Chapter Fifteen.
Mr Benden’s dessert.
“Taken her away from the gaol! and you wot not whither? Well, Roger Hall, you’re as pretty a man of your hands as ever I did behold!”
“How signify you, Sister Tabitha?”
“Would I ever have turned back from Canterbury till I’d found out? Marry, not I! I’d have known all about it in half a twink.”
“Please, Aunt Tabitha, if you have half a twink to spare—I know not what it is, but I suppose you do—won’t you go and find out Aunt Alice?”
This practical suggestion from Christie was quietly ignored.
“’Tis right like a man as ever I did see! Catch a woman turning back in that fashion afore she’d half done her work!”
“But, Aunt Tabitha,” urged Christie, for her father sat in silence, and she felt herself bound to defend him, “have you forgotten what the porter said to Father? If they—”
“Pack o’ nonsense!” snorted Aunt Tabitha. “He would fain keep him from continual coming, and he spake out the first thing that came in his head, that’s all. None but a babe like thee should take any note of such rubbish. Can’t you speak up, Roger Hall? or did you drop your tongue where you left your wits?”
“Methinks you have a sufficiency for us both, Tabitha,” said Roger quietly, leaving it uncertain whether he alluded to the tongue or the wits.
“Mean you to go again to-morrow?”
“That cannot I yet say. I lack time to think—and to pray likewise.”
“Lack time to think! Gramercy me! How long doth a man want to gather up his wits together? I should have thought of fifty things whilst I rode back from Canterbury.”
“So I did, Tabitha; but I wis not yet which was the right.”
“Ay, you’re a brave hand at thinking, but I want to do.”
“That will I likewise, so soon as I have thought out what is best to do. I see it not as yet.”
“Lack-a-daisy me! Well, my fine master, I’ll leave you to your thinking, and I’ll get to my doing. As to second and third, I’ll tarry till I reach ’em; but I know what comes first.”
“What mean you to do, Tabitha?”
“I mean to walk up to Briton’s Mead, and give Edward Benden a sweet-sop to his supper. I’ve had a rod in pickle any day this three months, and I reckon ’tis in good conditions by now. I’ll give him some’at he’ll enjoy. If he skrike not afore I’ve done with him—!”
Leaving her sentence the more expressive for its incompleteness, Mistress Tabitha stalked out of the room and the house, not pausing for any farewells.
“Father,” said Christie, a little fearfully, “aren’t you ’feared Aunt Tabitha shall get into prison, the way she talks and runs right at things?”
“Nay, Christie, I scarce am,” said Roger.
He knew that Faithful is brought to the stake in Vanity Fair more frequently than Talkative.
In the dining-room at Briton’s Mead Mr Benden was sitting down to his solitary supper. Of the result of his application to the Bishop he had not yet heard. He really imagined that if Roger Hall could be kept out of her way, Alice would yield and do all that he wished. He gave her credit for no principle; indeed, like many in his day, he would have laughed at the bare idea of a woman having any principle, or being able to stand calmly and firmly without being instigated and supported by a man. Roger, therefore, in his eyes, was the obstacle in the way of Alice’s submission. He did not in the least realise that the real obstacle against which he was striving was the Holy Spirit of God.
To a man in Mr Benden’s position, who, moreover, had always been an epicure, his meals were a relief and an enjoyment. He was then less troubled by noxious thoughts than at any other time. It was with a sigh of something like satisfaction that he sat down to supper, unfolded his napkin, and tucked it into his doublet, muttered a hurried grace, and helped himself to the buttered eggs which Mary had sent up light and hot. He was just putting down the pepper-cruet, when he became aware of something on the settle in the corner, which he could not fairly see, and did not understand. Mr Benden was rather short-sighted. He peered with eyes half shut at the unknown object.
“What’s that?” he said, half aloud.
That responded by neither sound nor motion. It looked very like a human being; but who could possibly be seated on his settle at this late hour without his knowing it? Mr Benden came to the conclusion that it would be foolish to disturb himself, and spoil an excellent supper, for the sake of ascertaining that Mary had forgotten to put away his fur-lined cloak, which was most likely the thing in the corner. He would look at it after supper. He took up his spoon, and was in the act of conveying it to his mouth, when the uncanny object suddenly changed its attitude.
“Saints bless us and love us!” ejaculated Mr Benden, dropping the spoon.
He really was not at all concerned about the saints loving him, otherwise he would have behaved differently to his wife; but the words were the first to occur to him. The unknown thing was still again, and after another long stare, which brought him no information, Mr Benden picked up the spoon, and this time succeeded in conveying it to his lips.
