Rachel Ray

  CHAPTER XI.

  CORNBURY GRANGE.

  Luke Rowan had been told that Mrs. Butler Cornbury wished to see himwhen the election should be over; and on the evening of the electionthe victorious candidate, before he returned home, asked Luke tocome to the Grange on the following Monday and stay till the nextWednesday. Now it must be understood that Rowan during this periodof the election had become, in a public way, very intimate withCornbury. They were both young men, the new Member of Parliamentnot being over thirty, and for the time they were together employedon the same matter. Luke Rowan was one with whom such a man asMr. Cornbury could not zealously co-operate without reaching aconsiderable extent of personal intimacy. He was pleasant-mannered,free in speech, with a bold eye, assuming though not asserting hisequality with the best of those with whom he might be brought incontact. Had Cornbury chosen to consider himself by reason of hissocial station too high for Rowan's fellowship, he might of coursehave avoided him; but he could not have put himself into closecontact with the man, without submitting himself to that temporaryequality which Rowan assumed, and to that temporary familiarity whichsprung from it. Butler Cornbury had thought little about it. He hadfound Rowan to be a pleasant associate and an able assistant, and hadfallen into that mode of fellowship which the other man's ways andwords had made natural to him. When his wife begged him to ask Rowanup to the Grange, he had been startled for a moment, but had at onceassented.

  "Well," said he; "he's an uncommon pleasant fellow. I don't see whyhe shouldn't come."

  "I've a particular reason," said Mrs. Butler.

  "All right," said the husband. "Do you explain it to my father." Andso the invitation had been given.

  But Rowan was a man more thoughtful than Cornbury, and was speciallythoughtful as to his own position. He was a radical at heart ifever there was a radical. But in saying this I must beg my readerto understand that a radical is not necessarily a revolutionistor even a republican. He does not, by reason of his social orpolitical radicalism, desire the ruin of thrones, the degradationof nobles, the spoliation of the rich, or even the downfall of thebench of bishops. Many a young man is frightened away from the justconclusions of his mind and the strong convictions of his heart bydread of being classed with those who are jealous of the favouredones of fortune. A radical may be as ready as any aristocrat tosupport the crown with his blood, and the church with his faith. Itis in this that he is a radical; that he desires, expects, works for,and believes in, the gradual progress of the people. No doctrine ofequality is his. Liberty he must have, and such position, high orlow, for himself and others, as each man's individual merits willachieve for him. The doctrine of outward equality he eschews as abarrier to all ambition, and to all improvement. The idea is as meanas the thing is impracticable. But within,--is it in his soul or inhis heart?--within his breast there is a manhood that will own noinferiority to the manhood of another. He retires to a corner thatan earl with his suite may pass proudly through the doorway, and hegrudges the earl nothing of his pride. It is the earl's right. Buthe also has his right; and neither queen, nor earl, nor people shallinvade it. That is the creed of a radical.

  Rowan, as I have said, was a man thoughtful as to his own position.He had understood well the nature of the league between himselfand Butler Cornbury. It was his intention to become a brewer inBaslehurst; and a brewer in Baslehurst would by no means be as themighty brewers of great name, who marry lord's daughters, and givetheir daughters in marriage to mighty lords. He would simply be atradesman in the town. It might well be that he should not find thesociety of the Tappitts and the Griggses much to his taste, but suchas it was he would make the best of it. At any rate he would make noattempt to force his way into other society. If others came to himlet that be their look out. Now, when Cornbury asked him thus to cometo Cornbury Grange, as though they two were men living in the sameclass of life,--as though they were men who might be bound togethersocially in their homes as well as politically on the hustings, thered colour came to his face and he hesitated for a moment in hisanswer.

  "You are very kind," said he.

  "Oh! you must come," said Cornbury. "My wife particularly desiresit."

  "She is very kind," said he. "But if you ask all your supporters overto the Grange you'll get rather a mixed lot."

  "I suppose I should; but I don't mean to do that. I shall be veryglad, however, to see you;--very glad."

  "And I shall be very happy to come," said Rowan, having againhesitated as he gave his answer.

