Kitabı oku: «An Isle of Surrey: A Novel», sayfa 18

CHAPTER XXXIII.
"I MUST GO TO FETCH HER HOME."

When Philip Ray left Crawford's House that night he felt anything at all but the elation supposed to be proper in the accepted suitor of a beautiful girl. He had, indeed, a great many troubles in his mind, and as he walked home to his lonely lodgings in Camberwell he was nearly a miserable man. It would not be true to say he was out and out miserable, but he was perilously close to it.

In the first place, he had to leave Hetty behind him, a thing almost beyond endurance. Then, when removed from the intoxicating influence of her presence and undistracted by the magic of her beauty, he began to turn his eyes inward upon himself, and investigate his own unworthiness with brutal candour-nay, with gross injustice.

What on earth was he that a faultless, an exquisite creature like Hetty should give herself to him? That was a question he asked himself over and over again, without being able to find any reason whatever for her sacrifice. More than once he felt inclined to go back, make a clean breast of it by telling her that as a friend he would recommend her to have nothing whatever to do with himself. The words of love and devotion she had spoken to him on the island were a source of intense pain to him. A nice kind of fellow he was indeed for her to say she would follow round all the world! He was obtaining love under false pretences, that's what he was doing. And such love! and from such a perfect creature! It was simply a monstrous fraud! There was something underhand and dishonourable about it; for if she had only known him for what he was, she would flee out of the very parish away from him. He must have been mad to ask her to marry him.

It had all come on him suddenly. When he suggested that she should go to the island with him on the excuse of seeing how the boy got on, he had no intention of proposing to her; and, nevertheless, no sooner had he set foot on the Ait than he must retain her hand and ask her to give it to him for ever! Could he have meant the whole thing as a joke, or was the Master of all Evil at the bottom of it?

But the full turpitude of his act did not appear until he considered ways and means. At present his salary was barely enough to keep himself in the strictest economy. He could not, after paying for food, lodgings, and clothes all on the humblest scale, save five pounds a year. It is true he had a yearly increase of salary, and by-and-by would have the chance of promotion. But at the most favourable estimate he could not hope to have an income on which he might prudently marry sooner than between twenty and thirty years. Say, in twenty-five years, when his salary would be sufficient, he would be fifty-two and she forty-five! If he had any hair left on his head then it would be snow-white, and he would be sure to have rheumatism and most likely a touch of asthma as well. He would have confirmed bachelor habits and exacting notions about his food and an abject horror of the east wind. He would tell old stories as new, and laugh at them, and the younger men in the office would laugh at him for laughing at these old tales, and mimic him behind his back, and call him an old fossil and other endearing names, indicative of pity in them and senility in him! What a poor idiot he had been to speak to the girl!

It was true the Layards were not very well off themselves now; but they had once been rich, and naturally Hetty ought to be raised by marriage far up above their present position. She was a lady and a beauty, and the most enchanting girl that ever the sun shone on, and ought to wear a coronet if such things went by charm; and here was he, a pauper junior clerk in one of the most miserably-paid branches of the Civil Service, coolly asking her to be his wife! His conduct had been criminal, nothing short of it.

What on earth would Frank say when he told him of it? If Frank was an honourable man he would go over to Layard, and advise the brother to forbid the suitor his house.

Suitor, indeed! Pretty suitor he was to go wooing such a girl as Hetty!

But then Hetty had told him she loved him and would follow him to the ends of the earth, and he'd just like to hear any man in his presence say Hetty wasn't to do what she pleased, even if her pleasure took such a preposterous form as love for him. Now that he came to think of it in that way, if it pleased Hetty to love him she should love him, in spite of all the Franks and all the brothers in Christendom; for wasn't Hetty's happiness and pleasure dearer to him than the welfare of empires? And if he hadn't quite a hundred a year, he could make it more by coaching fellows for the Civil Service and in a thousand other ways.

Philip Ray having arrived at this more hopeful and wholesome view of his affairs went to bed, and lay awake some time trying to compose a poem in his sweetheart's praise. Having found, however, that he could not keep the lines of equal length, and that the rhymes came in now at the wrong places and anon not at all, he abandoned poetry as an occupation with which he had no familiarity, and took to one in which he had experience-sleep.

