CHAPTER XLVII.
Mr. Cheesacre's Disappointment.
When Mrs. Greenow was left alone in her lodgings, after the littleentertainment which she had given to her two lovers, she sat herselfdown to think seriously over her affairs. There were three paths openbefore her. She might take Mr. Cheesacre, or she might take CaptainBellfield--or she might decide that she would have nothing moreto say to either of them in the way of courting. They were verypersistent, no doubt; but she thought that she would know how to makethem understand her, if she should really make up her mind that shewould have neither one nor the other. She was going to leave Norwichafter Easter, and they knew that such was her purpose. Something hadbeen said of her returning to Yarmouth in the summer. She was a justwoman at heart, and justice required that each of them should knowwhat was to be his prospect if she did so return.
There was a good deal to be said on Mr. Cheesacre's behalf.Mahogany-furnitured bedrooms assist one's comfort in this life;and heaps of manure, though they are not brilliant in romance, arevery efficacious in farming. Mrs. Greenow by no means despised thesethings; and as for the owner of them, though she saw that there wasmuch amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles wereof such a nature that she, as his wife, or any other woman of spirit,might be able to repress them, if not to cure them. But she hadalready married for money once, as she told herself very plainly onthis occasion, and she thought that she might now venture on a littlelove. Her marriage for money had been altogether successful. Thenursing of old Greenow had not been very disagreeable to her, nor hadit taken longer than she had anticipated. She had now got all thereward that she had ever promised herself, and she really did feelgrateful to his memory. I almost think that among those plentifultears some few drops belonged to sincerity. She was essentially ahappy-tempered woman, blessed with a good digestion, who looked backupon her past life with contentment, and forward to her future lifewith confidence. She would not be greedy, she said to herself. Shedid not want more money, and therefore she would have none of Mr.Cheesacre. So far she resolved,--resolving also that, if possible,the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, andmade over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.
But should she marry for love; and if so, should Captain Bellfieldbe the man? Strange to say, his poverty and his scampishness and hislies almost recommended him to her. At any rate, it was not of thosethings that she was afraid. She had a woman's true belief in her ownpower, and thought that she could cure them,--as far as they neededcure. As for his stories about Inkerman, and his little debts, shecared nothing about that. She also had her Inkermans, and was quiteaware that she made as good use of them as the Captain did of his.And as for the debts,--what was a man to do who hadn't got any money?She also had owed for her gloves and corsets in the ante-Greenow daysof her adventures. But there was this danger,--that there might bemore behind of which she had never heard. Another Mrs. Bellfieldwas not impossible; and what, if instead of being a real captainat all, he should be a returned ticket-of-leave man! Such thingshad happened. Her chief security was in this,--that Cheesacre hadknown the man for many years, and would certainly have told anythingagainst him that he did know. Under all these circumstances, shecould not quite make up her mind either for or against CaptainBellfield.
Between nine and ten in the evening, an hour or so after Mr. Cheesacrehad left her, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with a littlesherry in it. She usually dined early, and it was her habit to take alight repast before she retired for the night.
"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the lumps of white sugar in thebowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled."
"Oh, laws, ma'am, in course they have! How was they to help it?"
Jeannette, on these occasions, was in the habit of standing besidethe chair of her mistress, and chatting with her; and then, if thechatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon thecorner of a chair herself,--and then the two women would be verycomfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting thatshe was the servant, and Mrs. Greenow never forgetting that she wasthe mistress.
"And why should they quarrel, Jeannette? It's very foolish."
"I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's the most naturalthing in life. If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together,in course I should expect as they would punch each other's heads.There's some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it. Oneat a time's what I say."
"You're a young thing, Jeannette."
"Well, ma'am--yes; I am young, no doubt. But I won't say but whatI've had a beau, young as I look."
"But you don't suppose that I want beaux, as you call them?"
"I don't know, ma'am, as you wants 'em exactly. That's as may be.There they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out inthe gig to-night, I shouldn't be a bit surprised for one. There'snothing won't quiet them at Oileymead to-night, if brandy-and-waterdon't do it." As she said this, Jeannette slipt into her chair, andheld up her hands in token of the intensity of her fears.
