Rachel Ray

"You know, Dolly, that I am always glad to see you, – only you come to us so seldom," said Rachel. Then with a very cold bow to Miss Pucker, with a very warm pressure of the hand from Mr. Prong, and with a sisterly embrace for Dorothea, that was not cordial as it should have been, she bade them good-bye. It was felt by all of them that the visit had been a failure; – it was felt so, at least, by all the Ray family. Mr. Prong had achieved a certain object in discussing his marriage as a thing settled; and as regarded Miss Pucker, she also had achieved a certain object in eating cake and drinking wine in Mrs. Ray's parlour.

For some weeks after that but little had been seen of Mrs. Prime at the cottage; and nothing had been said of her matrimonial prospects. Rachel did not once go to her sister's lodgings; and, on the few occasions of their meeting, asked no questions as to Mr. Prong. Indeed, as the days and weeks went on, her heart became too heavy to admit of her asking any questions about the love affairs of others. She still went about her work, as I have before said. She was not ill, – not ill so as to demand the care due to an invalid. But she moved about the house slowly, as though her limbs were too heavy for her. She spoke little, unless when her mother addressed her. She would sit for hours on the sofa doing nothing, reading nothing, and looking at nothing. But still, at the postman's morning hours, she would keep her eye upon the road over which he came, and that dull look of despair would come across her face when he passed on without calling at the cottage.

But on a certain morning towards the end of the six weeks the postman did call, – as indeed he had called on other days, though bringing with him no letter from Luke Rowan. Neither now, on this occasion, did he bring a letter from Luke Rowan. The letter was addressed to Mrs. Ray; and, as Rachel well knew from the handwriting, it was from the gentleman who managed her mother's little money matters, – the gentleman who had succeeded to the business left by Mr. Ray when he died. So Rachel took the letter up to her mother and left it, saying that it was from Mr. Goodall.

Mrs. Ray's small income arose partly from certain cottages in Baslehurst, which had been let in lump to a Baslehurst tradesman, and partly from shares in a gas company at Exeter. Now the gas company at Exeter was the better investment of the two, and was considered to be subject to less uncertainty than the cottages. The lease under which the cottages had been let was out, and Mrs. Ray had been advised to sell the property. Building ground near the town was rising in value; and she had been advised by Mr. Goodall to part with her little estate. Both Mrs. Ray and Rachel were aware that this business, to them very important, was imminent; and now had come a letter from Mr. Goodall, saying that Mrs. Ray must go to Exeter to conclude the sale. "We should only bungle matters," Mr. Goodall had said, "if I were to send the deeds down to you; and as it is absolutely necessary that you should understand all about it, I think you had better come up on Tuesday; you can get back to Baslehurst easily on the same day."

"My dear," said Mrs. Ray, coming into the parlour, "I must go to Exeter."

"To-day, mamma?"

"No, not to-day, but on Tuesday. Mr. Goodall says I must understand all about the sale. It is a dreadful trouble."

But, dreadful as the trouble was, it seemed that Mrs. Ray was not made unhappy by the prospect of the little expedition. She fussed and fretted as ladies do on such occasions, but – as is also common with ladies, – the excitement of the journey was, upon the whole, a gratification to her. She asked Rachel to accompany her, and at first pressed her to do so strongly; but such work at the present moment was not in accord with Rachel's mood, and at last she escaped from it under the plea of expense.

"I think it would be foolish, mamma," she said. "Now that Dolly has gone you will be run very close; and when Mr. Goodall first spoke of selling the cottages, he said that perhaps you might be without anything from them for a quarter."

"But he has sold them now, my dear; and there will be the money at once."

"I don't see why you should throw away ten and sixpence, mamma," said Rachel.

And as she spoke in that resolved and masterful tone, her mother, of course, gave up the point. So when the Tuesday morning came, she went with her mother only as far as the station.

"Don't mind meeting me, because I can't be sure about the train," said Mrs. Ray. "But I shall be back to-night, certainly."

"And I'll wait tea for you," said Rachel. Then, when her mother was gone, she walked back to the cottage by herself.

