Desperate Remedies

by Thomas Hardy

  XV. THE EVENTS OF THREE WEEKS

  1. FROM THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY TO THE SECOND OF MARCH

  Owen Graye's recovery from the illness that had incapacitated him for solong a time was, professionally, the dawn of a brighter prospect for himin every direction, though the change was at first very gradual, andhis movements and efforts were little more than mechanical. With thelengthening of the days, and the revival of building operations for theforthcoming season, he saw himself, for the first time, on a road which,pursued with care, would probably lead to a comfortable income at somefuture day. But he was still very low down the hill as yet.

  The first undertaking entrusted to him in the new year began about amonth after his return from Southampton. Mr. Gradfield had come backto him in the wake of his restored health, and offered him thesuperintendence, as clerk of works, of a church which was to be nearlyrebuilt at the village of Tolchurch, fifteen or sixteen miles fromBudmouth, and about half that distance from Carriford.

  'I am now being paid at the rate of a hundred and fifty pounds a year,'he said to his sister in a burst of thankfulness, 'and you shall never,Cytherea, be at any tyrannous lady's beck and call again as long asI live. Never pine or think about what has happened, dear; it's nodisgrace to you. Cheer up; you'll be somebody's happy wife yet.'

  He did not say Edward Springrove's, for, greatly to his disappointment,a report had reached his ears that the friend to whom Cytherea owedso much had been about to pack up his things and sail for Australia.However, this was before the uncertainty concerning Mrs. Manston'sexistence had been dispersed by her return, a phenomenon that alteredthe cloudy relationship in which Cytherea had lately been standingtowards her old lover, to one of distinctness; which result would havebeen delightful but for circumstances about to be mentioned.

  Cytherea was still pale from her recent illness, and still greatlydejected. Until the news of Mrs. Manston's return had reached them, shehad kept herself closely shut up during the day-time, never venturingforth except at night. Sleeping and waking she had been in perpetualdread lest she should still be claimed by a man whom, only a few weeksearlier, she had regarded in the light of a future husband with quietassent, not unmixed with cheerfulness.

  But the removal of the uneasiness in this direction--by Mrs. Manston'sarrival, and her own consequent freedom--had been the imposition of painin another. Utterly fictitious details of the finding of Cytherea andManston had been invented and circulated, unavoidably reaching her earsin the course of time. Thus the freedom brought no happiness, and itseemed well-nigh impossible that she could ever again show herself thesparkling creature she once had been--

  'Apt to entice a deity.'

  On this account, and for the first time in his life, Owen made a pointof concealing from her the real state of his feelings with regard to theunhappy transaction. He writhed in secret under the humiliation to whichthey had been subjected, till the resentment it gave rise to, and forwhich there was no vent, was sometimes beyond endurance; it induced amood that did serious damage to the material and plodding perseverancenecessary if he would secure permanently the comforts of a home forthem.

  They gave up their lodgings at Budmouth, and went to Tolchurch as soonas the work commenced.

  Here they were domiciled in one half of an old farmhouse, standing notfar from the ivy-covered church tower (which was all that was to remainof the original structure). The long steep roof of this picturesquedwelling sloped nearly down to the ground, the old tiles that coveredit being overgrown with rich olive-hued moss. New red tiles in twos andthrees had been used for patching the holes wrought by decay, lightingup the whole harmonious surface with dots of brilliant scarlet.

  The chief internal features of this snug abode were a wide fireplace,enormous cupboards, a brown settle, and several sketches on the woodmantel, done in outline with the point of a hot poker--the subjectsmainly consisting of old men walking painfully erect, with acurly-tailed dog behind.

  After a week or two of residence in Tolchurch, and rambles amid thequaint scenery circumscribing it, a tranquillity began to spread itselfthrough the mind of the maiden, which Graye hoped would be a preface toher complete restoration. She felt ready and willing to live the wholeremainder of her days in the retirement of their present quarters: shebegan to sing about the house in low tremulous snatches--

  '"--I said, if there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that is humble may hope for it here."'

  2. THE THIRD OF MARCH

  Her convalescence had arrived at this point on a certain evening towardsthe end of the winter, when Owen had come in from the building hard by,and was changing his muddy boots for slippers, previously to sittingdown to toast and tea.

