Читать книгу: «The Making of William Edwards; or, The Story of the Bridge of Beauty», страница 7

Nothing knew William of these, or of battles or sieges, or of the force of water let in on molten metal; but he could wonder how the stones held together, and he could argue with himself that what had been done might be done.

Aladdin's enchanted garden of precious stones was nothing to what Caerphilly Castle was to the boy William Edwards.

CHAPTER XIII.
MAN PROPOSES

Although, being warned by previous experience, William had stuffed his new pockets with bread before leaving home in the morning, he found that was a sorry substitute for a hearty dinner, and when he limped home in the waning light of the long summer evening, supper at the farm was over and cleared away. It was a doleful prospect, for there was an aching void in his interior that all the wonders of Caerphilly Castle had not served to fill.

He had left home jauntily enough in the morning, but give any lad of his years a ten-miles' walk on a hot summer day, on a rough road up hill and down dale, and add a couple more miles of scrambling over ruins, and I venture to say all the jauntiness would be taken out of him. He would look as dusty and limp and jaded as did William Edwards, and his secret enthusiasm would not prevent a wistful look at the table, bare of all save crumbs and milky rings where mugs had been.

Rhys had stood propping up the door-post as he ascended the stony lane, and entered the enclosure in front of the house by the stile.

'What do you mean by coming home at this time of night?' he cried sharply, catching his brother by the shoulder. 'Where have you been all day, you vagabond, wearing the shoes off your feet?'

'I've not been after Cate Griffith,' was flung back in retort, and, as if a stone had struck him, the grip of Rhys on the shoulder relaxed, to let the 'vagabond' pass in.

The empty table was not more expressive to him than was the averted countenance of his mother, who sat on the high-backed settle, her brow clouded, her unseeing eyes steadfastly gazing at the low hearth where the embers were smouldering into white ashes. Probably she did not see him as he dropped wearily down on a three-legged stool opposite.

Davy sat at the table, half asleep, his face hidden on his folded arms. Evan was busy in the farmyard. He could hear his wooden shoes clattering over the stones. Ales was going in and out.

Jonet, who had been watching for William's return, with her light-brown head and half her body stretched out of the bedroom window, came noiselessly across the wide kitchen. Her arm stole lovingly around his neck. 'You are tired, Willem; do you be hungry?'

He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded. Her bare feet were off towards the dairy.

There was a whispering in the passage. In a few minutes Ales brought in a mug of buttermilk and a great hunch of brown bread.

'Here,' she cried, 'eat that; though you don't deserve it, going off no one knows where.'

He thanked her for the unhoped-for supper, but he did not tell her where he had been, though he knew she had an old mother living somewhere in Caerphilly. Whereabouts he did not know, and, having no news of the poor rheumatic old woman, he munched his bread in silence.

His mother never raised her head. If she saw him she made no sign. Rhys had been away all the afternoon. That lay heavier on her heart than any wanderings of William, though he thought otherwise. There was no red-headed Cate lying in wait for her youngest born – no one seeking to steal his heart away from her. She was hesitating whether to take Rhys to task, or, as Ales suggested, to 'wait and let the waters pass.'

But Jane Edwards had not a passive nature. She was more inclined to be up and doing than to wait. 'Yes,' she communed with herself, 'the waters may pass, but they may carry my Rhys with them. I want no Cate ordering about here; the artful jade!'

As if the very thought had been a stimulus, she rose abruptly, and, passing out into the moonlight, joined her son, who was bending over the low stone wall, looking intently down the rugged slope.

'What are you looking for, Rhys?'

He gave a sudden start as she went on, 'Do you be watching the moonlight on the river, and thinking how different was the night that took your father from us?'

She put her arm within his as she spoke, and laid her head, in its white linen cap, against his shoulder.

'Ah, Rhys, that was a terrible time, a terrible time. But, thanks be to God, we won through it. And it made a man of you, my dear boy. Well do I remember how you came to comfort me, and promised always to be a good son, and do your duty by me, and by the children, and by the farm, in the sight of God. And you have always done it, Rhys, fach, always – And – and – it would be breaking my heart, Rhys, if – if – you should be caring more for some one else than for your promise – or for your mother – and – and for Jonet – and the others.' And there she paused, but he made no response, and she continued.

