RACHEL RAY
CHAPTER I.
RACHEL RAY'S FIRST LOVE-LETTER.
On the Monday evening, after tea, Mrs. Prime came out to the cottage.It was that Monday on which Mrs. Rowan and her daughter had leftBaslehurst and had followed Luke up to London. She came out and satwith her mother and sister for about an hour, restraining herselfwith much discretion from the saying of disagreeable things about hersister's lover. She had heard that the Rowans had gone away, and shehad also heard that it was probable that they would be no more seenin Baslehurst. Mr. Prong had given it as his opinion that Luke wouldnot trouble them again by his personal appearance among them. Underthese circumstances Mrs. Prime had thought that she might spare hersister. Nor had she said much about her own love affairs. She hadnever mentioned Mr. Prong's offer in Rachel's presence; nor did shedo so now. As long as Rachel remained in the room the conversationwas very innocent and very uninteresting. For a few minutes the twowidows were alone together, and then Mrs. Prime gave her mother tounderstand that things were not yet quite arranged between herselfand Mr. Prong.
"You see, mother," said Mrs. Prime, "as this money has been committedto my charge, I do not think it can be right to let it go altogetherout of my own hands."
In answer to this Mrs. Ray had uttered a word or two agreeing withher daughter. She was afraid to say much against Mr. Prong;--wasafraid, indeed, to express any very strong opinion about thisproposed marriage; but in her heart she would have been delighted tohear that the Prong alliance was to be abandoned. There was nothingin Mr. Prong to recommend him to Mrs. Ray.
"And is she going to marry him?" Rachel asked, as soon as her sisterwas gone.
"There's nothing settled as yet. Dorothea wants to keep her money inher own hands."
"I don't think that can be right. If a woman is married the moneyshould belong to the husband."
"I suppose that's what Mr. Prong thinks;--at any rate, there'snothing settled. It seems to me that we know so little about him. Hemight go away any day to Australia, you know."
"And did she say anything about--Mr. Rowan?"
"Not a word, my dear."
And that was all that was then said about Luke even between Racheland her mother. How could they speak about him? Mrs. Ray alsobelieved that he would be no more seen in Baslehurst; and Rachelwas well aware that such was her mother's belief, although it hadnever been expressed. What could be said between them now,--or everafterwards,--unless, indeed, Rowan should take some steps to make itnecessary that his doings should be discussed?
The Tuesday passed and the Wednesday, without any sign from the youngman; and during these two sad days nothing was said at the cottage.On that Wednesday his name was absolutely not mentioned between them,although each of them was thinking of him throughout the day. Mrs.Ray had now become almost sure that he had obeyed his mother'sbehests, and had resolved not to trouble himself about Rachel anyfurther; and Rachel herself had become frightened if not despondent.Could it be that all this should have passed over her and that itshould mean nothing?--that the man should have been standing there,only three or four days since, in that very room, with his arm roundher waist, begging for her love, and calling her his wife;--and thatall of it should have no meaning? Nothing amazed her so much as hermother's firm belief in such an ending to such an affair. What mustbe her mother's thoughts about men and women in general if she couldexpect such conduct from Luke Rowan,--and yet not think of him as onewhose falsehood was marvellous in its falseness!
But on the Thursday morning there came a letter from Luke addressedto Rachel. On that morning Mrs. Ray was up when the postman passed bythe cottage, and though Rachel took the letter from the man's handherself, she did not open it till she had shown it to her mother.
"Of course it's from him," said Rachel.
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Ray, taking the unopened letter in her handand looking at it. She spoke almost in a whisper, as though therewere something terrible in the coming of the letter.
"Is it not odd," said Rachel, "but I never saw his handwritingbefore? I shall know it now for ever and ever." She also spoke in awhisper, and still held the letter as though she dreaded to open it.
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Ray.
"If you think you ought to read it first, mamma, you may."
"No, Rachel. It is your letter. I do not wish you to imagine that Idistrust you."
Then Rachel sat herself down, and with extreme care opened theenvelope. The letter, which she read to herself very slowly, was asfollows:--
MY OWN DEAREST RACHEL,
It seems so nice having to write to you, though it would be much nicer if I could see you and be sitting with you at this moment at the churchyard stile. That is the spot in all Baslehurst that I like the best. I ought to have written sooner, I know, and you will have been very angry with me; but I have had to go down into Northamptonshire to settle some affairs as to my father's property, so that I have been almost living in railway carriages ever since I saw you. I am resolved about the brewery business more firmly than ever, and as it seems that "T"
--Mrs. Tappitt would occasionally so designate her lord, and herdoing so had been a joke between Luke and Rachel,--
will not come to reason without a lawsuit, I must scrape together all the capital I have, or I shall be fifty years old before I can begin. He is a pig-headed old fool, and I shall be driven to ruin him and all his family. I would have done,--and still would do,--anything for him in kindness; but if he drives me to go to law to get what is as much my own as his share is his own, I will build another brewery just under his nose. All this will require money, and therefore I have to run about and get my affairs settled.
