CHAPTER II
_The Bit of Bad Land_
Mortimer was at Jeckie Farnish's private door to the minute on thefollowing evening, and Jeckie hastened to admit him and to lead him toher parlour. He went straight to the point at which he had broken offtheir conversation of the night before.
"You were saying that before ever starting on the project I mentioned itwould be necessary to buy the land," he said, as he settled himself inan easy chair. "Now, Miss Farnish, let's be plain and matter-of-factabout one thing. Most of the land in this parish of Savilestowe belongsto the squire. But we're not going to have him in at this business! Idon't want him even to know that anything's afoot until matters aresettled, and in full working order. For not all the land is his!--whichis fortunate. A good deal of it, as you know, is glebe land. Then,Stubley owns a bit, and I understand those two fields by the mill arethe freehold property of the miller. And, very fortunately for my schemeand ideas, there's a considerable piece of land here which belongs to aman who, I should say, would be very glad to sell it--I mean the piecedown there beyond the old stone quarry, which you villagers callSavilestowe Leys."
"Worst bit o' land in the place!" exclaimed Jeckie. "There's naughtgrown there but the coarsest sort o' grass and weeds and such-like; it'smore like a wilderness than aught!"
Mortimer showed his white teeth and his eyes sparkled.
"All the better for us, my dear lady!" he said. "But it's under therethat we shall find the richest bed of coal! I know that! Seams, withoutdoubt, spread away from that bed in several directions, but the realwealth of this place lies under that bad bit of land, half-marsh,half-wilderness, as you say. Now, I understand that that particularproperty--forty acres in all--belongs to that little farmer at theSicaster end of the village. You know the man I mean--Benjamin Scholes?"
"Yes," assented Jeckie. "It's been in Ben Scholes's family for many ageneration."
Mortimer leaned forward, gave Jeckie a sharp, meaning look, and tappedher wrist.
"The first thing to be done is to buy these forty acres of land fromScholes--privately," he said. "That land's the front door to astore-house of unlimited wealth! And--you must buy it."
Jeckie shook her head.
"I say you must!" asserted Mortimer. "There's nobody but you who can doit. It'll have to be done on the quiet. You're the person!"
"It's not that," said Jeckie. "You're a stranger; you don't know ourpeople. Ben Scholes is a poor man; he'd be glad enough of the money. Butthat land's been in their family for two or three hundred years; he'llnone want to part with it, were it ever so. Poor as it is, the squirewanted to buy it from him some time since; he'd a notion of planting itwith fir and pine. But Ben wouldn't sell. And, besides, what excusecould I make for buying it?--poor land like that! He'd be suspicious."
"I've thought of all that," answered Mortimer. "I'm full of resource, asyou'll find out. Everybody knows what an enterprising woman you are, sothat what I'm going to suggest you should do would surprise nobody ifyou do it--as you must. Go and see Scholes; tell him you want to start amarket garden and a fruit orchard, and that his land will just suit yourpurposes when it's been thoroughly drained and prepared. Offer to buy itoutright; stick to him till you get it. Never you mind about his refusalto the squire; you've got a better tongue in your head than the squirehas from what I've seen of him, and you'll get round Scholes. You oughtto get the forty acres, such bad land as it is, for two or three hundredpounds. But look here--go up to that. You see, I'm not asking you tofind the money."
He drew out a pocket-book, extracted a folded slip of paper from it,unfolded it, and dropped it on the table at Jeckie's elbow. Jeckielooked down and saw a cheque, made payable to herself, for five hundredpounds.
"You'll get it for less than that if you go about it the right way,"continued Mortimer. "And, of course, when you buy it, and theconveyancing's done, you'll have all the papers made out in your name.I shan't appear in it at all. You and I can settle matterslater--but--there's the money. And if this chap Scholes stands out formore you've nothing to do but ask me. Only--but! At once!"
"And if he will sell?--if I get it?" asked Jeckie. "What then?"
"Then we've got forty acres of worthless stuff on top, and many athousand tons of coal beneath!" said Mortimer. "It'll take a good timeto exhaust what there is beneath the forty acres. And we can get towork. As for the rest of the land in the place--well, as need arises weshall have to come to terms with the other property owners. We shouldpay them royalties; that's all a matter of arrangement. We might leasetheir land--mineral rights, you know--from them for a term of years. Allthat can be settled later. What we want is a definite standing asowners; to begin with--owners! We might have leased Scholes's fortyacres for twenty-one, forty-two, or sixty-three years, but it's far bestto buy. Then it's ours. Go and see Scholes at once--to-morrow."
Jeckie picked up the cheque, and seemed to be looking at it, butMortimer saw that she did not see it at all; her thoughts wereelsewhere.
"And if I buy this bit o' land?" she said, after a pause. "What then?"
"Then, my dear madam, we'll get the necessary capital together, andproceed to make our mine!" replied Mortimer, with a laugh. "But there'llbe things to be done first. First of all, so as to make assurance doublysure, we should do a bit of prospecting--dig a drift into the seam (ifI find an out-crop, as I may) to prove its value, or sink a trial pit,or do some boring. It'll probably be boring; and when that takes placeyou'll soon know what to expect in the way of results."
