The Slowly Grinding Mills

Front matter

VOL. I. a Mrs G. LINNÆUS BANKS' NOVELS BOND SLAVES THE STORY OF A STRUGGLE i vol., Svo, cloth. Price 10/6. ' Will be read with enjoyment and with profit.' — Scotsman. Uniform Series, 1 vol. each, crown Svo, cloth. Price 2s. 6d. Glory Through the Night The Manchester Man Stung to the Quick Caleb Booth's Clerk Wooers and Winners The Watchmaker's Daughter Forbidden to Wed Sybilla In His Own Hand More than Coronets UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE RIPPLES AND BREAKERS. POEMS With Portrait. ' Likely to find its way^i^to^every library.' — Lady. 'Their simplicity^ their, tenderness, and wholesomeness of sentiment.' — Scotsiiany jtj „ -, i W-?_ : &J. GRIFFITHs FARRAN & CO. NEWBERY HOUSE, 39 CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON. BY Mrs G. LINNÆUS BANKS AUTHORESS OF 'GOD'S PROVIDENCE HOUSE,' 'THE MANCHESTER MAN,' 'IN HIS OWN HAND,' ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. I. LONDON GRIFFITH FARRAN AND CO. NEWBERY HOUSE, 39 CHARING CROSS ROAD 1893. The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. On The Way To The Mills

Brooding over a fire that needed stirrings, pulling at a pale coffee-coloured moustache with one hand, nervously unbuttoning and buttoning his black waistcoat with the other, sat with his feet on the fender, a man who had left his thirtieth year well behind him, though his fortieth did not yet cast its shadow on his face. He was scarcely showing at his best as * I feel that it is due to myself, in order to prevent any misconception, to state that when I commenced this story in December, 1888, it bore the title 'The Mills of God,' and it was not until arrangements were on foot for its publication, that the discovery was made of a serial story then running under the same title. Thus forestalled, a change in mine became compulsory, hence the above. — I. B. VOL. I. A he sat looking into the flickering fire with eyes as restless as his fingers, eyes that gleamed now grey, now green, as a vagrant flame or a vagrant fancy might light them.

There were deep furrows between the pro minent bushes of his closely-contracted eye brows, and incipient lines across a forehead whose backward slope was only apparent when, as now, his wavy hair was pushed back as if to give thought free scope. Beard and moustache made a mystery of his mouth and chin, but his lips were on the move as if agitated by the same nervous tremor that kept eyes and fingers in motion, whilst jerky mutterings found their way between a full round set of large white teeth. He was alone, evidently attempting to re concile the irreconcilable, weighing and ponder ing chances and possibilities that would not adjust themselves to his satisfaction ; and men do not look their best when alone, under such conditions. The setting on the table behind him of a common tea-tray, holding a bachelor's solitary cup and saucer, had not disturbed his cogitations.

He was troubled with something less easy of digestion than simple tea and toast, or even the sardines placed there as a relish. His mutterings were disjointed and indistinct, a few occasional words with long gaps between. 'Her own mistress' — 'sole execu trix ' — ' boy's minority long ' — ' in skilful hands ' — ' pliant and impressionable ' — ' great tempta tion ' — 'glorious opportunity.' ' But then — ' So important was the ' but then ' that he glared at the unstirred fire in troubled silence, then bit his long nails irresolutely and viciously, as if he snapped at an iron bar he could neither remove nor surmonnt, the whilst his thick, lowering brows almost met. ' Hazardous' — ' keen as a fox ' — ' scent cold ' — ' chances equal.' Presently he sprang to his feet with a clearer brow, as if doubt were gone. 'By heavens, I'll risk it!

