T'bacca queen; a novel

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Prefatory Note To The American Edition

Without anticipating any criticism of this novel, one can heartily congratulate Miss Theodora Wilson on her knowledge of Westmoreland, and her delineation of the character of the “ Fellsiders,” as they are locally called, of whom she writes. The graphic descriptions of the death-bed of old Carradus, of T’ Bacca Queen’s dibut at the Primrose Ball, and the singing competition, are sure to be read with interest, while the scene between Calthwaite and Nell on Windy Scar is tragically and pitiably real.

American readers may find that the swift transition from Nell’s smooth and gentle English to the fierce rudeness of her northern dialect is a little puzzling ; but those of us who dwell among the dalesfolk of Cumberland and Westmoreland know that the people are bilingual. They have one speech for “foreigners,” another for native use: in this matter Miss Wilson is true to the life.

H. D. Rawnsley,

Chapter I

Lunch was over, and George Glyn, rising from his seat, crossed to his daughter’s side.

“ Allow me, my dear,” he said, in the quiet manner he invariably used when speaking to a woman ; and with a certain gentle politeness the stately old man assisted Mary on to a couch near the window, from whence she could obtain a full view of the peaceful garden.

Mary Glyn had passed away from her first girlhood, and had been more or less of an invalid for years.

One hot summer day ten years before, an eager, well-built girl came running down the stairs, brightly excited over an impending tennis match.

She slipped — that was all. And from that time life — the active physical enjoyment of what life holds most dear — was over for Mary Glyn.

The intellectual glory of existence was still hers. All her keenness, her strong love of the World’s children, and still stronger love of the World’s Father, remained ; but though some guessed, none ever knew the agony of life disappointment which seized her at times, when long days of extra torture grasped her once vigorous frame, and when events of busy, strenuous activity in which it was impossible for her to participate, passed across and away from the path that she was destined to follow.

There was a great companionship between the widower and his daughter, and to-day, after the man had set down the little tray of coffee on a table by the window, George Glyn sat a few minutes by the couch before hurrying away to his office.

Mr. Glyn was the lawyer of Farbiggin.

There were other lawyers in the town, of course, but it was to him that town and county alike looked for guidance in difficult and critical situations.

He and his fathers before him possessed the documents and deeds of all the gentry around. There were few family secrets that he did not hold; few parcels of land which he or his had not conveyed; few mortgages which he had not arranged.

Mrs. Glyn had died many years before, leaving him with three children. One of the sons, Henry, the Vicar of Farbiggin, was married, but Ryder and Mary were still at home.

“ I hardly expect to be in to tea, dear,” Mr. Glyn remarked presently. “John Carradus wants to see me this afternoon on business. His will, I anticipate. He is near his end now. His has been a strange life — I wish I possessed more influence over him, but I am his servant in legal matters.”

“ Will he be very unjust, father ? ”

“ Not unjust, probably, but hard — certainly hard.”

Mr. Glyn rose from the great lounge chair and paced the room steadily. He was a tall, spare man, grey, in fact almost white-headed. He wore a moustache and beard closely cut, which hid the thin lips which formed the sensitive but resolute mouth. His nose was long and straight, without the least hint of either an upward or a downward turn, and his grey eyes were almost hidden by the overhanging eyebrows, while his complexion was of that brown-red which told of hard riding and walking and fearless combats with the rains and storms of Moorshire.

“If I were sure that his soul were saved,” he ejaculated, thinking out loud, as was his habit now in the presence of his daughter. “ Such a man ! So self-righteous — such a hard drinker, yet Carradus was never a drunkard — so unforgiving. Dear Lord, do Thou in Thy mercy save his soul.”

Mary did not speak, for she knew her father in this mood.

He was a keen lawyer — none keener, though honourable to the minutest point of the law. He was, moreover, deeply “ religious,” and was superintendent of an unsectarian Sunday school which he had built himself in the roughest quarter of the town. He was a leader of mission services, and a controller of after-meetings.

Those who mocked him as a hypocrite, remained to pray when once they came under his influence ; and those who refused the good and chose the evil, fled away from his presence as from some avenging angel.

