Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “Miss Vancourt’s instructions?” echoed Walden; “Has she given any?”

  “Of coorse she has!” replied Bainton, triumphantly; “Which is that the trees is not to be touched on no account. And she’s told Spruce, through me, — which I bellowed it all into his ear, — to go and meet Leach this marnin’ up by the Five Sisters and give him ‘er message straight from the shoulder!”

  Walden’s face cleared and brightened visibly.

  “I’m glad — I’m very glad!” he said; “I hardly thought she could sanction such an outrage — but, tell me, how did you manage to give her my message?”

  “‘Tworn’t your message at all, Passon, don’t you think it!” said Bainton; “You ain’t got so fur as that. She’s not the sort o’ lady to take a message from no one, whether passon, pope or emp’rur. Not she! It was old Josey Letherbarrow as done it.” And he related the incidents of the past evening in a style peculiar to himself, laying considerable weight on his own remarkable intelligence and foresight in having secured the ‘oldest ‘n’abitant’ of the village to act as representative and ambassador for the majority.

  Walden listened with keen interest.

  “Yes, — Leach is likely to be quarrelsome,” he said, at its conclusion; “There’s no doubt about that. We mustn’t leave Spruce to bear the brunt of his black rage all alone. Come along, Bainton! — I will enforce Miss Vancourt’s orders myself if necessary.”

  This was just what Bainton wanted, — and master and man started off at a swinging pace for the scene of action, Bainton pouring forth as he went a glowing description of the wonderful and unexpected charm of the new mistress of the Manor.

  “There ain’t been nothin’ like her in our neighbourhood iver at all, so fur as I can remember,” he declared. “A’ coorse I must ha’ seed her when I worked for th’ owld Squire at whiles, but she was a child then, an’ I ain’t a good hand at rememberin’ like Josey be, besides I never takes much ‘count of childern runnin’ round. But ’ere was we all a-thinkin’ she’d be a ‘igh an’ mighty fashion-plate, and she ain’t nothin’ of the sort, onny jest like a little sugar figure on, a weddin’-cake wot looks sweet at ye and smiles pleasant, — though she’s got a flash in them eyes of her which minds me of a pony wot ain’t altogether broke in. Josey, he sez them eyes is a-goin’ to finish up Leach, — which mebbe they will and mebbe they won’t; — all the same they’s eyes you won’t see twice in a lifetime! Lord love ye, Passon, ain’t it strange ‘ow the Almighty puts eyes in the ‘eads of women wot ain’t a bit like wot he puts in the ‘eads of men! We gets the sight all right, but somehow we misses the beauty. An’ there’s plenty of women wot has eyes correct in stock and colour, as we sez of the flowers, — but they’re like p’ison berries, shinin’ an’ black an’ false-like, — an’ if ye touch ’em ye’re a dead man. Howsomever when ye sees eyes like them that was smilin’ at old Josey last night, why it’s jest a wonderful thing; and it don’t make me s’prised no more at the Penny Poltry-books wot’s got such a lot about blue eyes in ’em. Blue’s the colour — there’s no doubt about it; — there ain’t no eye to beat a blue one!”

  Walden heard all this disjointed talk with a certain impatience. Swinging along at a rapid stride, and glad in a sense that the old trees were to be saved, he was nevertheless conscious of annoyance,- -though by whom, or at what he was annoyed, he could not have told. Plunging into the dewy woods, with all the pungent odours of moss and violets about his feet, he walked swiftly on, Bainton having some difficulty to keep up with him. The wakening birds were beginning to pipe their earliest carols; gorgeously-winged insects, shaken by the passing of human footsteps from their slumbers in the cups of flowers, soared into the air like jewels suddenly loosened from the floating robes of Aurora, — and the gentle stir of rousing life sent a pulsing wave through the long grass. Every now and again Bainton glanced up at the ‘Passon’s’ face and murmured under his breath,— ‘Blue’s the colour — there ain’t nowt to beat it!’ possibly inspired thereto by the very decided blue sparkle in the eyes of the ‘man of God’ who was marching steadily along in the ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ style, with his shoulders well back, his head well poised, and his whole bearing expressive of both decision and command.

