A Pair of Clogs - Amy Walton (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗

they had been "a bad lot," it was rumoured, and the old manor-house, which still bore their name, was looked on with suspicion as a place which had possibly witnessed many a deed of darkness. But the days both of its wickedness and grandeur were now over, and it stood in the fields with a forlorn and deserted air, although its mullioned windows and panelled rooms and tall chimneys gave it a look of decayed dignity. One wing of it, however, had completely disappeared; at the back, which was near the road, it was hemmed in by mean sheds and outbuildings, and the front was approached, not by a stately avenue, but by a little wicket gate leading through a field without a footpath. Small and needy farmers had been its only tenants for years, but when Mr and Mrs Roy came to Wavebury they took a fancy to the old house, and arranged to hire five rooms in it. Terms being satisfactorily settled with Mr Shivers, their landlord, who with his wife continued to occupy the other part of the house, they took up their abode with much comfort and contentment, and, when Biddy arrived, had been living there for nearly two years. They were fond of Truslow Manor, and found only one little drawback to it, which, they were accustomed to say to each other, was hardly worth mentioning; for the present, therefore, we will not mention it either.

Biddy looked out of her window with some curiosity the morning after her arrival; she wondered what she should see by daylight. Not much, but everything was in startling contrast to Buzley's Court. A field, a row of tall elms growing at the end of it, which cut off any further view; a flock of geese, a flock of turkeys, a little black donkey, a foal, and a rough pony--that was all. She afterwards discovered that there was a gate at the end of the field, and that a little sluggish river, called the Kennet, flowed along under the row of elms; a narrow footway crossed this, and led directly through the churchyard into the village, or if you liked to turn to the left, it brought you at last into the high-road at the back of Truslow Manor. In dark evenings this way into the village was not without its perils, for an unwary traveller might easily step over the edge of the path as he crossed the river and find himself in its muddy bed.

Biddy soon knew this way to church very well; and amongst the many strange customs at Wavebury, she thought it curious that there should be two services every day, though the congregation was seldom more than two or three in number.

"Whenever you like to go to church, Biddy," said her mistress, "I will always take the baby."

So Biddy went sometimes, though she never ceased to wonder why the prayers should be read when there was scarcely anyone to listen to them. Once, indeed, there were only herself and Mr Roy in the church, and as they walked home together after the service she felt obliged to apologise.

"Please, sir," she said, hurriedly drooping one knee as she walked, "I'm sorry you had to read all them long prayers jest for me."

Whereupon Mr Roy tried to make her understand why he should still have read them, whether she had been there or not. Biddy did not feel very clear about it at the end of the explanation, though she was conscious that he "talked very kind," and she fell back on the thought that after all it was the country, and quite different from London.

But this difference was "borne in upon her" most strongly of all when she went for the first time to the downs which closely surrounded Wavebury. Passing up the long straggling village with its thatched cottages, she came suddenly on them stretching away in the distance, pathless, and, as far as she could see, endless. Then she stood bewildered. Such lots of space everywhere; so much sky over her head; such a great green carpet under her feet, spread over the gentle rising and falling of the hills. All green, except for the scattered flocks of sheep, and the cairns of grey stones, and the groups of stunted thorn trees, bent and twisted and worried by the wind into a thousand odd shapes.

Looking back towards the village, where part of the land had been cultivated, she could see the oxen ploughing, their horned heads clearly outlined against the sky, and--stranger sight still--long rows of women in flapping sun-bonnets bending patiently to their labour in the fields. Beyond these, a little collection of thatched roofs, and grey church, and yellow stacks, made up the village of Wavebury; after that, downs again as far as the eye could reach.

It was, indeed, a "lonesome" place, and there was something "terr'ble" in its solitude compared to the comfortable closeness and crowding chimneys of Buzley's Court; but, fortunately for Biddy, her busy life at Truslow Manor did not leave much leisure for dwelling upon this. As time went on she and her mistress, drawn together by one common interest, became really attached to each other; the baby's crumpled red hand, which could just hold one of Biddy's fingers, kept her a willing prisoner in its feeble yet mighty grasp, and all went on well. For Mrs Roy was not disappointed in her hope of finding her little nurse a support and comfort, and valued her opinion highly with regard to the baby's ailments; true, it was sometimes rather irksome and annoying to hear so often that "our" Johnnie, or "Julia," or "Stevie" had cut their teeth and felt their legs exactly in the same way as dear little Dulcie. Mrs Roy naturally felt it impossible that there should be another baby the least like Dulcie; but she was wise enough to conceal this, and to allow Biddy's confidences about Buzley's Court and the Lane family to flow on unchecked.