On The Scarth, where the poor of Farbiggin congregated, his word was law, and his prayers were considered more than apostolic; and though the roughest were unable to abstain from scoffing and scorning a control which they could neither understand nor ignore, they were the first to feel that God himself would have been in some way to blame if “ Auld Geordie’s” prayers had not received a fair hearing.

Many a wife had brought a worthless husband and many a father a hopeless son to him for reprimand or correction.

With all women, whether of the aristocracy or of The Scarth, he was deferential and ceremonious, but his few enemies scoffingly declared that he was unduly influenced in his opinions regarding them, according to the proportion of beauty or grace accorded. But pure he was with all the chivalrous purity of an old-world knight, and young men and maidens consulted him in half-sentences and mumbled phrases as they stood awkwardly before him ; and many a heartbreak and many a life’s misery and shipwreck he had obviated by advice, which had for its rock foundation the fear of God and a certain far-seeing astuteness.

Mary acted as his useful aide-de-camp, and now that physical infirmity had linked her more really with those who suffered than with those who rejoiced, the poor were beginning to think that they got almost as much good from Miss Mary ;

V DACCA QUEEN

and she was thus enabled to pass on shrewd advice, carefully hidden away under good-natured raillery, with an authority which, though first gained from her position as her father’s daughter, was gradually becoming indissolubly connected with herself. And then Mary had a keen sense of humour, and her father had none — and therein lay an immensity of difference.

“ Then if you are not coming in to tea, I think I shall try to go to the Vicarage, father,” said Mary, as Mr. Glyn was preparing to leave.

“ Do, dear,” he said. “ Will you order the carriage ? Ah,

I forgot to tell you that I have had a new arrangement of cushions put into the seat. I hope they will help you, my darling.”

He looked at her with a wistful yearning that brought tears into her large brown eyes.

Mary forced them back, and putting up her arms drew his face down to hers. Then she pushed him away from her, and laughing brightly, said, “ Oh, father darling, you should not do these things. You are always plotting for my comfort. Why, what would you give me next ? ”

“ All the strength I have left in my own strong back if it would serve you, dearest,” he replied gently. “ There, now I have made you cry. I am sorry — good-bye.” And he hurriedly left the room.

Later in the afternoon George Glyn made his way up on to The Scarth. The way was truly upwards, and the tangled mass of irregular buildings was perched upon the steep hillside at every conceivable angle. Some houses were very low, others very high ; some were clean and had been recently rebuilt ; i others were in the last stages of decrepitude.

Neither plan nor system had had any place in the arrangement of this quarter of the town.

As a matter of ancient history, the whole of the land had once been more or less common property. Squatters had built as they chose, and had gained rights through long periods of non-disturbance.

Later, the lands had been acquired by Act of Parliament, and were placed in the hands of a certain body of trustees, who were apparently more distinguished for their short-sightedness, prejudice, and huge magnification of their office, combined with a subservient subordination to each other, than for any particular faculty for trusteeship.

They sold a site here, and a site there, as a purchaser turned up, and therefore left themselves with all kinds of odd, irregular scraps of land of little use to any one, which, with a reserve price or an impossible building clause evolved by themselves, they pathetically put up to auction time after time without result.

These Scarthside Trustees had quite unique ways of interfering with and worrying their tenants and those connected with them, and at last had gained that summit of success which is sometimes granted to the hopelessly incorrigible ; and this success was set forth by a saying in Farbiggin that “ Yan might do summat wi’t Corporation, but yan could do nowt at a’ wi’ t’ Scarthside Trustees.”

No one in earlier days had had the genius to perceive that a veritable Garden of the Lord might have been constructed on The Scarth.

The town straggled along the valley beneath, hugging the river and the fog ; but across the smoke, and beyond the eastern suburbs, stretched the wide cultivated country, whilst beyond lay the hills and the wild Moorshire valleys, which wandered away in a northerly direction.

If any ideal had been conceived and carried out, many a cottager might have daily enjoyed some of this loveliness.