The latter half of the sentence was sobbed rather than spoken, and Rhys, who had a tender heart, notwithstanding his contempt for William's day-dreams, was deeply moved by her emotion.

For the moment, Cate and his own day-dreams were lost sight of.

'Mother, dear,' said he, not perhaps so truthfully as might have been, though he felt at the time that all he said was true. 'Mother, no one can ever come between us, or make me forget my old promise. What makes you be thinking so to-night? Have I not done my duty so far?' And now his strong arm went round her with more than the old protectorate.

'Yes, yes, indeed, Rhys, you have always been a good son; but – but – you have been something different of late – and – I thought, perhaps, Elain Lloyd – or – or – Cate Griffith might have been looking out for you, and for stealing your heart away from us all, look you.'

He began a fresh disclaimer at the mention of Elain Lloyd, but stopped short, and she could feel him wince and hold his breath when the name of Cate Griffith followed.

The denial died upon his lips. There was a pause. Early or precipitate marriages are not common in Wales. The consent of parents must first be obtained, and he had not yet spoken of marriage to Cate, but he knew the anticipation lurked in both their hearts, and there was a momentary struggle between two loves – two duties.

His mother's emotion had moved him as no angry words could have done, and so moved him that at the moment he would have given up Cate or any one to console her.

'Yes, yes, mother, fach; Cate is a nice girl – and we are very good friends, the best of friends; but you need not be afraid; I am not going to bring her, or any one else whatever, to disturb you, indeed no.'

If there was a mental reservation, 'at least not just yet,' the words were unspoken.

And so, with a kiss of peace between mother and son, the disturbing spirit was laid at rest.

At rest – that was, on the surface – and for the time being.

True to his promise, and with an unappreciated effort, Rhys confined his attentions to Cate to the walk home from church, and was apparently less desirous to loiter with her in the rear of her parents. With commendable self-repression – seeing that his own inclination ran counter to his filial bond – he found occupation on the farm when otherwise he might have had an errand that should take him across the shallow brook and past the weaver's cottage. Or, if he had really business that way, he showed less disposition to linger at open door or window.

Cate resented this with pettishness, and the transference of her winning smiles to Robert, the young brother of Elain Lloyd, until the coolness became coldness mingled with pique, and the two passed each other at church or on the road with affected indifference.

Had there been an absolute quarrel, it might have spent itself in reproaches, or been made up when the storm-cloud had passed, but this unexplained reserve went on for months and months, and the breach continued open.

Mrs. Edwards ought to have been satisfied with the result of her interference, and for a time she was. But somehow the temper of Rhys had not improved. His assertion of mastership became more pronounced. He and William came into frequent collision as the weeks and months rounded into years, and the harmony of the household was disturbed. Jonet appealed to her mother against his dictatorship, and even Davy roused from his passivity and objected 'to be ordered about like a hired labourer.'

There was no denying that Brookside Farm had materially improved under the new system of cropping and manuring Evan Evans had introduced, or that half the farmers in the parish had begun to plant potatoes since the root had proved so profitable there. Then there was land under cultivation that had formerly lain waste, and Mrs. Edwards was no longer in dread of the rent-day, or of Mr. Pryse, let him scowl as he would.

She was always ready to give Evan the credit, and to pay him well for his services. But her eldest son, having profited by the man's instructions through a succession of years, began to think himself wiser than his teacher, and either argued against or disapproved most of his suggestions, whether for the cultivation of the land or the treatment of the stock. Rhys had been a mere boy when Evan came upon the farm, and the others quite children. It was scarcely likely that he who had seen them grow up was to submit to the young fellow's rule as if their ages were reversed.

Night after night, when Evan and Ales sat up together courting after the rest were in bed, as was the old custom, he would talk over some fresh slight or indignity received from Rhys, and declare his intention to quit the farm and get married at the next yearly hirings.

''Deed, and it is not that I would like to be doing Mrs. Edwards an ill turn, in taking you away before Jonet is old enough to supply your place, in some sort, Ales, fach, or in going and leaving Rhys to do as he likes; but I am too old to be ordered about and taught my business by him, whatever. His good mother did never be doing it – and it's time we was be thinking of that little cottage at Castella, with the nice bit of land that would serve for a pig and a cow. We would soon be wanting another field and another cow, Ales, and we could have your mother over from Caerphilly to live with us – yes, indeed.'

