A Drake by George!

These things Robert admitted, quite forgetting – if the fact had ever dawned upon him – that it was the custom in Highfield, as in other places about the Forest of Dartmoor, for the parishioners to revile each other amongst themselves, and to defend one another against all outsiders. In the bad old days a certain vicar of Highfield had been a notorious drunkard, and was so hated by his people that he could hardly appear in the street without being insulted; but when the authorities sought to procure evidence against him, all were for their vicar, and the very men who had carried him home drunk the previous night swore they had never known him the worse for liquor. Mrs. Drake did not know of this peculiarity, and was therefore forced to the conclusion that Mr. Brock had a past, which was not wonderful considering his age; and that, if Nellie married Sidney and went to live at Black Anchor, it was quite possible she would not have a future. So she instructed Kezia not to encourage the young man, and advised Nellie to fall out of love as tactfully as possible.

In the meantime, George appeared to be passing through the throes of reformation. Although actually the same unprofitable person, he succeeded, by a skilful change of methods, in making his aunt believe industry was now the one and the only thing he lived for. He displayed a passion for railways; talked of little but express trains and timetables; constructed a model of a railway station out of a few packing cases; and drew caricatures of locomotives. He fumed every morning because the long expected letter from headquarters still failed to arrive. Mrs. Drake, who was easily deceived, quite supposed George had turned over a new leaf; and he had done so, but without changing his book. He had not the slightest intention of quitting Windward House, but he could see no prospect of carrying out his programme by persevering in the old methods. He continued to idle away his time; but he did so in a different fashion.

His next step was to develop the programme, and to indulge a few of the leading items to the other person whose name was writ large upon it. This was no easy matter, since opportunity, resolution, and guileless speech would have to be obtained simultaneously. George's eloquence was of the meanest description; he was master of no honeyed phrase, while his method of expressing affection for another consisted in advertising the virtues of himself.

One afternoon he was lying beneath a favourite apple tree, when a fine specimen of the fruit fell upon his chest. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked round. Then he ate the apple and listened. The silence was profound; he seemed to be indolent monarch of a lazy world. George remembered that, shortly before sleep had gently touched his eyelids, Mrs. Drake and Kezia had passed out of the garden. Miss Yard would be contentedly muddling through the maze of some missionary magazine. While the only other person in the house might be sitting beside a window at the back.

George comprehended that the falling apple had been a call to seize the opportunity; resolution he seemed to have acquired by devouring it; eloquence alone was wanting. But big words, he knew, could never fail brave people.

Fortune was smiling in the kindest way from the little upstairs window, where Nellie's head was bobbing over a sewing-machine, which she fed with yards of summer-cloud material. George went on steadily reforming and strenuously gazing; but Nellie did not condescend to throw a glance in his direction.

"There's a nice view from your window," he said at last; an unfortunate beginning, as the girl could see little except himself.

"Lovely," she said, without looking around.

"Are you sewing?" George inquired gently.

"Learning the typewriter," she replied.

George wanted to go into the house and procure a glass of cider, but dared not lose the opportunity.

"Nellie," he said, making as many syllables possible of her name, "do you mind me talking to you a little about yourself?"

"I can't prevent it unless I shut the window, and don't want to do that," she said.

"I wanted to say that – to remind you that my aunt is not going to live for ever," George continued.

"That's not talking about me."

"Ah, but I'm coming to you presently."

"You can stay where you are," she said coldly.

"Miss Yard won't live for ever either," said George, more confidently. "She can't leave you anything, because all her money goes to my beastly cousin Percy. I know she is always promising to leave you money, but she can't do it."

"I am to have her furniture anyhow," said Nellie, removing her hands from the machine, and turning at last towards the window.

"Oh no! I get that. Aunt Sophy's furniture is to go with the rest."

"Is that really true?" asked Nellie, who had good reason to be suspicious of Miss Yard's promises.

"Yes, it all comes to me," said George eagerly. "I shall have the furniture, and the house, and the cash my aunt leaves. The two Chinese vases aunt keeps underneath her bed are worth a thousand pounds; that's a great secret, and I wouldn't tell any one but you. The other things will fetch five hundred pounds. Then I shall have the money that aunt leaves – perhaps another five hundred. Then the property will bring another thousand. So you see, when the old ladies die, I shall have pots of money."

