Читать книгу The Girl at Bullet Lake - H. A. Cody - Страница 13

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The two old henchmen of Silas Acres' household were as opposite as two human beings could possibly be. Billy Stubbles was talkative, small, and quick of foot. He was interested in everything, and a great news-gatherer. He liked the company of men, and a hot argument brought the glow of satisfaction to his wrinkled, clean-shaven face. He was liked by everyone in the parish, and whenever the young people met together for a dance it was Billy who supplied the music upon his old violin. He had a mouth-organ, as well, and this he always carried with him, and played it even in the field while resting at times under the shade of a tree. "Music is the language of heaven," he often told his fellow workman, Nathan Brown. "But sad to say, Nathan, some have no ears to hear it, an' that is the trouble with you." This was certainly true, and it annoyed Nathan to hear Billy talk about music as the language of heaven. To him the violin was the devil's instrument, and the mouth-organ was almost as bad. He was a tall, large, sober-faced man. He seldom smiled, and he looked with sad, reproachful eyes upon the gay and wicked world. To him the Bible contained the only language of heaven. He read and studied it regularly. He was a staunch Baptist in belief, while Billy was an ardent member of the Church of England. Fierce were the arguments they often held while working in the fields, and sometimes during the evenings, especially in winter. As Nathan knew his Bible almost by heart, he could quote book, chapter, and verse to support his claim. Billy, on the other hand, always fell back upon the Prayer Book, and what the Church taught. They were both mighty champions in defense of what they believed, and often their work suffered while they engaged in some heated discussion.

And in politics they were also opposed to each other. Nathan was a Liberal, and Billy a Conservative. Each read the paper which favored his own side, and denounced the other as a "lying sheet" not fit to enter any decent house. But for all this, they were fond of each other, and their fierce arguments amounted to nothing more than words. In such battles they found considerable pleasure, and if parted for a day they were anxious to be together once more to begin their wrangling all over again.

In one thing, however, they were united, and that was in their unswerving loyalty to Silas Acres. So long had they been with him that they formed an integral part of the place. They also knew that not a word must be said in the parish about what went on in the Acres' household. This was a law which had never been broken. News came into the house, and all were eager to hear the latest about the affairs in Glengrow, and what the neighbors were saying and doing. But not a word leaked out beyond the borders of Silas Acres' farm. This annoyed the people of the parish. They had long since given up questioning Billy and Nathan when they met them at the store, the post-office, or at church.

Silas Acres reigned supreme in his little kingdom. Here with his two workmen and his faithful housekeeper, Rachel, he laid aside the stern mask of scorn and contrariness which he presented to the outside world and became an agreeable companion most of the time. But his word was law, and his servants knew it. Although he talked freely with them when he felt so inclined, they were really never familiar with him. There was something about him which they could not understand. This was chiefly his silent moods when sometimes for days he would have little to say, and seemed completely lost to what was going on around him. He ate and moved like a man in a dream, and on such occasions there was always a peculiar expression in his eyes.

Such was his manner after supper one evening as he sat at the table with Nathan on his right and Billy on his left. There was an abundance of well-prepared food, for Rachel was an excellent cook. Whatever Mr. Acres might be to others he was never mean in his own house. "Good food, and plenty of it," was his motto. He himself was generally a hearty eater, and he liked his men to be well fed. But this evening he ate very little, and seemed to pay no attention to the discussion in which Billy and Nathan were engaged. They were not as fierce as usual, and several times they glanced at the grim, silent man at the head of the table. That something out of the ordinary was disturbing him they were well aware, but what it was they had no idea.

When Billy and Nathan were at last through with their supper, they pushed back their chairs and were about to leave the table, when Mr. Acres stirred to life and motioned them to remain.

"Light your pipe, Billy, and I shall do the same. Nathan can stand the smoke for a while, I guess."

When their pipes were drawing to their satisfaction, Mr. Acres looked keenly at Billy.

"You were at the store to-day. Any news?"

A smile overspread the little man's wrinkled face, and his eyes brightened. He had been eagerly awaiting this question, for he did have special news to impart.

"Yes, Si, I heard something important this afternoon. The whole parish is up in arms against Mrs. Nairn."

He glanced at his master and felt quite satisfied at the effect of this announcement.

"Against Mrs. Nairn!" Mr. Acres exclaimed. "Why is that?"

"Because of what she said about the people in this parish, and about you."

"About me! Explain what you mean."

"Well, Si, it started the mornin' you visited the rectory. After you had left, Mrs. Nairn told the parson that she liked you because you are not a hypocrite like most people in Glengrow."

Mr. Acres' eyes opened wide in amazement, and even Nathan was impressed.

"Why does she like me, Billy?"

"Because you are honest about not givin' to Missions. Others feel the same as you do, but they only give because they are afraid of what people might say. You have the courage of your convictions, while others have not. That's what Mrs. Nairn said."

"Well, well! But how did the people hear about it?"

"Oh, Hettie heard her. She was listenin' at the door, an' she told her mother. The news soon got around."

"I see, I see," Mr. Acres mused. "So Hettie started it, eh? The hussy! She should be whipped. Did she tell anything more?"

"Sure she did. She told about the money you demanded back. It's been a sweet morsel to all the gossips."

"I suppose so. What would folks do if they didn't have someone to talk about? They've had me for a long time, and now Mrs. Nairn is their new victim."

