They nodded at each other sympathetically. Mr. Cullen filled a little black pipe.
Got alight?
Mr. Cowes offered the glowing bowl of his own clay; they put their noses together and blew a cloud.
Of course theres no saying what time ll do, observed tall Mr. Cowes, sententiously, after a gulp of warm liquor.
No more there is, assented short Mr. Cullen with half a wink.
Its easy to promise.
As easy as tellin lies.
Another silence.
Dont suppose you and me ll get much of it, Mr. Cowes ventured to observe.
About as much as you can put in your eye without winkin, was the others picturesque agreement.
They talked till closing time.
CHAPTER VII
One morning late in June, Hubert Eldon passed through the gates of Wanley Manor and walked towards the village. It was the first time since his illness that he had left the grounds on foot. He was very thin, and had an absent, troubled look; the natural cheerfulness of youths convalescence seemed altogether lacking in him.
From a rising point of the road, winding between the Manor and Wanley, a good view of the valley offered itself; here Hubert paused, leaning a little on his stick, and let his eyes dwell upon the prospect. A year ago he had stood here and enjoyed the sweep of meadows between Stanbury Hill and the wooded slope opposite, the orchard-patches, the flocks along the margin of the little river. To-day he viewed a very different scene. Building of various kinds was in progress in the heart of the vale; a great massive chimney was rising to completion, and about it stood a number of sheds. Beyond was to be seen the commencement of a street of small houses, promising infinite ugliness in a little space; the soil over a considerable area was torn up and trodden into mud. A number of men were at work; carts and waggons and trucks were moving about. In truth, the benighted valley was waking up and donning the true nineteenth-century livery.
The young mans face, hitherto thoughtfully sad, changed to an expression of bitterness; he muttered what seemed to be angry and contemptuous words, then averted his eyes and walked on. He entered the village street and passed along it for some distance, his fixed gaze appearing studiously to avoid the people who stood about or walked by him. There was a spot of warm colour on his cheeks; he held himself very upright and had a painfully self-conscious air.
He stopped before a dwelling-house, rang the bell, and made inquiry whether Mr. Mutimer was at home. The reply being affirmative, he followed the servant up to the first floor. His name was announced at the door of a sitting-room, and he entered.
Two men were conversing in the room. One sat at the table with a sheet of paper before him, sketching a rough diagram and scribbling notes; this was Richard Mutimer. He was dressed in a light tweed suit; his fair moustache and beard were trimmed, and the hand which rested on the table was no longer that of a daily-grimed mechanic. His linen was admirably starched; altogether he had a very fresh and cool appearance. His companion was astride on a chair, his arms resting on the back, a pipe in his mouth. This man was somewhat older than Mutimer; his countenance indicated shrewdness and knowledge of the world. He was dark and well-featured, his glossy black hair was parted in the middle, his moustache of the cut called imperial, his beard short and peaked. He wore a canvas jacket, a white waistcoat and knickerbockers; at his throat a blue necktie fluttered loose. When Huberts name was announced by the servant, this gentleman stopped midway in a sentence, took his pipe from his lips, and looked to the door with curiosity.
Mutimer rose and addressed his visitor easily indeed, but not discourteously.
How do you do, Mr. Eldon? Im glad to see that you are so much better. Will you sit down? I think you know Mr. Rodman, at all events by name?
Hubert assented by gesture. He had come prepared for disagreeable things in this his first meeting with Mutimer, but the honour of an introduction to the latters friends had not been included in his anticipations. Mr. Rodman had risen and bowed slightly. His smile carried a disagreeable suggestion from which Mutimers behaviour was altogether free; he rather seemed to enjoy the situation.
For a moment there was silence and embarrassment. Richard overcame the difficulty.
Come and dine with me to-night, will you? he said to Rodman. Here, take this plan with you, and think it over.
Pray dont let me interfere with your business, interposed Hubert, with scrupulous politeness. I could see you later, Mr. Mutimer.
No, no; Rodman and I have done for the present, said Mutimer, cheerfully. By-the-by, he added, as his right-hand man moved to the door, dont forget to drop a line to Slater and Smith. And, I say, if Hogg turns up before two oclock, send him here; Ill be down with you by half-past.
