Mary Anerley: A Yorkshire TaleBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Mary Anerley: A Yorkshire Tale
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
Mr. Mordacks felt that he had made his footing; but he was not the man
to abide for a week where a day would suit his purpose. His rule was
never to beat about the bush when he could break through it, and he
thought that he saw his way to do so now. Having finished his meal,
he set down his knife with a bang, sat upright in the oaken chair, and
gazed in a bold yet pleasant manner at the sturdy hostess.
“You are wondering what has brought me here. That I will tell you in
a very few words. Whatever I do is straightforward, madam; and all the
world may know it. That has been my character throughout life; and in
that respect I differ from the great bulk of mankind. You Flamborough
folk, however, are much of the very same nature as I am. We ought to
get on well together. Times are very bad--very bad indeed. I could put
a good trifle of money in your way; but you tell the truth without
it, which is very, very noble. Yet people with a family have duties to
discharge to them, and must sacrifice their feelings to affection. Fifty
guineas is a tidy little figure, ma'am. With the famine growing in the
land, no parent should turn his honest back upon fifty guineas. And
to get the gold, and do good at the same time, is a very rare chance
indeed.”
This speech was too much for Widow Precious to carry to her settled
judgment, and get verdict in a breath. She liked it, on the whole, but
yet there might be many things upon the other side; so she did what
Flamborough generally does, when desirous to consider things, as it
generally is. That is to say, she stood with her feet well apart, and
her arms akimbo, and her head thrown back to give the hinder part a
rest, and no sign of speculation in her eyes, although they certainly
were not dull. When these good people are in this frame of mind and
body, it is hard to say whether they look more wise or foolish. Mr.
Mordacks, impatient as he was, even after so fine a dinner, was not far
from catching the infection of slow thought, which spreads itself as
pleasantly as that of slow discourse.
“You are heeding me, madam; you have quick wits,” he said, without any
sarcasm, for she rescued the time from waste by affording a study of the
deepest wisdom; “you are wondering how the money is to come, and whether
it brings any risk with it. No, Mistress Precious, not a particle of
risk. A little honest speaking is the one thing needed.”
“The money cometh scores of times more freely fra wrong-doing.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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