So, despite the strangeness of many things in Wavebury, and their contrast to all she had been used to, Biddy was happy, and soon began to feel at home there; but she did not cease to wonder at some country customs, and amongst them the fact which specially struck her, that nearly all the women worked in the fields as well as the men. When in her errands to and from the village she passed these tramping along the roads, she stared at them with astonishment that did not lessen with time. Everything about them was so curious. Their deeply lined faces were red with wind and weather and old before their time--made harsher, too, than nature intended, because all the hair was tucked away under the cotton sun-bonnet, which were the most feminine-looking of their garments, the rest of which gave a general effect of coarse sacking ending in heavy boots.

Biddy singled out one of these women as an object of almost fearful interest, and got into a way of watching for her as she passed Truslow Manor every morning to her work. She was tall and very powerfully built, her features were coarse and swollen, and there was something repelling and yet fascinating to Biddy in her cunning, shifty glance. The way in which she strode along the road, too, swinging a rake, or hoe, or pitchfork in her hand, gave an impression of reckless strength which made the little nurse-girl shudder, and yet she felt unable to remove her gaze as long as the woman was in sight.

One day as Biddy was hastening home from an errand in the village she saw this well-known figure coming towards her with its usual rolling movement, and to her surprise it came to a stand in front of her, and, leaning on the handle of its pitchfork, surveyed her with a sort of leer. Biddy stopped too, and they looked at each for a minute in silence. Then the woman spoke:

"You be the new gal yonder?" she said with a jerk of her head.

"I'm Mrs Roy's nurse," replied Biddy, trembling a little, yet with some dignity.

The woman chuckled hoarsely.

"You don't sleep much at nights, I reckon?" she continued.

"Yes, thank you," said Biddy, who had been taught to be always polite; "the baby doesn't cry scarcely any."

For all answer the woman gave a loud stupid laugh and strode away, leaving Biddy standing in the road much discomfited. She stared after her for a moment and then hurried back to Truslow Manor, and told her mistress of the meeting.

"Oh!" said Mrs Roy quickly, "that was only poor Crazy Sall. She's half silly, and she has dreadful fits of drinking, besides. You mustn't mind anything she said to you, and you must promise never to speak to her again, or take any notice of her at all."

"I won't, mum," said Biddy; and indeed she did not feel anxious for Crazy Sall's further acquaintance, though the failing mentioned by her mistress did not surprise or shock her, she knew too many people in the neighbourhood of Buzley's Court who were troubled in the same way.

"And," continued Mrs Roy, looking earnestly at Biddy, "I want you to promise me another thing, and that is, _never_ to stop and listen to any gossip when I send you into the village."

Biddy promised that too; but it was not quite so easy to keep this promise as the first, for she was a sociable character, and in London had become quite used to enjoying fragments of chat on door-steps and elsewhere. When, therefore, in the baker's shop at Wavebury, which was also the post-office, she sometimes found a busy knot of talkers, it was natural to her to stand open-mouthed and drink in the conversation. Really anxious to obey her mistress, she struggled hard with this bad habit, but it was so strong within her that she was not always successful, and lately she had caught a chance word now and then which was at once dreadful and attractive--the word "ghost." Not only several times at the post-office, where the speakers had nudged each other and become suddenly silent when she appeared, but once she was certain she had heard Mrs Shivers say it to Mrs Roy. They were talking earnestly together, and when Biddy threw open the door and bore in a trayful of clattering cups and saucers they stopped, but not before she had plainly caught that one terrible word. Her curiosity now reached an almost unbearable pitch, but it was soon to be further enlightened.

One bright morning, when she had been at Wavebury for nearly two months, she was walking up and down near the house with the baby in her arms, waiting for Mrs Roy, who had carefully warned her meanwhile not to go out of the sunshine or to stand still, and to keep within sight of the windows. Her walk, therefore, was rather a limited one; it lay backwards and forwards between the farmyard gate and the kitchen door.

On her way she passed and repassed an open cart-shed where Mr Roy, whistling cheerily, was engaged in his favourite pursuit of carpentering. He had cast aside his black coat, and for his better convenience wore a short blue-flannel boating-jacket; about his feet the yellow-white shavings curled in larger and larger heaps every minute, as he bent over his carpenter's bench in the all-absorbing enjoyment of measuring, smoothing, and planing. The shed was also occupied by two goats and a family of cocks