by Thomas Hardy
Winterborne, in his modesty, or indifference, had mentioned noparticular hour in his invitation and accordingly Mr. Melbury and hisfamily, expecting no other guests, chose their own time, which chancedto be rather early in the afternoon, by reason of the somewhat quickerdespatch than usual of the timber-merchant's business that day. Toshow their sense of the unimportance of the occasion, they walked quiteslowly to the house, as if they were merely out for a ramble, and goingto nothing special at all; or at most intending to pay a casual calland take a cup of tea.
At this hour stir and bustle pervaded the interior of Winterborne'sdomicile from cellar to apple-loft. He had planned an elaborate hightea for six o'clock or thereabouts, and a good roaring supper to comeon about eleven. Being a bachelor of rather retiring habits, the wholeof the preparations devolved upon himself and his trusty man andfamiliar, Robert Creedle, who did everything that required doing, frommaking Giles's bed to catching moles in his field. He was a survivalfrom the days when Giles's father held the homestead, and Giles was aplaying boy.
These two, with a certain dilatoriousness which appertained to both,were now in the heat of preparation in the bake-house, expecting nobodybefore six o'clock. Winterborne was standing before the brick oven inhis shirt-sleeves, tossing in thorn sprays, and stirring about theblazing mass with a long-handled, three-pronged Beelzebub kind of fork,the heat shining out upon his streaming face and making his eyes likefurnaces, the thorns crackling and sputtering; while Creedle, havingranged the pastry dishes in a row on the table till the oven should beready, was pressing out the crust of a final apple-pie with arolling-pin. A great pot boiled on the fire, and through the open doorof the back kitchen a boy was seen seated on the fender, emptying thesnuffers and scouring the candlesticks, a row of the latter standingupside down on the hob to melt out the grease.
Looking up from the rolling-pin, Creedle saw passing the window firstthe timber-merchant, in his second-best suit, Mrs. Melbury in her bestsilk, and Grace in the fashionable attire which, in part brought homewith her from the Continent, she had worn on her visit to Mrs.Charmond's. The eyes of the three had been attracted to theproceedings within by the fierce illumination which the oven threw outupon the operators and their utensils.
"Lord, Lord! if they baint come a'ready!" said Creedle.
"No--hey?" said Giles, looking round aghast; while the boy in thebackground waved a reeking candlestick in his delight. As there was nohelp for it, Winterborne went to meet them in the door-way.
"My dear Giles, I see we have made a mistake in the time," said thetimber-merchant's wife, her face lengthening with concern.
"Oh, it is not much difference. I hope you'll come in."
"But this means a regular randyvoo!" said Mr. Melbury, accusingly,glancing round and pointing towards the bake-house with his stick.
"Well, yes," said Giles.
"And--not Great Hintock band, and dancing, surely?"
"I told three of 'em they might drop in if they'd nothing else to do,"Giles mildly admitted.
"Now, why the name didn't ye tell us 'twas going to be a serious kindof thing before? How should I know what folk mean if they don't say?Now, shall we come in, or shall we go home and come back along in acouple of hours?"
"I hope you'll stay, if you'll be so good as not to mind, now you arehere. I shall have it all right and tidy in a very little time. Iought not to have been so backward." Giles spoke quite anxiously forone of his undemonstrative temperament; for he feared that if theMelburys once were back in their own house they would not be disposedto turn out again.
"'Tis we ought not to have been so forward; that's what 'tis," said Mr.Melbury, testily. "Don't keep us here in the sitting-room; lead on tothe bakehouse, man. Now we are here we'll help ye get ready for therest. Here, mis'ess, take off your things, and help him out in hisbaking, or he won't get done to-night. I'll finish heating the oven,and set you free to go and skiver up them ducks." His eye had passedwith pitiless directness of criticism into yet remote recesses ofWinterborne's awkwardly built premises, where the aforesaid birds werehanging.
"And I'll help finish the tarts," said Grace, cheerfully.
"I don't know about that," said her father. "'Tisn't quite so much inyour line as it is in your mother-law's and mine."
"Of course I couldn't let you, Grace!" said Giles, with some distress.
"I'll do it, of course," said Mrs. Melbury, taking off her silk train,hanging it up to a nail, carefully rolling back her sleeves, pinningthem to her shoulders, and stripping Giles of his apron for her own use.
So Grace pottered idly about, while her father and his wife helped onthe preparations. A kindly pity of his household management, whichWinterborne saw in her eyes whenever he caught them, depressed him muchmore than her contempt would have done.
Creedle met Giles at the pump after a while, when each of the otherswas absorbed in the difficulties of a cuisine based on utensils,cupboards, and provisions that were strange to them. He groaned to theyoung man in a whisper, "This is a bruckle het, maister, I'm muchafeared! Who'd ha' thought they'd ha' come so soon?"
The bitter placidity of Winterborne's look adumbrated the misgivings hedid not care to express. "Have you got the celery ready?" he asked,quickly.
"Now that's a thing I never could mind; no, not if you'd paid me insilver and gold. And I don't care who the man is, I says that a stickof celery that isn't scrubbed with the scrubbing-brush is not clean."
"Very well, very well! I'll attend to it. You go and get 'emcomfortable in-doors."
He hastened to the garden, and soon returned, tossing the stalks toCreedle, who was still in a tragic mood. "If ye'd ha' married, d'yesee, maister," he said, "this caddle couldn't have happened to us."
Everything being at last under way, the oven set, and all done thatcould insure the supper turning up ready at some time or other, Gilesand his friends entered the parlor, where the Melburys again droppedinto position as guests, though the room was not nearly so warm andcheerful as the blazing bakehouse. Others now arrived, among themFarmer Bawtree and the hollow-turner, and tea went off very well.
Grace's disposition to make the best of everything, and to wink atdeficiencies in Winterborne's menage, was so uniform and persistentthat he suspected her of seeing even more deficiencies than he wasaware of. That suppressed sympathy which had showed in her face eversince her arrival told him as much too plainly.
"This muddling style of house-keeping is what you've not lately beenused to, I suppose?" he said, when they were a little apart.
"No; but I like it; it reminds me so pleasantly that everything here indear old Hintock is just as it used to be. The oil is--not quite nice;but everything else is."
"The oil?"
"On the chairs, I mean; because it gets on one's dress. Still, mine isnot a new one."
Giles found that Creedle, in his zeal to make things look bright, hadsmeared the chairs with some greasy kind of furniture-polish, andrefrained from rubbing it dry in order not to diminish the mirror-likeeffect that the mixture produced as laid on. Giles apologized andcalled Creedle; but he felt that the Fates were against him.