The house of Rimmon : a Black Country story

Front matter

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Chapter I. Warning Notes

T was August, about sixteen months after the events last narrated, and Mr. Thomas Hackbit was comfortably seated at his breakfasttable, which was spread in no mean style. He had his newspaper, and was on the whole very complacent. Our little friend Kizzy, in a fresh morning print, had on her face that subdued and tender look which comes sometimes with motherhood. The sweet face, though a thought too grave, was, nevertheless, as VOL. II. B irresistible as in former days. The patient pathos of the eyes was in fact a new and all-powerful charm. A woman whose face compels compassion, above all a beautiful woman—is she not the most attractive creature on earth ?

This look of endurance on Kizzy’s face, however, was no attraction to her husband, knowing as he did the cause. It was not pleasant to him that this woman always behaved faultlessly, yet did everything as a penance. Why did she not fly out, as she would have done in the old days, and rain scorn upon him, nay box his ears? He would have liked that. Had the poor child tried to be aggravating, she could not have succeeded better.

“T say, Kizzy,” remarked Hackbit, looking up from his paper, “ what do you want to parade yourself as a saint for? I wanted a wife, not a sister of mercy ; and at all hours of the day, or night, for that matter, you are off to somebody’s sick child, or to a burnt collier, or to the Lord knows who. Once for all, I don’t like it.”

A little of the old fire flashed in the girl’s face, as she said a trifle sharply, “Do you wish to stop what helps to make me a good wife to you?”

«'That’s just it,” responded the solicitor wrathfully ; “your devotion to me requires so much bolstering up.”

“You knew when I married you,” replied the girl, “ that I had no heart to give to you. You cannot ask more now than that I should be a dutiful wife ; but it is no part of my duty to you to refuse to help those in distress; and in this one thing I will not obey you.”

“ Well, don’t get bringing any more orphans for me to bring up; one’s quite enough.”

Keziah, with tears welling into her eyes, went out of the room. How her experiment seemed to have failed! What a bitter disappointment everything was! This sacrifice of hers, might it not be all for nothing? Her father had not bettered his ways. She had done no good to anybody. She lost faith in her theory of redemption. Yet this poor child struggled bitterly to do what she deemed her duty. The cares of a grown woman were upon her when most girls are under a mother’s charge.

She was already a mother, without the experience necessary to the fostering of a young life. Hers was a dreary prospect.

Mr. Hackbit had certainly not taken ardently to his foster-son Bertram, the infant of the colliery explosion night ; and now that he saw him racing about, sturdy, and self-willed, he wished he could have had his bargain to make over again. He would have struck this boy’s name out of it. He was jealous, too, of every caress his wife lavished upon the orphan, and viewed it in the light of robbery from his own son and heir, who had been christened Leonard.

When Mrs. Hackbit had left the breakfast-room, her husband looked at his watch, and then went out himself. As he was leaving the house, he passed Sarah, who was coming with a message for Keziah from her mother. Strange to say, this annoyed him too. He did not like these constant communications between mother and daughter.

“ Oh, Miss Kazzy,” said Sarah, coming into the house, “your mother wants you just to come in a

* ” minute.

Keziah put on her hat and went at once.

“What is the matter, mother?” she inquired, on reaching her old home.

By way of answer, Mrs. Rimmon took her daughter into the dining-room, and there solemnly handing her a letter from Jubal, watched her face while she read it. It was dated from his uncle

David’s house, and ran as follows :—

‘“‘Dear FarHer,—I told you when I came back from school, that nothing could make me stay another term, though to please Mr. Harwyn, not you, I stayed after the last notice was given. Once for all, do you consent that I should go into my uncle David’s mill, or shall I act for myself? I give you this opportunity of behaving well in this matter. I shall not trouble you with another. My uncle would expect no premium with me, which I know will weigh with you, though no other argument would. Nowhere could I get such advantages. May I ask you to reply as soon as possible, as I must make arrangements ?

“Yours truly, “J. Rimmon.”

“ What is father going to do?” asked Keziah. “He won’t consent to the plan.”