  A prolonged though quiet knocking came to the door.

  The only person who ever knocked at their door in that way was the newvicar, the prime mover in the church-building. But he was that eveningdining with the Squire.

  Cytherea was uneasy at the sound--she did not know why, unless it wasbecause her nerves were weakened by the sickness she had undergone.Instead of opening the door she ran out of the room, and upstairs.

  'What nonsense, Cytherea!' said her brother, going to the door.

  Edward Springrove stood in the grey light outside.

  'Capital--not gone to Australia, and not going, of course!' cried Owen.'What's the use of going to such a place as that?--I never believed thatyou would.'

  'I am going back to London again to-morrow,' said Springrove, 'and Icalled to say a word before going. Where is... ?'

  'She has just run upstairs. Come in--never mind scraping your shoes--weare regular cottagers now; stone floor, yawning chimney-corner, and all,you see.'

  'Mrs. Manston came,' said Edward awkwardly, when he had sat down in thechimney-corner by preference.

  'Yes.' At mention of one of his skeletons Owen lost his blitheness atonce, and fell into a reverie.

  'The history of her escape is very simple.'

  'Very.'

  'You know I always had wondered, when my father was telling any of thecircumstances of the fire to me, how it could be that a woman couldsleep so soundly as to be unaware of her horrid position till it was toolate even to give shout or sound of any kind.'

  'Well, I think that would have been possible, considering her longwearisome journey. People have often been suffocated in their bedsbefore they awoke. But it was hardly likely a body would be completelyburnt to ashes as this was assumed to be, though nobody seemed to see itat the time. And how positive the surgeon was too, about those bits ofbone! Why he should have been so, nobody can tell. I cannot help sayingthat if it has ever been possible to find pure stupidity incarnate, itwas in that jury of Carriford. There existed in the mass the stupidityof twelve and not the penetration of one.'

  'Is she quite well?' said Springrove.

  'Who?--O, my sister, Cytherea. Thank you, nearly well, now. I'll callher.'

  'Wait one minute. I have a word to say to you.'

  Owen sat down again.

  'You know, without my saying it, that I love Cytherea as dearly asever.... I think she loves me too,--does she really?'

  There was in Owen enough of that worldly policy on the subject ofmatchmaking which naturally resides in the breasts of parents andguardians, to give him a certain caution in replying, and, younger as hewas by five years than Edward, it had an odd effect.

  'Well, she may possibly love you still,' he said, as if rather in doubtas to the truth of his words.

  Springrove's countenance instantly saddened; he had expected a simple'Yes,' at the very least. He continued in a tone of greater depression--

  'Supposing she does love me, would it be fair to you and to her ifI made her an offer of marriage, with these dreary conditionsattached--that we lived for a few years on the narrowest system, tilla great debt, which all honour and duty require me to pay off, shall bepaid? My father, by reason of the misfortune that befell him, is undera great obligation to Miss Aldclyffe. He is getting ol
d, and losinghis energies. I am attempting to work free of the burden. This makes myprospects gloomy enough at present.

  'But consider again,' he went on. 'Cytherea has been left in a namelessand unsatisfactory, though innocent state, by this unfortunate, andnow void, marriage with Manston. A marriage with me, though underthe--materially--untoward conditions I have mentioned, would make ushappy; it would give her a locus standi. If she wished to be out ofthe sound of her misfortunes we would go to another part ofEngland--emigrate--do anything.'

  'I'll call Cytherea,' said Owen. 'It is a matter which she alone cansettle.' He did not speak warmly. His pride could not endure the pitywhich Edward's visit and errand tacitly implied. Yet, in the otheraffair, his heart went with Edward; he was on the same beat for payingoff old debts himself.

  'Cythie, Mr. Springrove is here,' he said, at the foot of the staircase.

  His sister descended the creaking old steps with a faltering tread,and stood in the firelight from the hearth. She extended her handto Springrove, welcoming him by a mere motion of the lip, her eyesaverted--a habit which had engendered itself in her since thebeginning of her illness and defamation. Owen opened the door and wentout--leaving the lovers alone. It was the first time they had met sincethe memorable night at Southampton.

