A Terrible Tomboy Read online

  CHAPTER XV

  THE BEGINNING OF A SHADOW

  'Looking, I saw Where sorrow, like a shadow grim, did rise Betwixt me and the sun.'

  Autumn had come, mellow and gorgeous. The trees were turning to russetand amber and gold, and the swallows had long since flown away. Theplums hung ripe and yellow upon the kitchen garden wall, and the appleswere piled in rosy heaps in the orchard, ready for the cider-making.

  The hop-gathering was over, and the hoppers--a motley crew--had returnedto the slums of Stafford and Birmingham, the men not sorry to cease hardwork, but the poor, draggled women and the little children with awistful good-bye to the green fields, and all, I think, with a half sighof regret for the Rector, who had toiled unceasingly among them duringtheir brief stay, hoping, if by ever so little, to raise the hopelesslives and the sodden minds to a knowledge of higher things.

  A band of gipsies was the next event. They arrived late one evening,nobody knew from where, and encamped on a patch of ground by theroadside, not very far from the Abbey (much too near, Father said, forthe safety of his hen-roosts), coming like a tribe of wanderingIsraelites, with most of their worldly possessions on their backs. Theywere real gipsies, too, not the fair-haired hybrid pretenders who goabout in neat caravans with muslin curtains to the windows, and wickerbaskets slung on the top, but a dark-eyed, Spanish-looking crew, who putup a tent with a pole and a ragged blanket, and stewed their supper in ablack caldron hung from three sticks set in the ground.

  The children came across them suddenly, just as the sun was setting, andthe picturesque scene stirred Peggy's sense of romance--perhaps also herbudding artistic taste--to the core. The whole family was gatheredtogether on the grass round the wood fire, the smoke of which rose upfaintly blue against the russet of the beech-woods behind--handsome,fierce-eyed men, lying slouching idly on the ground smoking short blackpipes; slatternly women with gay handkerchiefs tied round their blackhair, bustling about with something savoury inside tin cans; raggedbrown-skinned little children, gnawing at bones with savage haste; whilea few disreputable dogs waited eagerly for the scraps that were thrownto them from time to time. A small cart, laden with brooms and coarsecrockery, was tilted up by the hedge, while a couple of worn-out olddonkeys, with clogs tied to their legs, cropped the grass close by, withdejection in their drooping ears.

  'I'm sure they're talking Romany,' said Peggy, squeezing Bobby's armhard in her excitement, and drawing him behind a bush, so as to watchthe scene unobserved. 'What a queer life! Just think of getting up everymorning, and not knowing where you were going to be by night, andsleeping under that dirty tent! I wonder what they have in thatcaldron? It smells nice, at any rate, though rather too oniony.'

  'Pheasants, I should think, and rabbits that they have poached,'whispered Bobby. 'The keepers will have a lively time to-night. I wonderwhere they prigged the onions.'

  Low as the children had spoken, the sharp ears of the gipsies had heardthem, and a withered, witch-like old crone came hurrying up from thegroup near the fire, with an eager glitter in her eye.

  'Tell your fortune, my little master? Tell your fortune, my pretty younglady? Cross the poor gipsy's hand with a silver sixpence, that theplanets may work.'

  'We haven't any money,' said Peggy hurriedly, a little scared when itcame to meeting the tribe at such close quarters.

  'Ah, but no doubt the little lady's father is at home at the big houseyonder, and she can get a silver piece from him, and come back to thepoor old gipsy.'

  'He's gone to Warford this evening,' began innocent Bobby. 'There isn'tanybody at home at all.'

  But the more wary Peggy, seeing the folly of such revelations, gave hima nudge, and the emphatic hint: 'Shut up!'

  'The pretty thing at the young lady's neck would do as well,' continuedthe woman in a wheedling voice, eyeing Peggy's brooch, 'or the littlegentleman's silver chain. Oh, I won't keep them, missy; only hold themin my hand for a minute to influence the stars! You trust the poorgipsy, and she'll tell you what the future has in store for you.'

  But Peggy and Bobby were not so simple as to be taken in by suchpalpable guile, and they walked on, with the old crone followingpersistently in their wake, at first clamouring for some trifle andthen hurling curses at their heads. As she passed the encampment shesaid something in Romany, and one of the men sprang to his feet with ashrill whistle. The terrified children took to their heels, and I don'treally know what might have happened, only fortunately the familiarfigure of old Barlow, the village cobbler, appeared stumping down theroad in the distance. He was not generally a very attractive person,being snuffy in appearance and crusty in temper, but to-night no fairyprince could have been more appreciated, and they flew to him, eachseizing one of his horny hands with an enthusiasm which much surprisedhim. They were ever afterwards fully persuaded that but for his timelyarrival they would have been robbed and murdered, and their bodieshidden away from their sorrowing relatives, like Eugene Aram's victim,or the little princes in the Tower, and they felt quite an affection forBarlow in consequence, so much so that Bobby determined to wear out hisboots as fast as possible, that he might put some business in the oldman's way.