"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together at all. Didnot the Captain go away first?"
"The Captain did go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps itwas to get his pistols and fighting things ready."
"They won't fight, Jeannette. Gentlemen have given over fighting."
"Have they, ma'am? That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt.Perhaps them peaceable ways will come down to such as us in time.It'd be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me. Ihate to see men knocking each other's heads about,--I do. So Mr.Cheesacre and the Captain won't fight, ma'am?"
"Of course they won't, you little fool, you."
"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full ofit,--and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier! I wonderwhich it would have been? I always made up my mind that the Captainwouldn't be wounded in any of his wital parts--unless it was hisheart, you know, ma'am."
"But why should they quarrel at all, Jeannette? It is the mostfoolish thing."
"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. What else is they to do?There's some things as you can cry halves about, but there's nocrying halves about this."
"About what, Jeannette?"--"Why, about you, ma'am."
"Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in myposition, had ever said a word to encourage either of them. You knowit's not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn't say so." Whereupon Mrs.Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Jeannette, probably intoken of contrition, put her apron to hers.
"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better through it thanyou have done, and goodness knows you have been tried hard."
"Indeed I have, Jeannette."
"And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault;is it, ma'am?"
"But I'm so sorry that they should have quarrelled. They were suchdear friends, you know;--quite all in all to each other."
"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come rightagain,--seeing that gentlefolks like them have given up fighting, asyou say." Then there was a little pause. "I suppose, ma'am, it won'tbe Mr. Cheesacre? To be sure, he's a man as is uncommonly well to doin the world."
"What's all that to me, Jeannette? I shall ever regard Mr. Cheesacreas a dear friend who has been very good to me at a time of trouble;but he'll never be more than that."
"Then it'll be the Captain, ma'am? I'm sure, for my part, I've alwaysthought the Captain was the nicer gentleman of the two,--and havealways said so."
"He's nothing to me, girl."
"And as for money,--what's the good of having more than enough? If hecan bring love, you can bring money; can't you, ma'am?"
"He's nothing to me, girl," repeated Mrs. Greenow.
"But he will be?" said Jeannette, plainly asking a question.
"Well, I'm sure! What's the world come to, I wonder, when you sityourself down there, and cross-examine your mistress in that way! Getto bed, will you? It'
s near ten o'clock."
"I hope I haven't said anything amiss, ma'am;" and Jeannette rosefrom her seat.
"It's my fault for encouraging you," said Mrs. Greenow. "Godown-stairs and finish your work, do; and then take yourself off tobed. Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there'll be all mythings to see to before that." So Jeannette got up and departed, andafter some few further thoughts about Captain Bellfield, Mrs. Greenowherself went to her bedroom.
Mr. Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone from Norwich,after dining with Mrs. Greenow, had kept himself hot, and almostcomfortable, with passion against Bellfield; and his heat, if nothis comfort, had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with hisportmanteau, escaping just as he reached his own homestead. But earlyon the following morning his mind reverted to Mrs. Greenow, and heremembered, with anything but satisfaction, some of the hard thingswhich she had said to him. He had made mistakes in his manner ofwooing. He was quite aware of that now, and was determined that theyshould be rectified for the future. She had rebuked him for havingsaid nothing about his love. He would instantly mend that fault.And she had bidden him not to be so communicative about his wealth.Henceforth he would be dumb on that subject. Nevertheless, he couldnot but think that the knowledge of his circumstances which the ladyalready possessed, must be of service to him. "She can't reallylike a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling," he said tohimself. He was very far from feeling that the battle was alreadylost. Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship;and then why should she have been at so much trouble to tell him theway in which he ought to address her if she were herself indifferentas to his addresses? He was, no doubt, becoming tired of hiscourtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he wasnot minded to give it up. He therefore prepared himself for anotherattack, and took himself into Norwich without seeking counsel fromany one. He could not trust himself to think that she could reallywish to refuse him after all the encouragement she had given him. Onthis occasion he put on no pink shirt or shiny boots, being deterredfrom doing so by a remembrance of Captain Bellfield's ridicule;but, nevertheless, he dressed himself with considerable care. Heclothed his nether person in knickerbockers, with tight, leathern,bright-coloured gaiters round his legs, being conscious of certainmanly graces and symmetrical proportions which might, as he thought,stand him in good stead. And he put on a new shooting-coat, thebuttons on which were elaborate, and a wonderful waistcoat workedover with foxes' heads. He completed his toilet with a round,low-crowned hat, with dog's-skin gloves, and a cutting whip. Thusarmed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die,--as far as deathmight result from any wound which Mrs. Greenow might be able to givehim. He waited, on this occasion, for the coming of no market-day;indeed, the journey into the city was altogether special, and he wasdesirous that she should know that such was the case. He drove at agreat pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, tookjust one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched offacross the market-place to the Close, with quiet and decisive steps.
