Part 33 (1/2)
Whether Mrs. Coomstock meant marriage or Plymouth gin, Billy did not stop to inquire. He helped her, filled Lezzard's empty gla.s.s for himself, and then, finding his future wife thick of speech, bleared of eye, and evidently disposed to slumber, he departed and left her to sleep off her varied emotions.
”I'll mighty soon change all that,” thought Mr. Blee. ”To note a fine woman in liquor 's the frightfullest sight in all nature, so to say. Not but what with Lezzard a-pawin' of her 't was enough to drive her to it.”
That night the lover announced his triumph, whereon Phoebe congratulated him and Miller Lyddon shook his head.
”'T is an awful experiment, Billy, at your age,” he declared.
”Why, so 't is; but I've weighed the subject in my mind for years and years, an 't wasn't till Mary Coomstock comed to be widowed that I thought I'd found the woman at last. 'T was lookin' tremendous high, I knaw, but theer 't is; she'll have me. She 'm no young giglet neither, as would lead me a devil's dance, but a pusson in full blooth with ripe mind.”
”She drinks. I doan't want to hurt your feelings; but everybody says it is so,” declared the miller.
”What everybody sez, n.o.body did ought to believe,” returned Mr. Blee stoutly. ”She 'm a gude, lonely sawl, as wants a man round the house to keep off her relations, same as us has a dog to keep down varmints in general. Theer 's the Hickses, an' Chowns, an' Coomstocks all a-stickin'
up theer tails an' a-purrin' an' a-rubbin' theerselves against the door-posts of the plaace like cats what smells feesh. I won't have none of it. I'll dwell along wi' she an' play a husband's part, an' comfort the decline of her like a man, I warn 'e.”
”Why, Mrs. Coomstock 's not so auld as all that, Billy,” said Phoebe.
”Chris has often told me she's only sixty-two or three.”
But he shook his head.
”Ban't a subject for a loving man to say much on, awnly truth 's truth.
I seed it written in the Coomstock Bible wan day. Fifty-five she were when she married first. Well, ban't in reason she twald the naked truth 'bout it, an' who'd blame her on such a delicate point? No, I'd judge her as near my awn age as possible; an' to speak truth, not so well preserved as what I be.”
”How's Monks Barton gwaine to fare without 'e, Blee?” whined the miller.
”As to that, be gormed if I knaw how I'll fare wi'out the farm. But love--well, theer 't is. Theer 's money to it, I knaw, but what do that signify? Nothin' to me. You'll see me frequent as I ride here an'
theer--horse, saddle, stirrups, an' all complete; though G.o.d He knaws wheer my knees'll go when my boots be fixed in stirrups. But a man must use 'em if theer 's the dignity of money to be kept up. 'T is just wan of them oncomfortable things riches brings with it.”
While Miller Lyddon still argued with Billy against the step he now designed, there arrived from Chagford the stout Mr. Chappie, with his mouth full of news.
”More weddin's,” he said. ”I comed down-long to tell 'e, lest you shouldn't knaw till to-morrow an' so fall behind the times. Widow Coomstock 's thrawed up the sponge and gived herself to that importuneous auld Lezzard. To think o' such a Methuselah as him--aulder than the century--fillin' the eye o' that full-bodied--”
”It's a black lie--blacker 'n h.e.l.l--an' if't was anybody but you brought the news I'd hit un awver the jaw!” burst out Mr. Blee, in a fury.
”He tawld me hisself. He's tellin' everybody hisself. It comed to a climax to-day. The auld bird's hoppin' all awver the village so proud as a jackdaw as have stole a s.h.i.+ny b.u.t.ton. He'm bustin' wi' it in fact.”
”I'll bust un! An' his news, tu. An' you can say, when you'm axed, 't is the foulest lie ever falled out of wicked lips.”
Billy now took his hat and stick from their corner and marched to the door without more words.
”No violence, mind now, no violence,” begged Mr. Lyddon. ”This love-making 's like to wreck the end of my life, wan way or another, yet. 'T is bad enough with the young; but when it comes to auld, bald-headed fules like you an' Lezzard--”
”As to violence, I wouldn't touch un wi' the end of a dung-fork--I wouldn't. But I'm gwaine to lay his lie wance an' for all. I be off to parson this instant moment. An' when my banns of marriage be hollered out next Sunday marnin', then us'll knaw who 'm gwaine to marry Mother Coomstock an' who ban't. I can work out my awn salvation wi' fear an'
tremblin' so well as any other man; an' you'll see what that G.o.d-forsaken auld piece looks like come Sunday when he hears what's done an' caan't do nought but just swallow his gall an' chew 'pon it.”
CHAPTER VIII
MR. BLEE FORGETS HIMSELF
The Rev. James Shorto-Champernowne made no difficulty about Billy's banns of marriage, although he doubtless held a private opinion upon the wisdom of such a step, and also knew that Mrs. Coomstock was now a very different woman from the s.e.xtoness of former days. He expressed a hope, however, that Mr. Blee would make his future wife become a regular church-goer again after the ceremony; and Billy took it upon himself to promise as much for her. There the matter ended until the following Sunday, when a sensation, unparalleled in the archives of St. Michael's, awaited the morning wors.h.i.+ppers.