Can You Forgive Her?

  CHAPTER IX.

  The Rivals.

  There had been a pretence of fishing, but no fish had been caught.It was soon found that such an amusement would interfere with theladies' dresses, and the affairs had become too serious to allow ofany trivial interruption. "I really think, Mr. Cheesacre," an anxiousmother had said, "that you'd better give it up. The water off thenasty cord has got all over Maria's dress, already." Maria made afaint protest that it did not signify in the least; but the fishingwas given up,--not without an inward feeling on the part of Mr.Cheesacre that if Maria chose to come out with him in his boat,having been invited especially to fish, she ought to have put up withthe natural results. "There are people who like to take everythingand never like to give anything," he said to Kate afterwards, as hewas walking up with her to the picnic dinner. But he was unreasonableand unjust. The girls had graced his party with their best hats andfreshest muslins, not that they might see him catch a mackerel, butthat they might flirt and dance to the best advantage. "You can'tsuppose that any girl will like to be drenched with sea-water whenshe has taken so much trouble with her starch," said Kate. "Then sheshouldn't come fishing," said Mr. Cheesacre. "I hate such airs."

  But when they arrived at the old boat, Mrs. Greenow shone forthpre-eminently as the mistress of the occasion, altogetherovershadowing Mr. Cheesacre by the extent of her authority. There wasa little contest for supremacy between them, invisible to the eyesof the multitude; but Mr. Cheesacre in such a matter had not a chanceagainst Mrs. Greenow. I am disposed to think that she would havereigned even though she had not contributed to the eatables; butwith that point in her favour, she was able to make herself supreme.Jeannette, too, was her servant, which was a great thing. Mr.Cheesacre soon gave way; and though he bustled about and wasconspicuous, he bustled about in obedience to orders received, andbecame a head servant. Captain Bellfield also made himself useful,but he drove Mr. Cheesacre into paroxysms of suppressed anger bygiving directions, and by having those directions obeyed. A man towhom he had lent twenty pounds the day before yesterday, and who hadnot contributed so much as a bottle of champagne!

  "We're to dine at four, and now it's half-past three," said Mrs.Greenow, addressing herself to the multitude.

  "And to begin to dance at six," said an eager young lady.

  "Maria, hold your tongue," said the young lady's mother.

  "Yes, we'll dine at four," said Mr. Cheesacre. "And as for the music,I've ordered it to be here punctual at half-past five. We're to havethree horns, cymbals, triangle, and a drum."

  "How very nice; isn't it, Mrs. Greenow?" said Charlie Fairstairs.

  "And now suppose we begin to unpack," said Captain Bellfield. "Halfthe fun is in arranging the things."

  "Oh, dear, yes; more than half," said Fanny Fairstairs.

  "Bellfield, don't mind about the hampers," said Cheesacre. "Wine is aticklish thing to handle, and there's my man there to manage it."

  "It's odd if I don't know more about wine than the boots from thehotel," said Bellfield. This allusion to the boots almost cowed Mr.Cheesacre, and made him turn away, leaving Bellfield with the widow.

  There was a great unpacking, during which Captain Bellfield and Mrs.Greenow constantly had their heads in the same hamper. I by no meansintend to insinuate that there was anything wrong in this. Peopleengaged together in unpacking pies and cold chickens must have theirheads in the same hamper. But a great intimacy was thereby produced,and the widow seemed to have laid aside altogether that prejudiceof hers with reference to the washerwoman. There was a long tableplaced on the sand, sheltered by the upturned boat from the landside, but open towards the sea, and over this, supported on poles,there was an awning. Upon the whole the arrangement was not anuncomfortable one for people who had selected so very uncomfortablea dining-room as the sand of the sea-shore. Much was certainly dueto Mr. Cheesacre for the expenditure he had incurred,--and somethingperhaps to Captain Bellfield for his ingenuity in having suggestedit.

