Mrs Craddock

by W. Somerset Maugham

  They returned to the drawing-room, and Dr Ramsay began telling Bertha about the property; who this tenant was and the condition of that farm; winding up with the pitiful state of the times and the impossibility of getting any rents.

  “And now, Bertha, what are you thinking of doing?” he asked.

  This was the opportunity for which Bertha had been looking.

  “I? Oh, I intend to get married.”

  Dr Ramsay, opening his mouth, threw back his head and laughed immoderately.

  “Very good indeed,” he cried.

  Miss Ley looked at him with uplifted eyebrows.

  “Girls are coming on nowadays,” he said, with much amusement. “Why, in my time, a young woman would have been all blushes and downcast glances. If anyone had talked of marriage she would have prayed Heaven to send an earthquake to swallow her up.”

  “Fiddlesticks!” said Miss Ley.

  Bertha was looking at Dr Ramsay with a smile that she difficultly repressed, and Miss Ley caught the expression.

  “So you intend to be married, Bertha?” said the doctor, again laughing.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “When?” asked Miss Ley, who did not take Bertha’s remarks as merely playful and fantastic.

  Bertha was looking out of the window, wondering when Edward would arrive.

  “When?” she repeated, turning round. “This day four weeks.”

  “What!” cried Dr Ramsay, jumping up. “You don’t mean to say you’ve found someone! Are you engaged? Oh, I see, I see! You’ve been having a little joke with me. Why didn’t you tell me that Bertha was engaged all the time, Miss Ley?”

  “My good doctor,” answered Miss Ley, with great calmness, “until this moment I knew nothing whatever about it. I suppose we ought to offer our congratulations; it’s a blessing to get them all over on one day.”

  Dr Ramsay looked from one to the other with perplexity.

  “Well, upon my word,” he said, “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” said Miss Ley, “but I keep calm.”

  “It’s very simple,” said Bertha. “I got engaged last night, and I mean to be married exactly four weeks from today—to Mr Craddock.”

  This time Dr Ramsay was more surprised than ever.

  “What!” he cried, jumping up in his astonishment and causing the floor to quake in the most dangerous way. “Craddock! What d’you mean? Which Craddock?”

  “Edward Craddock,” replied Bertha with perfect calm, “of Bewlie’s Farm.”

  “Brrh!” Dr Ramsay’s exclamation cannot be transcribed, but it sounded horrid. “It’s absurd. You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  Bertha looked at him with a gentle smile, she did not trouble to answer.

  “You’re very emphatic, dear doctor,” said Miss Ley. “Who is this gentleman?”

  “He isn’t a gentleman,” said Dr Ramsay, becoming purple with vexation.

  “He’s going to be my husband, Dr Ramsay,” said Bertha, compressing her lips in the manner which with Miss Ley had become habitual, and turned to that lady: “I’ve known him all my life. Father was a great friend of his father’s. He’s a gentleman-farmer.”

  “The definition of which,” said Dr Ramsay, “is a man who’s neither a farmer nor a gentleman.”

  “I forget what your father was,” said Bertha, who remembered perfectly well.

  “My father was a farmer,” replied Dr Ramsay with some heat, “and, thank God! he made no pretence of being a gentleman. He worked with his own hands, and I’ve seen him often enough with a pitchfork turning over a heap of manure, when no one else was handy.”

  “I see,” said Bertha.

  “But my father can have nothing to do with it; you can’t marry him because he’s been dead these thirty years, and you can’t marry me because I’ve got a wife already.”

  Miss Ley concealed a smile; Bertha was too clever for it not to give the elder lady some slight pleasure to see her snubbed. Bertha was getting angry, she thought the doctor rude.

  “And what have you against him?” she asked.

  “If you want to make a fool of yourself, he’s got no right to encourage you. He knows he’s not a fit match for you.”

  “Why not, if I love him?”

  “Why not?” shouted Dr Ramsay. “Because he’s the son of a farmer—like I am—and you’re Miss Ley of Court Leys. Because a man in that position, without fifty pounds to his back, doesn’t make love on the sly to a girl with a fortune.”

