There was French blood in Geordie Robertson’s wife, Mary, and it may perhaps have been owing to her origin that she was so eager for revenge when she found herself deceived by her husband.

She had begun to suspect him of infidelity even before a neighbour had given her a hint that he had a ‘fancy’ wife away in Bridgeton, for her husband brought home less and less with his ‘pack’ after his weekly tramp was over, and when she asked for explanations he ‘called’ her with most abusive virulence.

For her further satisfaction she determined to make trial, now that the pig was to be killed, of the ancient method of divination practised by the pit-wives, of which the following is the ritual:

When the animal has been slaughtered and the blood duly made into puddings, these puddings are ‘set away’ to boil by the inquirer of the oracle. Then, just before they are taken out of the ‘pot,’ the officiating priestess must say aloud that she ‘gives them’ to him who is suspected of infidelity. Should the puddings emerge whole, gossip is dumfoundered; should they come forth broken, the man is proved to have a ‘fancy’ wife.

Mary, indeed, found she could scarcely control her impatience when the fatal day came, and, the pig duly slaughtered, she ‘gave’ the puddings to her husband, Geordie.

She waited another minute to give the spell the lawful grace, then with a trembling hand plucked forth the puddings.

‘Ah—ah!’ she gasped, tremulous but triumphant, ‘then it is so; he has a fancy wife,’ and her quick brain fell to pondering a plan for discovery and revenge.

The first thing to be done was to lure her ‘man’ into a false security by subtle commiseration with him on the ‘slackness’ of trade, as also by a wonderful submissiveness, even to the extent of going without bacon for breakfast in order that she might save enough to buy him tobacco. Now this form of procedure with a selfish man usually produces excellent results. If he is sufficiently selfish, he does not stay to inquire why or wherefore, but takes all he can, as a cat her cream, without delay, without a thank you—nay, unlike tabby, without even an inward purr.

It was so with Geordie, who began incontinently to brag about his ‘missus’s trainin’,’ and how he was ‘champion’ at ‘fettlin’ a wife’s nonsense,’ and, swollen with self-satisfaction, began now to treat her with a sort of contemptuous toleration.

A fortnight or so after Mary had made trial of her puddings, Geordie carelessly mentioned the fact that he would be away over the ‘week-end’ in and about Bridgeton, and demanded some ‘brass’ from her for the replenishing of his ‘pack.’

Outwardly submissive, she gave him five shillings from her small savings, but inwardly determined that it was the last sum of money he should have from her.

On Friday night Geordie departed gaily for Bridgeton, and on the Saturday afternoon Mary followed suit, clad in a thick cloak which might serve her for a disguise upon occasion.

When she arrived there, the main street and market were thickly crowded with a swarm of holiday-making pitmen, country folk, farmers and their wives, hinds, male and female, for it was the date of the annual fair and hiring, of ‘the general assembly’ of tramps, pedlars, ‘tinklers’ (tinkers), show-men, and the like, whose business it is to attend such gatherings.

In such a crowd Mary felt safe from recognition, but it might be a difficult task to discover her ‘man’ in all that company.

An hour or two passed, and she had been up and down the long street twice without success; but just as she was turning into a cheap refreshment-room, with ‘Tea and coffy always redy’ written in a slovenly hand upon a dirty placard in the window, she caught the sound of a voice raised in semi-drunken irritation close behind her which caused her to turn her head hurriedly in that direction.

Yes, there he was without doubt, her Geordie, heavy with liquor already—not ‘mortal’ yet, but quarrelsome. Aha! and that was the ‘fancy’ wife, of course, who had him fast by the arm—a blousy, red-faced, fat-armed, big chested woman, who was evidently trying to persuade her charge to come home much against his inclination. At sight of her rival—immodest, gross, overpowering—Mary shrank back aghast, and it was only after a struggle with herself and a forcible iteration of her wrongs, that she could persuade herself slowly and reluctantly to follow the couple in front of her.

‘Ho-way!’ shouted Geordie; ‘there’s Tom Turnbull ower by there tryin’ ti lift weights an’ show ’s strength. Wey, but Tom cannet lift weights, he’s nowt but a wee bit beggor. Tom, thoo beggor!’ he challenged across the intervening throng of heads, ‘thoo cannet lift weights; wey, Aa’l lift weights wi’ thoo for a bottle o’ whisky!’

‘Ho-way, then, thoo aad fightin’-cock! but Aa give thoo fair warnin’ Aa can beat thoo, for Aa’s champion.’

At this, the ‘fancy’ wife seized her ‘man’ firmly by the sleeve, fearing doubtless lest, in his then ‘muzzy’ condition, Geordie would waste the scanty remainder of his brass upon a vain endeavour, and, by way of effectually dissuading him, indiscreetly praised his rival’s prowess.