  Though Mr. Vaughan did not take quite such a serious view of theepisode, he thought the gipsies were certainly undesirable additions tothe countryside, and sent a hint to the local police, with the resultthat, when Peggy and Bobby screwed up their courage, and dared eachother to go and have another peep at the encampment, they found the tentstruck and the wanderers flown, with nothing to mark their passing visitbut a few dirty pieces of paper and the ashes of the wood fire, thoughloud complaints from neighbouring farmers as to missing ducks and geese,and traces of snares found by the keepers in the preserves, showed thatthey had not gone away empty-handed.

  The gipsies were soon forgotten in the excitement of cider-making, forthe ripe piles of apples had been gathered into the big barn, and thechildren liked to watch the great press as its stone roller slowlycrushed the fruit into pulp, and let the juice escape into the troughbelow. It always seemed a pity, Peggy thought, to make the nice applesinto such horrid stuff as cider, and she was glad David stored so manyaway in the loft for winter use, and in the meantime she and Bobbyconsumed such quantities that Father declared they would both bebreaking out into leaves and blossom in the springtime.

  The blackberries were ripe, too, and there were many expeditions insearch of them, mostly in their own fields, for the hedgerows aboundedin the purple fruit, and Lilian's housekeeping soul was at present benton jams and cordials.

  One Saturday afternoon Peggy had had a long scramble through copse andbracken, over fences and along stubble fields, and had filled her bigbasket almost full, somewhat to the detriment of her costume andfingers, and she was now working her way home along the edge of thepasture, picking as she went. She had climbed up the bank to reach aparticularly luscious looking cluster from the long, trailing bramblesoverhead, when voices below attracted her attention, and, peepingthrough the hedge, she saw two horsemen riding slowly along in thebridle-path beneath. The first was a lean, spare man, with grayside-whiskers and a slight stoop, whose rather sporting attire accordedill with his sharp, keen face; while the second, the one on the betterhorse, was stout and ruddy of countenance, a man who looked as though hewould be more at home in a bar-parlour than in a drawing-room, and whoheld himself with a complacent air, as one who is satisfied both withthe world in general and himself in particular.

  'That is the house,' said the first, reining in his horse just belowwhere Peggy was standing, and pointing with his riding-whip at theAbbey. 'It's a fine old property, and has grand capabilities about it,too.'

  'H'm, it would want a good deal of repairing,' remarked the other,tugging at his sandy moustache. 'I should pull down that tower and theolder part, and throw out a billiard-room and a conservatory. I supposethe stables would all want rebuilding, and no doubt that wood could becleared, and turned into pleasure-grounds. It would cost a sight of casht
o do it all shipshape--not that that's much odds to me if a thing takesmy fancy. This grass-land would be grand for a racer or two; I've my eyeon the Melton sweepstakes yet. When did you say it falls due?'

  'Next July,' returned the thin man, lowering his voice. 'Of course, theywill try every end up to meet it, but unless they can raise itprivately, which doesn't seem likely, there isn't a soul who would lendmore than two-thirds of the amount on the security, so the thing is asgood as done.'

  Eavesdropping was certainly not one of Peggy's besetting sins, but shecould not help overhearing all that was said, and as the pair rode ondown the path towards the gate, she picked up her basket and walked inthe same direction on her own side of the hedge, so as to get a goodlook at them if possible. At the gate they paused, for it was shut, andhe of the gray whiskers, after fumbling at the latch with his whip, wasevidently preparing with much reluctance to dismount, when, spyingPeggy, he called to her, and asked her to open it.

  Peggy felt half inclined to refuse, and turn away, for she did not likehis tone, but her kindly country instinct prevailed, and she swung itopen wide. He rode through without even a 'Thank you!' but his companionfumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and, scarcely stopping to look at her,flung her a penny as he passed. All the proud Vaughan blood rushed intoPeggy's face. In a fury of wrath she seized the offending coin and flungit after its donor, but, like many of our keenest shafts, it fellharmless, for she missed her aim, and the horsemen rode on, sublimelyunconscious of the storm they had left behind them.

