CHAPTER VII
The foregoing correspondence will sufficiently explain why no choiceis left to me but to pass over Lady Verinder's death with the simpleannouncement of the fact which ends my fifth chapter.
Keeping myself for the future strictly within the limits of my ownpersonal experience, I have next to relate that a month elapsed from thetime of my aunt's decease before Rachel Verinder and I met again. Thatmeeting was the occasion of my spending a few days under the same roofwith her. In the course of my visit, something happened, relative toher marriage-engagement with Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite, which is importantenough to require special notice in these pages. When this last ofmany painful family circumstances has been disclosed, my task will becompleted; for I shall then have told all that I know, as an actual (andmost unwilling) witness of events.
My aunt's remains were removed from London, and were buried in thelittle cemetery attached to the church in her own park. I was invited tothe funeral with the rest of the family. But it was impossible (with myreligious views) to rouse myself in a few days only from the shock whichthis death had caused me. I was informed, moreover, that the rector ofFrizinghall was to read the service. Having myself in past times seenthis clerical castaway making one of the players at Lady Verinder'swhist-table, I doubt, even if I had been fit to travel, whether I shouldhave felt justified in attending the ceremony.
Lady Verinder's death left her daughter under the care of herbrother-in-law, Mr. Ablewhite the elder. He was appointed guardianby the will, until his niece married, or came of age. Under thesecircumstances, Mr. Godfrey informed his father, I suppose, of the newrelation in which he stood towards Rachel. At any rate, in ten days frommy aunt's death, the secret of the marriage-engagement was no secretat all within the circle of the family, and the grand question for Mr.Ablewhite senior--another confirmed castaway!--was how to make himselfand his authority most agreeable to the wealthy young lady who was goingto marry his son.
Rachel gave him some trouble at the outset, about the choice of a placein which she could be prevailed upon to reside. The house in MontaguSquare was associated with the calamity of her mother's death. Thehouse in Yorkshire was associated with the scandalous affair of thelost Moonstone. Her guardian's own residence at Frizinghall was opento neither of these objections. But Rachel's presence in it, after herrecent bereavement, operated as a check on the gaieties of her cousins,the Miss Ablewhites--and she herself requested that her visit mightbe deferred to a more favourable opportunity. It ended in a proposal,emanating from old Mr. Ablewhite, to try a furnished house at Brighton.His wife, an invalid daughter, and Rachel were to inhabit it together,and were to expect him to join them later in the season. They would seeno society but a few old friends, and they would have his son Godfrey,travelling backwards and forwards by the London train, always at theirdisposal.
I describe this aimless flitting about from one place of residence toanother--this insatiate restlessness of body and appalling stagnationof soul--merely with the view to arriving at results. The event which(under Providence) proved to be the means of bringing Rachel Verinderand myself together again, was no other than the hiring of the house atBrighton.
My Aunt Ablewhite is a large, silent, fair-complexioned woman, with onenoteworthy point in her character. From the hour of her birth she hasnever been known to do anything for herself. She has gone through life,accepting everybody's help, and adopting everybody's opinions. Amore hopeless person, in a spiritual point of view, I have never metwith--there is absolutely, in this perplexing case, no obstructivematerial to work upon. Aunt Ablewhite would listen to the Grand Lama ofThibet exactly as she listens to Me, and would reflect his views quiteas readily as she reflects mine. She found the furnished house atBrighton by stopping at an hotel in London, composing herself on asofa, and sending for her son. She discovered the necessary servantsby breakfasting in bed one morning (still at the hotel), and giving hermaid a holiday on condition that the girl "would begin enjoying herselfby fetching Miss Clack." I found her placidly fanning herself in herdressing-gown at eleven o'clock. "Drusilla, dear, I want some servants.You are so clever--please get them for me." I looked round the untidyroom. The church-bells were going for a week-day service; they suggesteda word of affectionate remonstrance on my part. "Oh, aunt!" I saidsadly. "Is THIS worthy of a Christian Englishwoman? Is the passage fromtime to eternity to be made in THIS manner?" My aunt answered, "I'll puton my gown, Drusilla, if you will be kind enough to help me." What wasto be said after that? I have done wonders with murderesses--I havenever advanced an inch with Aunt Ablewhite. "Where is the list," Iasked, "of the servants whom you require?" My aunt shook her head; shehadn't even energy enough to keep the list. "Rachel has got it, dear,"she said, "in the next room." I went into the next room, and so sawRachel again for the first time since we had parted in Montagu Square.
She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning. If I attachedany serious importance to such a perishable trifle as personalappearance, I might be inclined to add that hers was one of thoseunfortunate complexions which always suffer when not relieved by aborder of white next the skin. But what are our complexions and ourlooks? Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our wayto higher things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered theroom, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand.
