The incident served to break up the conference. Simon Pownall, though concurring in opinion with the elder gipsy that Obed must have been deceived, was evidently rendered uneasy, and declined to talk any more on business. Much to my relief — for I began to find my position almost intolerable — I heard him soon afterwards announce his departure. After exchanging a few words with Phaleg, in too low a tone to reach me, he bade him and his son good night, and set off.
Nothing passed between the gipsies for a minute or two, but when Simon, as I presumed, was fairly out of hearing, the elder ruffian observed to his son, with a laugh:
“I tell thee what it is, Obed — I mean to have that will.”
“You do, father?” the younger gipsy replied. “Then you won’t work wi’ this owd chap?”
“Not unless I’m driven to it, lad,” the other replied. “I cannot trust him; and I know he doesn’t trust me, but means to throw me over, if he can. All Capt’n Sale wants is the will; and he would liever deal wi’ me than wi’ a greedy curmudgeon like Simon. We must find out where the will be hidden, Obed.”
“You don’t think as how th’ owd chap had it about him tonight?” the son rejoined.
“I had my doubts,” Phaleg returned, “and I thought of knockin’ him on the head to see. But if I hadn’t found it it would ha’ been awk’ard. I should ha’ cracked the nut without gettin’ the karnal. So I thought it best to let things bide as they be.”
“Lucky for him you did think so, father,” Obed laughed. “Well, I’ve a plan, which, if we can bring it to bear, will enable us to stand in Simon’s shoes as regards the capt’n. You shall hear what ’tis when I ha’ conned it over.”
“Well done, Obed,” the elder gipsy cried, approvingly. “Thy wits are sharp enough, lad, if thou chooses to give ’em fair play, and not fancy thou sees a man’s head round the corner of a hayrick — ha! ha! But come; the rain’s over. Bring along Robin, and let’s be jogging.”
With this he evidently moved off, and his son was not long in following him.
As soon as I deemed the coast clear I shook off the covering of hay, and congratulated myself on my deliverance. If the miscreants had remained many minutes longer, I must have shifted my position, or have been stifled.
Suffering a few minutes more to elapse before quitting the field, I made the best of my way to the mill.
I rose betimes next day, and spent the whole of it in searching for Pownall and the gipsies. But though I scoured the country round for miles, visiting every spot where I thought it likely tidings could be obtained, I learnt nothing. No one answering to Pownall’s description had been seen at Weverham, or any of the adjacent hamlets — nor had lodged — so far as I could discover — at any wayside inn or hovel. I was equally unsuccessful in my quest of the gipsies. The latter, I found, had been encamped on Delamere Forest during the last week, but had struck their tent a few hours before I assisted at their rendezvous with Pownall at the haystack, and in all probability they had removed to some distant spot.
Sorely disappointed, I rode over on the ensuing day to Marston, for the purpose of consulting with Ned Culcheth. Ned advised me to keep quiet, and not give the alarm. Something would soon be heard, he was sure, of Captain Sale, and the moment he arrived at the vicarage I should be apprised. The captain’s movements should be closely watched, and, likely enough, we might catch all the birds we wanted with the same net. I was not very sanguine as to the success of Ned’s scheme, but having nothing better of my own to suggest, I agreed to it, and the worthy fellow took measures to carry it out.
But while this matter was in abeyance, another event occurred, which I shall relate in the succeeding chapter.
CHAPTER IV.
I GIVE A RUSTIC FETE AT THE MILL.
KIND-HEARTED Miss Hazilrigge, ever anxious to promote harmless amusement, and never so happy as when helping to make other people happy — young people especially — persuaded me to give a rustic fete at the mill, promising to take all trouble of the arrangements off my hands.
“You have only to invite your friends,” the good lady said. “Leave all the rest to me. Of course you will ask John Brideoake and his sister; and I have no doubt Mr. Cuthbert Spring will come over if you send him word. We have seen nothing of him, by-the-by, for the last week. And now, when shall it be? The sooner the better, I think, for the weather is extremely fine just now, and likely to continue so. To-day is Monday — suppose we say Thursday. That will give plenty of time for preparation. But mind, it is merely to be a rustic fete, and quite simple in character, for if any pretension is attempted, or any fine folks are invited, John Brideoake and his sister will never join it, I’m sure.”
