Nancy Noon

Preface

"FOR my own part, I am but just set up in the business, so know little about it ; but in my opinion, to write a book is, for all the world, like humming a song — be but in tune with yourself, Madam, 'tis no matter how high or how low you take it." — Tristram S handy. CONTENTS.

Book I. Chap

PACE I. WHICH APOLOGISES FOR INTRODUCING A FEW HOPE- LESSLY COMMONPLACE PERSONS 1 II. LOVE'S OLD WANT 13 III. IN WHICH MR TWIGG GOES A- WOOING . . . .19 IV. RUNS BETWEEN ABBETLANDS AND THE HAWS . . 35 V. CONTAINS A MARRIAGE WHICH WAS NO MARRIAGE . . 47 VI. HEARS WITH SATISFACTION THE SOUND OF A BIRCH, AND THEN DRAGS UPSTAIRS WHAT IS GOING ON BELOW 67 VII. BRINGS FRESH COMPLICATIONS 77

Book II

I. ACCUMULATES TROUBLES FOR MR SPARSHOTT . . 99 II. PATS A VISIT TO DISSOLUTE DICK 121 III. HAS GOT ROUND TO ABBEYLANDS 141 IV. MOULTER AND NAN 159 V. RUNS HITHER AND THITHER 168 VI. GOES TO LAW 179 VII. l' THE NIGHT, i' THE HASTE X CONTENTS.

Book III. Chap

PAOI I. REGRETS NOT TO BE ILLUSTRATED BT HOGARTH 211 II. HEARS ABOUT THE FUGITIVES 224 III. FOLLOWS MR SPARSHOTT AND SOME OTHERS IN PURSUIT 239 IV. IS AS BRIEF AS POSSIBLE 252 V. AT COCKCROW 257 VI. IS SURPRISED TO DISCOVER MISTER SPARSHOTT IN COM PANY WITH THE PLAY MAIDENS 276 VII. CRACKLES UP, AND LEAVES ONLY SMOKE BEHIND . .

Book I Book

I. CHAPTEE I. WHICH APOLOGISES FOR INTRODUCING A FEW HOPELESSLY COMMONPLACE PERSONS. It began to be remarked that Mr Joseph Twigg and Mr James Torbet were becoming still closer friends. If you wanted to know Twigg's opinions it was not necessary to go all the way to Spoutmouth Square ; you had simply to drop in at Dulcet Boav, and have a chat with Torbet. It is not to be supposed, however, that the opinions of either of these gentlemen were of great importance, except, perhaps, among their own gossips. Indeed, they were rather obscure people. Mr Twigg was merely a phrenologist, avIio lived with his old mother ; while Mr Torbet appeared to the public to be a person of independent, if somewhat limited fortune, avIio lived Avith his elderly sister. It was said among those Avho professed themselves able to judge that Miss Torbet had recently been giving, in spite of advancing years, unmistakable evidence of an admiration for Twigg, whose intimacy with her brother, therefore, appeared favourable to the success of her designs.

And matters seem to have gone so far that an elderly female in the district found it advisable to reprove, with some A vehemence, those who still remained in unbelief, by pointing out that people might be expected to believe their own eyes. To the surprise of his phrenological patients Mr Twigg invariably dressed himself in riding clothes. This seemed to indicate an interest in the Turf. And it is not unlikely that our modern believers in heredity will point in triumph to the fact that old Twigg had been a keeper of livery stables. Joseph, besides, Avas no mean horseman. He was once accurately enough described in a criminal report as " of medium height, slim, jaunty, rather like a jockey, with black mous tachios, and a small black head." It is not true that " for sharpness the nose o' him is simple gimlets."

Mr Torbet cast this animadversion on him only after they had quarrelled, and it is to be put down to the exaggerations of personal pique. It Avas supposed that on the whole Mrs Twigg had reason to be proud of her son. Of course, it was known that he used to come in of an evening with a rather reeling gait. On such occasions he was invariably under the delusion that his mother had robbed him of at least half his patrimony, and he generally addressed her in such terms as — " Y'old harridan and shwindler — hie — hie — I — hie — '11 fillet yer." But, then, he was the leading inhabitant of the district ; although, as it should be admitted, the district was of the broken up, tumbledown sort. His phrenological patients were perhaps not numerous, but he contrived to make a hving. Some persons, we are told, are able to look back with peculiar joy on certain hours spent in the little consulting-room at Spoutmouth Square.

