CHAPTER LXXXVII.
DOWN AT CARBURY.
When Roger Carbury returned to Suffolk, after seeing his cousins inWelbeck Street, he was by no means contented with himself. That heshould be discontented generally with the circumstances of his lifewas a matter of course. He knew that he was farther removed thanever from the object on which his whole mind was set. Had HettaCarbury learned all the circumstances of Paul's engagement withMrs. Hurtle before she had confessed her love to Paul,--so that herheart might have been turned against the man before she had made herconfession,--then, he thought, she might at last have listened tohim. Even though she had loved the other man, she might have at lastdone so, as her love would have been buried in her own bosom. But thetale had been told after the fashion which was most antagonistic tohis own interests. Hetta had never heard Mrs. Hurtle's name till shehad given herself away, and had declared to all her friends that shehad given herself away to this man, who was so unworthy of her. Themore Roger thought of this, the more angry he was with Paul Montague,and the more convinced that that man had done him an injury which hecould never forgive.
But his grief extended even beyond that. Though he was never tiredof swearing to himself that he would not forgive Paul Montague, yetthere was present to him a feeling that an injury was being done tothe man, and that he was in some sort responsible for that injury.He had declined to tell Hetta any part of the story about Mrs.Hurtle,--actuated by a feeling that he ought not to betray the trustput in him by a man who was at the time his friend; and he had toldnothing. But no one knew so well as he did the fact that all theattention latterly given by Paul to the American woman had by nomeans been the effect of love, but had come from a feeling on Paul'spart that he could not desert the woman he had once loved, whenshe asked him for his kindness. If Hetta could know everythingexactly,--if she could look back and read the state of Paul's mind ashe, Roger, could read it,--then she would probably forgive the man,or perhaps tell herself that there was nothing for her to forgive.Roger was anxious that Hetta's anger should burn hot,--because ofthe injury done to himself. He thought that there were ample reasonswhy Paul Montague should be punished,--why Paul should be utterlyexpelled from among them, and allowed to go his own course. But itwas not right that the man should be punished on false grounds. Itseemed to Roger now that he was doing an injustice to his enemy byrefraining from telling all that he knew.
As to the girl's misery in losing her lover, much as he loved her,true as it was that he was willing to devote himself and all thathe had to her happiness, I do not think that at the present momenthe was disturbed in that direction. It is hardly natural, perhaps,that a man should love a woman with such devotion as to wish to makeher happy by giving her to another man. Roger told himself thatPaul would be an unsafe husband, a fickle husband,--one who mightbe carried hither and thither both in his circumstances and hisfeelings,--and that it would be better for Hetta that she should notmarry him; but at the same time he was unhappy as he reflected thathe himself was a party to a certain amount of deceit.
And yet he had said not a word. He had referred Hetta to the manhimself. He thought that he knew, and he did indeed accurately know,the state of Hetta's mind. She was wretched because she thought thatwhile her lover was winning her love, while she herself was willinglyallowing him to win her love, he was dallying with another woman, andmaking to that other woman promises the same as those he made to her.This was not true. Roger knew that it was not true. But when he triedto quiet his conscience by saying that they must fight it out amongthemselves, he felt himself to be uneasy under that assurance.
His life at Carbury, at this time, was very desolate. He had becometired of the priest, who, in spite of various repulses, had never fora moment relaxed his efforts to convert his friend. Roger had toldhim once that he must beg that religion might not be made the subjectof further conversation between them. In answer to this, FatherBarham had declared that he would never consent to remain as anintimate associate with any man on those terms. Roger had persistedin his stipulation, and the priest had then suggested that it washis host's intention to banish him from Carbury Hall. Roger had madeno reply, and the priest had of course been banished. But even thisadded to his misery. Father Barham was a gentleman, was a good man,and in great penury. To ill-treat such a one, to expel such a onefrom his house, seemed to Roger to be an abominable cruelty. He wasunhappy with himself about the priest, and yet he could not bid theman come back to him. It was already being said of him among hisneighbours, at Eardly, at Caversham, and at the Bishop's palace, thathe either had become or was becoming a Roman Catholic, under thepriest's influence. Mrs. Yeld had even taken upon herself to writeto him a most affectionate letter, in which she said very little asto any evidence that had reached her as to Roger's defection, butdilated at very great length on the abominations of a certain ladywho is supposed to indulge in gorgeous colours.