Nothing venture, nothing win. I'll risk it.' So saying, he took a shilling from his waist coat pocket and sent it spinning into the air, to fall on the worn hearthrug at his feet. ' Heads I win, tails I lose. Head, by all that's auspicious. That settles it.' As he spoke he cast his eyes around his small and homely sitting-room with a self assured confident air of elation which seemed to make quite another man of him. He straight ened his back, gave his head a toss that shook his straggling light brown locks into place, pulled down his wrinkled waistcoat with a jerk, gave a brisk stir to the melancholy fire, and with a beaming smile sent thought and its furrows fleeing towards the limbo of the past. The change was marvellous. The face that had confronted the fire was not a pleasant one by any means ; the one that bent over the tea tray, and made the best of the half cold toast and tea, might be prepossessing, if nothing more.

He did not relish the apology for a comfortable meal, though he did not ring for a fresh supply. He only smiled the more, and said, half aloud, — 'Ah, I'll soon change these miserable sur roundings. Mrs Copeland shall not sigh in vain over her troublesome tenants, or the perplexities of legal details, if she will permit me to control them ; and I don't think she will need much persuasion. ' It was a lucky chance laid old Sedgwick on his back, and left me at the head of affairs. the last six weeks. What a lark it was to overhaul the papers and deeds the jealous old curmudgeon kept boxed up so closely under lock and key. Well, if I have not been his confidential clerk all the three years I have vegetated in his musty office, I am now, and no mistake. I wish' — and a shade passed over his face — ' I wish I could have found that partnership deed as well as the will.' And again his fingers went twiddling among his waistcoat buttons.

He brightened. ' No matter. I have learned what may be the making of me, unless I am a fool and throw away my own chances, and I'm not likely to do that.' He pushed aside his cup and saucer, and gave the dingy bell-rope a twitch that brought his landlady, all in a flutter, into the room before the bell had ceased to vibrate. ' Goodness ! Mr Bromley, how you do startle one. I thought the chimney must be on fire. You was quiet enough when I brought in the tray, for you never stirred when I spoke to you. I thought you was having a dose. But, goodness me ! what's the matter ? You're surely not going to be ill. You've neither drunk your tea, nor eaten half your toast, nor touched them sardines as you're so fond of.' The good woman, who was not unmindful of her lodger's comforts according to her lights, looked up in his face for a sign or token of coming malady, so unusual an event was loss of appetite. 'Ah yes, I must have been dozing.

The tea was cold when I awoke from my dreams. But I am awake now ; and will trouble you, Mrs Pratt, for my candlestick and my clean boots.' She caught at the word, not at its covert meaning, ' I should think you was awake. I'd a notion you meant to wake the dead in the churchyard by the way you set the bell ringing. It's a wonder the rope's not down.' ' That would have been a misfortune,' returned he with a peculiar smile, ' I must be more cautious in future. It would never do to disturb the sleepers in that bed, at any rate.' She was stopping with the tray in her hands, as if to make some further observations when his reminder, 'A light, Mrs Pratt, and my boots,' hastened her departure, and speedy reappearance with a lighted dip-candle in a flat brass candlestick, with the words, ' Your boots is upstairs, sir,' in a tone which echoed her unspoken 'wonder that he wants clean boots for at this time o' night.' Her wonder was increased when, in about half-an-hour, her lodger descended the narrow stairs as spic-and-span as if he had been bound for Sunday morning service.

He flicked out a white pocket-handkerchief, and thrust it with careless care into the breast-pocket of his best overcoat, gave a final twitch to his new waist coat, as she officiously opened the outer door for him, and then set off at a brisk pace, fitting on his gloves as he went. Highfield was a straggling, irregular, up and down village in a coal and iron district, of which the ancient church was at once the centre and the pride. Mrs Pratt's spouse was the parish clerk, and their house abutted on the churchyard wall, consequently her doorstep was a good vantage ground for observation, as it came flush with the main street. ' Goodness, what a swell he is to-night with his scented handkercher' ! Gloves, too, and new ones. I wonder where my gentleman's off to.' The daughter of Eve stepped out into the roadway to ascertain, regardless of the rough autumnal breeze which sent a shoal of faded leaves from the swaying trees in the Rectory garden, whirling across the road, flying about her cap and face, and swooping in at her open door to litter her tidy passage.

