The Red Bicycle

The dingy little cart containing the clean linen of the Rectory, was on its way by an unusually roundabout route. Neddy Mellin, the washer woman's son, who disliked work as much as he liked play, which was natural in a lad of thirteen, grumbled openly at the uncongenial task of driving the large white donkey. The animal herself, who answered to the name of Nelly, grumbled also in her own way, as she objected to innovations. Hitherto she had been allowed to take the short road to the parson's residence; now she was compelled to go by the long one, which was particularly annoying on this damp, misty November afternoon. With the obstinacy of her race she refused to trot, and although Neddy whipped her, coaxed her, and threatened her, Nelly tstill behaved as though she were attending a funeral. Mrs. Mellin did not mind. Throned amidst the bundles of linen, she peered through the fog for something she particularly wished to see. Only when the cart arrived midway down a melancholy, deserted thoroughfare, bordered by dripping elm-trees, did she speak. Then the cart stopped as she fancied she heard an order.

"There," said Mrs. Mellin, pointing with a fat, red finger at a dreary mansion which stood in a disorderly garden. "Maranatha! I never did 'ear of sich a queer name in all my born days."

"It's a scripter name, and has to do with cursing," explained her son, who, being a choir-boy, knew something about the Bible.

"Then don't let me 'ear you use sich a wicked word, or I'll take the skin off your back," said his mother, wiping her large crimson face with a corner of her tartan shawl. "Maranatha! it gives me the shivers, it do."

"You're using it yourself," murmured Neddy, in an injured tone.

"Me, being your elder and your ma, has a right to use words as ain't fit for you," said Mrs. Mellin, tartly, "and as we've got the washing of the new gent as has come to live there, I'll say the name often enough. I'll be bound. But not you, Neddy. Say the 'Ouse, and I'll know what you mean. And for 'Eaven's sake, child don't 'it the donkey. I want to look at the place."

Mrs. Mellin craned forward so as to get a better view, and stared at the square, ugly building, the damp red bricks of which were almost hidden by dark curtains of untrimmed ivy. Smoke came from one chimney, which showed that the house was inhabited, but as the shutters were up and the door closed, there was a sinister look about the whole place which made the washerwoman shiver. In its wilderness of shrubs and long grass, girdled by gigantic elms, all sopping and dripping, the mansion loomed portentously through the mists. It looked like a house with an evil history, and the queer name on the gate suited it extraordinarily well. Mrs. Mellin was not imaginative, yet she shivered again as she signed that Nelly could proceed. Tired of standing and anxious to get her day's work over, Nelly changed her funeral pace for a more active one.

"Maranatha!" murmured Mrs. Mellin, as the cart turned into the Parade. "Well, baronet or no baronet, he won't get much good out of Maranatha. Arter suicides you may paint a 'ouse, you may furnish a 'ouse, and you may advertise 'ouses till you're sick, but them as comes to live in sich allays leaves afore the term's out. An' no wonder 'ow long he'll stay?"

"Who'll stay?" asked Neddy curiously.

"I wasn't speaking to you, child. 'Old your tongue and drive on. I do 'ope as Mrs. Craver ain't 'eard. This will be news for 'er. And that Emily Pyne is sich a gossip, as never was."

All the way to the Rectory, Mrs. Mellin continued to talk in this way to herself, while Neddy kept his ears open to drink in every word. He was a slender boy with a wonderfully delicate complexion, curly golden hair, and innocent blue eyes, looking, on the whole, like a stray angel. And when in the choir he not only looked like an angel but sang like one, as his voice was remarkably beautiful.

But all Neddy's goods were in the shop-window, since he was as naughty an urchin as ever existed, to worry a hard-working mother. He told lies, he played truant, he associated with the worst boys in the parish, smoked on the sly, and behaved like the unscrupulous young rascal he truly was. Yet, when necessary, Neddy could play the saint so perfectly that his conduct, taken in conjuncture with his angelic looks, quite imposed upon the Rector, who believed him to be a modern Samuel.

Mrs. Mellin had her doubts, as experience told her otherwise, but naturally, she kept them to herself, and proclaimed on all and every occasion that Neddy was too good to live. All the same she was on her guard against his wiles, and rebuked him sharply when she noticed that he was listening to her soliloquy. By the time she had finished telling him where bad boys went and how they fared when they died, the cart appeared at the Rectory and Mrs. Craver appeared at the back door.

The parson's wife was a busy, little sharp-faced woman, arrayed in a shabby black silk, with collar and cuffs of ragged white lace, carefully mended. The stipend for looking after the souls of the Hedgerton people was by no means large, and the Rev. George Craver found it difficult to make both ends meet. Indeed, they would not have met at all had not Mrs. Craver been a notable housewife, who looked at both sides of a penny before parting with it, and who made shillings do the work of pounds. She scraped and screwed and pinched, and buzzed about the house from dawn till darkness like a busy bee, keeping her eye on everything and on everyone. According to custom she welcomed Mrs. Mellin into the kitchen and proceeded to count the washing, while Neddy sat outside in the cart and smoked a surreptitious cigarette. After the usual weekly wrangle over missing articles, scanty starching, bad ironing, and excessive charging, Mrs. Craver gave the woman a cup of tea and asked questions.