He was troubled, too, about old Daniel Ruggles, the farmer at Sheep'sAcre, who had been so angry because his niece would not marry JohnCrumb. Old Ruggles, when abandoned by Ruby and accused by hisneighbours of personal cruelty to the girl, had taken freely to thatsource of consolation which he found to be most easily within hisreach. Since Ruby had gone he had been drunk every day, and wasmaking himself generally a scandal and a nuisance. His landlordhad interfered with his usual kindness, and the old man had alwaysdeclared that his niece and John Crumb were the cause of it all;for now, in his maudlin misery, he attributed as much blame to thelover as he did to the girl. John Crumb wasn't in earnest. If hehad been in earnest he would have gone after her to London at once.No;--he wouldn't invite Ruby to come back. If Ruby would come back,repentant, full of sorrow,--and hadn't been and made a fool ofherself in the meantime,--then he'd think of taking her back. In themeantime, with circumstances in their present condition, he evidentlythought that he could best face the difficulties of the world by anunfaltering adhesion to gin, early in the day and all day long. This,too, was a grievance to Roger Carbury.
But he did not neglect his work, the chief of which at the presentmoment was the care of the farm which he kept in his own hands. Hewas making hay at this time in certain meadows down by the riverside; and was standing by while the men were loading a cart, when hesaw John Crumb approaching across the field. He had not seen Johnsince the eventful journey to London; nor had he seen him in London;but he knew well all that had occurred,--how the dealer in pollardhad thrashed his cousin, Sir Felix, how he had been locked up by thepolice and then liberated,--and how he was now regarded in Bungayas a hero, as far as arms were concerned, but as being very "soft"in the matter of love. The reader need hardly be told that Roger wasnot at all disposed to quarrel with Mr. Crumb, because the victimof Crumb's heroism had been his own cousin. Crumb had acted well,and had never said a word about Sir Felix since his return to thecountry. No doubt he had now come to talk about his love,--and inorder that his confessions might not be made before all the assembledhaymakers, Roger Carbury hurried to meet him. There was soonevident on Crumb's broad face a whole sunshine of delight. As Rogerapproached him he began to laugh aloud, and to wave a bit of paperthat he had in his hands. "She's a coomin; she's a coomin," were thefirst words he uttered. Roger knew very well that in his friend'smind there was but one "she" in the world, and that the name of thatshe was Ruby Ruggles.
"She's a coomin; she's a coomin."]
"I am delighted to hear it," said Roger. "She has made it up with hergrandfather?"
"Don't know now't about grandfeyther. She have made it up wi' me.Know'd she would when I'd polish'd t'other un off a bit;--know'd shewould."
"Has she written to you, then?"
"Well, squoire,--she ain't; not just herself. I do suppose that isn'tthe way they does it. But it's all as one." And then Mr. Crumb thrustMrs. Hurtle's note into Roger Carbury's hand.
Roger certainly was not predisposed to think well or kindly of Mrs.Hurtle. Since he had first known Mrs. Hurtle's name, when PaulMontague had told the story of his engagem
ent on his return fromAmerica, Roger had regarded her as a wicked, intriguing, bad woman.It may, perhaps, be confessed that he was prejudiced against allAmericans, looking upon Washington much as he did upon Jack Cade orWat Tyler; and he pictured to himself all American women as beingloud, masculine, and atheistical. But it certainly did seem that inthis instance Mrs. Hurtle was endeavouring to do a good turn frompure charity. "She is a lady," Crumb began to explain, "who do beliving with Mrs. Pipkin; and she is a lady as is a lady."