“ And why, I wonder ? ”

* Because he has already made arrangements.

Jubal is to learn prospecting for coal, and to be bound to Mr. Surlesden.”

Keziah’s face clouded. “I wish it had been someone else,” she said.

“For that matter it’s all as one,” said Mrs. Rimmon. “It’s no good binding a lad anywhere against his will.”

“Mr. Surlesden doesn’t bear a good character in Jumley,” said Keziah ; “that’s the worst feature in the case.”

“What do you think Jubal will do, Keziah?” said Mrs. Rimmon, studying her daughter’s face attentively.

“That depends upon what outside influence is brought to bear upon him,” answered Keziah.

“But who is there to influence Jubal?” said Mrs. Rimmon, inquiringly.

“ Well,” replied Keziah, “I can and I can't answer that; but I put it to you, mother, where is Jubal most at home—here or away? and isn’t the home influence likely to be strongest ? Jubal has almost lived at the Saltrings’ when not at school. The question to my mind is—which of those

WARNING NOTES. t two homes of Jubal’s has most influence? Jumley is out of the question.”

“Jubal has changed a great deal lately,” remarked Mrs. Rimmon; “ ever since he went to the Saltrings’. I wish you could go and see him, Keziah. I really think it would be better if he did what his father wishes.”

*“ Well, mother,” replied Keziah, “if I must speak frankly, I should not know what to advise Jubal; and Ill tell you why. I believe Jubal requires a firmer hand than Uncle David’s. Uncle David would be too kind to him; and I don’t fancy he'd take to manufacturing. On the other hand, I don’t think this Mr. Surlesden is a suitable man at all. Nevertheless, I consider it would be unwise in Jubal to thwart his father. In that case Jubal would have to struggle without his father’s money to get a position; and, I believe ”—and here Keziah dropped her voice to an impressive whisper—“ that there are those who would rejoice if he gave his father cause to disinherit him.”

Mrs. Rimmon opened her eyes with astonishment at this, and could not be brought to understand.

“Well, it will be settled some way at any rate, for your father’s going to Manchester to-morrow to have it out with Jubal.”

“T am sorry he’s going there,” said Keziah, “very sorry. But ?’m glad you’ve told me. I shall write and prepare Jubal.” With this she took her leave; and Mrs. Rimmon appeared much comforted by the mere fact that her daughter knew what had occurred.

As she was turning in at her gate, she noticed a stranger on the steps looking curiously at the house, as if uncertain whether to ring or not. Keziah went up to him directly, believing him to be an applicant for the position of clerk to her husband ; for it was his latest project to have a resident confidential clerk. She was within two paces of him. He remained motionless, staring at her with a trance-like look on his face. She uttered a little muffled ery ; and suddenly forgetting herself in one absorbing thought, she stretched out both her hands. It was James Elworthy. He took a step backwards as she approached him, and cast an unbending, pitiless look upon her.

“Don’t look at me in that way,” said Keziah, “as if I were your bitterest enemy.”

Elworthy laughed.

“What have you come here for?” Keziah asked.

‘Not to see you,” shortly replied her old lover. “T was not aware you lived here until I saw your husband’s name” —this with a sneer—‘‘on the gate.”

“Oh, Rupert,” said Keziah, with her hands convulsively clasped together, ‘‘ you would not look at me so if you knew all. I have not been all blameworthy.”

“Do not trouble yourself to discuss that question,’ Elworthy replied. “I will wish you a good morning.”

He was moving away. Keziah seized him by the arm, and would not let him go. She spoke na fevered whisper, and the words followed each other fast.

“Rupert, tell me this one thing ; don’t refuse me. He had turned his head away from her.

« Tell me with your own lips you did not send mea letter owning dreadful things.” He was silent. ‘‘Give me this one thing to live on all the long weary years until I die,” Keziah continued, her eyes dilating.

He looked down at her with burning eyes, trembling visibly, and said hoarsely—“ You hardly deserve that comfort, Keziah; yet I will give it you. No, I never wrote such a letter.”

