The Parson O' Dumford

“Yes, I see ’em,” said Sim; “and I see John Maine talking to ’em.”

“Regular rough couple,” continued the landlord. “They comed here just as my Missus was busy wi’ her sweeping-brush, and wanted her to buy a three-gill bottle, or give ’em a gill o’ ale for it.”

“And she wouldn’t,” said Sim, grinning.

“Yes, she would, and did,” said the landlord. “She was all alone in the house; for I was out in the close, and she thowt it best to be civil to ’em; but she kept a pretty sharp eye on ’em all the time.”

“Then John Maine’s had a hand in it; see if he ain’t,” said Sim.

“Don’t know so much about that,” said the landlord. “Some say as you know more than you keer to tell.”

“Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don’t,” said Sim, sententiously. “There’s things as I know on, and things as I don’t. I’m going now.”

“Tell the owd woman to hap you up well to-night, Sim,” said one.

“Say, Sim,” said another, “ask her to get out her scithers and coot thee hair.”

“You’re going agates early, Sim,” said another.

“Yes, I’m off,” said Sim; “and mebbe it’ll be some time before you see me here again, or mebbe I shall be here again to-morrow night. Good-night, all,” and he went out, looking very triumphant, telling himself that he had been too much for “that lot,” and that he knew what he was about.

There were those present, though, who were not above saying that it was on account of Tom Podmore coming in, to sit near the door, looking wearied out with anxiety as he let his head drop upon his hand, and sat there thoughtful and silent, while those present, knowing his feelings towards the missing girl, changed the subject that they were resuming, and entered upon the question of the duration of the strike.

Volume Two – Chapter Twelve.

Threatenings

As the days passed, and no information could be obtained respecting Daisy Banks, and the efforts of the police to trace the two strangers proved utterly fruitless, John Maine was in a state of mind not to be envied. By degrees it oozed out more and more that he had been seen with the two men, and the police came down to the farm, to question him, looking suspiciously at him, as he told them that they were men he had met once before in the neighbourhood of Nottingham; and when the constables left he had the annoyance of feeling that he would be watched, for it was evident that he was looked upon with suspicion.

Joe Banks had been nearly mad with excitement, and leaving his sobbing wife day after day, he had searched and researched the country round, aided by Tom Podmore, Harry, and a score of the other men. Richard Glaire had made no show of assisting after the first day, for he had awakened to the fact that the town was not a safe home for him, and it was fully his intention to leave the place for awhile; but, for his own reasons, he preferred to wait a little longer.

Sim Slee was about now a good deal, and another encounter had taken place between him and Richard, after which Sim had gone round to the vicarage back-door, to implore help from his wife, asserting that he was half killed, and begging her to come home and attend on him.

As it happened, the vicar heard him, and came to see how bad were his injuries, and to offer to set his housekeeper at liberty.

“I’ll manage without you, Mrs Slee, if you like,” he said kindly.

“But I don’t like,” said Mrs Slee; “there’ll be fifty people here soon for soup and bread, and how can you get shoot of ’em all wi’out me?”

“Thou must come home, lovey,” said Sim, in a dismal voice. “I’m very bad. I’ve got money enew, too, now to keep us for weeks.”

“Where dids’t thou get money from?” said Mrs Slee, sharply.

“Never thou mind,” said Sim. “I’ve gotten it, and now come home.”

“But how did you get knocked about like that?” said the vicar, smiling to himself.

“That cursed Dicky Glaire set upon me,” moaned Sim, one of whose eyes was swollen up, while there was a cut across the bridge of his nose. “He’s mad wi’ me because I wouldn’t help him to carry off Daisy Banks to London, and he’s leathered me this how. But I’ll hev it out of him yet.”

“Did Dicky Glaire want yow to get her away?” said Mrs Slee.

“Yes, a coward, and I wouldn’t,” said Sim, “so he’s done it his sen.”

“Be careful what you are saying, Mr Slee,” said the vicar, snipping a strip of sticking-plaister off a piece in his pocket-book with his nail-scissors, and breathing upon it to make it warm.

“Keerful,” said Sim; “he deserves to be hung for it.”

“Do you mean to assert that Mr Glaire has done this? Because if so, you will have to substantiate your statement before a magistrate.”

“I don’t say for certain as he has,” said Sim; “but he wanted me to, and I wouldn’t. Oh! oh! oh!”

“Stand still, man, and don’t be such a cur,” cried the vicar, sharply, for he had been applying the plaister to Sim’s slight cut, and the hero had begun to howl dismally.

“It’s half killing me,” cried Sim, again.

“Take hold of his head, Mrs Slee; the cut is nothing at all.”

Mrs Slee seized Sim pretty roughly, and held him by his ears, while the plaister was affixed, the great orator moaning and flinching and writhing till he was set at liberty.

“Is it bad, sir?” said Mrs Slee, then.

“So bad,” said the vicar, “that if a schoolboy of nine or ten received such a drubbing from a playmate, he would have washed his face and said nothing about it.”

“Said nowt about it!” cried Sim. “Aye, it’s easy for them as aint hurt to talk. Thou’lt come home wi’ me, lovey?”

“No. Go thee gate,” said Mrs Slee.

“Do ’ee come, lovey,” said Sim.

“I wean’t,” said Mrs Slee, shortly; and without more ado, she took her lord by the shoulders, and guided him to the door, which she closed upon him, leaving him to make his way up the street, vowing vengeance against Richard Glaire, the parson, and all the world.

In fact, mischief was brewing, and would have come to a head sooner but for the episode of Daisy’s disappearance. A deputation of the men had waited upon Richard Glaire, and offered terms for coming back to work; but he had obstinately held out for the reparation to be made, increasing the value he had previously set upon the destroyed bands, and declaring that if he were not paid a hundred and fifty pounds damages, he would keep the works closed.

“Thou’lt be sorry for this, Maister,” said the man who acted as spokesman.

“Sorry!” said Richard, defiantly. “I’m sorry I ever had such a set of curs to work for me.”

“But we’ve telled you as it was none o’ us.”

“I don’t care who it was,” retorted Richard; “I want a hundred and fifty pounds for the damage done; and I ought to have payment for my losses by the foundry standing still.”

“Our wives and bairns ’ll soon be pined to dead,” said another man.

“You should have thought of that before,” said Richard, coldly. “A hundred and fifty pounds made up amongst you, and the fires may be lit, and we’ll go on once more; till that’s paid I’ll keep the place locked up if I’m ruined by it.”

Then came the disappearance of Daisy Banks, and it wanted but little on the part of Sim Slee to half madden the weaker spirits against the man who was starving their wives and children, and had robbed Joe Banks of his daughter.

It so happened that Joe Banks, on the day following Sim’s doctoring, about a fortnight after the disappearance, during which time he had not seen Mrs Glaire, but only Eve, who had been again and again to try and administer comfort to Mrs Banks, came upon a knot of men, listening to an oration made by Sim Slee, who, as soon as he saw Joe coming up in company with Tom Podmore, who was his staunch and faithful ally throughout, cried loudly: