The Paper Cap. A Story of Love and Labor

“Not the cholera, I hope? It has reached London, you know, and the doctors are paralyzed by their ignorance of its nature and can find no remedy for it.”

“Our people think it a judgment of God. I am told it broke out in Bristol while the city was burning and outrages of all kinds rampant.”

“You know, sir, that Bristol is one of our largest seaports. It is more likely to have been brought here by some traveler from a strange country. I heard a medical man who has been in India with our troops say that it was a common sickness in the West Indies.”

“It was never seen nor heard of in England before. Now it is going up the east coast of Britain as far north as the Shetland Isles. These coast people are nearly all fishermen, very good, pious men, and they positively declare that they saw a gigantic figure of a woman, shadowy and gray, with a face of malignant vengeance, passing through the land.”

“God has sent such messengers many times – ministers of His Vengeance. His Word is full of such instances.”

“But a woman with a malignant face! Oh, no!”

“Whatever is evil, must look evil – but here we are at Jonathan Hartley’s. Will you go in?”

“He is coming to us. I will give him my father’s letter. That will be sufficient.”

But Jonathan had much to say and he seemed troubled beyond outside affairs to move him, and the preacher asked – “What is personally out of the right way with you, Jonathan?”

“Well, sir, my mother is down at the ford; she may cross any hour – she’s only waiting for the guide – and my eldest girl had a son last night – the little lad was born half-starved. We doan’t know yet whether either of them can be saved – or not. So I’ll not say ‘Come in,’ but if you’ll sit down with me on the garden bench, I’ll be glad of a few minutes fresh air.” He opened the little wicket gate as he spoke and they sat down on a bench under a cherry tree full dressed in perfumed white for Easter tide.

As soon as they were seated the young squire delivered his father’s letter and then they talked of the sudden disappearance of the men of the village. “What does it mean, Jonathan?” asked Dick, and Jonathan said —

“Well, sir, I hevn’t been much among the lads for a week now. My mother hes been lying at the gate of the grave and I couldn’t leave her long at a time. They were all loitering about the village when I saw them last. Suddenly they all disappeared, and the old woman at the post office told me ivery one of them hed received a letter four mornings ago, from the same Working Man’s Society. I hed one mysen, for that matter, and that afternoon they all left together for somewhere.”

“But,” asked Dick, “where did they get the money necessary for a journey?”

“Philip Sugden got the money from Sugbury Bank. He hed an order for it, that was cashed quick enough. What do you make of that, sir?”

“I think there may be fighting to do if parliament fails the people this time.”

“And in the very crisis of this trouble,” said Dick, “I hear from Mr. Foster that a man has been here wanting to build a mill. Who is he, Jonathan? And what can be his motive?”

“His name is Jonas Boocock. He comes from Shipley. His motive is to mak’ money. He thinks this is the varry place to do it. He talked constantly about its fine water power, and its cheap land, and thought Providence hed fairly laid it out for factories and power-looms; for he said there’s talk of a branch of railway from Bradley’s place, past Annis, to join the main track going to Leeds. He considered it a varry grand idea. Mebbe it is, sir.”

“My father would not like the plan at all. It must be prevented, if possible. What do you think, Jonathan?”

“I think, sir, if it would be a grand thing for Jonas Boocock, it might happen be a good thing for Squire Antony Annis. The world is moving for-rard, sir, and we must step with it, or be dragged behind it. Old as I am, I would rayther step for-rard with it. Gentlemen, I must now go to my mother.”

“Is she worse, Jonathan?”

“She is quite worn out, worn out to the varry marrow. I would be thankful, sir, if tha would call and bid her good-by.”

“I will. I will come about seven o’clock.”

“That will be right. I’ll hev all the household present, sir.”

Then they turned away from Jonathan’s house and went to look at the land Boocock hankered for. The land itself was a spur descending from the wold, and was heathery and not fit for cultivation; but it was splendidly watered and lay along the river bank. “Boocock was right,” said Mr. Foster. “It is a bit of land just about perfect for a factory site. Does the squire own it, sir?”

“I cannot say. I was trying to fix its position as well as I could, and I will write to my father tonight. I am sorry Jonathan did not know more about the man Boocock and his plans.”

