ROY EATING HUMBLE PIE.
And so the laws of right and justice had eventually triumphed, and
Lionel Verner took possession of his own. Mrs. Verner took possession of
her own--her chamber; all she was ever again likely to take possession
of at Verner's Pride. She had no particular ailment, unless heaviness
could be called an ailment, and steadily refused any suggestion of
Jan's.
"You'll go off in a fit," said plain Jan to her.
"Then I must go," replied Mrs. Verner. "I can't submit to be made
wretched with your medical and surgical remedies, Mr. Jan. Old people
should be let alone, to doze away their days in peace."
"As good give some old people poison outright, as let them always doze,"
remonstrated Jan.
"You'd like me to live sparingly--to starve myself, in short--and you'd
like me to take exercise!" returned Mrs. Verner. "Wouldn't you, now?"
"It would add ten years to your life," said Jan.
"I dare say! It's of no use your coming preaching to me, Mr. Jan. Go and
try your eloquence upon others. I always have had enough to eat, and I
hope I always shall. And as to my getting about, or walking, I _can't_.
When folks come to be my size, it's cruel to want them to do it."
Mrs. Verner was nodding before she had well spoken the last words, and
Jan said no more. You may have met with some such case in your own
experience.
When the news of Lionel Verner's succession fell upon Roy, the bailiff,
he could have gnashed his teeth in very vexation. Had he foreseen what
was to happen he would have played his cards so differently. It had not
entered into the head-piece of Roy to reflect that Frederick Massingbird
might die. Scarcely had it that he _could_ die. A man, young and strong,
what was likely to take him off? John had died, it was true; but John's
death had been a violent one. Had Roy argued the point at all--which he
did not, for it had never occurred to his mind--he might have assumed
that because John had died, Fred was the more likely to live. It is a
somewhat rare case for two brothers to be cut down in their youth and
prime, one closely following upon the other.
Roy lived in a cottage standing by itself, a little beyond Clay Lane,
but not so far off as the gamekeeper's. On the morning when the bells
had rung out--to the surprise and vexation of Lionel--Roy happened to be
at home. Roy never grudged himself holiday when it could be devoted to
the benefit of his wife. A negative benefit she may have thought it,
since it invariably consisted in what Roy called a "blowing of her up."
Mrs. Roy had heard that the Australian mail was in. But the postman had
not been to their door, therefore no letter could have arrived for them
from Luke. A great many mails, as it appeared to Mrs. Roy, had come in
with the like result. That Luke had been murdered, as his master, John
Massingbird, had been before him, was the least she feared. Her fears
and troubles touching Luke were great; they were never at rest; and her
tears fell frequently. All of which excited the ire of Roy.
She sat in a rocking-chair in the kitchen--a chair which had been new
when the absent Luke was a baby, and which was sure to be the seat
chosen by Mrs. Roy when she was in a mood to indulge any passing
tribulation. The kitchen opened to the road, as the kitchens of many of
the dwellings did open to it; a parlour was on the right, which was used
only on the grand occasion of receiving visitors; and the stairs,
leading to two rooms above, ascended from the kitchen. Here she sat,
silently wiping away her dropping tears with a red cotton
pocket-handkerchief. Roy was not in the sweetest possible temper himself
that morning, so, of course, he turned it upon her.
"There you be, a-snivelling as usual! I'd have a bucket always at my
feet, if I was you. It might save the trouble of catching rain-water."
"If the letter-man had got anything for us, he'd have been round here an
hour ago," responded Mrs. Roy, bursting into unrestrained sobs.
Now, this happened to be the very grievance that was affecting the
gentleman's temper--the postman's not having gone there. They had heard
that the Australian mail was in. Not that he was actuated by any strong
paternal feelings--such sentiments did not prey upon Mr. Roy. The
hearing or the not hearing from his son would not thus have disturbed
his equanimity. He took it for granted that Luke was alive
somewhere--probably getting on--and was content to wait until himself or
a letter should turn up. The one whom he had been expecting to hear from
was his new master, Mr. Massingbird. He had fondly indulged the hope
that credential letters would arrive for him, confirming him in his
place of manager; he believed that this mail would inevitably bring
them, as the last mails had not. Hence he had stayed at home to receive
the postman. But the postman had not come, and it gave Roy a pain in his
temper.
