The dingy little cart containing the clean linen of the Rectory, was
on its way by an unusually roundabout route. Neddy Mellin, the washer
woman's son, who disliked work as much as he liked play, which was
natural in a lad of thirteen, grumbled openly at the uncongenial task
of driving the large white donkey. The animal herself, who answered
to the name of Nelly, grumbled also in her own way, as she objected to
innovations. Hitherto she had been allowed to take the short road to
the parson's residence; now she was compelled to go by the long one,
which was particularly annoying on this damp, misty November
afternoon. With the obstinacy of her race she refused to trot, and
although Neddy whipped her, coaxed her, and threatened her, Nelly
tstill behaved as though she were attending a funeral. Mrs. Mellin did
not mind. Throned amidst the bundles of linen, she peered through the
fog for something she particularly wished to see. Only when the cart
arrived midway down a melancholy, deserted thoroughfare, bordered by
dripping elm-trees, did she speak. Then the cart stopped as she
fancied she heard an order.
"There," said Mrs. Mellin, pointing with a fat, red finger at a dreary
mansion which stood in a disorderly garden. "Maranatha! I never did
'ear of sich a queer name in all my born days."
"It's a scripter name, and has to do with cursing," explained her son,
who, being a choir-boy, knew something about the Bible.
"Then don't let me 'ear you use sich a wicked word, or I'll take the
skin off your back," said his mother, wiping her large crimson face
with a corner of her tartan shawl. "Maranatha! it gives me the
shivers, it do."
"You're using it yourself," murmured Neddy, in an injured tone.
"Me, being your elder and your ma, has a right to use words as ain't
fit for you," said Mrs. Mellin, tartly, "and as we've got the washing
of the new gent as has come to live there, I'll say the name often
enough. I'll be bound. But not you, Neddy. Say the 'Ouse, and I'll
know what you mean. And for 'Eaven's sake, child don't 'it the donkey.
I want to look at the place."
Mrs. Mellin craned forward so as to get a better view, and stared at
the square, ugly building, the damp red bricks of which were almost
hidden by dark curtains of untrimmed ivy. Smoke came from one chimney,
which showed that the house was inhabited, but as the shutters were up
and the door closed, there was a sinister look about the whole place
which made the washerwoman shiver. In its wilderness of shrubs and
long grass, girdled by gigantic elms, all sopping and dripping, the
mansion loomed portentously through the mists. It looked like a house
with an evil history, and the queer name on the gate suited it
extraordinarily well. Mrs. Mellin was not imaginative, yet she
shivered again as she signed that Nelly could proceed. Tired of
standing and anxious to get her day's work over, Nelly changed her
funeral pace for a more active one.
"Maranatha!" murmured Mrs. Mellin, as the cart turned into the Parade.
"Well, baronet or no baronet, he won't get much good out of Maranatha.
Arter suicides you may paint a 'ouse, you may furnish a 'ouse, and you
may advertise 'ouses till you're sick, but them as comes to live in
sich allays leaves afore the term's out. An' no wonder 'ow long he'll
stay?"
"Who'll stay?" asked Neddy curiously.
"I wasn't speaking to you, child. 'Old your tongue and drive on. I do
'ope as Mrs. Craver ain't 'eard. This will be news for 'er. And that
Emily Pyne is sich a gossip, as never was."
All the way to the Rectory, Mrs. Mellin continued to talk in this way
to herself, while Neddy kept his ears open to drink in every word. He
was a slender boy with a wonderfully delicate complexion, curly golden
hair, and innocent blue eyes, looking, on the whole, like a stray
angel. And when in the choir he not only looked like an angel but sang
like one, as his voice was remarkably beautiful.
But all Neddy's goods were in the shop-window, since he was as naughty
an urchin as ever existed, to worry a hard-working mother. He told
lies, he played truant, he associated with the worst boys in the
parish, smoked on the sly, and behaved like the unscrupulous young
rascal he truly was. Yet, when necessary, Neddy could play the saint
so perfectly that his conduct, taken in conjuncture with his angelic
looks, quite imposed upon the Rector, who believed him to be a modern
Samuel.
Mrs. Mellin had her doubts, as experience told her otherwise, but
naturally, she kept them to herself, and proclaimed on all and every
occasion that Neddy was too good to live. All the same she was on her
guard against his wiles, and rebuked him sharply when she noticed that
he was listening to her soliloquy. By the time she had finished
telling him where bad boys went and how they fared when they died, the
cart appeared at the Rectory and Mrs. Craver appeared at the back
door.
The parson's wife was a busy, little sharp-faced woman, arrayed in a
shabby black silk, with collar and cuffs of ragged white lace,
carefully mended. The stipend for looking after the souls of the
Hedgerton people was by no means large, and the Rev. George Craver
found it difficult to make both ends meet. Indeed, they would not have
met at all had not Mrs. Craver been a notable housewife, who looked at
both sides of a penny before parting with it, and who made shillings
do the work of pounds. She scraped and screwed and pinched, and buzzed
about the house from dawn till darkness like a busy bee, keeping her
eye on everything and on everyone. According to custom she welcomed
Mrs. Mellin into the kitchen and proceeded to count the washing, while
Neddy sat outside in the cart and smoked a surreptitious cigarette.