  “Five thousand acres that pay no rent,” murmured Miss Ley, who was always in opposition.

  “You have nothing whatever against him,” retorted Bertha. “You told me yourself that he had the very best reputation.”

  “I didn’t know you were asking me with a view to matrimony,” said the doctor.

  “I wasn’t. I care nothing for his reputation. If he were drunken and idle and dissolute, I’d marry him—because I love him.”

  “My dear Bertha,” said Miss Ley, “the doctor will have an apoplectic fit if you say such things.”

  “You told me he was one of the best fellows you knew, Dr Ramsay,” said Bertha.

  “I don’t deny it,” shouted the doctor, and his red cheeks really had in them a purple tinge that was quite alarming. “He knows his business and he works hard and he’s straight and steady.”

  “Good heavens, doctor,” cried Miss Ley, “he must be a miracle of rural excellence. Bertha would surely never have fallen in love with him if he were faultless.”

  “If Bertha wanted an agent,” Dr Ramsay proceeded, “I could recommend no one better—but as for marrying him—”

  “Does he pay his rent?” asked Miss Ley.

  “He’s one of the best tenants we’ve got,” growled the doctor. Miss Ley’s frivolous interruptions annoyed him.

  “Of course in these bad times,” added Miss Ley, who was determined not to allow the doctor to play the heavy father with too much seriousness, “I suppose about the only resource of the respectable farmer is to marry his landlady.”

  “Here he is!” interrupted Bertha.

  “Good God, is he coming here?” cried her guardian.

  “I sent for him. Remember he is going to be my husband.”

  “I’m damned if he is!” said Dr Ramsay.

  Miss Ley laughed gently; she rather liked an occasional oath, it relieved the commonplace of masculine conversation in the presence of ladies.

  4

  Bertha threw off her troubled looks and the vexation that the argument had caused her. She blushed charmingly as the door opened, and with the entrance of the fairy prince her face was wreathed in smiles. She went towards him and took his hands.

  “Aunt Polly,” she said, “this is Mr Edward Craddock. Dr Ramsay you know.”

  He shook hands with Miss Ley and looked at the doctor, who promptly turned his back on him. Craddock flushed a little and sat down by Miss Ley’s side.

  “We were talking about you, dearest,” said Bertha. The pause at his arrival had been disconcerting, and while Craddock was nervously thinking of something to say, Miss Ley made no effort to help him. “I have told Aunt Polly and Dr Ramsay that we intend to be married four weeks from today.”

  This was the first that Craddock had heard of the date, but he showed no astonishment. He was in fact trying to recall the speech that he had composed for the occasion.

  “I will try to be a good husband to your niece, Miss Ley,” he began.

  But that lady interrupted him; she had already come to the conclusion that he was a man likely to say on a given occasion the sort of thing that might be expected; and that in her eyes was a hideous crime.

  “Oh, yes, I have no doubt,” she replied. “Bertha, as you know, is her own mistress and responsible for her acts to no one.”

  Craddock was a little embarrassed; he had meant to express his sense of unworthiness and his desire to do his duty, also to explain his own position; but Miss Ley’s remark seemed to prohibit further explan
ation.

  “Which is really very convenient,” said Bertha, coming to his rescue. “Because I have a mind to manage my life in my own way without interference from anybody.”

  Miss Ley wondered whether the young man looked upon Bertha’s statement as auguring complete tranquillity in the future; but Craddock seemed to see in it nothing ominous, he looked at Bertha with a grateful smile, and the glance that she returned to him was full of the most passionate devotion. Since his arrival Miss Ley had been observing Craddock with great minuteness, and being a woman she could not help finding some pleasure in the knowledge that Bertha was trying with anxiety to discover her judgement. Craddock’s appearance was pleasing. Miss Ley liked young men generally, and this was a very good-looking member of the species. His eyes were good, but otherwise there was nothing remarkable in his physiognomy; he looked healthy and good-tempered. Miss Ley noticed even that he did not bite his nails and that his hands were strong and firm. There was really nothing to distinguish him from the common run of healthy young Englishmen with good morals and fine physique; but the class is pleasant. Miss Ley’s only wonder was that Bertha had chosen him rather than ten thousand others of the same variety; for that Bertha had chosen him rather actively there was in Miss Ley’s mind not the shadow of a doubt.