  'I will get a light,' she said, with a little embarrassment.

  'No--don't, please, Cytherea,' said Edward softly, 'Come and sit downwith me.'

  'O yes. I ought to have asked _you_ to,' she returned timidly.'Everybody sits in the chimney-corner in this parish. You sit on thatside. I'll sit here.'

  Two recesses--one on the right, one on the left hand--were cut in theinside of the fireplace, and here they sat down facing each other, onbenches fitted to the recesses, the fire glowing on the hearth betweentheir feet. Its ruddy light shone on the underslopes of their faces, andspread out over the floor of the room with the low horizontality of thesetting sun, giving to every grain of sand and tumour in the paving along shadow towards the door.

  Edward looked at his pale love through the thin azure twines of smokethat went up like ringlets between them, and invested her, as seenthrough its medium, with the shadowy appearance of a phantom. Nothingis so potent for coaxing back the lost eyes of a woman as a discreetsilence in the man who has so lost them--and thus the patient Edwardcoaxed hers. After lingering on the hearth for half a minute, waiting invain for another word from him, they were lifted into his face.

  He was ready primed to receive them. 'Cytherea, will you marry me?' hesaid.

  He could not wait in his original position till the answer came.Stepping across the front of the fire to her own side of the chimneycorner, he reclined at her feet, and searched for her hand. Shecontinued in silence awhile.

  'Edward, I can never be anybody's wife,' she then said sadly, and withfirmness.

  'Think of it in every light,' he pleaded; 'the light of love, first.Then, when you have done that, see how wise a step it would be. I canonly offer you poverty as yet, but I want--I do so long to secure youfrom the intrusion of that unpleasant past, which will often and alwaysbe thrust before you as long as you live the shrinking solitary life youdo now--a life which purity chooses, it may be; but to the outsideworld it appears like the enforced loneliness of neglect and scorn--andtongues are busy inventing a reason for it which does not exist.'

  'I know all about it,' she said hastily; 'and those are the grounds ofmy refusal. You and Owen know the whole truth--the two I love best onearth--and I am content. But the scandal will be continuallyrepeated, and I can never give any one the opportunity of saying toyou--that--your wife....' She utterly broke down and wept.

  'Don't, my own darling!' he entreated. 'Don't, Cytherea!'

  'Please to leave me--we will be friends, Edward--but don't press me--mymind is made up--I cannot--I will not marry you or any man under thepresent ambiguous circumstances--never will I--I have said it: never!'

  They were both silent. He listlessly regarded the illuminated blacknessoverhead, where long flakes of soot floated from the sides and barsof the chimney-throat like tattered banners in ancient aisles; whilstthrough the square opening in the midst one or two bright stars lookeddown upon them from the grey March sky. The sight seemed to cheer him.

  'At any rate you will love me?' he murmured to her.

  'Yes--always--for ever and for ever!'

  He kissed her once, twice, three times, and arose to his feet, slowlywithdrawing himself from her side towards the door. Cytherea remainedwith her gaze fixed on the fire. Edward went out grieving, but hope wasnot extinguished even now.

  He smelt the fragrance of a cigar, and immediately afterwards saw asmall red star of fire against the darkness of the hedge. Graye waspacing up and down the lane, smoking as he walked. Springrove told himthe result of the interview.

  'You are a good fellow, Edward,' he said; 'but I think my sister isright.'

  'I wish you would believe Manston a villain, as I do,' said Springrove.

  'It would be absurd of me to say that I like him now--family feelingprevents it, but I cannot in honesty say deliberately that he is a badman.'

  Edward could keep the secret of Manston's coercion of Miss Aldclyffein the matter of the houses a secret no longer. He told Owen the wholestory.

  'That's one thing,' he continued, 'but not all. What do you think ofthis--I have discovered that he went to Budmouth post-office for aletter the day before the first advertisement for his wife appeared inthe papers. One was there for him, and it was directed in his wife'shandwriting, as I can prove. This was not till after the marriage withCytherea, it is true, but if (as it seems to show) the advertising was afarce, there is a strong presumption that the rest of the piece was.'

  Owen was too astounded to speak. He dropped his cigar, and fixed hiseyes upon his companion.

  'Collusion!'

  'Yes.'

