Can You Forgive Her?

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  The Inn at Shap.

  When George Vavasor left Mr. Scruby's office--the attentive readerwill remember that he did call upon Mr. Scruby, the Parliamentarylawyer, and there recognised the necessity of putting himselfin possession of a small sum of money with as little delay aspossible;--when he left the attorney's office, he was well aware thatthe work to be done was still before him. And he knew also that thejob to be undertaken was a very disagreeable job. He did not like thetask of borrowing his cousin Alice's money.

  We all of us know that swindlers and rogues do very dirty tricks,and we are apt to picture to ourselves a certain amount of gustoand delight on the part of the swindlers in the doing of them. Inthis, I think we are wrong. The poor, broken, semi-genteel beggar,who borrows half-sovereigns apiece from all his old acquaintances,knowing that they know that he will never repay them, suffers aseparate little agony with each petition that he makes. He does notenjoy pleasant sailing in this journey which he is making. To berefused is painful to him. To get his half sovereign with scorn ispainful. To get it with apparent confidence in his honour is almostmore painful. "D---- it," he says to himself on such rare occasions,"I will pay that fellow;" and yet, as he says it, he knows that henever will pay even that fellow. It is a comfortless unsatisfyingtrade, that of living upon other people's money.

  How was George Vavasor to make his first step towards getting hishand into his cousin's purse? He had gone to her asking for herlove, and she had shuddered when he asked her. That had been thecommencement of their life under their new engagement. He knew verywell that the money would be forthcoming when he demanded it,--butunder their present joint circumstances, how was he to make thedemand? If he wrote to her, should he simply ask for money, and makeno allusion to his love? If he went to her in person, should he makehis visit a mere visit of business,--as he might call on his banker?

  He resolved at last that Kate should do the work for him. Indeed,he had felt all along that it would be well that Kate should act asambassador between him and Alice in money matters, as she had longdone in other things. He could talk to Kate as he could not talk toAlice;--and then, between the women, those hard money necessitieswould be softened down by a romantic phraseology which he would nothimself know how to use with any effect. He made up his mind to seeKate, and with this view he went down to Westmoreland; and tookhimself to a small wayside inn at Shap among the fells, which hadbeen known to him of old. He gave his sister notice that he would bethere, and begged her to come over to him as early as she might findit possible on the morning after his arrival. He himself reached theplace late in the evening by train from London. There is a stationat Shap, by which the railway company no doubt conceives that ithas conferred on that somewhat rough and remote locality all theadvantages of a refined civilization but I doubt whether theShappites have been thankful for the favour. The landlord at the inn,for one, is not thankful. Shap had been a place owing all such lifeas it had possessed to coaching and posting. It had been a stage onthe high road from Lancaster to Carlisle, and though it lay highand bleak among the fells, and was a cold, windy, thinly-populatedplace,--filling all travellers with thankfulness that they had notbeen made Shappites, nevertheless, it had had its glory in itscoaching and posting. I have no doubt that there are men and womenwho look back with a fond regret to the palmy days of Shap.

  Vavasor reached the little inn about nine in the evening on a nightthat was pitchy dark, and in a wind which made it necessary for himto hold his hat on to his head. "What a beastly country to live in,"he said to himself, resolving that he would certainly sell VavasorHall in spite of all family associations, if ever the power to do soshould be his. "What trash it is," he said, "hanging on to such aplace as that without the means of living like a gentleman, simplybecause one's ancestors have done so." And then he expressed adoubt to himself whether all the world contained a more ignorant,opinionated, useless old man than his grandfather,--or, in short, agreater fool.

