CHAPTER VIII
_The Battle Begins_
Up to that moment George Grice had fondly and firmly believed that heknew the secret of the house opposite--he was so certain in hisassumption, indeed, that he had taken no particular trouble to get atthe real truth about it. For some time there had been a travellingdraper, a Scotsman, coming into those parts, and doing a considerableamount of trade; this man had often remarked to the grocer that he had arare good mind to set up a shop in Savilestowe, and make it theheadquarters of a further development. He had not been seen in theneighbourhood since early spring, but George, who prided himself on hisdeductive qualities, was sure that he was behind all the preparationswhich were going on over the way, and said so, with a knowing chuckle,to Albert.
"They're close, is them Scotch fellers!" he remarked, as he and his sonstood at their shop door one afternoon, watching certain material beingcarried into the opposite house. "I see how it is--he's doing it all onthe quiet--made t'carpenter keep t'secret till all's ready for opening.Then he'll be appearin' on t'scene wi' a cargo o' goods. An' I shall hevno objection, Albert, mi lad--owt 'at keeps trade i' t'village 'llbring trade to us, as long as it doesn't trespass on our line."
Once or twice George Grice endeavoured to sound Stubley, as owner of thehouse, on the subject of the mystery. Stubley took pleasure inheightening it, and winked knowingly at his questioner.
"Aye, ye'll be seeing summat afore long!" said Stubley. "We'm not alwaysgoing to be asleep here i' Savilestowe. This is what they call aprogressive age, mi lad, and some of you old fossils want wakenin' up abit. We shall be havin' all sorts o' things i' now. You'll have youreyes opened, Grice. Keep a look out on t'windows opposite--ye'll beseeing summat in 'em at'll make you think!"
"Drapery goods, no doubt," suggested Grice. "An' ready-made clothin'.Happen I can see a bit already."
"I'm sayin' nowt," retorted Stubley. "Ye'll see summat--i' time."
But when George Grice saw the golden teapot elevated above the frontdoor, he experienced very much the same feeling which fills the breastof a mariner, who, having sailed long in fog and mist, sees them lift,and finds before him a rocky and perilous coast. Just as a pestle andmortar denote the presence of a chemist, so a teapot would seem toindicate the presence of a dealer in tea--and in like commodities. Andit was in something of a cold sweat, induced by anticipation, that hetucked up the corner of his apron and sallied across the street to findout, once and for all, what that glaring object meant.
"Now, mi lad!" he began, coming across the carpenter at the threshold ofthe renovated house, "What's t'meanin' o' that thing ye've just fixedup? It 'ud seem to be a imitation of a teapot, if it owt is owt. What'sit mean, like? What's this here shop going to be?"
The carpenter, a quiet, meditative man, not without a sense of humour,had received his instructions from Jeckie the night before--at noon thatday he was to place the golden teapot in position, affix a sign beneathit, and complete the bold announcement by draping the Union Jack overboth. So there was no longer any need for secrecy, and with a jerk ofhis thumb he motioned Grice within one of the newly-fitted rooms, andpointed to an oblong object which rested, covered with coarse sacking,on the counter.
"Mean, eh?" he said, with a laugh. "Why, it means, Mr. Grice, 'at you'regoing to hev a bit o' competition, like! They say 'at it's a good thingfor t'community, is competition, so yer mo'nt grummle. But if you wantt'exact meanin'--why, ye can look at this here, if ye like. It'll be upower t'door in a few o' minutes, for all t'place to see, but I'll gi'yer a private view wi' pleasure--very neat and tasty it is. I'm sureye'll admit."
With that the carpenter stripped off the sacking from the oblong objectand revealed a signboard, the background whereof was of a lightapple-green, the lettering in brilliant gold. And Grice took in thatlettering in one glance, and stepped back in sickened amazement. Yetthere was only one word on the sign, only a name--but the name was"Farnish."
"Nice bit o' sign-writin', that, Mr. Grice?" said the carpenter,maliciously. "Done at Clothford, was that theer--so were t'goldenteapot. She'll ha' laid a nice penny out on them two, will MissFarnish."
Grice, who was already purple with rage, found his tongue.
"D'ye mean to tell me 'at yon woman's going to start a grocery businessreight i' front o' my very door!" he vociferated. "Her! Going to----"
"Aye, and why not, Grice?" said a hard and dry voice behind him. "D'yethink 'at ye've gotten a monopoly o' trade i' t'place, or i' t'district,either? Gow, I think ye'll find yer mistaken, mi lad!"
Grice turned angrily, to find Stubley standing amongst the shavings onthe floor of the shop. The farmer nodded defiantly as he met thegrocer's irate look.
"I telled you yer were wrong, Grice, when you turned yon lass off!" hesaid. "I telled you to count twenty afore you did owt. Ye wouldn't--andnow she's goin' to make you smart for it. And--it must be a very niceand pleasant reflection for you!--ye've provided her wi' t'sinews o'war! That there fifteen hundred pound 'at she made you fork out's comin'in very useful to t'enemy--what!"
