My grandfather addressed the woman with the strong and measured utterance he had employed to Mr. Bradbury. “I’ve sent for you, Barwise, and your man there,” he said, “as I’d have you know that this young gentleman, my grandson, is to be obeyed.”
She curtsied once more; for an instant her eyes rested balefully on me.
“I’d have you so instruct your folk,” my grandfather proceeded. “While he’s in my house, you’ll all treat him as your master—d’ye understand me?”
She nodded, staring at him curiously as if remarking a strength become strange to her.
“He’s likely to be master after me, d’ye hear?” my grandfather added. “You take your orders now from me; whatever orders he chooses to give, you take them as from me.”
The woman croaked, “It’s well for you, Mr. Craike, to have the young gentleman by you. I mark a change in you already.”
Her bold eyes warred with his; as understanding her meaning that she knew him near to decay and that this assumed strength was no more than the flash of a dying fire, he roared out, “I want no words from you, mistress! You’re old; you’re presuming on your service. Mark me, I’ll be obeyed!” and started to his feet, and rapped his cane upon the floor with such bullying wrath and strength that she quailed before him and shrank back, her husband staring at him and quivering like a jelly.
“Ay, meant nothing! Time was—” but he broke off, hesitated, at last cried out, “Ay, and the time is yet. I’ll be obeyed. You’ve thought me old, Barwise—you and the lazy crew I support here of my bounty. Take care I don’t make a sweep of ye all—of ye all—d’ye mark me?” Mastering himself then and dropping heavily back in his chair, “That’s all, Barwise. You’ll obey Mr. John Craike—all of ye!”
Propping his chin upon his cane, he sat glaring at them, till, with a venomous look at me, the woman whisked from the room, her husband shuffling after. So he sat stiffly till the door was shut; then lay back in his chair and fell again to senile chuckling. “Eh, John; but they think me near to dying,” he said. “Eh, John, did ye mark how I took the wind from her sails? Eh, but I’m stronger for having Richard’s son beside me. I thought to die captain of my ship many a time. And I think to die master of my own house,” and so, sat chuckling and shaking, his strength leaving him as suddenly as his will had summoned it. He rambled on, “She’s an ill fowl—eh, John? She’s a skeleton held together by her skin—no more. Barwise’s woman,—she’d looks once,—hair black as the storm and eyes as black. She’d wear silks and gold rings. She took a fat picking from my men, when I sailed my ship. She’d a tavern Shadwell way.” He broke off, and looked dully at me. He muttered, “Can you not see, lad, the manner of man I was? Can you not see the wreck I am? How I ruled ’em once and how now that they think me broken—they’d mutiny, they’d rob me; they’d have what they’ll never set their fingers on?”