The Vicar's People

“Suppose he should play me false?”

And directly after, when he saw Rhoda’s hand waved to Trethick, as he glanced back, —

“Suppose he should play her false?” for certain other rumours came to his mind. “Poor girl, it would break her heart.”

Just then, bright, flushed, and animated, Rhoda turned to him.

“No,” he said to himself, “she has too much pride.”

Chapter Thirty Four

A Bargain

“What?” roared Tregenna, furiously.

“It’ll turn out the richest mine in Cornwall, sir.”

“You’re a fool! Absurd! Ridiculous!” cried Tregenna, biting his nails, and then making his teeth grit together as he glared at the rough miner before him.

“Dessay I be,” said the man, surlily; “but I’ve been at work in the gallery all day, and I never see such tin ore before.”

“And I’ve let this go for a paltry few hundreds – a thousand or two at most,” muttered Tregenna. “But it can’t be true. Are you sure?” he said aloud.

“Sure enough, sir, and I thought you’d like to know. I didn’t expect to be called a fool for my pains.”

“No, no, of course not, Lannoe,” said Tregenna, hurriedly. “I was put out. I’ve heard the gossip all day, but I thought it exaggerated. I’m glad you’ve come.”

“Oh, there’s no ’zaggeration ’bout it,” said the man. “I’ve kept an eye on it all ever since the mine was dried, just as you wished, and they was getting nothing but rubbish, till Amos Pengelly, who was always picking about, hit upon this vein.”

“Damn Amos Pengelly!” cried Tregenna, savagely.

“To which I says ‘Amen,’” said the miner.

“Then the place will turn out immensely rich, and that fellow Trethick will make quite a fortune.”

“Iss, sir, that’s so,” said the miner. “Master Penwynn and young miss come down in the cage to-night to see it, and young miss took hold of a pick that Master Trethick held for her, and chipped off a bit or two, and there was a lot of smiling atween ’em.”

Tregenna’s face turned ghastly white, and he changed his position so that the man should not see it; but the miner was keen enough to read him, and he went on, evidently glorying in the torture he was inflicting.

“Master Trethick took ’em back to the cage, and helped young miss in again, and went up with them, and him and Master Penwynn seemed wonderful thick together.”

Tregenna’s face was ashy now, and he made a motion with one hand for the man to desist, but he went on.

“It do seem hard, sir,” he said, “when, after planting the mine on to Master Penwynn, believing it would half ruin him and do for that there Trethick, it should turn out all t’other way.”

“How did you know I had any such thoughts?” cried Tregenna, fiercely.

“How did I know?” said the man, chuckling. “You know I arn’t a fool, Mas’r Tregenna, or you wouldn’t have set me to get work in that there mine, and report every thing to you.”

For answer Tregenna unlocked a drawer in his table, and took out a packet of papers, neatly endorsed, and tied up with red tape.

“Look here, Lannoe,” he said, shaking the papers at the man, “your tongue runs too fast, and you forget your position. You are a man of bad character whom I got off at the assize for a crime that would have given you penal servitude. You can be a useful man; and when you came to me begging I gave you money and I got you work. Suppose, on further consideration of your case, I should find out that there was a little evidence left out that would convict you, and feel it my duty to make it known, so that the prosecution could have a new trial?”

“You wouldn’t do that, Mas’r Tregenna, sir,” growled the man. “I’m too useful to you. There, I’ll hold my tongue.”

“You had better,” said Tregenna, who had now somewhat recovered himself. “And so this mine’s going to be enormously rich?”

“Not a doubt of it, sir, unless the water breaks in.”

“Water breaks in? What, is the vein near the sea?”

“Goes right under it, sir,” said the man, watching intently where the packet of papers was placed, Tregenna seeing it, and resolving to place them elsewhere. “You see, the people who failed seem to have driven right in there, till, finding nothing, they were afraid to go farther for fear of the sea breaking through.”

“And might it not break through now?”

“Well, it might, sir; but Master Trethick’s one of your clever, careful sort, and he’ll take care that nothing goes wrong. He had the men busy with props, and struts, and planking all day long. There’ll be no water break in there.”

“Curse it, it’s most unfortunate!” cried Tregenna, biting his nails. “I’d have given any thing sooner than it should have turned out as it has.”

“Hundred pound, p’r’aps,” said Lannoe, looking at him sidewise.

