Читать книгу The Watchman of Orsden Moss - J. Monk Foster - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Again it was Saturday afternoon, and once more the warmth and grace and glory of a perfect summer day was making the whole of the country-side about Orsden Green bright to the eye and comforting to the mind. Just a week had gone by since Mr. Aaron Shelvocke returned to his native place; and in those seven days much that was new, wonderful, and unexpected had taken place in the village.

Up at Orsden Hall great preparations were being made for a rustic feast, such as were common in the good old days; and down in the hamlet the villagers were attiring themselves in their best, and talking in an eager wondering way of the good things they would enjoy—of the deep, heart-satisfying draughts of joy and fun they would take before the day was ended.

The new Squire of Orsden Green was already living among his people, although a week had not yet passed since he had stepped into the shoes the last squire had tossed off his feet, and to make his incoming a red-letter day in the lives of the Orsden Green folks the "new mester" had resolved to feast every man and woman, youth and lassie, and all the children, also, on the lawn in front of Orsden Hall.

Before we proceed to describe the village festival let us briefly indicate the incidents that preceded and led up to it.

After the departure of their young relatives, Aaron and Luke Shelvocke had a lengthy and a very earnest conversation, in the course of which the former questioned the latter closely respecting every item of the property which was to be offered for sale at 2 o'clock on the following afternoon.

Drawing from his pocket a copy of the previous Saturday's Coleclough Observer, Aaron had gone carefully over the advertised list of articles and properties to be sold—the Hall, the Moss, the cottages in the village, and finally the colliery—and had questioned his relatives as to the value of each item.

"What about the colliery, Luke?" the younger brother had said. "It has been at work for over thirty years now, and must be almost exhausted. It was at work, you know, when I went away."

"It will last two or three years yet, Aaron," the pitman had replied. "We were workin' the lower Mountain Seam when it were stopped last week."

"How many men and lads were employed?"

"Abeawt thirty altogether."

"And how many tons a day were you raising?"

"A hundred tons a day or moor."

"Had you a good sale for it?"

"We could sell moor nor we could raise."

"Is it worth buying?" That is the question.

"If yo' can get it at anny figure under two theawsand peynds, I'll undertake to make it pay for yo'."

"You shall have the chance, then? And now, about the Moss, the Hall, and the houses in the village. What are they worth?"

"I know now't abeawt th' Ha' an' th' Moss—one is barren an' th' other is lahke a big barn; but the fifty odd cottages are wo'th—we'll you con reckon for yoresel when I tell yo' that they only let at two shillin's a week."

"Have you never thought, Luke, that there might be coal under the Moss?" Aaron queried.

"There's no coal theer, lad!" the Manager cried, emphatically. "We've bored for it a tahme or two, but never fo'nd nowt."

"I wonder what the whole lot will fetch. Have you any idea, Luke?" the younger brother queried, with a look of deep reflection on his face.

"I connot tell thee that. But I con tell thee somethin' else as may be better," the older man whispered with a wink, and a shrewd look on his cunning face.

"What is that?"

"T'other day th' auctioneer were lookin' o'er th' place wi' a strange gentlemon, and I heard him tell th' stranger that the reserve price fixed for a' th' lot—Ha', Colliery, Moss, an' ev'rythin'—were fourteen theawsund fahve hunderd peynds!"

"Fourteen thousand five hundred pounds!" Aaron repeated slowly. "I could manage that. And what reply did the strange gentleman make, Luke?"

"He said it were some theawsunds too much, an' that he would stop away fro' th' sale."

"Good! If I buy the place you will have your old shop. Now, remember, Luke, not a word of this to a living soul. First thing to-morrow morning I'll be off to the town, and bring some one back with me whose advice it will be safe to follow."

On the following morning Aaron Shelvocke was astir betimes, and before the village was thoroughly awake he was in Coleclough. A couple of hours later he was back again at Orsden Moss, and with him was one of the cleverest auctioneers and land valuers in the neighbourhood. Together they went carefully over the ground, and the opinion of the expert was that the Orsden Hall Estate was worth fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds.

With this estimate, Aaron Shelvocke was satisfied, and he intimated as much to his companion, whom he instructed to remain, on the spot until the sale took place, when he was authorized to bid for him then to the extent of the higher amount he had named.

There is no occasion to dwell upon the details of the sale. At the hour announced the usual crowd of moneyed men, bargain-hunters, brokers, dealers, and the scores of villagers attracted by feelings of curiosity assembled on the neglected lawn in front of Orsden Hall, and after the orthodox harangue from the glib-tongued knight of the hammer the whole of the estate was offered in one lot at the fictitious offer, made by the auctioneer himself, of £10,000.

There was a general feeling among the crowd that the property would have to be broken up into lots and sold piecemeal, and even the gentleman on the rostrum who wielded the tiny mallet of ivory seemed somewhat astonished when his brother professional, Mr. Healey, the expert whose services Shelvocke had retained, promptly called out,

"I offer eleven thousand!"

Instantly all eyes were centred upon the bidder, and those who knew the man and were aware of his calling divined immediately that Mr. Healey was acting for some one who preferred to keep in the background. Then some one offered an additional five hundred pounds, and after a few minutes' pause Mr. Healey again spoke, saying,

"Twelve thousand!"

