The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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with some reserve and shyness because of his south country origin and vastly different speech, had finally made himself at home through his habits of good-fellowship and his ability to tell a good tale and sing a good song. There were four or five of the usual fraternity there when he walked in on this occasion, and he saw at once they were discussing Perris's disappearance as eagerly as the men and lads outside. Justice, not wishing to show himself entirely ignorant, threw out a question as he dropped into his accustomed seat.
"What's all this about Perris, gentlemen?" he asked. "I just heard that he's made himself what the Latin scholars term non est; which means that he isn't where he should be—at home."
The blacksmith, who by virtue of seniority occupied the best seat by the fire, took his churchwarden pipe out of his mouth and spat into the glowing coals.
"Ne'er mind what t' Latin scholards says, nor t' Greek scholards, neyther," he observed. "I know what t' English on it is. Happen I heerd summat about it before onnybody Martinsthorpe."
"Well, what?" asked Justice, leisurely filling his pipe.
"I were i' t' kitchen theer hevin' a glass when yon man o' Mestur Mawson's come in for a bit o' bread-and-cheese," continued the blacksmith. "An' sits hissen down at t' side o' me. An' he says, says he, 'I think theer's summat queer up yonder at t' Cherry-trees,' he says. 'How so?' says I. 'Why,' he says, 'Perris, he sell'd our maister his new wheat yesterda', and it wor settled 'at I should fetch it to-day,' he says, 'and when I got theer just now,' he says, 'Perris worn't theer, and his wife knew nowt about it, and I made out 'at she's niver set ees on him sin' yesterda',' he says. 'An' she wodn't let me tak' t' wheat till she'd sent for Mestur Taffendale to tak' his counsel on t' matter.' 'Did yeer maister pay for t' wheat?' says I. 'Aye, he did, an' i' my presence, over a hundred pound,' he says, 'an' I hev Perris's orders for t' delivery i' case he worn't at home, an' here it is,' he says, showin' t' bit o' paper. 'Why, then, ye're all reight,' I says, 'whatever Taffendale counsels or doesn't counsel.'"
"Aye, it's reight, is that," observed the carpenter, with an air of great wisdom. "So long as Mestur Mawson hed paid for t' stuff, his man hed a reight to fetch it."
"An' did Taffendale come to t' Cherry-trees then?" asked the miller. "An' what hed he to do wi' it, when all's said an' done? I niver heerd 'at t' Perrises wor owt to Taffendale."
The blacksmith again spat into the fire and wagged his head.
"Now, then, ye wait a bit!" he said. "I hevn't tell'd all t' tale yet. That's nobbut t' first chapter, like. I heerd what happened when Mestur Mawson's man went back to t' Cherry-trees. Taffendale was there, talkin' to t' wife ower t' orchard hedge. An', of course, theer wor nowt to be said—t' man wor in his reights to carry t' wheat away wi' him, and so Taffendale said. An' while he wor agate, this here man o Mestur Mawson's, gettin' t' wheat out o' t' granary, wi' yon theer Bill Tatten to help him, up comes a chap to drive off two young beasts, bullocks, 'at he said Perris hed Belled to his gaffer, Claybourne, t' butcher, t' day afore. An' they hed to go an' all, 'cos they'd been duly settled for. So Perris wor none wi'out brass i' his pocket, wheeriver he's gone. An' that's t' reight truth about t' tale, 'cos I hed it all fro' Bill Tatten hissen—he come into my place wi' a brokken ploo-share as he wor goin' home to-neet, and he telled me all about it. An' he said 'at Taffendale an' Perris's wife wor talkin' t' house for hours 'at after t' men had gone away wi' t' wheat and t' bullocks."
In the silence which followed this deliverance, Justice rang the bell and ordered a glass of whisky.
"I expect Mrs. Perris sent for Mr. Taffendale because he's their nearest neighbour," he observed, when the whisky had been brought and the door closed again upon the conclave. "His place isn't so far off theirs."
The blacksmith snorted, and gave Justice a look expressive of North Country contempt for South Country inability to see through brick walls.
"Ah!" he said. "Du yer? Well, I expect nowt o' t' sort. I can see a bit further nor t' end o' mi nose, I can!"
"Well, and what do you see?" asked Justice, taking his snub good-humouredly. "Let's be knowing."
