The Way We Live Now

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  ROGER CARBURY AND HIS TWO FRIENDS.

  Roger Carbury having found Ruby Ruggles, and having ascertained thatshe was at any rate living in a respectable house with her aunt,returned to Carbury. He had given the girl his advice, and had doneso in a manner that was not altogether ineffectual. He had frightenedher, and had also frightened Mrs. Pipkin. He had taught Mrs. Pipkinto believe that the new dispensation was not yet so completelyestablished as to clear her from all responsibility as to her niece'sconduct. Having done so much, and feeling that there was no more tobe done, he returned home. It was out of the question that he shouldtake Ruby with him. In the first place she would not have gone. Andthen,--had she gone,--he would not have known where to bestow her.For it was now understood throughout Bungay,--and the news had spreadto Beccles,--that old Farmer Ruggles had sworn that his granddaughtershould never again be received at Sheep's Acre Farm. The squire onhis return home heard all the news from his own housekeeper. JohnCrumb had been at the farm and there had been a fierce quarrelbetween him and the old man. The old man had called Ruby by everyname that is most distasteful to a woman, and John had stormed andhad sworn that he would have punched the old man's head but for hisage. He wouldn't believe any harm of Ruby,--or if he did he wasready to forgive that harm. But as for the Baro-nite;--the Baro-nitehad better look to himself! Old Ruggles had declared that Rubyshould never have a shilling of his money;--whereupon Crumb hadanathematised old Ruggles and his money too, telling him that he wasan old hunx, and that he had driven the girl away by his cruelty.Roger at once sent over to Bungay for the dealer in meal, who waswith him early on the following morning.

  "Did ye find her, squoire?"

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Crumb, I found her. She's living with her aunt, Mrs.Pipkin, at Islington."

  "Eh, now;--look at that."

  "You knew she had an aunt of that name up in London."

  "Ye-es; I knew'd it, squoire. I a' heard tell of Mrs. Pipkin, but Inever see'd her."

  "I wonder it did not occur to you that Ruby would go there." JohnCrumb scratched his head, as though acknowledging the shortcoming ofhis own intellect. "Of course if she was to go to London it was theproper thing for her to do."

  "I knew she'd do the thing as was right. I said that all along.Darned if I didn't. You ask Mixet, squoire,--him as is baker downBardsey Lane. I allays guv' it her that she'd do the thing as wasright. But how about she and the Baro-nite?"

  Roger did not wish to speak of the Baronet just at present. "Isuppose the old man down here did ill use her?"

  "Oh, dreadful;--there ain't no manner of doubt o' that. Dragged herabout awful;--as he ought to be took up, only for the rumpus like.D'ye think she's see'd the Baro-nite since she's been in Lon'on,Muster Carbury?"

  "I think she's a good girl, if you mean that."

  "I'm sure she be. I don't want none to tell me that, squoire. Tho',squoire, it's better to me nor a ten pun' note to hear you say so. Iallays had a leaning to you, squoire; but I'll more nor lean to you,now. I've said all through she was good, and if e'er a man in Bungaysaid she warn't--; well, I was there, and ready."

  "I hope nobody has said so."

  "You can't stop them women, squoire. There ain't no dropping intothem. But, Lord love 'ee, she shall come and be missus of my houseto-morrow, and what 'll it matter her then what they say? But,squoire,--did ye hear if the Baro-nite had been a' hanging about thatplace?"

  "About Islington, you mean."

  "He goes a hanging about; he do. He don't come out straight forrard,and tell a girl as he loves her afore all the parish. There ain'tone in Bungay, nor yet in Mettingham, nor yet in all the Ilketsalsand all the Elmhams, as don't know as I'm set on Ruby Ruggles.Huggery-Muggery is pi'son to me, squoire."

  "We all know that when you've made up your mind, you have made upyour mind."

  "I hove. It's made up ever so as to Ruby. What sort of a one is heraunt now, squoire?"

  "She keeps lodgings;--a very decent sort of a woman I should say."

  "She won't let the Baro-nite come there?"

  "Certainly not," said Roger, who felt that he was hardly dealingsincerely with this most sincere of mealmen. Hitherto he had shuffledoff every question that had been asked him about Felix, though heknew that Ruby had spent many hours with her fashionable lover. "Mrs.Pipkin won't let him come there."

