The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
"Ah!"
"Oh dear yes!--had been up--hours! And what--what do you suppose she was
doing?" Bellew shook his head.
"She was rubbing and polishing that old side-board that you paid such a
dreadful price for,--down on her knees before it,--yes she was! and
polishing, and rubbing, and--crying all the while. Oh dear heart! such
great, big tears,--and so very quiet! When she heard my little stick
come tapping along she tried to hide them,--I mean her tears, of course,
Mr. Bellew, and when I drew her dear, beautiful head down into my arms,
she--tried to smile. 'I'm so very silly, Aunt Priscilla,' she said,
crying more than ever, 'but it _is_ so hard to let the old things be
taken away,--you see,--I do _love_ them so! I tell you all this, Mr.
Bellew, because I like you,--ever since you took the trouble to pick up
a ball of worsted for a poor, old lame woman--in an orchard,--first
impressions, you know. And secondly, I tell you all this to explain to
you why I--hum!--"
"Threw a kiss--from a minstrel's gallery, to a most unworthy individual,
Aunt Priscilla?"
"Threw you a kiss, Mr. Bellew,--I had to,--the side-board you know,--on
her knees--you understand?"
"I understand!"
"You see, Mr. Belloo sir," said Adam, at this juncture, speaking from
beneath an inlaid table which he held balanced upon his head,--"it
ain't as if this was jest ordinary furnitur' sir,--ye see she kind-er
feels as it be all part o' Dapplemere Manor, as it used to be called,
it's all been here so long, that them cheers an' tables has come to be
part o' the 'ouse, sir. So when she comes, an' finds as it ain't all
been took,--or, as you might say,--vanished away,--why the question as I
ax's you is,--w'ot will she say? Oh Lord!" And here, Adam gave vent to
his great laugh which necessitated an almost superhuman exertion of
strength to keep the table from slipping from its precarious perch.
Whereupon Miss Priscilla screamed, (a very small scream, like herself)
and Prudence scolded, and the two rosy-cheeked maids tittered, and Adam
went chuckling upon his way.
And when the hall was, once more, its old, familiar, comfortable self,
when the floor had been swept of its litter, and every trace of the sale
removed,--then Miss Priscilla sighed, and Bellew put on his coat.
"When do you expect--she will come home?" he enquired, glancing at the
grandfather clock in the corner.
"Well, if she drove straight back from Cranbrook she would be here
now,--but I fancy she won't be so very anxious to get home to-day,--and
may come the longest way round; yes, it's in my mind she will keep away
from Dapplemere as long as ever she can."
"And I think," said Bellew, "Yes, I think I'll take a walk. I'll go and
call upon the Sergeant."
"The Sergeant!" said Miss Priscilla, "let me see,--it is now a quarter
to six, it should take you about fifteen minutes to the village, that
will make it exactly six o'clock. You will find the Sergeant just
sitting down in the chair on the left hand side of the fire-place,--in
the corner,--at the 'King's Head,' you know. Not that I have ever seen
him there,--good gracious no! but I--happen to be--acquainted with his
habits, and he is as regular and precise as his great, big silver watch,
and that is the most precise, and regular thing in all the world. I am
glad you are going," she went on, "because to-day is--well, a day apart,
Mr. Bellew. You will find the Sergeant at the 'King's Head,'--until half
past seven."
"Then I will go to the 'King's Head,'" said Bellew. "And what message do
you send him?"
"None," said Miss Priscilla, laughing and shaking her head,--"at
least,--you can tell him, if you wish,--that--the peaches are riper than
ever they were this evening."
"I won't forget," said Bellew, smiling, and went out into the sunshine.
But, crossing the yard, he was met by Adam, who, chuckling still, paused
to touch his hat.
"To look at that theer 'all, sir, you wouldn't never know as there'd
ever been any sale at all,--not no'ow. Now the only question as worrits
me, and as I'm a-axin' of myself constant is,--what will Miss Anthea
'ave to say about it?"
