Chapter: How a Hen Takes to Stratagem


The days passed, and Mr. Tulliver showed, at least to the eyes of the
medical man, stronger and stronger symptoms of a gradual return to his
normal condition; the paralytic obstruction was, little by little,
losing its tenacity, and the mind was rising from under it with fitful
struggles, like a living creature making its way from under a great
snowdrift, that slides and slides again, and shuts up the newly made
opening.

Time would have seemed to creep to the watchers by the bed, if it had
only been measured by the doubtful, distant hope which kept count of
the moments within the chamber; but it was measured for them by a
fast-approaching dread which made the nights come too quickly. While
Mr. Tulliver was slowly becoming himself again, his lot was hastening
toward its moment of most palpable change. The taxing-masters had done
their work like any respectable gunsmith conscientiously preparing the
musket, that, duly pointed by a brave arm, will spoil a life or two.
Allocaturs, filing of bills in Chancery, decrees of sale, are legal
chain-shot or bomb-shells that can never hit a solitary mark, but must
fall with widespread shattering. So deeply inherent is it in this life
of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably
diffusive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and
we can conceive no retribution that does not spread beyond its mark in
pulsations of unmerited pain.

By the beginning of the second week in January, the bills were out
advertising the sale, under a decree of Chancery, of Mr. Tulliver's
farming and other stock, to be followed by a sale of the mill and
land, held in the proper after-dinner hour at the Golden Lion. The
miller himself, unaware of the lapse of time, fancied himself still in
that first stage of his misfortunes when expedients might be thought
of; and often in his conscious hours talked in a feeble, disjointed
manner of plans he would carry out when he "got well." The wife and
children were not without hope of an issue that would at least save
Mr. Tulliver from leaving the old spot, and seeking an entirely
strange life. For uncle Deane had been induced to interest himself in
this stage of the business. It would not, he acknowledged, be a bad
speculation for Guest & Co. to buy Dorlcote Mill, and carry on the
business, which was a good one, and might be increased by the addition
of steam power; in which case Tulliver might be retained as manager.
Still, Mr. Deane would say nothing decided about the matter; the fact
that Wakem held the mortgage on the land might put it into his head to
bid for the whole estate, and further, to outbid the cautious firm of
Guest & Co., who did not carry on business on sentimental grounds. Mr.
Deane was obliged to tell Mrs. Tulliver something to that effect, when
he rode over to the mill to inspect the books in company with Mrs.
Glegg; for she had observed that "if Guest & Co. would only think about
it, Mr. Tulliver's father and grandfather had been carrying on
Dorlcote Mill long before the oil-mill of that firm had been so much
as thought of."

Mr. Deane, in reply, doubted whether that was precisely the relation
between the two mills which would determine their value as
investments. As for uncle Glegg, the thing lay quite beyond his
imagination; the good-natured man felt sincere pity for the Tulliver
family, but his money was all locked up in excellent mortgages, and he
could run no risk; that would be unfair to his own relatives; but he
had made up his mind that Tulliver should have some new flannel
waistcoats which he had himself renounced in favor of a more elastic
commodity, and that he would buy Mrs. Tulliver a pound of tea now and
then; it would be a journey which his benevolence delighted in
beforehand, to carry the tea and see her pleasure on being assured it
was the best black.

Still, it was clear that Mr. Deane was kindly disposed toward the
Tullivers. One day he had brought Lucy, who was come home for the
Christmas holidays, and the little blond angel-head had pressed itself
against Maggie's darker cheek with many kisses and some tears. These
fair slim daughters keep up a tender spot in the heart of many a
respectable partner in a respectable firm, and perhaps Lucy's anxious,
pitying questions about her poor cousins helped to make uncle Deane
more prompt in finding Tom a temporary place in the warehouse, and in
putting him in the way of getting evening lessons in book-keeping and
calculation.

That might have cheered the lad and fed his hopes a little, if there
had not come at the same time the much-dreaded blow of finding that
his father must be a bankrupt, after all; at least, the creditors must
be asked to take less than their due, which to Tom's untechnical mind
was the same thing as bankruptcy. His father must not only be said to
have "lost his property," but to have "failed,"--the word that carried
the worst obloquy to Tom's mind. For when the defendant's claim for
costs had been satisfied, there would remain the friendly bill of Mr.
Gore, and the deficiency at the bank, as well as the other debts which
would make the assets shrink into unequivocal disproportion; "not more
than ten or twelve shillings in the pound," predicted Mr. Deane, in a
decided tone, tightening his lips; and the words fell on Tom like a
scalding liquied, leaving a continual smart.