‘No, no, Geordie, my man, come this way, an’ give us my fairin’; wey, there’s a mort o’ things ti see yet; there’s the shuttin’-gall’ry, an’ the twa-headed cat, an’ the giant, an’ the fat woman, an’ aal—ho-way. Ay, an’ Geordie, hinny, Tom Turnbull’s tarr’ble clivvor at liftin’ they handles things an’ drivin’ the bolt up the stick wi’ the hammer, an’ Aa’s warn’d but he’ll bang thoo at that game.’

‘Tom Turnbull!—that haalf-grown, bandy-legged beggor ov a bit tailor ov a man bang me? Gox! but Aa’ll larn him a lesson. Aa’ll cut his comb, Aa’s warn’d!’ and Geordie forthwith, murmuring maledictions, thrust blindly through the crowd till he reached the spot where his rival stood, the centre of an admiring circle of friends.

‘Noo,’ cried Geordie, turning up his wrist-cuffs, ‘Aa’ll show thoo hoo the thing’s done when it’s done proper. Wey, this bolt ’ll hit the beam at the top when Aa gie the stump a bat!’ and without more ado—amidst the jeers of some, and the encouragement of a few false friends—he seized the hammer, swung it round his head, and brought it down some feet wide of the mark—smash upon the cobble-stones of the market-place. ‘That’s done the business!’ cried Geordie triumphantly, conscious from the stinging of his hands that he had ‘gi’en it a champion bat,’ and certain that he had driven up the bolt some feet above his rival’s mark.

Through the roar of laughter, which Geordie complacently accepted as the proper accompaniment of Tom’s defeat, a voice pierced suddenly with a shrill note as of a fife.

‘Thoo great clumsy lubbert, see what thoo’s done! Thoo’s broke the hammer’s head off! That’s half a crown, my man, for the hammer, an’ a penny for the shot; an’ if thoo disn’t hand it ower, I’ll call the pollis, for it’s fair takin’ the livin’ oot ov a poor weeda woman’s mouth to break her hammer thet fashion!’ and a thin-faced female, with a red-lined nose, sharp cheekbones, and watery eyes, held up two skinny fists in anger against him.

‘Gan on, woman, gan on!’ retorted Geordie indignantly; ‘wey, it’s thoo sh’d pay us, or gie us a cigyar, or a cokienut; for that bat o’ mine hit the bull’s-eye, Aa’s warned.’ The shrill-voiced female renewed her protestations, and some of the bystanders joined in with additional explanations; but Geordie would have none of them. ‘Gan on,’ he retorted; ‘gan awa home, an’ wesh yor feyce! Wey, the hammer’s as rotten as pash, for Aa brought her fair doon like a pick reet on top o’ the stump. What else should maa hands be tinglin’ for?’

The proprietress of the hammer, however, continued to assail Geordie with abuse, while at the same time the ‘fancy’ wife upon his other side endeavoured to drag him away, so that it need not surprise us if Geordie suddenly lost his temper, and turned heavily upon his tormentors.

He shook off the one, and flung down a shilling in payment of the supposed damage to the hammer; the other—the ‘fancy’ wife—he pushed roughly from him, with the result that she lost her balance, and fell whimpering in the mud, while Geordie lurched off to the nearest hostelry, muttering indignantly as he went, ‘Aa’s been fair mucked ower wi’ women the day—just fair mucked ower.’

A swift inspiration gleamed in Mary’s mind. For the punishment of Geordie she had already made due preparation, and now, if she could only persuade the ‘fancy’ wife, her triumph would be complete.

She noticed the woman angrily brushing the muck off her ‘feast gown,’ and at once made her way up to her and touched her gently on the arm. ‘Ay,’ she said quietly, as the other looked up with red and testy face, ‘an’ it’s the same way he treats me;’ holding her left hand loosely so that her marriage-ring was plainly conspicuous.

‘So he has a lawful wife, an’ yore her?’ And the speaker gave a suspicious, all-embracing stare. ‘Well,’ she continued slowly, jealousy slipping, like some slow portcullis, from her eyes, ‘he’s had a change, has my lord! Forst, it was a thin lass like yorsel’, an’ noo it’s a plump one like me. Ay, he’s greedy, is Geordie; he winna be content wi’ the one, like Jack Spratt, but wants both.’

