Broken Arcs: a West Country chronicle

Chapter I The Home Of Susannah

" Tidden nar' a bit o' good for I to go on churnen, mother ! It do seem as if thik there butter wur bewitched, for I caan't get 'en to come no ways ! " The young girl had left the churn in despair, and had wandered out into the open doorway of the cottage to make her lament, on that balmy June day, in the year of grace 1854, when the whole world seemed wrapped in slumberous summer sunlight. " Tell 'ee what, Susie, tidden the butter as be hag-rod ! "* was the sharp retort of the older woman, as with brisk, firm steps she came up the garden path, and looked her daughter straight in the face. " Bless my heart alive 1 What be the maids a comen to, nowadays, wi' their heads that full o' * Bewitched A somethen or nother ? An' you be a sight wuss ever sence you've a-ben biden over to Mere. Ah ! well, I s'pose I mun have a try at it when I 've a-set they chicken down agen the fire."

With the tenderest care, Caroline Yeats took one by one from her big apron, half a dozen little fluffy yellow balls, and put them in an old basket lined with flannel, on the open hearth. A great tabby cat who was basking by the fire on the other side, in a patch of sunshine, sleepily opened one eye to take note of the new arrivals, and then closed it again, for by long experience in such matters she knew when it was unsafe to meddle. Her mistress paused for a second to see that all was right, and then with the quick, active movement of one who grasps the fullest value out of every breath of life, she went straight to the much-maligned churn, and seized the handle, while her daughter looked on with inward satisfaction. They were a strong contrast, those two. The girl with her slim, willowy figure and the warm colour on her fair young face, the full red lips, the soft blue eyes under long lashes, and the shadowy dark hair, which escaped in little wavy curls.

On the other hand, the mother, with stiff upright carriage, hard features, a firm mouth and, puckered round by a network of wrinkles, piercing grey eyes, which looked out defiantly on the world. The home bore the impress of her character in its perfect order and cleanliness. Though it looked little more than a cottage, it was in fact an old-fashioned farmhouse, with stone-mullioned Tudor windows and diamond panes, built with uneven blocks of rough stone, and with a high thatched roof stained by yellow lichen. Under the deep eaves the swallows never failed to build, and clematis and honeysuckle clambered over the low porch and peeped in at the upper case ments. Inside, the roughly plastered walls had been newly whitewashed, as well as the ceiling, which was covered with wooden racks for storing bacon.

The short white dimity curtains at the window, the flowery chintz valance hung across the broad open fireplace, and also the cushions of the settle and high-backed chair, were all spotlessly fresh. The old-fashioned oak table with many legs, and the black bureau behind the door, were polished until they shone with mirror-like reflections. There was a corner cupboard with a store of quaint china and crockery, and a tall clock which was supposed to tell the signs of the Zodiac and the changes of the moon. On one side hung a gaily coloured print of Queen Victoria as a little girl ; on another, a sombre illustration of the death of Nelson ; under these were a few memorial cards with black urns and weeping willows, but the place of honour was given to a most elaborate sampler of cross-stitch, with the name " Caroline Grainger, her work, aged eleven."

At right angles to the door was placed a rude home-made screen, neatly pasted over with scraps from picture papers, and a row of flowers in pots nearly blocked up the window, above which hung a bullfinch in a wicker cage. In her first moment of freedom, Susannah Yeats had taken refuge on a low stool by the door, as far away from the churn as possible. She leant back lazily, and drew a long breath of the fragrant summer air wafted in from the old-fashioned garden, with its white glory of pinks beneath the lilac hedge. But she did not escape her mother's watchful eye, and was soon startled by the abrupt exclamation : " Tes well to be you, my maid, an' bide wi' folded hands whiles other folk does your work ! I never caan't think what good you can a-ben to Kate when she wur laid up all they weeks over to Mere ; that pore misguided sister o' your'n mun a-found out as you idden wo'th your salt !

