Anna of the Five Towns · Chapter 8 (3/3)

“It will do⁠—to be going on with,” he answered, satisfied. “I’m very glad you’ve been down. You must come again. I can see you would be interested in it, and there are plenty of things you haven’t looked at yet, you know.”

He smiled at her. They were alone in the warehouse.

“Yes,” she said; “I expect so. Well, I must go, at once; I’m afraid it’s very late now. Thank you for showing me round, and explaining, and⁠—I’m frightfully stupid and ignorant. Goodbye.”

Vapid and trite phrases: what unimaginable messages the hearer heard in you!

Anna held out her hand, and he seized it almost convulsively, his incendiary eyes fastened on her face.

“I must see you out,” he said, dropping that ungloved hand.

It was ten o’clock that night before Ephraim Tellwright returned home from Axe. He appeared to be in a bad temper. Agnes had gone to bed. His supper of bread-and-cheese and water was waiting for him, and Anna sat at the table while he consumed it. He ate in silence, somewhat hungrily, and she did not deem the moment propitious for telling him about her visit to Mynors’ works.

“Has Titus Price sent up?” he asked at length, gulping down the last of the water.

“Sent up?”

“Yes. Art fond, lass? I told him as he mun send up some more o’ thy rent today⁠—twenty-five pun. He’s not sent?”

“I don’t know,” she said timidly. “I was out this afternoon.”

“Out, wast?”

“Mr. Mynors sent word to ask me to go down and look over the works; so I went. I thought it would be all right.”

“Well, it was’na all right. And I’d like to know what business thou hast gadding out, as soon as my back’s turned. How can I tell whether Price sent up or not? And what’s more, thou know’s as th’ house hadn’t ought to be left.”

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, with a determination to be meek and dutiful.

He grunted. “Happen he didna’ send. And if he did, and found th’ house locked up, he should ha’ sent again. Bring me th’ inkpot, and I’ll write a note as Agnes must take when her goes to school tomorrow morning.”

Anna obeyed. “They’ll never be able to pay twenty-five pounds, father,” she ventured. “They’ve paid thirty already, you know.”

“Less gab,” he said shortly, taking up the pen. “Here⁠—write it thysen.” He threw the pen towards her. “Tell Titus if he doesn’t pay five-and-twenty this wik, us’ll put bailiffs in.”

“Won’t it come better from you, father?” she pleaded.

“Whose property is it?” The laconic question was final. She knew she must obey, and began to write. But, realising that she would perforce meet both Titus Price and Willie on Sunday, she merely demanded the money, omitting the threat. Her hand trembled as she passed the note to him to read.

“Will that do?”

His reply was to tear the paper across. “Put down what I tell ye,” he ordered, “and don’t let’s have any more paper wasted.” Then he dictated a letter which was an ultimatum in three lines. “Sign it,” he said.

She signed it, weeping. She could see the wistful reproach in Willie Price’s eyes.

“I suppose,” her father said, when she bade him “Good night,” “I suppose if I hadn’t asked, I should ha’ heard nowt o’ this gadding-about wi’ Mynors?”

“I was going to tell you I had been to the works, father,” she said.

“Going to!” That was his final blow, and having delivered it, he loosed the victim. “Go to bed,” he said.

She went upstairs, resolutely read her Bible, and resolutely prayed.