When he awoke next morning all his troubles and doubts had cleared away. The lead of the night before had been transmuted into gold by the alchemy of sleep. He seemed to himself really a fairly good fellow (which was no egotistical over-estimate, but a very fair appraisement of his value). No insuperable difficulties presented themselves in his mind to the making thirty, forty, fifty pounds a year more than his salary. He knew Hetty loved him, and he simply adored his exquisite jocund Hebe with the rich heart and frank avowal of love. A fig for obstacles with such a prize before him! If any considerable sum of money was attached to the setting of the Thames on fire here was your man able and willing to undertake the feat.

When the afternoon came, and he found himself released from the drudgery of his desk, he hastened to Welford. Alfred Layard did not get home in the evening until eight o'clock, and, of course, Ray could not call at Crawford's House until after that hour. But he could go to the Ait, and who could say but Hetty might appear at the window, or even come out on Crawford's Quay? In any case he wanted to see Frank and tell him what he had done, for he would as soon have thought of picking a pocket as of keeping a secret from his brother-in-law.

Philip Ray hastened along the canal with long quick strides, swinging his arms as he went. Now that the prospect of seeing Hetty again was close upon him he had not only lost all his gloom, but was in a state of enthusiastic hopefulness. He hailed the island three times before Bramwell answered.

"I thought you were never coming," said he, as the two shook hands upon his landing.

"I was busy when you hailed," said Bramwell, "and I could not believe it was you so early." Then noticing the excitement of his brother-in-law, he said, "What is the matter? Has anything happened?"

"Yes. Let us go in. I want to talk to you most particularly," said Ray. Then in his turn noticing the appearance and manner of the other, he said, "What is the matter with you?You too look as if something had happened."

"I have been up all night at work," he answered, as they entered the cottage.

Ray's sister had gone to Mrs. Pemberton's to get the luggage she had left there.

They went into the sitting-room. Frank was playing by himself in the old timber-yard.

"Now, what is your news?" asked Bramwell, feeling sick at the thought that it must be something about Ainsworth.

Ray fidgeted on his chair. He found it more easy to say to himself, "I must tell Frank at once," than to accomplish the design now that the two were face to face. He hummed and hawed, and loosed his collar by thrusting his finger between his neck and the band of his shirt, but no words came. At last he got up and began walking about nervously.

"What is it, Philip? Can I do anything for you?" asked Bramwell, in a placid voice and with a quiet smile.

"No, thank you, Frank, I've done it all myself. I've done all that man could do."

Bramwell turned pale; seizing the arms of his chair, he said apprehensively, "You don't mean to say have met Ainsworth, and-"

"No-no-no!"

Bramwell threw himself back, infinitely relieved.

"The fact is I have made a fool of myself."

"In what way, Philip?"

"You know my income?"

Bramwell nodded.

"Well, it may as well come out first as last. I-don't start, and pray, pray don't laugh at me-I've fallen in love."

Bramwell nodded again and looked grave.

"And I have proposed."

Bramwell looked pained.

"And have been accepted."

"There is no chance whatever of my knowing anything of the lady?" said Bramwell in a tone implying that the answer must be in the negative.

"There is. You do. I proposed last night on this island to Miss Layard, and she has accepted me."

"Merciful heavens!" cried the other man, springing to his feet.

Ray paused and stared at his brother-in-law. "Why, what on earth is the matter with you, Frank? There is nothing so very shocking or astonishing in it, is there? I know for a man in my position it was rash, almost mad, to do such a thing. But there is nothing to make you look scared. Tell me why you are so astonished and shocked? If I told you I had shot Ainsworth you couldn't look more alarmed."

"I'll tell you later-not now. Go on with your story, Philip. When you know all you will see why I was startled. It has nothing to do with you. I wish you and Miss Layard all the happiness that can fall to the lot of mortals; but I need scarcely tell you that, my dear, dear Philip."

"I know it, Frank. You need not tell me you wish me well. You're the most-generous-hearted fellow alive. You have suffered cruel wrong through my blood, but never through me personally. Yet I believe if I had done you a personal wrong you would shake my hand and wish me well all the same. I believe if you yourself had thought of Hetty, and she chose me, you would be just as cordial in your good wishes as you are now."

"I should indeed," said Bramwell, with a strange light in his eyes. "And now tell me the rest of your story."

Again he shook his brother-in-law warmly by both hands, and then sat down.

"There is nothing else to tell. When we came over here to see about the boy last night I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. By the way, how did he get on after I left?"

"For a while his rest was broken," said Bramwell, with a wan smile, "but after that he slept perfectly till it was time to get up."

