Where Highways Cross/Part 1/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
THE HOME FARM
When Elisabeth entered the inn-yard she found Hepworth waiting for her. His horse was already yoked to the gig, and he himself was superintending the bestowal of various parcels under the seat. He assisted Elisabeth to climb into the gig, and gave her a rug to wrap about her knees before he got in beside her. Then he drove out of the yard by a back way that escaped the noise and bustle of the fair, and presently turned into a road that led away from Sicaster in the opposite direction to that by which Elisabeth had entered the town. By that time the light rain that had fallen with more or less persistency during the afternoon had ceased, and given place to a clear evening and a starlit sky. Elisabeth, unused to riding at a rapid pace in an open conveyance, shivered a little as the gig emerged upon the unsheltered road.
"You'll feel the cold, I daresay," said Hepworth. "I'm used to it, and it makes no difference to me. Now, there's a spare rug behind—how would it be if you put it about your shoulders?"
He pulled up the horse as he spoke, and reaching the rug from the back seat, assisted his companion in somewhat clumsy fashion, as if he were not used to the task, to wrap herself in it. Elisabeth thanked him, and was glad of the rug—the cold was keen, and her garments were ill-fitted to withstand it.
Hepworth drove on through the darkness, speaking little to Elisabeth, save to enquire now and then if she felt the cold. They passed through a village, the windows of which showed faint gleams of lamp-light, and went onward along a bleak portion of the road over which an ancient corn-mill, faintly defined against the dark sky, stood sentry-like. Then came another village, larger and more straggling than the first, a mere collection of lamp-lighted windows seen fitfully in the darkness. When it was passed the road dipped into a country thickly covered by deep woods, the tree-tops of which showed in tremulous shapes against the sky. Suddenly the horse turned out of the highway into a narrow lane, shadowed on one side by the wood, and after following this for a hundred yards or so, stopped at a gate. Hepworth handed the reins to Elisabeth, and got down from the gig. Having led the horse through the gate and closed it behind them, he regained his seat, and drove forward at a walking pace. Elisabeth perceived that they were traversing the outside of a paddock thickly planted with huge trees whose branches swept the ground. Presently the lights of the house shone out through the darkness, and the gig stopped at the gate of the fold. The kitchen door opened, and a broad stream of light revealed the figures of a man carrying a lantern, and of a woman who stood behind him in the doorway. Hepworth got down from the gig, and assisted Elisabeth to alight. She stood waiting while he gave some directions to the man as to the disposal of the horse. At his bidding she then followed her new master into the kitchen. A middle-aged woman of a somewhat grim, but not unpleasant countenance, stood by the great fireplace when they entered, evidently superintending certain cooking operations which gave forth an inviting odour. She looked questioningly from Hepworth to Elisabeth.
"Now, Mally," said Hepworth. "I've found a young woman to do the bit of work we talked about. Elisabeth's her name—I'm sure you'll get on together. I daresay you'll tell her all that she wants to know, but she'll be tired to-night, so we won't ask her to do anything."
"There's nowt to do," said Mally, triumphantly. She looked at Elisabeth, and nodded. "Sit you down, lass—come to the fire. I lay it's cowd as Christmas outside, and drivin's a cowd job at t' best o' times. Now maister, if you'll nobbut go into t' parlour, I'll see 'at all's reight—I can't do wi' men about me when I'm busy."
Hepworth laughed, and disappeared into the parlour through a double door. Mally presently carried there a tray loaded with food, and shut the inner door behind her. Elisabeth heard her voice and Hepworth's in conversation. She looked round her. The kitchen in which she sat was a pattern of tidiness. The big table in the side window-place had been scrubbed to the whiteness of snow; the hearthstone was elaborately decorated with designs in potter-mould; the brass candlesticks on the mantelpiece shone like burnished gold. Elisabeth, strange as the place was to her, felt a sense of peace and security in these evidences of the old servant's orderliness.
Mally presently returned from the parlour, again closing both the doors behind her. She approached Elisabeth, and laid her hand not unkindly upon the young woman's shoulder.
"Your jacket's damp, my lass," said she. "Off wi' it, and hang it up ower th' hearth-stone. You shall hev' a drop o' tea, scaldin' hot, to tak' the cowd out o' you."
Elisabeth protested that she had already had tea at Sicaster, but she hastened to follow Mally's advice as to the jacket.
"A drop o' good tea, made as I mak' it," said Mally, "weern't hurt nobody. Down wi' it, lass, while it's hot. If you've hed your tea at Sicaster, you weern't be wantin' owt to ate just now, but happen you'll do wi' a bit o' supper later on. There's no stint in this house for onnybody."
Elisabeth drank the tea which Mally gave her. It was strong and good, and of an infinitely superior taste and quality to that which she had tasted in the Sicaster eating-house. She said as much to Mally, who sat on the opposite side of the hearth, and drank her own tea out of a pint bowl. Mally wagged her head wisely.
