Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (226 page)

CHAPTER 32.

A ROOM IN ENCKWORTH COURT

‘Are you sure the report is true?’

‘I am sure that what I say is true, my lord; but it is hardly to be called a report.  It is a secret, known at present to nobody but myself and Mrs. Doncastle’s maid.’

The speaker was Lord Mountclere’s trusty valet, and the conversation was between him and the viscount in a dressing-room at Enckworth Court, on the evening after the meeting of archaeologists at Corvsgate Castle.

‘H’m-h’m; the daughter of a butler.  Does Mrs. Doncastle know of this yet, or Mr. Neigh, or any of their friends?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘You are quite positive?’

‘Quite positive.  I was, by accident, the first that Mrs. Menlove named the matter to, and I told her it might be much to her advantage if she took particular care it should go no further.’

‘Mrs. Menlove!  Who’s she?’

‘The lady’s-maid at Mrs. Doncastle’s, my lord.’

‘O, ah — of course.  You may leave me now, Tipman.’  Lord Mountclere remained in thought for a moment.  ‘A clever little puss, to hoodwink us all like this — hee-hee!’ he murmured.  ‘Her education — how finished; and her beauty — so seldom that I meet with such a woman.  Cut down my elms to please a butler’s daughter — what a joke — certainly a good joke!  To interest me in her on the right side instead of the wrong was strange.  But it can be made to change sides — hee-hee! — it can be made to change sides!  Tipman!’

Tipman came forward from the doorway.

‘Will you take care that that piece of gossip you mentioned to me is not repeated in this house?  I strongly disapprove of talebearing of any sort, and wish to hear no more of this.  Such stories are never true.  Answer me — do you hear?  Such stories are never true.’

‘I beg pardon, but I think your lordship will find this one true,’ said the valet quietly.

‘Then where did she get her manners and education?  Do you know?’

‘I do not, my lord.  I suppose she picked ‘em up by her wits.’

‘Never mind what you suppose,’ said the old man impatiently.  ‘Whenever I ask a question of you tell me what you know, and no more.’

‘Quite so, my lord.  I beg your lordship’s pardon for supposing.’

‘H’m-h’m.  Have the fashion-books and plates arrived yet?’

‘
Le Follet
has, my lord; but not the others.’

‘Let me have it at once.  Always bring it to me at once.  Are there any handsome ones this time?’

‘They are much the same class of female as usual, I think, my lord,’ said Tipman, fetching the paper and laying it before him.

‘Yes, they are,’ said the viscount, leaning back and scrutinizing the faces of the women one by one, and talking softly to himself in a way that had grown upon him as his age increased.  ‘Yet they are very well: that one with her shoulder turned is pure and charming — the brown-haired one will pass.  All very harmless and innocent, but without character; no soul, or inspiration, or eloquence of eye.  What an eye was hers!  There is not a girl among them so beautiful. . . .  Tipman!  Come and take it away.  I don’t think I will subscribe to these papers any longer — how long have I subscribed?  Never mind — I take no interest in these things, and I suppose I must give them up.  What white article is that I see on the floor yonder?’

‘I can see nothing, my lord.’

‘Yes, yes, you can.  At the other end of the room.  It is a white handkerchief.  Bring it to me.’

‘I beg pardon, my lord, but I cannot see any white handkerchief.  Whereabouts does your lordship mean?’

‘There in the corner.  If it is not a handkerchief, what is it?  Walk along till you come to it — that is it; now a little further — now your foot is against it.’

‘O that — it is not anything.  It is the light reflected against the skirting, so that it looks like a white patch of something — that is all.’

‘H’m-hm.  My eyes — how weak they are!  I am getting old, that’s what it is: I am an old man.’

‘O no, my lord.’

‘Yes, an old man.’

‘Well, we shall all be old some day, and so will your lordship, I suppose; but as yet — ’

‘I tell you I am an old man!’

‘Yes, my lord — I did not mean to contradict.  An old man in one sense — old in a young man’s sense, but not in a house-of-parliament or historical sense.  A little oldish — I meant that, my lord.’

‘I may be an old man in one sense or in another sense in your mind; but let me tell you there are men older than I — ’

‘Yes, so there are, my lord.’

