Chapter Seventeen.
At Gwennas Cove.
Bess Prawle was leaning against the rough granite door-post, very handsome, picturesque, and defiant, as she knitted away at a coarse blue worsted jersey which she was making; looking up from time to time to watch her father, who, pipe in mouth, was weeding the little patch of garden, of which he seemed to be very proud, while every now and then he paused to speak.
Just then the old man raised his nose and sniffed.
“There’s your mother burning again, Bess. Go and see,” he growled.
The girl ran in to find poor old Mrs Prawle evidently greatly exercised in her mind lest a jersey of her husband’s should be put on damp, and hence she was scorching it against the fire.
“Oh, mother!” cried Bess impatiently, “how you frighten me. Pray do take more care.”
“Yes, yes, Bess,” cried the poor woman querulously, as she turned and re-spread the article of clothing on her knees, “but some one must see to the things being aired;” and Bessie returned to where the old man was at work, when he stood up and drew his hand across his mouth.
“I don’t care, lass; I arn’t lived to sixty without finding that when a young fellow keeps coming to a cottage like this, it isn’t only to see an old woman who’s sick.”
“Stuff, father! you’re always thinking young men come to see me.”
“Am I?” grumbled the old man. “Well, I know what I know, and I know this—that if that London chap keeps coming here to see you, I’ll break his gashly head, or shove him over the cliff as I would have done to Jack Lannoe if Amos Pengelly hadn’t thrashed him instead.”
“Then I’ll tell him what you say, father—no, I won’t,” cried Bess, sharply, “I’ll tell mother what you promise to do.”
She made a movement as if to go in, when her father caught her by the skirt of her gown, and drew her back.
“I’ll never forgive you, Bess,” he said, in a hoarse whisper; “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”
“I will tell her,” cried the girl, looking angry and flushed, “unless you promise never to touch Mr Trethick.”
The old man held on to her and drew her farther away, so as to make sure that no words of their altercation should be heard inside the cottage.
“Look here, Bess,” he said hoarsely, “doesn’t he come to see you?”
“To see me?” said the girl, scornfully. “Isn’t he a gentleman, and arn’t I a witch, as the people say, and arn’t you the worst character in these parts?”
“So they say,” said the old man, grimly. “The fools!”
“Is it likely that a gentleman like him would come after me?”
“That Tregenna did,” said the old man, suspiciously.
“Yes, till you threatened to break his neck,” said Bess, laughing.
“And I’d have done it too,” said the old man, with his eyes lighting up fiercely; “and so I will to this one.”
“He don’t come to see me, father,” said Bess, quietly. “You watch him next time he’s here. He’s not the sort of man to care about women at all, and—hush, father! here he is.”
There was the sound of a heavy foot on the stones above, and Geoffrey Trethick came into sight, looking fresh and breeze-blown as he strode along.
“She knows his step,” muttered the old man, grinding his teeth, “and I won’t have it.”
He glanced at his daughter, and saw that her warm colour was a little heightened as Geoffrey came up with a hearty “Good-morning.”
“Why, Bess,” he cried, “you look as fresh as a rose. Ah, Father Prawle, how are you? Look here, I’ve brought you an ounce of prime tobacco,” and he held out the little roll to the old man.
Prawle took it, looking vindictively at him, and made as if to throw it over the cliff into the sea, but jerked it back at the giver’s feet.
“I don’t want your tobacco,” he said, roughly. “I could buy you and yours up a dozen times over if I liked.”
“You are precious poor if you can’t,” said Geoffrey, stooping and picking up the tobacco. “Well, if you won’t smoke it I will. But look here, Prawle, what’s the matter with you? What have I done to offend you?”
“I don’t like your coming here, and I won’t have it,” cried the old man.
“Do you want to frighten poor mother?” exclaimed Bess, hastily. “Don’t mind what he says, Mr Trethick,” she continued; “mother is so glad for you to come—it makes such a change; but father won’t believe you come on purpose to see her.”
“Then what does he suppose I come for?” said Geoffrey, sitting down on a rough bench by the path. “Does he—Oh! I see,” he said, laughing; “he thinks it’s to see you, Miss Bess. Why, Prawle, Prawle,” he continued, getting up and clapping the old man on the shoulder, “what a queer set of people you are down here!”
Bess changed colour a little as she heard the visitor’s half-contemptuous tone when he alluded to her, but she forced a smile, and spoke out firmly,—
“Yes, Mr Trethick, that’s what he thinks.”