  Out of the woods they passed into an open clearing, where the meadows, tenderly green and wet with dew, sloped upwards into small hillocks, sinking again into deep dingles, adorned with may-trees that were showing their white buds like little pellets of snow among the green, and where numerous clusters of blackthorn spread out lovely lavish tangles of blossom as fine as shreds of bleached wool or thread-lace upon its jet-like stems. Across these fields dotted with opening buttercups and daisies, Walden and his ‘head man about the place’ made quick way, and climbing the highest portion of the rising ground just in front of them, arrived at a wide stretch of peaceful pastoral landscape comprising a fine view of the river in all its devious windings through fields and pastures, overhung at many corners with ancient willows, and clasping the village of St. Rest round about as with a girdle of silver and blue. Here on a slight eminence stood the venerable sentinels of the fair scene, — the glorious old ‘Five Sisters’ beeches which on this very morning had been doomed to bid farewell for ever to the kind sky. Noble creatures were they in their splendid girth and broadly-stretching branches, which were now all alive with the palest and prettiest young green, — and as Walden sprang up the thyme-scented turfy ascent which lifted them proudly above all their compeers, his heart beat with mingled indignation and gladness, — indignation that such grand creations of a bountiful Providence should ever have been so much as threatened with annihilation by a destructive, ill-conditioned human pigmy like Oliver Leach, — and gladness, that at the last moment their safety was assured through the intervention of old Josey Letherbarrow. For, of course Miss Vancourt herself would never have troubled about them. Walden made himself inwardly positive on that score. She could have no particular care or taste for trees, John thought. It was the pathetic pleading of Josey, — his quaint appearance, his extreme age — and his touching feebleness, which taken all together had softened the callous heart of the mistress of the Manor, and had persuaded her to stay the intended outrage.

  “If Josey had asked her to spare a gooseberry bush, she would probably have consented,” said Walden to himself; “He is so old and frail, — she could hardly have refused his appeal without seeming to be almost inhuman.”

  Here his reflections were abruptly terminated by a clamour of angry voices, and hastening his steps up the knoll, he there confronted a group of rough rustic lads gathered in a defensive half-circle round Spruce who, white and breathless, was bleeding profusely from a deep cut across his forehead. Opposite him stood Oliver Leach, livid with rage, grasping a heavy dog-whip.

  “You damned, deaf liar!” he shouted; “Do you think I’m going to take YOUR word? How dare you disobey my orders! I’ll have you kicked off the place, you and your loud-tongued wife and the whole kit of you! What d’ye mean by bringing these louts up from the village to bull- bait me, eh? What d’ye mean by it? I’ll have you all locked up in Riversford jail before the day’s much older! You whining cur!” And he raised his whip threateningly. “I’ve given you one, and I’ll give you another—”

  “Noa, ye woan’t!” said a huge, raw-boned lad, standing out from the rest. “You woan’t strike ’im no more, if ye wants a hull skin! Me an’ my mates ‘ull take care o’ that! You go whoam, Mister Leach! — you go whoam! — you’ve ‘eerd plain as the trees is to be left stannin’ — them’s the orders of the new Missis, — and you ain’t no call to be swearin’ yerself black in the face, ‘cos you can’t get yer own way for once. You’re none so prutty lookin’ that we woan’t know ‘ow to make ye a bit pruttier if ye stays ’ere enny longer!”

  And he grinned suggestively, doubling a portentous fist, and beginning to roll up his shirt sleeves slowly with an ominous air of business.

  Leach looked at the group of threa
tening faces, and pulled from his pocket a notebook and pencil.

  “I know you all, and I shall take down your names,” he said, with vindictive sharpness, though his lips trembled— “You, Spruce, are under my authority, and you have deliberately disobeyed my orders—”

  “And you, Leach, are under Miss Vancourt’s authority and you are deliberately refusing to obey your employer’s orders!” said Walden, suddenly emerging from the shadow east by one of the great trees, “And you have assaulted and wounded Spruce who brought you those orders. Shame on you, man! Riversford jail is more likely to receive YOU as a tenant than any of these lads!” Here he turned to the young men who on seeing their minister had somewhat sheepishly retreated, lifting their caps and trampling backward on each other’s toes; “Go home, boys,” he said peremptorily, yet kindly; “There’s nothing for you to do here. Go home to your breakfasts and your work. The trees won’t be touched—”

  “Oh, won’t they!” sneered Leach, now perfectly white with passion; “Who’s going to pay me for the breaking of my contract, I should like to know? The trees are sold — they were sold as they stand a fortnight ago, — and down they come to-day, orders or no orders; I’ll have my own men up here at work in less than an hour!”

