Shirley
"I only left the drawing-room a minute for a little quiet."
There was something so diffident and downcast in the air and tone with
which she said this, any one might perceive that some saddening change
had lately passed over her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerful
self-possession had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how she
had formerly been accustomed to meet him with gentle ardour and hopeful
confidence. He must have seen how the check of this morning had
operated. Here was an opportunity for carrying out his new system with
effect, if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to
practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, amidst busy
occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, at the hour of
eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before had stood unlit on the
table, brought writing materials, and left the room. Caroline was about
to follow her. Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go;
whereas he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently kept
her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would not let her go.
"Shall I tell my uncle you are here?" asked she, still in the same
subdued voice.
"No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my
messenger?"
"Yes, Robert."
"Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue to the identity of
one, at least, of the men who broke my frames; that he belongs to the
same gang who attacked Sykes and Pearson's dressing-shop, and that I
hope to have him in custody to-morrow. You can remember that?"
"Oh yes!" These two monosyllables were uttered in a sadder tone than
ever; and as she said them she shook her head slightly and sighed. "Will
you prosecute him?"
"Doubtless."
"No, Robert."
"And why no, Caroline?"
"Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you more than ever."
"That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and defend my property.
This fellow is a great scoundrel, and ought to be incapacitated from
perpetrating further mischief."
"But his accomplices will take revenge on you. You do not know how the
people of this country bear malice. It is the boast of some of them that
they can keep a stone in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end of
that time, keep it seven years longer, and hurl it and hit their mark
'at last.'"
Moore laughed.
"A most pithy vaunt," said he--"one that redounds vastly to the credit
of your dear Yorkshire friends. But don't fear for me, Lina. I am on my
guard against these lamb-like compatriots of yours. Don't make yourself
uneasy about me."
"How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything happened----" She
stopped.
"Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is a
Providence above all--is there not?"
"Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!"
"And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for me
sometimes?"
"Not _sometimes_, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense are _always_
remembered."
"So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, weary and vexed,
I have myself gone to bed like a heathen, that another had asked
forgiveness for my day, and safety for my night. I don't suppose such
vicarial piety will avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincere
breast, from innocent lips. They should be acceptable as Abel's
offering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved them."
"Annihilate that doubt. It is groundless."
"When a man has been brought up only to make money, and lives to make
it, and for nothing else, and scarcely breathes any other air than that
of mills and markets, it seems odd to utter his name in a prayer, or to
mix his idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that a
good, pure heart should take him in and harbour him, as if he had any
claim to that sort of nest. If I could guide that benignant heart, I
believe I should counsel it to exclude one who does not profess to have
any higher aim in life than that of patching up his broken fortune, and
wiping clean from his _bourgeois_ scutcheon the foul stain of
bankruptcy."
The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Caroline
thought), was felt keenly and comprehended clearly.
"Indeed, I only think--or I _will only_ think--of you as my cousin," was
the quick answer. "I am beginning to understand things better than I
did, Robert, when you first came to England--better than I did a week, a
day ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it won't do
for you to be romantic; but in future you must not misunderstand me if I
seem friendly. You misunderstood me this morning, did you not?"
"What made you think so?"
"Your look--your manner."
"But look at me now----"
"Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak to you."
"Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me in
the Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands before you."
"My cousin Robert--not Mr. Moore."
"Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline----"
Here the company was heard rising in the other room. The door was
opened; the pony-carriage was ordered; shawls and bonnets were demanded;
Mr. Helstone called for his niece.
"I must go, Robert."
"Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us here; and I, rather
than meet all that host in the passage, will take my departure through
the window. Luckily it opens like a door. One minute only--put down the
candle an instant--good-night. I kiss you because we are cousins, and,
being cousins, one--two--three kisses are allowable. Caroline,
good-night."
CHAPTER VIII.
NOAH AND MOSES.
The next day Moore had risen before the sun, and had taken a ride to
Whinbury and back ere his sister had made the café au lait or cut the
tartines for his breakfast. What business he transacted there he kept to
himself. Hortense asked no questions: it was not her wont to comment on
his movements, nor his to render an account of them. The secrets of
business--complicated and often dismal mysteries--were buried in his
breast, and never came out of their sepulchre save now and then to scare
Joe Scott, or give a start to some foreign correspondent. Indeed, a
general habit of reserve on whatever was important seemed bred in his
mercantile blood.
