by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XII
A FRIENDLY ARGUMENT
Mrs. Saumarez did indeed look unwell. It was not that her pallor wasmarked or her gait feeble; obviously, she had applied cosmetics to herface, and her carriage was as imposing and self-possessed as ever. Buther cheeks were swollen, her eyes bloodshot, her eyelids puffy anddiscolored. To a certain extent, too, she simulated the appearance ofillness by wearing a veil of heliotrope tint, for it was part of herintent to-day to persuade Elmsdale that her complete seclusion from itssociety during the past forty-eight hours was due to a cause beyond herown control.
In very truth this was so; she suffered from a malady far worse than anycase of dyspepsia ever diagnosed by doctor. The unfortunate woman was anerratic dipsomaniac. She would exist for weeks without being troubled bya craving for drink; then, without the slightest warning or contributoryerror on her part, the demon of intoxication would possess her, and sheyielded so utterly as to become a terror to her immediate associates.
The Normandy nurse, Francoise, exercised a firmer control over her thanany other maid she had ever employed; hence, Francoise's services wereretained long after other servants had left their mistress in disgust orfright. This distressing form of lunacy seemed also to account for theroving life led by Mrs. Saumarez. She was proud, with the inbredarrogance of the Junker class from which she sprang. She would notendure the scorn, or, mayhap, the sympathy of her friends or dependants.Whenever she succumbed to her malady she usually left that place on thefirst day she was able to travel.
But the Elmsdale attack, thanks to a limited supply of brandy and Eau deCologne, was of brief duration. Francoise knew exactly what to do. Everydrop of alcoholic liquor--even the methylated spirit used for heatingcurling-irons--must be kept out of her mistress's way during the ensuingtwenty-four hours, and a deaf ear turned to frantic pleadings for thesmallest quantity of any intoxicant. Threats, tears, pitiable requests,physical violence at times, must be disregarded callously; then wouldcome reaction, followed by extreme exhaustion. Francoise, despising herGerman mistress, nevertheless had the avaricious soul of a Frenchpeasant, and was amassing a small fortune by attending to her.
The Misses Walker were so eager to retain their wealthy guest that theypretended absolute ignorance of her condition. They succeeded sowell--their own dyspeptic symptoms were described with such ingenuouszeal--that the lady believed her secret was unknown to the household atThe Elms.
Oddly enough, certain faculties remained clear during these attacks. Shetook care that the chauffeur should not see her, and remembered alsothat young Martin Bolland had conversed with her while she was in theworst paroxysm of drink-craving. He was a quick boy, observant beyondhis age. What did he know? What wondrous tale had he spread through thevillage? A visit to his mother, a meeting with the gossip-loving womensure to be gathered beneath the farmer's hospitable roof, would tell herall. She nerved herself for the ordeal, and approached slowly,fearfully, but outwardly dignified as ever.
Mrs. Bolland's hearty greeting was reassuring.
"Eh, my lady, but ye do look poorly, te be sure. I've bin worritin' tethink ye've mebbe bin upset by all this racket i' t' place, when ye kemhere for rest an' quiet."
Mrs. Saumarez smiled.
"Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Bolland," she said. "I cannot blame Elmsdale,except, perhaps, that your wonderful air braced up my appetite toogreatly, and I had to pay the penalty for so many good things to eat."
"Ay, I said so," chimed in Mrs. Summersgill, in the accents of deepconviction. "Ower much grub an' nowt te do is bad for man or beast."
Mrs. Saumarez laughed frankly at that.
"In which category do you place me, Mrs. Summersgill?" she inquired.Meanwhile, her eyes wandered to where Martin stood. She was askingherself why the boy should gaze so fixedly at Angele.
The stout party did not know what a category was. She thought it wassome species of malady.
"Well, ma'am," she cried, "if I was you, I'd try rabbit meat for a fewdays. Eat plenty o' green stuff an' shun t' teapot. It's slow p'ison."
She stretched out a huge arm and poured out a cup of tea. There was ageneral laugh at this forgetfulness. Mrs. Summersgill waved asidecriticism.