"It will mean more to be you then than it does now," said Nellie darkly.

"Yes, I shall be quite rich. You see, there's no reason why I should work, as aunt is well past seventy."

"But I thought you were going to do something great and wonderful on the railway?"

"That was an idea, but I can't afford to leave the place; that's another secret, Nellie, and I wouldn't tell any one but you. I am so afraid aunt may give away the vases. She's getting a bit queer in her memory too, and she's always giving away things. When I went to see about a job on the railway she sent a lot of my things to a rummage sale. She has given Kezia the bed she sleeps on, and a lot more things; but they all belong to me, and I shall claim them when she dies."

"She has promised me the round table in the parlour," said Nellie.

"Of course I don't mind what she gives you," said George awkwardly.

"Many thanks. Now I must go and put on the kettle for tea. You have told me such a lot about myself."

"Yes, and I've got still more to say. I shall have quite three thousand pounds – and my tastes are very simple. I don't expect much, and I don't ask for much. It's my own belief that I can put up with almost anybody."

"Now I'm in for it!" Nellie murmured, with a scorching glance at the somewhat dejected figure in the garden.

"I have always flattered myself," George rambled on, with the feeling that eloquence had come to him at last, "I can get along anyhow with anyone."

"You mustn't be too complimentary. Flattery alone is not worth much, you know," she said carelessly.

"I mean all that I say, and – and I'm not so idle as they make out, but what's the good of breaking your back when you are coming into thousands? It's only taking a job from some other fellow. I can draw quite well, and paint, and prune roses, and I shall have all my uncle's famous furniture, and the house, and the money – "

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't keep on talking about me," cried Nellie.

"If you won't let me say anything more, I'll write it all down," said George delightedly. "I have tried, but it's so hard to find a word to rhyme with Nellie, while Nell is just as bad. Now if your name had been Mary, there's dairy, and fairy, and hairy – "

"And wary," laughed the girl, as she ran away from the window.

CHAPTER VII
SCANDAL AND EXPOSURE

Squinting Jack declared there were some things better than a murder. He referred to the mystery which surrounded the unnatural tenants of Black Anchor Farm. They had received a visitor, who was neither honest gentleman, nor respectable lady; but a woman with bold red cheeks. She had driven through Highfield, staring at the inhabitants and smiling at their dwelling places; her driver had inquired of the first gentleman in the place – George being set up above the vicar because he did no work – which of the lanes ahead would be most likely to lead towards Black Anchor; and a few days later this same red-cheeked lady had been driven back through the village, staring and smiling as before. Her clothes where the saddest part about her; for she was dressed in the height of fashion.

So far the Dismal Gibcat had defended the Brocks because every other person was against them; he admired their poverty and loved their humility; he prophesied kindly concerning their future, and sent them superfluous vegetables. The three stages of manhood were at last represented in Highfield parish by righteous men: old Brock, young Sidney, and his middle-aged self. But the vision and visit of the painted lady caused two vacancies. The Dismal Gibcat drew the line at well dressed women.

The Yellow Leaf was consulted because of his knowledge of the world's history, and he gave it as his opinion that the atmosphere of Highfield had been deprived by the nameless visitor of a considerable amount of moral oxygen: in the first place she belonged to a higher class than the Brocks; in the second place she came upon a secret mission, and in the third place she entered a house which it was notorious contained no other woman. She could not be a relation; while, if she had come as a friend, all he could say was heaven preserve Highfield from such friendships.

"Some poor folk do have rich relations, though mine ain't come along yet," said Squinting Jack.

"What would you be saying about me, if I wur to receive a visit from a young lady wi' red-hot painted cheeks?" inquired the Yellow Leaf.

"I should say you wur lucky," replied Squinting Jack.

"Her cheeks wur warmish, I allow; but I wouldn't exactly call 'em painted," observed the Dumpy Philosopher.

"You'm mixing it up wi' doorpost paint. Ask your missus if her cheeks warn't plastered wi' cosmetics," said the Yellow Leaf crossly.

"I'd rather not," retorted the Dumpy Philosopher.

"There be two ways of looking at pretty nigh everything, a gude way and a bad way," urged the Gentle Shepherd. "There be ladies who take a kindly interest in young men, and try to help 'em along a bit. Us knows the Brocks ain't got much money, vor they ha' took the poorest farm in the whole parish. Maybe this lady is helping young Sidney a bit, and her come along to see how he wur doing."

