Chapter VI

Souvent femme varie,
Bien fol est qui s’y fie.

THE mistress of Littlecomb Farm had no cause to complain of the unpunctuality of any of her workpeople on the following morning. Each man appeared at the very moment he was supposed to appear, the maids were up betimes, and the business of the day progressed with far greater speed than usual.

At dinner-time she again observed a group of men in the yard, smaller in number, however, than on the preceding day, and talking with dismal countenances and hesitating tones. Susan came presently to announce, as before, that some of the men wished to speak to her.

Rosalie went out, and discovered a detachment of four awaiting her, two with plaintive, wobegone faces, the others in a state of surly depression.

‘Missus,’ stammered James Bundy, ‘we be a-come—me and these here chaps—be a-come to ’pologise, and to say as we hopes ye won’t bear no malice, and as ye’ll overlook what has passed. We’ll undertake to give satisfaction from this time for’ard.’

‘’T is a pity you did not say that yesterday, James,’ said Rosalie severely.

Bundy looked at Cross, and the latter’s jaw fell.

‘If ye’d please to overlook it, mum,’ resumed James, falteringly. ‘We was, so to speak, took by surprise wi’ the new rules, and we was persuaded’—here he darted a reproachful glance at Joe—‘I’ve got a long family, mum,’ he added tearfully, ‘and my wife—she be near her time wi’ the eleventh—’

‘Well, James, you have been foolish, but I do not altogether think it was your fault. I will make no definite promise, but I will see how you go on between this and Saturday week.’

‘I be to go on Saturday week?’ ejaculated James, whose wits were none of the keenest, and who was more impressed by the severity of the tone than by Rosalie’s actual words.

‘No, no, you foolish fellow! Come, I will give you another chance; but mind you behave very well.’

Robert Cross next came forward.

‘Mine be a very long family, too,’ he began, having evidently remarked the happy results which had ensued from Bundy’s plea. Rosalie stopped him:

‘Well, I will give you another chance, Cross,’ she said. ‘Next time, think twice before you follow a bad leader. As for you, Abel Hunt,’ she said, turning sternly to that gentleman, ‘I am at a loss to know what you can have to say—in fact, I have no wish to hear it, whatever it may be. You must go. No apology can atone for your insolence yesterday.’

‘And how be you goin’ to manage about them pigs?’ inquired Abel plaintively.

‘That is no concern of yours.’

‘Mr. Sharpe was a-speakin’ to me yesterday,’ put in Job, very humbly, for his courage was fast oozing away, ‘an’ he did say ’twould be terrible ill-convenient for ’ee to have so many chaps a-leavin’ together, an’ so me an’ my brother agreed as we’d ax to stop on.’

‘I can do very well without you,’ retorted Mrs. Fiander tartly. ‘No, Job, you have behaved too badly. You have been the ringleader of this disgraceful business—you must certainly go.’

‘On Saturday week?’ faltered Job.

‘Yes, Saturday week—you _and_ Abel. How Abel can suppose I could possibly keep him after such conduct, I can’t imagine. I certainly will not.’

‘Mr. Sharpe did say’—Job was beginning, now almost in tears, when she interrupted him relentlessly.

‘Never mind what Mr. Sharpe said. I have quite made up my mind as to what I shall do.’

She was thoroughly in earnest, and the men knew it. They fell back ruefully, and their young mistress returned to the house, carrying her head very high and setting her face sternly.

When her work was over that afternoon she set out, with a business-like air, on what seemed to be a tour of inspection; first walking briskly along the rows of pigsties, the condition of which had on the day before given rise to so much controversy. All was now as it should be; Abel, Sam, and one or two of the other subordinates having devoted their attention to them at early dawn. Here were pigs of every age and degree, from the venerable matron to the spry young porker just beginning to devote himself to the serious business of life—namely, growing fat. Seventy-two in all, and most of them doomed to destruction within a few months: that was the part of the economy of farming which Rosalie most disliked; it was the blot on the otherwise poetical and peaceful avocation. But she had hitherto been taught to consider the presence of these pigs an absolute necessity. Was this really the case? Might not she, with her woman’s wit, devise some better expedient by means of which the obnoxious animals could be dispensed with, and at the same time waste of skim-milk and whey avoided?

Leaving the yard, she betook herself to the orchard, where a few more porcine families were taking exercise. Their presence somewhat detracted from the picturesque appearance of the place, which, though the ‘blooth’ or blossom had long since fallen, had still a considerable share of beauty of its own. The sunlight beating down now through the delicate green leafage brought out wonderful silvery lights from the lichened trunks, and outlined the curiously gnarled branches. It struck out a golden path across the lush grass for Rosalie to walk on, and she passed slowly down the glade with bent head and serious face.

