CHAPTER XIII.
WHAT TOOK PLACE AT BRAGG'S END FARM.
When Mrs. Tappitt had settled within her own mind that the breweryshould be abandoned to Rowan, she was by no means, therefore, readyto assent that Rachel Ray should become the mistress of the breweryhouse. "Never," she had exclaimed when Cherry had suggested such aresult; "never!" And Augusta had echoed the protestation, "Never,never!" I will not say that she would have allowed her husband toremain in his business in order that she might thus exclude Rachelfrom such promotion, but she could not bring herself to believe thatLuke Rowan would be so fatuous, so ignorant of his own interests, sodeluded, as to marry that girl from Bragg's End! It is thus that theMrs. Tappitts of the world regard other women's daughters when theyhave undergone any disappointment as to their own. She had no reasonfor wishing well to Rowan, and would not have cared if he had takento his bosom a harpy in marriage; but she could not endure to hear ofthe success of the girl whose attractions had foiled her own littleplan. "I don't believe that the man can ever be such a fool as that!"she said again to Augusta, when on the evening of the day followingTappitt's abdication, a rumour reached the brewery that Luke Rowanhad been seen walking out upon the Cawston road.
Mr. Honyman, in accordance with his instructions, called at thebrewery on that morning, and was received by Mr. Tappitt with asullen and almost savage submission. Mrs. T. had endeavoured to catchhim first, but in that she had failed; she did, however, manage tosee the attorney as he came out from her husband.
"It's all settled," said Honyman; "and I'll see Rowan myself beforehalf an hour is over."
"I'm sure it's a great blessing, Mr. Honyman," said the lady,--not onthat occasion assuming any of the glory to herself.
"It was the only thing for him," said Mr. Honyman;--"that is if hedidn't like to take the young man in as acting partner."
"That wouldn't have done at all," said Mrs. T. And then the lawyerwent his way.
In the mean time Tappitt sat sullen and wretched in thecounting-house. Such moments occur in the lives of most ofus,--moments in which the real work of life is brought to anend,--and they cannot but be sad. It is very well to talk of ease anddignity; but ease of spirit comes from action only, and the world'sdignity is given to those who do the world's work. Let no man put hisneck from out of the collar till in truth he can no longer draw theweight attached to it. Tappitt had now got rid of his collar, and hesat very wretched in his brewery counting-house.
"Be I to go, sir?"
Tappitt in his meditation was interrupted by these words, spokennot in a rough voice, and looking up he saw Worts standing in thecounting-house before him. Worts had voted for Butler Cornbury,whereas, had he voted for Mr. Hart, Mr. Hart would have beenreturned; and, upon that, Worts, as a rebellious subject, hadreceived notice to quit the premises. Now his time was out, and hecame to ask whether he was to leave the scene of his forty years ofwork. But what would be the use of sending Worts away even if thewish to punish his contumacy still remained? In another week Wortswould be brought back again in triumph, and would tread those breweryfloors with the step almost of a master, while he, Tappitt, couldtread them only as a stranger, if he were allowed to tread them atall.
"You can stay if you like," said Tappitt, hardly looking up at theman.
"I know you be a going, Mr. Tappitt," said the man; "and I hear yoube a going very handsome like. Gentlefolk such as yeu needn't go onworking allays like uz. If so be yeu be a going, Mr. Tappitt, I hopeyeu and me'll part friendly. We've been together a sight o'years;--too great a sight for uz to part unfriendly."
Mr. Tappitt admitted the argument, shook hands with the man, and thenof course took him into his immediate confidence with more warmththan he would have done had there been no quarrel between them. AndI think he found some comfort in this. He walked about the premiseswith Worts, telling him much that was true, and some few things thatwere not strictly accurate. For instance, he said that he had madeup his mind to leave the place, whereas that action of decisiveresolution which we call making up our minds had perhaps been done byMrs. Tappitt rather than by him. But Worts took all these assertionswith an air of absolute belief which comforted the brewer. Worts wasvery wise in his discretion on that day, and threw much oil on thetroubled waters; so that Tappitt when he left him bade God bless him,and expressed a hope that the old place might still thrive for hissake.
"And for your'n too, master," said Worts, "for yeu'll allays have thebest egg still. The young master, he'll only be a working for yeu."
There was comfort in this thought; and Tappitt, when he went into hisdinner, was able to carry himself like a man.
The tidings which had reached Mrs. Tappitt as to Rowan having beenseen on that evening walking on the Cawston road with his facetowards Bragg's End were true. On that morning Mr. Honyman had cometo him, and his career in life was at once settled for him.
