Shirley
gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich people that have nothing to do may
be partly excused for trifling their time away; you who have to earn
your bread with the sweat of your brow are quite inexcusable."
"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday because we work
hard?"
"_Never_," was the prompt answer; "unless," added the "mistress," with a
smile that half belied the severity of her speech--"unless you knew how
to make a better use of it than to get together over rum and tea if you
are women, or over beer and pipes if you are men, and _talk_ scandal at
your neighbours' expense. Come, friends," she added, changing at once
from bluntness to courtesy, "oblige me by taking your cans and going
home. I expect several persons to call to-day, and it will be
inconvenient to have the avenues to the house crowded."
Yorkshire people are as yielding to persuasion as they are stubborn
against compulsion. The yard was clear in five minutes.
"Thank you, and good-bye to you, friends," said Shirley, as she closed
the gates on a quiet court.
Now, let me hear the most refined of cockneys presume to find fault with
Yorkshire manners. Taken as they ought to be, the majority of the lads
and lasses of the West Riding are gentlemen and ladies, every inch of
them. It is only against the weak affectation and futile pomposity of a
would-be aristocrat they turn mutinous.
Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through the kitchen
(or _house_, as the inner kitchen is called) to the hall. Mrs. Pryor
came running down the oak staircase to meet them. She was all unnerved;
her naturally sanguine complexion was pale; her usually placid, though
timid, blue eye was wandering, unsettled, alarmed. She did not, however,
break out into any exclamations, or hurried narrative of what had
happened. Her predominant feeling had been in the course of the night,
and was now this morning, a sense of dissatisfaction with herself that
she could not feel firmer, cooler, more equal to the demands of the
occasion.
"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice, and yet the most
conscientious anxiety to avoid exaggeration in what she was about to
say, "that a body of rioters has attacked Mr. Moore's mill to-night. We
heard the firing and confusion very plainly here; we none of us slept.
It was a sad night. The house has been in great bustle all the morning
with people coming and going. The servants have applied to me for orders
and directions, which I really did not feel warranted in giving. Mr.
Moore has, I believe, sent up for refreshments for the soldiers and
others engaged in the defence, for some conveniences also for the
wounded. I could not undertake the responsibility of giving orders or
taking measures. I fear delay may have been injurious in some instances;
but this is not my house. You were absent, my dear Miss Keeldar. What
could I do?"
"Were no refreshments sent?" asked Shirley, while her countenance,
hitherto so clear, propitious, and quiet, even while she was rating the
milk-fetchers, suddenly turned dark and warm.
"I think not, my dear."
"And nothing for the wounded--no linen, no wine, no bedding?"
"I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did; but it seemed impossible
to me, at the moment, to venture to dispose of your property by sending
supplies to soldiers. Provisions for a company of soldiers sounds
formidable. How many there are I did not ask; but I could not think of
allowing them to pillage the house, as it were. I intended to do what
was right, yet I did not see the case quite clearly, I own."
"It lies in a nutshell, notwithstanding. These soldiers have risked
their lives in defence of my property: I suppose they have a right to my
gratitude. The wounded are our fellow-creatures: I suppose we should aid
them.--Mrs. Gill!"
She turned, and called in a voice more clear than soft. It rang through
the thick oak of the hall and kitchen doors more effectually than a
bell's summons. Mrs. Gill, who was deep in bread-making, came with hands
and apron in culinary case, not having dared to stop to rub the dough
from the one or to shake the flour from the other. Her mistress had
never called a servant in that voice save once before, and that was when
she had seen from the window Tartar in full tug with two carriers' dogs,
each of them a match for him in size, if not in courage, and their
masters standing by, encouraging their animals, while hers was
unbefriended. Then indeed she had summoned John as if the Day of
Judgment were at hand. Nor had she waited for the said John's coming,
but had walked out into the lane bonnetless, and after informing the
carriers that she held them far less of men than the three brutes
whirling and worrying in the dust before them, had put her hands round
the thick neck of the largest of the curs, and given her whole strength
to the essay of choking it from Tartar's torn and bleeding eye, just
above and below which organ the vengeful fangs were inserted. Five or
six men were presently on the spot to help her, but she never thanked
one of them. "They might have come before if their will had been good,"
she said. She had not a word for anybody during the rest of the day, but
sat near the hall fire till evening watching and tending Tartar, who lay
all gory, stiff, and swelled on a mat at her feet. She wept furtively
over him sometimes, and murmured the softest words of pity and
endearment, in tones whose music the old, scarred, canine warrior
acknowledged by licking her hand or her sandal alternately with his own
red wounds. As to John, his lady turned a cold shoulder on him for a
week afterwards.
Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came "all of a tremble," as
she said herself. In a firm, brief voice Miss Keeldar proceeded to put
questions and give orders. That at such a time Fieldhead should have
evinced the inhospitality of a miser's hovel stung her haughty spirit to
the quick; and the revolt of its pride was seen in the heaving of her
heart, stirred stormily under the lace and silk which veiled it.
"How long is it since that message came from the mill?"
"Not an hour yet, ma'am," answered the housekeeper soothingly.
"Not an hour! You might almost as well have said not a day. They will
have applied elsewhere by this time. Send a man instantly down to tell
them that everything this house contains is at Mr. Moore's, Mr.
Helstone's, and the soldiers' service. Do that first."
While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away from her friends,
and stood at the hall-window, silent, unapproachable. When Mrs. Gill
came back, she turned. The purple flush which painful excitement kindles
on a pale cheek glowed on hers; the spark which displeasure lights in a
dark eye fired her glance.
"Let the contents of the larder and the wine-cellar be brought up, put
into the hay-carts, and driven down to the Hollow. If there does not
happen to be much bread or much meat in the house, go to the butcher and
baker, and desire them to send what they have. But I will see for
myself."
She moved off.
"All will be right soon; she will get over it in an hour," whispered
Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. "Go upstairs, dear madam," she added
affectionately, "and try to be as calm and easy as you can. The truth
is, Shirley will blame herself more than you before the day is over."
By dint of a few more gentle assurances and persuasions, Miss Helstone
contrived to soothe the agitated lady. Having accompanied her to her
apartment, and promised to rejoin her there when things were settled,
Caroline left her to see, as she said, "if she could be useful." She
presently found that she could be very useful; for the retinue of
servants at Fieldhead was by no means numerous, and just now their
mistress found plenty of occupation for all the hands at her command,
and for her own also. The delicate good-nature and dexterous activity
which Caroline brought to the aid of the housekeeper and maids--all
somewhat scared by their lady's unwonted mood--did a world of good at
once; it helped the assistants and appeased the directress. A chance
glance and smile from Caroline moved Shirley to an answering smile
directly. The former was carrying a heavy basket up the cellar stairs.
"This is a shame!" cried Shirley, running to her. "It will strain your
arm."
She took it from her, and herself bore it out into the yard. The cloud
of temper was dispelled when she came back; the flash in her eye was
melted; the shade on her forehead vanished. She resumed her usual
cheerful and cordial manner to those about her, tempering her revived
spirits with a little of the softness of shame at her previous unjust
anger.
She was still superintending the lading of the cart, when a gentleman
entered the yard and approached her ere she was aware of his presence.
"I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?" he said, examining with
rather significant scrutiny her still flushed face.
She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment without
reply. A pleasant enough smile played on her lips, but she hid it. The
gentleman repeated his salutation, stooping, that it might reach her ear
with more facility.
"Well enough, if she be good enough," was the answer; "and so is Mr.
Moore too, I dare say. To speak truth, I am not anxious about him; some
slight mischance would be only his just due. His conduct has been--we
will say _strange_ just now, till we have time to characterize it by a
more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what brings him here?"
"Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message that everything at
Fieldhead was at our service. We judged, by the unlimited wording of the
gracious intimation, that you would be giving yourself too much trouble.
I perceive our conjecture was correct. We are not a regiment,
remember--only about half a dozen soldiers and as many civilians. Allow
me to retrench something from these too abundant supplies."
Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own over-eager generosity
and most disproportionate calculations. Moore laughed too, very quietly
though; and as quietly he ordered basket after basket to be taken from
the cart, and remanded vessel after vessel to the cellar.
"The rector must hear of this," he said; "he will make a good story of
it. What an excellent army contractor Miss Keeldar would have been!"
Again he laughed, adding, "It is precisely as I conjectured."
"You ought to be thankful," said Shirley, "and not mock me. What could I
do? How could I gauge your appetites or number your band? For aught I
knew, there might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You told
me nothing; and then an application to provision soldiers naturally
suggests large ideas."
"It appears so," remarked Moore, levelling another of his keen, quiet
glances at the discomfited Shirley.--"Now," he continued, addressing the
carter, "I think you may take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will
be somewhat lighter than the one Miss Keeldar destined you to carry."
As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits,
demanded what had become of the wounded.
"There was not a single man hurt on our side," was the answer.
"You were hurt yourself, on the temples," interposed a quick, low
voice--that of Caroline, who, having withdrawn within the shade of the
door, and behind the large person of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped
Moore's notice. When she spoke, his eye searched the obscurity of her
retreat.
"Are you much hurt?" she inquired.
"As you might scratch your finger with a needle in sewing."
"Lift your hair and let us see."
He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing only a narrow
slip of court-plaster. Caroline indicated, by a slight movement of the