by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XXXIV
HOME AGAIN--A TRICKSTER
That same evening at dusk Gabriel was leaning over Coggan'sgarden-gate, taking an up-and-down survey before retiring to rest.
A vehicle of some kind was softly creeping along the grassy margin ofthe lane. From it spread the tones of two women talking. The toneswere natural and not at all suppressed. Oak instantly knew the voicesto be those of Bathsheba and Liddy.
The carriage came opposite and passed by. It was Miss Everdene'sgig, and Liddy and her mistress were the only occupants of the seat.Liddy was asking questions about the city of Bath, and her companionwas answering them listlessly and unconcernedly. Both Bathsheba andthe horse seemed weary.
The exquisite relief of finding that she was here again, safe andsound, overpowered all reflection, and Oak could only luxuriate inthe sense of it. All grave reports were forgotten.
He lingered and lingered on, till there was no difference between theeastern and western expanses of sky, and the timid hares began tolimp courageously round the dim hillocks. Gabriel might have beenthere an additional half-hour when a dark form walked slowly by."Good-night, Gabriel," the passer said.
It was Boldwood. "Good-night, sir," said Gabriel.
Boldwood likewise vanished up the road, and Oak shortly afterwardsturned indoors to bed.
Farmer Boldwood went on towards Miss Everdene's house. He reachedthe front, and approaching the entrance, saw a light in the parlour.The blind was not drawn down, and inside the room was Bathsheba,looking over some papers or letters. Her back was towards Boldwood.He went to the door, knocked, and waited with tense muscles and anaching brow.
Boldwood had not been outside his garden since his meeting withBathsheba in the road to Yalbury. Silent and alone, he had remainedin moody meditation on woman's ways, deeming as essentials of thewhole sex the accidents of the single one of their number he had everclosely beheld. By degrees a more charitable temper had pervadedhim, and this was the reason of his sally to-night. He had come toapologize and beg forgiveness of Bathsheba with something like asense of shame at his violence, having but just now learnt that shehad returned--only from a visit to Liddy, as he supposed, the Bathescapade being quite unknown to him.
He inquired for Miss Everdene. Liddy's manner was odd, but he didnot notice it. She went in, leaving him standing there, and in herabsence the blind of the room containing Bathsheba was pulled down.Boldwood augured ill from that sign. Liddy came out.
"My mistress cannot see you, sir," she said.
The farmer instantly went out by the gate. He was unforgiven--thatwas the issue of it all. He had seen her who was to himsimultaneously a delight and a torture, sitting in the room he hadshared with her as a peculiarly privileged guest only a littleearlier in the summer, and she had denied him an entrance there now.
Boldwood did not hurry homeward. It was ten o'clock at least, when,walking deliberately through the lower part of Weatherbury, he heardthe carrier's spring van entering the village. The van ran to andfrom a town in a northern direction, and it was owned and driven bya Weatherbury man, at the door of whose house it now pulled up. Thelamp fixed to the head of the hood illuminated a scarlet and gildedform, who was the first to alight.
"Ah!" said Boldwood to himself, "come to see her again."
Troy entered the carrier's house, which had been the place of hislodging on his last visit to his native place. Boldwood was movedby a sudden determination. He hastened home. In ten minutes he wasback again, and made as if he were going to call upon Troy at thecarrier's. But as he approached, some one opened the door and cameout. He heard this person say "Good-night" to the inmates, and thevoice was Troy's. This was strange, coming so immediately afterhis arrival. Boldwood, however, hastened up to him. Troy had whatappeared to be a carpet-bag in his hand--the same that he had broughtwith him. It seemed as if he were going to leave again this verynight.
Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace. Boldwood steppedforward.
"Sergeant Troy?"
"Yes--I'm Sergeant Troy."
"Just arrived from up the country, I think?"
"Just arrived from Bath."
"I am William Boldwood."
"Indeed."
The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had been wantedto bring Boldwood to the point.
"I wish to speak a word with you," he said.
"What about?"
"About her who lives just ahead there--and about a woman you havewronged."
"I wonder at your impertinence," said Troy, moving on.
"Now look here," said Boldwood, standing in front of him, "wonder ornot, you are going to hold a conversation with me."