"Mr. Tappitt is quite in time, Mr. Honyman," he had said. "But hewould not have been in time this day week unless he had consentedto pay for what work had been already done; for I had determined tobegin at once."
"The truth is, Mr. Rowan, you step into an uncommon good thing; butMr. Tappitt is tired of the work, and glad to give it up."
Thus the matter was arranged between them, and before nightfalleverybody in Baslehurst knew that Tappitt and Rowan had come toterms, and that Tappitt was to retire upon a pension. There was somelittle discrepancy as to the amount of Tappitt's annuity, the liberalfaction asserting that he was to receive two thousand a year, andthose of the other side cutting him down to two hundred.
On the evening of that day--in the cool of the evening--Luke Rowansauntered down the High Street of Baslehurst, and crossed overCawston bridge. On the bridge he was all alone, and he stood therefor a moment or two leaning upon the parapet looking down upon thelittle stream beneath the arch. During the day many things hadoccupied him, and he had hardly as yet made up his mind definitelyas to what he would do and what he would say during the hours ofthe evening. From the moment in which Honyman had announced to himTappitt's intended resignation he became aware that he certainlyshould go out to Bragg's End before that day was over. It had beenwith him a settled thing, a thing settled almost without thought eversince the receipt of Rachel's letter, that he would take this walk toBragg's End when he should have put his affairs at Baslehurst on somestable footing; but that he would not take that walk before he had sodone.
"They say," Rachel had written in her letter, "they say that as thebusiness here about the brewery is so very unsettled, they think itprobable that you will not have to come back to Baslehurst any more."
In that had been the offence. They had doubted his stability, and,beyond that, had almost doubted his honesty. He would punish themby taking them at their word till both should be put beyond allquestion. He knew well that the punishment would fall on Rachel,whereas none of the sin would have been Rachel's sin; but he wouldnot allow himself to be deterred by that consideration.
"It is her letter," he said to himself, "and in that way will Ianswer her. When I do go there again they will all understand mebetter."
It had been, too, a matter of pride to him that Mr. Comfort and Mrs.Butler Cornbury should thus be made to understand him. He would saynothing of himself and his own purposes to any of them. He wouldspeak neither of his own means nor his own stedfastness. But hewould prove to them that he was stedfast, and that he had boastedof nothing which he did not possess. When Mrs. Butler Cornbury hadspoken to him down by the Cleeves, asking him of his purpose, andstruggling to do a kind thing by Rachel, he had resolved at once thathe would tell her nothing. She should find him out. He liked her forloving Rachel; but neither to her, nor even to Rachel herself, wouldhe say more till he could show them that the business about thebrewery was no longer unsettled.
But up to this moment--this moment in which he was standing on thebridge, he had not determined what he would say to Rachel or toRachel's mother. He had never relaxed in his purpose of making Rachelhis wife s
ince his first visit to the cottage. He was one who, havinga fixed resolve, feels certain of their ultimate success in achievingit. He was now going to Bragg's End to claim that which he regardedas his own; but he had not as yet told himself in what terms he wouldput forward his claim. So he stood upon the bridge thinking.
He stood upon the bridge thinking, but his thoughts would only gobackwards, and would do nothing for him as to his future conduct.He remembered his first walk with her, and the churchyard elms withthe setting sun, and the hot dances in Mrs. Tappitt's house; and heremembered them without much of the triumph of a successful lover.It had been very sweet, but very easy. In so saying to himself he byno means threw blame upon Rachel. Things were easy, he thought, andit was almost a pity that they should be so. As for Rachel, nothingcould have been more honest or more to his taste, than her mode oflearning to love him. A girl who, while intending to accept him,could yet have feigned indifference, would have disgusted him atonce. Nevertheless he could not but wish that there had been somecastles for him to storm in his career. Tappitt had made but poorpretence of fighting before he surrendered; and as to Rachel, it hadnot been in Rachel's nature to make any pretence. He passed from thebridge at last without determining what he would say when he reachedthe cottage, but he did not pass on till he had been seen by thescrutinizing eyes of Miss Pucker.
"If there ain't young Rowan going out to Bragg's End again!" shesaid to herself, comforting herself, I fear, or striving to comfortherself, with an inward assertion that he was not going there forany good. Striving to comfort herself, but not effectually; forthough the assertion was made by herself to herself, yet it was notbelieved. Though she declared, with well-pronounced mental words,that Luke Rowan was going on that path for no good purpose, she felta wretched conviction at her heart's core that Rachel Ray wouldbe made to triumph over her and her early suspicions by a happymarriage. Nevertheless she carried the tidings up into Baslehurst,and as she repeated it to the grocer's daughters and the baker's wifeshe shook her head with as much apparent satisfaction as though shereally believed that Rachel oscillated between a ruined name and abroken heart.
