The Solitary Farm

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER II

  THE WOOIN' O'T

  Imagine a man wrapped from infancy in the cotton wool of civilisationsuddenly jerked out of the same into barbaric nakedness. Deprived of thestrong protection of the law, brought suddenly face to face with the"might-is-right" theory, he would have to fight for his own land, evento the extent of slaying anyone who thwarted his needs. Such a man,amazed and horrified at first, would gradually become accustomed to hisIshmael existence, since habit is second nature. Silas Pence felt sickwhen he reflected on the offer made by Captain Huxham, and to him of allpeople--a minister of the Gospel, a follower of the Prince of Peace. Forthe first time in his guarded life, he became aware of the evil whichunderlies the smiling surface of things, and it was as though an abysshad opened suddenly at his feet. But although he did not know it at thetime, the seed had been sown in his heart at the right moment, and wouldgerminate almost without his knowledge. In a few days Silas could lookback at the horrifying suggestion with calmness, and could even considerthe advantages it offered.

  But just now he felt sick, physically sick, and descending withtrembling limbs to the ground floor of the house, staggered towards thehall and door. All he desired was to get away, and put the corn-fieldsbetween himself and the evil atmosphere of Bleacres. But his legs failedhim as he laid hands on the latch, and he sank white-faced and shakinginto a chair. In this state he was discovered by Mrs. Coppersley, thecaptain's sister and housekeeper. She was a buxom, amiable woman, with afixed smile meaning nothing. The expression of her rosy face changed toone of alarm when she saw the heap in the chair. "Save us, Mr. Pence,what's wrong?"

  Pence was about to break forth into a denunciation of Huxham'swickedness, but a timely recollection of the captain's last words--thathis story would not be believed--made him pause. After all, Huxham waswell known as a decent man and an open-handed friend to one and all, sothere was nothing to be gained by telling a truth which would certainlybe scoffed at. The preacher changed his mind in one swift instant, andreplied nervously to Mrs. Coppersley's inquiry. "I have been on thequarter-deck, and it made me dizzy. I am not accustomed to----"

  "Drat that brother of mine," interrupted Mrs. Coppersley angrily, "hegot me up there once, and I thought I'd never come down. Here, Mr.Pence, you hold up while I get you a sup of rum."

  "No, no! Strong drink leads us into desperate ways," protested thepreacher. But Mrs. Coppersley was gone, and had returned before he couldmake up his mind to fly temptation. Silas was not used to alcohol, butthe shock he had sustained in learning so much of Huxham's true natureprevented his exercising his usual self-control. With his highly strungnerves he was half-hysterical, and so, when forced by kindly Mrs.Coppersley, readily drank half a tumbler of rum slightly diluted withwater.

  "Drink it all, there's a good soul," entreated the housekeeper, forcingthe glass to his lips.

  "No!" He pushed it away. "I feel better already!" and he did, for thestrong spirit brought colour to his cheek and new strength to his limbs.He stood up in a few minutes, quite himself, and indeed more thanhimself, since the rum put into him more courage than came by nature."Wine maketh glad the heart of man," said Silas, in excuse for hisunusual indulgence.

  "Rum isn't wine," said Mrs. Coppersley, with a jolly laugh, "it'ssomething much better, Mr. Pence. Now you go home and lie down."

  "Oh, no! I feel as though I could charge an army," said Pence valiantly.

  "Then wait in the study." She indicated the panelled room with a jerk ofher head. "Jabez will be down from his quarter-deck soon."

  "No." Pence shivered, in spite of the rum, at the thought of againhaving to face his tempter. "I must go now. My presence is required inthe village."

  "Then you can take a message for me to Mr. Vand," said Mrs. Coppersley,with a slight accession of colour to her already florid face. "Say thatI am coming to Marshely about seven o'clock, and will call at the shop."

  This request changed Pence into the preacher and the leader of the godlypeople who called his chapel their fold. Vand was the son of the womanwho kept the village grocery shop, and a cripple who played the violinat various local concerts. He was at least ten years younger than Mrs.Coppersley, who confessed to being thirty-five--though probably she wasolder--and the way in which the widow ran after him was something of ascandal. As both Mrs. Coppersley and Henry Vand were members of LittleBethel, Silas felt that he was entitled to inquire into the matter. "Youask me to take such a message, sister?" he demanded austerely.

  The widow's face flamed, and her eyes sparkled. "There is no shame in itthat I am aware of, Mr. Pence," she declared violently; "if I choose tomarry again, that's no one's business but mine, I take it."

  "Oh, so you desire to marry Henry Vand?" said Pence, amazed.

  "It's not a question of desiring," said the buxom woman impatiently."Henry and I have arranged to be married this summer."