'Yes, indeed, Evan; but I do be thinking Jonet do not be strong or tall enough to lift the dasher of the big churn, and it would come hard on Mrs. Edwards if she did be having to make the butter come. We do better be waiting a bit longer, or there's Rhys would be bringing Cate Griffith here to plague his mother's heart; yes, sure.'

And so from time to time it was proposed, and from time to time put off, Evan growing more and more dissatisfied at being thrust into the background, until, at length, when nearly three more years had spun their uneven thread, Ales consented to quit Brookside for the cottage at Castella, and Mrs. Edwards, weary of adjusting differences, endeavoured to persuade herself that now her sons and her daughter were growing up around her, they should be able to manage well without them, and, indeed, save something in food and wages.

At the first announcement of their decision, Rhys brisked up wonderfully. He shook Evan by the hand as if there had never been a difference between them, and congratulated him on his sensible choice, and on his prospect of happiness, with quite friendly interest.

William was the only one at all depressed by the proposed changes. Evan and Ales had frequently stood between him and overbearing Rhys; he had become attached to them, and felt he should lose two good friends when they married and went away. So there was a note of regret in his congratulations.

The thatched cottage at Castella was taken, duly whitewashed within and without, and the earthen floor relaid and left to harden. But Evan had promised Ales that she should have glass windows, and for these, and for his farming implements, he would have to make a journey to Cardiff. He had engaged a local carpenter to make a bed, a wooden settle, a table, and platter shelves. Ales herself had a pretty fair collection of useful articles in the shape of pots, bowls, and mugs, stowed away in the barn, having added to her store whenever the packman came his rounds. And she had, besides, a goodly pair of thick blankets, of which she was not a little proud, having spun the wool in spare hours when her other work was done, to say nothing of flannel and linsey-woolsey for wedding garments – under-linen was then and there of no account. Mrs. Edwards had promised Ales a new felt hat and a shawl for the auspicious occasion, and they bade fair to make a good start according to the ideas then prevailing. It would be thought little of nowadays, when art has found its way into the humblest abodes. But what had never been known or heard of could not be missed, and the absolute wants of nature are really very few.

As their yearly servitude happened to terminate alike at Martinmas, Mrs. Edwards kindly proposed their continuance on the farm whilst Ales completed some needful preparations, and Evan made his important journey to Cardiff. The wedding was to take place soon after his return, for the Rev. John Smith had been notified, and read out the banns, for the first time, on the last Sunday in September, the faithful pair looking down and blushing crimson as the eyes of the whole congregation turned towards them.

They left the church together, feeling half-married, nothing doubting that the ceremony would be completed three weeks later.

But they had calculated without Mr. Pryse.

CHAPTER XIV.
WHERE IS EVAN?

The difference between a full-face portrait and a profile is not so great as the different aspect the same individual may present to different people. To his noble employer, Mr. Pryse was the very beau-ideal of a shrewd business man, – clear-headed, active, and indefatigable in his interests and that of the large estate under his control, – a man on whom he could rely, for dealing conscientiously alike with himself and his tenants, in his absence.

Those tenants saw only a hard, grasping, unscrupulous agent, who extorted high rents, made no allowance for bad seasons or failing crops, and who stifled complaints with an extra turn of the screw. They knew that all repairs and improvements, made at their own cost, would be wrested to the advantage of the noble landowner in the long-run, and were disheartened. There was an unwhisperable suspicion afloat that these said repairs went down as deductions from rents in the accounts submitted to his lord; but who ever had a chance of overhauling those accounts, or questioning crafty Mr. Pryse's unimpeachable integrity?

And about the time when William Edwards first found his way to Caerphilly Castle, which was in the year after George II. ascended the throne, the first faint breaths of a graver suspicion were wafted northwards, from Cardiff, in unaccountable and mysterious undertones.

Cardiff, now a flourishing and busy seaport, was then, in spite of its great castle, but a small, mean, and unimportant town, hardly to be called a port, its ancient prestige having fallen away like its gates and walls.

