Sometimes they encountered accidentally on Broadbury, or in the lanes,
at other times they met by appointment at the Look-out Stone. They
discussed together the weather, the crops, the cattle, the markets.
Hillary was a shrewd man, and had seen more of the world than Taverner,
who had, however, read more books than the other. Langford had respect
for the worldly experience of his brother-in-law, and Nanspian venerated
the book learning in the other. The Chimsworthy brother could see
various ways in which money might be made, and had even made suggestions
by which he of Langford had reaped a pecuniary profit, but he was too
lazy a man to undertake new ventures himself, too lazy even to properly
cultivate in the old way the land on which he lived.
Hillary was conscious that he was falling in the estimation of his
brother-in-law. He was chafed by the sense of his indebtedness to him.
He saw no way of escape from the debt he owed save by Taverner's death,
and he began to have a lurking hope of release in that way. He was not
stimulated to activity. 'What is the advantage of making a labour of
life,' he asked--not of his brother-in-law--'when a man has a
comfortable property, and another in reversion?'
The great day of all, on which the kindly relations of the
brothers-in-law were brought forward and paraded before the parish, was
on the feast day of Coryndon's Charity. Then Hillary Nanspian arrived
arm-in-arm with Taverner Langford, Hillary in his badger-skin waistcoat
with red lappets, Taverner in dark homespun, with black cravat and high
collar. As they walked down the village every man touched his hat and
every woman curtsied. When they came to a puddle, and puddles are common
in the roads of Bratton Clovelly, then Hillary Nanspian would say, 'Take
care, Taverner, lest you splash your polished boots and dark breeches.'
Thereupon the brothers-in-law unlinked, walked round the puddle, and
hooked together on the further side. At the dinner, which was attended
by the Rector, who sat at the head and carved, the waywarden and the
overseer, the landlord of the 'Ring of Bells,' where the dinner was
held, and several of the principal farmers, ex-feoffees, or feoffees in
prospective, speeches were made. Hillary, with a glass of rum-and-water
and a spoon in it, stood up and spoke of his fellow-churchwarden and
feoffee and brother-in-law in such a rich and warm speech, that, under
the united influence of hot strong rum, and weak maudlin Christianity,
and sound general good-fellowship, and goose and suet pudding, the tears
rose into the eyes of the hearers, and their moral feelings were as
elevated as if they had heard a sermon of Mr. Romaine.
After that, Taverner proposed the health of his co-feoffee and
churchwarden in a nervous, hesitating speech, during which he shuffled
with his feet on the floor, and his hands on the table, and became hot
and moist, and almost cried--not with tender emotion, but with the sense
of humiliation at his own inability to speak with fluency. But, of
course, all present thought this agitation was due to the great
affection he bore to his brother-in-law.
When Parson Robbins, the Rector, heard of the quarrel, he was like one
thunderstruck. He could not believe it. 'Whatever shall I do? I shall
have to take a side. Mercy on us, what times we live in, when I am
forced to take a side!'
As to the farmers generally, they chuckled. Now at last there was a
chance of one of them getting into Coryndon's Charity and getting a
lease of the poor's lands.
Hillary Nanspian recovered from his fit, but the breach between the
brothers-in-law was not healed. When he again appeared at market he was
greatly changed. The apoplectic stroke, the blood-letting, the call in
of the money owed to Langford, had combined to alter him. He was not as
florid, as upright, as imperious as before. His face was mottled, the
badger-skin waistcoat no longer fitted him as a glove, it fell into
wrinkles, and the hair began to look as though the moth had got into it.
A slight stoop appeared in his gait. He became querulous and touchy.
Hitherto, when offended, he had discharged a big, mouth-filling oath, as
a mortar throws a shell; now he fumed, and swore, and grumbled. There
was no appeasing him. He was like the mitrailleuse that was to be, but
was not then. Hitherto, he had sat on his settle, smoking, and eating
his bread and cheese, and had allowed the fowls to come in and pick up
the crumbs at his feet. Now he threw sticks at them and drove them out
of the kitchen.
Encounters between the brothers-in-law were unavoidable, but when they
met they pretended not to see each other. They made circuits to avoid
meeting. When they passed in the lane, they looked over opposite
hedges.
