The Three Brothers

by Eden Phillpotts

CHAPTER XIV

While the desolation of Mark Baskerville came to be learnt, and some sympathised with him and some held that Cora Lintern had showed a very proper spirit to refuse a man cursed with such a father, lesser trouble haunted Cadworthy Farm, for the parent of Rupert Baskerville declared himself to be suffering from a great grievance.

Vivian was an obstinate man and would not yield to his son's demand; but the situation rapidly reached a climax, for Rupert would not yield either.

Night was the farmer's time for long discussions with his wife; and there came a moment when he faced the present crisis with her and strove for some solution of the difficulty.

"Unray yourself and turn out the light and come to bed," he said to Mrs. Baskerville. He already lay in their great four-poster, and, solid though the monster was, it creaked when Vivian's immense bulk turned upon it.

His wife soon joined him and then he began to talk. He prided himself especially on his reasonableness, after the fashion of unreasonable men.

"It can't go on and it shan't," he said. "Never was heard such a thing as a son defying his father this way. If he'd only given the girl up, then I should have been the first to relax authority and tell him he might have her in due season if she liked to wait. But for him to cleave to her against my express order—'tis a very improper and undutiful thing—specially when you take into account what a father I've been to the man."

"And he've been a good son, too."

"And why not? I was a good son—better than ever Rupert was. And would I have done this? I never thought of marriage till my parents were gone."

"Work was enough for you."

"And so it should be for every young man. But, nowadays, they think of nought but revels and outings and the girls. A poor, slack-twisted generation. My arm would make a leg for any youth I come across nowadays."

"You must remember you'm a wonder, my dear. We can't all be like you."

"My own sons ought to be, anyway. And I've a right to demand it of 'em."

"Rupert works as hard as a man can work—harder a thousand times than Ned."

"I won't have you name 'em together," he answered. "A man's firstborn is always a bit different to the rest. Ned is more given to reading and brain work."

She laughed fearlessly and he snorted like a bull beside her.

"What are you laughing at?" he said.

"At your silliness. Such a sharp chap and so wise as you are; and yet our handsome eldest—why, he can't do wrong! And Lord knows he can't do wrong in my eyes neither. Still, when it comes to work——"

"We'll leave Ned," answered the father. "He can work all right, and when you've seed him play St. George and marked his intellects and power of speech, you'll be the first to say what a 'mazing deal of cleverness be hid in him. His mind's above the land, and why not? We can't all be farmers. But Rupert's a born farmer, and seeing as he be going to follow my calling, he ought to follow my example and bide a bachelor for a good ten years more."

"She's a nice girl, however."

"She may be, or she may not be. Anyway, she's been advising him to go away from home, and that's not much to her credit."

"She loves him and hates for him to be here so miserable."

"He'll find himself a mighty sight more miserable away. Don't I pay him good money? Ban't he saving and prospering? What the deuce do he want to put a wife and children round his neck for till he's learned to keep his own head above water?"

"'Twas Mr. Luscombe's man that's determined him, I do think," declared Hester Baskerville. "Jack Head is just the sort to unsettle the young, with his mischievous ideas. All the same, I wish to God you could meet Rupert. He's a dear good son, and there's lots of room, and for my part I'd love to see him here with Milly. 'Tis high time you was a grandfather."

"You foolish women! Let him bide his turn then. The eldest first, I say. 'Tis quite in reason that Ned, with his fashion of mind, should take a wife. I've nought against that——"

"You silly men!" she said. "Ned! Why, what sensible girl will look at such a Jack-o'-lantern as him—bless him! He's too fond of all the girls ever to take one. And if he don't throw them over, after a bit of keeping company, they throw him over. If you could but see yourself and him! 'Tis as good as play-acting! 'There's only one lazy man in the world that your husband forgives for being lazy,' said Jack Head to me but yesterday. 'And who might that be?' said I, well knowing. 'Why, Ned, of course,' he answers back."

"I must talk to Jack's master. A lot too free of speech he's getting—just because they be going to let him perform the Bear at Christmas. But, when all's said, the wise man makes up his own mind; and that have been my habit from my youth up."

"You think so," she answered.

"I know so. And Rupert may go. He'll soon come back."

"Never, master."

"He'll come back, I tell you. He'll find the outer world very different from Cadworthy."

"I wish you'd let that poor boy, Mark, be a lesson to you. Your love story ran suent, so you can't think what 'tis for a young thing to be crossed where the heart is set. It looks a small matter to us, as have forgotten the fret and fever, if we ever felt it, but to them 'tis life or death."

"That's all moonshine and story-books. And my story ran suent along of my own patience and good sense—no other reason. And I may tell you that Mark have took the blow in a very sensible spirit. I saw my brother a bit ago—Nathan I mean. He was terrible cut up for both of 'em, being as soft as a woman where young people are concerned. But he'd had a long talk with Mark and found him perfectly patient and resigned about it."

