“Starting for yourself—here?” The question was rapped out, and the expression of the speaker’s eyes became suddenly hostile.
“Aye, here,” he replied; and he looked across at his sister so that he missed the shadow that swept over their visitor’s face and left it black. In just the same way does the Tarn that lies on the lap of the wild moor, 900 feet above the village and overlooked by mountains that lift their heads hundreds of feet higher still, display its mood—at one moment calm, unruffled, streaked and dotted with blue, or brilliantly white with cloud reflections; the next, grey and angry-looking as a storm leaps up from the south, making the sky leaden.
Nancy Clegg was only in her twenty-third year, but she was a woman full-grown and quite conscious of her developed powers. There was an air of distinction about her that other young women lacked—an air that had brought men to her side and kept them there even in the city where she had been spending a few weeks with her uncle’s family, and though she was rather sparely built, on the model of the moorwoman, she had none of Hannah’s angularities to destroy the symmetry of her figure, and her black hair and clear black eyes together with a straight, fine nose and expressive lips would have made her noticeable in any company and aroused admiration in most. Few women ever had their features in better control than she; but there were occasions when she gave them free play and this was one of them. Hannah noticed the change, and her mouth tightened.
“Oh, I see!” said Nancy, and the coldness in the voice caused Jagger to look up. Instantly his face fell as he saw that his communication was ill-received.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he inquired petulantly. “I should never have thought of starting for myself if he hadn’t sacked me, but you can’t always be lying down and letting a man wipe his feet on you. A bit of competition’ll do Baldwin good, and teach him a lesson!”
“I suppose you won’t expect me to congratulate you, seeing that I’ve an interest in the business?” she replied coldly; and she stretched out her hand for the scarf which she proceeded to wrap about her shoulders. “If you’ve made up your mind there’s nothing more to be said, and I might have spared myself my errand. Don’t get up, Hannah. I can let myself out.”
Poor Jagger! A chill like that of night when the wet mists steal down the sides of Cawden sent a shiver over his spirits and choked his speech. In his eagerness to avenge himself upon his master he had forgotten that Nancy would be affected by the scheme, and Nancy was the all-important consideration. When he had spoken of his father’s age as the barrier to his freedom of action he had been half-conscious of insincerity, and he knew now, if he had not definitely acknowledged it to himself before, that it was she of the black locks and black eyes and not his sire who made the thought of leaving Mawm unpalatable. His mind was not quick enough to grapple with the situation, however, and whilst he was groping round for a way of escape Hannah’s voice cut the silence.
“It was father’s idea,” she said with a coldness equal to Nancy’s own, as she rose and moved towards the door. “Maybe he hadn’t just thought how it ’ud concern you; but by all accounts Mr. Briggs turns trade enough away to keep one pair o’ hands busy. You know father well enough, Nancy, to be sure he’ll do naught to hurt you, and I’m sorry if you take it amiss. If you were Jagger’s sister you’d be tired o’ seeing him eat dirt to keep in with a master ’at holds him down. I’d have chucked it long since, if it had been me.”
“Jagger’s a right to please himself, and I’m not disputing it,” said Nancy haughtily; “but if there’s to be two firms in the village you can’t expect me to be any friend to the second.”
Jagger had found his tongue by now and he followed the girl to the door and stood with her in the opening, uttering vehement protests to which Hannah closed her ears and Nancy listened reluctantly.