"I should want to know a lot about that before I put money into it,"affirmed Jeckie. "I'm not the sort to throw money away."
"Neither am I!" laughed Mortimer. He rose in his characteristicallyabrupt fashion. "Well!" he said. "You'll see Scholes?--at once! Get holdof his forty acres, and then--then we can move. And in five years--ah!"
"What?" demanded Jeckie as she followed him to the door.
"You'll be mistress of a grand country house and a town mansion inMayfair!" answered Mortimer, showing his teeth. "Wealth! Look beneathyour very boots! it's just waiting there to be torn out of the earth."
Jeckie put Mortimer's cheque away in her safe, and went to bed, heravaricious spirit more excited than ever. Like all the folk in thatneighbourhood, she knew how the coal-fields of that part of Yorkshirehad been developed and extended of late; she had heard too, of theriches which men of humble origin had amassed by their fortunatepossession of a bit of land under which lay rich seams of coal. Therewas Mr. Revis, of Heronshawe Main, three miles the other side ofSicaster, who, originally a market gardener, was now, they said, amillionaire, all because he had happened to find out that coal layunder an unpromising, black-surfaced piece of damp land by the riverside, which his father had left him, and had then seemed almostvalueless. There was Mr. Graveson, of the Duke of York's Colliery, onthe other side of the town--he, they said, had been a small tradesman tobegin with, but had a sharp enough nose to smell coal at a particularplace, and wit enough to buy the land which covered it--he, too, rolledin money. And, after all, the stranger from London had shown his beliefby putting five hundred pounds in her hands--it would cost her nothingif she made the venture. And if there was coal beneath Ben Scholes'sforty acres, why not try for the fortune which its successful gettingwould represent?
After her one o'clock dinner next day, Jeckie, who by that time had acapable manager and three assistants in her shop, assumed her bestattire and went out. She turned her face towards the Savilestowe Leys, adesolate stretch of land at the lower end of the village, and from thehedgerow which bordered it, looked long and speculatively across itsflat, unpromising surface. She was wondering how men like Mortimer knewthat coal lay underneath such land--all that she saw was coarse grass,marsh marigolds, clumps of sedge and bramble, and a couple ofstarved-looking cows, Scholes's property, trying to find a mouthful offood among the prevalent poverty of the vegetation. That land, foragistment purposes, was not worth sixpence an acre, said Jeckie toherself; it seemed little short of ama
zing to think that wealth,possibly enormous in quantity, should be beneath it. But she rememberedMortimer's enthusiasm and his testimonials, and his cheque, and sheturned and walked through the village to Ben Scholes's farm.
There was a circumstance of which Jeckie was aware that she had notmentioned to Mortimer when they discussed the question of buying BenScholes's bit of bad land. Ben Scholes, who was only a little better offthan her own father had been in the old days at Applecroft, owed hermoney. Jeckie, as time went on, had begun to give credit; she found thatit was almost necessary to do so. And that year she had let Ben Scholesand his wife get fairly deep into her books, knowing very well that whenharvest time came round Ben would have money, and would pay up--he wasan honest, if a poor man. What with groceries and horse-corn andhardware--for Jeckie had begun to deal in small goods of that sort,forks, rakes, hoes and the like, since years before--Scholes owed hernearly a hundred pounds. She remembered that, as she walked up thestreet, and she busied herself in thinking how she could turn this factto advantage. Yet, she was not going to put the screw on her debtor; inher time she had learnt how to be diplomatic and tactful, how to gainher ends by other means than force. And it was not the face of the sterncreditor which she showed when she knocked at the open door of Scholes'slittle farmstead.
It was then three o'clock, and Scholes and his wife were following theusual Savilestowe custom of having an early cup of tea. They looked upfrom the table at which they sat by the fire, and the wife rose insurprise and with alacrity.
"Eh, why, if it isn't Miss Farnish!" she exclaimed. "Come your ways in,Miss Farnish, and sit you down. Happen, now you'll be tempted to take acup o' tea? it's fresh made, within this last five minutes, and good andstrong--your own tea, you know, and I couldn't say no more. Now do!"
"Why, thank you," responded Jeckie. "I don't mind if I do, as you're sokind. I just walked up to have a word or two with Ben there."
Scholes, a middle-aged, careworn-looking man, who, in spite ofeverything, had a somewhat humorous twist of countenance, grinned almostsheepishly as Jeckie took an elbow chair which his wife pulled forwardfor her.
"I hope you haven't come after no brass, Miss Farnish," he said, with anair intended to be ingratiatingly seductive. "I've nowt o' that sort tospare till t'harvest's in, but there'll be a bit then to throw about. Wemun have a settlin' up at that time. Ye know me--I'm all right."
Jeckie took the cup of tea which Mrs. Scholes handed to her, and stirredit thoughtfully.
"I didn't come after any brass, Ben," she answered. "It's all right,that--as you say, I know you. I wasn't going to mention it till harvestcomes."