" Susannah turned abruptly away to hide the sudden flush of colour which mantled over cheek and brow, at this allusion to her recent visit to Mere. If her mother only knew what had happened there, and what strange purpose had been served by those three Sundays of absence ! It seemed to her as if that momentous secret must be plainly written on her face for all the world to read, and after that time of thrilling excitement, she found the stagnant dulness of her home life unendurable. With a hasty gesture, she threw open the latticed window and looked out with longing eyes over the garden and across the waves of wind-swept meadow grass to the village beyond, where the white road from the hill dipped into the valley. She could catch a glimpse of moving figures at the corner against the " Barley Mow," and after watching them for a few minutes, with the full knowledge of what was going on, she could bear her isolation no longer.

"Oh mother," she cried, "do'ee let I go down street a bit ; all the folk be a-goin to chu'ch save we ! An' hark'ee, there be the bell agen." Caroline Yeats paused from her labour, which had already proved so successful that the welcome " thud, thud," of the butter against the side of the churn was beginning to make itself heard. There was a curious stiffening of her whole frame as she dropped the handle and came forward with a look of stern determination in her face. " I'd like to know what call there be for'ee, Susannah, to go down to the buryen o' the Squier's leady ? What have he or his'n ever done for we, but harry an' scuffle an' tread we down like the dirt aneath their feet ? No, no, my maid, bide to hoam an' mind thy wark." " Do 'ee let I go, only jest this onst, mother," pleaded the girl, almost crying in her keen disap pointment.

As the mother and daughter stood face to face, there seemed to come out a curious likeness between them ; for although in the elder woman the dark hair was streaked with grey, and the blue eyes had a cold, wintry gleam, yet even through the furrowed and careworn lines could be traced a faint image of Susannah's beauty, like the echo of a half-forgotten melody. At this moment a shadow fell across the sunny doorway, and they both looked round, to see a quaint little old woman standing on the threshold. Sure of her welcome, Dinah Crane stepped forward with a cheerful smile of greeting on her wrinkled face. " Well Car'line, an' how be you ? " she asked in quavering tones. " Glad to get our Susie back to hoam agen, I'll warr'nt ! And you, my dear, how glad Kate mun a-ben for to have 'ee in her trouble.

Why Susie, there 'idden nar' a lass in all Pitterne nigh so handy wi' a babe ; tes a rare sort of a knack as some maids be born wi', so tes ! Be a looken like flowers i' May too ; " added the kindly old body, as she took a critical view of the bright, flushed face, and Susannah's heart leapt up within her for joy at these words of homely praise. It was quite true, and a well-known fact in the village that she had a passion for babies, and that some gift of devotion and sympathy was called out by the helpless little creatures, of which the girl showed but slight trace in the other relations of life. But her mother was not one to approve of such lavish words of encouragement for her child, and she quickly changed the subject. " Now come in grannie, an' sit 'ee down an' have a good rest ; an' may be as you'll bide an' take a bit o' dinner along o' we ?

But la dear ! " she added upon nearer approach : " what vor have 'ee put on thik Sunday gown an' all ? " It suddenly struck her that Dinah was wearing her great black silk poke bonnet with the muslin frilling inside, closely set against the smooth white hair and the cheeks of a fresh colour like a wintry pippin. Her plain black stuff skirt was almost green with many years of careful Sunday use, and above it, a little grey striped shawl was neatly pinned over the narrow shoulders, setting off her trim figure, still upright as a dart. " Nay Car'line, my dear, sure there be no need for to tell 'ee that the Squier's leady have a died over to Mere, an' they be a carryen her hoam to her buryen this day," cried Dinah eagerly. " 'Twull be a mighty grand funeral, an' folks do say as there be a big hole dug i' the stone floor o' the chancel, right agen they rails, for to lay she in, safe away from the likes o' we.