The deep red flush which had overspread Grice's big face and thick neckdied out, and he became white as his immaculate apron. He gave Stubley aglare of venomous hatred.
"So you've been at t'back o' this?" he exclaimed. "It's you 'at's backedher up? What reight have you to come interferin' wi' a honest man'strade 'at he's ta'en all these years to build up? Ye're a bad 'unStubley!"
"Nowt no worse nor you, ye fat owd mork!" retorted Stubley, who hadwaited a long time to pay off certain old scores. "If there's been owtbad o' late i' this place, it's been your treatment o' yon lass!--and Ihope she'll make yer suffer for it. Ye'll ha' t'pleasure o' seein' tradecome into this door 'at used to come into yours, Mr. Grice. That'lltouch you up, I know!--that'll get home to t'sore place."
Grice made another effort to speak, but before words reached his lipshis mood changed, and he turned on his heel and left the house. He wentstraight across the street, through the shop, and into his privateparlour. He had a bottle of brandy in his cupboard, and he took it outand helped himself to a strong dose with a shaking hand. The brandysteadied him for the moment, but his rage was still there, and had to bevented on somebody, and presently he opened the door into the shop andcalled his son. Albert came in and stared at the brandy bottle.
"Is aught amiss?" asked Albert. "You're that white."
George fixed his small eyes on his son's expressionless face.
"Do you know what that shop is across t'road, and who's going to openit?" he demanded.
"Me?--no!" answered Albert. "What is it--and who is?"
"Then I'll tell yer!" said George in low concentrated tones. "It's agrocer's shop, and it's yon there she-devil's, Jecholiah Farnish. Shegoing to run it i' opposition to me, 'at's been here all these years!An' it's wi' my money 'at it's bein' started--mind you that! Mi money,'at I've tewed and scratted for all mi life--my fifteen hundred pound,'at I hed to pay 'cause you were such a damned fool as to gi' that therering to her and write her them letters! It's all your fault, ye poorsoft thing--if yer'd never given her t'ring nor written them letters, Iwould ha' snapped mi fingers at her! But yer did--and there's t'result!"
He waved a hand, with an almost imperial gesture, in the direction ofthe offending shop across the way, and looked at his son with eyes fullof angry contempt.
"There's t'result!" he repeated. "A shop reight before wer very noses'at's bound to do us damage--and all owin' to your foolishness!"
Albert put a hand to his mouth and coughed. There was something in thatcough that made George start and look more narrowly at his son. And hesuddenly realised that Albert was going to show fight.
"I'll tell you what it is!" said Albert, with the desperate courage of aweak nature. "I'm goin' to have no more o' that sort o' talk. You seemto think I'm naught but a mouse, but I'll show you I'm as good a man aswhat you are. You forget 'at I've half o' this business--it's mine,signed and sealed, and naught can do away wi' that--and me and Lucilla'sgot her t
wo thousand pounds safe i' t'bank and untouched--we're nonewithout brass, and I can claim to have t'partnership wound up any time,and take my lawful share and go elsewhere, and so I will, if there's anymore talk. I did no more nor what any other feller 'ud ha' done when Igave that ring and wrote them letters--and I'm none bound to stop i'Savilestowe, neither. Me an' Lucilla----"
The door from the shop opened and Lucilla came in--and George saw atonce what had happened. Between his parlour and the shop there was ahatchment in the wall, fitted with a small window; hastily glancinground he saw that the window was open; Lucilla, accordingly, hercashier's desk being close to the hatchment, had heard all that fatherand son had said. And there were danger signals in her cheeks as sheturned on the old grocer.
"No, we're not bound to stop in Savilestowe!" she exclaimed angrily andpertly. "And stop we shan't if you're going to treat Albert as you do.You've never been right to him since you paid that money to that woman!And it's all your fault--you should have paid her something when youfirst broke it off; she'd ha' been glad to take five hundred pound then.And, as Albert says, we've got my two thousand pounds, and his share inthis business, and I'll not have him sat on, neither by you nor anybody,so there! You stand up to him, Albert. We've had enough of black looksthis last month--it's not our fault if he paid that woman fifteenhundred pounds!"
Grice looked in amazement at his muttering son and the sharp-tonguedbride--and in that moment learned a good deal that he had never knownbefore.
"An' it were for you 'at I laid out all that brass in furniture, andbowt a bran' new pianner!" he said reproachfully. "Well!--there'sneither gratitude nor nowt left i' this world!"
"You leave Albert alone!" retorted the bride, sullenly. "We'll have nomore of it." She drew Albert back into the shop, and George, peepingthrough the window of the hatchment saw them standing together in acorner, talking in whispers. Lucilla wore a determined air, and Albertnodded in response to all she said--clearly, they were plottingsomething. George drew back and picked up his glass--here, indeed, was afine situation, opposition across the street, and rebellion in his ownhouse! And the recollection of a certain look in his daughter-in-law'seyes frightened him--he had suddenly seen what she was capable of.
