The Outlandish Ladies

by Arthur Quiller-Couch

　　From Noughts and Crosses: Stories, Studies and Sketches.

　　A mile beyond the fishing village, as you follow the road that climbsinland towards Tregarrick, the two tall hills to right and left ofthe coombe diverge to make room for a third, set like a wedge in thethroat of the vale. Here the road branches into two, with asign-post at the angle; and between the sign-post and the grey scarpof the hill there lies an acre of waste ground that the streams haveturned into a marsh. This is Loose-heels. Long before I learnt thename's meaning, in the days when I trod the lower road with slate andsatchel, this spot was a favourite of mine--but chiefly in July, whenthe monkey-flower was out, and the marsh aflame with it.There was a spell in that yellow blossom with the wicked blood-redspots, that held me its mere slave. Also the finest grew indesperate places. So that, day after day, when July came round, mymother would cry shame on my small-clothes, and my father takeexercise upon them; and all the month I went tingling. They werepledged to "break me of it"; but they never did. Now they are dead,and the flowers--the flowers last always, as Victor Hugo says.When, after many years, I revisited the valley, the stream hadcarried the seeds half a mile below Loose-heels, and painted itsbanks with monkey-blossoms all the way. But the finest, I was gladto see, still inhabited the marsh.Now, it is rare to find this plant growing wild; for, in fact, it isa garden flower. And its history here is connected with a bit of mudwall, ruined and covered with mosses and ragwort, that still pushedup from the swampy ground when I knew it, and had once been part of acottage. How a cottage came here, and how its inhabitants enteredand went out, are questions past guessing; for the marsh hemmed it inon three sides, and the fourth is a slope of hill fit to break yourneck. But there was the wall, and here is the story.

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　　One morning, near the close of the last century, a small child camerunning down to the village with news that the cottage, which for tenyears had stood empty, was let; there was smoke coming out at thechimney, and an outlandish lady walking in the garden. Beingcatechised, he added that the lady wore bassomy bows in her cap, andhad accosted him in a heathen tongue that caused him to flee, fearingworse things. This being told, two women, rulers of their homes,sent their husbands up the valley to spy, who found the boy hadspoken truth.Smoke was curling from the chimney, and in the garden the lady wasstill moving about--a small yellow creature, with a wrinkled butpleasant face, white curls, and piercing black eyes. She wore ablack gown, cut low in the neck, a white kerchief, and bassomy (orpurplish) bows in her cap as the child had stated. Just at presentshe was busy with a spade, and showed an ankle passing neat for herage, as she turned up the neglected mould. When the men plucked upgallantry enough to offer their services, she smiled and thanked themin broken English, but said that her small forces would serve.So they went back to their wives; and their wives, recollecting thatthe cottage formed part of the glebe, went off to inquire of ParsonMorth, "than whom," as the tablet to his memory relates, "none wasbetter to castigate the manners of the age." He was a burly,hard-riding ruffian, and the tale of his great fight with Gipsy Benin Launceston streets is yet told on the countryside.Parson Morth wanted to know if he couldn't let his cottage to aninvalid lady and her sister without consulting every wash-mouth inthe parish."Aw, so there's two!" said one of them, nodding her head. "But tellus, Parson dear, ef 'tes fitty for two unmated women to cometrapesing down in a po'shay at dead o' night, when all modest fleshbe in their bed-gowns?"Upon this the Parson's language became grossly indelicate, after thefashion of those days. He closed his peroration by slamming thefront door on his visitors; and they went down the hill "blushing"(as they said) "all over, at his intimate words."So nothing more was known of the strangers. But it was noticed thatParson Morth, when he passed the cottage on his way to meet ormarket, would pull up his mare, and, if the outlandish lady wereworking in the garden, would doff his hat respectfully."Bon jour, Mdmzelle Henriette"--this was all the French the Parsonknew. And the lady would smile back and answer in English."Good-morning, Parson Morth.""And Mamzelle Lucille?""Ah, just the same, my God! All the day stare--stare. If you hadknown her before!--so be-eautiful, so gifted, si bien elevee!It is an affliction: but I think she loves the flowers."And the Parson rode on with a lump in his throat.

