The Parson O' Dumford

“No,” said Joe. “I’ll come on again soon.”

Tom seemed surprised and troubled, for he had fully expected to find that Richard Glaire was from home.

“Thou’rt wrong, lad,” said Joe, drawing his breath through his teeth. “Some ill has fallen to the poor lass.”

“What’s up, Joe Banks?” said Harry, the big hammerman, straddling slowly up.

“Did’st see owt o’ my Daisy last night?” said Joe.

Harry pulled off his cap, and gave his head a rub before answering.

“Yes, I see her go up ta hill, ’bout eight it weer.”

“Did you see her come back?” asked Tom, eagerly.

“No, lad, no. I see Master Richard Glaire come along though,” said the big fellow, under the impression that that might act as a clue.

“Yes,” said Tom, bitterly. “I saw him, and again at about ten, talking to Sim Slee, and then the lads followed him up street, and he ran into the house.”

“Sim Slee!” said Joe, thinking. “We’ll ask him; but let’s go to the police.”

At the station no news could be heard, and as time went on, plenty of neighbours could be found to say that they had seen Daisy Banks go up the hill; and amongst these was the chattering old woman at the public-house. But no one had seen her return.

“Come along o’ me, lad,” said Joe Banks; and they strode up the hill, a heavy sense of dread gathering over each of the men, as they thought of the chalk pit, and the possibility of Daisy having fallen in, to lie there dead or dying, on the rough, hard blocks at the bottom.

The morning was bright and beautiful, and the sun made the dew-sprinkled strands and twigs glitter like gems; but to those who sought Daisy Banks, all seemed gloomy, and in spite of all his bitter feelings, Tom Podmore’s heart was terribly stirred within him, so that he uttered a wild cry when just at the top, and ran ahead to pick up something soaked and wet with the night dew.

“It’s her basket,” he cried.

Joe staggered, and seemed to turn sick; but recovering himself, he ran up to the younger man.

“Yes, it’s her basket,” he said, huskily. “Tom, lad, look over the rail – I – I can’t.”

Joe Banks sank down on his knees, and covered his face with his rough hands, while Tom shuddered, and then calling up his fortitude, looked over the rail down the steep-sided pit, and uttered a cry as he drew back, ran down the lane to the end of the slope, leaped the gate across the track where the carts descended, and running over the scattered lumps of chalk, made his way down into the deepest part of the pit, where to him it had seemed that Daisy was lying at the bottom of the wall of grey rock.

But, no, it was only her dew-soaked shawl; and though he looked in all directions, he found nothing else but a glove.

“She must have been here,” he said to himself, and in an agitated way he clambered about over the blocks of chalk, and the débris fallen from above; but nothing was visible, and he stood at last looking round.

There was the face of the chalk before him, and he was shut in by it right and left, the walls gradually falling lower as he turned back and passed the extinct lime-kiln, till they sloped down to the level of the track – the pit having been gradually dug in the side of the hill, every load taken out cutting farther into the side, and making the principal wall of chalk more precipitous and high.

Still, not satisfied, Tom Podmore ran back and hunted in all directions; but as far as he could see nothing was visible, and he turned once more to find the father coming to join him, trembling, and looking ashy pale.

“Hev you found her, Tom? hev you found her?” he gasped, and on Tom shaking his head, he caught him by the arm. “Yes,” he exclaimed, in a piteous voice, “that’s her shawl. Where is she gone?”

“I heven’t found her,” said the young man, hoarsely. “She’s not there.”

“Not there? Not fallen in? Thank God, thank God! But are ye sure, lad? are ye sure?”

“I’ve hunted the place all over,” said Tom, sadly; and then Joe Banks clutched his arm tightly, and they went straight back to the town, where Joe stopped at the Big House and was admitted, Tom Podmore following.

“Wheer’s the master?” said Joe, hastily.

“Just come down and gone out,” said the girl. “Shall I tell missus?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “No;” and then to himself, “I can’t meet her now.”

He hurried out and down the street, head after head being thrust out, while the people outside their doors gave him looks of condolence, and shook their heads by way of sympathy.

“Tom, lad,” said Joe, “I can’t kinder understand this; it’s amairzin. But look here, lad; go and ask the boys to come and help you, and mebbe you’ll get a hundred of ’em ready to search for my bairn. Get the police, too. I’m off to find the young master.”

Tom started off on his recruiting expedition, while Daisy’s father hurried down the street to try and find Richard Glaire, though not with the most remote idea of coupling him with the girl’s disappearance.

He had nearly reached the vicarage, and was passing one of the side lanes, when he heard voices in altercation, and on glancing round it was to see the man he sought holding Sim Slee by the throat, and shaking him violently.

“You treacherous hound!” he was saying, “and after the way I’ve trusted you.”

“Joe Banks, here, Joe Banks, help!” yelled Sim; but before Daisy’s father could reach the couple, Richard Glaire threw the democrat off, so that he staggered against the wall.

“You dog!” cried Richard, grinding his teeth.

“All right,” whimpered Sim. “All right, Mr Richard Glaire, Esquire. I’ve stood up for you enew lately; now tak’ care of yoursen.”

“I’ll break your head, you scoundrel, if you don’t go,” roared Richard.

Sim rubbed the dust from his person and shook himself straight, looking side-wise the while at his assailant before sidling off, shaking his fist; and then, when about fifty yards away, turning round and shouting:

“I’ll be even with you for this, Dick Glaire.”

Richard made a rush at him, when Sim took to his heels and ran, while the young man turned back to where Joe Banks stood holding poor Daisy’s basket and shawl.

“Master Dick,” said the old man sternly, “I want to ask thee a question, and I want yow, as your father’s son, to give me a straightforward answer.”

“But what does this all mean, Joe? what’s this about Daisy?”

“Answer my question,” said the old man, sternly; and then he paused for a moment, as he fixed his clear eyes on the young man’s shifty face, before saying hoarsely:

“Were you out walking wi’ my lass, Daisy, last night?”

“No,” said Richard, firmly; “certainly not.”

“And thee didn’t see her last night at all?”

“Yes, oh yes,” said Richard, eagerly. “I did see her, and said, ‘How d’ye do.’”

“Wheer?” said Joe Banks, without moving a muscle.

“Up by the chalk pit, at the top of the hill. I’d been having a round.”