The chu'ch be all a-hung wi' black, an' the quality '11 be a comen for to look on from all the villages as lies handy." The old woman paused, quite out of breath with excitement at the thought of such grandeur, but she had failed to light a kindred spark of enthusiasm in her friend's mind. "Tidden no odds to I," was Mrs. Yeats' reply, as she went back to her butter-making. Old Dinah looked up with a bewildered expres sion on her patient face, and her head shook with tremulous agitation as she meekly crossed her toil worn, shrivelled brown hands on her knee. "My dear Car'line, won't 'ee forgie the pore woman, now that her be dead an gone ? " she asked in low, awe-struck tones. " I doant see what that have a-got to do wi' et," was the stern answer. "As for dyen, why that be what us mun all come to, one o' these days, so please God ; there be no credit i' that."

The tall, gaunt woman paused for a moment, and then coming forward, with clenched hands, her face all aglow with the passion she could no longer restrain, she cried in a loud, bitter tone : "Tidden no good vor to tell lies like one o' they ould tombstones down to chu'chyard ; her wur a bad, wicked woman, and I do hate they all ; a cruel, hard lot they be ! Why Grannie, you do know as t'war they selfish whimsies o' her'n what nigh worried the life out o' my young sister Martha when she wur leady's maid up to the Hall. And when the pore dear wur took wi' the fever, her miss'es wur that mad wi' fear o' catchen of et, that she turned her out one bitter cold night i' the snow, an' packed her off down street to father's ; it give she her death stroke." Mrs. Yeats broke off abruptly with a choking sob, and there was a moment of awed silence.

Even old Dinah Crane had not a word to say. Born at Pitterne Mavis, she had lived her more than threescore years and ten, in patient serfdom. To her the wayward tyranny os the powers that be, the crowded cottage with one wretched bedroom under the rotten thatch, the bad water, and the foul smells, with their haunting spectres of ever-present disease and death — all this was simply the common lot of poor folk. One cardinal point of her religion was to " order herself lowly and reverently to all her betters," and her friend's outspoken rebellion had not changed her purpose ; she was not one to carry ill feeling beyond the grave, and she was going down to church to see the funeral of the Squire's lady. As she rose from her seat with a stiff, awkward movement, to say good-bye, Susannah bent down towards her and whispered eagerly : "Do 'ee let I go with 'ee, grannie dear; tell mother as you wants I for to keep 'ee company."

It was a last forlorn hope, but the kind old body needed no persuasion; she could remember the time when she had been a girl herself, and she read aright the hungry longing for change and freedom in the fair young face. With a quiet smile, she turned to the mother : " I'd like to ast 'ee Car'line ef so be as thee could spare thy Susie for to gie me her earm down street ; I beant so young as I wur." She had touched the right chord, and her friend was too generous to refuse, even though it went sorely against the grain with her to allow a child of her's to make one of the gaping crowd, gathered to take part in that last act of homage to the dead. Caroline looked round at her daughter, who was awaiting her decision with breathless eagerness. " Thee mid so well go an get 'ee ready," she said sharply, "but mind tes only for to keep grannie comp'ny an' not for to waaste time wi' idle gossip, so doant 'ee bide long, my maid."

The girl flushed with delight, and did not wait to be told twice, but with light quick steps she hurried up the narrow staircase to her little chamber under the thatch. So much depended on this chance opportunity of escape from her mother's watchful eye, that Susannah gave a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction. It was now Friday, and the great event of the year at Pitterne, the club day and village fair, was to be on Trinity Monday, only three days off. She must manage at any cost to see Harry, and arrange in some way for their meeting at the festival ; every hour was so precious now, when any day her soldier lover might be called away to join his regiment. He was sure to be anxiously waiting for her down street, and she must lose no time in getting ready. She looked longingly at her best gown of grey coburg, which hung on a peg behind the door, but she dared not linger to put it on, and knew that she must be content to wear her pink spotted work-a day print, and smarten it up as best she could with her Sunday cape.

