The Parson O' Dumford

“What time?” said Joe, shortly.

“Well, let me see,” said Richard, hesitating. “I came straight down home, and it was about half-past eight when I got in.”

Joe stood thinking: the servant-girl had said that her master had come in early.

“And you didn’t see my bairn after?” said Joe, gazing full in the young man’s eyes.

“Certainly not,” said Richard.

“Will yow swear it?” said Joe.

Richard hesitated for a moment, and then, with a half-laugh, said:

“Oh, yes, if you like.”

“Perhaps I shall like, my lad; but I don’t ask you to sweer now. You’ve heerd, I s’pose?”

“I’ve heard something, Joe, but can’t quite make it out,” said the young man.

“It’s easy,” said Joe, hoarsely. “My poor bairn came up town last night, and she hasn’t been back. We foun’ these here up by the chalk pit.”

“But she hadn’t fallen in?”

“No, my lad, no,” said the old man, quietly, for he was thinking deeply. “But thankye, thankye. They wanted to make me believe as you meant harm to the lass – all on ’em; but I knew you, lad, well, as your poor owd father’s son.”

“Mr Banks!”

“Aw raight, my lad, aw raight. I never thowt it of you, never; but the tongues would wag; and I said if thee loved the bairn thee should’st hev her. You do her harm! Not you, lad; you cared too much for her. But harm’s come to her some way. Let’s find her.”

“But how could they say such things of me?” said Richard, with virtuous indignation shining out of his eyes.

“Oh, they’re a chithering lot,” exclaimed Joe. “They’d seen thee talk to the bairn, or mebbe seen thee heving a walk wi’ her, and that weer enew to set their tongues clacking. But we must be going, mun, for we’re losing time; and if any one’s done wrong by my bairn – ”

Richard shrank away, startled at the lurid flash from the old man’s eyes, as setting his teeth, and clenching his massive fist, he shook it at vacancy, and then, without another word, strode on, accompanied by Richard, who was trembling now like a leaf.

“Let me go in here for a moment or two,” said Richard, as they came abreast of the House; and as the door was thrown open, it was to show Mrs Glaire and Eve both standing dressed in the hall.

“Oh, Mr Banks,” exclaimed the latter, running to the old foreman, “this is very dreadful,” and she caught one of his hands in hers.

“Thanky’e, dear bairn, thanky’e,” he said, smiling upon her with quivering lip.

“But I saw her last night,” cried Eve.

“Ay? What time, miss, what time?” said Joe, eagerly.

“About eight,” said Eve, quickly. “She said, I think, that she was going to meet Richard.”

“She said that?” said the old man, starting, while Richard turned pale.

“No, I remember,” said Eve, piteously; “I told her she was going to meet him.”

“Yes, yes,” said Joe, thoughtfully. “You were jealous of the poor bairn.”

Eve started back, blushing crimson.

“But are you sure she has not been home, Joe Banks?” said Mrs Glaire, looking at him wistfully.

“Sure, ay, quite sure,” said Joe, sternly. “Here is the poor bairn’s shawl, and her basket too. I’ll leave ’em here, if you’ll let me.”

He laid them down in the hall, and stepped out to where there was quite a crowd of workmen now, waiting to help in the search; but as they caught sight of Richard Glaire, who now came forward, there was a savage groan.

“Ask him where he’s put thee bairn, Joe Banks; he knows,” cried a shrill voice, that of some woman; and another groan arose, making Richard draw back shivering.

“Look at the white-faced coward,” shouted a man. “Ask him, Joe Banks, ask him.”

“Nay, nay, lads,” said the foreman, sternly. “Ye’re aw wrong. I hev asked him, and he’s told me. He knows nowt about the poor bairn.”

A murmur arose at this, but Joe Banks turned round to where Richard stood.

“You come along o’ me, Master Richard, and no one ’ll lay a finger on thee whiles thou’rt by my side. He was at home aw night, lads, and it’s not him as would do her harm.”

The little crowd seemed only half satisfied; but they gave place as, making an effort, the young man stepped out, and then in a purposeless way the search was about to begin, when there was a cheer given, for the vicar came hurrying up the street.

He looked hot and flushed, and his eyes met those of Richard Glaire so sternly that, for the moment, the young man blushed, but he recovered himself directly, to give an insolent stare in return.

“Mr Banks,” exclaimed the vicar, “this is grievous news indeed;” and ignoring the foreman’s half-distant manner, he shook his hand warmly.

“Thanky, parson,” said Joe, hoarsely.

“You are about to make a general search, of course,” he said; “but where are the police?”

“One’s gone across to station, and the other’s up at the chalk pit,” said a voice.

“First of all,” said the vicar, “did any one here see Daisy Banks after she went up the road?”

There was silence for a few moments, and then Richard said firmly:

“I saw her for a few moments up by the pit.”

“And not after?” said the vicar, fixing his eyes on the young man.

“I object to this cross-examination,” said Richard, hotly. “This is not a magistrate.”

“Parson asked thee a plain question, lad; give him a plain answer,” said Joe, quietly. “Thou’st nowt to fear.”

“No, then,” said Richard, loudly. “I was at home.”

“Mr Banks, then, you had better take twenty men; you go with these twenty, Podmore; and – ”