  "I wish I hadn't promised that I'd go there," he said to himselfafterwards. This was on the Sunday, after evening church,--an houror more after the people had all gone home, and he was sitting onthat stile, looking to the west, and thinking, as he looked, of thatsunset which he and another had seen as they stood there together.He did wish that he had not undertaken to go to Mr. Cornbury's house.What to him would be the society of such people as he should findthere,--to him who had laid out for himself a career that wouldnecessarily place his life among other associates? "I'll send andexcuse myself," he said. "I'll be called away to Exeter. I havethings to do there. I shall only get into a mess by knowing peoplewho will drop me when this ferment of the election is over." And yetthe idea of an intimacy at such a house as Cornbury Grange,--withsuch people as Mrs. Butler Cornbury, was very sweet to him; onlythis, that if he associated with them or such as them it must be onequal terms. He could acknowledge them to be people apart from him,as ice creams and sponge cakes are things apart from the shillinglessschoolboy. But as the schoolboy, if brought within the range of cakesand creams, must devour them with unchecked relish, as though hispocket were lined with coin; so must he, Rowan, carry himself withthese curled darlings of society if he found himself placed amongthem. He liked cakes and creams, but had made up his mind that otherviands were as wholesome and more comfortably within his reach. Wasit worth his while to go to this banquet which would unsettle histaste, and at which perhaps if he sat there at his ease, he might notbe wholly welcome? All his thoughts were not noble. He had declaredto himself that a certain thing could not be his except at a costwhich he would not pay, and yet he hankered for that thing. He haddeclared to himself that no social position in which he might everfind himself should make a change in him, on his inner self or onhis outward manner; and now he feared to go among these people, lesthe should find himself an inferior among superiors. It was not allnoble; but there was beneath it a basis of nobility. "I will go," hesaid at last, fearing that if he did not, there would have been somegrain of cowardice in the motives of his action. "If they don't likeme it's their fault for asking me."

  Of course as he sat there he was thinking of Rachel. Of course he hadthought of Rachel daily, almost hourly, since he had been with herat the cottage, when she had bent her head over his shoulder, andsubmitted to have his arm round her waist. But his thoughts of herwere not as hers of him. Nor is it often that a man's love is likea woman's,--restless, fearful, uncomfortable, sleepless, timid, andall-pervading. Not the less may it be passionate, constant, andfaithful. He had been angered by Rachel's letter to him,--greatlyangered. Of a truth when Mrs. Ray met him in Exeter he had nomessage to send back to Cawston. He had done his part, and had beenrejected;--had been rejected too clearly because on the summing up ofhis merits and demerits at the cottage, his demerits had been foundto be the heavier. He did not suspect that the calculation had beenmade by Rachel herself; and therefore he had never said to himselfthat all should be over between them. He had never determined thatthere should be a quarrel between them. But he was angered, and hewould stand aloof from her. He would stand aloof from her, and wouldno longer acknowledge that he was in any way bound by the words hehad spoken. All such bonds she had broken. Nevertheless I think heloved her with a surer love after receiving that letter than he hadever felt before.

  He had been here, at this spot, every evening since his returnto Baslehurst; and here had thought much of his future life, andsomething, too, of the days that were past. Looking
to the left hecould see the trees that stood in front of the old brewery, hidingthe building from his eyes. That was the house in which old Bungallhad lived, and there Tappitt had lived for the last twenty years."I suppose," said he, speaking to himself, "it will be my destiny tolive there too, with the vats and beer barrels under my nose. Butwhat farmer ever throve who disliked the muck of his own farm-yard?"Then he had thought of Tappitt and of the coming battle, and hadlaughed as he remembered the scene with the poker. At that momenthis eye caught the bright colours of women's bonnets coming into thefield beneath him, and he knew that the Tappitt girls were returninghome from their walk. He had retired quickly round the chancel of thechurch, and had watched, thinking that Rachel would be with them. ButRachel, of course, was not there. He said to himself that they hadthrown her off; and said also that the time should come when theyshould be glad to win from her a kind word and an encouraging smile.His love for Rachel was as true and more strong than ever; but it wasof that nature that he was able to tell himself that it had for thepresent moment been set aside by her act, and that it became him toleave it for a while in abeyance.