  "He is a cripple."

  "I know that," she snapped, "and therefore needs the care of a wife."

  "His mother looks after him," protested Pence weakly.

  "Does she?" inquired Mrs. Coppersley. "I thought she looked after no onebut herself. She's that selfish as never was, so don't you go to defendher, Mr. Pence. Henry, poor boy, who is an angel, if ever there was one,is quite neglected; so I am going to marry him and look after him. Sothere!" and Mrs. Coppersley, placing her hands akimbo, defied herpastor.

  "Henry has no money," said Pence, finding another objection.

  "As to that," remarked Mrs. Coppersley indifferently, "when my brotherdies I'll have money for us both, and this house into the bargain."

  "You will have nothing of the sort," said Silas, surprised into sayingmore than was wise. "Your brother's daughter will inherit this----"

  "Oh, will she?" cried Mrs. Coppersley violently, "and much you knowabout it, Mr. Pence. "When my late husband, who was a ship's steward, andsaving, died ten year ago, I lent my brother some money to add to hisown, so that he might buy Bleacres. He agreed that if I did so, I shouldinherit the house and the land. I promised to look after Bella until shegot married, and----"

  "Mrs. Coppersley," said Pence, with an effort at firmness, "your brothertold me only lately that if I married Bella, he would give her the farmand the house when he died, so----"

  "Ho, indeed," interrupted Mrs. Coppersley wrathfully, "pretty goings on,I'm sure. You call yourself a pastor, Mr. Pence, and come plotting torob me of what is mine. I take everything, and Bella nothing, so you canput that in your pipe and smoke it, though you ain't man enough to smokeeven a penny cigar. You marry Bella? Why, she's as good as engaged tothat young Lister, who has got more gumption about him than you have."

  "I advise you," said Pence, and his voice sounded strangely in his ownears, "not to tell your brother that his daughter is engaged to Mr.Lister."

  "I never said that she was. But----"

  "There is no but. The mere mention of such an engagement would sendCaptain Huxham crazy."

  "In heaven's name, why?" gasped Mrs. Coppersley, looking the picture ofstout amazement and sitting down heavily.

  "Because for some reason he hates Mr. Lister, and would kill him ratherthan accept him as his son-in-law."

  Mrs. Coppersley's florid face turned quite pale. Evidently she knew whather brother was like when roused. "Why should Jabez hate Mr. Lister?"she asked.

  "You had better ask him," said Pence, opening the hall door; then tosoften his abruptness he added, "I'll tell Henry Vand that you will seehim." After which he departed, leaving Mrs. Coppersley still pale andstill gasping.

  After all there was no reason why the ship steward's widow would notmarry the young man. Vand was handsome in a refined way, and very cleveras a musician. He was only slightly crippled, too, and could get aboutwith the aid of a stick. All the same, he needed someone to look afterhim, and as his own mother did not do so--as was notorious--why shouldhe not become Mrs. Coppersley's husband? The disparity in age did notmatter, as Vand, in spite of his good looks, was club-footed and poor.Bu
t Pence doubted if Mrs. Coppersley would inherit Bleacres afterCaptain Huxham's death, in spite of the arrangement between them.Unless--and here was the chance for the housekeeper--unless Bellamarried Lister, notwithstanding her father's opposition. In that event,Huxham would assuredly disinherit her. "I'll point this out to her,"said the preacher, as he left the manor-house, "and urge my suit.Common-sense will make her yield to my prayers. Moreover, I can plead,and----" here he smiled complacently as he thought of his pulpiteloquence. Besides, the unaccustomed spirit of the rum was still keepinghim brave.

  Pence sauntered in the glowing sunshine down the narrow path which ranbetween the standing corn. The path was not straight. It wounddeviously, as though Huxham wished to make the approach to his abode asdifficult as possible. Indeed, it was strange that he should sow corn atall, since corn at the time was not remunerative. But every year sincehe had entered into possession of Bleacres the owner had sown corn, andevery year there had only been the one meandering path through the same,the very path which Pence was now taking. There was evidently somepurpose in this sowing, and in the fact that only one pathway was leftwhereby to approach the mansion. But what that purpose might be, neitherPence, nor indeed anyone else, could guess. Not that they gave it athought. Huxham was presumed to be very wealthy, and his farming waslooked upon more as a hobby than a necessity.

  The preacher brushed between the breast-high corn, and walked over twoor three narrow planks laid across two or three narrow ditches. Butwhere the corn ended was a wide channel, at least ten feet broad, whichstretched the whole length of the estate and passed beyond it on its wayunder the railway line to the distant river. The water-way ranstraightly for some distance, and then curved down into the marshes atits own will, to spread into swamps. On one side sprang the thick greencorn, but on the other stretched waste-lands up to the outskirts of thevillage, one mile distant. There was no fence round Bleacres at thispoint. Apparently, Huxham deemed the wide channel a sufficientprotection to his corn, which it assuredly was, as no tramps evertrespassed on the land. But then, Marshely was not a tramp village. Theinhabitants were poor, and had nothing to give in the way of charity.The loafer of the roads avoided the locality for very obvious reasons.

