Complete Works of Bram Stoker (134 page)

She awoke with the first ray of sunrise which stole into the room, and after praying long and earnestly and having made her toilet, finished the packing of her valise. Then she strapped it ready for travel, so that when Abigail came up herself earlier than had been intended, that there should be nothing left undone which her young mistress should want, she was amazed to find her ready for the journey.

“Dear heart!” she ejaculated, “you never strapped and all, Miss Betty, instead of lettin’ me see to it And I’ll be bound to say that you’ve forgotten something.”

“No, Abigail dear, I think not. I have with me all that I want.” But the old woman was not yet quite satisfied, and would have unstrapped the valise and gone through it all afresh had not Betty diverted her attention by asking her to brew for her a dish of tea before she started on her journey. Abigail hurried off to attend herself to such an unwonted order as a dish of tea in the early morning. In 1717 tea. was not a common luxury, and its preparation was not to be lightly entrusted to any one of minor importance in the household. Then for awhile Betty was idle, but the idleness did not distress her at all. She seemed to take the necessary waiting as a part of the work which she had in hand and to be quite content to exercise her patience. By and by Aunt Priscilla joined her, and, as she had an infinity of questions to ask and directions to give, the time flew till breakfast.

It was still early when Robin, with his mistress’s valise strapped behind his saddle, stood ready at the gate. He was not kept long waiting, for very shortly Betty with a last hug and kiss to her aunt and her old nurse, was swung into her saddle, ready to depart. Abigail hung round her to the last, adjusting the folds of her habit, seeing that her foot was well, in the stirrup, and in every little act of thoughtfulness manifesting her love.

At last she was off, and presently turning in her saddle, as the road debouched at Swan Walk, looked back with one last lingering look at the old house where so much of her life had been passed, and which had held for her so much hope and joy. The last wrench is not usually the least, and into those few moments was gathered half a lifetime of pain. But this too passed by; she was now in truth fully embarked on her enterprise, whether for good or ill.

In due time she reached Finsbury Square, and filled Hester with surprise and consternation at her unexpected movement Miss Fenton was old-fashioned to the last degree, and looked upon such a journey as Betty contemplated as little less than a tempting of Providence. She was, however, delighted to see her, and, as usual, made her welcome and tried forthwith to persuade her to prolong her stay for at least a few days. She was more surprised than ever, when, after a short rest, Betty announced her wish to go out into the town to make some purchases, and on volunteering to come with her was gently told that the business she was concerned in was of a very special nature, connected, with a wish expressed Jong before by her great-grandfather. Hester, as Betty had reason to believe, knew nothing of the existence of the trust-money, and the latter thought that such a real excuse for privacy was better than any fictitious reason which she could invent. So Betty went forth alone, and, having made previous inquiries, found her way at last to the banking house of Mr. Child. She had been there before on various occasions with the Alderman, but had always been driven in a coach or carried in a chair, so that she did not know the various streets and the turnings necessary to take. It was a long walk from Finsbury Square, and she was well tired with both the exercise and the unaccustomed bustle of the streets when she arrived at the house. Having asked to see Mr. Child himself, she was shown into a private room and sat down to wait. The day was intensely hot and the chair soft and enticing, and gradually, as she leaned back, the hum of the city life which floated in through the open windows died away, her eyes closed and she sank into gentle sleep. She suddenly wakened to find Mr. Child standing in front of her, and with him a grave clerk who was concealing behind his extended hand the remains of a surreptitious smile. She was filled with confusion, and her pale face became aglow as she stammered out an apology. The kindly banker, however, at once set her at ease and asked if she were really tired, and would she not rest awhile with his daughters who had just returned from a row upon the river. Betty thanked him gratefully but declined, and asked him to be so good as not to make mention of the fact of her visit, as she had come in all privacy to withdraw the trust-money in accordance with the wish expressed to her by her great-grandfather. The banker at once fell into her views, and having obtained her formal signature, handed over to her, in notes of the Bank of England, the sum of a thousand guineas. He offered to have the money sent for her where she would by a trusty messenger, but as this would have at once betrayed her plans she refused; whereupon Mr. Child said that he would have her conveyed in his own chair to what place she wished, so that she could regain the Alderman’s house, where she told him she was stopping, without any unnecessary fatigue. And so, not late in the afternoon, Betty, having been set down in Finsbury Circus, re-entered the house of the Alderman. Going straight to her room she deposited in her valise the sum of money which she had received, and then went downstairs to sit with Hester. During her absence the Alderman had been at home, and hearing that she had gone out on a matter of private business at once guessed that it was connected with the trust-money. Without taking Hester into his confidence he hastened away to Temple Bar to try to find her. As he went up Fleet Street she came down it, but neither saw the other. In the evening when he came home he tried to find out indirectly from Betty if his suspicion was correct, but she was on her guard and took care not to betray herself; after a little friendly skirmishing he gave up the contest, for the time, and decided to await the development of circumstances.