  Miss Ley turned to him.

  “Has Bertha shown you our chickens?” she asked calmly.

  “No,” he said, rather surprised at the question. “I hope she will.”

  “Oh, no doubt. You know I am quite ignorant of agriculture. Have you ever been abroad?”

  “No, I stick to my own country,” he replied, “it’s good enough for me.”

  “I daresay it is,” said Miss Ley, looking to the ground. “Bertha must certainly show you our chickens. They interest me because they’re very like human beings; they’re so stupid.”

  “I can’t get mine to lay at all at this time of year,” said Craddock.

  “Of course I’m not an agriculturist,” repeated Miss Ley. “But chickens amuse me.”

  Dr Ramsay began to smile, and Bertha flushed angrily.

  “You have never shown any interest in the chickens before, Aunt Polly.”

  “Haven’t I, my dear? Don’t you remember last night I remarked how tough was that one we had for dinner? How long have you known Bertha, Mr Craddock?”

  “It seems all my life,” he replied. “And I want to know her more.”

  This time Bertha smiled, and Miss Ley, though she felt certain it was unintentional, was not displeased with the manner in which he had parried her question. Dr Ramsay sat in a peevish silence.

  “I have never seen you sit so still before, Dr Ramsay,” said Bertha, not too pleased with him.

  “I think what I have to say would scarcely please you, Miss Bertha,” he answered bluntly.

  Miss Ley was anxious that no altercation should disturb the polite discomfort of the meeting.

  “You’re thinking about those rents again, doctor,” she said, and turning to Craddock: “The poor doctor is unhappy because half our tenants say they cannot pay.”

  The poor doctor grunted and sniffed, and Miss Ley thought it high time for the young man to take his leave. She looked at Bertha, who quickly understood, and getting up, said:

  “Let us leave them alone, Eddie; I want to show you the house.”

  He rose with great alacrity, evidently much relieved at the end of the ordeal. He shook Miss Ley’s hand, and this time could not be restrained from making a little speech.

  “I hope you’re not angry with me for taking Bertha away from you. I hope I shall soon get to know you better and that we shall become great friends.”

  Miss Ley was taken aback, but really she thought his effort not bad. It might have been much worse, and at all events he had kept out of it references to the Almighty and his Duty. Then Craddock turned to Dr Ramsay and went up to him with an outstretched hand that could not be refused.

  “I should like to see you some time, Dr Ramsay,” he said, looking at him steadily. “I fancy you want to have a talk with me, and I should like it too. When can you give me an appointment?”

  Bertha flushed with pleasure at his frank words, and Miss Ley was pleased at the courage with which he had attacked the old curmudgeon.

  “I think it would be a very good idea,” said the doctor. “I can see you tonight at eight.”

  “Good! Good-bye, Miss Ley.”

  He went out with Bertha.

  * * *

  Miss Ley was not one of those persons who consider it indiscreet to form an opinion upon small evidence. Before knowing a person five minutes she made up her mind about him, and liked nothing better than to impart her impression to anyone who asked her.

  “Upon my word, doctor,” she said as soon as the door was shut upon the young couple, “he’s not so terrible as I expected.”

  “I never said he was not good-looking,” pointedly answered Dr Ramsay, who was convinced that any and every woman was willing to make herself a fool with a handsome man.

  Miss Ley smiled. “Good looks, my dear doctor, are three parts of the necessary equipment in the battle of life. You can’t imagine the miserable existence of a really plain girl.”

  “Do you approve of Bertha’s ridiculous idea?”

  “To tell you the truth, I think it makes very little difference if you and I approve or not; therefore we’d much better take the matter quietly.”

  “You can do what you like, Miss Ley,” replied the doctor very bluntly, “but I mean to stop this business.”