But it was with a feeling of unalloyed pleasure that she drew a bandbox out from under the bed, and carefully brought forth her big straw bonnet, lined with lilac silk and trimmed with lilac ribbons. Hastily smoothing her wavy hair, which it was always her great trouble to keep tidy, in the flat smooth bands worn in the bygone fashion of those days ; she tried to get a view of herself in the dim, distorting little mirror which hung against the wall. It was not a very flattering likeness which met her eyes, but at least she could see to tie her bonnet strings straight. Her slim fingers trembled with excitement, almost as much as on the last eventful occasion when she had worn it — only the Monday before, in the old church of St. Mary, at Mere — when she and Harry Pullen had been duly married after banns, in the open light of day, but amongst strangers, secretly, and unknown to her own people.

This very bonnet, which she herself had chosen, was the unconscious wedding gift of her sister Kate who, being the wife of a well-to-do journeyman carpenter, could afford to give a handsome return for her services. All these memories passed rapidly through her mind, when she was roughly called back to the present by her mother's voice echoing up the stairs : "Susie, what be thee a-doin child? make haste now." All too soon she had to leave her scarcely finished toilet, in an agony of dread lest something should happen to prevent her going, after all. In her daily life she was quite used to petty concealments and small reservations — the common weapons of defence by which the weak ever seek to defend themselves ; but now she had a secret, so immense and allabsorbing that she felt as if she must betray it in every word and glance.

To her troubled fancy, the very air was full of that hidden deed ; it was whispered by each passing breeze and echoed in the song of every bird ; and it was with a sense of untold relief that Susannah found herself safely outside with old Dinah, having passed the ordeal of her mother's scrutinising gaze.

Chapter II

"DUST TO DUST" " Why Susie, my dear, thee be all of a tremble," said old Dinah, as she felt a quiver of excitement, in the very touch of the girl's soft bare arm, on which her wrinkled hand was lightly resting. They had crossed the sunny meadow and were passing down the village street, where the lilacs blossomed in the hedge and laburnums still hung, like dropping gold, over the banks of the little way side stream. There was a moment's pause before the answer came, in a low, plaintive voice : " Aye, Grannie, t'wur jest about good o' thee to ax for I to come ; thee doant know what a life mother do lead I to hoam ! Tes wark an' bus'len about all day long, what wi' washen, an' ironen, an' dryen the clothes, and churnen, an' rollen the butter, an' meaken the bread, an' feeden the pigs an' the cow, an' no end of a caddie wi' they chicken !

Tes never done, an' nar' a bit o' play for I, or gadden about like other young folk, no, not in a week o' Sundays ! " The old woman looked up with a face full of tender sympathy, but she only said : " Now doant 'ee take on, my dear ; when zo be as you've a-comed to my age, glad enow you'll be to a-had sich a good, hard-worken mother." Susannah tossed her head impatiently; the com fort was too remote to soothe her present trouble ; but there was no time to say any more, for they had reached the corner by the " Barley Mow," were a crowd was gathered together, full of eager expecta tion. By general consent, no work was to be done that day in Pitterne Mavis, and the village folk stood about, some at their open doors, but mostly in scattered groups at the various points whence the dusty high-road to Mere could best be seen.

Suddenly there was a cry from a sharp-eyed boy, who pointed to the dim distance : " Look-y-see, yonder they be a-comen ! " There followed a general chorus of excitement, as one after another joined in : " Aye, aye, so tes ! " " I can see 'em sure enow ! " " La 1 idden it grand ? " It was quite true. Slowly and solemnly the funeral procession was making its way from the hill above, down the white road towards the valley. It was in the year 1854, a time when any attempt at funeral simplicity would have been looked upon as a want of respect to the dead ; so for the wife of Squire Jocelyn nothing had been spared of all the gloomy paraphernalia of woe. There was the more favourable opportunity for such display as Mrs. Jocelyn had died in the country town of Mere, about ten miles away, where she had gone for special medical attendance.