Day by day the wind and the clouds and the mists and the sun played on the distances with entrancing changeability, as if appealing to one generation after another for sympathy and admiration.

True, there were some houses which were by chance built facing the view, but for the most part they were turned backwards and sideways, and all for the want of a mere twist round ; the small-paned windows and the narrow doors faced other windows and other doors, and ashpits and dirty lanes and middensteads, and the fresh air of heaven was choked by the smell of refuse and filth of every description.

The windings of the ways in amongst these dwellings were wonderful, and it needed a native or an indefatigable district worker to know their idiosyncrasies.

All the dwellers on The Scarth were as proud of themselves as they were despised by the working classes living in other parts of Farbiggin. The name Scarthsider was at once a reproach and a glory.

In the early part of the century, even as late as the forties and fifties, no policeman dared venture alone to quell any disturbance in this district. Fights, quarrels, family feuds went on for the most part quite unchecked.

Sunday by Sunday the boys and girls looked on with respectful admiration at the bloody fights which took place at the popular fighting-ground outside the Wild Boar Inn, the boys longing for the time when they could show like prowess, and the girls preparing for equal valour on their own doorsteps.

None interfered, except the police; but fines and imprisonments did very little to curb the lawless tendency.

Away on the heights above The Scarth, from whence the glories of the Lake Mountains and the calmer beauties of the Morecambe Bay could alike be seen, gambling and coursing were carried on with assiduity. Gradually, however, a feeling of some sort of responsibility entered into the hearts of the Farbiggin people.

George Glyn established a mission school, and sought to gather in the wanderers. A few cottages were thrust aside, and a small church was perched on one of the very steepest parts of the hill. A general taming process was established, and later, Methodists and Salvationists felt that amongst the Scarthsiders there was at any rate an open harvestfield.

With such efforts came the inevitable result of pauperization, and on the day when Mr. George Glyn picked his way with a certain fastidious delicacy up through the steep, muddy, refusebespattered lanes, the inhabitants were divided into those who had sunk into an insolent laziness of expectancy, and those who had retained the old independent hatred of interference from others. But through both classes ran the same uncontrolledness and want of self-government which caused them, time after time, to turn again and rend their most indulgent benefactors on the slightest possible provocation.

Happily a deep-seated sense of rough justice lay dormant, and the “ renders ” were often the very first to turn round and sturdily support those whom they had but a few hours before as sturdily abused.

Thus it was that the meek and easily alarmed workers turned back and were seen no more on The Scarth ; but others of a less sensitive nature endured the rough abuse for the sake of the rough loyalty, and in their battles with the people for their own good, enjoyed a fray which was fraught with so much real humanity and original humour.

Mr. Glyn knocked at the door of a particularly old-fashioned but superior-looking dwelling on The Scarth.

In times gone by the house had stood somewhat alone, and even now a small garden separated it off in such a way as to give it a distinct individuality, and the name of “The Great House ” or, in the phraseology of the district, “ T’ Girt Hoose,” still bore testimony to days of bygone importance and comparative splendour.

The door was very wide and thickly studded with square nails, and the mullioned windows were leaded and diamondpaned. The whole aspect of the house showed there was no stint in the up-keep, and the date of 1637 was cut in the rough limestone over the porch.

All around the cottages had established themselves, but from the front windows of the Great House there was a clear unbroken view of the distant fell lands.

The moving of John Carradus into this house some thirty years ago was considered by the neighbours to be something of an impertinence, and they said amongst themselves what they dared not have said to Carradus, that “Jack Carradus hed a girt cheek to set his sell oop in a hoose like yon.”

As Carradus cared not the value of his own clay pipe for what any one said about him the gossip died a natural death, and so it came to pass that John Carradus and his connection with the Great House was soon part of the established order of things, and in a few years most people had forgotten that “ Jacky” had lived in any other place.

And to-day every one on The Scarth knew that the old man was near his end.

Chapter II

Mr. Glyn was kept waiting a few moments after he had knocked ; but he was not of an impatient temperament, so he occupied the time by inquiring after the families of several small children who stood in the middle of the lane watching for the door to open, so that they might catch a glimpse inside, The house of death was always intensely interesting to a Scarthsider.

