The Root of All Evil Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  _The Shakespeare Line_

  The Savilestowe blacksmith had been right when he said to George Gricethat Jeckie Farnish had probably put money by. Jeckie had for some timeforeseen the coming of an evil day, and for three years she had setaside a certain amount of the takings from her milk, butter, and eggssales, and had lodged it safely in the Penny Bank at Sicaster in her ownname. Her father knew nothing of this nest-egg; no one, indeed, exceptRushie, knew that she had it; not even Rushie knew its precise amount.And when Jeckie turned away from watching George Grice's broad backdisappear down the lane, and knew that her father's downfall was at lastinevitable, she at once made up her mind what to do. She knew a widowwoman in Sicaster who had a roomy house in one of the oldestthoroughfares, Finkle Street; to her she repaired on the day followingthe levying of the Clothford money-lender's execution, and bargainedwith her for the letting of three rooms. On the morning of the forcedsale she routed Farnish and Rushie out of their beds as soon as the sunrose; before six o'clock all three, carrying their personal effects inbundles, were making their way across the fields towards Sicaster; bybreakfast time they were settled in their lodgings. And within an hourJeckie had found her father a job, and had told him that unless he stuckto it there would be neither bite nor sup for him at her expense. It wasnot a grand job, and Jeckie had come across it by accident--Collindale,the greengrocer and fruit merchant in the Market Place, with whom shehad done business in the past, selling to him the produce of theApplecroft orchard in good years, happened to want an odd-job man abouthis shop, and offered a pound a week. Jeckie led her father toCollindale and handed him over, with a few clearly-expressed words tomaster and man; by noon Farnish was carrying potatoes to one andcauliflowers to another of the greengrocer's customers. Nor was Jeckieless arduous in finding work for her sister and herself. They were bothgood needlewomen, and she went round the town seeking employment in thatdirection, and got it. Before she went to her bed that first night inthe hired lodgings, she was assured of a livelihood, and of no need tobreak into the small hoard in the Penny Bank.

  Over the interminable stitching which went on in the living-room of thisnew abode, Jeckie brooded long and heavily over the defection of AlbertGrice. She had believed that Albert would hasten up to Applecroft whenhe heard the bad news, and while her father and the man in possessiondrank up the last beer in the barrel, and Rushie and Doadie Bartlefinished the mangling of the linen, she went out into the gloom of thefalling night and listened for his footsteps coming up the lane. Hardenough though her nature was, it was unbelievable to her that the manshe had promised to marry could leave her alone at this time of trouble.But Albert had never come, and next day, she heard that he had gone awayfor a holiday. She knew then what had happened--this was all part of oldGrice's plans; old Grice meant that everything was to be broken offbetween her and his son. She registered a solemn vow when the fullrealisation came to her, and if George Grice had heard it he wouldprobably have been inclined to take Stubley's advice and think a littlebefore treating Jeckie so cavalierly. She would have her revenge onGrice!--never mind how long it took, nor of what nature it was, shewould have it. And she was meditating on the beginnings and foundationsof it when Bartle came to her, wanting advice as to his own course ofproceeding.

  "I reckon it's all over and done wi', as far as this here's concerned,"he said, with a deprecating glance round the empty fold. "And I mun dosummat for misen. Now, grocer Grice, he offered me a job yesterday--whenhe were drivin' down t'lane there, after he'd been here. Wants a man tolook after his horses, and go round wi' his cart, 'liverin' t'groceries.Thirty shillin' a week. What mun I do about it?"

  Jeckie's eyes lighted up.

  "Take it, lad!" she answered, with unusual alacrity. "Take it! And whileyou're at it, keep your eyes and ears open, and learn all you can aboutt'business. It'll happen stand you in good stead some day. Take it, byall means."

  "All reight," said Bartle. "I'll stan' by what you say, Jeckie.But--there's another matter. What?" he continued, almost shamefacedly."What about--yoursens? I know it's a reight smash up, is this--what'sgoing to be done? I'm never going to see you and Rushie i' a fix, youknow. If it's any use, there's that bit o' money 'at you made me put i't'bank--ye're welcome to it. What were you thinkin' o' doin' like?"

  Jeckie took him into her confidence. Her plans were already laid, andshe was not afraid. So Bartle went into Grice's service when Jeckie andRushie started stitching in Sicaster, and thenceforward he turned up inFinkle Street every Sunday afternoon, to see how things were going onwith his old employers. It was characteristic of him that he never cameempty-handed--now it was a piece of boiling bacon that he brought as anoffering; now a pound of tea; now a lump of cheese. And he also broughtnews of the village, and particularly of his new place. But for fourSundays in succession he had nothing to tell of Albert Grice but that hewas away, still holidaying.

  On the fifth Sunday, when Bartle came, laden with a fowl (bought, abargain, from his village landlady) in one hand, and an enormous bunchof flowers (carefully picked to represent every variety of colour) inthe other, Jeckie and her father were away, gone to a neighbouringvillage to see a relation who was ill, and Rushie was all alone. Bartlesat down in the easiest chair which the place afforded, spread his bighands over his Sunday waistcoat, and nodded solemnly at her.

