Desperate Remedies

by Thomas Hardy

  XIV. THE EVENTS OF FIVE WEEKS

  1. FROM THE SIXTH TO THE THIRTEENTH OF JANUARY

  Manston had evidently resolved to do nothing in a hurry.

  This much was plain, that his earnest desire and intention was toraise in Cytherea's bosom no feelings of permanent aversion to him. Theinstant after the first burst of disappointment had escaped him in thehotel at Southampton, he had seen how far better it would be to lose herpresence for a week than her respect for ever.

  'She shall be mine; I will claim the young thing yet,' he insisted. Andthen he seemed to reason over methods for compassing that object, which,to all those who were in any degree acquainted with the recent event,appeared the least likely of possible contingencies.

  He returned to Knapwater late the next day, and was preparing to call onMiss Aldclyffe, when the conclusion forced itself upon him that nothingwould be gained by such a step. No; every action of his should be doneopenly--even religiously. At least, he called on the rector, and statedthis to be his resolve.

  'Certainly,' said Mr. Raunham, 'it is best to proceed candidly andfairly, or undue suspicion may fall on you. You should, in my opinion,take active steps at once.'

  'I will do the utmost that lies in my power to clear up the mystery, andsilence the hubbub of gossip that has been set going about me. But whatcan I do? They say that the man who comes first in the chain of inquiryis not to be found--I mean the porter.'

  'I am sorry to say that he is not. When I returned from the station lastnight, after seeing Owen Graye off, I went again to the cottage wherehe has been lodging, to get more intelligence, as I thought. He was notthere. He had gone out at dusk, saying he would be back soon. But he hasnot come back yet.'

  'I rather doubt if we shall see him again.'

  'Had I known of this, I would have done what in my flurry I did notthink of doing--set a watch upon him. But why not advertise foryour missing wife as a preliminary, consulting your solicitor in themeantime?'

  'Advertise. I'll think about it,' said Manston, lingering on the word ashe pronounced it. 'Yes, that seems a right thing--quite a right thing.'

  He went home and remained moodily indoors all the next day and thenext--for nearly a week, in short. Then, one evening at dusk, hewent out with an uncertain air as to the direction of his walk, whichresulted, however, in leading him again to the rectory.

  He saw Mr. Raunham. 'Have you done anything yet?' the rector inquired.

  'No--I have not,' said Manston absently. 'But I am going to set aboutit.' He hesitated, as if ashamed of some weakness he was about tobetray. 'My object in calling was to ask if you had heard any tidingsfrom Budmouth of my--Cytherea. You used to speak of her as one you wereinterested in.'

  There was, at any rate, real sadness in Manston's tone now, and therector paused to weigh his words ere he replied.

  'I have not heard directly from her,' he said gently. 'But her brotherhas communicated with some people in the parish--'

  'The Springroves, I suppose,' said Manston gloomily.

  'Yes; and they tell me that she is very ill, and I am sorry to say,likely to be for some days.'

  'Surely, surely, I must go and see her!' Manston cried.

  'I would advise you not to go,' said Raunham. 'But do this instead--beas quick as you can in making a movement towards ascertaining the truthas regards the existence of your wife. You see, Mr. Manston, an out-stepplace like this is not like a city, and there is nobody to busy himselffor the good of the community; whilst poor Cytherea and her brother aresocially too dependent to be able to make much stir in the matter, whichis a greater reason still why you should be disinterestedly prompt.'

  The steward murmured an assent. Still there was the sameindecision!--not the indecision of weakness--the indecision of consciousperplexity.

  On Manston's return from this interview at the rectory, he passed thedoor of the Rising Sun Inn. Finding he had no light for his cigar,and it being three-quarters of a mile to his residence in the park, heentered the tavern to get one. Nobody was in the outer portion of thefront room where Manston stood, but a space round the fire was screenedoff from the remainder, and inside the high oak settle, forming a partof the screen, he heard voices conversing. The speakers had not noticedhis footsteps, and continued their discourse.

  One of the two he recognized as a well-known night-poacher, the manwho had met him with tidings of his wife's death on the evening of theconflagration. The other seemed to be a stranger following the samemode of life. The conversation was carried on in the emphatic andconfidential tone of men who are slightly intoxicated, its subject beingan unaccountable experience that one of them had had on the night of thefire.

  What the steward heard was enough, and more than enough, to lead him toforget or to renounce his motive in entering. The effect upon him wasstrange and strong. His first object seemed to be to escape from thehouse again without being seen or heard.