Troy heard the dull determination in Boldwood's voice, looked at hisstalwart frame, then at the thick cudgel he carried in his hand. Heremembered it was past ten o'clock. It seemed worth while to be civilto Boldwood.
"Very well, I'll listen with pleasure," said Troy, placing his bag onthe ground, "only speak low, for somebody or other may overhear us inthe farmhouse there."
"Well then--I know a good deal concerning your Fanny Robin'sattachment to you. I may say, too, that I believe I am the onlyperson in the village, excepting Gabriel Oak, who does know it. Youought to marry her."
"I suppose I ought. Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot."
"Why?"
Troy was about to utter something hastily; he then checked himselfand said, "I am too poor." His voice was changed. Previously it hadhad a devil-may-care tone. It was the voice of a trickster now.
Boldwood's present mood was not critical enough to notice tones. Hecontinued, "I may as well speak plainly; and understand, I don'twish to enter into the questions of right or wrong, woman's honourand shame, or to express any opinion on your conduct. I intend abusiness transaction with you."
"I see," said Troy. "Suppose we sit down here."
An old tree trunk lay under the hedge immediately opposite, and theysat down.
"I was engaged to be married to Miss Everdene," said Boldwood, "butyou came and--"
"Not engaged," said Troy.
"As good as engaged."
"If I had not turned up she might have become engaged to you."
"Hang might!"
"Would, then."
"If you had not come I should certainly--yes, CERTAINLY--have beenaccepted by this time. If you had not seen her you might have beenmarried to Fanny. Well, there's too much difference between MissEverdene's station and your own for this flirtation with her ever tobenefit you by ending in marriage. So all I ask is, don't molest herany more. Marry Fanny. I'll make it worth your while."
"How will you?"
"I'll pay you well now, I'll settle a sum of money upon her, andI'll see that you don't suffer from poverty in the future. I'll putit clearly. Bathsheba is only playing with you: you are too poorfor her as I said; so give up wasting your time about a great matchyou'll never make for a moderate and rightful match you may maketo-morrow; take up your carpet-bag, turn about, leave Weatherburynow, this night, and you shall take fifty pounds with you. Fannyshall have fifty to enable her to prepare for the wedding, when youhave told me where she is living, and she shall have five hundredpaid down on her wedding-day."
In making this statement Boldwood's voice revealed only too clearlya consciousness of the weakness of his position, his aims, and hismethod. His manner had lapsed quite from that of the firm anddignified Boldwood of former times; and such a scheme as he had nowengaged in he would have condemned as childishly imbecile only a fewmonths ago. We discern a grand force in the lover which he lackswhilst a free man; but there is a breadth of vision in the freeman which in the lover we vainly seek. Where there is much biasthere must be some narrowness, and love, though added emotion, issubtracted capacity. Boldwood exemplified this to an abnormaldegree: he knew nothing of Fanny Robin's circumstances orwhereabouts, he knew nothing of Troy's possibilities, yet that waswhat he said.
"I like Fanny best,
" said Troy; "and if, as you say, Miss Everdene isout of my reach, why I have all to gain by accepting your money, andmarrying Fan. But she's only a servant."
"Never mind--do you agree to my arrangement?"
"I do."
"Ah!" said Boldwood, in a more elastic voice. "Oh, Troy, if you likeher best, why then did you step in here and injure my happiness?"
"I love Fanny best now," said Troy. "But Bathsh--Miss Everdeneinflamed me, and displaced Fanny for a time. It is over now."
"Why should it be over so soon? And why then did you come hereagain?"
"There are weighty reasons. Fifty pounds at once, you said!"
"I did," said Boldwood, "and here they are--fifty sovereigns." Hehanded Troy a small packet.
"You have everything ready--it seems that you calculated on myaccepting them," said the sergeant, taking the packet.
"I thought you might accept them," said Boldwood.
"You've only my word that the programme shall be adhered to, whilstI at any rate have fifty pounds."
"I had thought of that, and I have considered that if I can't appealto your honour I can trust to your--well, shrewdness we'll callit--not to lose five hundred pounds in prospect, and also make abitter enemy of a man who is willing to be an extremely usefulfriend."