The others listened doubtfully, then turned to hear the oracle's opinion.

"I ha' heard tell o' such ladies, but I ain't seen one of 'em; and I wants to see a thing avore I believes – ay, I wants to see it two or dree times," said the Yellow Leaf. Then he asked, "How old do you say her wur?"

The Dumpy Philosopher fancied the region of twenty; the Gentle Shepherd thought the neighbourhood of forty; while Squinting Jack suggested second childhood.

"You can tell an old lady when you sees one," replied the Yellow Leaf, "and you can tell a young maid when you sees one; but when you can't tell whether a woman be old or young, then you'm looking at something what ain't respectable. 'Tis old folk what be charitable, and she warn't old; and when young ladies be charitable to young men, their charity ain't far away from home, I reckon. They Brocks ha' no woman to mind vor 'em; 'tis because they don't dare to; 'tis because this lady wouldn't like it, and they can't tell when she may be coming. She'm a jealous lady vor certain, and she won't have no woman to Black Anchor 'cept it be herself. And she couldn't come to the farm if they had another woman, vor her wouldn't have the face to do it."

This was one of the longest, and quite the wisest, of all the opinions stated by the Yellow Leaf. Although it could hardly add to his reputation, it destroyed entirely the credit of the Brocks.

"The old man don't hardly ever come into the village, 'cept it be to church, and he don't pass the time o' day to no one," said the Dumpy Philosopher.

"Now I come to think of it, young Sidney has a funny, uneducated sort o' way of answering," added Squinting Jack.

"They'm mysteries," concluded the Yellow Leaf, "and I hopes to live to see 'em all exposed to the vull light o' day."

Robert passed this scandal to Bessie, and she hurried it across to Kezia, who carried it while still fresh into the parlour, and presented it to both the ladies. Miss Yard expressed no interest, but Mrs. Drake was painfully distressed. She was ageing rapidly, and beginning to lose her memory too; she had forgotten what a very favourable impression the boy had made upon her.

"Are you quite sure she did go to Black Anchor?" Mrs. Drake inquired.

"Yes, Aunt," said George, who was busy designing locomotives. "She asked me the way – at least the driver did. They were both strangers to me."

"Quite a young gal, warn't she, Mr. George?" appealed Kezia.

"Not more than eighteen, I should think. But she wore a wedding ring; I saw it distinctly."

"Yes, mum; I saw her drive past, so bold and staring. They say she's an actress, mum."

"How awful! I suppose she's his wife."

"Well, mum, us all hopes she is."

"The wretched young man! How can he be so wicked!"

"Is anybody wicked?" asked Miss Yard vacantly.

"Never mind, Sophy. It's nobody you care about. Has she been told? You know who I mean."

"Oh no, mum. We wouldn't like to say anything much to her. But of course she mustn't go out with him any more."

"Of course not," said George vigorously.

"I suppose I must break it to her," said Mrs. Drake. "And he sings in the choir too – miserable wretch!"

"I warned you, Aunt," said George.

"He must never come into the house again. Ask Robert to tell him."

"Oh no, mum! We couldn't drink coffee with him now. He seemed such a nice young man too. Robert thought him almost like a gentleman."

"It's often these nice young men who turn out the greatest humbugs," said Mrs. Drake severely.

"What is she saying? I do hope there are no such things in the house," Miss Yard cried anxiously.

Nellie was thoroughly well told. Kezia, Bessie, and Robert were alike eager to play the part of candid friend because they liked her so much; indeed, they somewhat overwhelmed her with candid affection. According to Bessie, the mysterious lady had been overheard imploring Sidney to return with her; while Robert declared the young man had confessed the whole truth. Kezia could invent nothing, so contented herself with moaning over life's tragedies like the chorus of a Greek play. Nellie, being a wise maid, argued with nobody, and smiled at everyone; but her eyes made people sorry for her; and because of their sympathy they brought yet other charges against Sidney.

Nellie waited for choir practice, when she hoped to hear a healthier story. She expressed no gratitude when the heroic George offered to accompany her to church, lest the dragon Sidney should abduct her forcibly and add her to his collection in the cupboard at home. He explained these references according to the best of his historical information, quoting the story of Bluebeard at some length. He was still talking when Nellie escaped from the house, and went to church by herself.