  "There's news at our place, Rushie, mi lass!" he said gravely. "Imisdoubt how Jeckie'll tak' it when she comes to hear on't. About yontheer Albert."

  "What about him?" demanded Rushie, whom Bartle had found lolling on thesofa, reading a penny novelette, and who still remained there, yawning."Has he come back home?"

  "Come back t'other day, lookin' like a duke," answered Bartle. "Yallergloves on his hands, and a fancy walkin' stick, and things on his feetlike t'squire wears. An' it's all out now i' Savilestowe--he's goin' tobe wed, is Albert. T'owd chap's fair mad wi' glory about it."

  "Who's he goin' to wed?" asked Rushie.

  "A lass 'at's his cousin, wi' no end o' money," replied Bartle. "OwdGeorge is tellin' t'tale all ower t'place. She's to hev two thasandpound, down on t'nail, t'day at they're wed, and there'll be more tocome, later on. And Grice is hevin' a bedroom and a sittin'-room done upfor 'em, in reight grand style--t'paperhangers starts on to-morrow, andthere's to be a pianner, and I don't know what else. They're to be wedin a fortnight."

  "She can have him!" said Rushie contemptuously. "He's nowt, is AlbertGrice!--I never could think however our Jeckie could look at him."

  "Well--but that's how it's to be," remarked Bartle. Then, with a solemnlook, he added, twiddling his thumbs, "He's treated Jeckie very bad,has Albert."

  Rushie said nothing. She gave Bartle his tea, and later went for a walkwith him round the old town; in his Sunday suit of blue serge he was afine-looking young fellow, and Rushie saw many other girls cast admiringlooks at him. He had gone homewards when Jeckie and her father returned,and it was accordingly left to Rushie to break the news of Albert'sdefection to her sister.

  Jeckie heard all of it without saying a word, or allowing a sign to showitself in her hard, handsome face. She went on with her work in theusual fashion the next morning, and continued at it all the week, andwhen Bartle came again on the following Sunday, with more news of thepreparation at Grice's, she still remained silent. But on the nextSaturday she went out before breakfast to the nearest newsagent's shopand bought a copy of the _Yorkshire Post_ of that morning. She opened itin the shop, and turned to the marriage announcements. When she hadassured herself that Albert Grice had been duly married to his cousinLucilla at Nottingham two days previously, she put the paper in herpocket, went back to Finkle Street, and ate an unusually heartybreakfast. She had made it a principle from the beginning of the neworder of things to see that Farnish, Rushie, and herself never wantedgood food in plenty--folk who work hard, in Jeckie's opinion, must livewell, and her own country-bred appetite was still with her.

  But she was going to do no work that Saturday morning. A
s soon as sheand Rushie had breakfasted she went upstairs to her room and put on herbest clothes. That done, she unlocked a tin box in which she keptcertain private belongings and took from it the engagement-ring whichAlbert Grice had given her and a small packet of letters. These all wentinto a hand-bag with the _Yorkshire Post_; clutching it in her righthand, with an intensity which would have signified a good deal to anycareful observer, she marched downstairs to her sister.

  "Rushie," she said, "I shall be out for an hour or two--get on withthose things for Mrs. Blenkinsop: you know we promised to let her have'em to-day. Do as much as you can, there's a good lass--I'll set to assoon as ever I'm back. Never mind the dinner till we've finished."

  Then she went out and along the big Market Place and into Ropergate, thestreet wherein the Sicaster solicitors, a keen and shrewd lot,congregated together, in company with auctioneers, accountants, anddebt-collectors. There were at least a dozen firms of solicitors in thatstreet, but Jeckie, though she had never employed legal help in herlife, knew to which of them she was bound before ever she crossed thethreshold of her lodgings. She was a steady reader of the localnewspapers, especially of the police and county court news, and so hadbecome aware that Palethorpe & Overthwaite were the men for her money.And into their office she walked, firm and resolute, as St. Sitha'sclock struck ten, and demanded of a yawning clerk to see one or other ofthe principals.

  When Jeckie was admitted into the inner regions she found herself in thepresence of both partners. Palethorpe, a sharp, keen-faced fellow sat atone table, and Overthwaite, somewhat younger, but no less keen, atanother; both recognised Jeckie as the handsome young woman sometimesseen in the town; both saw the look of determination in her eyes andabout her lips.

  "Well, Miss Farnish," said Palethorpe, who scented business. "What canwe do for you, ma'am?"

  He drew forward a chair, conveniently placed between his own and hispartner's desk, and Jeckie, seating herself, immediately drew out fromher hand-bag the various things which she had carefully placed in it.

