Can You Forgive Her?

  CHAPTER VII.

  Aunt Greenow.

  Kate Vavasor remained only three days in London before she startedfor Yarmouth; and during those three days she was not much with hercousin. "I'm my aunt's, body and soul, for the next six weeks," shesaid to Alice, when she did come to Queen Anne Street on the morningafter her arrival. "And she is exigeant in a manner I can't at allexplain to you. You mustn't be surprised if I don't even write aline. I've escaped by stealth now. She went up-stairs to try on somenew weeds for the seaside, and then I bolted." She did not say aword about George; nor during those three days, nor for some daysafterwards, did George show himself. As it turned out afterwards, hehad gone off to Scotland, and had remained a week among the grouse.Thus, at least, he had accounted for himself and his movements; butall George Vavasor's friends knew that his goings out and comings inwere seldom accounted for openly like those of other men.

  It will perhaps be as well to say a few words about Mrs. Greenowbefore we go with her to Yarmouth. Mrs. Greenow was the only daughterand the youngest child of the old squire at Vavasor Hall. She wasjust ten years younger than her brother John, and I am inclined tothink that she was almost justified in her repeated assertion thatthe difference was much greater than ten years, by the freshness ofher colour, and by the general juvenility of her appearance. Shecertainly did not look forty, and who can expect a woman to proclaimherself to be older than her looks? In early life she had been takenfrom her father's house, and had lived with relatives in one of thelarge towns in the north of England. It is certain she had not beenquite successful as a girl. Though she had enjoyed the name of beinga beauty, she had not the usual success which comes from such repute.At thirty-four she was still unmarried. She had, moreover, acquiredthe character of being a flirt; and I fear that the stories whichwere told of her, though doubtless more than half false, had inthem sufficient of truth to justify the character. Now this wasvery sad, seeing that Arabella Vavasor had no fortune, and that shehad offended her father and brothers by declining to comply withtheir advice at certain periods of her career. There was, indeed,considerable trouble in the minds of the various male Vavasors withreference to Arabella, when tidings suddenly reached the Hall thatshe was going to be married to an old man.

  She was married to the old man; and the marriage fortunately turnedout satisfactorily, at any rate for the old man and for her family.The Vavasors were relieved from all further trouble, and were as muchsurprised as gratified when they heard that she did her duty wellin her new position. Arabella had long been a thorn in their side,never having really done anything which they could pronounce to beabsolutely wrong, but always giving them cause for fear. Now theyfeared no longer. Her husband was a retired merchant, very rich, notvery strong in health, and devoted to his bride. Rumours soon madetheir way to Vavasor Hall, and to Queen Anne Street, that Mrs. Greenowwas quite a pattern wife, and that Mr. Greenow considered himself tobe the happiest old man in Lancashire. And now in her prosperity shequite forgave the former slights which had been put upon her by herrelatives. She wrote to her dear niece Alice, and to her dearestniece Kate, and sent little presents to her father. On one occasionshe took her husband to Vavasor Hall, and there was a regular renewalof all the old family feelings. Arabella's husband was an oldman, and was very old for his age; but the whole thing was quiterespectable, and there was, at any rate, no doubt about the money.Then Mr. Greenow died; and the widow, having proved the will, came upto London and claimed the commiseration of her nieces.

  "Why not go to Yarmouth with her for a month?" George had said toKate. "Of course it will be a bore. But an aunt with forty thousandpounds has a right to claim attention." Kate acknowledged the truthof the argument and agreed to go to Yarmouth for a month. "Your auntArabella has shown herself to be a very sensible woman," the oldsquire had written; "much more sensible than anybody thought herbefore her marriage. Of course you should go with her if she asksyou." What aunt, uncle, or cousin, in the uncontrolled possession offorty thousand pounds was ever unpopular in the family?

  Yarmouth is not a very prepossessing place to the eye. To my eye,at any rate, it is not so. There is an old town with which summervisitors have little or nothing to do; and there are the new housesdown by the sea-side, to which, at any rate, belongs the fulladvantage of sea air. A kind of esplanade runs for nearly a milealong the sands, and there are built, or in the course of building,rows of houses appropriated to summer visitors all looking out uponthe sea. There is no beauty unless the yellow sandy sea can be calledbeautiful. The coast is low and straight, and the east wind blowsfull upon it. But the place is healthy; and Mrs. Greenow was probablyright in thinking that she might there revive some portion of thehealth which she had lost in watching beside the couch of herdeparting lord.

