Short Story

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 16 July 1927, Page 13

Short Story

INDEPENDENT PEGGY.

Poachers and highwaymen touch the imagination, and, as in Bunnali a maiden thinks the more of her lover if he passes some period of his life as a dee.oit, so also here, the lawless often attract more thai\ the steady. Thus Peggy Wyse, the belle and heiress of Du r ley Tillage, appeared to favour red-headed, broad-shouldered Nat Perry the poacher, rather than Ned Salter, Unequally broad, dark-haired young gamekeeper of Durley Court, both of whom had made love to her in boyish fashion since the days they had attended school .together, the boys being about the same age and live years senior to Peggy. Peggy was an orphan, and had always lived with her granny, Mrs Rivers, who at her death left this beloved granddaughter her savings and belongings, as well as the pretty rose-covered cottage that had been ill the family for g< nerat ions. This cottage Peggy firmly refused to leave or let, ignoring the good advice showered upon her; however, ’Mrs Verriker. the Squire's wife, and Airs Watson, of the Rectory, both took a great interest in and kept, maternal eyes on her, giving her light employment and needlework, for she had deft fingers. Notwithstanding her pretty, kindly ways, Peggy was the unconscious object of intense jealousy amongst the village women and girls.

“Livin' alone in 'or own 'house, apeing a fine lady," they sniffed. “She won't come to no good," they added, and hopfcd it.

It was unfortunate that just across the road lived old mother Mavsey, the reputed witch of Durley; nothing escaped her beady black eyes nor sweetened the venom of' her tongue. Daily she spied upon the girl, her outgoings and home-comings, the young men who paid court, and especially the rivalry between Nat Perry and Ned Salter. And whenever she could drop words that should wound the one and fan the jealousy of the other she did so’.

Peggy laughed at all ideas of serious courtship; she was too young, she didnot know her mind; besides she would say, her blues eyes dancing, “You’re too”hard on people, Ned; you’re always down on Nat; what does a rabbit here or there really count with all them thousands running about; why shouldn’t a working man have a -bit o’ sport?" “A working man! ’’ gibed Ned. When did you ever see Nat do a hand’s turn of real work, save fix a bunny snare; I r. 11 you fair an’ square, Peggy, it makes me- sick to sec- you taking up with such as him.”

“You was always jealous of Nat since you was a boy. Now Nat don’t never run you down; he only laughs and says you’re too “pi" for him!" “Only iaughs!" The gamekeeper grilled iris teeth; he’d make him laugh

again some day, and it should be the oilier side of his mouth he determined.

“ Hood-night, Peggy," he said at her gate, “you know I don’t think it’s rigid von should bide alone." The girl tossed her head. “I’m all right," she Hashed. “I love my cottage much better nor the keeper’s house. I work at the court and at the rectory most days’ as you know; where’s the harm in what I do or where I live?"

And, without saying good-bye she ran up the path to the door, taking the key from its hiding-place and letling herself in; Then, sheltered by the window curtains, she watched Ned’s retreating figure, and a very good figure she decided it was in his picturesque velveteen jacket and corduroy breeches. She sighed: “Why was it that black sheep always appealed to a girl?" Nat, the shiftless loafer, the supposed dare-devil, whose reputation made the village matrons purse their mouths, was the secret idol of half the maidens in the place. Peggy was not sure she preferred him to Ned; instinct told her that Nat was untrustworthy, though at tin' same time he fascinated her; at .present, it needed very little to weigh the scales in either direction.

As she paused at the window a pair of hands covered her eyes and bent her head backwards to a roughly clad shoulder; someone began devouring her face with kisses. Peggy shrieked with fear and rage, but Nat. for it was he, laughingly caught her to him and began to kiss her again—heedless of her struggles. “How dare you, how dare you," she cried, cuffing him so heartily that he set her free. “How dare you frighten me and carry on so?- Ned was right when lie said I shouldn’t be alone. What'll the neighbours sav about this? How did you get in, with the door locked an’ the key hid outside?" Nat sealed himself on a chair beside her, smoothing down his ruffled hair: then lie drew her fra his knee. Half frightened, half curious, she submitted; anyway, she had known him all her life Mini it was really rather romantic. Nod would never have been so resourceful!

