CHAPTER XL.
Mrs. Greenow's Little Dinner in the Close.
How deep and cunning are the wiles of love! When that Saturdaymorning arrived not a word was said by Cheesacre to his rival asto his plans for the day. "You'll take the dog-cart in?" CaptainBellfield had asked overnight. "I don't know what I shall do as yet,"replied he who was master of the house, of the dog-cart, and, as hefondly thought, of the situation. But Bellfield knew that Cheesacremust take the dog-cart, and was contented. His friend would leave himbehind, if it were possible, but Bellfield would take care that itshould not be possible.
Before breakfast Mr. Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into theyard a bag containing all his apparatus for dressing,--his marrowoil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous worked front upon anunder-stratum of pink to give it colour, his shiny boots, and allthe rest of the paraphernalia. When dining in Norwich on ordinaryoccasions, he simply washed his hands there, trusting to thechambermaid at the inn to find him a comb; and now he came down withhis bag surreptitiously, and hid it away in the back of the dog-cartwith secret, but alas, not unobserved hands, hoping that Bellfieldwould forget his toilet. But when did such a Captain ever forget hisoutward man? Cheesacre, as he returned through the kitchen from theyard into the front hall, perceived another bag lying near the door,apparently filled almost as well as his own.
"What the deuce are you going to do with all this luggage?" said he,giving the bag a kick.
"Put it where I saw you putting yours when I opened my window justnow," said Bellfield.
"D---- the window," exclaimed Cheesacre, and then they sat down tobreakfast. "How you do hack that ham about," he said. "If you everfound hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them." Thiswas very bad. Even Bellfield could not bear it with equanimity, andfeeling unable to eat the ham under such circumstances, made hisbreakfast with a couple of fresh eggs. "If you didn't mean to eat themeat, why the mischief did you cut it?" said Cheesacre.
"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad;--upon my word you are,"said Bellfield, almost sobbing.
"What's the matter now?" said the other.
"Who wants your ham?"
"You do, I suppose, or you wouldn't cut it."
"No I don't; nor anything else either that you've got. It isn't fairto ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him asthat. And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tellyou that, Mr. Cheesacre."
"Oh, bother!"
"It's all very well to say bother, but I choose to be treated like agentleman wherever I go. You and I have known each other a long time,and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but--"
"Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?" saidCheesacre, looking hard at him.
"No, I can't," said Bellfield; "not immediately."
"Then eat your breakfast, and hold your tongue."
After that Captain Bellfield did eat his breakfast,--leaving the hamhowever untouched, and did hold his tongue, vowing vengeance in hisheart. But the two men went into Norwich more amicably together thanthey would have done had there been no words between them. Cheesacrefelt that he had trespassed a little, and therefore offered theCaptain a cigar as he seated himself in the cart. Bellfield acceptedthe offering, and smoked the weed of peace.
"Now," said Cheesacre, as he drove into the Swan yard, "what do youmean to do with yourself all day?"
"I shall go down to the quarters, and look the fellows up."
"All right. But mind this, Bellfield;--it's an understood thing, thatyou're not to be in the Close before four?"
"I won't be in the Close before four!"
"Very well. That's understood. If you deceive me, I'll not drive youback to Oileymead to-night."
In this instance Captain Bellfield had no intention to deceive.He did not think it probable that he could do himself any goodby philandering about the widow early in the day. She would beengaged with her dinner and with an early toilet. Captain Bellfield,moreover, had learned from experience that the first comer has notalways an advantage in ladies' society. The mind of a woman is greedyafter novelty, and it is upon the stranger, or upon the most strangeof her slaves around her, that she often smiles the sweetest. Thecathedral clock, therefore, had struck four before Captain Bellfieldrang Mrs. Greenow's bell, and then, when he was shown into thedrawing-room, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with themarrow oil, and beautiful with the pink bosom.
"Haven't you seen her yet?" asked the Captain almost in a whisper.
"No," said Cheesacre sulkily.
"Nor yet Charlie Fairstairs?"
"I've seen nobody," said Cheesacre.
But at this moment he was compelled to swallow his anger, as Mrs.Greenow, accompanied by her lady guest, came into the room. "Whoeverwould have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual," said she,"especially on market-day!"
"Market-day makes no difference when I come to see you," saidCheesacre, putting his best foot forward, while Captain Bellfieldcontented himself with saying something civil to Charlie. He wouldbide his time and ride a waiting race.