"Is that you, Cheesacre?" said a friendly voice, in one of the narrowstreets. "Who expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday!" It wasGrimsby, the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwich, a country gentleman,and one, therefore, to whom Cheesacre would generally pay muchrespect; but on this occasion he did not even pull up for an instant,or moderate his pace. "A little bit of private business," he said,and marched onwards with his head towards the Close. "I'm not goingto be afraid of a woman--not if I know it," he said to himself;but, nevertheless, at a certain pastrycook's, of whose shop he hadknowledge, he pulled up and had another glass of cherry-brandy.
"Mrs. Greenow is at home," he said to Jeannette, not deigning to askany question.
"Oh, yes, sir; she is at home," said Jeannette, conscious that someoccasion had arrived; and in another second he was in the presence ofhis angel.
"Mr. Cheesacre, whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?"said the lady, as she welcomed him, using almost the same wordsas his friend had done in the street. Why should not he come intoNorwich on a Thursday, as well as any one else? Did they supposethat he was tied for ever to his ploughs and carts? He was minded toconduct himself with a little spirit on this occasion, and to improvethe opinion which Mrs. Greenow had formed about him. On this accounthe answered her somewhat boldly.
"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow, or whenI mayn't. I'm one of those men of whom nobody knows anything certain,except that I pay as I go." Then he remembered that he was not tomake any more boasts about his money, and he endeavoured to cover theerror. "There's one other thing they may all know if they please, butwe won't say what that is just at present."
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Cheesacre?"
"Well,--thank you,--I will sit down for a few minutes if you'll letme, Mrs. Greenow. Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I mustput an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody adamage."
"Dear me! what has happened to you? You're going out shooting,presently; are you not?" and Mrs. Greenow looked down at his garments.
"No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going out shooting. I put on these thingsbecause I thought I might take a shot as I came along. But I couldn'tbring myself to do it, and then I wouldn't take them off again. Whatdoes it matter what a man wears?"
"Not in the least, so long as he is decent."
"I'm sure I'm always that, Mrs. Greenow."
"Oh, dear, yes. More than that, I should say. I consider you to berather gay in your attire."
"I don't pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs. Greenow. I like tobe nice, and all that kind of thing. There are people who think thatbecause a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck. Itis the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent andliving out of it." Then he remembered that he was again treading onforbidden ground, and stopped himself. "But it don't matter what aman wears if his heart isn't easy within him."
"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; butit's what I have felt every hour since--since Greenow left me."
Mr. Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin. Thisallusion to the departed one did not at all assist him. He had sooften told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog wasbetter than a dead lion and had found so little efficacy in theproverbs, that he did not care to revert to them. He was aware thatsome more decided method of proceeding was now required. Little hintsat love-making had been all very well in the earlier days of theiracquaintance; but there must be something more than little hintsbefore he could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion.The widow herself had told him that he ought to talk about love; andhe had taken two glasses of cherry-brandy, hoping that they mightenable him to do so. He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, andnew knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the occasion.He was resolved to call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of hispassion but how was he to begin? There was the difficulty. He wasnow seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute ortwo, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after herlast slight ebullition of grief.
