CHAPTER XIVIN WHICH JOHN CLEGG IS “WANTED” AND MANIWEL ISN’T
IT was exactly a month later, towards the end of the merry month of May and within a week of Baldwin’s pay-day that news reached Mawm that John Clegg was “wanted” by the police. No merrier day had been known that year. Before the cocks awoke to their trumpeting a cuckoo had proclaimed the dawn, and had continued to obtrude its strange call upon the air that vibrated all day with the music of more melodious songsters. Curlews, black-headed gulls and lapwings, wheeling and crying as they felt the sweep of the mountain breeze, had brought life and action to the desolate moors, where the pink flowers of the bilberry washed whole tracts with sunset tints that deepened as the day advanced. One or two swallows had been seen above the river when the sun was hottest, but had soon flown south again leaving behind them the hope of summer. On every hand such stunted trees as the uplands could boast were either thick with foliage or at least bursting into leaf, and the meadows and pastures were spangled with gay spring flowers. The merry day had ended merrily; and when the sun went down to his couch in the west he flung his rich trappings to the sky which let them fall upon the mountain tops, where they lay until night cast her shadows over them.
No man from his well-padded seat in the theatreever watched the play with keener enjoyment than Maniwel this entertainment of Nature’s providing, though his chair was the hard stone parapet of the bridge beside his cottage. All through the day his soul had responded to the call of spring, to the warm grasp of the sun. The somewhat melancholy chanting of the moor birds had quickened his pulse; had stirred up memories of youth and youth’s ambitions; and he had discussed the future with Jagger in a spirit of breezy optimism that had fired the younger man. In another week their little capital would be in their own hands—it was not so very little after all for people in a small way. With one or two necessary machines and a supply of loose cash they would soon get into their stride, after which it was just a question of steadiness and hard, good work.
Maniwel had dismissed business from his thoughts, as a man must who would enjoy the play, and was feasting his senses on the scene before him when a motor-car, easily recognisable as the squire’s, sped up the road from the valley, and a hand beckoned him to approach.
Maniwel obeyed the summons and was greeted by Mr. Harris in a voice that was lowered so that the chauffeur would not hear.
“I say, Drake; hasn’t Nancy Clegg an Uncle John of that name in Airlee?”
“She has, sir,” he replied. “John and Tom were brothers, you’ll remember; and it’s John he always banked with, same as Baldwin does to this day.”
Mr. Harris looked with grave eyes into the other’s face.
“I’m afraid it’s a bad look-out, in that case, for Briggs,” he said; “and I suppose for Nancy, too. John Clegg has absconded, and the police have possession of his office!”
He put the evening paper into Maniwel’s hand as he spoke; but the joiner thrust it into his pocketwithout looking at it; and though his face expressed concern it remained calm.
“Dear! dear! that’s a bad job, that is,” he said. “I’m thinking Nancy’ll be hard hit, poor lass, not so much by t’ loss of her money as by t’ disgrace ’at’ll come to t’ name. It’ll be a sad blow for Baldwin. You weren’t thinking of calling and telling him t’ news, were you, sir?”
The squire smiled. “I’m not one to play on the hole of the asp, Drake,” he said. “I don’t envy the lot of the man who tells Briggs. If you keep it quiet it’s not likely that anyone else will hear of it, and to-morrow morning’s paper will be the best messenger.”
Maniwel’s face showed that he was thinking deeply. “I’m not worried about Nancy,” he said. “I believe it isn’t a vast deal ’at she’ll have left wi’ her uncle; but Baldwin——! It’ll be like to crush him, will this; and to come on him all of a sudden——!”
He looked into the squire’s eyes; but Mr. Harris remained silent, and Maniwel continued:
“I doubt if he’s a friend i’ t’ village. There was a time when I wouldn’t ha’ thought twice about going; but now he’d happen look at it in a wrong light. All t’ same if there’s no other way I think it ’ud only be neighbourly to step across and soften t’ news a bit.”
“As you like, Drake,” replied the squire as he tucked the rug about his knees. “I think myself you’ll be seeking trouble instead of softening it. But I admire your spirit, and if you had been in Briggs’ place I should have reminded you of the saying of the old Roman—‘Fortune can take away riches but not courage.’ I’m afraid it would be lost on Briggs.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Maniwel; “Jagger and me’ll maybe need to remember it, for we’d a little matter of three hundred pounds wi’ him ourselves’at we were expecting to draw t’ first o’ next month. But that’s neither here nor there. T’ loss of it is bad to bide; but it leaves us just where we were, you see, whereas wi’ Baldwin it means all t’ difference i’ t’ world.”
The squire held out his hand and grasped Maniwel’s.