  Having accomplished this, he went in at the park gate, and strode offunder the trees to the Old House. There sitting down by the fire,and burying himself in reflection, he allowed the minutes to pass byunheeded. First the candle burnt down in its socket and stunk: he didnot notice it. Then the fire went out: he did not see it. His feet grewcold; still he thought on.

  It may be remarked that a lady, a year and a quarter before this time,had, under the same conditions--an unrestricted mental absorption--shownnearly the same peculiarities as this man evinced now. The lady was MissAldclyffe.

  It was half-past twelve when Manston moved, as if he had come to adetermination.

  The first thing he did the next morning was to call at Knapwater House;where he found that Miss Aldclyffe was not well enough to see him.She had been ailing from slight internal haemorrhage ever since theconfession of the porter Chinney. Apparently not much aggrieved at thedenial, he shortly afterwards went to the railway-station and took hisdeparture for London, leaving a letter for Miss Aldclyffe, stating thereason of his journey thither--to recover traces of his missing wife.

  During the remainder of the week paragraphs appeared in the local andother newspapers, drawing attention to the facts of this singular case.The writers, with scarcely an exception, dwelt forcibly upon a featurewhich had at first escaped the observation of the villagers, includingMr. Raunham--that if the announcement of the man Chinney were true,it seemed extremely probable that Mrs. Manston left her watch and keysbehind on purpose to blind people as to her escape; and that thereforeshe would not now let herself be discovered, unless a strong pressurewere put upon her. The writers added that the police were on the trackof the porter, who very possibly had absconded in the fear that hisreticence was criminal, and that Mr. Manston, the husband, was, withpraiseworthy energy, making every effort to clear the whole matter up.

  2. FROM THE EIGHTEENTH TO THE END OF JANUARY

  Five days from the time of his departure, Manston returned from Londonand Liverpool, looking very fatigued and thoughtful. He explained to therector and other of his acquaintance that all the inquiries he hadmade at his wife's old lodgings and his own had been totally barren ofresults.

  But he seemed inclined to push the affair to a clear conclusion now thathe had commenced. After the lapse of another day or two he proceeded tofulfil his promise to the rector, and advertised for the missingwoman in three of the London papers. The advertisement was a carefullyconsidered and even attractive effusion, calculated to win the heart,or at least the understanding, of any woman who had a spark of her ownnature left in her.

  There was no answer.

  Three days later he repeated the experiment; with the same result asbefore.

  'I cannot try any further,' said Manston speciously to the rector, hissole auditor throughout the proceedings. 'Mr. Raunham, I'll tell you thetruth plainly: I don't love her; I do love Cytherea, and the whole ofthis business of searching for the other woman goes altogether againstme. I hope to God I shall never see her again.'

  'But you will do your duty at least?' said Mr. Raunham.

>   'I have done it,' said Manston. 'If ever a man on the face of this earthhas done his duty towards an absent wife, I have towards her--living ordead--at least,' he added, correcting himself, 'since I have lived atKnapwater. I neglected her before that time--I own that, as I have ownedit before.'

  'I should, if I were you, adopt other means to get tidings of herif advertising fails, in spite of my feelings,' said the rectoremphatically. 'But at any rate, try advertising once more. There's asatisfaction in having made any attempt three several times.'

  When Manston had left the study, the rector stood looking at the firefor a considerable length of time, lost in profound reflection. He wentto his private diary, and after many pauses, which he varied only bydipping his pen, letting it dry, wiping it on his sleeve, and thendipping it again, he took the following note of events:--

  'January 25.--Mr. Manston has just seen me for the third time on thesubject of his lost wife. There have been these peculiarities attendingthe three interviews:--

  'The first. My visitor, whilst expressing by words his great anxiety todo everything for her recovery, showed plainly by his bearing that hewas convinced he should never see her again.

  'The second. He had left off feigning anxiety to do rightly by his firstwife, and honestly asked after Cytherea's welfare.

  'The third (and most remarkable). He seemed to have lost allconsistency. Whilst expressing his love for Cytherea (which certainly isstrong) and evincing the usual indifference to the first Mrs. Manston'sfate, he was unable to conceal the intensity of his eagerness for me toadvise him to _advertise again_ for her.'

  A week after the second, the third advertisement was inserted. Aparagraph was attached, which stated that this would be the last timethe announcement would appear.

  3. THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY

  At this, the eleventh hour, the postman brought a letter for Manston,directed in a woman's hand.