  "If I was to give her a ge'own now,--or a blue cloak;--themlodging-house women is mostly hard put to it;--or a chest of drawerslike, for her best bedroom, wouldn't that make her more o' my side,squoire?"

  "I think she'll try to do her duty without that."

  "They do like things the like o' that; any ways I'll go up, squoire,arter Sax'nam market, and see how things is lying."

  "I wouldn't go just yet, Mr. Crumb, if I were you. She hasn'tforgotten the scene at the farm yet."

  "I said nothing as warn't as kind as kind."

  "But her own perversity runs in her own head. If you had been unkindshe could have forgiven that; but as you were good-natured and shewas cross, she can't forgive that." John Crumb again scratched hishead, and felt that the depths of a woman's character required moregauging than he had yet given to it. "And to tell you the truth, myfriend, I think that a little hardship up at Mrs. Pipkin's will doher good."

  "Don't she have a bellyful o' vittels?" asked John Crumb, withintense anxiety.

  "I don't quite mean that. I dare say she has enough to eat. But ofcourse she has to work for it with her aunt. She has three or fourchildren to look after."

  "That moight come in handy by-and-by;--moightn't it, squoire?" saidJohn Crumb grinning.

  "As you say, she'll be learning something that may be useful to herin another sphere. Of course there is a good deal to do, and I shouldnot be surprised if she were to think after a bit that your house inBungay was more comfortable than Mrs. Pipkin's kitchen in London."

  "My little back parlour;--eh, squoire! And I've got a four-poster,most as big as any in Bungay."

  "I am sure you have everything comfortable for her, and she knows itherself. Let her think about all that,--and do you go and tell heragain in a month's time. She'll be more willing to settle mattersthen than she is now."

  "But,--the Baro-nite!"

  "Mrs. Pipkin will allow nothing of that."

  "Girls is so 'cute. Ruby is awful 'cute. It makes me feel as thoughI had two hun'erd weight o' meal on my stomach, lying awake o' nightsand thinking as how he is, may be,--pulling of her about! If Ithought that she'd let him--; oh! I'd swing for it, Muster Carbury.They'd have to make an eend o' me at Bury, if it was that way. Theywould then."

  Roger assured him again and again that he believed Ruby to be a goodgirl, and promised that further steps should be taken to induceMrs. Pipkin to keep a close watch upon her niece. John Crumb madeno promise that he would abstain from his journey to London afterSaxmundham fair; but left the squire with a conviction that hispurpose of doing so was shaken. He was still however resolved to sendMrs. Pipkin the price of a new blue cloak, and declared his purposeof getting Mixet to write the letter and enclose the money order.John Crumb had no delicacy as to declaring his own deficiency inliterary acquirements. He was able to make out a bill for meal orpollards, but did little beyond that in the way of writing letters.

  This happened on a Saturday morning, and on that afternoon RogerCarbury rode over to Lowestoft, to a meeting there on church mattersat which his friend the bishop presided. After the meeting was overhe dined at the inn with half a dozen clergymen and two or threeneighbouring gentlemen, and then walked down by himself on to thelong strand which has made Lowestoft what it is. It was now just theend of June, and the weather was delightful;--but people were notas yet flocking to the sea-shore. Every shopkeeper in every littletown through the country now follows the fashion set by Parliamentand abstains from his annual holiday till August or September. Theplace therefore was by no means full. Here and there a few of thetownspeople, who at a bathing place are generally indifferent to thesea, were strolling
about; and another few, indifferent to fashion,had come out from the lodging-houses and from the hotel, which hadbeen described as being small and insignificant,--and making up onlya hundred beds. Roger Carbury, whose house was not many miles distantfrom Lowestoft, was fond of the sea-shore, and always came to loiterthere for a while when any cause brought him into the town. Now hewas walking close down upon the marge of the tide,--so that the lastlittle roll of the rising water should touch his feet,--with hishands joined behind his back, and his face turned down towards theshore, when he came upon a couple who were standing with their backsto the land, looking forth together upon the waves. He was closeto them before he saw them, and before they had seen him. Then heperceived that the man was his friend Paul Montague. Leaning onPaul's arm a lady stood, dressed very simply in black, with a darkstraw hat on her head;--very simple in her attire, but yet a womanwhom it would be impossible to pass without notice. The lady ofcourse was Mrs. Hurtle.

