Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (824 page)

A sort of cruelty, an imperiousness, even in his warmth, had characterized Charles Stow.  As a lover he had ever been a bit of a tyrant; and it might pretty truly have been said that he had stung her into marriage with him at last.  Still more alien from her life did these reflections operate to make him; and then they would be chased away by an interval of passionate weeping and mad regret.  Finally, there returned upon the confused mind of the young wife the recollection that she was on her way homeward, and that the packet would sail in three-quarters of an hour.

Except the parasol in her hand, all she possessed was at the station awaiting her onward journey.

She looked in that direction; and, entering one of those undemonstrative phases so common with her, walked quietly on.

At first she made straight for the railway; but suddenly turning she went to a shop and wrote an anonymous line announcing his death by drowning to the only person she had ever heard Charles mention as a relative.  Posting this stealthily, and with a fearful look around her, she seemed to acquire a terror of the late events, pursuing her way to the station as if followed by a specter.

When she got to the office she asked for the luggage that she had left there on the Saturday as well as the trunk left on the morning just lapsed.  All were put in the boat, and she herself followed.  Quickly as these things had been done, the whole proceeding, nevertheless, had been almost automatic on Baptista’s part ere she had come to any definite conclusion on her course.

Just before the bell rang she heard a conversation on the pier, which removed the last shade of doubt from her mind, if any had existed, that she was Charles Stow’s widow.  The sentences were but fragmentary, but she could easily piece them out.

“A man drowned — swam out too far — was a stranger to the place — people in boat — saw him go down — couldn’t get there in time.”

The news was little more definite than this as yet; though it may as well be stated once for all that the statement was true.  Charley, with the over-confidence of his nature, had ventured out too far for his strength, and succumbed in the absence of assistance, his lifeless body being at that moment suspended in the transparent mid-depths of the bay.  His clothes, however, had merely been gently lifted by the rising tide, and floated into a nook hard by, where they lay out of sight of the passersby till a day or two after.

IV

In ten minutes they were steaming out of the harbor for their voyage of four or five hours, at whose ending she would have to tell her strange story.

As Pen-zephyr and all its environing scenes disappeared behind Mousehole and St. Clement’s Isle, Baptista’s ephemeral, meteor-like husband impressed her yet more as a fantasy.  She was still in such a trance-like state that she had been an hour on the little packet-boat before she became aware of the agitating fact that Mr. Heddegan was on board with her.  Involuntarily she slipped from her left hand the symbol of her wifehood.

“Hee — hee!  Well, the truth is, I wouldn’t interrupt ‘ee.  “I reckon she don’t see me, or won’t see me,” I said, “and what’s the hurry? She’ll see enough o’ me soon!”  I hope ye be well, mee deer?”

He was a hale, well-conditioned man of about five and fifty, of the complexion common to those whose lives are passed on the bluffs and beaches of an ocean isle.  He extended the four quarters of his face in a genial smile, and his hand for a grasp of the same magnitude.  She gave her own in surprised docility, and he continued:

“I couldn’t help coming across to meet ‘ee.  What an unfortunate thing you missing the boat and not coming Saturday! They meant to have warned ‘ee that the time was changed, but forgot it at the last moment.  The truth is that I should have informed ‘ee myself, but I was that busy finishing up a job last week, so as to have this week free, that I trusted to your father for attending to these little things.  However, so plain and quiet as it is all to be, it really do not matter so much as it might otherwise have done, and I hope ye haven’t been greatly put out.  Now, if you’d sooner that I should not be seen talking to ‘ee — if ‘ee feel shy at all before strangers — just say.  I’ll leave ‘ee to yourself till we get home.”

“Thank you much.  I am indeed a little tired, Mr. Heddegan.”

He nodded urbane acquiescence, strolled away immediately, and minutely inspected the surface of the funnel, till some female passengers of Giant’s Town tittered at what they must have thought a rebuff — for the approaching wedding was known to many on St. Maria’s Island, though to nobody elsewhere.  Baptista coloured at their satire, and called him back, and forced herself to commune with him in at least a mechanically friendly manner.