The widow was almost gorgeous in her weeds. I believe that shehad not sinned in her dress against any of those canons which thesemi-ecclesiastical authorities on widowhood have laid down as to theoutward garments fitted for gentlemen's relicts. The materials werethose which are devoted to the deepest conjugal grief. As regardedevery item of the written law her suttee worship was carried outto the letter. There was the widow's cap, generally so hideous,so well known to the eyes of all men, so odious to womanhood. Letus hope that such headgear may have some assuaging effect on thedeparted spirits of husbands. There was the dress of deep, clinging,melancholy crape,--of crape which becomes so brown and so rusty,and which makes the six months' widow seem so much more afflicteda creature than she whose husband is just gone, and whose crape istherefore new. There were the trailing weepers, and the widow'skerchief pinned close round her neck and somewhat tightly over herbosom. But there was that of genius about Mrs. Greenow, that she hadturned every seeming disadvantage to some special profit, and had sodressed herself that though she had obeyed the law to the letter, shehad thrown the spirit of it to the winds. Her cap sat jauntily on herhead, and showed just so much of her rich brown hair as to give herthe appearance of youth which she desired. Cheesacre had blamed herin his heart for her private carriage, but she spent more money, Ithink, on new crape than she did on her brougham. It never becamebrown and rusty with her, or formed itself into old lumpy folds, orshaped itself round her like a grave cloth. The written law had notinterdicted crinoline, and she loomed as large with weeds, whichwith her were not sombre, as she would do with her silks when theperiod of her probation should be over. Her weepers were bright withnewness, and she would waft them aside from her shoulder with an airwhich turned even them into auxiliaries. Her kerchief was fastenedclose round her neck and close over her bosom; but Jeannette wellknew what she was doing as she fastened it,--and so did Jeannette'smistress.
Mrs. Greenow would still talk much about her husband, declaring thather loss was as fresh to her wounded heart, as though he, on whomall her happiness had rested, had left her only yesterday; butyet she mistook her dates, frequently referring to the melancholycircumstance, as having taken place fifteen months ago. In truth,however, Mr. Greenow had been alive within the last nine months,--aseverybody around her knew. But if she chose to forget the exact day,why should her friends or dependents remind her of it? No friend ordependent did remind her of it, and Charlie Fairstairs spoke of thefifteen months with bold confidence,--false-tongued little parasitethat she was.
"Looking well," said the widow, in answer to some outspokencompliment from Mr. Cheesacre. "Yes, I'm well enough in health, andI suppose I ought to be thankful that it is so. But if you had burieda wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you wouldhave become as indifferent as I am to all that kind of thing."
"I never was married yet," said Mr. Cheesacre.
"And the
refore you know nothing about it. Everything in the worldis gay and fresh to you. If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would notrun the risk. It is hardly worth a woman's while, and I suppose nota man's. The sufferings are too great!" Whereupon she pressed herhandkerchief to her eyes.
"But I mean to try all the same," said Cheesacre, looking the loverall over as he gazed into the fair one's face.
"I hope that you may be successful, Mr. Cheesacre, and that she maynot be torn away from you early in life. Is dinner ready, Jeannette?That's well. Mr. Cheesacre, will you give your arm to MissFairstairs?"
There was no doubt as to Mrs. Greenow's correctness. As CaptainBellfield held, or had held, her Majesty's commission, he was clearlyentitled to take the mistress of the festival down to dinner. ButCheesacre would not look at it in this light. He would only rememberthat he had paid for the Captain's food for some time past, that theCaptain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captainowed him money, and ought, so to say, to be regarded as his propertyon the occasion. "I pay my way, and that ought to give a man higherstation than being a beggarly captain,--which I don't believe he is,if all the truth was known." It was thus that he took an occasion toexpress himself to Miss Fairstairs on that very evening. "Militaryrank is always recognised," Miss Fairstairs had replied, taking Mr.Cheesacre's remarks as a direct slight upon herself. He had taken herdown to dinner, and had then come to her complaining that he had beeninjured in being called upon to do so! "If you were a magistrate, Mr.Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not." CharlieFairstairs knew well what she was about. Mr. Cheesacre had strivenmuch to get his name put upon the commission of the peace, but hadfailed. "Nasty, scraggy old cat," Cheesacre said to himself, as heturned away from her.
But Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down. He andCheesacre were placed at the top and bottom of the table, so thatthey might do the work of carving; and the ladies sat at the sides.Mrs. Greenow's hospitality was very good. The dinner was exactlywhat a dinner ought to be for four persons. There was soup, fish,a cutlet, a roast fowl, and some game. Jeannette waited at tablenimbly, and the thing could not have been done better. Mrs. Greenow'sappetite was not injured by her grief, and she so far repressed forthe time all remembrance of her sorrow as to enable her to play thekind hostess to perfection. Under her immediate eye Cheesacre wasforced into apparent cordiality with his friend Bellfield, and theCaptain himself took the good things which the gods provided withthankful good-humour.
