The Parson O' Dumford

“Going? no; not I,” said Richard, “though I don’t see anything mad in it.”

Eve gave a sigh of relief, which sounded like a knell to the vicar, who, however, said frankly:

“I am very glad, then, that I have been deceived.”

“And,” said Richard, sneeringly, “next time you hear a cock-and-bull story about me, perhaps you will keep it to yourself, sir, and leave me to go my ways in peace.”

“Richard!” exclaimed Mrs Glaire, while, with a flush of shame upon her face, Eve rose and hastily placed her hand in the vicar’s, saying softly:

“Oh, Mr Selwood.”

Only those three words, but they were balm to him, as he pressed the soft little hand, and raised it to his lips, while, stung by this display, Richard started forward to make some offensive observation, but the door opened, and the maid appeared.

“Well, what is it?” cried Richard. “Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did, sir,” said the girl, “but you didn’t hear. Jacky Budd says, sir, he can’t carry your portmantle across the close because of the stiles, and he must take it to the station in a barrow.”

“In time for the mail-train, Mr Glaire?” said the vicar, in spite of himself, though, for Eve’s sake, he regretted it afterwards.

“Damn!” snarled Richard. “No, – go away. Such fools.”

He ground his teeth and stamped about the room, while Mrs Glaire’s eyes sought those of the vicar, and in her apologetic look he read plainly enough the mother’s shame for the graceless boy she had brought into the world.

The look of triumph passed from his countenance as rapidly as it had come, as he caught a glance of sorrow and appeal from Eve, which seemed to say, “Forgive him, and save him against himself.”

“You will give up all thought of going now, Mr Glaire,” he said, quietly. “Of course you wished to keep your departure a secret; but you see the intelligence reached me, and is now perhaps the property of the whole town.”

“Through you?” said Richard, recovering himself, and speaking with a cunning sneer upon his face.

“This is no time for sneers, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, calmly. “The information was brought to me direct from the meeting.”

“By one of your spies?”

“By one of the workmen whom I have made my friend, and whom you have made your enemy; and he sends me as his messenger to pour coals of fire upon your head, saying, ‘Save this man, for if he goes out to-night it may be at the cost of his life.’ Mr Glaire, you will not go now?”

“Not go!” roared Richard, bringing his fist down heavily upon the table. “But I will go. Look here; I start from this house at seven o’clock to catch the mail-train; now go and tell the scoundrels you have made your friends – the men you have encouraged in their strike against me.”

“I encouraged them?” said the vicar, smiling at the absurdity of the charge, when he had striven so bravely for peace.

“Yes; you who have fed their wives and children, and lent them money so as to enable them to hold out against me – you, whose coming has been a curse to the place, for you have fostered the strike from the beginning.”

“There is no time to argue that, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, quietly; “and let me advise you once more. Give up this foolish idea of leaving, if not for your own sake, for that of your mother and your cousin here.”

“I shall not,” cried Richard. “I have made my arrangements, and I shall go, and let the blood of the man be on his own head who tries to stop me.”

“As you will,” said the vicar, calmly, as he turned to go.

“Mr Selwood!”

“Mr Selwood!”

The two women appealed to him in a breath, but he did not look at them, merely fixed Richard with his eyes, as he said quietly:

“Then you must be saved against your will.”

The next minute he was gone.

Volume Two – Chapter Sixteen.

Saved in Spite of Himself

The street was getting pretty full of people as the vicar walked sharply back towards his house, but they were all remarkably quiet. Sim Slee was there, but he turned off down a side lane, and there was this ugly appearance in their mien, that those who generally had a nod and smile for him refused now to meet the vicar’s eye.

He knew it would be madness to try and persuade Sim’s party against their plans, and only so much wasted time, so he contented himself with preparing his own, and, to his great satisfaction, found Tom Podmore and his other ally in waiting.

As he was passing the Bull and Cucumber though, Robinson, the landlord, made a sign to him that he wished to speak, and the vicar went up to him.

“Ah, Robinson, how’s your wife?”

“She’s a very poor creature, sir. She coot her hand the other day with a bit of pot – old cheeny, and it’s gone bad. She hasn’t looked so bad ta year as she does now.”

“I’m sorry to hear this.”

“It’s a bad job, sir, for she can’t side the room, or remble the kitchen things, or owt. She tried to sile the milk this morning, and had to give it up, and let the lass do it instead.”

“Sile the milk?” said the vicar. “Ah, you mean strain it?”

“Ah, wi’ uz,” said the landlord, “we always call it sile. We strain a thing through a temse.”

“Oh, do you?” said the vicar, wondering whether there was any connection between temse and tammies or tammy cloth. “But you were going to say something important to me, were you not?”

“Well, I weer, sir; only I shouldn’t like it to seem to ha’ come from me. Fact is, I were down at bottom o’ the close in the bit of a beck, picking some watter cress for tea, and fine and wetcherd (wet shod) I got, when, as I was a stooping there, I heered Master Sim Slee cooming along wi’ two or three more, and blathering about; and I heerd him talking o’ you and Master Dicky Glaire, and it were plain enew that they was makking some plans, and not for good, mind you. I hadn’t going to tell tales out o’ school, but if you’d keep at home to-night, parson – ”

“You fancy there’s mischief brewing?” said the vicar, sternly.

“Well, yes, sir, I do,” said the landlord. “You see, the men hold a kind of lodge or brotherhood meeting at my place, and I can’t help knowing of some o’ their doings.”

“Well, Mr Robinson, if mischief is brewing, it’s my business to try and spoil the brew; so I am going out to-night, and if you’ve any respect for me, you’ll come and help me in my task.”

He hurried on, and a short time after, the landlord saw him go by, with Tom Podmore and John Maine following at a short distance.

“Parson’s a chap with brains in his head,” said the landlord. “He’s got a couple o’ good bull-dogs to tramp at his heels; and, dal me, if they aint beckoned Big Harry to ’em. Well, I’ll go too. I aint going to faight; but if I see any man hit parson, dal me, but I’ll gi’e him a blob.”

The vicar was not without hope that Richard would think better of the matter, and keep indoors, and after a turn or two up and down the street, which was pretty well thronged, the men looking stolid and heavy, but civilly making way for him, and always with a friendly word, it seemed as if there was nothing to fear, when from the lane at the side of the Big House there came a loud shout, and in an instant the whole of the men in the High Street seemed galvanised into life.

The vicar made for the lane, and had nearly reached it, when he saw Richard Glaire hatless and with his coat half-ripped from his back, rush out, pursued by shout and cry; and before the vicar and his little band of followers could get up, the young man was surrounded by a knot of men striking at him savagely, one of them hitting up the hand that held a pistol, which exploded, the bullet striking the opposite wall far over the heads of his assailants, and the weapon then fell to the ground.

A storm of furious cries arose, above which was a wild shriek from one of the windows of the big house – a shriek that sent two-fold vigour to the vicar’s arms, as he struggled with the crowd that kept him back.