Gas had not yet lighted up the dark places of Highfield. and a whole fleet of black clouds provokingly scudded across the moon to baffle her, except when her lodger's shadow crossed a lighted window, an open shop, or a kindly lamp over some special portal. She made her comments as he went briskly on with long, peculiar strides, and head erect, now in the light, now in the shade. ' He's not gone for billiards at the New Inn, that's clear ; and now he's passed his governor's. Maybe he's going to hear the lecture. No, he's gone past the Institute. Why, where can he be going ? He's not one o' the chapel folk. He's never turning down Moorside Lane, surely.' She stood cogitating and watching some time. ' Happen he's bound for Bridge End ; but goodness, he'd not ha' dressed up to go to Armstrong's, not he.

Ha ! Asaph ! ' she presently called to a great lad with a covered basket, who stopped at a door to leave a bottle of medicine, and came at her call. ' What do you want, mother ? ' ' I say, did you pass Mr Bromley on the way?' 'Ay, that I did. He ran against me and my basket in the dark soon after I had passed the chapel. I thought he'd smashed all the bottles. He nearly knocked me over. Then he called out : " Take care, stoopid ! Look where you're going ! " But' I gave it him back sharp enough : ' " Look where you're going, Old Nick!'" ' You shouldn't have said that, Asaph. It's wicked to call names, and it doesn't do to offend your mother's lodger.' 'Well, I didn't call him out of his name, did I ? ' said the doctor's boy in an in jured tone. ' What did he call me a stoopid for ? It's him as was stoopid — tearing along in the dark, as if no one else had a right to be out.' ' Well, well ; but did you happen to notice which way he went ? ' ' Ay,' answered the lad in the same aggrieved voice ; ' I stood still, and watched him turn the chapel corner down Moorside Lane.' ' Goodness me !

Nobody lives there but the Stanfields and Mr Copeland's widow. He'd never, surely, be going to either of their houses. ' Why not, if his guv'nor sent him ? ' was Asaph's logical retort. ' And you forget, there's Finch's and Cowan's. But I must be off, or I may get my ears pulled. Good-night, mother.' ' Good night, Asaph, and don't be so ready with your tongue another time.' On went the boy with his empty basket, close under the churchyard wall, and round the corner to his master's surgery, and she into the house to sweep away intrusive leaves and in dulge in fresh speculation, unaware that her black lace cap had a tell-tale decoration of Virginia creeper. ' He's never trimmed himself up to see either Cowan the blacksmith or Finch the carpenter, I know. Asaph's guess may be right, after all.

He may have gone on office business to either the Squire's or the widow's. Lawyer Sedg wick won't be able to face the night-air for a long while. But, goodness me, Mr Bromley needn't have got himself up so grand ; nobody'll mistake him for his master. Eh ! but I'd best look alive, or Pratt will be here for his supper afore I've damped and folded half them clothes.' Leaving her, still curious, to sprinkle and fold the linen she had washed, we may as well follow her lodger along Moorside Lane, past the carpenter's silent shop, then a few yards farther on past the open forge, where the furnace was aglow, and the smith's hammer clinked on a collier's pick under repair, whilst the pitman a sturdy young fellow named Saunders — waited outside, and Cowan's neighbour, Finch, leaning over the half-door, called out it was 'time to give up.' A kindly 'Good-night, sir,' from all the three greeted him in passing, and was returned a little stiffly, as if a town-bred man had not yet fallen in with the cordial country custom of wayside salutation, or desired to repress familiarity. ' What a swell the lawyer's clerk is to-night,' remarked the carpenter when he was out of hearing. ' I'd like to know what brings him up this road so late ; it's well nigh eight o'clock.' He had gone on some distance, under the shade of a thick, overhanging plantation of dark firs, with barely a glance across the road at the lodge-gate or the stone wall shutting in Squire Stanfield's grounds, and still on a couple of hundred yards more, to a tall, substantial, double fronted house, standing back on the right, but a few feet from the road, behind a row of iron pallisades.