At last the door was opened slowly by a stout middle-aged woman, whom Mr. Glyn greeted pleasantly.

“ Coom in, sir ! ” she said, in a clear, strong voice which could be heard all over the house. “ Coom in, sir. He’s reet doon bad now, and that awk’ard to do wi’ ! I’se niver doin’ t’ reet thing. I do me best, and folk can’t do more ! ”

“ Perhaps I had better see him at once,” was the reply, for Mr. Glyn knew the woman well.

“ Aye, he’s all on t’ fidge for yer ! ” Then dropping her voice she whispered, “ Lawyer ! you'll put in a word for me as hes nursed him sa lang ? I kna’ I’se nowt tull him by blood, but he hes a deal o’ brass, and he’se niver miss it whar he’s goin’ tull ! ”

“ I think, Mrs. Lancaster, that I will go right in,” and Mr. Glyn stepped quietly past her into the large, airy bedroom which was on the ground-floor.

John Carradus was lying on an old-fashioned wooden fourpost bed, in such a position that he could see the distant fells through the window, and an old white bulldog lay curled up at his feet. All about him was clean, but excessively homely. The floor was carpetless, but the oaken boards were spotlessly scrubbed. Above the high oak wainscoting, the walls were covered with pink rosebuds and blue violets in alternating bunches, and suspended in narrow black frames was a unique collection of plans and pictures of old Farbiggin, some of them being of great antiquity.

There were a few prints about, but these were all of sporting dogs — greyhounds, terriers, and evil-looking mongrels; and just above one picture of a prize bulldog with a fully developed under-lip there was a card on which was painted by some very unskilled hand the words, “ Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”

The only other thing of interest in the room, beside perhaps the simple oaken mantelshelf, was a small square cupboard let into the wall between the fireplace and the bed. It was nor more than a couple of feet square, but the door was most beautifully carved with an interlacing conventional design, and the centre bore the same date as the front of the house.

“ So you’ve coomed ! ” said he shortly. “ It’s time ! ”

Mr. Glyn sat down by the bed. “Yes, I’ve come, John. Now let us get to business.”

The old man turned on the bed, and brought forth from under his pillow a small key. Mr. Glyn opened the cupboard, and drew out an assortment of papers.

“ You’ll find out by them how much I hev, Lawyer ! I’ve telt you before partly what there is, but there’s a deal more than you think on for. Nobbut a lile matter o’ ^100,000 in land and in Sowerby’ Bank, and that’s reckoning nowt at a’ for t’ Rope Walk ! ” John Carradus lay back and watched to see the effect of the announcement on his lawyer.

George Glyn, however, made no movement of surprise, but lightly bending his head in acknowledgment that he had heard, waited quietly for more as he fingered the documents before him.

“ No, don’t you speak, George,” continued the man ; " I’se best get it a’ said. It’s a job talking when — ” and he was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing.

Bell Lancaster opened the door.

“ Shut yon door and be off, thoo pryin’ auld lass ! ” he burst forth, and the door was shut promptly.

“Furst of a’,” he began again, “I want you to set down t’ Rope Walk and all yon business wi a couple o’ thousand to our William’ lad Jo. William and his eldest Reuben can look after their awn sells. They are on t’ reet road tull a fortune wi’ t’ corn mill, but his second lad Joe hes stuck tull his grandfather at t’ rope spinnin’ and he shall hev it. And think on that you set down, that efter him it mun gang tull his lile Jack. Jack’s a girt strang lad. He teks efter his girt grandfather ! ”

Mr. Glyn looked up at the wasted hollow-eyed man before him, and then remembered bygone days when John Carradus was in truth the halest, hardest man on The Scarth.

“Jack teks tull his auld grandfather and a’ he continued, half proudly and half deprecatingly. “ He did yon by his sell last Cirsmus ! ” and he pointed to the text on the wall. “ His father and oor William’s baith on em religious— ower religious for to suit me, but it suits them, and does naabody na hurt.”