  Paul Montague had been a fool to suggest Lowestoft, but his folly hadbeen natural. It was not the first place he had named; but when faulthad been found with others, he had fallen back upon the sea sandswhich were best known to himself. Lowestoft was just the spot whichMrs. Hurtle required. When she had been shown her room, and takendown out of the hotel on to the strand, she had declared herself tobe charmed. She acknowledged with many smiles that of course she hadhad no right to expect that Mrs. Pipkin should understand what sortof place she needed. But Paul would understand,--and had understood."I think the hotel charming," she said. "I don't know what youmean by your fun about the American hotels, but I think this quitegorgeous, and the people so civil!" Hotel people always are civilbefore the crowds come. Of course it was impossible that Paul shouldreturn to London by the mail train which started about an hour afterhis arrival. He would have reached London at four or five in themorning, and have been very uncomfortable. The following day wasSunday, and of course he promised to stay till Monday. Of course hehad said nothing in the train of those stern things which he hadresolved to say. Of course he was not saying them when Roger Carburycame upon him; but was indulging in some poetical nonsense, someprobably very trite raptures as to the expanse of the ocean, and theendless ripples which connected shore with shore. Mrs. Hurtle, too,as she leaned with friendly weight upon his arm, indulged also inmoonshine and romance. Though at the back of the heart of each ofthem there was a devouring care, still they enjoyed the hour. Weknow that the man who is to be hung likes to have his breakfast wellcooked. And so did Paul like the companionship of Mrs. Hurtle becauseher attire, though simple, was becoming; because the colour glowed inher dark face; because of the brightness of her eyes, and the happysharpness of her words, and the dangerous smile which played upon herlips. He liked the warmth of her close vicinity, and the softness ofher arm, and the perfume from her hair,--though he would have givenall that he possessed that she had been removed from him by someimpassable gulf. As he had to be hanged,--and this woman's continuedpresence would be as bad as death to him,--he liked to have his mealwell dressed.

  He certainly had been foolish to bring her to Lowestoft, and theclose neighbourhood of Carbury Manor;--and now he felt his folly. Assoon as he saw Roger Carbury he blushed up to his forehead, and thenleaving Mrs. Hurtle's arm he came forward, and shook hands with hisfriend. "It is Mrs. Hurtle," he said, "I must introduce you," and theintroduction was made. Roger took off his hat and bowed, but he didso with the coldest ceremony. Mrs. Hurtle, who was quick enough atgathering the minds of people from their looks, was just as cold inher acknowledgment of the courtesy. In former days she had heard muchof Roger Carbury, and surmised that he was no friend to her. "I didnot know that you were thinking of coming to Lowestoft," said Rogerin a voice that was needlessly severe. But his mind at the presentmoment was severe, and he could not hide his mind.

  The sands at Lowestoft.]

  "I was not thinking of it. Mrs. Hurtle wished to get to the sea, andas she knew no one else here in England, I brought her."

  "Mr. Montague and I have travelled so many miles together beforenow," she said, "that a few additional will not make muchdifference."

  "Do you stay long?" asked Roger in the same voice.

  "I go back probably on Monday," said Montague.

  "As I shall be here a whole week, and shall not speak a word to anyone after he has left me, he has consented to bestow his companyon me for two days. Will you join us at dinner, Mr. Carbury, thisevening?"

  "Thank you, madam;--I have dined."

  "Then, Mr. Montague, I will leave you with your friend. My toilet,though it will be very slight, will take longer than yours. We dineyou know in twenty minutes. I wish you could get your friend to joinus." So saying, Mrs. Hurtle tripped back across the sand towards thehotel.

  "Is this wise?" demanded Roger in a voice that was almost sepulchral,as soon as the lady was out of hearing.

  "You may well ask that, Carbury. Nobody knows the folly of it sothoroughly as I do."

  "Then why do you do it? Do you mean to marry her?"

  "No; certainly not."

  "Is it honest then, or like a gentleman, that you should be with herin this way? Does she think that you intend to marry her?"

  "I have told her that I would not. I have told her--." Then hestopped. He was going on to declare that he had told her that heloved another woman, but he felt that he could hardly touch thatmatter in speaking to Roger Carbury.

  "What does she mean then? Has she no regard for her own character?"