“I quite agree with you there, Miss Hazilrigge,” I replied; “and as far as I myself am concerned, I should very much prefer a little out-door entertainment at which my humbler friends can assist — and I will therefore invite Ned Culcheth and his wife. I dare say we shall be able to get up a dance on the green sward near the mill-pool.”
“Delightful!” Miss Hazilrigge cried. “I hope the Culcheths will come. To make sure, you had better say that I will send some conveyance for them — and they shall be taken back next day. Don’t omit to mention that.”
“You are kindness itself, dear Miss Hazilrigge,” I rejoined, “and leave nothing undone to contribute to the happiness of your friends and dependents.”
The fete was therefore fixed for the following Thursday, and I despatched an invitation without delay to Cuthbert Spring. I did not hear from him till the Wednesday morning, when I received a letter to say that he had just returned from London, whither he had been summoned by important business. He would be extremely happy to assist at my rural festivities, he said, and would bring with him his old friend Major Atherton, who had returned with him from town; desiring me to mention to Mr. Hazilrigge that he should claim his hospitality for the night for himself and his friend at the Grange.
“I shall be very glad to see Cuthbert and his friend, of course,” Old Hazy said, when I delivered the message. “But who is Major Atherton? I don’t recollect him.”
I could afford no information, the major being equally a stranger to me, and the old gentleman contented himself with remarking that he had no doubt he must be an agreeable man, or Cuthbert would not have volunteered to bring him.
“Apropos!” he cried. “I dreamed last night of a swan, and that, according to Artemidorus, signifies joy and the revealing of secrets. Aid the night before, I dreamed that my teeth were whiter, firmer, and more comely than ordinary, denoting, according to Anselmus Julianus, prosperity, good news, and friendship among relations, I have no doubt I shall learn some curious intelligence from Major Atherton, as well as experience much pleasure in his society.”
I acquiesced with him in opinion, and here the matter dropped.
My invitation to Ned Culcheth and Sissy was delivered in person. On learning that a light cart would be sent for them early on the morning of the day of the fete, and that the same conveyance would bring them back next day, the only obstacle to their prompt acceptance was removed; and they joyfully promised to come. Sissy said she should look forward with delight to seeing her kind friends at the mill again, and she hoped to be able to bring back little Grace with her, if Dame Mavis would only spare the sweet child for a month. Sissy loved little Grace, she said, as dearly as if she were her own daughter.
Nothing had been heard of Malpas. Ned had caused inquiries to be made at the vicarage, but no letter had been received from him, neither did it appear that he was expected.
The appointed day arrived, and the weather proving highly propitious, I had reason to hope that the fete would go off well. A large level patch of green sward in front of the miller’s picturesque abode had been carefully rolled and mown till it resembled a bowling-green, and on this turf the amusements were to take place. Here a marquee was pitched, which had been sent from Owlarton Grange, and, adjoining it, stood along table, covered with all the essentials of an excellent
cold collation: a roast sirloin of beef, roast lamb, pigeon pies, roast fowls, hams, tongues, and other good things too numerous to particularise. Covers were laid for thirty persons, and benches were placed on either side of the table capable of comfortably accommodating that number. —
But after all, though good viands and stout ale are not to be despised, a fete would be nothing — in female eyes, at least — without music and dancing. Accordingly, by the kind prevision of Miss Hazilrigge, the Weverham band of musicians was engaged, consisting of a couple of fiddles, a flute, hautboy, and bassoon. A little stage was erected on the right of the lawn, opposite the marquee, on which chairs and stands’ were placed; and this constituted the orchestra.