“ Then shall I tie up the business to be conducted for the benefit of the little boy ? ” queried the lawyer.

“ Eye ! Tie it up tight, and put plenty o’ rope on tull it : but let Jo hev t’ profit while Jack is yan and twenty, and then they mun share equal while Jo dies, and then Jack can hev t’ lot.”

“ I understand,” replied Mr. Glyn, making rapid notes. “ And now for the rest of the moneys ? ”

“You’ll mind our Dick?” asked Carradus — “him as niver stuck tull his father, but went off musickin’ to Germany when he was nobbut a growin’ lad ? ”

Mr. Glyn bent his head. He still remembered the handsome lad with his air of unusual intellectual refinement, which had caused nothing but annoyance to his rougher-natured father.

II

“ But you’ll niver have heard wha he got hissell wed tull ? ”

“No,” was the short reply.

“ Well, he wed Robert Whinery’ dawghter ! Theer ! ” he cried triumphantly, as Mr. Glyn started, “ I’se surprised even a lawyer ! Eye, Bob Whinery’ dawghter, I turned t’ lad off for his impidence, and he’s niver getten a penny piece from ma sen t’ last wage I gev him t’ day he set off unbeknownst to ma on his divilment : and Bob Whinery — Sir Robert Whinery, High Sheriff o’ t’ County o’ Moorshire — him as ruined hisself and died in London three year sen — he turned his dawghter off when she wedt a fiddling chap in Germany ! All t’ county wondered what sooart of a fule she hed sattled on, and they heard tell it was one as went by t’ name o’ Dick Hilliard, and so thowght Bob hissell, but I kent it ! I kent as our Dick was mate to Bob Whinery’ dawghter ! Look theer in yon thin envelope — you’ll find t’ letter he sent ma ! ”

Mr. Glyn opened the one referred to, and read slowly :

“Dear Father, — I am very sorry you can do nothing for me, for I know that you are comfortably off, and I am not specially wealthy. Still I am getting on well for a musician, and this letter is to tell you I have just married Beatrice Whinery, daughter of Sir Robert Whinery of Witherthwaite. I hope that we shall have a long, happy life before us, and may God grant the same to you. Remember, father, that I am still a Farbiggin man. I love every stick and stone of the place, but I cannot leave the music, I cannot indeed.

“ Give my love to mother and tell her not to fret. I should like her to see my beautiful lady. I am known here only as Mr. Hilliard, and even my wife has told no one my real name. She has been very badly used by her family, and I trust that you will keep my secret.

“ Your affectionate son,

“ Richard Carradus.”

Mr. Glyn laid the letter down.

“ And you’ll find two more, and them’s t’ lot ! ”

In the same handwriting, dated from the Conservatoire at

Weimar and written some fifteen years later, was another letter :

“ Dear Father, — You will be sorry to hear that I am stricken for death. Consumption they say. I shall leave my wife and one little lass to struggle along alone. May God help them.

Goodbye, father. William wrote to tell me that mother was dead, so though I cannot write to her, I shall soon see her for myself.

“Your affectionate son,

“ Richard Carradus.”

The remaining letter was written in a woman’s hand :

“To Mr. John Carradus,

“ Dear Sir, — You are my husband’s father, and he has been a true husband to me. He is gone now, and he has asked me to let you know. Our daughter is twelve years old, and we shall stay out here, as I have an opening for teaching.

“ The address, Mrs. Hilliard, Musik Schule, Weimar, will always find me.

“Yours sincerely,

“ Beatrice Carradus.”

“ And she — Mrs. Richard Carradus — is she still living ? ”

“ No, she’s dead and a’. Dead this short time sen. It was in t’ paper. I don’t kna’ wha set it theer.”

“And I suppose you sent her, from time to time, some assistance ? ”

“ Niver a brass fardin’ ! ” returned the old man violently. “Was I, think you, goin’ to kep Bob Whinery’ dawghter and him keepin’ his carriage and pair, and drivin’ through t’ toon as if all t’ spot belenged tull him when ivery man Jack kent as he’d coo to smash soom day? Eh ! many and many a time as I’se seed him I’se thowght, ‘ Eh, Bob lad 1 thee and me is grandfather tull t’ saam lass.’ Eh man! but he wad ha’ bin mad, if he’d only ha’ kent it!” And Carradus chuckled hoarsely.

