“I am not crushed, Kate!”
“Of course, you are too proud to own it?”
“If you mean about Mr Grey, that would have happened just the same, whether I had gone abroad or remained at home.”
“Would it, dear?”
“Just the same.”
There was nothing more than this said between them about Mr Grey. Even to her cousin, Alice could not bring herself to talk freely on that subject. She would never allow herself to think, for a moment, that she had been persuaded by others to treat him as she had treated him. She was sure that she had acted on her own convictions of what was right and wrong; and now, though she had begun to feel that she had been wrong, she would hardly confess as much even to herself.
They walked back, down the hill, to the Hall in silence for the greater part of the way. Once or twice Kate repeated her conviction that she should never again see her brother. “I do not know what may happen to him,” she said in answer to her cousin’s questions; “but when he was passing out of my sight into the valley, I felt that I was looking at him for the last time.”
“That is simply what people call a presentiment,” Alice replied.
“Exactly so; and presentiments, of course, mean nothing,” said Kate.
Then they walked on towards the house without further speech; but when they reached the end of the little path which led out of the wood, on to the gravelled sweep before the front door, they were both arrested by a sight that met their eyes. There was a man standing, with a cigar in his mouth, before them, swinging a little cane, and looking about him up at the wood. He had on his head a jaunty little straw-hat, and he wore a jacket with brass buttons, and white trousers. It was now nearly the middle of May, but the summer does not come to Westmoreland so early as that, and the man, as he stood there looking about him, seemed to be cold and almost uncomfortable. He had not as yet seen the two girls, who stood at the end of the walk, arrested by the sight of him. “Who is it?” asked Alice, in a whisper.
“Captain Bellfield,” said Kate, speaking with something very like dismay in her voice.
“What! aunt Greenow’s Captain?”
“Yes; aunt Greenow’s Captain. I have been fearing this, and now, what on earth are we to do with him? Look at him. That’s what aunt Greenow calls a sniff of the rocks and valleys.”
The Captain began to move, — just to move, as though it were necessary to do something to keep the life in his limbs. He had finished his cigar, and looked at the end of it with manifest regret. As he threw it away among a tuft of shrubs his eye fell upon the two ladies, and he uttered a little exclamation. Then he came forward, waving his little straw-hat in his hand, and made his salutation. “Miss Vavasor, I am delighted,” he said. “Miss Alice Vavasor, if I am not mistaken? I have been commissioned by my dear friend Mrs Greenow to go out and seek you, but, upon my word, the woods looked so black that I did not dare to venture; — and then, of course, I shouldn’t have found you.”
Kate put out her left hand, and then introduced her cousin to the Captain. Again he waved his little straw-hat, and strove to bear himself as though he were at home and comfortable. But he failed, and it was manifest that he failed. He was not the Bellfield who had conquered Mr Cheesacre on the sands at Yarmouth, though he wore the same jacket and waistcoat, and must now have enjoyed the internal satisfaction of feeling that his future maintenance in life was assured to him. But he was not at his ease. His courage had sufficed to enable him to follow his quarry into Westmoreland, but it did not suffice to make him comfortable while he was there. Kate instantly perceived his condition, and wickedly resolved that she would make no effort to assist him. She went through some ceremony of introduction, and then expressed her surprise at seeing him so far north.
“Well,” said he; “I am a little surprised myself; — I am, indeed! But I had nothing to do in Norwich, — literally nothing; and your aunt had so often talked to me of the beauties of this place,” — and he waved his hand round at the old house and the dark trees, — “that I thought I’d take the liberty of paying you a flying visit. I didn’t mean to intrude in the way of sleeping; I didn’t indeed, Miss Vavasor; only Mrs Greenow has been so kind as to say — “
“We are so very far out of the world, Captain Bellfield, that we always give our visitors beds.”
“I didn’t intend it; I didn’t indeed, miss!” Poor Captain Bellfield was becoming very uneasy in his agitation. “I did just put my bag, with a change of things, into the gig, which brought me over, not knowing quite where I might go on to.”
