The Parson O' Dumford

“Oh, Daisy, you’ll break my heart. You’ll kill poor aunt. What have we done, that you should come like a blight upon us?”

Eve rose slowly and stood facing the girl, over whom a change seemed to be coming as she said sulkily:

“It wasn’t my doing.”

“But you must have led him on,” moaned poor Eve. “You, who are so bright and pretty, while I – while I – ”

Daisy gave her now a jealous, vindictive look, as if she felt danger; and that this gentle girl was about to rob her of the man she loved, and she exclaimed:

“I must go. I won’t stop to be scolded. You want to win him back; but he belongs to me.”

“Daisy, Daisy!” cried Eve, catching at her shawl; but it was too late – the girl had turned and run back into the road, hastening on to the place where she was to have found Richard Glaire, up by the chalk pit; and as she hastened on, she would not look back. Still poor Eve followed her sadly as far as the road, and then turned back towards the town, saying sadly: —

“I could not move her. It is too late, too late.”

Long before Eve Pelly had reached the town, with its knots of men out of work, Daisy had climbed the hill to the chalk pit, where Richard was waiting, smoking angrily.

“At last!” he cried. “I was just going back.”

He gave a glance round, and was about to throw his arms round the flushed and panting girl, when he started back, and stood staring, as Mrs Glaire came slowly forward from amongst the trees, and taking Daisy’s wrist in her hand, she pointed down the road.

“There, you can go back,” she said, quietly. “I wish to speak to Daisy Banks.”

“No, no, Richard – Dick, dear, don’t leave me with her; she’ll kill me!” screamed Daisy, frightened by the pale, resolute-looking little woman, who held her so tightly.

“Silence, child!” cried Mrs Glaire.

“Oh, come, let’s have an end of this,” cried Richard.

“I intend to try for an end,” said Mrs Glaire, sharply, “for with you I can make no compact that will not be broken.”

“Oh, if it’s coming to that,” said Richard, sharply, “I shall bring matters to an end.”

“Go, sir! Go home,” said Mrs Glaire, sternly.

“Come, you needn’t bully that poor girl,” said Dick, with a half-laugh; then seeing the hand still pointing down the road, he grew uneasy, fidgeted, and ended by saying – “There, just as you like.”

“Dick, don’t leave me,” gasped Daisy.

“Don’t you be a little silly,” laughed Richard. “She won’t hurt you. I say, mother, you’d better make matters up with Daisy and bring her home, for I think I shall marry her after all.”

“Don’t, don’t leave me, Dick,” whispered Daisy, straining to reach him; but her wrist was tightly clasped, and she sank shivering on the bank by the deep chalk pit, whose side was separated from the lane by a low post and rail fence, beyond which the descent was a sheer precipice of seventy or eighty feet, the old weakened side being dotted with flowers; a place which, as she stood holding Daisy’s wrist still tightly and watching her son till he disappeared down the road, Mrs Glaire remembered to have been a favoured spot in her girlhood for gathering nosegays; and where, more than once, she had met her dead husband in the happy days of her own courtship.

As these thoughts came back from the past, a feeling of pity for the poor girl beside her stole into Mrs Glaire’s heart, and she trembled in her purpose; but after a few moments’ indecision, she told herself that it was for the happiness of all, and that Daisy Banks must suffer in place of Eve.

The stars were beginning to peer out faintly and the glow in the west was paling; but still she stood holding the wrist tightly; while, after making a few energetic efforts to free herself, Daisy submitted like a trapped bird, and crouched there palpitating, and not daring once to raise her eyes to those of the angry mother of the man she believed she loved; but who had at all events obtained so strong a hold upon her that she was forced to submit her will to his, and obey his every command.

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.

At Home

“Two can play at that game,” said Richard to himself, as he walked sharply down the hill and back into the town, where, not heeding Eve, who was in the dining-room, he hastily wrote a short letter, and then putting on his hat, went out again, smoking a cigar, apparently to have a stroll, and sauntered down towards the Bull and Cucumber, where he gave a long, low whistle, uttered twice, and then walked on for some distance.

His signal had the required effect, for Sim Slee came after him with a soft pace like a cat, and together the two men went on in the darkness, Richard talking earnestly to his companion, and passing money to him, whose chink was very audible.

“Now you quite understand?” said Richard, earnestly.

“Understand? He, he, he!” chuckled Sim. “I’ve got it quite by heart. I say, won’t Joe Banks be popped?”

“Hold your tongue, and keep names quiet. Now you quite understand. I shall not show my face in the matter at all.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” said Sim. “All right, Mr Glaire, sir. You couldn’t have a troostier man than me.”

“I don’t know,” said Richard; “perhaps I oughtn’t to have given you the money till after.”

“Oh, you may troost me, Mr Richard, I’m square, sir, and honourable. It’ll all be done lovely.”

“Then I shall not see you again,” said Richard; and they parted.

“Ho, ho, ho!” chuckled Sim, slapping his legs. “Here’s a game. Some on ’em ’ll be chattering all over the place ’bout this, and, ho, my!”

He had another long enjoyable laugh, to start up half frightened, for a dark figure approached him so suddenly, that it was close upon him before he was aware of the fact.

“What are you laughing at?” said the newcomer, sharply. “What devil’s game hev yow and that Dick Glaire been hatching?”

“Hatching? Devil’s game, Tom Podmore? why, can’t a man laugh in the lane if he likes? But there, I’m off up to the mill, for it’ll reean to-night, mun.”

Tom Podmore strode off after Richard Glaire, muttering angrily, and on getting close to the town, it was to see the young man walking right in the middle of the road, to avoid the men standing about on the pebble-paved sidewalks.

It was well he did so, for there were plenty of hands ready to be raised against him, and had one struck at him, it would have been the signal for a rain of blows: for scores of men in the place were now vowing vengeance against the man whom they accused of starving their wives and bairns. In fact, it had so far been Richard Glaire’s insolent temerity that had saved him from assault. He had gone boldly about, urged thereto by his eagerness to meet little Daisy Banks, but for which engagements he would probably have stayed indoors, and run greater risks on the few occasions when he showed himself.

As it was, he hastened his steps this night, on seeing the dark groups about, and when Tom Podmore closed up, he almost ran the last few steps, dashed open the door, and, closing it, stood panting in the hall.

It was about half-past ten now, and he listened, with his hand upon the bolt, to the muttering voices without for a few minutes, till one of the maids came in to gaze at him curiously.

“Here, fasten up this door,” he said harshly.

“Fasten the door, sir?” said the girl.

“Yes, fasten the door, stupid,” he cried, angrily.

“But missus hasn’t come in yet,” said the girl.

“Not come in?” said Richard, starting as he recalled where he had left her; and then, with a hasty pish! “I daresay she’s at Purley’s. I’ll fasten the door. Don’t sit up.”

The girl was leaving the hall, when he called after her:

“Where’s Miss Eve?”