“Yes, I’d have given a hundred pounds if the mine had turned out a failure.”

“Hand it over,” said the miner, abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you’d give a hundred pounds if that there mine turned out a complete failure, and I say hand it over.”

“Look here, Lannoe,” cried Tregenna, unable to contain his excitement, “can you – do you know – curse it, man, speak out!”

“What for? What’s the good?” said the man, hoarsely. “Hundred pounds – hundred pounds. Give me the hundred pounds and you’ll see.”

Tregenna looked at him strangely.

“I don’t pay for work until it’s done,” he said.

“And I don’t work unless I’m paid,” said the man, roughly.

“And suppose you break faith?”

“And suppose you get me tried all over again?” said Lannoe. “Look here, Master Tregenna, you’re a gentleman, and I’m only a rough miner, but we are both on the same road. I arn’t blind, so you may just as well speak plain. I know, you know, and speak plain, and don’t hide it from you about Bess Prawle, and my being kicked off and threatened. You don’t suppose I let Amos Pengelly half kill me when he threw me on the rocks without owing him for it and wanting to pay it back, even if I do work with him now all smooth? Why can’t you speak plain too? I know, you know, about your wanting young miss, and the old man saying you shouldn’t, and your Amos Pengelly – this here bullying, ordering Londoner – coming and throwing you. There, master, you’d better hand over that hundred pounds.”

“And if I do?” said Tregenna, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table as he faced Lannoe, and joined his hands carefully as if he were going to say his prayers.

“Wait and see,” said the man. “You don’t want to know, sir. You want to hear that Wheal Carnac’s a failure, and I’m the man as can make it one. Now what do you say?”

Tregenna remained thinking for a time, with hate and revenge against cautiousness fighting for the mastery.

It was two to one, and cautiousness was beaten.

“I’ll give you the hundred pounds, Lannoe,” he said; “but I warn you that if you play me false I’ll have the police on your track at once. You may think think you could get away, or throw it back in my face that I set you to do something; but you could not get away, and my character would be set against yours if you brought any charge against me.”

“Who’s going to?” cried the man.

“And if it cost me a couple of thousand pounds, man, I’d have you in the dock.”

“Don’t I tell you I’d do any thing to pay Amos Pengelly, master. Hand over that money.”

“I have not got it here,” said Tregenna.

“What?”

“You don’t suppose a gentleman keeps a hundred pounds always in his pocket, do you?”

“I should,” said the man, grimly, “if I’d got it. Give us a bit o’ paper then to take to the bank to-morrow.”

“Shall I tell the crier to go round and shout that I have given you a hundred pounds for some reason or another? Don’t be a fool, man!”

“Give me notes, then,” said Lannoe.

“Every one of which, if I had them, would be numbered as having been paid to me. No, Lannoe, I have given you my word that I will pay you; and, what is more,” he cried, excitedly, “if – if, I say – you understand? I’ll give you another fifty.”

“Shake hands,” said the man; and Tregenna unwillingly placed his white beringed fingers in the miner’s horny paw, to take them out afterwards red and crushed.

“I’ll trust you, Lannoe, and you must trust me.”

“Right, master,” said the miner. “Then look here. Where – ”

“That will do,” said Tregenna. “I want to know nothing. I’ll hear nothing. Come to me some day when you think it wise, and there is the money for you.”

He pointed to the door, and the man nodded and went away.

Chapter Thirty Five

Under the Sea

Busy times in Wheal Carnac. There had been plenty of visitors in the shape of managers of different mines, to whom the news had come; and all went away astounded at the wealth of the new vein. The demand for shares was enormous, but there were none to be had. Tregenna had had the last, taken to blind Mr Penwynn, and he had sold them to Dr Rumsey, who had invested the whole of his wife’s little fortune in the mine, and the next morning after the news had spread, the doctor had hurried up to the cottage, where Geoffrey was seated at breakfast with Uncle Paul, an unusually fine sole from the trawler having brought them together.

Madge opened the door to the doctor, who shook hands with her in a friendly way; and then, as their eyes met, Madge’s friendly smile changed into a look of fear, under the doctor’s searching gaze. She flushed, then turned deadly pale, and ended by shrinking back with a piteous look, and holding up her hands in a pleading way.

Dr Rumsey’s lips tightened, and he said quietly, —

“Tell Mr Trethick I am here.”

