CHAPTER XXXII
NIGHT--HORSES TRAMPING
The village of Weatherbury was quiet as the graveyard in its midst,and the living were lying well-nigh as still as the dead. The churchclock struck eleven. The air was so empty of other sounds that thewhirr of the clock-work immediately before the strokes was distinct,and so was also the click of the same at their close. The notes flewforth with the usual blind obtuseness of inanimate things--flappingand rebounding among walls, undulating against the scattered clouds,spreading through their interstices into unexplored miles of space.
Bathsheba's crannied and mouldy halls were to-night occupied only byMaryann, Liddy being, as was stated, with her sister, whom Bathshebahad set out to visit. A few minutes after eleven had struck, Maryannturned in her bed with a sense of being disturbed. She was totallyunconscious of the nature of the interruption to her sleep. It ledto a dream, and the dream to an awakening, with an uneasy sensationthat something had happened. She left her bed and looked out of thewindow. The paddock abutted on this end of the building, and in thepaddock she could just discern by the uncertain gray a moving figureapproaching the horse that was feeding there. The figure seized thehorse by the forelock, and led it to the corner of the field. Hereshe could see some object which circumstances proved to be a vehicle,for after a few minutes spent apparently in harnessing, she heard thetrot of the horse down the road, mingled with the sound of lightwheels.
Two varieties only of humanity could have entered the paddock withthe ghostlike glide of that mysterious figure. They were a woman anda gipsy man. A woman was out of the question in such an occupationat this hour, and the comer could be no less than a thief, who mightprobably have known the weakness of the household on this particularnight, and have chosen it on that account for his daring attempt.Moreover, to raise suspicion to conviction itself, there were gipsiesin Weatherbury Bottom.
Maryann, who had been afraid to shout in the robber's presence,having seen him depart had no fear. She hastily slipped on herclothes, stumped down the disjointed staircase with its hundredcreaks, ran to Coggan's, the nearest house, and raised an alarm.Coggan called Gabriel, who now again lodged in his house as at first,and together they went to the paddock. Beyond all doubt the horsewas gone.
"Hark!" said Gabriel.
They listened. Distinct upon the stagnant air came the sounds of atrotting horse passing up Longpuddle Lane--just beyond the gipsies'encampment in Weatherbury Bottom.
"That's our Dainty--I'll swear to her step," said Jan.
"Mighty me! Won't mis'ess storm and call us stupids when she comesback!" moaned Maryann. "How I wish it had happened when she was athome, and none of us had been answerable!"
"We must ride after," said Gabriel, decisively. "I'll beresponsible to Miss Everdene for what we do. Yes, we'll follow."
"Faith, I don't see how," said Coggan. "All our horses are too heavyfor that trick except little Poppet, and what's she between two ofus?--If we only had that pair over the hedge we might do something."
"Which pair?"
"Mr. Boldwood's Tidy and Moll."
"Then wait here till I come hither again," said Gabriel. He ran downthe hill towards Farmer Boldwood's.
"Farmer Boldwood is not at home," said Maryann.
"All the better," said Coggan. "I know what he's gone for."
Less than five minutes brought up Oak again, running at the samepace, with two halters dangling from his hand.
"Where did you find 'em?" said Coggan, turning round and leaping uponthe hedge without waiting for an answer.
"Under the eaves. I knew where they were kept," said Gabriel,following him. "Coggan, you can ride bare-backed? there's no time tolook for saddles."
"Like a hero!" said Jan.
"Maryann, you go to bed," Gabriel shouted to her from the top of thehedge.
Springing down into Boldwood's pastures, each pocketed his halter tohide it from the horses, who, seeing the men empty-handed, docilelyallowed themselves to be seized by the mane, when the halters weredexterously slipped on. Having neither bit nor bridle, Oak andCoggan extemporized the former by passing the rope in each casethrough the animal's mouth and looping it on the other side. Oakvaulted astride, and Coggan clambered up by aid of the bank, whenthey ascended to the gate and galloped off in the direction taken byBathsheba's horse and the robber. Whose vehicle the horse had beenharnessed to was a matter of some uncertainty.
Weatherbury Bottom was reached in three or four minutes. Theyscanned the shady green patch by the roadside. The gipsies weregone.
"The villains!" said Gabriel. "Which way have they gone, I wonder?"
"Straight on, as sure as God made little apples," said Jan.
"Very well; we are better mounted, and must overtake em", said Oak."Now on at full speed!"
No sound of the rider in their van could now be discovered. Theroad-metal grew softer and more clayey as Weatherbury was leftbehind, and the late rain had wetted its surface to a somewhatplastic, but not muddy state. They came to cross-roads. Coggansuddenly pulled up Moll and slipped off.
"What's the matter?" said Gabriel.