It was there that the exalted nature of their intellectual powers was first revealed to them. Flippant and jealous people may, of course, talk as flippantly and jealously as they please, but the labours of Mr TAvigg seem really to have borne some fruit. Unlike certain teachers who are accustomed to assure their pupils of the absurd incompetence of the human mind, Mr TAvigg rather felt inchned to impress upon his visitors the duty of returning due thanks to Nature for the quite imperial faculties with which she had endowed them. It is an undisputed fact that not a feAv have been seen issuing from a long consultation with Mr Twigg per fectly radiant at the thought, doubtless, of some brilliant future. It is true that such marvellous powers might be expected to produce corresponding results. But give the people time, you of the mush room growth — you must have heard that oaks do not shoot up in a night.

Mr Twigg's enemies have brought one charge against him, Avhich, unfortunately, Ave have at present no means of refuting. As this professes to be a trustworthy biography, the charge must be stated, but Avithout any comment ; although the biographer may be permitted to express the hope that it is false. It is said that Mr Twigg devised a prolific, but dishonourable source of income. Invariably as he was on the point of making his cephalographic investigations, a knock was heard at the parlour door. On opening it, Mr Twigg ahvays beheld a tall ragged boy, called Cluff', who begged in sorrowful tones for a little money to meet the deathbed expenses of an expiring parent. Mr Twigg generally waved him off, protesting that it was not possible to trust such beggars and tramps. But in nine out of every ten cases, the patient whose moral propensities were just going to be ascertained proffered the starving youth a shilling or a sixpence.

And in nine out of every ten cases Mr Twigg was able, on examination, to assure all such patients that their bumps of generosity were in a state of almost abnormal development. Cluff, it is supposed, received a commission per head. Mrs Twigg was, as has been said, in the decline of age, but she was attended by Miss Torbet with all a daughter's solicitude. That excellent woman brought almost weekly some specimen of her own delicate cookery to tempt the appetite of the poor old lady. Shawls and mittens for winter were knitted with extraordinary skill and rapidity, and were presented as birthday and Christmas gifts. So constant, indeed, were these eleemosynary activities of Betsy Torbet that neighbours began — as they always begin — to enquire the secret of them. The world seldom gives you credit for disinterested conduct.

There must always be some hedonistic explanation of your apparently exalted purposes. Thus when Betsy used to come tripping through the square with her little parcel in her hand — her sharp nose announcing itself beneath her veil and her ferret's eyes peering about her — she wondered why all the women and children should invariably be massed up at the windows just at that particular hour. And one afternoon she was much agitated by a mere urchin, who bawled at her from the gutter : " La ! the jockey don't love a spinister ! " Undeterred, hoAvever, by the scorn of an uncharitable world, the excellent Torbet continued to attend the widoAv, choosing, it may be admitted, night instead of day for the time of her visits. She had divulged her poor secret to Mr Torbet Avho, to her unspeakable delight, seemed to connive at it.

" Fine seller Joey. Make a hub for yer, Betty!" and Mr T. forthwith became conscious of a sisterly devotion that he had not experienced since the old days when they were boy and girl. To Betsy's surprise and grief, however, Mr Torbet had recently displayed a marked indifference as regards her wretched romance. He seemed, in fact, anxious to dissuade her from visiting Mrs TAvigg. This change of front was inexplicable, and set Betsy a-thinking. One night he emphatically forbade her to go, and insisted that if the jelly was to be taken at all, he would carry it himself. " Yes, and eat it, I s'pose, on the road," said Betsy in a passion ; " you ungrateful creature, for all I've done. What, I'd know, have you to do wi' me, James Torbet ? I'll not be put down by you, that I'll not ! " " 0 ! ye — es, Betsy Torbet," replied her brother, " yer ain't a dodge, not yer !

