King of the Castle

A brother in disappointment. The gardener felt satisfied and disposed to be confidential, although the lather was beginning to feel cold and clammy, and the tiny vesicles were bursting and dying away.

“Yes, I were thinking about it, Mr Wimble,” he said bitterly; “and I were going to speak, and I dessay afore long you’d ha’ heared us asked in church, and now this comes and upsets it all.”

“Don’t say that, sir,” said the barber, still stropping his razor gently. “Like everything else, it passes away and is forgotten. You’ve only got to wait.”

“Got to wait!” cried the gardener; “why, the trouble has ’most killed her, sir, and how do I know what’s going to happen next?”

“Ah, bad indeed, sir.”

“Our young Miss’ll never stop in that great place now; and, of course, it’s a month’s warning, and not a chance of another place nigh here.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Mr Brime, sir. That’s the worst way of looking at it.”

“Ay, but it’s the true way.”

“You’re a bit upset with trouble now, sir. You wait. Why, there’s a fine chance here for a clever man like yourself to set up for himself in the fruit and greengrocery. See what a job it is to get a bit of decent green stuff. I never know what it is. Leastways, I shouldn’t if it weren’t for a friend bringing me in a morsel o’ fruit now and then.”

“Ah, it’s all over with that now, Mr Wimble. Poor master; and we may as well give up all thoughts o’ wedding. Strange set-out it’s been.”

“Ah!” said Wimble; and pat, pat, pat, went the razor over his hand as the lather dried.

“I can’t see much chance for Mr Glyddyr now.”

“Ah! he was going to marry Miss Gartram, wasn’t he?”

“He’d ha’ liked to, and the poor guvnor was on for it; but I know a little more about that than he did.”

“Ah, yes, Mr Brime, lookers-on sees more of the game. I always used to think – but of course it was no business of mine – that it was to be Mr Christopher Lisle, till he seemed to be chucked over like – and for looking elsewhere,” he added between his teeth.

“Looking elsewhere? Gammon!”

“Oh, but he does, sir.”

“Yah! Not he, Wimble. He’s dead on to the young missus.”

“No, no, Mr Brime, sir,” said Wimble, waving his razor; “you’ll excuse me. You’re wrong there.”

“Wrong?” cried the gardener, excitedly. “Bet you a shilling on it. No, I don’t want to rob you, because I know.”

“Well, you may know a deal about gardening, Mr Brime,” said Wimble deprecatingly, as he shook his head shrewdly; “but fax is fax.”

“Not always, Wimble. You won’t let it go no further, because he’s a good sort.”

“If you feel as you can’t trust me, Mr Brime, sir,” said the barber, laying down the razor and taking up the brush and shaving pot once more to dip the former very slowly in the hot water.

“Oh, you won’t tell,” said Brime, who had calmed his excitement with a great many glasses of the household ale at the Fort. “You’re all wrong. Mr Lisle’s after our young Miss still; and – you mark my words – as soon as they decently can, they’ll marry.”

“No, sir, no,” said Wimble, shaking his head, with his eyes fixed upon his best razor, and his mind upon Mrs Sarson; “you’re wrong.”

“Why, he was up at our place to see her only last night.”

“No!”

“He was, and I ketched him on the hop.”

“You don’t say so.”

“But I do. He owned what he was up there for, poor chap, for the guv’nor was very rough on him at last. I took him for a boy after our fruit.”

“Are you talking about last night, when your Master died?” said Wimble, breathlessly.

“Yes, of course.”

“Where was he then?”

“Down our garden, on the sly.”

Wimble’s face was a study.

“It was like this. He didn’t know there was company, and he was trying to get a word with Miss Claude; but, of course, she couldn’t get to him, because there was Mr Glider and the doctor there.”

“Well, you do surprise me, Mr Brime.”

“Yes: where would your shilling be now, eh?”

“Well, young folks will be young folks; but I was deceived.”

“Yes, you were. Poor chap. He little thought when he left me in low spirits, because he couldn’t get to see his lass, how soon his chances were going to mend. Bah! Miss Claude didn’t care that for the other one – a mean, sneaking sort of fellow. How the poor guv’nor could have taken to him as he did, I don’t know.”

“Well, you do surprise me,” said Wimble, re-tucking in the cloth which had been disarranged by Brime’s “don’t care that” and snap of the fingers.

“Yes, I thought I could; but keep it quiet.”

“By all means, Mr Brime. Your girl’s in sad trouble, I suppose?”

“Crying her eyes out, poor lass. Master was as hard as his own stone; but they had been very fond of each other.”

“Yes; and I s’pose he was a good-hearted, generous man underneath. Give away a great deal to the poor.”

“Not he, Wimble. There was a deal given away, but it was Miss Claude did all that, bless her. Master – there; I’m not going to say a word again’ the dead.”

“No, no, of course not, sir; but what trouble you must be in!”

“Trouble, sir! When I heard of it this morning, you might have knocked me down with a feather.”

“Hah! very awful really, sir,” said Wimble, beginning to lather again, and this time in so thoughtful a manner that the gardener’s mouth disappeared in the soapy foam, and the desire for more information seemed to have gone.

“Was Chris Lisle up at the Fort last night? Was our suspicions unjust, then?”