Roger could not fully admit the truth of this assertion; but heexplained that he, too, knew something of Mrs. Hurtle, and that hethought it probable that what she said of Ruby might be true. "True,squoire!" said Crumb, laughing with his whole face. "I ha' nae adoubt it's true. What's again its being true? When I had dropped intot'other fellow, of course she made her choice. It was me as was toblame, because I didn't do it before. I ought to ha' dropped into himwhen I first heard as he was arter her. It's that as girls like. So,squoire, I'm just going again to Lon'on right away."
Roger suggested that old Ruggles would, of course, receive his niece;but as to this John expressed his supreme indifference. The old manwas nothing to him. Of course he would like to have the old man'smoney; but the old man couldn't live for ever, and he supposed thatthings would come right in time. But this he knew,--that he wasn'tgoing to cringe to the old man about his money. When Roger observedthat it would be better that Ruby should have some home to which shemight at once return, John adverted with a renewed grin to all thesubstantial comforts of his own house. It seemed to be his idea, thaton arriving in London he would at once take Ruby away to church andbe married to her out of hand. He had thrashed his rival, and whatcause could there now be for delay?
But before he left the field he made one other speech to the squire."You ain't a'taken it amiss, squoire, 'cause he was coosin toyourself?"
"Not in the least, Mr. Crumb."
"That's koind now. I ain't a done the yong man a ha'porth o' harm,and I don't feel no grudge again him, and when me and Ruby's oncespliced, I'm darned if I don't give 'un a bottle of wine the firstday as he'll come to Bungay."
Roger did not feel himself justified in accepting this invitation onthe part of Sir Felix; but he renewed his assurance that he, on hisown part, thought that Crumb had behaved well in that matter of thestreet encounter, and he expressed a strong wish for the immediateand continued happiness of Mr. and Mrs. John Crumb.
"Oh, ay, we'll be 'appy, squoire," said Crumb as he went exulting outof the field.
On the day after this Roger Carbury received a letter which disturbedhim very much, and to which he hardly knew whether to return anyanswer, or what answer. It was from Paul Montague, and was written byhim but a few hours after he had left his letter for Hetta with hisown hands, at the door of her mother's house. Paul's letter to Rogerwas as follows:--
MY DEAR ROGER,--
Though I know that you have cast me off from you I cannot write to you in any other way, as any other way would be untrue. You can answer me, of course, as you please, but I do think that you will owe me an answer, as I appeal to you in the name of justice.
You know what has taken place between Hetta and myself. She had accepted me, and therefore I am justified in feeling sure that she must have loved me. But she has now quarrelled with me altogether, and has told me that I am never to see her again. Of course I don't mean to put up with this. Who would? You will say that it is no business of yours. But I think that you would not wish that she should be left under a false impression, if you could put her right.
Somebody has told her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. I suppose it was Felix, and that he had learned it from those people at Islington. But she has been told that which is untrue. Nobody knows and nobody can know the truth as you do. She supposes that I have willingly been passing my time with Mrs. Hurtle during the last two months, although during that very time I have asked for and have received the assurance of her love. Now, whether or no I have been to blame about Mrs. Hurtle,--as to which nothing at present need be said,--it is certainly the truth that her coming to England was not only not desired by me, but was felt by me to be the greatest possible misfortune. But after all that had passed I certainly owed it to her not to neglect her;--and this duty was the more incumbent on me as she was a foreigner and unknown to any one. I went down to Lowestoft with her at her request, having named the place to her as one known to myself, and because I could not refuse her so small a favour. You know that it was so, and you know also, as no one else does, that whatever courtesy I have shown to Mrs. Hurtle in England, I have been constrained to show her.