"Ay, ay!" she went on, "it's easier te preach than te practice, as t'man said when he fell off a haystack efther another man shooted tiv himte ho'd fast."
Mrs. Saumarez took a seat. Thus far, matters had gone well. But why didMartin avoid her?
"Martin, my little friend," she said, "why did you not come in and seeme yesterday when you called at The Elms?"
"Miss Walker did not wish it," was the candid answer. "I suppose shethought I might be in the way when you were so ill."
"There nivver was sike a bairn," protested Martha Bolland. "He's closeas wax sometimes. Not a wud did he say, whether ye were ill or well,Mrs. Saumarez."
The lady's glance rested more graciously on the boy. She noticed hisbandaged arms and hands.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Have you been scalding yourself?"
Martin reddened. It was Angele who answered quickly:
"You were too indisposed last night to hear the story, chere maman. Itwas all over the village. Il y a tout le monde qui sait. Martin savedElsie Herbert from a wildcat. It almost tore him into little pieces."
And so the conversation glided safely away from the delicate topic ofMrs. Saumarez's sudden ailment. She praised Martin's bravery in herpolished way. She expressed proper horror when the wildcat's skin wasbrought in for her edification, and became so lively, so animated, thatshe actually asked Mrs. Bolland for some tea, notwithstanding Mrs.Summersgill's earnest warnings.
She made a hearty meal. Francoise, too, joined in the feast, her homelyNorman face perceptibly relaxing its grim vigilance. Her mistress wassafe now, for a month, two months, perchance six. The desire for foodwas the ultimate sign of complete recovery--for the time. Had Mrs.Saumarez dared ask for a glass of beer from the majestic cask in thecorner, Francoise would have prevented her from taking it, using forceif necessary. The sturdy peasant from Tinchebrai was of stronger moralfiber than the born aristocrat, and her mistress knew it.
Martin stood somewhat shyly near the broad ingle. Angele approached. Shecaressed his lint-wrapped arms, saying sweetly:
"Do they pain you a great deal?"
"Of course not. They're just a bit sore to the touch--that's all."
His manner was politely repellant. He wished she would not pat him withher nervous fingers. She pawed him like a playful cat. To-day she worethe beautiful muslin frock he had admired so greatly on the first day ofthe fair. The deep brim of her hat concealed her eyes from all but his.
"I am quite jealous of Elsie," she murmured. "It must be simply lovelyto be rescued in that way. Poor little me! At home nursing mamma, whileyou were fighting for another girl!"
"The thing was not worth so much talk. I did nothing that any other boywould not have done."
"My wud," cried Mrs. Summersgill suddenly, "it'd do your little lass apower o' good te git some o' that fat beaecan intiv her, Mrs. Saumarez."
From the smoke-blackened rafters over the spacious fireplace werehanging a dozen sides of home-cured bacon, huge toothsome slabssuggesting mounds of luscious rashers. The sturdy boy beneath gave proofthat there was good nutriment in such ample store, but the girl was sofragile, so fairy-like in her gossamer wings, that she might have beenreared on the scent of flowers.
The attention thus drawn to the two caused Martin to flush again, butAngele wheeled round.
"Do all pigs grow fat when they are old?" she asked.
"Nay, lass, that they don't. We feed 'em te mak' 'em fat while they'reyoung, but some pigs are skinny 'uns always."
Mrs. Saumarez smiled indulgently at this passage between two suchsharp-tongued combatants. Angele's eyes blazed. Francoise, eatingsteadily, wondered what had been said to make the women laugh, the childangry.
Angele caught the astonished expression on the nurse's face. Quickly hermood changed. Francoise
sat near. She bent over and whispered:
"Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!"
Francoise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs.Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgilldescribed "an old sow who talks like one of us!" Angele cried airily toMartin:
"Take me to the stables. I haven't seen the pony and the dogs for daysand days."
He was glad to escape. He dreaded Mrs. Summersgill's mordant humor if awar of wits broke out between her and the girl.
"All right," he said. "I'll whistle for Curly and Jim at the back andjoin you at the gate."