“Then he was never more mistaken in his life,” cried Geoffrey. “Here, come and sit down, old man, and we’ll smoke a pipe together till mother wakes, and then I’ll buy some sweets and be off again; but I want a talk with you. Amos Pengelly says you know more about the mines here than most men.”
“Maybe I do, sir,” growled Prawle, surlily, and apparently only half convinced.
“Sit down then, man, and speak out honestly. What do you know about Wheal Carnac?”
“Wheal Carnac!” said the old man, starting. “What do I know about it? Nothing at all—nothing at all.”
“Fill your pipe. Sit down and light up.”
Prawle hesitated for a moment, and glanced at his daughter, then back at their visitor, and ended by sitting down on the bench and knocking the ashes from his pipe to refill it from the tobacco brought by his visitor; while Bess, in whose eyes the tears were gathering, turned away and softly peeped into the cottage.
“That’s better,” said Geoffrey, as both pipes were lit, and they sat under the grey and purple cliff facing the sparkling sea. “Amos Pengelly says he believes you have a good deal of faith in that mine.”
“Amos Pengelly’s a psalm-singing, chattering fool,” said the old man, angrily.
“No he isn’t,” said Geoffrey; “he’s a very good, honest, sensible fellow.”
Bess turned sharply round and looked curiously at him.
“Bah! what does he know ’bout what I think?” growled Prawle.
“I don’t know; but he tells me you worked in it.”
Prawle nodded.
“Well, you must have seen a good deal of what the rock is like.”
“Like rubbish,” said the old man, hastily. “Thousands have been wasted there, and thousands more will be by anybody who’s fool enough to work it.”
“Humph?” said Geoffrey, between two puffs of smoke, “perhaps so. Is that your honest opinion?”
As he spoke he gazed full in the old man’s eyes, which met his without flinching for a few moments, but only to sink before the searching gaze and take refuge on the ground.
“Never you mind what’s my honest opinion. I’m not an Amos Pengelly to go and chatter about my affairs.”
“A still tongue makes a wise head, Master Prawle,” said Geoffrey, “even about little smuggling and wrecking jobs.”
“What do you know about smuggling and wrecking?” cried Prawle, angrily.
“Very little,” said Geoffrey, “only this cove looks to me about as convenient a place as well could be for any little job of that sort.”
“Mother’s awake, Mr Trethick,” interposed Bess, as she saw her father’s wrath rising at Geoffrey’s bantering comment.
“I’ll come directly,” said Geoffrey, as he saw her appealing look. “There, I won’t joke you about your private affairs, Master Prawle. So you won’t tell me any thing about Wheal Carnac?”
“Not a word,” said the old man, angrily.
“Not this time,” said Geoffrey, rising, “but think it over. Now, Miss Bessie, how is our invalid to-day?”
Mrs Prawle’s face lit up as Geoffrey’s form darkened the door, and she held out her thin white hand eagerly, as, in his bluff way, her visitor asked after her health.
“Very sadly, sir, very sadly,” she said, turning a fresh article of attire and spreading it upon her knees; “but do you—do you want—I’m so glad to do a little to save being a burthen to them.”
“Want sweets?” said Geoffrey. “Yes, I’ve got a commission to spend a whole sixpence; and see here, Miss Bessie, above half are to be those transparent red gentlemen.”
He looked merrily in the girl’s face, little thinking of the pain he gave her, and how her woman’s vanity was touched by his utter indifference. She smiled back, however, filled a paper bag with what he required, and went out to resume her knitting by the door, while Geoffrey sat on chatting, and listening to the poor woman’s plaints.
“She’s such a good girl, my Bess,” she said, proudly, as her mother’s heart throbbed high at the thought of what a thing it would be if this well-spoken gentleman from London should take a fancy to her child, and raise her to his position.
“Yes, she seems to be,” said Geoffrey, little suspecting her thoughts.
“So patient and so good; and you will not heed what they say about us, sir?”
“Not I,” said Geoffrey.
“They say, you know, that she’s almost a wise woman; and they’ve been very bitter against us ever since Mrs Polwhyn’s cow died.”
“Indeed!”
“Oh yes,” said the poor woman, earnestly; “they say Bess ill-wished it, and that she has ill-wished Mrs Vorr’s boy, who is a cripple.”
“You are a curious set of people down here,” said Geoffrey; “but do you mean to tell me that they believe such things as that?”
“Indeed they do,” said the poor woman, with tears in her eyes.
“And about witches?”
“Oh yes,” she said, laying her hand on the big Bible by her side; “and, of course, that is true, sir. You know King Saul went to see the witch of Endor.”