The quarrel might, perhaps, have been patched up, had it not been for
the tongue of Mrs. Veale. Taverner Langford disliked this pasty-faced,
bleached woman greatly, but he was afraid of dismissing her, because he
doubted whether it would be possible for him to provide himself with as
good a manager in his house and about the cattle. Though he disliked
her, he was greatly influenced by her, and she found that her best mode
of ingratiating herself with him was by setting him against others. She
had a venomous dislike for the Nanspians. 'If anything were to happen
to the master, those Nanspians would take all, and where should I be?'
she reasoned. She thought her best chance of remaining at Langford and
of insuring that something was left to her by the master in
consideration for her faithful services was to make him suspect and
dislike all who surrounded him. He listened to her, and though he
discounted all she said, yet the repetition of her hints and
suggestions, and retailed stories, told on him more than he allowed
himself to believe. Through her he heard of the boasts of his
brother-in-law, and his attention was called to fresh instances of
mismanagement at Chimsworthy. At one time Mrs. Veale had audaciously
hoped to become mistress of the place. Langford was a lone shy man, how
could he resist the ambuscades and snares of a designing woman? But Mrs.
Veale in time learned that her ambition in this direction was doomed to
disappointment, and that efforts made to secure the master would effect
her own expulsion. She therefore changed her tactics, dared to lecture
and give him the rough of her tongue. Langford endured this, because it
showed him she had no designs on him, and convinced him that she was
severe and faithful. And she made herself indispensable to him in
becoming the medium of communication between himself and those with whom
he was offended. He had sufficient of the gentleman in him to shrink
from reprimanding his servants and haggling with a dealer; he was
miserly, but too much of a gentleman to show it openly. He made Mrs.
Veale cut down expenses, watch against waste, and economise in small
matters.
How is it that women are able to lay hold of and lead men by their noses
as easily as they take up and turn about a teapot by its handle? Is it
that their hands are fashioned for the purpose, and men's noses are
fitted by Nature for their hands? Although the nose of Taverner
Langford was Roman, and expressive of character and individuality, Mrs.
Veale held him by it; and he followed with the docility of a colt caught
and led by the forelock.
It was a cause of great disappointment to Hillary that Taverner was in a
position to give him annoyance, whereas he was unable to retaliate.
Langford had called in the money he had advanced to his brother-in-law;
it must be repaid within three months. Langford had threatened the
father and son with disinheritance. On the other side, he was powerless
to punish Langford. The consciousness of this was a distress to
Nanspian, and occasioned the irritability of temper we have mentioned.
Unable to endure the humiliation of being hurt without being able to
return the blow, he went into the office of the lawyer Physick, at
Okehampton.
'Mr. Physick,' said he, 'I want to be thundering disagreeable.'
'By all means, Mr. Nanspian. Very right and proper.'
'I'm going to be very offensive.'
'To be sure. You have occasion, no question.'
'I want a summons made out against Mrs. Veale, that is, the housekeeper
of Taverner Langford.'
'The deuce you do!' exclaimed the lawyer, starting into an erect
position on his seat. 'The housekeeper of your brother-in-law!'
'The same. I want to hit him through her.'
'Why, Lord bless me! What has come to pass? I thought you and Mr.
Langford were on the best of terms.'
'Then, sir, you thought wrong. We are no longer friends; we do not
speak.'
'What has occasioned this?'
Nanspian looked down. He was ashamed to mention the red spider; so he
made no reply.
'Well! and what is the summons to be made out for?'
'For giving me a stroke of the apoplexy.'
'I do not understand.'
'You must know,' said Hillary, lowering his voice, 'that I have a notion
Mrs. Veale is a witch; and when Langford and I fell out she came
meddling with her witchcraft. She came as a White Hare.'
'As a what?'
'As a White Hare,' answered Hillary, drawing forth a kerchief and
blowing his nose, and in the act of blowing fixing the lawyer over the
top of it with his eyes, and saying through it, 'My Larry saw her.'
Mr. Physick uttered a sigh of disappointment, and said ironically, 'This
is not a case for me. You must consult the White Witch in Exeter.'
'Can you do nothing?'
'Certainly not. If that is all you have come about, you have come on a
fool's errand.'
But this was not all. Nanspian wanted to raise the money for paying his
brother-in-law. Mr. Physick was better able to accommodate him in this.
'There is another matter I want to know,' said Nanspian. 'Taverner
Langford threatens to disinherit me and my Larry. Can he do it? I
reckon not. You have the settlements. The threat is idle and vain as
the wind, is it not?'