Mr. Rodman gave an All right, nodded to Hubert, who paid no attention, and took his departure.
Youve had a long pull of it, Richard began, as he took his chair again, and threw his legs into an easy position. Shall I close the windows? Maybe you dont like the draught.
Thank you; I feel no draught.
The working man had the advantage as yet. Hubert in vain tried to be at ease, whilst Mutimer was quite himself, and not ungraceful in his assumption of equality. For one thing, Hubert could not avoid a comparison between his own wasted frame and the others splendid physique; it heightened the feeling of antagonism which possessed him in advance, and provoked the haughtiness he had resolved to guard against. The very lineaments of the men foretold mutual antipathy. Huberts extreme delicacy of feature was the outward expression of a character so compact of subtleties and refinements, of high prejudice and jealous sensibility, of spiritual egoism and all-pervading fastidiousness, that it was impossible for him not to regard with repugnance a man who represented the combative principle, even the triumph, of the uncultured classes. He was no hidebound aristocrat; the liberal tendencies of his intellect led him to scorn the pageantry of long-descended fools as strongly as he did the blind image-breaking of the mob; but in a case of personal relations temperament carried it over judgment in a very high-handed way. Youth and disappointment weighed in the scale of unreason. Mutimer, on the other hand, though fortune helped him to forbearance, saw, or believed he saw, the very essence of all he most hated in this proud-eyed representative of a county family. His own rough-sculptured comeliness corresponded to the vigour and practicality and zeal of a nature which cared nothing for form and all for substance; the essentials of life were to him the only things in life, instead of, as to Hubert Eldon, the mere brute foundation of an artistic super structure. Richard read clearly enough the sentiments with which his visitor approached him; who that is the object of contempt does not readily perceive it? His way of revenging himself was to emphasise a tone of good fellowship, to make it evident how well he could afford to neglect privileged insolence. In his heart he triumphed over the disinherited aristocrat; outwardly he was civil, even friendly.
Hubert had made this call with a special purpose.
I am charged by Mrs. Eldon, he began, to thank you for the courtesy you have shown her during my illness. My own thanks likewise I hope you will accept. We have caused you, I fear, much inconvenience.
Richard found himself envying the form and tone of this deliverance; he gathered his beard in his hands and gave it a tug.
Not a bit of it, he replied. I am very comfortable here. A bedroom and a place for work, thats about all I want.
Hubert barely smiled. He wondered whether the mention of work was meant to suggest comparisons. He hastened to add
On Monday we hope to leave the Manor.
No need whatever for hurry, observed Mutimer, good-humouredly. Please tell Mrs. Eldon that I hope she will take her own time. On reflection this seemed rather an ill-chosen phrase; he bettered it. I should be very sorry if she inconvenienced herself on my account.
Confound the fellows impudence! was Huberts mental comment. He plays the forbearing landlord.
His spoken reply was: It is very kind of you. I foresee no difficulty in completing the removal on Monday.
In view of Mutimers self-command, Hubert began to be aware that his own constraint might carry the air of petty resentment Fear of that drove him upon a topic he would rather have left alone.
You are changing the appearance of the valley, he said, veiling by his tone the irony which was evident in his choice of words.
Richard glanced at him, then walked to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and gave himself the pleasure of a glimpse of the furnace-chimney above the opposite houses. He laughed.
I hope to change it a good deal more. In a year or two you wont know the place.
I fear not.
Mutimer glanced again at his visitor.
Why do you fear? he asked, with less command of his voice.
I of course understand your point of view. Personally, I prefer nature.
Hubert endeavoured to smile, that his personal preferences might lose something of their edge.
You prefer nature, Mutimer repeated, coming back to his chair, on the seat of which he rested a foot. Well, I cant say that I do. The Wanley Iron Works will soon mean bread to several hundred families; how many would the grass support?
To be sure, assented Hubert, still smiling.
You are aware, Mutimer proceeded to ask, that this is not a speculation for my own profit?
I have heard something of your scheme. I trust it will be appreciated.
I dare say it will beby those who care anything about the welfare of the people.
Eldon rose; he could not trust himself to continue the dialogue. He had expected to meet a man of coarser grain; Mutimers intelligence made impossible the civil condescension which would have served with a boor, and Hubert found the temptation to pointed utterance all the stronger for the dangers it involved.