"Stop, listen!" said Troy in a whisper.
A light pit-pat was audible upon the road just above them.
"By George--'tis she," he continued. "I must go on and meet her."
"She--who?"
"Bathsheba."
"Bathsheba--out alone at this time o' night!" said Boldwood inamazement, and starting up. "Why must you meet her?"
"She was expecting me to-night--and I must now speak to her, and wishher good-bye, according to your wish."
"I don't see the necessity of speaking."
"It can do no harm--and she'll be wandering about looking for me ifI don't. You shall hear all I say to her. It will help you in yourlove-making when I am gone."
"Your tone is mocking."
"Oh no. And remember this, if she does not know what has become ofme, she will think more about me than if I tell her flatly I havecome to give her up."
"Will you confine your words to that one point?--Shall I hear everyword you say?"
"Every word. Now sit still there, and hold my carpet bag for me, andmark what you hear."
The light footstep came closer, halting occasionally, as if thewalker listened for a sound. Troy whistled a double note in a soft,fluty tone.
"Come to that, is it!" murmured Boldwood, uneasily.
"You promised silence," said Troy.
"I promise again."
Troy stepped forward.
"Frank, dearest, is that you?" The tones were Bathsheba's.
"O God!" said Boldwood.
"Yes," said Troy to her.
"How late you are," she continued, tenderly. "Did you come by thecarrier? I listened and heard his wheels entering the village, butit was some time ago, and I had almost given you up, Frank."
"I was sure to come," said Frank. "You knew I should, did you not?"
"Well, I thought you would," she said, playfully; "and, Frank, itis so lucky! There's not a soul in my house but me to-night. I'vepacked them all off so nobody on earth will know of your visit toyour lady's bower. Liddy wanted to go to her grandfather's to tellhim about her holiday, and I said she might stay with them tillto-morrow--when you'll be gone again."
"Capital," said Troy. "But, dear me, I had better go back for mybag, because my slippers and brush and comb are in it; you run homewhilst I fetch it, and I'll promise to be in your parlour in tenminutes."
"Yes." She turned and tripped up the hill again.
During the progress of this dialogue there was a nervous twitchingof Boldwood's tightly closed lips, and his face became bathed in aclammy dew. He now started forward towards Troy. Troy turned tohim and took up the bag.
"Shall I tell her I have come to give her up and cannot marry her?"said the soldier, mockingly.
"No, no; wait a minute. I want to say more to you--more to you!"said Boldwood, in a hoarse whisper.
"Now," said Troy, "you see my dilemma. Perhaps I am a bad man--thevictim of my impulses--led away to do what I ought to leave undone.I can't, however, marry them both. And I have two reasons forchoosing Fanny. First, I like her best upon the whole, and second,you make it worth my while."
At the same instant Boldwood sprang upon him, and held him by theneck. Troy felt Boldwood's grasp slowly tightening. The move wasabsolutely unexpected.
"A moment," he gasped. "You are injuring her you love!"
"Well, what do you mean?" said the farmer.
"Give me breath," said Troy.
Boldwood loosened his hand, saying, "By Heaven, I've a mind to killyou!"
"And ruin her."
"Save her."
"Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her?"
Boldwood groaned. He reluctantly released the soldier, and flung himback against the hedge. "Devil, you torture me!" said he.
Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at thefarmer; but he checked himself, saying lightly--
"It is not worth while to measure my strength with you. Indeed itis a barbarous way of settling a quarrel. I shall shortly leave thearmy because of the same conviction. Now after that revelation ofhow the land lies with Bathsheba, 'twould be a mistake to kill me,would it not?"
"'Twould be a mistake to kill you," repeated Boldwood, mechanically,with a bowed head.
"Better kill yourself."
"Far better."
"I'm glad you see it."
"Troy, make her your wife, and don't act upon what I arranged justnow. The alternative is dreadful, but take Bathsheba; I give her up!She must love you indeed to sell soul and body to you so utterly asshe has done. Wretched woman--deluded woman--you are, Bathsheba!"
"But about Fanny?"