  "Omnibus;--no, indeed. Jeannette, get me a fly." These were the firstwords Mrs. Greenow spoke as she put her foot upon the platform at theYarmouth station. Her maid's name was Jenny; but Kate had alreadyfound, somewhat to her dismay, that orders had been issued beforethey left London that the girl was henceforth to be called Jeannette.Kate had also already found that her aunt could be imperious; butthis taste for masterdom had not shown itself so plainly in Londonas it did from the moment that the train had left the station atShoreditch. In London Mrs. Greenow had been among Londoners, and hercareer had hitherto been provincial. Her spirit, no doubt, had beensomewhat cowed by the novelty of her position. But when she feltherself to be once beyond the stones as the saying used to be, shewas herself again; and at Ipswich she had ordered Jeannette to gether a glass of sherry with an air which had created a good deal ofattention among the guards and porters.

  The fly was procured; and with considerable exertion all Mrs.Greenow's boxes, together with the more moderate belongings of herniece and maid, were stowed on the top of it, round upon the driver'sbody on the coach box, on the maid's lap, and I fear in Kate's also,and upon the vacant seat.

  "The large house in Montpelier Parade," said Mrs. Greenow.

  "They is all large, ma'am," said the driver.

  "The largest," said Mrs. Greenow.

  "They're much of a muchness," said the driver.

  "Then Mrs. Jones's," said Mrs. Greenow. "But I was particularly toldit was the largest in the row."

  "I know Mrs. Jones's well," said the driver, and away they went.

  Mrs. Jones's house was handsome and comfortable; but I fear Mrs.Greenow's satisfaction in this respect was impaired by herdisappointment in finding that it was not perceptibly bigger thanthose to the right and left of her. Her ambition in this and inother similar matters would have amused Kate greatly had she beena bystander, and not one of her aunt's party. Mrs. Greenow wasgood-natured, liberal, and not by nature selfish; but she wasdetermined not to waste the good things which fortune had given, anddesired that all the world should see that she had forty thousandpounds of her own. And in doing this she was repressed by nofeeling of false shame. She never hesitated in her demands throughbashfulness. She called aloud for such comfort and grandeur asYarmouth could afford her, and was well pleased that all aroundshould hear her calling. Joined to all this was her uncontrolledgrief for her husband's death.

  "Dear Greenow! sweet lamb! Oh, Kate, if you'd only known that man!"When she said this she was sitting in the best of Mrs. Jones'ssitting-rooms, waiting to have dinner announced. She had taken adrawing-room and dining-room, "because," as she had said, "she didn'tsee why people should be stuffy when they went to the seaside;--notif they had means to make themselves comfortable."

  "Oh, Kate, I do wish you'd known him!"

  "I wish I had," said Kate,--very untruly. "I was unfortunately awaywhen he went to Vavasor Hall."

  "Ah, yes; but it was at home, in the domestic circle, that Greenowshould have been seen to be appreciated. I was a happy woman,Kate, while that lasted." And Kate was surprised to see that realtears--one or two on each side--were making their way down heraunt's cheeks. But they were soon checked with a handkerchief of thebroadest hem and of the finest cam
bric.

  "Dinner, ma'am," said Jeannette, opening the door.

  "Jeannette, I told you always to say that dinner was served."

  "Dinner's served then," said Jeannette in a tone of anger.

  "Come, Kate," said her aunt. "I've but little appetite myself, butthere's no reason you shouldn't eat your dinner. I specially wrote toMrs. Jones to have some sweetbread. I do hope she's got a decent cook.It's very little I eat myself, but I do like to see things nice."

  The next day was Sunday; and it was beautiful to see how Mrs. Greenowwent to church in all the glory of widowhood. There had been a greatunpacking after that banquet on the sweetbread, and all her funerealmillinery had been displayed before Kate's wondering eyes. The charmof the woman was in this,--that she was not in the least ashamed ofanything that she did. She turned over all her wardrobe of mourning,showing the richness of each article, the stiffness of the crape,the fineness of the cambric, the breadth of the frills,--telling theprice of each to a shilling, while she explained how the whole hadbeen amassed without any consideration of expense. This she did withall the pride of a young bride when she shows the glories of hertrousseau to the friend of her bosom. Jeannette stood by the while,removing one thing and exhibiting another. Now and again through theperformance, Mrs. Greenow would rest a while from her employment, andaddress the shade of the departed one in terms of most endearingaffection. In the midst of this Mrs. Jones came in; but the widow wasnot a whit abashed by the presence of the stranger. "Peace be to hismanes!" she said at last, as she carefully folded up a huge blackcrape mantilla. She made, however, but one syllable of the classicalword, and Mrs. Jones thought that her lodger had addressed herself tothe mortal "remains" of her deceased lord.

  "Peace be to his manes."]

  "He is left her uncommon well off, I suppose," said Mrs. Jones toJeannette.

  "You may say that, ma'am. It's more nor a hundred thousand ofpounds!"

  "No!"

  "Pounds of sterling, ma'am! Indeed it is;--to my knowledge."

  "Why don't she have a carriage?"

