Bessie Costrell | Page 8

between them.
His two elder children by his first marriage had long since left home.
The girl was in service. It troubled him to think of the boy, who had
fallen into bad ways early. Bessie's children were all small, and she
herself still young, though over thirty.
When Bessie came up to him, she looked round to see that no one
could hear. Then she stooped and told him her errand in a panting
whisper. He must go down and fetch the box at once. She had promised
John Borrofull that they would stand by him. They were his own flesh
and blood--and the cupboard had a capital lock--and there wasn't no
fear of it at all.
Isaac listened to her at first with amazement, then sulkily. She had
talked to him often certainly about John's money, but it had made little
impression on his dreamer's sense. And now her demand struck him
disagreeably.
He didn't want the worrit of other people's money, he said. Let them as
owned it keep it; filthy lucre was a snare to all as had to do with it; and
it would only bring a mischief to have it in the house.
After a few more of these objections, Bessie lost her temper. She broke
into a torrent of angry arguments and reproaches, mainly turning, it
seemed, upon a recent visit to the house of Isaac's eldest son. The
drunken ne'er-do-weel had given Bessie much to put up with. Oh
yes!--she was to be plagued out of her life by Isaac's belongings, and he
wouldn't do a pin's worth for her. Just let him see next time, that was
all.
Isaac smoked vigorously through it all. But she was hammering on a
sore point.
"Oh, it's just like yer!" Bessie flung at him at last in desperation.
"You're allus the same--a mean-spirited feller, stannin' in your
children's way! 'Ow do you know who old John's going to leave his
money to? 'Ow do you know as he wouldn't leave it to them poor
innercents"--she waved her hand tragically towards the children playing

in the road--"if we was just a bit nice and friendly with him now 'ee's
gettin' old? But you don't care, not you!--one 'ud think yer were made o'
money--an' that little un there not got the right use of his legs!"
She pointed, half crying, to the second boy, who had already shown
signs of hip disease.
Isaac still smoked, but he was troubled in his mind. A vague
presentiment held him, but the pressure brought to bear upon him was
strong.
"I tell yer the lock isn't a good 'un!" he said, suddenly removing his
pipe.
Bessie stopped instantly in the middle of another tirade. She was
leaning against the door, arms akimbo, eyes alternately wet and
flaming.
"Then, if it isn't," she said, with a triumphant change of tone, "I'll soon
get Flack to see to it--it's nobbut a step. I'll run up after supper."
Flack was the village carpenter.
"An' there's mother's old box as takes up the cupboard," continued Isaac
gruffly.
Bessie burst out laughing.
"Oh! yer old silly," she said. "As if they couldn't stand one top o' the
t'other. Now, do just go, Isaac--there's a lovey! 'Ee's waitin' for yer.
Whatever did make yer so contrairy? Of course I didn't mean nothin' I
said--an' I don't mind Timothy, nor nothin'."
Still he did not move.
"Then I s'pose yer want everybody in the village to know?" he said with
sarcasm.
Bessie was taken aback.

"No--I--don't--" she said undecidedly--"I don't know what yer mean."
"You go back and tell John as I'll come when it's dark, an', if he's not a
stupid, he won't want me to come afore."
Bessie understood and acquiesced. She ran back with her message to
John.
At half-past eight, when it had grown almost dark, Isaac descended the
hill. John opened the door to his knock.
"Good evenin', Isaac. Yer'll take it, will yer?"
"If you can't do nothin' better with it," said Isaac, unwillingly. "But in
gineral I'm not partial on keeping other folk's money."
John liked him all the better for his reluctance.
"It'll give yer no trouble," he said. "You lock it up, an' it'll be all safe.
Now, will yer lend a hand?"
Isaac stepped to the door, looked up the lane, and saw that all was quiet.
Then he came back, and the two men raised the box.
As they crossed the threshold, however, the door of the next
cottage--which belonged to Watson, the policeman--opened suddenly.
John, in his excitement, was so startled that he almost dropped his end
of the box.
"Why, Bolderfield," said Watson's cheery voice, "what have you got
there? Do you want a hand?"
"No, I don't--thank yer kindly," said John in agitation.