An Old Man's Love

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER VI.

  JOHN GORDON.

  Mrs Baggett walked into her master's room, loudly knocking at thedoor, and waiting for a loud answer. He was pacing up and down thelibrary, thinking of the injustice of her interference, and she wasfull of the injury to which she had been subjected by circumstances.She had been perfectly sincere when she had told Mary Lawrie thatMr Whittlestaff was entitled to have and to enjoy his own wishes asagainst both of them. In the first place, he was a man,--and as aman, was to be indulged, at whatever cost to any number of women. Andthen he was a man whose bread they had both eaten. Mary had eatenhis bread, as bestowed upon her from sheer charity. According toMrs Baggett's view of the world at large, Mary was bound to deliverherself body and soul to Mr Whittlestaff, were "soul sacrifice"demanded from her. As for herself, her first duty in life was to lookafter him were he to be sick. Unfortunately Mr Whittlestaff neverwas sick, but Mrs Baggett was patiently looking forward to somehappy day when he might be brought home with his leg broken. He hadno imprudent habits, hunting, shooting, or suchlike; but chance mightbe good to her. Then the making of all jams and marmalades, for whichhe did not care a straw, and which he only ate to oblige her, was acomfort to her. She could manage occasionally to be kept out of herbed over some boiling till one o'clock; and then the making of butterin the summer would demand that she should be up at three. Thusshe was enabled to consider that her normal hours of work weretwenty-two out of the twenty-four. She did not begrudge them in theleast, thinking that they were all due to Mr Whittlestaff. Now MrWhittlestaff wanted a wife, and, of course, he ought to have her.His Juggernaut's car must roll on its course over her body or MaryLawrie's. But she could not be expected to remain and behold MaryLawrie's triumph and Mary Lawrie's power. That was out of thequestion, and as she was thus driven out of the house, she wasentitled to show a little of her ill humour to the proud bride. Shemust go to Portsmouth;--which she knew was tantamount to a livingdeath. She only hated one person in all the world, and he, as sheknew well, was living at Portsmouth. There were to her only twoplaces in the world in which anybody could live,--Croker's Hall andPortsmouth. Croker's Hall was on the whole the proper region setapart for the habitation of the blest. Portsmouth was the otherplace,--and thither she must go. To remain, even in heaven, ashousekeeper to a young woman, was not to be thought of. It waswritten in the book of Fate that she must go; but not on that accountneed she even pretend to keep her temper.

  "What's all this that you have been saying to Miss Lawrie?" began MrWhittlestaff, with all the dignity of anger.

  "What have I been saying of to Miss Mary?"

  "I am not at all well pleased with you."

  "I haven't said a word again you, sir, nor not again nothing as youare likely to do."

  "Miss Lawrie is to become my wife."

  "So I hears her say."

  There was something of a check in this--a check to Mr Whittlestaff'spride in Mary's conduct. Did Mrs Baggett intend him to understandthat Mary had told the whole story to the old woman, and had boastedof her promotion?

  "You have taught her to think that she should not do as we haveproposed,--because of your wishes."

  "I never said nothing of the kind,--so help me. That I should putmyself up again you, sir! Oh no! I knows my place better than that. Iwouldn't stand in the way of anything as was for your good,--or evenof what you thought was good,--not to be made housekeeper to-- Well,it don't matter where. I couldn't change for the better, nor wageswouldn't tempt me."

  "What was it you said about going away?"

  Here Mrs Baggett shook her head. "You told Miss Lawrie that youthought it was a shame that you should have to leave because of her."

  "I never said a word of the kind, Mr Whittlestaff; nor yet, sir, Idon't think as Miss Lawrie ever said so. I'm begging your pardon forcontradicting you, and well I ought. But anything is better thanmaking ill-blood between lovers." Mr Whittlestaff winced at beingcalled a lover, but allowed the word to pass by. "I never saidnothing about shame."

  "What did you say?"