“I’m sorry, Drake, very sorry——” He seemed about to say more but checked himself. “Tell Jagger to keep his heart up! I don’t need to tell you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the other smiling. “I’ll match my Jew again’ your Roman—‘Be of good cheer!’ He said when they were distressed by t’ waves; and t’ boat got safe to land, you’ll recollect. I shall lose no sleep over t’ job.”
The squire pressed his hand again and the car moved rapidly away, whilst Maniwel went indoors to make himself acquainted with the story of the disaster.
When he had read the columns twice over he sought his son. Jagger was still working in the shop where the light was dim, and he scarcely raised his head when his father entered.
“There’s bad news, lad!” said Maniwel abruptly; “—news you’d never guess.”
“Nought to do wi’ John Clegg, has it?” asked Jagger, straightening himself from the bench.
“That’s a good shot, lad! He’s run away; cleared off wi’ every penny he could lay his hands on! I thank God from my heart ’at you an’ me hasn’t a sin o’ that sort on our souls. There’s hundreds ruined, according to t’ paper.”
Jagger had not moved. His hands still grasped the plane where his eyes also rested.
“It’s naught but what I’ve expected,” he said in a hard voice. “I’ve dreamt night after night ’at t’ money was lost, and someway I’ve never built on it. We lose fifteen pound a year interest, and we’re where we were before—on t’ Street called Straight.”
It was almost a sneer; but it was instantly atoned for, and with a quick glance at his father’s face he went on:
“Nay, I’ll say naught about it. T’ devil’s won that trick, but t’ game isn’t finished yet. I care naught about t’ money now ’at Nancy’s——”
He stopped as comprehension widened, and a new light came into his eyes.
“By Jove, it’s worth it! I never thought about Baldwin! T’ devil’s trumped after all, for Baldwin’ll be floored. I’d ha’ paid three hundred pounds wi’ pleasure to ha’ floored Baldwin!”
He chuckled with satisfaction, but the smile faded when he caught sight of his father’s face.
“Jagger!” said Maniwel almost sternly. “I’m sorry to hear a son o’ mine talk like a child o’ the devil. ‘Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may sift thee like wheat.’ But you’re a beginner, and you’ve a deal to learn. If Baldwin was to fall down Gordel and break his leg you’d none let him lie to crawl home by himself; and I’m off there now to talk things over wi’ him, if so be as he’ll let me.”
“You are?” said Jagger, with closed teeth.
“I’m off there now,” repeated his father.
“Then there’s no more to be said”; and Jagger turned to his work.
Keturah had just lit the lamp when Maniwel knocked at the door and raised the latch in the familiar fashion of the country. Baldwin was sitting by the hearth smoking the one pipe in which he indulged himself of an evening. His eyebrows met in a scowl as he recognised his visitor and the tone in which he bade him enter was anything but cordial.
“It’s thee, is it? It’s long since tha was i’ this house afore.”
Involuntarily his speech broadened into the homelier dialect which both men had used to employ with each other in former days, and Maniwel followed suit.
“Aye,” he replied, “and I don’t know ’at I durst ha’ come, Baldwin, if it hadn’t been ’at I wor thrussen. But it’s a saying ’at trouble makes strange bedmates, and there’s trouble for both on us, lad. I’ one way happen it’s worse for me nor what it is for thee, for I stand to lose all I’ve saved; but I’m flayed tha’ll find it harder to bide, for tha drops from a bigger height.”
Whilst Maniwel was speaking a grey shade had spread over Baldwin’s face, though it was the tone in which the words were spoken rather than the words themselves that sent a chill to his heart. The scowl left his brow and his eyes widened, like the mouth that no longer offered its hospitality to the long, black clay, and he was dumb; unable to swear at the intruder or to bid him quicken his explanation—dumb with a foreboding that left him sick and helpless in the presence of his enemy.
“It’s all in t’Evening Post,” Maniwel went on. He had not seated himself, but leaned against the dresser as if his stay was likely to be short; and Keturah was too concerned at the sight of her brother to remember the duties of hostess—“John Clegg’s made off, taking all wi’ him, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest——”
The cold statement of fact broke the spell like the touch of a fairy’s wand, and Baldwin jumped to his feet and snatched the paper from Maniwel’s hand.
“Tha’rt a liar!” he shouted. “—— tha for bringing thy black lies into my house! I won’t believe it if I see it i’ print——!” He was tearing the paper open as he spoke and his eyes fell at once upon the record that ran in heavy type across two columns.
“WELL-KNOWN MONEY-LENDER ABSCONDS!
IMMENSE LIABILITIES”
It was enough. The name of John Clegg met his gaze on the first line and he threw the paper fromhim and sank back into his chair with a groan. Keturah’s apron was to her eyes and she was weeping volubly when the door of the parlour opened and Nancy appeared.
Before she had time to speak Baldwin turned round and vented his wrath upon her.
