ANY one who could have seen into the workings of Olivia Denison’s heart and mind when she was left to herself would probably have pronounced her to be “in love” with the Reverend Vernon Brander. This was not quite true. She did indeed feel a very strong interest in the hermit vicar and his mysterious history; and such interest in a young girl’s mind cannot exist quite apart from sentiment. But, then, the sentiments awakened by the overheard interview in the churchyard and by Miss Williams’ suggestions were so largely mingled with doubt, disgust, and horror, that on the whole she felt she would infinitely prefer, in spite of his kindness, never to meet him again. She felt very thankful, however, as the days went by, that no story and no rumors about the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s reached Mrs. Denison’s ears. That lady was too much wrapt up in herself to trouble herself much about her neighbors; and beyond expressing great indignation that he had not called upon her, she expressed no great interest in the vicar’s deputy.
Olivia was taking to the country life with much zest. Besides her household duties, she found time to occupy herself greatly with the live stock on the farm, and to take the poultry under her especial care. Mat Oldshaw used to slip round, on one pretence or another, in the early morning when she was busy with her poultry, and, leaning over the fence, used to give her advice about the management of them, trying to check her extravagance.
“Ye doan’t need to give ’em all that coorn, Miss Denison, now they aren’t laying,” he said to her one day reproachfully as she distributed grain with a wildly lavish hand. “What profit will ye be likely to get if ye feed ’em oop like that? Every egg ye’ll get this year ’ull cost ye twopence, and ye’ll lose on every chicken ye sell.”
“Well, I can’t starve them just because they’re not bringing in a profit just now,” said the girl. “If they’ve any sense of gratitude, they’ll grow beautifully plump and fat, and sell at fancy prices.”
“That there’s regular lady’s farming,” said Mat, shaking his head dubiously. “And it’s of a piece wi’ t’ way t’ master’s goin’ to work himself. It’s very pretty, but it ain’t like practical work, and it doan’t pay.”
Olivia’s bright face clouded.
“But papa’s got a farm bailiff,” said she.
“Oh ay, and gotten a rat to eat oop his coorn,” assented Mat darkly.
“Do you mean to insinuate,” began Olivia with a tragic face, “that Tom Herrick——”
“All Ah mean, Miss, is that Ah’d like to see ye mak’ a profit on your hens; for that’s what Ah call success, and Ah’d loike ye to be successful, that Ah should.”
“Thank you, Mat; it’s very kind of you. And you’re quite right; of course it’s only by making every department pay that one can make the farm pay.”
“Ay,” said Mat. “And if ye’ll but follow out what I say, ye’ll be able to keep twice them lot o’ hens on what ye’re givin’ ’em. Ye’ve got ground for fifty more, and if Ah was you Ah’d go over to Long Sedge Bend and buy some of old Widder Lund’s; she’s got ’em to sell. And doan’t ye go giving her no fancy price, but beat her down; that’s business, and she’s none so poor but she can afford to let ye have ’em cheap. The bean’t so much to look at, her hens; but they’re good ’uns to lay, and worth a fieldful o’ them fancy soarts.”
Olivia began to play thoughtfully with the grain left in her basket. She was very anxious for the honor of her poultry yard, and she began already to be fired with the ambition to make it a successful commercial enterprise. She had a little pocket money put by; she could lay that out as she pleased, without consulting anybody.
“How far off is this Long Sedge Bend?”
“A matter o’ twea mile and a half. It’s down by Sedge Bend coal-pit.”
“And where’s that?”
“Ye go along t’ Sheffield road till ye coom to t’ mill. Turn to yer left, as if ye were goin’ to Sheffield, till ye coom to t’ Blue Boar. Bear to yer left across t’ fields, and that’s Sedge Bend.”
“Isn’t there a shorter way across the fields? That must be such a long way round.”
“Ay, but ye maunna go t’ short way. They’re a roough lot down at Long Sedge, and ye maun keep to t’ road.”
“Well, I shall go this very day and interview Mrs. Lund. I’m afraid, though, I shall be short of accommodation if I buy many more chickens.”
“Nea, Ah’ll rig ye oop some nests and a perch in t’ auld toolhouse yonder. Ah can do ’t in an hour.”
“It’s awfully good of you, but you needn’t hurry with it, for I shan’t start till after luncheon.”
“But start as early as ye can. It doan’t do to be late, by oneself, in those parts.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to start in good time, and I’ll take a big basket, to bring some of the chickens back in.”
“Best let mea fetch ’em for ye to-morrow; Ah can’t get away to-day. It’s not for t’ loikes o’ you to carry baskets o’ live stock along t’ roads.”
