Collected works of j s f.., p.49
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 49
By this time Dennis Watson was grown up to manhood and took his full share in the affairs of his father’s business. He was a tall, fine-looking man, not by three inches as tall as myself, but exceedingly well proportioned and handsome in countenance, so that the maidens in that neighbourhood were used to say he was the best-looking fellow in the county. Yet for all his good looks there was something about his face, whether in eyes or mouth I cannot say, which made me feel that I could never have trusted or liked him, even if he had not been a Watson and therefore my rightful enemy. Some people may say that I had a prejudice against him and that my dislike to him arose therefrom; but, as events proved, I was right in what I thought. For he was not only false and treacherous, but cruel and revengeful, as you will see in the course of this history. Yea, I think that if his father were possessed of bad qualities, they were increased and multiplied in Dennis.
It was drawing near to the end of winter, when I had occasion one Saturday to go to Doncaster market, instead of proceeding, as was my wont, to the market at Pontefract, and in consequence of this it was somewhat late in the evening when I reached home again, being further delayed by a heavy storm of snow, which came upon me as I rode between Barnsdale and Wentbridge. Now, when I came into the kitchen I found the two girls, Lucy and Rose, busied in drying many garments of female attire at a great fire, as if they had been out in the storm, like myself, and had got wet through, which I was not, being protected by my great cloak that has kept me dry and warm in all sorts of weather for half a century. So when I came to question them, it appeared that they had desired to go into Pontefract market that afternoon and had walked thither by way of Darrington. And there, as girls will, they had tarried so long looking at the goods exposed for sale in the mercer’s shops, that the darkness came upon them ere they were out of the town, and to make matters worse, the snowstorm overtook them as they came over Swanhill.
“But there,” said Rose, who had told me all this news, “a good Samaritan was riding by in his light cart, and seeing our plight, he offered us a lift and brought us home to the very orchard gate, which was a kind thing to do, for we had been wet through else.”
“And who was your cavalier?” I asked.
“Nay,” she answered, “I know him not, but so far as one could see he was a handsome young man, and very well spoken too, and did for us all that he could.”
“Did you know him, Lucy?” I inquired, turning to my sister, who was busied with some article of finery at the fire.
“Yes,” said Lucy, with something of reluctance I thought. “Yes, I knew him, Will, but I fear you will be angry if I tell you his name. For it was Dennis Watson, brother, who gave us a ride home.”
“Dennis Watson!”
“You need not look so much astonished,” said Lucy, who was half ready to weep. “If you had seen what a plight we were in you would have excused us.”
“Why,” said Rose, “for what are we to be excused, pray? Is there any harm, Master Will, in two young women accepting such timely help?”
“You do not understand,” I said. “This Watson is our deadly enemy, and Lucy knows that she should never have so much as speech with him. For shame, Lucy! You should have walked through a wilderness of snow rather than accepted help from him.”
Now, I spoke so sharply that poor Lucy, who was very tender-hearted, and had been completely spoiled for aught but soft speeches by that simpleton, Ben Tuckett, began to shed tears and otherwise exhibit much emotion. Of which conduct I took no heed, continuing to upbraid her sharply, until I saw Mistress Rose’s cheeks grow red and her eyes bright, and presently she turned upon me very fiercely and looked at me so indignantly that I became silent.
“Go your ways, Master Dale,” she said. “You are too bad and too cruel, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for speaking to poor Lucy in this unmanly fashion. A pretty thing indeed that we may not accept a little gallantry without being spoken to in this fashion!”
“Indeed, Mistress Rose,” I said, “I am not addressing myself to you, but to Lucy there, who knows—”
“Lucy knows that if we had not accepted Master Watson’s kindness we should have caught our deaths of cold,” she answered; “but that perhaps would have suited you better, so that your naughty pride should not be injured. For shame, Master Dale! And now go away and let me comfort Lucy. You should have Master Drumbleforth to lecture you for your unkindness to your sister.”
And therewith she made up to Lucy and put her arms round her, turning her own pretty face towards me with such a look of injury that I was completely subdued, and stumbled out of the kitchen, wondering how it is that a woman can beat a man nine times out of ten. For there was not a man in all Yorkshire could have scolded me with impunity, and yet I dared not say a word to Mistress Rose Lisle. So away I went to my chamber to change my own damp garments, and returning after a little time found Rose alone in the great kitchen, Lucy having gone to assist my mother in some household duty. Now, they had left to Rose the task of giving me my supper, so there she was ready to wait upon me, which she did very dutifully. Perhaps I looked somewhat ashamed of myself for my recent conduct (though indeed, upon reflection, I know not what there was to be ashamed of), and Rose, seeing it, thought to give me some comfort, for presently, while I was eating and drinking, and she sitting near busied with some woman’s work of sewing or shaping, she gave me a timid glance and said that she feared she had spoken too sharply but a little while ago, and begged my pardon for doing so.
“Though indeed, Will,” she continued, “you were too hard upon poor Lucy, who meant no ill. Do you really think she did wrong to accept Master Watson’s help?”
“Yes,” I said shortly, meaning not to be forced from my position on any account. “Yes, because she knew that the man is our enemy.”