“Jonathan’s mother is a very old woman. While she lives, he will stay at her side. You must remember her?”

“I do. She was exceedingly tall and walked quite erect and was so white when I met her last that she looked like a ghost floating slowly along the road.”

“She had always a sense of being injured by being here at all – wondered why she had been sent to this world, and though a grand character was never really happy. Jonathan did not learn to read until he was over forty years of age; she was then eighty, and she helped him to remember his letters, and took the greatest pride in his progress. There ought to be schools for these people, there are splendid men and women mentally among them. Here we are at home. Come in, sir, and have a cup of tea with us before you climb the brow.”

Dick was very glad to accept the invitation and the preacher opened the door and said: “Come in, sir, and welcome!” and they went into a small parlor plainly furnished, but in perfect order, and Dick heard someone singing softly not far away. Before the preacher had more than given his guest a chair the door opened and Faith entered the room. If he had not been already in love with her he would have fallen fathoms deep in the divine tide that moment, for his soul knew her and loved her, and was longing to claim its own. What personal charm she had he knew not, he cared not, he had been drawn to her by some deep irresistible attraction, and he succumbed absolutely to its influence. At this moment he cast away all fears and doubts and gave himself without reservation to the wonderful experience.

Faith had answered her father’s call so rapidly, that Dick was not seated when she entered the room. She brought with her into the room an atmosphere of light and peace, through which her loveliness shone with a soft, steady glow. There was something unknown and unseen in her very simplicity. All that was sweet and wise, shone in her heavenly eyes, and their light lifted her higher than all his thoughts; they were so soft and deep and compelling. Very singularly their influence seemed to be intensified by the simple dress she wore. It was of merino and of the exact shade of her eyes, and it appeared in some way to increase their mystical power by the prolongation of the same color. There was nothing of intention in this arrangement. It was one of those coincidences that are perhaps suggested or induced by the angel that guards our life and destiny. For there are angels round all of us. Earth is no strange land to them. The dainty neatness of her clothing delighted Dick. After a season of ruffles and flounces and extravagant trimming, its soft folds falling plainly and unbrokenly to her feet, charmed him. Something of white lace, very narrow and unpretentious, was around the neck and sleeves which were gathered into a band above the elbows. Her hair, parted in the center of the forehead, lay in soft curls which fell no lower than the tip of the ears and at the back was coiled loosely on the crown of the head, where it was fastened by a pretty shell comb. The purity and peace of a fervent transparent soul was the first and the last impression she made, and these qualities revealed themselves in a certain homely sweetness, that drew everyone’s affection and trust like a charm.

She had in her hands a clean tablecloth and some napkins, but when she saw Dick, she laid them down, and went to meet him. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, and a rush of color came into her face and gave splendor to her smile and her beauty. She hastened to question him about his mother and Katherine, but even as they talked of others, she knew he was telling her that he loved her, and longed for her to love him in return.

“Faith, my dear,” said Mr. Foster, “our friend, Mr. Annis, will have a cup of tea with us before he goes up the brow,” and she looked at Dick and smiled, and began to lay the round table that stood in the center of the room. Dick watched her beautiful white arms and hands among the white china and linen and a very handsome silver tea service, with a pleasure that made him almost faint. Oh, if he should lose this lovely girl! How could he bear it? He felt that he might as well lose life itself.

For though Dick had loved her for some months, love not converted into action, becomes indolent and unbelieving. So he had misgivings he could not control and amid the distractions of London, his love, instead of giving a new meaning to his life, had infected him rather with a sense of dreamland. But in this hour, true honest love illumined life, he saw things as they were, he really fell in love and that is a wonderful experience, a deep, elemental thing, beyond all reasoning with. In this experience he had found at last the Key to Life, and he understood in a moment, as it were, that this Key is in the Heart, and not in the Brain. He had been very wise and prudent about Faith and one smile from her had shattered all his reasoning, and the love-light now in his eyes, and shining in his face, was heart-work and not brain work. For love is a state of the soul; anger, grief and other passions can change their mental states; but love? No! Love absorbs the whole man, and if not satisfied, causes a state of great suffering. So in that hour Love was Destiny and fashioned his life beyond the power of any other passion to change.

