Part 15 (1/2)
”She didn't dare speak, but I saw what was in her when she broke a plate, and wouldn't say she was sorry. I know she goes to Crickledon and talks us over. She's a willing worker, but she has no heart.”
Tinman had been accustomed in his shop at Helmstone--where heaven had blessed him with the patronage of the rich, as visibly as rays of supernal light are seen selecting from above the heads of prophets in the ill.u.s.trations to cheap holy books--to deal with willing workers that have no hearts. Before the application for an advance of wages--and he knew the signs of it coming--his method was to calculate how much he might be asked for, and divide the estimated sum by the figure 4; which, as it seemed to come from a generous impulse, and had been unsolicited, was often humbly accepted, and the willing worker pursued her lean and hungry course in his service. The treatment did not always agree with his males. Women it suited; because they do not like to lift up their voices unless they are in a pa.s.sion; and if you take from them the grounds of temper, you take their words away--you make chickens of them. And as Tinman said, ”Grat.i.tude I never expect!” Why not? For the reason that he knew human nature. He could record shocking instances of the ingrat.i.tude of human nature, as revealed to him in the term of his tenure of the shop at Helmstone. Blest from above, human nature's wickedness had from below too frequently besulphured and suffumigated him for his memory to be dim; and though he was ever ready to own himself an example that heaven prevaileth, he could cite instances of scandalmongering shop- women dismissed and working him mischief in the town, which pointed to him in person for a proof that the Powers of Good and Evil were still engaged in unhappy contention. Witness Strikes! witness Revolutions!
”Tell her, when she lays the cloth, that I advance her, on account of general good conduct, five s.h.i.+llings per annum. Add,” said Tinman, ”that I wish no thanks. It is for her merits--to reward her; you understand me, Martha?”
”Quite; if you think it prudent, Martin.”
”I do. She is not to breathe a syllable to cook.”
”She will.”
”Then keep your eye on cook.”
Mrs. Cavely promised she would do so. She felt sure she was paying five s.h.i.+llings for ingrat.i.tude; and, therefore, it was with humility that she owned her error when, while her brother sipped his sugared acrid liquor after dinner (in devotion to the doctor's decree, that he should take a couple of gla.s.ses, rigorously as body-las.h.i.+ng friar), she imparted to him the singular effect of the advance of wages upon little Jane--”Oh, ma'am!
and me never asked you for it!” She informed her brother how little Jane had confided to her that they were called ”close,” and how little Jane had vowed she would--the willing little thing!--go about letting everybody know their kindness.
”Yes! Ah!” Tinman inhaled the praise. ”No, no; I don't want to be puffed,” he said. ”Remember cook. I have,” he continued, meditatively, ”rarely found my plan fail. But mind, I give the Crickledons notice to quit to-morrow. They are a pest. Besides, I shall probably think of erecting villas.”
”How dreadful the wind is!” Mrs. Cavely exclaimed. ”I would give that girl Annette one chance more. Try her by letter.”
Tinman despatched a business letter to Annette, which brought back a vague, unbusiness-like reply. Two days afterward Mrs. Cavely reported to her brother the presence of Mr. Fellingham and Miss Mary Fellingham in Crikswich. At her dictation he wrote a second letter. This time the reply came from Van Diemen:
”My DEAR MARTIN,--Please do not go on bothering my girl. She does not like the idea of leaving me, and my experience tells me I could not live in the house with you. So there it is. Take it friendly.
I have always wanted to be, and am, ”Your friend, ”PHIL.”
Tinman proceeded straight to Elba; that is, as nearly straight as the wind would allow his legs to walk. Van Diemen was announced to be out; Miss Annette begged to be excused, under the pretext that she was unwell; and Tinman heard of a dinner-party at Elba that night.
He met Mr. Fellingham on the carriage drive. The young Londoner presumed to touch upon Tinman's private affairs by pleading on behalf of the Crikledons, who were, he said, much dejected by the notice they had received to quit house and shop.
”Another time,” bawled Tinman. ”I can't hear you in this wind.”
”Come in,” said Fellingham.
”The master of the house is absent,” was the smart retort roared at him; and Tinman staggered away, enjoying it as he did his wine.
His house rocked. He was backed by his sister in the a.s.surance that he had been duped.
The process he supposed to be thinking, which was the castigation of his brains with every sting wherewith a native touchiness could ply immediate recollection, led him to conclude that he must bring Van Diemen to his senses, and Annette running to him for mercy.
He sat down that night amid the howling of the storm, wind whistling, water cras.h.i.+ng, cas.e.m.e.nts rattling, beach desperately dragging, as by the wide-stretched star-fish fingers of the half-engulphed.
He hardly knew what he wrote. The man was in a state of personal terror, burning with indignation at Van Diemen as the main cause of his jeopardy.
For, in order to prosecute his pursuit of Annette, he had abstained from going to Helmstone to pay moneys into his bank there, and what was precious to life as well as life itself, was imperilled by those two-- Annette and her father--who, had they been true, had they been honest, to say nothing of honourable, would by this time have opened Elba to him as a fast and safe abode.
His letter was addressed, on a large envelope,
”To the Adjutant-General,
”HORSE GUARDS.”