But Angele skipped lightly toward her hostess.
"Please, Mrs. Bolland," she said coaxingly, "may I not go through theback kitchen, too?"
"Sure-ly, honey," cried Martha. "One way's as good as another. Martin,tak t' young leddy anywheres she wants te go, an' dinnat be so gawky.She won't bite ye."
The two passed into the farmyard.
"You see, Martin," explained Angele coolly, "I must find out how JimBates and Tommy Beadlam always get hold of you without other peoplebeing the wiser. Show me the lane and the paddock they tell me of."
"I don't see why it should interest you," was the ungracious reply.
"You dear boy! Are you angry yet because I wouldn't let you kiss me theother night?"
He was compelled to laugh at the outrageous untruth.
"I'm afraid I spoke very crossly then," he admitted, thinking it best toavoid argument.
"Oh, yes. I wept for hours. My poor little eyes were sore yesterday.Look and see if they are red now."
They were standing behind the woodpile. She thrust her face temptinglynear. Her beautiful eyes, clear and limpid in their dark depths, blinkedsaucily. Her parted lips revealed two rows of white, even teeth, and hersweet breath mingled with the fragrance that always clung to hergarments. He experienced a new timidity now; he was afraid of her inthis mood, though secretly flattered by the homage she was paying.
"Martin," she whispered, "I like you better than any of the other boys,oh, a great deal better, even though Evelyn Atkinson does say you are amilksop."
What a hateful word to apply to one whose flesh was scarred by the clawsof an infuriated wildcat conquered in fair fight. Milksop, indeed! Heknew Angele's ways well enough by this time to give convincing proofthat he was no milksop.
He placed his bandaged right arm around her waist, boldly drew hertoward him, and kissed her three times--on the lips.
"That is more than I ever did to Evelyn Atkinson," he said.
She returned the embrace with ardor.
"Oh, Martin, I do love you," she sighed. "And you fought for me as wellas for Elsie, didn't you?"
If the thought were grateful to Angele, it stung the boy's conscience.Under what different circumstances had he defended the two girls! Hegrew scarlet with confusion and sought to unclasp those twining arms.
"Someone may see us," he protested.
"I don't care," she cooed. "Tommy Beadlam is watching us now over thehedge. Tell him to go away."
He wrenched himself free. True enough, "White Head" was gazing at them,eyes and mouth wide open.
"Hello, Tommy!" shouted Martin.
"By gum!" gasped Tommy.
But the spell was broken, and the three joined company to make a tour ofthe farm. Angele was quite unembarrassed and promptly rescued both boysfrom sheepishness. She knew that the observant "White Head" wouldharrow Evelyn Atkinson's soul with a full description of the tenderepisode behind the big pile of wood. This pleased her more than Martin'sgruff "spooning."
Inside the farmhouse conversation progressed vigorously. Mrs. Saumarezjoined in the talk with zest. The quaint gossip of the women interestedher. She learnt, seemingly with surprise, that these, her humblesisters, were swayed by emotions near akin to her own. Some quietchronicle of a mother's loss by the death of a soldier son in far-offSouth Africa touched a dormant chord in her heart.
"My husband was killed in that foolish war," she said. "I never think ofit without a shudder."
"I reckon he'd be an officer, ma'am," said Martha.
"Yes; he was shot while leading his regiment in a cavalry charge at theModder River."
"It's a dreadful thing, is war," observed the bereaved mother. "My ladwouldn't hurt a fly, yet his capt'in wrote such a nice letter, sayin' ashow Willie had killed four Boers afore he was struck down. T' capt'inmeant it kindly, no doot, but it gev me small consolation."
"It is the wives and mothers who suffer most. Men like the army. Isuppose if my child were a boy he would enter the service."
"Thank the Lord, Martin won't be a sojer!" cried Martha fervently.
"You're going to make him a minister, are you not?"
"Noa," said John Bolland's deep voice from the door. "He's goin' tocollege. I've settled it to-day."
None present appreciated the force of this statement like Martha, andshe resented such a momentous decision being arrived at without herknowledge. Her head bent, and twitching fingers sought the ends of herapron. John strode ponderously forward and placed a huge hand on hershoulder.
