CHAPTER V
As Humphrey Baskerville had pointed out to his nephew Ned, disaster usually hits the weak harder than the strong, and the lazy man suffers more at sudden reverses than his neighbour, who can earn a living, come what trouble may.
Rupert and his wife were prepared to seek a new home, and Milly, at the bottom of her heart, suffered less from these tribulations than any of her husband's relations. The blow had robbed him of nothing, since he possessed nothing. To work to win Cadworthy was no longer possible, but he might do as well and save money as steadily elsewhere; and the change in their lives for Milly meant something worth having. In her heart was a secret wish that her coming child might be born in her own home. As for her husband he now waited his time, and did not immediately seek work, because Humphrey Baskerville directed delay. His reason was not given, nor would he commit himself to any promise; but he offered the advice, and Rupert took it.
Mrs. Baskerville's grief at leaving her home proved excessive. She belonged to the easy sort of people who are glad to trust their affairs in any capable control, and she suffered now at this sudden catastrophe, even as Ned suffered. She had very little money, and was constrained to look to her sons for sustenance. It was proposed that she and May should find a cottage at Shaugh; but to display her poverty daily before eyes that had seen her prosperity was not good to her. She found it hard to decide, and finally hoped to continue life in a more distant hamlet. All was still in abeyance, and the spring had come. Until Ned's future theatre of toil was certain, his mother would not settle anything. She trusted that he might win a respectable post, but employment did not offer. Hester's youngest son Humphrey had been provided for by a friend, and he was now working with Saul Luscombe at Trowlesworthy.
Then came a date within six weeks of the family's departure. The packing was advanced, and still nothing had been quite determined. Ned was anxious and troubled; Rupert waited for his uncle to speak. He knew of good work at Cornwood, and it was decided that his mother and May should also move to a cottage in that churchtown, unless Ned achieved any sort of work within the next few weeks. Then his plans might help to determine their own.
At this juncture, unexpectedly on a March evening, came their kinsman from Hawk House, and Rupert met him at the outer gate.
"Is your mother here?" asked the rider, and when he heard that the family was within—save Ned, who stayed at Tavistock on his quest—he dismounted and came among them.
A litter and disorder marked the house. There were packing-cases in every room; but less than a moiety of Hester's goods would leave her home. She must dwell in a small cottage henceforth, and her furniture, with much of her china and other precious things, was presently destined to be sold. The period of her greatest grief had long passed; she had faced the future with resignation for many months, and returned to her usual placidity. She and her daughter could even plan their little possessions in a new cottage, and smile together again. They had fitted their minds to the changed condition; they had calculated the probable result of the sale, and Mrs. Baskerville, thrown by these large reverses from her former easy and tranquil optimism, had fallen upon the opposite extreme.
She now looked for no amelioration of the future, foresaw no possibility of adequate work for Ned, and was as dumb as a wounded horse or cow, even at the tragical suggestion of her son's enlistment. This he had openly discussed, but finding that none exhibited any horror before the possibility, soon dropped it again.
To these people came Mr. Baskerville—small, grey, saturnine. His eyes were causing him some trouble, and their rims were grown red. They thought in secret that he had never looked uglier, and he declared openly that he had seldom felt worse.
"'Tis the season of the year that always troubles me," he said. "Gout, gravel, rheumatism, lumbagy—all at me together. Nature is a usurer, Hester, as you may live to find out yet, for all you keep so healthy. She bankrupts three parts of the men you meet, long afore they pay back the pinch of dust they have borrowed from her. The rate of interest on life runs too high, and that's a fact, even though you be as thrifty of your powers as you please, and a miser of your vital parts, as I have always been."
"Your eyes are inflamed seemingly," said his sister-in-law. "Vivian's went the same once, but doctor soon cured 'em."
They sat in the kitchen and he spoke to May.
"If you'll hurry tea and brew me a strong cup, I'll thank you. I feel just as if 'twould do me a deal of good."
She obeyed at once, and Humphrey, exhibiting a most unusual garrulity and egotism, continued to discuss himself.