  Walden turned upon him.

  “Very well then, I shall ask Miss Vancourt to set the police to watch her trees and take you into custody;” he said, coolly; “If you have sold the trees standing, to cover your gambling debts, you will have to UNsell them, that’s all! They never were yours to dispose of; — you can no more sell them than you can sell the Manor. You have no permission to make money for yourself out of other people’s property. That kind of thing is common thieving, though it MAY sometimes pass for Estate Agency business!”

  Leach sprang forward, his whip uplifted, — but before it could fall, with one unanimous yell, the young rustics rushed upon him and wrested it from his hand. At this moment Bainton, who had been silently binding Spruce’s cut forehead with a red cotton handkerchief, so that the poor man presented the appearance of a melodramatic ‘stage’ warrior, suddenly looked up, uttered an exclamation, and gave a warning signal.

  “Better not go on wi’ the hargyment jes’ now, Passon!” he said,—”’Ere comes the humpire!”

  Even as he spoke, the quick gallop of hoofs echoed thuddingly on the velvety turf, and the group of disputants hastily scattered to right and left, as a magnificent mare, wild-eyed and glossy-coated, dashed into their centre and came to a swift halt, drawn up in an instant by the touch of her rider on the rein. All eyes were turned to the slight woman’s figure in the saddle, that sat so easily, that swayed the reins so lightly, and that seemed as it were, throned high above them in queenly superiority — a figure wholly unconventional, clad in a riding-skirt and jacket of a deep soft violet hue, and wearing no hat to shield the bright hair from the fresh wind that waved its fair ripples to and fro caressingly and tossed a shining curl loose from the carelessly twisted braid. Murmurs of ‘The new Missis!’ ‘Th’ owld Squire’s darter!’ — ran from mouth to mouth, and John Walden, seized by a sudden embarrassment, withdrew as far as possible into the shadow of the trees in a kind of nervous hope to escape from the young lady’s decidedly haughty glance, which swept like a flash of light, round the assembled group and settled at last with chill scrutiny on the livid and breathless Oliver Leach.

  “You are the agent here, I presume?”

  Maryllia’s voice rang cold and clear, — there was not a trace of the sweet and coaxing tone in it that had warmed the heart of old Josey Letherbarrow.

  Leach looked up, lifting his cap half reluctantly.

  “I am!”

  “You have had my orders?”

  Leach was silent. The young rustics hustled one another forward, moved by strong excitement, all eager to see the feminine ‘Humpire’ who had descended upon them as suddenly as a vision falling from the skies, and all wondering what would happen next.

  “You have had my orders?” repeated Maryllia; — then, as no answer was vouchsafed to her, she looked round and perceived Bainton. To him she at once addressed herself.

  “Who has struck Spruce?”

  Bainton hesitated. It was an exceedingly awkward position. He looked appealingly, as was his wont, up into the air and among the highest branches of the ‘Five Sisters’ for ‘Passon Walden,’ but naturally could not discover him at that elevation.

  “Come, come!” said Maryllia, imperatively— “You are not all deaf, I hope! Give me a straight answer, one of you! Who struck Spruce?”

  “Mister Leach did!” said the big-boned lad who had constituted himself Spruce’s defender. “We ‘eerd down in the village as ‘ow you’d come ‘ome, Miss, and as ‘ow you’d give your orders that the Five Sisters was to be left stannin’, and we coomed up wi’ Spruce to see ‘ow Leach ‘ud take it, an’ ‘fore we could say a wurrd Leach he up wi’ his whip and cut Spruce across the for’ead as ye see—”

  Maryllia raised her hand and silenced him with a gesture. “Thank you! That will do. I understand!” She turned towards Leach; “What have you to say for yourself?” “I take no orders from a servant,” replied Leach, insolently; “I have managed this estate for ten years, and I give in my statements and receive my instructions from the firm of solicitors who have it in charge. I am not called upon to accept any different arrangement without proper notice.”