‘People may call me what they please, and you may be impertinent enough to repeat to me what they say, but let me tell you I am not a very old man after all.  I am not an old man.’

‘Old in knowledge of the world I meant, my lord, not in years.’

‘Well, yes.  Experience of course I cannot be without.  And I like what is beautiful.  Tipman, you must go to Knollsea; don’t send, but go yourself, as I wish nobody else to be concerned in this.  Go to Knollsea, and find out when the steamboat for Cherbourg starts; and when you have done that, I shall want you to send Taylor to me.  I wish Captain Strong to bring the
Fawn
round into Knollsea Bay.  Next week I may want you to go to Cherbourg in the yacht with me — if the Channel is pretty calm — and then perhaps to Rouen and Paris.  But I will speak of that to-morrow.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘Meanwhile I recommend that you and Mrs. Menlove repeat nothing you may have heard concerning the lady you just now spoke of.  Here is a slight present for Mrs. Menlove; and accept this for yourself.’  He handed money.

‘Your lordship may be sure we will not,’ the valet replied.

CHAPTER 33.

THE ENGLISH CHANNEL — NORMANDY

On Monday morning the little steamer
Speedwell
made her appearance round the promontory by Knollsea Bay, to take in passengers for the transit to Cherbourg.  Breezes the freshest that could blow without verging on keenness flew over the quivering deeps and shallows; and the sunbeams pierced every detail of barrow, path and rabbit-run upon the lofty convexity of down and waste which shut in Knollsea from the world to the west.

They left the pier at eight o’clock, taking at first a short easterly course to avoid a sinister ledge of limestones jutting from the water like crocodile’s teeth, which first obtained notoriety in English history through being the spot whereon a formidable Danish fleet went to pieces a thousand years ago.  At the moment that the
Speedwell
turned to enter upon the direct course, a schooner-yacht, whose sheets gleamed like bridal satin, loosed from a remoter part of the bay; continuing to bear off, she cut across the steamer’s wake, and took a course almost due southerly, which was precisely that of the
Speedwell
.  The wind was very favourable for the yacht, blowing a few points from north in a steady pressure on her quarter, and, having been built with every modern appliance that shipwrights could offer, the schooner found no difficulty in getting abreast, and even ahead, of the steamer, as soon as she had escaped the shelter of the hills.

The more or less parallel courses of the vessels continued for some time without causing any remark among the people on board the
Speedwell
.  At length one noticed the fact, and another; and then it became the general topic of conversation in the group upon the bridge, where Ethelberta, her hair getting frizzed and her cheeks carnationed by the wind, sat upon a camp-stool looking towards the prow.

‘She is bound for Guernsey,’ said one.  ‘In half-an-hour she will put about for a more westerly course, you’ll see.’

‘She is not for Guernsey or anywhere that way,’ said an acquaintance, looking through his glass.  ‘If she is out for anything more than a morning cruise, she is bound for our port.  I should not wonder if she is crossing to get stocked, as most of them do, to save the duty on her wine and provisions.’

‘Do you know whose yacht it is?’

‘I do not.’

Ethelberta looked at the light leaning figure of the pretty schooner, which seemed to skate along upon her bilge and make white shavings of all the sea that touched her.  She at first imagined that this might be the yacht Neigh had arrived in at the end of the previous week, for she knew that he came as one of a yachting party, and she had noticed no other boat of that sort in the bay since his arrival.  But as all his party had gone ashore and not yet returned, she was surprised to see the supposed vessel here.  To add to her perplexity, she could not be positive, now that it came to a real nautical query, whether the craft of Neigh’s friends had one mast or two, for she had caught but a fragmentary view of the topsail over the apple-trees.

‘Is that the yacht which has been lying at Knollsea for the last few days?’ she inquired of the master of the
Speedwell
, as soon as she had an opportunity.

The master warmed beneath his copper-coloured rind.  ‘O no, miss; that one you saw was a cutter — a smaller boat altogether,’ he replied.  ‘Built on the sliding-keel principle, you understand, miss — and red below her water-line, if you noticed.  This is Lord Mountclere’s yacht — the Fawn.  You might have seen her re’ching in round Old-Harry Rock this morning afore we started.’

‘Lord Mountclere’s?’