“But I can’t wait—I can’t wait; I must see them to-day,” said this headstrong young madam, who liked to carry out her plans with the impetuosity of a whirlwind. “And as for the basket, why, there isn’t another farmer’s daughter in Yorkshire with stronger arms than mine.”
Mat looked at her mistrustfully, but he said nothing more on the subject.
“Ah’ll tak’ t’ measure of t’ toolhouse if Ah may coom in,” was all he said.
Olivia was running to open the gate for him; but, with a nod of thanks, he vaulted over the high fence, and set about his work without another word. The country lad had been fairly bewitched by the beauty and brightness of this young lady, who seemed to him a creature of a different mould from any of the womenkind he had hitherto met—even from handsome Mrs. Meredith Brander. Nothing gave him so much delight as to be able to render her a small service; and even while he was taking the measurements of the toolhouse, he was pondering a way to spare her what he considered the dangers of the walk she proposed to take that afternoon. The girl herself, knowing nothing of this plan, and thinking lightly enough of the enterprise, watched his proceedings with great interest, and finally overwhelmed him with thanks which sent him home happy.
Olivia started on her walk that afternoon without a word to anybody concerning the object of her expedition. She had a purse with some of her savings in her pocket, and a large poultry basket on her arm. “I shall leave this basket somewhere when I come in sight of the cottage, and pretend I’ve only come to look at the chickens,” she said to herself, resolved to be very astute. But the widow Lund was more astute still, and managed to drive a very good bargain with her fair young customer. Indeed, Olivia showed such a helpless inability to distinguish between a young chicken and the hoariest-headed rooster of the lot, that it would have needed superhuman virtue not to take advantage of her. It was with a glow of unspeakable delight and pride that, having paid for a dozen hens, she said she would take half of them home with her, and, running out of the cottage, picked up the basket which she had hidden behind the hedge, and brought it to pack her live stock in.
Poor Olivia! An unknown visitor was such a rare sight at Long Sedge that the advent of “a grand lady wi’ a big basket” had been reported all over the village as she drew near the outskirts; and the widow Lund herself, with two cronies, having watched her approach, basket and all, from the door of Mrs. Perkin’s washhouse, was able to appreciate at its full value the poor little ruse.
When her load was ready, Olivia quickly discovered that a basket containing six live chickens is neither a light nor a convenient burden, and perceived that to carry them back by the way she had come would be a more arduous and fatiguing task than she had imagined. When, therefore, she found there was a path across the fields which would lead up to the high road, and shorten the way by at least half a mile, the temptation was too strong for her, and, disregarding Mat’s warnings, as that young man had expected her to do, she ventured fearlessly on the short cut. Half a dozen unkempt children laughed and yelled at her as she passed; a few rough-looking women whispered to each other at the doors of their dirty cottages; while a man, who was leaning against a wall smoking a short black pipe, slunk out of her way, as if conscious that she belonged to a higher type of civilization. Mat was right; Long Sedge Bend was a rough place. The inhabitants looked wild and out of touch with the rest of humanity; the long rows of small brick cottages, many of which were windowless and deserted, looked squalid and miserable, while over everything was that black and grimy look which the neighborhood of a coal-pit produces.
It was Saturday afternoon, and the pits were idle. A great black wheel, towering over a mound on the right, showed where lay the entrance to the nearest shaft. Round the door of a beerhouse, smaller and much more disreputable-looking than the Collier’s Arms, was a group of men and boys, spending their half holiday in dull and noisy fashion. They were a rough-looking lot, and Olivia passed them quickly. Her way lay along a cinder path over the fields, and for some time she got on very well, meeting no one, and enjoying the frosty afternoon. Just as she ran through a turnstile and followed the sudden turn of the path to the left, however, a man started up from the ground, called out “Hallo, missis!” and attempted to seize one of her feet. She was startled into uttering a low exclamation, and, rightly judging that the man was drunk, she ran on as fast as she could, hoping to get beyond his pursuit before he could get upon his legs. But a drunken man may be able to run when he cannot walk; and Olivia’s assailant, who was a stalwart young collier with a blear-eyed and most unprepossessing face, gave chase in good earnest, and came up with her just as she came to a barrier between two fields in the shape of a very high and very primitive stile. Seeing she had no time to get over it in safety, the girl put down her basket close by the hedge, turned suddenly, and faced her pursuer.
For the first time in her life she felt thoroughly frightened, for the young man looked brutal and reckless; but she had plenty of courage, and the terror she felt showed neither in her face, her attitude, nor in her resonant voice.
“What do you want?”
He reeled, not having expected her sudden movement.
“Ah want look at tha pretty feace, meh dear,” said he, only just distinctly enough for her to understand him.