  "What on earth shall I do with myself all Tuesday?" he said again ashe walked away from the churchyard on the Sunday evening. "I don'tknow what these people do with themselves when there's no huntingand shooting. It seems unnatural to me that a man shouldn't have hisbread to earn,--or a woman either in some form." After that he wentback to his inn.

  On the Monday he went out to Cornbury Grange late in the afternoon.Butler Cornbury drove into Baslehurst with a pair of horses, and tookhim back in his phaeton.

  "Give my fellow your portmanteau. That's all right. You never wereat the Grange, were you? It's the prettiest five miles of a drive inDevonshire; but the walk along the river is the prettiest walk inEngland,--which is saying a great deal more."

  "I know the walk well," said Rowan, "though I never was inside thepark."

  "It isn't much of a park. Indeed there isn't a semblance of a parkabout it. Grange is just the name for it, as it's an upper-class sortof homestead for a gentleman farmer. We've lived there since longbefore Adam, but we've never made much of a house of it."

  "That's just the sort of place that I should like to have myself."

  "If you had it you wouldn't be content. You'd want to pull downthe house and build a bigger one. It's what I shall do some day, Isuppose. But if I do it will never be so pretty again. I suppose thatfellow will petition; won't he?"

  "I should say he would;--though he won't get anything by it."

  "He knows his purse is longer than ours, and he'll think to frightenus;--and, by George, he will frighten us too! My father is not a richman by any means."

  "You should stand to your guns now."

  "I mean to do so, if I can. My wife's father is made of money."

  "What! Mr. Comfort?"

  "Yes. He's been blessed with the most surprising number of unmarrieduncles and aunts that ever a man had. He's rather fond of me, andlikes the idea of my being in Parliament. I think I shall hint to himthat he must pay for the idea. Here we are. Will you come and take aturn round the place before dinner?"

  Rowan was then taken into the house and introduced to the old squire,who received him with the stiff urbanity of former days.

  "You are welcome to the Grange, Mr. Rowan. You'll find us very quiethere; which is more, I believe, than can have been said of Baslehurstthese last two or three days. My daughter-in-law is somewhere withthe children. She'll be here before dinner. Butler, has that tailorfellow gone back to London yet?"

  Butler told his father that the tailor had at least gone away fromBaslehurst; and then the two younger men went out and walked aboutthe grounds till dinner time.

  It was Mrs. Butler Cornbury who gave soul and spirit to dailylife at Cornbury Grange,--who found the salt with which the breadwas quickened, and the wine with which the heart was made glad.Marvellous is the power which can be exercised, almost unconsciously,over a company, or an individual, or even upon a crowd by one persongifted with good temper, good digestion, good intellects, and goodlooks. A woman so endowed charms not only by the exercise of her owngifts, but she endows those who are near her with a sudden convictionthat it is they whose temper, health, talents, and appearance isdoing so much for society. Mrs. Butler Cornbury was such a woman asthis. The Grange was a popular house. The old squire was not found tobe very dull. The young squire was thought to be rather clever. Theair of the house was lively and bracing. Men and women did not findthe days there to be over long. And Mrs. Butler Cornbury did it all.

  Rowan did not see her till he met her in the drawing-room, justbefore dinner, when he found that two or three other ladies werealso staying there. She came up to him when he entered the room, andgreeted him as though he were an old friend. All conversation at thatmoment of course had reference to the election. Thanks were given andcongratulations received; and when old Mr. Cornbury shook his head,his daughter-in-law assured him that there would be nothing to fear.

  "I don't know what you call nothing to fear, my dear. I call twothousand pounds a great deal to fear."

  "I shouldn't wonder if we don't hear another word about him," saidshe.

  The old man uttered a long sigh. "It seems to me," said he, "that nogentleman ought to stand for a seat in Parliament since these peoplehave been allowed to come up. Purity of election, indeed! It makes mesick. Come along, my dear." Then he gave his arm to one of the youngladies, and toddled into the dining-room.