He was turning once more to go. She once more stopped him. “ Rupert,” she said in a choking voice, “speak a single kind word to me before you go.”

“ How can I?” he said, in a tone full of anguish ; and dashed away.

Keziah watched his retreating figure with strained eyes, her hands still clasped together, her face as white as the morning dress she wore. The figure was gone ; she continued staring in the direction it had taken, until she heard a voice addressing her from behind.

‘Pardon me, Madam, but are you Mrs. Hackbit?”

This time it was a stranger; his voice, for some reason, made Mrs. Hackbit shudder.

* Yes,” she replied, in a nervous tone, “ I am.”

“ My name is Silas Rimpler. I am the new clerk Mr. Hackbit engaged, and happening to be free from my former engagement earlier than I anticipated, I have come in order to give Mr. Hackbit the benefit.”

It flashed through Keziah’s mind that this man ‘must have seen her speaking with Rupert, and she felt sick at heart. It was with a great effort that she asked him to come into the house.

Mr. Rimpler was a short, thickset man, with very much the appearance of a bull-dog ; and poor Keziah looked on him with abhorrence. He followed her into the breakfast-room, with a strange leer on his countenance, and when inside he remarked, “‘ Mr. Hackbit is from home, is he not?” This was said in a dry, hard tone, which was nevertheless polite enough.

Keziah wondered what made him think her husband was away; and she answered almost with a look of inquiry on her face, “Yes, he is from home, and I can’t say when he will be back; but I don’t think he’ll be very long, because he has no one to leave in the office.”

“ Yes, you have the offices attached here, have you not?” replied Mr. Rimpler. “I should like to look at them.”

“1 think my husband would prefer to show them you himself,” said Keziah nervously, and not at all sure of her ground. “But you will take some refreshment ?”

“TI don’t mind a glass of wine.”

Keziah blushed. “We don’t keep any,” she said.

“ Oh, indeed,” said Mr. Rimpler. “ Teetotallers, eh?”

“ Yes,” said Keziah faintly.

“Then I will take nothing, thank you, until dinner. You dine early, do you not?”

“ Yes, at half-past one.”

She had scarcely said these words when the door was pushed open, and a little boy, who might have been two years and a half old, entered and took hold of her gown.

“One of your little ones?” asked Mr. Rimpler, indicating the child.

“No,” said Keziah, “he’s an adopted child, but quite as dear to us as our own.”

“ How many have you, may I ask ?”

* One,” replied Keziah. ‘ Where’s Leonard, Bertram?” she added, addressing the child, who was holding her skirts.

“ He's in the garden, mother,” answered the little fellow, with scarcely any childish lisp.

Mr. Rimpler looked at the boy attentively, and seemed to see more in him than a handsome child. He appeared to be racking his brains for some circumstance or person that this child called to his mind. If this were the case, he dismissed the idea, and asked Keziah if he might see her own child.

« Ask Wilson to bring Leonard,” said Keziah to Bertram, in answer. The little fellow flew to obey.

In a short space of time the tall figure of Wilson, the nurse, appeared, bearing in her arms a healthy baby, who was quite a miniature of his father, even to a half-cynical look, at which Mr. Rimpler laughed when he saw it, declaring that he had never seen so young a child with so sage an expression. Little Bertram, who had returned with them, flushed with pleasure on hearing his little brother praised, as he thought; and mildly suggested, with his face halfhidden in his foster-mother’s gown, that Lenny could play bo-peep, and do lots of other things.

Mr. Hackbit returned for dinner, and appeared very glad to see Mr. Rimpler; and with a certain ostentation showed him over the well-planned offices attached to his house.

After dinner Mr. Hackbit informed Keziah that Mr. Rimpler would stay in the house, as he wished him to be always on the spot.

‘“‘Ts he to remain here always ?” she asked.

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Hackbit shortly. “ Why not ?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” was Keziah’s answer; “I only wanted to know.” And she went away with a slow step and a look of great discomfort on her face. She went to the nursery, a large room at the top of the house, where Wilson sat sewing, and Bertram and Leonard were rolling upon the floor.

