The Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher: 17 Novels & 28 Short Stories (Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher
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The foreman drew in his breath with a hissing sound.
"I didn't know, sir," he said quietly. "Well, happen they'll leave her alone, though yon lot o' Sal Bennett's is a wild lot. They'll stick at nowt when they're once stirred up, and—"
"We'd better get the men together and go down," said Taffendale. "There's Mrs. Perris and Tibby Graddige in the house. We can't leave them unprotected. I'll get the men from the pits."
But the foreman laid a hand on his master's arm, as Taffendale turned to hurry down the steps.
"Don't, maister!" he said. "If yon lads from t' quarry meets wi' Martinsthorpers on a 'casion like this, there'll be murder done. Ye know what happens when they meet on ordinary 'casions. Don't, sir!"
"But the women?" exclaimed Taffendale.
The foreman looked out again across the level fields. "Best let yon lot get tired o' shoutin' and rampin' round there," he said. "Then they'll go away. Unless—"
"Unless what?" asked Taffendale.
"Unless," replied the foreman slowly and in a low voice, "unless they come on here, maister. Ye mun excuse me, but they've been talking and gossipin' down in t' village theer about you and Perris's wife, so I understand, and I'm a good deal mistaken if they don't come here."
"I'll make them repent it if they do!" said Taffendale between his teeth. "If they set foot on my land I'll—"
He paused as the foreman uttered a sharp cry, and seizing his master with one hand stretched the other out towards Cherry-trees.
"God!" he shouted, "Fire! Yon's fire!"
Out of the yellow glare which hung about Perris's holding, a shaft of bright flame suddenly shot up towards the stars. Another and another followed it; overhead the sky and the stars were rapidly blotted out by rolling clouds of flame and smoke.
"It's on fire—all t' place is on fire!" cried the foreman.
With a simultaneous impulse he and his master turned and hurried down the steps to the fold. The foreman began to shout loudly for the men and lads who hung about the stables, or lounged in and out of the farmstead kitchen.
"Murder or no murder, we'll have the quarrymen now," said Taffendale. And as the farm men came running up he seized the foremost by his shoulder. "Run to the Limepits and tell them to come. Cherry-trees is on fire!" he shouted. "The rest of you come on with me—come on!"
From the corner of Taffendale's garden a field-path ran straight across country to Cherry-trees; the path by which Taffendale had taken Rhoda Perris home on the occasion of her second visit to him. It crossed two or three widespread fields, and then came to a dip in the land wherein was a thickly-wooded hollow, through which ran a narrow stream. It was in that hollow that Taffendale and Rhoda had confessed their love, and it was there that he and Rhoda now met, as he hurried on at the head of his men. She and Tibby Graddige came panting down the path at one side of the hollow as the party from the Limepits ran down the other; on the little bridge which crossed the stream they encountered; the two women sank against the rails, fighting for breath. And Taffendale, regardless of what his men should see in such light as there was, put his arm round Mrs. Perris and supported her.
"You're not hurt?" he demanded. "They didn't interfere with you?"
Rhoda could only shake her head. Tibby Graddige found her tongue first.
"I dragged her out and away, just i' time, mestur!" she panted. "A minute longer, and they'd ha' been on to us. Howsomiver, we 'scaped 'em. But oh, mestur, they've setten fire to t' place!"
"I know—I know!" answered Taffendale. "You and Mrs. Perris must go on to my house. We'll hurry on to Cherry-trees."
But the foreman made an inarticulate sound of disapproval, and Tibby Graddige spoke again.
"Yell do no good, Mestur Taffendale," she said. "Ye can't save naught, sir. An'—they'll be comin' to your place. I heerd tell o' this, but I never thowt they'd carry it out. Ye'd best go home and see to yer own premises."
"Aye—shoo's reight, sir," counselled the foreman. "We can do no good at Cherry-trees. If they're coming to t' Limepits, we'd best see to our stackyard."
"They'll not dare!" exclaimed Taffendale. "They'll never—"
"Mestur, they'll dare owt!" said Tibby Graddige. "They'll be half-mad wi' drink and glory. It's yon rabble o' Sal Bennett's—theer's a hundred or more on 'em. Go back, mestur, and save yer own bit o' property."
"Aye, let's away back," said the foreman.
Taffendale made no further opposition. He followed his men out of the hollow, still supporting Rhoda, who clung trembling to his arm. At the top of the path the little party turned to look at Cherry-trees, now separated from them by only the hollow and one field. House, barn and stackyard were all blazing merrily, and through the clouds of dun-coloured smoke great flecks of flame and showers of burning sparks flew upward to the blackness above.
"They'll never dare to come to Limepits now," said Taffendale, bending down to Rhoda. "After that," he continued, pointing to the scene of devastation, "after that they'll all be for running away as fast as they can. That means prison for some of them."
But as he spoke, he and those about him became aware that the mob was already quitting Cherry-trees.
The torches came together; the horns and the drum and the tin-pans were sounded with renewed fury; and in the glare of the burning farmstead the watchers saw two straw-stuffed effigies lifted high above the heads of the howling and yelling crowd. Swaying and lurching, they were moved on again—not back to the village, as Taffendale had expected, but along the road which wound round by the fields and the corner of the woods wherein lay Badger's Hollow in the direction of the Limepits. Tibby Graddige uttered a loud exclamation.
"Didn't I tell yer!" she cried. "I said they'd come up to yeer place, Mestur Taffendale. They're i' that condition o' pomp and vanity 'at they care for nowt nor nobody. I know what they're aimin' to do. They mean t' burn t' stuffed images i' front o' yeer house, mestur, and to say t' stang warning."
"Come on, sir, let's get back," said the foreman.
But as they turned to hurry over the fields, the quarrymen came running through the darkness, ten or twelve great fellows, only too eager to come to grips with the mob. They were for crossing the land, and intercepting the stang-riders before they reached the woods. But the foreman, wise in his knowledge, counselled otherwise.
"Keep off comin' to blows wi' 'em!" he said. "I know what they want. Mistress Graddige here's reight. Let 'em come up t' road to t' farm, maister, and let 'em burn t' images and shout t' warning, and then they'll go away satisfied with what they've done. What we want to do is to keep 'em offen t' premises. Theer's five-and-forty cornstacks i' our stackyard, ye know, maister."
Taffendale knew that well enough; he knew also what he had in his granaries, and stables, and barns, and byres, and sties. If the Limepits got on fire thousands of pounds' worth of property would go. And he thought quickly and clearly for the needs of the moment.
"All right," he said sharply. "Quick, lads—back home! We'll surround the place and keep them off. When we get there every man and lad lay hold of a good stick, and don't be afraid to use it if there's any need arises. Now hurry!"
The mob was surging up the lane, more riotous and loud of lung than ever, when Taffendale and his men reached the farmstead. He hurried the two women into the house, and then posted the quarrymen and the farm hands along the front of the garden and entrance to the outbuildings.
"Do naught till I give the word!" he shouted, springing on the horseblock at his front gate in order to overlook his little army. "Keep in the background. If they'll go away quietly when they've finished with their damned ceremonies, let 'em go! But if they try to come in, drive them back and lay on hard."
The mob came along with the rush and roar of a horde of savages. The light from the flaring and guttering torches and naphtha lamps fell full on Taffendale, who remained standing on