The Vicar's People

“Where does Amos Pengelly live?” he said then.

“Up yon turn, ninth house, with a green door,” said Tom Jennen. “There’s a gashly old bit o’ rock opposite.”

As he spoke, he pointed to a narrow steep path which Geoffrey had passed, and which necessitated his running the gauntlet again, as it were.

But he was equal to the task.

“I say, fisherman,” he said, addressing Tom Jennen, but meaning it for the group, “If I were you I should use the rope’s-end there, and try to make those cowardly young lubbers men!”

Then thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked coolly back, looking woman after woman in the face, turned up the passage, and was gone.

No sooner was his back turned, than the boys uttered a yell, and made as if to throw, but the women turned upon them fiercely, and Tom Jennen and his mates cleared the road by making a menacing charge.

“Well, of all the smart young chaps as ever I set eyes on,” said one woman, “he’s about the best. Put that there gashly old fish down, Jan Dwiod, or I’ll give you a smack i’ th’ mouth.”

“That’s pluck, that is,” said Tom Jennen, with his hands very far down in his pockets. “That’s the sorter stuff as men’s made on. That’s pluck, that is,” he continued, nodding at every one in turn, and then at intervals repeating the words – “that’s pluck!” Geoffrey did not know it then, but his cool treatment of the party lying in wait for him, had made him, as it were, a king, and in place of menace on his next appearance in the streets there was a smile on every lip, and he might have had the help of all for the holding up of a hand.

Meanwhile he had reached Pengelly’s cottage to knock and be told by a woman next door that the owner was gone out preaching, and wouldn’t be back till night.

“Ask him to run up to Mrs Mullion’s when he comes,” said Geoffrey, and the woman promising to convey his message, he went back to his lodgings to dine and complete his plans.

Chapter Twenty Six

A Night at the Mine

As Geoffrey rattled the garden gate he heard a rustle at one of the windows, and, looking up, there was Madge ready to welcome him with a smile.

“Oh! you’re there, are you, madam,” he said to himself. “How are you?”

He nodded to her civilly enough, and was going on to the house, when from out of the look-out there came a rough “Hallo!”

“Hallo, old gentleman!” said Geoffrey, and, turning aside, he entered the summer-house, where Uncle Paul sat smoking, cane in hand, with which he pointed up towards the window where Madge had been.

“Why didn’t you kiss your hand at her, eh?” snarled Uncle Paul.

“Didn’t think of it, old fellow,” replied Geoffrey, coolly.

“I’ve warned you about it, you know,” said the old man, angrily. “Well, have you seen Penwynn?”

“Yes.”

“And what has he got to say?”

“Given the instructions.”

“To go back to London? Well, I’m glad of it; very glad of it.”

“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, lighting his pipe. “No, old gentleman, I’ve got my first job, and now I’m going to work.”

“What, smoking?”

“Yes, engine-fire smoking soon, I hope.”

“What, are you going to spend somebody’s money over a mine?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be smoke. Whose money – a company’s?”

“Business is business, Mr Paul,” said Geoffrey. “I can’t tell you whose money is going to be spent, for I don’t believe I know. But I’ll tell you this much, I’m going to open out Wheal Carnac.”

“Wheal Carnac?”

“Yes, and at once.”

“Then – but bah! it don’t matter, you’ll be paid. My hundred’s gone, so its nothing to me.”

They sat smoking in silence, for Geoffrey returned such short answers that the old man was offended, and scarcely a word was said. After a time, Geoffrey took out a note-book and began to make entries and draw, without noticing how intently his companion was watching him, and this went on till Mrs Mullion came and announced that the young engineer’s composite tea-dinner was ready, to which he went in without a word.

“Nice company he’s getting,” said Uncle Paul, sourly. “Humph! he can be busy enough, now I want him. Here, hi! Trethick!” he shouted across the passage when he went in, “I’m going down to Rumsey’s to-night. We’re going to play whist. Come with me?”

“No, thanks,” said Geoffrey. “I’ve got other cards to play now.”

“Hang him and his independence! What a nuisance! And he plays such a good hand. I meant to have him for a partner. Well, never mind, if he’s busy like that it will keep him from thinking about Madge. Hallo!” he exclaimed, as he heard the gate click, “that girl’s off again. I wonder where she’s going now?”

He returned to his own tea, and before it was finished there was another click, when, on looking up curiously, it was to see Pengelly come limping up the path.

“Humph! we shall have the house full of miners now, I suppose. Ah, well, thank goodness, it isn’t my money that’s going to be sunk.”