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　　So two years passed, during which Mademoiselle Henriette tilled hergarden and turned it into a paradise. There were white roses on thesouth wall, and in the beds mignonette and boy's-love, pansies,carnations, gillyflowers, sweet-williams, and flaming greathollyhocks; above all, the yellow monkey-blossoms that throve so wellin the marshy soil. And all that while no one had caught so much asa glimpse of her sister, Lucille. Also how they lived was a marvel.The outlandish lady bought neither fish, nor butcher's meat, norbread. To be sure, the Parson sent down a pint of milk every morningfrom his dairy; the can was left at the garden-gate and fetched atnoon, when it was always found neatly scrubbed, with the price of themilk inside. Besides, there was a plenty of vegetables in thegarden.But this was not enough to avert the whisper of witchcraft. And oneday, when Parson Morth had ridden off to the wrestling matches atExeter, the blow fell.Farmer Anthony of Carne--great-grandfather of the present farmer--hadbeen losing sheep. Now, not a man in the neighbourhood would own tohaving stolen them; so what so easy to suspect as witchcraft? Who sofatally open to suspicion as the two outlandish sisters? Men, wives,and children formed a procession.The month was July; and Mademoiselle Henriette was out in the garden,a bunch of monkey-flowers in her hand, when they arrived. She turnedall white, and began to tremble like a leaf. But when the spokesmanstated the charge, there was another tale."It was an infamy. Steal! She would have them know that she and hersister were of good West Indian family--tres bien elevees."Then followed a torrent of epithets. They were laches-poltrons.Why were they not fighting Bonaparte, instead of sending their wivesup to the cliffs, dressed in red cloaks, to scare him away, whilethey bullied weak women?They pushed past her. The cottage held two rooms on the groundfloor. In the kitchen, which they searched first, they found onlysome garden-stuff and a few snails salted in a pan. There was a doorleading to the inner room, and the foremost had his hand on it, whenMademoiselle Henriette rushed before him, and flung herself at hisfeet. The yellow monkey-blossoms were scattered and trampled on thefloor."Ah--non, non, messieurs! Je vous prie--Elle est si--si horrible!"They flung her down, and pushed on.The invalid sister lay in an arm-chair with her back to the doorway,a bunch of monkey-flowers beside her. As they burst in, she started,laid both hands on the arms of her chair, and turned her face slowlyupon them.She was a leper!They gave one look at that featureless face, with the white scalesshining upon it, and ran back with their arms lifted before theireyes. One woman screamed. Then a dead stillness fell on the place,and the cottage was empty.On the following Saturday Parson Morth walked down to the inn, justten minutes after stalling his mare. He strode into the tap-room inhis muddy boots, took two men by the neck, knocked their skullstogether, and then demanded to hear the truth."Very well," he said, on hearing the tale; "to-morrow I march everyman Jack of you up to the valley, if it's by the scruff of yournecks, and in the presence of both of those ladies--of both, markyou--you shall kneel down and ask them to come to church. I don'tcare if I empty the building. Your fathers (who were men, not curs)built the south transept for those same poor souls, and cut a slicein the chancel arch through which they might see the Host lifted.That's where you sit, Jim Trestrail, churchwarden; and by the LordHarry, they shall have your pew."He marched them up the very next morning. He knocked, but no oneanswered. After waiting a while, he put his shoulder against thedoor, and forced it in.There was no one in the kitchen. In the inner room one sister sat inthe arm-chair. It was Mademoiselle Henriette, cold and stiff.Her dead hands were stained with earth.At the back of the cottage they came on a freshly-formed mound, andstuck on the top of it a piece of slate, such as children erect overa thrush's grave.On it was scratched--

　　Ci-GitLucille,Jadis si Belle;Dont dix-neuf Jeunes Hommes, Planteurs deSaint Domingue.ont demande la Main.Mais La Petite ne Voulait Pas.R.I.P.This is the story of Loose-heels, otherwise Lucille's.

　　THE END.