Nothing, however, was done at the dinner-table. No work got itselfaccomplished. The widow was so accurately fair in the adjustment ofher favours, that even Jeannette could not perceive to which of thetwo she turned with the amplest smile. She talked herself and madeothers talk, till Cheesacre became almost comfortable, in spite ofhis jealousy. "And now," she said, as she got up to leave the room,when she had taken her own glass of wine, "We will allow these twogentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie? and then we shall expectthem up-stairs."
"Ten minutes will be enough for us here," said Cheesacre, who was ina hurry to utilize his time.
"Half an hour," said Mrs. Greenow, not without some little tone ofcommand in her voice. Ten minutes might be enough for Mr. Cheesacre,but ten minutes was not enough for her.
Bellfield had opened the door, and it was upon him that the widow'seye glanced as she left the room. Cheesacre saw it, and resolved toresent the injury. "I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said, ashe sat down moodily over the fire, "I won't have you coming here atall, till this matter is settled."
"Till what matter is settled?" said Bellfield, filling his glass.
"You know what matter I mean."
"You take such a deuce of a time about it."
"No, I don't. I take as little time as anybody could. That otherfellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thingin excellent training already."
"And what harm do I do?"
"You disturb me, and you disturb her. You do it on purpose. Do yousuppose I can't see? I'll tell you what, now; if you'll go clean outof Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the dayshe becomes Mrs. Cheesacre."
"And where am I to go to?"
"You may stay at Oileymead, if you like;--that is, on condition thatyou do stay there."
"And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own. Shall Itell you a piece of my mind, Cheesacre?"
"What do you mean?"
"That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marryingthe Bishop. Won't you fill your glass, old fellow? I know where thetap is if you want another bottle. You may as well give it up, andspend no more money in pink fronts and polished boots on her account.You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs. Greenow doesn't like podgy men."
Cheesacre sat looking at him with his mouth open, dumb with surprise,and almost paralysed with impotent anger. What had happened duringthe last few hours to change so entirely the tone of his dependentcaptain? Could it be that Bellfield had been there during themorning, and that she had accepted him?
"You are very podgy, Cheesacre," Bellfield continued, "and then youso often smell of the farm-yard; and you talk too much of your moneyand your property. You'd have had a better chance if you had openlytalked to her of hers,--as I have done. As it is, you haven't anychance at all."
Bellfield, as he thus spoke to the man opposite to him, went ondrinking his wine comfortably, and seemed to be chuckling with glee.Cheesacre was so astounded, so lost in amazement that the creaturewhom he had fed,--whom he had bribed with money out of his ownpocket, should thus turn against him, that for a while he could notcollect his thoughts or find voice wherewith to make any answer. Itoccurred to him immediately that Bellfield was even now, at this verytime, staying at his house,--that he, Cheesacre, was expected todrive him, Bellfield, back to Oileymead, to his own Oileymead, onthis very evening; and as he thought of this he almost fancied thathe must be in a dream. He shook himself, and looked again, and theresat Bellfield, eyeing him through the bright colour of a glass ofport.
"Now I've told you a bit of my mind, Cheesy, my boy," continuedBellfield, "and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble and annoyanceif you'll believe what I say. She doesn't mean to marry you. It'smost probable that she'll marry me; but, at any rate, she won't marryyou."
"Do you mean to pay me my money, sir?" said Cheesacre, at last,finding his readiest means of attack in that quarter.
"Yes, I do."
"But when?"
"When I've married Mrs. Greenow,--and, therefore, I expect yourassistance in that little scheme. Let us drink her health. We shallalways be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and youshall be allowed to hack the hams just as much as you please."
"You shall be made to pay for this," said Cheesacre, gasping withanger;--gasping almost more with dismay than he did with anger.
"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it,--with the widow's money.Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go up-stairs?"
"I'll expose you."
"Don't now;--don't be ill-natured."
"Will you tell me where you mean to sleep to-night, CaptainBellfield?"
"If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have oneof the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms."
"You'll never put your foot in that house again. You're a rascal,sir."
"Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house.It wouldn't be the thing at all. You're not drinking your wine. Youmight as well take another glass, and then we'll go up-stairs."
"You've left your traps at Oileymead, and not one of them you shallhave till you've paid me every shilling you owe me. I don't believeyou've a shirt in the world beyond what you've got there."