  Now came the placing of the guests for dinner, and Mr. Cheesacremade another great effort. "I'll tell you what," he said, aloud,"Bellfield and I will take the two ends of the table, and Mrs. Greenowshall sit at my right hand." This was not only boldly done, but therewas a propriety in it which at first sight seemed to be irresistible.Much as he had hated and did hate the captain, he had skilfully madethe proposition in such a way as to flatter him, and it seemed for afew moments as though he were going to have it all his own way. ButCaptain Bellfield was not a man to submit to defeat in such a matteras this without an effort. "I don't think that will do," said he."Mrs. Greenow gives the dinner, and Cheesacre gives the wine. We musthave them at the two ends of the table. I am sure Mrs. Greenow won'trefuse to allow me to hand her to the place which belongs to her. Iwill sit at her right hand and be her minister." Mrs. Greenow did notrefuse,--and so the matter was adjusted.

  Mr. Cheesacre took his seat in despair. It was nothing to him thathe had Kate Vavasor at his left hand. He liked talking to Kate verywell, but he could not enjoy that pleasure while Captain Bellfieldwas in the very act of making progress with the widow. "One wouldthink that he had given it himself; wouldn't you?" he said to Maria'smother, who sat at his right hand.

  The lady did not in the least understand him. "Given what?" said she.

  "Why, the music and the wine and all the rest of it. There are somepeople full of that kind of impudence. How they manage to carry it onwithout ever paying a shilling, I never could tell. I know I have topay my way, and something over and beyond generally."

  Maria's mother said, "Yes, indeed." She had other daughters therebesides Maria, and was looking down the table to see whether theywere judiciously placed. Her beauty, her youngest one, Ophelia, wassitting next to that ne'er-do-well Joe Fairstairs, and this madeher unhappy. "Ophelia, my dear, you are dreadfully in the draught;there's a seat up here, just opposite, where you'll be morecomfortable."

  "There's no draught here, mamma," said Ophelia, without the slightestsign of moving. Perhaps Ophelia liked the society of that lanky,idle, useless young man.

  The mirth of the table certainly came from Mrs. Greenow's end. Thewidow had hardly taken her place before she got up again and changedwith the captain. It was found that the captain could better carvethe great grouse pie from the end than from the side. Cheesacre, whenhe saw this, absolutely threw down his knife and fork violently uponthe table. "Is anything the matter?" said Maria's mother.

  "Matter!" said he. Then he shook his head in grief of heart andvexation of spirit, and resumed his knife and fork. Kate watchedit all, and was greatly amused. "I never saw a man so nearlybroken-hearted," she said, in her letter to Alice the next day."Eleven, thirteen, eighteen, twenty-one," said Cheesacre to himself,reckoning up in his misery the number of pounds sterling which hewould have to pay for being ill-treated in this way.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," said Captain Bellfield, as soon as the eatingwas over, "if I may be permitted to get upon my legs for two minutes,I am going to propose a toast to you." The real patron of the feasthad actually not yet swallowed his last bit of cheese. The thing wasindecent in the violence of its injustice.

  Captain Bellfield proposes a toast.]

  "If you please, Captain Bellfield," said the patron, indifferent tothe cheese in his throat, "I'll propose the toast."

  "Nothing on earth could be better, my dear fellow," said the captain,"and I'm sure I should be the last man in the world to take the jobout of the hands of one who would do it so much better than I can;but as it's your health that we're going to drink, I really don't seehow you are to do it."

  Cheesacre grunted and sat down. He certainly could not propose hisown health, nor did he complain of the honour that was to be donehim. It was very proper that his health should be drunk, and he hadnow to think of the words in which he would return thanks. But theextent of his horror may be imagined when Bellfield got up and made amost brilliant speech in praise of Mrs. Greenow. For full five minuteshe went on without mentioning the name of
Cheesacre. Yarmouth, hesaid, had never in his days been so blessed as it had been this yearby the presence of the lady who was now with them. She had come amongthem, he declared, forgetful of herself and of her great sorrows,with the sole desire of adding something to the happiness of others.Then Mrs. Greenow had taken out her pocket-handkerchief, sweeping backthe broad ribbons of her cap over her shoulders. Altogether the scenewas very affecting, and Cheesacre was driven to madness. They werethe very words that he had intended to speak himself.

  "I hate all this kind of thing," he said to Kate. "It's so fulsome."

  "After-dinner speeches never mean anything," said Kate.