But this is a nice love-letter,--is it not? However, you must take me as I am. Just now I have beer in my very soul. The grand object of my ambition is to stand and be fumigated by the smoke of my own vats. It is a fat, prosperous, money-making business, and one in which there is a clear line between right and wrong. No man brews bad beer without knowing it,--or sells short measure. Whether the fatness and the honesty can go together;--that is the problem I want to solve.
You see I write to you exactly as if you were a man friend, and not my own dear sweet girl. But I am a very bad hand at love-making. I considered that that was all done when you nodded your head over my arm in token that you consented to be my wife. It was a very little nod, but it binds you as fast as a score of oaths. And now I think I have a right to talk to you about all my affairs, and expect you at once to get up the price of malt and hops in Devonshire. I told you, you remember, that you should be my friend, and now I mean to have my own way.
You must tell me exactly what my mother has been doing and saying at the cottage. I cannot quite make it out from what she says, but I fear that she has been interfering where she had no business, and making a goose of herself. She has got an idea into her head that I ought to make a good bargain in matrimony, and sell myself at the highest price going in the market;--that I ought to get money, or if not money, family connexion. I'm very fond of money,--as is everybody, only people are such liars,--but then I like it to be my own; and as to what people call connexion, I have no words to tell you how I despise it. If I know myself I should never have chosen a woman as my companion for life who was not a lady; but I have not the remotest wish to become second cousin by marriage to a baronet's grandmother. I have told my mother all this, and that you and I have settled the matter together; but I see that she trusts to something that she has said or done herself to upset our settling. Of course, what she has said can have no effect on you. She has a right to speak to me, but she has none to speak to you;--not as yet. But she is the best woman in the world, and as soon as ever we are married you will find that she will receive you with open arms.
You know I spoke of our being married in August. I wish it could have been so. If we could have settled it whe
n I was at Bragg's End, it might have been done. I don't, however, mean to scold you, though it was your fault. But as it is, it must now be put off till after Christmas. I won't name a day yet for seeing you, because I couldn't well go to Baslehurst without putting myself into Tappitt's way. My lawyer says I had better not go to Baslehurst just at present. Of course you will write to me constantly,--to my address here; say, twice a week at least. And I shall expect you to tell me everything that goes on. Give my kind love to your mother.
Yours, dearest Rachel, Most affectionately,
LUKE ROWAN.
The letter was not quite what Rachel had expected, but, nevertheless,she thought it very nice. She had never received a love-letterbefore, and probably had never read one,--even in print; so that shewas in possession of no strong preconceived notions as to the natureor requisite contents of such a document. She was a little shockedwhen Luke called his mother a goose;--she was a little startledwhen he said that people were "liars," having an idea that the wordwas one not to be lightly used;--she was amused by the allusion tothe baronet's grandmother, feeling, however, that the manner andlanguage of his letter was less pretty and love-laden than she hadexpected;--and she was frightened when he so confidently called uponher to write to him twice a week. But, nevertheless, the letter wasa genial one, joyous, and, upon the whole, comforting. She read itvery slowly, going back over much of it twice and thrice, so that hermother became impatient before the perusal was finished.
"It seems to be very long," said Mrs. Ray.
"Yes, mamma, it is long. It's nearly four sides."
"What can he have to say so much?"
"There's a good deal of it is about his own private affairs."
"I suppose, then, I mustn't see it."
"Oh yes, mamma!" And Rachel handed her the letter. "I shouldn't thinkof having a letter from him and not showing it to you;--not as thingsare now." Then Mrs. Ray took the letter and spent quite as much timein reading it as Rachel had done. "He writes as though he meant tohave everything quite his own way," said Mrs. Ray.
"That's what he does mean. I think he will do that always. He's whatpeople call imperious; but that isn't bad in a man, is it?"
