Peregrine's Progress

by Jeffery Farnol

  CHAPTER XXVII

  JUNO VERSUS DIANA

  I was busily engaged blowing the bellows of the Tinker's small,portable forge; besides the making and mending of kettles, pots, pansand the like, it seems he was a skilful smith also, able to turn hishand from shoeing a horse to fashioning such diverse implements as therustic community had need of, for beside the forge lay a pile ofbillhooks, axe-heads, sickle-blades and the like, finished or in themaking.

  So I blew the fire, wielded the heavy sledge-hammer or stood absorbedto watch the deft strokes of his hammer draw out, bend and shape theglowing steel, though turning very often to behold Diana sitting nearby, her quick hands busied upon the construction of her baskets ofrush or peeled willow: thus despite the heat of the fire, thesulphurous flames and the smoke-grime that besmirched me, I labouredjoyously and swung the ponderous sledge more vigorously for theknowledge that her bright eyes were often raised to watch me at mywork.

  Thus bellows roared and hammers rang until the sun was high and theTinker, returning the half-forged billhook to the fire, straightenedhis back and wiped the sweat from sooty brow with sooty hand.

  "We shall make a tidy smith of him yet, eh Anna?"

  "In time--with patience!" she nodded.

  "The question is--wages. What ought us to pay him, Ann?"

  "Nothing!" said I.

  "Five shillings," said Diana.

  "Good, we'll make it seven shillings a week to begin wi'," quoth theTinker, and whipping the glowing bill from the fire, he clapped it onthe anvil and at sign from him I whirled up the sledge and brought itdown with resounding clank, which he followed with two blows from hislighter hammer, and we fell to it merrily, thus: Clang--chink, chink!Clang--chink, chink! While with every stroke the bill took on form andsemblance, growing more and more into what a billhook should be.

  "A good thick steak, I think you said, Anna?" enquired the Tinker,while I blew the fire for the next heat.

  "And fried onions, Jerry."

  "Steak an' onions!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes ecstatically. "Didye hear that, Perry? And to make good vittles better, there's nowtlike smithing! The only thing agin' steak an' onions is that there'snever enough onions!"

  "There will be this time!" said Diana, with another nod.

  "D'ye hear that, Perry? Lord, I am that ravenous!"

  "But 'tis scarce twelve o'clock yet, Jerry."

  "Are you hungry, friend Peregrine?"

  "I always am, lately."

  "Poor Perry's hungry likewise, Ann! Come, what of it?"

  "You must wait till dinner time."

  "Which is when a man's hungry--or should be. Come, lass, famishin' an'faintin' away we be!"

  Laughing, Diana rose and crossed the glade to where, screened amongleafy thickets, stood cart and tent.

  "Now as regards paying me wages, Jerry," I began, then stopped andcaught my breath suddenly, for Diana was singing.

  Yet could this indeed be Diana's voice--these soft, sweet, ripplingnotes mounting in silvery trills so purely sweet, swelling gloriouslyuntil the whole wood seemed full of the wonder of it, and I spellboundby this simple, oft-heard air, but which, sung thus and thusglorified, touched me to awed delight.

  "Aha!" exclaimed the Tinker, as the liquid notes died away. "She cansing when she's happy. Jessamy says there's a fortun' in her voice--"But I was off and across the glade and next moment standing beforeher.

  "Why--Diana!" I exclaimed. "O Diana!"

  "What is it?" she demanded, glancing up from the onion she waspeeling.

  "Why have I never heard you sing before? Why do you sing so seldom?"

  "Because I only sing when--when I feel like it and to please myself."

  "Your voice is wonderful!" I exclaimed. "We will have it cultivated;you shall be one of the world's great singers, you shall--"

  "Don't be silly!" she exclaimed, flushing.

  "But I tell you your voice is one in ten thousand!"

  "And this onion is one of six, so take a knife and help me with 'em,'stead of talking foolish--only go wash first; you're black as asweep."

  "Gladly," said I, "if you will sing again."

  "Nobody can sing and peel onions--they make your eyes run."

  "Why, then, let me--"

  "Hush!" she exclaimed suddenly.

  "What is it?"

  "Strangers coming--listen!" And presently I heard it too, a rustle ofleaves, crackling of twigs, voices and jingling spurs, coming nearer.Then as I rose with a premonition of approaching fate, forth into theclearing stepped my uncle George, my uncle Jervas and my aunt Julia.She was dressed for riding and carried the skirt of her close-fittinghabit across her arm, and never had she looked handsomer nor moremagnificently statuesque as she stood, her noble figure proudly erect,all potent femininity from feathered hat to dainty, firm-plantedriding boots.

  My lips were opening in glad welcome, I had taken a quick stepforward, when her words arrested me.

  "George Vereker!" she exclaimed, with a waft of her jewelled ridingswitch towards Diana and myself, "O Sir Jervas, is it with suchdreadful creatures as these that you have doomed my poor, delicatelynurtured Peregrine to consort? Aye, well may you grow purple, George,and you turn your back in shame, Jervas, to behold thus the degradingcompany--"

  But here, waiting for no more, I started forward, and halting within ayard of my aunt, I laid grimy hand upon grimy shirt-bosom and bowed.