  At last, when Bellfield had come to an end of praising Mrs. Greenow,he told the guests that he wished to join his friend Mr. Cheesacre inthe toast, the more so as it could hardly be hoped that Mrs. Greenowwould herself rise to return thanks. There was no better fellow thanhis friend Cheesacre, whom he had known for he would not say howmany years. He was quite sure they would all have the most sincerepleasure in joining the health of Mr. Cheesacre with that of Mrs.Greenow. Then there was a clattering of glasses and a murmuring ofhealths, and Mr. Cheesacre slowly got upon his legs.

  "I'm very much obliged to this company," said he, "and to my friendBellfield, who really is,--but perhaps that doesn't signify now. I'vehad the greatest pleasure in getting up this little thing, and I'dmade up my mind to propose Mrs. Greenow's health; but, h'm, ha, nodoubt it has been in better hands. Perhaps, considering all things,Bellfield might have waited."

  "With such a subject on my hands, I couldn't wait a moment."

  "I didn't interrupt you, Captain Bellfield, and perhaps you'll let mego on without interrupting me. We've all drunk Mrs. Greenow's health,and I'm sure she's very much obliged. So am I for the honour you'vedone me. I have taken some trouble in getting up this little thing,and I hope you like it. I think somebody said something aboutliberality. I beg to assure you that I don't think of that for amoment. Somebody must pay for these sort of things, and I'm alwaysvery glad to take my turn. I dare say Bellfield will give us thenext picnic, and if he'll appoint a day before the end of the month,I shall be happy to be one of the party." Then he sat down with someinward satisfaction, fully convinced that he had given his enemy afatal blow.

  "Nothing on earth would give me so much pleasure," said Bellfield.After that he turned again to Mrs. Greenow and went on with hisprivate conversation.

  There was no more speaking, nor was there much time for otherafter-dinner ceremonies. The three horns, the cymbals, the triangle,and the drum were soon heard tuning-up behind the banqueting-hall,and the ladies went to the further end of the old boat to make theirpreparations for the dance. Then it was that the thoughtful care ofMrs. Greenow, in having sent Jeannette with brushes, combs, cleanhandkerchiefs, and other little knick-knackeries, became so apparent.It was said that the widow herself actually changed her cap,--whichwas considered by some to be very unfair, as there had been anunderstanding that there should be no dressing. On such occasionsladies are generally willing to forego the advantage of dressingon the condition that other ladies shall forego the same advantage;but when this compact is broken by any special lady, the treasonis thought to be very treacherous. It is as though a fencer shouldremove the button from the end of his foil. But Mrs. Greenow was sogood-natured in tendering the services of Jeannette to all the youngladies, and was so willing to share with others those good things ofthe toilet which her care had provided, that her cap was forgiven herby the most of those present.

  When ladies have made up their minds to dance they will dance let thecircumstances of the moment be ever so antagonistic to that exercise.A ploughed field in February would not be too wet, nor the side of ahouse too uneven. In honest truth the sands of the seashore are notadapted for the exercise. It was all very well for Venus to make thepromise, but when making it she knew that Adonis would not keep herto her word. Let any lightest-limbed nymph try it, and she will findthat she leaves most palpable footing. The sands in question weredoubtless compact, firm, and sufficiently moist to make walking onthem comfortable; but they ruffled themselves most uncomfortablyunder the unwonted pressure to which they were subjected.Nevertheless our friends did dance on the sands; finding, however,that quadrilles and Sir Roger de Coverley suited them better thanpolkas and waltzes.

  "No, my friend, no," Mrs. Greenow said to Mr. Cheesacre when thatgentleman endeavoured to persuade her to stand up; "Kate will bedelighted I am sure to join you,--but as for me, you must excuse me."

  But Mr. Cheesacre was not inclined at that moment to ask Kate Vavasorto dance with him. He was possessed by an undefined idea that Katehad snubbed him, and as Kate's fortune was, as he said, literallynothing, he was not at all disposed to court her favour at theexpense of such suffering to himself.