“ And the poor little girl, your granddaughter ? ”

“ She’s nin sic a lile un ! She’ll be twenty year old come Whisuntid, and she’ll be nin sa poor wi ^100,000 behint her ! ”

“ Then you intend to leave the rest of your money to this child, Eleanor Carradus, I understand ? ”

“Ivery hawpenny. Eh, ivery hawpenny ! Eh! BobWhinery wad ha’ bin’ that riled he’d ’a’ hed a job to sit his mare ! He wad ’a’ given summut for ,£100,000! He was short enough o’ brass, as a’ t’ warld kent. Coom, set it doon man ! ”

Mr. Glyn made a few notes and again looked up. “To the daughter absolutely, or tied up with trustees ? ”

“ Geordie Glyn, you’re an honest man ! I want to leave ivery fardin’ to you for t’ lass, and I’se tak it as a girt favour if you’ll be her trustee and guardian — you and Miss Mary. She could bide wi’ you while she weds. Set doon a couple o’ hundreds a year for Miss Mary for tekkin’ a’ t’ fash ! ”

Mr. Glyn was about to interpose, but the old man waxed rate.

“ Niver a word ! Niver a word ! You’re here to do as I tell you. What ! I’se willin’ to pay for t’ job ! ”

“ You know, John,” said Mr. Glyn, taking not the least notice of the manifest ill-humour of his client, “you cannot force any one to assume guardianship.”

Carradus recovered himself somewhat, and said earnestly, “ But you will do it, Mr. Glyn, you will ? I wad like t’ lass to live wi’ a lady. Her mother was a lady, and her father — well, he was on t’ rooad to bein’ a gentleman. Any way, he was honest ! ”

Mr. Glyn was sufficient student of character to note the struggle that was going on in the old man’s heart, between the long-nursed wrath against this son and a pride which was making him do some sort of tardy justice to his granddaughter.

“ Eh, Mr. Glyn, tek’ her and do t’ best you can for her ! T auld woman ’ull rest better in her grave happen, if she kens

H as our Dick’ lass is gaain’ i’ silk and satin oop and doon t* streets o’ Farbiggin. Eh, t’ auld body was tekken wi’ a bit o’ finery. If you think as £200 a year is over little for Miss Mary

“It is not the question of money, as you know perfectly well,” said Mr. Glyn. It struck him as odd that he should be bargaining in this way with a Scarthsider.

“ Aye, George ! I kna’ as you hev plenty, but business is business, and I’d like my ^100,000 to stick to t’ lass, and I would gang oot o’ t’ warld a deal contenteder if theer was some one to mind t’ brass for her. ^100,000! And I’se niver spent a fardin’ o’ yon brass. T’ furst start on it cam fra my Liverpool brothers as med their fortunes in t’ wool buyin’ and I’ve let it graw and graw these thirty year. I’ve getten’ a goodish bit o’ land cheap when it was put oop, and many a do wi’ them auld Scarthside trustees I’ve hed ower it, and now half o’ t’ Scarth belengs tull auld Jack Carradus, and what I med out on it I put straight intull Sowerby’ Bank, and theer it mun bide ! ”

“But, John, you would hardly leave all this money in a local bank ? ” Mr. Glyn’s business instincts were shocked at such an idea.

“ I kna’ weel enough as auld Sowerby gives little enough for it. He’s a close enough chap is Sowerby. But t’ auld feller is straight, and he’s theer, and you can see his land by many an acre. He’s hed my brass safe for thirty year, and he shall hev it to t’ finish. I’se hev no investin’ and lossin’ and company mekkin’ wi’ my brass. T’ brass as will come in from t’ rents and t’ interest from Sowerby’s ’ull be enough for any lass. Any road, that’s what I want you to set down. And you’ll let t’ lass bide wi’ you ! ”