Читать книгу The Watchman of Orsden Moss - J. Monk Foster - Страница 8

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If the new master of Orsden Hall, and the rank and file of the inhabitants of Orsden Green, had made a special plea to the Clerk of the Weather a finer afternoon could not have been vouchsafed to them than the one they had on the day fixed upon for the celebration of the village festival. The sun rode high in all the effulgence of his summer glory, the heavens were blue as the seas which lave Oriental lands, here and there masses of fleecy cloud dotted the azure spaces of the sky and a soft western breeze, redolent of all the sweet odours of the countryside, tempered the heat of the day.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the village of Orsden Green seemed deserted. Standing in front of the Black Boar, one might have glanced hither and thither along the white, dusty, rambling highway, with its scattered dwellings on either hand, and scarcely have seen a single human being. Almost all the villagers were up at Orsden Hall, and the only ones left behind were those who could not go owing to age, youth, or infirmity.

Behind the Hall, where so many generations of the Vanshaws had lived and died, there was a goodly expanse of pasture land, bounded on one hand by the highroad, on the other by the edge of Orsden Moss, and dotted here and there by clumps of trees.

Here it was that the rustics of the village were disporting and enjoying themselves. A big marquee had been erected close by a clump of sycamores, and inside the tent was an abundance of good, rough, strong fare, such as simple working people love to regale themselves with, and such quantities of ripe, brown, sparkling ale as made the pitmen and the other labourers thirsty.

There was ample store of everything, and there was no occasion to stand upon ceremony. Those who were hungry went to the long tables inside the great canvas building, and helped themselves without stint to the hunks of bread and cheese and beef sandwiches; those who were thirsty had but to repair to the rough counters behind which were stillaged a long row of casks, and drink their fill of the brown beer they loved so well.

Outside, the village band was playing a lively air, and the green sweep of grass was sprinkled with the gaily delighted forms of men and women, youths and maidens, and young children. The band was playing a dance, and those who had mastered the steps were circling over the sward in a ring beneath the trees.

At the higher end of the field Aaron Shelvocke and his relatives were gathered together, and a big cluster of villagers was around them. The master of the Hall had just been suggesting to his nephews that some kind of sports should be organized for the younger portion of the merry-makers; he had placed five pounds in Mat's hands to be distributed as prizes, and Mat and Levi had readily fallen in with Aaron's suggestion.

Old Luke Shelvocke was attired in all the pomp and dignity of his Sunday go-to-Church garments, and the dingy black suit, with its infinitude of creases and crinkles and multitude of bagginesses, fitted him, as one miner put it, "a good deal too much." But the Manager of the Orsden Green Colliery carried himself as became the Manager of his brother's mines; he was somebody of consequence again now, and he knew it, and was determined the villagers should not forget it, hence he had donned the old top-hat which was twenty-five years old at the least, and which he usually kept for great events, such as burials, weddings, christenings, and occasions similar to the present festival.

Perhaps the prettiest of the comely lasses in the field was the dashing brunette, Naomi Shelvocke. Her slim, shapely figure was garbed in a princess robe of some dark-blue material, which set off her fine figure admirably; and the big straw hat that rested on her shining tresses of raven hue, sheltered her soft olive face from the too ardent kisses of the sun. The girl's oval face was full of animation; there was the sparkle of pleasure in her black eyes, and her whole bearing denoted that Naomi Shelvocke was plucking as much delight from the passing hour as any maiden there.

Mr. Levi Blackshaw, too, was enjoying himself, like his uncle Luke, in a quiet, dignified manner, in consonance with his opinions, his acquirements, and his training. Levi felt that he was considerably above the crowd he found himself amidst; he was a superior kind of young man, who had little sympathy with the rude, unlettered miners and their wives and families. Their tastes didn't run on all fours with his own, and he only tolerated the festival, and honoured it with his presence, because he had sense enough to see that his moneyed uncle was a gentleman whose favour was well worth seeking and winning.

Although young Blackshaw had lived at Orsden Green all the days of his life, he did not consider himself a mere villager, such as they were whom he saw about him. He had always worked in the adjacent town of Coleclough, going there each morning and returning at even, and he was, he felt, in every sense a townsman, and not a mere rustic clodhopper. Even between his cousin Mat and himself there was a great gap which Uncle Aaron would certainly perceive in time; and for that time Levi intended to wait patiently. A relative with twenty thousand pounds—with neither a wife nor a family to inherit his wealth—was a gentleman worth cultivating and conciliating.