Wilson looked up as she entered, and dropped the garment she was making into her lap, and openly studied Keziah’s countenance.

“ What is the matter, m’m?” she asked.

Keziah flushed. “Nothing,” she said. ‘“ What made you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied Wilson, retiring imto herself, and fixing her face into an expression of a strictly non-committal type.

“Mr. Rimpler is going to stay here,” went on Keziah.

“ Always?” asked Wilson, just as Keziah had done.

“Yes. So we must decide what room to give up to him.”

“ Wouldn’t one of the attics do, m’m?” said Wilson, in a rasping tone.

A slow smile broke on Keziah’s face. That remark was enough to show her what impression Mr. Rimpler had made upon Wilson.

“Well, not exactly,” replied Keziah. ‘It must either be the room facing the street, or the one opposite the night nursery.”

Wilson looked stony at this announcement, and said in an icy manner, “I can’t help it, m’m, but I’m sure no good will come to this house if that man stays in it.”

The words seemed to strike Keziah cold, not because of what they were merely, but because they echoed a repressed thought in her own heart. She crushed it instantly, and said as strongly as she was able, “That is all rubbish, Wilson. Superstitious people never have any peace. I would advise you to ee » give it up.

Chapter II. A Clash And A Crash

N the evening of the day after Keziah’s talk with her mother about Jubal, Joshua Rimmon presented himself at The Chestnuts, Bowdon. He looked older and greyer, and had anxiety stamped upon his countenance, in place of his former expression of determined selfwill.

This was the first occasion on which Mr. Rimmon had seen his brother David’s house. As he had been wont to remark to his acquaintances at Jumley, they were not a visiting family.

While Mr. Rimmon rang the bell, he could not help feeling some elation in prospect of the surprise VOL. II. C and discomfort he was about to bring to this homely household, for he had not written to say he was coming, for fear Jubal should go out.

The servant who opened the door scanned his features, and judged him to be a drawing-room visitor from the severity of his look ; and was about to show him in, when David, who had heard his brother’s voice, came to him at once, all in a flurry. A visit from Joshua boded no good, and David knew it.

The two shook hands mechanically, and David took Joshua into the parlour. He was the taller of the two brothers, and Mrs. Rimmon, happening to look up, perceived her first-born’s head above that of her younger son, and sprang up in her chair with as much agility as if she were still young, wringing her hands, and protesting she would not go back with him.

This was not at all pleasant for the visitor, and not in the least flattermg. Joshua turned red, and said in a biting tone to his brother—

«« She is still mad, I see.”

A fresh voice replied to this statement; it was

A CLASH AND A CRASH. 19

Jubal, who was in the room, though his father had not hitherto noticed him. There was enough of him to be seen, however, if his father had looked in his direction, for Jubal had grown apace in the past year, and now confronted his father with his face on the same level, and with the down of a coming moustache on his upper lip, and a very decisive bearing indeed.

“‘Grandmother’s in the wrong hands to be mad,” this young gentleman said, with a sardonic sinile.

Mr. Rimmon darted an intensely angry look at his son, whom he had never once beheld since Keziah’s marriage, owing to his having spent his holidays away from home ; and seeing him, his size took his breath away. He had no words to reply with; and Mrs. Rimmon drew everyone’s attention to herself by wailing out—

“Oh, Joshua, I know what you’ve come for; you shall have it, and then go.” And she fumbled in her pocket, and impulsively threw the sewn-up key at her first-born.

Mr. Rimmon’s face was livid. “ What do you mean, you idiot?” he cried, utterly forgetting himself.

David clutched at the table to steady himself ; but Jubal seized his father by both arms, and pinioned him against the wall. “ You dare to speak another word like that,” he hissed, “and Tl fling you into the street.”

But Jubal, though tall, had not his father’s weight ; and as soon as Mr. Rimmon had recovered from his surprise, he flung his son off with comparative ease, and said to his brother in a tone scarcely anyone ever heard him use—

“This is what you are training him to do, is it ; to turn on his own father ?”

“Ts that at all likely, Joshua?” gasped David.