After the usual weekly wrangle over missing articles, scanty
starching, bad ironing, and excessive charging, Mrs. Craver gave the
woman a cup of tea and asked questions.
It was her duty, as she conceived it as the Rector's wife, to know all
that went on in the dull, seaside parish, and Mrs. Mellin could supply
her with more information than most people. Therefore, Mrs. Craver
sent the general servant, who was her solitary factotum, into the
wood-shed to clean knives and brush boots while she listened to the
weekly report. Mrs. Mellin began by a reference to her sister-gossip
and rival spy.
"I do 'ope, ma'am, as that Emily Pyne ain't been tellin' you things,
as she ain't to be depended on, with her silly tongue and blind eye."
The washerwoman spoke as if the lady in question had only one organ of
vision, whereas she had two, and very sharp eyes they were.
"No. I haven't seen Miss Pyne," said Mrs. Craver, briskly. "Has she
been doing anything wrong?"
"'Eaven forgive her, ma'am; she never does anything right," said Mrs.
Mellin, piously. "Not that I've got anything against her, for the time
being, 'cept her gossiping constant when she should be working, and
dressing above her station to which she 'ave been called. No, ma'am,
never do I speak against Emily, though she did try to catch Mellin,
when we was gels, failing, nater'ly, when she 'ave a game leg, and
remaining a spinster through 'Eaven's 'and being 'eavy on 'er, may she
be forgiven."
"Well, well; what's the news?" Mrs. Craver had heard all about Miss
Pyne's wickedness before, and spoke impatiently.
Mrs. Mellin wiped her face, sipped her tea, and shook her head. "There
ain't no news as is startling, ma'am, as bombs and bloodshed don't
come 'ere while we 'ave the King--long may he reign over us. But that
'ouse in Ladysmith Road, as is so unlucky, is let at last."
"Maranatha?"
"Which the very name do give me the shudders, ma'am. It's a wicked
name."
"It is an odd name," agreed the sharp little woman, "and I asked the
Rector about it. He says it is a Syriac word, meaning the Lord comes,
or has come."
"Neddy told me it was a cuss, ma'am."
"He shouldn't know anything about curses at his age, Mrs. Mellin. Mr.
Craver said that St. Paul used the word as expressing a curse."
"There now"--Mrs. Mellin was admiringly triumphant--"to think as how
Neddy do pick up things. And a curse is on that 'ouse, Mrs. Craver,
ma'am, for never 'ave it been lucky. The gent as built it fifty years
back lost his arm, as my mother told me; the family as come after him
buried two children in a year; a suicide was the nex' pusson as lived
there, and it stayed empty for years till Mrs. Splurge took it to be
ruined by the breaking of the bank her cash was in and 'ave her
daughter run away with a young man as wasn't what he ought to be. It's
a cussed 'ouse, and looks like one."
"H'm! It has a bad history. Well, and who has taken it now?"
"A baronet."
"Nonsense! Why should a baronet take a furnished house in this dull
town?"
Mrs. Mellin set down her cup and folded her tartan shawl round her in
quite a tragic manner. "That's what I arsk myself, ma'am," she said,
impressively. "Mrs. Splurge, 'oping to make money after losing her
all, advertised the 'ouse to be let furnished. But for two years it
hev been standing as empty as my 'usband's 'ead, people fighting shy
of its bad luck, as you might say, Mrs. Craver, ma'am. And now Sir
'Ector Wyke hev come, bag and baggage, with a 'ousekeeper as I hevn't
seen, though write me she did, saying as she'd engaged me to do the
washin'."
"Sir Hector Wyke?" Mrs. Craver searched her memory. "I seem to have
heard the name before."
"'Ave he done anything bad?" inquired the washerwoman, eagerly.
"Anything as would make 'im 'ide his guilty 'ead. Baronets is bad, as
we know."
"Rubbish! Baronets are no worse than other people. But I fancy I have
heard my son, Mr. Edwin, mention the name. I'll ask him about Sir
Hector when he comes down at the week end."
"Shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Edwin 'ad quite a gory story to tell."
said Mrs. Mellin, hopefully, for, like all her class, she loved
horrors. Anyhow. I'll keep my eye on the 'ouse and the 'ousekeeper."
"What is her name?"
"Vence, she writes it. Jane Vence, and a heathen name it is, ma'am. I
haven't set eyes on her myself; but one as hev tole me ses as she's an
old witch in looks, with a tongue as wicked as that of Emily Pyne's,
and I can't say wuss nor that."
"Mrs. Vence." The Rector's wife repeated the name so as to remember
it. "And what other servants?"
"None." burst out Mrs. Mellin, triumphantly, "And that's the wust of
it, ma'am. I do say as a baronet should be'ave as a baronet, and not
come to live in a musty, fusty old 'ouse with one old woman."
"It is strange. When did Sir Hector come?"
"Two days ago, ma'am. I wonder you 'aven't 'eard."