"For all my carcase be under the weather, my mind is pretty clear for me. Things be going well, I'm glad to say, and you might almost think I—— However, no matter for that. Perhaps it ban't the minute to expect you to take pleasure at any other's prosperity. There's nothing like health, after all. You'll find yourself more peaceful now, Hester, now you know the worst of it?"
"Peaceful enough," she said. "I don't blame myself, and 'tis vain to blame the dead. Master trusted his brother Nathan, like you trust spring to bring the leaves. Therefore it was right and proper that I should do the same. 'Twas all put in his hands when Vivian died. Even if I would have, I wasn't allowed to do anything. But, of course, I trusted Nathan too. Who didn't?"
"I didn't, never—Rupert will bear me out in that. I never trusted him, though I envied the whole-hearted respect and regard the world paid him. We envy in another what's denied to ourselves—even faults sometimes. Yet I'm pretty cheerful here and there—for me. Have you heard any more said about his death and my hand in it?"
"A lot," answered Mrs. Baskerville. "And most understanding creatures have quite come round to seeing your side. Only a man here and there holds out that you were wrong."
"I may tell you that the reverend Masterman couldn't find no argument against it. He came to see me not long since. He wouldn't be kept to the case in point, but argued against the principle at large. When I pinned him to Nathan at last, he said, though reluctantly, that he believed he would have done no less for his own brother. That's a pretty good one to me—eh?"
"My Uncle Luscombe thinks you did the proper thing," declared Milly.
Presently May called them to the table and handed Humphrey his tea.
He thanked her.
"No sugar," he said, "and you ought not to take none neither, May. Trouble haven't made you grow no narrower at the waist seemingly."
The girl tried to smile, and her family stared. Jocosity in this man was an exhibition almost unparalleled. If he ever laughed it was bitterly against the order of things; yet now he jested genially. The result was somewhat painful, and none concealed an emotion of discomfort and restraint.
The old man perceived their surprise and returned into himself a little.
"You'll wonder how I come to talk so much about my own affairs, perhaps? 'Tisn't often that I do, I believe. Well, let's drop 'em and come to yours. Have you found work, Rupert?"
"I can, when you give the word. There's Martin at Cornwood wants me, and mother can come there. We've seen two houses, either of which would suit her and May very well. One, near the church, she likes best. There's a cottage that will fit me and Milly not far off."
"Why go and have an expensive move when you can live at Shaugh Prior?"
"I've got my feelings," answered the widow rather warmly. "You can't expect me to go there."
Mr. Baskerville asked another question.
"So much for you all, then. And what of Ned?"
"At Tavistock, wearing out his shoe-leather trying to find work."
"If he's only wearing out shoe-leather, no harm's done."
"He told us what you offered last year, and I'm sure 'twas over and above what many men would have done," declared Ned's mother.
"I was safe to offer it," he answered. "'Tis only to say I'll double nought. He's not worth a box of matches a week to any man."
"They very near took him on at the riding-school when he offered to go there."
"But not quite."
"And that gave him the idea to 'list in the horse soldiers. He knows all about it, along of being in the yeomanry."
"To enlist? Well, soldiering's man's work by all accounts, though I hold 'tis devil's work myself—just the last mischief Satan finds for idle hands to do."
"It would knock sense into Ned, all the same," argued Rupert. "The discipline of it would be good for him, and he might rise."
"But he's not done it, you say?"
"No," answered Mrs. Baskerville. "He's not done it. I've suffered so much, for my part, that when he broke the dreadful thing upon me, I hadn't a tear left to shed. And the calm way I took it rather disappointed him, poor fellow. He had a right to expect to see me and May, if not Rupert, terrible stricken at such a thought; but we've been through such a lot a'ready that we couldn't for the life of us take on about it. I'm sure we both cried rivers—cried ourselves dry, you might say—when Cora Lintern threw him over; but that was the last straw. Anything more happening leaves us dazed and stupid, like a sheep as watches another sheep being killed. We can't suffer no more."
