The Making of William Edwards Part 28

He grew livid, set his teeth, and looked as if he would have struck her to the ground.

'We'll see about that. You had due notice to quit. You have stayed on the farm in defiance of the law, and now, by'--(and he swore a great oath)--'you shall turn out without stick or stock. Morgan,' over his shoulder to the man, 'call up the other men. We will soon see who is master here. I seize in his lords.h.i.+p's name.'

'And _I_ forbid in his lords.h.i.+p's name,' said Mr. Morris, whose shadow in the doorway had been mistaken for the man Morgan's.

Mr. Pryse recoiled. Mr. Morris was no stranger to him; and no friend of his, he well knew. What brought him there, or the vicar, close at his heels?

'By what right do _you_ presume to interfere?' he asked boldly.

'By _this_, sir,' unfolding a letter. 'I presume you know his lords.h.i.+p's hand and seal. _You_ were not the only one for whom the courier had a despatch yesterday.'

Mr. Pryse seemed to shrink within his clothes. A greenish hue overspread the yellow of his skin. A clammy dew burst out upon his forehead. Had he spurned the skipper's sage advice only to come here for this? It was maddening to think of.

He attempted to brazen it out, as a last resource.

'I am acting in his lords.h.i.+p's interest, sir. He has been shamelessly misinformed. These people have not paid more than a fair rental. And they never had a lease.'

'What do you be calling _that_, sir?' And Rhys pressing to the front, held up the lease--at a safe distance, for Mr. Pryse appeared ready to spring upon it like a wild cat.

'And now, sir,' said Mr. Morris sternly, 'you will have to disgorge.

Those are his lords.h.i.+p's orders. You see we hold a quittance for half a year's rent. Evan, bring forward the receipt.'

Had a ghost risen from the grave to confront him, Mr. Pryse could not have looked more aghast or terror-stricken, when Evan stepped from behind into the light, with the faded receipt in his hand.

Baffled, defeated, confronted, as it were, by the dead.

Mr. Pryse shrieked aloud, fell on his knees, covering his eyes with his quivering hands.

'You here?--_you?_ I fancied you had gone down with the _Osprey_.'

'You hear him, gentlemen? You hear him? He do be owning his share in kidnapping me! No, you smuggling old rogue, when the _Osprey_ went all to pieces on the rocks at the Land's End with its drunken crew and cargo--I, yes indeed _I_, gentlemen, who had been dragged on board bound like a thief--I did be the only one saved. I had been sent up aloft to punish me because I would not join the wicked crew, and when the mast did go overboard, I held on for my very life. I did be picked up the next day by an outward-bound East Indiaman, when there was little life left in me. But I wasn't to be drowned till I'd settled scores with this old villain here, that did send me adrift with rogues like himself, and to rob the widow blackened my honest name.

'No, Mr. Pryse, though I've been sailing the seas all these sorrowful years in one craft or other, cuffed, kicked, half-starved, used worse than a dog, and never able to make my way back to my sweetheart or home, if it had not been for another s.h.i.+pwreck I'd never have been here now. A Liverpool trader took me and two s.h.i.+pmates off a raft in the middle of the ocean, when we was half-mad with hunger and thirst, and the good captain, G.o.d bless him, sent me on sh.o.r.e at Fishguard, to make my way home to my sweetheart as quick as I could. And I didn't have to beg my way, for I had got money hid under my belt. And I do be thanking G.o.d sirs, for bringing me here in time to confound this wicked old s.h.i.+vering coward. I do be feeling as if I could shake every bone out of his ugly skin, but Ales bids me leave him to G.o.d and his master.'

"Deed, he deserves kicking from the top of the hill to the bottom,'

thrust in fiery William.

Not a word had the detected steward spoken, but his features and his lean fingers worked vindictively, as if longing to grasp the speakers'

throats.

All at once he shrieked out--

'That receipt's a forgery, a vile forgery. Look at it, gentlemen. That paper has never been in salt water. Ugh! How could a common sailor keep a bit of paper unworn and dry for six years, and through two s.h.i.+pwrecks?

It is absurd.'

Gaining courage from his own sneering suggestion, Mr. Pryse rose to his feet, little expecting the answer which came from William.

"Deed, no, sirs. Neither our receipt, nor Owen Griffith's here, nor Evan's own money ever went nearer the sea than old Breint's saddle. He had made a private pocket under the lining, and there they did be waiting for him, yes, sure.'

'It's well they did, for those thieves on the _Osprey_ did be stripping me of all I had,' put in Evan.

And now, Mr. Morris declaring the receipts genuine, insisted on Mr.

Pryse there and then refunding the extra rent extorted year by year from Mrs. Edwards, giving a quittance up to date on account of the receipt.

But Mr. Pryse had recovered courage--and craft. He began to bl.u.s.ter.

Refused to acknowledge the authority of either Mr. Morris or the vicar.