  "Well, Mr. George," said the landlord as soon as he saw him, "a sightof you's guid for sair een. It's o'er lang since you've been doonamang the fells." But George did not want to converse with theinnkeeper, or to explain how it was that he did not visit VavasorHall. The innkeeper, no doubt, knew all about it,--knew that thegrandfather had quarrelled with his grandson, and knew the reasonwhy; but George, if he suspected such knowledge, did not choose torefer to it. So he simply grunted something in reply, and gettinghimself in before a spark of fire which hardly was burning in apublic room with a sandy floor, begged that the little sitting-roomup-stairs might be got ready for him. There he passed the evening insolitude, giving no encouragement to the landlord, who, nevertheless,looked him up three or four times,--till at last George said that hishead ached, and that he would wish to be alone. "He was always one ofthem cankery chiels as never have a kindly word for man nor beast,"said the landlord. "Seems as though that raw slash in his face hadgone right through into his heart." After that George was left alone,and sat thinking whether it would not be better to ask Alice for twothousand pounds at once,--so as to save him from the disagreeablenecessity of a second borrowing before their marriage. He was veryuneasy in his mind. He had flattered himself through it all that hiscousin had loved him. He had felt sure that such was the case whilethey were together in Switzerland. When she had determined to giveup John Grey, of course he had told himself the same thing. When shehad at once answered his first subsequent overture with an assent, hehad of course been certain that it was so. Dark, selfish, and evendishonest as he was, he had, nevertheless, enjoyed something of alover's true pleasure in believing that Alice had still loved himthrough all their mischances. But his joy had in a moment been turnedinto gall during that interview in Queen Anne Street. He had read thetruth at a glance. A man must be very vain, or else very little usedto such matters, who at George Vavasor's age cannot understand thefeelings with which a woman receives him. When Alice contrived as shehad done to escape the embrace he was so well justified in asking, heknew the whole truth. He was sore at heart, and very angry withal.He could have readily spurned her from him, and rejected her who hadonce rejected him. He would have done so had not his need for hermoney restrained him. He was not a man who could deceive himself insuch matters. He knew that this was so, and he told himself that hewas a rascal.

  Vavasor Hall was, by the road, about five miles from Shap, and itwas not altogether an easy task for Kate to get over to the villagewithout informing her grandfather that the visit was to be made, andwhat was its purport. She could, indeed, walk, and the walk would notbe so long as that she had taken with Alice to Swindale fell;--butwalking to an inn on a high road, is not the same thing as walkingto a point on a hill side over a lake. Had she been dirty, draggled,and wet through on Swindale fell, it would have simply been matterfor mirth; but her brother she knew would not have liked to see herenter the Lowther Arms at Shap in such a condition. It, therefore,became necessary that she should ask her grandfather to lend her thejaunting car.

  "Where do you want to go?" he asked sharply. In such establishmentsas that at Vavasor Hall the family horse is generally used for doubleduties. Though he draws the lady of the house one day, he is not tooproud to draw manure on the next. And it will always be found thatthe master of the house gives a great preference to the manure overthe lady. The squire at Vavasor had come to do so to such an extentthat he regarded any application for the animal's services as anencroachment.

  "Only to Shap, grandpapa."

  "To Shap! what on earth can take you to Shap? There are no shops atShap."

  "I am not going to do shopping. I want to see some one there."

  "Whom can you want to see at Shap?"

  Then it occurred to Kate on the spur of the moment that she might aswell tell her grandfather the fact. "My brother has come down," shesaid; "and is at the inn there. I had not intended to tell you, asI did not wish to mention his name till you had consented to receivehim here."

  "And he expects to come
here now;--does he?" said the squire.

  "Oh, no, sir. I think he has no expectation of the kind. He has comedown simply to see me;--about business I believe."

  "Business! what business? I suppose he wants to get your money fromyou?"

  "I think it is with reference to his marriage. I think he wants me touse my influence with Alice that it may not be delayed."

  "Look here, Kate; if ever you lend him your money, or any ofit,--that is, of the principal I mean,--I will never speak to himagain under any circumstance. And more than that! Look here, Kate. Inspite of all that has past and gone, the property will become his forhis life when I die,--unless I change my will. If he gets your moneyfrom you, I will change it, and he shall not be a shilling richer atmy death than he is now. You can have the horse to go to Shap."

  What unlucky chance had it been which had put this idea into the oldsquire's head on this especial morning? Kate had resolved that shewould entreat her brother to make use of her little fortune. Shefeared that he was now coming with some reference to his cousin'smoney,--that something was to be done to enable him to avail himselfof his cousin's offer; and Kate, almost blushing in the solitude ofher chamber at the thought, was determined that her brother must besaved from such temptation. She knew that money was necessary to him.She knew that he could not stand a second contest without assistance.With all their confidences, he had never told her much of hispecuniary circumstances in the world, but she was almost sure that hewas a poor man. He had said as much as that to her, and in his letterdesiring her to come to him at Shap, he had inserted a word or twopurposely intended to prepare her mind for monetary considerations.