And he gave her a tipsy leer of admiration.
“And now will you be kind enough to pass on?” said she, in a firm tone. “Or to let me pass on without further hindrance?”
“Ah’m not a-hinderin’ of tha,” said the young man, who was trying to stand steadily in proximity much too close to be pleasant. “Tha can goa wheer tha lakkest.”
Olivia looked at him doubtfully, but as he made for the moment no attempt to molest her, she began to feel reassured.
“Go back, then,” said she, “and let me go on.”
“Nea,” said he, shaking his head with an ugly grin; “Ah’m goin’ to help tha over t’ stile. Ah’ll carry tha whisket for tha if thr’rt civil.”
“Thank you,” said Olivia, taking the fellow’s offers as if they were courtesies, “but I want no help, either for myself or my basket. If you wish to do me a service, you will go back and let me go on.”
“Ah maun see tha over t’ stile first,” said he. “Coom, missis, don’t be shy.”
He swooped down upon her basket, which she snatched up so quickly that he lost his balance and fell against the wooden fence. With a rapid step she got round him, basket and all, and was in the act of mounting the first step of the stile when the young ruffian, perceiving her purpose and enraged at a blow he had received in stumbling, lurched round with unexpected agility, and laid a rough hand on her arm. She tried to wrench herself free, but the muscular strength she was so proud of was as a child’s feebleness against the brute force of this man. It had never before happened to her to feel powerless like this. With teeth clinched hard, and eyes watching intently for a moment’s advantage, she wrestled in utter silence with the man, who tried to force her to mount the stile.
“Tha’d better not give ma so mooch trouble, ma bonny madam,” said he, roughly. “Tha’ll only have to pay for t’ other side. An’ Ah’ll tak’ a buss now to goa on wi’.”
He put his arm round her waist and tried to kiss her; Olivia fought fiercely, still without uttering a word. In the midst of her desperate struggles her assailant saw the girl’s face change—light up with hope, with expectancy. Then, with all the force of her lungs, she suddenly shouted, “Help!” For a moment the collier was surprised into desisting from his attack, but before she could take advantage of this he recovered himself, and putting one rough and dirty hand over her mouth, growled out, sullenly—
“Nea, theer bean’t no help for tha till Ah done with tha.”
Closing his strong fingers on her face, he pulled her head around with brutal violence, and had his own repulsive face close to hers, when he suddenly felt one strong hand laid on his shoulder and another under his chin, and his head being forced back with a jerk, he found that he was in the vigorous clutches of the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s.
“Dang tha! It’s t’ feightin’ parson!” cried the rough, in a surly tone.
“Yes, and I’m going to exercise my fists on your ugly face as soon as ever you’re sober, you hulking vagabond!” said Mr. Brander, with a conspicuous lack of pastoral meekness.
The man had fallen back, and, half drunk as he was, looked ashamed of himself.
“Tha maun look out for thaself if tha tries that on,” he said, sullenly. Then with more assurance he went on, “Dunna think Ah care for tha bein’ t’ parson. It ain’t mooch of a parson tha’lt be when all’s known. Ay,” he continued, seeing that these vague words were not without effect, “theer’s a mon aboot as wants tha, an’ as woan’t rest till e’s gotten tha, and may be before tha taks oop wi’ another lass e’ll mak’ tha give an account o’ t’ one tha spirited away. Now coom on if tha loikes.”
And he put himself in a fighting position.
Mr. Brander pushed him on one side so that he staggered, and picking up Olivia’s basket, signed to her to get over the stile, while he turned to give a few short and sharp words of farewell to the discomfited collier. A few seconds later Olivia, who had walked quickly on in shame, relief, and confusion, heard the vicar’s voice close behind her.
“And now, Miss Denison, I’ve a sermon ready for you.”
Coming up with her, he saw that the girl, who made no answer, had tears in her eyes.
“No, I’m not going to have any mercy on you because you choose to cry,” said he, pitilessly. “It’s no fairer of a girl to use her tears against a man than it is of a man to use his fists against a woman. If you don’t instantly leave off, I shall feel at liberty to hit you. You know you deserve it.”
“How?” asked she, tremulously.
“How! Why, by disregarding the emphatic warnings, not of one friend, but of two, and by dragging out a poor parson on Saturday, his sermon day, to protect you from the consequences of your folly.”
“Dragging you out!”
“Yes. This morning comes Mat Oldshaw post-haste to me just before luncheon to say that you were going off on a wild-goose—no, on a tame-hen—chase to Long Sedge Bend, and that he was certain you would come back over the very fields which he had just assured you were unsafe for a lady.”