“Let Tim* be,” she cried, repulsing further kisses, “ami toll mo why you (lone if and how you {jot in, an’ then go. j\Jy life won’t In* fit to live if old nvafher Mavsey sees you.” Nat. laughed. “That’s if, you’ve got it Peg. Your life won’t be worth ji flip. 1 got, in through the open windy over the poreh, pietty i>rie,kly they roses bo, too. Mrs Mavsey was about her garden, an’ 1 don’t can* an ayparfh *a ’ lies ’no saw nu*. I meant, to give ’ee a startler. 1 saw you with that darned Methody Ned ’an whether you’ve betokened yourself to him or tut i’ainf no mailer o’ differ t o me. You’ve got k> marry me Peggy, you’ll have to now,, and I’m off to parson to fix up flu* bannses.” Peggy was breathless in more ways than one, as he hugged her roughly and then flung out of the cottage and away to the Rectory.

She tidied her hair, picked up .her tumbled hat, and sat down, lo think. Thinking did not avail her much. Mrs Mavsey, the evil tongue of the village, had probably peon Nat’s enflry—die probably had intended she should. The old witch must have seen her parting from Ned, and would know quite well how long had elapsed since her entry and Naths departure. Her surmises would be vile'. Peggy went hot and cold nr the thought. Village girls are not ignorant of village talk or village life, however, innocent they may be. Peggy realised that Mother Mavsey would make if her business that the village should believe she was no more innocent limn ignorant. Unless Ned believed in her and came to the rescue she would have to marry Nat. The excitement of Nat’s escapade died down and she realised he had taken a mean

advantage of tier unprotected position. Next day proved it all too true; the neighbours had got wind of the adventure, whilst she, with upward tilted chin strove to hold her own in the village, and pretended to misunderstand the sallies, innuendoes and even open reproaches she met. Worst of all, Ned deserted her; she did not know he had been called away on business, and, country fashion, had not dreamed of writing to her or letting her know. Besides when they parted he had been feeling decidedly sore, little dreaming of how she had watched him or what had befallen her. The news had not reached him till he heard her banns given out for the first time, and he half rose to his' feet at “the just cause or impediment,” but could think of nothing bad and concrete enough to voice, and subsided miserably in his place. Peggy excused herself from working at the Court and Rectory on the plea of making her own things. In reality she could not bear a repetition of Mrs. Matson’s “I fear you are making a great mistake, Peggy, but of course, if the talk is true, there is no help for it. ” She had crimsoned angrily and been too proud to vindicate herself, and the chance passed. Mrs. Vcrrikor had stricken her to the heart by saying, “How could you choose Nat when Ned loves you, Peggy; it would have broken vour grannie’s heart.” Better old Mrs Mavsey’s malignant sneers than the displeasure and disapproval of her two dear ladies. As for Ned —if he believed ill of her so easily, she was well rid of him.

In a month’s time pretty Peggy Wyse became Mrs Nat Berry and the thatched, flower-clad cottage owned a ne’er-do-well as master.

Peggy soon realised that Nat’s wooing. uncouth as it was, ceased on possession, and that a cuff or a push came handier from him than a kiss. She shed bitter tears in secret, for as quickly as gilt is worn from gingerbread, so (lid the glamour of Nat’s lawlessness depart, revealing him as'a rough bully, fond of drink, with a liking for other folks’ property, and a roving eye for the village girl. A day came when Ned appeared at the garden gate to speak to Nat, to warn him that some depredations of his were known, and that he would be dealt witix accordingly if he were seen about the coverts again. Nat was out, and Peggy took the message. (Her blue eves looked sad, Ned thought, and his heart beat hotly at the sight of her iliin cheeks and the bruises oil her bare aims.

“Isn’t he kind to you?” he burst out impulsively. Pegfifv 7 s face flamed, and lest should see her sudden tears she ran into the house.

When Nat returned lie was in a quarrelsome mood, and he worked himself into furious temper over Ned’s visit. There was to be. no hanging round Ills wife when he was out; he’d wallop her well if he caught her. Tie wasn’t to go into tin* park, or neai\tlie coverts, wasn’t, he? Was England a free country or not, he wished to know?

