King of the Castle. Fenn George Manville
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the hand and seeming about to kiss it, but keeping it in his hand without.
“Everything seems to go against me,” he cried. “Mr Glyddyr – just going – I was seeing him to the door, when, like a black ghost, up starts that woman Sarah Woodham. What does she want?”
“I’ll tell you, dear, if you will sit down and be calm.”
“How the devil can I be calm,” he raved, “when I am regularly persecuted by folk like this?”
But he let Claude press him back into an easy chair, while, feeling that she was better away, Mary Dillon crept softly out of the room.
“Well, then,” he said, as if his child’s touch was talismanic, and he lay back and closed his eyes, “I’ll be calm. But you don’t know, Claude, you can’t tell how I’m persecuted. I’m robbed right and left.”
“Papa, my dear father, you are as rich as ever you can be, so what does it matter?”
“Who says I’m rich? Nonsense! Absurd! And then look at the worries I have. All the trouble and inquest over that man’s death, and through his sheer crass obstinacy.”
“Why bring that up again, father, dear?”
“Don’t say father. Call me papa. Whenever you begin fathering me, it means that you are going to preach at me and bully me, and have your own way.”
“Then, papa, dear, why bring that up again?”
“I didn’t. It’s brought up and thrust under my very nose. Why is that woman here?”
“Papa – ”
“Now, it’s of no use. Claude: that man regularly committed suicide out of opposition to me. He destroyed a stone worth at least a hundred pounds by using that tearing dynamite, which smashes everything to pieces; and then, forsooth, he charges me in his dying moments with murdering him, and the wretched pack under him take up the cry and bark as he did. Could anything be more unreasonable?”
“No, dear, of course not. But the poor fellow was mad with agony and despair. It was so horrible for him, a hale, strong man, to be cut down in a moment.”
“He cut himself down. It would not have happened if he had done as I ordered.”
“You must forgive all that now. He knew no better; and as for the workmen, you know how easily they are influenced one way or the other.”
“Oh, yes, I know them. And now this woman’s here begging.”
“No, papa, dear.”
“I say she is. I could see it in her servile, shivering way, as soon as she caught my eye; now, look here, Claude, I shan’t give her a shilling.”
Claude held his hand to her cheek in silence.
“I won’t pay for the man’s funeral. I’m obliged to pay the doctor, because I contracted for him to attend the ungrateful hounds; but I will not help her in the least, and I’ll have no more of your wretched tricks. I’m always finding out that you are helping the people and letting them think it is my doing. Now, then, I’ve done, and I want to be at peace, so go and send that woman away, or I shall be ill.”
Claude clung a little more closely to her father, nestling, as it were, in his breast.
“Well,” he said testily, “why don’t you go?”
“My father is the leading man in this neighbourhood,” said Claude, in a soft, soothing tone, “and the people don’t know the goodness of his heart as I do.”
“Now, Claudie, I won’t have it. You are beginning to preach at me, and give me a dose of morals. My heart has grown as hard as granite.”
“No, it has not,” said Claude, kissing his veined hand. “It is as soft and good as ever, only you try to make it hard, and you say things you do not mean.”
“Ah, now!” he shouted, “you are going to talk about that Lisle, and I will not have his cursed name mentioned in the – ”
“I was not going to talk about Christopher Lisle,” said Claude, in the same gentle, murmuring voice, whose tones seemed to soothe and quiet him down; “I was going on to say that I want the people – the weak, ignorant, easily-led people – about here to love and venerate my dear father’s name.”
“And they will not, do what you will. The more you do for them, the less self-helpful they are, and the more they revile and curse. Why, if I was ruined to-morrow, after they’ve eaten my bread for years, I believe they’d light a bonfire and have a dance.”
“No, no; no, no,” murmured Claude. “You have done too much good for them.”
“I haven’t. You did it all, you hussy, and pretended it was I,” he said grimly, as he played with her glossy hair.
“I did it with your money, dear, and I am your child. I acted as I felt you would act if you thoroughly knew the circumstances, but you had no time. What is the use of having so much money if no good is done?”
“For ungrateful people.”
“We are taught to do good for evil, dear.”
“What! for a race of thieves who are always cursing and reviling us? There, I’m busy and tired, Claudie. I’ve listened to your moral lesson very patiently, and now I want to be at rest. But I forbid you to help that wretched woman. She and her husband always hated me. Confound ’em, they were always insulting me. How dare they – actually publicly insult me – in that miserable little chapel.”
“Insulted you? What do you mean?”
“Why, they prayed for my heart to be softened, hang ’em!”
“Oh, father, dear!”
“There you go again. Papa – papa – papa. Don’t forget that we do belong to the aristocracy after all. Now, go and send that dreadful woman away.”
“I cannot, dear.”
“Cannot?”
“No, papa. She has come to stay.”
“Sarah Woodham? To stay? Here?”
“Yes, dear. Poor thing: she is left penniless, almost, for Woodham did not save.”
“No, of course not. They none of them do.”
“He spent all he had to spare,” continued Claude, in the same gentle, murmuring tone, as she pressed her father’s hand to her cheek. “Everything he could scrape together he gave to the poorer chapel people.”
“Yes, I know; in his bigoted way to teach me what to do. And don’t keep on rubbing your cheek against my hand. Any one who saw you would think you were a cat.”
“So, papa dear, as we want a good, trustworthy woman in the house, and Sarah was with us so long, and knew our ways so well, I arranged for her to come back.”
“Claude!”
“Yes, dear; and these years of her married life, and the sad end, will be to her like a mournful dream.”
“I – ”
Norman Gartram made an angry gesture, but Claude’s arms stole round his neck, her lips pressed his as she half lay upon his breast, and with the tears gently falling and hanging like pearls in his grisly beard, she said in a low, sweet voice, —
“And some day, father dear, at the last, as she thinks of what an asylum this has been to her, she will go down to her grave blessing your name for all the good that you have done, and this will make me very happy, dear, and so it will you.”
There was a long silence in the room, and Norman Gartram’s face began to grow less rugged. It was as if there was something of the same look as that in his child’s, when, with a tender kiss upon his brow, she left his arms and half playfully whispered, —
“Am I to go and send Sarah Woodham away?”
“No,” he said hastily, as his old look returned; “you are as bad as your poor, dear mother,