“Come in, Rumsey,” cried Geoffrey’s hearty voice. “You’re in time for breakfast, man. You are just right. Uncle Paul’s as bilious as – as himself.”

Madge was forgotten for the moment, and the doctor shook hands warmly with the young man and with Uncle Paul, as a chair was placed for him, and the bell rung for a cup and saucer and plate, for, truth to say, though the doctor had partaken of the morning meal, he sometimes rose from it with a better appetite than was quite necessary for a proper fulfilment of the digestive functions.

“My dear Trethick,” he cried, with the tears in his eyes, “God bless you for the hint! The news about the mine is glorious.”

“That’s right,” said Geoffrey. “Eat your sole, man, before it gets cold,” for a hot plate had been brought in by Madge herself, who seemed very eager to attend upon the visitor.

“You – you don’t mean to say that you have been investing in mining shares, Rumsey?” cried Uncle Paul.

“Indeed, but I hope he has,” said Geoffrey, heartily.

“I have: every penny we had,” cried the doctor.

“More fool you!” cried Uncle Paul. “Why, Rumsey, how can you expect a man to trust you with his internal management if you go and do such insane things?”

“Uncle Paul don’t believe in the mine even yet,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “That will do, Miss Madge,” he said; “I’ll ring for more hot water if we want it.”

The doctor saw Madge’s appealing look at him, and a half-frightened glance at Geoffrey, and he saw too, as the girl left the room, that Uncle Paul was watching him very narrowly.

When he spoke again his manner was changed, and there was quite a coldness about it, which Geoffrey noticed.

“You hold on,” he said, attributing it to nervousness caused by Uncle. Paul’s attitude – “you hold on, Rumsey, and don’t you be tempted at any price to sell. I warrant, my dear fellow, that you’ve made by that one stroke a handsome provision for your wife, more than you could have made by doctoring the whole county.”

“Then why don’t you invest?” snarled Uncle Paul.

“Because I’ve got no money,” said Geoffrey, coolly. “Why don’t you, who have?”

“Because I’m not quite such an old fool as you think.”

The doctor warmed up again under the sunshine of Geoffrey’s cheery ways, and soon after they were walking down towards the cliff, the doctor thanking Geoffrey again heartily as they parted, the one to make his rounds, the other to go to the busy mine.

Geoffrey had not gone half-way before he met old Prawle, coming direct from Wheal Carnac.

“Hallo, old man!” he cried. “How’s poor mother? By Jove, I must come and see the dear old lady again.”

“Better – better,” said Prawle, hastily.

“That’s well; and Miss Bessie?”

“Yes, yes, quite well,” said the old man, hastily. “I want to see you.”

“Come along down to my office. Been to the mine?”

“Yes, yes. I’ve been down.”

“Ah, you old fox!” cried Geoffrey. “You wouldn’t tell me, but you see we found it out.”

“Yes, yes,” said Prawle, still speaking in a hasty way, contrary to his wont. “I’ll buy some shares.”

“No, you won’t,” said Geoffrey, laughing.

“Why not, eh? You’ll let me?”

“There isn’t a share to be had, old man. No, sir, you are too late. You, knowing what you did, Prawle, should have made friends, and taken your share of the good things.”

The old man looked at him with a curiously sly expression of countenance.

“None to be had?” he said, dubiously.

“Not a share, Father Prawle: for those who hold them know their value now, and will not part.”

The old fellow hesitated as if he half meant to say something, but he did not say it, and went his way; while Geoffrey went on to the mine, busied himself a little about some fresh arrangements for stampers and improved crushing apparatus, and then descended the mine to seek out Pengelly.

He found him hard at work superintending a gang of wielders of the pick, eager to make a goodly show of ore to send up to grass, and Geoffrey stopped about till the men went off to their dinners, when he and Pengelly had a long conversation about the state of the mine at this place.

“I’ve been measuring and calculating, Pengelly, and I find that you are so near the water here that not an inch must be cut on the face of the drive, rich as it is. We must go down, and trust to finding the lode right away.”

“What, and leave this?” said Pengelly. “Why, it’s madness.”

“Madness or no, I shall not have it touched, Pengelly,” said Trethick, firmly. “Lay your ear against the rock. You can almost feel the beat of the water. I make it that we are right out four hundred feet under the sea at high water. We must run no risks.”