Betty retired early, as she was to be ready to start in the morning betimes. She bade an affectionate good-night to both Hester and the Alderman, and again thanked them very tenderly for all their manifold kindnesses to her. When securely locked and bolted in her bedchamber, she opened her valise and took from it the white dress which she had exchanged for the one placed there by Abigail, and also the case with the golden buttons. Then taking her housewife, she proceeded to sew down the front of the dress the set of buttons. She then packed in the valise the dress which she had hitherto worn, and laid out ready to wear in the morning the white dress now so richly adorned, and also the grey dust-wrap which was to cover it Lastly, she placed the case of the buttons back in the valise, and taking from the same the old dagger hid it in the pocket of the white dress. This having been done she said her prayers  —  long and earnest they were  —  and betook herself to bed and to sleep.

At early morn she was awake, and rising, dressed herself even to the dust-wrap. Having completed her packing and strapped her valise, she sat and waited patiently hour by hour till some of the family should seek her. In the city household the hours were fairly early, and Hester was with her a little after seven. She was once more astonished to see her dressed and ready for the road, and at first rallied her on her hurry, speaking as though she was going to meet her betrothed, and as though the time could not run fast enough to satisfy her. Seeing, however, that she did not blush or become in any way embarrassed, she gave over this pleasantry and asked many questions to make sure of the perfection of all preparation. When she examined the dust-wrap to see that Betty was properly attired for travel, she expressed her amazement at the way in which her cousin had dressed herself for the journey.

“Law, child!” she said, “you never surely put on a white dress to ride through the dusty roads; for what with the drought, they say that out of London the roads be inches deep in dust. And as to wearing your beautiful buttons, it’s simply a tempting of Providence, and of highwaymen; that it is! But there, child, I know it’s no use my scolding you, for what your mind’s set on that you will do, though I argued and barged myself hoarse. But do ‘ee be careful and keep yourself well covered, or folk will think you are going to a bridal all unknown to your own kin.”

“Oh, Cousin Hester, surely to wear white is not always to be going to be married!”

“No, child, surely not! It would be foolishness to say so. The dead wear white, so far as that goes; but then you don’t put gold buttons on grave-clothes  —  and such gold buttons too, and coming from where yours did. Neither do you put on either white or buttons to travel on a lonely road where there have been enough robberies to make one fearsome. Why, my dear, I’d no more put on my gold ornaments for such a journey, and with no more escort than old Robin carrying my valise behind me, than I’d  —  than I’d dream of going to St. Paul’s to say my prayers alone. Well, anyhow, if you will have things with you that you oughtn’t to have, you ought at least to see that you have with you all that you should have. Are your keys all right? and your housewife? and your purse? and ”

“Oh yes, Hester; I have everything quite right,” interrupted Betty, for she was conscious of that sharp dagger in her pocket as well as the parcel of banknotes, and she feared lest Hester, in her kindly zeal to ascertain that nothing had been forgotten, should make the discovery of either. When they went to breakfast they found the Alderman waiting them. He was full of concern for the journey, and wanted  —  right or wrong  —  to send one or two of his apprentices, armed, with Betty, for he said he feared she might have some trouble by the way. The Newmarket road had several times of late been beset by footpads and highwaymen, and it was hardly safe or right for a young lady to go out alone, or with only such attendance as she had. Then Hester spoke of the white dress and the golden buttons; and the Alderman, then and there, announced his intention of going on with her himself rather than see her travel alone on such a journey.

