-class pubs. The Crown has got all the
good-class trade. Of course I could make the George pay if I was to run
it as your father used to run it, but I daren’t do that after all the
trouble there’s been.”
“Maybe not. But why don’t you go for the sharry-bangs?” remembering
Ernley’s suggestion before the smash.
“Because we ain’t in the right position for sharry-bangs. We’re off the
main road, and we ain’t any distance either from Lewes or Newhaven, both
of which can give better teas than any one-horse place like this.
Nobody’s passing us at tea-time except cyclists, and maybe a stray
motorist or two. I ain’t had anybody in for teas or lunches since
October, though I provide both. If anyone comes at all this time of year
they go to the Crown. I’m sick of it.”
“Where are you going?”
“I dunno--not settled yet. I’ve heard of a job in a catering business,
but it means a mortal lot of travelling about, and I’m not the man to
enjoy being away from my wife.”
“Who’s coming in here after you?”
“I dunno. Maybe someone out of Hobday and Hitch’s. But I’ll tell you
what I’ve heard. I’ve heard as how Munk over there is thinking of buying
the George.”
“You don’t tell me!”
“I do. It’s only talking, but I got it from one of Hobday and Hitch’s
men last time they was here with the ale. They say he’s after it,
anyway, and when you come to think of it, the two pubs together ud make
a fine little place. He could put a sort of covered passage over the
road--make it look old-fashioned and all that to match the rest. I heard
as he thought of having the tap over here and keeping the Crown for the
visitors only.”
“I wonder if he’ll do it?”
“Well, there’s no telling. He’s a clever sort of man, and ambitious. I
believe he’d end up big some day if it wasn’t for his marriage.”
“You think that ull stop him?”
“Well, a man’s missus means a lot to his getting on or his getting out,
and by all reports the missus at the Crown is a bit of a trial.”
“How d’you know that?”
“I don’t know it, but I’ve heard it. Maudie Harman often steps across
here and has tea with my wife, and she’s told us that they have some
fine rows now and again. But most likely you know more’n I do, seeing
you’re friends.”
Dan uneasily scraped his foot among the sawdust.
“I don’t think there’s anything much wrong. She ain’t used to hotel
life, being a farmer’s daughter. But I haven’t been near ’em since New
Year.”
“Well, seemingly she’s having a jealous fit now. She’s got an idea he’s
after another girl, Maudie says.”
“And ain’t he?”
“Maudie doesn’t think so. There’s a young woman he takes out a bit--one
he used to know before his marriage. But Maudie doesn’t think there’s
anything in it.”
“How the devil does she know?”
“By his temper. He’s always as cross and difficult as he can be, and a
man ain’t like that when he’s just got a new girl.”
“It must be jolly over there,” sighed Daniel, “her jealous and him
contrary.”
The young man nodded.
“There’s nothing for pulling a man and a woman down like an unhappy
marriage. But you and me know that married life has no call to be like
that, don’t we, Mr. Sheather?”
Daniel and the young man exchanged some opinions and confidences on
marriage, a subject on which they were both of the same mind.
§ 2
Early in March a tide set into the affairs of Daniel which definitely
altered their course. The start was nothing more exciting than the Downs
’Bus Company altering their time-table, but this very ordinary piece of
spring tactics resulted in their employee’s complete uprooting. The
first ’bus was scheduled to leave Newhaven at seven instead of nine.
Work was starting earlier on the farms, and it became necessary for most
of the Newhaven-dwelling labourers in the Ouse Valley to be at their
posts by half-past seven at the latest. Therefore the Downs Company put
on an extra ’bus which should run as far as Lewes only, and be back to
take up its normal traffic at nine o’clock.
It would be extremely difficult and trying for Dan, who had not yet
saved enough money to buy a bicycle, to be in Newhaven by seven. The
rest of the company’s employees lived in the town, but this was out of
the question for young Sheather, who had to stick to his free lodging at
Bullockdean Parsonage if he was still to send half his wages to his
mother at Brakey Bottom. He could, of course, apply for transfer to
another route--several ’buses left Lewes in northward and westward
directions at fairly reasonable hours--but he realized that his home at
Bullockdean put him at a disadvantage even for these, and he was
terrified of losing his job by interfering with the conditions of his
employment.