But about this period Mr. Pryse ceased to collect his lord's rents regularly at Caerphilly, and required that they should be brought to his office in Cardiff. This was a woful grievance to the bulk of the tenants, especially to elderly or infirm persons, or others remote from the county town. Had his lordship been at the Castle, no doubt his irate tenants would have sought his presence in a body, and made common cause against the common oppressor; but no such opportunity occurred.

Neighbours who dreaded the toil of a nineteen or twenty miles' journey along bad roads in bad weather, with Mr. Pryse at the end, and as wearisome a return, would meet and agree to trust the bravest of the party with the separate rents of two or three, having no fear of robbery by the way, whilst so many other travellers would be fallen in with, all bent on the same errand.

Some of these adventurous wights, who had never been so far as Cardiff in their lives before, brought back the news, either gathered on the spot or on the road, that a strange craft had begun to frequent the river, and to anchor off the old sea-wall. It was said that the vessel had been a privateer during the wars of the previous reign, and that although she came thither ostensibly for coal from his lordship's collieries, and Mr. Pryse was in close communication with the captain, there was something rather mysterious about her cargo.

It was darkly hinted that the barrels which came pannier-wise on long strings of horses from the Caerphilly colliery laden with coal, and were hauled on board to be emptied, were not returned empty, but, when again slung across the backs of the patient beasts waiting on the old quay, seemed no lighter than before; and knowing ones surmised, from the care with which they were handled, that smaller kegs were slipped inside the open coal barrels. At all events, it was whispered that the teamsters lingered long at roadside inns, and that some of them struck into by-ways instead of making direct for the colliery with their empties. And it was certain that foreign spirits could be procured by the initiated where only cwrw da or cider had been hitherto obtainable.

This had been going on for three years when Evan, the bridegroom-expectant, prepared for his journey to Cardiff, whence he proposed to bring Ales her golden wedding-ring, as well as a number of small articles – not included in the 'furnishing list' of cumbrous goods – to be ferried across the river for after-conveyance to his new cottage.

To Mrs. Edwards the enforced journey to Cardiff for the payment of rent had been a trouble and a grievance. She had not cared to send hot-headed Rhys by himself into a town which she pictured as full of temptations for young men, neither had she cared to go thither alone. Twice had she taken her son with her; once she had made the toilsome journey in company with Owen Griffith; at other times she had entrusted him with the rent-money. But now that Evan was bent thither on business of his own, her natural thrift suggested the employment of him as her deputy, so as to save the toil of the journey, and innkeeper's charges for herself and her beast.

Owen Griffith, too, was glad of a trustworthy substitute; so that when Evan kissed Ales, and shook hands with the rest as he bestrode good old Breint at the farmhouse gate, he carried a goodly sum under his new frieze riding-coat, in one pocket or other, nearly all the savings of Ales, in addition to his own, and the two rents.

His departure was quite an event. Owen Griffith and Cate had walked up the hill to hand him the money and see him off, though the hour was early, and a drizzling rain had begun to fall. But rain was no new thing among the mountains, and nobody cared for that, though, doubtless, they would have preferred fair weather as more auspicious.

However, Ales flung an old shoe after him, and called out —

'For luck, Evan!'

He looked back over his shoulder to nod his thanks in reply; whereupon she threw her apron over her head and ran into the house ready to cry because he had 'spoiled his luck' by looking back.

Mrs. Edwards, too, would have been better pleased had he gone on with face set forward, but she cried, 'God keep him, and bring him safe back!' as if to counteract the untoward prognostic. Yet a cloud was gathering on her own brow, for though Owen Griffith walked beside the horse down the stony incline, Cate remained leaning against the stone gate-post talking earnestly with Rhys, the flush on her countenance deepening as he bent his head and lowered his voice to meet her ear only.

'The bold-faced huzzie!' the mother ejaculated to herself, as she turned to go indoors. 'Can she not let Ales get out of the house before she be coming a-seeking Rhys to worm herself in! Sure, and she do be in a mighty hurry to make up the old quarrel, and secure Rhys, and Owen do be as bad as his girl. But Ales is not gone yet!' she jerked out half-aloud, then checked herself, wondering what could have put those ill-timed words into her head.

She was mistaken. Cate Griffith was not quite so bold as she imagined. The quarrel had been made up some weeks, and, what was more, made up by Rhys, with a plain-spoken offer to make her his wife when Ales was married and gone away.