He was answerable to his lords.h.i.+p. To him only would he render an account. He would bid them good-morning.

'Well, sir,' said Mr. Morris, 'I cannot enforce his lords.h.i.+p's commands without legal warrant. But had I known all I have heard since I came hither, I should have come provided with a warrant for your arrest, Mr.

Pryse. And I warn you the reckoning will come sooner than you expect.'

Much sooner!

He walked out of the farmhouse with head erect and defiant, as if he had won a victory. He bade Morgan pay his myrmidons and follow; then rode down hill baffled, but not wholly defeated. He had not disgorged a penny, had added other rents as he came along to the h.o.a.rd he was carrying away. Warrant, indeed! He would soon be beyond reach of warrants!

'Nay,' he shouted back with a snarl, 'threatened men live long;' but before he reached the level, some sense of ungratified revenge must have stung him, for he put spurs to his horse, and dashed on, splas.h.i.+ng through the swollen brook, and turning the corner to the ford--not the high-road--as if pursued by a troop of demons.

Blinded by his own evil pa.s.sions, exulting in his escape, yet alarmed by the sound of hoofs behind him, he spurred his horse to the uncertain ford in the same hot haste, seeing nothing but his own need to cross.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BLINDED BY Pa.s.sION, HE SPURRED HIS HORSE TO THE UNCERTAIN FORD.--_See page 271._]

His follower heard a shriek, but reached the river's brink only in time to see a swirling ma.s.s of something far down the rain-filled river.

Mr. Pryse had gone to meet the _Cambria's_ boat in other fas.h.i.+on than he contemplated.

His spurs entangled in the stirrups, his pockets and saddle-bags weighted with ill-gotten coin, horse and man had gone together.

A Welshman in a coracle[13] called out to the ferryman at Taff's Well Ferry, and he to the _Cambria's_ men rowing up-stream, and amongst them they got a panting, struggling, half-dead horse ash.o.r.e, to find what _had_ been Mr. Pryse _underneath_, clutching at the turned saddle and bags with the grip that never relaxes--the grip of death.

Cover him over. Let the Preventive-service men, chasing the other boat, fight with pistol and cutla.s.s for the possession of the dead, his gold, and his incriminating papers, whilst the smart Preventive cutter in the bay boards the short-handed _Cambria_, and tows her confiscated prize into port, the dead man's strong box included. Little recks the drowned man what becomes of his h.o.a.rd. He has gone to his final reckoning with a Lord he had forgotten, a Lord no man can cheat or deceive.

Intelligence of his retributive death comes to the rejoicing family at the farm with a sobering shock, but n.o.body affects to lament. And all over his lords.h.i.+p's wide domain, oppressed men breathe freer for this one man's death.

'Man deliberates, but G.o.d delivers,' is said with bated breath by more than sententious Ales, whilst Mrs. Edwards insists that his death is a judgment for his strictures on her lost husband.

And whilst the unhonoured remains of the fraudulent agent are committed to the earth, in Cardiff, with no mourner but his housekeeper, the vicar of Eglwysilan reads out the banns once more for Evan and Ales, and for Rhys Edwards and Cate Griffiths also.

Great is the bustle of preparation. There is money in possession and hope in the future.

There is no need to ask for contributions at the 'bidding,' though the invited guests are many.

The new room William built is being fitted up with somewhat more regard to health and decency than has been common hitherto. Cate is bringing to her bridegroom more than had been looked for--dowlas sheets and blankets, spun and woven under their own cottage roof, and a good flock bed and pillows from the same source. Then she had not been idle, and if under-_linen_ was not worn in those days in that humid climate, she had a fair supply of flannel, and of linsey-woolsey for gowns and ap.r.o.ns, all of her own spinning. Ay, and she had stockings knitted ready to a.s.sume with her new dignity.

The cottage at Castella has long been occupied by other tenants. Mr.

Morris offers Evan a small farm between Caerphilly and Cardiff, on very easy terms. The goods he had bought and paid for have been sold, but fresh are furnished readily; and Robert Jones generously conveys the long-h.o.a.rded household goods of Ales to her new home, without fee or guerdon, and, with them, a winter store of peat and culm as a wedding gift.

Both at Owen's cottage and the farm the women are busy as bees, baking and boiling for the wedding feast, for which Thomas Williams sets up long plank tables in the meadow that slopes to the foot of the hill, the break-neck ascent to the farm being a consideration on such an occasion.

For the brides are supposed unwilling to be wed, or their friends to part with them, and there is racing and chasing to recover the runaway brides, and mock contests to obtain possession of them, in which the mountain ponies play their parts well. Then, the brides being captured, there is the headlong race to the church, which bodes ill to any unwary pedestrian they may meet. It is a remnant of old barbaric custom not to be dispensed with, and all the youths and maidens, far and wide, join in the race. Scarcely less noisy is the return, when the ceremony is over, and each bride is mounted behind her husband, Rhys and Cate taking the precedence.