Mat Shelvocke had thrown himself heart and soul into the festive proceedings that day. Perhaps he had done more than any one else to make the affair a success. He had gone to every house in the village with an urgent invitation from his uncle, had given the orders for all the provisions and drink, had engaged the village band also, and was now dispensing those five pounds among the village children in prizes, of half-crowns and shillings to the victors in the races and leaping matches.

In a word, Aaron Shelvocke had taken a great fancy to Mat, and had constituted him his right-hand man in the festival. On the previous day the Orsden Green Colliery had been reopened, and the bulk of the miners had gone back to their former places. Mat had prepared to go back like the rest, but his uncle had told him not to do so, as he required his assistance. "And," Aaron Shelvocke had added, "now that I am the owner of the colliery, I can't think of letting my favourite nephew resume his former employment as a hewer of coal. When things have settled a bit, Mat, we must see what we can find you to do."

Mat Shelvocke was not by any means the best dressed young fellow at the village festival, but there was no youth present to whom he yielded the palm for comeliness. As a rule Mat only rose to the dignity of a collar and tie on Sabbath days, or when he visited the neighbouring town on Saturday evenings. Like the simple, honest-hearted lad he was, he felt much easier when his throat was not encircled by a stiff linen collar; and to-day, as he roved here and there among the villagers, nodding to that miner, exchanging greetings with another, he told himself he would be more comfortable if he were to toss away his starched neckband.

Unknown to himself, poor, unsophisticated Mat was already the object of his dark-visaged cousin's enmity; Levi Blackshaw had been quick to note the interest Aaron took in Mat, and he hated his brown-faced crisp-haired relative for it. But he was too astute to display the resentment that was burning in his breast. At Mat's side he paced the sward, a smile on his dark countenance, and glib words on his tongue, wondering the while how it was that everybody seemed so fond of Mat. As for himself Levi could see nothing in his cousin, save his handsome florid face and his well-built figure.

Presently Aaron Shelvocke strolled away from the immediate vicinity of the merry-makers. Lighting his old briar-root pipe he sauntered across the short grass, reflecting on the happenings of the last score and a half of years. Then he was a ne'er-do-well—a common work-a-day pitman—a poacher even on the very land he how trod upon as master.

After all, he was inclined to think now it had been for the best that a certain poaching affray had driven him abroad. But for that event he might have remained in the village all his days, and have been no better off than some of his old comrades, who were at that very moment enjoying themselves heartily at the other end of the field at his expense.

A quarter of an hour later Aaron was returning towards the marquee, walking alongside the low fence which divided his domain from the highway, when he came upon a young girl who was standing in the road with her eyes upon the festive throng. He had gained her side before she turned and noticed him.

"Now, my little woman," he cried pleasantly, "how is it that you are not enjoying yourself with the rest of the villagers?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," the lass answered with some hesitation, as a blush suffused her face, "but I don't belong to these parts."

"Oh, indeed," Aaron cried. "Then in that case I must beg your pardon, my dear. I imagined you belonged to Orsden Green, and that by some means or other you had been overlooked or forgotten in the general invitation."

As the master of Orsden Hall spoke, his keen, inquisitive eyes were taking stock of the maiden beside him. She was a slip of a girl with a pale, refined-looking face, and not more than fifteen or sixteen years of age. She had a sweet, little red mouth, well-defined chin, a delicately modelled nose of the Greek type, and above her wide white brow little tendrils of lemon-coloured hair clustered. Somehow Shelvocke felt interested in the young stranger.

"Orsden Green!" the lassie repeated quickly. "Is that the village down the lane there?"

"Yes, that is the village of Orsden Green, miss. If you are a stranger, as you say, and I can help you in any possible way, I shall be only too glad to do so."

"Perhaps you can tell me where a man named John Forrester lives, sir?" the girl replied.

"John Forrester!" Aaron repeated reflectively. "No, I cannot say that I know the name. What business does he follow, miss?"

"He is a collier, sir."

"And you are quite sure he lives at Orsden Green?"

"He did live here, but it is some months now since we last heard from him. He is my uncle, and I was coming here to live with him."

"Then he must have expected you?"