"Even when Ned went out rather vexed because we took it so calm, and said he'd end his life, we didn't do anything—did we, mother?" asked May.
"No," answered Hester. "We was past doing or caring then—even for Ned. Besides, he's offered to make a hole in the water so terrible often, poor dear fellow. 'Twas a case where I felt the Lord would look after His own. Ned may do some useful thing in the world yet. He's been very brave over this business—brave as a lion. 'Tis nought to me. I'm old, and shan't be here much longer. But for him and May 'twas a terrible come-along-of-it."
"Ned's a zany, and ever will be," declared Humphrey. "Rupert, here, is different, and never was afraid of work. Fortune didn't fall to him, and yet 'twas his good fortune to have to face bad fortune, if you understand that. Money, till you have learned the use of it, be a gun in a fool's hand; and success in any shape's the same. If it comes afore you know the value and power of it, 'tis a curse and a danger. It makes you look awry at life, and carry yourself too proud, and cometh to harm and bitterness. I know, none so well."
They did not answer. Then May rose and began to collect the tea things.
Humphrey looked round the dismantled room, and his eyes rested on the naked mantelshelf.
"Where are all the joanies?"[[1]] he asked. "You used to have two big china figures up there."
[[1]] Joanies—ornaments of glass or china.
"Some are packed, and some will go into the sale. They two you mean are worth money, I'm told," explained Mrs. Baskerville.
Then the visitor said a thing that much astonished her.
"'Twill give you trouble now," he remarked, "but 'twill save trouble in the end. Let me see them put back again."
Milly looked at May in wonder. To argue the matter was her first thought; but May acted.
"They be only in the next room, with other things to be sold," she said. "You can see them again, uncle, if you mind to."
Rupert spoke while she was from the room.
"Why don't you buy 'em, uncle? They'd look fine at your place."
"Put 'em back on the shelf," answered Mr. Baskerville. "And, what's more, you may, or may not, be glad to know they can stop there. 'Tis a matter of no account at all, and I won't have no talk about it, but you can feel yourself free to stay, Hester, if you'd rather not make a change at your time of life. You must settle it with Rupert and your darter. In a word, I've had a tell with the owner of the farm and he's agreeable."
"I know he's agreeable," answered Humphrey's nephew, "but I'm not agreeable to his rent."
"If you'd keep your mouth shut till you'd heard me, 'twould be better. I was going to say that Mr. Westcott of Cann Quarries, who foreclosed on the mortgage of this place when your uncle died—Mr. Westcott is agreeable to let me have Cadworthy; and, in a word, Cadworthy's mine."
May came in at this moment with the old china figures. She entered a profound silence, and returned the puppets to their old places on the mantelpiece. It seemed that this act carried with it support and confirmation of the startling thing that Hester Baskerville had just heard.
Humphrey spoke again.
"Past candle-teening, and snow offering from the north. I must be gone. Fetch up my pony, Rupert, and then you can travel a bit of the way back along with me."
His nephew was glad to be gone. A highly emotional spirit began to charge the air. Hester had spoken to May, and her daughter, grown white and round-eyed, was trying to speak.
"You mean—you mean we can all stop, and Rupert can go on here?" she said at last.
"If he thinks it good enough. He'd bought back a bit of the place a'ready, as he thought, from Ned. I can go into all that with him. And for you women—well, you're used to the rounds of Cadworthy, and I'm used to your being here. You've done nought but trust a weak man. I don't want all the blue[[2]] to be off the plum for you yet. But I waited till now, because you'll see, looking back, that you'll be none the worse for smarting a few months. I've smarted all my life, and I'm not very much the worse, I suppose. So now I'll be gone, and you can unpack when you please."
[[2]] Blue—bloom.
They could not instantly grasp this great reversal of fortune.
"Be you sure?" asked his niece. "Oh, uncle, be you sure?"
"Sure and sure, and double sure. A very good investment, with a man like your brother Rupert to work it for me. But let him see the rent's paid on the nail."
