CHAPTER IX.
ANASTATIA'S COURTSHIP.
The Reverend John Dodd drew back one morning from the breakfast-tablewith the air of a giant refreshed; his wife stared at him over thesilver breakfast-kettle as she had stared at him for the last twentyyears. For the last twenty years Mrs. Dodd had wondered at theplenteousness of her husband's breakfasts; she was astonished twentyyears ago, and she still stared, an awed woman to the present day."John," she said, in a severe tone, "it is my duty." Whenever Mrs. Dodddiffered from her husband she nailed her colours to the mast; she saidit was her duty, and she invariably carried her point. "It's dogged asdoes it," is not only the maxim of agricultural labourers in remotecountry districts. It is the secret of success in every married lady'slife; it is the talisman confided to the young wife by her moreexperienced mother, if she have one, if not her aunt tells her thesecret, and it comes to the same thing.
"Well, my dear, if you look upon it in that light there is no more to besaid," acquiesced the husband.
"It is my duty, and yours too, John; above all it is Anastatia's. Whatcan cement the natural alliance between the squire and the vicar of theparish, more strongly than the former's union with that vicar's sister?Besides, I have another reason. It is our bounden duty, Jack," here thevicar's wife relapsed into familiarity, as she always did when she meantto carry her point, "our bounden duty to rescue the squire from thatdesigning woman."
"Good gracious, Cecilia, who is Anastatia's rival?"
"You may not have seen it, John, but I have observed it ever since thegirls have been away. Miss Hood means to marry the old man!" This lattersentence was uttered in a sepulchral whisper.
"Nonsense, Cecilia, you're joking."
"Do I ever talk nonsense or joke, Mr. Dodd?" answered the wife in ajudicial tone.
"Well, my dear," apologetically rejoined the vicar, "I don't think Iever remember your doing the latter," and he felt much as an unfortunateman would feel who had dared to accuse the Lord Chancellor himself ofjoking and talking nonsense.
"There can't be a doubt of it. Ever since those girls have gone MissHood has called here in The Warren brougham, never on foot or in thepony chair."
"But, my dear, the weather has been wet and cold."
"'Tis not the weather, John, it is that woman's arrogance, her way ofpreparing the minds of the neighbourhood for the catastrophe."
"Diggory Warrender, my dear, is no more thinking of marrying again thanI am," said the vicar.
"The thought of marrying again, Mr. Dodd," retorted his wife severely,"is constantly occurring to the mind of every married man."
"I assure you it never occurred to mine, my dear."
"John, you're ungrateful," replied his wife, and burst into tears.
"If my thinking of marrying again, my dear, will prove my gratitude toyou, I will consider the matter at once," said the vicar of King'sWarren, with a dreary smile.
But Canon Drivel's daughter did not deign to answer, she merely rang forprayers. In filed the servants, the two grim housemaids and the parlourmaid of portentous plainness, for Mrs. Dodd made it a rule in heraustere household that the abigails should be unattractive. Mrs. Doddopened the book--her father, the Canon's, well-known book of FamilyPrayers. Although it was the second Thursday in the month she turned tothe portion appointed for the first Wednesday. Alas! her copy of theCanon's work opened almost mechanically at the first Wednesday in themonth, for in that Wednesday's selection there was a phrase which wasvery dear to Mrs. Dodd; it was the following: "And if there be one amongus whose heart is yet hard," &c., &c. This was Mrs. Dodd's _ultimaratio_, the last drop that invariably wore away any resistance on thepart of the man who, to her mind, was stony-hearted. When the ReverendJohn Dodd heard the commencement of that prayer he trembled in hisinmost soul; when his wife reached the favourite passage she dwelt onthe words with unction; and as the servants filed out of the room he,who had once been "Handsome Jack Dodd," felt himself a slave.
"I had better speak to Anastatia," said Mrs. Dodd.
"Do as you please, my dear," replied the vicar, "but I don't see howshe's to propose to old Warrender, all the same."
"Men don't understand these things," sententiously remarked his wife, asshe gave a vicious shake to the missionary box, which was always on thesideboard. Missionary boxes are not seen so often now as they used tobe, but this old-fashioned engine of torture was clung to by thevicaress. Rosy-cheeked children had received many a bright sixpence fromthe vicar, their faces wreathed in smiles; the smiles had faded whenCecilia Dodd had proved to them, by chapter and verse, that the properplace for the bright silver was the drab sarcophagus on the sideboard.Even the vicar's friends, at the termination of their rubber forthreepenny points, dreaded the appearance of the box; they invariablycontributed, the more daring among them sighing as they did so.