"It's lucky I brought one in to change; wasn't it, Cheesy? Ishouldn't have thought of it only for the hint you gave me. I mightas well ring the bell for Jeannette to put away the wine, if youwon't take any more." Then he rang the bell, and when Jeannette camehe skipped lightly up-stairs into the drawing-room.
> "Was he here before to-day?" said Cheesacre, nodding his head at thedoorway through which Bellfield had passed.
"Who? The Captain? Oh dear no. The Captain don't come here muchnow;--not to say often, by no means."
"He's a confounded rascal."
"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre!" said Jeannette.
"He is;--and I ain't sure that there ain't others nearly as bad as heis."
"If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're a wronging me; Ido indeed."
"What's the meaning of his going on in this way?"
"I don't know nothing of his ways, Mr. Cheesacre; but I've been astrue to you, sir;--so I have;--as true as true." And Jeannette puther handkerchief up to her eyes.
He moved to the door, and then a thought occurred to him. He put hishand to his trousers pocket, and turning back towards the girl, gaveher half-a-crown. She curtsied as she took it, and then repeated herlast words. "Yes, Mr. Cheesacre,--as true as true." Mr. Cheesacre saidnothing further, but followed his enemy up to the drawing-room. "Whatgame is up now, I wonder," said Jeannette to herself, when she wasleft alone. "They two'll be cutting each other's throatses beforethey've done, and then my missus will take the surwiver." But shemade up her mind that Cheesacre should be the one to have his throatcut fatally, and that Bellfield should be the survivor.
Cheesacre, when he reached the drawing-room, found Bellfield sittingon the same sofa with Mrs. Greenow looking at a book of photographswhich they both of them were handling together. The outside rim ofher widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, andas it did so the Captain looked up with a gratified expression oftriumph. If any gentleman has ever seen the same thing under similarcircumstances, he will understand that Cheesacre must have beenannoyed.
"Yes," said Mrs. Greenow, waving her handkerchief, of which little buta two-inch-deep border seemed to be visible. Bellfield knew at oncethat it was not the same handkerchief which she had waved before theywent down to dinner. "Yes,--there he is. It's so like him." And thenshe apostrophized the _carte de visite_ of the departed one. "DearGreenow; dear husband! When my spirit is false to thee, let thineforget to visit me softly in my dreams. Thou wast unmatched amonghusbands. Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine? whose sweettemper was ever so constant? whose manly care so all-sufficient?"While the words fell from her lips her little finger was touchingBellfield's little finger, as they held the book between them.Charlie Fairstairs and Mr. Cheesacre were watching her narrowly, andshe knew that they were watching her. She was certainly a woman ofgreat genius and of great courage.
"Dear Greenow; dear husband!"]
Bellfield, moved by the eloquence of her words, looked with someinterest at the photograph. There was represented there before him,a small, grey-looking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and atoothless mouth,--one who should never have been compelled to submithimself to the cruelty of the sun's portraiture! Another widow, evenif she had kept in her book the photograph of such a husband, wouldhave scrambled it over silently,--would have been ashamed to show it."Have you ever seen it, Mr. Cheesacre?" asked Mrs. Greenow. "It's solike him."
"I saw it at Yarmouth," said Cheesacre, very sulkily.
"That you did not," said the lady with some dignity, and not a littleof rebuke in her tone; "simply because it never was at Yarmouth. Alarger one you may have seen, which I always keep, and always shallkeep, close by my bedside."
"Not if I know it," said Captain Bellfield to himself. Then the widowpunished Mr. Cheesacre for his sullenness by whispering a few words tothe Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs.Then it was that he spake out his mind about the Captain's rank, andwas snubbed by Charlie,--as was told a page or two back.
After that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre inhis ill-humour allowed the Captain to out-manoeuvre him. It was theCaptain who put the sugar into the cups and handed them round. Heeven handed a cup to his enemy. "None for me, Captain Bellfield; manythanks for your politeness all the same," said Mr. Cheesacre; andMrs. Greenow knew from the tone of his voice that there had been aquarrel.
Cheesacre sitting then in his gloom, had resolved upon onething,--or, I may perhaps say, upon two things. He had resolved thathe would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it;and that he would get a final answer from the widow, if not thatnight,--for he thought it very possible that they might both be sentaway together,--then early after breakfast on the following morning.For the present, he had given up any idea of turning his time togood account. He was not perhaps a coward, but he had not thatspecial courage which enables a man to fight well under adversecircumstances. He had been cowed by the unexpected impertinence ofhis rival,--by the insolence of a man to whom he thought that he hadobtained the power of being always himself as insolent as he pleased.He could not recover his ground quickly, or carry himself before hislady's eye as though he was unconscious of the wound he had received.So he sat silent, while Bellfield was discoursing fluently. He satin silence, comforting himself with reflections on his own wealth,and on the poverty of the other, and promising himself a rich harvestof revenge when the moment should come in which he might tell Mrs.Greenow how absolutely that man was a beggar, a swindler, and arascal.
