‘I am Mr. Hamley of Hamley I suppose you are as yet ignorant of the boundary of Lord Cumnor’s land, and so I will inform you that my property begins at the pond yonder—just where you see the rise in the ground.’
‘I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, Mr. Hamley,’ said Mr. Preston, a little annoyed at the ignorance attributed to him. ‘But may I inquire why my attention is called to it just now?’
The squire was beginning to boil over; but he tried to keep his temper in. The effort was very much to be respected, for it was a great one. There was something in the handsome and well-dressed agent’s tone and manner inexpressibly irritating to the squire, and it was not lessened by an involuntary comparison of the capital roadster on which Mr. Preston was mounted with his own ill-groomed and aged cob.
‘I have been told that your men out yonder do not respect these boundaries, but are in the habit of plucking up gorse from my covers to light their fires.’
‘It is possible they may!’ said Mr. Preston, lifting his eyebrows, his manner being more nonchalant than his words. ‘I dare say they think no great harm of it. However, I’ll inquire.’
‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’ said the squire, fretting his mare till she began to dance about.‘I tell you I’ve heard it only within this last half-hour.’
‘I don’t mean to doubt your word, Mr. Hamley; it’s the last thing I should think of doing. But you must excuse my saying that the argument which you have twice brought up for the authenticity of your statement, “that you have heard it within the last half-hour,” is not quite so forcible as to preclude the possibility of a mistake.’
‘I wish you’d only say in plain language that you doubt my word,’ said the squire, clenching and slightly raising his horsewhip. ‘I can’t make out what you mean—you use so many words.’
‘Pray don’t lose your temper, sir. I said I should inquire. You have not seen the men pulling up gorse yourself, or you would have named it. I, surely, may doubt the correctness of your information until I have made some inquiry; at any rate, that is the course I shall pursue, and if it gives you offence I shall be sorry, but I shall do it just the same. When I am convinced that harm has been done to your property, I shall take steps to prevent it for the future, and of course, in my lord’s name, I shall pay you compensation—it may probably amount to half-a-crown.’ He added these words last in a lower tone, as if to himself, with a slight contemptuous smile on his face.
‘Quiet, mare, quiet,’ said the squire, quite unaware that he was the cause of her impatient movements by the way he was perpetually tightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressed the injunction to himself
Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was approaching them with long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of old Silas’s cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he was coming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear the next words.
‘I don’t know who you are, but I’ve known land-agents who were gentlemen, and I’ve known some who were not. You belong to this last set, young man,’ said the squire, ‘that you do. I should like to try my horsewhip on you for your insolence.’
‘Pray, Mr. Hamley,’ replied Mr. Preston, coolly, ‘curb your temper a little, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age in such a passion:’—moving a little farther off, however, but really more with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threat into execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement it would cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment Roger Hamley came close up. He was panting a little and his eyes were very stern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough.
‘Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your last words. But remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position, and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of his temper from young men like you.’
‘I desired him to keep his men off my land,’ said the squire to his son—his wish to stand well in Roger’s opinion restraining his temper a little; but though his words might be a little calmer, there were all other signs of passion present—the discoloured complexion, the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. ‘He refused, and doubted my word.’
Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, though not insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner.
‘Your father has misunderstood me—perhaps it is no wonder,’ trying to convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that the father was in no state to hear reason. ‘I never refused to do what was just and right. I only required further evidence as to the past wrong-doing; your father took offence at this,’ and then he shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerly learnt in France.
‘At any rate, sir! I can scarcely reconcile the manner and words to my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with the deference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position. As to the fact of the trespass——’
‘They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger—there’ll be no cover whatever for game soon,’ put in the squire.
Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it was at before the interruption.
‘I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find that such trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expect that you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going to see old Silas—perhaps you don’t know that he is very ill.’ So he endeavoured to wile the squire away to prevent further words. He was not entirely successful.
Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger’s calm and dignified manner, and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loud soliloquy, —
‘Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man who begins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to a standstill, and has to turn offcx his labourers just at the beginning of winter, leaving———’
They were too far off to hear the rest. The squire was on the point of turning back before this, but Roger took hold of the reins of the old mare, and led her over some of the boggy ground, as if to guide her into sure footing, but, in reality, because he was determined to prevent the renewal of the quarrel. It was well that the cob knew him, and was, indeed, old enough to prefer quietness to dancing ; for Mr. Hamley plucked hard at the reins, and at last broke out with an oath.—‘Damn it, Roger! I’m not a child; I won’t be treated as such. Leave go, I say!’
Roger let go; they were now on firm ground, and he did not wish any watchers to think that he was exercising any constraint over his father; and this quiet obedience to his impatient commands did more to soothe the squire than anything else could have effected just then.
‘I know I turned them off—what could I do? I’d no more money for their weekly wages; it’s a loss to me, as you know. He doesn’t know, no one knows, but I think your mother would, how it cut me to turn ’em off just before winter set in. I lay awake many a night thinking of it, and I gave them what I had—I did, indeed. I hadn’t got money to pay ‘em, but I had three barren cows fattened, and gave every scrap of meat to the men, and I let ’em go into the woods and gather what was fallen, and I winked at their breaking off old branches, and now to have it cast up against me by that cur—that servant. But I’ll go on with the works, by—, I will, if only to spite him. I’ll show him who I am. My position, indeed! A Hamley of Hamley takes a higher position than his master. I’ll go on with the works, see if I don‘t! I’m paying between one and two hundred a year interest on Government money. I’ll raise some more if I go to the Jews; Osborne has shown me the way, and Osborne shall pay for it—he shall. I’ll not put up with insults. You shouldn’t have stopped me, Roger! I wish to heaven I’d horsewhipped the fellow!’