  Before crossing the planks, which were laid on mid-channel supportingtressels over the water-way, Pence looked from right to left. Theevening was so very beautiful that he thought he would prolong his walkuntil sundown, and it wanted some time to that hour. He was stillindignant with Captain Huxham for his base offer, and came to theconclusion that the ex-mariner was mad when he made it. Pence, in hissimplicity, could not think that any man could ask another to kill athird in cold blood. All the same, the offer had been made, and Silasfound himself asking why Huxham should desire the death of a strangerwith whom--so far as the preacher knew--he was not even acquainted.Huxham had always refused to permit Bella to bring Lister to Bleacres,and indeed had forbidden her even to speak to the young man. Hetherefore could not be cognisant of the fact, stated by Mrs. Coppersley,that Lister and the girl were on the eve of an engagement.

  Thus thinking, Pence mechanically wandered along the left bank of theboundary water-way, and found himself near a small hut, inhabited by thesole labourer whom Huxham habitually employed. He engaged others, ofcourse, when his fields were ploughed, and sown, and reaped, butTunks--such was the euphonious name of the handy-man--was in demand allthe year round. He resided in this somewhat lonely hut, along with hisgrandmother, a weird old gipsy reputed to be a witch, and it was thisreputation which set Mr. Pence thinking.

  Remembering that Mrs. Tunks was of the Romany, he thought, and blushedas he thought, that it would be worth while to expend a shilling inorder to learn if his suit with Bella would really prosper. The templeof fate was before him, and the Sibyl was probably within, since thesmoke of cooking the evening meal curled from the chimney. It was onlynecessary to lift the latch, lay down a shilling, and inquire. But evenas the temptation drew him, he was seized with a feeling of shame, thathe--a preacher of the Gospel, and the approved foe thereby ofwitches--should think for one moment of encouraging such traffic withthe Evil One. Pence, blushing as red as the now setting sun, turned awayhastily, and found himself face to face with the very girl who wascausing him such torment.

  "How are you, Mr. Pence?" said Bella Huxham, lightly. "A lovely evening,isn't it?" and she tried to pass him on the narrow path. Probably shewas going to see the Witch of Endor.

  The preacher placed himself directly before her.

  "Wait for one moment."

  The girl did not reply immediately, but looked at him earnestly, tryingto guess what the usually nervous preacher had to say. Bella looked morelovely than ever in Pence's eyes, as she stood before him in her whitedress and bathed in the rosy glory of the sunset. She did not in theleast resemble her father or her aunt, both of whom were stout, uncomelyfolk of true plebeian type. Bella was aristocratic in her looks, as talland slim and willowy as a young sapling. Her hair and eyes were dark,her face was a perfect oval of ivory-white delicately flushed with red,like a sweet-pea, and if her chin was a trifle resolute and hard, hermouth was perfect. She carried herself in a haughty way, and had a habitof bending her dark brows so imperiously, that she reminded Pence ofJudith, who killed Holofernes. Judith and Jael and Deborah must havebeen just such women.

  "Well?" asked Bella, bending her brows like an empress, "what is it?"

  "I--I--love you, Miss Huxham."

  She could not be angry at so naive a declaration, and one coming from aman whom she knew to be as timid as a hare. "I am somewhat surprised,Mr. Pence," she replied demurely, "are you not making a mistake?"

  "No," he stuttered, flushing with eagerness, for amorous passion makesthe most timid bold. "I have loved you for months, for years. I want youto be my wife--to share with me the glorious privilege of leading myflock to the land of Beulah, and----"

  "Stop, stop!" She flung up her hand. "I assure you, Mr. Pence, that itis impossible. Forget that you ever said anything."

  "I cannot forget. Why should I forget?"

  "You must not ask a woman for her reasons, Mr. Pence," she answereddrily, "for a woman never gives the true ones."

  "Bella!"

  "Miss Huxham to you, Mr. Pence." She spoke in a chilly manner.

  "No," he cried wildly; "to me you are Bella. I think of you by thatsweet name day and night. You come between me and my work. When Iconsole the afflicted I feel that I am talking to you. When I read myBible, your face comes between me and the sacred page. To me you areHephzibah--yes, and the Shulamite. The Angel of the Covenant; the joy ofmy heart. Oh, Bella, I love the very ground that you tread on. Can yourefuse me? See!" He threw himself on the path, heedless of the fact thatMrs. Tunks might be at her not far distant window. "I am at your feet,Bella! Bella!"