Mrs. Ray did not quite know whether it was bad in a man or no.But she mistrusted the letter, not construing it closely so as todiscover what might really be its full meaning, but perceiving thatthe young man took, or intended to take, very much into his ownhands; that he demanded that everything should be surrendered tohis will and pleasure, without any guarantee on his part that suchsurrendering should be properly acknowledged. Mrs. Ray was disposedto doubt people and things that were at a distance from her. Somecheck could be kept over a lover at Baslehurst; or, if perchance thelover had removed himself only to Exeter, with which city Mrs. Raywas personally acquainted, she could have believed in his return. Hewould not, in that case, have gone utterly beyond her ken. But shecould put no confidence in a lover up in London. Who could say thathe might not marry some one else to-morrow,--that he might not bepromising to marry half a dozen? It was with her the same sort offeeling which made her think it possible that Mr. Prong might goto Australia. She would have liked as a lover for her daughter ayoung man fixed in business,--if not at Baslehurst, then at Totnes,Dartmouth, or Brixham,--under her own eye as it were;--a young manso fixed that all the world of South Devonshire would know of allhis doings. Such a young man, when he asked a girl to marry him, mustmean what he said. If he did not there would be no escape for himfrom the punishment of his neighbours' eyes and tongues. But a youngman up in London,--a young man who had quarrelled with his naturalfriends in Baslehurst,--a young man who was confessedly masterfuland impetuous,--a young man who called his own mother a goose,and all the rest of the world liars, in his first letter to hislady-love;--was that a young man in whom Mrs. Ray could placeconfidence as a lover for her pet lamb? She read the letter veryslowly, and then, as she gave it back to Rachel, she groaned.
For nearly half an hour after that nothing was said in the cottageabout the letter. Rachel had perceived that it had not been thoughtsatisfactory by her mother; but then she was inclined to believethat her mother would have regarded no letter as satisfactory untilarguments had been used to prove to her that it was so. This, atany rate, was clear,--must be clear to Mrs. Ray as it was clear toRachel,--that Luke had no intention of shirking the fulfilment of hisengagement. And after all, was not that the one thing as to whichit was essentially necessary that they should be confident? Had shenot accepted Luke, telling him that she loved him? and was it notacknowledged by all around her that such a marriage would be goodfor her? The danger which they feared was the expectation of sucha marriage without its accomplishment. Even the forebodings of Mrs.Prime had shown that this was the evil to which they pointed. Underthese circumstances what better could be wished for than a ready,quick, warm assurance on Luke's part, that he did intend all that hehad said?
With Rachel now, as with all girls under such circumstances, thechief immediate consideration was as to the answer which should begiven. Was she to write to him, to write what she pleased; and mightshe write at once? She felt that she longed to have the pen in herhand, and that yet, when holding it, she would have to think forhours before writing the first word. "Mamma," she said at last,"don't you think it's a good letter?"
"I don't know what to think, my dear. I doubt whether any letters ofthat sort are good for much."
"Of what sort, mamma?"
"Letters from men who call themselves lovers to young girls. It wouldbe safer, I think, that there shouldn't be any;--very much safer."
"But if he hadn't written we should have thought that he hadforgotten all about us. That would not have been good. You saidyourself that if he did not write soon, there would be an end ofeverything."
"A hundred years ago there wasn't all this writing between youngpeople, and these things were managed better then than they are now,as far as I can understand."
"People couldn't write so much then," said Rachel, "because therewere no railways and no postage stamps. I suppose I must answer it,mamma?" To this proposition Mrs. Ray made no immediate answer. "Don'tyou think I ought to answer it, mamma?"
"You can't want to write at once."
"In the afternoon would do."
"In the afternoon! Why should you be in so much hurry, Rachel? Ittook him four or five days to write to you."
"Yes; but he was down in Northamptonshire on business. Besides hehadn't any letter from me to answer. I shouldn't like him to think--"
"To think what, Rachel?"
"That I had forgotten him."
"Psha!"
"Or that I didn't treat his letter with respect."
"He won't think that. But I must turn it over in my mind; and Ibelieve I ought to ask somebody."
"Not Dolly," said Rachel, eagerly.
"No, not your sister. I will not ask her. But if you don't mind,my dear, I'll take the young man's letter out to Mr. Comfort, andconsult him. I never felt myself so much in need of somebody toadvise me. Mr. Comfort is an old man, and you won't mind his seeingthe letter."
Rachel did mind it very much, but she had no means of saving herselffrom her fate. She did not like the idea of having her love-lettersubmitted to the clergyman of the parish. I do not know any younglady who would have liked it. But bad as that was, it was preferableto having the letter submitted to Mrs. Prime. And then she rememberedthat Mr. Comfort had advised that she might go to the ball, and thathe was father to her friend Mrs. Butler Cornbury.