Turning when she reached the end to retrace her steps, she saw a well-known sturdy form approaching her, and advanced to meet Isaac Sharpe, still with a certain queenly air, and without quickening her pace. Isaac’s countenance, on the contrary, wore a perturbed and puzzled expression; his brow was anxiously furrowed, and he gazed hard at Mrs. Fiander as he hastened towards her.

‘I’m a-feared ye’ve had a deal o’ trouble, here,’ he began.

‘Yes; I followed your advice, you see.’

‘And it did n’t altogether answer?’ said the farmer, with a nervous laugh.

‘Oh, yes, it answered very well. I think the men know I’m in earnest now.’

‘Them two Hunts come round to my place at dinner-time; they were in a taking, poor chaps! But ’twill do them good. All the same, I think I’d let ’em off, if I was you, Mrs. Fiander. Job be a roughish sort o’ chap, but he be a good cowman; an’ Abel, he be wonderful with the management o’ pigs.’

‘I’m not going to let them off,’ said Rosalie, her face hardening again as she thought of Abel’s maniacal dance, and of the loud voice which had frightened her, and of Job’s insolent manner when he had said, ‘The missus bain’t to my likin’.’

‘Well, but ’twill be a bit ’ard to find as good,’ Isaac objected. ‘P’r’aps ye’ll not better yourself. I doubt ’t will be harder for you to get on wi’ strange men.’

‘I am not going to put strange men in their place. I am not going to hire any more men; I’m going to have women. I can manage women very well.’

‘But, my dear,’ cried Isaac, opening his eyes very wide, and speaking in horror-stricken tones, ‘women can’t do men’s work.’

‘No, but they can do women’s work. I have thought it all out, Mr. Sharpe, and my mind is made up. Job and Abel must go. I shall put Sam Belbin in Job’s place.’

‘Well, he have behaved well to ’ee,’ conceded Isaac, unwillingly; ‘but he be young. I doubt if he’s fit for ’t.’

‘I’ve watched him,’ returned Rosalie, positively, ‘and I think he’s quite fit for it. He has worked under Job for some time, and is a capital milker. I think he will manage very well. As to Abel, I shall put no one in his place, for I mean to sell the pigs.’

‘Sell the pigs!’ ejaculated Isaac—‘at this time o’ year?’ His face became absolutely tragic, but Rosalie merely nodded.

‘Why, what’s to become o’ your skim-milk,’ he gasped, ‘an’ the whey, and that?’

‘There will be no skim-milk,’ said Rosalie. ‘I shall make Blue Vinney cheese, as I used to make when I was with my grandfather. Some people are very fond of it. That is made entirely of skim-milk, you know. As for the whey, there will not be much nourishment in it, but I shall keep a few sows still, just to consume that and the butter-milk. They will not require much attention as they walk about here, you see, and there is always a lot of waste green stuff.’

‘I don’t think ye’ll find many folks here what cares for the Blue Vinney cheese,’ said Isaac, still much dejected. ‘Nay, ’t is all the Ha’-skim as they likes hereabouts. The Blue Vinney has gone out o’ fashion, so to speak.’

‘If they don’t buy them here I can send them to Dorchester,’ said the widow resolutely. ‘They used to buy them up there faster than I could make them. So you see there will be no waste, Mr. Sharpe; there will be less work to do outside, and therefore I shall not miss Job or Abel; but, as we shall be very busy in the dairy, I must have two or three extra women to help me.’

Isaac stared at her ruefully; she looked brighter than she had done since her husband’s death, but she also looked determined. He shook his head slowly; his mind was of the strictly conservative order, and the contemplated abolition of pigs from the premises of this large dairy-farm seemed to him an almost sacrilegious innovation. Moreover, to sell pigs in July; to make cheeses that nobody in that part of the world cared to eat; to replace two seasoned men who knew their business—whatever might be their faults—with that dangerous commodity, womankind—the whole experiment seemed to him utterly wild, and pregnant with disaster.

‘I mean to do it,’ said Rosalie, defying the condemnation in his face. ‘By this time next year you will congratulate me on my success.’

‘I hope so, I am sure,’ said Isaac in a slightly offended tone. ‘I came here to advise ’ee, but it seems ye don’t want no advice.’

‘Oh yes, I do,’ she cried, softening in a moment. ‘I value it of all things, Mr. Sharpe. My one comfort in my difficulties is the thought that I can talk them over with you. I have laid my plan before you quite simply, in the hope that you would approve.’

‘Well, my dear,’ said Isaac, somewhat mollified, ‘I don’t approve, d’ ye see? Since you ask my advice, I’ll tell ye plain that I don’t think the plan will work. Ye won’t be able to sell your pigs to begin with; then ye’ll want a man wi’ more experience than Sam to look after the cows; it bain’t such easy work—nay, that it bain’t. Then, as to gettin’ more women ’bout the place, I don’t hold with the notion. I don’t think it ’ud benefit ye, my dear. I don’t trewly.’