"Why, now, then, that's all right!" said Scholes, facetiously. "Them'scomfortable words, them is. Aye, brass is scarce i' this region, but wecarry on, you know, we carry on, somehow. We haven't all gotten t'secreto' makin' fortunes, like you have, ye know. Us little 'uns has to becontent wi' what they call t'day o' small things."
"Aye, an' varry small an' all!" sighed Mrs. Scholes. "I'm sure! It's all'at a body can do, nowadays, to keep soul and body together."
"Why, mi lass, why!" said Scholes. "We've managed it so far. All t'same,I could offen find it i' mi heart to wish 'at I'd one o' these hererellytives 'at ye sometimes read about i' t'papers--owd uncles 'at diesi' foreign parts, and leaves fortunes, unexpected, like, to their nevvysand nieces at home. But none o' my uncles niver had nowt to leave 'at Iiver heerd on."
"I came up to tell you how you could make a bit o' money if you wantto," said Jeckie. The conversation had taken a convenient turn, and shewas quick to seize the opportunity. "A nice bit!" she added. "Somethingsubstantial."
Scholes pushed his cup and saucer away from him and looked sharply athis visitor.
"Ecod!" he exclaimed. "I should be glad to hear o' that! But--wheer canI make owt, outside o' this farm o' mine? It niver does no more nor keepus. It does that, to be sure, seein' 'at there's nobody but me andt'missis there, but that's all."
"Well, listen," said Jeckie. "There's that piece o' land o' yours, downat t'bottom end o' t'village. I want to buy it."
Scholes' thin face flushed, and he rose slowly from his chair, and for amoment turned away toward the window. When he looked round again heshook his head.
"Nay!" he said. "Nay!--I couldn't sell yon theer! Why, it's been i' ourfamily over three hundred years! Poor enough it is, and weean't feednowt--but as long as I have it, ye see, I'm a landowner, same ast'squire his-self! Why, as I dare say you've aweer, he wanted to buythat forty acres fro' me a piece back--but I wodn't. No! He werecalculating to plant it, and to make it into a game preserve. It were nouse. I couldn't find it i' mi heart to let it go. No!"
"Don't be silly!" said Jeckie. "That's all sentiment. What good is it toyou? Them two cows 'at you've got in it now can scarce pick up amouthful!"
"It's right, is that," agreed Scholes. "If them unfortunate animals hadto depend on what they get out o' that theer they'd have empty belliesevery night! But--(he dropped into his chair again and looked hard athis visitor)--since it's as poor as it is, what might you be wantin' itfor? If it's no good to me it's no good to nobody."
"I've got something that you haven't got," answered Jeckie, in her mostmatter-of-fact tones. "You could never do aught to improve that land,because you haven't got the money to do it with. I have! I'll be plainwith you. I'll tell you what I want it for. You know how I've developedmy business since I started it--developed it in all sorts of ways. Well,I'm going in for market-gardening and fruit-growing, and that piece o'land'll just suit me, because it's within half a mile o' the shop. Sellit to me, and I'll have it thoroughly drained. That's what it wants; andmake real good land of it, you'll see. You can't do that; it 'ud costyou hundreds o' pounds. I don't mind spending hundreds o' pounds on it.And--I want it!"
Scholes was evidently impressed by this line of argument. He lookedround at his wife, who was gazing anxiously from him to Jeckie, and fromJeckie to him.
"Ye're right i' one thing," he answered. "It would make all t'differencei' t'world to them forty acres if they were drained. My father allussaid so, and I've allus said so. But we never had t'money to lay out onthat job."
"I have," said Jeckie. "Let me have it! It 'ud be a shame on your partto deprive anybody of the chance of making bad land into good when youcan't do aught at it yourself! It's doing you no good; I can make it dome a lot o' good. And I'll lay you could do with the money."
Mrs. Scholes sighed. And Scholes gave her a sharp look.
"Aye, mi lass!" he said. "I know what ye'd say! Sell! But when all'ssaid and done, a man is sentimental. Three hundred year, over and above,yon theer property's been i' our family. I' time o' owd QueenElizabeth--that's when we got it. Lawyer Palethorpe, theer i' Sicaster,he has all t'papers. He telled me one day 'at of all t'landowners roundhere there isn't one, not one, 'at has land 'at's been held i' onefamily as long as what our family's held that. It 'ud be like selling apiece o' miself!"
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jeckie, utterly unmoved by Scholes'sreasonings. "I'll give you a full receipt for your bill--close on ahundred pound it is--and a cheque for three hundred. That's giving younearly four hundred pound. And you know as well as I do that if you putit up to auction you'd scarce get a bid. Don't be a fool, Ben Scholes!Three hundred pound, cash down, 'll be a rare help to you. And you'llhave no bill to pay me when harvest comes."
Late that evening Mortimer tapped at the private door, and Jeckieadmitted him. He followed her into the parlour.
"Well?" he said, without any word of greeting. "Anything come of it?"
"It's all right," answered Jeckie. "I've got it. Four hundred. I'm goinginto Sicaster with him to-morrow to settle it at the lawyer's. So that'smanaged."
The Root of All Evil Page 15