I appeal to you to let Hetta know that this is true. She had made me understand that not only her mother and brother, but you also, are well acquainted with the story of my acquaintance with Mrs. Hurtle. Neither Lady Carbury nor Sir Felix has ever known anything about it. You, and you only, have known the truth. And now, though at the present you are angry with me, I call upon you to tell Hetta the truth as you know it. You will understand me when I say that I feel that I am being destroyed by a false representation. I think that you, who abhor a falsehood, will see the justice of setting me right, at any rate as far as the truth can do so. I do not want you to say a word for me beyond that.
Yours always,
PAUL MONTAGUE.
What business is all that of mine? This, of course, was the firstfeeling produced in Roger's mind by Montague's letter. If Hetta hadreceived any false impression, it had not come from him. He had toldno stories against his rival, whether true or false. He had been soscrupulous that he had refused to say a word at all. And if any falseimpression had been made on Hetta's mind, either by circumstancesor by untrue words, had not Montague deserved any evil that mightfall upon him? Though every word in Montague's letter might be true,nevertheless, in the end, no more than justice would be done him,even should he be robbed at last of his mistress under erroneousimpressions. The fact that he had once disgraced himself by offeringto make Mrs. Hurtle his wife, rendered him unworthy of Hetta Carbury.Such, at least, was Roger Carbury's verdict as he thought over allthe circumstances. At any rate, it was no business of his to correctthese wrong impressions.
And yet he was ill at ease as he thought of it all. He did believethat every word in Montague's letter was true. Though he had beenvery indignant when he met Paul and Mrs. Hurtle together on the sandsat Lowestoft, he was perfectly convinced that the cause of theircoming there had been precisely that which Montague had stated.It took him two days to think over all this, two days of greatdiscomfort and unhappiness. After all, why should he be a dog in themanger? The girl did not care for him,--looked upon him as an old manto be regarded in a fashion altogether different from that in whichshe regarded Paul Montague. He had let his time for love-making goby, and now it behoved him, as a man, to take the world as he foundit, and not to lose himself in regrets for a kind of happiness whichhe could never attain. In such an emergency as this he should do whatwas fair and honest, without reference to his own feelings. And yetthe passion which dominated John Crumb altogether, which made themealman so intent on the attainment of his object as to render allother things indifferent to him for the time, was equally strong withRoger Carbury. Unfortunately for Roger, strong as his passion was,it was embarrassed by other feelings. It never occurred to Crumb tothink whether he was a fit husband for Ruby, or whether Ruby, havinga decided preference for another man, could be a fit wife for him.But with Roger there were a thousand surrounding difficulties tohamper him. John Crumb never doubted for a moment what he shoulddo. He had to get the girl, if possible, and he meant to get herwhatever she might cost him. He was always confident though sometimesperplexed. But Roger had no confidence. He knew that he should neverwin the game. In his sadder moments he felt that he ought not towin it. The people around him, from old fashion, still called himthe young squire! Why;--he felt himself at times to be eighty years
old,--so old that he was unfitted for intercourse with such juvenilespirits as those of his neighbour the bishop, and of his friendHepworth. Could he, by any training, bring himself to take herhappiness in hand, altogether sacrificing his own?
In such a mood as this he did at last answer his enemy's letter,--andhe answered it as follows:--
I do not know that I am concerned to meddle in your affairs at all. I have told no tale against you, and I do not know that I have any that I wish to tell in your favour, or that I could so tell if I did wish. I think that you have behaved badly to me, cruelly to Mrs. Hurtle, and disrespectfully to my cousin. Nevertheless, as you appeal to me on a certain point for evidence which I can give, and which you say no one else can give, I do acknowledge that, in my opinion, Mrs. Hurtle's presence in England has not been in accordance with your wishes, and that you accompanied her to Lowestoft, not as her lover but as an old friend whom you could not neglect.
ROGER CARBURY.
Paul Montague, Esq.
You are at liberty to show this letter to Miss Carbury, if you please; but if she reads part she should read the whole!
There was more perhaps of hostility in this letter than of thatspirit of self-sacrifice to which Roger intended to train himself;and so he himself felt after the letter had been dispatched.
The Way We Live Now Page 89