Windyridge Part 21

We were all gathered round now; not a soul was left in the roadway, and the flower-beds were suffering.

"But why?" I persisted. "What makes you so very anxious to have it?

You shall have another just as fine. Why do you want this particular one so badly?"

He shook his head, and raised his sleeve to his brow with the old nervous, familiar action.

"Cannot you tell me?" I asked.

Then the answer came, low but clearly heard by everybody: "_Shoo_ liked it!"

The shame of the confession made him shake from head to foot, but the revelation of unsuspected deeps thrilled us, every one, and set us on fire with indignation and contempt.

"You heard him!" I said, turning to Barjona. "Now listen! I will give you five pounds for that rose-bush."

"That--tree--will--bide--where--it--is," replied Barjona doggedly.

There was a movement in the crowd as a raging woman forced her way through. She was hatless, like the rest of us, but her arms were bare to the elbows. Until I noticed the tightly-coiled hair I did not recognise Barjona's wife, for the usually pleasant face was clouded in storm.

She strode up to her husband and seized him by the collar of his coat with both hands.

"You heartless rascal!" she hissed in his ears; "so this is your blessed secret 'at you've kept for a surprise, is it? I'll surprise ye, ye good-for-nowt old Jew. What do ye mean by it, eh?" She shook him as if he had been a lad of ten, and he was helpless in her grip.

"You leave me alone!" he threatened, but all the brag was gone from him.

"Leave--you--alone!" she hissed between her clenched teeth; "I wish to G.o.d I had; but I took ye for better or worse, an' it isn't goin' to be all worse, I can tell ye! I hearkened to ye while I could 'earken no longer. The Lord gi' me grace to keep my 'ands off o' ye!"

It was a remarkably futile prayer, seeing that she was holding him as in a vice, and shaking him at intervals.

"D'ye think I'd ever live 'ere, an' let a poor old man like Ted fend for hisself anywhere? What do ye take me for? Ye knew better than to tell me while ye'd gotten yer dirty work done, but thank the Lord I was just in time. 'Ere, get away! I'm stalled o' talkin' to ye!"

She pushed him away roughly, but he made one more sulky struggle for mastery.

"Are ye t' boss 'ere, or am I?" he growled; "I've bought it ... an'

I'll live in it."

"Will ye?" she said with scorn, "then ye'll live by yersen. But I'll show ye who's t' boss. You may thank the Lord 'at ye've got a wife wi'

a bit o' gumption. Ye shall be t' master when ye can master yersen.

I'm fair shamed o' ye! We'll 'appen live 'ere when owt 'appens Ted, but never as long as 'e wants it; so that's flat!"

The crowd cheered, and Maria brightened visibly. "Nay, to be sure, Miss 'Olden, an' friends," she said, "to think 'at any 'usband o' mine should disgrace hisself an' me i' this fashion! I never knew a word, believe me, while 'alf an hour sin' when I chanced across young Smiddles, an' he let into me right an' left. I can tell you I didn't let t' gra.s.s grow under my feet afore I set off 'ere. Don't you fret, Ted, lad! Turn ye out? Not we! Sitha, Barjona's fair shamed of hisself, an' well he might be. Nay, to be sure, I stood at back on ye all an' hearkened while my blood boiled. He must ha' been wrong i' his 'ead, Barjona must. Come, friends, get out o' t' gate, an' we'll carry t' furnitur' in agen, an' soon hev t' place to rights. Now you can stop that mutterin', Barjona, an' just get into t' trap out o' t' road!"

Many willing hands made the task a light one, and in an hour's time the cottage had a.s.sumed its old aspect, and the women had swept and dusted and given the finishing touches to everything. Mrs. Higgins was critical, but expressed herself satisfied at last. Then she climbed into the trap and seated herself beside her husband.

"Good-bye, friends," she shouted, as they drove off. "Don't ye worry.

He can drive t' owd mare, but 'e can't drive me. I'll bring 'im to 'is sops!"

"Gosh!" snapped Sar'-Ann's mother, "now that's some bit like! Gi' me a woman for mettle an' sperrit I Lord 'elp us, but I reckon nowt o' such a white-livered lot o' men as we hev i' Windyridge. She'll mak' a man o' yon old rascal yet, will Maria!"

