by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER V: AFTER GAINING HER POINT
The visit to Geoffrey passed off as delightfully as a visit might havebeen expected to pass off when it was the first day of smooth experiencein a hitherto obstructed love-course. And then came a series of severalhappy days, of the same undisturbed serenity. Dick could court her whenhe chose; stay away when he chose,--which was never; walk with her bywinding streams and waterfalls and autumn scenery till dews and twilightsent them home. And thus they drew near the day of the HarvestThanksgiving, which was also the time chosen for opening the organ inMellstock Church.
It chanced that Dick on that very day was called away from Mellstock. Ayoung acquaintance had died of consumption at Charmley, a neighbouringvillage, on the previous Monday, and Dick, in fulfilment of along-standing promise, was to assist in carrying him to the grave. Whenon Tuesday, Dick went towards the school to acquaint Fancy with the fact,it is difficult to say whether his own disappointment at being denied thesight of her triumphant debut as organist, was greater than his vexationthat his pet should on this great occasion be deprived of the pleasure ofhis presence. However, the intelligence was communicated. She bore itas she best could, not without many expressions of regret, andconvictions that her performance would be nothing to her now.
Just before eleven o'clock on Sunday he set out upon his sad errand. Thefuneral was to be immediately after the morning service, and as therewere four good miles to walk, driving being inconvenient, it becamenecessary to start comparatively early. Half an hour later wouldcertainly have answered his purpose quite as well, yet at the last momentnothing would content his ardent mind but that he must go a mile out ofhis way in the direction of the school, in the hope of getting a glimpseof his Love as she started for church.
Striking, therefore, into the lane towards the school, instead of acrossthe ewelease direct to Charmley, he arrived opposite her door as hisgoddess emerged.
If ever a woman looked a divinity, Fancy Day appeared one that morning asshe floated down those school steps, in the form of a nebulous collectionof colours inclining to blue. With an audacity unparalleled in the wholehistory of village-school-mistresses at this date--partly owing, nodoubt, to papa's respectable accumulation of cash, which rendered herprofession not altogether one of necessity--she had actually donned a hatand feather, and lowered her hitherto plainly looped-up hair, which nowfell about her shoulders in a profusion of curls. Poor Dick wasastonished: he had never seen her look so distractingly beautiful before,save on Christmas-eve, when her hair was in the same luxuriant conditionof freedom. But his first burst of delighted surprise was followed byless comfortable feelings, as soon as his brain recovered its power tothink.
Fancy had blushed;--was it with confusion? She had also involuntarilypressed back her curls. She had not expected him.
"Fancy, you didn't know me for a moment in my funeral clothes, did you?"
"Good-morning, Dick--no, really, I didn't know you for an instant in sucha sad suit."
He looked again at the gay tresses and hat. "You've never dressed socharming before, dearest."
"I like to hear you praise me in that way, Dick," she said, smilingarchly. "It is meat and drink to a woman. Do I look nice really?"
"Fie! you know it. Did you remember,--I mean didn't you remember aboutmy going away to-day?"
"Well, yes, I did, Dick; but, you know, I wanted to look well;--forgiveme."
"Yes, darling; yes, of course,--there's nothing to forgive. No, I wasonly thinking that when we talked on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursdayand Friday about my absence to-day, and I was so sorry for it, you said,Fancy, so were you sorry, and almost cried, and said it would be nopleasure to you to be the attraction of the church to-day, since I couldnot be there."
"My dear one, neither will it be so much pleasure to me . . . But I dotake a little delight in my life, I suppose," she pouted.
"Apart from mine?"
She looked at him with perplexed eyes. "I know you are vexed with me,Dick, and it is because the first Sunday I have curls and a hat andfeather since I have been here happens to be the very day you are awayand won't be with me. Yes, say it is, for that is it! And you thinkthat all this week I ought to have remembered you wouldn't be here to-day, and not have cared to be better dressed than usual. Yes, you do,Dick, and it is rather unkind!"
"No, no," said Dick earnestly and simply, "I didn't think so badly of youas that. I only thought that--if you had been going away, I shouldn'thave tried new attractions for the eyes of other people. But then ofcourse you and I are different, naturally."
"Well, perhaps we are."
"Whatever will the vicar say, Fancy?"
"I don't fear what he says in the least!" she answered proudly. "But hewon't say anything of the sort you think. No, no."
"He can hardly have conscience to, indeed."
"Now come, you say, Dick, that you quite forgive me, for I must go," shesaid with sudden gaiety, and skipped backwards into the porch. "Comehere, sir;--say you forgive me, and then you shall kiss me;--you neverhave yet when I have worn curls, you know. Yes, just where you want toso much,--yes, you may!"
Dick followed her into the inner corner, where he was probably not slowin availing himself of the privilege offered.
"Now that's a treat for you, isn't it?" she continued. "Good-bye, or Ishall be late. Come and see me to-morrow: you'll be tired to-night."
Thus they parted, and Fancy proceeded to the church. The organ stood onone side of the chancel, close to and under the immediate eye of thevicar when he was in the pulpit, and also in full view of thecongregation. Here she sat down, for the first time in such aconspicuous position, her seat having previously been in a remote spot inthe aisle.
"Good heavens--disgraceful! Curls and a hat and feather!" said thedaughters of the small gentry, who had either only curly hair without ahat and feather, or a hat and feather without curly hair. "A bonnet forchurch always," said sober matrons.
That Mr. Maybold was conscious of her presence close beside him duringthe sermon that he was not at all angry at her development of costume;that he admired her, she perceived. But she did not see that he lovedher during that sermon-time as he had never loved a woman before; thather proximity was a strange delight to him; and that he gloried in hermusical success that morning in a spirit quite beyond a mere cleric'sglory at the inauguration of a new order of things.
The old choir, with humbled hearts, no longer took their seats in thegallery as heretofore (which was now given up to the school-children whowere not singers, and a pupil-teacher), but were scattered about withtheir wives in different parts of the church. Having nothing to do withconducting the service for almost the first time in their lives, they allfelt awkward, out of place, abashed, and inconvenienced by their hands.The tranter had proposed that they should stay away to-day and gonutting, but grandfather William would not hear of such a thing for amoment. "No," he replied reproachfully, and quoted a verse: "Though thishas come upon us, let not our hearts be turned back, or our steps go outof the way."
So they stood and watched the curls of hair trailing down the back of thesuccessful rival, and the waving of her feather, as she swayed her head.After a few timid notes and uncertain touches her playing became markedlycorrect, and towards the end full and free. But, whether from prejudiceor unbiassed judgment, the venerable body of musicians could not helpthinking that the simpler notes they had been wont to bring forth weremore in keeping with the simplicity of their old church than the crowdedchords and interludes it was her pleasure to produce.
