had settled the household affairs for the day, she appeared in the shop and took up her position at the desk. This saved both George and Albert a good deal of clerical work, for the Grice trade, which was largely with the gentry and farmers of the district, involved a considerable amount of book-keeping. Now, George was painfully slow as a scribe, and Albert had no great genius for figures, though he was an expert at wrapping up parcels. The bride, therefore, was valuable as a help as well as advantageous as an ornament. And a certain gentleman who walked into the shop one afternoon, after leaving a smart cob outside in charge of a village lad who happened to be hanging about, looked at her with considerable interest, as if pretty bookkeepers were strange in that part of the country. Old Grice at that moment was busy down the yard, examining a cartload of goods with which Bartle was about to set off to a neighbouring hamlet: Albert was in the warehouse outside, superintending the opening of a cask of sugar. Mrs. Albert went forward; the caller greeted her with marked politeness.
"Mr. Albert Grice?" said the caller, with an interrogatory smile. "Is he in?"
"I can call him in a minute, sir," replied Mrs. Albert. "He's only just outside. Who shall I say?"
"If you'd be kind enough to ask him if he'd see Mr. Palethorpe of Sicaster, for a moment," answered the visitor. "He'll know who I am."
Mrs. Albert opened the door at the back of the shop, and ushered Palethorpe into the room in which Jeckie Farnish had found George Grice eating his cold beef. She passed out through another door into the yard, came back in a moment, saying that her husband would be there presently, and returned to the shop. And upon her heels came Albert, wiping his sugary hands on his apron and looking very much astonished.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Albert," said Palethorpe, in his pleasantest manner. "I called to see you on a little matter of business. I would have sent one of my clerks, but as the business is of a confidential sort I thought I'd just drive over myself. The fact of the case is I've got a writ for you – and there it is!"
Before Albert had comprehended matters, Palethorpe had put a folded, oblong piece of paper into his hand, and had nodded his head, as much as to imply that now, the writ having slipped into Albert's unresisting fingers, something had been effected which could never be undone.
"Thought it would be more considerate to serve you with it myself," he added, with another smile.
"I dare say you prefer that."
Albert looked from Palethorpe to the writ, and from the writ to Palethorpe. His face flushed and his jaw, a weak and purposeless one, dropped.
"What's it all about?" he asked, feebly. "I – I don't owe nobody aught, Mr. Palethorpe. A writ! – for me?"
"Suit of Jecholiah Farnish – breach of promise – damages claimed, two thousand pounds," answered Palethorpe, promptly. "That's what it is! Lord, bless me! – do you mean to say you haven't been expecting it!"
He laughed, half sneeringly, and suddenly broke his laughter short. George Grice had come in, softly, by the back door of the room, and had evidently heard the solicitor's announcement of the reason of his visit. Palethorpe composed his face, and made the grocer a polite bow. It was his policy, on all occasions, to do honour to money, and he knew George to be a well-to-do man.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Grice!" he said. "Fine day, isn't it – splendid weather for – " Grice cut him short with a scowl.
"What did I hear you say?" he demanded, angrily. "Summat about yon Farnish woman, and breach o' promise, and damages? What d'yer mean?"
"Just about what you've said," retorted Palethorpe. "I've served your son with a writ on Miss Farnish's behalf – you'd better read it together."
Grice glanced nervously at the curtained door which led into the shop. Then he beckoned Palethorpe and Albert to follow him, and led them out of the room and across a passage to a small apartment at the rear of the house, a dismal nook in which his account books and papers of the last thirty years had been stored. He carefully closed the door and turned on the solicitor.
"Do you mean to tell me 'at yon there hussy has had the impudence to start proceedin's for breach o' promise again my son?" he said. "I never knew such boldness or brazenness i' my born days! Go your ways back, young man, and tell her 'at sent you 'at she'll get nowt out o' me!"
Palethorpe laughed – something in his laugh made the grocer look at him. And he saw decision and confidence in Palethorpe's face, and suddenly realised that here was trouble which he had never anticipated.
"Nonsense, Mr. Grice!" exclaimed Palethorpe. "I'm surprised at you! – such a keen and sharp man of business as you're known to be. We want nothing out of you – we want what we do want out of your son!"
"He has nowt!" growled the grocer. "He's nowt but what I – "
"Nonsense again, Mr. Grice," interrupted Palethorpe. "He's your partner, with a half-share in the business, as you've announced to a good many of your neighbours and cronies during the last week or so, and he's also got two thousand pounds with his wife. Come, now, what's the good of pretending? Your son's treated my client very badly, very badly indeed, and he'll have to pay. That's flat!"
Grice suddenly stretched out a hand towards his son.
"Gim'me that paper!" he said.
Albert handed over the writ and his father put on a pair of spectacles and carefully read it through from beginning to end. Then he flung it on the desk at which the three men were standing.
"It's nowt but what they call blackmail!" he growled. "I'll none deny 'at there were an arrangement between my son and Farnish's lass. But it were this here – Farnish were to give five hundred pounds wi' her. Now, Farnish went brok' – he had no five hundred pound, nor five hundred pence! So, of course, t'arrangement fell through. That's where it is."
Palethorpe laughed again – and old Grice feared that laugh more than the other.
"I'm more surprised than before, Mr. Grice," said Palethorpe. "My client has nothing whatever to do with any arrangement – if there was any – between you and her father. Her affair is with your son Mr. Albert Grice. He asked her to marry him – she consented. He gave her an engagement ring – it was well known all round the neighbourhood that they were to marry. He wrote her letters, in which marriage is mentioned – "
Grice turned on his son in a sudden paroxysm of fury.
"Ye gre't damned softhead!" he burst out. "Ye don't mean to say 'at you were fool enough to write letters! Letters!"
"I wrote some," replied Albert sullenly. "Now and then, when I was away, like. It's t'usual thing when you're engaged to a young woman."
"Quite the usual thing – when you're engaged to a young woman," said Palethorpe, with a quiet sneer. "And we have the letters – all of 'em. And the engagement ring, too. Mr. Grice, it's no good blustering. This is as clear a case as ever I heard of, and your son'll have to pay. It's no concern of mine whether you take my advice or not, but if you do take it, you'll come to terms with my client. If this case goes before a judge and jury – and it certainly will, if you don't settle it in the meantime – you won't have a leg to stand on, and Miss Farnish will get heavy damages – heavy! – and you'll have all the costs. And between you and me, Mr. Grice, you'll not come out of the matter with very clean hands yourself. We know quite well, for you're a bit talkative, you know – how you engineered the breaking-off of this engagement and contrived the marriage of your son to his cousin, and we shall put you in the witness-box, and ask you some very unpleasant questions. And you're a churchwarden, eh?" concluded Palethorpe, as he turned to the door. "Come now – you know my client's been abominably treated by you and your son – you'd better do the proper thing, and compensate her handsomely."
Grice had become scarlet with anger during the solicitor's last words, and now he picked up the writ and thrust it into his pocket.
"I'll say nowt no more to you!" he exclaimed. "I'll see my lawyer in t'morning, and hear what he's gotten to say to such a piece o' impidence!"
"That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say," remarked Palethorpe. "See him by all means – and he'll say to you just what I've said. You'll see!"
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