Chapter XI: Susan Brings the News

On the morning after Daniel's glorious adventure, the girl Susan found it necessary to withdraw from her Aunt Hepsy's unsettled atmosphere and seek the calmer climate of her Aunt Tab. As usual, she appeared about breakfast time on a washing day; and as usual Tabitha expressed much concern and regret. Susan enjoyed a good breakfast, and found herself able to take an important part in the subject of the moment. To those who are familiar with the rustic's sense of humour, it need not be said that the event of that morning was Daniel Brendon's appearance whiskerless. Over night they had not seen him, for a hunger, higher than need of meat or drink, filled the man after his walk with the storm. He had desired no human face to come between him and his thoughts, had done his work by lantern-light in an outhouse, and had then gone to his chamber and there communed with his God. Kneeling, he poured out immense gratitude and thanksgiving; and before the first narrow light of day called him to rise, Brendon had wakened and again devoutly turned his thoughts to the creed that controlled him.

His advent at the breakfast table provoked titters, then guffaws, then questions. Agg first marked the change and thrust his elbow into Joe Tapson's ribs; then Tabitha cocked her thin nose, and John Prout smiled calmly. It was Lethbridge who first dared to approach the subject directly. After Walter Agg had stroked his own cheeks and Tapson subtly inquired what was the price of hair for stuffing pillow-cases, Peter Lethbridge boldly spoke and reminded Dan of a circumstance that he had forgotten. Upon his abstraction at breakfast fell a startling utterance.

"Good Lord, Dan!" cried Lethbridge with great affected concern, "the wind have blowed off your whiskers, my bold hero!"

Then laughter echoed, so that the lamp shook and Mr. Prout ordered silence.

"You'll wake master!" he said. "Can't a man shave his hair as it pleases him, without you zanies making that row?"

"You'm a hardened bachelor, John," said Tapson; "but I know better--eh, Dan'l? Ban't what pleases you, but what pleases her--come now?"

"If she'd axed un to shave his head, the poor soul would have done it--wouldn't you, Dan?" asked Agg.

"I'd forgot 'em," confessed Brendon. "I dare say it looks odd to your silly eyes."

"Did she cut 'em off with her scissors?" inquired Lethbridge, and Tabitha, taking Daniel's side, felt it necessary to reprove him.

"You eat your bacon and don't be too funny, Peter Lethbridge," she said, "else you might hurt yourself."

Brendon's love affair was well known and had already formed matter for mirth.

"You've done wrong, however," declared Tapson. "When Sarah Jane sees that great jowl of thine laid naked as a pig's chap, she'll wish the whiskers back."

"'Tis like as if you got two triangles of white paint upon your cheeks, Mr. Brendon," ventured Susan respectfully.

"You'm a lost man, mark me," continued Joe Tapson. "'Twas a rash act, and you'll rue it yet."

"If you buzzing beetles will let me speak," answered Dan genially, "I'd give 'e a bit of news. There's such a lot on my mind this morning, that I'd quite forgot my whiskers. Well, souls, she'm going to take me, thank God! I axed the question last afternoon and she be of the same mind!"

The woman in Tabitha fluttered to her lips and head. She went over and shook Brendon's hand, and her eyes became a little moist.

"Bravo! Bravo!" said Mr. Prout. "Very glad, I'm sure, though 'tis a shattering thing for a Ruddyford man to want a wife."

"Now he's set the example, these here chaps will be after the maidens, like terriers after rats; you mark me," foretold Joe Tapson.

"Tab," said John Prout, "draw off a quart or so of beer--not cider. 'Tis early, but the thing warrants it. Us'll drink good luck to 'em, an' long life an' a happy fortune."

Dawn already weakened the light of the lamp and made a medley of blue streaks and splashes on the men's faces. Now they neglected their mugs of tea for the more popular beverage, and all drank Daniel's health; while he grinned to his ears and thanked them and shook hands with them.

It was then, when the party had decreased, and Tapson, Agg, and Lethbridge were gone to work, that Susan spoke with the frankness of youth.