So Betty, beginning to be afraid that some real obstacle to the accomplishment of her purpose might arise out of their solicitude for her, laid herself out to overcome their fears. She protested that there was no danger; that the journey was only a very short one, a few miles at most, and through roads that were much frequented; that she did not fear any highwaymen; and that, after all, she was going to her own place, where she had passed a large portion of her youth; and that it would seem strange and more than ungracious to the people who had always treated her so well to appear to be afraid to come amongst them alone or without escort; and she knew that neither Hester nor her dear, kind Alderman would like such a thing.

And so, though both the old folk knew that the argument was bad, and were not a bit satisfied as to either the safety or the propriety of the journey, they gave in to her winning gentleness and acquiesced in her going. They comforted themselves with the thought that after all, considering the number of people who travelled, there were very few robberies, that the very fact of Betty’s journey being so unusual would disarm their suspicions, and that no man  —  even a highwayman  —  could find it in him to rob so sweet and gentle a child as Betty Pole.

As to Betty herself, it was a sore trouble to her to mislead, even to so small an extent, the friends who loved her and whom she loved and trusted. It is one of the penalties of ill-doing, and perhaps not the least, that the innocent that we fain would spare and hold aloof from all evil, suffer and run danger of deterioration, directly or indirectly, for our faults. When the ship goes down, many an atom that else had floated in good time safe to land and survived the wreckage, is sucked into the whirling maelstrom and disappears for ever.

But no matter how prolonged partings may be, the time comes at last; the forenoon had still some time to run when Betty left the house at Finsbury Square, and, turning back at the corner, saw her friends still waving their hands as they stood in the open doorway.

CHAPTER VII

NEAR MUCH HADAM

IN all her life before, Betty had never been so gentle as she was on that journey; and old Robin, jogging along on his stout roadster, watched her with affectionate eyes and marvelled. Her love and tenderness seemed to go out to every living thing. For her the summer pervaded all things, and there was in her heart  —  in one of her hearts  —  a joyousness that bubbled up perpetually. For she had two hearts now. One which was full of pain and weariness, for which life had all gone by and which was but like the ash of an extinct fire, with naught remaining but sentience and the power to suffer pain. The other heart was new and fresh  —  such a heart as might be in the breast of one who had been born again in a new and a higher life.

The roads were dusty, and the sun glared fiercely as the noon drew nigh. The trees and grass were losing the freshness of their green; but there were places of deep shadow where the trees arched over the roadway, and there were many purling rills which made music cool and sweet as the waters gurgled in the chasms of their stony bed or flashed as they fell. In most of these calm, restful places there was ever some life or other to interest the traveller, and she lingered by them so long and so often that Robin began seriously to think it his duty to remonstrate with her on the delay, and to call her attention to the length of the journey still before them. When, however, he saw her look at the cattle or the horses or the very birds so lovingly, and heard her speak to them so prettily  —  as though they had souls and understandings of their own  —  he simply admired her innocent sweetness and held his peace. But as the afternoon drew on, and they had still some way to go before reaching Bishop’s Stortford, he made up his mind to speak, and stammeringly advised that they should get on a little faster lest the night should close in before they were at Much Hadam.

Betty thanked him sweetly, and said that she would hurry if he wished it, but that it seemed so nice to be in the real country, and the horses enjoyed it so much more than hurrying on, that she had not the heart to hasten. So Robin made speed to tell his lady that his only dread was that the journey might be so prolonged that some mischance might happen. Then Betty again thanked him for his thoughtfulness, and quickened her pace somewhat, so that before long they arrived at Bishop’s Stortford, where she put up for awhile at “The Rayne-deere” and had dinner. As they had arrived some time after the regular dinner-hour, it was necessary to wait till a fresh meal had been cooked; and then the eating of dinner took some little time  —  for Betty, though not for Robin who got through a very large dinner in a small space of time.