  "Dear Aunt Julia, I rejoice to see you!" said I.

  For a long moment my aunt gazed on me with eyes of horrifiedbewilderment then, all at once, she dropped her riding-switch and,gasping my name, sank into the ready arms of my uncle George, whopromptly began to fan her vigorously with his hat, while my uncleJervas, lounging gracefully against a tree, surveyed me through hissingle glass and I saw his grim lips twitch.

  "Tell me I dream, George!" wailed aunt Julia. "Say it is a horridvision and make me happy."

  "It is, Julia, it is!" said my uncle Jervas. "And yet, upon me soul,'tis a vision that grows upon me; observe the set of the shoulders,the haughty cock o' the head, the determined jut of the chin; yes,Julia, despite rags and dirt, I recognise Peregrine as a true Verekerfor the first time." Saying which, my uncle Jervas very deliberatelydrew on his riding glove and stepping up to me, caught and shook myhand or ever I guessed his intention.

  "Uncle--O Uncle Jervas!" I exclaimed and stooped my head lest heshould see the tears in my eyes.

  "By Gad, Julia--sweet soul," exclaimed my uncle George. "Jervas isexactly right, d'ye see? Perry may look a--a what's-a-name vision, buthe's a Vereker for all that--lad o' spirit--beautiful pair o' blackeyes, though you can't see 'em for dirt--"

  My aunt moaned feebly.

  "But dirt, my dear soul, dirt won't harm him, nor black eyes--do himgood, d'ye see, do him a world o' good, doing him good every minute--"

  "Enough, George Vereker!" exclaimed my aunt in her terrible voice, andfreed herself from his hold like an offended goddess. "O heaven, Imight have known that you, George, would have abetted my poor, wilfulboy in his dirt and bodily viciousness, and that you, Jervas, wouldhave condoned his turpitude and moral degradation. None the less,though you both desert me in this dreadful hour, shirking your dutythus shamelessly, this woman's hand shall pluck my dear, loved nephewfrom the abyss, this hand--" Here, turning to behold me, my poor auntshivered, gasped and setting dainty handkerchief to her eyes, bowednoble head and wept grandly as a grieving goddess might have done.

  "O Peregrine," she moaned from this dainty mystery, "O rash boy--tohave sunk to this--sordid misery--rags--dirt! You that were wont toshudder at a splash of mud and now--O kind heaven--grimed like adreadful collier and I think--yes, O shameless youth, actually smilingthrough it--"

  "And why not, m'dear creature?" sighed uncle Jervas. "Dirt is of manykinds and Peregrine's is at least honest and healthy--"

  "Cease, Sir Jervas, I pray!" cried my aunt with a flash of her fineblack eyes. "Nevermore will I heed your perfidious counsels, nor thefatuous maunderings o
f graceless George. There stands my poor,misguided Peregrine--an object for angels to weep over, an innocentbut a little while since--but now--now, alas--and you--both of you hisundoing!"

  "Pardon me, dear Aunt," said I hastily, "but there you are in errorand do a monstrous injustice to my two generous uncles. Allow me toreiterate the statement I set down in my letter, that I left Merivaleand you of my own accord; indeed my uncles would have stayed me, but Iwas determined to be gone for your sake, their sake and my own.Indeed, Aunt, so deep is my affection that I would see you trulyhappy, and knowing the deep and--and honourable sentiments my uncleshave for you, I--I dreamed that they--that you--that one of them mighthave won your hand and--and you find that happiness which you havedenied yourself on my account."

  "Misguided boy!" murmured my aunt, lovely eyes abased, "Come, dearPeregrine, doubtless one of your uncles can find you a cloak to--toveil you from the curious vulgar--only let us be going, pray."

  "Dear Aunt--where?"

  "Back to Merivale, to your books, your paintings and my loving care."

  "Not yet, Aunt. Ah, pray do not misunderstand me, but when I set out,it was with the purpose of doing better things than penningindifferent verse, or painting futile pictures--"

  "Peregrine--nephew--do I hear aright?"

  "You do, Aunt. I came out into the world to open the greatest book ofall--the book of Life--to try to meet and know men and learn some day,perhaps, to be a man also and one you can honour. Instead of readingthe actions of others, I intend to act a little myself--"

  "Peregrine--cease!"

  "And so, dear Aunt, here I stay until I can return to you feeling thatI have achieved something worthy my sex and name."

  "Peregrine, come with me--I command you!"

  "Then, dearest Aunt, with all the humility possible, I fear I mustdisobey you."

  My aunt Julia drew herself to her stately height, setting herindomitable chin at me, and into her eyes came that coerciveexpression which resurrected the memory of childish sins of omissionand commission, an expression before which my new-found hardihoodwilted and drooped; but in this desperate moment I glanced at Diana,and, meeting the calm serenity of her untroubled gaze, I folded myarms and, bowing my head, awaited the deluge with what fortitude Imight and, in the awful stillness, heard uncle George's spurs jingledistressfully.