"I am glad to see you," she said. "Drusilla, I have been in the habit ofspeaking very foolishly and very rudely to you, on former occasions. Ibeg your pardon. I hope you will forgive me."
My face, I suppose, betrayed the astonishment I felt at this. Shecoloured up for a moment, and then proceeded to explain herself.
"In my poor mother's lifetime," she went on, "her friends were notalways my friends, too. Now I have lost her, my heart turns for comfortto the people she liked. She liked you. Try to be friends with me,Drusilla, if you can."
To any rightly-constituted mind, the motive thus acknowledged was simplyshocking. Here in Christian England was a young woman in a state ofbereavement, with so little idea of where to look for true comfort, thatshe actually expected to find it among her mother's friends! Here wasa relative of mine, awakened to a sense of her shortcomings towardsothers, under the influence, not of conviction and duty, but ofsentiment and impulse! Most deplorable to think of--but, still,suggestive of something hopeful, to a person of my experience in plyingthe good work. There could be no harm, I thought, in ascertainingthe extent of the change which the loss of her mother had wrought inRachel's character. I decided, as a useful test, to probe her on thesubject of her marriage-engagement to Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
Having first met her advances with all possible cordiality, I sat by heron the sofa, at her own request. We discussed family affairs and futureplans--always excepting that one future plan which was to end inher marriage. Try as I might to turn the conversation that way,she resolutely declined to take the hint. Any open reference to thequestion, on my part, would have been premature at this early stage ofour reconciliation. Besides, I had discovered all I wanted to know. Shewas no longer the reckless, defiant creature whom I had heard and seen,on the occasion of my martyrdom in Montagu Square. This was, of itself,enough to encourage me to take her future conversion in hand--beginningwith a few words of earnest warning directed against the hasty formationof the marriage tie, and so getting on to higher things. Looking at her,now, with this new interest--and calling to mind the headlong suddennesswith which she had met Mr. Godfrey's matrimonial views--I felt thesolemn duty of interfering with a fervour which assured me that I shouldachieve no common results. Rapidity of proceeding was, as I believed,of importance in this case. I went back at once to the question of theservants wanted for the furnished house.
"Where is the list, dear?"
Rachel produced it.
"Cook, kitchen-maid, housemaid, and footman," I read. "My dear Rachel,these servants are only wanted for a term--the term during which yourguardian has taken the house. We shall have great difficulty in findingpersons of character
and capacity to accept a temporary engagement ofthat sort, if we try in London. Has the house in Brighton been foundyet?"
"Yes. Godfrey has taken it; and persons in the house wanted him to hirethem as servants. He thought they would hardly do for us, and came backhaving settled nothing."
"And you have no experience yourself in these matters, Rachel?"
"None whatever."
"And Aunt Ablewhite won't exert herself?"
"No, poor dear. Don't blame her, Drusilla. I think she is the onlyreally happy woman I have ever met with."
"There are degrees in happiness, darling. We must have a little talk,some day, on that subject. In the meantime I will undertake to meetthe difficulty about the servants. Your aunt will write a letter to thepeople of the house----"
"She will sign a letter, if I write it for her, which comes to the samething."
"Quite the same thing. I shall get the letter, and I will go to Brightonto-morrow."
"How extremely kind of you! We will join you as soon as you are readyfor us. And you will stay, I hope, as my guest. Brighton is so lively;you are sure to enjoy it."
In those words the invitation was given, and the glorious prospect ofinterference was opened before me.
It was then the middle of the week. By Saturday afternoon the house wasready for them. In that short interval I had sifted, not the charactersonly, but the religious views as well, of all the disengaged servantswho applied to me, and had succeeded in making a selection which myconscience approved. I also discovered, and called on two seriousfriends of mine, residents in the town, to whom I knew I could confidethe pious object which had brought me to Brighton. One of them--aclerical friend--kindly helped me to take sittings for our little partyin the church in which he himself ministered. The other--a single lady,like myself--placed the resources of her library (composed throughout ofprecious publications) entirely at my disposal. I borrowed half-a-dozenworks, all carefully chosen with a view to Rachel. When these had beenjudiciously distributed in the various rooms she would be likely tooccupy, I considered that my preparations were complete. Sound doctrinein the servants who waited on her; sound doctrine in the minister whopreached to her; sound doctrine in the books that lay on her table--suchwas the treble welcome which my zeal had prepared for the motherlessgirl! A heavenly composure filled my mind, on that Saturday afternoon,as I sat at the window waiting the arrival of my relatives. The giddythrong passed and repassed before my eyes. Alas! how many of them feltmy exquisite sense of duty done? An awful question. Let us not pursueit.