He walked on very slowly towards Bragg's End, as though he almostdreaded the interview, swinging his stick as was his custom, andkeeping his feet on the grassy edges of the road till he came to theturn which brought him on to the green. When on the green he did nottake the highway, but skirted along under Farmer Sturt's hedge, sothat he had to pass by the entrance of the farmyard before he crossedover to the cottage. Here, just inside her own gate, he encounteredMrs. Sturt standing alone. She had been intent on the cares ofher poultry-yard till she had espied Luke Rowan; but then she hadforgotten chickens and ducks and all, and had given herself up tothoughts of Rachel's happiness in having her lover back again.
"It's he as sure as eggs," she had said to herself when she first sawhim; "how mortal slow he do walk, to be sure! If he was coming as joeto me I'd soon shake him into quicker steps than them."
"Oh, Mrs. Sturt!" said he, "I hope you're quite well," and he stoppedshort at her gate.
"Pretty bobbish, thankee, Mr. Rowan; and how's yourself? Are yougoing over to the cottage this evening?"
"Who's at home there, Mrs. Sturt?"
"Well, they're all at home; Mrs. Ray, and Rachel, and Mrs. Prime. Idoubt whether you know the eldest daughter, Mr. Rowan?"
Luke did not know Mrs. Prime, and by no means wished to spend any ofthe hours of the present evening in making her acquaintance.
"Is Mrs. Prime there?" he asked.
"'Deed she is, Mr. Rowan. She's come back these last two days."
Thereupon Rowan paused for a moment, having carefully placed himselfinside the gate-posts of the farmyard so that he might not be seen bythe inmates of the cottage, if haply he had hitherto escaped theireyes.
"Mrs. Sturt," said he, "I wonder whether you'd do me a great favour."
"That depends--" said Mrs. Sturt. "If it's to do any good to any ofthem over there, I will."
"If I wanted to do harm to any of them I shouldn't come to you."
"Well, I should hope not. Is she and you going to be one, Mr. Rowan?That's about the whole of it."
"It shan't be my fault if we're not," said Rowan.
"That's spoken honest," said the lady; "and now I'll do anything inmy power to bring you together. If you'll just go into my littleparlour, I'll bring her to you in five seconds; I will indeed, Mr.Rowan. You won't mind going through the kitchen for once, will you?"
Luke did not mind going through the kitchen, and immediately foundhimself shut up in Mrs. Sturt's back parlour, looking out among themingled roses and cabbages.
Mrs. Sturt walked quickly across the road to the cottage door, andwent at once to the open window of the sitting-room. Mrs. Ray wasthere with a book in her hand,--a serious book, the perusal of whichI fear was in some degree due to the presence of her elder daughter;and Mrs. Prime was there with another book, evidently very serious;and Rachel was there too, seated on the sofa, deeply buried in themanipulation of a dress belonging to her mother. Mrs. Sturt was sureat once that they had not seen Luke Rowan as he passed inside thefarmyard gate, and that they did not suspect that he was near them.
"Oh, Mrs. Sturt, is that you?" said the widow, looking up. "You'lljust come in for a minute, won't you?" and Mrs. Ray showed by asuppressed yawn that her attention had not been deeply fixed by thatserious book. Rachel looked up, and bade the visitor welcome with alittle nod; but it was not a cheery nod as it would have been in olddays, before her sorrow had come upon her.
"I'll have the cherries back in her cheeks before the evening'sover," said Mrs. Sturt to herself, as she looked at the pale-facedgirl. Mrs. Prime also made some little salutation to their neighbour;but she did so with the very smallest expenditure of thoughts ormoments. Mrs. Sturt was all very well, but Mrs. Prime had greaterwork on hand than gossiping with Mrs. Sturt.
"I'll not just come in, thankee, Mrs. Ray; but if it ain't troublingyou I want to speak a word to you outside; and a word to Rachel too,if she don't mind coming."
"A word to me!" said Rachel getting up and putting down her dress.Her thoughts now-a-days were always fixed on the same subject, andit seemed that any special word to her must have reference to that.Mrs. Ray also got up, leaving her mark in her book. Mrs. Prime wenton reading, harder than ever. There was to be some conference ofimportance from which she could not but feel herself to be excludedin a very special way. Something wicked was surely to be proposed,or she would have been allowed to hear it. She said nothing, but herhead was almost shaken by the vehemence with which she read the bookin her lap.