The opening event had been thus different from her expectation, and she had adumbrated no act to meet it.  Taken aback she passively allowed circumstances to pilot her along; and so the voyage was made.

It was near dusk when they touched the pier of Giant’s Town, where several friends and neighbours stood awaiting them.  Her father had a lantern in his hand.  Her mother, too, was there, reproachfully glad that the delay had at last ended so simply.  Mrs. Trewthen and her daughter went together along the Giant’s Walk, or promenade, to the house, rather in advance of her husband and Mr. Heddegan, who talked in loud tones which reached the women over their shoulders.

Some would have called Mrs. Trewthen a good mother; but though well meaning she was maladroit, and her intentions missed their mark.  This might have been partly attributable to the slight deafness from which she suffered.  Now, as usual, the chief utterances came from her lips.

“Ah, yes, I’m so glad, my child, that you’ve got over safe.  It is all ready, and everything so well arranged, that nothing but misfortune could hinder you settling as, with God’s grace, becomes ‘ee.  Close to your mother’s door a’most, ‘twill be a great blessing, I’m sure; and I was very glad to find from your letters that you’d held your word sacred.  That’s right — make your word your bond always.  Mrs. Wace seems to be a sensible woman.  I hope the Lord will do for her as he’s doing for you no long time hence.  And how did ‘ee get over the terrible journey from Tor-upon-Sea to Pen-zephyr?  Once you’d done with the railway, of course, you seemed quite at home.  Well, Baptista, conduct yourself seemly, and all will be well.”

Thus admonished, Baptista entered the house, her father and Mr. Heddegan immediately at her back.  Her mother had been so didactic that she had felt herself absolutely unable to broach the subjects in the centre of her mind.

The familiar room, with the dark ceiling, the well-spread table, the old chairs, had never before spoken so eloquently of the times ere she knew or had heard of Charley Stow.  She went upstairs to take off her things, her mother remaining below to complete the disposition of the supper, and attend to the preparation of tomorrow’s meal, altogether composing such an array of pies, from pies of fish to pies of turnips, as was never heard of outside the Western Duchy.  Baptista, once alone, sat down and did nothing; and was called before she had taken off her bonnet.

“I’m coming,” she cried, jumping up, and speedily disappareling herself, brushed her hair with a few touches and went down.

Two or three of Mr. Heddegan’s and her father’s friends had dropped in, and expressed their sympathy for the delay she had been subjected to.  The meal was a most merry one except to Baptista.  She had desired privacy, and there was none; and to break the news was already a greater difficulty than it had been at first.  Everything around her, animate and inanimate, great and small, insisted that she had come home to be married; and she could not get a chance to say nay.

One or two people sang songs, as overtures to the melody of the morrow, till at length bedtime came, and they all withdrew, her mother having retired a little earlier.  When Baptista found herself again alone in her bedroom the case stood as before: she had come home with much to say, and she had said nothing.

It was now growing clear even to herself that Charles being dead, she had not determination sufficient within her to break tidings which, had he been alive, would have imperatively announced themselves.  And thus with the stroke of midnight came the turning of the scale; her story should remain untold.  It was not that upon the whole she thought it best not to attempt to tell it; but that she could not undertake so explosive a matter.  To stop the wedding now would cause a convulsion in Giant’s Town little short of volcanic.  Weakened, tired, and terrified as she had been by the day’s adventures, she could not make herself the author of such a catastrophe.  But how refuse Heddegan without telling?  It really seemed to her as if her marriage with Mr. Heddegan were about to take place as if nothing had intervened.

Morning came.  The events of the previous days were cut off from her present existence by scene and sentiment more completely than ever.  Charles Stow had grown to be a special being of whom, owing to his character, she entertained rather fearful than loving memory.  Baptista could hear when she awoke that her parents were already moving about downstairs.  But she did not rise till her mother’s rather rough voice resounded up the staircase as it had done on the preceding evening.