"I tak' no notice o' them ateing-houses and their tea," said she. "It's nobbut poor wishy-washy stuff at t' best o' times, and their bread's sad, and t' butter's sour. I'd rather pine thro' here to Sicaster and back, and hev' my own when I get home again, than depend o' them ateing-houses."
She then said that as the master would want nothing for a while, she would show Elisabeth the house, so that she might know her way about next morning. Elisabeth assented with alacrity, and followed Mally through various chambers, upstairs and downstairs, all scrupulously clean and old-fashioned, and redolent of soap and water. Before a great chest on the staircase Mally paused and looked at her companion with a significant expression.
"That'll be your job, lass," she said. "It's linen, is that; sheets, and table-cloths, and napery, and the good Lord knows what. The maister's mother bowt it, and took great store in it, but it hevn't been so well seen to sin' she were takken, poor thing. I've a deal to do wi' the cookin', and there's three men in the house besides the maister, and I can't pretend to be much of a hand at gettin' things up, and layin' tables with napkins and so on. You'll be able to do that, I des'say." Elisabeth answered that she thought she would.
"The maister," said Mally, "is a very particular man about them things, and he's gotten more so lately. You see, he's a great reader, and he's high-larnt, and keeps very good company, and when he has onnybody here he likes his table to look smart. And, Lord love ye, I don't know nowt about layin' a table wi' napkins and things, but I hope you do, my lass, I'm sure."
"I think I can manage all that," said Elisabeth, secretly amused at the old servant's confession.
"Well, lass, well, I'll answer for the cookin', and that's the main part, to my mind," said Mally. "Better a bare board and plenty to eat, than a fine table wi' nowt on it."
With this wise remark she led the way downstairs and along a passage to a back-kitchen, in which the three men-servants to whom she had referred sat round a roaring wood fire. One of them had just returned from the statute-hiring fair, and had brought back with him a song-paper, the contents of which he was singing over to his companions. All three stared hard at Elisabeth.
"Now, then," said Mally, "that's Bill, and this is Tom, and yon's Reuben. They can all ate like sojers on a march, and they keep me bakin' every day. Reuben, hes ta filled t' boiler?"
"Aye," said Reuben. "Long sin'."
"And hes ta locked t' hen-hoil door, and browt t' kay in?"
"Aye—aboon an hour agoöa."
"Well, there'll be a hot tatie for all on ye at supper-time—if ye're good lads, mind," said Mally, retiring with Elisabeth. "I hev' to give *em a bit of a treat, you know, lass," she said apologetically, as they went back to the front-kitchen. "'Cos they do little jobs for me now and then. You can do owt wi' men if ye nobbut fill their bellies."
At nine o'clock, Mally and Elisabeth having washed up the tea-things which the former fetched from the parlour, Mally called the three men into the front-kitchen, where they sat on a bench against the wall in an attitude that suggested schoolboy-like attention. Elisabeth wondered what this might mean, and was still more mystified when Mally knocked loudly at the parlour door, and cried, "All ready, maister!" In response to her summons Hepworth presently appeared, carrying a huge Bible. He laid it on the table in the centre of the kitchen, and opening it, read a chapter from the New Testament. Elisabeth, who had never been present at such a service, listened curiously as he read. He had a full, deep voice, and read with some artistic perception, and the three men on the kitchen bench seemed to enjoy the reading, and kept their eyes fixed on their master's face. As soon as the chapter was finished Hepworth closed the book and stood up. The three men said, "Good-night, maister," and stamped away down the passage.
"Now, Mally," said Hepworth, coming over to the fireside. "You'll see after Elisabeth, I'm sure. You'll know what she'll—"
"Go your ways, maister," said Mally. "Leave women-folk to see to theirsens. Men's nobbut in the way at t' best o' times."
Hepworth laughed, and bidding the two women good-night, went back to his parlour.
"Now, lass," said Mally, "we'll hev' a bit o' supper, and then to bed. 'Early to sleep and early to rise,' you know, and I'm a rare un for getting up wi' the lark."
"I should like to set the table for Mr. Hepworth's breakfast in the morning," said Elisabeth. "What time will he have it?"
"He's up at six, lass, and he's out till seven, and about half-past he's ready and keen," said Mally. "Aye, you can wait on him—it'll tak' a deal off my shoulders." Accordingly, Elisabeth rose early next morning and proceeded to prepare the parlour for her master's breakfast. It was a somewhat old-fashioned and gloomy apartment, sadly in need of a touch of brightness here and there. Elisabeth reduced it to something like homeliness, and laid the breakfast-table with care and taste. She hunted out a fine linen-cloth, and going out into the garden cut a bunch of chrysanthemums and arranged them in a china bowl in the centre of the table. This done, she borrowed a clean white apron from Mally, and looked very neat and smart when she carried Hepworth's breakfast into the parlour. Hepworth smiled approval.
"That looks very nice, Elisabeth," said he. "I see you know one part of your duties, at any rate."