“Curse you and all your —— lot!” he said savagely. “Thieves and robbers, that’s what you are! You might well pay your brass into t’ bank, you sly ratten—when you knew your uncle was naught no better nor a pick-purse. Honour among thieves! I don’t doubt but what he warned you, —— him....”
Keturah had sunk into a chair and was holding her apron to her ears in the usual way, but Nancy turned her white face away from the angry man and moved towards the table where the paper was lying. All the time a torrent of coarse abuse which nobody heeded was pouring from Baldwin’s lips.
Maniwel laid his hand on the paper.
“Wait a minute, lass,” he said kindly. “There’s news there ’at’ll cut you like a knife. Your uncle John’s missing, and things look black again’ him there’s no denying. But it’ll happen all turn out better than like, and anyway it’s not for us to judge him over hard ’at doesn’t know all. There’s One above ’at’ll judge both him and us.”
“And you’ve lost all?” she said calmly, though her hands shook and her face was colourless.
“We shall see,” he replied soothingly. “It’s early days yet to talk about ‘all’. That’s what I want to say to Baldwin.” He turned his head in the direction of the fireplace again. “We’ve got to keep up wer hearts and wer heads, and see ’at we make t’ best of a bad job. There’ll be summat left to share out, surely.”
Another volley of coarse abuse from Baldwin was the only reply he received. Nancy was reading the report,—steadily—but with mouth firmly closed;and Keturah had covered her head and was rocking her chair, consoling herself with groans. Maniwel went over to the hearth where Baldwin’s feet were on the ruins of his pipe.
“What a man says in his temper is easy forgi’en, Baldwin,” he said. His eyes were almost woman-like in their tenderness, but the firmness in the voice was that of a man and a strong man. “It’s bound to be a sad blow for tha, but t’ ship isn’t allus wrecked when it strikes a rock, and if there’s owt I can do to help tha tha’s nobbut to speak t’ word and we’ll put wer heads together——”
“If tha’ll be good enough to take thy-sen off, Maniwel Drake, tha’ll be doing me t’ only service I ask of tha,” said Baldwin, his voice trembling with the passion he was endeavouring to restrain. “Tha’s had what tha come for—t’ pleasure o’ seeing me knocked off o’ my feet wi’ t’ news tha brought; tha can get thee gone now and tell t’ funny tale to Jagger. Put wer heads together, will we? Let me tell tha Baldwin Briggs’s none done yet; and there’s a lad’ll put his head alongside mine ’at’s worth all t’ Drake fam’ly rolled into one. He seed this coming; and if I’d ta’en a bit o’ notice tha’d happen ha’ had less ’casion to make game o’ me.”
“You’re out of your mind——” began Nancy hotly; and it was not the anger that flashed into Baldwin’s eyes that stopped her; but the hand Maniwel laid on her arm.
“The lass is right,” he said sternly; “—tha’rt out o’ thy mind, or tha’d shame to say such things to a man’s ’at’s wanted to be thi friend. But it’s out o’ t’ abundance o’ t’ heart ’at t’ mouth speaks, and thi heart’s so full o’ muck ’at no clean thought can get either in or out. When a man walks crook’d he sees crook’d; and there’ll come a time when tha’ll know what it is to lack a friend. If Nancy’s husband can help tha, well and good; I’m glad on’t. Iftha’s laid up treasure i’ any man’s heart it’s more than tha’s ever done afore sin’ I knew tha—nay, tha’s no ’casion to grind thi teeth; lame as I am I could throw tha on t’ fire-back wi’ my one hand, but there’s better fuel i’ t’ bucket. I’m going now; but I’ve one thing more to say t’ first. Tha’rt as miserable a soul as ever drew breath, and if tha loses thi brass tha can’ scarce be more miserable. Tha’s made it harder for me to offer tha help another time; but what I call tha I call tha to thi face and not behind thi back, and if tha finds ’at t’ stick tha’s trusting to fails tha, remember tha’s still a friend i’ Maniwel Drake—tha hears me?”
“I’ll see tha blaze before I’ll ask thy help!” Baldwin almost hissed.
“Tha’s seen me blaze just now,” returned Maniwel calmly; “or anyway tha’s heard t’ crackle. If a man doesn’t blaze i’ thi comp’ny it isn’t for lack o’ kindling. I’m going now; but I’m sorry for tha from my soul, and tha knows where to turn when tha comes to t’ far end.”
He let his eyes rest for a moment on Baldwin who spat disgustedly into the fire, and with a word of farewell to Nancy left the house.
On his way home he met Inman returning from the inn.
“I fancy you’re wanted,” he said pausing in his walk. “Baldwin’s i’ trouble.”
Inman raised his eyebrows, nodded, and sauntered on.