  The girl was distressed by this earnestness. "Rise, Mr. Pence, someonewill see you. You must not behave like this. I cannot be your wife."

  "Why not? Oh, why not?"

  "Because I am not fit to be a minister's wife."

  The young man sprang to his feet, glowing with passion. "Let me teachyou."

  Bella avoided his extended arms. "No, no, no!" she insisted, "you musttake my answer once and for all, Mr. Pence. I cannot marry you."

  "But why?" he urged despairingly.

  "I have a reason," she replied formally; "don't ask me for it."

  "I have no need to. I know your reason."

  Bella flushed, but overlooked the bitterness of his tone because sheguessed what he suffered. "In that case, I need not explain," she saidcoldly, and again tried to pass. Again he prevented her.

  "You love that man Lister," he said between his teeth.

  "That is my business, Mr. Pence."

  "Mine also," he cried, undaunted by her haughtiness. "Your father'sbusiness, too. Mrs. Coppersley said that you were almost engaged to thisman Lister. But you shall not marry him; you will not even be engaged tohim."

  "Who will prevent me?" asked Bella angrily.
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  "Your father. He hates this man Lister."

  "How can my father hate a man he has never even seen?" she demanded;"you are talking rubbish."

  "Miss Huxham"--Pence detained her by laying his thin fingers on herarm--"if you marry this man Lister"--he kept to this sentence as thoughit were a charm--"you will be a pauper."

  She flashed up into a royal rage and stamped. "How dare you say that?"

  "I dare tell the truth."

  "It is not the truth. How can you tell if----"

  "Your father told me," insisted the preacher, hotly.

  Bella withdrew a step or so, her eyes growing round with surprise."My--father--said--that?"

  "Yes, yes, yes!" cried Silas feverishly. "I went to him this veryafternoon to ask permission to present myself to you as a suitor. Heconsented, but only when he heard that you loved this man who----"

  "You told him that?" demanded Bella, her breath coming quick and short.

  "Yes," said Pence, trying to be courageous, "and it is true."

  "Who says that it is?"

  "Everyone in the village."

  "The village has nothing to do with my business," she declaredimperiously, "and even if I do love--but let that pass. You told me thatmy father said I should be a pauper."

  "If you married the man Lister," he reminded her. "Yes, he did say so,and declared also that he would give me the manor-house and the farmwhen he died, if I made you my wife."

  Bella shrugged her shoulders. "My father does not mean what he says,"she remarked disbelievingly; "as I am his only child, the Solitary Farm,as they call it, comes to me in any case. And I see no reason why Ishould discuss my father's business with you. Stand aside and let mepass."

  "No." Silas was wonderfully brave for one of his timid soul. "You shallnot pass until you learn the truth. You think that I am a fool and weak.I am not. I feel wise and strong; and I am strong--strong enough towithstand temptation, even when you are offered as a bribe."

  Bella grew somewhat alarmed. She did not like the glittering of hisshallow, grey eyes. "You are mad."

  "I am sane; you know that I am sane, but you think to put me off bysaying that I am crazy. I have had enough to make me so. Yourfather"--here his voice took on the sing-song pulpit style--"your fathertook me up to an exceedingly high mountain, and showed me the kingdomsof the world. All of them he offered me, together with you, if Imurdered Lister."

  "What!" Bella's voice leaped an octave; "you--you--murder Cyril?"

  "Yes, Cyril, the man you love. And if I dared----"

  "Mr. Pence"--Bella saw the necessity of keeping herself well in handwith this hysterical youth, for he was nothing else, and spoke in acalm, kind voice--"my father has not seen Mr. Lister, and cannot hatehim."

  "Go and ask him what he thinks," said Pence fiercely. "I tell you thatto-day I was offered everything if I would kill this man Lister."

  "You are talking at random," she said soothingly; "go home, and liedown."

  "I am talking of what may come to pass. Your father wishes it, so whynot, when I love you so deeply? I offer you the heart of an honest man,and yet you would throw that aside for this profligate."

  "Cyril is not a profligate," interrupted Bella, and could have bittenout her tongue for the hasty speech.

  "He is. He comes from London, the City of Evil, that shall yet fall likeBabylon the Great. But your soul shall not be lost; you shall not marryhim."

  "I shall!" cried Bella, indignantly, and becoming rash again in heranger; "and what is more, I am engaged to him now. So there! Let mepass."

  She slipped deftly past him, and walked swiftly homeward. Silas Pencestood where he was, staring after her, unable to speak or move or tofollow. Then the sun sank, leaving him in the twilight of sorrow.