The Parson O' Dumford

Автор

George Fenn

Жанр

Зарубежная классика

Год написания книги

2017

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“Are yow t’new parson, then?”

“Yes, I’m the new parson.”

“Ho! Then yow’d best come in.”

The door was held open, and looking at him very suspiciously, the lady in charge, to wit Mrs Simeon Slee, allowed the vicar to enter, and then followed him as he went from room to room, making up his mind what he should do as he ran his eye over the proportions of the house, finding in the course of his peregrinations that Mrs Slee had installed herself in the dining-room, which apparently served for kitchen as well, and had turned the pretty little drawing-room, opening into a shady verandah and perfect wilderness of a garden, into a very sparsely furnished bed-room.

“That will do,” said the vicar. “I suppose I can get some furniture in the town?”

“Oh, yes, yow can get plenty furniture if you’ve got t’money. Only they wean’t let yow have annything wi’out. They don’t like strangers.”

“I dare say I can manage what I want, Mrs – Mrs – What is your name?”

“Hey?”

“I say, what is your name?”

“Martha,” said the woman, as if resenting an impertinence.

“Your other name. I see you are a married woman.”

He pointed to the thin worn ring on her finger.

“Oh, yes, I’m married,” said the woman, bitterly; “worse luck.”

“You have no children, I suppose?”

“Not I.”

“I am sorry for that.”

“Sorry? I’m not. What should I have children for? To pine; while their shack of a father is idling about town and talking wind?”

“They would have been a comfort to you, may be,” said the vicar, quietly. “I hope your husband does not drink?”

“Drink?” said the woman, with a harsh laugh. “Yes, I almost wish he did more; it would stop his talking.”

“Is he a workman – at the foundry?”

“Sometimes, but Mr Dicky Glaire’s turned him off again, and now he’s doing nowt.”

“Never mind, don’t be downhearted. Times mend when they come to the worst.”

“No, they don’t,” said the woman, sharply. “If they did they’d have mended for me.”

“Well, well,” said the vicar; “we will talk about that another time;” and he took the two pieces of slag from his pocket, and placed them on the mantelpiece of the little study, where they were now standing.

“Some one threw them at yow?” said the woman.

“Yes,” said the vicar, smiling.

“Just like ’em. They don’t like strangers here.”

“So it seems,” said the vicar. “But you did not tell me your name, Mrs – ”

“Slee, they call me, Slee,” was the sulky reply.

“Well, Mrs Slee,” said the vicar, “I have had a good long walk, and I’m very hungry. If I give you the money will you get me something to eat, while I go down the town and order in some furniture for this little room and the bed-room above?”

“Why, the Lord ha’ mussy! you’re never coming into the place this how!”

“Indeed, Mrs Slee, but I am. There’s half a sovereign; go and do the best you can.”

“But the place ought to be clent before you come in.”

“Oh, we’ll get that done by degrees. You will see about something for me to eat. I shall be back in an hour. But tell me first, if I want to get into the church, who has the keys?”

“Mr Budd” – Mrs Slee pronounced it Bood – “has ’em; he’s churchwarden, and lives over yonder.”

“What, at that little old-fashioned house?”

“Nay, nay, mun, that’s th’owd vicarage. Next house.”

“Oh,” said the vicar, looking curiously at the little, old-fashioned, sunken, thatch-roofed place. “And who lives there?”

“Owd Isaac Budd.”

“Another Mr Budd; and who is he?”

“Th’other one’s brother.”

“Where shall I find the clerk – what is his name?” said the vicar.

“Oh, Jacky Budd,” said Mrs Slee. “He lives down south end.”

“I’m afraid I shall get confused with so many Budds,” said the vicar, smiling. “Is that the Mr Budd who leads the singing?”

“Oh no, that’s Mr Ned Budd, who lives down town. He’s nowt to do wi’ Jacky.”

“Well, I’ll leave that now,” said the vicar. “But I want some one to fetch a portmanteau from Churley. How am I to get it here?”

“Mrs Budd will fetch it.”

“And who is she?”

“The Laddonthorpe carrier.”

“Good; and where shall I find her?”