CHAPTER VI
_The Gloves Off_
The old grocer was not the man to do things by halves, and as soon as hefound that Albert's engagement to his cousin Lucilla was an accomplishedfact, duly approved by the young woman's father and to be determined bya speedy marriage, he made up his mind to put his son out of the mousestage and make a man of him. Albert should come into full partnership,with a half-share in the business; he should also have a domicile of hisown under the old roof. There were two big, accommodating rooms on thefirst floor of the house, which hitherto had been used as receptaclesfor lumber and rubbish. Grice had Bartle and a couple of boys to clearthem of boxes and crates, and that done, handed them over to a painterand decorator from Sicaster, with full license to do his pleasure onthem. The painter and decorator set his wits to work, and achieved amighty bill; and when he had completed his labours he remarked sagely toold George that the rooms ought to be furnished according-ly, withemphasis on the last syllable. George rose to the bait, and called inthe best upholsterer available, with the result that when Albert and hisbride came home they found themselves in possession of two brand-newsuites of furniture, solid mahogany in the parlour, and rosewood in thebedroom, with carpets and hangings in due sympathy with the rest of thegrandeur. The bride also found a new piano, and delighted herfather-in-law by immediately sitting down to it and playing a few showpieces, with variations. In her new clothes and smart hat she went wellwith the rest of the room, and the next morning George took Albert intotown and signed the deed of partnership.
"You're a very different man now, mi lad, fro' what ye were two monthssince, remember," observed George, as he and his son sat together in the"Red Lion" at Sicaster, taking a glass of refreshment before jogginghome again. "You were naught but a paid man then; now you're a fullpartner i' George Grice & Son, grocers, wholesale and retail, andItalian warehousemen, dealers in hay, straw, and horse corn. An' you'rea wed man, too, and wi' brass behind and before, and there's no youngfeller i' t'county has better prospects. Foller my example, Albert, andyou'll cut up a good 'un i' t'end!"
Albert grinned weakly, and said that he'd do his best to look afternumber one, and George went home well satisfied. It seemed to him thathaving steered his ship safely past that perilous reef called JecholiahFarnish he would now have plain and comfortable sailing. Instead ofbeing saddled with a poverty-stricken daughter-in-law and herundesirable family, he had got his son a wife who had already broughthim a couple of thousand pounds in ready money, and would have morewhen death laid hands on the Nottingham draper. So there was now nothingto do but attend to business during the day, look over the account booksin the evening, and approach sleep by way of gin and water and thetinkle of Lucilla's piano.
"I were allus a man for doing things i' the right way," mused Georgethat evening as he smoked his cigar and listened to his newdaughter-in-law singing the latest music-hall songs, "and I done 'emagain this time. Now, if I'd let yon lass o' Farnish's wed our Albertthere'd ha' been nowt wi' her, and I should never ha' had Farnishhis-self off t'doorstep. It 'ud ha' been five pound here, and five poundthere. I should ha' had to keep all t'lot on 'em. An' if there is acurse i' this here vale o' tears, it's poor relations!"
It was no poor relation who was tinkling the new piano in the fine newparlour, nor a useless one, either, George thanked Heaven and himself.Mrs. Albert had already proved an acquisition. She was a capablehousekeeper; she possessed a good deal of the family characteristic asregards money, and she could keep books and attend to letters. Moreover,she was no idler. Every morning, as soon as she had settled thehousehold affairs for the day, she appeared in the shop and took up herposition at the desk. This saved both George and Albert a good deal ofclerical work, for the Grice trade, which was largely with the gentryand farmers of the district, involved a considerable amount ofbook-keeping. Now, George was painfully slow as a scribe, and Alberthad no great genius for figures, though he was an expert at wrapping upparcels. The bride, therefore, was valuable as a help as well asadvantageous as an ornament. And a certain gentleman who walked into theshop one afternoon, after leaving a smart cob outside in charge of avillage lad who happened to be hanging about, looked at her withconsiderable interest, as if pretty bookkeepers were strange in thatpart of the country. Old Grice at that moment was busy down the yard,examining a cartload of goods with which Bartle was about to set off toa neighbouring hamlet: Albert was in the warehouse outside,superintending the opening of a cask of sugar. Mrs. Albert went forward;the caller greeted her with marked politeness.
"Mr. Albert Grice?" said the caller, with an interrogatory smile. "Is hein?"
"I can call him in a minute, sir," replied Mrs. Albert. "He's only justoutside. Who shall I say?"
"If you'd be kind enough to ask him if he'd see Mr. Palethorpe ofSicaster, for a moment," answered the visitor. "He'll know who I am."
Mrs. Albert opened the door at the back of the shop, and usheredPalethorpe into the room in which Jeckie Farnish had found George Griceeating his cold beef. She passed out through another door into the yard,came back in a moment, saying that her husband would be there presently,and returned to the shop. And upon her heels came Albert, wiping hissugary hands on his apron and looking very much astonished.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Albert," said Palethorpe, in his pleasantestmanner. "I called to see you on a little matter of business. I wouldhave sent one of my clerks, but as the business is of a confidentialsort I thought I'd just drive over myself. The fact of the case is I'vegot a writ for you--and there it is!"