"We must try to track 'em, since we can't hear 'em," said Jan,fumbling in his pockets. He struck a light, and held the match tothe ground. The rain had been heavier here, and all foot and horsetracks made previous to the storm had been abraded and blurred bythe drops, and they were now so many little scoops of water, whichreflected the flame of the match like eyes. One set of tracks wasfresh and had no water in them; one pair of ruts was also empty,and not small canals, like the others. The footprints forming thisrecent impression were full of information as to pace; they were inequidistant pairs, three or four feet apart, the right and left footof each pair being exactly opposite one another.
"Straight on!" Jan exclaimed. "Tracks like that mean a stiff gallop.No wonder we don't hear him. And the horse is harnessed--look at theruts. Ay, that's our mare sure enough!"
"How do you know?"
"Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, and I'd swear to his makeamong ten thousand."
"The rest of the gipsies must ha' gone on earlier, or some otherway," said Oak. "You saw there were no other tracks?"
"True." They rode along silently for a long weary time. Coggancarried an old pinchbeck repeater which he had inherited from somegenius in his family; and it now struck one. He lighted anothermatch, and examined the ground again.
"'Tis a canter now," he said, throwing away the light. "A twisty,rickety pace for a gig. The fact is, they over-drove her atstarting; we shall catch 'em yet."
Again they hastened on, and entered Blackmore Vale. Coggan's watchstruck one. When they looked again the hoof-marks were so spaced asto form a sort of zigzag if united, like the lamps along a street.
"That's a trot, I know," said Gabriel.
"Only a trot now," said Coggan, cheerfully. "We shall overtake himin time."
They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles. "Ah! a moment,"said Jan. "Let's see how she was driven up this hill. 'Twill helpus." A light was promptly struck upon his gaiters as before, and theexamination made.
"Hurrah!" said Coggan. "She walked up here--and well she might. Weshall get them in two miles, for a crown."
They rode three, and listened. No sound was to be heard save amillpond trickling hoarsely through a hatch, and suggesting gloomypossibilities of drowning by jumping in. Gabriel dismounted whenthey came to a turning. The tracks were absolutely the only guide asto the direction that they now had, and great caution was necessaryto avoid confusing them with some others which had made theirappearance lately.
"What does this mean?--though I guess," said Gabriel, looking upat Coggan as he moved the match over the ground about the turning.Coggan, who, no less than the panting horses, had latterly shownsigns of weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters. Thistime only three were of the regular horseshoe shape. Every fourthwas a dot.
He screwed up his face and emitte
d a long "Whew-w-w!"
"Lame," said Oak.
"Yes. Dainty is lamed; the near-foot-afore," said Coggan slowly,staring still at the footprints.
"We'll push on," said Gabriel, remounting his humid steed.
Although the road along its greater part had been as good as anyturnpike-road in the country, it was nominally only a byway. Thelast turning had brought them into the high road leading to Bath.Coggan recollected himself.
"We shall have him now!" he exclaimed.
"Where?"
"Sherton Turnpike. The keeper of that gate is the sleepiest manbetween here and London--Dan Randall, that's his name--knowed en foryears, when he was at Casterbridge gate. Between the lameness and thegate 'tis a done job."
They now advanced with extreme caution. Nothing was said until,against a shady background of foliage, five white bars were visible,crossing their route a little way ahead.
"Hush--we are almost close!" said Gabriel.
"Amble on upon the grass," said Coggan.
The white bars were blotted out in the midst by a dark shape infront of them. The silence of this lonely time was pierced by anexclamation from that quarter.
"Hoy-a-hoy! Gate!"
It appeared that there had been a previous call which they had notnoticed, for on their close approach the door of the turnpike-houseopened, and the keeper came out half-dressed, with a candle in hishand. The rays illumined the whole group.
"Keep the gate close!" shouted Gabriel. "He has stolen the horse!"
"Who?" said the turnpike-man.
Gabriel looked at the driver of the gig, and saw a woman--Bathsheba,his mistress.
On hearing his voice she had turned her face away from the light.Coggan had, however, caught sight of her in the meanwhile.
"Why, 'tis mistress--I'll take my oath!" he said, amazed.
Bathsheba it certainly was, and she had by this time done the trickshe could do so well in crises not of love, namely, mask a surpriseby coolness of manner.
"Well, Gabriel," she inquired quietly, "where are you going?"
"We thought--" began Gabriel.
"I am driving to Bath," she said, taking for her own use theassurance that Gabriel lacked. "An important matter made itnecessary for me to give up my visit to Liddy, and go off at once.What, then, were you following me?"
"We thought the horse was stole."
"Well--what a thing! How very foolish of you not to know that I hadtaken the trap and horse. I could neither wake Maryann nor get intothe house, though I hammered for ten minutes against her window-sill.Fortunately, I could get the key of the coach-house, so I troubled noone further. Didn't you think it might be me?"
