CHAPTER XC.
HETTA'S SORROW.
When Hetta Carbury received that letter from her lover which wasgiven to the reader some chapters back, it certainly did not tendin any way to alleviate her misery. Even when she had read it overhalf-a-dozen times, she could not bring herself to think it possiblethat she could be reconciled to the man. It was not only that he hadsinned against her by giving his society to another woman to whomhe had at any rate been engaged not long since, at the very time atwhich he was becoming engaged to her,--but also that he had done thisin such a manner as to make his offence known to all her friends.Perhaps she had been too quick;--but there was the fact that withher own consent she had acceded to her mother's demand that the manshould be rejected. The man had been rejected, and even Roger Carburyknew that it was so. After this it was, she thought, impossible thatshe should recall him. But they should all know that her heart wasunchanged. Roger Carbury should certainly know that, if he ever askedher further question on the matter. She would never deny it; andthough she knew that the man had behaved badly,--having entangledhimself with a nasty American woman,--yet she would be true to him asfar as her own heart was concerned.
And now he told her that she had been most unjust to him. He saidthat he could not understand her injustice. He did not fill hisletter with entreaties, but with reproaches. And certainly hisreproaches moved her more than any prayer would have done. It was toolate now to remedy the evil; but she was not quite sure within herown bosom that she had not been unjust to him. The more she thoughtof it the more puzzled her mind became. Had she quarrelled with himbecause he had once been in love with Mrs. Hurtle, or because she hadgrounds for regarding Mrs. Hurtle as her present rival? She hatedMrs. Hurtle, and she was very angry with him in that he had ever beenon affectionate terms with a woman she hated;--but that had not beenthe reason put forward by her for quarrelling with him. Perhaps itwas true that he, too, had of late loved Mrs. Hurtle hardly betterthan she did herself. It might be that he had been indeed constrainedby hard circumstances to go with the woman to Lowestoft. Having sogone with her, it was no doubt right that he should be rejected;--forhow can it be that a man who is engaged shall be allowed to travelabout the country with another woman to whom also he was engaged afew months back? But still there might be hardship in it. To her, toHetta herself, the circumstances were very hard. She loved the manwith all her heart. She could look forward to no happiness in lifewithout him. But yet it must be so.
At the end of his letter he had told her to go to Mrs. Hurtle herselfif she wanted corroboration of the story as told by him. Of coursehe had known when he wrote it that she could not and would not go toMrs. Hurtle. But when the letter had been in her possession three orfour days,--unanswered, for, as a matter of course, no answer to itfrom herself was possible,--and had been read and re-read till sheknew every word of it by heart, she began to think that if she couldhear the story as it might be told by Mrs. Hurtle, a good deal thatwas now dark might become light to her. As she continued to read theletter, and to brood over it all, by degrees her anger was turnedfrom her lover to her mother, her brother, and to her cousin Roger.Paul had of course behaved badly, very badly,--but had it not beenfor them she might have had an opportunity of forgiving him. They haddriven her on to the declaration of a purpose from which she couldnow see no escape. There had been a plot against her, and she was avictim. In the first dismay and agony occasioned by that awful storyof the American woman,--which had, at the moment, struck her witha horror which was now becoming less and less every hour,--she hadfallen head foremost into the trap laid for her. She acknowledged toherself that it was too late to recover her ground. She was, at anyrate, almost sure that it must be too late. But yet she was disposedto do battle with her mother and her cousin in the matter--ifonly with the object of showing that she would not submit her ownfeelings to their control. She was savage to the point of rebellionagainst all authority. Roger Carbury would of course think thatany communication between herself and Mrs. Hurtle must be mostimproper,--altogether indelicate. Two or three days ago she thoughtso herself. But the world was going so hard with her, that shewas beginning to feel herself capable of throwing propriety anddelicacy to the winds. This man whom she had once accepted, whom shealtogether loved, and who, in spite of all his faults, certainlystill loved her,--of that she was beginning to have no furtherdoubt,--accused her of dishonesty, and referred her to her rival fora corroboration of his story. She would appeal to Mrs. Hurtle. Thewoman was odious, abominable, a nasty intriguing American female. Buther lover desired that she should hear the woman's story; and shewould hear the story,--if the woman would tell it.
