CHAPTER LXIII
JOHN IS WORSTED BY THE WOMEN
Moved as I was by Annie's tears, and gentle style of coaxing, and mostof all by my love for her, I yet declared that I could not go, and leaveour house and homestead, far less my dear mother and Lizzie, at themercy of the merciless Doones.
'Is that all your objection, John?' asked Annie, in her quick pantingway: 'would you go but for that, John?'
'Now,' I said, 'be in no such hurry'--for while I was graduallyyielding, I liked to pass it through my fingers, as if my fingers shapedit: 'there are many things to be thought about, and many ways of viewingit.'
'Oh, you never can have loved Lorna! No wonder you gave her up so! John,you can love nobody, but your oat-ricks, and your hay-ricks.'
'Sister mine, because I rant not, neither rave of what I feel, can yoube so shallow as to dream that I feel nothing? What is your love forTom Faggus? What is your love for your baby (pretty darling as he is)to compare with such a love as for ever dwells with me? Because I do notprate of it; because it is beyond me, not only to express, but even formto my own heart in thoughts; because I do not shape my face, and wouldscorn to play to it, as a thing of acting, and lay it out before you,are you fools enough to think--' but here I stopped, having said morethan was usual with me.
'I am very sorry, John. Dear John, I am so sorry. What a shallow fool Iam!'
'I will go seek your husband,' I said, to change the subject, for evento Annie I would not lay open all my heart about Lorna: 'but onlyupon condition that you ensure this house and people from the Doonesmeanwhile. Even for the sake of Tom, I cannot leave all helpless. Theoat-ricks and the hay-ricks, which are my only love, they are welcome tomake cinders of. But I will not have mother treated so; nor even littleLizzie, although you scorn your sister so.'
'Oh, John, I do think you are the hardest, as well as the softest of allthe men I know. Not even a woman's bitter word but what you pay her outfor. Will you never understand that we are not like you, John? We sayall sorts of spiteful things, without a bit of meaning. John, for God'ssake fetch Tom home; and then revile me as you please, and I will kneeland thank you.'
'I will not promise to fetch him home,' I answered, being ashamed ofmyself for having lost command so: 'but I will promise to do my best, ifwe can only hit on a plan for leaving mother harmless.'
Annie thought for a little while, trying to gather her smooth clear browinto maternal wrinkles, and then she looked at her child, and said, 'Iwill risk it, for daddy's sake, darling; you precious soul, for daddy'ssake.' I asked her what she was going to risk. She would not tell me;but took upper hand, and saw to my cider-cans and bacon, and went fromcorner to cupboard, exactly as if she had never been married; onlywithout an apron on. And then she said, 'Now to your mowers, John; andmake the most of this fine afternoon kiss your godson before you go.'And I, being used to obey her, in little things of that sort, kissed thebaby, and took my cans, and went back to my scythe again.
By the time I came home it was dark night, and pouring again with afoggy rain, such as we have in July, even more than in January. Beingsoaked all through, and through, and with water quelching in my boots,like a pump with a bad bucket, I was only too glad to find Annie'sbright face, and quick figure, flitting in and out the firelight,instead of Lizzie sitting grandly, with a feast of literature, and nota drop of gravy. Mother was in the corner also, with her cheery-colouredribbons glistening very nice by candle-light, looking at Annie now andthen, with memories of her babyhood; and then at her having a baby: yethalf afraid of praising her much, for fear of that young Lizzie. ButLizzie showed no jealousy: she truly loved our Annie (now that shewas gone from us), and she wanted to know all sorts of things, and sheadored the baby. Therefore Annie was allowed to attend to me, as sheused to do.
'Now, John, you must start the first thing in the morning,' she said,when the others had left the room, but somehow she stuck to the baby,'to fetch me back my rebel, according to your promise.'
'Not so,' I replied, misliking the job, 'all I promised was to go, ifthis house were assured against any onslaught of the Doones.'