"The belving[[1]] cow soonest forgets her calf. 'Tis the quiet sort that don't make a row and call out their misfortunes in every ear, that feel the most. It's cut him to the heart and gone far to ruin his life—that's what it's done. You don't want to have your son in the same case?"

[[1]] Belving—bellowing.

"Rupert's very different to that. 'Tis his will against mine, and if he disobeys, he must stand the brunt and see what life be like without me behind him. When Nathan went for a sailor, I said nothing. They couldn't all bide here, and 'twas a manly calling. But Rupert was brought up to take my place, owing to Ned's superior brain power; and now if he's going to fling off about a girl and defy me—well, he may go; but they laugh best who laugh last. He'll suffer for it."

"I'm much feared nought we can do will change him. That girl be everything to him. A terrible pity, too, for after you, I never knowed a man so greedy of work. 'Sundays! There are too many Sundays,' he said to Ned in my hearing not long since. 'What do a healthy man want to waste every seventh day for?' It might have been you talking."

"Not at all," answered her husband. "Very far from it. That's Jack Head's impious opinion. Who be we to question the Lord's ordaining? The seventh's the Lord's, and I don't think no better of Rupert for saying that, hard though it may sometimes be to keep your hands in your pockets, especially at hay harvest."

"Well, if you ban't going to budge, he'll go."

"Then let him go—and he can tell the people that he haven't got no father no more, for that's how 'twill be if he does go."

"Don't you say that, master."

"Why for not? Truth's truth. And now us will go to sleep, if you please."

Soon his mighty snore thundered through the darkness; but Mrs. Baskerville was well seasoned to the sound; and thoughts of her son, not the noisy repose of her husband, banished sleep.

Others had debated these vexed questions of late, and the dark, short days were made darker for certain sympathetic people by the troubles of Mark and the anxieties of his cousin, Rupert.

Nathan Baskerville discussed the situation with Mrs. Lintern a week before the great production of 'St. George.' Matters had now advanced and the situation was developed.

"That old fool, Gollop!" he said. "He goeth now as if the eye of the world was on him. You'd think Shaugh Prior was the hub of the universe, as the Yankees say, and that Thomas was the lynch-pin of the wheel!"

"He's found time to see which way the cat's jumping, all the same," answered Mrs. Lintern. "Full of Ned Baskerville and our Cora now! Says that 'tis a case and everybody knows it."

Nathan shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes—well, these things can't be arranged for them. The young must go their own road. A splendid couple they make without a doubt. They'll look magnificent in their finery at the revel. But I wish nephew Ned wasn't quite so vain of his good parts."

Cora herself entered at this moment, and had that to say which awoke no small interest in her mother.

"I've fallen in with Mark," she said; "and I was passing, but he spoke and 'tis all well, I believe. He was very quiet and you might almost say cheerful."

"Thank the Lord he's got over it then," answered Nathan; but Mrs. Lintern doubted.

"Don't feel too sure of that. He ban't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, anyway."

"He's took it surprising well, everybody says," said Cora, in a voice that made the innkeeper laugh.

"Poor Mark!—but I see Cora here isn't too pleased that he's weathered the storm so easily. She'd have liked him to be a bit more down in the mouth."

"I'm very pleased indeed," she answered. "You never gave better advice than when you bade me write to him. The truth is that he's not made to marry. Tenor bell be enough wife for him."

"I wonder who'll ring it when you're wedded," mused Nathan. "No man have touched that bell since my nephew took it up."

"Time enough. Not that he'd mind ringing for me, I believe. Such a bloodless thing as he is really—no fight in him at all seemingly."

"If you talk like that we shall begin to think you're sorry he took you at your word," said Mr. Baskerville; but Cora protested; and when he had gone, she spoke more openly to her mother.

"'Tis a very merciful escape for me, and perhaps for him. I didn't understand my own mind; and since he's took it so wonderful cool, I guess he didn't know his mind either."

"You haven't heard the last of him. I've met the like. For my part I'd rather hear he was daft and frantic than so calm and reasonable. 'Tis the sort that keep their trouble out of sight suffer most."

"I'd have forgiven him everything but being a coward," declared Cora fiercely. "What's the use of a man that goes under the thumb of his father? If he'd said 'I hate my father, and I'll never see him again, and we'll run away and be married and teach him a lesson,' then I'd have respected him. But not a bit of it. And to take what I wrote like that! Not even to try and make me think better of it. A very poor-spirited chap."

Mrs. Lintern smiled, not at the picture of Mark's sorrows, but at her daughter's suggestion, that she would have run away with the young man and married him and defied consequences.

"How we fool ourselves," she said. "You think you would have run with him. You wouldn't have run a yard, Cora. The moment you found things was contrary with his father, you was off him—why? Because your first thought always is, and always has been, the main chance. You meant to marry him for his money—you and me know that very well, if none else does."

The daughter showed no concern at this attack.