At that moment the apparition spoke.
“Edward Benden!” it said, “do you call yourself a Christian?”
Mr Benden’s first gasp of horror that the hobgoblin should address him by name, was succeeded by a second of relief as he recognised the voice.
“Bless the saints!” he said to himself; “it’s only Tabby.”
His next sensation was one of resentment. What business had Tabitha to steal into his house in this way, startling him half out of his wits as he began his supper? These mixed sentiments lent a sulky tone to his voice as he answered that he was under the impression he had some claim to that character.
“Because,” said the apparition coolly, “I don’t.”
“Never thought you were,” said Mr Benden grimly, turning the tables on the enemy, who had left him a chance to do it.
Tabitha rose and advanced to the table.
“Where is Alice?” she demanded.
“How should I know?” answered Mr Benden, hastily shovelling into his mouth another spoonful of eggs, without a notion what they tasted like. “In the gaol, I reckon. You are best to go and see, if you’d fain know. I’m not her keeper.”
“You’re not? Did I not hear you swear an oath to God Almighty, to ‘keep her in sickness and in health?’ That’s how you keep your vows, is it? I’ve kept mine better than so. But being thus ignorant of what you should know better than other folks, may be it shall serve you to hear that she is not in the gaol, nor none wist where she is, saving, as I guess, yon dotipole men call Dick o’ Dover. He and Satan know, very like, for I count they took counsel about it.”
Mr Benden laid down his spoon, and looked up at Tabitha. “Tabitha, I wist nought of this, I ensure you, neither heard I of it aforetime. I—”
He took another mouthful to stop the words that were coming. It would hardly be wise to let Tabitha know what he had said to the Bishop.
“Sit you down, and give me leave to help you to these eggs,” he said, hospitably in appearance, politically in fact.
“I’ll not eat nor drink in your house,” was the stern reply. “Must I, then, take it that Dick o’ Dover hath acted of his own head, and without any incitement from you?”
Poor Mr Benden! He felt himself fairly caught. He did not quite want to tell a point blank falsehood.
“They be good eggs, Tabitha, and Mall wist well how to dress them,” he urged. “You were best—”
“You were best answer my question, Edward Benden: Did you in any wise excite yon mitred scoundrel to this act?”
“Your language, Tabitha, doth verily ’shame me. ‘Mitred scoundrel,’ in good sooth! Fear you not to be brought afore the justices for—”
“I fear nought so much as I fear you are a slippery snake, as well as a roaring lion,” said Tabitha, in grim defiance of natural history. “Answer my question, or I’ll make you!”
Until that moment Mr Benden had not noticed that Tabitha kept one hand behind her. It suddenly struck him now, in disagreeable combination with the threat she uttered.
“What have you behind your back?” he said uneasily.
“A succade to follow your eggs, which you shall have if you demerit it.”
“What mean you, Sister Tabitha?”
“Let be your slimy coaxing ways. Answer my question.”
Like all bullies, Mr Benden was a coward. With a woman of Tabitha’s type he had never before had to deal at such close quarters. Alice either yielded to his wishes, or stood quietly firm, and generally silent. He began to feel considerable alarm. Tabitha was a powerful woman, and he was a man of only moderate strength. Briton’s Mead was not within call of any other house, and its master had an unpleasant conviction that to summon Mary to his aid would not improve his case. It was desirable to compromise with Tabitha. The only way that he could see to do it was to deny his action. If he did commit a sin in speaking falsely, he said to himself, it was Tabitha’s fault for forcing him to it, and Father Bastian would absolve him easily, considering the circumstances.
“No, Tabitha; I did not say a word to the Bishop.”
“You expect me to believe you, after all that fencing and skulking under hedges? Then I don’t. If you’d said it fair out at first, well—may be I might, may be I mightn’t. But I don’t now, never a whit. And I think you’d best eat the succade I brought you. I believe you demerit it; and if you don’t, you soon will, or I’m a mistaken woman, and I’m not apt to be that,” concluded Mistress Tabitha, with serene consciousness of virtue.
“Tabitha, my dear sister, I do ensure you—”
“You’d best ensure me of nothing, my right undear brother. Out on your snaky speeches and beguiling ways! You’ll have your succade, and I’ll leave you to digest it, and much good may it do you!”
And he had it. After which transaction Mistress Tabitha went home, and slept all the better for the pleasing remembrance that she had horsewhipped Mr Edward Benden.