STRANGERS COME TO MARSHFIELDEN
An English summer! The sang merrily, and the trees their heads, time with the melody. The its accompaniment, and all the and were happy.
Marshfielden was, perhaps, one of the villages in Derbyshire. Nestling among the of that county, its were most picturesque. Its street, for it had but one, was by or tourist, for its were unknown to the world. The road was cobbled, and of no pavement, and long gardens, with and nasturtiums, to each of it, to the pretty, little with their and windows.
The little church at the top of the the picture. It was very tiny, only about one hundred and fifty people; but with its ivy-covered towers, and little graveyard, the was a lucky man to have of such a place. Unmarried and he had come to Marshfielden years before, and had with Mrs. Skeet, the cobbler’s wife. Still he remained, having old in the service of his people.
It was a well-known fact, that “our vicar” as Mr. Winthrop was called, had all that time left the of the parish. Children had up and gone away married; old people had died; but 12still Mr. Winthrop on in his kind, manner, those who the of his wisdom, helping those who needed his aid, and still in the little rooms he had rented when he came to Marshfielden, a stranger.
Marshfielden was about seven miles off the main road. As they would have to it by narrow and roads, came its way, and it its old-world simplicity.
Two miles to the south was a mine, in which most of the toiled. It was an one, and not very deep, but it gave to all the who needed work. Strange as it seems, however, by an law, not one of the entered Marshfielden in his or garb. Every one of the men his at “Grimland” as the mine was called, and away the and dirt; so in the evening, when they their way in a to their homes, they returned as fresh and clean as they had left them in the morning.
It was, therefore, an place to live in and as old Mr. Winthrop walked the street, his and his were as he one, then another of his flock.
He stopped at the gate of a pretty, white with a well garden full of sweet-smelling flowers, and the woman who at the gate.
She was and pretty, and love and in her as she over the sleeping at her breast.
“And how’s Jimmy, Mrs. Slater?” he asked.
“Very well indeed, sir, thank you.”
“And you—how are you feeling?”
“Quite all right again, now, sir.”
“That’s right. And your husband?”
“Yes, sir, he’s had a at the mine.”
Mr. Winthrop and was about to pass on, when he noticed an of in the woman’s manner. He looked at her curiously.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Slater?” he asked.
“Have you the news, sir?”
13“No. What news?”
“I be agoin’ to have lodgers.”
“Really?”
“Well I only last night, sir. Bill—he came home and said as ’ow Mr. Dickson, the manager at the mine, had from Sir John Forsyth—”
“The new owner of Grimland?” Mr. Winthrop.
“Yes, sir. Well, he said as ’ow Sir John wanted his to go to the mine and learn the practical of it—and Mr. Dickson was to them rooms near by.”
“Well?”
“Well, Mr. Dickson as ’ow my ’ome is clean—” and Mrs. Slater looked around her little with an air of pride.
“And ’e Bill if I would take them.”
“And so you are going to?”
The woman looked her fearfully. “I’ve a bedroom, sir, which I’ve up, and they can have my parlour. But fancy, sir, two in Marshfielden!”
“It will up,” the “we’ve had to live here since I came—now over years ago.”
“No, sir, that,” on the woman in a low tone. “My used to speak of two ladies who came to Marshfielden when she was a little girl. Artists they were, and strangers. The clergyman’s wife put them up—and—and—”
“Yes?” Mr. Winthrop gently.
“Well, sir, they were one day, and cold, sir, the of the Priory. They had been painting, and their were left standing—but they were dead.”
“What has that to do with the case?” asked the with a little smile.
“Don’t you see, sir,” she on quickly, the same half-scared look into her eyes, “that was the ‘Curse’ that those mishaps, and I am the ‘Curse’ will be on the two gentlemen, too.”
14“Nonsense,” laughed Mr. Winthrop, “You don’t that the ‘Marshfielden Curse’ as you people call it, had anything to do with the deaths of those two lady that over fifty years ago?”
“Indeed I do, sir,” the woman. “Why since the Priory was by Henry the Eighth, the ‘Curse’ has been on this place. That wasn’t the only case, sir. There are records of many others—but that was the last.”
“Let me see,” the vicar, “It’s so long since I it mentioned, that I’ve what it was.”
The woman’s as if she was of something, she not what, but of something mystic, intangible, uncanny—and she slowly:
When the Henry Marshfielden’s took,
Its as a palace, its to his purse,—
The solemnly, by candle, and book
Upon this place for this and curse:
From now until the end of time,
Whene’er a come
Unto Marshfielden’s pleasaunces,
To make his home,
Troubles—disease—misfortunes—death—
Upon the spot shall fall.
So—an’ Marshfielden ye’d swell
With prosperity, and safely dwell,
All from your gates expel,
And live cut off from all.
The laughed. “Yes, it’s a legend, Mrs. Slater, but this is the century, and nothing is likely to to Marshfielden, its or its visitors, of that. Why, I was a when I came, yet nothing very terrible has to me these last years.”
“Ah, sir, you don’t count. I mean, sir, you to the Priory; you are our priest. You wouldn’t come under the ‘Curse’ sir.”
“And neither will any one else, Mrs. Slater. It’s a legend.—Have no fear.”
15“But,” Mrs. Slater. “How do you account for the case of—” But Mr. Winthrop up a hand.
“I cannot to any more, Mrs. Slater.” And a note of authority came into his voice. “Why, all this is against the religion I to you—never to of superstition. Have no fear, do the best you can for the two gentlemen, and I think I can promise you that no will come to them or you.”