The problem was in this state when an unexpected solution of it came
from Brakey Bottom itself--through Chris jilting his Mary Wright. The
exact reasons for this catastrophe were obscure, but Dan was not
altogether surprised. As it happened Chris was now in a good position to
marry. The Squire of Hoddern Place, on the other side of Telscombe, had
taken a fancy to him, and had engaged him as chauffeur. He was having
him taught to drive his Austin landaulette, Chris having had hitherto
only an experimental acquaintance with Fords, and had promised him a
good cottage to live in as well as generous wages. There was never a
better opportunity for Chris to marry his Mary Wright, but in point of
fact his Mary Wright lived on unwed at Exceat, while Chris brought his
mother to the comfortable eight-roomed cottage beside the garage at
Hoddern gates. Kitty Sheather had won at the last.
Dan felt contemptuous and indignant, but could not fail to realize the
blessings of what had happened. His mother would now be provided for,
comfortable and happy for life; there would no longer be any need for
Daniel’s fifteen shillings a week. He could have them for his own and
buy with them the freedom to live where he liked. He decided almost
immediately to move into Newhaven. If he did not move he might lose his
job, and once more he was restless to be away from the Crown. There was
no need to go across the water this time. Once he was in Newhaven he
would not have to dread those occasional evening meetings with Belle--he
would not have to hear the village gossip about her and Ernley. His work
would fill his days, and his evenings would be devoted to Thomas Helier.
He had made up his mind to take the child with him--he could easily find
some motherly woman who would take charge of him while he was at work.
He was sorry to be leaving Mr. Marchbanks and the parsonage, and knew
that his services would be missed both in the garden and in the church.
But if he stayed on he would have no time, with his new early hours,
either for housework or for serving the altar, and if he lost his job he
would come once more upon his friend’s hands and purse. No, he must
clear out--everything seemed to demand it, and he’d better start at once
to find some decent place to go to.
Mr. Marchbanks approved of his decision. He did not say much, but Dan
knew he was glad that he was going out of reach of Belle. Young Sheather
still thought the parson’s attitude towards this part of the situation
narrow and unsympathetic, but he was now half glad that Mr. Marchbanks
felt like this--it would comfort him when the garden beds were all over
groundsel and there couldn’t be any service in Bullockdean Church
because Freddie Pont had overslept himself....
Neither did Jess Harman seem to mind his going away--certainly not as
much as he would have thought--but in one respect her opposition
surprised him. She was indignant at his taking Thomas Helier with him.
“You’d never, Daniel! The poor little thing! You can’t take him to a
strange place and then leave him alone all day.”
“Well, I can’t leave him here.”
“Why not? I’d look after him--and take him home along with me at nights.
I know auntie ud let me.”
“Thank you, Jess. But I couldn’t allow it. He’s an unaccountable
nuisance here at the parsonage--it’ll make up to Mr. Marchbanks a bit my
going if he don’t have the kid yelling at all hours.”
“He doesn’t yell at all hours. You shouldn’t talk so! Poor little
mite--he’ll die with nobody but you to look after him.”
“He won’t have nobody but me to look after him. I’ll go to a place where
they’ll undertake it, or maybe put him into a creech while I’m working.”
“Why not put him out to baby-farm at once and have done with it--and him
too, poor little innocent?”--and Jess Harman walked out, tossing her
chin.
Emmie, his sister-in-law, took much the same view of the matter. She had
begged Dan to let her have the baby at Brakey Bottom. Of course he knew
that Thomas Helier would probably be happier there than in a “creech,”
or with his father, but there was something at the bottom of Dan’s heart
which refused to let him part with him. Whenever he thought of it he
seemed to see his Rose Falla looking up at him from her big low bed in
Sark, and murmuring with dying lips--“_notre Helier_.” He must not be
unfaithful to that union which he still had with her in the child. In
Thomas Helier, Rose was still alive, still able to receive his love and
cherishing. She no longer slept under her ilex tree and her white French
stone, but lay in his arms and received his kisses. He could not leave
her behind in Bullockdean--in another grave.
Moreover, Thomas himself was now an engaging infant, who, if he
occasionally yelled in the stresses of bodily development, knew his
father and approved of him, signifying the same by various gross noises
which were very nearly words. It would be good to find Thomas Helier to
welcome him home at the end of the day, when Bullockdean was five miles
up the valley, when both the tavern and the church were strange, and
Belle Munk, who was half Belle Shackford, no longer walked in twilight
down the street.