nearly two hundred years ago, when miser merle departed from life, his little corner of earth took heart and breathed again. not that he had raised any very mighty mound of gold to stand between himself and the sunshine, but, according to his power, he had followed the traditional road of those similarly cursed, and though the circumstances of his life, as innkeeper of a small hostelry at two bridges by dart on the devon moors, made any huge accumulation impossible, none the less he was a right miser in grain, and died without a tear to balance his two thousand pounds of money. some heartily cursed him on his unknown way; not one pretended to mourn his passing.
his wife was long dead—starved with cold on a winter night, so certain gossips loved to tell; his son the miser had driven out of england, and subsequent rumours of the young man’s death troubled him not at all.
p. 136so it came about that, when the “ring o’ bells” was masterless, an obscure maiden, who had dwelt there since mrs. merle’s demise, found herself possessor of all the money, for miser merle left no will. minnie merle was his orphaned niece, and when the old man’s unhappy partner shuffled off, he bethought him of this girl. as a relation, lacking friends or position, she would come without wages. so, from the position of domestic servant in a plymouth tradesman’s family at three pounds a year, minnie was exalted to be the handmaid of miser merle without remuneration of any kind.
“a man’s own flesh and blood,” he said, when first she came, “will understand, but i don’t want to poison your regard for me with money, or reduce you to the level of a hireling. you are my niece; you and nicholas merle, in the north country, are all the kindred left to me now that my wife has been taken.”
so minnie settled at the “ring o’ bells,” and, being young and healthy, survived conditions that had thrust her aunt untimely into the grave. the old man never trusted his niece again after a day upon which he caught her helping two hungry tramps to bread and cheese, because minnie’s idea of a pennyworth was far more liberal than mr. merle’s; but she stayed at the inn, encouraged to the dreary necessity by local friends, who hinted to her, behind p. 137her uncle’s back, that such self-denial must in the long run find itself rewarded.
then the miser, who would not put on a pair of new boots while an old pair hung together, went through a long day wet-footed, and so received his death-blow. his last conscious utterance was a frantic petition to the medical man from plymouth, when that worthy told him how all hope was vain.
“then you did ought to take half fees,” he gasped. “as an honest man, so you did; an’ god’s my witness that, if you don’t, i’ll never give you no peace after i’m took!”
but the physician had a material soul, feared nothing, and held out for his bond after the patient’s departure. minnie merle, now a young woman of three-and-twenty, reigned at the “ring o’ bells,” and, with sense scarcely to have been expected from one of such youth and peculiar experience, she did wisely as maiden hostess of the little tavern. albeit not lavish, she gave better value for money than mr. merle had given; the inn grew in popularity with the moor-men; and romance of an exciting nature hung about the place, because many husbands were in the air for minnie, and as yet she had given no sign that the happy man was chosen. to discuss the subject with the woman herself was not possible for men, but tibby trout, an ancient gammer who cooked at the “ring o’ bells,” enjoyed the complete p. 138confidence of her mistress, and all that minnie desired to publish she merely murmured into tibby’s ear. the intelligencer had seventy years of experience behind her, and was considered even more artful than old.
tibby enjoyed to serve in the bar, as a change from the kitchen; and at such times, when her mistress was not by, she would discourse, mete praise and blame, waken hope here, here chasten a mind grown too confident.
“be it true, aaron french, as you told a chap to moreton that you knawed how the cat would jump?” she asked, on a night when the bar was full.
aaron, a sand-coloured and a sanguine man, grew hot and laughed.
“why,” he said, “a chap may put wan an’ wan together without any harm.”
“no harm except to hisself. the wan an’ wan you’m putting together in your foolish head—well, her may have named your name thoughtful-like now an’ again, but not these many days now. in fact, you’d best to say nought about her to anybody, for you’m awnly like to look a fule come presently if you do. that man at your elbow might explain if he would.”
aaron french turned upon the labourer whom tibby indicated, and sudden anger shook his high-pitched voice into a squeak.
p. 139“this be your work, then, elias bassett,” he said, furiously. “you to dare! you—the most penniless chap ’pon dartymoor!”
the young man addressed regarded aaron without emotion. elias stood a head taller than his rival, was ten years younger, and very much poorer; but he had a handsome face, a sturdy body, and a stout right arm.
“you’m a silly poult,” he said contemptuously. “as if a sandy-headed little monkey like you would take any maiden onless he wanted her money. an’ mistress merle have got two pounds for every one of yours. as for me, i doan’t care a cuss for the stuff, and wish to god ’twas all drownded in dart. all men know that i kept company with her afore her uncle died, never knowin’ as she was gwaine to have his ill-got money; an’ i wish her never had got it; for then her might have looked at me very like. but when it comed out her was up to her neck in gold, so to say, i knowed it must stand between us, and that a gamekeeper weren’t no husband for her.”