"I'm awful surprised, Mr. Brendon," she said, "because to home, where I live, 'tis thought that Jarratt Weekes, my aunt's son, be going to marry Sarah Jane Friend. He thinks so hisself, for that matter."

"He thinks wrong, Susan," answered Daniel. "He offered marriage, but it wasn't to be. Sarah Jane likes me best, though I'm only a poor man. And there's an end of the matter."

"Of course she likes you best--such a whopper as you be! But my cousin, Jarratt, will be awful vexed about it, when he hears."

"I'm sorry for him, I'm sure."

Susan fell into thought, from which her aunt aroused her.

"Now, my dear, you can just put on your bonnet and cloak and march home again. I don't want you to-day. Washing was done yesterday, and I've got to go down to Bridgetstowe; so the sooner you run back to Aunt Hepsy and beg her pardon, the better for you."

"Agg's going to take the cart to Gimmet Hill, and he can drive you a good part of the way," said Mr. Prout.

Susan would have disputed this swift return under ordinary circumstances; but to-day, the richer by great news, she felt rather disposed to go back at once. She did not like Jarratt Weekes; for when, as sometimes happened, he was busy and she had to show visitors over Lydford Castle, he always took every penny of the money from her, even though it exceeded the regulation charge.

"Very well," said Susan. "I'll go along with Mr. Agg; and next time Jar has anything sharp to say to me, I'll give him a stinger!"

"You'll do better to mind your own business," advised her aunt. "The man will hear he's out of luck soon enough, without you telling him."

"Then I should lose the sight of his face," said Susan spitefully. "Him and his mother be so cock-sure that she's going to take him."

"A good few others besides Jarratt Weekes will have to face it," said Tabitha. "There's been a lot after that lovely she for years. They flaxen maidens make the men so silly as sheep. You won't have 'em running after you in a string, Susan, though you grow up never so comely."

"I ban't so sartain of that," said Susan. "I know a chap or two----"

She broke off and picked up her sunbonnet.

"You ban't so bad for fifteen, sure enough," declared John Prout. "Now then, off you go, or else Walter will be away without 'e."

The girl, who had left Lydford at half-past four in the morning, now returned quite cheerfully. As Agg's cart breasted White Hill and presently reached the high road, the sun came out and the weather promised a little peace. It was bright and still after the storm. Some belated Michaelmas daisies yet blossomed in the garden of Philip Weekes; a cat sat at the door in the sun. It recognized Susan and greeted her as she returned. In the rear of the house, clearly to be heard, her aunt's voice sounded shrill. She was talking to a neighbour, and Susan listened, but heard no good of herself.

"The anointed, brazen, shameless trollop--the hussy! the minx! And to think what I've done and suffered for her! The dogs and beasts have more heart in 'em than her. Here be I--toiling day and night to make her a useful creature and teach her the way to grow up decent--and she turns on me, like the little wasp she is, and runs away, as if I was the plague. Let it happen once more--but once--an' so sure as the sun's in the sky, she shall go to the workhouse. 'Tis the evil blood in her veins--the toad. Her mother----"

Here Susan intervened.

"You can call me what you please, Aunt Hepsy," she said. "But don't you go giving my dead mother no names. I wasn't her fault anyway."

"Back again, you saucy maggot! No--poor soul, you wasn't her fault; you was her eternal misfortune--same as you be mine. But don't you think I'm an angel, because I ban't--nothing but an unfortunate, down-trodden old woman. But I won't be rode roughshod over by a black imp like you, and so I tell 'e. You go once again, and God's my judge, you shan't come back. I won't let your shadow over my doorstep no more. You shan't bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, you scourge of a girl!"

She rated, like some harsh-voiced machine that needs oil, and Susan, perfectly accustomed to these explosions, stood silent before her, waiting for a familiar hitch or gasp, that she knew would presently reduce her aunt to temporary silence.

At last it came, just as Philip Weekes appeared from a visit to his poultry.