  "I would explain it to you all, Carbury, if I could. But you wouldnever have the patience to hear me."

  "I am not naturally impatient."

  "But this would drive you mad. I wrote to her assuring her that itmust be all over. Then she came here and sent for me. Was I not boundto go to her?"

  "Yes;--to go to her and repeat what you had said in your letter."

  "I did do so. I went with that very purpose, and did repeat it."

  "Then you should have left her."

  "Ah; but you do not understand. She begged that I would not deserther in her loneliness. We have been so much together that I could notdesert her."

  "I certainly do not understand that, Paul. You have allowed yourselfto be entrapped into a promise of marriage; and then, for reasonswhich we will not go into now but which we both thought to beadequate, you resolved to break your promise, thinking that you wouldbe justified in doing so. But nothing can justify you in living withthe lady afterwards on such terms as to induce her to suppose thatyour old promise holds good."

  "She does not think so. She cannot think so."

  "Then what must she be, to be here with you? And what must you be,to be here, in public, with such a one as she is? I don't know why Ishould trouble you or myself about it. People live now in a way thatI don't comprehend. If this be your way of living, I have no right tocomplain."

  "For God's sake, Carbury, do not speak in that way. It sounds asthough you meant to throw me over."

  "I should have said that you had thrown me over. You come down hereto this hotel, where we are both known, with this lady whom you arenot going to marry;--and I meet you, just by chance. Had I known it,of course I could have turned the other way. But coming on you byaccident, as I did, how am I not to speak to you? And if I speak,what am I to say? Of course I think that the lady will succeed inmarrying you."

  "Never."

  "And that such a marriage will be your destruction. Doubtless she isgood-looking."

  "Yes, and clever. And you must remember that the manners of hercountry are not as the manners of this country."

  "Then if I marry at all," said Roger, with all his prejudiceexpressed strongly in his voice, "I trust I may not marry a lady ofher country. She does not think that she is to marry you, and yetshe comes down here and stays with you. Paul, I don't believe it.I believe you, but I don't believe her. She is here with you inorder that she may marry you. She is cunning and strong. You arefoolish and weak. Believing as I do that marriage with her wouldbe des
truction, I should tell her my mind,--and leave her." Paulat the moment thought of the gentleman in Oregon, and of certaindifficulties in leaving. "That's what I should do. You must go innow, I suppose, and eat your dinner."

  "I may come to the hall as I go back home?"

  "Certainly you may come if you please," said Roger. Then he bethoughthimself that his welcome had not been cordial. "I mean that I shallbe delighted to see you," he added, marching away along the strand.Paul did go into the hotel, and did eat his dinner. In the meantimeRoger Carbury marched far away along the strand. In all that he hadsaid to Montague he had spoken the truth, or that which appeared tohim to be the truth. He had not been influenced for a moment by anyreference to his own affairs. And yet he feared, he almost knew, thatthis man,--who had promised to marry a strange American woman and whowas at this very moment living in close intercourse with the womanafter he had told her that he would not keep his promise,--was thechief barrier between himself and the girl that he loved. As hehad listened to John Crumb while John spoke of Ruby Ruggles, hehad told himself that he and John Crumb were alike. With an honest,true, heart-felt desire they both panted for the companionship of afellow-creature whom each had chosen. And each was to be thwartedby the make-believe regard of unworthy youth and fatuous good looks!Crumb, by dogged perseverance and indifference to many things, wouldprobably be successful at last. But what chance was there of successfor him? Ruby, as soon as want or hardship told upon her, wouldreturn to the strong arm that could be trusted to provide her withplenty and comparative ease. But Hetta Carbury, if once her hearthad passed from her own dominion into the possession of another,would never change her love. It was possible, no doubt,--nay, howprobable,--that her heart was still vacillating. Roger thought thathe knew that at any rate she had not as yet declared her love. If shewere now to know,--if she could now learn,--of what nature was thelove of this other man; if she could be instructed that he was livingalone with a lady whom not long since he had promised to marry,--ifshe could be made to understand this whole story of Mrs. Hurtle,would not that open her eyes? Would she not then see where shecould trust her happiness, and where, by so trusting it, she wouldcertainly be shipwrecked!

  "Never," said Roger to himself, hitting at the stones on the beachwith his stick. "Never." Then he got his horse and rode back toCarbury Manor.