by Thomas Hardy
CHAPTER XXXIX
COMING HOME--A CRY
On the turnpike road, between Casterbridge and Weatherbury, and aboutthree miles from the former place, is Yalbury Hill, one of thosesteep long ascents which pervade the highways of this undulatingpart of South Wessex. In returning from market it is usual for thefarmers and other gig-gentry to alight at the bottom and walk up.
One Saturday evening in the month of October Bathsheba's vehicle wasduly creeping up this incline. She was sitting listlessly in thesecond seat of the gig, whilst walking beside her in a farmer'smarketing suit of unusually fashionable cut was an erect, well-madeyoung man. Though on foot, he held the reins and whip, andoccasionally aimed light cuts at the horse's ear with the end of thelash, as a recreation. This man was her husband, formerly SergeantTroy, who, having bought his discharge with Bathsheba's money, wasgradually transforming himself into a farmer of a spirited and verymodern school. People of unalterable ideas still insisted uponcalling him "Sergeant" when they met him, which was in some degreeowing to his having still retained the well-shaped moustache of hismilitary days, and the soldierly bearing inseparable from his formand training.
"Yes, if it hadn't been for that wretched rain I should have clearedtwo hundred as easy as looking, my love," he was saying. "Don't yousee, it altered all the chances? To speak like a book I once read,wet weather is the narrative, and fine days are the episodes, of ourcountry's history; now, isn't that true?"
"But the time of year is come for changeable weather."
"Well, yes. The fact is, these autumn races are the ruin ofeverybody. Never did I see such a day as 'twas! 'Tis a wild openplace, just out of Budmouth, and a drab sea rolled in towards us likeliquid misery. Wind and rain--good Lord! Dark? Why, 'twas as blackas my hat before the last race was run. 'Twas five o'clock, andyou couldn't see the horses till they were almost in, leave alonecolours. The ground was as heavy as lead, and all judgment from afellow's experience went for nothing. Horses, riders, people, wereall blown about like ships at sea. Three booths were blown over,and the wretched folk inside crawled out upon their hands and knees;and in the next field were as many as a dozen hats at one time. Ay,Pimpernel regularly stuck fast, when about sixty yards off, and whenI saw Policy stepping on, it did knock my heart against the liningof my ribs, I assure you, my love!"
"And you mean, Frank," said Bathsheba, sadly--her voice was painfullylowered from the fulness and vivacity of the previous summer--"thatyou have lost more than a hundred pounds in a month by this dreadfulhorse-racing? O, Frank, it is cruel; it is foolish of you to takeaway my money so. We shall have to leave the farm; that will be theend of it!"
"Humbug about cruel. Now, there 'tis again--turn on the waterworks;that's just like you."
"But you'll promise me not to go to Budmouth second meeting, won'tyou?" she implored. Bathsheba was at the full depth for tears, butshe maintained a dry eye.
"I don't see why I should; in fact, if it turns out to be a fine day,I was thinking of taking you."
"Never, never! I'll go a hundred miles the other way first. I hatethe sound of the very word!"
"But the question of going to see the race or staying at home hasvery little to do with the matter. Bets are all booked safely enoughbefore the race begins, you may depend. Whether it is a bad race forme or a good one, will have very little to do with our going therenext Monday."
"But you don't mean to say that you have risked anything on this onetoo!" she exclaimed, with an agonized look.
"There now, don't you be a little fool. Wait till you are told.Why, Bathsheba, you have lost all the pluck and sauciness youformerly had, and upon my life if I had known what a chicken-heartedcreature you were under all your boldness, I'd never have--I knowwhat."
A flash of indignation might have been seen in Bathsheba's dark eyesas she looked resolutely ahead after this reply. They moved onwithout further speech, some early-withered leaves from the treeswhich hooded the road at this spot occasionally spinning downwardacross their path to the earth.
A woman appeared on the brow of the hill. The ridge was in acutting, so that she was very near the husband and wife before shebecame visible. Troy had turned towards the gig to remount, andwhilst putting his foot on the step the woman passed behind him.
Though the overshadowing trees and the approach of eventide envelopedthem in gloom, Bathsheba could see plainly enough to discern theextreme poverty of the woman's garb, and the sadness of her face.
"Please, sir, do you know at what time Casterbridge Union-housecloses at night?"
The woman said these words to Troy over his shoulder.
Troy started visibly at the sound of the voice; yet he seemed torecover presence of mind sufficient to prevent himself from givingway to his impulse to suddenly turn and face her. He said, slowly--
"I don't know."
The woman, on hearing him speak, quickly looked up, examined the sideof his face, and recognized the soldier under the yeoman's garb. Herface was drawn into an expression which had gladness and agony bothamong its elements. She uttered an hysterical cry, and fell down.
"Oh, poor thing!" exclaimed Bathsheba, instantly preparing to alight.
"Stay where you are, and attend to the horse!" said Troy,peremptorily throwing her the reins and the whip. "Walk the horseto the top: I'll see to the woman."
"But I--"
"Do you hear? Clk--Poppet!"
The horse, gig, and Bathsheba moved on.
"How on earth did you come here? I thought you were miles away, ordead! Why didn't you write to me?" said Troy to the woman, in astrangely gentle, yet hurried voice, as he lifted her up.
"I feared to."
"Have you any money?"
"None."
"Good Heaven--I wish I had more to give you! Here's--wretched--themerest trifle. It is every farthing I have left. I have none butwhat my wife gives me, you know, and I can't ask her now."
The woman made no answer.
"I have only another moment," continued Troy; "and now listen. Whereare you going to-night? Casterbridge Union?"
"Yes; I thought to go there."
"You shan't go there; yet, wait. Yes, perhaps for to-night; I cando nothing better--worse luck! Sleep there to-night, and stay thereto-morrow. Monday is the first free day I have; and on Mondaymorning, at ten exactly, meet me on Grey's Bridge just out of thetown. I'll bring all the money I can muster. You shan't want--I'llsee that, Fanny; then I'll get you a lodging somewhere. Good-byetill then. I am a brute--but good-bye!"
After advancing the distance which completed the ascent of thehill, Bathsheba turned her head. The woman was upon her feet, andBathsheba saw her withdrawing from Troy, and going feebly down thehill by the third milestone from Casterbridge. Troy then came ontowards his wife, stepped into the gig, took the reins from her hand,and without making any observation whipped the horse into a trot. Hewas rather agitated.
"Do you know who that woman was?" said Bathsheba, looking searchinglyinto his face.
"I do," he said, looking boldly back into hers.
"I thought you did," said she, with angry hauteur, and stillregarding him. "Who is she?"
He suddenly seemed to think that frankness would benefit neither ofthe women.
"Nothing to either of us," he said. "I know her by sight."
"What is her name?"
"How should I know her name?"
"I think you do."
"Think if you will, and be--" The sentence was completed by a smartcut of the whip round Poppet's flank, which caused the animal tostart forward at a wild pace. No more was said.