'Langford is settled property in tail male,' answered the solicitor.
'Should Mr. Langford die unmarried and without male issue, it will fall
to you, and if you predecease, to your son.'
'There!' exclaimed Hillary, drawing a long breath, 'I knew as much;
Larry and I are as sure of Langford as if we had our feet on it now. He
cannot take it from us. We could, if we chose, raise money on it.'
'Not so fast, Mr. Nanspian. What aged man is your brother-in-law?'
'Oh, between fifty-eight and sixty.'
'He may marry.'
'Taverner marry!' exclaimed Hillary; he put his hands on his knees and
laughed till he shook. 'Bless me! whom could Taverner marry but Mrs.
Veale?--and he won't take her. He is not such a fool as to turn a
servant under him into a mistress over him. But let him. I give him
Mrs. Veale, and welcome. May I be at the wedding. Why, she will not
see this side of forty, and there is no fear of a family.'
'He may take some one else.'
'She would not let him. She holds him under her thumb. Besides, there
are none suitable about our neighbourhood. At Swaddledown are only
children. Farmer Yelland's sister at Breazle is in a consumption, and
at the rectory Miss Robbins is old. No, Mr. Physick, there is
absolutely no one suitable for him.'
'Then he may take some one unsuitable.'
*CHAPTER VII.*
*CORYNDON'S CHARITY.*
The opinion gained ground in Bratton Clovelly that it was a pity two
such good friends and worthy brothers-in-law should quarrel and be drawn
on into acts of violence and vengeance, as seemed probable. As the
Coryndon feoffee dinner drew on, expression was given to their opinion
pretty freely, and the question was debated. What would happen at the
dinner? Would the enemies refuse to meet each other? In that case, which
would cede to the other? Perhaps, under the circumstance, the dinner
would not take place, and the profits, not being consumed, would be
given to the widows. That might establish a dangerous precedent.
Widows in future years might quote this; and resist the reintroduction
of the dinner. Fortunately widows, though often violent and noisy, are
not dangerous animals, and may be browbeaten with impunity.
Nevertheless a general consensus of opinion existed among the overseers,
and way-wardens, acting, ex-, and prospective, that the dinner must not
be allowed to fall through even for one year. Englishmen, with their
habitual caution, are very much afraid of establishing a precedent.
Hillary Nanspian was spoken to on the subject, and he opined that the
dinner must be held. 'If Taverner Langford is ashamed to meet me, let
him stay away. I shall pay him every penny I owed, and can look him in
the face. We shall be merrier without him.'
Notice of the dinner was sent to Langford; he made no reply, but from
his manner it was concluded that he would not attend.
The day of the Trust dinner arrived. Geese had been killed. Whiff! they
could be smelt all down the village to leeward of the inn, and widows
came out and sniffed up all they were likely to receive of Coryndon's
Charity. Beef was being roasted. Hah! The eye that peeped into the
kitchen saw it turning and browning before the great wood fire, and when
the landlord's wife was not talking, the ear heard the frizzle of the
fat and the drop, drop into the pan beneath.
What was that clinking? Men's hearts danced at the sound. A row of
tumblers was placed on the dresser, and spoons set in them. In the dairy
a maid was taking cream, golden as the buttercup, off the pans to be
eaten--believe it, non-Devonians, if you can, gnash your teeth with envy
and tear your hair--to be eaten with plum-pudding. See! yonder stands a
glass vessel containing nutty-white celery in it, the leaves at the top
not unfolded, not green, but of the colour of pale butter. Hard by is a
plate with squares of cheese on it, hard by indeed, for, oh--what a
falling off is there!--the Devon cheese is like board.
About the door of the 'Ring of Bells' was assembled a knot of men in
their Sunday best, with glossy, soaped faces. They were discussing the
quarrel between the brothers-in-law when the Rector arrived. He was a
bland man, with a face like a suet-pudding; he shook hands cordially
with every one.
'We've been talking, Parson, about the two who have got across. 'Tis a
pity now, is it not?'
Parson Robbins looked from one to another, to gather the prevailing
opinion, before he committed himself. Then, seeing one shake his head,
and hearing another say, 'It's a bad job,' he ventured to say, 'Well, it
may be so considered.' He was too cautious a man to say 'I consider it
so;' he could always edge out of an 'It may be so considered.' Parson
Robbins was the most inoffensive of men. He never, in the pulpit,
insisted on a duty lest he should offend a Churchman, nor on a doctrine
lest he should shock a Dissenter. It was his highest ambition to stand
well with all men, and he endeavoured to gain his point by disagreeing
with nobody and insisting on nothing.