'Just so; and here is that assurance.' With these words she drew forth apaper, and laid it on my knee with triumph, enjoying my amazement. This,as you may suppose was great; not only at the document, but also at herpossession of it. For in truth it was no less than a formal undertaking,on the part of the Doones, not to attack Plover's Barrows farm, ormolest any of the inmates, or carry off any chattels, during the absenceof John Ridd upon a special errand. This document was signed not onlyby the Counsellor, but by many other Doones: whether Carver's name werethere, I could not say for certain; as of course he would not sign itunder his name of 'Carver,' and I had never heard Lorna say to what (ifany) he had been baptized.
In the face of such a deed as this, I could no longer refuse to go; andhaving received my promise, Annie told me (as was only fair) how she hadprocured that paper. It was both a clever and courageous act; and wouldhave seemed to me, at first sight, far beyond Annie's power. But nonemay gauge a woman's power, when her love and faith are moved.
The first thing Annie had done was this: she made herself look ugly.This was not an easy thing; but she had learned a great deal from herhusband, upon the subject of disguises. It hurt her feelings not alittle to make so sad a fright of herself; but what could it matter?--ifshe lost Tom, she must be a far greater fright in earnest, than nowshe was in seeming. And then she left her child asleep, under BettyMuxworthy's tendance--for Betty took to that child, as if there neverhad been a child before--and away she went in her own 'spring-cart' (asthe name of that engine proved to be), without a word to any one, exceptthe old man who had driven her from Molland parish that morning, and whocoolly took one of our best horses, without 'by your leave' to any one.
Annie made the old man drive her within easy reach of the Doone-gate,whose position she knew well enough, from all our talk about it. Andthere she bade the old man stay, until she should return to him. Thenwith her comely figure hidden by a dirty old woman's cloak, and her fairyoung face defaced by patches and by liniments, so that none might covether, she addressed the young man at the gate in a cracked and tremblingvoice; and they were scarcely civil to the 'old hag,' as they calledher. She said that she bore important tidings for Sir Counsellorhimself, and must be conducted to him. To him accordingly she was led,without even any hoodwinking, for she had spectacles over her eyes, andmade believe not to see ten yards.
She found Sir Counsellor at home, and when the rest were out of sight,threw off all disguise to him, flashing forth as a lovely young woman,from all her wraps and disfigurements. She flung her patches on thefloor, amid the old man's laughter, and let her tucked-up hair comedown; and then went up and kissed him.
'Worthy and reverend Counsellor, I have a favour to ask,' she began.
'So I should think from your proceedings,'--the old maninterrupted--'ah, if I were half my age'--
'If you were, I would not sue so. But most excellent Counsellor, you oweme some amends, you know, for the way in which you robbed me.'
'Beyond a doubt I do, my dear. You have put it rather strongly; and itmight offend some people. Nevertheless I own my debt, having so fair acreditor.'
'And do you remember how you slept, and how much we made of you, andwould have seen you home, sir; only you did not wish it?'
'And for excellent reasons, child. My best escort was in my cloak, afterwe made the cream to rise. Ha, ha! The unholy spell. My pretty child,has it injured you?'
'Yes, I fear it has, said Annie; 'or whence can all my ill luck come?'And here she showed some signs of crying, knowing that Counsellor hatedit.
'You shall not have ill luck, my dear. I have heard all about yourmarriage to a very noble highwayman. Ah, you made a mistake in that; youwere worthy of a Doone, my child; your frying was a blessing meant forthose who can appreciate.'
'My husband can appreciate,' she answered very proudly; 'but what I wishto know is this, will you try to
help me?'
The Counsellor answered that he would do so, if her needs were moderate;whereupon she opened her meaning to him, and told of all her anxieties.Considering that Lorna was gone, and her necklace in his possession, andthat I (against whom alone of us the Doones could bear any malice) wouldbe out of the way all the while, the old man readily undertook thatour house should not be assaulted, nor our property molested, untilmy return. And to the promptitude of his pledge, two things perhapscontributed, namely, that he knew not how we were stripped of alldefenders, and that some of his own forces were away in the rebel camp.For (as I learned thereafter) the Doones being now in direct feud withthe present Government, and sure to be crushed if that prevailed, hadresolved to drop all religious questions, and cast in their lot withMonmouth. And the turbulent youths, being long restrained from theirwonted outlet for vehemence, by the troopers in the neighbourhood, wereonly too glad to rush forth upon any promise of blows and excitement.
