Shirley (18 page)

Moore laughed.

"A most pithy vaunt," said he—"one that redounds vastly to the credit of your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't fear for me, Lina. I am on my guard against these lamb-like compatriots of yours.

Don't make yourself uneasy about me."

"How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything happened——" She stopped.

"Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is a Providence above all—is there not?"

"Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!"

"And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for me sometimes?"

"Not
sometimes
, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense are
always
remembered."

"So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, weary and vexed, I have myself gone to bed

like a heathen, that another had asked forgiveness for my day, and safety for my night. I don't suppose

such vicarial piety will avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincere breast, from innocent lips.

They should be acceptable as Abel's offering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved them."

"Annihilate that doubt. It is groundless."

"When a man has been brought up only to make money, and lives to make it, and for nothing else,

and scarcely breathes any other air than that of mills and markets, it seems odd to utter his name in a

prayer, or to mix his idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that a good, pure heart should take him in and harbour him, as if he had any claim to that sort of nest. If I could guide that

benignant heart, I believe I should counsel it to exclude one who does not profess to have any higher

aim in life than that of patching up his broken fortune, and wiping clean from his
bourgeois
scutcheon the foul stain of bankruptcy."

The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Caroline thought), was felt keenly and comprehended clearly.

"Indeed, I only think—or I
will only
think—of you as my cousin," was the quick answer. "I am beginning to understand things better than I did, Robert, when you first came to England—better than

I did a week, a day ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it won't do for you to be romantic; but in future you must not misunderstand me if I seem friendly. You misunderstood me this

morning, did you not?"

"What made you think so?"

"Your look—your manner."

"But look at me now——"

"Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak to you."

"Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me in the Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands before you."

"My cousin Robert—not Mr. Moore."

"Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline——"

Here the company was heard rising in the other room. The door was opened; the pony-carriage was ordered; shawls and bonnets were demanded; Mr. Helstone called for his niece.

"I must go, Robert."

"Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us here; and I, rather than meet all that host in the passage, will take my departure through the window. Luckily it opens like a door. One minute only—

put down the candle an instant—good-night. I kiss you because we are cousins, and, being cousins, one—two—three kisses are allowable. Caroline, good-night."

Chapter 8

NOAH AND MOSES.

The next day Moore had risen before the sun, and had taken a ride to Whinbury and back ere his sister

had made the café au lait or cut the tartines for his breakfast. What business he transacted there he kept to himself. Hortense asked no questions: it was not her wont to comment on his movements, nor his to

render an account of them. The secrets of business—complicated and often dismal mysteries—were

buried in his breast, and never came out of their sepulchre save now and then to scare Joe Scott, or

give a start to some foreign correspondent. Indeed, a general habit of reserve on whatever was important seemed bred in his mercantile blood.

Breakfast over, he went to his counting-house. Henry, Joe Scott's boy, brought in the letters and the

daily papers; Moore seated himself at his desk, broke the seals of the documents, and glanced them

over. They were all short, but not, it seemed, sweet—probably rather sour, on the contrary, for as Moore laid down the last, his nostrils emitted a derisive and defiant snuff, and though he burst into no soliloquy, there was a glance in his eye which seemed to invoke the devil, and lay charges on him to

sweep the whole concern to Gehenna. However, having chosen a pen and stripped away the feathered

top in a brief spasm of finger-fury (only finger-fury—his face was placid), he dashed off a batch of

answers, sealed them, and then went out and walked through the mill. On coming back he sat down to

read his newspaper.

The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he more than once laid it across his knee, folded

his arms, and gazed into the fire; he occasionally turned his head towards the window; he looked at

intervals at his watch; in short, his mind appeared preoccupied. Perhaps he was thinking of the beauty

of the weather—for it was a fine and mild morning for the season—and wishing to be out in the fields

enjoying it. The door of his counting-house stood wide open. The breeze and sunshine entered freely;

but the first visitant brought no spring perfume on its wings, only an occasional sulphur-puff from the soot-thick column of smoke rushing sable from the gaunt mill-chimney.

A dark-blue apparition (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a dyeing vat) appeared momentarily at the open door, uttered the words "He's comed, sir," and vanished.

Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large man, broad-shouldered and massive-limbed,

clad in fustian garments and gray worsted stockings, entered, who was received with a nod, and desired to take a seat, which he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (a very bad one), stowed it away under his chair, and wiped his forehead with a spotted cotton handkerchief extracted

from the hat-crown, that it was "raight dahn warm for Febewerry." Mr. Moore assented—at least he uttered some slight sound, which, though inarticulate, might pass for an assent. The visitor now carefully deposited in the corner beside him an official-looking staff which he bore in his hand; this

done, he whistled, probably by way of appearing at his ease.

"You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. Moore.

"Ay, ay! all's right."

He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The paper apparently had become more

interesting. Presently, however, he turned to his cupboard, which was within reach of his long arm, opened it without rising, took out a black bottle—the same he had produced for Malone's benefit—a

tumbler, and a jug, placed them on the table, and said to his guest,—

"Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner."