  "So she do;--but a lady can't bring her carriage down to the sea whenshe's only just buried her husband as one may say. What'd folks sayif they saw her in her own carriage? But it ain't because she can'tafford it, Mrs. Jones. And now we're talking of it you must order afly for church to-morrow, that'll look private, you know. She said Iwas to get a man that had a livery coat and gloves."

  The man with the coat and gloves was procured; and Mrs. Greenow'sentry into church made quite a sensation. There was a thoughtfulnessabout her which alone showed that she was a woman of no ordinarypower. She foresaw all necessities, and made provision for allemergencies. Another would not have secured an eligible sitting, andbeen at home in Yarmouth church, till half the period of her sojournthere was over. But Mrs. Greenow had done it all. She walked up themiddle aisle with as much self-possession as though the chancel hadbelonged to her family for years; and the respectable pew-openerabsolutely deserted two or three old ladies whom she was attending,to show Mrs. Greenow into her seat. When seated, she was the cynosureof all eyes. Kate Vavasor became immediately aware that a greatsensation had been occasioned by their entrance, and equally awarethat none of it was due to her. I regret to say that this feelingcontinued to show itself throughout the whole service. How manyladies of forty go to church without attracting the least attention!But it is hardly too much to say that every person in that church hadlooked at Mrs. Greenow. I doubt if there was present there a singlemarried lady who, on leaving the building, did not speak to herhusband of the widow. There had prevailed during the whole two hoursa general though unexpressed conviction that something worthy ofremark had happened that morning. It had an effect even upon thecurate's reading; and the incumbent, while preaching his sermon,could not keep his eyes off that wonderful bonnet and veil.

  On the next morning, before eleven, Mrs. Greenow's name was put downat the Assembly Room. "I need hardly say that in my present conditionI care nothing for these things. Of course I would sooner be alone.But, my dear Kate, I know what I owe to you."

  Kate, with less intelligence than might have been expected from oneso clever, began to assure her aunt that she required no society;and that, coming thus with her to the seaside in the early days ofher widowhood, she had been well aware that they would live retired.But Mrs. Greenow soon put her down, and did so without the slightestfeeling of shame or annoyance on her own part. "My dear," she said,"in this matter you must let me do what I know to be right. I shouldconsider myself to be very selfish if I allowed my grief to interferewith your amusements."

  "But, aunt, I don't care for such amusements."

  "That's nonsense, my dear. You ought to care for them. How are you tosettle yourself in life if you don't care for them?"

  "My dear aunt, I am settled."

  "Settled!" said Mrs. Greenow, astounded, as though there must havebeen some hidden marriage of which she had not heard. "But that'snonsense. Of course you're not settled; and how are you to be, if Iallow you to shut yourself up in such a place as this,--just where agirl has a chance?"

  It was in vain that Kate tried to stop her. It was not easy to stopMrs. Greenow when she was supported by the full assurance of beingmistress of the place and of the occasion. "No, my dear; I know verywell what I owe to you, and I shall do my duty. As I said before,society can have no charms now for such a one as I am. All thatsocial intercourse could ever do for me lies buried in my darling'sgrave. My heart is desolate, and must remain so. But I'm not going toimmolate you on the altars of my grief. I shall force myself to goout for your sake, Kate."

  "But, dear aunt, the world will think it so odd, just at present."

  "I don't care twopence for the world. What can the world do to me?I'm not dependent on the world,--thanks to the care of that saintedlamb. I can hold my own; and as long as I can do that the world won'thurt me. No, Kate, if I think a thing's right I shall do it. I meanto make the place pleasant for you if I can, and the world may objectif it likes."

  Mrs. Greenow was probably right in her appreciation of the value ofher independence. Remarks may perhaps have been made by the world ofYarmouth as to her early return to society. People, no doubt, didremind each other that old Greenow was hardly yet four months buried.Mrs. Jones and Jeannette probably had their little jokes down-stairs.But this did not hurt Mrs. Greenow. What was said, was not said in herhearing, Mrs. Jones's bills were paid every Saturday with admirablepunctuality; and as long as this was done everybody about thehouse treated the lady with that deference which was due to therespectability of her possessions. When a recently bereaved widowattempts to enjoy her freedom without money, then it behoves theworld to speak aloud;--and the world does its duty.

  Numerous people came to call at Montpelier Parade, and Kate wasastonished to find that her aunt had so many friends. She was indeedso bewildered by these strangers that she could hardly ascertain whomher aunt had really known before, and whom she now saw for the firsttime. Somebody had known somebody who had known somebody else, andthat was allowed to be a sufficient introduction,--always presumingthat the existing somebody was backed by some known advantages ofmoney or position. Mrs. Greenow could smile from beneath her widow'scap in a most bewitching way. "Upon my word then she is reallyhandsome," Kate wrote one day to Alice. But she could also frown, andknew well how to put aside, or, if need be, to reprobate any attemptat familiarity from those whose worldly circumstances were supposedto be disadvantageous.