"Mrs. Greenow," he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; "dearestMrs. Greenow; darling Mrs. Greenow, will you be my wife? There! Ihave said it at last, and I mean it. Everything that I've got shallbe yours. Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart. As forlove;--oh, Arabella, if you only knew me! I don't think there's aman in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am. Ever since Ifirst saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I'venot known what I've been about. If you'll ask them at home, they'lltell you that I've not been able to look after anything about theplace,--not as it should be done. I haven't really. I don't supposeI've opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July."
"And has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?"
"Upon my word it has. I can't move about anywhere without thinkingabout you. My mind's made up; I won't stay at Oileymead unless youwill com
e and be its mistress."
"Not stay at Oileymead?"
"No, indeed. I'll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What'sthe use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart? Icouldn't do it, Mrs. Greenow; I couldn't, indeed. Of course I've goteverything there that money can buy,--but it's all of no use to a manthat's in love. Do you know, I've come quite to despise money andstock, and all that sort of thing. I haven't had my banker's bookhome these last three months. Only think of that now."
"But how can I help you, Mr. Cheesacre?"
"Just say one word, and the thing'll be done. Say you'll be my wife?I'll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As for your fortune, I don'tcare that for it! I'm not like somebody else; it's yourself I want.You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck allthe days of your life."
"No, Mr. Cheesacre; it cannot be."
"And why not? Look here, Arabella!" At these words he rose from hischair, and coming immediately before her, went down on both kneesso close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping fromhim. There could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherry-brandy.There he was, well down on his knees; but he had not got down solow without some little cracking and straining on the part of thegaiters with which his legs were encompassed. He, in his passion, hadprobably omitted to notice this; but Mrs. Greenow, who was more coolin her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not beable to rise with ease.
"Mr. Cheesacre, don't make a fool of yourself. Get up," said she.
"Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!"
"Then you'll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient. Iwon't have you take hold of my hand, Mr. Cheesacre. I tell you to havedone." Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made noattempt to rise.
"I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life," said she."If you don't get up, I'll push you over. There; don't you hear?There's somebody coming."
But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the lady's, did nothear. "I'll never get up," said he, "till you have bid me hope."
"Bid you play the fiddle. Get away from my knees, at any rate.There;--he'll be in the room now before--"
Mr. Cheesacre disturbed.]
Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was openedwhile he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standingposition. The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered. "Ibeg ten thousand pardons," said he, "but as I did not see Jeannette,I ventured to come in. May I venture to congratulate my friendCheesacre on his success?"
In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, andwith evident difficulty. "I'll trouble you to leave the room, CaptainBellfield," said he. "I'm particularly engaged with Mrs. Greenow, asany gentleman might have seen."
"There wasn't the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow,"said the Captain. "Shall I wish you joy?"
"I'll trouble you to leave the room, sir," said Cheesacre, walking upto him.
"Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow will desire me to do so," said theCaptain.
Then Mrs. Greenow felt herself called upon to speak.
"Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room aplace for quarrelling. Captain Bellfield, lest there should be anymisconception, I must beg you to understand that the position inwhich you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.It was not with my consent that he was there."
"I can easily believe that, Mrs. Greenow," said the Captain.
"Who cares what you believe, sir?" said Mr. Cheesacre.
"Gentlemen! gentlemen! this is really unkind. Captain Bellfield, Ithink I had better ask you to withdraw."
"By all means," said Mr. Cheesacre.
"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre adefinite answer after what has occurred--"
"Of course," said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go. "I'll takeanother opportunity of paying my respects to you. Perhaps I might beallowed to come this evening?"
To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with an uncertain nod, and thenthe Captain went. As soon as the door was closed behind his back, Mr.Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position,but to this Mrs. Greenow decidedly objected. If he were allowed togo down again, there was no knowing what force might be necessary toraise him. "Mr. Cheesacre," she said, "let there be an end to thislittle farce between us."
"Farce!" said he, standing with his hand on his heart, and his legsand knickerbockers well displayed.
"It is certainly either a farce or a mistake. If the latter,--and Ihave been at all to blame,--I ask your pardon most sincerely."
"But you'll be Mrs. Cheesacre; won't you?"
