CHAPTER IX
THE HOMESTEAD--A VISITOR--HALF-CONFIDENCES
By daylight, the bower of Oak's new-found mistress, BathshebaEverdene, presented itself as a hoary building, of the early stage ofClassic Renaissance as regards its architecture, and of a proportionwhich told at a glance that, as is so frequently the case, it hadonce been the memorial hall upon a small estate around it, nowaltogether effaced as a distinct property, and merged in the vasttract of a non-resident landlord, which comprised several such modestdemesnes.
Fluted pilasters, worked from the solid stone, decorated its front,and above the roof the chimneys were panelled or columnar, some copedgables with finials and like features still retaining traces of theirGothic extraction. Soft brown mosses, like faded velveteen, formedcushions upon the stone tiling, and tufts of the houseleek orsengreen sprouted from the eaves of the low surrounding buildings. Agravel walk leading from the door to the road in front was encrustedat the sides with more moss--here it was a silver-green variety, thenut-brown of the gravel being visible to the width of only a footor two in the centre. This circumstance, and the generally sleepyair of the whole prospect here, together with the animated andcontrasting state of the reverse facade, suggested to the imaginationthat on the adaptation of the building for farming purposes thevital principle of the house had turned round inside its body toface the other way. Reversals of this kind, strange deformities,tremendous paralyses, are often seen to be inflicted by trade uponedifices--either individual or in the aggregate as streets andtowns--which were originally planned for pleasure alone.
Lively voices were heard this morning in the upper rooms, themain staircase to which was of hard oak, the balusters, heavy asbed-posts, being turned and moulded in the quaint fashion of theircentury, the handrail as stout as a parapet-top, and the stairsthemselves continually twisting round like a person trying to lookover his shoulder. Going up, the floors above were found to have avery irregular surface, rising to ridges, sinking into valleys; andbeing just then uncarpeted, the face of the boards was seen to beeaten into innumerable vermiculations. Every window replied by aclang to the opening and shutting of every door, a tremble followedevery bustling movement, and a creak accompanied a walker about thehouse, like a spirit, wherever he went.
In the room from which the conversation proceeded Bathsheba and herservant-companion, Liddy Smallbury, were to be discovered sittingupon the floor, and sorting a complication of papers, books, bottles,and rubbish spread out thereon--remnants from the household storesof the late occupier. Liddy, the maltster's great-granddaughter,was about Bathsheba's equal in age, and her face was a prominentadvertisement of the light-hearted English country girl. The beautyher features might have lacked in form was amply made up for byperfection of hue, which at this winter-time was the softenedruddiness on a surface of high rotundity that we meet with in aTerburg or a Gerard Douw; and, like the presentations of those greatcolourists, it was a face which kept well back from the boundarybetween comeliness and the ideal. Though elastic in nature she wasless daring than Bathsheba, and occasionally showed some earnestness,which consisted half of genuine feeling, and half of mannerlinesssuperadded by way of duty.
Through a partly-opened door the noise of a scrubbing-brush led up tothe charwoman, Maryann Money, a person who for a face had a circulardisc, furrowed less by age than by long gazes of perplexity atdistant objects. To think of her was to get good-humoured; to speakof her was to raise the image of a dried Normandy pippin.
"Stop your scrubbing a moment," said Bathsheba through the door toher. "I hear something."
Maryann suspended the brush.
The tramp of a horse was apparent, approaching the front of thebuilding. The paces slackened, turned in at the wicket, and, whatwas most unusual, came up the mossy path close to the door. The doorwas tapped with the end of a crop or stick.
"What impertinence!" said Liddy, in a low voice. "To ride up thefootpath like that! Why didn't he stop at the gate? Lord! 'Tis agentleman! I see the top of his hat."
"Be quiet!" said Bathsheba.
The further expression of Liddy's concern was continued by aspectinstead of narrative.
"Why doesn't Mrs. Coggan go to the door?" Bathsheba continued.
Rat-tat-tat-tat resounded more decisively from Bathsheba's oak.
"Maryann, you go!" said she, fluttering under the onset of a crowd ofromantic possibilities.
"Oh ma'am--see, here's a mess!"
The argument was unanswerable after a glance at Maryann.
"Liddy--you must," said Bathsheba.
Liddy held up her hands and arms, coated with dust from the rubbishthey were sorting, and looked imploringly at her mistress.
"There--Mrs. Coggan is going!" said Bathsheba, exhaling her reliefin the form of a long breath which had lain in her bosom a minute ormore.
The door opened, and a deep voice said--
"Is Miss Everdene at home?"
"I'll see, sir," said Mrs. Coggan, and in a minute appeared in theroom.
"Dear, what a thirtover place this world is!" continued Mrs. Coggan(a wholesome-looking lady who had a voice for each class of remarkaccording to the emotion involved; who could toss a pancake or twirla mop with the accuracy of pure mathematics, and who at this momentshowed hands shaggy with fragments of dough and arms encrusted withflour). "I am never up to my elbows, Miss, in making a pudding butone of two things do happen--either my nose must needs begintickling, and I can't live without scratching it, or somebody knocksat the door. Here's Mr. Boldwood wanting to see you, Miss Everdene."
