With the colder weather, Upworthy boasted a cleaner bill of health, although the more elderly villagers suffered abominably from rheumatism. Anxious to “spare” Lady Selina, but even more anxious to mitigate conditions which might be improved, Grimshaw tackled Gridley, the power behind the throne exercising a sly, persistent authority which few could measure, least of all the lady of the manor. Gridley had succeeded his father as bailiff of the Chandos domain. Thousands of just such men are to be found in our southern and western counties. And more than half the misery in the rural districts can be traced to them, directly and indirectly. Back of their abuse of power lies, of course, the indolence of the landlord. And behind this again—ignorance. All Gridleys have in common a desire to make things easy for their employers. They stand doggedly as buffers between comfort and discomfort, between peace of mind and innumerable pettifogging worries and acerbities. Villagers dare not appeal to CÆsar. How many schoolboys beard a headmaster, indicting some unjust member of his staff? Villagers are children. They never cut loose from leading-strings. They whine to each other, and make a “visiting face” in the presence of the “quality.” They live, most of them, for the passing hour, seldom dwelling upon the future because, instinctively, they dread it. Who denies them great qualities? But they will be the better understood when it is admitted frankly that their unwritten code is poles apart from the code of the privileged classes. With the poor patience is a greater virtue than truthfulness; fidelity ranks above chastity; justice counts for nothing in comparison with generosity.

Gridley lived in a comfortable house at the Home Farm, with a wife whom he regarded as a general servant, and several children. After his day’s work, he befuddled himself with beer, but he prided himself upon rising each morning perfectly sober. He was reasonably abstemious in local taverns, and attended church, making the responses in a loud voice, conscious that the approving ear of Lady Selina heard him. He was a member of the district and parish councils. He could, and did, make life hell for any beneath him in the social scale who presumed to thwart his wishes and commands.

At first he showed himself obsequious and complaisant to the new doctor. But he began to squirm under Grimshaw’s questions, wriggling out of them, evading them, trying to throw dust into eyes penetratingly clear. Grimshaw took his measure in five minutes. Nevertheless, for Lady Selina’s sake, he wished to give the fellow a chance. Possibly Gridley mistook courtesy for weakness. More than probably he took for granted that country doctors prefer to travel along lines of least resistance.

Finally, after many exasperating and unavailing interviews, Grimshaw spoke plainly:

“You are forcing me to the conclusion, Mr. Gridley, that you run Upworthy to suit yourself.”

Doctor and bailiff had met outside a cottage which held a young married woman sadly crippled by incipient arthritis. Her bed rested upon a floor eaten up by dry-rot. Putting his foot through a board, Grimshaw had discovered masses of thick, white, velvety fungus, which smelt horribly. He discovered further that the waste-pipes from the eaves were choked up; water trickled down the inside walls. When he called Gridley’s attention to this state of things, the bailiff promptly promised immediate repairs, which were not forthcoming. Grimshaw could have appealed to Lady Selina. But anything of that sort meant open war with Gridley, the precipitation of a crisis. It meant, for the lady of the manor, an instant choice between an old servant and a comparative stranger. It meant, if Grimshaw won (and the possibilities of losing obtruded itself), finding a new bailiff, breaking him in, endless worry and perplexity. To find the right man at such a time, when ability of any sort was at a tremendous premium, might be impracticable. To add to the difficulties of the case, he knew that witnesses for the prosecution of a tyrant would be hard to find. Gridley, and his father before him, had imposed silence upon Upworthy. The Extons were notable examples of what might happen to the recalcitrant. Favours, innumerable doles—coal, fire-wood, milk, clothing and small grants in aid—were distributed amongst the optimists who, when Lady Selina made her periodical rounds, presented shining faces and grateful hearts. The wise gaffers sang praises of “honest John” behind his back and to his brazen face. Nicodemus Burble, the octogenarian, piped the popular conviction: “I allers says it pays to treat bailiffs wi’ respect, for why, my sonnies? Because they can make it so danged uncomfortsome for we, if we don’t.”

Gridley, thus addressed by a young man whom he regarded hitherto as negligible, was much taken aback. Clever enough to know that procrastination would no longer avail him, he tried insolence instead:

“Do I? I’d have you to understand, Mr. Grimshaw, that I can mind my business, as my father did before me, and I’ll thank you to mind yours.”

With that he turned on his heel, glaring savagely.

“Wait!” said Grimshaw, in his quietest tone.

Gridley swung round. Grimshaw met his congested glance.

“The misery in Upworthy is my business.”

“Ho, is it?”

“Yes; I can break a hornet’s nest about your ears, and I’m in the mood to do it. I can get the medical officer of health for the county down here, and if I do, you and your father’s business, which you manage as abominably as he did, will be blown to—to your ultimate destination.”

Gridley stared at him in stupefaction. Hitherto, the local sanitary inspector, with well-greased palms, had seen to it that his chief should be spared such visitations. Altering his tone slightly, he growled out:

“Her ladyship will have something to say to that.”

“Cut her ladyship out of this. I propose to deal with you. Her ladyship has entrusted you with powers which you have abused, grossly abused, to your own advantage.”

Gridley, with unpleasant memories of John Exton, and confronted by a tense athletic figure, said sullenly:

“I suppose I can’t stop you talking.”

“You can’t. You like being top dog. And because you came from the people, you’re hard on the people. You treat them as dirt.”

Gridley laughed brutally, as a not unreasonable fear of personal violence passed from him.

“That’s what they are, most of ’em—dirt.”

Grimshaw smiled derisively, beholding in Gridley the reactionary of the Labour Party, the common type that rides rough-shod over the foot-passengers, bespattering them with mud. Some of the self-styled leaders of Labour in Poplar were just like him—arrogant, insolent and ignorant, seeking their own advancement with specious canting words on their thick lips, secretly distrusted by the very class whom they tried to rule and direct. He divined that Gridley hated, in his heart, the benefactress who trusted him, that he would be the first—given the opportunity—to bite the hand that had fed him. And such men scorn decent treatment. They can be subdued by the weapon they use—the lash. Grimshaw continued, not so quietly:

“I’m on to your little games. You and that greedy idiot, the sanitary inspector, and four-fifths of the district council, play into each other’s hands, and laugh and wink over it.”

Gridley tried sarcasm:

“Ho! Downin’ one of your own sort now?”

“You allude to our local medical officer. I wonder how you’d like me to take on that job?”

“Why don’t you?” He laughed again.

“I may,” replied Grimshaw incisively, “Lady Selina Chandos has always wanted to do her best for her people, but that never suited your book. Why? Because when light comes to her you’ll be scrapped first.”

“Have it your own way, Mr. Grimshaw, and thanks for warning me.”

“I do warn you. For the moment, I shall leave her ladyship in peace. I am dealing with you. Mend your ways here and now. Does the new flooring go in at once—or not?”

“I told you the job should be done. We’re short-handed.”

“Will it go in at once, within twenty-four hours?”

“Yes, it will.” He paused, adding cringingly:

“I didn’t mean to give offence, sir.”

Grimshaw replied tensely:

“Good. Keep what I’ve said to yourself, and I shall do the same.”

Within the time exacted the new flooring was put in. Grimshaw knew, of course, that he had made a dangerous enemy, but this heartened rather than dismayed him, salving a sensitive conscience. He believed that he could deal with Gridley, and through Gridley with others. Lady Selina must be left in peace till peace came back to a world in travail.