Before Albert had comprehended matters, Palethorpe had put a folded,oblong piece of paper into his hand, and had nodded his head, as much asto imply that now, the writ having slipped into Albert's unresistingfingers, something had been effected which could never be undone.
"Thought it would be more considerate to serve you with it myself," headded, with another smile.
"I dare say you prefer that."
Albert looked from Palethorpe to the writ, and from the writ toPalethorpe. His face flushed and his jaw, a weak and purposeless one,dropped.
"What's it all about?" he asked, feebly. "I--I don't owe nobody aught,Mr. Palethorpe. A writ!--for me?"
"Suit of Jecholiah Farnish--breach of promise--damages claimed, twothousand pounds," answered Palethorpe, promptly. "That's what it is!Lord, bless me!--do you mean to say you haven't been expecting it!"
He laughed, half sneeringly, and suddenly broke his laughter short.George Grice had come in, softly, by the back door of the room, and hadevidently heard the solicitor's announcement of the reason of hisvisit. Palethorpe composed his face, and made the grocer a polite bow.It was his policy, on all occasions, to do honour to money, and he knewGeorge to be a well-to-do man.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Grice!" he said. "Fine day, isn't it--splendidweather for----" Grice cut him short with a scowl.
"What did I hear you say?" he demanded, angrily. "Summat about yonFarnish woman, and breach o' promise, and damages? What d'yer mean?"
"Just about what you've said," retorted Palethorpe. "I've served yourson with a writ on Miss Farnish's behalf--you'd better read ittogether."
Grice glanced nervously at the curtained door which led into the shop.Then he beckoned Palethorpe and Albert to follow him, and led them outof the room and across a passage to a small apartment at the rear of thehouse, a dismal nook in which his account books and papers of the lastthirty years had been stored. He carefully closed the door and turned onthe solicitor.
"Do you mean to tell me 'at yon there hussy has had the impudence tostart proceedin's for breach o' promise again my son?" he said. "I neverknew such boldness or brazenness i' my born days! Go your ways back,young man, and tell her 'at sent you 'at she'll get nowt out o' me!"
Palethorpe laughed--something in his laugh made the grocer look at him.And he saw decision and confidence in Palethorpe's face, and suddenlyrealised that here was trouble which he had never anticipated.
"Nonsense, Mr. Grice!" exclaimed Palethor
pe. "I'm surprised atyou!--such a keen and sharp man of business as you're known to be. Wewant nothing out of you--we want what we do want out of your son!"
"He has nowt!" growled the grocer. "He's nowt but what I----"
"Nonsense again, Mr. Grice," interrupted Palethorpe. "He's your partner,with a half-share in the business, as you've announced to a good many ofyour neighbours and cronies during the last week or so, and he's alsogot two thousand pounds with his wife. Come, now, what's the good ofpretending? Your son's treated my client very badly, very badly indeed,and he'll have to pay. That's flat!"
Grice suddenly stretched out a hand towards his son.
"Gim'me that paper!" he said.
Albert handed over the writ and his father put on a pair of spectaclesand carefully read it through from beginning to end. Then he flung it onthe desk at which the three men were standing.
"It's nowt but what they call blackmail!" he growled. "I'll none deny'at there were an arrangement between my son and Farnish's lass. But itwere this here--Farnish were to give five hundred pounds wi' her. Now,Farnish went brok'--he had no five hundred pound, nor five hundredpence! So, of course, t'arrangement fell through. That's where it is."
Palethorpe laughed again--and old Grice feared that laugh more than theother.
"I'm more surprised than before, Mr. Grice," said Palethorpe. "My clienthas nothing whatever to do with any arrangement--if there wasany--between you and her father. Her affair is with your son Mr. AlbertGrice. He asked her to marry him--she consented. He gave her anengagement ring--it was well known all round the neighbourhood that theywere to marry. He wrote her letters, in which marriage is mentioned----"
Grice turned on his son in a sudden paroxysm of fury.
"Ye gre't damned softhead!" he burst out. "Ye don't mean to say 'at youwere fool enough to write letters! Letters!"
"I wrote some," replied Albert sullenly. "Now and then, when I was away,like. It's t'usual thing when you're engaged to a young woman."