  A bachelor friend of the steward's, Mr. Dickson by name, who wassomewhat of a chatterer--plenus rimarum--and who boasted of an endlessstring of acquaintances, had come over from Casterbridge the precedingday by invitation--an invitation which had been a pleasant surpriseto Dickson himself, insomuch that Manston, as a rule, voted him a borealmost to his face. He had stayed over the night, and was sitting atbreakfast with his host when the important missive arrived.

  Manston did not attempt to conceal the subject of the letter, or thename of the writer. First glancing the pages through, he read aloud asfollows:--

  '"MY HUSBAND,--I implore your forgiveness.

  '"During the last thirteen months I have repeated to myself a hundredtimes that you should never discover what I voluntarily tell you now,namely, that I am alive and in perfect health.

  '"I have seen all your advertisements. Nothing but your persistencehas won me round. Surely, I thought, he _must_ love me still. Why elseshould he try to win back a woman who, faithful unto death as she willbe, can, in a social sense, aid him towards acquiring nothing?--ratherthe reverse, indeed.

  '"You yourself state my own mind--that the only grounds upon which wecan meet and live together, with a reasonable hope of happiness, mustbe a mutual consent to bury in oblivion all past differences. I heartilyand willingly forget everything--and forgive everything. You will do thesame, as your actions show.

  '"There will be plenty of opportunity for me to explain the few factsrelating to my escape on the night of the fire. I will only give theheads in this hurried note. I was grieved at your not coming to fetchme, more grieved at your absence from the station, most of all by yourabsence from home. On my journey to the inn I writhed under a passionatesense of wrong done me. When I had been shown to my room I waited andhoped for you till the landlord had gone upstairs to bed. I still foundthat you did not come, and then I finally made up my mind to leave. Ihad half undressed, but I put on my things again, forgetting my watch(and I suppose dropping my keys, though I am not sure where) in myhurry, and slipped out of the house. The--"'

  'Well, that's a rum story,' said Mr. Dickson, interrupting.

  'What's a rum story?' said Manston hastily, and flushing in the face.

  'Forgetting her watch and dropping her keys in her hurry.'

  'I don't see anything particularly wonderful in it. Any woman might dosuch a thing.'

  'Any woman might if escaping from fire or shipwreck, or any suchimmediate danger. But it seems incomprehensible to me that any womanin her senses, who quietly decides to leave a house, should be soforgetful.'

  'All that is required to reconcile your seeming with her facts is toassume that she was not in her senses, for that's what she did plainly,or how could the things have been found there? Besides, she's truthfulenough.' He spoke eagerly and peremptorily.

  'Yes, yes, I know that. I merely meant that it seemed rather odd.'

  'O yes.' Manston read on:--

  '"--and slipped out of the house. The rubbish-heap was burning upbrightly, but the thought that the house was in danger did not strikeme; I did not consider that it might be thatched.

  '"I idled in the lane behind the wood till the last down-train had comein, not being in a mood to face strangers. Whilst I was there thefire broke out, and this perplexed me still more. However, I was stilldetermined not to stay in the place. I went to the railway-station,which was now quiet, and inquired of the solitary man on duty thereconcerning the trains. It was not till I had left the man that I saw theeffect the fire might have on my history. I considered also, though notin any detailed manner, that the event, by attracting the attention ofthe village to my former abode, might set people on my track shouldthey doubt my death, and a sudden dread of having to go back againto Knapwater--a place which had seemed inimical to me from first tolast--prompted me to run back and bribe the porter to secrecy. I thenwalked on to Anglebury, lingering about the outskirts of the town tillthe morning train came in, when I proceeded by it to London, and thentook these lodgings, where I have been supporting myself ever since byneedlework, endeavouring to save enough money to pay my passage home toAmerica, but making melancholy progress in my attempt. However, all thatis changed--can I be otherwise than happy at it? Of course not. I amhappy. Tell me what I am to do, and believe me still to be your faithfulwife, EUNICE.

  '"My name here is (as before)

  '"MRS. RONDLEY, and my address, 79 ADDINGTON STREET, LAMBETH.'"

  The name and address were written on a separate slip of paper.

  'So it's to be all right at last then,' said Manston's friend. 'Butafter all there's another woman in the case. You don't seem verysorry for the little thing who is put to such distress by this turn ofaffairs? I wonder you can let her go so coolly.' The speaker was lookingout between the mullions of the window--noticing that some of thelights were glazed in lozenges, some in squares--as he said the words,otherwise he would have seen the passionate expression of agonizedhopelessness that flitted across the steward's countenance when theremark was made. He did not see it, and Manston answered after a shortinterval. The way in which he spoke of the young girl who had believedherself his wife, whom, a few short days ago, he had openly idolized,and whom, in his secret heart, he idolized still, as far as such aform of love was compatible with his nature, showed that from policy orotherwise, he meant to act up to the requirements of the position intowhich fate appeared determined to drive him.