  As she was jogged along over the rough road to Shap, she made upher mind that Aunt Greenow would be the proper person to defraythe expense of the coming election. To give Kate her due she wouldhave given up every shilling of her own money without a moment'shesitation, or any feeling that her brother would be wrong to acceptit. Nor would she, perhaps, have been unalterably opposed to histaking Alice's money, had Alice simply been his cousin. She felt thatas Vavasors they were bound to stand by the future head of the familyin an attempt which was to be made, as she felt, for the generalVavasor interest. But she could not endure to think that her brothershould take the money of the girl whom he was engaged to marry. AuntGreenow's money she thought was fair game. Aunt Greenow herself hadmade various liberal offers to herself which Kate had declined, notcaring to be under pecuniary obligations even to Aunt Greenow withoutnecessity; but she felt that for such a purpose as her brother'scontest, she need not hesitate to ask for assistance, and she thoughtalso that such assistance would be forthcoming.

  "Grandpapa knows that you are here, George," said Kate, when theirfirst greeting was over.

  "The deuce he does! and why did you tell him?"

  "I could not get the car to come in without letting him know why Iwanted it."

  "What nonsense! as if you couldn't have made any excuse! I wasparticularly anxious that he should not guess that I am here."

  "I don't see that it can make any difference, George."

  "But I see that it can,--a very great difference. It may prevent myever being able to get near him again before he dies. What did he sayabout my coming?"

  "He didn't say much."

  "He made no offer as to my going there?"

  "No."

  "I should not have gone if he had. I don't know now that I evershall go. To be there to do any good,--so as to make him alter hiswill, and leave me in the position which I have a right to expect,would take more time than the whole property is worth. And he wouldendeavour to tie me down in some way I could not stand;--perhaps askme to give up my notion for going into Parliament."

  "He might ask you, but he would not make it ground for anotherquarrel, if you refused."

  "He is so unreasonable and ignorant that I am better away fromhim. But, Kate, you have not congratulated me on my matrimonialprospects."

  "Indeed I did, George, when I wrote to you."

  "Did you? well; I had forgotten. I don't know that any very strongcongratulatory tone is necessary. As things go, perhaps it may be aswell for all of us, and that's about the best that can be said forit."

  "Oh, George!"

  "You see I'm not romantic, Kate, as you are. Half a dozen childrenwith a small income do not generally present themselves as beingdesirable to men who wish to push their way in the world."

  "You know you have always longed to make her your wife."

  "I don't know anything of the kind. You have always been under amatch-making hallucination on that point. But in this case you havebeen so far successful, and are entitled to your triumph."

  "I don't want any triumph; you ought to know that."

  "But I'll tell you what I do want, Kate. I want some money." Thenhe paused, but as she did not answer immediately, he was obliged togo on speaking. "I'm not at all sure that I have not been wrong inmaking this attempt to get into Parliament,--that I'm not strugglingto pick fruit which is above my reach."

  "Don't say that, George."

  "Ah, but I can't help feeling it. I need hardly tell you that I amready to risk anything of my own. If I know myself I would toss upto-morrow, or for the matter of that to-day, between the gallows anda seat in the House. But I cannot go on with this contest by riskingwhat is merely my own. Money, for immediate use, I have none left,and my neck, though I were ever so willing to risk it, is of noservice."

  "Whatever I have can be yours to-morrow," said Kate, in a hesitatingvoice, which too plainly pronounced her misery as she made theoffer. She could not refrain herself from making it. Though hergrandfather's threat was ringing in her ears,--though she knew thatshe might be ruining her brother by proposing such a loan, she hadno alternative. When her brother told her of his want of money, shecould not abstain from tendering to him the use of what was her own.

  "No;" said he. "I shall not take your money."

  "You would not scruple, if you knew how welcome you are."

  "At any rate, I shall not take it. I should not think it right. Allthat you have would only just suffice for my present wants, and Ishould not choose to make you a beggar. There would, moreover, be adifficulty about readjusting the payment."

  "There would be no difficulty, because no one need be consulted butus two."

  "I should not think it right, and therefore let there be an end ofit," said George in a tone of voice which had in it something ofmagniloquence.

  "What is it you wish then?" said Kate, who knew too well what he didwish.

  "I will explain to you. When Alice and I are married, of coursethere will be a settlement made on her, and as we are both thegrandchildren of the old squire I shall propose that the Vavasorproperty shall be hers for life in the event of her outliving me."