  "I'm not quite sure that I'll dance myself," said he, seating himselfin a corner of the tent by Mrs. Greenow's side. Captain Bellfield atthat moment was seen leading Miss Vavasor away to a new place onthe sands, whither he was followed by a score of dancers; and Mr.Cheesacre saw that now at last he might reap the reward for which hehad laboured. He was alone with the widow, and having been made boldby wine, had an opportunity of fighting his battle, than which nonebetter could ever be found. He was himself by no means a poor man,and he despised poverty in others. It was well that there should bepoor gentry, in order that they might act as satellites to those who,like himself, had money. As to Mrs. Greenow's money, there was nodoubt. He knew it all to a fraction. She had spread for herself, orsome one else had spread for her, a report that her wealth was almostunlimited; but the forty thousand pounds was a fact, and any suchinnocent fault as that little fiction might well be forgiven to awoman endorsed with such substantial virtues. And she was handsometoo. Mr. Cheesacre, as he regarded her matured charms, sometimes feltthat he should have been smitten even without the forty thousandpounds. "By George! there's flesh and blood," he had once said to hisfriend Bellfield before he had begun to suspect that man's treachery.His admiration must then have been sincere, for at that time theforty thousand pounds was not an ascertained fact. Looking at thematter in all its bearings Mr. Cheesacre thought that he couldn't dobetter. His wooing should be fair, honest, and above board. He was athriving man, and what might not they two do in Norfolk if they puttheir wealth together?

  "Oh, Mr. Cheesacre, you should join them," said Mrs. Greenow; "they'llnot half enjoy themselves without you. Kate will think that you meanto neglect her."

  "I shan't dance, Mrs. Greenow, unless you like to stand up for a set."

  "No, my friend, no; I shall not do that. I fear you forget how recenthas been my bereavement. Your asking me is the bitterest reproach tome for having ventured to join your festive board."

  "Upon my honour I didn't mean it, Mrs. Greenow. I didn't mean it,indeed."

  "I do not suspect you. It would have been unmanly."

  "And nobody can say that of me. There isn't a man or woman in Norfolkthat wouldn't say I was manly."

  "I'm quite sure of that."

  "I have my faults, I'm aware."

  "And what are your faults, Mr. Cheesacre?"

  "Well; perhaps I'm extravagant. But it's only in these kind ofthings you know, when I spend a little money for the sake of makingmy friends happy. When I'm about, on the lands at home, I ain'textravagant, I can tell you."

  "Extravagance is a great vice."

  "Oh, I ain't extravagant in that sense;--not a bit in the world. Butwhen a man's enamoured, and perhaps looking out for a wife, he doeslike to be a little free, you know."

  "And are you looking out for a wife, Mr. Cheesacre?"

  "If I told you I suppose you'd only laugh at me."

  "No; indeed I would not. I am not given to joking when any one that Iregard speaks to me seriously."

  "Ain't you though? I'm so glad of that. When one has really got aserious thing to say, one doesn't like to have fun poked at one."

  "And, besides, how could I laugh at marriages, seeing how happy Ihave b
een in that condition?--so--very--happy," and Mrs. Greenow putup her handkerchief to her eyes.

  "So happy that you'll try it again some day; won't you?"

  "Never, Mr. Cheesacre; never. Is that the way you talk of seriousthings without joking? Anything like love--love of that sort--isover for me. It lies buried under the sod with my poor dear departedsaint."

  "But, Mrs. Greenow,"--and Cheesacre, as he prepared to argue thequestion with her, got nearer to her in the corner behind thetable,--"But, Mrs. Greenow, care killed a cat, you know."

  "And sometimes I think that care will kill me."

  "No, by George; not if I can prevent it."

  "You're very kind, Mr. Cheesacre; but there's no preventing such careas mine."