"Yes," said Bellew, "I wonder!" And so he turned, and went away slowly
across the fields.
Miss Priscilla had been right,--Anthea _was_ coming back the longest way
round,--also she was anxious to keep away from Dapplemere as long as
possible. Therefore, despite Small Porges' exhortations, and Bess's
champing impatience, she held the mare in, permitting her only the
slowest of paces, which was a most unusual thing for Anthea to do. For
the most part, too, she drove in silence seemingly deaf to Small Porges'
flow of talk, which was also very unlike in her. But before her eyes
were visions of her dismantled home, in her ears was the roar of voices
clamouring for her cherished possessions,--a sickening roar, broken, now
and then, by the hollow tap of the auctioneer's cruel hammer. And, each
time the clamouring voices rose, she shivered, and every blow of the
cruel hammer seemed to fall upon her quivering heart. Thus, she was
unwontedly deaf and unresponsive to Small Porges, who presently fell
into a profound gloom, in consequence; and thus, she held in the eager
mare who therefore, shied, and fidgeted, and tossed her head
indignantly.
But, slowly as they went, they came within sight of the house, at last,
with its quaint gables, and many latticed windows, and the blue smoke
curling up from its twisted chimneys,--smiling and placid as though, in
all this great world, there were no such thing to be found as--an
auctioneer's hammer.
And presently they swung into the drive, and drew up in the courtyard.
And there was Adam, waiting to take the mare's head,--Adam, as
good-natured, and stolid as though there were no abominations called,
for want of a worse name,--sales.
Very slowly, for her, Anthea climbed down from the high dog-cart, aiding
Small Porges to earth, and with his hand clasped tight in hers, and with
lips set firm, she turned and entered the hall. But, upon the threshold,
she stopped, and stood there utterly still, gazing, and gazing upon the
trim orderliness of everything. Then, seeing every well remembered thing
in its appointed place,--all became suddenly blurred, and dim, and,
snatching her hand from Small Porges' clasp, she uttered a great,
choking sob, and covered her face.
But Small Porges had seen, and stood aghast, and Miss Priscilla had
seen, and now hurried forward with a quick tap, tap of her stick. As she
came, Anthea raised her head, and looked for one who should have been
there, but was not. And, in that moment, instinctively she knew how
things came to be as they were,--and, because of this knowledge, her
cheeks flamed with a swift, burning colour, and with a soft cry, she hid
her face in Miss Priscilla's gentle bosom. Then, while her face was yet
hidden there, she whispered:
"Tell me--tell me--all about it."
But, meanwhile, Bellew, striding far away across the meadows, seeming to
watch the glory of the sun-set, and to hearken to a blackbird piping
from the dim seclusion of the copse a melodious "Good-bye" to the dying
day, yet saw, and heard it not at all, for his mind was still occupied
with Adam's question:--
"What would Miss Anthea say?"
CHAPTER XIV
_Which, among, other things, has to do with shrimps, muffins, and tin
whistles_
A typical Kentish Village is Dapplemere with its rows of scattered
cottages bowered in roses and honeysuckle,--white walled cottages with
steep-pitched roofs, and small latticed windows that seem to stare at
all and sundry like so many winking eyes.
There is an air redolent of ripening fruit, and hops, for Dapplemere is
a place of orchards, and hop-gardens, and rick-yards, while, here and
there, the sharp-pointed, red-tiled roof of some oast-house pierces
the green.
Though Dapplemere village is but a very small place indeed,
now-a-days,--yet it possesses a church, grey and ancient, whose massive
Norman tower looks down upon gable and chimney, upon roof of thatch and
roof of tile, like some benignant giant keeping watch above them all.