As his gloved hand sought the latch of the two-leaved gate, he looked up at the illuminated fan-light under the stone architrave, then glanced towards the pair of crimson-curtained windows on his left, and felt as if the light and glow betokened warmth of welcome. His elated spirit seemed to bathe in the effulgence as he stood there opening the gate to his new venture, with a ruddy tinge, as of newly-spilt wine, or something else, on his morsel of white handkerchief and on his upturned face. Lightly he ran up the broad, steep flight of steps, then paused a moment, gave himself a shake, unbuttoned his overcoat, and pulled down his satin vest, before he touched the heavy knocker in the darkening shadow of the door. A neat servant-maid, in a grey stuff dress, a white muslin apron, and a little dab of crochet that did duty for a cap, opened the door and admitted him to a wide hall, where the light of a swing lamp made his eyes blink, coming fresh from the darkness without.

Yet he took in every detail of the picture, from the red-and black diamond tiles under foot, the large mahogany hatstand with branching arms out spread, the barometer on the painted wall, the case of labelled minerals on a slab in the full glare of the lamp, the hall clock on the stroke of eight, to the dapper maid herself, waiting to receive his hat and coat. There was no necessity to give in the name of Mr Nicholas Bromley ; he was evidently expected, and he knew he was half an hour behind time — the half-hour he had lost in de liberation. ' Mr Bromley,' said the maid, after turning the handle of a door on the left. He was ushered into the warmth and light of a spacious apartment — hung with old pictures and fur nished well, if not newly — and into the presence of Mrs Copeland, the widowed owner.

She had been occupied with account-books and papers at the centre table, and rose on his entrance, to receive him with a smile and a frank extension of her hand. He took it in his own, bowing low over it in respectful homage — possibly retaining it longer than was necessary — whilst he apologised for being after time on the plea of detention by urgent business. We have seen what that urgent business was ; but she accepted his bona-fides, saying, she was sure Mr Sedgwick's long illness must have made his own duties extremely heavy, and that he was most kind to spare an evening to relieve her. He took the seat she indicated, and as he did so, noted the richness of her black silk dress, which fell in heavy and expansive folds to her feet, the filmy lightness of her symbolic cap, and her muslin under-sleeves, the smoothly braided mouse-coloured hair, the drooping hazel eyes, and the gentle mouth, so weak in outline, while he told himself that her five-and-forty years had not robbed her of all the prettiness that had captivated the late Mr Copeland.

She looked like one with whom the world had gone so well and smoothly, that the cares of her own property were not mere crumpled rose leaves, but veritable thistle-burrs. And, as she stood there in the light of the moderator-lamp, with the rich crimson draperies of the two front windows as a background, he hailed, with a feeling of more than satisfaction, the little sigh of relief with which she received him. ' Yes, Mr Sedgwick's illness has somewhat overweighed me, I confess ; but I esteem it so much an honour to act as your confidential adviser in these private business affairs, Mrs Copeland, that myself and my own time are always at your disposal. I am proud to be of service in any way.' He was deferential in his manner, but whilst disclaiming any sense of obligation, left an impression that he was able and more than willing to serve her, and he went on to show how much those services were needed.

From an inside pocket he drew forth a small bundle of papers tied together with pink tape, folded and docketed with methodical care. ' I have gone carefully into these accounts, madam,' he said, ' and I find in several, gross overcharges, such as would never have been made to your late husband. Here is — ' ' Ah, dear no,' she sighed ; it is shocking how tradespeople do impose upon a helpless woman.' He shrugged his shoulders lightly. 'It is monstrous, but I am afraid it is the way of the world. You will observe, madam, if you cast your eye down your builder's account for the repair of Woodside Cottages, that I have ticked off sundry items which should be considerably reduced before you discharge the bill ; but — a — possibly you have been accus tomed to deduct a heavy discount for cash.' ' Discount ? ' She looked up in his face as if the word or the idea was new to her. ' I mean, take off a long percentage when you pay your bills, against which the creditor might possibly make provision.' She appeared more helplessly bewildered. ' I never deduct anything.