He was sadly in want of something to keep up his spirits a little in
the unpleasant newness of his position,--suddenly transported from the
easy carpeted _ennui_ of study-hours at Mr. Stelling's, and the busy
idleness of castle-building in a "last half" at school, to the
companionship of sacks and hides, and bawling men thundering down
heavy weights at his elbow. The first step toward getting on in the
world was a chill, dusty, noisy affair, and implied going without
one's tea in order to stay in St. Ogg's and have an evening lesson
from a one-armed elderly clerk, in a room smelling strongly of bad
tobacco. Tom's young pink-and-white face had its colors very much
deadened by the time he took off his hat at home, and sat down with
keen hunger to his supper. No wonder he was a little cross if his
mother or Maggie spoke to him.

But all this while Mrs. Tulliver was brooding over a scheme by which
she, and no one else, would avert the result most to be dreaded, and
prevent Wakem from entertaining the purpose of bidding for the mill.
Imagine a truly respectable and amiable hen, by some portentous
anomaly, taking to reflection and inventing combinations by which she
might prevail on Hodge not to wring her neck, or send her and her
chicks to market; the result could hardly be other than much cackling
and fluttering. Mrs. Tulliver, seeing that everything had gone wrong,
had begun to think she had been too passive in life; and that, if she
had applied her mind to business, and taken a strong resolution now
and then, it would have been all the better for her and her family.
Nobody, it appeared, had thought of going to speak to Wakem on this
business of the mill; and yet, Mrs. Tulliver reflected, it would have
been quite the shortest method of securing the right end. It would
have been of no use, to be sure, for Mr. Tulliver to go,--even if he
had been able and willing,--for he had been "going to law against
Wakem" and abusing him for the last ten years; Wakem was always likely
to have a spite against him. And now that Mrs. Tulliver had come to
the conclusion that her husband was very much in the wrong to bring
her into this trouble, she was inclined to think that his opinion of
Wakem was wrong too. To be sure, Wakem had "put the bailies in the
house, and sold them up"; but she supposed he did that to please the
man that lent Mr. Tulliver the money, for a lawyer had more folks to
please than one, and he wasn't likely to put Mr. Tulliver, who had
gone to law with him, above everybody else in the world. The attorney
might be a very reasonable man; why not? He had married a Miss Clint,
and at the time Mrs. Tulliver had heard of that marriage, the summer
when she wore her blue satin spencer, and had not yet any thoughts of
Mr. Tulliver, she knew no harm of Wakem. And certainly toward herself,
whom he knew to have been a Miss Dodson, it was out of all possibility
that he could entertain anything but good-will, when it was once
brought home to his observation that she, for her part, had never
wanted to go to law, and indeed was at present disposed to take Mr.
Wakem's view of all subjects rather than her husband's. In fact, if
that attorney saw a respectable matron like herself disposed "to give
him good words," why shouldn't he listen to her representations? For
she would put the matter clearly before him, which had never been done
yet. And he would never go and bid for the mill on purpose to spite
her, an innocent woman, who thought it likely enough that she had
danced with him in their youth at Squire Darleigh's, for at those big
dances she had often and often danced with young men whose names she
had forgotten.

Mrs. Tulliver hid these reasonings in her own bosom; for when she had
thrown out a hint to Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg that she wouldn't mind
going to speak to Wakem herself, they had said, "No, no, no," and
"Pooh, pooh," and "Let Wakem alone," in the tone of men who were not
likely to give a candid attention to a more definite exposition of her
project; still less dared she mention the plan to Tom and Maggie, for
"the children were always so against everything their mother said";
and Tom, she observed, was almost as much set against Wakem as his
father was. But this unusual concentration of thought naturally gave
Mrs. Tulliver an unusual power of device and determination: and a day
or two before the sale, to be held at the Golden Lion, when there was
no longer any time to be lost, she carried out her plan by a
stratagem. There were pickles in question, a large stock of pickles
and ketchup which Mrs. Tulliver possessed, and which Mr. Hyndmarsh,
the grocer, would certainly purchase if she could transact the
business in a personal interview, so she would walk with Tom to St.
Ogg's that morning; and when Tom urged that she might let the pickles
be at present,--he didn't like her to go about just yet,--she appeared
so hurt at this conduct in her son, contradicting her about pickles
which she had made after the family receipts inherited from his own
grandmother, who had died when his mother was a little girl, that he
gave way, and they walked together until she turned toward Danish
Street, where Mr. Hyndmarsh retailed his grocery, not far from the
offices of Mr. Wakem.