Anastatia Dodd, on the particular morning in question, had not appearedat breakfast. The fragile little lady was suffering from a cold in herhead. She was in bed, perusing in undisturbed comfort a harmless novel.But the novel disappeared under the clothes with amazing celerity as thevoice of her sister-in-law demanded admission. The mistress of the houseaffectionately inquired if she felt equal to a short conversation. Insome trepidation Anastatia signified her acquiescence. Her sister-in-lawpointed out to her that old Mr. Warrender had been very attentivelately. Anastatia innocently answered that "He was a dear old man."
"Oh, my dear, I am so glad, so very glad, to hear you say so," said Mrs.Dodd.
"But why glad, Cecilia?"
"My love, your brother and I thought it _was_ so, and that youencouraged him. Has he spoken to you yet? He has said nothing to John."
"Spoken, Cecilia, to me; about what?"
"This is affectation, dear; you can't pretend to be blind to what isapparent to all of us."
"Oh, Cecilia, how can you?" sobbed the vicar's sister, blushing to herears and burying her face in her pillows.
For forty years Anastatia Dodd had lived in maiden meditation fancyfree. True, she had taken a lively interest in all her brother'scurates, but it was always a professional interest and purely Platonic.But now she blushed, blushed as she had never blushed before.
What woman is displeased at hearing that she has an admirer? Who amongus would fail to believe what we have, perhaps, secretly wished for inour heart of hearts?
That arch Machiavel, the vicar's wife, did not leave her sister-in-lawtill she was thoroughly convinced that Diggory Warrender was onlywaiting a favourable opportunity to make her a formal offer of his handand heart.
All this was sufficiently exciting to poor Miss Dodd, but what was herhorror, her horror mingled with astonishment, when she heard that, likethe heroines in the story books, she too had a detested rival. Till nowAnastatia Dodd had not known what it was to detest anybody, but hersister-in-law pointed out to her that detestation was her duty; thatMiss Hood was but a ravening and roaring lion seeking to devour the oldsquire, and then to pick his bones. Unconsciously, as she stood by hersister-in-law's bed, Cecilia Dodd assumed the awful pose, the statuesqueattitude, of the Judith at the bedside of Holofernes of her former days;her hand, as it grasped the brass ball at the foot of the bed, seemed tobe clutching the head of her victim. Poor Anastatia, as a hare nestlesin its form, had almost shrunk beneath the bed-clothes.
"It is your duty, my dear," said Judith, "to rescue this man from thehands of the harpy at The Warren. He has evidently loved you for years,Anastatia; _it is your duty_; and your brother feels deeply in thematter, more deeply than I do, my dear; we are but weak women, he is aclergyman, and, I regret to add, a man of the world. You must, ofcourse, give Mr. Warrender every encouragement. And do not forget thatyour brother is the head of the family, the master of this house, aclergyman, and a man of the world. _He_ will not see you wronged."
The vicar's wife left the room and her trembling victim. The voice ofduty called her to the kitchen, where her cook patiently awaited herinevitable, and always painful, audience.
/> In the meanwhile, Squire Warrender and Miss Hood pursued the even tenourof their ways at The Warren; frequent letters from his daughter,describing the delights of their foreign tour, cheered the old man. Allunconsciously, the squire sent his hares and his pheasants to thevicar's wife, his peaches and his flowers to her sister-in-law. In hiscracked old voice, he still paid his Grandisonian compliments to the twoladies. He was somewhat surprised perhaps to notice that Miss Dodd wasby degrees abandoning her semi-religious garb; and that his visits tothe two ladies invariably procured him the pleasure of _tete-a-tete_interviews with the spinster. He noticed too that the vicar's sister nowshook hands with him with an unwonted pressure. One afternoon heactually came home with a button-hole, a white passion flower, which thetrembling fingers of Miss Dodd had placed in his coat.
"'Pon my word," he said to Miss Hood, wearing this decoration as theytook their habitual cup of tea together, "I really think that StaceyDodd gets younger every day."
Miss Hood pricked up her ears. Was the hale old gentleman going to makea fool of himself after all?
