Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 68

"Der Grisl, saterdy evenin, this comes hoppin you be wel as it leves me at presint, Which this is to declar to you der grisl that our marage is at an end, it hav ben to much for me and praid on my sperits, I cant stand it no longer nohow and hav took my leve of you for ivir, Der Grisl I maks my best way this night to Livirpol to tak ship for Ameriky, and my last hops for you hearby xprest is as you may be hapy with annother, I were nivir worthey of you der grisl and thats a fac, but I kep it from you til now when I cant kep it no longer cause of my conshunse, once youv red this hear letter dont you nivir think no mor on me agen, which I shant on you, Adew for ivir,

"your unfortnit friend George Roper.

"Ide av carred acros that ther blakbured pi but shoud have ben to late, my good hops is youl injoy the pi with another better nor you ivir could along with me, best furwel wishes to Mary Standish.

G R."

What with the penmanship and what with the spelling, it took old b.u.mford's spectacles some time to get through. A thunderbolt could hardly have made more stir than this news. No one spoke, however; and Mr. b.u.mford folded the letter in silence.

"I always knowed what that there Roper was worth," broke forth Molly.

"He pipe-clayed my best black cloak on the sly one day when I ordered him off the premises. You be better without him, Grizzel, girl--and here's my hand and wishing you better luck in token of it."

"Mrs. Dodd was right--them was a change a' clothes he was a taking with him to Ameriky," added Mary Standish.

"Roper's a jail-bird, I should say," put in old b.u.mford. "A nice un too."

"But what can it be that's went wrong--what is it that have took him off?" wondered the young man, d.i.c.ker.

The parson in his surplice had come down the aisle and was standing to listen. Grizzel, in the extremity of mental bitterness and confusion, but striving to put a face of indifference on the matter before the public, gazed around helplessly.

"I'm better without him, as Molly says--and what do I care?" she cried recklessly, her lips quivering. The parson put his hand gravely on her arm.

"My good young woman, I think you are in truth better without him. Such a man as that is not worthy of a regret."

"No, sir, and I don't and won't regret him," was her rapid answer, the voice rising hysterically.

As she turned, intending to leave the church, she came face to face with Sandy Lett. I had seen him standing there, drinking in the words of the note with all his ears and taking covert looks at Grizzel.

"Don't pa.s.s me by, Grizzel," said he. "I feel hearty sorry for all this, and I hope that villain'll come to be drowned on his way to Ameriky. Let me be your friend. I'll make you a good one."

"Thank you," she answered. "Please let me go by."

"Look here, Grizzel," he rejoined with a start, as if some thought had at that moment occurred to him. "Why shouldn't you and me make it up together? Now. If the one bridegroom's been a wicked runagate, and left you all forsaken, you see another here ready to put on his shoes. Do, Grizzel, do!"

"Do what?" she asked, not taking his meaning.

"Let's be married, Grizzel. You and me. There's the parson and Mr.

b.u.mford all ready, and we can get it over afore church begins. It's a good home I've got to take you to. Don't say nay, my girl."

Now what should Grizzel do? Like the lone lorn widow in "David Copperfield," who, when a ship's carpenter offered her marriage, "instead of saying, 'Thank you, sir, I'd rather not,' up with a bucket of water and dashed it over him," Grizzel "up" with her hand and dealt Mr. Sandy a sounding smack on his left cheek. Smarting under the infliction, Sandy Lett gave vent to a word or two of pa.s.sion, out of place in a church, and the parson administered a reprimand.

Grizzel had not waited. Before the sound of her hand had died away, she was outside the door, quickly traversing the lonely churchyard. A fine end to poor Grizzel's wedding!

The following day, Monday, Mrs. Todhetley went over to the cottage.

Grizzel, sitting with her hands before her, started up, and made believe to be desperately busy with some tea-cups. We were all sorry for her.

"Mr. Todhetley has been making inquiry into this business, Grizzel,"

said the Mater, "and it certainly seems more mysterious than ever, for he cannot hear a word against Roper. His late master says Roper was the best servant he ever had; he is as sorry to lose him as can be."