So resolving, she wrote as follows to Mrs. Hurtle, finding greatdifficulty in the composition of a letter which should tell neithertoo little nor too much, and determined that she would be restrainedby no mock modesty, by no girlish fear of declaring the truth aboutherself. The letter at last was stiff and hard, but it sufficed forits purpose.
MADAM,--
Mr. Paul Montague has referred me to you as to certain circumstances which have taken place between him and you. It is right that I should tell you that I was a short time since engaged to marry him, but that I have found myself obliged to break off that engagement in consequence of what I have been told as to his acquaintance with you. I make this proposition to you, not thinking that anything you will say to me can change my mind, but because he has asked me to do so, and has, at the same time, accused me of injustice towards him. I do not wish to rest under an accusation of injustice from one to whom I was once warmly attached. If you will receive me, I will make it my business to call any afternoon you may name.
Yours truly,
HENRIETTA CARBURY.
When the letter was written she was not only ashamed of it, but verymuch afraid of it also. What if the American woman should put it ina newspaper! She had heard that everything was put into newspapersin America. What if this Mrs. Hurtle should send back to her somehorribly insolent answer;--or should send such answer to her mother,instead of herself! And then, again, if the American woman consentedto receive her, would not the American woman, as a matter of course,trample upon her with rough words? Once or twice she put the letteraside, and almost determined that it should not be sent;--but atlast, with desperate fortitude, she took it out with her and postedit herself. She told no word of it to any one. Her mother, shethought, had been cruel to her, had disregarded her feelings, andmade her wretched for ever. She could not ask her mother for sympathyin her present distress. There was no friend who would sympathisewith her. She must do everything alone.
Mrs. Hurtle, it will be remembered, had at last determined that shewould retire from the contest and own herself to have been worsted.It is, I fear, impossible to describe adequately the various halfresolutions which she formed, and the changing phases of her mindbefore she brought herself to this conclusion. And soon after she hadassured herself that this should be the conclusion,--after she hadtold Paul Montague that it should be so,--there came back upon her attimes other half resolutions to a contrary effect. She had writtena letter to the man threatening desperate revenge, and had thenabstained from sending it, and had then shown it to the man,--notintending to give it to him as a letter upon which he would have toact, but only that she might ask him whether, had he received it, hewould have said that he had not deserved it. Then she had parted withhim, refusing either to hear or to say a word of farewell, and hadtold Mrs. Pipkin that she was no longer engaged to be married. Atthat moment everything was done that could be done. The game had beenplayed and the stakes lost,--and she had schooled herself into suchrestraint as to have abandoned all idea of vengeance. But from timeto time there arose in her heart a feeling that such softness wasunworthy of her. Who had ever been soft to her? Who had spared her?Had she not long since found out that she must fight with her verynails and teeth for every inch of ground, if she did not mean to betrodden into the dust? Had she not held her own among rough
peopleafter a very rough fashion, and should she now simply retire thatshe might weep in a corner like a love-sick schoolgirl? And she hadbeen so stoutly determined that she would at any rate avenge her ownwrongs, if she could not turn those wrongs into triumph! There weremoments in which she thought that she could still seize the man bythe throat, where all the world might see her, and dare him to denythat he was false, perjured, and mean.
Then she received a long passionate letter from Paul Montague,written at the same time as those other letters to Roger Carbury andHetta, in which he told her all the circumstances of his engagementto Hetta Carbury, and implored her to substantiate the truth of hisown story. It was certainly marvellous to her that the man who hadso long been her own lover and who had parted with her after such afashion should write such a letter to her. But it had no tendency toincrease either her anger or her sorrow. Of course she had known thatit was so, and at certain times she had told herself that it was onlynatural,--had almost told herself that it was right. She and thisyoung Englishman were not fit to be mated. He was to her thinkinga tame, sleek household animal, whereas she knew herself to bewild,--fitter for the woods than for polished cities. It had been oneof the faults of her life that she had allowed herself to be boundby tenderness of feeling to this soft over-civilised man. The resulthad been disastrous, as might have been expected. She was angry withhim,--almost to the extent of tearing him to pieces,--but she did notbecome more angry because he wrote to her of her rival.