For answer Pengelly began to ply his pick vigorously on the floor of the gallery, marking out the portion to be sunk so as to be deeper down in the rock, and where there would be no risk of the sea breaking in.

Geoffrey had well made his plans by night, and was the last, as he thought, to leave the pit, and he then went straight to his rooms to refresh himself before writing to several engineers for various necessaries that would be required for the greatly increased output from the mine.

Chapter Thirty Six

Despair

There was the sound of angry words in the back part of Mrs Mullion’s house that night, and more than once Geoffrey fancied he heard Uncle Paul’s voice raised high, but he had so often heard the old man storming about some trifle that he paid little heed to it, but finished the work he had on hand, thought how he would have liked to go up to An Morlock for an hour or two, and ended by bidding himself be patient, and all that would follow.

It was not yet nine, he found, and the house being very silent, he concluded that the old man had gone off somewhere for a rubber of whist.

“I wouldn’t half mind a rubber myself,” he thought. “I wonder where he has gone?”

“No. It won’t do. No rubbers. I’ll go and have a stroll on the cliff side and stretch my legs, or else I sha’n’t sleep, for my brain is all in a buzz.”

In this intent he put on his hat, lit his pipe, and went out, fancying he heard a sob in the farther room, but, not being sure, he attached little importance thereto.

“What a lovely night,” he mentally exclaimed, as, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he descended the rugged lane, turned to the right, and went off along the cliff.

He had come out for repose, but his brain refused to be at rest, for now came back the sounds that he had heard in the cottage that evening.

“The old man’s been rowing that poor girl,” he thought, “finding out something concerning her carryings-on with somebody or another. Well, poor lass, I suppose she likes him; and, heigho! I feel very lenient now with people who go in for the commodity called love.

“I suppose it is Tregenna,” he continued. “If it is, he is a thorough-paced scoundrel, or he would acknowledge her openly. He’s playing fast and loose with her, and that’s what makes her look so pale and ill.”

He walked on, trying to enjoy the beauty of the starlit night, and the glittering of the smooth, heaving sea, but in vain, for the thought of the sobbing and angry words kept coming back and haunting him, as it were, no matter how fast he walked.

“Now, why the dickens should I make it my business? And yet it seems to be, through knowing the girl and living in the house. I can’t interfere, of course, and tell what I know; but, really, if the fellow is trifling with her it ought to be stopped. Why don’t the old man know and settle it? He don’t, of course, or he would not behave to me as he does, and it would be too mean to put him on the scent. If it’s as I think, and the old man does get to know of it, he’ll half kill Tregenna. Hang the fellow! he’s enough to make one believe in metempsychosis, and think he was once a serpent. I suppose he’s the sort of fellow some women would like, though. But not all.”

He went on more slowly, for his thoughts now were pleasant, and as he glanced down at the sea, which was one dark sheet of spangled star-drops, playing and shimmering in the ebon blackness, he began to plan how he would carry on the mine, and to think of how suddenly a great change had come over his life.

“What a turn of fortune’s wheel!” he exclaimed; and then back went his thoughts to Mrs Mullion’s cottage and poor Madge.

“Poor little lassie, if he’s behaving badly to her – whoever the he may be, for, after all, it was fancy. She is not fretting about me. It is very hard upon her to be bullied at home as well. There’s something about her I like. Ought I to tell old Paul what I know?

“Then there would be a row. Tregenna would turn upon me and say it was a lie, and a cowardly attack. He’d, of course, ask for proof, and I have none.

“Oh, confound it all! it’s no business of mine. They must settle it amongst themselves. Hallo! what’s that?”

A figure passed by him so rapidly that he was half-startled. Then, seeing that it was a woman, and hearing the rustling of the dress on ahead, he took a step or two forward as if in chase.

“What on earth am I doing?” he muttered petulantly. “Who in the world could that be? It couldn’t be Bessie Prawle going home. No; I’m sure it was not her walk, and yet nobody else would be likely to be going along here at this time of night. Who could it be?”

He stopped short, took off his hat, and began to fan his forehead.

“I’m as hot and excited to-night as can be,” he said, half laughing. “Well, no wonder. It’s enough to turn a stronger brain than mine. Such good fortune does not fall to every man’s lot in so short a time. Now suppose I behave like a rational being?”

Just then there was the rattle of stones on one of the rough paths that led from the cliff to the beach.