" DUST TO DUST " 15 The great unwieldy hearse, laden with sable trappings, was drawn at a snail's pace by four black horses with nodding plumes, and followed by mourn ing coaches. It had been joined at the nearest cross road by the carriages of some of the neigh bouring gentry, and the procession altogether formed a spectacle of thrilling and overwhelming interest to the villagers. That was how they liked to see things done ; and to many of them, such a magnifi cent funeral seemed the very summit of earthly ambition, the culminating point where the rich man, who had grasped all the good things of this life with both hands, still had it all his own way, and kept apart from the common herd to the very end. To the uneducated mind, there is always a curious attraction about a funeral, that simplest form of tragedy which all can understand ; and in this case the interest was heightened by all the surrounding circumstances.

It was the last honour shown to the Squire's lady who, to the village imagination, had been the living type of wealth, and ease, and luxury ; who had been clothed in purple and fine linen, and had fared sumptuously every day; and who had been lifted above all the weary toil and anxious thought for daily bread, which made the lives of working women one long struggle. Yet even she had not escaped the common lot ; her place would know her no more, and the voice which had ruled them all was now silent in death. BROKEN ARCS The sombre procession looked strangely out of place on that glorious summer day, as it crept slowly through a world all flooded with sunshine and throbbing with joyous life. On either side of the road the wind-blown, waving meadows laughed out in golden buttercups, and spires of red sorrel and moon-faced daisies; while down the village street the flaming crimson peonies and the tall larkspurs peered out from the cottage gardens as the mourners passed by, under the white glory of the hawthorn hedge.

The balmy air was laden with fragrance and the warblers sang snatches of their merry tunes, and the little chalk stream danced and sparkled by the wayside while, all the time, the bell tolled from the grey church tower and the funeral moved on unresting, through the churchyard gate, with its lichen-covered stone pillars, onwards beneath the shadow of the great yew-tree, to the Norman porch. Old Dinah Crane and Susannah had followed so far, with the rest of the lookers-on ; the women with babies in their arms, or toddling by their side, the children eager and expectant, and a few men in smock-frocks, who had all stood about in scattered groups, but now crowded round with a breathless hush of anticipation, to see carried in, the massive coffin with its gilt inscription : "Julia Rosamond Jocelyn Aged 52 " " DUST TO DUST " 17 Then came the chief mourners ; first the Squire, Richard Jocelyn himself, a big, commanding figure, with a strong countenance and stern mouth; his thick grey hair tossed back from a somewhat narrow, deeply lined forehead.

By his side walked Bernard, Captain Jocelyn, the heir and only son, as tall as his father, with an upright, soldierly bearing, and on him much of the interest of the crowd seemed to be centred. "Aye look 'ee at t' young measter," exclaimed Grannie, " there be a fine set-up lad for 'ee I A rare pleasant smile he've 'a got, an' I warr'nt as he'll be a good Squier, bime-by, as you mid live to see, my maid. His mother as be dead an' gone this vourteen year, her wur a nice spoken leady an' a kind friend to we pore folk. Thik one as be buryed this day, her wurn't no more'n Squier's second wife ! " " Tes a mighty fine sight, so tes, and the miss'es, her'd a-ben proud for to see et ! " cried a woman close by, and nobody seemed to notice anything inappropriate in the remark, for in truth it was a thought which lurked deep in many minds.

" It do seem only a bit by now as I minds she a comen here, first time, in her big new coach, all fine set up i' silks and feathers, wi' the bells a ringen an big arches o' flowers all across street," continued old Dinah presently, with a pathetic shake of her head. The young girl by her side was so touched with B BROKEN ARCS the contrast between past and present, that she wiped away a few tears with the corner of her apron. But there was no real sorrow in them ; rather a pleasing thrill of excitement, such as a tragic scene well acted might call forth. Indeed, if the truth were told, such was the general feeling amongst the spectators from the village ; this was a sight and a sensation which stirred the stagnant current of their lives, and which they would not have missed for anything. Grannie and her young friend were not amongst those who had crowded into the church to see for themselves the chancel draped in black, and the big family vault opened just in front of the altar rails.