The woman her head, and in her eyes. The saw it, and again.
“Well, well! It to be proved that I am right,” said he.
“It to be proved, which of us is right, sir.”
“Very well, we’ll it at that. When do they arrive?”
“About six this evening, sir; the time when the men come home.”
“I will call in this then, and welcome them. Good-bye, Mrs. Slater, and don’t go to or gossip!” And the old man away the street.
That evening, when the to the return of the men-folk, every door was by an face, not only to catch of the two strangers, but also to take another look at the woman who had to the “Marshfielden Curse.”
For in this little village the “Curse” was a real, fact, and was spoken of in the with and glances. Children were and by it, and the by them in their with them till their death. Not one of them but Mary Slater would have its anger by a to sleep her roof; and Mary, although calm, was her action might be the means of and misery, not only on her two lodgers, but on the whole little community.
Dan Murlock, the husband of the little woman at the house, was the to arrive. He came along 16at a pace, and his cap as he saw his wife’s little at the doorway.
“Hullo, Moll,” he cried, when he was speaking “an’ how’s yersel’?”
“I’m all right,” she replied, while their three year old, boy and only child from his mother’s skirts and “Boo” to his dad. The man looked at them both, with as well as in his glance. Even now he was often to remark, that he not make out why a like him should be allowed to own such an wife and child.
“Where’s the strangers?” asked Moll eagerly.
“Comin’ along, lass. Why?”
“Oh, the ‘Curse,’ Dan!”
“Never mind the ‘Curse,’ lass; that’s done with long ago! Is supper yet?”
“Yes, Dan. It’s ready.” But his wife no to re-enter their little home, and the her husband wanted.
“Woman, what are you at?” he cried. “Why do’ant ’ee come in? I’m hungry.”
“In a moment, Dan. I—I—”
“What’s lookin’ at, lass?”
“The strangers, Dan. Think the ‘Curse’—” But Dan only laughed good-humouredly. “Thou’rt a fule, lass. Come in and do’ant about it,” and he good-naturedly put his arm through hers, and the woman into the house.
Most of the outside, however, were still waiting, waiting for the strangers. Then came a of as the news was passed from mouth to mouth. “They’re coming! They’re coming!”
The two men, Alan and Desmond Forsyth, were of all the attention and on them. Of the “Curse” they nothing, and had they done so, would have less.
They were cousins, and on very and terms, and one day would in the Grimland Colliery, of which their uncle was now 17owner. Alan, moreover, would succeed to his uncle’s title. The looked very for these two men.
Sir John was that when they left Cambridge, they should learn the of the mine. The he gave Dickson, his manager, were that he was to “make them work like ordinary until they were to take charge.”
They had on the Continent for six months after from the ’Varsity, and this was their day of real, hard work. It had left them to another day, for they were to learn more of the of the mine the surface of the earth. They had walked toward Marshfielden, to their and have a good meal. They liked Slater, and that they would be and happy in his home.
“How do you feel, gentlemen?” he asked them.
“I’m tired,” answered Alan, the elder, a man of some twenty-five years, while his cousin, Desmond, a year younger, lustily, as he asked, “How much is that little home of yours, Slater?”
“We’re there, sir. There’s my Mary at the gate.”
“What, the little at the bend?” asked Alan.
“Yes, sir. She’s a good lass, is my missus. She’ll you well, and make you and happy.”
The of the way was in silence, and at length the two men across the of Sweet William Cottage, as the Slaters’ home was called.
The room they were into was old-world and sweet. The were open wide, in the soft, fresh air of summer. The was low and beamed, and the was of old dark oak; while the took away all hint of sombreness. The table was laid, and 18a minutes of their they were to an repast.
Neither of them spoke for some time, and then Desmond his knife and with a sigh.
“I’m done” said he.
“I should just think you were” laughed his “You’ve been for over an hour” Alan the for the table to be and then they their pipes.
“How do you feel?” asked Desmond.
“Very tired—very sore—and very bruised”
“So am I. I think I shall like the life of a miner, though”
“Rather! What a set of they are!”
So they on until it was time for them to retire. At peace with each other, at peace with the world, they slept until a at their door them.
“Yes” answered Desmond.
“It’s four o’clock, gentlemen, you’d up”
Alan up to Desmond out in amazement.
“Surely not yet, Slater?”
“Yes, sir. You must be at the mine by five fifteen. Early shift to-day, you know”
“All right, Slater” Alan, who was now wide “we’ll be in twenty minutes”
In a very space of time they had had their breakfast, and were walking across the Grimland to the mine, to once more a day’s duty.
It passed enough, but they were when the for them to off work, and they were taken up to again by the cage.
When they Sweet William Cottage, they Mr. Winthrop them, with for his the night before.
“I’m Mrs. Slater to give us any message from you” said Alan “In we didn’t know you had called”
“I am the of Marshfielden” said the old man “and I should have liked to give you a 19personal welcome. You see the ‘Curse’ has your position here strained”
The two boys at each other in perplexity. The laughed. “None of the have been you with their child’s yet?”
“No!” said boys together, “what is it?”
“Oh, there’s a with this place, that any in Marshfielden will on themselves and on the place, if they take up their here”
“Why?”
“A was on the place by a monk in Henry the Eighth’s time, when the Priory here was dismantled”
“Oh, is that all?” said Alan “We are not of old wives’ like that!”
But Molly Murlock, who was in the with Mary Slater, the words, and her clouded. Drawing her child closer, she as she said good night to Mary—
“‘Curse’ or no ‘Curse,’ I’d be dead, than live to see come here”
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