He rose, and Mrs. Baskerville tried to rise also, but her legs refused to carry her.
"Get my salts," she said to Milly; then she spoke to her brother-in-law.
"I'm a bit dashed at such news," she began. "It have made my bones go to a jelly. 'Tis almost too much at my age. The old can't stand joy like the young; they'm better tuned to face trouble. But to stop here—to stop here—'tis like coming back after I'd thought I was gone. I can't believe 'tis true. My God, I'd said 'good-bye' to it all. The worst was over."
"No, it wasn't," answered Humphrey. "You think 'twas; but I know better. The worst would have come the day the cart waited, and you got up and drove off. Now cheer yourself and drink a drop of spirits. And don't expect Rupert home till late. I'll take him back with me to supper."
He offered his hand, and the woman kissed it. Whereupon he uttered a sound of irritation, looked wildly at her, and glared at his fingers as though there had been blood upon them instead of tears. Milly stopped with Mrs. Baskerville; May went to the door with her uncle and helped him into his coat.
"I can't say nothing," she whispered. "It won't bear talking about—only—only—— If you knew how I loved mother——"
"Be quiet," he answered. "Don't you play the fool too. I let you fret to get your fat down a bit—that was the main reason, I do believe; and now you'll only get stouter than ever, of course. Go back to her, and let's have no nonsense; and, mind, when I come over again, that my house is tidy. I never see such a jakes of a mess as you've got it in."
He went out and met Rupert at the gate.
"You'd best to come back with me," he said. "I've told them you'll sup at Hawk House. 'Twill give 'em time to calm down. It takes nought to fluster a woman."
"'Nought'! You call this 'nought'!"
Rupert helped Mr. Baskerville on to his pony and walked beside him. It was now nearly dark, and a few flakes of snow already fell.
"Winter have waited for March," said Humphrey; "and I waited for March. You might ask why for I let 'em have all this trouble. 'Twas done for their good. They'll rate what they've got all the higher now that it had slipped from them; and so will you."
Rupert said nothing.
"Yes," repeated his uncle; "winter waited for the new year, and so did I. And now 'tis for you to say whether you'll stop at my farm or no."
"Of course, I'll stop."
"No silly promises, mind. This is business. You needn't be thanking me; and in justice we've got to think of that fool, your elder brother. But be it as it will, 'tis Hester's home for her time."
"I'll stop so long as my mother lives."
"And a bit after, I hope, if you don't want to quarrel with me. But I shall be dead myself, come to think of it. What shall I forget next? So much for that. We'll go into figures after supper."
"I know you don't want no thanks nor nothing of that sort," said Rupert; "but you know me pretty well, and you know what I feel upon it. 'Tis a masterpiece of goodness in you to do such a thing."
"Say no more. I've killed two birds with one stone, as my crafty manner is. That's all. 'Tis a very good farm, and I've got it cheap; and I've got you cheap—thanks to your mother. I benefit most—my usual way in business."
They passed along, and the snow silenced the footfall of horse and man. Near Hawk House came the sudden elfin cry of a screech-owl from the darkness of the woods.
"Hush!" said Humphrey, drawing up. "List to that. I'm glad we heard it. A keeper down along boasted to me a week ago that he'd shot every owl for a mile round; but there's a brave bird there yet, looking round for his supper."
The owl cried again.
"'Tis a sound I'm very much addicted to," explained Mr. Baskerville. "And likewise I'm glad to hear the noise of they kris-hawks sporting, and the bark of a fox. They be brave things that know no fear, and go cheerful through a world of enemies. I respect 'em."
"You never kill a snake, 'tis said."
"Not I—I never kill nought. A snake's to be pitied, not killed. He'll meddle with none as don't meddle with him. I've watched 'em scores an' scores o' times. They be only humble worms that go upon their bellies dirt low, but they gaze upward for ever with their wonnerful eyes. Belike Satan looked thus when they flinged him out of heaven."
"You beat me," said Rupert. "You can always find excuses for varmints, never for men."
His uncle grunted.
"Most men are varmints," he answered.