Her only present friend was Mrs. Pipkin, who treated her with thegreatest deference, but who was never tired of asking questions aboutthe lost lover. "That letter was from Mr. Montague?" said Mrs. Pipkinon the morning after it had been received.
"How can you know that?"
"I'm sure it was. One does get to know handwritings when letters comefrequent."
"It was from him. And why not?"
"Oh dear no;--why not certainly? I wish he'd write every day of hislife, so that things would come round again. Nothing ever troublesme so much as broken love. Why don't he come again himself, Mrs.Hurtle?"
"It is not at all likely that he should come again. It is all over,and there is no good in talking of it. I shall return to New York onSaturday week."
"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle!"
"I can't remain here, you know, all my life doing nothing. I cameover here for a certain purpose, and that has--gone by. Now I mayjust go back again."
"I know he has ill-treated you. I know he has."
"I am not disposed to talk about it, Mrs. Pipkin."
"I should have thought it would have done you good to speak your mindout free. I know it would me if I'd been served in that way."
"If I had anything to say at all after that fashion it would be tothe gentleman, and not to any other else. As it is I shall neverspeak of it again to any one. You have been very kind to me, Mrs.Pipkin, and I shall be sorry to leave you."
"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, you can't understand what it is to me. It isn'tonly my feelings. The likes of me can't stand by their feelingsonly, as their betters do. I've never been above telling you what agodsend you've been to me this summer;--have I? I've paid everything,butcher, baker, rates and all, just like clockwork. And now you'regoing away!" Then Mrs. Pipkin began to sob.
"I suppose I shall see Mr. Crumb before I go," said Mrs. Hurtle.
"She don't deserve it; do she? And even now she never says a wordabout him that I call respectful. She looks on him as just beingbetter than Mrs. Buggins's children. That's all."
"She'll be all right when he has once got her home."
"And I shall be all alone by myself," said Mrs. Pipkin, with herapron up to her eyes.
It was after this that Mrs. Hurtle received Hetta's letter. She hadas yet returned no answer to Paul Montague,--nor had she intendedto send any written answer. Were she to comply with his request shecould do so best by writing to the girl who was concerned rather thanto him. And though she wrote no such letter she thought of it,--ofthe words she would use were she to write it, and of the tale whichshe would have to tell. She sat for hours thinking of it, trying toresolve whether she would tell the tale,--if she told it at all,--ina manner to suit Paul's purpose, or so as to bring that purposeutterly to shipwreck. She did not doubt that she could cause theshipwreck were she so minded. She could certainly have her revengeafter that fashion. But it was a woman's fashion, and, as such,did not recommend itself to Mrs. Hurtle's feelings. A pistol or ahorsewhip, a violent seizing by the neck, with sharp taunts andbitter-ringing words, would have made the fitting revenge. If sheabandoned that she could do herself no good by telling a story of herwrongs to another woman.
Then came Hetta's note, so stiff, so cold, so true,--so like theletter of an Englishwoman, as Mrs. Hurtle said to herself. Mrs.Hurtle smiled as she read the letter. "I make this proposition notthinking that anything you can say to me can change my mind." Ofcourse the girl's mind would be changed. The girl's mind, indeed,required no change. Mrs. Hurtle could see well enough that the girl'sheart was set upon the man. Nevertheless she did not doubt butthat she could tell the story after such a fashion as to make itimpossible that the girl should marry him,--if she chose to do so.
At first she thought that she would not answer the letter at all.What was it to her? Let them fight their own lovers' battles outafter their own childish fashion. If the man meant at last to behonest, there could be no doubt, Mrs. Hurtle thought, that the girlwould go to him. It would require no interference of hers. But aftera while she thought that she might as well see this English chit whohad superseded herself in the affections of the Englishman she hadcondescended to love. And if it were the case that all revenge was tobe abandoned, that no punishment was to be exacted in return for allthe injury that had been done, why should she not say a kind wordso as to smooth away the existing difficulties? Wild cat as she was,kindness was more congenial to her nature than cruelty. So she wroteto Hetta making an appointment.
DEAR MISS CARBURY,--
If you could make it convenient to yourself to call here either Thursday or Friday at any hour between two and four, I shall be very happy to see you.
Yours sincerely,
WINIFRID HURTLE.
The Way We Live Now Page 92
