The Vast Abyss. Fenn George Manville
woman! Do you think I’m blind? That vase was worth fifty pounds, if it was worth a penny.”
“I – I wasn’t thinking about the ch-ch-ch-china,” sobbed Mrs Brandon, “but about my darling Sam. Oh, my boy! my boy! don’t say you’re dead!”
“Don’t you make an exhibition of yourself before the servants,” cried her husband angrily. “Here you, sir: I always knew that you’d make me repent. How came you to break that vase?”
“I didn’t, sir,” said Tom quietly; “Sam caught hold of it as he was falling.”
Sam was lying insensible the moment before, but this was reviving.
“I didn’t, father; he knocked me down, and then seized the vase and dashed it at me.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Mrs Brandon, as Sam lapsed into insensibility once more. “The wretch has had a spite against his cousin ever since he has been here. Oh, my darling, darling boy!”
Sam uttered a low groan which made his mother shriek and fling herself down by him again.
“Oh, Mary! cook!” she cried, “help – help!”
“Yes, mum,” said the former; “shall I bring a dustpan and brush, and take up the bits?”
“No, no! Water – sponge – help!”
“Indeed, indeed, I did not break the vase,” pleaded Tom, as his uncle suddenly caught him by the collar and drew a gold-headed malacca cane from the umbrella-stand.
“I’ll soon see about that,” said Mr Brandon, with a fierce drawing-in of the breath.
“Yes; beat him, beat him well, James, the wretch, the cruel wretch, and then turn him out of the house.”
“Don’t you interfere,” cried Mr Brandon, with a snap. Then to Tom – “I suppose you’ll say you were not fighting?”
“Yes, sir, I was fighting; but Sam began at me, and all because I wouldn’t screen him to-day.”
“Hah! never mind that,” said Mr Brandon.
“Don’t beat me, sir,” pleaded Tom, excitedly. “I can’t bear it.”
“You’ll have to bear it, my fine fellow. Here, come into the library.”
“Yes, James, beat the wretch well,” cried Mrs Brandon. “Oh, my darling, does it hurt you very much?”
“Oh!” groaned Sam, and his mother shrieked; while a struggle was going on between Tom and his uncle, the boy resisting with all his might.
“He has killed him! he has killed him!” sobbed Mrs Brandon; “and you stand there, cook, doing nothing.”
“Well, mum, what can I do? I’m wanted down-stairs. Them soles is a-burning in the frying-pan. You can smell ’em up here.”
“Yes; nice preparations for company,” said Mr Brandon, stopping to pant, for Tom had seized the plinth at the foot of the balustrade and held on with all his might. “Go down in the kitchen, cook, and see to the dinner.”
The cook turned to go, but stopped short and turned back.
“Oh, my darling! my darling!” cried Mrs Brandon.
“Oh-h-h-h!” groaned Sam.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said cook, speaking very loudly, “but please you ain’t going to whip Mr Tom, are you?”
“Silence, woman! Go down to your kitchen!” roared her master.
“Yes, sir – directly, sir; but Mr Sam’s allus at him, and he begun it to-night, for I heared him.”
“Will you go down and mind your own business, woman?”
“Yes, sir; but I can’t bear to see you lay your hand on that poor boy, as ain’t done nothing to deserve it, and I will speak out, so there.”
“Silence, woman!”
“No, sir, nor I won’t silence neither; and don’t you please call me woman, because I won’t take it from nobody, not for no wages. I behaves respectful to you and missus, and expect the same, so there.”
“Cook, you leave at a month’s end,” cried Mrs Brandon. “Oh, Sam, Sam, speak to your broken-hearted mother.”
“Cert’ny, mum, and very glad to go,” said cook, who was working herself up into a passion. “To-night if you like. No, I won’t; I’ll go now, as soon as I’ve packed my boxes; and if Mary’s the girl I take her for, she’ll go too, and not stand here sweeping up your nasty old china.”
“Am I to take you by the shoulders, woman, and bundle you down-stairs?” roared Mr Brandon.
“No, sir, you ain’t. Just you dare to touch me, that’s all; and what’s more, you ain’t a-going to beat Master Tom, so there now. I wouldn’t stand here and see him punished for what he don’t deserve. It’s all that Mr Sam, who’s ma’s spoilt him, and indulged him, till he’s grown into a nasty, overbearing, cigarette-smoking wretch, as treats servants as if they was the dirt under his feet.”
“Fanny,” cried the lawyer, who felt that he was losing dignity in an unequal struggle, “send this woman down-stairs. Now, sir, you let go of that balustrade and come here.”
“No,” cried Tom, between his teeth; “you shan’t beat me for nothing. It was all Sam.”
“Come here!” roared his uncle, making a savage drag at the boy, which was intercepted by cook forcing herself between, and trying to shelter him.
“You shan’t beat him, not while I’m here,” she cried.
“He is not going to beat him,” said a quiet, firm, grave voice; and all started to see that “the company,” who had been standing quite unobserved on the upper landing, a silent spectator of the scene, was now coming down.
“Oh, Richard!” cried Mrs Brandon; “look here! The wretch – the wretch!”
“Yes, he does look a pretty object certainly,” said the visitor. “Here you, sir, get up and go to your room, and wash yourself. Don’t lie groaning there.”
“Oh – oh – oh!” cried Mrs Brandon, hysterically, “I didn’t mean Sam.”
“If you’d go and stop in the drawing-room, Richard, and not interfere, I should feel obliged.”
“Nothing would have pleased me better, James,” said his brother coldly; “but the riot was getting too loud – I was obliged to come.”
“Then, now go and wait. The dinner will be ready soon.”
“That it just won’t,” cried cook viciously; “and if you’re a gentleman, though you are master’s own brother, you’ll come and help me.”
“There is no need,” said Uncle Richard, in his quiet way. “Mr Brandon is not going to beat his nephew. He was very angry, no doubt, but that’s all over now; and as to the dinner, my dear madam, while I act the peacemaker, I hope you will bear in mind that I am very hungry, and should be very glad of some of the good things you were preparing, when in your genuine, womanly way you felt yourself called upon to defend this boy.”
“Look here, Richard,” began Mr Brandon.
“Tut – tut – tut, man, be quiet. Tom, my lad, go up-stairs to your room and make yourself decent. Fanny, my good girl, you are spoiling an expensive dress put on in my honour. Mary, my child, there are two or three sharp pieces of the broken vase here. Would you mind? Thank you. These things are very sharp. Now you, Sam, jump up, and go and wash yourself. Do you hear?”
“Confound it all, Richard!” began Mr Brandon.
“Tut – tut, quiet, man!” said Uncle Richard; “there’s nothing the matter with the fellow.”
“He’s half killed – dangerously hurt,” protested Mrs Brandon.
“Not he, my dear Fanny.