" Betsy burst out crying. " You're a lyin' imp, mister. I've nothin' to do wi' Mr Joe nor you. And I'm older than you, mister, that lam!" " Never doubted it, mem — no one ever did. And ye be older than Joe too." Eventually Betsy passed out like a fury, protesting that she would leave immediately and for ever. Whereat Torbet sniggered and plentifully bedamned her. It is not necessary to trouble the reader with a long account of the gens Torbet. James and Betsy were the survivors of a family that had once been in a very prosperous way. But that family had given to the world a great dynasty of drunkards, whose work it had been to scatter a large fortune. There is a story that one of Betsy's forefathers died in transports of joy, embracing an empty quart bottle of superior old brandy. And it was for long a matter of anxious discussion among his kinsfolk how far it will be to his disadvantage at the final reckoning to have gone into his Maker's presence with so guilty an odour about him.

All that Betsy possessed to indicate her descent was an old-fashioned silver canister with an immense " T " engraved on one side, and a coat-of-arms on the other. With a view probably to converting this article into some recognised currency, Mr Torbet had fre quently offered to relieve his sister of the custody of it. But, to her honour let it be said, Betsy sternly refused to give it up, and rebuked her brother for mercenary inclinations. The elder Torbet had been the wild son of wild parents. He exhausted the remnant of his patrimony in a surprisingly short time, and then married a costermonger. Mr Torbet's wedded life had not been the least successful of his undertakings. By the commercial talent of his wife they had been able to carry on a small huckster's business which, after his decease, continued to support the widow and orphans.

But on the death of Mrs Torbet it appears that James, in whom the old noble pride of the family had once more broken out, refused to have anything to do with huckstering. He and his sister set up for themselves in Dulcet Kow, and now lived on a miserable annuity that came to them from their father's side. It would be invidious to mention the precise amount, but in fairness to Betsy it should be said that she carried on her household in a marvellously economical manner. In defiance of her brother, she took her jelly and went that night on her accustomed errand. Old Mrs Twigg opened the door. " Ye're a good creature, I'm sure. Come in, Betsy." As Betsy went in she heard the voice of her beloved and the voice of Mr Torbet in the front parlour. The Professor's riding costume was hanging on a screen before the fire, and the long boots were resting near the fender, covered with mud.

Mrs Twigg was about to remove these items when Betsy interposed. " He's been one o' them long rides, and I don't know where he goes, but it's over a mickle dirty road. Such a wark as I'll hev to clean them awful boots, which must be as bright as siller ! " The poor old woman was feeble enough, and shuffled about in a helpless manner. It was at this point that Betsy made a casuistical use of a certain passage of Scripture. For it occurred to the artful hussy that if she took upon herself to clean Mr Joseph's boots, she might, in justification of herself, appeal to an incident in Scripture which will readily suggest itself to the reader. Without a word, therefore, she lifted boots and all, and retreated with them to the pantry. " Eh, ye're a kind creetur," murmured old Mrs Twigg. " If Joe had been a lass !

But they say he's learned, and them learned men hev strange ways." She kept nodding her head and murmuring in her dotage. At length she fell asleep. It Avas a face full of " grey old miseries." Meantime, Miss Betsy Torbet, what are you about ? It looks as if you are coquetting with Mr Joseph's boots. Heyday ! madam ; it is not likely your cheeks were ever so scarlet. Would it be possible, do you think, to find any Scriptural authority for this ? It is surely a pity that Mr Joseph is not aware of what two fair hands are doing for him. He is engaged with his friend Torbet. They are sitting opposite each other, and there is a coin Avith the image and super scription of some fat English monarch upon it, lying on the table. Mr Joseph fingers it. "Well, old boy," says he, "we'll go 'eads and tails for 'er.

If you win you'll give me an indamnification, and if it's me I'll do the same by you. She's a straw berry in July. Here we go ! " Mr Twigg then threw up the coin, and when it came down put his hand over it. " Tails ! " shouted Torbet, and rose from his seat in excitement. " Wrong, sir ; 'eads ! " Mr Torbet Avas crestfallen. But he took the coin — it was a penny — and threw it up again. When it came doAvn Mr Twigg called out " Heads ! " " Bravo ! Here's to me and Nancy Noon ! " Mr Torbet drank his bumper as cheerily as possible, and shook Mr Twigg by the hand. They then lit their pipes, and talked business which is irrelevant to this history. By this time Betsy had almost completed her self appointed task. She treated the poor toggery with as much reverence as if it had been a bodiless ghost of the dear man.

