Chapter 73
In all this terrible business of Alice, the Vicar felt that his son-in-law had been a comfort to him.
"Rowcliffe," he said suddenly, "I feel very queer."
"I don't wonder, sir. I should go to bed if I were you."
"I shall. Presently."
The one-sided flush deepened and darkened as he brooded. It fascinated Rowcliffe.
"I think it would be better," said the Vicar slowly, "if I left the parish. It's the only solution I can see."
He meant to the problem of his respectability.
Rowcliffe said yes, perhaps it would be better.
He was thinking that it would solve his problem too.
For he knew that there would be a problem if Gwenda came back to her father.
The Vicar rose heavily and went to his roll-top desk. He opened it and began fumbling about in it, looking for things.
He was doing this, it seemed to his son-in-law, for quite a long time.
But it was only eleven o'clock when Mary heard sounds in the study that terrified her, of a chair overturned and of a heavy body falling to the floor. And then Steven called to her.
She found him kneeling on the floor beside her father, loosening his clothes. The Vicar's face, which she discerned half hidden between the bending head of Rowcliffe and his arms, was purple and horribly distorted.
Rowcliffe did not look at her.
"He's in a fit," he said. "Go upstairs and fetch Gwenda. And for G.o.d's sake don't let Ally see him."
XLIX
The village knew all about Jim Greatorex and Alice Cartaret now. Where their names had been whispered by two or three in the bar of the Red Lion, over the post office counter, in the schoolhouse, in the smithy, and on the open road, the loud scandal of them burst with horror.
For the first time in his life Jim Greatorex
Standing in the door of his kinsman's smithy, he defied it.
It was the day before his wedding. He had been riding home from Morfe Market and his mare Daisy had cast a shoe coming down the hill. He rode her up to the smithy and called for Blenkiron, shouting his need.
Blenkiron came out and looked at him sulkily.
"I'll shoe t' maare," he said, "but yo'll stand outside t' smithy, Jim Greatorex."
For answer Jim rode the mare into the smithy and dismounted there.
Then Blenkiron spoke.
"You'd best 'ave staayed where yo' were. But yo've coom in an' yo'
s'all 'ave a bit o' my toongue. To-morra's yore weddin' day, I 'ear?"
Jim intimated that if it was his wedding day it was no business of Blenkiron's.
"Wall," said the blacksmith, "ef they dawn't gie yo' soom roough music to-morra night, it'll bae better loock than yo' desarve--t' two o'
yo'."
Greatorex scowled at his kinsman.
"Look yo' 'ere, John Blenkiron, I warn yo'. Any man in t' Daale thot speaaks woon word agen my wife 'e s'all 'ave 'is nack wroong."
"An' 'ow 'bout t' women, Jimmy? There'll bae a sight o' nacks fer yo'
t' wring, I rackon. They'll 'ave soomat t' saay to 'er, yore laady."
"T' women? T' women? Domned sight she'll keer for what they saay.
There is n' woon o' they b.i.t.c.hes as is fit t' kneel in t' mood to 'er t' tooch t' sawle of 'er boots."
Blenkiron peered up at him from the crook of the mare's hind leg.
"Nat a.s.sy Gaale?" he said.
"a.s.sy Gaale? 'Oo's she to mook _'er_ naame with 'er dirty toongue?"
"Yo'll not goa far thot road, Jimmy. 'Tis wi' t' womenfawlk yo'll 'aave t' racken."
He knew it.
The first he had to reckon with was Maggie.
Maggie, being given notice, had refused to take it.
"Yo' can please yoresel, Mr. Greatorex. I can goa. I can goa. But ef I goa yo'll nat find anoother woman as'll coom to yo'. There's nat woon as'll keer mooch t' work for _yore_ laady."
"Wull yo' wark for 'er, Maaggie?" he had said.
And Maggie, with a sullen look and hitching her coa.r.s.e ap.r.o.n, had replied remarkably:
"Ef a.s.sy Gaale can wash fer er I rackon _I_ can s.h.i.+ft to baake an'
clane."
"Wull yo' waait on 'er?" he had persisted.
Maggie had turned away her face from him.