"Quite the usual thing--when you're engaged to a young woman," saidPalethorpe, with a quiet sneer. "And we have the letters--all of 'em.And the engagement ring, too. Mr. Grice, it's no good blustering. Thisis as clear a case as ever I heard of, and your son'll have to pay. It'sno concern of mine whether you take my advice or not, but if you do takeit, you'll come to terms with my client. If this case goes before ajudge and jury--and it certainly will, if you don't settle it in themeantime--you won't have a leg to stand on, and Miss Farnish will getheavy damages--heavy!--and you'll have all the costs. And between youand me, Mr. Grice, you'll not come out of the matter with very cleanhands yourself. We know quite well, for you're a bit talkative, youknow--how you engineered the breaking-off of this engagement andcontrived the marriage of your son to his cousin, and we shall put youin the witness-box, and ask you some very unpleasant questions. Andyou're a churchwarden, eh?" concluded Palethorpe, as he turned to thedoor. "Come now--you know my client's been abominably treated by you andyour son--you'd better do the proper thing, and compensate herhandsomely."
Grice had become scarlet with anger during the solicitor's last words,and now he picked up the writ and thrust it into his pocket.
"I'll say nowt no more to you!" he exclaimed. "I'll see my lawyer int'morning, and hear what he's gotten to say to such a piece o'impidence!"
"That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say," remarkedPalethorpe. "See him by all means--and he'll say to you just what I'vesaid. You'll see!"
The calm confidence of Palethorpe's tone, and the nonchalant way inwhich he left father and son, cost Grice a sleepless night. He layturning in his bed, alternately cursing Jeckie for her insolence andAlbert for his foolishness in writing those letters. He had sufficientknowledge of the world to know that Palethorpe was probably right--yetit had never once occurred to him that a country lass could havesufficient sense to invoke the law.
"She's too damned clever i' all ways is that there Jecholiah!" hegroaned. "Very like I should ha' done better if I'd kept in wi' her, andlet her wed our Albert. It's like to cost a pretty penny afore I've donewi' it if I have to pay her an' all. There were a hundred pounds forAlbert's trip to Nottingham and another hundred for t'weddin' andt'honeymoon, and I laid out a good three hundred i' doin' up them roomsand buyin' t'pianner, and now then, there's this here! An' I'd raythergo and fling my brass into t'sea nor have it go into t'hands o' thatthere Jezebel! I wish I'd never ta'en our Albert into partnership, norsaid owt about his wife's two thousand pound--then, when this came on hecould ha' pleaded 'at he wor nowt but a paid man, and she'd ha' got nextto nowt i' t'way o' damages. Damages!--to that there!--it's enough tomak' me shed tears o' blood!"
Grice was with his solicitor, Mr. Camberley, in Sicaster, by ten o'clocknext morning. He had left Albert at home, judging him to be worse thanan encumbrance in matters of this sort. He himself had sufficient acumento keep nothing back from his man of law; he told him all about the ringand the letters, and his face grew heavier as Mr. Camberley's face grewlonger.
"You'll have to settle, Grice," said the solicitor, an oldish,experienced man. "It's precisely as Palethorpe said--you haven't a legto stand on! You know, I'm a bit surprised at you; you might haveforeseen this."
Grice pulled out a big bandanna handkerchief, and mopped his highforehead.
"It never crossed my mind 'at she'd be for owt o' this sort!" hegroaned. "I never thowt 'at she'd have as much sense as all that. She'sgotten a spice o' t'devil in her!--that's where it is. And you thinkit's no use fightin' t'case?"
"Not a scrap of use!" said the lawyer. "Stop here while I go round toPalethorpe's and see for myself how things are. They'll show me thoseletters."
Grice sat grunting and muttering in Camberley's office until Camberleyreturned. One glance at the solicitor's face showed him that there wasno hope.
"Well?" he asked anxiously as Camberley sat down to his desk. "Well,now?"
"It's just as I expected," said Camberley. "Of course they've aperfectly good case; they couldn't have a better. I've seen your son'sletters. Excellent evidence--for the plaintiff! Marriage is mentioned inevery one of them--when it was to be, what arrangements were to be madeafterwards, and so on. There's no use beating about the bush, Grice; youhaven't a chance!"
"Then, there's naught for it but payin'?" said the grocer with a deepsigh. "No way o' gettin' out of it?"
"There's no way of getting out of it," answered Camberley. "Nobody andnothing can get you out of it. Here's a perfectly blameless,well-behaved, hard-working young woman, whom you had willingly acceptedas your son's future wife, suddenly flung off like an old glove, for nocause whatever! What do you suppose a jury would say to that? You'llhave to settle, Grice--and I've done my best for you. They'll takefifteen hundred pounds and their costs."
Grice's big face turned white, and the sweat burst out on his foreheadand rolled down his cheeks, and over the tight lip and into his beard.
"It's either that, or the case'll go on to trial," said Camberley. "Myown opinion," he added, dryly, "is that if it goes to trial, she'd gettwo thousand. You'd far better write out a cheque and have done with it.It's your own fault, you know."
Grice pulled out his cheque-book and wrote slowly at Camberley'sdictation. When he had attached his signature he handed over the chequewith trembling fingers, and, without another word, went out, climbedheavily into his trap, and drove home. He maintained a strange andcurious silence all the rest of that day, and that evening the strainsof the new piano failed to charm him. More than once his cigar went outunnoticed; once or twice he shed tears into his gin-and-water.