  "I said as how I must leave you;--nothing but that. It ain't a matterof the slightest consequence to you, sir."

  "Rubbish!"

  "Very well, sir. I mustn't demean me to say as anything I had saidwasn't rubbish when you said as it was-- But for all that, I've gotto go."

  "Nonsense."

  "Yes, in course."

  "Why have you got to go?"

  "Because of my feelings, sir."

  "I never heard such trash."

  "That's true, no doubt, sir. But still, if you'll think of it, oldwomen does have feelings. Not as a young one, but still they'rethere."

  "Who's going to hurt your feelings?"

  "In this house, sir, for the last fifteen years I've been top-sawyerof the female gender."

  "Then I'm not to marry at all."

  "You've gone on and you haven't,--that's all. I ain't a-finding nofault. But you haven't,--and I'm the sufferer." Here Mrs Baggettbegan to sob, and to wipe her eyes with a clean handkerchief, whichshe must surely have brought into the room for the purpose. "If youhad taken some beautiful young lady--"

  "I have taken a beautiful young lady," said Mr Whittlestaff, nowbecoming more angry than ever.

  "You won't listen to me, sir, and then you boil over like that. Nodoubt Miss Mary is as beautiful as the best on 'em. I knew how itwould be when she came among us with her streaky brown cheeks, ou'dmake an anchor wish to kiss 'em." Here Mr Whittlestaff again becameappeased, and made up his mind at once that he would tell Mary aboutthe anchor as soon as things were smooth between them. "But if it hadbeen some beautiful young lady out of another house,--one of themfrom the Park, for instance,--who hadn't been here a'most under myown thumb, I shouldn't 've minded it."

  "The long and the short of it is, Mrs Baggett, that I am going to bemarried."

  "I suppose you are, sir."

  "And, as it happens, the lady I have selected happens to have beenyour mistress for the last two years."

  "She won't be my missus no more," said Mrs Baggett, with an air offixed determination.

  "Of course you can do as you like about that. I can't compel any oneto live in this house against her will; but I would compel you if Iknew how, for your own benefit."

  "There ain't no compelling."

  "What other place have you got you can go to? I can't conceive itpossible that you should live in any other family."

  "Not in no family. Wages wouldn't tempt me. But there's them assupposes that they've a claim upon me." Then the woman began to cryin earnest, and the clean pocket-handkerchief was used in a mannerwhich would soon rob it of its splendour.

  There was a slight pause before Mr Whittlestaff rejoined. "Has hecome back again?" he said, almost solemnly.

  "He's at Portsmouth now, sir." And Mrs Baggett shook her head sadly.

  "And wants you to go to him?"

  "He always wants that when he comes home. I've got a bit of money,and he thinks there's some one to earn a morsel of bread for him--orrayther a glass of gin. I must go this time."

  "I don't see that you need go at all; at any rate, Miss Lawrie'smarriage won't make any difference."

  "It do, sir," she said, sobbing.

  "I can't see why."

  "Nor I can't explain. I could stay on here, and wouldn't be afraid ofhim a bit."

  "Then why don't you stay?"

  "It's my feelings. If I was to stay here, I could just send him mywages, and never go nigh him. But when I'm alone about the world andforlorn, I ain't got no excuse but what I must go to him."

  "Then remain where you are, and don't be a fool."

  "But if a person is a fool, what's to be done then? In course I'ma fool. I knows that very well. There's no saying no other. But Ican't go on living here, if Miss Mary is to be put over my head inthat way. Baggett has sent for me, and I must go. Baggett is atPortsmouth, a-hanging on about the old shop. And he'll be drunk aslong as there's gin to be had with or without paying. They do tellme as his n
ose is got to be awful. There's a man for a poor womanto go and spend her savings on! He's had a'most all on 'em already.Twenty-two pound four and sixpence he had out o' me the last time hewas in the country. And he don't do nothing to have him locked up.It would be better for me if he'd get hisself locked up. I do thinkit's wrong, because a young girl has been once foolish and said afew words before a parson, as she is to be the slave of a drunkenred-nosed reprobate for the rest of her life. Ain't there to be noway out of it?"