“But, Mr. Brander,” put in Olivia, in real distress, “I’ve always been used to take care of myself; I have never been annoyed before. It’s an infamous thing that a girl shouldn’t be able to do what her powers enable her to do just as well as a man!”
“Infamous, perhaps, but indisputable. It is of no use to kick against custom.”
“But what is going to be the use of me, if I, a great strong creature who can do lots of work, and shall soon understand farming better than papa, can’t cross the road without a footman at my heels to keep off tipsy coal miners? Oh, dear, I wish I weren’t a wretched girl!”
“You couldn’t be anything else, with that illogical mind, and that extravagant way of looking at things.”
“Illogical!” cried she, now really offended. “Why, papa says I have the most reasonable head he ever knew!”
“For a woman.”
Olivia was at first too much offended to answer.
“I’m papa’s right hand,” she said, at last, coldly. “I’m just like a son to him.”
“I think not, Miss Denison,” said the vicar, shaking his head.
“My father would tell you so himself, Mr. Brander.”
“And I should not believe him, Miss Denison.”
Olivia began to see that the vicar was enjoying her indignation, so she bit her lips and remained silent.
“Just think now, what happens when you find him a little depressed and irritable. Does he dismiss you with a snub as he would one of your brothers? Does he not rather submit to a little gentle coaxing, allow himself to be ‘brought round’ and receive a kiss as a reward?”
“Yes, that is true, certainly,” said she, smiling. “But that has nothing to do with the real value of the help I give him.”
“Oh, but it has. It has, on the contrary, everything to do with it. Instead of complaining that you are a ‘wretched girl’ you must learn to understand that. What the intrinsic value of your services may be I don’t know; but if you had the abilities of a Senior Wrangler they would count for nothing compared with your sympathy and love for him, and your pretty feminine way of showing it. And so, you see, as your tender womanhood is of more consequence to us—I mean to him—than all the fine masculine qualities of your intellect, you must consent to accept the protection we decree that your womanhood needs.”
“Papa doesn’t decree it. He says girls ought to learn to take care of themselves.”
“Will he say so after to-day’s adventure, do you think?”
“I shan’t tell him anything about it.”
“Then I shall, unless you give me your word, like a sensible girl, never to cross these fields alone again.”
“Need you ask that, Mr. Brander?” said the girl, reddening.
“Well, forgive me. I don’t know you well enough to be sure how deep the headstrong vein runs.”
“I am miserably sorry and ashamed to have brought you so far this afternoon.”
“Are you? Oh, I have done more irksome things than that in my time, I assure you,” said he drily. “Besides, I’ve only come from St. Cuthbert’s. I’m back again in my own parsonage to-day, you know, for my brother and sister-in-law are expected this afternoon.”
“Are they?” said she. “I am so anxious to see them, especially Mrs. Brander.”
“Make haste on to the high road then, and we may meet them. The pony cart has gone to meet them, and they generally come this way round from Matherham.”
They were within a short distance of the road when Mr. Brander descried a little way off his sister-in-law’s light wood cart and plump cob pony. Quickening their pace, Olivia excited and curious, her companion decidedly nervous, they climbed the last steps of the hill, and reached the high road a few moments before the cart came up. They stopped to recover their breath, exchanging a merry word or two as they waited. As they drove up, Olivia, who had splendid eyesight, could see what a handsome pair the vicar of Rishton and his wife were. He was fair, serene, portly, good-humored; she, dark, erect, and blooming. They were conversing amicably as they came along, and did not notice the two people waiting by the roadside until they were close upon them, and Vernon Brander accosted them. Olivia wondered at the nervous tremor in his voice as he did so.
But she was still more surprised at the effect of the meeting upon the lady and gentleman in the cart. The serenity of the portly vicar clouded at sight of his brother; an indescribable change came over his face, a look which was not exactly disapproval, or doubt, or suspicion, or mistrust, though it partook of all those qualities, as he glanced from Mr. Vernon Brander to the beautiful girl at his side. The expression of the lady spoke more plainly still. Her eyes moved quickly from the man to the woman and back again, while her lips tightened and her forehead puckered with evident consternation. Both lady and gentleman, whatever the cause of their annoyance might be, were self-possessed enough to give Miss Denison a kind and courteous greeting, when Mr. Vernon Brander, with evident nervousness, introduced her. Learning that Olivia had been buying poultry, Mrs. Brander inspected the purchase with great interest, but pronounced two of the birds to be very old roosters indeed. She then told her brother-in-law that they were going straight home to an early dinner, and told him to make haste to the Vicarage, as they should expect him to join them.
Then they drove off, leaving Olivia with the uncomfortable impression that they disapproved of her acquaintance with Mr. Vernon Brander in the strongest possible manner.