Mrs. Sturt retired beyond the precincts of the widow's front gardenbefore she said a word. Rachel had followed her first through thegate, and Mrs. Ray came after with her apron turned over her head."What is it, Mrs. Sturt?" said Rachel. "Have you heard anything?"
"Heard anything? Well; I'm always a hearing of something. Do youslip across the green while I speak just one word to your mother.And Rachel, wait for me at the gate. Mrs. Ray, he's in my littleparlour."
"Who? not Luke Rowan?"
"But he is though; that very young man! He's come over to make it upwith her. He's told me so with his own mouth. You may be as sure ofit as,--as,--as anything. You leave 'em to me, Mrs. Ray; I wouldn'tbring them together if it wasn't for good. It's my belief our petwould a' died if he hadn't come back to her--it is then." And Mrs.Sturt put her apron up to her eyes.
Rachel having paused for a moment, as she looked first at her motherand then at Mrs. Sturt, had done as she was bidden, and had walkedquickly across the green. Mrs. Ray, when she heard her neighbour'stidings, stood fixed by dismay and dread, mingled with joy. She hadlonged for his coming back; but now that he was there, close uponthem, intending to do all that she had wished him to do, she was halfafraid of him! After all was he not a young man; and might he not,even yet, be a wolf? She was horrorstricken at the idea of sendingRachel over to see a lover, and looked back at the cottage window,towards Mrs.
Prime, as though to see whether she was being watchedin her iniquity. "Oh, Mrs. Sturt!" she said, "why didn't you give ustime to think about it?"
"Give you time! How could I give you time, and he here on the spot?There's been too much time to my thinking. When young folk areagreeable and the old folk are agreeable too, there can't be toolittle time. Come along over and we'll talk of it in the kitchenwhile they talks in the parlour. He'd a' been in there among you allonly for Mrs. Prime. She is so dour like for a young man to have tosay anything before her, of the likes of that. That's why I took himinto our place."
They overtook Rachel at the house door and they all went throughtogether into the great kitchen. "Oh, Rachel!" said Mrs. Ray. "Oh,dear!"
"What is it, mamma?" said Rachel. Then looking into her mother'sface, she guessed the truth. "Mamma," she said, "he's here! Mr. Rowanis here!" And she took hold of her mother's arm, as though to supportherself.
"And that's just the truth," said Mrs. Sturt, triumphantly. "He'sthrough there in the little parlour, and you must just go to him, mydear, and hear what he's got to say to you."
"Oh, mamma!" said Rachel.
"I suppose you must do what she tells you," said Mrs. Ray.
"Of course she must," said Mrs. Sturt.
"Mamma, you must go to him," said Rachel.
"That won't do at all," said Mrs. Sturt.
"And why has he come here?" said Rachel.
"Ah! I wonder why," said Mrs. Sturt. "I wonder why any young manshould come on such an errand! But it won't do to leave him therestanding in my parlour by himself, so do you come along with me."
So saying Mrs. Sturt took Rachel by the arm to lead her away. Mrs.Ray in this great emergency was perfectly helpless. She could simplylook at her daughter with imploring, loving eyes, and stand quiveringin doubt against the dresser. Mrs. Sturt had very decided views onthe matter. She had put Luke Rowan into the parlour with a promisethat she would bring Rachel to him there, and she was not going tobreak her word through any mock delicacy. The two young people likedone another, and they should have this opportunity of saying so ineach other's hearing. So she took Rachel by the arm, and opening thedoor of the parlour led her into the room. "Mr. Rowan," she said,"when you and Miss Rachel have had your say out, you'll find me andher mamma in the kitchen." Then she closed the door and left themalone.
Rachel, when first summoned out of the cottage, had felt at oncethat Mrs. Sturt's visit must have reference to Luke Rowan. Indeedeverything with her in her present moods had some reference tohim,--some reference though it might be ever so remote. But nowbefore she had time to form a thought, she was told that he was therein the same house with her, and that she was taken to him in orderthat she might hear his words and speak her own. It was very sudden;and for the space of a few moments she would have fled away from Mrs.Sturt's kitchen had such flight been possible. Since Rowan had gonefrom her there had been times in which she would have fled to him, inwhich she would have journeyed alone any distance so that she mighttell him of her love, and ask whether she had got any right to hopefor his. But all that seemed to be changed. Though her mother wasthere with her and her friend, she feared that this seeking of herlover was hardly maidenly. Should he not have come to her,--everyfoot of the way to her feet, and there have spoken if he had aught tosay, before she had been called on to make any sign? Would he likeher for thus going to him? But then she had no chance of escape. Shefound herself in Mrs. Sturt's kitchen under her mother's sanction,before she had been able to form any purpose; and then an idea didcome to her, even at that moment, that poor Luke would have had ahard task of it in her sister's presence. When she was first toldthat he was there in the farm-house parlour, her courage left her andshe dreaded the encounter; but she was able to collect her thoughtsas she passed out of the kitchen, and across the passage, and whenshe followed Mrs. Sturt into the room she had again acquired thepower to carry herself as a woman having a soul of her own.