That gentleman was not yet come to his office; would Mrs. Tulliver sit
down by the fire in his private room and wait for him? She had not
long to wait before the punctual attorney entered, knitting his brow
with an examining glance at the stout blond woman who rose, curtsying
deferentially,--a tallish man, with an aquiline nose and abundant
iron-gray hair. You have never seen Mr. Wakem before, and are possibly
wondering whether he was really as eminent a rascal, and as crafty,
bitter an enemy of honest humanity in general, and of Mr. Tulliver in
particular, as he is represented to be in that eidolon or portrait of
him which we have seen to exist in the miller's mind.

It is clear that the irascible miller was a man to interpret any
chance-shot that grazed him as an attempt on his own life, and was
liable to entanglements in this puzzling world, which, due
consideration had to his own infallibility, required the hypothesis of
a very active diabolical agency to explain them. It is still possible
to believe that the attorney was not more guilty toward him than an
ingenious machine, which performs its work with much regularity, is
guilty toward the rash man who, venturing too near it, is caught up by
some fly-wheel or other, and suddenly converted into unexpected
mince-meat.

But it is really impossible to decide this question by a glance at his
person; the lines and lights of the human countenance are like other
symbols,--not always easy to read without a key. On an _a priori_ view
of Wakem's aquiline nose, which offended Mr. Tulliver, there was not
more rascality than in the shape of his stiff shirt-collar, though
this too along with his nose, might have become fraught with damnatory
meaning when once the rascality was ascertained.

"Mrs. Tulliver, I think?" said Mr. Wakem.

"Yes, sir; Miss Elizabeth Dodson as was."

"Pray be seated. You have some business with me?"

"Well, sir, yes," said Mrs. Tulliver, beginning to feel alarmed at her
own courage, now she was really in presence of the formidable man, and
reflecting that she had not settled with herself how she should begin.
Mr. Wakem felt in his waistcoat pockets, and looked at her in silence.

"I hope, sir," she began at last,--"I hope, sir, you're not a-thinking
as _I_ bear you any ill-will because o' my husband's losing his
lawsuit, and the bailies being put in, and the linen being sold,--oh
dear!--for I wasn't brought up in that way. I'm sure you remember my
father, sir, for he was close friends with Squire Darleigh, and we
allays went to the dances there, the Miss Dodsons,--nobody could be
more looked on,--and justly, for there was four of us, and you're
quite aware as Mrs. Glegg and Mrs. Deane are my sisters. And as for
going to law and losing money, and having sales before you're dead, I
never saw anything o' that before I was married, nor for a long while
after. And I'm not to be answerable for my bad luck i' marrying out o'
my own family into one where the goings-on was different. And as for
being drawn in t' abuse you as other folks abuse you, sir, _that_ I
niver was, and nobody can say it of me."

Mrs. Tulliver shook her head a little, and looked at the hem of her
pocket-handkerchief.

"I've no doubt of what you say, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. Wakem, with
cold politeness. "But you have some question to ask me?"

"Well, sir, yes. But that's what I've said to myself,--I've said you'd
had some nat'ral feeling; and as for my husband, as hasn't been
himself for this two months, I'm not a-defending him, in no way, for
being so hot about th' erigation,--not but what there's worse men, for
he never wronged nobody of a shilling nor a penny, not willingly; and
as for his fieriness and lawing, what could I do? And him struck as if
it was with death when he got the letter as said you'd the hold upo'
the land. But I can't believe but what you'll behave as a gentleman."

"What does all this mean, Mrs. Tulliver?" said Mr. Wakem rather
sharply. "What do you want to ask me?"