However, Annie knew little of this, but took the Counsellor's pledge asa mark of especial favour in her behalf (which it may have been to someextent), and thanked him for it most heartily, and felt that he hadearned the necklace; while he, like an ancient gentleman, disclaimed allobligation, and sent her under an escort safe to her own cart again.But Annie, repassing the sentinels, with her youth restored and bloomingwith the flush of triumph, went up to them very gravely, and said,'The old hag wishes you good-evening, gentlemen'; and so made her bestcurtsey.
Now, look at it as I would, there was no excuse left for me, after thepromise given. Dear Annie had not only cheated the Doones, but also hadgotten the best of me, by a pledge to a thing impossible. And I bitterlysaid, 'I am not like Lorna: a pledge once given, I keep it.'
'I will not have a word against Lorna,' cried Annie; 'I will answer forher truth as surely as I would for my own or yours, John.' And with thatshe vanquished me.
But when my poor mother heard that I was committed, by word of honour,to a wild-goose chase, among the rebels, after that runagate Tom Faggus,she simply stared, and would not believe it. For lately I had joked withher, in a little style of jerks, as people do when out of sorts; andshe, not understanding this, and knowing jokes to be out of my power,would only look, and sigh, and toss, and hope that I meant nothing. Atlast, however, we convinced her that I was in earnest, and must be offin the early morning, and leave John Fry with the hay crop.
Then mother was ready to fall upon Annie, as not content with disgracingus, by wedding a man of new honesty (if indeed of any), but laying trapsto catch her brother, and entangle him perhaps to his death, for thesake of a worthless fellow; and 'felon'--she was going to say, as by theshape of her lips I knew. But I laid my hand upon dear mother's lips;because what must be, must be; and if mother and daughter stayed athome, better in love than in quarrelling.
Right early in the morning, I was off, without word to any one; knowingthat mother and sister mine had cried each her good self to sleep;relenting when the light was out, and sorry for hard words and thoughts;and yet too much alike in nature to understand each other. ThereforeI took good Kickums, who (although with one eye spoiled) was worth tensweet-tempered horses, to a man who knew how to manage him; and beingwell charged both with bacon and powder, forth I set on my wild-goosechase.
For this I claim no bravery. I cared but little what came of it;save for mother's sake, and Annie's, and the keeping of the farm, anddiscomfiture of the Snowes, and lamenting of Lorna at my death, if die Imust in a lonesome manner, not found out till afterwards, and bleachingbones left to weep over. However, I had a little kettle, and a pound anda half of tobacco, and two dirty pipes and a clean one; also a bit ofclothes for change, also a brisket of hung venison, and four loaves offarmhouse bread, and of the upper side of bacon a stone and a half itmight be--not to mention divers small things for campaigning, which maycome in handily, when no one else has gotten them.
We went away in merry style; my horse being ready for anything, and Ionly glad of a bit of change, after months of working and brooding; withno content to crown the work; no hope to hatch the brooding; orwithout hatching to reckon it. Who could tell but what Lorna might bediscovered, or at any rate heard of, before the end of this campaign; ifcampaign it could be called of a man who went to fight nobody, onlyto redeem a runagate? And vexed as I was about the hay, and thehunch-backed ricks John was sure to make (which spoil the look of afarm-yard), still even this was better than to have the mows and housesfired, as I had nightly expected, and been worn out with the worry ofit.
