Miss’s Cramp she didn’ give so much fer ’Er Ladyship. She was agin Foreigners. All German spies they wus. Have no truck with them, she wouldn’t. Oo noo if they wus ’s much ’s married. Some says they wus, some says they wusn’. But you couldn’ take in Miss’s Cramp. … ’N’ Quality! What was to show that they were real Quality? Livin how they did wasn’ Quality manners. Quality wus stuck up ’n’ wore shiny clothes ’n’ had motorcars ’n’ statues ’n’ palms ’n’ ballrooms ’n’ conservatories. ’N’ didn’ bottle off the cider ’n’ take the eggs ’n’ speak queer lingo to th’ handyman. ’N’ didn’ sell the cheers they sat on. The four younger children also didn’t like ’Er Ladyship. Never called ’em pretty dears, she didn’t, nor give ’em sweeties nor rag-dolls nor apples. Smacked ’em if she found ’em in the orchard. Never so much ’s give ’em red flannel capes in the winter.
But Bill, the eldest, liked ’Er Ladyship. Called ’er a proper right un. Never stopped tarkin of ’er. ’N’ she ’ad statues in ’er bedroom, ’n’ fine gilt cheers, ’n’ clocks, ’n’ flowerin plants. Bill ’e’d made fer ’Er Ladyship what she called ’n eightyjare. In three stories, to stand in a corner ’n’ hold knick-nacks out of fretwork to a pettern she’d give ’im. Varnished proper, too. A good piece of work if he shouldn’t say so. … But Miss’s Cramp she’d never been allowed in ’er Ladyship’s bedroom. A proper place it was. Fit fer a Countess! If Miss’s Cramp could be allowed to see it she’d maybe change her opinions. … But Miss’s Cramp she said: Never you trust a fair woman, bein’ dark.
The matter of the cider, however, did give him to think. Proper cider it was, when they was given a bottle or two. But it wasn’t Sussex cider. A little like Devonshire cider, more like Herefordshire. But not the same as any. More head it had ’n’ was sweeter, ’n’ browner. ’N’ not to be drunk ’s freely! Fair scoured you it did if you drunk ’s much ’s a quart!
The little settlement was advancing furtively to the hedge. Cramp put his bald poll out of his work-shed and then crept out. Mrs. Cramp, an untidy, dark, very thin woman emerged over her doorsill, wiping her hands on her apron. The four Cramp children at different stages of growth crept out of the empty pig-pound.—Cramp was not going to buy his winter pigs till next fortnightly fair at Little Kingsnorth.—The Elliott Children, with the milk-can, came at a snail’s pace down the green path from the farm; Mrs. Elliott, an enormous woman with untidy hair, peered over her own hedge, which formed a little enclosure on the Common; Young Hogben, the farmer’s son, a man of forty, very thickset, appeared on the path in the beechwood, ostensibly driving a great black sow. Even Gunning left his brushing and lumbered to the edge of the stable. From there he could still see Mark in his bed, but also, looking downwards between the apple-trunks he could see Marie Léonie bottle the cider, large, florid and intent, in the open dairying-shed where water ran in a V-shaped wooden trough.
“Runnin’ t’ cider out of cask with a chube!” Mrs. Cramp screamed up the hill to Mrs. Elliott. “Ooever eered!” Mrs. Elliott rumbled huskily back at Mrs. Cramp. All these figures closed in furtively; the children peering through tiny interstices in the hedge and muttering one to the other: “Ooever eered. … Foreign ways, I call it. … A glass chube. … Ooever eered.” Even Cramp, though, wiping his bald head with his carpenter’s apron, he admonished Mrs. Cramp to remember that he had a good job—even Cramp descended from the path to the hedge-side and stood so close—peering over—that the thorns pricked his perspiring chest through his thin shirt. They said to the baker who wearily followed his weary horse up the steep path, coming from the deep woods below: It had ought to be stopped. The police had ought to know. Bottling cider by means of a glass tube. And standing the cider in running water. Where was the excise? Rotting honest folks guts! Poisoning them. No doubt the governor could tell them a tale if he could speak or move. The police had ought to know. … Showing off, with cider in running water—to cool it when first bottled! Ooever eered! Just because they ’ad a Ladyship to their tail. ’N’ more money than better folks. Not so much money either. Reckon they’d come to smash ’n’ be sold up like Igginson at Fittleworth. Set isself up fer Quality, ’e did too! … ’N’ not so much of a Ladyship, neither. Not so much more of a Ladyship as us if the truth was known. Not an Earl or a Lord, only a baronite-ess at that, supposin’ we all ’ad our rights. … The police had ought to be brought into this affair!
A number of members of the Quality, on shining horses, their leathers creaking beautifully, rode at a walk up the path. They were the real Quality. A fine old gentleman, thin as a lath, clean face, hooky nose, white moustache, lovely cane, lovely leggings. On ’Is Lordship’s favourite hack. A bay mare. A fine lady, slim as a boy, riding astride as they do today though they did not use to. But times change. On the Countess’s own chestnut with white forehead. A bad-tempered horse. She must ride well that lady. Another lady, grey haired, but slim too, riding sidesaddle in a funny sort of getup. Long skirt with panniers and three-cornered hat like the ones