“To have heard him speak,” she said, “I should not have thought him to be any one’s enemy.”
“I know not how he speaks,” I answered. “Rough-spoken or soft-spoken, our enemy he is.”
“But why should you be enemies?” she asked. “Surely it is best to be at peace with all, is it not?”
“I cannot answer that, Mistress Rose. I suppose Parson Drumbleforth would say that it is, and therefore I ought to say so too; but, you see, the Dales and Watsons have always been at enmity, and always will be.”
“Nay,” she said, “why should they? Must strife go on for ever? Why do you not heal your differences and be at peace?”
“Mistress Rose,” I said, “did you never hear tell of my father’s foul murder? Slain he was, as cruelly as ever man was slain — shot down on the high-road as if he had been a dog.”
“Yes,” she said, “I have heard of it.”
“And did you not know that we believe that Rupert Watson, the father of this Dennis, to have been the murderer? Yea, that we do! And now you know why these Watsons are our enemies, and why we must have neither part nor lot with them.”
She was silent for a little time after that, and sat diligently plying her needle.
“But, Master Dale,” she said after a time, “do you really think that this Master Rupert Watson killed your father? Can any man be so cruel as to commit such a deed? Might it not have been the work of some robber who was alarmed at the coming of others, and rode away after firing upon your poor father? It seems so hard to think that any man could foully slay another like that.”
“It may seem so to one like yourself,” I said; “but so far as I have seen, a man will do anything for revenge. And Rupert Watson had need of revenge.”
“But if he did it,” she said, “his son had naught to do with the wickedness. And it is so much better to be at peace with one’s neighbours that it would seem more kind not to visit the father’s faults on the son. It is not right, is it, to blame one for what another has done, nor to think the son is bad because the father was?”
“I know not whether it be right or wrong, Mistress Rose,” I answered; “but this I do know, that Dennis Watson comes of a bad stock and is our enemy, and will always be.”
So after that she said no more, only she seemed to think that I was one of an unforgiving temper. But I could not find it in my heart to think well of any Watson.
Now, the next morning was fine and frosty, and in accordance with our usual custom we walked along the high-road to the morning service at Darrington church. And we had not long been seated in the church when I caught sight of Dennis Watson, who occupied a seat near our own, and who was looking boldly upon Rose. Thereat a thought then struck me which sent me first hot and then cold, and made my blood tingle in my veins. What if this ancient enemy of mine had seen Rose Lisle only to covet her and wish to win her for himself? Indeed there was no reason why he should not fall in love with Rose Lisle if his heart inclined that way. But I felt that if such a thing should ever come to pass as that he should win her, then —
But there I thought no more of it, only I made a great vow that Rose should be mine and mine only, whatever might come.
Dennis Watson, however, had evidently some project on his mind, for no sooner was the last “Amen” said than he hurried out of church and stood waiting us when we came through the porch, where he stood bowing and scraping to the two girls, who were going out first. He was dressed very fine and his grand clothes looked gay and modish in comparison with my own sober garments. When I came up with them, he was already addressing the girls, Rose accepting his remarks with a polite air, but Lucy shrinking back as if frightened, as indeed she was, knowing that I was behind her.
“I was but too glad to be able to do a little service to two ladies,” Dennis was saying as I strode up behind. “Mistress Lucy, I trust, was—”
But there I spoke myself.
“Mistress Lucy Dale, sir, is grateful for the service you did her, as I expect she told you at the time, so that I know no need for more to be said.”
And with that I drew Lucy’s arm within my own and turned away. But I saw the same dark flush rise to Dennis Watson’s face and the same look come into his eyes which I remembered of old when we were schoolboys together.
“As you please, Master Dale,” said he. “You seem inclined for enmity rather than friendship.”
“Between you and me,” I answered, “there can be no friendship, Master Dennis Watson. There is blood between us.”
Now, I would not have said that upon reflection, but it had slipped my lips ere I was aware. His face went pale and he glared at me angrily.
“So you accuse us of murder, do you?” he whispered, walking close to my side. “There shall be more blood between us if you like. Meet me in Went Woods tomorrow at sunrise and let us settle our difference, Master Dale. The sooner the better to my mind.”
“As you will,” I said, and walked onward. He had spoken in a low voice and the girls had not heard him. But I had heard, and comprehended, and now there I was face to face with the ancient quarrel, which it seemed that nothing could stamp out.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THE MEETING IN THE WOODS.
I SUPPOSE that I was very quiet and reflective during that walk home from church, for more than once Mistress Rose Lisle rallied me on my silence. And indeed I had cause for reflection, for I knew that what had passed between me and Dennis Watson meant serious business. I was not the man to draw back when he spoke of meeting to settle our difference, for I had no fear either of him or of death. But I do not think any man, however brave he may be, can choose but think seriously when he is about to fight a duel. There he is with a very great chance of being shot, and more chance, I suppose, than in a pitched battle. Now, if I were to be shot and killed it would be a very unpleasant thing in more senses than one. For the women would be left defenceless and the farm would be without master, and everything would be at sixes and sevens, to say nothing of the grief that would result. However, what must be, must be, and it was perhaps as well that the old quarrel had broken out again sooner than later. I knew right well that Dennis Watson and myself could never be other than enemies, and when there is a feeling like that betwixt two men, bloodshed is certain to result. So when I had come to that conclusion, I strove to put the matter from me and to talk and think of other things. But in spite of my endeavours I could not quite keep the matter out of my mind, and presently I found myself wishing that Jack Drumbleforth were at home so that I could ask his advice. For Jack was skilled in the conduct of all these sort of matters and would have been sure to give me wise counsel.
