Broom-Squire

Sabine Baring-Gould

Description

Set in the Surrey area of southeast England and rich in local color, Sabine Baring-Gould's novel The Broom-Squire gives an account of a vicious murder that leaves an infant orphaned. She is rescued by a man of humble means and raised in his quaint and quirky community.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776589296
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE BROOM-SQUIRE
* * *
SABINE BARING-GOULD
 
*
The Broom-Squire First published in 1895 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-929-6 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-930-2 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - At the Sign of the Ship Chapter II - Wandering Souls Chapter III - The Punch-Bowl Chapter IV - Without a Roof Chapter V - Mehetabel Chapter VI - Mehetabel it Must Be Chapter VII - False Perspective Chapter VIII - Only a Charity Girl Chapter IX - Bideabout Chapter X - Into the Net Chapter XI - A Surname at Last Chapter XII - Unexpected Chapter XIII - Home Chapter XIV - Not Paradise Chapter XV - Iver Chapter XVI - Again-Iver Chapter XVII - Dreams Chapter XVIII - Realities Chapter XIX - Back Again Chapter XX - Gone Chapter XXI - Thor's Stone Chapter XXII - Iver! Come Chapter XXIII - A Shot Chapter XXIV - The Iron-Stone Hammer Chapter XXV - An Apparition Chapter XXVI - A Secret Chapter XXVII - Poison Chapter XXVIII - A Threat Chapter XXIX - A Herald of Strife Chapter XXX - A Bequest Chapter XXXI - Surprises Chapter XXXII - Another Surprise Chapter XXXIII - Markham Chapter XXXIV - The Picture Chapter XXXV - The Only Change Chapter XXXVI - The Sleeping Draught Chapter XXXVII - A Menaced Life Chapter XXXVIII - Shut Out Chapter XXXIX - At the Silk Mill Chapter XL - By the Hammer Pond Chapter XLI - Wanderers Chapter XLII - The Cave Chapter XLII - At Colpus's Chapter XLIV - Again: Ironstone Chapter XLV - In Hope Chapter XLVI - A Troubled Hope Chapter XLVII - Before the Judge Chapter XLVIII - The Verdict Chapter XLIX - Welcome Chapter L - Move On Chapter LI - Thor's Stone Again Chapter LII - The Rose-Cloud Endnotes
Chapter I - At the Sign of the Ship
*
On a September evening, before the setting of the sun, a manentered the tavern of the Ship in Thursley, with a baby under hisarm.
The tavern sign, rudely painted, bore, besides a presentment of avessel, the inscription on one side of the board:—
"Now before the hill you climb, Come and drink good ale and wine."
On the other side of the board the legend was different. It ranthus:—
"Now the hill you're safely over, Drink, your spirits to recover."
The tavern stood on the high-road side between Godalming andPortsmouth; that is to say the main artery of communication betweenLondon and Portsmouth.
After rising out of the rich overshadowed weald land, the road hadcrossed long sandy wastes, where population was sparse, where wereno enclosures, no farms, only scattered Scottish firs; and in frontrose the stately ridge of sandstone that culminates in Hind Headand Leith Hill. It was to prepare the wayfarer for a scramble tothe elevation of a little over nine hundred feet that he wasinvited to "drink good ale and wine," or, if he were coming fromthe opposite direction was called upon to congratulate himself ina similar manner on having over-passed this ridge. The wayfarerwith the baby under his arm came from the Godalming side. He lookedup at the sign, which appealed at once to his heart, for he wasobviously a sailor, no less than did the invitation commend itselfto his condition.
He entered, tumbled the baby on to the tavern table that wasmarked with wet rings from beer cans, and upset a saucer containingfly poison, and said, with a sigh of relief—
"There you are! Blowed and all of a lather!"
He pulled out a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief, mopped his faceand shouted, "Beer!"
"Well, I never!" exclaimed the landlady. "Whoever heered afore orsaw of a babby lugged about wrong side uppermost. What would yousay if I was to bring you your tankard topsy-turvy?"
"I wouldn't pay for it," said the sailor.
"'Cos why?" asked the woman, planting herself arms akimbo, in frontof the wayfarer.
"'Cos it 'ud capsize the ale," he answered.
"Very well, ain't babbies got no in'ards to capsize?" asked thelandlady, defiantly. "And chucked in among the pison for killingthem dratted flies, too!"
"Never mind about the kid," said the man.
"I do mind about the child," retorted the woman; "look at himthere—the innocent—all in the nasty slops. What'll the mother sayto the mess and crumple you've made of the clothes?"
The landlady took the infant from the table, on one arm, andproceeded to the bar to draw the beer.
Presently she returned, kissing the child and addressing it interms of affection. She thrust the pewter full of foaming ale onthe table towards the customer, with resentfulness in her action.