  'That's neither here nor there,' he said; 'it is a point of honour to doas I am doing, and there's an end of it.'

  'Yes. Only I thought you used not to care overmuch about your firstbargain.'

  'I certainly did not at one time. One is apt to feel rather weary ofwives when they are so devilish civil under all aspects, as she used tobe. But anything for a change--Abigail is lost, but Michal is recovered.You would hardly believe it, but she seems in fancy to be quite anotherbride--in fact, almost as if she had really risen from the dead, insteadof having only done so virtually.'

  'You let the young pink one know that the other has come or is coming?'

&
nbsp; 'Cui bono?' The steward meditated critically, showing a portion of hisintensely wide and regular teeth within the ruby lips.

  'I cannot say anything to her that will do any good,' he resumed. 'Itwould be awkward--either seeing or communicating with her again. Thebest plan to adopt will be to let matters take their course--she'll findit all out soon enough.'

  Manston found himself alone a few minutes later. He buried his face inhis hands, and murmured, 'O my lost one! O my Cytherea! That it shouldcome to this is hard for me! 'Tis now all darkness--"a land of darknessas darkness itself; and of the shadow of death without any order, andwhere the light is as darkness."'

  Yes, the artificial bearing which this extraordinary man had adoptedbefore strangers ever since he had overheard the conversation at theinn, left him now, and he mourned for Cytherea aloud.

  4. THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY

  Knapwater Park is the picture--at eleven o'clock on a muddy, quiet,hazy, but bright morning--a morning without any blue sky, and withoutany shadows, the earth being enlivened and lit up rather by the spiritof an invisible sun than by its bodily presence.

  The local Hunt had met for the day's sport on the open space of groundimmediately in front of the steward's residence--called in the list ofappointments, 'Old House, Knapwater'--the meet being here once everyseason, for the pleasure of Miss Aldclyffe and her friends.

  Leaning out from one of the first-floor windows, and surveying withthe keenest interest the lively picture of pink and black coats,rich-coloured horses, and sparkling bits and spurs, was the returned andlong-lost woman, Mrs. Manston.

  The eyes of those forming the brilliant group were occasionally turnedtowards her, showing plainly that her adventures were the subject ofconversation equally with or more than the chances of the coming day.She did not flush beneath their scrutiny; on the contrary, she seemedrather to enjoy it, her eyes being kindled with a light of contentedexultation, subdued to square with the circumstances of her matronlyposition.

  She was, at the distance from which they surveyed her, an attractivewoman--comely as the tents of Kedar. But to a close observer it waspalpable enough that God did not do all the picture. Appearing at leastseven years older than Cytherea, she was probably her senior by doublethe number, the artificial means employed to heighten the natural goodappearance of her face being very cleverly applied. Her form was fulland round, its voluptuous maturity standing out in strong contrast tothe memory of Cytherea's lissom girlishness.

  It seems to be an almost universal rule that a woman who once hascourted, or who eventually will court, the society of men on termsdangerous to her honour cannot refrain from flinging the meaning glancewhenever the moment arrives in which the glance is strongly askedfor, even if her life and whole future depended upon that moment'sabstinence.

  Had a cautious, uxorious husband seen in his wife's countenance whatmight now have been seen in this dark-eyed woman's as she caught astray glance of flirtation from one or other of the red-coated gallantsoutside, he would have passed many days in an agony of restless jealousyand doubt. But Manston was not such a husband, and he was, moreover,calmly attending to his business at the other end of the manor.

  The steward had fetched home his wife in the most matter-of-fact waya few days earlier, walking round the village with her the very nextmorning--at once putting an end, by this simple solution, to all theriddling inquiries and surmises that were rank in the village and itsneighbourhood. Some men said that this woman was as far inferior toCytherea as earth to heaven; others, older and sager, thought Manstonbetter off with such a wife than he would have been with one ofCytherea's youthful impulses, and inexperience in household management.All felt their curiosity dying out of them. It was the same in Carrifordas in other parts of the world--immediately circumstantial evidencebecame exchanged for direct, the loungers in court yawned, gave a finalsurvey, and turned away to a subject which would afford more scope forspeculation.