"Why should we, miss?"
"Perhaps not. Why, those are never Farmer Boldwood's horses!Goodness mercy! what have you been doing--bringing trouble upon me inthis way? What! mustn't a lady move an inch from her door withoutbeing dogged like a thief?"
"But how was we to know, if you left no account of your doings?"expostulated Coggan, "and ladies don't drive at these hours, miss,as a jineral rule of society."
"I did leave an account--and you would have seen it in the morning.I wrote in chalk on the coach-house doors that I had come back forthe horse and gig, and driven off; that I could arouse nobody, andshould return soon."
"But you'll consider, ma'am, that we couldn't see that till it gotdaylight."
"True," she said, and though vexed at first she had too much senseto blame them long or seriously for a devotion to her that was asvaluable as it was rare. She added with a very pretty grace, "Well,I really thank you heartily for taking all this trouble; but I wishyou had borrowed anybody's horses but Mr. Boldwood's."
"Dainty is lame, miss," said Coggan. "Can ye go on?"
"It was only a stone in her shoe. I got down and pulled it out ahundred yards back. I can manage very well, thank you. I shall bein Bath by daylight. Will you now return, please?"
She turned her head--the gateman's candle shimmering upon her quick,clear eyes as she did so--passed through the gate, and was soonwrapped in the embowering shades of mysterious summer boughs. Cogganand Gabriel put about their horses, and, fanned by the velvety air ofthis July night, retraced the road by which they had come.
"A strange vagary, this of hers, isn't it, Oak?" said Coggan,curiously.
"Yes," said Gabriel, shortly.
"She won't be in Bath by no daylight!"
"Coggan, suppose we keep this night's work as quiet as we can?"
"I am of one and the same mind."
"Very well. We shall be home by three o'clock or so, and can creepinto the parish like lambs."
Bathsheba's perturbed meditations by the roadside had ultimatelyevolved a conclusion that there were only two remedies for thepresent desperate state of affairs. The first was merely tokeep Troy away from Weatherbury till Boldwood's indignation hadcooled; the second to listen to Oak's entreaties, and Boldwood'sdenunciations, and give up Troy altogether.
Alas! Could she give up this new love--induce him to renounce herby saying she did not like him--could no more speak to him, and beghim, for her good, to end his furlough in Bath, and see her andWeatherbury no more?
It was a picture full of misery, but for a while she contemplated itfirmly, allowing herself, nevertheless, as girls will, to dwell uponthe happy life she would have enjoyed had Troy been Boldwood, and thepath of love the path of duty--inflicting upon herself gratuitoustortures by imagining him the lover of another woman after forgettingher; for she had penetrated Troy's nature so far as to estimate histendencies pretty accurately, but unfortunately loved him no less inthinking that he might soon cease to love her--indeed, considerablymore.
She jumped to her feet. She would see him at once. Yes, she wouldimplore him by word of mouth to assist her in this dilemma. A letterto keep him away could not reach him in time, even if he should bedisposed to listen to it.
Was Bathsheba altogether blind to the obvious fact that the supportof a lover's arms is not of a kind best calculated to assist aresolve to renounce him? Or was she sophistically sensible, with athrill of pleasure, that by adopting this course for getting rid ofhim she was ensuring a meeting with him, at any rate, once more?
It was now dark, and the hour must have been nearly ten. The onlyway to accomplish her purpose was to give up her idea of visitingLiddy at Yalbury, return to Weatherbury Farm, put the horse intothe gig, and drive at once to Bath. The scheme seemed at firstimpossible: the journey was a fearfully heavy one, even for a stronghorse, at her own estimate; and she much underrated the distance.It was most venturesome for a woman, at night, and alone.
But could she go on to Liddy's and leave things to take their course?No, no; anything but that. Bathsheba was full of a stimulatingturbulence, beside which caution vainly prayed for a hearing. Sheturned back towards the village.
Her walk was slow, for she wished not to enter Weatherbury till thecottagers were in bed, and, particularly, till Boldwood was secure.Her plan was now to drive to Bath during the night, see Sergeant Troyin the morning before he set out to come to her, bid him farewell,and dismiss him: then to rest the horse thoroughly (herself to weepthe while, she thought), starting early the next morning on herreturn journey. By this arrangement she could trot Dainty gentlyall the day, reach Liddy at Yalbury in the evening, and come home toWeatherbury with her whenever they chose--so nobody would know shehad been to Bath at all. Such was Bathsheba's scheme. But in hertopographical ignorance as a late comer to the place, she misreckonedthe distance of her journey as not much more than half what it reallywas.
This idea she proceeded to carry out, with what initial success wehave already seen.