  “You won’t, my dear doctor,” said Miss Ley, smiling again. “I know Bertha so much better than you. I’ve lived with her three years, and I’ve found constant entertainment in the study of her character. Let me tell you how I first knew her. Of course you know that her father and I hadn’t been on speaking terms for years: having played ducks and drakes12 with his own money, he wanted to play the same silly game with mine; and as I strongly objected he flew into a violent passion, called me an ungrateful wretch, and nourished the grievance to the end of his days. Well, his health broke down after his wife’s death, and he spent several years with Bertha wandering about the Continent. She was educated as best could be in half a dozen countries, and it’s a marvel to me that she is not entirely ignorant or entirely vicious. She’s a brilliant example in favour of the opinion that the human race is inclined to good rather than to evil.”

  Miss Ley smiled, for she was herself none too certain of it.

  “Well, one day,” she proceeded, “I got a telegram, sent through my solicitors. ‘Father dead, please come if convenient, Bertha Ley.’ It was addressed from Naples, and I was in Florence. Of course I rushed down, taking nothing but a bag, a few yards of crape and some smelling-salts. I was met at the station by Bertha, whom I hadn’t seen for ten years. I saw a tall and handsome young woman, self-possessed and admirably gowned in the very latest fashion. I kissed her in a subdued way, proper to the occasion, and as we drove back inquired when the funeral was to be, holding the smelling-salts in readiness for an outburst of weeping. ‘Oh, it’s all over,’ she said. ‘I didn’t send my wire till everything was settled. I thought it would only upset you. I’ve given notice to the landlord of the villa and to the servants. There was really no need for you to come at all, only the doctor and the English parson seemed to think it rather queer of me to be here alone.’ I used the smelling-salts myself! Imagine my emotion! I expected to find a hobbledehoy13 of a girl in hysterics, everything topsy-turvy and all sorts of horrid things to do; instead of which I found everything arranged perfectly well and the hobbledehoy rather disposed to manage me, if I let her. At luncheon she looked at my travelling-dress. ‘I suppose you left Florence in rather a hurry,’ she remarked. ‘If you want to get anything black you’d better go to my dressmaker. She’s not bad. I must go there this afternoon myself to try some things on.’”

  Miss Ley stopped and looked at the doctor to see the effect of her words. He said nothing.


  “And the impression I gained then,” she added, “has only been strengthened since. You’ll be a very clever man if you prevent Bertha from doing a thing upon which she has set her mind.”

  “D’you mean to tell me that you’re going to sanction this marriage?” asked the doctor.

  Miss Ley shrugged her shoulders: “My dear Dr Ramsay, I tell you it won’t make the least difference whether we either of us bless or curse. And he seems an average sort of young man. Let us be thankful that she’s done no worse; he’s not uneducated.”

  “No, he’s not that. He spent ten years at Regis School, Tercanbury; so he ought to know something.”

  “What exactly was his father?”

  “His father was the same as himself—a gentleman-farmer. He’d been educated at Regis School as his son was. He knew most of the gentry, but he wasn’t quite one of them; he knew all the farmers and he wasn’t quite one of them either. And that’s what they’ve been for generations, neither flesh, fowl, nor good red-herring.”

  “It’s those people that the newspapers tell us are the backbone of the country, Dr Ramsay.”

  “Let ’em remain in their proper place then, in the back,” said the doctor. “You can do as you please, Miss Ley; I’m going to put a stop to this nonsense. After all, Mr Ley made me the girl’s guardian, and though she is twenty-one I think it’s my duty to see that she doesn’t fall into the hands of the first penniless scamp who asks her to marry him.”

  “You can do as you please,” retorted Miss Ley, who was somewhat bored with the good man. “You’ll do no good with Bertha.”

  “I’m not going to Bertha, I’m going to Craddock direct, and I mean to give him a piece of my mind.”

  Miss Ley shrugged her shoulders. Dr Ramsay evidently did not see who was the active party in the matter, and she did not feel it her duty to inform him. The doctor took his leave, and in a few minutes Bertha joined Miss Ley. The latter obviously intended to make no efforts to disturb the course of true love.

  “You’ll have to be thinking of ordering your trousseau, my dear,” she said with a dry smile.