  'That they should dare!' said Peggy hotly to herself, flushing all overwith indignation. 'I suppose they took me for a village child. I'mafraid I do look rather untidy with blackberrying, but all the same theymight have seen the difference. I wish I had never gone near the gate,and let them open it for themselves. David,' she said to the old man,who was coming across the field with a sack of potatoes, 'who are thosepeople riding along the pasture? I can't call them gentlemen.'

  'Who be they two, Miss Peggy?' said David, laboriously putting down thesack and shading his eyes with his hand. 'Wheer did you say they be?'

  'In the pasture. Oh, look quick, or they'll be gone!' cried Peggy,impatient at his slow ways.

  'Oh, I know they! Yes, I do for sure. I see'd 'em round t'other side o'the field five minutes agone. The thin un in front be Mester Reade, thelawyer fra' Warford, and a tight-fisted rascal he be, too, from all theysay. It's Heaven help them as Lawyer Reade gets his teeth into! And thebig, stout man be Mester Norton, the distiller, him as has those workst'other side o' Warford, and runs half the drink-shops in the town, tosay naught o' the country publics he owns, too. The teetotalers callshim "Old Blazes," partly to favour his red face and partly 'at he keepsthe whisky traffic going so briskly. He's worth a power o' money, he be,but it all comes out o' poor folks' pockets, what ought to be put to abetter use.'

  So that was the father of Phyllis and Marjorie Norton, that vulgar manwith the loud voice and the coarse red face, and those pretty frocks andhandsome carriages were all paid for out of the ruin of poor people'shomes; for the lower parts of Warford had a bad character, and theclergy waged ceaseless war against the terrible curse of drink.

  'What are they doing in our fields?' inquired Peggy, suddenly recallingthe conversation she had inadvertently overheard, the remembrance ofwhich had been lost in the heat of her wrath.

  'Why, there be a right-o'-way across the pasture, and through thehazel-wood, though it's not a many as ever uses it. Wheer they could bea'-goin' to passes me, for it don't lead to nowheer, except on to thehigh-road agin, and it's not in sense that they should ride out o' theirway, just to come round by the Abbey.'

  Peggy thought privately that must have been exactly their reason, butshe said nothing to David on the subject, reserving further inquiriesfor Lilian, to whom she ran home to give a full description of herencounter.

  'Whatever could he mean, Lilian? He talked almost as if the Abbey werehis, and said he should pull down the tower, and do ever so many otherthings. Do you think he can be mad?'

  To her surprise, Lilian took the matter only too seriously.

  'Oh, Peggy dear!' she said, putting down the pile of stockings she wasdarning, 'I don't know whether I ought to tell you or not, but you seemso much older now than you used, and I think I can trust you not to talkabout it to anybody. Poor Father is most dreadfully worried just atpresent, for, you see, this Mr. Norton has a mortgage on the estate.'

  'What's that?' inquired Peggy.

  'I'm afraid I can't explain business things very clearly, but a lot ofmoney was lent on the understanding that if it was not paid back, theAbbey should go instead of it.'

  'Did Father have the money?'

  'Oh no. I believe our great-grandfather had some, and then grandfatherand Uncle Charlie, who died, had the rest. It has been going on foryears and years, and Father has kept trying to pay it off, but he nevercould manage it. Of course, it was not Mr. Norton who lent it at first,but through this Mr. Reade, the lawyer, he has what is called "bought upthe mortgages," and now he claims all the money back, and I'm afraid,from what you heard to-day, he will take the Abbey if he does not getit.'

  Peggy was aghast. That it was possible for the Vaughans and the Abbey tobe ever dissevered had never before entered into her calculations, andthe prospect was so terrible that she thrust it from her with scorn.

  'It can't be!' she cried. 'They couldn't turn us out of the Abbey, whenwe've always lived here! Father will get the money somehow! Perhaps Mr.Neville or the Rector would lend it to him.'

  Lilian shook her head sadly.

  'They haven't got it to lend; they are neither of them really well off,you know, and it is such a large sum. But I keep hoping all the timethat we may find some way out of the trouble. I don't know whether totell Father or not what you heard to-day. I'm afraid it will only worryhim.'

  'I think perhaps he ought to know,' said Peggy briefly, as she turnedand went out to hide a suspicious choking sensation in her throat. Then,going into the ruins, she climbed up on to the old wall, from which thebest view of the house and its surroundings could be obtained, and gazedwith new eyes at the panorama of her home; and as her glance travelledslowly from orchard to stackyard, from meadow to garden, back to theivy-clad tower and the red gabled roof, 'I think,' she said slowly,'that if we had to leave the Abbey, it would break my heart!'