In the meantime Faith brought in tea and some fresh bread and butter, and a dish of broiled trout. “Mr. Braithwaite was trout fishing among the fells to-day,” she said, “and as he came home, he left half a dozen for father. He is one of the Chapel Trustees and very fond of line fishing. Sometimes father goes with him. You know,” she added with a smile, “fishing is apostolical. Even a Methodist preacher may fish.”

For a short time they talked of the reel and line, and its caprices, but conversation quickly drifted to the condition of the country and of Annis particularly, and in this conversation an hour drifted speedily away. Then Faith rose and brought in a bowl of hot water, washed the china and silver and put them away in a little corner cupboard.

“That silver is very beautiful,” said Dick.

“Take it in your hand, Mr. Annis, and read what is engraved on the tea pot.” So Dick took it in his hand and read that the whole service had been given by the Wesleyans of Thirsk to Reverend Mr. Foster, as a proof of their gratitude to him as their spiritual teacher and comforter. Then Dick noticed the china and said his mother had a set exactly like it and Mr. Foster answered – “I think, Mr. Annis, every family in England has one, rich and poor. Whoever hit upon this plain white china, with its broad gold band round all edges, hit on something that fitted the English taste universally. It will be a wedding gift, and a standard tea set, for many generations yet; unless it deteriorates in style and quality – but I must not forget that I am due at Hartley’s at seven o’clock, so I hope you will excuse me, Mr. Annis.”

“May I ask your permission to remain with Miss Foster until your return, sir? I have a great deal to tell her about Katherine and many messages from my sister to deliver.”

For a moment Mr. Foster hesitated, then he answered frankly, “I will be glad if you stay with Faith until I return.” Then Faith helped him on with his top coat and gave him his hat and gloves and walking stick and both Dick and Faith stood at the open door, and watched him go down the street a little way. But this was Dick’s opportunity and he would not lose it.

“Come into the parlor, dear, dear Faith! I have something to tell you, something I must tell you!” And all he said in the parlor was something he had never dared to say before, except in dreams.

Faith knew what he wished to say. He had wooed her silently for months, but she had not suffered him to pass beyond the horizon of her thoughts. Yet she knew well, that though they were in many things dissimilar as two notes of music, they were made for each other. She told herself that he knew this fact as well as she did and that at the appointed hour he would come to her. Until that hour she would not provoke Destiny by her impatience. A change so great for her would doubtless involve other changes and perhaps their incidentals were not yet ready. So she never doubted but that Dick would tell her he loved her, as soon as he thought the right hour had come.

And now the hour had come, and Dick did tell her how he loved her with a passionate eloquence that astonished himself. She did not try to resist its influence. It was to her heart all that cold water would be to parching thirst; it was the coming together of two strong, but different temperaments, and from the contact the flashing forth of love like fire. His words went to her head like wine, her eyes grew soft, tender, luminous, her form was half mystical, half sensuous. Dick was creating a new world for them, all their own. Though her eyes lifted but an instant, her soul sought his soul, gradually they leaned closer to each other in visible sweetness and affection and then it was no effort, but a supreme joy, to ask her to be his wife, to love and counsel and guide him, as his mother had loved and guided his father; and in the sweet, trembling patois of love, she gave him the promise that taught him what real happiness means. And her warm, sweet kisses sealed it. He felt they did so and was rapturously happy. Is there anything more to be said on this subject? No, the words are not yet invented which could continue it. Yet Faith wrote in her Diary that night – “To-day I was born into the world of Love. That is the world God loves best.”

CHAPTER VIII – LOVE’S TENDER PHANTASY

“No mortal thing can bear so high a price,But that with mortal thing it may be bought;No pearls, no gold, no gems, no corn, no spice,No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price.Divine is Love and scorneth worldly pelf,And can be bought with nothing but itself.”

A MAN in love sees miracles, as well as expects them. Outsiders are apt to think him an absurd creature, he himself knows that he is seeking the only love that can complete and crown his life. Dick was quite sure of his own wisdom. Whenever he thought of Faith, of her innocence, her high hopes, her pure eyes, and flowerlike beauty, he felt that his feet were on a rock and his soul went after her and everything was changed in his life.

