The Soul of Susan Yellam Part 3

"Any orders for the carrier?"

Fancy smiled demurely. She was alone in the house. The Parson had a Children's Service at three. She guessed that, as a rule, carriers did not call for orders at such an hour.

"Not as I know of, Mr. Yellam. Do you generally call for orders on Sunday afternoon?"

By this time she had been informed of Alfred's perambulations with her predecessor. It might be an honoured custom in Nether-Applewhite for the carrier to walk out with the Vicarage parlourmaid. Alfred gave a guffaw.

"Well, no; I took a notion to drop in, casual-like, to pa.s.s the time of day."

"What would the Vicar say to that?"

"Parson ain't the fearsome man you take him to be. A very human gentleman, always welcome in our house. And I make bold to tell you that I'm heartily welcome in his."

"If that is so," said Fancy, politely, "won't you sit down, Mr. Yellam?"

She indicated a chair into which Alfred b.u.mped ma.s.sively, with the air of one not to be budged from an impregnable position. Fancy was getting ready some dainty tea-things.

"Expecting company, miss?"

"Yes. Mr. Lionel Pomfret and Mrs. Pomfret. A nice tea. Master's orders."

Alfred nodded. He eyed Fancy with ever-increasing approval. A black gown, with snowy ap.r.o.n, bib, and cap, became her admirably. Beneath the cap her soft brown hair lay in shining ripples; the bib lent extra fulness to a too thin bosom; her big hazel eyes sparkled with animation; her pale cheeks had a tinge of pink in them. Alfred contrasted her delicate features with the exuberant comeliness of the late parlourmaid.

Charm was not a word very distinctly defined in his vocabulary. But he became conscious of Fancy's charm, although he would have called it by another name. Certainly she was sweetly pretty, like a rose-leaf which a rough wind might blow away. More than aught else, too, he was struck by her little hands, which moved deftly and swiftly. He made sure that she was a good needlewoman. Such hands could make light pastry. All this pleased him tremendously. Fancy prattled on about the company expected, telling Alfred what he knew already, but he listened in silence, captivated by her voice. She cut dexterously some thin slices of brown bread-and-b.u.t.ter, as she spoke of the love-match between Squire's son and Parson's daughter.

"I am looking forward to waiting on them," she declared.

"Yes--a very handsome, notable couple. Squire'll be a granfer before he knows where he is."

"What things you do say, Mr. Yellam!"

"Ah-h-h! In my common way, I say what I think, never meaning offence, particularly to young maids, but 'tis a fact Sir Geoffrey is fair aching for grandchildren, the more the merrier. 'Twould be terrible if his house and lands pa.s.sed to some measly next-of-kin. But we won't think of that."

"No. Not yet, at any rate."

Alfred felt reproved but not disconcerted. It might be politic to change the talk to motor-'buses, so he said abruptly:

"I'm in a fair sweat, Miss Fancy."

"Mercy me! Shall I fetch you a gla.s.s of water?"

"Figure of speech, miss. It's like this, if you'll excuse me talking of my own affairs."

"Why, I like that. It's so--so friendly of you, Mr. Yellam."

"I'm standing betwixt the devil and the deep sea."

"Well, I never!"

He gazed so earnestly at Fancy that she wondered if she were the deep sea, and that the devil was an allusion to the late parlourmaid. Alfred continued:

"The world, miss, goes round and round for true lovers, but it don't stand still for anybody, leastways not for carriers. We must push along with the times, eh?"

He glanced at her anxiously. She was quick to perceive that he wanted counsel and much flattered thereby. She eyed him as keenly as he, just now, had eyed her. Being so frail and attenuated herself, his ma.s.sive form and square head attracted her strangely. She admired his big chin and too heavy nose. And her eyes lingered with appreciation upon the bulging biceps and deltoids shewing strongly beneath his thin summer jacket. What a sad pity that her dear father had not been cast in such a mould! To his anxious question, she replied with a little bob of her head.

"My father and granfer were carriers before me. Van and horses was good enough for them. And good enough for me, too. It tears me to sc.r.a.p 'em."

"Sc.r.a.p them?"

"Ay. When you go back home, how'd it suit you to ride in a motor-'bus?"

"It would be grand," said Fancy.

Alfred rubbed his hands; his red face beamed.

"Dang me, if that don't put the lid on it."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Yellam?"

"I was half hoping you'd say what you did. Yes--it would be grand. A nice 'bus--red and yaller--'d make the neighbours yap a bit. Do you know what they call my old van?"

"It's a nice comfortable van."

"So 'tis. But would-be funny folks call it 'Flash o' Lightnin'.'"

Fancy laughed. Alfred decided that it was a treat to hear her laugh.

"Are you angry with me for laughing?"

"Lord--no! A laugh like yours warms the c.o.c.kles of my heart. Laugh away, miss. All the same, there's a meaning in what neighbours say. I do move slow, when I've a load. And in winter-time, when roads are heavy, I just crawl along. You're right. A motor-'bus _is_ grand. And I can pay cash for one, I can."

He spoke with pride, opening his large hands. Fancy, having finished cutting the bread-and-b.u.t.ter, sat down opposite to Alfred. With some difficulty he mastered the impulse to invite this bird-like creature to perch on his knee. Her air of aloofness both pleased and exasperated him. She sat very still, with her hands folded upon her lap, just as good girls sat in church. Alfred talked with gusto about motor-'buses.

"Can you drive a motor?" asked Fancy, when he paused to mop his forehead with a huge red bandana.

"No, miss. But if I say it as shouldn't, I can do most anything when I try. They'll teach me in Salisbury--free, gratis and for nothing, if I buy the 'bus."

"I do hope you'll be careful, Mr. Yellam."

Alfred was delighted at this mark of solicitude. For the moment nothing more was to be said. He searched his mind for another suitable topic of conversation. Already he had decided to ask Fancy to walk out with him, but he feared a rebuff. It was "up" to him to shew her his paces. Any premature love-making might be disastrous. Nevertheless, it behoved him to waste no time in making himself agreeable. Half-a-dozen likely young fellows would be fluttering about Fancy before the week was out. First come, first served. He essayed a fresh flight:

"Coming through village, miss, I met a soldier--'No Account Harry' we used to call him. Back from the Indies, and spruced up wonderful."

Fancy exhibited lively interest.

"A soldier, Mr. Yellam! I do like soldiers, because--because----" Her voice melted on a silence; her cheeks shewed a deeper pink.

"Do tell, miss. Why do you like--soldiers?"

"You'll think me such a silly."