In the Roar of the Sea. Baring-Gould Sabine
Scantlebray was now left to himself to discuss the chicken wing – the liver wing he had taken – and sip the port; a conversation was going on in an undertone at the window; but that concerned Mr. Cargreen and not himself, so he paid no attention to it.
After a while, however, when this hum ceased, he turned his head, and called out:
“Old man! how about your lunch?”
“I’m coming.”
“And you found the jessamine very sweet?”
“Beautiful! beautiful!”
“Taste this port. It is not what it should be: some the old fellow laid in when he could afford it – before he married. It is passed, and going back; should have been drunk five years ago.”
Mr. Cargreen came to the table, and seated himself. Then Mr. Scantlebray flapped his arms, shook out his legs, and settled himself to the enjoyment of the lunch, in the society of Mr. Cargreen.
“The merry-thought! Pull with me, old man?”
“Certainly!”
Mr. Scantlebray and Mr. Cargreen were engaged on the merry-thought, each endeavoring to steal an advantage on the other, by working the fingers up the bone unduly, when the window was darkened.
Without desisting from pulling at the merry-thought each turned his head, and Scantlebray at once let go his end of the bone. At the window stood Captain Coppinger looking in at the couple, with his elbow resting on the window-sill.
Mr. Scantlebray flattered himself that he was on good terms with all the world, and he at once with hilarity saluted the Captain by raising the fingers greased by the bone to his brow.
“Didn’t reckon on seeing you here, Cap’n.”
“I suppose not.”
“Come and pick a bone with us?”
Coppinger laughed a short snort through his nostrils.
“I have a bone to pick with you already.”
“Never! no, never!”
“You have forced yourself on Miss Trevisa to act as her agent and valuer in the matter of dilapidations.”
“Not forced, Captain. She asked me to give her friendly counsel. We are old acquaintances.”
“I will not waste words. Give me her letter. She no longer requires your advice and counsel. I am going to act for her.”
“You, Cap’n! Lor’ bless me! You don’t mean to say so!”
“Yes. I will protect her against being pillaged. She is my housekeeper.”
“But see! she is only executrix. She gets nothing out of the property.”
“No – but her niece and nephew do. Take it that I act for them. Give me up her letter.”
Mr. Scantlebray hesitated.
“But, Cap’n, I’ve been to vast expense. I’ve entered into agreements – ”
“With whom?”
“With carpenter and mason about the repairs.”
“Give me the agreements.”
“Not agreements exactly. They sent me in their estimates, and I accepted them, and set them to work.”
“Give me the estimates.”
Mr. Scantlebray flapped all his limbs, and shook his head.
“You don’t suppose I carry these sort of things about with me?”
“I have no doubt whatever they are in your pocket.” Scantlebray fidgeted.
“Cap’n, try this port – a little going back, but not to be sneezed at.”
Coppinger leaned forward through the window.
“Who is that man with you?”
“Mr. Cargreen.”
“What is he here for?”
“I am agent for the Reverend Mules, the newly appointed rector,” said Mr. Cargreen, with some dignity.
“Then I request you both to step to the window to me.”
The two men looked at each other. Scantlebray jumped up, and Cargreen followed. They stood in the window-bay at a respectful distance from Cruel Coppinger.
“I suppose you know who I am?” said the latter, fixing his eyes on Cargreen.
“I believe I can form a guess.”
“And your duty to your client is to make out as bad a case as you can against the two children. They have had just one thousand pounds left them. You are going to get as much of that away from them as you are permitted.”
“My good sir – allow me to explain – ”
“There is no need,” said Coppinger. “Suffice it that you are one side. I – Cruel Coppinger – on the other. Do you understand what that means?”
Mr. Cargreen became alarmed, his face became very blank.
“I am not a man to waste words. I am not a man that many in Cornwall would care to have as an adversary. Do you ever travel at night, Mr. Cargreen?”
“Yes, sir, sometimes.”
“Through the lanes and along the lonely roads?”
“Perhaps, sir – now and then.”
“So do I,” said Coppinger. He drew a pistol from his pocket, and played with it. The two “dilapidators” shrank back. “So do I,” said Coppinger; “but I never go unarmed. I would advise you to do the same – if you are my adversary.”
“I hope, Captain, that – that – ”
“If those children suffer through you more than what I allow” – Coppinger drew up his one shoulder that he could move – “I should advise you to consider what Mrs. Cargreen will have to live on when a widow.” Then he turned to Scantlebray, who was sneaking behind the window-curtain.
“Miss Trevisa’s letter, authorizing you to act for her?”
Scantlebray, with shaking hand, groped for his pocket-book.
“And the two agreements or estimates you signed.”
Scantlebray gave him the letter.
“The agreements also.”
Nervously the surveyor groped again, and reluctantly produced them. Captain Coppinger opened them with his available hand.
“What is this? Five pounds in pencil added to each, and then summed up in the total? What is the meaning of that, pray?”
Mr. Scantlebray again endeavored to disappear behind the curtain.
“Come forward!” shouted Captain Cruel, striking the window-sill with the pistol.
Scantlebray jumped out of his retreat at once.
“What is the meaning of these two five pounds?”
“Well, sir – Captain – it is usual; every one does it. It is my – what d’y’ call it! – consideration for accepting the estimates.”
“And added to each, and then charged to the orphans, who pay you to act in their interest – so they pay wittingly, directly, and unwittingly, indirectly. Well for you and for Mrs. Scantlebray that I release you of your obligation to act for Mother Dunes – I mean Miss Trevisa.”
“Sir,” said Cargreen, “under the circumstances, under intimidation, I decline to sully my fingers with the business. I shall withdraw.”
“No, you shall not,” said Cruel Coppinger, resolutely. “You shall act, and act as I approve; and in the end it shall not be to your disadvantage.”
Then, without a word of farewell, he stood up, slipped the pistol back into his pocket, and strode