Sometimes I add up the bills to see if the amounts are correct, but I have always paid in full, and never thought of scrutinising prices. Indeed, I do not know what charges were made to my poor, dear Clarence. I had nothing to do with busi ness matters whilst he was living. I never imagined that people who had served or worked for him so long would impose upon poor me, until you made the suggestion. And you do not know how grateful I am.' She looked rueful, if that was what she meant, and sighed frequently, as he demon strated on the face of one account after another, that she had been charged more than current prices. ' Dear me ! How did you know the proper values ? ' she asked, at length. ' I made it in my business to ascertain, as was my duty in the interest of a clie — lady I desired to serve,' he corrected. ' But Mr Sedgwick never hinted even at a necessity to overlook accounts.

How was that ?' The confidential clerk seemed embarrassed to reply, and the lady, putting her own construc tion on his silence, went on to say : ' I am sure, Mr Bromley, I' do not know how to thank you sufficiently for the great trouble you have taken to serve me. And, really, after all, I am afraid I shall not have the courage to press these tradesmen for the fair reductions. It seems like accusing them of dishonesty.' ' If you will permit me, Mrs Copeland, to be your paymaster on this occasion, I will do it for you with the greatest pleasure. It may serve as a check to the unscrupulous to find that their accounts are audited.' ' Oh, if you only would, I shall be so much obliged. I should feel ashamed to tell people they were not dealing fairly by me.' And so it was settled, she writing out a cheque to cover all.

Then he rose to leave, refusing any refreshment except a single glass of wine. It had been to all intents and purposes a purely business interview, but the widow her self stood by as he put on his overcoat in the hall, and she again thanked him, offering her plump, warm hand, as they said ' good night.' He hurried down the steps, buttoning up his overcoat as he went with quick strides up vol. 1. b the darksome lane, muttering in self-content, ' I've made sure of a footing at Moorside House, at all events. See if I don't hang up my hat there as master before Christmas comes ! ' The pines and firs moaned, and creaked, and plunged in the rising gale as he passed the wood, but the trees had no voices for him ; and though a very fusilade of sharp needless reft from the conifers drove into his face and stung him, as the sharper arrows of conscience might have done, he simply turned up the collar of his coat and bent his head to the wind, lost in a maze of speculation.

Thus driving on, blindly as the wind, he struck against a man's shoulder, and jostled him off the raised footpath. . ' Hout, mon ! Is na the causey braid enough for twa folk ? Keep a better luik-oot anither time, or mebbe ye'll fa' foul of some chiel' wi' hetter bluid than Ben Saunders. So guid nicht tae ye ! ' And away the bluff pitman went, with his mended pick over his shoulder, thinking more of the sweetheart he had left at Stanfield's lodge-gate than of the moody stranger, who strode on with a bare apology. Twice that clouded September night had Nicholas Bromley come headlong into collison with people he had met ; but he went forward as did the pitman, building castles in the air, and dreaming of neither omen nor augury.

Chapter II. The Spider And The Fly

' Really, that is a most obliging and intelligent young man,' ruminated Mrs Copeland, as she went back into her long drawing-room and began to collect the books and papers on the table. ' It is extremely generous of him to give his leisure hours to the consideration of those bothering bills, just to relieve me of my per plexities. And how delicately he gave me to understand that his services were gratuitous, and not as for a client, to swell Mr Sedgwick's long account. Ah, me ! what a difference it makes when there is a man at the head of affairs. The masculine mind seems to grasp and arrange details so naturally. When should I have thought of folding, arranging, and en dorsing those bills as Mr Bromley had done. And how quick he was at detecting extortion where I never suspected it — Yes, Dinah, you can bring the supper-tray here.' (This to the neat maid-servant, who had tapped at the door and waited for orders.) ' I shudder when I sit down alone in that dreary dining-room,' she went on, half aloud ; ' and now that my darling boy has gone back to Rugby it seems more dreary and desolate than before.