Old Mrs. Wurzel and the buxom Miss Grains sat in the little room at thevicarage, which was known to everybody as Mrs. Dodd's own room. Thevicar's wife sat before a huge book, in front of her were little pilesof copper money. She and her two visitors, and, of course, the vicar_ex-officio_, formed the committee of the village coal club. After muchcounting and recounting of the coppers, the total was pronouncedcorrect, and the real work for which the ladies had met was over. Thewindow of the room commanded a view of the lovely old-fashioned garden,which had been the care and pride of many successive vicars of King'sWarren. The close-shaven lawn had the inevitable sun dial in its centre.The garden was not at its best, for the trees had not yet commenced tobud, but it was a fine clear day, and the trim little figure of thevicar's sister was seen briskly pacing up and down the well-kept walks.
"I don't think your sister-in-law seems to care so much for parish workas once she did, Mrs. Dodd," remarked the old lady to the vicar's wife.
"No, poor thing, I fear she has anxieties of her own just now, she seekssolitude a good deal."
"Is there any attachment, dear Mrs. Dodd?" said Mrs. Wurzel withinterest.
"Oh, Mrs. Dodd, not an unrequited attachment?" burst forth the brewer'sdaughter. For that strapping young woman was romantic, and though thecourse of her own love ran smoothly enough, still she felt a sentimentalinterest in the woes of others, real or supposed. Her fat red cheekswould quiver with emotion, and be wet with briny tears, over the sorrowsof Mr. Trollope's heroines. Fat people are always sentimental, thoughthey may not seem so, and beneath Miss Grains' tightly-laced corset beata sympathetic heart. "An unrequited attachment," she repeated, "is sovery, very sad."
The vicar's wife answered her reprovingly, "You must not think, MissGrains, that Mr. Dodd would allow his sister to form such a disgracefulthing as an unrequited attachment."
"Oh, but dear Mrs. Dodd, suppose she couldn't help it," said the artlessmaiden with a blush and a little sigh.
"No well-brought-up girl would allow herself to do so, my dear, shewould have far too much self-respect."
The brewer's daughter blushed deeply, as she thought of the many heroes,real and imaginary, from Marmion down to the last curate but two, foreach of whom she herself had felt an unrequited passion, or a more thansecret liking. But these hidden passions were before young farmerWurzel, in his blue tie and white hat, had proposed to her.
"Well, at all events, Miss Dodd is hardly a girl," she said defiantly.
"Miss Grains," retorted the vicar's wife, "every unmarried woman, eventhough not in the first bloom of youth, is a 'girl' till she marries.Certainly Stacey Dodd is a 'girl'; and I have known cases, Miss Grains,in my experience, where flighty young ladies, though they may have beentemporarily engaged, have remained 'girls' to the end of the chapter."
To this gruesome suggestion Miss Grains made no reply.
Old Mrs. Wurzel turned confidentially to the vicar's wife and said, "Isher engagement generally known?"
"Perhaps," replied the president of the coal club, "it would bepremature to speak of it as an engagement, but it is talked of all overthe village. I believe there has been an attachment for some years, thegentleman's attentions are very marked. In fact, I don't think I ambetraying her confidence, when I say that the whole village seems to beaware of it. Of course, I mention no names. I should scorn to attempt toprecipitate matters. It is a suitable match, I am happy to say, for bothparties, but there is an obstacle, my dear; adverse interests are in thefield. My sister-in-law is somewhat of a prude. I too was a prude, and Ican understand her feelings."
Here Mrs. Wurzel peered at the vicaress with unfeigned surprise.
"It's not quite fair, you know, to Stacey," said Mrs. Dodd.
How was she to tell them, without mentioning his name, that the man whodid not come to the point was the old squire himself, and yet she wasanxious to do so?
At this moment the austere parlour maid entered the room. "SquireWarrender is in the drawing-room, madam," she announced. Never in herlife had the vicar's wife been guilty of profanity till now, but theopportunity was too golden to be missed.
"Talk of the devil," she said. The four words spoke volumes. Hervisitors took their leave, to spread the report over the village andparish of King's Warren.
Mrs. Dodd was a woman who, as we know, did her duty according to herlights. She was determined at all hazards to do her duty now, withoutflinching, to her sister-in-law, for she had already burnt her ships,and she entered the drawing-room with the deliberate intention ofbringing the old squire to the point.