During practice the other members of the choir shrank from Sidney, as if afraid he should make some evil communication; and they practised the hymns, which were of a penitential nature, at him. It was never the custom in Highfield to allow even one sinner to go unpunished.

"At last!" exclaimed Nellie, when they were out of the church and alone together in Dartmoor wind and darkness. "Of course you know what I am going to say?" she added.

"You'm going to say this place be vull o' liars," suggested Sidney.

"Oh no, indeed! Our friendship is quite over, and you are not to come near Windward House again."

"What's it all about, Nellie?"

"You know perfectly well. I'm walking with you this evening just to hear what you have to say."

"You think I'm a bad lot?"

"I'm getting dreadfully certain of it."

"Because you've heard tales. I know you'm the prettiest maid in the world, but if a stranger wur with us he wouldn't believe me if I said so, vor 'tis too dark to see you. You can't be sure of anything you'm told. I'm not the best chap in the world by a long way, but if you could see me 'just as I am,' as we wur singing in church just now, you might fancy I b'ain't quite what folks make me out to be."

Nellie was disturbed by this speech, and still more by the manner in which it was uttered. She had an uncomfortable feeling that Sidney was trying to bring himself down to her level, although her birth and education were undoubtedly superior to his.

"I suppose it's easy to sing like that, especially as you must have had no end of practice," she said crossly.

"Now you'm out o' tune, Nellie."

"Miss Blisland has discovered you have made a fool of her. You asked her to – to – well, you know what, when all the time you are married – "

"Here, I say, steady! I didn't know it had got to that," he broke in sharply.

"Then who was that girl who came to see you?"

"She's not a girl. If you want to know her age, I'll tell you. She is forty-three – and I'm nineteen. Is it likely I'd be married to a lady old enough to be my mother?"

"Who is she?"

"A very kind lady who has done a lot vor me. Her name is Mrs. Stanley."

"Then she is married!"

"Her husband's been very kind to me too."

"And I suppose you are very fond of her?"

"Well, that's natural, considering what she's done vor me."

"You love her!" cried Nellie, getting out of patience with his coldness.

"There's someone I love better."

"And that's yourself," she snapped.

"'Tis the pretty maid I'm going to marry, and that's you."

"If you dare to say such a thing again," gasped Nellie, "I'll – I'll run away."

"You can run t'other end of the world, but I shall come and fetch ye back," declared the bold youth.

"What's to prevent me from marrying someone else?"

"Yourself, I fancy."

"But I never did like you much, and now I hate you," she said, troubled again by his accent, which recalled her own superior education.

"If you won't hate me any more than what you do now, I shan't grumble," replied the confident young man. Then he asked gently, "Won't you come out Sunday afternoon?"

"No, I will not."

"I could tell you a tale what might make us sweethearts again," he continued.

"I expect there is hardly any sort of tale that you don't know. But why don't you?"

"I'm going to make you believe in me and trust me."

"Tell that to Mrs. Stanley – I'm sure she's a widow."

"I trust her, and she knows it. I told her about you, and she wanted me to promise not to marry till I'm twenty-five."

"By then, I suppose, she'll have become sick and tired of you," said Nellie, who was rapidly forming Highfield opinions about Mrs. Stanley.

"She doesn't mind who I marry – "

"How perfectly unselfish!"

"So long as 'tis the right sort o' maid."

"I hope you'll find her. Goodnight; I'm going now," said Nellie, standing beside the garden-gate of Windward House. Then she added rather faintly, "I'm sorry you ever came to Highfield."

Sidney struck a match and, making a lantern of his hands, turned the light upon her face.

"Oh, Nellie darling! There's a tear upon your cheek!"

"Don't be rude and wicked," she murmured, searching for the gate handle, which she generally found quite easily.

"The beautifullest tear from the loveliest eye in the world!"

"What's wrong with the other eye?" she asked trying to laugh.

"It's still more lovely. Nellie, you are – just Nellie, and that means everything. You shall trust me, and I'll make you love me, if I have to work a thousand times harder than I do on the farm."

"Will you have nothing more to do with Mrs. Stanley?"

"I can't do that."

"You mean she won't give you up!"