  "My dear aunt," said Kate one morning after their walk upon the pier,"how you did snub that Captain Bellfield!"

  "Captain Bellfield, indeed! I don't believe he's a captain at all. Atany rate he has sold out, and the tradesmen have had a scramble forthe money. He was only a lieutenant when the 97th were in Manchester,and I'm sure he's never had a shilling to purchase since that."

  "But everybody here seems to know him."

  "Perhaps they do not know so much of him as I do. The idea of hishaving the impudence to tell me
I was looking very well! Nothing canbe so mean as men who go about in that way when they haven't moneyenough in their pockets to pay their washerwomen."

  "But how do you know, aunt, that Captain Bellfield hasn't paid hiswasherwoman?"

  "I know more than you think, my dear. It's my business. How could Itell whose attentions you should receive and whose you shouldn't, ifI didn't inquire into these things?"

  It was in vain that Kate rebelled, or attempted to rebel against thismore than maternal care. She told her aunt that she was now nearlythirty, and that she had managed her own affairs, at any rate withsafety, for the last ten years;--but it was to no purpose. Kate wouldget angry; but Mrs. Greenow never became angry. Kate would be quitein earnest; but Mrs. Greenow would push aside all that her niece saidas though it were worth nothing. Kate was an unmarried woman with avery small fortune, and therefore, of course, was desirous of beingmarried with as little delay as possible. It was natural that sheshould deny that it was so, especially at this early date in theirmutual acquaintance. When the niece came to know her aunt moreintimately, there might be confidence between them, and then theywould do better. But Mrs. Greenow would spare neither herself nor herpurse on Kate's behalf, and she would be a dragon of watchfulness inprotecting her from the evil desires of such useless men as CaptainBellfield.

  "I declare, Kate, I don't understand you," she said one morning toher niece as they sat together over a late breakfast. They had falleninto luxurious habits, and I am afraid it was past eleven o'clock,although the breakfast things were still on the table. Kate wouldusually bathe before breakfast, but Mrs. Greenow was never out of herroom till half-past ten. "I like the morning for contemplation," sheonce said. "When a woman has gone through all that I have sufferedshe has a great deal to think of." "And it is so much morecomfortable to be a-thinking when one's in bed," said Jeannette, whowas present at the time. "Child, hold your tongue," said the widow."Yes, ma'am," said Jeannette. But we'll return to the scene at thebreakfast-table.

  "What don't you understand, aunt?"

  "You only danced twice last night, and once you stood up with CaptainBellfield."

  "On purpose to ask after that poor woman who washes his clotheswithout getting paid for it."

  "Nonsense, Kate; you didn't ask him anything of the kind, I'm sure.It's very provoking. It is indeed."

  "But what harm can Captain Bellfield do me?"

  "What good can he do you? That's the question. You see, my dear,years will go by. I don't mean to say you ain't quite as youngas ever you were, and nothing can be nicer and fresher than youare;--especially since you took to bathing."

  "Oh, aunt, don't!"

  "My dear, the truth must be spoken. I declare I don't think I eversaw a young woman so improvident as you are. When are you to begin tothink about getting married if you don't do it now?"

  "I shall never begin to think about it, till I buy my weddingclothes."

  "That's nonsense,--sheer nonsense. How are you to get wedding clothesif you have never thought about getting a husband? Didn't I see Mr.Cheesacre ask you for a dance last night?"

  "Yes, he did; while you were talking to Captain Bellfield yourself,aunt."

  "Captain Bellfield can't hurt me, my dear. And why didn't you dancewith Mr. Cheesacre?"

  "He's a fat Norfolk farmer, with not an idea beyond the virtues ofstall-feeding."

  "My dear, every acre of it is his own land,--every acre! And hebought another farm for thirteen thousand pounds only last autumn.They're better than the squires,--some of those gentlemen farmers;they are indeed. And of all men in the world they're the easiestmanaged."

  "That's a recommendation, no doubt."

  "Of course it is;--a great recommendation."

  Mrs. Greenow had no idea of joking when her mind was intent on seriousthings. "He's to take us to the picnic to-morrow, and I do hopeyou'll manage to let him sit beside you. It'll be the place ofhonour, because he gives all the wine. He's picked up with thatman Bellfield, and he's to be there; but if you allow your name tobe once mixed up with his, it will be all over with you as far asYarmouth is concerned."

  "I don't at all want to be mixed up with Captain Bellfield, as youcall it," said Kate. Then she subsided into her novel, while Mrs.Greenow busied herself about the good things for the picnic. Intruth, the aunt did not understand the niece. Whatsoever might be thefaults of Kate Vavasor, an unmaidenly desire of catching a husbandfor herself was certainly not one of them.