Breakfast over, he went to his counting-house. Henry, Joe Scott's boy,
brought in the letters and the daily papers; Moore seated himself at his
desk, broke the seals of the documents, and glanced them over. They were
all short, but not, it seemed, sweet--probably rather sour, on the
contrary, for as Moore laid down the last, his nostrils emitted a
derisive and defiant snuff, and though he burst into no soliloquy, there
was a glance in his eye which seemed to invoke the devil, and lay
charges on him to sweep the whole concern to Gehenna. However, having
chosen a pen and stripped away the feathered top in a brief spasm of
finger-fury (only finger-fury--his face was placid), he dashed off a
batch of answers, sealed them, and then went out and walked through the
mill. On coming back he sat down to read his newspaper.
The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he more than once laid
it across his knee, folded his arms, and gazed into the fire; he
occasionally turned his head towards the window; he looked at intervals
at his watch; in short, his mind appeared preoccupied. Perhaps he was
thinking of the beauty of the weather--for it was a fine and mild
morning for the season--and wishing to be out in the fields enjoying
it. The door of his counting-house stood wide open. The breeze and
sunshine entered freely; but the first visitant brought no spring
perfume on its wings, only an occasional sulphur-puff from the
soot-thick column of smoke rushing sable from the gaunt mill-chimney.
A dark-blue apparition (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a dyeing vat)
appeared momentarily at the open door, uttered the words "He's comed,
sir," and vanished.
Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large man,
broad-shouldered and massive-limbed, clad in fustian garments and gray
worsted stockings, entered, who was received with a nod, and desired to
take a seat, which he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (a
very bad one), stowed it away under his chair, and wiped his forehead
with a spotted cotton handkerchief extracted from the hat-crown, that it
was "raight dahn warm for Febewerry." Mr. Moore assented--at least he
uttered some slight sound, which, though inarticulate, might pass for an
assent. The visitor now carefully deposited in the corner beside him an
official-looking staff which he bore in his hand; this done, he
whistled, probably by way of appearing at his ease.
"You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. Moore.
"Ay, ay! all's right."
He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The paper apparently
had become more interesting. Presently, however, he turned to his
cupboard, which was within reach of his long arm, opened it without
rising, took out a black bottle--the same he had produced for Malone's
benefit--a tumbler, and a jug, placed them on the table, and said to his
guest,--
"Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner."
"I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body is dry (thirsty)
in a morning," said the fustian gentleman, rising and doing as
requested.
"Will you tak naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?" he inquired, as with skilled
hand he mixed a portion, and having tested it by a deep draught, sank
back satisfied and bland in his seat. Moore, chary of words, replied by
a negative movement and murmur.
"Yah'd as good," continued his visitor; "it 'uld set ye up wald a sup o'
this stuff. Uncommon good hollands. Ye get it fro' furrin parts, I'se
think?"
"Ay!"
"Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's coming 'll keep ye
talking, nob'dy knows how long. Ye'll need propping."
"Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired Moore.
"I seed him a hauf an hour--nay, happen a quarter of an hour sin', just
afore I set off. He said he aimed to come here, and I sudn't wonder but
ye'll have old Helstone too. I seed 'em saddling his little nag as I
passed at back o' t' rectory."
The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag's hoofs
was, five minutes after, heard in the yard. It stopped, and a well-known
nasal voice cried aloud, "Boy" (probably addressing Harry Scott, who
usually hung about the premises from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), "take my horse
and lead him into the stable."
Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, and
livelier than usual.
"Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! whom have we here?"
(turning to the personage with the staff). "Sugden! What! you're going
to work directly? On my word, you lose no time. But I come to ask
explanations. Your message was delivered to me. Are you sure you are on
the right scent? How do you mean to set about the business? Have you got
a warrant?"
"Sugden has."
"Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany you."
"You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm just
now sitting in state waiting his arrival."
"And who is it? One of my parishioners?"
Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a most sinister phantom,
half his person being dyed of the deepest tint of indigo, leaning on the
desk. His master's answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe took
the word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said,--
"It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you often speak of."
"Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this morning."
"Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you call him sometimes,
I think."
"Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and administering to
himself a very long pinch--"ah! couldn't have supposed it. Why, the