  Maryllia heard him out with coldly attentive patience.

  “You will accept a different arrangement without any further notice at all,” she said; “You will leave the premises and resign all management of my property from this day henceforward. I dismiss you, for disobedience and insolence, and for assaulting my servant, Spruce, in the execution of his duty. And as for these trees, if any man touches a bough of one of them without my permission, I will have him prosecuted! Now you know my mind!”.

  She sat proudly erect in her saddle, while the village hobbledehoys who had instinctively gathered round her, like steel shavings round a magnet, fairly gasped for breath. Oliver Leach dismissed! Oliver Leach, the petty tyrant, the carping, snarling jack-in-office, cast out like a handful of bad rubbish! It was like a thunderbolt fallen from heaven and riving the earth on which they stood! Bainton heard, and could scarcely keep back a chuckle of satisfaction. He longed to make Spruce understand what was going on, but that unfortunate individual was slightly stunned by Leach’s heavy blow, and sitting on the grass with his head between his two hands, was gazing, in a kind of stupefaction at the ‘new Missis’; so that any ‘bellowing’ into his ear was scarcely possible.

  Leach himself stared blankly and incredulously, — his face crimsoned with a sudden rush of enraged blood and then paled again, and changing his former insolent tone for one both fawning and propitiatory, he stammered out:

  “I am very sorry — I — I beg your pardon, Madam! — if you will give yourself a little time to consider, you will see I have done my duty on this property all the time I have been connected with it. I hope you will not dismiss me for the first fault! — I — I — admit I should not have struck Spruce, — but — I — I was taken by surprise — I — I know my business, — and I am not accustomed to be interfered with—” Here his pent-up anger got the better of him and he again began to bluster. “I have done my duty — no man better!” he said in fierce accents. “There’s not an acre of woodland here that isn’t in a better condition than it was ten years ago — Ah! — and bringing in more money too! — and now I am to be turned off for a parcel of village idiots who hardly know a beech from an elm! I’ll make a case of it! Sir Morton Pippitt knows me — I’ll speak to Sir Morton Pippitt—”

  “Sir Morton Pippitt!” echoed Maryllia disdainfully; “What has he to do with me or my property?” Here she suddenly spied Walden, who, in his eagerness to hear every word that passed had, unconsciously to himself, moved well out of the sheltering shadow of the trees— “Are YOU Sir Morton Pippitt?”

  A broad grin, deepening into a scarcely s
uppressed titter, Went the round of the gaping young rustics. Walden himself smiled, — and recognising that the time had now come to declare himself, he advanced a step or two and lifted his hat.

  “I have not that pleasure! I am the minister of this parish, and my name is John Walden. I’m afraid I am rather a trespasser here! — but I have loved these old trees for many years, and I came up this morning, — having heard what your orders were from my gardener Bainton, — to see that those orders were properly carried out, — and also to save possible disturbance—”

  He broke off. Maryllia, while he spoke, had eyed him somewhat critically, and now favoured him with a charming smile.

  “Thank you very much!” she said sweetly; “It was most kind of you! I wonder—” And she paused, knitting her pretty brows in perplexity; “I wonder if you could get rid of everybody for me?”

  He glanced up at her in a little wonderment.

  “Could you?” she repeated.

  He drew nearer.

  “Get rid of everybody? — you mean?—”

  She leaned confidentially from her saddle.

  “Yes — YOU know! Send them all about their business! Clergymen can always do that, can’t they? There’s really nothing more to be said or done — the trees shall not be touched, — the matter is finished. Tell all these big boys to go away — and — oh, YOU know!”

  A twinkle of merriment danced in Walden’s eyes. But he turned quite a set and serious face round on the magnetised lads of the village, who hung about, loth to lose a single glance or a single word of the wonderful ‘Missis’ who had the audacious courage to dismiss Leach.

  “Now, boys!” he said peremptorily; “Clear away home and begin your day’s work! You’re not wanted here any longer. The trees are safe, — and you can tell everyone what Miss Vancourt says about them. Bainton! You take these fellows home, — Spruce had better go with you. Just call at the doctor’s on the way and get his wound attended to. Come now, boys! — sharp’s the word!”