‘Yes — a nobleman of this neighbourhood.  But he don’t do so much at yachting as he used to in his younger days.  I believe he’s aboard this morning, however.’

Ethelberta now became more absorbed than ever in their ocean comrade, and watched its motions continually.  The schooner was considerably in advance of them by this time, and seemed to be getting by degrees out of their course.  She wondered if Lord Mountclere could be really going to Cherbourg: if so, why had he said nothing about the trip to her when she spoke of her own approaching voyage thither?  The yacht changed its character in her eyes; losing the indefinite interest of the unknown, it acquired the charm of a riddle on motives, of which the alternatives were, had Lord Mountclere’s journey anything to do with her own, or had it not?  Common probability pointed to the latter supposition; but the time of starting, the course of the yacht, and recollections of Lord Mountclere’s homage, suggested the more extraordinary possibility.

She went across to Cornelia.  ‘The man who handed us on board — didn’t I see him speaking to you this morning?’ she said.

‘O yes,’ said Cornelia.  ‘He asked if my mistress was the popular Mrs. Petherwin?

‘And you told him, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’

‘What made you do that, Cornelia?’

‘I thought I might: I couldn’t help it.  When I went through the toll-gate, such a gentlemanly-looking man asked me if he should help me to carry the things to the end of the pier; and as we went on together he said he supposed me to be Mrs. Petherwin’s maid.  I said, “Yes.”  The two men met afterwards, so there would ha’ been no good in my denying it to one of ‘em.’

‘Who was this gentlemanly person?’

‘I asked the other man that, and he told me one of Lord Mountclere’s upper servants.  I knew then there was no harm in having been civil to him.  He is well-mannered, and talks splendid language.’

‘That yacht you see on our right hand is Lord Mountclere’s property.  If I do not mistake, we shall have her closer by-and-by, and you may meet your gentlemanly friend again.  Be careful how you talk to him.’

Ethelberta sat down, thought of the meeting at Corvsgate Castle, of the dinner-party at Mr. Doncastle’s, of the strange position she had there been in, and then of her father.  She suddenly reproached herself for thoughtlessness; for in her pocket lay a letter from him, which she had taken from the postman that morning at the moment of coming from the door, and in the hurry of embarking had forgotten ever since.  Opening it quickly, she read: —

‘MY DEAR ETHELBERTA, — Your letter reached me yesterday, and I called round at Exonbury Crescent in the afternoon, as you wished.  Everything is going on right there, and you have no occasion to be anxious about them.  I do not leave town for another week or two, and by the time I am gone Sol and Dan will have returned from Paris, if your mother and Gwendoline want any help: so that you need not hurry back on their account.

‘I have something else to tell you, which is not quite so satisfactory, and it is this that makes me write at once; but do not be alarmed.  It began in this way.  A few nights after the dinner-party here I was determined to find out if there was any truth in what you had been told about that boy, and having seen Menlove go out as usual after dark, I followed her.  Sure enough, when she had got into the park, up came master Joe, smoking a cigar.  As soon as they had met I went towards them, and Menlove, seeing somebody draw nigh, began to edge off, when the blockhead said, “Never mind, my love, it is only the old man.”  Being very provoked with both of them, though she was really the most to blame, I gave him some smart cuts across the shoulders with my cane, and told him to go home, which he did with a flea in his ear, the rascal.  I believe I have cured his courting tricks for some little time.

‘Well, Menlove then walked by me, quite cool, as if she were merely a lady passing by chance at the time, which provoked me still more, knowing the whole truth of it, and I could not help turning upon her and saying, “You, madam, ought to be served the same way.”  She replied in very haughty words, and I walked away, saying that I had something better to do than argue with a woman of her character at that hour of the evening.  This so set her up that she followed me home, marched into my pantry, and told me that if I had been more careful about my manners in calling her a bad character, it might have been better both for me and my stuck-up daughter — a daw in eagle’s plumes — and so on.  Now it seems that she must have coaxed something out of Joey about you — for what lad in the world could be a match for a woman of her experience and arts!  I hope she will do you no serious damage; but I tell you the whole state of affairs exactly as they are, that you may form your own opinions.  After all, there is no real disgrace, for none of us have ever done wrong, but have worked honestly for a living.  However, I will let you know if anything serious really happens.’