Rosalie appeared to meditate.

‘Think it over, Mrs. Fiander,’ he urged; ‘don’t do nothing in a hurry; that be my advice.’

‘Thank you very much. Yes, I’ll think it over. You’ll come on Sunday, won’t you, Mr. Sharpe?’

‘’Ees,’ agreed Isaac doubtfully. ‘’Ees, I’ll come on Sunday. I be main glad you be thinking of taking my advice, Mrs. Fiander.’

‘I am grateful to you for giving it,’ said Rosalie with a sweet smile; and the farmer walked away, thinking that on the whole women were far less unreasonable than he had hitherto supposed.

The next day was Thursday—early closing day at Branston—therefore no one was surprised when Mrs. Fiander, having as she averred some business to do in the town, ordered the gig in the forenoon. It was the first time she had used that vehicle since her husband’s death, and she looked sorrowful enough as she climbed into it, clad in her deepest weeds.

The steady old horse looked round when she gathered up the reins, as though wondering at the innovation—for Elias had always been accustomed to drive—and was with some difficulty induced to start.

‘Nigger be so wise as a Christian, that he be,’ commented Bundy, as the gig and its occupant disappeared. ‘He was a-standin’ and a-waitin’ for master, so sensible as I mid do myself. But he’ll have to get used to the change the same as the rest of us.’

‘Ay, an’ p’r’aps he’ll not like it so very well,’ returned Abel sardonically. ‘Give a woman a whip in her hand, and she fancies she’s bound to lay it on.’

But Nigger was suffered to jog along the road at his own pace, for the old sadness which had fallen upon Rosalie had for a moment checked her eager spirit, and a new preoccupation was, moreover, now added to it. Would Elias approve of what she was about to do, or would he agree with Isaac? No, surely he would say that she knew best; he was always pleased with anything she did. He used to say that she was the best manager he had ever known; and, on the other hand, used frequently to speak of Isaac’s ‘notions’ with good-humoured derision. It will be seen that Mrs. Fiander’s meditations over her friend’s advice had resulted, as indeed might have been expected, in the determination to adhere to her original plan, and she was now on her way to interview two personages whose co-operation would be necessary in carrying it out.

Her appearance in the shop of Mr. Hardy, the principal grocer of the town, caused a certain amount of commotion; everybody turned to look at the beautiful young widow, who had indeed for many days past formed the principal topic of conversation among the townsfolk; and much interest was aroused by her murmured request to see Mr. Hardy in private.

‘Certainly, Mrs. Fiander. Step this way, ma’am. John, open the door there!’

John Hardy, a tall, good-looking young man in a white linen jacket, hastened to obey his parent’s behest, and was even good enough to accompany the visitor along the passage which led from the shop to the family sitting-room. It was empty at this hour, Mrs. Hardy being presumably occupied in household duties; and Mr. John ushered Rosalie in with much ceremony, and invited her to be seated in the best armchair.

Some disappointment was perceptible in his ingenuous countenance when he found that the interview which had been so mysteriously asked for was merely connected with cheese; but his father listened to Rosalie’s proposition with grave attention.

‘I don’t exactly see how the plan would work,’ he remarked, shaking his head. ‘We sell your Ha’skim cheeses very fairly well, Mrs. Fiander.’ Mr. Hardy was a discreet person, and was determined not to commit himself. ‘But as for the Blue Vinney, I’d be very glad to oblige you, but I’m really afraid—you see there’s scarcely any demand for Blue Vinney nowadays. A few of the old folks ask for it now and then, but we don’t get, not to say, a reg’lar custom for ’t, and it would n’t be worth our while to keep it.’

‘I am considered a particularly good hand at making Blue Vinney,’ said Rosalie. ‘I used to be quite celebrated for it when I lived near Dorchester—in fact, I could easily sell my cheeses now at Dorchester, only I thought I would give you the first offer as you have dealt with me so long.’

Growing warm in her excitement, she threw back her veil: John Hardy, gazing at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, thought Mrs. Fiander had never looked so handsome as in her widow’s weeds.

‘Dorchester!’ commented the senior. ‘That would be a long way for you to send, ma’am.’

‘I am sure,’ put in the son quickly, ‘we’d be sorry to think as Mrs. Fiander should need to take her cheeses to Dorchester, father.’

The elder Mr. Hardy glanced from one to the other of the two young faces, and, as Rosalie bestowed a grateful smile upon his son, an idea seemed to strike him.

‘Well,’ he said good-naturedly, ‘you are trying an experiment, I understand, Mrs. Fiander. There’s always a certain amount o’ risk in an experiment; but still, “Nothing venture, nothing have,” they say. If you’re willing to venture I shall be glad to help you all I can. Send your cheeses to me, and I’ll do my best to sell ’em. I won’t promise to pay money down for ’em,’ he added, cautiously, ‘same as I do for the Ha’skims, but I’ll try an’ sell ’em for you, and we can settle about them after.’