"Why, sir, if you'll be so good," said Mrs. Tulliver, starting a
little, and speaking more hurriedly,--"if you'll be so good not to buy
the mill an' the land,--the land wouldn't so much matter, only my
husband ull' be like mad at your having it."

Something like a new thought flashed across Mr. Wakem's face as he
said, "Who told you I meant to buy it?"

"Why, sir, it's none o' my inventing, and I should never ha' thought
of it; for my husband, as ought to know about the law, he allays used
to say as lawyers had never no call to buy anything,--either lands or
houses,--for they allays got 'em into their hands other ways. An' I
should think that 'ud be the way with you, sir; and I niver said as
you'd be the man to do contrairy to that."

"Ah, well, who was it that _did_ say so?" said Wakem, opening his
desk, and moving things about, with the accompaniment of an almost
inaudible whistle.

"Why, sir, it was Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane, as have all the management;
and Mr. Deane thinks as Guest & Co. 'ud buy the mill and let Mr.
Tulliver work it for 'em, if you didn't bid for it and raise the
price. And it 'ud be such a thing for my husband to stay where he is,
if he could get his living: for it was his father's before him, the
mill was, and his grandfather built it, though I wasn't fond o' the
noise of it, when first I was married, for there was no mills in our
family,--not the Dodson's,--and if I'd known as the mills had so much
to do with the law, it wouldn't have been me as 'ud have been the
first Dodson to marry one; but I went into it blindfold, that I did,
erigation and everything."

"What! Guest & Co. would keep the mill in their own hands, I suppose,
and pay your husband wages?"

"Oh dear, sir, it's hard to think of," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, a
little tear making its way, "as my husband should take wage. But it
'ud look more like what used to be, to stay at the mill than to go
anywhere else; and if you'll only think--if you was to bid for the
mill and buy it, my husband might be struck worse than he was before,
and niver get better again as he's getting now."

"Well, but if I bought the mill, and allowed your husband to act as my
manager in the same way, how then?" said Mr. Wakem.

"Oh, sir, I doubt he could niver be got to do it, not if the very mill
stood still to beg and pray of him. For your name's like poison to
him, it's so as never was; and he looks upon it as you've been the
ruin of him all along, ever since you set the law on him about the
road through the meadow,--that's eight year ago, and he's been going
on ever since--as I've allays told him he was wrong----"

"He's a pig-headed, foul-mouthed fool!" burst out Mr. Wakem,
forgetting himself.

"Oh dear, sir!" said Mrs. Tulliver, frightened at a result so
different from the one she had fixed her mind on; "I wouldn't wish to
contradict you, but it's like enough he's changed his mind with this
illness,--he's forgot a many things he used to talk about. And you
wouldn't like to have a corpse on your mind, if he was to die; and
they _do_ say as it's allays unlucky when Dorlcote Mill changes hands,
and the water might all run away, and _then_--not as I'm wishing you
any ill-luck, sir, for I forgot to tell you as I remember your wedding
as if it was yesterday; Mrs. Wakem was a Miss Clint, I know _that;_
and my boy, as there isn't a nicer, handsomer, straighter boy nowhere,
went to school with your son----"

Mr. Wakem rose, opened the door, and called to one of his clerks.

"You must excuse me for interrupting you, Mrs. Tulliver; I have
business that must be attended to; and I think there is nothing more
necessary to be said."

"But if you _would_ bear it in mind, sir," said Mrs. Tulliver, rising,
"and not run against me and my children; and I'm not denying Mr.
Tulliver's been in the wrong, but he's been punished enough, and
there's worse men, for it's been giving to other folks has been his
fault. He's done nobody any harm but himself and his family,--the
more's the pity,--and I go and look at the bare shelves every day, and
think where all my things used to stand."

"Yes, yes, I'll bear it in mind," said Mr. Wakem, hastily, looking
toward the open door.

"And if you'd please not to say as I've been to speak to you, for my
son 'ud be very angry with me for demeaning myself, I know he would,
and I've trouble enough without being scolded by my children."

Poor Mrs. Tulliver's voice trembled a little, and she could make no
answer to the attorney's "good morning," but curtsied and walked out
in silence.

"Which day is it that Dorlcote Mill is to be sold? Where's the bill?"
said Mr. Wakem to his clerk when they were alone.

"Next Friday is the day,--Friday at six o'clock."