"He's a stomachy (sturdy) young chap," she said, patting the babewith the now disengaged hand.
"He ain't a he at all," retorted the man. "He's a she."
"A girl, is it!" exclaimed the hostess; "and how came you by theprecious?"
"Best rights of all," answered the man; "'cos I'm the kid's father."
"Her mother ought to be ashamed of herself letting you haul aboutthe poor mite under your arm, just as though she was pertatoes."
"Her mother can't help it," said the man. "She's dead, and leftme wi' this here child a month or six weeks old, and I've beensweating along the way from Lun'non, and she yowlin' enough totear a fellow's nerves to pieces." This said triumphantly; then inan apologetic tone, "What does the likes o' me know about holdin'babies? I were brought up to seamanship, and not to nussin'. I'djoy to see you, missus, set to manage a thirty-pounder. I warrantyou'd be as clumsy wi' a gun as I be wi' a kid."
"D'r say," responded the landlady, "and where be you a-g'win towith this here angel? Takin' her to sea to make a mermaid of her?"
"No, I aren't," said the mariner. "Her mother's dead—in lodgin'sdown by the Katherine docks, and got no relatives and no friendsthere. I'm off to sea again when I've dispodged o' this hereincumbrance. I'm takin' her down to her mother's sister—that way."He indicated the down road with his thumb.
"It's a wonder you ain't made a crook of her backbone, it is,"said the woman. "And if you'd gone and crippled she for life, whatwould you think o' that?"
"I didn't carry her like that all the road," answered the sailor."Part ways I slung her over my back."
"Wonder she's alive. Owdatious strong she must be. Come in, mycherry beam. I'll give you as good as mother's milk. Three partswater and a bit o' shuggar. Little your father thinks o' yourwants so long as he gets his ale."
"I let her suck my thumb," said the sailor, timidly.
"Much good she got out o' that," retorted the landlady. "Yes,yes, my syrup. I'll give you something."
"If you can stop her yowling, I'll thank you."
With a contemptuous look at the father, the hostess withdrew.
Then the sailor planted his elbows on the table, drank a longdraught of beer, and said, sententiously, "It's an institootionis wimin."
"Woman is the joy of our lives," said a lanky, dark-haired manat the table.
"'Tain't exactly that," answered the sailor, now first observingthat there were other men in the room. "'Tis that there's thingsfor everything—there's the capstan for hawlin' up the anchor, andthere's the woman for nussin'. They was ordained to it—notmen—never, no—not men. Look at my hand." The sailor extendedhis arm across the table. "It's shakin' like a guitar-string whena nigger's playing—and all along of that kid's yawls. Wiminlikes it."
"It's their moosic," said the lanky man.
Then in rushed the landlady with flashing eyes, and holding outboth palms before her said, "The child's mouth be that purple orblue—it's fits."
"It's blackberries," answered the seaman. "They was nice and ripe,and plenty of them."
"Blackberries!" almost shrieked the hostess, "and the child notsix weeks old! You've killed her! It's upset her blessed littleinside."
"I thought I'd done wrong," said the sailor, timidly, "that's whyI was a-carryin' of her topsy-turvy. I thought to ha' shooked theblackberries out again."
"If that child dies," exclaimed the landlady, solemnly, "thenwhere will you go to, you unnat'ral parient?"
"I did it wi' the best intention," apologized the man.
"That's what Betsy Chaffers said when she gave wrong change. Ohthat heaven should ever a created man. They's terrible monsters."
She disappeared again after the child.
The sailor drank more beer, sighed, wiped his brow, then hisupper lip, and looked appealingly about him at the men who werepresent. Of these there were four and a half. That is to say, fourmen and a boy. Three of the men were at the table, and of thesethe lanky sallow man was one.
These three men were strange, unpleasant-looking fellows, dressed upin scraps of incongruous clothing, semi-nautical, semi-agricultural.One was completely enveloped in a great-coat that had belonged toa very tall and stout man, and he was short and thin. Another wasincompletely dressed, for what garments he had on were in ragsthat afforded glimpses between them of tattered lining, of flesh,but of no shirt.
The third man had the unmistakable lower jaw and mouth of anIrishman.
By the fire sat an individual of a different type. He was a youngman with heavy brows and a large mouth devoid of lips, set tightas a snapped man-trap. He had keen, restless, watchful eyes. Hishair was sandy, thrust forward over his brow, and hanging lowbehind. On the opposite side of the hearth crouched a boy, atimid, delicately formed lad with a large head and full lustrouseyes.
"Come from far?" asked one of the ragamuffins at the table.
"Didn't yur hear me say from Lun'non town?" answered the sailor."Lagged that there dratted baby the whole way. I'll have anotherglass