Chapter SIX: § 1

The first weeks of the New Year were depressing. It was mortal cold on the ’bus. Thomas Helier was cutting his teeth, and turned night into day at the parsonage. Mr. Marchbanks was harassed out of his usual sweet temper by his choir’s insistence on singing the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis to Cathedral settings, and Jess Harman was irritable and unfriendly for reasons unknown.

At the back of these minor disturbances lay the thundery conditions at the Crown, giving Daniel a continual sense of little-ease. He did not go again to see Ernley and Belle. He kept away unhappily and self-consciously, feeling that he could do no good either by going or by staying away. Curiosity urged him to go--apprehension kept him away. Now and then he met Belle or Ernley in the village, and they exchanged greetings and perhaps a few more meaningless words, but there was no reopening of confidence on Ernley’s part, no return of motherly sweetness on Belle’s. They were both aware of the insight he had had that night into their home life, and felt shy of him in consequence.

Daniel learned most about them from the young man at the George. The new tenants at the George were going out on Lady Day. Their tenancy had been a failure.

“There ain’t room for two pubs in this place,” said the young man sadly--“at least, not two good-class pubs. The Crown has got all the good-class trade. Of course I could make the George pay if I was to run it as your father used to run it, but I daren’t do that after all the trouble there’s been.”

“Maybe not. But why don’t you go for the sharry-bangs?” remembering Ernley’s suggestion before the smash.

“Because we ain’t in the right position for sharry-bangs. We’re off the main road, and we ain’t any distance either from Lewes or Newhaven, both of which can give better teas than any one-horse place like this. Nobody’s passing us at tea-time except cyclists, and maybe a stray motorist or two. I ain’t had anybody in for teas or lunches since October, though I provide both. If anyone comes at all this time of year they go to the Crown. I’m sick of it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I dunno--not settled yet. I’ve heard of a job in a catering business, but it means a mortal lot of travelling about, and I’m not the man to enjoy being away from my wife.”

“Who’s coming in here after you?”

“I dunno. Maybe someone out of Hobday and Hitch’s. But I’ll tell you what I’ve heard. I’ve heard as how Munk over there is thinking of buying the George.”

“You don’t tell me!”

“I do. It’s only talking, but I got it from one of Hobday and Hitch’s men last time they was here with the ale. They say he’s after it, anyway, and when you come to think of it, the two pubs together ud make a fine little place. He could put a sort of covered passage over the road--make it look old-fashioned and all that to match the rest. I heard as he thought of having the tap over here and keeping the Crown for the visitors only.”

“I wonder if he’ll do it?”

“Well, there’s no telling. He’s a clever sort of man, and ambitious. I believe he’d end up big some day if it wasn’t for his marriage.”

“You think that ull stop him?”

“Well, a man’s missus means a lot to his getting on or his getting out, and by all reports the missus at the Crown is a bit of a trial.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I don’t know it, but I’ve heard it. Maudie Harman often steps across here and has tea with my wife, and she’s told us that they have some fine rows now and again. But most likely you know more’n I do, seeing you’re friends.”

Dan uneasily scraped his foot among the sawdust.

“I don’t think there’s anything much wrong. She ain’t used to hotel life, being a farmer’s daughter. But I haven’t been near ’em since New Year.”

“Well, seemingly she’s having a jealous fit now. She’s got an idea he’s after another girl, Maudie says.”

“And ain’t he?”

“Maudie doesn’t think so. There’s a young woman he takes out a bit--one he used to know before his marriage. But Maudie doesn’t think there’s anything in it.”

“How the devil does she know?”

“By his temper. He’s always as cross and difficult as he can be, and a man ain’t like that when he’s just got a new girl.”

“It must be jolly over there,” sighed Daniel, “her jealous and him contrary.”

The young man nodded.

“There’s nothing for pulling a man and a woman down like an unhappy marriage. But you and me know that married life has no call to be like that, don’t we, Mr. Sheather?”

Daniel and the young man exchanged some opinions and confidences on marriage, a subject on which they were both of the same mind.

§ 2

Early in March a tide set into the affairs of Daniel which definitely altered their course. The start was nothing more exciting than the Downs ’Bus Company altering their time-table, but this very ordinary piece of spring tactics resulted in their employee’s complete uprooting. The first ’bus was scheduled to leave Newhaven at seven instead of nine. Work was starting earlier on the farms, and it became necessary for most of the Newhaven-dwelling labourers in the Ouse Valley to be at their posts by half-past seven at the latest. Therefore the Downs Company put on an extra ’bus which should run as far as Lewes only, and be back to take up its normal traffic at nine o’clock.