“We won’t send you any further to-day, at any rate,” said Kate.
“Mrs Greenow has been very kind, — very kind, indeed. She has asked me to stay till — Saturday!”
Kate bit her lips in a momentary fit of anger. The house was her house, and not her aunt’s. But she remembered that her aunt had been kind to her at Norwich and at Yarmouth, and she allowed this feeling to die away. “We shall be very glad to see you,” she said. “We are three women together here, and I’m afraid you will find us rather dull.”
“Oh dear, no, — dull with you! That would be impossible!”
“And how have you left your friend, Mr Cheesacre?”
“Quite well; — very well, thank you. That is to say, I haven’t seen him much lately. He and I did have a bit of a breeze, you know.”
“I can’t say that I did know, Captain Bellfield.”
“I thought, perhaps, you had heard. He seemed to think that I was too particular in a certain quarter! Ha — ha — ha — ha! That’s only my joke, you know, ladies.”
They then went into the house, and the Captain straggled in after them. Mrs Greenow was in neither of the two sitting-rooms which they usually occupied. She, too, had been driven somewhat out of the ordinary composure of her manner by the arrival of her lover, — even though she had expected it, and had retired to her room, thinking that she had better see Kate in private before they met in the presence of the Captain. “I suppose you have seen my aunt since you have been here?” said Kate.
“Oh dear, yes. I saw her, and she suggested that I had better walk out and find you. I did find you, you know, though I didn’t walk very far.”
“And have you seen your room?”
“Yes; — yes. She was kind enough to show me my room. Very nice indeed, thank you; — looking out into the front, and all that kind of thing.” The poor fellow was no doubt thinking how much better was his lot at Vavasor Hall than it had been at Oileymead. “I shan’t stay long, Miss Vavasor, — only just a night or so; but I did want to see your aunt again, — and you, too, upon my word.”
“My aunt is the attraction, Captain Bellfield. We all know that.”
He actually simpered, — simpered like a young girl who is half elated and half ashamed when her lover is thrown in her teeth. He fidgeted with the things on the table, and moved himself about uneasily from one leg to the other. Perhaps he was remembering that though he had contrived to bring himself to Vavasor Hall he had not money enough left to take him back to Norwich. The two girls left him and went to their rooms. “I will go to my aunt at once,” said Kate, “and find out what is to be done.”
“I suppose she means to marry him?”
“Oh, yes; she means to marry him, and the sooner the better now. I knew this was coming, but I did so hope it would not be while you were here. It makes me feel so ashamed of myself that you should see it.”
Kate boldly knocked at her aunt’s door, and her aunt received her with a conscious smile. “I was waiting for you to come,” said Mrs Greenow.
“Here I am, aunt; and, what is more to the purpose, there is Captain Bellfield in the drawing-room.”
“Stupid man! I told him to take himself away about the place till dinner-time. I’ve half a mind to send him back to Shap at once; — upon my word I have.”
“Don’t do that, aunt; it would be inhospitable.”
“But he is such an oaf. I hope you understand, my dear, that
I couldn’t help it?”
“But you do mean to — to marry him, aunt; don’t you?”
“Well, Kate, I really think I do. Why shouldn’t I? It’s a lonely sort of life being by myself; and, upon my word, I don’t think there’s very much harm in him.”
“I am not saying anything against him; only in that case you can’t very well turn him out of the house.”
“Could not I, though? I could in a minute; and, if you wish it, you shall see if I can’t do it.”
“The rocks and valleys would not allow that, aunt.”
“It’s all very well for you to laugh, my dear. If laughing would break my bones I shouldn’t be as whole as I am now. I might have had Cheesacre if I liked, who is a substantial man, and could have kept a carriage for me; but it was the rocks and valleys that prevented that; — and perhaps a little feeling that I might do some good to a poor fellow who has nobody in the world to look after him.” Mrs Greenow, as she said this, put her handkerchief up to her eyes, and wiped away the springing moisture. Tears were always easy with her, but on this occasion Kate almost respected her tears. “I’m sure I hope you’ll be happy, aunt.”