And he was astonished when an opportunity for doing so came veryquickly. Before the neighbouring clock had done striking seven,Bellfield rose from his chair to go. He first of all spoke a word offarewell to Miss Fairstairs; then he turned to his late host; "Goodnight, Cheesacre," he said, in the easiest tone in the world; afterthat he pressed the widow's hand and whispered his adieu.
"I thought you were staying at Oileymead?" said Mrs. Greenow.
"I came from there this morning," said the Captain.
"But he isn't going back there, I can tell you," said Mr. Cheesacre.
"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Greenow; "I hope there is nothing wrong."
"All as right as a trivet," said the Captain; and then he was off.
"I promised mamma that I would be home by seven," said CharlieFairstairs, rising from her chair. It cannot be supposed that she hadany wish to oblige Mr. Cheesacre, and therefore this movement on herpart must be regarded simply as done in kindness to Mrs. Greenow. Shemight be mistaken in supposing that Mrs. Greenow would desire to beleft alone with Mr. Cheesacre; but it was clear to her that in thisway she could give no offence, whereas it was quite possible that shemight offend by remaining. A little after seven Mr. Cheesacre foundhimself alone with the lady.
"I'm sorry to find," said she, gravely, "that you two havequarrelled."
"Mrs. Greenow," said he, jumping up, and becoming on a sudden full oflife, "that man is a downright swindler."
"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre."
"He is. He'll tell you that he was at Inkerman, but I believe hewas in prison all the time." The Captain had been arrested, I thinktwice, and thus Mr. Cheesacre justified to himself this assertion. "Idoubt whether he ever saw a shot fired," he continued.
"He's none the worse for that."
"But he tells such lies; and then he has not a penny in the world.How much do you suppose he owes me, now?"
"However much it is, I'm sure you are too much of a gentleman tosay."
"Well;--yes, I am," said he, trying to recover himself. "But when Iasked him how he intended to pay me, what do you think he said? Hesaid he'd pay me when he got your money."
"My money! He couldn't have said that!"
"But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word and honour. 'I'll payyou when I get the widow's money,' he said."
"You gentlemen must have a nice way of talking about me when I amabsent."
"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs.Greenow,--or thought one. He does;--he says horrible things."
"What horrible things, Mr. Cheesacre?"
"Oh, I can't tell you;--but he does. What can you expect from sucha man as that, who, to my knowledge, won't have a change of clothesto-morrow, except what he brought in on his back this morning. Wherehe's to get a bed
to-night, I don't know, for I doubt whether he'sgot half-a-crown in the world."
"Poor Bellfield!"
"Yes; he is poor."
"But how gracefully he carries his poverty."
"I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs. Greenow." To this she madeno reply, and then he thought that he might begin his work. "Mrs.Greenow,--may I say Arabella?"
"Mr. Cheesacre!"
"But mayn't I? Come, Mrs. Greenow. You know well enough by this timewhat it is I mean. What's the use of shilly-shallying?"
"Shilly-shallying, Mr. Cheesacre! I never heard such language. If Ibid you good night, now, and tell you that it is time for you to gohome, shall you call that shilly-shallying?"
He had made a mistake in his word and repented it. "I beg yourpardon, Mrs. Greenow; I do indeed. I didn't mean anything offensive."
"Shilly-shallying, indeed! There's very little shall in it, I canassure you."
The poor man was dreadfully crestfallen, so much so that the widow'sheart relented, and she pardoned him. It was not in her nature toquarrel with people;--at any rate, not with her lovers. "I beg yourpardon, Mrs. Greenow," said the culprit, humbly. "It is granted," saidthe widow; "but never tell a lady again that she is shilly-shallying.And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that youare making love to a lady in earnest--"
"I couldn't be more in earnest," said he.
"That you are making love to a lady in earnest, talk to her a littlemore about your passion and a little less about your purse. Now, goodnight."
"But we are friends."
"Oh yes;--as good friends as ever."
Cheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to consolehimself by thinking of the miserable plight in which Bellfield wouldfind himself at Norwich, with no possessions but what he had broughtinto the town that day in a small bag. But as he turned in at hisown gate he met two figures emerging; one of them was laden with aportmanteau, and the other with a hat case.
"It's only me, Cheesy, my boy," said Bellfield. "I've just come downby the rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the9.20.
"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted," roaredCheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his own door.
Can You Forgive Her? Page 42
