The Man with a Shadow

“Oh! I shan’t forget,” said the old man. “But you arn’t – you arn’t been meddlin’ with anything, have you?” and he looked inquisitively round.

“Meddling; oh no, gran’fa, dear! I’ve only just come in, and I can’t stop. But do help me. I should like some nice dresses, and you would like to see me there.”

“What, missus up at the Hall, my lass? Yes, and you shall be, too. There, give’s a kiss. Be a good gel, and you shall have some money and fine clothes and feathers; and I’ll get a strong lot o’ chaps together as shall ring the bells for hours the day you’re wed.”

“Oh, you dear old gran’fa. He shall marry me, shan’t he?”

“Ay, that he shall, my pretty. Well, if you must go, good-bye.”

“Yes, and he shall marry me, my fine madam,” muttered Dally, as with flushed face and sparkling eyes she turned back to the Rectory. “Well, if it isn’t Joe Chegg,” she cried in a vexed tone, as she saw the young man coming, and turned through a gate into the river meadows, to avoid that rustic and get in by the back way.

“You think you can be very clever,” continued Dally; “but other people can be clever, too. Let’s be sure this is the right one,” she added, as she drew a big key out of her pocket.

“Yes; that’s the one he give me before. Two can play at that game, Miss,” she continued, with a vicious look, as she thrust the stolen key into her pocket. “Ha – ha – ha! how foolish I can make her look. Jealous? No, I’m not jealous; for I’m going to win the day as soon as I’ve made quite sure.”

Joe Chegg was in pursuit, but Dally took the back way through the Rectory orchard, and passed Leo on her way in. “Been out, Dally?”

“Yes, Miss. And I’m very busy. And yes, Miss!” she added, as soon as she was alone; “I’ve got the key in my pocket. You’re very clever; but perhaps Dally Watlock can be clever, too.”

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.

Joe Chegg Fetches his Tools

“I don’t like it, and I mean to find it out,” said Joe, scratching his head on one side. “And if I find as there be anything going on twix’ new squire and she, why I’ll – ”

Joe Chegg did not say what he would do, but raised the other hand to give his head a good scratch on the far side.

He then paused in his work to stand and examine it, his mind wandering amid the flowers which hung in wreaths; and these wreaths of brilliant hues naturally associated themselves with Dally Watlock, the young lady who had made a very deep impression, and was now causing the young man great uneasiness of spirit.

Joe Chegg was the universal genius of Duke’s Hampton, and was ready to turn his hand to anything. Did a neighbour’s saucepan leak, Joe said it was a pity to send it over to the town, when maybe he would set it right by clumsily melting a dab of solder over the hole. Did Mrs Berens’ gate want mending, Joe Chegg would bring up a hammer and nails and armour-clothe the woodwork with the amount of iron he attached. He was great upon locks. As a rule they did not lock much when he had attacked them; but Joe generally got the credit of having done them good.

He worked in iron and in lead, but he was more wooden than anything else, and delighted in having an opportunity to use a saw.

Nothing, however, pleased him better than being sent for at times to do up the Rectory or Mrs Berens’ garden, where he would in one day do more mischief to flower and vegetable than an ordinary jobbing gardener would achieve in three: and if it were the time of year when he had an opportunity to prune, why, then the poor trees had a holiday, for they had neither flower nor fruit to carry for the next two or three seasons.

On the present occasion, Mrs Berens had found half-a-dozen rolls of paper-hanging of one pattern stored away in the attic, and had decided to have a small room papered therewith.

Now, being a sensitive lady with but little knowledge of human nature, in her ignorance of the fact that the party appealed to would have come at once and made a good job of it for Mrs Berens and himself, this lady now felt that the King’s Hampton painter would not care to come and paper her room as she had not purchased the paper of him, so Joe Chegg was thought of, and set to work.

It had taken him a long time to begin, for he had to make his own paste. Then while the paste was cooling, he had to fetch his scissors, and it was while fetching these that he had seen, given chase to, and missed Dally Watlock.

He had returned to his work and trimmed the rolls of paper, frowning very severely the while.

That took him to dinner-time, with the paper suggesting Dally at every turn. It rustled like Dally’s clothes did when she whisked round; the selvage he cut off ran up into curls like Dally’s hair; it smelt like Dally – a peculiarly fresh, soapy odour; it suggested a snug cottage that he would paper with his own hands; and then, too, the pattern – how he would like to buy Dally a dress like that.

After dinner the paper still suggested Dally so much, as aforesaid, with its wreaths and flowers that as Joe Chegg worked away he had slowly achieved to the hanging of three pieces, when Mrs Berens, all silk and scent and lace, rustled into the room to see how he was getting on.

“Why, Joe,” she exclaimed; “you’ve hung it upside down!”