"I knew the child was only dreaming. But Hetty" – yes, he had called her Hetty to his brother-in-law: how incomparably rich this made him feel! – "but Hetty was fairly terrified, and I thought it better to give way to her. It was nothing but a nightmare or a dream."

"Do you know, I am not so sure of that, Philip?"

"So sure of what?" asked the other man, drawing down his straight eyebrows over his eyes, and peering into Bramwell's face, looking for symptoms of incipient insanity.

"That it was all a dream," answered the other, returning his gaze.

"Are you mad?" cried Ray, drawing back, and regarding his companion with severe displeasure.

"That is the second time I have been asked the same question within the past twenty-four hours. Do you know who the other person was who asked me that question?"

"Who?"

"Kate."

"O, he is mad!" cried Ray, stopping in his walk and surveying Bramwell with pity and despair.

The other went on, quietly looking his brother-in-law in the face steadily.

"The crisis of that disease went in her favour. She inserted that announcement of her death in order that I might feel myself free to marry if I chose. On her way to the River she came to this place to get one more sight of her child. I found her here-"

"And you forgave her?" said Ray, in a breathless voice.

"Yes."

"Why?" fiercely.

"Because I thought it would be well for her to be near her child. And she is to stay here-"

"Here? With you? You do not mean to say you will meet her day after day for evermore?"

"Why not? She had nowhere else to go to-except the River."

"But he will come again, and she will leave you."

"No, no. He will not come again. Her beauty is gone for ever."

"Her beauty gone for ever! How came that to be?"

"The illness marked her for life."

"And yet she may stay?"

"Why not? Will it not comfort her to be near her child?"

"O, Frank, you make all other men look small!"

"I said I would tell you why I started and cried out a while ago. Last night, when I believed myself free, I thought I might speak to Miss Layard-"

"O, my brother! O, this is the cruellest blow that ever fell on man! My heart is breaking for you."

"I did not know last night that your mind was set on Miss Layard."

"Do not speak of me."

"Boland's Ait!" cried a voice from without.

"Hark!" said Bramwell, holding up his finger. "That is Kate's voice. I must go to fetch her home."

CHAPTER XXXIIV.
CRAWFORD'S PLANS FOR THE FUTURE

Dr. Loftus pronounced Mrs. Crawford's condition to be very serious. He told her husband he did not expect a fatal termination immediately, but that in such cases there was no knowing what might happen, and it would be prudent that all preparations should be made for the worst. Above all, any violent shock was to be guarded against. There was now, he thought, absolutely no hope of improvement. If she felt equal to it, she might get up, and be wheeled about in her chair. In reply to Crawford's inquiry, the doctor could not tell how far off the end might be-hours, days, weeks.

"Months?"

"Scarcely."

When the doctor was gone Crawford sat a long time in deep thought. It was daylight now, and he lay down on a couch in his own room to ponder over the whole affair. The income of the property would be lost to him on her death. The three thousand pounds of savings would come to him. But how, and after what delay? There would be legal formalities and bother, and he hated both. That fool the doctor either could not or would not say how long the present state of things was likely to last. Yet, as he had said, it was wise to be ready for anything, for everything. Plainly, the best plan for him to adopt would be to induce his wife to make him a deed of gift of the three thousand pounds. That would diminish trouble in case of her death. There was no need of cruelty in asking her to do this. The only thing absolutely necessary was success. He need not even hint to her that he was taking the precaution because of the fragility of her life. He could manage to make the deed of gift seem desirable because of some other reason. One should seldom tell men the truth, and women never. The truth was too strong for women. Their delicate natures were not constructed to bear it with advantage to themselves, and if you told the truth to men they were likely to use it to their own advantage. Quite right: truth was a jewel, but, like any other jewel, it was fit only for holiday wear.

As soon as he got that deed of gift executed there would not be much more for him to do at Singleton Terrace. Viewed as a place of mere free board and lodgings, it was not of much consequence. With three thousand pounds and his present turn of luck he should be well off. Viewed as the home of a confirmed invalid who doted on him, Singleton Terrace was distasteful.

There would not be the least necessity for brutality or unkindness. Unkindness and brutality were always cardinal mistakes. He believed he could manage the whole matter with his wife, and appear in it greatly to his own advantage. He'd try that very day to arrange matters, so that at any hour he could quit Richmond for ever. What a merciful deliverance that would be for him! During the past few months he had scarcely dared to call his soul his own. Yes, if that deed could be got ready and executed in twenty-four hours, there was no reason why he should not shake the dust of Richmond off his feet in twenty-five.