What he had been saying, as Evan rode away down hill, was singularly enough, 'We shall not have long to wait now, Cate, darling. Ales will soon be gone, and mother will be missing her so much she will be glad to see me bring so clever and smart a wife home to fill the vacant place. Jonet could not do it. No, really! We shall not have long to be waiting, Cate, fach.'

'The best laid schemes o' mice an' men

Gang aft agley.'

Centuries before Burns crystallised the sentiment into verse its profound truth had been established. Who, besides Noah and his family, calculated on the Deluge?

Were the tears Ales shed, when her long-loved Evan turned his head, premonitory of another deluge?

She was a strong, healthy young woman, not a puling sentimentalist afflicted with 'nerves.' She might well cover her face, ashamed of her starting tears, when he would be back with her in four days – or five, at the furthest!

Yet she was unaccountably restless those days. The outdoor work of the farm went on pretty much as usual, though the weather was unsettled. Rhys and Davy were thrashing and winnowing in the barn, and William, endeavouring to do the work of two, fed and foddered the cattle, and took the place of Ales at the churn, whilst she washed and ironed, and put little finishing touches to her simple wedding finery, sighing, every now and again, for the Evan she missed every hour of the day. When candles were lit, and at meal-times, the blank caused by the absence of his smiling face and good-humoured observation, was felt by all, from Mrs. Edwards down to William.

And somehow, as the days went by, Jane Edwards began to share the fidgetiness of Ales, and, when the fourth passed, and the fifth wore slowly away, could not help frequent ejaculations, such as, 'It's time Evan was here!' 'What do be keeping Evan so long?' 'Sure to goodness nothing's gone wrong!' Ales growing still and white, with a strange fear that began to creep about her heart.

Evan had gone away on the Monday morning. Ere nightfall on Friday, William slipped out and hurried to the ford, as if to meet him, passing Owen Griffith at the foot of the hill, on his way to the farm to express his own surprise at the messenger's delay.

William waited and waited, but there was no sign of Evan. He got back to hear Griffith questioning Ales as to the various business her sweetheart had on hand, the conclusion being that he had not been able to make all his purchases, or get them conveyed to Castella, as readily as he had calculated, and that he must be allowed another day.

But Saturday came and went without a sign of the traveller, and Ales seemed to feel the alarm of all in her own aching heart.

Neither Evan nor Ales was at church on the Sunday to hear the banns read the second time.

But people were there to testify that Evan Evans had reached Cardiff in safety, and had been seen to enter the office of Mr. Pryse.

On that, Owen Griffith and Mrs. Edwards breathed more freely. Their fears that he had been waylaid and robbed were set at rest. It was clear his own affairs had alone detained him.

William, on his own inspiriting, had betaken himself to Caerphilly, and brought Ales back the comforting news that her Evan had carried the basket of butter and cheese to her old mother, and arranged for her removal to Castella with them.

So far all was right. But when another week went by, and no Evan came to claim her, or to bring the rent receipts, the heart of Ales sank lower and lower; every whisper in the house was suggestive of doubt, and pierced her bosom like a stab.

Owen Griffith was there nightly making fresh inquiries, often bringing Cate along with him, when Ales' heart was wrung with undertoned suspicions of her true love's fidelity – not to say his honesty.

At the three weeks' end, when the poor tortured girl had resolved on walking all the way to Cardiff, to set doubt at rest, the climax came.

It came like a thunderbolt, in the person of Mr. Pryse, to make an authoritative demand for the half-year's rent, then overdue.

It was in vain Mrs. Edwards declared it had been paid; that she had sent the money by Evan Evans.

'In that case you will have the receipt. Produce it,' said he, with a sneer.

'I cannot,' replied she, in much perplexity. 'Evan has not yet returned. But he was seen to enter your office; yes, indeed!'

'Oh yes, he did come to my office to pay your neighbour Owen Griffith's rent, and to beg a fortnight's grace for you. I have been good enough to give you three weeks, and now I must have the rent – one way or other.'

The evil smile of triumph on his wicked old face, as he said this, was lost on Mrs. Edwards in her consternation.

'Beg what? I did want no fortnight's grace. I did send the golden guineas!'