  "You mean that--you--will--not--come?" she demanded.

  "I do, dear Aunt."

  "That you actually--disobey me?"

  "Dear Aunt--I do!"

  "Pray, who is the young person I notice behind you?"

  "Person, Aunt?"

  "The young woman--the wild, gipsy-looking creature."

  "Ah, pray forgive me--I should have introduced you before. Diana, thisis my aunt, Lady Julia Conroy--Aunt, this is my friend Diana."

  "And pray what is she doing here?"

  "She is about to cook a steak and onions--"

  "Do you mean--O pitiful heaven--that she is--living here with--"

  "With Jeremy Jarvis, a tinker, Jessamy Todd, a champion pugilist, andmyself."

  "Shocking!" exclaimed my aunt, sweeping Diana with the fire of herdisparaging regard.

  "Moreover, dear Aunt," I continued, stung by something in herattitude, "it is my hope to make myself sufficiently worthy to winDiana in--in marriage!"

  "Marriage?" repeated my aunt in a hoarse whisper. "I dream! Marriage?With a wild woman! George! Jervas!" she gasped in strange, breathlessfashion. "Our poor boy is either mad--or worse, and whichever itprove, it is all your doing! I hope, I sincerely hope, you aresatisfied with your handiwork! As for you, you poor young woman," shecontinued, turning on Diana in passionate appeal, "if my nephew ismad, be you sane enough to know that such a marriage would drag him toperdition and bring you only misery and shame in the long run. Give upmy poor, distracted nephew and I will be your friend. If it is moneyyou require--"

  Diana laughed:

  "My lady, an' if you please, ma'm," said she, curtseying, fingerbeneath dimpled chin, "I ain't your young woman an' by your leave,ma'm, never could be, because, though I don't love Mr. Peregrine, Ican't abide you, ma'm. When I wants money, being only a gipsy mort, Iworks for it or prigs it. So I don't want your money, thanking youkindly, ma'm, and I don't want your nephew, so you may take him andwilling. An' I don't want your friendship or help, because I likesloneliness and the Silent Places better. So take your precious nephew,ma'm, and when you get him safe home, wash him an' keep him in a glasscase; 'tis what he's best fitted for. But watch him, lady, lock him upsecure, because I think--I know--I could whistle him away from youwhenever I would--back, ma'm, back to me and the Silent Places. And sogood-day, ma'm, my best respects!" Saying which, Diana curtseyed againand turned away.

  "The creature!" exclaimed my aunt. "The minx! The insolent baggage!"And she stepped proudly forward, an angry goddess, the jewelled switchquivering.

  "Stop, lady!" said Diana, throwing out a shapely arm with gesture soimperious that my aunt stood staring and amazed. "Stop, ma'm--don'tforget as you're a great lady and I'm only a gipsy mort as could tearyou in pieces for all your size! To spoil them fine eyes would bepity, to pull that long hair out would be shame, so don't use yourwhip, lady--don't!" Having said which, she turned and walked serenelyaway.

  "A most dreadful young person!" exclaimed my aunt. "See from whatcalamitous evils I have snatched you, dear Peregrine. Come, let us begoing. I have William with your mare, but seeing you cannot ride asyou are, we will take a chaise."

  But folding my arms, I shook my head.

  "What--O boy, what does this mean?"

  "It means, dear Aunt, that I love the Silent Places too!"

  "But Peregrine, you will not desert me now--now that I have foundyou--you will not--cannot! Ah, come back, Peregrine!" she cried, deepbosom resurgent, arms outstretched and eyes dim with unshed tears.

  "Dear Aunt, it is impossible!" I mumbled. "Loving you as I do, yetmust I leave you a while, foregoing the tender shelter of your lovefor--for--"

  "Dirt and misery!" she broke in. "The shameful allurement of a slyminx, an unspeakable--"

  "Madam!" I cried, "have done! You shame yourself and me! It has beenmy good fortune to have fallen in with honest people with whom I shallremain awhile, enduring their lot, living their life and by theirbrave patience learn fortitude, and their proud humility shall intime, I hope, teach me the duties of a gentleman--"

  "My poor, distraught Peregrine!" she sighed. "My poor, poor boy. Sothus I leave you because I must. But some day, when your stubborn willis broken, when your proud head is bowed with grief and shame, comeback, dear prodigal, come back, and you shall find these armsoutstretched in eager welcome, this solitary heart still open toshelter and protect. Farewell, my Peregrine--I go to weep and pray foryou in the night silences. George--Jervas, lead me hence!"

  Now as I stood, my eyes smarting with tears evoked by her last words,my uncles tendered their arms with grave and ready courtesy, but inthat moment as I watched in a silent grief conjured up by my aunt'slast words, the keen glance of uncle Jervas met mine for one briefmoment and, in that space, his right eyelid flickered unmistakably;then uncle George coughed explosively and at the same instant tossedsomething to the foot of a tree; coming thither, I took up awell-filled leathern wallet and a heavy purse; with these, my uncles'parting benefactions in my hands, what wonder that I saw theirretreating forms through a mist of tears.