“Whoever it was has fallen,” he cried. “Why, what madness to attempt to go down there in the dark! I shall break my own neck going after her.”

Risk or none, he began to descend the steep path, but only to find that whoever had fallen had risen, and was making for the beach.

“Why, what folly,” thought Geoffrey, as he stopped in the semi-darkness. “It must be some one who knows her way pretty well.”

For a moment he thought of calling to her, but there seemed no reason for such a proceeding, and he felt that he might frighten whoever it was; and at last, concluding that there was no occasion for him to follow, he was about to turn back, when a thought flashed across him which made him tremble.

“Good heavens!” he ejaculated, “it’s Madge!” and full of the horrible thought that in her trouble she could have come there but for one purpose, he began rapidly to descend the rest of the way, falling heavily twice in his haste to reach the beach, and running no little risk of serious injury.

There was about a hundred yards of wave-worn granite between the cliff foot and where the calm sea heaved gently, and fringed the rocks with a soft phosphorescent light; and here, in the shadow, he paused to try and make out in which direction the figure had gone. His heart was beating wildly, as much from excitement as his exertion, and his sole thought now was to over take and prison the hand of the poor girl he believed it to be.

It was a horrible sensation that of standing helplessly there, eager to stay the wretched girl, but ignorant of the way she had taken. The faint wash of the sea drowned her footsteps, and as he gazed in every direction the dark, rocky beach looked weird and strange, the faint gleam of the phosphorescence adding to the wildness of the scene.

“Madge – Madge Mullion – Madge!” he shouted hoarsely, troubling himself little now who might hear; but there was no reply, and, cautiously making his way amongst the rocks and over the slippery patches of bladder-wrack and broad slimy-fronded weed, he narrowly escaped a fall.

Was it fancy after all, or had he really seen some one come down?

It could not be fancy, he felt sure, and as the minutes glided by he was the more convinced that he was right in his conjecture, and that it was Madge.

“Poor lass!” he exclaimed. “Heaven help her! has it come to this?”

Feeling sure that if his surmise was right, she would be down by some rocks that ran out like a rugged pier into the sea, he crept cautiously on, and strained his eyes to try and make out the figure of her he sought, but in vain; and he was about giving up in despair, mingled with a hope that he was mistaken, when his heart seemed for the moment to stand still, for there was a wild cry from a spot some fifty yards away, followed by a splash; and as he dashed on, regardless of rock and slippery weed, he saw the phosphorescent sea ripple and play about where the poor girl had plunged into the deep water, from quite at the end of the natural pier.

Geoffrey did not hesitate for a moment, but as he reached the brink he plunged in, striking himself against a mass of rock, but fortunately without injury; and, in spite of being dressed, he swam strongly and well in the direction where he had seen the luminous water in agitation.

The distance was farther than he anticipated, and the tide was against him; still this was something in his favour, for it swept the figure of the drowning girl towards him, and as he rose he caught sight of a faint splash or two, making the water flash as she feebly beat the surface with her hands.

But for the unusually luminous state of the sea that night, Geoffrey Trethick’s effort must have been in vain. As it was, his sturdy strokes took him to the side of the drowning girl, and catching her dress, he transferred a stout fold to his teeth, and swan; for the shore.

It was a harder task than he anticipated, and when at last he reached the rocks, rough here with limpets, slimy there with anemones, like clots of blood, and long strangling weeds, it required no little effort to climb to a place of safety.

At last, though, he staggered amongst the rocks and stones with his dripping burthen, and then paused with her, resting on one knee to press the streaming hair from her face, and try to bring her back to life.

Dark as it was he could see that it was Madge, and he paused, wondering what he had better do.

To leave her while he went for help meant, perhaps, leaving her to her death; while to carry her up the rugged cliff path was almost impossible in the dark.

While he was hesitating, a low moan from his burthen’s lips told of returning consciousness, and he roused her a little more.

“Why, Madge, my poor child,” he said, “has it come to this?”

She uttered a wild cry, and burst into a passion of sobbing.

“Let me go – let me die,” she cried passionately. “Why did you get me out?”

“Hush, Madge! Hush, girl!” he cried. “Are you mad?”

“Yes, yes,” she wailed, “and there is nothing for me but to die.”

“Nonsense, girl?” he cried, half angrily, for her unreason annoyed him. “Here, can you walk? Take hold of my arm, and let me help you home.”