A pretty picture altogether; with a background formed by the mill, and the old-fashioned timber-and-plaster habitation contiguous to it. The latter, with its grey thatched roof, its black-and-white chequer-work, and its transom windows, was quite as pleasing an object as the mill itself. On the right of the green was a small but prettily laid-out garden, screened off by a low privet hedge; and on the left lay the orchard, which I have heretofore had occasion to describe. A couple of gaily-decorated boats were moored to the margin of the mill-pool, and hard by the wooden steps, serving as a landing-place, grew a beautiful weeping willow, its pendent branches dipping into the water.
Such was the scene presented to my gaze as I contemplated it with Mr. Ponder, shortly before the arrival of the company.
But pleasing as I then thought it, it was nothing to what it afterwards became, when the green was thronged by merry groups, when every seat at the long table was occupied, and the viands were in a state of active demolition, when laugh and jest went round, when the butler and his assistants were in full employ, when the musicians struck up their liveliest strains, and good-looking lads and buxom lasses footed it blithely in the country dance and the jig.
But lo! an arrival. It is Miss Hazilrigge. Three o’clock is the hour appointed for the fete, but she comes a little earlier, wishing to be satisfied that her directions have been properly carried out. After looking round, and examining all the preparations with a critical eye, the good lady claps her hands with delight, declaring that all had been done to admiration. Mr. Ponder appropriates the compliment to himself, and bows respectfully. Mr. Hazilrigge comes next with Ora, who is charmingly attired, and looks more bewitching than ever in her pretty straw hat. The old gentleman seizes my arm, and tells me, with a comical look, which I scarcely know how to interpret, that he has invited two persons to my fete — a gipsy woman and her daughter. Seeing me stare at him, he hastens to add, “but they’re both very decent, well-mannered people, and won’t offend anybody. The daughter is one of the prettiest creatures you ever beheld — with such a pair of black eyes — such supple limbs — and such a little foot. She dances like a Spanish gitana. Doesn’t she, Ora?”
“She is exceedingly pretty, indeed, and dances with inimitable grace,” his niece replied. “ Her raven tresses and superb black eyes are enough to make one turn pale with envy. I am very glad my uncle has bidden her to your fete, Mervyn, for she will be quite an attraction to it. The only misfortune is, she will turn the heads of all the men, and make them indifferent to their homely partners. Her mother tells fortunes capitally, and will afford amusement to the younger damsels and their admirers. She wanted to give me a peep into the future this morning; but I declined.”
“She told my fortune, though,” Old Hazy cried, “and told it remarkably well. I’m not going to let you into my secrets, you saucy minx,” he added to Ora, “so you needn’t expect it. But as I was saying, this gipsy woman told me a great deal that has happened to me, and that is only known to myself and to one other person — and a great deal that will happen to me. She seems as well versed in chiromancy as Doctor Hooker himself.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if she has derived some of her information concerning previous events in your history from that respectable individual,” I observed. But, seeing the old gentleman look rather blank, I added, “ Well, I am very glad you have invited the gipsy pair. Ora’s description of the daughter makes me curious to see her, and the mother’s skill in soothsaying shall be put to the test,”
Soon after this, Apphia and her brother arrived, and I flew to bid them welcome. They told me I might expect a large attendance, for the glen was thronged with young folks of both sexes on their way from Weverham. I may here mention that I had left the Weverham invitations to John, as his acquaintance with the village folk enabled him to make a better selection than I could do. I had not given him a very agreeable office, he said, for when a rumour of the fete got abroad everybody wanted to go to it, and numbers were of course disappointed.
But here they come! A large party of lads and lasses in holiday attire step upon the green, preceded by Mr, Mavis, who, arrayed in his Sunday habiliments, and having a large bunch of white ribands stuck on his breast, performs the part of usher, takes tickets, and presents the company to me. The young men look rather sheepish at first, and the damsels somewhat bashful, but, encouraged by the bland and friendly manner of Miss Hazilrigge, by the smiles and kind addresses of the younger ladies, and I may venture to say by my own not uncourteous reception, they speedily regain their confidence, and appear quite at ease. By this time, also, the band of musicians have arrived, and taking their places on the orchestra, after a brief preliminary tuning of their instruments, strike up a lively air, and on the instant every countenance becomes animated, and every tongue is unloosed.