It was her duty, as she conceived it as the Rector's wife, to know all that went on in the dull, seaside parish, and Mrs. Mellin could supply her with more information than most people. Therefore, Mrs. Craver sent the general servant, who was her solitary factotum, into the wood-shed to clean knives and brush boots while she listened to the weekly report. Mrs. Mellin began by a reference to her sister-gossip and rival spy.

"I do 'ope, ma'am, as that Emily Pyne ain't been tellin' you things, as she ain't to be depended on, with her silly tongue and blind eye." The washerwoman spoke as if the lady in question had only one organ of vision, whereas she had two, and very sharp eyes they were.

"No. I haven't seen Miss Pyne," said Mrs. Craver, briskly. "Has she been doing anything wrong?"

"'Eaven forgive her, ma'am; she never does anything right," said Mrs. Mellin, piously. "Not that I've got anything against her, for the time being, 'cept her gossiping constant when she should be working, and dressing above her station to which she 'ave been called. No, ma'am, never do I speak against Emily, though she did try to catch Mellin, when we was gels, failing, nater'ly, when she 'ave a game leg, and remaining a spinster through 'Eaven's 'and being 'eavy on 'er, may she be forgiven."

"Well, well; what's the news?" Mrs. Craver had heard all about Miss Pyne's wickedness before, and spoke impatiently.

Mrs. Mellin wiped her face, sipped her tea, and shook her head. "There ain't no news as is startling, ma'am, as bombs and bloodshed don't come 'ere while we 'ave the King--long may he reign over us. But that 'ouse in Ladysmith Road, as is so unlucky, is let at last."

"Maranatha?"

"Which the very name do give me the shudders, ma'am. It's a wicked name."

"It is an odd name," agreed the sharp little woman, "and I asked the Rector about it. He says it is a Syriac word, meaning the Lord comes, or has come."

"Neddy told me it was a cuss, ma'am."

"He shouldn't know anything about curses at his age, Mrs. Mellin. Mr. Craver said that St. Paul used the word as expressing a curse."

"There now"--Mrs. Mellin was admiringly triumphant--"to think as how Neddy do pick up things. And a curse is on that 'ouse, Mrs. Craver, ma'am, for never 'ave it been lucky. The gent as built it fifty years back lost his arm, as my mother told me; the family as come after him buried two children in a year; a suicide was the nex' pusson as lived there, and it stayed empty for years till Mrs. Splurge took it to be ruined by the breaking of the bank her cash was in and 'ave her daughter run away with a young man as wasn't what he ought to be. It's a cussed 'ouse, and looks like one."

"H'm! It has a bad history. Well, and who has taken it now?"

"A baronet."

"Nonsense! Why should a baronet take a furnished house in this dull town?"

Mrs. Mellin set down her cup and folded her tartan shawl round her in quite a tragic manner. "That's what I arsk myself, ma'am," she said, impressively. "Mrs. Splurge, 'oping to make money after losing her all, advertised the 'ouse to be let furnished. But for two years it hev been standing as empty as my 'usband's 'ead, people fighting shy of its bad luck, as you might say, Mrs. Craver, ma'am. And now Sir 'Ector Wyke hev come, bag and baggage, with a 'ousekeeper as I hevn't seen, though write me she did, saying as she'd engaged me to do the washin'."

"Sir Hector Wyke?" Mrs. Craver searched her memory. "I seem to have heard the name before."

"'Ave he done anything bad?" inquired the washerwoman, eagerly. "Anything as would make 'im 'ide his guilty 'ead. Baronets is bad, as we know."

"Rubbish! Baronets are no worse than other people. But I fancy I have heard my son, Mr. Edwin, mention the name. I'll ask him about Sir Hector when he comes down at the week end."

"Shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Edwin 'ad quite a gory story to tell." said Mrs. Mellin, hopefully, for, like all her class, she loved horrors. Anyhow. I'll keep my eye on the 'ouse and the 'ousekeeper."

"What is her name?"

"Vence, she writes it. Jane Vence, and a heathen name it is, ma'am. I haven't set eyes on her myself; but one as hev tole me ses as she's an old witch in looks, with a tongue as wicked as that of Emily Pyne's, and I can't say wuss nor that."

"Mrs. Vence." The Rector's wife repeated the name so as to remember it. "And what other servants?"

"None." burst out Mrs. Mellin, triumphantly, "And that's the wust of it, ma'am. I do say as a baronet should be'ave as a baronet, and not come to live in a musty, fusty old 'ouse with one old woman."

"It is strange. When did Sir Hector come?"

"Two days ago, ma'am. I wonder you 'aven't 'eard."