“Baptista!  Come, time to be stirring!  The man will be here, by Heaven’s blessing, in three-quarters of an hour.  He has looked in already for a minute or two — and says he’s going to the church to see if things be well forward.”

Baptista arose, looked out of the window, and took the easy course.  When she emerged from the regions above she was arrayed in her new silk frock and best stockings, wearing a linen jacket over the former for breakfasting, and her common rippers over the latter, not to spoil the new ones on the rough precincts of the dwelling.

It is unnecessary to dwell at any great length on this part of the morning’s proceedings.  She revealed nothing; and married Heddegan, as she had given her word to do, on that appointed August day.

V

Mr. Heddegan forgave the coldness of his bride’s manner during and after the wedding ceremony, full well aware that there had been considerable reluctance on her part to acquiesce in this neighbourly arrangement, and, as a philosopher of long standing, holding that whatever Baptista’s attitude now, the conditions would probably be much the same six months hence as those which ruled among other married couples.

An absolutely unexpected shock was given to Baptista’s listless mind about an hour after the wedding service.  They had nearly finished the midday dinner when the now husband said to her father, ‘we think of starting about two.  And the breeze being so fair we shall bring up inside Pen-zephyr new pier about six at least.’

“What — are we going to Pen-zephyr?” said Baptista.  “I don’t know anything of it.”

“Didn’t you tell her?” asked her father of Heddegan.

It transpired that, owing to the delay in her arrival, this proposal too, among other things, had in the hurry not been mentioned to her, except some time ago as a general suggestion that they would go somewhere.  Heddegan had imagined that any trip would be pleasant, and one to the mainland the pleasantest of all.

She looked so distressed at the announcement that her husband willingly offered to give it up, though he had not had a holiday off the island for a whole year.  Then she pondered on the inconvenience of staying at Giant’s Town, where all the inhabitants were bonded, by the circumstances of their situation, into a sort of family party, which permitted and encouraged on such occasions as these oral criticism that was apt to disturb the equanimity of newly married girls, and would especially worry Baptista in her strange situation.  Hence, unexpectedly, she agreed not to disorganize her husband’s plans for the wedding jaunt, and it was settled that, as originally intended, they should proceed in a neighbour’s sailing boat to the metropolis of the district.

In this way they arrived at Pen-zephyr without difficulty or mishap.  Bidding adieu to Jenkin and his man, who had sailed them over, they strolled arm in arm off the pier, Baptista silent, cold, and obedient.  Heddegan had arranged to take her as far as Plymouth before their return, but to go no further than where they had landed that day.  Their first business was to find an inn; and in this they had unexpected difficulty, since for some reason or other — possibly the fine weather — many of the nearest at hand were full of tourists and commercial travelers.  He led her on till he reached a tavern which, though comparatively unpretending, stood in as attractive a spot as any in the town; and this, somewhat to their surprise after their previous experience, they found apparently empty.  The considerate old man, thinking that Baptista was educated to artistic notions, though he himself was deficient in them, had decided that it was most desirable to have, on such an occasion as the present, an apartment with “a good view” (the expression being one he had often heard in use among tourists); and he therefore asked for a favorite room on the first floor, from which a bow window protruded, for the express purpose of affording such an outlook.

The landlady, after some hesitation, said she was sorry that particular apartment was engaged; the next one, however, or any other in the house, was unoccupied.

“The gentleman who has the best one will give it up tomorrow, and then you can change into it,” she added, as Mr. Heddegan hesitated about taking the adjoining and less commanding one.

“We shall be gone tomorrow, and shan’t want it,” he said.

Wishing not to lose customers, the landlady earnestly continued that since he was bent on having the best room, perhaps the other gentleman would not object to move at once into the one they despised, since, though nothing could be seen from the window, the room was equally large.

“Well, if he doesn’t care for a view,” said Mr. Heddegan, with the air of a highly artistic man who did.

“O, no — I am sure he doesn’t,” she said.  “I can promise that you shall have the room you want.  If you would not object to go for a walk for half an hour, I could have it ready, and your things in it, and a nice tea laid in the bow-window by the time you come back?”