"They be a-coming back, that's what it is," was the conclusion he
arrived at, when his disappointment had a little subsided. "Perhaps they
might have come by this very ship! I wonder if it brings folks as well
as letters?"
"I know he must be dead!" sobbed Mrs. Roy.
"He's dead as much as you be," retorted Roy. "He's a-making his fortune,
and he'll come home after it--that's what Luke's a-doing. For all you
know he may be come too."
The words appeared to startle Mrs. Roy; she looked up, and he saw that
her face had gone white with terror.
"Why! what _does_ ail you?" cried he, in wonder. "Be you took crazy?"
"I don't want him to come home," she replied in an awe-struck whisper.
"Roy, I don't want him to."
"You don't want to be anything but a idiot," returned Roy, with supreme
contempt.
"But I'd like to hear from him," she wailed, swaying herself to and fro.
"I'm always a-dreaming of it."
"You'll just dream a bit about getting the dinner ready," commanded Roy
morosely; "that's what you'll dream about now. I said I'd have biled
pork and turnips, and nicely you be a-getting on with it. Hark ye! I'm
a-going now, but I shall be in at twelve, and if it ain't ready, mind
your skin!"
He swung open the kitchen door just in time to hear the church bells
burst out with a loud and joyous peal. It surprised Roy. In quiet
Deerham, such sounds were not very frequent.
"What's up now?" cried Roy savagely. Not that the abstract fact of the
bells ringing was of any moment to him, but he was in a mood to be angry
with everything. "Here, you!" continued he, seizing hold of a boy who
was running by, "what be them bells a-clattering for?"
Brought to thus summarily, the boy had no resource but to stop. It was a
young gentleman whom you have had the pleasure of meeting before--Master
Dan Duff. So fast had he been flying, that a moment or two elapsed ere
he could get breath to speak.
The delay did not tend to soothe his capturer; and he administered a
slight shake. "Can't you speak, Dan Duff? Don't you see who it is that's
a-asking of you? What be them bells a-working for?"
"Please, sir, it's for Mr. Lionel Verner."
The answer took Roy somewhat aback. He knew--as everybody else
knew--that Mr. Lionel Verner's departure from Deerham was fixed for that
day; but to believe that the bells would ring out a peal of joy on that
account was a staggerer even to Roy's ears. Dan Duff found himself
treated to another shake, together with a sharp reprimand.
"So they be a-ringing for him!" panted he. "There ain't no call to
shake my inside out of me for saying so. Mr. Lionel have got Verner's
Pride at last, and he ain't a-going away at all, and the bells be
a-ringing for it. Mother have sent me to tell the gamekeeper. She said
he'd sure to give me a penny, if I was the first to tell him."
Roy let go the boy. His arms and his mouth alike dropped. "Is that--that
there codicil found?" gasped he.
Dan Duff shook his head. "I dun know nothink about codinals," said he.
"Mr. Fred Massingbird's dead. He can't keep Mr. Lionel out of his own
any longer, and the bells is a-ringing for it."
Unrestrained now, he sped away. Roy was not altogether in a state to
stop him. He had turned of a glowing heat, and was asking himself
whether the news could be true. Mrs. Roy stepped forward, her tears
arrested.
"Law, Roy, whatever shall you do?" spoke she deprecatingly. "I said as
you should have kept in with Mr. Lionel. You'll have to eat humble pie,
for certain."
The humble pie would taste none the more palatable for his being
reminded of it by his wife, and Roy drove her back with a shower of
harsh words. He shut the door with a bang, and went out, a forlorn hope
lighting him that the news might be false.