"Oh, just run to Winship's the auctioneer, and see if he's at home. I
have some business for him; ask him to come up."

Although, when Mr. Wakem entered his office that morning, he had had
no intention of purchasing Dorlcote Mill, his mind was already made
up. Mrs. Tulliver had suggested to him several determining motives,
and his mental glance was very rapid; he was one of those men who can
be prompt without being rash, because their motives run in fixed
tracks, and they have no need to reconcile conflicting aims.

To suppose that Wakem had the same sort of inveterate hatred toward
Tulliver that Tulliver had toward him would be like supposing that a
pike and a roach can look at each other from a similar point of view.
The roach necessarily abhors the mode in which the pike gets his
living, and the pike is likely to think nothing further even of the
most indignant roach than that he is excellent good eating; it could
only be when the roach choked him that the pike could entertain a
strong personal animosity. If Mr. Tulliver had ever seriously injured
or thwarted the attorney, Wakem would not have refused him the
distinction of being a special object of his vindictiveness. But when
Mr. Tulliver called Wakem a rascal at the market dinner-table, the
attorneys' clients were not a whit inclined to withdraw their business
from him; and if, when Wakem himself happened to be present, some
jocose cattle-feeder, stimulated by opportunity and brandy, made a
thrust at him by alluding to old ladies' wills, he maintained perfect
_sang froid_, and knew quite well that the majority of substantial men
then present were perfectly contented with the fact that "Wakem was
Wakem"; that is to say, a man who always knew the stepping-stones that
would carry him through very muddy bits of practice. A man who had
made a large fortune, had a handsome house among the trees at Tofton,
and decidedly the finest stock of port-wine in the neighborhood of St.
Ogg's, was likely to feel himself on a level with public opinion. And
I am not sure that even honest Mr. Tulliver himself, with his general
view of law as a cockpit, might not, under opposite circumstances,
have seen a fine appropriateness in the truth that "Wakem was Wakem";
since I have understood from persons versed in history, that mankind
is not disposed to look narrowly into the conduct of great victors
when their victory is on the right side. Tulliver, then, could be no
obstruction to Wakem; on the contrary, he was a poor devil whom the
lawyer had defeated several times; a hot-tempered fellow, who would
always give you a handle against him. Wakem's conscience was not
uneasy because he had used a few tricks against the miller; why should
he hate that unsuccessful plaintiff, that pitiable, furious bull
entangled in the meshes of a net?

Still, among the various excesses to which human nature is subject,
moralists have never numbered that of being too fond of the people who
openly revile us. The successful Yellow candidate for the borough of
Old Topping, perhaps, feels no pursuant meditative hatred toward the
Blue editor who consoles his subscribers with vituperative rhetoric
against Yellow men who sell their country, and are the demons of
private life; but he might not be sorry, if law and opportunity
favored, to kick that Blue editor to a deeper shade of his favorite
color. Prosperous men take a little vengeance now and then, as they
take a diversion, when it comes easily in their way, and is no
hindrance to business; and such small unimpassioned revenges have an
enormous effect in life, running through all degrees of pleasant
infliction, blocking the fit men out of places, and blackening
characters in unpremeditated talk. Still more, to see people who have
been only insignificantly offensive to us reduced in life and
humiliated, without any special effort of ours, is apt to have a
soothing, flattering influence. Providence or some other prince of
this world, it appears, has undertaken the task of retribution for us;
and really, by an agreeable constitution of things, our enemies
somehow _don't_ prosper.