The unsuspecting squire asked for the vicar, after shaking hands withthe vicar's wife, and on being informed that his old friend was fromhome he innocently hoped that the vicar's sister was quite well.
"Ah," said Mrs. Dodd with a sigh, "we're a little concerned aboutStacey."
"You should let Pestle see her," replied the sympathizing squire.
Now Dr. Pestle was the parish doctor, and he deservedly enjoyed theconfidence of every soul in King's Warren.
"I fear, squire, hers is not a bodily affection," said Mrs. Dodd with adeep sigh.
"Good Gad! you don't mean to say her mind's giving way?" anxiouslydemanded the prosaic squire.
"Oh no, we fancy it's an affection of the heart."
"Impossible! at her age. Why she's fifty," emphatically asserted the oldgentleman.
"Not fifty, Mr. Warrender; Stacey Dodd is but forty-one."
"You don't say so. I should never have thought it."
The opening of the engagement had egregiously failed. At present thecampaign seemed most unpromising. When a gentleman of mature years looksupon a lady as fifty, he can hardly be suspected of designs upon hervirgin heart, or of a wish to destroy her peace of mind. Beaten in herattack on the outposts, Mrs. Dodd changed her strategy with thatmultiplicity of resource that always distinguishes the greatestgenerals--she determined at once to carry the war into the enemy'scountry.
"You must miss the girls very much, squire," she said as she took up alittle painted hand-screen, to protect her complexion, on which shelavished much anxious care, from the fierce blaze of the fire. "Yes,"she continued, "you must feel it very dull at The Warren now. Quitelonely, I fear."
"No," answered the squire cheerfully, "I have Miss Hood, you know, andwe play bezique or backgammon of an evening."
"Ah," replied Mrs. Dodd severely, and horrible visions of thosedangerous evenings flashed through the mind of the indignant woman. Inher mind's eye she fancied the squire sitting at the backgammon boardgazing at Miss Hood's shapely arm and hand, for though Miss Hood was thesame age as her sister-in-law, she still had a very shapely arm andhand.
"Yes," said the squire, "and she reads me the girls' letters; they are agreat consolation, for Georgie seems so thoroughly happy."
What more dangerous occupation for a hale old gentleman than to sit andlisten by the hour to the written raptures of his daug
hter on thesubject of married bliss, read to him by a lady of prepossessingappearance, by his own fireside, and after having partaken of at leastthree glasses of old port?
"I suppose," said the vicar's wife with assumed carelessness, "that MissHood will be leaving you soon?"
The squire's eye twinkled with suppressed merriment.
"Oh no," he said in a determined tone, "I couldn't afford to lose MissHood. For Lucy's sake," he added maliciously.
The lady fanned herself. There are limits to the endurance oflong-suffering woman. Mrs. Dodd felt that she was being trampled on. Thesensation was new to her, and unpleasant.
"You appear to cling to her, squire," she said.
"Naturally, naturally," answered the squire, "so do the girls. She hasbeen more than a mother to them."
"Why not make her so in reality?" retorted the exasperated woman, losingher head. Here the fanning became more furious.
"The fact is, Mrs. Dodd," said the squire, "I have been screwing myselfup to that point for the last dozen years, but I am close on the age ofthe patriarchs, and I don't think she'd have me. If you are of adifferent opinion, Mrs. Dodd, I will reconsider the matter; of course itwould be most appropriate. There's no fool like an old fool, I suppose."
Was the seemingly innocent squire referring to himself, or had thisabominable old gentleman the temerity to allude to the wife of thevicar of King's Warren as "an old fool?" Who shall say?
"Do you seriously advise it?" went on her tormentor; "do you think I maydare to hope?"
But the vicar's wife answered him never a word.
He rose to go and shook hands with her in his usual hearty manner. By nooutward sign did Mrs. Dodd manifest her indignation, but when the squirehad left the room she sank into her chair and burst into tears.
"The serpent!" she ejaculated as she pressed her handkerchief to herstreaming eyes.
Not one word did Mrs. Dodd utter for many days to her husband of hermomentous conversation with the squire. In a statuesque attitude, shesat, like Marius on the ruins of Carthage, or Patience on a monumentsmiling at grief.
And then she thought with horror of the confidence she had made to oldMrs. Wurzel and the brewer's daughter, not an hour before. _On a tire levin, il faut payer la bouteille._