'I hear,' said Farmer Yelland, 'that the two never meet each other and
never speak. They are waiting a chance of flying at each other's
throats.'
'Ah!' observed the Rector, 'so it has been reported in the parish.' He
was too careful to say 'reported to _me_.'
'Why, pity on us!' said a little cattle-jobber with a squint; 'when
folks who look straight before them fall across, how am I to keep
straight with my eyes askew?'
Every one laughed at these words. Harry Piper, the speaker, was a
general favourite, because his jokes were level with their
comprehension, and he did not scruple to make a butt of himself. The
sexton, a solemn man, with such command over his features that not a
muscle twitched when a fly walked on his nose, even he unbent, and
creases formed about his mouth.
'Now look here,' said Piper, 'if we don't take the matter in hand these
two churchwardens will be doing each other a mischief. Let us reconcile
them. A better day than this for the purpose cannot be found.'
'Mr. Piper's sentiments are eminently Christian,' said the Rector,
looking round; then qualifying his statement with, 'that is, as far as I
can judge without going further into the matter.'
'Will Master Nanspian be here?' asked one.
'I know that he will,' answered the cattle-jobber, 'but not the other,
unless he be fetched.'
'Well, let him be fetched.'
'That is,' said the Parson, 'if he will come.'
There was then, leaning against the inn door, a ragged fellow with a
wooden leg, and a stump of an arm into which a hook was screwed--a
fellow with a roguish eye, a bald head, and a black full beard. Tom
Crout lived on any little odd jobs given him by the farmers to keep him
off the parish. He had lost his leg and arm through the explosion of a
gun when out poaching. Now he drove bullocks to pasture, cows to be
milked, sheep to the common, and wired rabbits. This was the proper man
to send after Taverner Langford.
'You may ride my pony,' said the cattle-jobber, 'and so be quicker on
your way.'
'And,' said the guardian of the poor, 'you shall dine on the leavings
and drink the heel-taps for your trouble.'
As he went on his way, Crout turned over in his mind how he was to
induce Taverner Langford to come to the dinner. Crout was unable to
comprehend how any man needed persuasion to draw him to goose, beef, and
plum-pudding.
On his way he passed Hillary Nanspian, in his badger-skin waistcoat with
red lappets, riding his strawberry mare. He was on his way to the 'Ring
of Bells.'
'Whither away, Crout?' shouted Hillary.
'Out to Broadbury, after Farmer Burneby's sheep that have broken.'
Then he rode on.
When he reached the gate of Langford, he descended. At once the black
Newfoundland house-dog became furious, and flew at him, and with true
instinct snapped at the calf of flesh, not the leg of wood. Tom Crout
yelled and swore, and made the best of his way to the door, where
Taverner and Mrs. Veale appeared to call off the dog.
'It is a shame to keep dogs like that, vicious brutes ready to tear a
Christian to tatters.'
'I didn't suppose you was a Christian, hearing your heathenish oaths,'
said Mrs. Veale; 'and as to the tatters, they were there before the dog
touched you.'
'The parson has sent me,' said Crout, 'and he would not send me if I
were not a Christian. As for my tatters, if you will give me an old
coat, I'll leave them behind. Please, Mr. Langford, the feoffees and
guests are at the "Ring of Bells," and cannot begin without you. The
beef is getting cold, and the goose is becoming burnt.'
'Let them fall to. The dinner is sure to be good.'
'How can they, master, without you or Mr. Nanspian?'
'Is he not there?'
'Not a speck of his fur waistcoat visible, not a glimmer of his blue eye
to be seen. Ah, Mr. Langford, such a dinner! Such goose, with onion
stuffing, and sage, and mint, and marjoram! I heard the butcher tell
our landlord he'd never cut such a sirloin in all his life as that
roasting for to-day; smells like a beanfield, and brown as a chestnut!
As for the plum-pudding, it is bursting with raisins!'
'That will suffice,' said Taverner, unmoved by the description. 'I do
not intend to go.'