“Yes,” said Geoffrey, dryly.
“But it is too bad about my poor Bess, who is such a good and patient girl, and waits upon me day and night. He’ll be a lucky man who wins her for a wife!”
“I’m sure he will,” said Geoffrey.
“Then they say such cruel things about Prawle, and call him wrecker and smuggler.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, laughing, “I wouldn’t swear he has never helped the landing of any thing in the cove.”
“Don’t ask me, please sir,” said the old woman, looking terribly troubled; “but he is the best and truest of men, and, though he’s very rough, never a hard word has he said all these weary years that I have been nothing but a burthen and a care.”
“Oh, come, come!” said Geoffrey, taking her hand, as he saw the tears trickling down her furrowed face, “don’t talk like that; there’s always a pleasure in doing things for those we love. Hallo! who’s this?” he cried, starting up as the doorway was shadowed, “Miss Penwynn!”
“Mr Trethick!” cried Rhoda, flushing slightly, “you here?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing frankly, as he shook hands, “I’ve come to buy some sweets. Mrs Prawle’s an old friend of mine. Let me recommend the transparent red fellows, with acid in them,” he continued, merrily. “Miss Bessie, here’s a fresh customer.”
Rhoda laughed and looked pleased at the way in which he kept up the pleasant fiction, as he immediately resigned his seat in her favour, and after a few cheery words about the weather and the like, he bade the invalid good-by, asked after. Mr Penwynn, and left the cottage.
“He’s a brave, good young man, my dear,” said Mrs Prawle, wiping her eyes, “and he often comes over and spends a sixpence here.”
“Does he?” said Rhoda, quietly.
“Yes, very often; but Prawle don’t like it, though I can’t see why, my dear, for no young man could be nicer; and if he has took a fancy to our Bess, and should marry her, it would be the happiest day of my life.”
“But—do you think—”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the invalid, glad of an opportunity to prattle on; “she’s a good and a handsome girl, as she showed in the way she sent that Mr Tregenna about his business, and it was a merciful thing that Prawle never did him a mischief; he’s that violent, and Mr Tregenna was always hanging about to see our Bess.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rhoda, colouring, “I know about that;” and then, her woman’s curiosity prevailing over her dislike to hear gossip, she continued, “but you don’t think Mr Trethick comes to—”
“See our Bess, my dear? Well, I can’t say. He’s quite a gentleman, and I’m sure if he does he means honourable to her.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Rhoda, hastily, “but he is quite a stranger.”
“Yes, my dear, and it may be all my fancy; but gentlemen do sometimes marry poor girls—not that my Bess is poor, or will be poor,” she said, proudly. “There’s many a farmer’s or captain’s daughter will be worse off than she.”
“But I thought,” exclaimed Rhoda, “that Bess had a sweetheart—that lame man, Pengelly?”
“No,” said the invalid, “I don’t think that’s any thing. He’s a good young man—so religious, and sings and prays beautifully. He prayed here by me one Sunday for a whole hour; but it is not nature that my Bess should care for the likes of him, even if he does worship the ground she walks upon.”
The old woman prattled away, but Rhoda did not hear her, for somehow her mind was busy running on with Geoffrey Trethick’s career, and she was thinking how strange it would be if he married the old smuggler’s handsome daughter, who, it was reputed, would have plenty of money when her father died, but was to be avoided on account of the possession of the evil eye.
At last the visit was brought to an end, Rhoda promising, somewhat unwillingly, to come soon again; when Bess was summoned to come in, with her fearless erect carriage, to do up the parcel of sweets that the visitor purchased.
As they were taken, the eyes of the two girls met, each gazing searchingly at the other, and to Rhoda it seemed that there was a calm, triumphant smile on the face of Bess, who almost looked at her mockingly, though there was a bitterness in the curl of her lip.
Somehow Rhoda grew very thoughtful as she slowly made her way back. Geoffrey Trethick was nothing to her, but he had been their guest, and it seemed to be almost an insult that he should know them, and yet stoop to the pursuit of this common peasant girl.
“But why should I trouble about it?” she said, merrily; and all thought of what had been said was chased away upon her seeing the object of her thoughts upon the cliff track, in company with the Reverend Edward Lee.
Meanwhile Bess Prawle had gone out, knitting in hand, to where her father was busy in his garden, and stood beside him for some time in silence, till he looked and saw her gazing at him, with a settled frown upon her face.
“Well, father,” she said rather huskily.
“Well, lass.”
“Do you think now that Mr Trethick comes over to see poor me?”