It was not until great London was on his horizon, that any fear touched his naturally high spirit. His father’s good will, he was sure, could be relied on. He himself had made what his father called “a varry inconsiderate marriage,” but it had proved to be both a very wise and a very happy union, so Dick expected his father would understand and sympathize with his love for Faith Foster.

About the women of his family he felt more uncertain, his mother and sister and aunt would doubtless be harder to please. Yet they must see that Faith was everyway exceptional. Was she not the very flower and pearl of womanhood? He could not understand how they could find any fault with his wonderfully fortunate choice. Yet he kindly considered the small frailties of the ordinary woman and made some allowances for their jealousies and for the other interferences likely to spring from family and social conditions.

But Dick was no coward and he was determined to speak of his engagement to Faith as soon as he had rid his mind of the business which had sent him to Annis. Nor had he any love-lorn looks or attitudes; he appeared to be an exceedingly happy man, when he opened the parlor door of his father’s apartments in the Clarendon. Breakfast was on the table and the squire and his wife were calmly enjoying it. They cried out joyfully when they saw him. The squire hastily stood up with outstretched hands, while Dick’s mother cried out, “O Dick! Dick! how good it is to see thee!”

Dick was soon seated between them and as he ate he told the news he had brought from the home village. It was all interesting and important to them – from the change in its politics – which Dick said had become nearly Radical – to the death of Jonathan Hartley’s mother, who had been for many years a great favorite of Mistress Annis.

Dick was a little astonished to find that his father pooh-pooh’d Boocock’s design of building a mill in Annis. “He can’t build ef he can’t get land and water,” he answered with a scornful laugh; “and Antony Annis will not let him hev either. He is just another of those once decent weavers, who hev been turned into arrant fools by making brass too easy and too quick. I hev heard them talk. They are allays going to build another mill somewhere, they are going to mak’ a bid for all Yorkshire and mebbe tak’ Lancashire into their plans. Boocock does not trouble me. And if Squire Annis puts him in Cold Shoulder Lane, there will not be a man in t’ neighborhood poor and mean enough to even touch his cap to him. This is all I hev to say about Boocock at the present time and I don’t want him mentioned again. Mind that!”

“I think, then, father, that you will have to get rid of Jonathan Hartley.”

“Rid of Jonathan! Whativer is tha talking about? I could spare him as little as my right hand.”

“Jonathan told me to tell you that you had better build a mill yourself, than let Boocock, or some other stranger, in among Annis folk. He said the world was stepping onward and that we had better step with the world, than be dragged behind it. He said that was his feeling.”

“Well, he hes a right to his feeling, but he need not send it to me. Let him go. I see how it is. I am getting a bit older than I was and men that are younger five or ten years are deserting me. They fear to be seen with an old fogy, like Squire Annis. God help me, but – I’m not downed yet. If they can do without me, I can jolly well do without them. Why-a! Thy mother is worth iverybody else to me and she’ll love and cherish me if I add fifty years more to my present fifty-five.”

“I want no other love, Antony, than yours. It is good enough for life – and thereafter.”

“Dear, dear Annie! And don’t fear! When I am sure it is time to move, I’ll move. I’ll outstrip them all yet. By George, I’ll keep them panting after me! How is it, Dick? Wilt thou stand with thy father? If so, put thy hand in thy father’s and we will beat them all at their awn game” – and Dick put his hand in his father’s hand and answered, “I am your loving and obedient son. Your will is my pleasure, sir.”

“Good, dear lad! Then we two will do as we want to do, we’ll do it in our awn time, and in our awn way, and we hev sense enough, between us, to tak’ our awn advice, whativer it be. For first of all, we’ll do whativer is best for the village, and then for oursens, without anybody’s advice but our awn. Just as soon as The Bill is off my mind we will hev a talk on this subject. Annis Hall and Annis land and water is our property – mine and thine – and we will do whativer is right, both to the land and oursens.”