Near-by, of course, is the inn, a great, rambling, comfortable place,
with time-worn settles beside the door, and with a mighty sign
a-swinging before it, upon which, plainly to be seen (when the sun
catches it fairly) is that which purports to be a likeness of His
Majesty King William the Fourth, of glorious memory. But alas! the
colours have long since faded, so that now, (upon a dull day), it is a
moot question whether His Majesty's nose was of the Greek, or Roman
order, or, indeed, whether he was blessed with any nose at all. Thus,
Time and Circumstances have united to make a ghost of the likeness (as
they have done of the original, long since) which, fading yet more, and
more, will doubtless eventually vanish altogether,--like King William
himself, and leave but a vague memory behind.
Now, before the inn was a small crowd gathered about a trap in which sat
two men, one of whom Bellew recognised as the rednecked Corn-chandler
Grimes, and the other, the rat-eyed Parsons.
The Corn-chandler was mopping violently at his face and neck down which
ran, and to which clung, a foamy substance suspiciously like the froth
of beer, and, as he mopped, his loud brassy voice shook and quavered
with passion.
"I tell ye--you shall get out o' my cottage!" he was saying, "I say you
shall quit my cottage at the end o' the month,--and when I says a thing,
I means it,--I say you shall get off of my property,--you--and that
beggarly cobbler. I say you shall be throwed out o' my cottage,--lock,
stock, and barrel. I say--"
"I wouldn't, Mr. Grimes,--leastways, not if I was you," another voice
broke in, calm and deliberate. "No, I wouldn't go for to say another
word, sir; because, if ye do say another word, I know a man as will drag
you down out o' that cart, sir,--I know a man as will break your whip
over your very own back, sir,--I know a man as will then take and heave
you into the horse-pond, sir,--and that man is me--Sergeant Appleby,
late of the Nineteenth Hussars, sir."
The Corn-chandler having removed most of the froth from his head and
face, stared down at the straight, alert figure of the big Sergeant,
hesitated, glanced at the Sergeant's fist which, though solitary, was
large, and powerful, scowled at the Sergeant from his polished boots to
the crown of his well-brushed hat (which perched upon his close-cropped,
grey hair at a ridiculous angle totally impossible to any but an
ex-cavalry-man), muttered a furious oath, and snatching his whip, cut
viciously at his horse, very much as if that animal had been the
Sergeant himself, and, as the trap lurched forward, he shook his fist,
and nodded his head.
"Out ye go,--at the end o' the month,--mind that!" he snarled and so,
rattled away down the road still mopping at his head and neck until he
had fairly mopped himself out of sight.
"Well, Sergeant," said Bellew extending his hand, "how are you!"
"Hearty, sir,--hearty I thank you, though, at this precise moment, just
a leetle put out, sir. None the less I know a man as is happy to see
you, Mr. Bellew, sir,--and that's me--Sergeant Appleby, at your service,
sir. My cottage lies down the road yonder, an easy march--if you will
step that far?--Speaking for my comrade and myself--we shall be proud
for you to take tea with us--muffins sir--shrimps, Mr. Bellew--also a
pikelet or two.--Not a great feast--but tolerable good rations, sir--and
plenty of 'em--what do you say?"
"I say--done, and thank you very much!"
So, without further parley, the Sergeant saluted divers of the little
crowd, and, wheeling sharply, strode along beside Bellew, rather more
stiff in the back, and fixed of eye than was his wont, and jingling his
imaginary spurs rather more loudly than usual.
"You will be wondering at the tantrums of the man Grimes, sir,--of his
ordering me and my comrade Peterday out of his cottage. Sir--I'll tell
you--in two words. It's all owing to the sale--up at the Farm, sir. You
see, Grimes is a great hand at buying things uncommonly cheap, and
selling 'em--uncommonly dear. To-day it seems--he was disappointed--"
"Ah?" said Bellew.
"At exactly--twenty-three minutes to six, sir," said the Sergeant,
consulting his large silver watch, "I were sitting in my usual
corner--beside the chimley, sir,--when in comes Grimes--like a
thunder-cloud.--Calls for a pint of ale--in a tankard. Tom draws
pint--which Tom is the landlord, sir. 'Buy anything at the sale, Mr.