"Oh, ma'am, but he's not worth troubling about--my thanks and duty to the master all the same."

"Would you mind letting me see Roper's note?"

Grizzel took it out of the tea-caddy I had given her--which caddy was to have been kept for show. Mrs. Todhetley, mastering the contents, and biting her lips to suppress an occasional smile, sat in thought.

"I suppose this is Roper's own handwriting, Grizzel?"

"Oh, ma'am, it's his, safe enough. Not that I ever saw him write. He talks about the blackberry pie, you see; one might know it is his by that."

"Then, judging by what he says here, he must have got into some bad conduct, or trouble, I think, which he has been clever enough to keep from you and the world."

"Oh yes, that's it," said Grizzel. "Poor mother used to say one might be deceived in a saint."

"Well, it's a pity but he had given some clue to its nature: it would have been a sort of satisfaction. But now--I chiefly came over to ask you, Grizzel, what you purpose to do?"

"There's only one thing for me now, ma'am," returned poor crestfallen Grizzel, after a pause: "I must get another place."

"Will you come back to the Manor?"

A hesitation--a struggle--and then she flung her ap.r.o.n up to her face and burst into tears. Dairy-maids have their feelings as well as their betters, and Grizzel's "lines" were very bitter just then. She had been so proud of this poor cottage home; she had grown to love it so in only those few days, and to look forward to years of happiness within it in their humble way: and now to find that she must give it up and go to service again!

"The Squire says he will consider it as though you and Roper had not taken the cottage; and he thinks he can find some one to rent it who will buy the furniture of you--that is, if you prefer to sell it," she resumed very kindly. "And I think you had better come back to us, Grizzel. The new maid in your place does not suit at all."

Grizzel took down her ap.r.o.n and rubbed her eyes. "It's very good of you, ma'am--and of the master--and I'd like to come back only for one thing.

I'm afraid Molly would let me have no peace in my life: she'd get tanking at me about Roper before the others. Perhaps I'd hardly be able to stand it."

"I will talk to her," said Mrs. Todhetley, rising to leave. "Where is Mary Standish to-day?"

"Gone over to Alcester, ma'am. She had a errand there she said. But I think it was only to tell her folks the tale of my trouble."

Molly had her "talking to" at once. It put her out a little; for she was really feeling some pity for Grizzel, and did not at all intend to "get tanking" at her. Molly had once experienced a similar disappointment herself; and her heart was opening to Grizzel. After her dinner was served that evening, she ran over to the cottage, in her coa.r.s.e cooking ap.r.o.n and without a bonnet.

"Look here," she said, bursting in upon Grizzel, sitting alone in the dusk. "You come back to your place if you like--the missis says she has given you the option--and don't you be afeard of me. 'Tisn't me as'll ever give back to you a word about Roper; and, mind, when I says a thing I mean it."

"Thank you, Molly," humbly replied poor Grizzel, catching her breath.

"The sooner you come back the better," continued Molly, fiercely. "For it's not me and that wench we've got now as is going to stop together. I had to call the missis into the dairy this blessed morning, and show her the state it was in. So you'll come back, Grizzel--and we'll be glad to see you."

Grizzel nodded her head: her heart was too full to speak.

"And as to that false villain of a Roper, as could serve a woman such a pitiful trick, I only wish I had the doctoring of him! He should get a--a--a----" Molly's voice, pitched in a high tone, died gradually away.

What on earth was it, stepping in upon them? Some most extraordinary object, who opened the door softly, and came in with a pitch. Molly peered at it in the darkness with open mouth.

A cry from Grizzel. A cry half of terror, half of pain. For she had recognized the object to be a man, and George Roper. George Roper with his hair and handsome whiskers cut off, and white sleeves in his brown coat--so that he looked like a Merry Andrew.

He seemed three parts stupefied: not at all like a traveller in condition to set off to America. Sinking into the nearest wooden chair, he stared at Grizzel in a dazed way, and spoke in a slow, questioning, wondering voice.

"I can't think what it is that's the matter with me."