"Nowt but trouble--nowt but trouble!" he muttered. "I should ha' donebetter if I'd let our Albert stick to Jecholiah Farnish! But--it'sdone!"
That day the Grice household became divided. George dined alone in hisparlour behind the shop, and the bride and bridegroom in their quartersupstairs. Father and son only spoke to each other on matters of businessduring the day, and when evening came Mr. and Mrs. Albert went off tothe theatre at Sicaster, and left George to his reflections. They werenot pleasant. In his joy at getting rid of Jeckie Farnish and atproviding Albert with a moneyed bride he had been over-generous in thematter of the partnership, and had presented his son with a half-sharein the business as it stood. And he knew that Albert's was no vainthreat. Albert, if he liked, could have the partnership dissolved at anytime, and could insist on having his moiety paid out to him. Now,supposing that Lucilla put her husband up to that? Terrible, terribletrouble!--and there was that she-devil, Jeckie, about to appear on thescene.
Jeckie was the first person George Grice saw when he drew up his blindthe following morning. She was at her shop-door, very energetic andbusinesslike, superintending the unloading of two great wagon-loads ofgoods. The old grocer turned sick with fury when he saw from the signson the sides of the wagons that they were from the best wholesalegrocers in Clothford. All that day and all the rest of the week otherwagons and carts arrived. His practised eye saw that the new shop wasgoing to be as well equipped, if not better, than his own. And as henoted these things and realised that his carefully built-up business wasin danger, a deep groan burst from his lips, ever and anon, and itinvariably ended up with the bitter exclamation:
"All bein' done wi' mi money!--all bein' done with mi money! I've foundt'munitions o' battle, and they're bein' used agen me!"
Grice always paid his employees at noon on Saturday. On the Saturday ofthis eventful week when he went out into the stable-yard and handedBartle thirty shillings, Bartle quietly handed it back.
"What's that for?" demanded George, suddenly suspecting the truth. "Whatd'yer mean?"
"'Stead of a week's notice," answered Bartle. "I'm none comin' o' Mondaymornin'."
"Ye're goin' across t'road!" exclaimed George, with an angry sneer."Goin' back to t'owd lot, what?"
"Aye!" answered Bartle. "Allus meant to, mister, as soon as I knew.Ye'll have no difficulty about gettin' a man i'stead o' me; there's twoor three young fellers i' t'village 'at'll take it on. But I mun go."
"All reight, mi lad!" said George. "An' I wonder how long it'll last,ower yonder! What does she know about t'grocerin' business?"
"Why, I understand 'at ye didn't nowt about it yersen when you started,"retorted Bartle, who was well versed in village gossip, and knew thatGeorge had begun life as a market gardener. "An' if there's anybody 'athas a headpiece i' these parts I reckon it's Jeckie. I'm for her,anyway."
This was another bitter piece of bread for Grice to swallow, for he knewthat Bartle had picked up a lot of valuable information while in hisemploy and would infallibly make use of it.
"Take care you tell no tales about my business!" he growled as he thrustthe thirty shillings into his pocket and turned away. "There's such athing as law i' this land, mi lad!"
"Aye," said Bartle, with a grin. "You've had a bit o' experience on't o'late, Mr. Grice, what?"
The shaft went home, but Grice made no sign that he had received it.Blow after blow was falling upon him, and he knew there were more tocome. The village folk were by that time conversant with the truehistory of the case, and found elements of romance and excitement in it.Jeckie Farnish had made George Grice pay up to the tune of fifteenhundred pounds, and she was using the money to beat him at his owntrade! Well, to be sure, everybody must give her a turn. George had hadhis way with folk long enough.
There was a small room over Grice's shop from which he could see allthat went on in the street beneath, and on the Monday morning, which sawthe formal opening of Jeckie's rival establishment, he posted himself inits window and watched. When Jeckie's blinds were drawn up it was todisplay a fine, well-arranged assortment of goods; it was a fine,gaily-painted cart in which Bartle presently drove off and it was filledto its edge with parcels. All that morning Grice watched, and saw manyof his usual customers turn into the new shop. Monday was a greatshopping day for the village; by noon he realised that his own trade wasgoing to suffer. And at night Albert curtly drew his attention to afact--at least half of the better class of customers had not sent intheir weekly orders; instead of there being thirty to forty lists tomake up in the morning there were no more than fifteen.
"They're going across there!" muttered Albert significantly. "They sayher prices are lower."
Grice got an indication of Jeckie's game next day, when the squire'swife sailed into the shop carrying a smartly-got up price list in herhand with the name, Farnish, prominent on its blue and gold cover. Shetackled George in person, wanting to know how it was that Miss Farnish'sprices were in all cases below his own, and suggesting that he shouldcome down. Grice grew short in temper and reply, and the squire's wife,remarking airily that every one must have a chance, walked out and wentover the road. The wives of the vicar and the curate had made a similardefection the day before, and that evening the one-time monopolistforesaw a steady fall in his revenues.
The Root of All Evil Page 8