  "I dare say you gentlemen know well enough who I am," she said calmly."Elder daughter of William Farnish, as was lately farming atSavilestowe. Father, he did badly this last year or two, and everybodyknows he was sold up a few weeks since by a Clothford money-lender. Butbetween you and me, Mr. Palethorpe and Mr. Overthwaite, I've a bit ofmoney put by, and I brought him and my sister into lodgings here inSicaster--I've got him a job, and made him stick to it. And me and mysister's got good work and plenty of it. I'm telling you this so thatyou'll know that aught that you like to charge me, you'll get--I'm notin the habit of owing money to anybody! And I want, not so much youradvice as to give you orders to do something."

  The two partners exchanged smileless glances. Here, at any rate, was aclient who possessed courage and decision.

  "Everybody in Savilestowe knows that for some time before my father wassold up I was engaged to be married to Albert Grice, only son of GeorgeGrice, the grocer," continued Jeckie. "It was all regularly arranged. Wewere to have been married next year, when Albert'll be twenty-five.Here's the engagement ring he gave me. I was with him when he bought it,here in Sicaster, at Mr Pilbrow's jeweller's shop; he paid four poundfifteen and nine for it, and they gave me half-a-dozen of electroplatedspoons in with it as a sort of discount. Here's some letters; there'seight of 'em altogether, and I've numbered and marked 'em, that Albertwrote me from time to time; marriage is referred to in every one of 'em.There's no doubt whatever about our engagement; it was agreed to by hisfather and my father, and, as I said, everybody knew of it."

  "To be sure!" said Overthwaite. "I've heard of it, Miss Farnish. Localgossip, you know. Small world, this!"

  "Well," continued Jeckie, "all that went on up to the day that thebailiff came to our place. George Grice was there when he came; he wentstraight away home, and next day he sent Albert off to Nottingham, wherethey have relations. He kept him away until we were out of the village;he took good care that Albert never came near me nor wrote one singleline to me. He got him engaged to his cousin at Nottingham, and now,"she concluded, laying her newspaper on Palethorpe's desk and pointingto the marriage announcements, "now you see, they're wed! Wed two daysago; there it is, in the paper."

  "I saw it this morning," said Palethorpe. He looked inquisitively at hisvisitor. "And now," he added, "now, Miss Farnish, you want----"

  "Now," answered Jeckie, in curiously quiet tones, "now I'll make AlbertGrice and his father pay! You'll sue Albert for breach of promise ofmarriage, and he shall pay through the nose, too! I'll let George Gricesee that no man's going to trifle with me; he shall have a lessonthat'll last him his life. I want you to start on with it at once; don'tlose a moment!"

  "There was never any talk about breaking it off, I suppose?" askedOverthwaite. "I mean between you and Albert?"

  "Talk!" exclaimed Jeckie. "How could there be talk? I've never even seteyes on him since the time I'm telling you about. George Grice took careof that!"

  Palethorpe picked up the letters. In silence he read through them,noting how Jeckie had marked certain passages with a blue pencil, and ashe finished each he passed it to his partner.

  "Clear case!" he said when he had handed over the last. "No possibledefence! He'll have to pay. Now, Miss Farnish, how much do you want inthe way of damages? Have you thought it out?"

  "As much as ever I can get," answered Jeckie, promptly. "Yes, I havethought it out. The damage to me's more nor what folk could think atfirst thoughts. George Grice is a very warm man. I've heard him say,myself, more than once, that he was the warmest man in Savilestowe, andthat's saying a good deal, for both Mr. Stubley and Mr. Merritt arewell-to-do men. And Albert is an only child: he'd ha' come in--he willcome in!--for all his father's money. I reckon that if I'd marriedAlbert Grice I should have been a very well-off woman. So the damagesought to be----"

  "Substantial--substantial!" said Palethorpe. "Very substantial, indeed,Miss Farnish." He glanced at his partner, who was just laying aside thelast of the letters. "It's well known that George Grice is a rich man,"he remarked. "But, now, here's a question--is this son of his inpartnership with him?"

  Jeckie was ready with an answer to that.

  "No, but he will be before a week's out," she said. "In fact, he may benow, for aught that I know. I've certain means of knowing what goes onat Grice's. George has promised to make Albert a partner as soon as hemarried. Well, now he is married, so it may have come off. He hadn'tbeen a partner up to now."

  "We'll soon find that out," said Palethorpe. "Now, then, Miss Farnish,leave it to us. Don't say a word to anybody, not even to your father orsister. Just wait till we find out how things are about the partnership,and then we'll move. What you want is to make these people pay--what?"

  Jeckie rose, and from her commanding height looked down on the two men,who, both insignificant in size, gazed up at her as if she had been anAmazon.

  "Money's like heart's blood to George Grice!" she muttered. "I want towring it out of him. He flung me away like an old clout! He shall see!Do what you like; do what you think best; but make him suffer! I haven'tdone with him yet." Then, without another word, she marched out of theoffice, and Palethorpe smiled to his partner.

  "What's that line of Shakespeare's?" he said. "Um--'A woman moved islike a fountain troubled.' This one's pretty badly moved to vengeance, Ithink, eh?"

  "Aye!" agreed Overthwaite. "But she isn't, as the quotation goes on,'bereft of beauty.' Egad, what a face and figure! Albert Grice must be adoubly damned fool!"