‘Ay, lass,’ replied the other woman quietly, ‘yore right: he’s greedy an’ selfish. That’s the sort—a selfish good-like nowt, that lives on women, makes them keep him through life just as one does a babby; an’ he’s treated the pair ov us shameful—just shameful; but, hinny, I’ve a plan for a bit payment for him, an’ if ye come aside a bit wi’ me, I’ll tell ye o’t.’ And she laid an appealing hand upon the other’s, and affected with the disengaged one to brush the remaining dirt from the ‘fancy’ wife’s skirt.

‘Well, what is’t?’ said the latter, suffering herself to be led through the crowd to a quiet corner.

Mary at once proceeded, but with a cautious self-effacement, to detail her schemes for Geordie’s discomfiture. ‘It will not hurt him,’ she protested, as her rival still sat silent, ‘but it will pay him a bit for the way he’s treated us’—here Mary’s hand again occupied itself with the soiled dress—‘and it will give ye the laugh over him. I’ve done wiv him mysel; I’m awa to France to-night or morning—that’s where Grandfeyther was bred; he came to these parts selling onions at first, an’ finally settled doon here to ’scape the soldierin’. An’ I’ve money enough to pay the expenses,’ she continued; ‘an’ for suthin’ to eat an’ drink an’ the ticket.’

The ‘fancy’ wife looked at her somewhat hardly, suspicion rising to the surface of her eye. ‘An’ sae yore off to France, are ye?’ she queried; ‘ay, an’ yore tired ov him? Well, mevvies he would say as he was tired o’ thoo; but I’ve a grudge again’ him for the way he’s treat us to-day, spendin’ aal my brass ower himsel’ an’ clartin’ my gown an’ all, an’ I’ll pay him for’t, I’s warn’d.’ And her face darkened vindictively.

‘That’s right,’ replied Mary swiftly. ‘And now for the plan. Here’s money for you to treat him with. Get him awa oot o’ the public before he’s had too much, an’ bring him along wi’ you by the last train from Bridgeton, an’ I’ll meet you wi’ the “stang” ready for him, an’ the lads, an’ the music, an’ all. Oh, but it’ll all gan fine, ye-es, ye-es!’

So Mary, having handed over all that she could spare to her rival, departed for the railway-station with a view to catching an earlier train, and revising her preparations at the other end.

Her elation was complete. The only possible flaw in her subtly-devised plan lay in the moods of the ‘fancy’ wife. If Geordie continued to treat her roughly—and as he had now evidently settled down to the drink, he was almost certain to do so—she would be true to the arrangement; if not, she might relent, and keep Geordie from his house that night.

* * * * *

The train was overdue, and Mary waited with a feverish expectation at the station’s descent amidst a small crowd of young men and boys to whom the idea of making anyone ‘ride the stang’ had appealed with an irresistible sense of novelty.

The custom, indeed, was obsolete, but all had heard of it, and the older men had often witnessed it in their youth, and some of them had collected near the station to criticise and superintend the performance.

The ‘stang’ itself was in readiness—having been lent to Mary on this occasion by the schoolmaster and antiquary of the village, whose father had been, as constable, its custodian in the old days.

And now at last the rumble of an approaching train was audible, and the group at once assumed an alert and eager air.

A crowd of tired excursionists slowly descended the narrow path from the station, men and women together, but there was no sign of Geordie or the ‘fancy’ wife. Mary’s heart grew heavy within her; after all, then, she would have to depart without that sweet morsel—her revenge. The ‘fancy’ wife must have relented and informed Geordie of her plans.

‘Ho-way,’ cried a man in her ear, ‘he’s not comin’ back the night; thoo’s gi’en him a gliff mevvies.’

‘Stay!’ cried she swiftly, detaining him by the arm. ‘What’s that, then?’ she whispered triumphantly, as at the tail of the procession of pleasure-seekers a couple became visible descending fitfully with wayward lurches.

‘See there!’ continued Mary eagerly, ‘it’s Geordie an’ his “fancy” wife with him. Catch tight haud of him, an’ mount him, an’ carry him through the length o’ the village on the “stang”—right to his very door; he canna get in though, for I’ve the key i’ my pocket,’ and Mary laughed with an inward glee.

Down came the couple slowly, Geordie abusing his companion, as he lurched against her heavily, for not progressing with more even footsteps, the woman saying nothing, but tightly gripping him by the arm, in order, doubtless, to keep him upright and also to prevent any attempt at escape.

The wicket-gate swung open, Geordie lurched through, and in a moment he was seized, hoisted into the air, a rough pole thrust through his legs, and the triumphal march began to the tune of a penny whistle, played by the local champion, a carter to trade, and a number of Jews’ harps and toy trumpets with which a herd of small boys poured forth discordant revel.