"No, Mr. Cheesacre; no. One husband is enough for any woman, and minelies buried at Birmingham."
"Oh, damn it!" said he, in utter disgust at this further referenceto Mr. Greenow. The expression, at such a moment, militated againstcourtesy; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man hadbeen subjected to provocation.
"Let us part friends," said she, offering him her hand.
But he turned his back upon her, for there was something in his eyethat he wanted to hide. I believe that he really did love her, andthat at this moment he would have taken her, even though he hadlearned that her fortune was gone.
"Will you not give me your hand," said she, "in token that there isno anger between us?"
"Do think about it again--do!" said he. "If there's anything youlike to have changed, I'll change it at once. I'll give up Oileymeadaltogether, if you don't like being so near the farm-yard. I'll giveup anything; so I will. Mrs. Greenow, if you only knew how I've set myheart upon it!" And now, though his back was turned, the whimperingof his voice told plainly that tears were in his eyes.
She was a little touched. No woman would feel disposed to marry a mansimply because he cried, and perhaps few women would be less likelyto give way to such tenderness than Mrs. Greenow. She understood menand women too well, and had seen too much both of the world's roughside and of its smooth side to fall into such a blunder as that; butshe was touched. "My friend," she said, putting her hand upon hisarm, "think no more of it."
"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering in hisearnestness.
"No, no, no," said she, still touching him with her hand. "Why, Mr.Cheesacre, how can you bring yourself to care for an old woman likeme, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get akind word from you?"
"I don't want any young lady," said he.
"There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as anygirl I know."
"Psha! Charlie Fairstairs, indeed!" The very idea of having such abride palmed off upon him did something to restore him to his manlycourage.
"Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own,and who is as accomplished as she is good-looking."
"She's nothing to me, Mrs. Greenow."
"That's because you never asked her to be anything. If I get her tocome back to Yarmouth next summer, will you think about it? You wanta wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over.It would be so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?"And again she put her hand upon his arm.
"Mrs. Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the worldthat I can think of."
"And that's my niece."
"And that's yourself. I'm a broken-hearted man,--I am, indeed. Ididn't ever think I should feel so much about a thing of the kind--Ididn't, really. I hardly know what to do with myself; but I supposeI'd better go back to Oileymead." He had become so painfullyunconscious of his new coat and his knickerbockers that it wasimpossible not to pity him. "I shall always hate the place now," hesaid,--"always."
"That will pass away. You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'dtake Kate for your queen."
"And what'll you do, Mrs. Greenow?"
"What shall I do?"--"Yes; what will you do?"
"That is, if you marry Kate? Why, I'll come and stay with you half m
ytime, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should."
"But about--." Then he hesitated, and she asked him of what he wasthinking.
"You don't mean to take that man Bellfield, do you?"
"Come, Mr. Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy. What right can you have toask me whether I shall take any man or no man? The chances are that Ishall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not goingto give any pledge about it to you or to any one."
"You don't know that man, Mrs. Greenow; you don't, indeed. I tellit you as your friend. Does not it stand to reason, when he has gotnothing in the world, that he must be a beggar? It's all very wellsaying that when a man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say muchabout his money; but you won't make me believe that any man will makea good husband who hasn't got a shilling. And for lies, there's nobeating him!"
"Why, then, has he been such a friend of yours?"
"Well, because I've been foolish. I took up with him just because helooked pleasant, I suppose."
"And you want to prevent me from doing the same thing."
"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should dohim a mischief; it is, really. I don't think I could stand it;--amean, skulking beggar! I suppose I'd better go now?"
"Certainly, if that's the way you choose to talk about my friends."
"Friends, indeed! Well, I won't say any more at present. I suppose ifI was to talk for ever it wouldn't be any good?"
"Come and talk to Kate Vavasor for ever, Mr. Cheesacre."
To this he made no reply, but went forth from the house, and gothis gig, and drove himself home to Oileymead, thinking of hisdisappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover. "I didn'tever think I should ever care so much about anything," he said, as hetook himself up to bed that night.
That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had saidhe would do, but he was not admitted. "Her mistress was very bad witha headache," Jeannette said.
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