"I can hardly tell you, sir," the girl answered in a slow uncertain way, and her eyes were almost timidly raised to Shelvocke's. He noticed that her eyes were very large and dark blue, and that there was an appealing uneasy light in them. "I wrote to him a week ago telling him of my father's death," here her voice trembled and her eyes filled, "but I got no answer; and so I came here hoping to find him."

"You have not walked?" he questioned as he glanced down at her dust-covered boots.

"Only from Gathurst Bridge, sir. I made a mistake in the station, and got out a station too soon; but as there was no other train for an hour or more to Orsden Green I thought I would walk."

"And that meant nearly four miles on a broiling day like this. Well, wait a moment while I think. I am a native of the village, but have been away from it for many years—only came back a week ago, in fact, so am almost a stranger myself to many of the people. But if your uncle is a collier at Orsden Green we will soon find him. There is but one mine here, and my brother is the Manager. He will know all the miners, and he is here among these people. I will find him, and he will tell you all you wish to know."

"Thank you, sir, very much," she said slowly, and her blue eyes were more grateful than her words.

"Pardon me, miss," he said, as he half turned away to seek his brother, "may I ask how far you have travelled this morning?"

"From Birkenshaw, near Leeds."

"Then you must be both tired and hungry. There is an abundance of meat and drink in the tent there if you will come with me."

"No! No! Thank you! I am a stranger to all those people, and I——" She glanced down at her travel-stained boots, and then at her garments, her refined countenance flushing the while in a confusion he understood.

"Well, I will not press you—but you will wait till I return?"

"Yes, sir."

He hurried away, but had not taken many paces ere he saw his two nephews and Naomi Shelvocke emerge from a small throng of merry-makers. He paused, caught the attention of his relatives, and the trio of young people hurried to his side.

"There is a young lady here from Yorkshire, Mat," Aaron explained, as they went to the fence near the highway, where the pretty stranger was still standing. "She has come to Orsden Green to look for her uncle, a miner named John Forrester. Perhaps you can tell her, Mat, where to find her relative."

"I know John Forrester very well, uncle, but I'm sorry to say I don't know where he has gone!" Mat answered.

"He's gone, then? When did he leave?"

"About a fortnight ago—as soon as the men got notice that the Orsden Green Colliery was to be closed."

"And you did not hear him say where he thought of going, Mat?"

"Forrester talked about several places—the North of England, Yorkshire, and Wales, I believe."

"This is very awkward," Aaron mused, in a sympathetic tone, with his gaze upon the white face of the young girl, who seemed greatly disturbed by Mat's intelligence that her relative had disappeared. "I hope that you will not permit yourself, my young lassie, to be distressed over-much because your uncle has left the village. Perhaps some of the other miners may know where he has gone; and, in the meantime, we must try to make you comfortable. Why, I daresay," Aaron added, as an idea occurred to him, "that I can find you something to do. I want a servant or two at the Hall, and if you care to——"

"I am not accustomed to service, sir," the girl replied, as her moist blue eyes were lifted in thankfulness to the speaker. "I have been used to working on the pit brow, and I thought when I came here that I might obtain a place as a pit-brow girl."

"And so you shall!" Shelvocke cried, earnestly. "That is my colliery over there, where your uncle used to work, and I will see that you have a place at once. You may consider yourself engaged now, if you please, and start work on Monday morning."

"I thank you, sir, very much, Mr.——"

"Shelvocke—Aaron Shelvocke—and your name?"

"Is Lettice Forrester," she answered, dropping her soft blue eyes before the scrutinizing stare of Naomi Shelvocke's ardent black orbs. Then she resumed, "I cannot tell you, sir, how much I thank you for what you have done for me."

"And you avail yourself of my offer to find you a situation?"

"Yes, sir. I will say good afternoon now, for I must go into the village to see if any one will take me in."

"The village is empty, Miss Forrester," Aaron rejoined. "All the men and women are here," waving his hand over his shoulder. "This is my niece, Naomi Shelvocke, and these young men are my nephews. Here, Naomi, take charge of this young lady, and take her to the Hall to refresh herself and rest a little. Then you can join the festive crowd and find some one who is willing to take Miss Forrester as a lodger. Now, Mat and Levi, come along with me, as I have something I want to have your opinion upon."

The young men walked away at their uncle's side, and Naomi Shelvocke and Lettice Forrester were left together.