  Mrs. Butler Cornbury said nothing special to Luke Rowan on thatevening, but she made the hours very pleasant to him. All thosehalf-morbid ideas as to social difference between himself and hishost's family soon vanished. The house was very comfortable, thegirls were very pretty, Mrs. Cornbury was very kind, and everythingwent very well. On the following morning it was nearly ten when theysat down to breakfast, and half the morning before lunch had passedaway in idle chat before the party bethought itself of what it shoulddo for the day. At last it was agreed that they would all stroll outthrough the woods up to a special reach of the river which there ranthrough a ravine of rock, called Cornbury Cleeves. Many in thoseparts declared that Cornbury Cleeves was the prettiest spot inEngland. I am not prepared to bear my testimony to the truth of thatvery wide assertion. I can only say that I know no prettier spot. Theriver here was rapid and sparkling; not rapid because driven intosmall compass, for its breadth was greater and more regular in itspassage through the Cleeves than it was either above or below, butrapid from the declivity of its course. On one side the rocks camesheer down to the water, but on the other there was a strip ofmeadow, or rather a grassy amphitheatre, for the wall of rocks at theback of it was semi-circular, so as to enclose the field on everyside. There might be four or five acres of green meadow here; butthe whole was so interspersed with old stunted oak trees and thornsstanding alone that the space looked larger than it was. The rockson each side were covered here and there with the richest foliage;and the spot might be taken to be a valley from which, as from thatof Rasselas, there was no escape. Down close upon the margin of thewater a bathing-house had been built, from which a plunge could betaken into six or seven feet of the coolest, darkest, cleanest waterthat a bather could desire in his heart.

  "I suppose you never were here before," said Mrs. Cornbury to Rowan.

  "Indeed I have," said he. "I always think it such a grand thing thatyou landed magnates can't keep all your delights to yourself. Idare say I've been here oftener than you have during the last threemonths."

  "That's very likely, seeing that it's my first visit this summer."

  "And I've been here a dozen times. I suppose you'll think I'm avillanous trespasser when I tell you that I've bathed in that veryhouse more than once."

  "Then you've done more than I ever did; and yet we had it madethinking it would do for ladies. But the water looks so black."

  "Ah! I like that, as long as it's a clear black."

  "I like bathing where I can see the bright stones like
jewels atthe bottom. You can never do that in fresh water. It's only in somenook of the sea, where there is no sand, when the wind outside hasdied away, and when the tide is quiet and at its full. Then one candrop gently in and almost fancy that one belongs to the sea as themermaids do. I wonder how the idea of mermaids first came?"

  "Some one saw a crowd of young women bathing."

  "But then how came they to have looking-glasses and fishes' tails?"

  "The fishes' tails were taken as granted because they were in thesea, and the looking-glasses because they were women," said Rowan.

  "And the one with as much reason as the other. By-the-by, Mr. Rowan,talking of women, and fishes' tails, and looking-glasses, and allother feminine attractions, when did you see Miss Ray last?"

  Rowan paused before he answered her, and looking round perceived thathe had strayed with Mrs. Cornbury to the furthest end of the meadow,away from their companions. It immediately came across his mind thatthis was the matter on which Mrs. Cornbury wished to speak to him,and by some combative process he almost resolved that he would not bespoken to on that matter.

  "When did I see Miss Ray?" said he, repeating her question. "Two orthree days after Mrs. Tappitt's party. I have not seen her sincethat."

  "And why don't you go and see her?" said Mrs. Cornbury.

  Now this was asked him in a tone which made it necessary that heshould either answer her question or tell her simply that he wouldnot answer it. The questioner's manner was so firm, so eager, soincisive, that the question could not be turned away.

  "I am not sure that I am prepared to tell you," said he.

  "Ah! but I want you to be prepared," said she; "or rather, perhaps,to tell the truth, I want to drive you to an answer withoutpreparation. Is it not true that you made her an offer, and that sheaccepted it?"

  Rowan thought a moment, and then he answered her, "It is true."

  "I should not have asked the question if I had not positively knownthat such was the case. I have never spoken a word to her about it,and yet I knew it. Her mother told my father."

  "Well?"

  "And as that is so, why do you not go and see her? I am sure you arenot one of those who would play such a trick as that upon such a girlwith the mere purpose of amusing yourself."

  "Upon no girl would I do so, Mrs. Cornbury."

  "I feel sure of it. Therefore why do you not go to her?" They walkedalong together for a few minutes under the rocks in silence, and thenMrs. Cornbury again repeated her question, "Why do you not go toher?"