"I shan't marry a pauper, certainly. My face is all the fortune you seem like to give me, and I'm not going to fling it away for nought. I do set store by money, and I do long to have some; and so do every other woman in her senses. The only difference between me and others is that they pretend money ban't everything, and I say it is, and don't pretend different."

"Milly Luscombe be going to stick to Rupert Baskerville, however, though 'tis said his father will cut him off with a shilling if he leaves Cadworthy."

Cora sniffed.

"There'll be so much the more for the others then. They Baskerville fathers always seem to stand in the way of their sons when it comes to marrying. Mr. Nathan would have been different if he'd had a family. He understands the young generation. Not that Vivian Baskerville will object to Ned marrying, for Ned told me so."

"No doubt he'll be glad for Ned to be prevented from making a fool of himself any more."

Mrs. Lintern's daughter flushed.

"He's long ways off a fool," she said. "He ban't the man who comes all through the wood and brings out a crooked stick after all. He knows what women are very well."

"Yes; and I suppose Mr. Waite knows too?"

"He's different to Ned Baskerville. More cautious like and prouder. I'd sooner have Ned's vanity than t'other's pride. What did he want to be up here talking with you for?—Timothy Waite I mean."

"No matter."

"'Twasn't farming, anyway?"

"Might have been, or might not. But, mark this, he's a very shrewd, sensible young man and knows his business, and how to work, and the value of money, and what it takes to save money. He'll wear well—for all you toss your head."

"He's a very good chap. I've got nothing against him; but——"

"But t'other suits you better? Well, have a care. Don't be in no hurry. Get to know a bit more about him; and be decent, Cora. 'Twouldn't be decent by no means to pick up with him while everybody knows you've just jilted his cousin."

"Didn't do no such thing. I've got my side and 'tisn't over-kind in you to use such a word as that," answered her daughter sharply. "However, you never did have no sympathy with me, and I can't look for it. I'll go my way all the same, and if some fine day I'm up in the world, I'll treat you better than you've treated me."

But Mrs. Lintern was not impressed by these sentiments. She knew her daughter's heart sufficiently well.

"'Twill be a pair of you if you take Ned Baskerville," she said. "And you needn't pretend to be angered with me. You can't help being what you are. I'm not chiding you; I'm only reminding you that you must be seemly and give t'other matter time to be forgot. You owe the other man something, if 'tis only respect—Mark, I mean."

"He'll be comforted mighty quick," answered Cora. "Perhaps he'll let his father choose the next for him; then 'twill work easier and everybody will be pleased. As for me, I'm in no hurry; and you needn't drag in Ned's name, for he haven't axed me yet and very like he'd get 'no' for his answer if he did."

Mrs. Lintern prepared to depart and Cora spoke again.

"And as for Mark, he's all right and up for anything. He chatted free and friendly about the play and the dresses we're going to wear. He's to be prompter on the night and 'tis settled that the schoolmaster from Bickleigh be going to be Doctor, because there's none in this parish will do it. And Mark says that after the play's over, he shall very like do the same as Rupert and leave home."

"He said that?"

"Yes; and I said, 'None can ring tenor bell like you, I'm sure.' Then he looked at me as if he could have said a lot, but he didn't."

"I hope he will go and see a bit of the world. 'Twill help him to forget you," said her mother.

"Ned's the only one of 'em knows the world," answered Cora. "He's travelled about a bit and 'tis natural that his father should put him before all the others and see his sense and learning. When parson's voice gave out, Ned read the lessons—that Sunday you was from home—and nobody ever did it better. He's a very clever man, in fact, and his father knows it, and when his father dies, the will is going to show what his father thinks of him."

"He's told you so, I suppose?"

"Ned has, yes. He knows I'm one of the business-like sort. I'd leap the hatch to-morrow if a proper rich man came along and asked me to."

"Remember you're not the first—that's all," said her mother. "If you take him and he changes his mind and serves you like he's served another here and there, you'll have a very unquiet time of it, and look a very big fool."

"'Twas all nonsense and lies," she answered. "He made the truth clear to me. He never took either of them girls. They wasn't nice maidens and they rushed him into it—or thought they had. He's never loved any woman until——"

Cora broke off.

"Shan't tell you no more," she continued. "'Tis no odds to you—you don't care a button—and I shall soon be out of your house, anyhow."

"Perhaps; but I shall be a thought sorry for all them at Cadworthy Farm if you take Ned and set up wife along with his family," answered her mother. "Hard as a cris-hawk[[2]] you be; and you'll have 'em all by the ears so sure as ever you go there."

[[1]] Cris-hawk—kestrel.

"You ax Mrs. Hester Baskerville if I be hard," retorted Cora. "She'll tell that I'm gentle as a wood-dove. I don't show my claws without there's a good reason for it. And never, unless there is. Anyway, I'm a girl that's got to fight my own battles, since you take very good care not to do a mother's part and help me."

"You shall have the last word," answered Mrs. Lintern.