FullReads

“I haven’t set eyes on him,” said Parson Polsue.

“I saw him!” piped up a woman in the crowd. “I saw him about six this morning. He was walking along the foreshore towards Mr. Grandison’s.”

At this everyone turned to the Curate; but he shook his head. “Major Dyngwall has not called on me this morning. Indeed, I have not seen him.”

“Then run you and search–half a dozen of you!” commanded John a Hall. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, I warn you. And as for you, Dr. Macann, and you, Mr. Saule–if you haven’t learnt the difference between honest fighting and poisoning–kidnapping–murder, maybe–“

But he got no further. “That’s enough of big words,” said a voice, very quiet, but so that all had to listen: and behold, there was Kitty Lebow mounting the steps, as cool as cream in a dairy.

She landed on the platform and took a glance about her, and the folk read in her eye that she had come to enjoy herself. “Reckon I have a right here so well as the best of you, since you put me on the Rate List,” says she, with a dry sort of twinkle. And with that she rounded on John a Hall. “I think I heard you talkin’ of poison, Mr. Martin,” says she, “not to mention kidnapping, and worse. And you asked, or my ears deceived me, if we knew the difference between poison and fair play? Well, we do. And likewise we know the difference between sickness and shamming; and likewise, again, the difference between making a demonstration in church and walking out because you’ve three fingers of White Ale inside you and it don’t lie down with your other vittles. I ask ye, folks all,”–and here she swung round to the crowd–“did ever one of you hear that Christiana Lebow’s White Ale was poison? Hasn’t it been known and famous in this town before ever a Martin came to trouble us? And hasn’t it times and again steadied my own inside when it rebelled against their attorney’s– tricks? Well now, I tell you, I gave three fingers of it to Lord William yesterday when he called in the way of politeness on his road to church: and sorry I am for the young man; and wouldn’t ha’ done it if I guessed he’d been taking coffee with his breakfast. For White Ale and coffee be like Bottrells and Martins: they weren’t made to mix. And another three fingers I doled out to the old Squire, and more by token ’twas the first time he’d ever darkened my threshold. That’s my story: ’tis truth from a truth-speaking woman. And now if any silly fellow is going to vote Whig because o’ yesterday, all I can say is–let him drink a breakfast cup of coffee and come to me for a glass of the other stuff; and if in forty minutes’ time he’s got any particular concern about Church matters, you may call me a–a–Martin!”

“That’s all very well, ma’am,” shouted John a Hall, as soon as he could make himself heard for the laughing. “But it don’t account for the Major.”

“‘Twasn’t meant to, my son,” snapped Kitty, by this time in high good humour over her success as a public speaker. “But you started to talk about poison, so I thought I’d correct ‘ee before you made a second goose of yourself over kidnapping.”

But just at this moment a couple of men came running and shouting from the far end of the street.

“We’ve found ‘en! We’ve found ‘en!”

“Where is he to?” and “I told you so!” cried John a Hall and Kitty both in one breath.

“He’s over ‘pon the Island, making love to Mrs. Lebow’s youngest daughter, Lally! The tide’s cut ’em off; but Arch’laus Trebilcock’s put off to fetch ’em home in his new boat!”