  "Isn't there though? I'll tell you what, Mrs. Greenow; I'm in earnest,I am indeed. If you'll inquire, you'll find there isn't a fellow inNorfolk pays his way better than I do, or is better able to do it. Idon't pay a sixpence of rent, and I sit upon seven hundred acres ofas good land as there is in the county. There's not an acre thatwon't do me a bullock and a half. Just put that and that together,and see what it comes to. And, mind you, some of these fellows thatfarm their own land are worse off than if they'd rent to pay. They'veborrowed so much to carry on with, that the interest is more thanrent. I don't owe a sixpence to ere a man or ere a company in theworld. I can walk into every bank in Norwich without seeing mymaster. There ain't any of my paper flying about, Mrs. Greenow. I'mSamuel Cheesacre of Oileymead, and it's all my own." Mr. Cheesacre, ashe thus spoke of his good fortunes and firm standing in the world,became impetuous in the energy of the moment, and brought down hisfist powerfully on the slight table before them. The whole fabricrattled, and the boat resounded, but the noise he had made seemed toassist him. "It's all my own, Mrs. Greenow, and the half of it shallbe yours if you'll please to take it;" then he stretched out his handto her, not as though he intended to grasp hers in a grasp of love,but as if he expected some hand-pledge from her as a token that sheaccepted the bargain.

  "If you'd known Greenow, Mr. Cheesacre--"

  "I've no doubt he was a very good sort of man."

  "If you'd known him, you would not have addressed me in this way."

  "What difference would that make? My idea is that care killed a cat,as I said before. I never knew what was the good of being unhappy.If I find early mangels don't do on a bit of land, then I sow lateturnips; and never cry after spilt milk. Greenow was the earlymangels; I'll be the late turnips. Come then, say the word. Thereain't a bedroom in my house,--not one of the front ones,--that isn'tmahogany furnished!"

  "What's furniture to me?" said Mrs. Greenow, with her handkerchief toher eyes.

  Just at this moment Maria's mother stepped in under the canvas. Itwas most inopportune. Mr. Cheesacre felt that he was progressing well,and was conscious that he had got safely over those fences in therace which his bashfulness would naturally make difficult to him. Heknew that he had done this under the influence of the champagne, andwas aware that it might not be easy to procure again a combinationof circumstances that would be so beneficial to him. But now he wasinterrupted just as he was expecting success. He was interrupted,and felt himself to be looking like a guilty creature under the eyeof the strange lady. He had not a word to say; but drawing himselfsuddenly a foot and half away from the widow's side, sat thereconfessing his guilt in his face.

  Mrs. Greenow felt no guilt, and was afraid of no strange eyes. "Mr.Cheesacre and I are talking about farming," she said.

  "Oh; farming!" answered Maria's mother.

  "Mr. Cheesacre thinks that turnips are better than early mangels,"said Mrs. Greenow.

  "Yes, I do," said Cheesacre,

  "I prefer the early mangels," said Mrs. Greenow. "I don't think natureever intended those late crops. What do you say, Mrs. Walker?"

  "I daresay Mr. Cheesacre understands what he's about when he's athome," said the lady.

  "I know what a bit of land can do as well as any man in Norfolk,"said the gentleman.

  "It may be very well in Norfolk," said Mrs. Greenow, rising from herseat; "but the practice isn't thought much of in the other countieswith which I am better acquainted."

  "I'd just come in to say that I thought we might be getting to theboats," said Mrs. Walker. "My Ophelia is so delicate." At this momentthe delicate Ophelia was to be seen, under the influence of themusic, taking a distant range upon the sands with Joe Fairstairs' armround her waist. The attitude was justified by the tune that was inprogress, and there is no reason why a galop on the sands should haveany special termination in distance, as it must have in a room. But,under such circumstances, Mrs. Walker's solicitude was notunreasonable.

  The erratic steps of the distant dancers were recalled andpreparations were made for the return journey. Others had strayedbesides the delicate Ophelia and the idle Joe, and some little timewas taken up in collecting the party. The boats had to be drawn down,and the boatmen fetched from their cans and tobacco-pipes. "I hopethey're sober," said Mrs. Walker, with a look of great dismay.

  "Sober as judges," said Bellfield, who had himself been looking afterthe remains of Mr. Cheesacre's hampers, while that gentleman had beenso much better engaged in the tent.

  "Because," continued Mrs. Walker, "I know that they play all manner oftricks when they're--in liquor. They'd think nothing of taking us outto sea, Mrs. Greenow."

  "Oh, I do wish they would," said Ophelia.