"0 me! " she sighed, " shall I ever ? 'Pon my soul, what an ache ! " But as she was an unconscious follower of Wentworth's policy of " Thorough," she resumed her operations. She did not thus observe the entrance of Peg, who was Mrs Twigg's maid of all work. This young person appeared to be altogether amused, for after she had stood gaping, Avith her hands on her sides, she burst into so loud a laugh that it caused Mrs Twigg in the next room to murmur something in her sleep about the last trump. Betsy turned round with a start, and was covered with shame and confusion of face. " Lord ! Here's a shine ! " bawled out Peg. " She be scrubbin' and scrapin' the maister's boots and ba«s. Oh, you'll be catched ! you'll be catched ! " " Hold your tongue, you impudent slut ! " cries Betsy. " Oh, you'll be catched ! you'll be catched !

" persisted Peg. " / did it once, aud he gave me such a thumpin'. My cockie ! you'll be catched ! " It appears that in her excitement Betsy had used the wrong "preparation," with unfortunate results for Mr Joseph's boots. Peg, who seemed to have lively memories of what a similar oversight had cost in her own case, was threatening to become vociferous when Betsy requested her to remember that she was in the presence of her betters, and not to behave like a vulgar gipsy- " See, girl, get me the proper stuff ! it's you that's put it out o' the way ! " Peg, however, who was a malicious hussy and the bearer of the Twiggian gossip to the neighbourhood, saw in Betsy's extremity her own opportunity. The venerable Madame Stumps over the way had held out prospects of a fish supper that same evening on condition of Peg bringing authentic and decisive news as regarded Miss Torbet's real position in the sight of Mr Twigg.

Further, there is no reason for suppress ing the fact that Peg had already cast a favourable eye on Cluff. She perceived, indeed, that that young man was in some sense beneath her — she had once called him " a mere raw cad " — but she seems to have ob served certain possibilities in him. Hence she had a personal interest in Betsy's emotional experiences, and determined to get at the bottom of them. " Deed, mem," she therefore said, " ye may order yer ain sarvint, supposin' ye chance to hev 'er — which by all I hear be not likely — ye ain't my mistress anyhow, though as seems ye're plottin' to be." The dreadful creature then turned on her heel, but Betsy ran towards her and implored mercy. "La! Miss Torbet," says Peg haughtily, "what are ye doin' Avith the man's things at all ? Ye be in luv, be ye ?

" " Tuts, girl ! " says Betsy in hopeless irritation and disgrace. " Tell me, miss, and I'll bring ye the right stuff too." "Tuts, child!" said Betsy again, with an effort at smiling. " It be a bargain, mem." Betsy, who had now become perfectly scarlet, giggled and spluttered in a series of affirmations and negations. " Eh ! but ye're a forward wench, Peg. What do you mean ? " "I be goin' to set the tea then, mem," says Peg archly, and moA7es away. Betsy called her back. " Tuts, woman ! for your impudence ; yes, if it pleases you." This apparently satisfied Peg, who gave a shriek of triumph, and ran off to fulfil her own part of the bargain. When she came back, she handed Betsy a pot of " Jerry's Boot-Black's Delight," and said " La ! ye're in luv, miss. Be it nice ? " Betsy told the wretch to hold her tongue, and set about cleaning her master's boots.

Whereupon Peg replied that since her ladyship had begun that business she could no doubt finish it. Whereupon Betsy gaA'e Peg a severe nip, and told her that she would be reported to Mrs Twigg. But Peg in retaliation gave Betsy an indisputably successful thump on the back, and ran off, saying by way of coup de grace that in that case she also would have some information to convey to Mrs Twigg. They were soon all in the kitchen, where Peg was carrying on preparations for tea. Presently old Mrs Twigg wakened, and asked if it was the Judgment, so great was the noise — Peg being somewhat coarse in handling the dishes. "No, no ! I'm not in my dotage. Don't say 't, Joseph, dear boy. Yer old ma's fit for mickle wark yet. Tell him, Betsy, I'm no' in my dotage." " Who said you Avere in your dotage ?