Pengelly was admitted, and his first act, on being left alone with Geoffrey, was to catch his hand, and hold it tightly between both of his.

“Why, Pengelly man, what’s the matter?” cried Geoffrey, wondering at his strange manner.

“I’ve heard all, Mr Trethick, every word. I’ve heard all.”

“All? All what?” cried Geoffrey.

“About those wretches – those blind, weak wretches – and my poor injured Bess.”

“Oh!” cried Geoffrey, “I’d forgotten all about it, man. Bah! that’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” cried Pengelly, with the tears standing in his eyes, “nothing? Mr Trethick, sir, if you’d let me be your dog, I’d follow you to the world’s end.”

“Oh, come, come, Pengelly! don’t think any more of that. How is she, though?”

“Better now, sir, and she told me all about it, and how brave you had been. God bless her! she spoke kinder to me than she had ever spoke before.”

“I’m glad she was not much hurt, Pengelly. Poor weak-minded fools, what a charge to get up against her! But come, pass that over. I’ve news for you, Pengelly. I’m going to pump out Wheal Carnac.”

“You are?” cried Pengelly, joyfully.

“I am.”

“Then your fortune’s made.”

“Is it?” said Geoffrey, laughing. “Well, my lad, can you leave your present work for a week or two, and come and help me a little?”

“If you’ll have me to help you, Mr Trethick, there’s no work in the world shall keep me back; and, what’s more, I swear to you that I’ll never leave you till Wheal Carnac’s the greatest paying mine in West Cornwall.”

“Come, that’s cheering, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “Why, you are more sanguine than ever.”

“Sanguine, sir? No, it’s sureness, that’s what my feeling is;” and, sitting down at Geoffrey’s request, he was soon going into business-matters with him – where to obtain temporary pumping gear, chain and buckets, wheels, and the like, their planning taking so long that it was past nine when Pengelly rose to go.

“I should like to stretch my legs too, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey. “I’ll walk down with you. What do you say to getting a lantern, and having a look round the place to-night?”

“I can get a lantern,” cried Pengelly, eagerly; and they went out together, meeting Madge just outside the gate, and she hurried by them with bended head, but Geoffrey hardly noticed her, being intent upon his mission.

A lantern was obtained, and matches, and they were soon down upon the shore, climbing along the rough path towards the promontory upon which, just dimly seen against the sky-line, stood out the dark, weird-looking engine-house. The foam that broke upon the rocks at the promontory’s base was all aglow now with phosphorescent light, which rose and fell, and flashed with a wondrous brilliancy.

“Poor night for the fisher lads, sir,” said Pengelly.

“Indeed! why?”

“Their nets will be all a-light with the brime, sir, and every thread will stand out in the deep water, as if afire, and not a fish will go near.”

They clambered on, higher and higher, till they reached the engine-house, into which they proposed to go, and there light the lantern.

“If they see us from the harbour, what will they think?” said Geoffrey.

“That we are ghosts or demons, the weak creatures,” cried Pengelly, scornfully. “It will keep them away: not a man will come near if they see our light. Keep this way, sir, you are getting too near the shaft.”

Geoffrey hastily altered his position, and closely following Pengelly he entered the great engine-house behind him, and then stood waiting while the lame miner struck a match, which blazed up, and then he dropped it, for there, plainly seen in the momentary glare, stood a dark, strange-looking figure, within a few feet of a heap of stones.

In spite of his manhood, Geoffrey felt a chill run through him, for seen in that momentary light the aspect of the figure was so weird and strange.

“It’s only a man!” exclaimed Pengelly, rapidly striking a second match, and holding it to the candle in the lantern. “Hey, Master Prawle! what are you doing here?”

As he spoke he threw the light full upon the old smuggler’s rugged features, Prawle growling the while as he began to fill a blackened pipe.

“What am I doing here, Amos Pengelly? Why, filling my pipe.”

“And playing ghost to frighten honest men, Prawle, eh? I say, old fellow,” cried Geoffrey, “we’ve got you on the right spot, so you may as well speak out all you know.”

“All I know?” said Prawle. “I don’t know nothing, only that I come for a walk, and stepped in here to light my pipe.”

“Light your pipe, eh?” cried Geoffrey, laughing.

“Yes,” said Prawle, spitefully, “and found you courting.”

“Found me?” exclaimed Geoffrey. “Why, I’ve been with Amos Pengelly these two hours. Eh, Amos?”

“Ah, well, if it warn’t you it were somebody else. What do you want here?” growled the old fellow.