  'With his first wife?'

  'Yes--with his wife. I am firmly persuaded of it.'

  'What did you discover?'

  'That he fetched from the post-office at Budmouth a letter from her theday _before_ the first advertisement appeared.'

  Graye was lost in a long consideration. 'Ah!' he said, 'it would bedifficult to prove anything of that sort now. The writing could not besworn to, and if he is guilty the letter is destroyed.'

  'I have other suspicions--'

  'Yes--as you said' interrupted Owen, who had not till now been able toform the complicated set of ideas necessary for picturing the position.'Yes, there is this to be remembered--Cytherea had been taken from himbefore that letter came--and his knowledge of his wife's existencecould not have originated till after the wedding. I could have sworn hebelieved her dead then. His manner was unmistakable.'

  'Well, I have other suspicions,' repeated Edward; 'and if I only hadthe right--if I were her husband or brother, he should be convicted ofbigamy yet.'

  'The reproof was not needed,' said Owen, with a little bitterness. 'Whatcan I do--a man with neither money nor friends--whilst Manston has MissAldclyffe and all her fortune to back him up? God only knows what liesbetween the mistress and her steward, but since this has transpired--ifit is true--I can believe the connection to be even an unworthy one--athing I certainly never so much as owned to myself before.'

  3. THE FIFTH OF MARCH

  Edward's disclosure had the effect of directing Owen Graye's thoughtsinto an entirely new and uncommon channel.

  On the Monday after Springrove's visit, Owen had walked to the top ofa hill in the neighbourhood of Tolchurch--a wild hill that had no name,beside a barren down where it never looked like summer. In the intensityof his meditations on the ever-present subject, he sat down on aweather-beaten boundary-stone gazing towards the distant valleys--seeingonly Manston's imagined form.

  Had his defenceless sister been trifled with? that was the questionwhich affected him. Her refusal of Edward as a husband was, he knew,dictated solely by a humiliated sense of inadequacy to him in repute,and had not been formed till since the sl
anderous tale accountingfor her seclusion had been circulated. Was it not true, as Edward hadhinted, that he, her brother, was neglecting his duty towards her inallowing Manston to thrive unquestioned, whilst she was hiding her headfor no fault at all?

  Was it possible that Manston was sensuous villain enough to havecontemplated, at any moment before the marriage with Cytherea, thereturn of his first wife, when he should have grown weary of hisnew toy? Had he believed that, by a skilful manipulation of suchcircumstances as chance would throw in his way, he could escape allsuspicion of having known that she lived? Only one fact within his owndirect knowledge afforded the least ground for such a supposition.It was that, possessed by a woman only in the humble and unprotectedstation of a lady's hired companion, his sister's beauty might scarcelyhave been sufficient to induce a selfish man like Manston to make herhis wife, unless he had foreseen the possibility of getting rid of heragain.

  'But for that stratagem of Manston's in relation to the Springroves,'Owen thought, 'Cythie might now have been the happy wife of Edward.True, that he influenced Miss Aldclyffe only rests on Edward'ssuspicions, but the grounds are good--the probability is strong.'

  He went indoors and questioned Cytherea.

  'On the night of the fire, who first said that Mrs. Manston was burnt?'he asked.

  'I don't know who started the report.'

  'Was it Manston?'

  'It was certainly not he. All doubt on the subject was removed before hecame to the spot--that I am certain of. Everybody knew that she did notescape _after_ the house was on fire, and thus all overlooked the factthat she might have left before--of course that would have seemed suchan improbable thing for anybody to do.'

  'Yes, until the porter's story of her irritation and doubt as to hercourse made it natural.'

  'What settled the matter at the inquest,' said Cytherea, 'was Mr.Manston's evidence that the watch was his wife's.'

  'He was sure of that, wasn't he?'

  'I believe he said he was certain of it.'

  'It might have been hers--left behind in her perturbation, as they sayit was--impossible as that seems at first sight. Yes--on the whole, hemight have believed in her death.'

  'I know by several proofs that then, and at least for some time after,he had no other thought than that she was dead. I now think that beforethe porter's confession he knew something about her--though not that shelived.'

  'Why do you?'