"This be very serious, Susan," he said. "I really don't know what to think of it. 'Tis a senseless, improper thing to be off like this whenever you be niffed with your aunt--such a woman as she is, too. And--and--how is it you'm back so soon?"

"Because----" began Susan; but Mrs. Weekes was now able to proceed.

"Because your Aunt Tabitha didn't just happen to want 'e, no doubt. As feeble as a mole she is, to have stood it so often. She did ought to have sent you packing with a flea in your ear first time ever you dared to run away, instead of keeping you to help washing. Just like you all--you Prouts and Weekeses--soft stuff--soft stuff--and you'll all go down into the pit together. Lord, He knows where you'd be yourself, Philip Weekes, if it wasn't for me. But even I can't turn putty into starch. Putty you are, and putty you will be till the Day of Doom."

"I comed back, Uncle Philip, because I got hold of a very interesting piece o' news, and I knowed Aunt Hepsy would be very much obliged to me for telling of it," said Susan swiftly.

"Interesting news, indeed! Then you've been listening to other people, I suppose? That's your way. If you'd listen to me, you might get salvation; but never, never--what I say don't matter more than the wind in the hedge. I'm only an old fool that haven't seen the world, and haven't got no wisdom or learning. Of course Aunt Tabitha knows so much better, and of course Uncle John's a good second to Solomon! Well, well, there's times when a broken spirit hungers for the grave and peace. And so I feel more and more when I look at you, Susan."

"All the same, I comed home for nought but to tell you. 'Tis about Sarah Jane. She'm not going to have cousin Jar. She's took another man. I've seen him."

Mrs. Weekes sat down. She dropped so suddenly that her husband was alarmed. Her hand went up to her breast; her eyes grew round.

"Take her away," said Hephzibah feebly; "take that little black-eyed liar away, and get me my peppermint. 'Tis her one delight and plot from daylight till dark to fetch up my spasms; and now she've done it."

"'Tis solemn truth; and I don't want to fetch up your spasms, Gods knows," whimpered Susan. "The man himself told me. He's called Daniel Brendon--a whacker with gert hands, I never see the like. He's shaved off his whiskers for her, and she's taken him. So Jar's out of it."

Mr. Weekes brought his wife her peppermint mixture, and it appeared to have a remarkable effect.

"Out of it! We'll see about that. To throw over Jarratt Weekes for a nameless clod-pole from the middle of the Moor! You just go down to the castle this instant moment and fetch the man to me. The sooner he hears tell of this, the better."

"I shouldn't do it," advised Jarratt's father. "Let her tell him. The blow will fall easier like that. 'Twill cut him up rather cruel."

"Bah!" cried Mrs. Weekes, rising to her feet. "I'd sooner go to a shell-snail for opinions than you. A mouse have got more courage, and a ear-wig more sense. He shall hear, and he shall go to this chap and just bid him be off about his business. Why--good angels!--ban't Jarratt and Sarah Jane almost tokened already? Be my son going to give her up now? Not very likely! He's got my courage in his blood, I hope. A fighter I've always been, and always had to be; and I thank God for it every night on my knees. And so should you, you gawkim of a man, for you'd be of no more account than an eft in a pond if it wasn't for me."

Philip nodded mechanically, as he always did when the torrent roared; then he faded away to his fowls, and Susan went off that she might find her cousin. This task was agreeable to her, for she did not love him. She conveyed her news in as few words as possible, and he stared at her without any words at all. Then presently, with a dark brow, the man came before his mother.

"What's this?" he asked.

"You go and take off them filthy boots and sweep the upper landing," said Aunt Hepsy to Susan, who appeared a few yards behind her son; then, when a broom began to work overhead, she turned to Jarratt.

"Well may you ask! That thankless terror of a child runned off to Ruddyford again last night; and there she heard it. The man be called Daniel Brendon--some labourer lately took on by Woodrow. But 'tis for you to stop it if you're my son. I lay I'd put a spoke in their wheel double quick! All the same, the woman's not worth it--a gert, good-for-nought, gallivanting giglet as she is!"