“Oh! we’ve come in to light our pipes,” said Geoffrey, laughing.

Prawle growled, and, after a furtive look round, turned to go.

“Warn’t you two here ’bout two hour ago?” he said, sharply.

“No; neither of us,” replied Geoffrey. “But come, Prawle, let us two be a little more friendly. Why can’t you speak out? If you will be frank and honest with me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I don’t want you to make it worth no whiles of mine,” growled Prawle. “I can get my living, I dessay.”

“Of course you can, man; but other people have got to get theirs. Sit down now, and let’s have a talk. Let’s hear all you know about the mine.”

“What mine? This mine? Wheal Carnac?” said Prawle, quickly. “Nothing; nothing at all. Only everybody’s ruined who takes it. Why?”

“Only that I’m going to work it,” said Geoffrey, “and it might be worth your while to tell me all you know.”

“Work it? You going to work it?” cried Prawle, eagerly. “You?”

“Yes: I,” said Geoffrey. “Now then, what do you say? Will you help me?”

The old man stood scowling and blinking at them in the dim light shed by the lantern, and as his eyes rested upon Geoffrey they seemed less fierce in their gaze; but his face grew very rugged again, as he exclaimed, —

“I can’t help you. I know nothing about the place. What are you going to do? When are you going to begin?”

“My dear Mr Prawle,” said Geoffrey, “I invited you to cooperate with me, and you declined. Now will you allow me to show you the door. Pengelly, let me hold the lantern for Mr Prawle to see his way. Pray take care, Mr Prawle, and don’t make a mistake about the shaft. It is not fenced in. Your life is valuable, you know. Good-night.”

Geoffrey smilingly held the lantern for the old man to see his way, and Prawle looked at him in a puzzled fashion, as if not knowing what to make of his speech. One moment he seemed disposed to resent it; the next he took it in good part, and, as he got outside, after looking suspiciously from one to the other, he said, hastily, as if ashamed of his weakness, —

“I don’t want to quarrel, but don’t you have nothing to do with this pit. It’s a bad un – a bad un, and has ruined scores. Thanky for helping my Bess.”

The next moment he was gone.

“Pleasant style of man, your father-in-law-to-be, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, coolly, as he returned with the miner into the engine-house. “What was he doing here?”

“I can’t quite make out, sir,” said Pengelly, thoughtfully. “He always was fond of hanging about here of a night, as if jealous that any one should notice the place.”

“Bit of smuggling – hiding-place?” suggested Geoffrey.

“I’ve thought that sometimes, sir, and sometimes I’ve thought there was another reason. He’s a strange old fellow in his ways.”

“Yes, there’s no doubt about that,” said Geoffrey. “But what have you got there?”

Pengelly had just stooped and picked up a fragment of stone, which glittered as he held it to the lantern.

“Bit o’ tin, sir, and I was wondering how it come here.”

Geoffrey took the piece of rough ore and examined it.

“Why, it is perfectly fresh,” he said. “That fracture has been made quite lately.”

“Yes,” said Pengelly, nodding, “it’s quite new, sir. The old man knows more than he’ll own to. He’s been chipping about here to-night with a hammer; I know, and this is some of his work.”

They looked about amongst the débris, but could find nothing more for some time, till, climbing a little way up the heap of granite scraps that had been evidently dislodged when the machinery was moved, Pengelly uttered an exclamation.

“What have you found?” cried Geoffrey, as he saw the miner hold down the light.

“It’s what I said, sir,” exclaimed Pengelly. “Look, sir, he’s been chipping and hammering here. Depend upon it the old man knows the mine’s rich.”

“But he wouldn’t be chipping the old stones here,” said Geoffrey, examining the fragments, which looked as if some one had been hammering up some pieces of ore.

“It’s some he found and brought in,” said Pengelly. “He’s a regular old fox, sir, and you see by and by when he finds we are going right, if he don’t come to us – to you I mean, sir – and offer to sell what he knows.”

“And, perhaps, by that time we shall have found it out. Eh, Pengelly?”

“We’ll try, sir,” replied the miner; and then together they had a good look round the place, making plans for the fixing of the necessary machinery, Geoffrey growing more and more satisfied with the earnestness and sagacity of his companion, who seemed to throw himself heart and soul into the work in hand. Then, after appointing to meet in good time the next morning, they made their way back to the cliff and separated.

“This has been an eventful day,” said Geoffrey, as, after softly letting himself in with the key that he had taken, he quietly took off his heavy boots, and, slippers in hand, stole up-stairs to his bedroom.