‘Gox! Aa’s fallen intiv a sorcus (circus),’ cried Geordie, in the first moment of astonishment, then, ‘Leave haud ov us, ye great flamin’ Irish—— What the devil’s this Aa’s astride o’?’ adding with solemn dignity, ‘Yore makin’ a tarr’ble mistake. Aa’s not Blondin, ti walk on a tight rope for ye; Aa’s Geordie Campbell o’ the Raa (Row), whe lives i’ the hoos wi’ the brass handle tiv’t.’

‘Ay, ay, we knaa thoo!’ cried the chorus of urchins; ‘thoo’s Geordie, drunken Geordie, Geordie wi’ the “fancy” wife. Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang! Eh, what a clivvor rider is Geordie! Thoo’s a proper jockey, Geordie, an’ thoo’ll mevvies ride the winner i’ “the Plate”[20] before thoo’s finished wiv it.’

This idea tickled the carriers of the ‘stang,’ and Geordie’s bearers were forthwith transformed into thorough-breds with a tendency to buck-jump. Hither and thither he rolled, dazed and bewildered, helplessly clutching at the heads of those near him for support, but his arms were seized, his legs tightly crossed below the ‘stang,’ and he swung from side to side, while the rougher boys, chanting rude doggerel over him, gathered and threw mud upon him. A trombone and a ‘sarpint’ here joined the noisy crowd, and to the varied strains of ‘The Campbells are coming,’ ‘Weel may the keel row,’ and ‘Canny Dog Cappie,’ Geordie was borne in triumph up the Row.

A ‘furrinor’ (foreigner, stranger) here joined the medley, a ‘South countryman’ from Yorkshire, who, chancing to have lately come to the village after some private experience of his own in stang-riding in one of the remoter Yorkshire vales, at once placed his services at the crowd’s disposal.

Marching at the head of the procession, like the drum-major of a band, and beating together two saucepan-lids, he led the anthem.

Between the ‘cling, cling, cling’ of the lids his voice rose lustily:

Scarcely had he ended when the shrill trebles of the boys took up the wondrous tale, and in antiphony chanted their response:

Then, to the full chorus, with complete orchestra of flute and fife, trombone and triangle, tin whistle and ‘sarpint,’ brass pot, pan, and saucepan-lids, the entire procession moved slowly onward.

Mary’s eyes burned bright with exultation as she marched along in the crowd, not letting a single incident of the spectacle escape her notice, and as she watched she too joined in the chorus of ‘Geordie, Geordie ride-the-stang’ without restraint.

The sound of the familiar voice roused the victim from the stupor into which the hustling, peltings, and shoutings had reduced him.

‘Thoo ——,’ he yelled, as he caught sight of her; ‘then it’s thoo that’s at the bottom o’ this? By, but if Aa wes free Aa’d——’ But a stalk of cabbage thrown at a venture by a small boy on the skirts of the crowd here impeded his utterance, and Mary’s voice rang out perhaps more triumphantly than before.

The ‘fancy’ wife, meanwhile, who had at first discreetly retired from public view and looked on at the procession from a distance, had shortly after joined the noisy throng, moved thereto by a sense of isolation, and also by a certain smouldering compunction. She looked around her irresolutely; she felt she had acted precipitately; certainly she was not deriving any advantage from the proceedings, whereas her rival was the leader of the revelry, dancing, clapping her hands, and carrying on like a ‘Maypole lass.’

At this moment Mary inadvertently brushed against her, and in a moment the ‘fancy’ wife turned upon her like a spitfire. Clenching her fists and shouting vituperations, she tried to seize her by the hair. Foiled in this by an adroit swerve of Mary’s under the ‘stang,’ she turned her fury upon Geordie’s bearers, and with such success that to defend themselves they were forced to lower the pole to the ground. ‘Noo, Geordie,’ cried she, promptly thrusting the wooden weapon into his hands, ‘mak’ play wiv it, my man, ho-way,’ and Geordie, realizing he was now free, lunged furiously in all directions, and scattered the crowd like chaff before him.

Steered by his ‘fancy’ wife, a way grew clear about them, and Geordie marched slowly, unsteadily forward, bearing the ‘stang’ like a battering-ram straight in front of him, down the remaining length of the Row, accompanied at a respectful distance by a rabble of the smaller urchins.

Right on past his house he went, out into the darkness beyond, and over the bridge at the end of the village, still tightly grasping the ‘stang’ himself, and tightly grasped in his turn by his ‘fancy’ wife.

The last train to Oldcastle happened to pass above the bridge at that moment, and a head leant far out through a carriage window.

‘Ay!’ a clear voice sounded, with a touch of derision on the night air—‘Ay! that’s right, haud him tight, for he wants it badlies.’