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No one had any reason to be "busy" at any time in Stornham village, no such luck; but Buttle did not smile as he replied that he was at liberty and placed himself at his visitor's disposal. The tall young lady came into the little shop, and took the chair respectfully offered to her. Buttle saw her eyes sweep the place as if taking in its resources.
It's clear-headed like her asking questions and finding out what Stornham men can do. She's having the old things done up so that she can find out, and so that she can prove that the Court work is going to be paid for. That's my belief." "But what does it all mean?" said Joe Buttle, setting his pot of beer down on the taproom table, round which they sat in conclave. "Where's the money coming from?
"There is a great deal to be done now," she said. "All that can be done in the village should be done here. It seems to me that the villagers want work new work. Do they?" Work! New work! The spark of life in her steady eyes actually lighted a spark in the being of Joe Buttle.
In the taproom of The Clock, when Joe Buttle dropped in for his pot of beer, he found Fox, the saddler, and Tread, the blacksmith, and each of them fell upon the others with something of the same story to tell. The new young lady from the Court had been to see them, too, and had brought to each her definite little note-book.
If her ladyship had come and ordered it to be done, he would have thought the poor thing had gone mad. But this one had it all jotted down in a clear hand, without the least feminine confusion of detail, and with here and there a little sharply-drawn sketch, such as a carpenter, if he could draw, which Buttle could not, might have made.
And the instant her back was turned, he opened a drawer in a sideboard and satisfied himself that the thing which might have to put them into Eternity together lay there, loaded. "And now," he said gayly, "let's dine and, if you don't mind, I will buttle. I hate servants in a place like this." He went to the head of the table and drew back a chair. Joan sat down, thanking him with a smile.
"One moment, Karslake.... This man, Nogam: where did you pick him up?" "He used to buttle for my father, sir, but got into trouble some domestic unpleasantness, I believe needed money, and raised a cheque. The old boy let him off easy; but I've got the cheque, and Nogam knows it. The fellow's perfectly trained and absolutely dependable, knows his place and his duties and not another blessed thing.
And Josiah sez, "A coachman is to coach, and a waiter is to wait, and a butler must be to buttle." Sez I, "Buttle what? Or who? Or when?" But he couldn't tell.
"All work will be paid for," she said. "Each week the workmen will receive their wages. They may be sure. I will be responsible." "Thank you, miss," said Buttle, and he half unconsciously touched his forehead again.
She knew it was not intended as one, and, indeed, she saw in it a sort of earnest of a possible practical quality in Buttle. Such work as the Court had demanded had remained unpaid for with quiet persistence, until even bills had begun to lag and fall off. She could see exactly how it had been done, and comprehended quite clearly a lack of enthusiasm in the presence of orders from the Great House.
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