It would be extremely difficult and trying for Dan, who had not yet saved enough money to buy a bicycle, to be in Newhaven by seven. The rest of the company’s employees lived in the town, but this was out of the question for young Sheather, who had to stick to his free lodging at Bullockdean Parsonage if he was still to send half his wages to his mother at Brakey Bottom. He could, of course, apply for transfer to another route--several ’buses left Lewes in northward and westward directions at fairly reasonable hours--but he realized that his home at Bullockdean put him at a disadvantage even for these, and he was terrified of losing his job by interfering with the conditions of his employment.

The problem was in this state when an unexpected solution of it came from Brakey Bottom itself--through Chris jilting his Mary Wright. The exact reasons for this catastrophe were obscure, but Dan was not altogether surprised. As it happened Chris was now in a good position to marry. The Squire of Hoddern Place, on the other side of Telscombe, had taken a fancy to him, and had engaged him as chauffeur. He was having him taught to drive his Austin landaulette, Chris having had hitherto only an experimental acquaintance with Fords, and had promised him a good cottage to live in as well as generous wages. There was never a better opportunity for Chris to marry his Mary Wright, but in point of fact his Mary Wright lived on unwed at Exceat, while Chris brought his mother to the comfortable eight-roomed cottage beside the garage at Hoddern gates. Kitty Sheather had won at the last.

Dan felt contemptuous and indignant, but could not fail to realize the blessings of what had happened. His mother would now be provided for, comfortable and happy for life; there would no longer be any need for Daniel’s fifteen shillings a week. He could have them for his own and buy with them the freedom to live where he liked. He decided almost immediately to move into Newhaven. If he did not move he might lose his job, and once more he was restless to be away from the Crown. There was no need to go across the water this time. Once he was in Newhaven he would not have to dread those occasional evening meetings with Belle--he would not have to hear the village gossip about her and Ernley. His work would fill his days, and his evenings would be devoted to Thomas Helier. He had made up his mind to take the child with him--he could easily find some motherly woman who would take charge of him while he was at work.

He was sorry to be leaving Mr. Marchbanks and the parsonage, and knew that his services would be missed both in the garden and in the church. But if he stayed on he would have no time, with his new early hours, either for housework or for serving the altar, and if he lost his job he would come once more upon his friend’s hands and purse. No, he must clear out--everything seemed to demand it, and he’d better start at once to find some decent place to go to.

Mr. Marchbanks approved of his decision. He did not say much, but Dan knew he was glad that he was going out of reach of Belle. Young Sheather still thought the parson’s attitude towards this part of the situation narrow and unsympathetic, but he was now half glad that Mr. Marchbanks felt like this--it would comfort him when the garden beds were all over groundsel and there couldn’t be any service in Bullockdean Church because Freddie Pont had overslept himself....

Neither did Jess Harman seem to mind his going away--certainly not as much as he would have thought--but in one respect her opposition surprised him. She was indignant at his taking Thomas Helier with him.

“You’d never, Daniel! The poor little thing! You can’t take him to a strange place and then leave him alone all day.”

“Well, I can’t leave him here.”

“Why not? I’d look after him--and take him home along with me at nights. I know auntie ud let me.”

“Thank you, Jess. But I couldn’t allow it. He’s an unaccountable nuisance here at the parsonage--it’ll make up to Mr. Marchbanks a bit my going if he don’t have the kid yelling at all hours.”

“He doesn’t yell at all hours. You shouldn’t talk so! Poor little mite--he’ll die with nobody but you to look after him.”

“He won’t have nobody but me to look after him. I’ll go to a place where they’ll undertake it, or maybe put him into a creech while I’m working.”

“Why not put him out to baby-farm at once and have done with it--and him too, poor little innocent?”--and Jess Harman walked out, tossing her chin.

Emmie, his sister-in-law, took much the same view of the matter. She had begged Dan to let her have the baby at Brakey Bottom. Of course he knew that Thomas Helier would probably be happier there than in a “creech,” or with his father, but there was something at the bottom of Dan’s heart which refused to let him part with him. Whenever he thought of it he seemed to see his Rose Falla looking up at him from her big low bed in Sark, and murmuring with dying lips--“_notre Helier_.” He must not be unfaithful to that union which he still had with her in the child. In Thomas Helier, Rose was still alive, still able to receive his love and cherishing. She no longer slept under her ilex tree and her white French stone, but lay in his arms and received his kisses. He could not leave her behind in Bullockdean--in another grave.

Moreover, Thomas himself was now an engaging infant, who, if he occasionally yelled in the stresses of bodily development, knew his father and approved of him, signifying the same by various gross noises which were very nearly words. It would be good to find Thomas Helier to welcome him home at the end of the day, when Bullockdean was five miles up the valley, when both the tavern and the church were strange, and Belle Munk, who was half Belle Shackford, no longer walked in twilight down the street.