'Not intend to go! Very well, then, I shall have to go to Chimsworthy
and bring Mr. Nanspian. I'll tell him you haven't the heart to meet
folks. You prefer to hide your head here, as if you had committed
something of which you are ashamed. Very well. When he hears that you
durstn't show, he will go and swagger at the "Ring of Bells" without
you.'
'I do not choose to meet him. He may be there after all.'
'Not a bit. When I left all were assembled, and he was not there. May
I be struck dead if he was there! The parson said to the rest,
"Whatever shall we do without Master Langford, my own churchwarden, so
to speak--my right hand, and the representative of the oldest and
grandest family in the place. That is a come-down of greatness if he
don't turn up at the feoffees' dinner." May I die on the doorstep if
these were not his very words! Then he went on, "I did reckon on Master
Langford to be here to keep me in countenance. Now here I lay down my
knife and fork, and not a bite will I eat, nor a cut will I make into
that bubbling, frizzling, savoury goose, unless Taverner Langford be
here. So go along, Crout, and fetch him."'
'Is that true?' asked Langford, flattered.
'May my remaining leg and arm wither if it be not! Then Farmer Burneby
up and said, "He durstn't come, he's mortally afraid of meeting Hillary
Nanspian."'
'Did he say that?' asked Taverner, flushing.
'Strike me blind if he did not!'
'I'll come. Go on, I will follow.'
When Crout returned to the 'Ring of Bells,' he found Nanspian there,
large and red. The cripple slipped up to Piper and whispered, 'He'll be
here, leave a place opposite the other, and fall to at the beef.'
'The fly,' observed the parson to a couple of farmers--'the fly is the
great enemy of the turnip. It attacks the seed-leaves when they
appear.'
'That is true.'
'Now, what you want with turnips is a good shower after the seed has
been sown, and warmth to precipitate the growth at the critical period.
At least, so I have been informed.'
'It is so, Parson.'
'In wet weather the fly does not appear, or the plant grows with
sufficient rapidity to outstrip the ravages of the fly.'
'To be sure, you are quite right, sir.'
This fact of the turnip-fly was one of the few scraps of agricultural
information Parson Robbins had picked up, and he retailed it at tithe,
club, and feoffee dinners.
Then the landlord appeared at the inn door, and announced, 'All ready,
gentlemen! sorry you have been kept waiting!'
At the moment that Nanspian and the parson entered, Langford arrived and
went after them, without seeing the former, down the passage to the long
room. The passage was narrow, tortuous, and dark. 'Wait a bit,
gentlemen,' said the host, 'one at a time through the door; his
Reverence won't say grace till all are seated.'
'Here is a place, Master Langford,' said Piper, 'on the right hand of
the parson, with your back to the window. Go round his chair to get at
it.'
Taverner took the place indicated. Then the Rector rapped on the table,
and all rose for grace.
As Langford rose he looked in front of him, and saw the face of
Nanspian, who sat on the Rector's left. Hillary had not observed him
before, he was looking at the goose. When he raised his eyes and met
the stare of Taverner, his face became mottled, whereas that of his
brother-in-law turned white. Neither spoke, but sank into his place,
and during dinner looked neither to right, nor left, nor in front. Only
once did Taverner slyly peep at Hillary, and in that glimpse he noted
his altered appearance. Hillary was oldened, fallen away, changed
altogether for the worse. Then he drew forth his blue cotton
pocket-handkerchief and cleared his nose. Neither relished his dinner.
The goose was burnt and flavourless, the beef raw and tough, the
potatoes under-boiled, the apple-tart lacked cloves, the plum-pudding
was over-spiced, the cheese was tough, and the celery gritty. So, at
least, they seemed to these two, but to these two alone. When the
spirits were produced all eyes were turned on Hillary Nanspian, but he
neither rose nor spoke. Taverner Langford was also mute. 'Propose the
health of the chairman,' whispered Piper into Hillary's ear.
'I am people's churchwarden,' answered he sullenly.
'Propose the health of the chairman,' said his right hand neighbour to
Langford.
'I am a Dissenter,' he replied.
Then the Rector stood up and gave the health of the King, which was
drunk with all honours.
'Shall we adjourn to the fire?' asked he; 'each take his glass and
pipe.'
Then up rose the Rector once again, and said, 'Ahem! Fill your glasses,
gentlemen. Mr. Langford, I insist. No shirking this toast. You, Mr.
Nanspian, need no persuasion. Ahem!'
Piper came round and poured spirits into Langford's glass, then hot
water.