Between six and seven the travellers arrived. To my indescribablesurprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfrey (as I had anticipated),but by the lawyer, Mr. Bruff.
"How do you do, Miss Clack?" he said. "I mean to stay this time."
That reference to the occasion on which I had obliged him to postponehis business to mine, when we were both visiting in Montagu Square,satisfied me that the old worldling had come to Brighton with someobject of his own in view. I had prepared quite a little Paradise for mybeloved Rachel--and here was the Serpent already!
"Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able to come with us,"said my Aunt Ablewhite. "There was something in the way which kept himin town. Mr. Bruff volunteered to take his place, and make a holidayof it till Monday morning. By-the-by, Mr. Bruff, I'm ordered to takeexercise, and I don't like it. That," added Aunt Ablewhite, pointing outof window to an invalid going by in a chair on wheels, drawn by a man,"is my idea of exercise. If it's air you want, you get it in your chair.And if it's fatigue you want, I am sure it's fatigue enough to look atthe man."
Rachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with her eyes fixed on thesea.
"Tired, love?" I inquired.
"No. Only a little out of spirits," she answered. "I have often seen thesea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that light on it. And I was thinking,Drusilla, of the days that can never come again."
Mr. Bruff remained to dinner, and stayed through the evening. The moreI saw of him, the more certain I felt that he had some private end toserve in coming to Brighton. I watched him carefully. He maintained thesame appearance of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour afterhour, until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with Rachel,I caught his hard and cunning eyes resting on her for a moment with apeculiar interest and attention. She was plainly concerned in the objectthat he had in view. He said nothing out of the common to her or toanyone on leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and thenhe went away to his hotel.
It was impossible the next morning to get my Aunt Ablewhite out of herdressing-gown in time for church. Her invalid daughter (suffering fromnothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, inherited from hermother) announced that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Racheland I went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preachedby my gifted friend on the heathen indifference of the world to thesinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his eloquence (assistedby his glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said toRachel, when we came out, "Has it found its way to your heart, dear?"And she answered, "No; it has only made my head ache." This might havebeen discouraging to some people; but, once embarked on a career ofmanifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.
We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declinedeating anything, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering froma headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chancethat she had given him.
"There is only one remedy for a headache," said this horrible old man."A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure you. I am entirely at yourservice, if you will honour me by accepting my arm."
"With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I was longingfor."
"It's past two," I gently suggested. "And the afternoon service, Rachel,begins at three."
"How can you expect me to go to church again," she asked, petulantly,"with such a headache as mine?"
Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In another minute morethey were both out of the house. I don't know when I have felt thesolemn duty of interfering so strongly as I felt it at that moment.But what was to be done? Nothing was to be done but to interfere at thefirst opportunity, later in the day.
On my return from the afternoon service I found that they had just gotback. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wantedto say. I had never before seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. Ihad never before seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and lookat her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that he had) anengagement to dinner that day--and he took an early leave of us all;intending to go back to London by the first train the next morning.
"Are you sure of your own resolution?" he said to Rachel at the door.
"Quite sure," she answered--and so they parted.
The moment his back was turned, Rachel withdrew to her own room. Shenever appeared at dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap-ribbons) wassent down-stairs to announce that her headache had returned. I ran upto her and made all sorts of sisterly offers through the door. It waslocked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material to workon here! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by her locking the door.
When her cup of tea went up to her the next morning, I followed it in.I sat by her bedside and said a few earnest words. She listened withlanguid civility. I noticed my serious friend's precious publicationshuddled together on a table in a corner. Had she chanced to look intothem?--I asked. Yes--and they had not interested her. Would she allowme to read a few passages of the deepest interest, which had probablyescaped her eye? No, not now--she had other things to think of. She gavethese answers, with her attention apparently absorbed in folding andrefolding the frilling on her nightgown. It was plainly necessary torouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which she stillhad at heart.
"Do you know, love," I said, "I had an odd fancy, yesterday, about Mr.Bruff? I thought, when I saw you after your walk with h
im, that he hadbeen telling you some bad news."
Her fingers dropped from the frilling of her nightgown, and her fierceblack eyes flashed at me.
"Quite the contrary!" she said. "It was news I was interested inhearing--and I am deeply indebted to Mr. Bruff for telling me of it."
"Yes?" I said, in a tone of gentle interest.
Her fingers went back to the frilling, and she turned her head sullenlyaway from me. I had been met in this manner, in the course of plying thegood work, hundreds of times. She merely stimulated me to try again.In my dauntless zeal for her welfare, I ran the great risk, and openlyalluded to her marriage engagement.