"Oh, they've been gossipping about her ever since she came to the parish," Nathan growled. "She's a good woman, and that's the trouble. She's kind and pleasant to everyone, and doesn't put on any airs. She's an exceptional woman, even though she does belong to the wrong Church."

Billy suddenly bristled for fight, but Mr. Acres motioned him with his hand to be quiet.

"She must be quite exceptional if she likes me," he quietly remarked. "So she called the people of Glengrow hypocrites, did she? Good for her! I like her pluck. Any more news?"

"Nothin' of much importance except that Peter's visitor has arrived."

"Who is she?"

"I didn't hear her name. She only came last night. Peter has fixed up his old store-room for her. She is an artist, an' wants to live by herself."

Mr. Acres raised his right hand, as was his custom when dismissing his men.

"That will do, boys. You may go back to your work now, and get the chores done. See that the bars are put up so the cows can't get out."

When the men had departed, Mr. Acres remained at the table lost in thought, and drawing steadily at his pipe. Rachel cleared away the dishes and began to wash them. Several times she glanced into the dining-room at the silent man and wondered what he was thinking about. Rachel Stockford was a woman well past middle age, whose back was bowed from long years of toil. Her hair was white, and her face bore marks of mental suffering. Her eyes contained an almost hopeless expression, and she worked more like a machine than a human being. She had been housekeeper here for many years, and had faithfully and patiently performed her various duties. No woman ever came to see her, and she seldom left the farm except for a rare visit to the store or the post-office. But she had been over to the Pendle's that afternoon, and this Mr. Acres knew.

"Rachel," he called, looking towards the kitchen. "Come here."

"What is it, sir?" she asked coming towards him with the dishcloth in her hand.

"How is your rheumatism, Rachel?"

"Very bad, sir. My right shoulder troubles me all the time."

"And so you've decided to try Peter Pendle's Panacea?"

Rachel gave a slight start, and a flush overspread her face.

"Who told you that, sir?"

Mr. Acres smiled as he tapped the table with the fingers of his right hand.

"Never mind who told me, Rachel. But I know, all right. Have you any faith in Peter's Panacea?"

"I hardly know, sir. But I have read those big letters on Peter's van so often that I cannot get them out of my mind. 'Peter Pendle's Panacea' has been running through my head day and night until at last I decided to try it. Anything else has failed to give me any relief."

"And so will this fail, Rachel. Peter is a hum-bug, and so is his Panacea. But he is a good fellow, for all that, and the only real man in Glengrow. And his wife is a worthy woman, and minds her own business, which is more than most of the women here do. They have a visitor, I hear, and she is living in the store-room Peter has fixed up. Did you meet her?"

"I did. She invited me in, and was very agreeable. She is one of the most charming girls I have ever met."

"So she is young? How old do you think?"

"I cannot say for sure, though I should judge she is about nineteen or twenty."

"And what does she intend to do here?"

"Paint pictures, so she said. And she asked me to bring a message to you."

"To me! Who told her about me?"

"Peter and his wife, I suppose. She wants your permission to use Bullet Lake and House. She is very much interested in them, and hopes to get some very fine pictures there. She is quite willing to rent the place for a few weeks."

Mr. Acres laid his pipe upon the table and looked keenly at his housekeeper.

"What does she know about that place?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Why didn't she come to see me herself?"

"She didn't say. But I wish she would come, for I am sure you would like her. No one could help it, for she is so beautiful and bubbling over with life."

"Is that so? Well, if she does much bubbling in this parish she'll have the gossiping tongues wagging in no time."

"I don't think she would mind one bit, sir. She seems mighty independent and well able to take care of herself."

"She'll have use for all the spirit she's got, then. But she'll have to find something else to paint as I have already rented Bullet House and Lake."

"She knows that, for Peter told her. But she only wants permission to go to the lake and paint things. She doesn't want to live in the house."

"That makes no difference. I have rented the place to Mr. Rutledge, so she will have to see him. And, by the way, Rachel, what is this charming damsel's name?"

"Miss Joan Rowland, sir."

Rachel was staring at some crumbs lying upon the table which she had overlooked, so did not see the startled expression that came into Mr. Acres' eyes. Neither did she notice how erect he was sitting. Presently his whole body began to tremble, and he clutched the edge of the table to control his shaking hands.

"Some wine, Rachel. Quick," he gasped.

Glancing at her master, and alarmed by his appearance, the woman hurried out of the room. In another minute she was back with a glass of wine which Mr. Acres seized with a trembling hand and drained it to the last drop.

"Thanks, Rachel. I feel better now. You may go. I wish to be alone for a while."

"Suppose you lie down on the sofa, sir," the woman suggested.

"No, no. I'm all right now. It was only a weak spell. And, Rachel."

"Yes, sir."

"Did Peter say anything about Mr. Rutledge?"

"Not much. He took him and Mrs. Nairn to Bullet Lake yesterday afternoon."

"Did he say what Mr. Rutledge intends to do out there?"

"He hopes to do some writing."

"What about?"

"I don't know for sure, but from what Peter said he is anxious to find out something about Bullet House, and how it got its name. He thinks there must be a thrilling story connected with it. He was greatly interested in a bullet hole in the window sash. That is all Peter told me."

"That is quite enough, Rachel. You may go now."