"Bathsheba is a woman well to do," continued Boldwood, in nervousanxiety, "and, Troy, she will make a good wife; and, indeed, she isworth your hastening on your marriage with her!"
"But she has a will--not to say a temper, and I shall be a mere slaveto her. I could do anything with poor Fanny Robin."
"Troy," said Boldwood, imploringly, "I'll do anything for you, onlydon't desert her; pray don't desert her, Troy."
"Which, poor Fanny?"
"No; Bathsheba Everdene. Love her best! Love her tenderly! Howshall I get you to see how advantageous it will be to you to secureher at once?"
"I don't wish to secure her in any new way."
Boldwood's arm moved spasmodically towards Troy's person again. Herepressed the instinct, and his form drooped as with pain.
Troy went on--
"I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then--"
"But I wish you to hasten on this marriage! It will be better foryou both. You love each other, and you must let me help you to doit."
"How?"
"Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of Fanny, toenable you to marry at once. No; she wouldn't have it of me. I'llpay it down to you on the wedding-day."
Troy paused in secret amazement at Boldwood's wild infatuation. Hecarelessly said, "And am I to have anything now?"
"Yes, if you wish to. But I have not much additional money with me.I did not expect this; but all I have is yours."
Boldwood, more like a somnambulist than a wakeful man, pulled out thelarge canvas bag he carried by way of a purse, and searched it.
"I have twenty-one pounds more with me," he said. "Two notes and asovereign. But before I leave you I must have a paper signed--"
"Pay me the money, and we'll go straight to her parlour, and make anyarrangement you please to secure my compliance with your wishes. Butshe must know nothing of this cash business."
"Nothing, nothing," said Boldwood, hastily. "Here is the sum, andif you'll come to my house we'll write out the agreement for theremainder, and the terms also."
"First we'll call upon her."
"But why? Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow to thesurrogate's."
"But she must be consulted; at any rate informed."
"Very well; go on."
They went up the hill to Bathsheba's house. When they stood at theentrance, Troy said, "Wait here a moment." Opening the door, heglided inside, leaving the door ajar.
Boldwood waited. In two minutes a light appeared in the passage.Boldwood then saw that the chain had been fastened across the door.Troy appeared inside, carrying a bedroom candlestick.
"What, did you think I should break in?" said Boldwood,contemptuously.
"Oh, no, it is merely my humour to secure things. Will you read thisa moment? I'll hold the light."
Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door anddoorpost, and put the candle close. "That's the paragraph," he said,placing his finger on a line.
Boldwood looked and read--
MARRIAGES.
On the 17th inst., at St. Ambrose's Church, Bath, by the Rev. G. Mincing, B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late Edward Troy, Esq., M.D., of Weatherbury, and sergeant with Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba, only surviving daughter of the late Mr. John Everdene, of Casterbridge.
"This may be called Fort meeting Feeble, hey, Boldwood?" said Troy.A low gurgle of derisive laughter followed the words.
The paper fell from Boldwood's hands. Troy continued--
"Fifty pounds to marry Fanny. Good. Twenty-one pounds not to marryFanny, but Bathsheba. Good. Finale: already Bathsheba's husband.Now, Boldwood, yours is the ridiculous fate which always attendsinterference between a man and his wife. And another word. Bad as Iam, I am not such a villain as to make the marriage or misery of anywoman a matter of huckster and sale. Fanny has long ago left me. Idon't know where she is. I have searched everywhere. Another wordyet. You say you love Bathsheba; yet on the merest apparent evidenceyou instantly believe in her dishonour. A fig for such love! Nowthat I've taught you a lesson, take your money back again."
"I will not; I will not!" said Boldwood, in a hiss.
"Anyhow I won't have it," said Troy, contemptuously. He wrapped thepacket of gold in the notes, and threw the whole into the road.
Boldwood shook his clenched fist at him. "You juggler of Satan! Youblack hound! But I'll punish you yet; mark me, I'll punish you yet!"
Another peal of laughter. Troy then closed the door, and lockedhimself in.
Throughout the whole of that night Boldwood's dark form might havebeen seen walking about the hills and downs of Weatherbury like anunhappy Shade in the Mournful Fields by Acheron.