As he reached the door, however, a faint sob reached his ear, and as he stood listening it was very evident that some one was in grievous trouble, sobbing and crying as if her heart would break.

“That must be Miss Madge!” said Geoffrey to himself. “Poor wench! the course of her true love does not seem to run very smooth. Well, I can’t comfort her, and they say that a good cry always does a woman good. So, my dear, you must have your good cry and get better. I’m afraid that women are very silly things if they are not sisters or mothers.”

He said the words rather cynically, but, after undressing, he lay there thinking a good deal about Madge Mullion and her love affairs; then about Bess Prawle and her witchcrafts, laughing so heartily at the people’s folly that the bed rattled; then, lastly, Wheal Carnac filled his mind, and, sleeping or waking, he could think of nothing but pumping machinery, the emptying of the shaft, and the coming of the hour when he should be the first to go down to inspect the place, and then was it to be fortune or disappointment, success or failure?

In this instance it was to be sleep, for at length his regular, low breathing told of a weary man’s rest; while, just at the end of the passage, Madge Mullion’s flushed face was full of pain, her soft auburn hair was tangled, and the pillow soaked with tears.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Two Visitors at An Morlock

They were busy days which followed for Geoffrey Trethick, and his interviews with Mr Penwynn, in consequence of the latter’s desire to keep his name out of the project, were of an evening at An Morlock, where he more than once encountered Rhoda, who pleased him by the way in which she entered into the spirit of his plans.

The first time he met her was when, after a couple of visits to the mine where the Wheal Carnac machinery had been taken, and some long discussions with Pengelly, he had gone up to An Morlock to ask Mr Penwynn whether he would buy it back from the trustees of the bankrupt estate.

“But that will take quite a heavy sum, Trethick,” said Mr Penwynn. “What I want to do is to have the mine emptied and thoroughly tested without further expense.”

“Exactly so, sir,” replied Geoffrey; “but, working in your interests, I felt it my duty to lay this before you. Here, to pump out, a certain amount of money must be spent in fixing hired machinery. If the mine proves good all that money is wasted. On the other hand, if you are willing to buy back this original machinery, which is, I guarantee, to be had for a fourth of its value, it will do the work better, and you have it ready to carry on future proceedings, when a vast amount would be saved.”

“And suppose the venture – I mean the testing – proves a failure?”

“You have a valuable lot of modern machinery to sell, and cannot lose.”

Mr Penwynn sat thinking, and Rhoda raised her head from her work.

“Well, my dear,” said her father, smiling, “what should you do?”

“I think I should take Mr Trethick’s advice, papa,” she said quietly; and she had hardly spoken when the servant announced Mr Tregenna, who came in smiling, and shook hands warmly all round.

“I thought I’d just drop in for a chat,” he said, looking meaningly at Mr Penwynn. “Why, the place is ringing with the news that you are going in for mining.”

“Confound them, how did they know that I was at the back of the affair?” said Mr Penwynn, irritably; and he looked sharply at Geoffrey.

“Not from me, sir,” he said, smiling. “I’ve been as silent as an oyster.”

“Oh, from your clerks, I’ll be bound,” said Tregenna. “You sent for Mr Trethick here, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr Penwynn.

“Well,” said Tregenna, laughing, “that was quite enough. I’ll be bound to say the ladies of Carnac know to a penny how much that charming costume of Miss Penwynn’s cost – the one she wore last Sunday.”

Rhoda looked up, and nodded, and smiled, feeling set at her ease by the quiet, matter-of-fact way in which Tregenna had put aside the past.

“Well, they’d have been sure to know it sooner or later,” said Mr Penwynn. “You’ve just come opportunely, Tregenna. I want a bit of advice.”

“Viva!” said Tregenna, laughing, and taking out his memorandum-book. “I came in for half an hour’s relaxation, and I shall earn a guinea in consultation. I am all attention.”

“You charge for your advice, and you see how I’ll charge in the way of discount for the next bill you present,” said Mr Penwynn, laughing. “Well, look here, Tregenna, Cropper and Grey want to sell the old Wheal Carnac machinery.”

“New machinery, you mean,” said Tregenna.

“Well, yes, it is nearly new,” said Mr Penwynn. “Mr Trethick here advises its purchase and refixing to pump out the mine.”

“But that would run into a lot of money,” said Tregenna.

“Yes,” replied Geoffrey; “but it all fits the place, and it is to be got for a fourth of its value. Even if the whole venture proved a failure, the machinery would be worth the money. It seems to me a chance.”