  'From what he said to me on the evening of the wedding-day, when I hadfastened myself in the room at the hotel, after Edward's visit. He musthave suspected that I knew something, for he was irritated, and in apassion of uneasy doubt. He said, "You don't suppose my first wife iscome to light again, madam, surely?" Directly he had let the remark slipout, he seemed anxious to withdraw it.'

  'That's odd,' said Owen.

  'I thought it very odd.'

  'Still we must remember he might only have hit upon the thought byaccident, in doubt as to your motive. Yes, the great point to discoverremains the same as ever--did he doubt his first impression of her death_before_ he married you. I can't help thinking he did, although he wasso astounded at our news that night. Edward swears he did.'

  'It was perhaps only a short time before,' said Cytherea; 'when he couldhardly recede from having me.'

  'Seasoning justice with mercy as usual, Cytherea. 'Tis unfair toyourself to talk like that. If I could only bring him to ruin as abigamist--supposing him to be one--I should die happy. That's what wemust find out by fair means or foul--was he a wilful bigamist?'

  'It is no use trying, Owen. You would have to employ a solicitor, andhow can you do that?'

  'I can't at all--I know that very well. But neither do I altogether wishto at present--a lawyer must have a case--facts to go upon, that means.Now they are scarce at present--as scarce as money is with us, and tillwe have found more money there is no hurry for a lawyer. Perhaps by thetime we have the facts we shall have the money. The only thing we losein working alone in this way, is time--not the issue: for the fruit thatone mind matures in a twelvemonth forms a more perfectly organized wholethan that of twelve minds in one month, especially if the interests ofthe single one are vitally concerned, and those of the twelve are onlyhired. But there is not only my mind available--you are a shrewd woman,Cythie, and Edward is an earnest ally. Then, if we really get a surefooting for a criminal prosecution, the Crown will take up the case.'

  'I don't much care to press on in the matter,' she murmured. 'What goodcan it do us, Owen, after all?'

  'Selfishly speaking, it will do this good--that all the facts of yourjourney to Southampton will become known, and the scandal will die.Besides, Manston will have to suffer--it's an act of justice to you andto other women, and to Edward Springrove.'

  He now thought it necessary to tell her of the real nature of theSpringroves' obligation to Miss Aldclyffe--and their nearly certainknowledge that Manston was the prime mover in effecting theirembarrassment. Her face flushed as she listened.

  'And now,' he said, 'our first undertaking is to find out where Mrs.Manston lived during the separation next, when the first communicationspassed between them after the fire.'

  'If we only had Miss Aldclyffe's countenance and assistance as I used tohave them,' Cytherea returned, 'how strong we should be! O, what poweris it that he exercises over her, swaying her just as he wishes! Sheloves me now. Mrs. Morris in her letter said that Miss Aldclyffe prayedfor me--yes, she heard her praying for me, and crying. Miss Aldclyffedid not mind an old friend like Mrs. Morris knowing it, either. Yet inopposition to this, notice her dead silence and inaction throughout thisproceeding.'

  'It is a mystery; but never mind that now,' said Owen impressively.'About where Mrs. Manston has been living. We must get this part ofit first--learn the place of her stay in the early stage of theirseparation, during the period of Manston's arrival here, and so on, forthat was where she was first communicated with on the subject of comingto Knapwater, before the fire; and that address, too, was her pointof departure when she came to her husband by stealth in the night--youknow--the time I visited you in the evening and went home early in themorning, and it was found that he had been visited too. Ah! couldn'twe inquire of Mrs. Leat, who keeps the post-office at Carriford, if sheremembers where the letters to Mrs. Manston were directed?'

  'He never posted his letters to her in the parish--it was remarked atthe time. I was thinking if something relating to her address might notbe found in the report of the inquest in the Casterbridge Chronicle ofthe date. Some facts about the inquest were given in the papers to acertainty.'

  Her brother caught eagerly at the suggestion. 'Who has a file of theChronicles?' he said.

  'Mr. Raunham used to file them,' said Cytherea. 'He was ratherfriendly-disposed towards me, too.'

  Owen could not, on any consideration, escape from his attendance at thechurch-building till Saturday evening; and thus it became necessary,unless they actually wasted time, that Cytherea herself should assist.'I act under your orders, Owen,' she said.