A woman's dress being a part of her countenance, and any disorder inthe one being of the same nature with a malformation or wound in theother, Bathsheba said at once--
"I can't see him in this state. Whatever shall I do?"
Not-at-homes were hardly naturalized in Weatherbury farmhouses, soLiddy suggested--"Say you're a fright with dust, and can't comedown."
"Yes--that sounds very well," said Mrs. Coggan, critically.
"Say I can't see him--that will do."
Mrs. Coggan went downstairs, and returned the answer as requested,adding, however, on her own responsibility, "Miss is dusting bottles,sir, and is quite a object--that's why 'tis."
"Oh, very well," said the deep voice indifferently. "All I wanted toask was, if anything had been heard of Fanny Robin?"
"Nothing, sir--but we may know to-night. William Smallbury is goneto Casterbridge, where her young man lives, as is supposed, and theother men be inquiring about everywhere."
The horse's tramp then recommenced and retreated, and the doorclosed.
"Who is Mr. Boldwood?" said Bathsheba.
"A gentleman-farmer at Little Weatherbury."
"Married?"
"No, miss."
"How old is he?"
"Forty, I should say--very handsome--rather stern-looking--and rich."
"What a bother this dusting is! I am always in some unfortunateplight or other," Bathsheba said, complainingly. "Why should heinquire about Fanny?"
"Oh, because, as she had no friends in her childhood, he took her andput her to school, and got her her place here under your uncle. He'sa very kind man that way, but Lord--there!"
"What?"
"Never was such a hopeless man for a woman! He's been courted bysixes and sevens--all the girls, gentle and simple, for miles round,have tried him. Jane Perkins worked at him for two months like aslave, and the two Miss Taylors spent a year upon him, and he costFarmer Ives's daughter nights of tears and twenty pounds' worth ofnew clothes; but Lord--the money might as well have been thrown outof the window."
A little boy came up at this moment and looked in upon them. Thischild was one of the Coggans, who, with the Smallburys, were ascommon among the families of this district as the Avons and Derwentsamong our rivers. He always had a loosened tooth or a cut finger toshow to particular friends, which he did with an air of being therebyelevated above the common herd of afflictionless humanity--to whic
hexhibition people were expected to say "Poor child!" with a dash ofcongratulation as well as pity.
"I've got a pen-nee!" said Master Coggan in a scanning measure.
"Well--who gave it you, Teddy?" said Liddy.
"Mis-terr Bold-wood! He gave it to me for opening the gate."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Where are you going, my little man?' and I said, 'To MissEverdene's please,' and he said, 'She is a staid woman, isn't she, mylittle man?' and I said, 'Yes.'"
"You naughty child! What did you say that for?"
"'Cause he gave me the penny!"
"What a pucker everything is in!" said Bathsheba, discontentedlywhen the child had gone. "Get away, Maryann, or go on with yourscrubbing, or do something! You ought to be married by this time,and not here troubling me!"
"Ay, mistress--so I did. But what between the poor men I won't have,and the rich men who won't have me, I stand as a pelican in thewilderness!"
"Did anybody ever want to marry you miss?" Liddy ventured to ask whenthey were again alone. "Lots of 'em, I daresay?"
Bathsheba paused, as if about to refuse a reply, but the temptationto say yes, since it was really in her power was irresistible byaspiring virginity, in spite of her spleen at having been publishedas old.
"A man wanted to once," she said, in a highly experienced tone, andthe image of Gabriel Oak, as the farmer, rose before her.
"How nice it must seem!" said Liddy, with the fixed features ofmental realization. "And you wouldn't have him?"
"He wasn't quite good enough for me."
"How sweet to be able to disdain, when most of us are glad to say,'Thank you!' I seem I hear it. 'No, sir--I'm your better.' or 'Kissmy foot, sir; my face is for mouths of consequence.' And did youlove him, miss?"
"Oh, no. But I rather liked him."
"Do you now?"
"Of course not--what footsteps are those I hear?"
Liddy looked from a back window into the courtyard behind, which wasnow getting low-toned and dim with the earliest films of night. Acrooked file of men was approaching the back door. The whole stringof trailing individuals advanced in the completest balance ofintention, like the remarkable creatures known as Chain Salpae, which,distinctly organized in other respects, have one will common to awhole family. Some were, as usual, in snow-white smock-frocks ofRussia duck, and some in whitey-brown ones of drabbet--marked on thewrists, breasts, backs, and sleeves with honeycomb-work. Two orthree women in pattens brought up the rear.
"The Philistines be upon us," said Liddy, making her nose whiteagainst the glass.
"Oh, very well. Maryann, go down and keep them in the kitchen till Iam dressed, and then show them in to me in the hall."