In the course of half an hour the bidding crept up slowly but surely towards the price fixed as the reserve. The first bid was the respectable advance of one thousand pounds, the next two were half that amount each; then two hundred and fifty was offered and taken; another two hundred and fifty also; and then the grim-faced Mr. Healey again rushed in with a bid of five hundred, bringing up the bidding to thirteen thousand pounds.

People smiled and paused and wondered more than ever as to the person or persons for whom the noted auctioneer and appraiser was acting. Then some one made a hesitating advance of a solitary hundred, half-expecting that an advance of such a small amount would not be received. But the bid was taken with some observations of gentle irony; other bids of a like amount were made; fifties were offered also and taken; and at last, when the crowd appeared to have offered all it was worth, the reserve price of fourteen thousand five hundred pounds was reached.

Then the arbiter of the sale spoke.

"Gentlemen," said he, with a smiling countenance, "I may tell you that the reserve price has now been reached, and if I am favoured with another bid—even of five pounds or five thousand—the property will be sold. Now, who is the buyer?"

"Fourteen thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds!" rang out the cold, clear voice of Mr. Healey.

Some of those present gasped a little, stared at one another, and at the last bidder; not a few of the villagers were inclined to give vent to a cheer. The inhabitants of Orsden Green had an idea that if the whole of the property passed into the hands of one purchaser it would be better for themselves.

Again the wielder of the hammer spoke, briefly reviewing the property for which the wholly incommensurate sum named by his friend Mr. Healey was offered. The Orsden Hall estate was in the market now; the last bid made its sale certain; he would take any advance now—even in pounds. No one offered any more pounds, and the ivory mallet fell.

Half an hour afterwards the deposit-money was paid, and then it became generally known that the new squire of Orsden Green was a gentleman named Aaron Shelvocke, who had lately returned from Australia, where he had amassed a huge fortune at the gold diggings.

Before that eventful day expired not a few of the "old stagers" of Orsden Green had learned that the new owner of Orsden Hall and the adjoining estate was the very man who had left the village so suddenly a score and some odd years before—the man who had been staying at the Black Boar, and the long missing brother of their old Manager, Luke Shelvocke.

On the morrow all doubt was set at rest, for then Aaron Shelvocke took possession of the hall, and with him were his nephew, Matthew Shelvocke, and his brother, the late Manager of the Orsden Green Colliery.

The excitement and curiosity engendered in the breasts of the village folk by the re-appearance of Aaron Shelvocke under such altered conditions may be easily conceived. Everybody who had known the ex-coalminer and erstwhile poacher in the old days was glad to recall his recollections now; and not a few of these had the hardihood to address Aaron and remind him of their former acquaintance.

Nor was the new master of Orsden Hall in any way annoyed or abashed when any of his former workmates and old associates took the liberty of "jogging his memory" regarding the dead-and-gone days. Many of them he was able to remember when they recalled some incident he had forgotten, and then he would laugh pleasantly, speak freely, and shake his former friends heartily by the hand.

On the evening of the day after the sale an announcement was made which gave rise to much pleasure. After a conversation with his nephew Mat and his brother Luke, Aaron decided to restart the colliery, and the announcement alluded to was to the effect that every one who had been formerly employed in the mine or upon the surface was to recommence work as quickly as the necessary arrangements could be made.

When that matter was settled Aaron had broached another business to his relatives. Said he:

"Do you know, Luke and Mat, that I think I ought to do something for the village and the villagers, just to mark my new position in the place?"

"You've done something already, Uncle Aaron," Mat replied emphatically. "If you hadn't made up your mind to restart the colliery at once there would have been a good deal of idleness in the village; and play would have meant suffering and want for men and women and children. The nearest pits are two or three miles away, and they are full of hands already, as I know, for I went to look for a 'shop' as soon as Uncle Luke told me the Orsden Green Colliery was going to stop."

"You've done plenty, Aaron," Luke said less snarlingly than was his habit; "but what were yo' thinkin' o' doin neaw?"

"What do you say to giving the whole of the villagers a spree on Saturday afternoon? It wouldn't cost much, and I think I'll do it. A dozen barrels of beer, a score of cheese, and a load or two of loaves would do the trick nicely. It wouldn't cost more than forty or fifty pounds to find feed and sup for all the men and women, the lads and lasses in the village."

"But what's th' use o' throwin' twenty or thirty peynds away to guzzle a lot o' O'sden Greeners?" Luke grumbled, thinking, doubtless, that if his erratic relative had presented himself with the money he could have put it to a more profitable use. "It'll turn th' place upsahd deawn, an' cause no eend o' ructions."

"I don't think so!" Aaron said earnestly. "These folk don't get so much free fun and pleasure, and they shall have a bit now at my expense. Besides, Luke, think of the fine set-off it will give me in my new line as Squire of Orsden Green. The old family took all they could squeeze out of the village, and the least I can do now is to show the folk from whom I have sprung that I can spend money as well as I can make it. Eh, Mat?"

"If you can afford the few pounds, spend it, Uncle," Mat replied. "You have made a very good impression in the village already, and this suggested feast of yours will simply make you popular with everybody."

"So it will, lad. Well, we'll do it. You, Mat, know the village from end to end, and you shall go round and invite everybody to the picnic at Orsden Hall on Saturday. You will have an idea how many we may expect, and then we can provide accordingly."

"When shall I start, Uncle?"

"At once. Make a list of all who promise to come, and bring it to me here!"