The old woman was quite content to sit down in the porch and rest her weary limbs, while Susannah fumed and fretted, and looked restlessly about in search of some one. At length she gave a start of satisfaction, and her whole face beamed with delight, as a young man in an undress scarlet uniform made his way towards her. " Oh Harry," she whispered, " I've never had a chance for to see thee sence us corned hoam o' Tuesday." She had taken a few steps to meet him, when, with a sudden instinct of secrecy, she gave a furtive glance round, and led him just beyond the porch to a sheltered corner, where they would be out of sight from the road. " Tidden my fault, Susie lass, ef so be us haven't " DUST TO DUST " 19 a met," he replied in an aggrieved manner. "I've a-ben hangen about nigh agen thy hoam, an' a whistlen for 'ee, so soon as ever t'wur dark o' nights."

"Ah, you doant know mother," she sighed. " Her be so sharp's a needle, an' ef I so much as go anigh the door, why her'd call I back and find I some work to do. But la ! her've never found out nothen, an' I've hid my marriage lines ; a-sewed they up i' my stays." " Sure enough, t'wur a mighty fine joke to a played ! " laughed the young soldier. " To think as we mid put up the banns over to Mere, an' get wed yonder, an nar' a soul be a bit the wiser ! " But it was not a laughing matter to the girl, who took no credit to herself for a piece of deception so easily carried out. " My sister Kate wur a-bed, do 'ee see, an her husband's vo'k goes to chapel, and there be a heap o' Yeats and Tinhams, so they wouldn't take no note over yonder vor to hear we axed in chu'ch," she explained gravely. There was a moment's silence ; then the girl looked up at her lover with tear-dimmed eyes as she added softly : " Harry dear, do 'ee think as we mun keep et secret long ?

Could'n 'ee get t' young Squire, as be thy cap'n, vor to let I go with thee ? I doant mind ef tes to Ireland an' furren parts." " What be a-thinken of Susie ? " he exclaimed sharply. " Did'n I tell 'ee as there be a war begun wi' Roussia, and like as not we Scots Greys mid be sent off any day ? An' never forget as they be tar'ble strict wi' a sodger as marries wi'out leave ; why they mid put he in prison, or shoot he, like as not ! " he added, piling up the agony to ensure her obedience to his wishes. Poor little Susannah was so frightened that she sobbed aloud under the shade of her big bonnet. " I'll never let ar' a body know ; " she vowed. " An' come what may, mother '11 never forgie I ! " Moved by her tears and ready submission, her nusband tried to comfort her : " Susie, my darien, doant 'ee fret, t'wull all come right, bime-by, an' when the war be over, an' I be corned hoam wi' a gold medal an a pension maybe, us '11 be wed over agen, down to Pitterne chu'ch, wi' the bells a ringen, an' a fine new gown vor 'ee, an' all the neighbours vor to look on an' tell what a lucky chap I be !

" The young girl smiled through her tears, for her simple vanity was easily satisfied, and she looked up with shy wonder and admiration at this hero of hers who was to do such great things. He was a good-looking fellow, with dark eyes and curly brown hair; a weak mouth and good-tempered, careless assurance. He knew very well that he and his old grandmother were looked down upon by the rest of the village, and that nothing would have induced Caroline Yeats to let him marry her daughter. But " DUST TO DUST" 21 this only made him more proud of the clever trick by which he had won her, while the secrecy he ensured seemed to leave him free from all responsi bility. He had his own way, and at the same time felt very virtuous and respectable. There was perhaps this excuse for his feeling of triumph, in that he looked upon it as a victory won over society, with which he had been at warfare from his birth.