  "Well," said Kate.

  "And if this be done, there can be no harm in my forestalling someof her property, which, under the circumstances of such a settlement,would of course become mine when we are married."

  "But the squire might leave the property to whom he pleases."

  "We know very well that he won't, at any rate, leave it out of thefamily. In fact, he would only be too glad to consent to such anagreement as that I have proposed, because he would thereby rob me ofall power in the matter."

  "But that could not be done till you are married."

  "Look here, Kate;--don't you make difficulties." And now, as helooked at her, the cicature on his face seemed to open and yawn ather. "If you mean to say that you won't help me, do say so, and Iwill go back to London."

  "I would do anything in my power to help you,--that was not wrong!"

  "Yes; anybody could say as much as that. That is not much of an offerif you are to keep to yourself the power of deciding what is wrong.Will you write to Alice,--or better still, go to her, and explainthat I want the money."

  "How can I go to London now?"

  "You can do it very well, if you choose. But if that be too much,then write to her. It will come mu
ch better from you than from me;write to her, and explain that I must pay in advance the expensesof this contest, and that I cannot look for success unless I do so.I did not think that the demand would come so quick on me; but theyknow that I am not a man of capital, and therefore I cannot expectthem to carry on the fight for me, unless they know that the money issure. Scruby has been bitten two or three times by these metropolitanfellows, and he is determined that he will not be bitten again." Thenhe paused for Kate to speak.

  "George," she said, slowly.

  "Well."

  "I wish you would try any other scheme but that."

  "There is no other scheme! That's so like a woman;--to quarrel withthe only plan that is practicable."

  "I do not think you ought to take Alice's money."

  "My dear Kate, you must allow me to be the best judge of what I oughtto do, and what I ought not to do. Alice herself understands thematter perfectly. She knows that I cannot obtain this position, whichis as desirable for her as it is for me--"

  "And for me as much as for either," said Kate, interrupting him.

  "Very well. Alice, I say, knows that I cannot do this without money,and has offered the assistance which I want. I would rather that youshould tell her how much I want, and that I want it now, than that Ishould do so. That is all. If you are half the woman that I take youto be, you will understand this well enough."

  Kate did understand it well enough. She was quite awake to the factthat her brother was ashamed of the thing he was about to do,--somuch ashamed of it that he was desirous of using her voice insteadof his own. "I want you to write to her quite at once," he continued;"since you seem to think that it is not worth while to take thetrouble of a journey to London."

  "There is no question about the trouble," said Kate. "I would walk toLondon to get the money for you, if that were all."

  "Do you think that Alice will refuse to lend it me?" said he, lookinginto her face.

  "I am sure that she would not, but I think that you ought not to takeit from her. There seems to me to be something sacred about propertythat belongs to the girl you are going to marry."

  "If there is anything on earth I hate," said George, walking aboutthe room, "it is romance. If you keep it for reading in your bedroom,it's all very well for those who like it, but when it comes to bemixed up with one's business it plays the devil. If you would onlysift what you have said, you would see what nonsense it is. Alice andI are to be man and wife. All our interests, and all our money, andour station in life, whatever it may be, are to be joint property.And yet she is the last person in the world to whom I ought to go formoney to improve her prospects as well as my own. That's what youcall delicacy. I call it infernal nonsense."

  "I tell you what I'll do, George. I'll ask Aunt Greenow to lend youthe money,--or to lend it to me."

  "I don't believe she'd give me a shilling. Moreover, I want it quiteimmediately, and the time taken up in letter-writing and negotiationswould be fatal to me. If you won't apply to Alice, I must. I want youto tell me whether you will oblige me in this matter."

  Kate was still hesitating as to her answer, when there came a knockat the door, and a little crumpled note was brought up to her. A boyhad just come with it across the fell from Vavasor Hall, and Kate, assoon as she saw her name on the outside, knew that it was from hergrandfather. It was as follows:--

  "If George wishes to come to the Hall, let him come. If he chooses to tell me that he regrets his conduct to me, I will see him."

  "What is it?" said George. Then Kate put the note into her brother'shand.

  "I'll do nothing of the kind," he said. "What good should I get bygoing to the old man's house?"

  "Every good," said Kate. "If you don't go now you never can do so."