Whither should he go? Ultimately back to the States, no doubt; but in the first instance to Welford. The latter place would be perfect only for two circumstances: first, that infernal Philip Ray visited Boland's Ait close by, and, second, Hetty-that charming Hetty-had a brother, a most forbidding and ruffianly-looking man, who might make himself intensely disagreeable. But it would be delightful to be under the same roof with that beautiful girl and saying agreeable things to her when they met. In all his life he never saw any girl so lovely as Hetty; and then look at the luck she had brought him! He would try Welford for a week or two-try the effect of Hetty's luck by playing every night for a fortnight. If he had won a good sum at the end of his trial, he should then be certain it was owing to Hetty. It would be easy to avoid Ray. He was engaged at his office until the afternoon. Every afternoon Crawford could leave Welford, go to the Counter Club, dine there, and not come back till morning. The affair was as simple as possible.

Then he thought of his escape from drowning and his meeting with Kate. But these were unpleasant memories, and he made it a rule never to cherish any reminiscences which could depress him, so he banished them from his mind and fell into a peaceful sleep.

It was late when he awoke. Some letters had come for him, and, after reading them, he went to his wife's room, and put them down impressively on a small table by the bedside. His inquiries were exhaustive, sympathetic, affectionate. He kissed her tenderly, and sat by her, holding her hand in his, and patting it. He said all the soothing words he could think of, and assured her of his conviction that in a few days she would be as well as she had been when they were so happily married.

She smiled, and answered him in gentle words, and in her soft sweet voice. She thanked him for his encouraging sayings, but told him with a shake of her head that she felt certain she should never be better-that this was the beginning of the end.

"But, indeed, you must get well," he said. "You must get well for my sake. Look, what glorious news I have had this morning! Here is a letter from my place in South America. It is, unfortunately, full of technicalities. Shall I read it to you? or tell you the substance of it?" He held up a bulky envelope, with several foreign stamps on it.

"O, tell me the substance, by all means! I am not clever like you over technicalities."

"It is, in effect, that my manager there has himself invented a machine quite capable of dealing with the fibre, and that we are now in a position to set about manufacturing."

"What splendid news, William!" she cried, with gentle enthusiasm, pressing the hand she still retained. "You did not expect anything of this kind?"

"No. But excellent as the news is, it has a drawback; and that drawback is one of the reasons why you must get well at once."

"Why, what has my recovery to do with the affair, and what is the drawback?"

"Well, the fact of the matter is we cannot get the machinery made without some money, and the little I have isn't nearly enough."

"But I have some. Take the savings. I have told you over and over again that they are yours. Would what I have be enough?"

"Well, with what I have and what I can raise I think it would; but you must get well first. It is only sentiment, no doubt; but I could not bear to take your money while you are not as well as you were a little while ago. The only interest or object I now have in this discovery is that you may share the great benefit of it with me."

"Indeed, indeed, you must not think of me in this way. It is like your dear kind self to say what you have just said; but it is not businesslike, and you must take the money. I am only sorry it is not ten times as much."

"No, no! Not, anyway, until you are as well as you were a couple of months ago, dear Nellie."

"But you must. I will listen to no denial. Fancy, allowing my illness to stand in the way of your success!"

For a good while he resisted, but in the end she prevailed, and he reluctantly consented to accept the money, and settle about the transfer from her to him that very day.

Accordingly, he went to town after breakfast, armed with a letter from his wife to Mr. Brereton, Mrs. Crawford's lawyer.

He came back early in the afternoon somewhat disappointed: it would take a day to complete the business.

"After all," he thought, "I must not grumble about the delay. The direct transfer of the money will be better for me than the deed of gift. In the one case I shall have the money, in the other I should have only a document."

He had abstained from going to the Counter Club that day for two reasons: first, he did not wish to risk discovery of his taste for play while the three thousand pounds were hanging in the clouds; and, second, he wished to believe the luck born of his acquaintance with Hetty prevailed most on the days he saw her, and should, to operate daily, be daily renewed by sight of her.

"When all is settled I'll write for Mrs. Farraday to come back and stay here. She promised she would in case of need. Then I'll tell my wife that my personal presence is absolutely necessary in America, and I'll say good-bye to her and go down to Welford. I must arrange with my wife that Blore, the former agent, is not set to work collecting for a month or six weeks, so that I may have time to get out of the country, or away from Welford at all events. I don't think I shall require more than three weeks at Welford. I can get those gates put up and taken down again, and stay there on pretence of superintending the work."