"She's the best and kindest lady in the world. But you come first, and that's where you'll be always."

"I must be second too. It's no good, Sidney. I'm not going to be talked about and laughed at – no girl can stand it. Besides, Mrs. Drake has forbidden me to speak to you, and my poor mistress would go crazy if she knew what has happened. I have a good home, and I must think of my future. Leave me alone, please, and let me forget you. But I must give up the choir and sit at the bottom of the church, for I – I can't sing any more."

"Is that you, Nellie?" called Kezia; and the faithful band of protectors and consolers appeared, putting the false Sidney to flight.

George was so pleased when Nellie did not go out upon Sunday afternoon, that he presented her with a picture of his latest locomotive, very handsomely designed, but without cylinders. He began about this time to take an interest in his personal appearance, with the result that Mrs. Drake, who was not at all prejudiced in his favour, remarked to Kezia that Mr. George was undoubtedly the best looking man in the place, which, after all, was not much of a compliment. Kezia, who was a Drake in everything but surname, and contemplated assuming that to supply her own deficiency, agreed, and went on to mention Mr. George was regarded as the perfect pattern of an English gentleman by Highfield, where all geese were swans.

Mrs. Drake was simple enough to believe George was preparing himself for the duties of station-master, and he more than suggested this was indeed the case; having the impudence to hint at negotiations for various stations where it would be his business to receive all manner of royalties; but the letters he received were of such a confidential nature that he was not at liberty to show them to his aunt. He convinced her they were all typewritten, and this was quite sufficient for his purpose, because the old-fashioned woman supposed letters written by machinery could emanate only from departments under the immediate control of Ministers of State.

The cold-blooded George had drawn up a programme of his career under such items as Courtship of Nellie, Annihilation of Sidney, Conciliation of Aunt, Guarding of the Furniture, Departure of Aunt Sophy, Contract with Nellie, Departure of Aunt, Marriage and Retirement. With fine prophetic instinct a date was appended to each one of these events: Miss Yard had but a single year of life remaining, while three more years were allotted to Mrs. Drake. So far the programme was well ahead of time, owing to the visit of Mrs. Stanley.

The careful mind of George was troubled concerning his forthcoming marriage and subsequent retirement. He asked himself frequently whether it could be prudent to enter into a matrimonial alliance with Nellie, or indeed with any girl; was a wife preferable on the whole to a housekeeper? George sought the opinion of the Dismal Gibcat, who replied that the house presided over by a wife was bound to be respectable, while the house ruled by spinster or widow was not; besides, a housekeeper could not be scowled at with impunity, whereas a wife might easily be taught all the accomplishments of her husband: that was to say, if the husband found it necessary to slander another man, or to deprive some woman of her character, the partner of his joys and sorrows would slander these persons too; whereas a housekeeper might find it her duty to defend them.

Then George consulted the Yellow Leaf, who was of the decidedly robust opinion that men and women should not only marry as early as possible, but should keep on doing it as often as the law allowed; and even if they did offend against the law sometimes it was better to err upon the right side. He alluded to his own brilliant example of marrying at eighteen, with the happy result that the entire population of the village were more or less related to him; and he went on to declare he had already appointed a successor to his present wife, who had been bedridden for some years.

Although George had some doubts remaining, he arrived sorrowfully at the conclusion that it would be his duty to make Nellie happy, if the ladies of Windward House should respect his programme and depart from the world according to scheduled time. The question of his retirement remained the only point to be disposed of. Should he conclude a life of usefulness as the most respected parishioner of Highfield, or favour a wider circle? Certainly it would be more agreeable to retire in a village, where respect came automatically, than to run the risk of being dishonoured in some town, where standing at corners or musing beside lamp posts might be wrongly construed as revealing instability of character.

It might, he feared, become necessary to commence his retirement within the next few months, for Mrs. Drake was clearly in a restless frame of mind, and the impending failure of his negotiations with the railway company might induce her to issue the expulsion order which Percy would be called upon to execute. In such case George decided his health would be forced to suffer a breakdown, although it might be possible, now Mrs. Drake's powers were growing defective, to assure her his career upon the railway was finished; but, unfortunately, owing to his inability to serve full time, he enjoyed no pension.

A wet day assisted George in making a discovery which, although not altering his programme, seemed to promise an extension of the indefinite time limit.