"Dinnat be vexed, Martha," he said gently. "I hadn't a chance te speakwi' ye sen Dr. MacGregor an' me had a bit crack about t' lad. I didn'tneed te coom te you for counsel. Who knew better'n me that yer heart wasset on Martin bein' browt up a gentleman?"
This recognition of motherly rights somewhat mollified his wife.
"Eh, but I'm main pleased, John," she said. "Yet I'll be sorry to losehim."
"Ye'll wear yer knuckles te t' bone makkin' him fine shirts an' fallals,all t' same," laughed her husband.
Mrs. Saumarez had seen the glint of tears in Mrs. Bolland's eyes, andcame to the rescue with a request for a second cup of tea.
"England is fortunate in being an island," she said. "Now, in my nativeland every man has to serve in the army. It cannot be avoided, you know.Germany has France on the one hand and Russia on the other, each readyto spring if she relaxes her vigilance for a moment."
"Is that so?" inquired Bolland. "I wunner why?"
The lady smiled.
"That is a wide political question," she replied. "To give one reasonout of many, look at our--at Germany's thousand miles of open frontier."
"Right enough, ma'am. But why is Jarmany buildin' such a big fleet?"
Mrs. Saumarez raised her lorgnette. She had not expected so apt aretort.
"She is gathering colonies, and already owns a huge mercantile marine.Surely, these interests call for adequate protection?"
"Nobody's threatenin' 'em, so far as I can see," persisted Bolland.
"Not at present. But a wise government looks ahead of the hour.Germany's aim is to educate the world by her culture. She is doing italready, as any of your own well-informed leading men will tell you; butthe time may come when, in her zeal for advancement, she may tread onsomebody's toes, so she must be prepared, both on land and sea.Fortunately, this is the one country she will never attack."
John shook his head.
"I'm none so sure," he said slowly. "I hevn't much time fer readin', butI did happen t' other day on a speech by Lord Roberts which med me scratme head. Beg pardon, ma'am. I mean it med me think."
"Lord Roberts!" began the lady scornfully. Then she sipped her tea, andthe pause gave time to collect her wits. "You must remember that he is aprofessional soldier, and his views are tainted by militarism."
"Isn't that the trouble i' Jarmany?"
Mrs. Saumarez drank more tea.
"Circumstances alter cases," she said. "The broad fact remains thatGermany harbors no evil designs against Great Britain. She believes theworld holds plenty of room for both powers. And, when all is said anddone, why should the two nations quarrel? They are kith and kin. Theylook at life from the same viewpoints. Even their languages are alike.Hardly a word in your quaint Yorkshire dialect puzzles me now, because Irecognize its source in the older German and in the current speech ofour Baltic provinces. Ge
rmany and England should be friends, notenemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worryingabout German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate herwonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who usesfabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how tomake aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-timetheories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, cansurely bear out that contention?"
"Steady on, ma'am," said Bolland, leaning forward, with hands on knees,and with eyes fixed on the speaker in an almost disconcerting intensity."T' Jarmans hev med all t' wo'ld _buy_ their dyes, but there hezn't beenmuch _teachin'_, as I've heerd tell of. As for farmin', they coom hereyear after year an' snap up our best stock i' horses an' cattle teimprove their own breeds. _I_ can't grummel at that. They compete wi' t'Argentine an' t' United States, an' up go my prices. Still, I do thinkour government is te blame for lettin' our finest stallions an' broodmares leave t' country. They differ frae cattle. They're bowt for use i't' army, an' we're bein' drained dhry. That's bad for us. An' why arethey doin' it?"
Mrs. Saumarez pushed away her cup and saucer. She laughed nervously,with the air of one who had gone a little further than was intended.
"There, there!" she cried pleasantly. "I am only trying to show youGermany's open aims, but some Englishmen persist in attributing ahostile motive to her every act. You see, I know Germany, and few peoplehere trouble either to learn the language or visit the country."