  "Never till it's my own," said George.

  "If you show him that you are determined to be at variance with him,it never will be your own;--unless, indeed, it should some day cometo you as part of Alice's fortune. Think of it, George; you would notlike to receive everything from her."

  He walked about the room, muttering maledictions between his teethand balancing, as best he was able at such a moment, his prideagainst his profit. "You haven't answered my question," said he. "IfI go to the Hall, will you write to Alice?"

  "No, George; I cannot write to Alice asking her for the money."

  "You won't?"

  "I could not bring myself to do it."

  "Then, Kate, you and my grandfather may work together for the future.You may get him to leave you the place if you have skill enough."

  "That is as undeserved a reproach as any woman ever encountered,"said Kate, standing her ground boldly before him. "If you have eitherheart or conscience, you will feel that it is so."

  "I'm not much troubled with either one or the other, I fancy. Thingsare being brought to such a pass with me that I am better withoutthem."

  "Will you take my money, George; just for the present?"

  "No. I haven't much conscience; but I have a little left."

  "Will you let me write to Mrs. Greenow?"

  "I have not the slightest objection but it will be of no usewhatsoever."

  "I will do so, at any rate. And now will you come to the Hall?"

  "To beg that old fool's pardon? No; I won't. In the mood I am in atpresent, I couldn't do it. I should only anger him worse than ever.Tell him that I've business which calls me back to London at once."

  "It is a thousand pities."

  "It can't be helped."

  "It may make so great a difference to you for your whole life!" urgedKate.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do," said George. "I'll go to Vavasorand put up with the old squire's insolence, if you'll make thisapplication for me to Alice." I wonder whether it occurred to himthat his sister desired his presence at the Hall solely on his ownbehalf. The same idea certainly did not occur to Kate. She hesitated,feeling that she would almost do anything to achieve a reconciliationbetween her grandfather and her brother.

  "But you'll let me write to Aunt Greenow first," said she. "It willtake only two days,--or at the most three?"

  To this George consented as though he were yielding a great deal;and Kate, with a sore conscience, with a full knowledge that she wasundertaking to do wrong, promised that she would apply to Alice forher money, if sufficient funds should not be forthcoming from Mrs.Greenow. Thereupon, George graciously consented to proceed to hisbedroom, and put together his clothes with a view to his visit to theHall.

  "I thank Providence, Kate, that circumstances make it impossible forme to stay above two days. I have not linen to last me longer."

  "We'll manage that for you at the Hall."

  "Indeed you won't do anything of the kind. And look, Kate, when Imake that excuse don't you offer to do so. I will stay there overto-morrow night, and shall go into Kendal early, so as to catch theexpress train up on Thursday morning. Don't you throw me over by anycounter proposition."

  Then they started together in the car, and very few words were saidtill they reached the old lodge, which stood at the entrance to theplace. "Eh, Mr. George; be that you?" said the old woman, who came outto swing back for them the broken gate. "A sight of you is good forsair een." It was the same welcome that the inn-keeper had given him,and equally sincere. George had never made himself popular about theplace, but he was the heir.

  "I suppose you had better go into the drawing-room," said Kate;"while I go to my grandfather. You won't find a fire there."

  "Manage it how you please; but don't keep me in the cold very long.Heavens, what a country house! The middle of January, and no fires inthe room."

  "And remember, George, when you see him you must say that you regretthat you ever displeased him. Now that you are here, don't let therebe any further misunderstanding."

  "I think it very probable that there will be," said George. "I onlyhope he'll let me have the old horse to take me back to Shap if thereis. There he is at the front door, so I shan't have to go into theroom without a fire.
"

  The old man was standing at the hall steps when the car drove up, asthough to welcome his grandson. He put out his hand to help Kate downthe steps, keeping his eye all the time on George's face.

  "So you've come back," the squire said to him.

  "So you've come back, have you?" said the Squire.]

  "Yes, sir;--I've come back, like the prodigal son in the parable."

  "The prodigal son was contrite. I hope you are so."

  "Pretty well for that, sir. I'm sorry there has been any quarrel, andall that, you know."

  "Go in," said the squire, very angrily. "Go in. To expect anythinggracious from you would be to expect pearls from swine. Go in."

  George went in, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes met his sister's.It was in this fashion that the reconciliation took place betweenSquire Vavasor and his heir.