"I want to go to the sea. Aunt Sophy worries so about her friends, and I can't make her believe she hasn't got any. She will forget all about them if we go away. When are you going to your station?" asked Mrs. Drake, while Miss Yard looked up plaintively and wanted to know what she had done now.

"Oh, nothing. I'm telling George we are going to the seaside directly he is ready to leave."

"I think you had better not wait," said George warningly.

"You promised to go this month," his aunt said fretfully.

"Changes have occurred, with the result that I have now broken off the negotiations."

"Then I have done with you!"

"I'm so glad somebody else has broken something," said Miss Yard happily.

George left the room, and returned presently with an armful of plans and diagrams.

"I knew they existed, and at last I have found them," he remarked triumphantly.

"Take away your rubbish!" said Mrs. Drake.

"My uncle made these plans. These diagrams were the solace of his closing years," said George; and directly he had spoken his aunt's face softened, and she fumbled for her spectacles.

"My dear uncle charged me to carry out the work if he should not live to complete it. These are his plans for a railway to link up the scattered parishes of this moorland region. It is my earnest hope," said George, "that I may be permitted to undertake the work which is to give Dartmoor a railway and Highfield a station."

"I had forgotten all about it," Mrs. Drake murmured.

"I did not forget," said George reprovingly. "I should have acted long ago, if I could have found these precious plans. Here is the prospectus in dear uncle's writing. He shows how simple and inexpensive it would be to build a railway across the Dartmoor, without a single viaduct, tunnel, embankment, or cutting. It was his intention to make Highfield Station a terminus, as he could not see his way to surmount the steep drop into the valley without going to considerable expense. Now you can understand why it is no longer my intention to occupy the poorly paid position of station-master. I aim at higher things. I mean to be a railway magnate."

"What can you do?" asked Mrs. Drake, much impressed by those relics of her husband.

"I shall communicate with my railway friends; I shall float a company, and appoint a Board of Directors; I shall pass a Bill through Parliament."

"Whatever is George doing?" inquired Miss Yard.

"Making a railway," replied her sister.

"I wish I could do something half as useful," sighed Miss Yard.

George borrowed five pounds for postage stamps, converted his bedroom into an office, and fed the village with false news which percolated into the ears of Mrs. Drake by means of Robert the dripping tap and Kezia the filter. George had anticipated this, and, knowing the truthful ways of the village, was not greatly astonished when Robert informed him in confidence how engineers had already been seen taking the level of the Dartmoor heights; while the parishioners had sworn to tear up the railway as fast as it was made, unless they received ample compensation for this cynical infringement of their rights.

What he had not anticipated was the action taken by his aunt. Left to herself she would have remained credulous to the end; but Kezia declared Mr. George was not spending his days letter writing; while Bessie stated the postmistress had told her Mr. George had bought no stamps lately.

"I have looked into his room and seen him writing," said Mrs. Drake despairingly.

"He wur doing poetry, mum," said Kezia sadly.

"Oh, I'm sure he's not so bad as that," cried the lady.

"I don't want to say too much, mum, and I ain't going to say anything against Mr. George, whom you might call a member of the family," continued Kezia in the voice of doom, "but I saw a lot of the paper he had wrote some of his poetry on."

"I saw it too, mum," chimed in Bessie.

"And, mum, at the end of the first line wur six kisses."

"Crosses, mum," exclaimed Bessie, as an expert in this form of literature.

"And the second line – oh, mum, I don't know as how I can say it."

"Shall I do it vor ye?" asked Bessie eagerly.

"No, Bess, I'll do it. He said, mum, his heart wur all jelly."

"Think of that, mum!" gasped Bessie.

"Oh no! Not jelly again. We had yesterday," cried Miss Yard, who liked to be consulted concerning the bill of fare.

"I do hope the poor creature isn't going off his head," said Mrs. Drake.

"Don't you see, mum, that word wur meant to sound like the word at the end of the first line what he wrote in crosses. And you know, mum, there's someone in this house whose name do have the same sort of sound as jelly."

"Ah, but she b'ain't so soft," added Bessie. "And he wrote she was so bewitching, drinking cocoa in the kitchen. That was a rhyme, mum."

"I have heard quite enough," said Mrs. Drake wearily. "I wish to goodness I had never seen the fellow," she murmured.