And Dick’s loving face, and the little sympathizing nod of his head, was all the squire needed. Then he stood up, lifting himself to his full height, and added, “Boocock and his mill will have to wait on my say-so, and I haven’t room in my mind at present to consider him; so we will say no more on that subject, until he comes and asks me for the land and water he wants. What is tha going to do with thysen now?”

“That depends upon your wish, father. Are you going to – The House?”

“The House! Hes tha forgotten that the English Government must hev its usual Easter recreation whativer comes or goes? I told thee – I told thee in my first letter to Annis, that parliament hed given themsens three weeks’ holiday. They feel a good bit tired. The Bill hed them all worn out.”

“I remember! I had forgotten The Bill!”

“Whativer hes tha been thinking of to forget that?”

“Where then are you going to-day, father?”

“I doan’t just know yet, Dick, but – ”

“Well, I know where I am going,” said Mistress Annis. “I have an engagement with Jane and Katherine at eleven and I shall have to hurry if I am to keep it.”

“Somewhere to go, or something to do. Which is it, Annie?”

“It is both, Antony. We are going to Exeter Hall, to a very aristocratic meeting, to make plans for the uplifting of the working man. Lord Brougham is to be chairman. He says very few can read and hardly any write their names. Shocking! Lord Brougham says we ought to be ashamed of such a condition and do something immediately to alter it.”

“Brougham does not know what he is talking about. He thinks a man’s salvation is in a spelling book and an inkhorn. There is going to be a deal of trouble made by fools, who want to uplift the world, before the world is ready to be uplifted. They can’t uplift starving men. It is bread, not books, they want; and I hev allays seen that when a man gets bare enough bread to keep body and soul together, the soul, or the mind, gets the worst of it.”

“I cannot help that,” said Mistress Annis. “Lord Brougham will prove to us, that body and mind must be equally cared for or the man is not developed.”

“Well, then, run away to thy developing work. It is a new kind of job for thee; and I doan’t think it will suit thee – not a bit of it. I would go with thee but developing working men is a step or two out of my way. And I’ll tell thee something, the working men – and women, too – will develop theirsens if we only give them the time and the means, and the brass to do it. But go thy ways and if thou art any wiser after Brougham’s talk I’ll be glad to know what he said.”

“I shall stay and dine with Jane and thou hed better join us. We may go to the opera afterwards.”

“Nay, then, I’ll not join thee. I wouldn’t go to another opera for anything – not even for the great pleasure of thy company. If I hev to listen to folk singing, I want them to sing in the English language. It is good enough, and far too good, for any of the rubbishy words I iver heard in any opera. What time shall I come to Jane’s for thee?”

“About eleven o’clock, or soon after.”

“That’s a nice time for a respectable squire’s wife to be driving about London streets. I wish I hed thee safe at Annis Hall.”

With a laugh Annie closed the door and hurried away and Dick turned to his father.

“I want to talk with you, sir,” he said, “on a subject which I want your help and sympathy in, before I name it to anyone else. Suppose we sit still here. The room is quiet and comfortable and we are not likely to be disturbed.”

“Why then, Dick! Hes tha got a new sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir, and she is the dearest and loneliest woman that ever lived. I want you to stand by me in any opposition likely to rise.”

“What is her name? Who is she?” asked the squire not very cordially.

“Her name is Faith Foster. You know her, father?”

“Yes, I know her. She is a good beautiful girl.”

“I felt sure you would say that, sir. You make me very happy.”

“A man cannot lie about any woman. Faith Foster is good and beautiful.”

“And she has promised to be my wife. Father, I am so happy! So happy! And your satisfaction with Faith doubles my pleasure. I have been in love with her for nearly a year but I was afraid to lose all by asking all; and I never found courage or opportunity to speak before this to her.”

“That is all buff and bounce. Thou can drop the word ‘courage,’ and opportunity will do for a reason. I niver knew Dick Annis to be afraid of a girl but if thou art really afraid of this girl – let her go. It is the life of a dog to live with a woman that you fear.”

“Father, you have seen Faith often. Do you fear her in the way your words seem to imply?”

“Me! Does tha think I fear any woman? What’s up with thee to ask such a question as that?”