"I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body is dry (thirsty) in a morning," said the fustian gentleman, rising and doing as requested.

"Will you tak naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?" he inquired, as with skilled hand he mixed a portion, and having tested it by a deep draught, sank back satisfied and bland in his seat. Moore, chary of words, replied by a negative movement and murmur.

"Yah'd as good," continued his visitor; "it 'uld set ye up wald a sup o' this stuff. Uncommon good hollands. Ye get it fro' furrin parts, I'se think?"

"Ay!"

"Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's coming 'll keep ye talking, nob'dy knows how

long. Ye'll need propping."

"Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired Moore.

"I seed him a hauf an hour—nay, happen a quarter of an hour sin', just afore I set off. He said he

aimed to come here, and I sudn't wonder but ye'll have old Helstone too. I seed 'em saddling his little

nag as I passed at back o' t' rectory."

The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag's hoofs was, five minutes after, heard in

the yard. It stopped, and a well-known nasal voice cried aloud, "Boy" (probably addressing Harry Scott, who usually hung about the premises from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), "take my horse and lead him into the stable."

Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, and livelier than usual.

"Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! whom have we here?" (turning to the personage

with the staff). "Sugden! What! you're going to work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I

come to ask explanations. Your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are on the right scent? How do you mean to set about the business? Have you got a warrant?"

"Sugden has."

"Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany you."

"You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm just now sitting in state waiting his arrival."

"And who is it? One of my parishioners?"

Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a most sinister phantom, half his person being dyed of the deepest tint of indigo, leaning on the desk. His master's answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe took the word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said,—

"It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you often speak of."

"Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this morning."

"Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you call him sometimes, I think."

"Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and administering to himself a very long pinch

—"ah! couldn't have supposed it. Why, the pious man never was a workman of yours, Moore. He's a

tailor by trade."

"And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering and setting my discarded men against

me."

"And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' Moor? He went there, wooden leg and all?"

"Ay, sir," said Joe; "he went there on horseback, that his leg mightn't be noticed. He was the captain, and wore a mask. The rest only had their faces blackened."

"And how was he found out?"

"I'll tell you, sir," said Joe. "T' maister's not so fond of talking. I've no objections. He courted Sarah, Mr. Moore's sarvant lass, and so it seems she would have nothing to say to him; she either didn't like his wooden leg or she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen (for women is

queer hands; we may say that amang werseln when there's none of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged

him, in spite of his leg and his deceit, just to pass time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, and

some o' t' bonniest and mimmest-looking, too—ay, I've seen clean, trim young things, that looked as

denty and pure as daisies, and wi' time a body fun' 'em out to be nowt but stinging, venomed nettles."

"Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone.

"Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. Fred Murgatroyd, one of our lads, is for her; and

as women judge men by their faces—and Fred has a middling face, while Moses is none so

handsome, as we all knaw—the lass took on wi' Fred. A two-three months sin', Murgatroyd and Moses

chanced to meet one Sunday night; they'd both come lurking about these premises wi' the notion of

counselling Sarah to tak a bit of a walk wi' them. They fell out, had a tussle, and Fred was worsted, for he's young and small, and Barraclough, for all he has only one leg, is almost as strong as Sugden there—indeed, anybody that hears him roaring at a revival or a love-feast may be sure he's no weakling."

"Joe, you're insupportable," here broke in Mr. Moore. "You spin out your explanation as Moses spins out his sermons. The long and short of it is, Murgatroyd was jealous of Barraclough; and last

night, as he and a friend took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw Moses conferring

with some associates within. From their discourse it was plain he had been the leader, not only at Stilbro' Moor, but in the attack on Sykes's property. Moreover they planned a deputation to wait on me

this morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the most religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put the accursed thing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury this morning, got a constable and a warrant, and I am now waiting to give my friend the reception he deserves. Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, you must spirit him up. He feels timid at the thoughts of prosecuting."

A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered—a tall stout man of about fifty, comely of

feature, but feeble of physiognomy. He looked anxious.

"Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?" he asked.

"Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are waiting for them."

"They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. It will excite bad feeling—make a stir—cause

perhaps fatal consequences."

"
You
need not appear," said Moore. "I shall meet them in the yard when they come;
you
can stay here."

"But my name must be seen in the law proceedings. A wife and family, Mr. Moore—a wife and family make a man cautious."

Moore looked disgusted. "Give way, if you please," said he; "leave me to myself. I have no objection to act alone; only be assured you will not find safety in submission. Your partner Pearson

gave way, and conceded, and forbore. Well, that did not prevent them from attempting to shoot him in

his own house."

"My dear sir, take a little wine and water," recommended Mr. Helstone. The wine and water was hollands and water, as Mr. Sykes discovered when he had compounded and swallowed a brimming tumbler thereof. It transfigured him in two minutes, brought the colour back to his face, and made him at least
word
-valiant. He now announced that he hoped he was above being trampled on by the common people; he was determined to endure the insolence of the working-classes no longer; he had