A Life's Eclipse Part 15

"Would a smart young man like John Grange was ha' gone up to London without takking a clean s.h.i.+rt wi' him?"

"What!"

"Didn't take no clean s.h.i.+rt nor stoggins nor nowt."

"Are you sure of that?" said the bailiff.

"I couldn't make out that anything was gone out of his room, sir," said old Hannah, clapping her ap.r.o.n to her eyes. "Poor dear: it's very, very sad."

"Aye, it's sad enough," said old Tummus; "not as it matters much, what's the good o' going on living?"

"Tummus!" cried his wife.

"Well, what are yow shoutin' at? I say it again: What's the good o'

livin'? You on'y get horrid owd, and your missus allus naggin' you at home, and your Dan Barnetts shoutin' at you in the garden, or else Master Ellis here giving it to you about something."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tummus," said his wife. "To go and say such a thing to Mr Ellis's face, as has allus been a kind friend to you."

"Aye, la.s.s, I don't grumble much at he, but we'm do grow precious owd."

"And a great blessing too, Tummus," cried his wife. "You don't hear Mr Ellis complain about getting old."

"Nay, but then he's got a pretty bairn, bless her!--as sweet and good a la.s.s as ever stepped; and I says that to Master Ellis's face, same as I've often said it behind his back. Bless her! There!"

James Ellis, with the great care upon his breast--the haunting thought that perhaps, after all, he had had something to do with John Grange's disappearance--now stood in old Tummus's cottage a different being.

There was none of the rather pompous, important manner that he was in the habit of putting on when addressing his inferiors. The faces of John Grange and Mary seemed to rise before him reproachfully, and, for the first time in his life, he stood before the old couple in the cottage a humbled man, hardly conscious of what was being said.

"Then he took nothing away with him, Hannah?" he said at last.

"No, sir, nothing that I can make out."

"Nowt!" said old Tummus. "Here he were, hevving his tea that night, looking that down sad, that a bad tater was nowt to him; next thing is as we hears him go out o' the door--that there door just behind wheer you're a-standing, Mr Ellis, sir, and he didn't come back."

"Didn't come back," said the bailiff, repeating the old man's words.

"We didn't set up for him because we know'd he'd shut oop all right, and if he didn't n.o.body wouldn't come and steal our plate, 'cause the owd woman allus taks it to bed wi' her."

"Tummus!"

"Well, so you do; six silver teaspoons, on'y one was lost years ago, and the sugar bows, sir, she allus wrops 'em up in an owd pocky ankychy."

"There is no water near," said James Ellis, as if to himself, but old Tummus's ears were sharp enough.

"There's the river."

"Two miles away, Tummus."

"What's two miles to a man who wants to drownd hissen! Why, if I wanted to mak' a hole in the watter I'd walk twenty."

"Tummus, I will not have you say such dreadful things."

"It's very, very sad, Hannah," said James Ellis at last; "and I'm more upset about it than I can say, for he was a fine, worthy young fellow, and as good a gardener as ever stepped."

"That he was," murmured the old couple.

"But we don't know that anything so terrible has happened. Some day perhaps we shall be hearing news of him."

"Nay, you never hear news o' them as has gone before, Master Ellis, sir.

If I were you, I'd have the pond dragged up at the farm, and watter dreened off at Jagley's mill."

"No, no," cried the bailiff hastily. "There is no reason for suspecting such a thing. John Grange was not the man to go and do anything rash.

There, I thought I'd come and have a few words with you, Hannah, and you too, Tummus. I want you' to hold your tongues, now, and to let this sad business die a natural death. You understand?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Chatter grows into bad news sometimes. There, good-evening. I dare say you'll hear news about the poor fellow some day."

"Nay, we wean't," said old Tummus, when the bailiff was gone. "John Grange is as dead as a door-nail, and owd Jemmy Ellis knows it too; but he's scarred of his bairn hearing, and don't want the missus up at the house to think on it."

"But we don't know that he is dead," said old Hannah.

"Not for sewer," growled old Tummus, beginning to take off his heavy boots; "and we arn't sewer of a many things. But then, owd Jimmy's as good as master here, and if you go flying in his face you may just as well fly over the garden wall same time. I've done, missus. I don't say who done it, but it's my belief John Grange was put out o' the way."

"Oh, don't, Tummus; you give me the creeps."

"All right, all right, I've done. It's a rum world, and everything goes wrong in it."

"Not quite everything, dear."

"Well, no, not quite everything, but nearly. I believe it's because it was made round. Lookye here, missus: how can matters go right on a thing as has got no sound bottom to stand on? If the world had been made square it would have stood square, and things would have come right; but there it is all round and never keeping steady, and allus changing. Why, if you get a fine day you never can count upon another."

"No," sighed Hannah; "but there's a deal of good in the world, after all."

"Eh? What?" cried old Tummus, jumping up and standing upon the patchwork hearthrug in his stockings, "wheerabouts?--wheer is it, owd woman? I'm a-going to look for it 'fore I gets a day owder."

"Sit down, and don't talk such stuff, Tummus," cried the old woman, giving him a push which sent him back in his chair. "I won't have it."

"Ah! That's it," he said, with a low, chuckling laugh; "it's because the world's round. If it had been square we should all have stood solid, and old women wouldn't ha' flown at their mesters and knocked 'em down."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Old Tummus and his wife both declared that they minded what the bailiff said, and never let a word escape from them about the old man's suspicions; but rumour is a sad spreader of news, and the result of some bit of t.i.ttle-tattle turns up in places least expected, doing incalculable harm.

It was not likely that John Grange's disappearance would die out of ordinary conversation without being pretty well embroidered by people's imagination, and like the Three Black Crows of the old story, being added to until the origin looked very trifling and small. But all the same, it was some time before people's doubts reached Mrs Mostyn's ears through her housekeeper, and she turned upon her old confidential servant with a look of horror.

"Oh, my good woman!" she cried, "don't tell me that: it can't be true."