“If he makes me unhappy he shall pay for it;” and Mrs Greenow, having done with the tears, shook her head, as though upon this occasion she quite meant all that she said.
At dinner they were not very comfortable. Either the gloomy air of the place and the neighbourhood of the black pines had depressed the Captain, or else the glorious richness of the prospects before him had made him thoughtful. He had laid aside the jacket with the brass buttons, and had dressed himself for dinner very soberly. And he behaved himself at dinner and after dinner with a wonderful sobriety, being very unlike the Captain who had sat at the head of the table at Mrs Greenow’s picnic. When left to himself after dinner he barely swallowed two glasses of the old Squire’s port wine before he sauntered out into the garden to join the ladies, whom he had seen there; and when pressed by Kate to light a cigar he positively declined.
On the following morning Mrs Greenow had recovered her composure, but Captain Bellfield was still in a rather disturbed state of mind. He knew that his efforts were to be crowned with success, and that he was sure of his wife, but he did not know how the preliminary difficulties were to be overcome, and he did not know what to do with himself at the Hall. After breakfast he fidgeted about in the parlour, being unable to contrive for himself a mode of escape, and was absolutely thrown upon his beam-ends when the widow asked him what he meant to do with himself between that and dinner.
“I suppose I’d better take a walk,” he said; “and perhaps the young ladies — “
“If you mean my two nieces,” said Mrs Greenow, “I’m afraid you’ll find they are engaged. But if I’m not too old to walk with — ” The Captain assured her that she was just of the proper age for a walking companion, as far as his taste went, and then attempted some apology for the awkwardness of his expression, at which the three women laughed heartily. “Never mind, Captain,” said Mrs Greenow. “We’ll have our walk all the same, and won’t mind those young girls. Come along.” They started, not up towards the mountains, as Kate always did when she walked in Westmoreland, but mildly, and at a gentle pace, as beseemed their years, along the road towards Shap. The Captain politely opened the old gate for the widow, and then carefully closed it again, — not allowing it to swing, as he would have done at Yarmouth. Then he tripped up to his place beside her, suggested his arm, which she declined, and walked on for some paces in silence. What on earth was he to say to her? He had done his love-making successfully, and what was he to do next?
“Well, Captain Bellfield,” said she. They were walking very slowly, and he was cutting the weeds by the roadside with his cane. He knew by her voice that something special was coming, so he left the weeds and ranged himself close up alongside of her. “Well, Captain Bellfield, — so I suppose I’m to be good-natured; am I?”
“Arabella, you’ll make me the happiest man in the world.”
“That’s all fudge.” She would have said, “all rocks and valleys,” only he would not have understood her.
“Upon my word, you will.”
“I hope I shall make you respectable?”
“Oh, yes; certainly. I quite intend that.”
“It is the great thing that you should intend. Of course I am going to make a fool of myself.”
“No, no; don’t say that.”
“If I don’t say it, all my friends will say it for me. It’s lucky for you that I don’t much care what people say.”
“It is lucky; — I know that I’m lucky. The very first day I saw you I thought what a happy fellow I was to meet you. Then, of course, I was only thinking of your beauty.”
“Get along with you!”
“Upon my word, yes. Come, Arabella, as we are to be man and wife, you might as well.” At this moment he had got very close to her, and had recovered something of his usual elasticity; but she would not allow him even to put his arm round her waist. “Out in the high road!” she said. “How can you be so impertinent, — and so foolish?”
“You might as well, you know, — just once.”
“Captain Bellfield, I brought you out here not for such fooling as that, but in order that we might have a little chat about business. If we are to be man and wife, as you say, we ought to understand on what footing we are to begin together. I’m afraid your own private means are not considerable?”
“Well, no; they are not, Mrs Greenow.”