As I looked back on my way home I saw that Ted had fetched his rake, and was busy getting the garden into order again.

CHAPTER XX

THE CYNIC'S RENUNCIATION

Excitements tread upon each other's heels. After Barjona, the Cynic.

He appeared unexpectedly on Monday morning, and I took the long-promised photographs, which have turned out very badly; why, I don't know. He was not in his Sunday best, so the fault did not lie there; and his expression was all right, but I could not catch it on the plate, try as I might. He was very much amused, and accused me of looking haggard over the business, which was absurd. Every photographer is anxious to secure a satisfactory result, or if he is not he does not deserve to succeed. I think really I was afraid of his waxing sarcastic over my attempts at portraying his features. He is not a handsome man, as I may have remarked before, but he is not the sort that pa.s.ses unnoticed, and I wanted to secure on the plate the something that makes people look twice at him; and I failed. I took several negatives, but none of them was half as nice as the original; and yet we are told that photography flatters!

He professed an indifference which I am afraid he felt, and Mother Hubbard a.s.sured him over the dinner-table that there was not the slightest ground for anxiety. It will be a long time, I fear, before he gets the proofs. He stayed to dinner on his own invitation, and Mother Hubbard prepared one of her extra special Yorkshire puddings in his honour. Fortunately, we had not cooked the beef on the Sunday, or he would have had to be content with the remains of the cold joint; and though I should not have minded, I know Mother Hubbard would have been greatly distressed.

He spoke quite naturally about Rose, and appeared to have enjoyed her company immensely, but he had not seen her again up to then.

When the meal was over we went out into the garden and sat down, and somehow or other the sense of quiet and the beauty of the view soothed me, and I felt less irritable than for days past. I never get tired of the dip of green fields and the stretch of moor on the far side of the wood.

"Can you spare me a full hour, Miss Holden?" he asked. "I have come down specially to see you, princ.i.p.ally because I have had a letter from Mr. Evans which in some measure concerns you, and also because I want to continue the discussion of the parable of the marbles which we were considering the other evening."

How pretty the landscape looked from our garden! Cloud shadows were racing each other across the pastures as I lay back and watched them, and I thought the view had never been bonnier.

"I am not overworked," I replied, "and I can give up a whole afternoon, if necessary. What is the news from the squire? Nothing serious, I hope; and yet it must be important to bring you down here specially."

"I hardly know what to say. Something in his letter conveys the impression that he is far from well again, though he does not definitely say so. But it appears that he has asked you to go out to him if he becomes seriously ill. That is so, isn't it?"

"Yes," I answered, "and I have promised to go. It touches me deeply that he should want me."

"I don't wonder," he said; but whether at my emotion or the squire's proposal did not transpire.

"If and when he sends for you," he continued, "he wishes you to communicate with me, and he asks me to make all the business arrangements for you. I need hardly say that it will afford me much pleasure to do whatever I can. I will give you my Broadbeck and town addresses, and if you will wire me whenever you need my services I will reply at once. Please don't feel obliged to look anything up for yourself, as I will see to every detail, and provide all that is necessary for the journey in accordance with my old friend's instructions."

"It is extremely good of you," I said, "and very thoughtful on the squire's part. I accept your offer gratefully. But do you think there is much likelihood of my being sent for?"

"Candidly, I think there is; equally candidly, I hope the necessity may not arise. If the end comes whilst he is abroad, a man ought by all means to be present, for there will be no end of difficulties, and it will be absolutely necessary for someone to go out. But that takes time, and meanwhile the position would not be a pleasant one for you.

I would go to him myself now but for two insuperable difficulties, one being that certain important duties keep me in London at present, and the other that Mr. Evans most distinctly does not want me."

"I quite see what you mean," I said; "but if the worst happens, and I am there at the time, I shall do my best and not mind the unpleasantness."

"I am sure of that," he returned, "but you don't at all realise what is involved. However, we won't discuss this further. On his account I should be heartily glad for you to go, and I am relieved that he has had the good sense to suggest it."

"I regard him very highly," I said.

"You do more: you love him," he remarked, with a sharp, keen glance at my face.

"Yes, I think I love him," I replied without confusion. "I could easily be his daughter; we have much in common."

He said nothing for quite a long time, during which he threw his cigarette away and lit a pipe. Then he turned to me:

"Now for my parable."