"Likely not, ma'am," was the ironical answer. "Mr. Pickerin' went tesome pleaece--Bremen, I think they call it--two year sen this July, tesee a man who'd buy every Cleveland bay he could offer. George had justbeen med an officer i' t' Territorials--which meant a week's swankin'aboot i' uniform at a camp, an' givin' his men free beer an' pork pieste attend a few drills--an' he was fule enough te carry a valise wi' hisrank an' regiment painted on it. Why, they watched him like a catwatchin' a mouse. He couldn't eat a bite or tak a pint o' their lightbeer that a 'tec wasn't sittin' at t' next table. They fairly chased himaway. Even his friend, the hoss-buyer, got skeered at last, an' advisedhim te quit te avoid arrest."
"That must have been a wholly exceptional case," said Mrs. Saumarez,speaking in a tone of utter indifference. "Had _I_ known him, forinstance, and given him a letter of introduction, he would have beenwelcomed, not suspected. By the way, how is he? I hear----"
The conversation was steered into a safer channel. They were discussingthe wounded man's condition when Mrs. Saumarez's car passed. The doorstood open, so they all noted that the vehicle was white with dust, butthe chauffeur was the sole occupant.
"Her ladyship" was pleased to explain.
"It is a new car, so Fritz took it for a long spin to-day," she said."You will understand, Mr. Bolland, that the engine has to find itself,as the phrase goes."
"Expensive work, ma'am," smiled John, rising. "An' now, good folk," hecontinued, "wheae's coomin' te t' love feast?"
There was a general movement. The assembly dear to old-time Methodismappealed to the majority of the company. Mrs. Saumarez raised herlorgnette once more.
"What is a love feast?" she asked.
"It's a gathering o' members o' our communion, ma'am," was Bolland'sready answer.
"May I come, too?"
Instantly a rustle of surprise swept through her hearers. Even JohnBolland was so taken aback that he hesitated to reply. But the ladyseemed to be in earnest.
"I really mean it," she went on. "I have a spare hour, and, as I don'tcare for dinner to-night, I'll be most pleased to attend--that is, if Imay?"
The farmer came nearer. He looked at the bulbous eyelids, the too-evenlytinted skin, the turgid veins in the brilliant eyes, and perhaps sawmore than Mrs. Saumarez dreamed.
"Happen it'll be an hour well spent, ma'am," he said quietly. "Admissionis by membership ticket, but t' minister gev' me a few 'permits' foroutside friends, an' I'll fill yan in for ye wi' pleasure."
He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, "AdmitBrother" or "Sister ----," and signed, "Eli Todd." With a stubby pencilhe scrawled "Saumarez" in a blank space. The lady thanked him, and gavesome instructions in French to Francoise. Five minutes later "SisterSaumarez," escorted by "Brother" and "Sister" Bolland, entered thevillage meetinghouse.
The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mildsensation among the small congregation already collected. They weremostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by theirabsence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field closeto the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be foughtfor the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions theGospel was not a "draw."
Gradually the spacious but bare room--so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarezknew of churches--became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimedthe half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboringclassroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but hisbell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer.He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from thepeople. The first time John Bolland cried "Amen!" Mrs. Saumarez started.She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge.But the next period produced a hearty "Hallelujah!" and others joined inwith "Glory be!" "Thy will, O Lord!" and kindred ejaculations.
One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord'sPrayer.
"Give us this day our daily bread," he said.
"And no baccy, Lord!" growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.
The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding the petition, anda broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learnedsubsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandonedhis pipe, together with gun and beer jug, "when he found Christ." EliTodd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on thepoint.
All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:
_O what a joyful meeting there, In robes of white arrayed; Palms in our hands we all shall bear And crowns upon our heads._
The joyous energy of his declamation, the no less eager volume of soundthat arose from the congregation, atoned for any deficiencies of meteror rhyme. The village worshipers lost themselves in the influence of themoment. With spiritual vision they saw the last great meeting, andthundered vociferously the closing lines of the chorus:
_And then we shall in Heaven reign, And never, never part again._
"Grace before meat" was sung, and, to Mrs. Saumarez's greatdiscomfiture, bread and water were passed round. Each one partook saveherself; Bolland, with real tact, missed her in handing the tray andpitcher to the other occupants of their pew.