" growled Mr Twigg. " Eh, beg pardon ! I thought ye did — ye sometimes do." She then began to cut a seed-cake, and laid a ridicul ously large slice on Mr Joseph's plate. But Mr Joseph immediately handed it to his cur " Cinnamon," which was surely the most ominous of all possible dogs. The tea passed mainly in silence — although the two gentle men conversed in a cypher language understood only by themselves. " Down St B. to-morrow ? " " Yes." " Waggot 'ware pop the question ? ': " Yes." They sometimes lapsed, hoAvever, into more intel ligible speech, and made allusions to the strawberry in July, upon which Mrs Twigg remarked that Joe was particularly fond of that bevernge, and that when its time came round he would have plenty of it with thick cream. " You bet he avuII, mem ! " cried Mr Torbet, whacking his knees.

" He's to be envied — he is ! " Mr Joseph laughed, and gave a Avink in reply. Mr Torbet next observed that his friend Joe had never examined Betsy's " scalp," remarking that in his opinion the amatory bumps would be found in prime condition. " 0 James ! " gasped Betsy in a frenzy. Whereat Peg, who was taking her tea at a side-table, giggled in so unbecoming a manner that Mrs Twigg ordered her to leave the room. Mr Joseph bowed, and said his services were at Miss Betsy's disposal. But Betsy, froAvning and blushing, replied, in phrases as dilapidated as her fortune : " Oh, please no, Mr Joseph, sir. I be quite ashamed. Drat ye, James, for a fool ! " CHAPTEE II. love's old want. A blackbird had been singing at the window-sill of Miss Betsy Torbet's bed-chamber ; but that lady was still fast asleep.

Another blackbird had been singing at another windoAV-sdl to some better purpose. It Avas in the country, some miles from Dulcet Eoav; and a young girl had made the blackbird's song an alarm clock, and had risen at its summons. She dressed herself, and went to the dairy, where she drank a cup of cream, and she came out with the cream upon her lips. She stepped stealthily forth into the morning, as stealthy and rosy as the morning itself, and went stealthily up a pathway coA7ered with grey dew, and stealthily over a stile, and then became lost in the woods. A horse in one of the fields neighed and whinnied after her. It was May. Such a dawn as broke over the old farmhouse : send a painter rapturous ! But doubtless the world will become more interested in tAvo of its own children — of Avhom the young girl is one — who have promised to meet on a moorland this fine May morning.

You see, it is the month of Love's high festival. Love thinks that there are only two seasons — Summer and Spring. Autumn is a mere dust-bin, and as for Winter, it is the lumber of the year. Meantime we are at the high pitch of May, and the earth is laughing. But the world's interest will be quickened when it knows that in spite of all this the present occasion involves something of a crisis. She is almost in the middle of the woods, and is beginning to climb, and expects to meet him at the top. Already she thinks she hears his " holloa." And she has a stifled feeling at her throat. Ah me, the world's old roomy heart will find a place for them, and its imagination will envisage this scene. For the old loves of the old universes are all represented here, the everlasting life of them and antique pathos.

Doubtless also there will be a more eager concern when it becomes known that both he and she are possessed of a certain height of physical splendour that has come to them through the generations. The apes must surely be considered to have been working to some purpose. For he who is standing at the top and stamping the ground because of impatience is tall and Titanic enough, altogether a man it seems — nearer perhaps the thirties than the twenties, but with the mystery of youth like a diaph anous cloud upon him. Also he is dressed, I think, in some seemly hunting suit. And she? The withered birch branches are crackling under her feet as she ascends. And is that her red kerchief down amon" the trees ? Here comes the lady ! Oh, so light a foot Shall ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. She is merely seventeen, the wonder of the village whose band of adorers will run to Earth's end to do her hest: Nan herself.