  "Ophelia, mind you come in the boat with me," said her mother, andshe looked very savage when she gave the order. It was Mrs. Walker'sintention that that boat should not carry Joe Fairstairs. But Joe andher daughter together were too clever for her. When the boats wentoff she found herself to be in that one over which Mr. Cheesacrepresided, while the sinning Ophelia with her good-for-nothing admirerwere under the more mirthful protection of Captain Bellfield.

  "Mamma will be so angry," said Ophelia, "and it was all your fault. Idid mean to go into the other boat. Don't, Mr. Fairstairs." Then theygot settled down in their seats, to the satisfaction, let us hope, ofthem both.

  Mr. Cheesacre had vainly endeavoured to arrange that Mrs. Greenowshould return with him. But not only was Captain Bellfield opposedto such a change in their positions, but so also was Mrs. Greenow. "Ithink we'd better go back as we came," she said, giving her hand tothe Captain.

  "Oh, certainly," said Captain Bellfield. "Why should there be anychange? Cheesacre, old fellow, mind you look after Mrs. Walker. Comealong, my hearty." It really almost appeared that Captain Bellfieldwas addressing Mrs. Greenow as "his hearty," but it must be presumedthat the term of genial endearment was intended for the whole boat'sload. Mrs. Greenow took her place on the comfortable broad bench inthe stern, and Bellfield seated himself beside her, with the tillerin his hand.

  "If you're going to steer, Captain Bellfield, I beg that you'll becareful."

  "Careful,--and with you on board!" said the Captain. "Don't you knowthat I would sooner perish beneath the waves than that a drop ofwater should touch you roughly?"

  "But you see, we might perish beneath the waves together."

  "Together! What a sweet word that is;--perish together! If it werenot that there might be something better even than that, I would wishto perish in such company."

  "But I should not wish anything of the kind, Captain Bellfield, andtherefore pray be careful."

  There was no perishing by water on that occasion. Mr. Cheesacre's boatreached the pier at Yarmouth first, and gave up its load withoutaccident. Very shortly afterwards Captain Bellfield's crew reachedthe same place in the same state of preservation. "There," said he,as he handed out Mrs. Greenow. "I have brought you to no harm, at anyrate as yet."

  "And, as I hope, will not do so hereafter."

  "May the heavens forbid it, Mrs. Greenow! Whatever may be our lotshereafter,--yours I mean and mine,--I trust that yours may be freefrom all disaster. Oh, that I might venture to hope that, at somefuture day, the privilege might be mine of protecting you from alldanger!"


  "I can protect myself very well, I can assure you. Good night,Captain Bellfield. We won't take you and Mr. Cheesacre out of yourway;--will we, Kate? We have had a most pleasant day."

  They were now upon the esplanade, and Mrs. Greenow's house was to theright, whereas the lodgings of both the gentlemen were to the left.Each of them fought hard for the privilege of accompanying the widowto her door; but Mrs. Greenow was self-willed, and upon this occasionwould have neither of them. "Mr. Joe Fairstairs must pass the house,"said she, "and he will see us home. Mr. Cheesacre, good night. Indeedyou shall not;--not a step." There was that in her voice whichinduced Mr. Cheesacre to obey her, and which made Captain Bellfieldaware that he would only injure his cause if he endeavoured to makefurther progress in it on the present occasion.

  "Well, Kate, what do you think of the day?" the aunt said when shewas alone with her niece.

  "I never think much about such days, aunt. It was all very well, butI fear I have not the temperament fitted for enjoying the fun. Ienvied Ophelia Walker because she made herself thoroughly happy."

  "I do like to see girls enjoy themselves," said Mrs. Greenow, "I do,indeed;--and young men too. It seems so natural; why shouldn't youngpeople flirt?"

  "Or old people either for the matter of that?"

  "Or old people either,--if they don't do any harm to anybody. I'lltell you what it is, Kate; people have become so very virtuous, thatthey're driven into all manner of abominable resources for amusementand occupation. If I had sons and daughters I should think a littleflirting the very best thing for them as a safety valve. When peopleget to be old, there's a difficulty. They want to flirt with theyoung people and the young people don't want them. If the old peoplewould be content to flirt together, I don't see why they should evergive it up;--till they're obliged to give up every thing, and goaway."

  That was Mrs. Greenow's doctrine on the subject of flirtation.