But the news, he found, was too true. Frederick Massingbird was really
dead, and the true heir had come into his own.
Roy stood in much inward perturbation. The eating of humble pie--as Mrs.
Roy had been kind enough to suggest--would not cost much to a man of his
cringing nature; but he entertained a shrewd suspicion that no amount of
humble pie would avail him with Mr. Verner; that, in short, he should be
discarded entirely. While thus standing, the centre of a knot of
gossipers, for the news had caused Deerham to collect in groups, the
bells ceased as suddenly as they had begun, and Lionel Verner himself
was observed coming from the direction of the church. Roy stood out from
the rest, and, as a preliminary slice of the humble pie, took off his
hat, and stood bare-headed while Lionel passed by.
It did not avail him. On the following day Roy found himself summoned to
Verner's Pride. He went up, and was shown to the old business room--the
study.
Ah! things were changed now--changed from what they had been; and Roy
was feeling it to his heart's core. It was no longer the feeble
invalid, Stephen Verner, who sat there, to whom all business was
unwelcome, and who shunned as much of it as he could shun, leaving it to
Roy; it was no longer the ignorant and easy Mrs. Verner to whom (as she
herself had once expressed it) Roy could represent white as black, and
black as white: but he who reigned now was essentially master--master of
himself and of all who were dependent on him.
Roy felt it the moment he entered; felt it keenly. Lionel stood before a
table covered with papers. He appeared to have risen from his chair and
to be searching for something. He lifted his head when Roy appeared,
quitted the table and stood looking at the man, his figure drawn to its
full height. The exceeding nobility of the face and form struck even
Roy.
But Lionel greeted him in a quiet, courteous tone; to meet any one, the
poorest person on his estate, otherwise than courteously was next to an
impossibility for Lionel Verner. "Sit down, Roy," he said. "You are at
no loss, I imagine, to guess what my business is with you."
Roy did not accept the offered seat. He stood in discomfiture, saying
something to the effect that he'd change his mode of dealing with the
men, would do all he could to give satisfaction to his master, Mr.
Verner, if the latter would consent to continue him on.
"You must know, yourself, that I am not likely to do it," returned
Lionel briefly. "But I do not wish to be harsh, Roy--I trust I never
shall be harsh with any one--and if you choose to accept of work on the
estate, you can do so."
"You'll not continue me in my post over the brick-yard, sir--over the
men generally?"
"No," replied Lionel, "Perhaps the less we go into those past matters
the better. _I_ have no objection to speak of them, Roy; but, if I do,
you will hear some home truths that may not be palatable. You can have
work if you wish for it; and good pay."
"As one of the men, sir?" asked Roy, a shade of grumbling in his tone.
"As one of the superior men!"
Roy hesitated. The blow had fallen; but it was only what he feared.
"Might I ask as you'd give me a day to consider it over, sir?" he
presently said.
"A dozen days if you choose. The work is always to be had; it will not
run away; if you prefer to spend time deliberating upon the point, it is
your affair, not mine."
"Thank ye, sir. Then I'll think it over. It'll be hard lines, coming
down to be a workman, where I've been, as may be said, a sort of
master."
"Roy."
Roy turned back. He had been moving away. "Yes, sir."
"I shall expect you to pay rent for your cottage now, if you remain in
it. Mr. Verner, I believe, threw it into your post; made it part of your
perquisites. Mrs. Verner has, no doubt, done the same. But that is at an
end. I can show no more favour to you than I do to others."
"I'll think it over, sir," concluded Roy, his tone as sullen a one as he
dared let appear. And he departed.
Before the week was out, he came again to Verner's Pride, and said he
would accept the work, and pay rent for the cottage; but he hoped Mr.
Verner would name a fair rent.
"I should not name an unfair one, Roy," was the reply of Lionel. "You
will pay the same that others pay, whose dwellings are the same size as
yours. Mr Verner's scale of rents is not high, but low, as you know; I
shall not alter it."
And so Roy continued on the estate.