"Grace after meat" followed, and forthwith Eli Todd began to deliver anaddress. His discourse was simple and well reasoned, dealing whollywith the sustenance derived from God's saving spirit. It may be that theunexpected presence of a stranger like Mrs. Saumarez exercised aslightly unnerving influence, as he spoke more seriously and with lessdramatic intensity than was his wont.
Suddenly he rebelled against this sensation of restraint. Changing, withthe skill of a born revivalist, from the rounded periods of ordinaryEnglish to the homely vernacular of the district, he thundered out:
"There's noa cittidell o' sin 'at God cannot destroy. Ay, friends, t'sword o' t' Spirit s'all oppen a way through walls o' brass an' ironyats (gates). Weaen't ye jine His conquerin' army? He's willin' te listye noo. There's none o' yer short service whilst ye deae t' Lord'swork--it's for ivver an' ivver, an' yer pension is life ivverlastin'."
And so the curious service went to its end, which came not until variousmembers of the congregation made public confession of faith, personalstatements which often consisted of question and answer between pastorand penitent. It was a strange interrogatory. Eli Todd had a ready quip,a quick appreciation, an emphatic or amusing disclaimer, for each andevery avowal of broad-minded Christianity
or intolerant views. For thesedalesfolk did not all think alike. Some were inclined to damn others whodid not see through the myopic lenses of their own spiritual spectacles.
The preacher would have none of this exclusive righteousness. As hesaid, in his own strenuous way:
"The Lord is ivverywhere. He isn't a prisoner i' this little roomte-night. He's yonder i' t' street amang t' organs an' shows. He'syonder i' t' tent where foolish youths an' maidens cannot see Him. If yeseek Him ye'll find Him, ay, in the abodes of sin and the palaces ofwantonness. No door can be closed to His saving mercy, no heart toohardened to resist His love."
As it happened, his glance fell on Mrs. Saumarez as he uttered theconcluding words, and his voice unconsciously tuned itself to suit herunderstanding. She dropped her eyes, and the observant minister thoughtthat she was reading a personal meaning into his address.
At once he began the "Doxology," which was sung with great fervor, andthe love feast broke up after a brief prayer. Mr. Todd overtook Mrs.Saumarez on the green. Bolland and his wife were escorting her to TheElms.
"I hope you liked the service, madam," he said politely.
"I thought it most interesting," she answered slowly. "I think I shallcome again."
He took off his hat and assured her that she would always be welcome atBethel Chapel. He, worthy man, no less than the Bollands, could littleguess this woman's motives in thus currying favor with the villagers.Had an angel from Heaven laid bare her intent, they would scarce havebelieved, or, if conviction came, they would only have deemed her mad.
A breathless Francoise met her mistress at the gate. Angele was not tobe found anywhere, and it was so late, nearly eight o'clock. Nor wasMartin to be seen. Madam would remember, they had gone off together.
Mrs. Saumarez explained what all the gesticulation was about.
"If she's wi' Martin, she'll be all right," said Bolland. "He'll bringher yam afore ye git yer things off, ma'am."
He was right. Angele had discovered that Elsie Herbert would be at thechurch bazaar that evening, and planned the ramble with Martin so thatthe vicar's daughter might meet them together on the high road.
It delighted her to see the only rival she feared flash a quick sideglance as she bowed smilingly and passed on, for Mr. Herbert did notwholly approve of Angele, so Elsie thought it best not to stop for achat. Martin, too, was annoyed as he doffed his cap. He thought Elsiewould surely ask how he was. Moreover, those hot kisses were burning yeton his lips; the memory made him profoundly uncomfortable.
That was all. When he left Angele at the gate she did not suggest arendezvous at a later hour. Not only would it be useless, but she hadseen Frank Beckett-Smythe earlier in the day, and he said there was adinner party at the Hall.
Perhaps he might be able to slip away unnoticed about nine.