It was an unhappy home, and Peggy, though very lonely, kept herself to herself, and never complained. The village had thought it unbefitting for a young girl like her to inherit a cottage and every stick and stone in it, anil a tidy bit of money as well. They had objected to her living alone, and had said ill would come of it. and ill had come of it, and they felt themselves justified; perhaps if she had crawled to them for sympathy they would have relented, but they could nor forgive her her pride, and thus the talk went on.

‘ ‘ Agetting into ’er bedroom window, Mint’s wot ee wor n ’doing, :m ’ she asending off Ned Salter as imperent. Old Men Johnson ee see it. all; lie wor .just a’setting be’ind the bush in ’is gardin, and 'ee beekens to Mrs Maysov over the 'edge. ‘Missis, ’ lie says, ‘come an’ take a peek, see through they branches wot Nat Perry be a-dooin’ of.’ Eh! an ’ a fine way they was in to get married to be sure, she wot ’eld her nose so ’igh! ” Much more they said, judging Peggy by their own standard, as all gossips do. liven kind Mrs Watson treated her as a back slider, but that was chiefly liecause Peggy’s reserve had puzzled and hurt both her and Mrs Vcrriker, while the sudden marriage had given ■colour te the scandal. They never guessed how often Peggy had regretted her silence. If she had told them the truth she might have braved the village tongues and Nat, and eventually married Ned.

Nat! That was a line along which her thought must not travel, though she often wondered what he had heard and how much ill lie believed of her. There was little money in the house. Peggy, too proud to ask for needlework at the rectory and court, since they disapproved of her, sewed for a few of the villagers and farmers’ wives, did a hand’s turn here and there, and mainly provided for the food they ate. It was fortunate for the Perrys that there was no rent to pay, for even so Peggy had to part with some of the nice furniture so prized by hor Grannie, to pay her way. Nat came home most days the worse for drink. What little money he made soon disappeared, how Peggy never knew. lie brooded continually, and gave vent to his temper in cruel actions. And so, lurching home one day he kicked a passing black kitten out of his path, and landed it stunned al old Mrs May,soy’s feet. The old woman gathered ii up to hor thin breast and shook a withered list at Nat.

‘‘ Curse-ee, ’ ’ she cried, “curse-ee, and that proud besom, ver wife.” “Hold ver jaw, ye old limb of Satan.” retorted Nat., “you should be killed for a witch if all got their desserts,” he muttered as lie passed her on his wav to his own gate.

“Witch and limb o’ Satan, lie T?” she shrilled after him. “Killed, is it? Maybe there’s a bit o’ killing coinin' to such as yon; we’ll see, we’ll see! If vnu dies my little kitty-cat, summit will happen to Nat Perry, an’ that’s as true as there's eyes to me face, and nails to me lingers and thumbses, ” she grumbled as she went into her cottage with the little creature, and there as she laid it on her hearth its body slackened and its eves glazed over —it lay dead.

Mother Maysov uttered a bitter imprecation at the sight, she shuttered her window and bolted the door, she lit several candles and indulged in some unlovely ceremonial that vindicated local gossip about her.

Shortly after, Ned Salter, suspecting the poverty of the land, brought a rabbit for the dinner pot and called Peggy to the gate. As she returned with it to the cottage something dark and lithe made as if to spring on the yet warm animal in her hands.

“Gosh! That’s a stoat,” exclaimed Ned, “they don’t often come amongst folk unless really hunger-drove.” Ned’s voice and action had frightened the animal away; and Peggy, somewhat scared, made haste into the cottage. It. was the savoury smell of the ensuing stew that provoked Nat to wrath when ho returned hungry and demandid whence it came.

“Neither you nor I’ll eat ought of Ned’s,” said lie, and the pottage was heaved through the open window on to Peggy’s roses, to the sinister enjoyment of Mother Maysey. Nat’s evil mood had not lessened by the next day. Peggy’s eyes and body were red and sore with weeping' and blows. He had uttered dire threats against Ned, and she longed to send some word of warning, but Ned, she realised, would only laugh at any hint of danger concerning himself. Nat did not return for dinner, nor vet for tea, nor yet for supper, neither had Ned passed* the cottage as he so frequently did. But next day Peggy saw a dead shrew mouse on the road outside her gate as she went out to shop in the village. “Bain’t either of ’em about m’ dear?” asked old Mrs. Maysey, spitefully, when she saw her. “’Tis gen’ally one when t’othcr’s not by, ain’t it? And you’re looking at a dead shrew mouse, ’tis a sign of death they do say; I wuuncr who’s?” “Yours, may be!” retorted Peggy, stung to defence. Mrs. Maysey did not reply, but with a furious glance retired into her own domains. In the end Peggy and Ned met accidentally at a stile from which a footpath ran through a thicket into the park. “Don’t-ee worry, my dear,” said Ned. “Thee was afeared for me and Nat?” And then seeiug the strained look in her eyes, the pallor and thinness of her cheeks, love and pity surged in his heart. He covered her toil stained hand with his.

