England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Wessex (England) -- Fiction
Lizzy herself brought in the tray, the girl having run off into the
village during the afternoon, too full of excitement at the proceedings
to remember her state of life. However, almost before the sad lovers
had said anything to each other, Martha came in in a steaming state.
‘O, there’s such a stoor, Mrs. Newberry and Mr. Stockdale! The king’s
excisemen can’t get the carts ready nohow at all! They pulled Thomas
Ballam’s, and William Rogers’s, and Stephen Sprake’s carts into the
road, and off came the wheels, and down fell the carts; and they found
there was no linch-pins in the arms; and then they tried Samuel Shane’s
waggon, and found that the screws were gone from he, and at last they
looked at the dairyman’s cart, and he’s got none neither! They have
gone now to the blacksmith’s to get some made, but he’s nowhere to be
found!’
Stockdale looked at Lizzy, who blushed very slightly, and went out of
the room, followed by Martha Sarah. But before they had got through the
passage there was a rap at the front door, and Stockdale recognized
Latimer’s voice addressing Mrs. Newberry, who had turned back.
‘For God’s sake, Mrs. Newberry, have you seen Hardman the blacksmith up
this way? If we could get hold of him, we’d e’en a’most drag him by the
hair of his head to his anvil, where he ought to be.’
‘He’s an idle man, Mr. Latimer,’ said Lizzy archly. ‘What do you want
him for?’
‘Why, there isn’t a horse in the place that has got more than three
shoes on, and some have only two. The waggon-wheels be without strakes,
and there’s no linch-pins to the carts. What with that, and the bother
about every set of harness being out of order, we shan’t be off before
nightfall—upon my soul we shan’t. ’Tis a rough lot, Mrs. Newberry, that
you’ve got about you here; but they’ll play at this game once too
often, mark my words they will! There’s not a man in the parish that
don’t deserve to be whipped.’
It happened that Hardman was at that moment a little further up the
lane, smoking his pipe behind a holly-bush. When Latimer had done
speaking he went on in this direction, and Hardman, hearing the
exciseman’s steps, found curiosity too strong for prudence. He peeped
out from the bush at the very moment that Latimer’s glance was on it.
There was nothing left for him to do but to come forward with
unconcern.
‘I’ve been looking for you for the last hour!’ said Latimer with a
glare in his eye.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Hardman. ‘I’ve been out for a stroll, to
look for more hid tubs, to deliver ’em up to Gover’ment.’
‘O yes, Hardman, we know it,’ said Latimer, with withering sarcasm. ‘We
know that you’ll deliver ’em up to Gover’ment. We know that all the
parish is helping us, and have been all day! Now you please walk along
with me down to your shop, and kindly let me hire ye in the king’s
name.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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