‘I am very much obliged,’ said Rosalie, a little blankly, however, for she had not been accustomed to do business in this manner.

‘We will use our utmost endeavours to push the goods—of that you may be sure,’ cried young John eagerly; and she smiled upon him again, so graciously that he somewhat lost his head, and made several incoherent statements as to the excellence of Blue Vinney cheese for which his worthy father subsequently brought him to book.

‘That’s not the way to get round a woman, my lad,’ he remarked. ‘Mrs. F. will just think you be right down silly; the notion o’ tellin’ her as Blue Vinney cheese was richer to the palate than Rammil—why, Rammil’s made altogether o’ good new milk, and this here’s nothin’ but skim. She makes cheese o’ skim instead o’ givin’ it to the pigs, and you go and tell her all that rubbish. She’s no fool—the widow is n’t—that is n’t the way to make up to her.’

Meanwhile Rosalie had driven across the market-place and up a side street to the house of a certain auctioneer, and to her great joy found him at home.

He was a stout middle-aged man, with some pretensions to good looks, and more to being a dandy. He was attired in a sporting costume of quite correct cut, and received his visitor with an air of jovial hospitality.

‘Delighted to see you, I’m sure, Mrs. Fiander. I feel _h_onoured. I am at your service for anything you may wish—you may command me, ma’am.’

Rosalie had begun by expressing a desire to transact a little business with him, and now proceeded to explain its nature.

‘I wish to sell my pigs by auction,’ she said. ‘I have about sixty-five to dispose of, and I should like the sale to take place as early as possible next week.’

‘Next week!’ ejaculated the auctioneer, his face falling.

‘Yes,’ said Rosalie, with great decision.

‘But—have you considered the question? It would be difficult to sell off such a number of pigs at any season of the year, but now—in the height of the summer! If I may advise you, Mrs. Fiander, don’t be in such a hurry. Wait and sell the pigs at a more convenient time. Nobody’s killing pigs now, and most people as go in for fatting pigs have got as many as they want by this time.’

‘It must be next week,’ said the widow obstinately. Job and Abel were leaving on the Saturday, and the stock must be got rid of before the new era began.

‘You’ll lose to a certainty, ma’am,’ said Mr. Wilson, running his hand through his well-oiled hair. ‘What with all the regulations on account of the swine fever, the selling of such a number of pigs would be a difficult matter—at any season, as I say, and you don’t give me no time scarcely to get out my bills—’

‘The sale must take place before Saturday week,’ insisted Rosalie. ‘You must do the best you can for me, Mr. Wilson.’

‘You may rely on that, Mrs. Fiander; but it really grieves me to think that you should lose so much.’

He paused, thoughtfully biting the end of one finger, and suffering his eyes meanwhile to travel slowly over the handsome face and graceful figure of his client. During this scrutiny he was not unobservant of the rich materials of which her dress was composed, and her general appearance of mournful prosperity.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, he said. ‘It’s against my own interest, but I always like to oblige a lady—particularly such a lady as you, Mrs. Fiander. I’ll drive round the country and see if I can persuade people to buy up those pigs by private contract. I know a pig-jobber over Shaftesbury side as might be glad to take a good many off you, if he got them at a low price. If I understand you, Mrs. Fiander, the price is not an object to you?’

‘No—o,’ faltered Rosalie. ‘Of course, I should like as much money as possible for them, but the price is not so important as to get rid of the animals as soon as possible.’

‘Just so,’ agreed the auctioneer cheerfully. ‘Well, Mrs. Fiander, I shall lose by it, as I say, but I will try and arrange matters for you in this way. Under the circumstances, ma’am, I grudge no time or trouble spent in your service. I am always thought to be a lady’s man—my late poor wife used to say that my consideration for ladies injured the business; but, as I used to tell her, a man has a heart or else he has n’t. _If_ he has a heart—if he has more feelings than his neighbours, he is n’t to blame for it. “Let the business go, my dear,” I ’d say, “but don’t ask me to be hard on a woman.”’

It had been whispered among the gossips of Branston that during the lifetime of the late Mrs. Wilson her lord had been wont to correct her occasionally with a boot-jack, but these rumours had not reached Rosalie’s ears; and even if they had she would probably have disbelieved them. Nevertheless, she did not quite like the manner in which the gallant auctioneer leered at her, nor his unnecessarily warm pressure of her hand on saying good-bye.

She drove homewards with a mixture of feelings. The inauguration of her new plan seemed to involve a considerable amount of risk, not to say loss; she felt conscious of the fact that she owed her very partial success more to the persuasion of her beauty than to faith in her prospects as a woman of business; yet there was, after all, satisfaction in thinking that she had carried her point.