I was not, however, to go quite without an adviser, for when we reached home we found Ben Tuckett seated in the parlour, he having walked over the hill from Pontefract to pay his usual Sunday visit to Lucy. I was very glad to see honest Ben, and determined to confide in him. Yet I would much rather have seen Jack’s face, for Ben, though a true friend and a trusty, was very fond of preserving his own skin and other people’s too, and hated the sight of pistol or sword. Nevertheless I determined to press him into service on this occasion.
After dinner I got Ben out of the house on pretence of wishing to show him a new cow which I had purchased the previous day at Doncaster. Ben was somewhat slow in responding to my invitation, for it was a bitter cold day outside, and the fire in my mother’s parlour looked very inviting. Moreover, there were some fine apples and walnuts on the table, and Lucy had picked out a remarkably large pear for Ben to try his teeth on, so that he gazed longingly around him as I led him forth, and shivered when we turned into the fold.
“Come, Ben,” I said, “you can surely stand ten minutes of cold weather. You did not notice the cold, I warrant, as you came along this morning!”
“No,” said he; “for then, Will, I was coming into Paradise, but now I am going away from it. Did you never notice that the schoolboy goes slowly to school and quickly from it? Likewise that a horse comes home from market faster than it goes? Show me this wonderful cow, Will, and let us go back to the fire and the girls.”
“Never mind the cow,” I said, “it is not worth seeing. Come in here, Ben, into the granary. It is warm enough here for anything. You see, I have something to tell you and could not tell it before the women.”
“Oh,” said he, “now I see what you would have. Well, out with it, Will, for your granary is, after all, but a draughty place.”
“Ben,” I said, “what would you say if I told you I was going to fight a duel?”
“Why, I should say more fool you,” answered Ben.
“That is just what I thought. Well, I am going to fight a duel.”
“Then I cannot say anything less, Will. A duel! Well, I had a better opinion of you than that.”
“Do you think I want to fight, man? Not I, indeed; but there are times when a man is forced to fight.”
“I do not believe it,” said he. “For look you, Will, if a man wanted to fight me, I should tell him that I valued my life too dearly to expose it in that mad fashion. For life and liberty I would fight hard enow, but I would not put myself within twelve yards of another man’s pistol for him to shoot at in cold blood. That I call rank folly.”
“Well, so it may be, Ben, but you would not have me a coward?”
“I know thee, Will, for as brave a lad as ever stepped, but thou wouldst not wax braver in my estimation by fighting a hundred duels.”
“This one, however, I must fight, Ben. There is no question about it.”
“And with what other fool art thou going to fight, Will?”
“With Dennis Watson.”
Ben nodded his head significantly.
“Oh,” said he, “so that old sore is reopened, is it? The sleeping dogs will not lie, eh, Will.”
“They might have slept for ever if it had rested with me, lad. And yet perhaps not. So far as I can see it is impossible for us Dales and Watsons to be at aught but enmity. Do you remember, Ben, that occasion when Dennis and I fought behind the high wall in the school-yard?”
“Yea, very well.”
“After I had fairly beaten him he came up to me and told me that he hated me, and always should hate me, and would cause me such trouble as would make me wish that I had never been born. So that you see, Ben, hatred like that is not like to die out.”
“Lads,” replied Ben, “will say aught. You should have fallen upon him and given him another thrashing for his naughty speech. But this present disagreement — how came it about?”
“In this wise. It would seem that Dennis Watson gave Lucy and Mistress Rose a lift from the market on Saturday evening, and I was very grieved on account of that, and did chide Lucy very sharply therefor, as indeed I had a right to, for she is not thy wife yet, Master Benjamin.”
“Go on, lad, go on. You were always masterful over your womenkind.”
“Well, then, up springs Mistress Rose and flouts me most unmercifully, so that I had never a word to say. Yea, and looked at me, Ben, like a queen, so that I was quite ashamed of myself, saying that I was unkind to Lucy, and I know not what.”
“I am glad she hath such a spirit,” said Ben.
“Then this morning we went our ways to church, and there was this Watson in fine clothes like a jay, and when we came out he must be bowing and smiling to the two maidens, until I cut it short by telling him that I supposed my sister had already thanked him for his service, and therefore there was no need to say more. And at that he asks if I am for enmity or friendship, or something to that effect, to which I replied that there could never be aught but enmity between us. So then he said that we had best settle our difference, and if I would meet him in Went Wood, to-morrow at sunrise we would settle it. And now, Ben, you know all about it.”
“And a poor tale it is,” said Ben. “Why should you reply that there must always be enmity between you?”
“Because his father murdered mine.”