“Yes, it is, you sneaking fool,” said Mr. Rimmon.

“ Every word you have spoken here to-night shall be reported all over Jumley,” put in Jubal, “I give you my word for it.”

“ And another report shall go hand-in-hand with it,” retorted his father, his teeth chattering with anger; “the report that Joshua Rimmon has disinherited his son, and will have no more to do with

A CLASH AND A CRASH. 21 him. Never you set your foot inside my door again, on any pretence whatever, or I will have you kicked into the street.”

“Tm not sure I couldn’t make you give me shelter,” replied Jubal; “ but I'd rather beg my bread. Oh, don’t fear, uncle David,” he said, turning his flushed face on his uncle, who was ghastly. “ We'll get on all right, you and I. Let that cowardly miser keep all his ill-gotten gains.”

Mrs. Rimmon had sunk into her chair, and was babbling.

Joshua left, without a word of adieu.

And thus ended his first visit to his brother.

As soon as the hall-door had closed behind him, Jubal and his uncle looked at each other anxiously. David was the first to speak.

“ Jubal, I don’t talk much, so you are the likelier to remember the little I do say. Do you remember what I said at your father’s house, about keeping a nest for his children, if ever they should want one?”

“f was not there,” replied Jubal, ‘‘ but Keziah told me what you said.”

“ Ah, I remember,” continued David, passing his hand over his brow; “you were at the Saltrings’. Well, I didn’t know how soon you would need me ; but you are not an unexpected guest, Jubal; the home has long been ready for you.”

“ Oh, uncle,” cried Jubal, “you are too good to me, you are indeed. But for you, I believe I should go downright to the bad; for father has kept my brain in a ferment of anger all my life; and sometimes I have felt that I would ruin father, if it cost me a life’s work to do it.”

“ Never think of it again, Jubal,” said his uncle impressively. ‘It never pays to try and do God’s work for him; we are too ignorant, and too weak.”

Jubal looked sullen, as if he could not shake off a feeling which was the outcome of years, in one moment, at another’s bidding.

“T tell you what you can do, Jubal,” went on David, noting the boy’s look with some alarm; “you can become an honourable man, without reproach, in spite of your training, in spite of all. That should be your greatest triumph.”

“ Oh, uncle,” said Jubal, “ I can’t act with you;

or at this moment I should pretend to promise you

A CLASH AND A CRASH. 23 all you ask. I can hardly even say I will try to do what you wish; my heart is too bitter. I have been so used to haying such thoughts as these that I can’t break myself; I have lost the taste for anything

_ better, if ever I had ites

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Chapter III. The Living Death Of Love

WEEK later, Mrs. Beredith and her daughter Lucy were driving to Kenilworth by way of Stone Court, and were noticing a number of foxhounds disporting themselves on the ill-kept grass in front of the Court. While they were looking, they saw James Elworthy come out at the door, and mount his horse; and Mrs. Beredith stopped her carriage to wait for him.

“« Why, doctor,” she said, rubbing her fat hands one over the other, as was her habit when much pleased, “you have actually been called in to Stone Court, then?”

“Yes,” the young man answered, with a faint smile; ‘‘ Lady Conquest is taken suddenly ill. I was called in because their own medical man is at a distance.”

““Tf you are not too busy,” Mrs. Beredith said, ‘will you step in to-night ?”

“T was about to say I was coming in,” said Elworthy. “I have something I wish to say to you, and all the past week I have been dreadfully busy. And I must be off now,” he added, looking at his watch, “or I shall not finish till late.” So, raising his hat in a solemn manner, he rode away ; and the ladies went on to Kenilworth, and talked about nothing but Dr. Elworthy and Keziah Hackbit.

“You know, Lucy,” said Mrs. Beredith, “ it was horrid of Keziah to marry her cousin, even if she did not believe in Elworthy.”

“So I think,” replied Lucy warmly. “She might at least have waited.”

“Tf she had waited, it would never have happened,” said her mother.

“T am glad that he came back to Leamington,” said Lucy. ‘ It shows everybody he has nothing to be ashamed of.”