"A pretty poor compliment to me, if it's true," he said.

"Very likely it isn't true at all. Still, it's your job. Only think twice. There's the schoolmaster's darter be worth twenty of Sarah Jane."

"Couldn't stand her voice, mother--nor yet her temper."

"More fool you. Give me a voice and a temper, too, if you want to get on in the world. 'Tis the gentle sort, as twitters like birds and be frightened to hurt a fly, as always go down. Let people hear your voice and feel your temper; then they'll respect you and you'll keep up your end of the stick. Them as be so sweet as sugar, mostly melt like sugar in the hard business of life."

"One thing I know, afore God, and that is, if she takes any man but me, I'll be revenged on her and him, if it costs my last farthing."

"What's the sense of that talk? If you'm set on her still, have her willy-nilly. Do anything inside honesty. Ride off with her! Break the man's stupid head for him! All the same, that's not sense, but only passion. My advice may be nought; but it is just this: that you bide along with your mother for the present, and wait for a better maiden to turn up."

"That woman could have done pretty well anything she liked with me."

"I hope not. What foolishness! You think so now. You wouldn't have thought so a week beyond your honey-month. Well, 'tis for you to go forward. The very sort of job I should have liked, if I'd been a man."

"I'll have it out with the chap."

"Better have it out with her. And yet, perhaps, you'm right. Tell him to his face she'm yours, and tokened to 'e. Stir him up; or, if you find he's that sort, pay him off. Twenty pounds would go an awful long way with a man. 'Tis far easier for such a chap to get a girl to walk with him than put by twenty pounds into the saving's bank."

"A likely idea," said Jarratt. "Such a fellow wouldn't know what love means, same as an educated man like me. I dare say if I was to put it into pounds, shillings, and pence, he'd meet me like a lamb."

Mrs. Weekes almost regretted giving her son advice that looked so promising. Now, she did not wish him to marry Sarah Jane; she did not wish him to marry at all; but since he seemed set upon the step, her desire turned to the schoolmaster's daughter as a woman of character, who would also have three figures for her dowry.

"When all's said, I could wish you would think of Mary."

"Not I," answered her son. "I saw a touch of Mary after that committee meeting at her father's. The place was pretty full of baccy smoke and beer reek, certainly; and she didn't say nothing--not a word--when she looked in at the finish; but there was an expression on her face that made me almost sorry for Churchward after we'd gone, though he is the biggest, emptiest old fool in Lydford."

"A silly, blown-up man! I like to stab his ideas with a word, and let the wind out. But his daughter's not so chuckle-headed. She'd make a tidy wife."

"Not for me. I'll fight yet for Sarah Jane. And any stick's good enough to beat a dog."

Mrs. Weekes, however, hesitated before this sentiment.

"Fight fair, Jar," she said. "Don't let it be told of my son that he didn't go to work honest and above-board. No--no, I never would believe it. Mrs. Swain often says to me that whatever faults I may have--and who hasn't?--yet I speak home to the truth, good market or bad, and never deceive the youngest child as comes with a penny, or the simplest fool who would buy a fowl without feeling it. Be straight. You must be straight, for there's not a crooked drop of blood in your veins. You know all about your mother's family, and as for your father's--rag of a man though he is--I will say of Philip Weekes that he never departs from uprightness by a hair. Often, in my most spirited moments, when I've poured the bitter truth into his ear, like a river, half the night long, your father have agreed to every word, and thanked me for throwing such light on his character."

"I shan't offer the man twenty to begin with," he said. "I may choke him off for less. I ban't angry with him: I'm angry with her for listening to him, or allowing herself to know such trash."

"And I'll help where I get the chance, be sure of that. Your good's my good. If I can catch Sarah Jane some day, I'll drop a word in season."

"Don't," he said. "You keep out of it till I tell you. I'll ax you soon enough to lend a hand if the time comes when you can be useful."