“Cheer up,” he added, “you’ll win Nat to better ways yet, and I’m big and broad enough to look after myself, so don’t fret about me.”

“Fretting about you, is she? cried Nat, bursting suddenly upon them. “Old/Mother Maysey told me where I should find you, Peggy, an’ now I’ve found you I’ll see you’ve something to fret about.”

Taking her by the arm, Nat dragged her roughly home; once there he beat her cruelly, flinging her faint and bruised on v the floor. There he left her and returned to the park, whilst Mother Maysey, muttering and moaning to herself, watched him go, and a thin dark shadow slipped over the ground behind him and lost itself in the tangle of grass and weeds beside the road.

Nat, sodden with drink and mad with unreasoning jealousy, lurched over the stile and through the thicket to a glade beyond, through which Ned would probably pass on his way home; if his enemy did not come to-day he would return to-morrow; sooner or later he would have him. He sank down amongst the bracken -where he could see whoever emerged from the wood into the glade without being seen, then lie would attack unexpectedly in the rear. lie fingered his knife; he never considered the conscquncs of murder. lie felt safe. No one knew where he had gone, nor had seen liis knife, which could easily be disposed of. 11 is dulled brain worked no further. Exhausted with his late violence and lulled by the endless hum of insects and the torrid heat of an August afternoon, Nat’s eyes closed, his head drooped, his hands relaxed, and he subsided into a profound slumber. Even the sharp pang of a sting or bite caused ‘nothing more than an aimless flutter of his hand.

Later on Ned would have passed him by but. for something long and slinky that crossed his path. “You varmint, you,” he cried, his keeper’s instincts aroused, and he hurled his heavy stick after the gorged animal. Then in the bracken he saw Nat, aslee.p, a knife in his slack hand. Ned smiled grimly as he bent to relieve his sleeping foe of the knife, then lie started back. i “’Twas the stoat done it,” he explained later to Peggy. “I’d bin after ja stoat for a long while, and you sec, Peggy, if it hadn’t adone for Nat, most likely Nat would have adone for niche had his knife all ready.” “He would adone you in your back,” sobbed Peggy. “Well, he didn’t, you see, Peggy, and so you’d better keep your tears to cool your porridge.” Peggy smiled at the old “saw,” “There, that be better,” consoled Ned; “it didn’t take me long to see what had happened, the bite with blood oozing, and the varmint what 1 killed his mouth all red with the same.”

“A stoat has been hanging about all summer, ever since Nat killed MotherMaysey’s kitten. I’m rare glad you killed it. Queer weren’t it how the old witch died—a shriek she gave fair made me heart stand still, and I run out, .and she all in a heap on the path. ■Six it was, for the church clock had just stopped chiming,” said Peggy. “And 6 it was astriking as I broke the back of that there stoat with mv knobby stick. But don’t lht’s talk of stoats'an’ witched, Peggy; tell me how soon you’ll have me, for you need a bit of caring for after all you’ve been through.” And so as soon as the decencies permitted (and villages are rightly very particular), Ned and Peggy were quietlv married.

Mrs Verriker and Mrs Watson had heard the whole tale from the beginning, and Peggy confessed with tears Irow her pride and independence had 'prevented her confiding in them, and they, rejoicing exceedingly to welcome their favourite back, helped with all the village to make the wedding day, bright and happy. ‘‘l once thought 1 could never leave Rose Gottage,” said Peggy, nestling close to her husband; “but I’m glad 'tis let. and this is heaven. It’s fine to be a keeper’s wife!” “ ’Tis always best that a man bring his wife to his own place,” returned Ned as he led her into the once-des-pised keeper’s house.