  It was thus that Mrs Baggett told the tale of her marriedbliss,--not, however, without incurring the censure of her masterbecause of her folly in resolving to go. He had just commenced alecture on the sin of pride, in which he was prepared to show thatall the evils which she could receive from the red-nosed veteran atPortsmouth would be due to her own stiff-necked obstinacy, when hewas stopped suddenly by the sound of a knock at the front door. Itwas not only the knock at the door, but the entrance into the hall ofsome man, for the hall-door had been open into the garden, and theservant-girl had been close at hand. The library was at the top ofthe low stairs, and Mr Whittlestaff could not but hear the demandmade. The gentleman had asked whether Miss Lawrie was living there.

  "Who's that?" said Mr Whittlestaff to the housekeeper.

  "It's not a voice as I know, sir." The gentleman in the meantime wastaken into the drawing-room, and was closeted for the moment withMary.

  We must now go down-stairs and closet ourselves for a few momentswith Mary Lawrie before the coming of the strange gentleman. She hadleft the presence of Mr Whittlestaff half an hour since, and feltthat she had a second time on that day accepted him as her husband.She had accepted him, and now she must do the best she could to suither life to his requirements. Her first feeling, when she foundherself alone, was one of intense disgust at her own weakness. He hadspoken to her of her ambition; and he had told her that he had founda place for her, in which that ambition might find a fair scope. Andhe had told her also that in reference to John Gordon she had dreameda dream. It might be so, but to her thinking the continued dreamingof that dream would satisfy her ambition better than the performanceof those duties which he had arranged for her. She had her own ideasof what was due from a girl and to a girl, and to her thinking herlove for John Gordon was all the world to her. She should not havebeen made to abandon her thoughts, even though the man had not spokena word to her. She knew that she loved him; even though a time mightcome when she should cease to do so, that time had not come yet. Shevacillated in her mind between condemnation of the cruelty of MrWhittlestaff and of her own weakness. And then, too, there was somefeeling of the hardship inflicted upon her by John Gordon. He hadcertainly said that which had justified her in believing that shepossessed his heart. But yet there had been no word on which shecould fall back and regard it as a promise.

  It might perhaps be better for her that she should marry MrWhittlestaff. All her friends would think it to be infinitely better.Could there be anything more moonstruck, more shandy, more wretchedlylistless, than for a girl, a penniless girl, to indulge in dreams ofan impossible lover, when such a tower of strength presented itselfto her as was Mr Whittlestaff? She had consented to eat his bread,and all her friends had declared how lucky she had been to find aman so willing and so able to maintain her. And now this man didundoubtedly love her very dearly, and there would be, as she was wellaware, no peril in marrying him. Was she to refuse him because of asoft word once spoken to her by a young man who had since disappearedaltogether from her knowledge? And she had already accepted him,--hadtwice accepted him on that very day! And there was no longer a hopefor escape, even if escape were desirable. What a fool must she be tosit there, still dreaming her impossible dream, instead of thinkingof his happiness, and preparing herself for his wants! He had toldher that she might be allowed to think of John Gordon, though not tospeak of him. She would neither speak of him nor think of him. Sheknew herself, she said, too well to give herself such liberty. Heshould be to her as though he had never been. She would force herselfto forget him, if forgetting lies in the absence of all thought.It was no more than Mr Whittlestaff had a right to demand, and nomore than she ought to be able to accomplish. Was she such a weaksimpleton as to be unable to keep her mind from running back to thewords and to the visage, and to every little personal trick of onewho could never be anything to her? "He has gone for ever!" sheexclaimed, rising up from her chair. "He shall be gone; I will not bea martyr and a slave to my own memory. The thing came, and has gone,and there is an end of it." Then Jane opened the door, with a littlepiece of whispered information. "Please, Miss, a Mr Gordon wishes tosee you." The door was opened a little wider, and John Gordon stoodbefore her.