The blacksmith leaned forward and looked slyly round the circle of expectant faces.
"I know nowt!" he said. "But I'll tell yer what I think. I think 'at Taffendale's been helpin' them theer! That's what I think. Helpin' 'em, I say."
"What, wi' brass?" exclaimed the miller. "Wi' brass?"
"Wi' brass! What else should he help em' wi'?" replied the blacksmith. "Now, ye look here. Theer's more nor one i' Martinsthorpe knows how it wor wi' Perris just afore t' last rent-day. Them as iver looked ower a hedge-top at t' Cherry-trees knows 'at he'd scarce owt left on t' place. And only two days afore t' rent-day itself, yon theer Pippany Webster browt a hoss to be shod at my place, and he tell'd me 'at theer worn't more nor one feed left for t' horses and t' pigs, and nowt much beside, and at' so far as he could see, Perris wor on his varry last legs for brass. And yit, on t' rent-day, down comes Perris as large as life, and pays up as if he wor a millionaire Ye see'd him, all on yer."
"Aye, it's reight, is that," murmured the conclave in unanimous chorus. "He 'livered his brass up, reight enough, did t' man."
The blacksmith thumped the table.
"Aye, but wheer did 'a get t' brass!" he demanded. "Now, I'll tell yer summat 'at'll happen oppen yer ees! Yon theer dowter o' mine, Lucilla, wor Mestur Taffendale's sarvice at that time, and a neet or two afore t' rent-day, she heerd som'dy knock loud at t' front-door, when her and t' housekeeper, and t' other sarvent lass had gone to bed. And she thowt to hersen 'at it were a queer time o' night for onnybody to call. Howsomiver, she heerd Taffendale go and open t' door and she heerd him let som'dy in, and after some time she heerd him let som'dy out, and she looked out o' t' cha'mer window, did our Lucilla, and then she see'd—cause t' parlour lamp and t' hall lamp shone full on 'em—who'd yer think she see'd walkin' down t' garden path wi' Taffendale?"
The conclave shook its collective head in wondering silence, and the blacksmith wagged his own in triumph. He again thumped the table, and bent forward to smile more knowingly.
"It wor Perris's wife!" he said. "Perris's wife! Ye mind that theer. Perris's wife!"
The company sighed deeply. Nobody seemed inclined to speak. But Justice presently found his voice.
"It's a bit dangerous, saying things like that, isn't it?" he said. "I mean—in a public way?"
The blacksmith turned on his commentator with scorn.
"Dangerous! What's dangerous?" he demanded. "Theer's nowt dangerous about speykin' t' truth, is there?—we don't reckon it so i' Yorkshire, onnyway, whativer ye South Country folk may do! We speyk t' truth, and shame t' Devil—that's what we do, keeper, an' ye tak' a bit o' notice. My dowter's free to say what she saw wi' her own ees, isn't she? I tell yer 'at she see'd Perris wife i' Taffendale garden that neet, and she'd been hafe-an-hour alone wi' him i' t' parlour. An' that my dowter 'll stand to, if need be. So theer!"
"Shoo's a truthful young woman, is Lucilla," observed the carpenter, with great solemnity. "Shoo wodn't say nowt 'at worn't reight."
"Noe!" said Lucilla's father stoutly. "If I found onny dowter o' mine sayin' owt 'at worn't reight, I'd gi' her bell-tinker wi' my strap! Of course, shoo said what wor reight. An' that worrn't t' only time 'at Perris's wife wor theer at t' Limepits late at neet, 'cause she wor theer agen a piece after, and our Lucilla see'd Taffendale go out wi' her, and he didn't come home for two houis that neet, and then it wor after twelve o'clock when he did come home. An' if ye ax me, I say 'at Taffendale's been helpin' them theer wi' brass, and I could like to know what's he's hed i' exchange for it—now then!"
Justice's sly spirit was rejoicing with him. A little more talk of this sort in the village, a little more frank, and brutal, and eminently Yorkshire expression of opinion, and Taffendale would find a hornets' nest about his ears. Even if he, Justice, gained nothing by it himself in a pecuniary sense, he would have the gratification of knowing that he was revenged for the coldness and insolence with which Mr. Taffendale of the Limepits had always treated him. So he drank his whisky and smoked his pipe, and for once played the part