Tregenna sat back in his chair, tapping his teeth with the end of his pencil.

“That machinery costs a tremendous deal of money,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Yes, and is in admirable order,” said Geoffrey, “or I would not suggest such a thing.”

“What do the trustees ask for the lot?” said Tregenna, at last.

Geoffrey mentioned the sum.

“Well, that must be very moderate,” said Tregenna, “as far as I understand such things. But business is business,” he continued, laughing. “I am growing very sordid. Look here, Mr Penwynn, I know Cropper and Grey, the trustees, of course. If you decide to purchase that machinery, which certainly, on the face of it, seems a wise stroke, especially as you want it, and it would always be worth its money, I’ll undertake to get it for you two hundred and fifty pounds below the sum named on condition of received a cheque for fifty pounds commission.”

“Certainly. Agreed,” said Mr Penwynn; “but I have not yet made up my mind.”

“Oh, of course not!” said Tregenna, making a note in his book.

“Advising you on the purchase of machinery. Long consultation – thirteen and four,” said Geoffrey, dryly.

“Oh, no, Mr Trethick,” said Tregenna, closing the book with a snap, “I shall be satisfied with my fifty pounds cheque.”

“When you get it, Tregenna,” said Mr Penwynn, laughing.

“When I get it – cashed,” replied Tregenna.

“By the way, Tregenna, would you mind coming into the study a minute or two? There’s one little point I should like to discuss with you,” said Mr Penwynn, rising. “Rhoda, my dear, Mr Trethick would, perhaps, like a little music.”

“I think I’ll be going,” said Geoffrey, rising.

“No, no, don’t go yet,” said the banker.

“I’m going your way presently,” said Tregenna; and Geoffrey sat down again as the banker and the solicitor left the room.

“I hope you are beginning to like Carnac better, Mr Trethick,” said Rhoda quietly.

“I always did like it,” said Geoffrey. “It is one long study of character; and, now that I have something to do, I quite love the place.”

“It is very beautiful and wild,” replied Rhoda, thoughtfully. “By the way, Mr Trethick, do you think there is a good prospect of this mining affair succeeding?”

“It is impossible to say,” replied Geoffrey, looking full in the large, earnest eyes before him. “Every step for some time to come must be tentative. I really think, though, that there is a good hope of success.”

“Hope? Mr Trethick.”

“Well, I might say certainty of clearing expenses – hope of making a large profit.”

“Papa has always said that he would never enter into a mining speculation, and now he seems to have been drawn into this. I should not like it to cause him trouble.”

“Honestly, I do not believe it will, Miss Penwynn,” replied Geoffrey. “It shall go very bad with me if it does.”

“I trust that you will do your best for him, Mr Trethick,” said Rhoda, earnestly.

“You may take it for granted, Miss Penwynn,” said Geoffrey, “that if only out of selfish considerations I shall leave no stone unturned – that is likely to contain tin,” he added, laughingly. “No, my dear young lady, I have had to wait too long for this opportunity to be careless. I shall, and I will, make Wheal Carnac pay.”

He got up as he spoke, and Rhoda watched him as he walked up and down the room.

“Many an earnest man has been damped over these wretched mining speculations, Mr Trethick,” said Rhoda sadly, her eyes following him the while.

“Oh, yes,” he said cheerily, “there are plenty of failures in every thing. Fellows read for honours and plenty of them fail, but the men who stick to the work the best generally get somewhere on the list. I’m going to stick to Wheal Carnac, Miss Penwynn, and if one is only last on the list it will be something.”

“To be sure,” said Rhoda, smiling. “Well, Mr Trethick, I wish you every success.”

Geoffrey stopped short to look at her in a bold, straightforward manner that made Rhoda lower her eyes.

“Thank you,” he said frankly. “I’m sure you do. And look here, Miss Penwynn, the first rich vein we strike shall bear your name.”

Rhoda smiled.

“Find it first, eh?” he said. “Well, I will if it is to be found, and I am supplied with the sinews of war. I say, Miss Penwynn, has that Mr Tregenna any thing to do with this affair?”

“Oh, no, I think not!” replied Rhoda, looking at him wonderingly.

“I’m glad of it,” said Geoffrey bluntly.

“May I ask why, Mr Trethick?” she said, watching his earnest face.

“Because I don’t like him for any thing more than an acquaintance – that’s all,” he said; and then suddenly recollecting his suspicions that Tregenna had proposed to Rhoda on the night of the dinner, he flushed slightly, and exclaimed, “Really I beg your pardon. My antipathies ought to be kept private.”