Grimes?' says Tom,--'Sale!' says Grimes, 'sale indeed!' and falls a
cursing--folk up at the Farm--shocking--outrageous. Ends by threatening
to foreclose mortgage--within the month. Upon which--I raise a
protest--upon which he grows abusive,--upon which I was forced to pour
his ale over him,--after which I ran him out into the road--and there it
is, you see."
"And--he threatened to foreclose the mortgage on Dapplemere Farm, did
he, Sergeant!"
"Within the month, sir!--upon which I warned him--inn parlour no
place--lady's private money troubles--gaping crowd--dammit!"
"And so he is turning you out of his cottage?"
"Within the week, sir,--but then--beer down the neck--is rather
unpleasant!" and here the Sergeant uttered a short laugh, and was
immediately grave again. "It isn't," he went on, "it isn't as _I_ mind
the inconvenience of moving, sir--though I shall be mighty sorry to
leave the old place, still, it isn't that so much as the small corner
cup-board, and my bookshelf by the chimley. There never was such a
cup-board,--no sir,--there never was a cup-board so well calculated to
hold a pair o' jack boots, not to mention spurs, highlows, burnishers,
shoulder-chains, polishing brushes, and--a boot-jack, as that same small
corner cup-board. As for the book-shelf beside the chimley,
sir--exactly three foot three,--sunk in a recess--height, the third
button o' my coat,--capacity, fourteen books. You couldn't get another
book on that shelf--no, not if you tried with a sledge-hammer, or a
hydraulic engine. Which is highly surprising when you consider that
fourteen books is the true, and exact number of books as I possess."
"Very remarkable!" said Bellew.
"Then again,--there's my comrade,--Peter Day (The Sergeant pronounced it
as though it were all one word). Sir, my comrade Peterday is a very
remarkable man,--most cobblers are. When he's not cobbling, he's
reading,--when not reading, he's cobbling, or mending clocks, and
watches, and, betwixt this and that, my comrade has picked up a power of
information,--though he lost his leg a doing of it--in a gale of
wind--off the Cape of Good Hope, for my comrade was a sailor, sir.
Consequently he is a handy man, most sailors are and makes his own
wooden legs, sir, he is also a musician--the tin whistle, sir,--and
here we are!"
Saying which, the Sergeant halted, wheeled, opened a very small gate,
and ushered Bellew into a very small garden bright with flowers, beyond
which was a very small cottage indeed, through the open door of which
there issued a most appetizing odour, accompanied by a whistle,
wonderfully clear, and sweet, that was rendering "Tom Bowling" with many
shakes, trills, and astonishing runs.
Peterday was busied at the fire with a long toasting-fork in his hand,
but, on their entrance, breaking off his whistling in the very middle of
a note, he sprang nimbly to his feet, (or rather, his foot), and stood
revealed as a short, yet strongly built man, with a face that, in one
way, resembled an island in that it was completely surrounded by hair,
and whisker. But it was, in all respects, a vastly pleasant island to
behold, despite the somewhat craggy prominences of chin, and nose, and
brow. In other words, it was a pleasing face notwithstanding the fierce,
thick eye-brows which were more than offset by the merry blue eyes, and
the broad, humourous mouth below.
"Peterday," said the Sergeant, "Mr. Bel-lew!"
"Glad to see you sir," said the mariner, saluting the visitor with a
quick bob of the head, and a backward scrape of the wooden leg. "You
couldn't make port at a better time, sir,--and because why?--because the
kettle's a biling, sir, the muffins is piping hot, and the shrimps is
a-laying hove to, waiting to be took aboard, sir." Saying which,
Peterday bobbed his head again, shook his wooden leg again, and turned
away to reach another cup and saucer.
It was a large room for so small a cottage, and comfortably furnished,
with a floor of red tile, and with a grate at one end well raised up
from the hearth. Upon the hob a kettle sang murmurously, and on a trivet
stood a plate whereon rose a tower of toasted muffins. A round table
occupied the middle of the floor and was spread with a snowy cloth
whereon cups and saucers were arranged, while in the midst stood a great
bowl of shrimps.