"News you were interested in hearing?" I repeated. "I suppose, my dearRachel, that must be news of Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite?"
She started up in the bed, and turned deadly pale. It was evidently onthe tip of her tongue to retort on me with the unbridled insolenceof former times. She checked herself--laid her head back on thepillow--considered a minute--and then answered in these remarkablewords:
"I SHALL NEVER MARRY MR. GODFREY ABLEWHITE."
It was my turn to start at that.
"What can you possibly mean?" I exclaimed. "The marriage is consideredby the whole family as a settled thing!"
"Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite is expected here to-day," she said doggedly."Wait till he comes--and you will see."
"But my dear Rachel----"
She rang the bell at the head of her bed. The person with thecap-ribbons appeared.
"Penelope! my bath."
Let me give her her due. In the state of my feelings at that moment,I do sincerely believe that she had hit on the only possible way offorcing me to leave the room.
By the mere worldly mind my position towards Rachel might have beenviewed as presenting difficulties of no ordinary kind. I had reckoned onleading her to higher things by means of a little earnest exhortation onthe subject of her marriage. And now, if she was to be believed, no suchevent as her marriage was to take place at all. But ah, my friends! aworking Christian of my experience (with an evangelising prospect beforeher) takes broader views than these. Supposing Rachel really broke offthe marriage, on which the Ablewhites, father and son, counted as asettled thing, what would be the result? It could only end, if she heldfirm, in an exchanging of hard words and bitter accusations on bothsides. And what would be the effect on Rachel when the stormy interviewwas over? A salutary moral depression would be the effect. Her pridewould be exhausted, her stubbornness would be exhausted, by theresolute resistance which it was in her character to make under thecircumstances. She would turn for sympathy to the nearest person who hadsympathy to offer. And I was that nearest person--brimful of comfort,charged to overflowing with seasonable and reviving words. Never had theevangelising prospect looked brighter, to my eyes, than it looked now.
She came down to breakfast, but she ate nothing, and hardly uttered aword.
After breakfast she wandered listlessly from room to room--then suddenlyroused herself, and opened the piano. The music she selected to play wasof the most scandalously profane sort, associated with performances onthe stage which it curdles one's blood to think of. It would have beenpremature to interfere with her at such a time as this. I privatelyascertained the hour at which Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was expected, andthen I escaped the music by leaving the house.
Being out alone, I took the opportunity of calling upon my two residentfriends. It was an indescribable luxury to find myself indulging inearnest conversation with serious persons. Infinitely encouraged andrefreshed, I turned my steps back again to the house, in excellent timeto await the arrival of our expected visitor. I entered the dining-room,always empty at that hour of the day, and found myself face to face withMr. Godfrey Ablewhite!
He made no attempt to fly the place. Quite the contrary. He advanced tomeet me with the utmost eagerness.
"Dear Miss Clack, I have been only waiting to see you! Chance set mefree of my London engagements to-day sooner than I had expected, and Ihave got here, in consequence, earlier than my appointed time."
Not the slightest embarrassment encumbered his explanation, though thiswas his first meeting with me after the scene in Montagu Square. He wasnot aware, it is true, of my having been a witness of that scene. Buthe knew, on the other hand, that my attendances at the Mothers'Small-Clothes, and my relations with friends attached to othercharities, must have informed me of his shameless neglect of his Ladiesand of his Poor. And yet there he was before me, in full possession ofhis charming voice and his irresistible smile!
"Have you seen Rachel yet?" I asked.
He sighed gently, and took me by the hand. I should certainly havesnatched my hand away, if the manner in which he gave his answer had notparalysed me with astonishment.
"I have seen Rachel," he said with perfect tranquillity. "You are aware,dear friend, that she was engaged to me? Well, she has taken a suddenresolution to break the engagement. Reflection has convinced her thatshe will best consult her welfare and mine by retracting a rash promise,and leaving me free to make some happier choice elsewhere. That is theonly reason she will give, and the only answer she will make to everyquestion that I can ask of her."
"What have you done on your side?" I inquired. "Have you submitted."
"Yes," he said with the most unruffled composure, "I have submitted."
His conduct, under the circumstances, was so utterly inconceivable, thatI stood bewildered with my hand in his. It is a piece of rudenessto stare at anybody, and it is an act of indelicacy to stare at agentleman. I committed both those improprieties. And I said, as if in adream, "What does it mean?"
"Permit me to tell you," he replied. "And suppose we sit down?"
He led me to a chair. I have an indistinct remembrance that he was veryaffectionate. I don't think he put his arm round my waist to supportme--but I am not sure. I was quite helpless, and his ways with ladieswere very endearing. At any rate, we sat down. I can answer for that, ifI can answer for nothing more.