Chapter 7

Two-edged disgrace struck at Ivy both at home and in the village—for the double reason of Jerry’s assault and Seagrim’s parade. The latter was almost the wickedest in the Beatups’ eyes, for it had the most witnesses—the former had no witnesses but themselves and Mr. Sumption, though when Mus’ Beatup led Ivy home, Mus’ Putland was already climbing the stile and Mus’ Bourner [180] running out of his door. It could be hushed up, muffled and smoothed, whereas the whole Street had seen Ivy in her flaunt of wedded Seagrim—“A bad ’un,” “a hussy” she would be called from Harebeating to Puddledock.

“’Tis sent for a judgment on you,” said Mrs. Beatup. “If you hadn’t gone traipsing and strutting wud that soldier, I reckon as gipsy Jerry had never gone after you wud his hammer.”

“I wurn’t a-going to show ’em as I minded their clack,” sobbed Ivy against the kitchen table—“I said as ‘I’ll taake him out this wunst, just to show ’em I aun’t bin fooled, and then I’ll git shut of un.’ And I dud, surelye.”

“And a valiant fool you’re looking now, my girl—run after and murdered, or would have bin, if your father hadn’t a-gone weeding the oats and heard your screeching. Reckon as half the Street heard it at their dinners. We’ll have the law of Minister and his gipsy.”

So they would have done, had it not been brought home to them that “the law” would hoist them into that publicity they wanted to avoid. If Jerry were tried for attempted murder, all the disgraceful story of Ivy and Seagrim would be spread abroad, not only throughout Sunday Street and Brownbread Street and the other hamlets of Dallington, but away north and south and east and west, to Eastbourne, Hastings, Seaford, Brighton, Grinstead, and everywhere the Sussex News was read.

So the Beatups agreed to forego their revenge on condition that the Rev. Mr. Sumption took Jerry away for the few days remaining of his leave, and did not have him back at the Horselunges on any future occasion.

“You can’t hurt my boy without hurting your girl,” he told them, “so best let it alone and keep ’em apart. [181] I’m sorry for what’s happened, and maybe Jerry is, and maybe he’s not. I reckon Satan’s got him.”

“Reckon he has,” said Mrs. Beatup spitefully, “and reckon when Satan gits childern it’s cos faathers and mothers have opened the door. ’Tis a valiant thing fur a Christian minister not to know how to breed up his own young boy. But the shoemaker’s wife goes the worst shod, as they say, and reckon hell’s all spannelled up wud parsons’ children.”

“Reckon you don’t know how to speak to a clergyman”—and the Rev. Mr. Sumption turned haughtily from the wife to the husband, who was, however, big with an attack on Sunday observance, and no discussion could go forward till he had been delivered of it.

In the end the matter was settled, and the parting was fairly friendly. The Beatups had a queer affection for their pastor mingled with their disrespect, and admired his muscle if they despised his ministrations. The proceedings ended in an adjournment to the stables, where Mr. Sumption gave sound and professional advice on a sick mare.