“Have you anything?” The Captain hesitated, and poked the ground with his cane. “Come, Captain Bellfield, let us have the truth at once, and then we shall understand each other.” The Captain still hesitated, and said nothing. “You must have had something to live upon, I suppose?” suggested the widow. Then the Captain, by degrees, told his story. He had a married sister by whom a guinea a week was allowed to him. That was all. He had been obliged to sell out of the army, because he was unable to live on his pay as a lieutenant. The price of his commission had gone to pay his debts, and now, — yes, it was too true, — now he was in debt again. He owed ninety pounds to Cheesacre, thirty-two pounds ten to a tailor at Yarmouth, over seventeen pounds at his lodgings in Norwich. At the present moment he had something under thirty shillings in his pocket. The tailor at Yarmouth had lent him three pounds in order that he might make his journey into Westmoreland, and perhaps be enabled to pay his debts by getting a rich wife. In the course of the cross-examination Mrs Greenow got much information out of him; and then, when she was satisfied that she had learned, not exactly all the truth, but certain indications of the truth, she forgave him all his offences.
“And now you will give a fellow a kiss, — just one kiss,” said the ecstatic Captain, in the height of his bliss.
“Hush!” said the widow, “there’s a carriage coming on the road — close to us.”
CHAPTER LXV
The First Kiss
“Hush!” said the widow, “there’s a carriage coming on the road — close to us.” Mrs Greenow, as she spoke these words, drew back from the Captain’s arms before the first kiss of permitted ante-nuptial love had been exchanged. The scene was on the high road from Shap to Vavasor, and as she was still dressed in all the sombre habiliments of early widowhood, and as neither he nor his sweetheart were under forty, perhaps it was as well that they were not caught toying together in so very public a place. But they were only just in time to escape the vigilant eyes of a new visitor. Round the corner of the road, at a sharp trot, came the Shap post-horse, with the Shap gig behind him, — the same gig which had brought Bellfield to Vavasor on the previous day, — and seated in the gig, looming large, with his eyes wide awake to everything round him, was — Mr Cheesacre.
It was a sight terrible to the eyes of Captain Bellfield, and by no means welcome to those of Mrs Greenow. As regarded her, her annoyance had chiefly reference to her two nieces, and especially to Alice. How was she to account for this second lover? Kate, of
course, knew all about it; but how could Alice be made to understand that she, Mrs Greenow, was not to blame, — that she had, in sober truth, told this ardent gentleman that there was no hope for him? And even as to Kate, — Kate, whom her aunt had absurdly chosen to regard as the object of Mr Cheesacre’s pursuit, — what sort of a welcome would she extend to the owner of Oileymead? Before the wheels had stopped, Mrs Greenow had begun to reflect whether it might be possible that she should send Mr Cheesacre back without letting him go on to the Hall; but if Mrs Greenow was dismayed, what were the feelings of the Captain? For he was aware that Cheesacre knew that of him which he had not told. How ardently did he now wish that he had sailed nearer to the truth in giving in the schedule of his debts to Mrs Greenow.
“That man’s wanted by the police,” said Cheesacre, speaking while the gig was still in motion. “He’s wanted by the police, Mrs Greenow,” and in his ardour he stood up in the gig and pointed at Bellfield. Then the gig stopped suddenly, and he fell back into his seat in his effort to prevent his falling forward. “He’s wanted by the police,” he shouted out again, as soon as he was able to recover his voice.
Mrs Greenow turned pale beneath the widow’s veil which she had dropped. What might not her Captain have done? He might have procured things, to be sent to him, out of shops on false pretences; or, urged on by want and famine, he might have committed — forgery. “Oh, my!” she said, and dropped her hand from his arm, which she had taken.
“It’s false,” said Bellfield.
“It’s true,” said Cheesacre.
“I’ll indict you for slander, my friend,” said Bellfield.
“Pay me the money you owe me,” said Cheesacre. “You’re a swindler!”
Mrs Greenow cared little as to her lover being a swindler in Mr Cheesacre’s estimation. Such accusations from him she had heard before. But she did care very much as to this mission of the police against her Captain. If that were true, the Captain could be her Captain no longer. “What is this I hear, Captain Bellfield?” she said.
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