Yet there was one thing rather unfavourable to my present enterprise,namely, that I knew nothing of the country I was bound to, nor even inwhat part of it my business might be supposed to lie. For beside theuncertainty caused by the conflict of reports, it was likely that KingMonmouth's army would be moving from place to place, according to theprospect of supplies and of reinforcements. However, there would arisemore chance of getting news as I went on: and my road being towards theeast and south, Dulverton would not lie so very far aside of it, butwhat it might be worth a visit, both to collect the latest tidings, andto consult the maps and plans in Uncle Reuben's parlour. Therefore Idrew the off-hand rein, at the cross-road on the hills, and made forthe town; expecting perhaps to have breakfast with Master Huckaback, andRuth, to help and encourage us. This little maiden was now become a verygreat favourite with me, having long outgrown, no doubt, her childishfancies and follies, such as my mother and Annie had planted under hersoft brown hair. It had been my duty, as well as my true interest (forUncle Ben was more and more testy, as he went on gold-digging), to ridethither, now and again, to inquire what the doctor thought of her. Notthat her wounds were long in healing, but that people can scarcelybe too careful and too inquisitive, after a great horse-bite. And shealways let me look at the arm, as I had been first doctor; and she heldit up in a graceful manner, curving at the elbow, and with a sweep ofwhite roundness going to a wrist the size of my thumb or so, andwithout any thimble-top standing forth, such as even our Annie had. Butgradually all I could see, above the elbow, where the bite had been,was very clear, transparent skin, with very firm sweet flesh below, andthree little blue marks as far asunder as the prongs of a toasting-fork,and no deeper than where a twig has chafed the peel of a waxen apple.And then I used to say in fun, as the children do, 'Shall I kiss it, tomake it well, dear?'
Now Ruth looked very grave indeed, upon hearing of this my enterprise;and crying, said she could almost cry, for the sake of my dear mother.Did I know the risks and chances, not of the battlefield alone, butof the havoc afterwards; the swearing away of innocent lives, and thehurdle, and the hanging? And if I would please not to laugh (which wasso unkind of me), had I never heard of imprisonments, and torturing withthe cruel boot, and selling into slavery, where the sun and the lashoutvied one another in cutting a man to pieces? I replied that of allthese things I had heard, and would take especial care to steer me freeof all of them. My duty was all that I wished to do; and none could harmme for doing that. And I begged my cousin to give me good-speed, insteadof talking dolefully. Upon this she changed her manner wholly, becomingso lively and cheerful that I was convinced of her indifference, andsurprised even more than gratified.
'Go and earn your spurs, Cousin Ridd,' she said: 'you are strong enoughfor anything. Which side is to have the benefit of your doughty arm?'
'Have I not told you, Ruth,' I answered, not being fond of this kind oftalk, more suitable for Lizzie, 'that I do not mean to join either side,that is to say, until--'
'Until, as the common proverb goes, you know which way the cat willjump. Oh, John Ridd! Oh, John Ridd!'
'Nothing of the sort,' said I: 'what a hurry you are in! I am for theKing of course.'
'But not enough to fight for him. Only enough to vote, I suppose, ordrink his health, or shout for him.'
'I can't make you out to-day, Cousin Ruth; you are nearly as bad asLizzie. You do not say any bitter things, but you seem to mean them.'
'No, cousin,
think not so of me. It is far more likely that I say them,without meaning them.'
'Anyhow, it is not like you. And I know not what I can have done in anyway, to vex you.'
'Dear me, nothing, Cousin Ridd; you never do anything to vex me.'
'Then I hope I shall do something now, Ruth, when I say good-bye. Godknows if we ever shall meet again, Ruth: but I hope we may.'
'To be sure we shall,' she answered in her brightest manner. 'Try notto look wretched, John: you are as happy as a Maypole.'
'And you as a rose in May,' I said; 'and pretty nearly as pretty. Givemy love to Uncle Ben; and I trust him to keep on the winning side.'
'Of that you need have no misgivings. Never yet has he failed of it.Now, Cousin Ridd, why go you not? You hurried me so at breakfast time?'
'My only reason for waiting, Ruth, is that you have not kissed me, asyou are almost bound to do, for the last time perhaps of seeing me.'
'Oh, if that is all, just fetch the stool; and I will do my best,cousin.'
'I pray you be not so vexatious; you always used to do it nicely,without any stool, Ruth.'
'Ah, but you are grown since then, and become a famous man, John Ridd,and a member of the nobility. Go your way, and win your spurs. I want nolip-service.'
Being at the end of my wits, I did even as she ordered me. At least Ihad no spurs to win, because there were big ones on my boots, paid forin the Easter bill, and made by a famous saddler, so as never to clogwith marsh-weed, but prick as hard as any horse, in reason, coulddesire. And Kickums never wanted spurs; but always went tail-foremost,if anybody offered them for his consideration.
Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor Page 63