How thankful I shall be when his school days are over, but that will not be just yet. He was only seventeen last March, it will be long before he is home for good. Yet how tall and handsome he looked when we parted on the platform of the station last week, half a head taller than Herbert Stanfield, and there is but a month's difference in their age. He is growing the very image of his dear father. Yes, the same broad high forehead and prominent nose, the same resolute mouth and chin, the same nut brown hair and eyes he had when that was painted.' She was standing as she said this, regardless of the dainty tray upon the table, gazing with humid eyes upon a life-size portrait in oil which hung over a rosewood cottage-piano in a recess between the window and the fireplace. 'Yes,' she went on, 'and he has just the same high spirit, the same hatred of all that is false or mean, the same quick, decisive ways.

Yet, though apt to be a bit headstrong and resentful at times, what a loving, affectionate heart he has. No wonder he and Herbert are such close friends. And he might be the Squire's own son. How good it was of him to go up with the boys and see them comfortably settled. I should have been utterly helpless. Ah me ! ' With a heavy sigh she turned to the table and sat down to her neglected supper, pouring out a glass of Maderia from a handsome cut decanter before she helped herself to a portion of the partridge, served up as appetisingly as if to tempt an anchorite. But partridges were not rarities, and she had apparently lost her appetite for a solitary feast. She sipped her wine, ate a few mouthfuls, and sighed more than once unconsciously. Then she sipped her wine again, and, as if she found an idea in the glass, said to herself. ' I wonder why Mr Bromley declined to remain for supper.

There was nothing unusual in offering him hospitality after his great kindness. Surely ' — and she laughed lightly — ' he did not think I was going to set my cap at him ? Why, he must be six or eight years younger than I. He need have no fears on that head. I have not forgotten my poor dear husband yet. Perhaps he was afraid of village gossip. Ah, well ! if a man of business may not spend an hour over dry business with a lone woman, without setting tongues wagging, there must be something radically wrong in the world. Well, well, Clarence will be at home for Christmas. I will coax him to overlook accounts for me.' A pause, another sigh, a refilled glass — ' I am not sure Clarence would do it. At Christ mas he is all for football, or skating, or music parties at the Rectory and Manor House.

No, he will not be for settling to business for years to come. I shall only see my boy by fits and starts during the vacations. The house will be lively enough whilst he is here — and just as lonely when he is gone.' ' Dear me, how the wind whistles about the house to-night ! Is that rain or dead leaves beating against the windows ? I feel unac countably timid and nervous, just as if some thing dreadful was hanging over us.' She touched the bell. Dinah answered the summons. ' Has Thomas locked and barred all the doors and shutters ? ' 'All but these, ma'am.' Has he turned Negro loose ?' Yes, ma'am.' ' Remove the tray, and then come in to prayers.' In they filed, cook, housemaid, parlour-maid, old Thomas, at once groom, coachman, gardener, general factotum — he bringing with him a couple of bells to affix to the shutters after prayers ; it being an established principle that so long as the family were astir, the warm light from the windows should fall on the gate and the path outside, as a cheering guide to belated travellers on their way to or from the colliery on the moor.

Mrs Copeland watched the closing of the long narrow shutters, and the fixing of the bells that night with a peculiar feeling of insecurity ; and went to bed in the chamber above, wondering how she would feel if those bells were to ring and awaken her at midnight, with only women in the house, and an old man incapable of protecting them. She kept a night-light burning, and lay long awake. But she was in more danger from her own fears and sense of insecurity than from midnight robbers. True, colliers are a rough lot, apt to be quarrelsome in their cups, but as a rule they are honest and hard-working, with nothing of the sneaking burglar about them, and many are fervent disciples of John Wesley. She had nothing to fear from them, or from the poachers who made free with Squire Stan field's game, though the house was isolated, and the plate was tempting.