After a short interval, more guests arrive — a second detachment of village lads and lasses more numerous than the first. Mr. Mavis has enough to do to get them all forward, and laughs heartily at their uncouth bows and scrapes, and their funny curtseys. Then come the miller’s men; such of them as are married, with their wives and children. Then more villagers, until at last the green is quite thronged. At last, just when I have begun to give them up, to my great satisfaction I descry Ned Culcheth and Sissy. They are accompanied by Dame Mavis and her little daughter. The crowd draw aside to afford them passage as they advanced towards me. Sissy comes first, holding Grace by the hand, looking more like her former self than I have seen her of late. If anything, improved, for, while she has quite recovered her bloom and beauty, her manner is sedate and wholly free from levity. For manly bearing, not one in that assemblage can compare with Ned Culcheth; and yet there are some stout, well-looking lads amidst it too. Ned is a first-rate specimen of a stalwart English yeoman. I feel quite proud of him. His heart beams out in his honest countenance, and makes itself felt in his warm grasp. Giving him and his wife a cordial welcome, I tell Sissy I am glad to perceive that she has returned to her primitive Welsh hat, as a bonnet does not suit her half so well. She colours a little, and turns to her husband, who informs me, with a laugh, that his missis has put on the hat thinking to please me. Well, she has succeeded, if such was her intention. Unbidden thoughts cross me. As I look at Sissy and contrast her present cheerful expression and composed manner with her recent woful condition as exhibited on this very spot, I can scarcely believe in the reality of the change. The past now only appears like a troubled dream. Some thoughts of a like nature probably occur to Sissy, for I observe her lip quiver, and a tear start to her eye. Her husband notices her emotion too, and, guessing the cause, catches little Grace in his arms, and holds her up to his wife to receive a kiss. But this does not improve matters, but rather makes them worse, for as Sissy strains her little pet to her bosom, her tears can no longer be repressed, and she rushes away until her emotion quite subsides. But this is the only occasion on which she gives way, and as Dame Mavis kindly says, “it be quite excusable.” For my own part, I think all the better of her for the display of feeling. “I do believe Sissy loves my child as well as I do myself,” Dame Mavis chatters on; “and I be quite sure the child be as fond of her as she be of her own mother. Therefore, I can’t find i’ my heart to deny ’em both since Sissy wants to take Grace home wi’ her for a month
— and I shall e’en let the child go.”
Behold a grave and respectable-looking personage, in a blue coat and white waistcoat, with a stately, not to say majestic, deportment! Mr. Ponder comes to tell me that the benches at the table are fully occupied, and the guests eager to fall to; so I accompany the stately butler, and by our joint exertions, aided by those of Mr. Hazilrigge and John Brideoake, every plate is speedily filled, and nearly as speedily emptied. My guests, I must say, whether male or female, have no lack of appetite, and do ample justice to the good things set before them. Luckily, the supply is equal to the demand. Mr. Ponder smiles in his grave manner as he sees the havoc I am making with the noble sirloin of beef — very little of which now remains — and tells me, in an undertone, not to be alarmed, for he has famous cold roast “ribs” in the tent. “I don’t think they will eat us quite out sir,” the butler adds. Old Hazy seems enchanted with the scene, declaring that it does him good to see such real, hearty, unsophisticated enjoyment. “I would rather witness a simple feast of this kind,” he says, “than a grand civic banquet, with my Lord Mayor at its head.” Jugs of stout ale are handed round by old Finch and Rivers, and their contents liberally dispensed.
At length the fire begins to slacken, and it becomes evident that the majority of the party have had enough. Ponder seizes this opportunity of handing round the wine, and having served each of the guests with a glass of fine old sherry, which makes the lads smack their lips with satisfaction, and brightens the eyes of the lasses, the butler informs the company, with a politeness that is generally appreciated, that he is extremely sorry to disturb them, but they must excuse him for intimating that their places were required by the next party. On this they all rise in high glee, tender their thanks to me, and the squire, and madam (meaning Miss Hazilrigge), and the young parson (meaning John), and the young ladies. The benches they have vacated are then instantly reoccupied.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 479