“you seed yourself as others seed you—an’ that’s a very rare thing,” said another man.
“all the same, you’re a zany for your pains,” declared the old woman, who had learned what she desired to learn. “you kept company with missus—you say so. then ’twas her place, not yours, to p. 140say what was to be done after she was lifted up in the land. i doan’t mean for a moment that she’d look at a velveteen coat, so you needn’t fox yourself as you’ve got any chance at all with her—yet her did, careless-like, name your name to me among other chaps as didn’t ’pear to have learnt any manners in their bearin’ toward women.”
a strong pulse stirred elias bassett’s slow nature and made him stare at the withered old woman.
“no call to glaze like a gert bull wi’ your eyes so round as pennies,” she said. “an’ what’s more, you needn’t take no comfort from what i’ve told ’e. i reckon her ban’t for no dartymoor market. wi’ her mort o’ money an’ dearth o’ years, her can very well wait awhile wi’out jumping at the first clodpole among ’e as offers.”
at this moment a strange man came among them and the subject was dropped for that time, before the interesting spectacle of a face unfamiliar to all present.
the new arrival carried himself as one superior to his company. he was booted and spurred, held in one hand a pair of holsters, in the other a riding-whip. he gave no general salute to those present, neither did he order refreshment, but casting one quick glance about him, addressed himself to gammer trout and asked to see the mistress of the inn.
p. 141nicholas merle was a big, clean-shorn man, with bright eyes, quick movements, and the assertive manner of one accustomed to have his way. there was no contempt in his attitude to the folk assembled, but he took it for granted that he exceeded them in importance, even as his interests rose above their own; and not one among them questioned the assumption.
“acquaint mistress merle that i am come—her cousin nicholas from yorkshire.”
tibby curtseyed and went to do his bidding, while the new arrival out-stared each man present in turn, then went to the peat fire and kicked it.
“give ’e gude day,” said elias bassett, in a friendly tone. “i daresay now this here lonesome auld moor do seem but a wisht, pixy-ridden place to a gen’leman like you be.”
“it is very well, my good fellow—a little contracted, that is all. the wolds are more spacious, but a gentleman might make a living here if others would but let him. does anybody with a fat purse ride this way?”
elias and his companions stared, and the lower jaw of mr. french fell until he appeared imbecile. yet the stranger’s cynical hint brought up his listeners a little more on to a level with him. their virtue owed it to itself to stand as high as his confessed or pretended rascality.
p. 142“that sort of talk leads to a hemp collar, mister,” murmured bassett; but merle shook his head.
“mere talk leads nowhere,” he answered. “it is the fashion of you clowns to take a jest in earnest. but have no fear. i am not come among you with any such purpose as the road. to-day i have ridden from exeter and, since leaving moretonhampstead, saw nought but carrion crows and a fox or two. this place tempts no man to dishonesty. i can see upon your faces that you scarce know the meaning of the word.”
gammer tibby returned, and merle, nodding in a friendly way to all present, followed her through the bar to the private chambers behind it. then, hardly had the horseman clanked from sight, when ostler joe mudge appeared with his mouth full of news.
“wheer be the gen’leman to? not here? then i can speak. aw jimmery, what a hoss—if ’tis a hoss! never seed the like in all my years! come an’ catch sight for yourselves, sawls, for you’ll never believe me. eyes like a human, an’ a body all so bright as brimstone, to the last hair in the tail of un!”
while the loafers inspected a big horse of unusual colour, nicholas merle introduced himself to his cousin. they had never met before, and a deep interest and instant friendship wakened in minnie’s breast for the only relation she possessed in the p. 143world. he was a tall, resolute man of thirty-five, with strange oaths and fatherly manner. he declared that chance alone brought him so far south, and that being at exeter he had determined with himself to see his relations.
“not until i reached moreton did i hear of our uncle’s death; then i should have come no farther, but i knew of your existence, and thought i would at least get a memory of you. and a very pleasant memory it will be, cousin, for you’re the queen of the dartmoors, i hear, and so you should be. i never want to see a prettier maid.”
but these statements, despite the speaker’s convincing utterance and bluff manner of discourse, were by no means true. nicholas merle, chancing upon a journal nearly a year old, had read therein of his miser uncle’s passing; and he knew that only one life stood between him and the dead man’s fortune. so he forsook his usual haunts, to the satisfaction of better men, and galloped westward to look into the matter for himself.