Now above the mantel-piece, that is to say, to the left of it, and
fastened to the wall, was a length of rope cunningly tied into what is
called a "running bowline," above this, on a shelf specially contrived
to hold it, was the model of a full-rigged ship that was--to all
appearances--making excellent way of it, with every stitch of canvas set
and drawing, alow and aloft; above this again, was a sextant, and a
telescope. Opposite all these, upon the other side of the mantel, were a
pair of stirrups, three pairs of spurs, two cavalry sabres, and a
carbine, while between these objects, in the very middle of the chimney,
uniting, as it were, the Army, and the Navy, was a portrait of
Queen Victoria.
Bellew also noticed that each side of the room partook of the same
characteristics, one being devoted to things nautical, the other to
objects military. All this Bellew noticed while the soldier was brewing
the tea, and the sailor was bestowing the last finishing touches to
the muffins.
"It aren't often as we're honoured wi' company, sir," said Peterday, as
they sat down, "is it, Dick?"
"No," answered the Sergeant, handing Bellew the shrimps.
"We ain't had company to tea," said Peterday, passing Bellew the
muffins, "no, we ain't had company to tea since the last time Miss
Anthea, and Miss Priscilla honoured us, have we, Dick?"
"Honoured us," said the Sergeant, nodding his head approvingly, "is the
one, and only word for it, Peterday."
"And the last time was this day twelve months, sir,--because
why?--because this day twelve months 'appened to be Miss Priscilla's
birthday,--consequently to-day is her birthday, likewise,--wherefore the
muffins, and wherefore the shrimps, sir, for they was this day to have
once more graced our board, Mr. Bellew."
"'Graced our board,'" said the Sergeant, nodding his head again,
"'graced our board,' is the only expression for it, Peterday. But they
disappointed us, Mr. Bellew, sir,--on account of the sale."
"Messmate," said Peterday, with a note of concern in his voice, "how's
the wind?"
"Tolerable, comrade, tolerable!"
"Then--why forget the tea?"
"Tea!" said the Sergeant with a guilty start, "why--so I am!--Mr. Bellew
sir,--your pardon!" and, forthwith he began to pour out the tea very
solemnly, but with less precision of movement than usual, and with
abstracted gaze.
"The Sergeant tells me you are a musician," said Bellew, as Peterday
handed him another muffin.
"A musician,--me! think o' that now! To be sure, I do toot on the tin
whistle now and then, sir, such things as 'The British Grenadiers,' and
the 'Girl I left behind me,' for my shipmate, and 'The Bay o' Biscay,'
and 'A Life on the Ocean Wave,' for myself,--but a musician, Lord! Ye
see, sir," said Peterday, taking advantage of the Sergeant's
abstraction, and whispering confidentially behind his muffin, "that
messmate o' mine has such a high opinion o' my gifts as is fair
over-powering, and a tin whistle is only a tin whistle, after all."
"And it is about the only instrument I could ever get the hang of," said
Bellew.
"Why--do you mean as you play, sir?"
"Hardly that, but I make a good bluff at it."
"Why then,--I've got a couple o' very good whistles,--if you're so
minded we might try a doo-et, sir, arter tea."
"With pleasure!" nodded Bellew. But, hereupon, Peterday noticing that
the Sergeant ate nothing, leaned over and touched him upon the shoulder.
"How's the wind, now, Shipmate?" he enquired.
"Why so so, Peterday, fairish! fairish!" said the Sergeant, stirring his
tea round and round, and with his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall.
"Then messmate,--why not a muffin, or even a occasional shrimp,--where
be your appetite?"