"Rachel!" Rowan said, stepping up to her and tendering his hand toher. "I have come to answer your letter in person."
"I knew," she said, "when I wrote it, that my letter did not deserveany answer. I did not expect an answer."
"But am I wrong now to bring you one in person? I have thought somuch of seeing you again! Will you not say a word of welcome to me?"
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Rowan."
"Mr. Rowan! Nay; if it is to be Mr. Rowan I may as well go back toBaslehurst. It has come to that, that it must be Luke now, or theremust be no naming of names between us. You chided me once when Icalled you Rachel."
"You called me so once, sir, when I should have chided you and didnot. I remember it well. You were very wrong, and I was veryfoolish."
"But I may call you Rachel now?" Then, when she did not answer him atthe moment, he asked the question again in that imperious way whichwas common with him. "May I not call you now as I please? If it benot so my coming here is useless. Come, Rachel, say one word to meboldly. Do you love me well enough to be my wife?"
She was standing at the open window, looking away from him, while heremained at a little distance from her as though he would not comeclose to her till he had exacted from her some positive assuranceof her love as a penance for the fault committed by her letter. Hecertainly was not a soft lover, nor by any means inclined to abatehis own privileges. He paused a moment as though he thought that hislast question must elicit a plain reply. But no reply to it came. Shestill looked away from him through the window, as though resolvedthat she would not speak till his mood should have become moretender.
"You said something in your letter," he continued, "about my affairshere in Baslehurst being unsettled. I would not show myself hereagain till that matter was arranged."
"It was not I," she said, turning sharply round upon him. "It was notI who thought that."
"It was in your letter, Rachel."
"Do you know so little of a girl like me as to suppose that what waswritten there came from me, myself? Did I not tell you that I saidwhat I was told to say? Did I not explain to you that mamma had goneto Mr. Comfort? Did you not know that all that had come from him?"
"I only know that I read it in your letter to me,--the only letteryou had ever written to me."
"You are unfair to me, Mr. Rowan. You know that you are unfair."
"Call me Luke," he said. "Call me by my own name."
"Luke," she said, "you are unfair to me."
"Then by heavens it shall be for the last time. May things in thisworld and the next go well with me as I am fair to you for thefuture!" So saying he came up close to her, and took her at once inhis arms.
"Luke, Luke; don't. You frighten me; indeed you do."
"You shall give me a fair open kiss, honestly, before I leaveyou,--in truth you shall. If you love me, and wish to be my wife,and intend me to understand that you and I are now pledged to eachother beyond the power of any person to separate us by his advice,or any mother by her fears, give me a bold, honest kiss, and I willunderstand that it means all that."
Still she hesitated for a moment, turning her face away from himwhile he held her by the waist. She hesitated while she was weighingthe meaning of his words, and taking them home to herself as herown. Then she turned her neck towards him, still holding back herhead till her face was immediately under his own, and after anothermoment's pause she gave him her pledge as he had asked it. Mrs.Sturt's words had come true, and the cherries had returned to hercheek.
"My own Rachel! And now tell me one thing: are you happy?"
"So happy!"
"My own one!"
"But, Luke,--I have been wretched;--so wretched! I thought you wouldnever come back to me."
"And did that make you wretched?"
"Ah!--did it? What do you think yourself? When I wrote that letterto you I knew I had no right to expect that you would think of meagain."
"But how could I help thinking of you when I loved you?"
"And then when mamma saw you in Exeter, and you sent me no word
ofmessage!"
"I was determined to send none till this business was finished."
"Ah! that was cruel. But you did not understand. I suppose no man canunderstand. I couldn't have believed it myself till--till after youhad gone away. It seemed as though all the sun had deserted us, andthat everything was cold and dark."
They stood at the open window looking out upon the roses and cabbagestill the patience of Mrs. Sturt and of Mrs. Ray was exhausted. Whatthey said, beyond so much of their words as I have repeated, need notbe told. But when a low half-abashed knock at the door interruptedthem, Luke thought that they had hardly been there long enough tosettle the preliminaries of the affair which had brought him toBragg's End.
"May we come in?" said Mrs. Sturt very timidly.
"Oh, mamma, mamma!" said Rachel, and she hid her face upon hermother's shoulder.