Her foot is already on the moor. The sea is rolling eastward there; and it is really a marvellous hour. And these are the children of the Old, Old one, representatives of elemental causes children of a strange destiny. It is enough that the dawn is shattering the night for them, and that they are both vibrating with the unmistakable pulse and vibration of rudimentary emotions. But what sharp wind is this that blows out of the East as they advance to each other over the dead heather ? Is it after all to be a day of the old god of this universe, a cloudy day ? At any rate, they have come out to fight love's everlasting battle, no matter what weather may fall. As if love will stand aside for even the traffic of the stars. His Majesty has been seen walking through pitiless rain in never so thread bare a cloak.

Besides, a May morning born eA'en in showers and winds is altogether to his liking. There fore has he come up to this moorland to do his business. Love never did possess a weather-glass. Apollo ran to meet his Daphne to give her his morning roses and a blast of kisses. But he started back. " Not a kiss ? " he asks in trepidation. " 0 Benny, I don't know." " Nan ! what is it ? What has gone wrong ? " " Oh, nothing, Benny ; I can't tell Avhy. It's dreadful," rephed the young girl, already in tears. " Nan ! are you mad ? What is it ? " shrieked Mr Moulter. " 0 Benny," said the child ; " that bee'll sting you!" " Couldn't sting me worse than I am stung," he replied petulantly enough. "Nan!" She looked up at him, confused and trembling. She tried hard to fortify herself against her insurrectionary feelings, " In Heaven's name, Nan, what is it ?

" His eyes shot out terrible grapeshot of desire and fusilade of tormented emotions. "Nan!" he cried again, "is any one frightening you ? Deceiving you ? Tell me, in Heaven's name." " It's all over the village," she faltered, as if she felt herself a coward, "that we meet here, and you are great and I am poor — and they are talking." He laughed at her. " Is this all, darling ? What about their talk ? Do you distrust me ? Am I a rake ? You are mine, and you only. Such a frightened puss." " 0 Benny," she pouted, giving her hand, " I am a farm girl and you are . . ." The rest was lost in the thunder of his kisses. I suppose all great love abashes itself. At any rate, this young creature is struggling in the mysteries of it. She is caught in the thicket of it, and hears the snarling of the dogs, and is afraid.

Some foolish people have said that she wished to escape him because she had read novels in which she had found that when the young Squire falls in love with a scullery-maid events may be with safety prophesied. But it should be remembered that at this time she was a mere child, and had reason to be alarmed at the village scandal. With an unconscious wisdom beyond her years she felt it would be right to draw back for the present. He was great and beyond her. She was a poor and timid maid. She told him it Avould be better not to meet for a time. Jim the ploughboy, a simple creature whom she could trust, would carry messages between them. Surely the world repeats itself over and over. "My poor frightened darling," he said tenderly, are you not safe with me? I don't understand this sudden change.

Do you mistrust me . " She protested No. " But I'm afraid of uncle, and that there will be a scene, Benny." " / know what you need to be afraid of," said Moulter in a shriek. " I know what's all over the village. It's all over the village that you've been sold to a villain, some beast called Twigg, to whom your fine guardian uncle is in debt." " Never ! " she said with a flush on her face and a smile of unbelief. And at the word the gray-haired Everlasting Ironies ogled at each other. " Oh, never, Benny ; who can have said that ? " " Good God ! if I don't save you from that, although even you were never to be mine." And he began to look majestic again with this return of his manhood, almost heroic. But her rosy mouth laughed him to scorn, and she asked him if he supposed that her dear uncle, best and kindest of guardians, would do such a thing.

She coaxed him that at any rate they must not meet for three weeks. She would send him letters. Affairs at the farm were going all wrong. She was closely watched. " Will dearest Benny not see that it will be better thus ? And look, already it is time to be going." They parted, he to the east and she to the west. And she went down flushed and trembling, and troubled by inarticulate instincts. Had she done wrong ? Would her cowardice make her lover grow cold ? But he went down with a brain that began to burn like a furious brimstone. He felt that there B Avas some evil thing before them. He saAv nothing, and did not even hear the screams of the moor-birds ; felt only some dreadful famine in his heart. Is she mistrusting him ? He was in a passion with himself for having let her away so easily, and half turned to go back.