"No. You bring the news to me."
"And proud I am to do so, me thinking as Emily Pyne would be
before'and. I s'pose the Rector will call, ma'am?"
"I suppose he will. We don't often have a baronet come to Hedgerton."
"And the Rector 'ull find out all about Sir 'Ector, I s'pose?"
"Mrs. Mellin, you are much too curious about your neighbours," said
Mrs. Craver, severely, and quite overlooking the fact that she was
encouraging the woman to gossip. "Learn to mind your own business, and
don't pry into other people's concerns. Probably Sir Hector has heard
that the air is good here, and has come down for the benefit of his
health."
"Ho!" Mrs. Mellin rubbed her nose and took no notice of the rebuke.
"He's ill then, is he?"
"Now I come to think of it, Edwin did mention his name," murmured Mrs.
Craver to herself, while the washerwoman strained her ears to listen.
"Sir Hector Wyke? Yes. He is a rich man, very popular and fashionable
in London. Not so young as he was, and engaged to a young lady."
"She hev throwed him over." cried Mrs. Mellin, eagerly, "and his 'eart
is broke, so he hev come down 'ere to pine away and die. 'Eaven, what
grass we are, and 'ow soon we're cast inter the oven!"
"Don't be silly, Mrs. Mellin. Sir Hector has probably come down for
his health, and wishing to be quiet has only brought his housekeeper
with him. There is no mystery about the matter."
"Baronets who live in style don't come to cussed 'ouses with one old
woman to look after them." said Mrs. Mellin doggedly. "Mark my words,
ma'am, there's going to be a tragity at Maranatha, and it won't be the
fust, ma'am."
"We don't have tragedies here, you foolish woman."
"Oh, don't we, ma'am?" Mrs. Mellin stood up to give her words due
effect. "Why, that 'ouse in Ladysmith Road is full of 'em. And, if you
remember, Richard Jones beat his wife to death only five years back,
and Mrs. Warner ran away with the purser of a ship as went to Chiner;
while the children as hev been scalded to death and drownded is
'undreds, you might put it. No tragity!" Mrs. Mellin snorted. "Why,
ma'am, my own sister Laura was in one."
"She only ran away." said Mrs. Craver, also standing up to intimate
that the conference was ended.
"And 'oo did she run with?" inquired the washerwoman mysteriously,
"She was 'ere to-day and gone to-morrer, as you might say. Twenty and
more years ago she was as lovely a gel as you ever see, but disappear
she did, leaving nothing be'ind to tell her whereabouts, and not a
line hev I 'ad since. Why, you remember Laura yourself, ma'am, as you
was only a five year bride when you come 'ere with Mr. Craver."
"I remember that your sister disappeared during the first year of my
husband becoming Rector of Hedgerton," said Mrs. Craver, drily. "She
was a pretty girl, but flighty and discontented. And as she was always
fond of the theatre, I daresay she went on the stage. Of course, as
she was twenty-five when she disappeared, she was old enough to choose
her own way, although I can't say that either I or Mr. Craver approved
of her choice."
"'Ow do you know, ma'am, that she made that choice?" questioned Mrs.
Mellin, with dignity. "Play-acting Laura loved, there's no denying,
but she mightn't have gone play-acting after all. No, ma'am, some
villain lured 'er away when she was parlourmaid in Maranatha with the
wife of the gent as cut 'is throat in the back room. No wonder I
shiver when I 'ears the name, ma'am, for that 'ouse was the ruin of my
lovely, innercent sister."
"Mrs. Mellin, you are allowing that house to get on your nerves----"
"Me being a marter to 'em and taking 'og-'ead's of physic." murmured
Mrs. Mellin.
"So think no more about the matter. Take Sir Hector Wyke's washing and
be thankful. Meanwhile, tell me more news, and be as quick as you
can."
Mrs. Craver made this request so as to lure Mrs. Mellin from the
subject of the house in Ladysmith Road, as she saw plainly enough that
the woman was becoming quite hysterical over the place. The laundress
fell into the trap and talked of this person and of that with great
gusto, telling what he said and what they said and what she said, with
full details of what all said. Mrs. Craver examined and cross-examined
and re-examined the good lady, and there was scarcely a person in the
place who was not discussed thoroughly. At the end of half-an-hour the
Rector's wife was in full possession of all that had taken place in
the parish during the week, and mentally arranged the facts so that
she might report to her husband. Not that he wished to hear, being
something of a book-worm. But Mrs. Craver always presented her
seven-days' budget regularly, because she thought that it assisted him
in his clerical work. Perhaps it did, as it certainly kept him advised
of all that went on. When the examination was concluded Mrs. Mellin
retired with many blessings on the head of her hostess and climbed
back into the dingy cart. Neddy, having tossed aside the fag-end of
his surreptitious cigarette, drove away meekly, while Mrs. Craver
witnessed the departure. The washerwoman, still haunted by the memory
of the newly-tenanted house, cried back a warning.
"You'll see, ma'am, as a tragity will 'appen at Maranatha. Mark me,
ma'am."