Wakem was not without this parenthetic vindictiveness toward the
uncomplimentary miller; and now Mrs. Tulliver had put the notion into
his head, it presented itself to him as a pleasure to do the very
thing that would cause Mr. Tulliver the most deadly mortification,--
and a pleasure of a complex kind, not made up of crude malice, but
mingling with it the relish of self-approbation. To see an enemy
humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared
with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your
benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is a sort of
revenge which falls into the scale of virtue, and Wakem was not without
an intention of keeping that scale respectably filled. He had once
had the pleasure of putting an old enemy of his into one of the St.
Ogg's alms-houses, to the rebuilding of which he had given a large
subscription; and here was an opportunity of providing for another by
making him his own servant. Such things give a completeness to
prosperity, and contribute elements of agreeable consciousness that
are not dreamed of by that short-sighted, overheated vindictiveness
which goes out its way to wreak itself in direct injury. And Tulliver,
with his rough tongue filed by a sense of obligation, would make a
better servant than any chance-fellow who was cap-in-hand for a
situation. Tulliver was known to be a man of proud honesty, and Wakem
was too acute not to believe in the existence of honesty. He was given
too observing individuals, not to judging of them according to maxims,
and no one knew better than he that all men were not like himself.
Besides, he intended to overlook the whole business of land and mill
pretty closely; he was fond of these practical rural matters. But
there were good reasons for purchasing Dorlcote Mill, quite apart from
any benevolent vengeance on the miller. It was really a capital
investment; besides, Guest & Co. were going to bid for it. Mr. Guest
and Mr. Wakem were on friendly dining terms, and the attorney liked to
predominate over a ship-owner and mill-owner who was a little too loud
in the town affairs as well as in his table-talk. For Wakem was not a
mere man of business; he was considered a pleasant fellow in the upper
circles of St. Ogg's--chatted amusingly over his port-wine, did a
little amateur farming, and had certainly been an excellent husband
and father; at church, when he went there, he sat under the handsomest
of mural monuments erected to the memory of his wife. Most men would
have married again under his circumstances, but he was said to be more
tender to his deformed son than most men were to their best-shapen
offspring. Not that Mr. Wakem had not other sons beside Philip; but
toward them he held only a chiaroscuro parentage, and provided for
them in a grade of life duly beneath his own. In this fact, indeed,
there lay the clenching motive to the purchase of Dorlcote Mill. While
Mrs. Tulliver was talking, it had occurred to the rapid-minded lawyer,
among all the other circumstances of the case, that this purchase
would, in a few years to come, furnish a highly suitable position for
a certain favorite lad whom he meant to bring on in the world.

These were the mental conditions on which Mrs. Tulliver had undertaken
to act persuasively, and had failed; a fact which may receive some
illustration from the remark of a great philosopher, that fly-fishers
fail in preparing their bait so as to make it alluring in the right
quarter, for want of a due acquaintance with the subjectivity of
fishes.

 A few more days pass and Mr. Tulliver gradually begins to get better. Meanwhile the Tulliver's land and farm animals are all being sold. Mr. Deane is considering having Guest and Co. buy the family mill, but he hesitates since Wakem still owns the mortgage. The Gleggs look at the Mill, but Mr. Glegg doesn't want to use his money to buy it. Mr. Tulliver is declared bankrupt and Tom's pride smarts at this blow to the family honor. Tom takes an entry position at Guest and Co. and is basically slaving away for minimum wage. Meanwhile, Mrs. Tulliver is scheming. She decides to go see Mr. Wakem to beg him to not throw them out of their house. She feels that Mr. Wakem will be nice to her since this was all her husband's fault and since she used to be a Miss Dodson and everybody loves the Dodsons, apparently. The Dodsons love themselves at any rate. So, Mrs. Tulliver goes to see Mr. Wakem, who is really confused by her visit to his office. Mrs. Tulliver rambles on till Mr. Wakem finally cuts her off and tells her to get to the point already. Mrs. Tulliver finally blurts out that she wants Mr. Wakem to let Guest and Co. purchase the mill so that the Tulllivers can stay there. Mr. Wakem didn't know about the Guest and Co. plans. Uh oh! Mr. Wakem suggests that he buy the mill and let Mr. Tulliver stay on as the manager. Mrs. Tulliver says that's nice but that her husband hates his guts and probably won't agree to work for him. Wakem calls Mr. Tulliver some mean names and Mrs. Tulliver gets worried. She tries talking about Mrs. Wakem to calm him down. Mr. Wakem quickly has Mrs. Tulliver thrown out of his office. He then asks his secretary when the mill is being sold and obviously plans to buy it himself, as he is an evil lawyer. But the narrator breaks in now to give us a very lengthy run down of Mr. Wakem's motives. Wakem isn't evil per se. He's just a rich man who often enjoys messing with poorer people for kicks and giggles. Like Dr. Frankenstein, Wakem buys things and takes a little revenge against his neighbors just because he can. Wakem does have some nice qualities though - he was devoted to his late wife and he is good to his son Philip, despite his deformity. But overall he's kind of a punk. And a soon-to-be mill owner.