I will drop you a note, he said, to let you know as soon as the house is empty.
Thank you.
They had not shaken hands at meeting, nor did they now. Each felt relieved when out of the others sight.
Hubert turned out of the street into a road which would lead him to the church, whence there was a field-path back to the Manor. Walking with his eyes on the ground he did not perceive the tall, dark figure that approached him as he drew near to the churchyard gate. Mr. Wyvern had been conducting a burial; he had just left the vestry and was on his way to the vicarage, which stood five minutes walk from the church. Himself unperceived, he scrutinised the young man until he stood face to face with him; his deep-voiced greeting caused Hubert to look up with a start.
Im very glad to see you walking, said the clergyman.
He took Huberts hand and held it paternally in both his own. Eldon seemed affected with a sudden surprise; as he met the large gaze his look showed embarrassment.
You remember me? Mr. Wyvern remarked, his wonted solemnity lightened by the gleam of a brief smile. Looking closely into his face was like examining a map in relief; you saw heights and plains, the intersection of multitudinous valleys, river-courses with their tributaries. It was the visage of a man of thought and character. His eyes spoke of late hours and the lamp; beneath each was a heavy pocket of skin, wrinkling at its juncture with the cheek. His teeth were those of an incessant smoker, and, in truth, you could seldom come near him without detecting the odour of tobacco. Despite the amplitude of his proportions, there was nothing ponderous about him; the great head was finely formed, and his limbs must at one time have been as graceful as they were muscular.
Is this accident, Hubert asked; or did you know me at the time?
Accident, pure accident. Will you walk to the vicarage with me?
They paced side by side.
Mrs. Eldon profits by the pleasant weather, I trust? the vicar observed, with grave courtesy.
Thank you, I think she does. I shall be glad when she is settled in her new home.
They approached the door of the vicarage in silence. Entering Mr. Wyvern led the way to his study. When he had taken a seat, he appeared to forget himself for a moment, and played with the end of his bean.
Hubert showed impatient curiosity.
You found me there by chance that morning? he began.
The clergyman returned to the present. His elbows on either arm of his round chair, he sat leaning forward, thoughtfully gazing at his companion.
By chance, he replied. I sleep badly; so it happened that I was abroad shortly after daybreak. I was near the edge of the wood when I heard a pistol-shot. I waited for the second.
We fired together, Hubert remarked.
Ah! It seemed to me one report. Well, as I stood listening, there came out from among the trees a man who seemed in a hurry. He was startled at finding himself face to face with me, but didnt stop; he said something rapidly in French that I failed to catch, pointed back into the wood, and hastened off.
We had no witnesses, put in Hubert; and both aimed our best. I wonder he sent you to look for me.
A momentary weakness, no doubt, rejoined the vicar drily. I made my way among the trees and found you lying there, unconscious. I made some attempt to stop the blood-flow, then picked you up; it seemed better, on the whole, than leaving you on the wet grass an indefinite time. Your overcoat was on the ground; as I took hold of it, two letters fell from the pocket. I made no scruple about reading the addresses, and was astonished to find that one was to Mrs. Eldon, at Wanley Manor, Wanley being the place where I was about to live on my return to England. I took it for granted that you were Mrs. Eldons son. The other letter, as you know, was to a lady at a hotel in the town.
Hubert nodded.
And you went to her as soon as you left me?
After hearing from the doctor that there was no immediate danger.The letters, I suppose, would have announced your death?
Hubert again inclined his head. The imperturbable gravity of the speaker had the effect of imposing self-command on the young man; whose sensitive cheeks showed what was going on within.
Will you tell me of your interview with her? he asked.
It was of the briefest; my French is not fluent.
But she speaks English well.
Probably her distress led her to give preference to her native tongue. She was anxious to go to you immediately, and I told her where you lay. I made inquiries next day, and found that she was still giving you her care. As you were doing well, and I had to be moving homewards, I thought it better to leave without seeing you again. The innkeeper had directions to telegraph to me if there was a change for the worse.
My pocket-book saved me, remarked Hubert, touching his side.
Mr. Wyvern drew in his lips.
Came between that ready-stamped letter and Wanley Manor, was his comment.