  "Mrs. Cornbury," he said, "you must not be angry with me if I saythat that is a matter which at the present moment I am not willing todiscuss."

  "Nor must you be angry with me if, as Rachel's friend, I saysomething further about it. As you do not wish to answer me, I willask no other question; but at any rate you will be willing to listento me. Rachel has never spoken to me on this subject--not a word; butI know from others who see her daily that she is very unhappy."

  "I am grieved that it should be so."

  "Yes, I knew you would be grieved. But how could it be otherwise? Agirl, you know, Mr. Rowan, has not other things to occupy her mind asa man has. I think of Rachel Ray that she would have been as happythere at Bragg's End as the day is long, if no offer of love hadcome in her way. She was not a girl whose head had been filled withromance, and who looked for such things. But for that very reason isshe less able to bear the loss of it when the offer has come in herway. I think, perhaps, you hardly know the depth of her character andthe strength of her love."

  "I think I know that she is constant."

  "Then why do you try her so hardly?"

  Mrs. Cornbury had promised that she would ask no more questions; butthe asking of questions was her easiest mode of saying that which shehad to say. And Rowan, though he had declared that he would answer noquestion, could hardly avoid the necessity of doing so.

  "It may be that the trial is the other way."

  "I know;--I understand. They made her write a letter to you. Itwas my father's doing. I will tell you the whole truth. It was myfather's doing, and therefore it is that I think myself bound tospeak to you. Her mother came to him for advice, and he had heardevil things spoken of you in Baslehurst. You will see that I am veryfrank with you. And I will take some credit to myself too. I believedsuch tidings to be altogether false, and I made inquiry which provedthat I was right. But my father had given the advice which he thoughtbest. I do not know what Rachel wrote to you, but a girl's letterunder such circumstances can hardly do more than express the will ofthose who guide her. It was sad enough for her to be forced to writesuch a letter, but it will be sadder still if you cannot be broughtto forgive it."

  Then she paused, standing under the gray rock and looking up eagerlyinto his face. But he made her no answer, nor gave her any sign. Hisheart was very tender at that moment towards Rachel, but there wasthat in him of the stubbornness of manhood which would not let himmake any sign of his tenderness.

  "I will not press you to say anything, Mr. Rowan," she continued,"and I am much obliged to you for having listened to me. I've knownRachel Ray for many years, and that must be my excuse."

  "No excuse is wanting," he said. "If I do not say anything it is notbecause I am offended. There are things on which a man should notallow himself to speak without considering them."

  "Oh, certainly. Come; shall we go back to them at the bathing-house?They'll think we've lost ourselves."

  Thus Mrs. Cornbury said the words which she had desired to speak onRachel Ray's behalf.

  When they reached the Grange there were still two hours left beforethe time of dressing for dinner should come, and during these hoursLuke returned by himself to the Cleeves. He escaped from his host,and retraced his steps, and on reaching the river sat himself down onthe margin, and looked into the cool dark running water. Had he beensevere to Rachel? He would answer no such question when asked by Mrs.Cornbury, but he was very desirous of answering it to himself. Thewomen at the cottage had doubted him,--Mrs. Ray and her daughter,with perhaps that other daughter of whom he had only heard; and hehad resolved that they should see him no more and hear of him no moretill there should be no further room for doubt. Then he would showhimself again at the cottage, and again ask Rachel to be his wife.There was some manliness in this; but there was also a hardness inhis pride which deserved the rebuke which Mrs. Cornbury's words hadconveyed to him. He had been severe to Rachel. Lying there, with hisfull length stretched upon the grass, he acknowledged to himselfthat he had thought more of his own feelings than of hers. While Mrs.Cornbury had been speaking he could not bring himself to feel thatthis was the case. But now in his solitude he did acknowledge it.What amount of sin had she committed against him that she should beso punished by him who loved her? He took out her letter from hispocket, and found that her words were loving, though she had not beenallowed to put into them that eager, pressing, speaking love which hehad desired.

  "Spoken ill of me, have they?" said he to himself, as he got up towalk back to the Grange. "Well, that was natural too. What an ass aman is to care for such things as that!"

  On that evening and the next morning the Cornburys were very graciousto him; and then he returned to Baslehurst, on the whole well pleasedwith his visit.