“Ugh! What's got into the milk? Is Neckland trying to poison you or something? Have you tasted it? It's as bitter as sloes!”
She pulled a puzzled face. “I thought it tasted rather strange, but not unpleasant. Here, let me try again.”
“No, it's too horrible. Some Sloane's Liniment must have got mixed in it.”
Despite his warning, she put her lips to the metal spoon and sipped, then shook her head. “You're imagining things, Greg. It does taste a bit different, 'tis true, but there's nothing wrong with it. You'll stay to take a bite with us, I hope?”
“No, Nancy, I'm off now. I have a letter awaiting me that I must answer; it arrived when I was in Norwich. Listen, my lovely Nancy, this letter is from Dr. Hudson-Ward, an old aquaintance of my father's. He is headmaster of a school in Gloucester, and he wishes me to join the staff there as a teacher on most favorable terms. So you see I may not be idle much longer!”
Laughing, she clung to him. “That's wonderful, my darling! What a handsome schoolmaster you will make. But Gloucester that's over the other side of the country. I suppose we shan't be seeing you again once you get there,”
“Nothing's settled yet, Nancy.”
“You'll be gone in a week and we shan't never see you again. Once you get to that there old school, you will never think of your Nancy no more.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “Are you my Nancy? Do you care for me?”
Her eyelashes came over her dark eyes. “Greg, things are so muddled here1 meanyes, I do care, I dread to think I'd not see you again.”
Recalling her saying that, he rode away a quarter of an hour later very content at heartand entirely neglectful of the dangers to which he left her exposed.
Rain fell lightly as Gregory Rolles made his way that evening to “The Wayfarer” inn. His friend Bruce Fox was already there, ensconced in one of the snug seats of the inglenook.
On this occasion. Fox was more interested in purveying details of his sister's forthcoming wedding than in listening to what Gregory had to tell, and since some of his future brother– in-law's friends soon arrived, and had to buy and be bought libations, the evening became a merry and thoughtless one. And in a short while, the ale having its good effect, Gregory also forgot what he wanted to say and began whole-heartedly to enjoy the company.
Next morning, he awoke with a heavy head and in a dismal state of mind. The day was too wet for him to go out and take exercise. He sat moodily in a chair by the window, delaying an answer to Dr. Hudson-Ward, the headmaster. Lethargically, he returned to a small leather-bound volume on serpents that he had acquired in Norwich a few days earlier. After a while, a passage caught his particular attention:
“Most serpents of the venomous variety, with the exception of the opisthoglyphs, release their victims from their fangs after striking. The victims die in some cases in but a few seconds, while in other cases the onset of moribundity may be delayed by hours or days. The saliva of some of the serpents contains not only venom but a special digestive virtue. The deadly Coral Snake of Brazil, though attaining no more than a foot in length, has this virtue in abundance. Accordingly, when it bites an animal or a human being, the victim not only dies in profound agony in a matter of seconds, but his interiors parts are then dissolved, so that even the bones become no more than jelly. Then may the little serpent suck all of the victim out as a kind of soup or broth from the original wound in its skin, which latter alone remains intact.”
For a long while, Gregory sat where he was in the window, with the book open in his lap, thinking about the Grendon farm, and about Nancy. He reproached himself for having done so little for his friends there, and gradually resolved on a plan of action the next time he rode out; but his visit was to be delayed for some days: the wet weather had set in with more determination than the end of April and the beginning of May generally allowed.
Gregory tried to concentrate on a letter to the worthy Dr. Hudson-Ward in the county of Gloucestershire. He knew he should take the job, indeed he felt inclined to do so; but first he knew he had to see Nancy safe. The indecisions he felt caused him to delay answering the doctor until the next day, when he feebly wrote that he would be glad to accept the post offered at the price offered, but begged to have a week to think about it. When he took the letter down to the post-woman in “The Three Poachers,” the rain still fell.
One morning, the rains were suddenly vanished, the blue and wide East Anglian skies were back, and Gregory saddled up Daisy and rode .out along the mirey track he had so often taken. As he arrived at the farm. Grubby and Neckland were at work in the ditch, unblocking it with shovels. He saluted them and rode in. As he was about to put the mare into the stables, he saw Grendon and Nancy standing on the patch of waste ground under the windowless east side of the house. He went slowly to join them, noting as he walked how dry the ground was here, as if no rain had fallen in a fortnight. But this observation was drowned in shock as he saw the nine little crosses Grendon was sticking into nine freshly turned mounds of earth.
Nancy stood weeping. They both looked up as Gregory approached, but Grendon went stubbornly on with his task.
“Oh, Nancy, Joseph, I'm so sorry about this!” Gregory exclaimed. “To think that they've allbut where's the parson? Where's the parson, Joseph? Why are you burying them, with– out a proper service or anything?”
“I told Father, but he took no heedl” Nancy exclaimed. Grendon had reached the last grave. He seized the last crude wooden cross, lifted it above his head, and stabbed it down into the ground as if he would pierce the heart of what lay under it. Only then did he straighten and speak.
“We don't need a parson here. I've got no time to waste with parsons. I have work to do if you ent.”
“But these are your children, Joseph! What has got into you?”
“They are part of the farm now, as they always was.” He turned, rolling his shirt sleeves further up his brawny arms, and strode off in the direction of the ditching activities.
Gregory took Nancy in his arms and looked at her tear– stained face. “What a time you must have been having these last few days!”
“I1 thought you'd gone to Gloucester, Greg! Why didn't you come? Every day I waited for you to cornel”
“It was so wet and flooded.”
“It's been lovely weather since you– were last here. Look how everything has grown!”
“It poured with rain every single day in Cottersall.”
“Well, I never! That explains why there is so much water flowing in the Oast and in the ditches. But we've had only a few light showers.”
“Nancy, tell me, how did these poor little mites die?”
“I'd rather not say, if you don't mind.”
“Why didn't your father get in Parson Landon? How could he be so lacking in feeling?”
“Because he didn't want anyone from the outside world to know. You seeoh, I must tell you, my dearit's Mother. She has gone completely off her head, completely! It was the evening before last, when she took her first turn outside the back door.”
“You don't mean to say she”
“Ow, Greg, you're hurting my arms! Sheshe crept upstairs when we weren't noticing and sheshe stifled each of the babies in turn, Greg, under the best goose feather pillow.”
He could feel the color leaving his cheeks. Solicitously, she led him to the back of the house. They sat together on the orchard railings while he digested the words in silence.
“How is your mother now, Nancy?”
“She's silent. Father had to bar her in her room for safety. Last night she screamed a lot. But this morning she's quiet.”
He looked dazedly about him. The appearance of everything was speckled, as if the return of his blood to his head somehow infected it with a rash. The blossom had gone almost entirely from the fruit trees in the orchard and already the embryo apples showed signs of swelling. Nearby, broad beafas bowed under enormous pods. Seeing his glance, Nancy dipped into her apron pocket and produced a bunch of shining crimson radishes as big as tangerines.