Mr. Pryse's thin lip curled. 'Then your man kept them. And it is rather strange he should pay Griffith's rent if he meant to make off with yours. There must be lying and dishonesty somewhere.'

'Yes, indeed,' broke from Ales, in a passion of indignant wrath. 'But not from my mistress or Evan Evans; they do both be God-fearing and true.'

An ominous scowl drew down the brows under the English three-cornered hat.

'Silence, you impudent jade, or I'll have you cast into jail for your vile insinuations. Wait until your honest Evan comes back before you venture to asperse his lordship's deputy.' And he raised his riding-whip as if to strike her.

Rhys had come upon the scene in the midst of this altercation, brought thither by a word from Lewis, who had seen the agent ride up the hill, with a sinister smile upon his face, and a ruffianly fellow in his rear.

At once the hot-blooded young farmer, in a smock-frock showing many an earthy stain, interposed between his mother's faithful domestic and the steward, unawed by the gold lace or ruffles visible under the open riding-coat.

'Nay, nay, we don't take whips to women in Eglwysilan, Mr. Pryse. What is all this uproar about? And what do be your business here, sir?'

His mother attempted an explanation. Ales had shrunk back overawed.

'I have come for the unpaid rent, and the costs attending this application,' Mr. Pryse thrust in, heedless of Rhys' disclaimer that 'nothing was owing'; 'and, as no cash appears to be forthcoming, I take possession of the farm in the name of his lordship, and leave this man in charge of the premises, and I warn you against removing stock or stone. Take the inventory, Morgan' – to the man who had edged himself into the kitchen, and now put on a truculent air.

William had come rushing in from the potato-field, but he stopped short, as much paralysed as his elders.

His mother was the first to break the spell.

'Paid or unpaid,' she cried, with the dignity of truth and honesty, 'that wretch shall take no inventory here, whatever. I do not be without the means to pay your demand, though I protest that it is unjust, and will have to be returned to me when Evan returns with the receipt, look you.'

'Ah, when he does. But you may take my word for it, the bird has flown away with your golden feathers, and is far enough from Wales by this time.'

And again the sinister smile lighted the evil face, much as if he had good reason for knowing that Evan was far away, and that his word might therefore be taken.

'I am glad to see you are so well provided,' he added, as the widow proceeded to count out upon the table the sum demanded, leaving still a nest-egg in the grey stocking-foot. 'Your farm must be flourishing, and I herewith give you notice, in the presence of my man, Morgan, that your rent will be advanced ten pounds per annum after this date. – I will send you a receipt.'

'No, sir,' put in Rhys promptly, 'you will give my mother one now. I see your follower there has an inkhorn and paper.'

Mr. Pryse bit his under lip, but thought well to take the hint.

'And now, sir,' said Rhys, when he had assured himself the receipt was correct, 'you do be threatening to raise the rent. You cannot do that until the lease expires.'

'Show me your lease,' demanded the agent loftily.

'We can do that when necessary, sir. His lordship will be having a copy you can consult,' replied Rhys quite as loftily.

And, seeing that he had a full-grown man to deal with, not a woman he could intimidate, Mr. Pryse turned on his heel, and mounted his horse, muttering something surly as he went, his disappointed functionary following at his heels.

Once again he bit his nails as his horse carried him down the stony track, for even the coin he bore away did not cover his baffled rage at defeat. Presently his thin lips spread into a smile of self-congratulation, and his eyelids nearly met as he communed with himself.

'It was lucky I did not call on Griffith for his rent first. I clinched the nail on Evan's dishonest flight in acknowledging that. A clever idea of mine his begging grace for Edwards' widow. Covers his call at my office. I suppose that forward jade is the woman he was going to marry. She will wait a long while for a husband if she waits for Evan Evans, look you. And as for that cock-crowing Rhys, I'll cut his comb before I've done with him. He shall not crow over me with impunity; no, indeed. I've bled the old woman pretty freely this time. She'll not get over it in a hurry. The farm will go to the dogs now that long-headed farming-man is gone. Lease, indeed! I defy any power in earth or heaven to keep them on their farm when I am ready to turn them out. Yes, indeed!'

A strong defiance that, Mr. Pryse, crafty and potential though you may be!