It was no wonder, for ever since he had seen Dally that morning, Joe Chegg had been upside down.

He did not, like Mr Sullivan’s immortalised British workman, say, “It’ll be all right when it’s dry,” but looked sheepish, and stared hard at the paper, to see that the roses were all hanging their heads, and the stems pointing straight up.

“Upside down, ma’am?” he said, with a feeble smile.

“Yes, Joe; and you a gardener. Now, did you ever see flowers grow like that?”

“When they’ve come unnailed, ma’am,” said Joe, with a happy thought.

“Nonsense, man! It looks ridiculous.”

“Shall I peel it off, ma’am?”

“No; absurd! You must paper all over that again. It’s just so much waste of paper-hanging. There, don’t stare, man, but go on.”

Mrs Berens was rather cross, and she snubbed Joe Chegg in a way that brought tears to the young man’s eyes, which he concealed by stooping over the paste pail, and slopping about the contents so vigorously that Mrs Berens, in dread for her garments, hastily beat a retreat.

“It’s of no good,” said Joe Chegg, “a man can’t hang paper properly when he’s in love; and when he’s crossed and crissed and bothered as I am, he feels a deal more fit to hang himself. I’ll go and do it!”

This expression of a determination, however, alluded to something in Joe Chegg’s mind which had nothing whatever to do with what lawyers term in legal language sus per col. He had made certain plans in his own head, and the cogitating over these had resulted in Mrs Berens’ paper-hangings being upside down; and for the furtherance of these plans he packed up his work for the day, went down into the kitchen, where he announced to the maids that he was going to fetch his tools, and then started off home.

That night Joe Chegg behaved furtively. He waited until it was dusk, and then went out cautiously as a conspirator, as he thought, but made enough noise to put any one upon his guard, while he felt satisfied himself that his secrecy and care were surprising.

“She can’t deceive me,” he said to himself with a satisfied grin, and, going along by fence-side and hedge, he placed himself in a position to watch, which would not have deceived a child.

The place he chose was opposite the sexton’s, where he waited till Moredock came out, somewhere about the time when other people went to bed.

Joe Chegg hailed this as a sign that the coast would be clear, and Dally Watlock soon make her appearance to keep an appointment, for he had good reason to believe that she did meet somebody, and it was to have a certain proof that he was there.

But the hours wore on, and no Dally made her appearance, and Joe Chegg’s hands went very far down into his pockets, and his forehead grew deeply knit.

Volume Two – Chapter Eight.

Why Dally Borrowed the Key

There was a reason for Dally’s non-appearance at the sexton’s cottage, and that reason was that she did not stir out of the Rectory that evening, but was exceedingly attentive if the bell was rung, and about ten o’clock presented herself at the study door to know if there was anything else wanted before she went up to bed, for it was to be a busy morning, and she wanted to be up early, etcetera, etcetera.

Mary wanted nothing more, and Leo gave consent, so Dally Watlock went up to bed, but did not go.

On the contrary, she bustled about for some little time without attempting to undress, spoke to her fellow-servant through the plaster wall, and ended by yawning loudly and extinguishing her candle. Then softly opening her window she sat down by it to enjoy the softness and beauty of the dark, calm night.

The old Rectory at Duke’s Hampton stood back fifty yards from the road, with its back to the meadows through which ran the sparkling trout-stream. There was a fine old garden full of bushy evergreens and tall, flowering shrubs, so that partly through the efforts of nature, partly through the running of the ancient gardener who had planned the place ingeniously, it was quite possible for half-a-dozen people to be about the place at once without being aware of each other’s presence.

The beautiful old ivy-clad place was built in the shape of an L, with steep gable-ends; and matters had been so arranged that while Salis and poor invalid Mary slept in the front, Leo’s pretty bedroom was placed so that she could look straight down the green-embowered path right to the meadows. Just below her window was an old rustic summer-house, covered with clematis and jasmine; a little more to the right, in the angle of the L, was a tiny vinery, and beyond that the lean-to tool-house – made an object of beauty by the dense mass of ivy which clustered over the thatched roof and walls.

Hence it was that while Leo could look down on the creeper-covered summer-house, and across at the ivy-clad tool-house and the rose-encircled bedroom window of Dally Watlock, the latter apple-cheeked young lady enjoyed the reverse view, with the slight disadvantage that when she looked across at Leo’s window, she could not see roses, but the long, laurel-like leaves of a great magnolia, carefully trained all round – a matter not of the smallest importance, for Dally preferred the window to its surroundings.

Daily’s proceedings were strange that night. She sat there eager and watchful till there was a sudden glow in Leo’s window, indicating that her young mistress had gone up to bed. Then as she watched she saw the blind drawn aside, and a shadowy hand unfasten the casement, throw it open, and put in the iron hook.