  There he was, with his short black hair, his bright pleasant eyes,his masterful mouth, his dark complexion, and broad, handsome, manlyshoulders, such as had dwelt in her memory every day since he haddeparted. There was nothing changed, except that his raiment wassomewhat brighter, and that there was a look of prosperity about himwhich he had lacked when he left her. He was the same John Gordonwho had seemed to her to be entitled to all that he wanted, and whocertainly would have had from her all that he had cared to demand.When he had appeared before her, she had jumped up, ready to rushinto his arms; but then she had repressed herself, and had fallenback, and she leant against the table for support.

  "So I have found you here," he said.

  "Yes, I am here."

  "I have been after you down to Norwich, and have heard it all. Mary,I am here on purpose to seek you. Your father and Mrs Lawrie areboth gone. He was going when I left you."

  "Yes, Mr Gordon. They are both gone, and I am alone,--but for thekindness of a most generous friend."

  "I had heard, of course, of Mr Whittlestaff. I hope I shall not betold now that I am doing no good about the house. At any rate I amnot a pauper. I have mended that little fault." Then he looked ather as though he thought that there was nothing for him but to beginthe conversation where it had been so roughly ended at their lastmeeting.

  Did it not occur to him that something might have come across herlife during a period of nearly three years, which would stand in hisway and in hers? But as she gazed into his face, it seemed as thoughno such idea had fallen upon him. But during those two or threeminutes, a multitude of thoughts crowded on poor Mary's mind. Was itpossible that because of the coming of John Gordon, Mr Whittlestaffshould withdraw his claim, and allow this happy young hero to walkoff with the reward which he still seemed to desire? She felt surethat it could not be so. Even during that short space of time, sheresolved that it could not be so. She knew Mr Whittlestaff too well,and was sure that her lover had arrived too late. It all passedthrough her brain, and she was sure that no change could be effectedin her destiny. Had he come yesterday, indeed? But before she couldprepare an answer for John Gordon, Mr Whittlestaff entered the room.

  She was bound to say something, though she was little able atthe moment to speak at all. She was aware that some ceremony wasnecessary. She was but ill able to introduce these two men to eachother, but it had to be done. "Mr Whittlestaff," she said, "this isMr John Gordon who used to know us at Norwich."

  "Mr John Gordon," said Mr Whittlestaff, bowing very stiffly.

  "Yes, sir; that is my name. I never had the pleasure of meeting youat Norwich, though I often heard of you there. And since I left theplace I have been told how kind a friend you have been to this younglady. I trust I may live to thank you for it more warmly though notmore sincerely than I can do at this moment."

  Of John Gordon's fate since he had left Norwich a few words must betold. As Mrs Lawrie had then told him, he was little better than apauper. He had, however, collected together what means he had beenable to gather, and had gone to Cape Town in South Africa. Thence hehad made his way up to Kimberley, and had there been at work amongthe diamond-fields for two years. If there be a place on God's earthin which a man can thoroughly make or mar himself within that spaceof time, it is the town of Kimberley. I know no spot more odio
usin every way to a man who has learned to love the ordinary modesof English life. It is foul with dust and flies; it reeks with badbrandy; it is fed upon potted meats; it has not a tree near it. It isinhabited in part by tribes of South African niggers, who have lostall the picturesqueness of niggerdom in working for the white man'swages. The white man himself is insolent, ill-dressed, and ugly.The weather is very hot, and from morning till night there is nooccupation other than that of looking for diamonds, and the worksattending it. Diamond-grubbers want food and brandy, and lawyers andpolicemen. They want clothes also, and a few horses; and some kind ofeducation is necessary for their children. But diamond-searching isthe occupation of the place; and if a man be sharp and clever, andable to guard what he gets, he will make a fortune there in two yearsmore readily perhaps than elsewhere. John Gordon had gone out toKimberley, and had returned the owner of many shares in many mines.