"Peterday," said the Sergeant, beginning to stir his tea faster than
ever, and with his eyes still fixed, "consequent upon disparaging
remarks having been passed by one Grimes,--our landlord,--concerning
them as should not be mentioned in a inn parlour--or anywhere else--by
such as said Grimes,--I was compelled to pour--a tankard of beer--over
said Grimes, our landlord,--this arternoon, Peterday, at exactly--twelve
and a half minutes past six, by my watch,--which done,--I ran our
landlord--out into the road, Peterday, say--half a minute later, which
would make it precisely thirteen minutes after the hour. Consequent upon
which, comrade--we have received our marching orders."
"What messmate, is it heave our anchor, you mean?"
"I mean, comrade--that on Saturday next, being the twenty-fifth
instant,--we march out--bag and baggage--horse, foot, and artillery,--we
evacuate our position--in face of superior force,--for good and
all, comrade."
"Is that so, shipmate?"
"It's rough on you, Peterday--it's hard on you, I'll admit, but things
were said, comrade--relative to--business troubles of one as we both
respect, Peterday,--things was said as called for--beer down the
neck,--and running out into the road, comrade. But it's rough on you,
Peterday seeing as you--like the Hussars at Assuan--was never engaged,
so to speak."
"Aye, aye, Shipmate, that does ketch me,--all aback, shipmate. Why Lord!
I'd give a pound,--two pound--ah, ten!--just to have been astarn of him
wi' a rope's end,--though--come to think of it I'd ha' preferred a
capstan-bar."
"Peterday," said the Sergeant removing his gaze from the wall with a
jerk, "on the twenty-fifth instant we shall be--without a roof to cover
us, and--all my doing. Peterday--what have you to say about it?"
"Say, messmate,--why that you and me, honouring, and respecting two
ladies as deserves to be honoured, and respected, ain't going to let
such a small thing as this here cottage come betwixt us, and our
honouring and respecting of them two ladies. If, therefore, we are due
to quit this anchorage, why then it's all hands to the windlass with a
heave yo ho, and merrily! say I. Messmate,--my fist!" Hereupon, with a
very jerky movement indeed, the Sergeant reached out his remaining arm,
and the soldier and the sailor shook hands very solemnly over the
muffins (already vastly diminished in number) with a grip that
spoke much.
"Peterday,--you have lifted a load off my heart--I thank ye
comrade,--and spoke like a true soldier. Peterday--the muffins!"
So now the Sergeant, himself once more, fell to in turn, and they ate,
and drank, and laughed, and talked, until the shrimps were all gone, and
the muffins were things of the past.
And now, declining all Bellew's offers of assistance, the soldier and
the sailor began washing, and drying, and putting away their crockery,
each in his characteristic manner,--the Sergeant very careful and exact,
while the sailor juggled cups and saucers with the sure-handed deftness
that seems peculiar to nautical fingers.
"Yes, Peterday," said the Sergeant, hanging each cup upon its appointed
nail, and setting each saucer solicitously in the space reserved for it
on the small dresser, "since you have took our marching orders as you
have took 'em, I am quite reconciled to parting with these here snug
quarters, barring only--a book-shelf, and a cup-board."
"Cupboard!" returned Peterday with a snort of disdain, "why there never
was such a ill-contrived, lubberly cupboard as that, in all the world;
you can't get at it unless you lay over to port,--on account o' the
clothes-press, and then hard a starboard,--on account o' the
dresser,--and then it being in the darkest corner--"
"True Peterday, but then I'm used to it, and use is everything as you
know,--I can lay my hand upon anything--in a minute--watch me!" Saying
which, the Sergeant squeezed himself between the press and the dresser,
opened the cupboard, and took thence several articles which he named,
each in order.
"A pair o' jack-boots,--two brushes,--blacking,--and a burnisher."
Having set these down, one by one, upon the dresser, he wheeled, and
addressed himself to Bellew, as follows:
"Mr. Bellew, sir,--this evening being the anniversary of a
certain--event, sir, I will ask you--to excuse me--while I make the
necessary preparations--to honour this anniversary--as is ever my
custom." As he ended, he dropped the two brushes, the blacking, and the
burnisher inside the legs of the boots, picked them up with a sweep of
the arm, and, turning short round, strode out into the little garden.