“JT don’t know that altogether,” said Mrs. Beredith. “TI think he ought to be and is very much ashamed of having shown himself such a coward.”

“ Well, mother, you would not hear anybody else say what you are saying.”

“T defend Dr. Elworthy,” replied Mrs. Beredith, “because I think that the worst thing he ever did was no great sin. But that doesn’t blind me to the fact that it was cowardly of him to go away and hide himself. He ought to have trusted in God not to let the wrong man suffer.”

“ But do you believe, mother, that the right one always does come off clear? ”

This question rather nonplussed Mrs. Beredith, who could express her theories and beliefs, but was rarely able to bring forward any conclusive proofs when asked for them, which was somewhat a drawback.

As Mrs. Beredith was silent, Lucy ventured to put a further question.

“ Suppose, mother, that you had quarrelled very much with somebody, till everybody knew you to be his enemy, and talked about it. And suppose that that somebody had been found dead by you, and it flashed into your mind, ‘I shall be the first one they will take into custody for this, and they may hang me, I think, mother you might run away and hide yourself, under a false name, with that thought, although you might regret it later on. Afterwards every day would make it harder to disclose your real name.”

“You are quite coming out, Lucy,” was Mrs. Beredith’s comment. “I had no idea you could argue in that style.”

Lucy blushed deeply, and did not own, as she might have done, that she was but quoting from memory. She had heard this said by a friend who had calied at their house to another lady visitor, who was debating whether or not to call in Dr. Elworthy again when he had returned to Leamington after his acquittal.

“JT can’t understand Keziah’s marrying,” went on Lucy. “If I loved a man as she seemed to love him, I should remain single for his sake, even if he were ever so false to me.”

“You never know what you will do,” replied her mother, “until you are put to the test; and we can’t. tell what influenced Keziah. And,” she went on, her eyes growing moist, ‘‘if I hadn’t as good as dismissed her by aggravating her so at Mr. Saltring’s, all this might never have happened, and the poor lamb would have come back here, and he would have come back, and all would have been right, I am sure. I at any rate have not been free from blame in the matter.”

‘*T don’t see that at all, mother. Keziah ought to have known you well enough not to get angry at what you said. And it was very unfair of her to leave us in the way she did ;”—this in a smothered tone of regret for a lost companion who had made her life so happy.

“Do you know, Lucy, I somehow fancy that Rupert is going to call to say something about Keziah to-night. There was that in his face that I have never seen unless Keziah was in the question.”

“Ts it possible than he can have seen her?” said Lucy.

“Impossible,” replied her mother. “I have never told him where she is living, though I should have done so if he had asked me. I am sure he would not ask anybody but myself; and even if he knew, he is too honourable to go near her.”

“He may have seen her by accident,” Lucy

“ 'That’s possible,” her mother agreed. “ Poor tellow !” she sighed.

That evening, about seven o’clock, Mrs. Beredith and her daughter were sitting in their drawing-room, with their embroidery in their laps, at an open window overlooking the garden, which was now fragrant with flowers. There were two entrances to their house ; the one was close upon the street, the other led through the garden quite from the opposite direction. Rupert entered oftenest through the garden gate, being on such friendly terms with the family. He could thus come upon them unawares and without ringing; and this evening the two ladies saw him approaching from between the rose bushes, his erect figure moving gravely towards them, and his face wearing the faintest possible smile. He slowly took off his hat as he saw them looking at him; every movement of his was slow now. His pulse was slow. He had grown old too soon. Only one thing had power to fire him; we have seen what that was.

The window at which the ladies were seated opened to the ground, and Rupert passed in, saying, in his gentle musical voice, “ Dear Mrs. Beredith, grant me a favour to-night.”

“ What is it?” she inquired.

“ Don’t think it too much,” he responded. “ Let me call you mother ; I shall feel nearer to you, and more able to speak ; not that I can feel more to you than I have done ever since you came to me in my sore need.”

“My poor, dear boy,” replied Mrs. Beredith, as if he really belonged to her, “of course you must call me mother, not only to-night, but always; and Lucy shall be your sister.”