She walked back at once, but took a most devious course. She was determined to avoid the length of the High Street, and she was determined also to avoid Brewery Lane; but she was equally determined to pass through the churchyard. So she walked down from the railway station to the hamlet at the bottom of the hill below the church, and from thence went up by the field-path to the stile. In order to accomplish this she went fully two miles out of her way, and now the sun over her head was very hot. But what was the distance or the heat of the sun to her when her object was to stand for a few moments in that place? Her visit, however, to the spot which was so constantly in her thoughts did her no good. Why had she been so injured? Why had this sacrifice of herself been demanded from her? As she sat for a moment on the stile this was the matter that filled her breast. She had been exalted to the heavens when she first heard her mother speak of Mr. Rowan as an acceptable suitor. She had been filled with joy as though Paradise had been opened to her, when she found herself to be the promised bride of Luke Rowan. Then had come her lover's letter, and the clergyman's counsel, and her own reply; and after that the gates of her Paradise had been closed against her! "I wonder whether it's the same thing to him," she said to herself. "But I suppose not. I don't think it can be the same thing or he would come. Wouldn't I go to him if I were free as he is!" She barely rested in the churchyard, and then walked on between the elms at a quick pace, with a heart sore, – sore almost to breaking. She would never have been brought to this condition had not her mother told her that she might love him! Thence came her vexation of spirit. There was the cruelty. All the world knew that this man had been her lover; – all her world knew it. Cherry Tappitt had sung her little witless song about it. Mrs. Tappitt had called at the cottage about it. Mr. Comfort had given his advice about it. Mrs. Cornbury had whispered to her about it out of her pony carriage. Mrs. Sturt had counselled her about it. Mr. Prong had thought it very wrong on her part to love the man. Mr. Sturt had thought it very right, and had offered his assistance. All this would have been as nothing had her lover remained to her. Cherry might have sung till her little throat was tired, and Mr. Prong might have expressed his awe with outspread hands, and have looked as though he expected the skies to fall. Had her Paradise not been closed to her, all this talking would have been a thing of course. But such talking, – such wide-spread knowledge of her condition, with the gates of her Paradise closed against her, was very hard to bear! And who had closed the gates? Her own hands had done it. He, her lover, had not deserted her. He had done for her all that truth and earnestness demanded, and perhaps as much as love required. Men were not so soft as girls, she argued within her own breast. Let a man be ever so true it could not be expected that he should stand by his love after he had been treated with such cold indifference as had been shown in her letter! She would have stood by her love, let his letter have been as cold as it might. But then she was a woman, and her love, once encouraged, had become a necessity to her. A man, she said to herself, would be more proud but less stanch. Of course she would hear no more from him. Of course the gates of her Paradise were shut. Such were her thoughts as she walked home, and such the thoughts over which she sat brooding alone throughout the entire day.

At half-past seven in the evening Mrs. Ray came back home, wearily trudging across the green. She was very weary, for she had now walked above two miles from the station. She had also been on her feet half the day, and, which was probably worse than all the rest had she known it, she had travelled nearly eighty miles by railway. She was very tired, and would under ordinary circumstances have been disposed to reckon up her grievances in the evening quite as accurately as Rachel had reckoned hers in the morning. But something had occurred in Exeter, the recollection of which still overcame the sense of weariness which Mrs. Ray felt; – overcame it, or rather overtopped it; so that when Rachel came out to her at the cottage door she did not speak at once of her own weariness, but looked lovingly into her daughter's face, – lovingly and anxiously, and said some little word intended to denote affection.

"You must be very tired," said Rachel, who, with many self-reproaches and much communing within her own bosom, had for the time vanquished her own hard humour.

"Yes, I am tired, my dear; very. I thought the train never would have got to the Baslehurst station. It stopped at all the little stations, and really I think I could have walked as fast." A dozen years had not as yet gone by since the velocity of these trains had been so terrible to Mrs. Ray that she had hardly dared to get into one of them!

"And whom have you seen?" said Rachel.

"Seen!" said Mrs. Ray. "Who told you that I had seen anybody?"

"I suppose you saw Mr. Goodall."

"Oh yes, I saw him of course. I saw him, and the cottages are all sold. We shall have seven pounds ten a year more than before. I'm sure it will be a very great comfort. Seven pounds ten will buy so many things."

"But ten pounds would buy more."

"Of course it would, my dear. And I told Mr. Goodall I wished he could make it ten, as it would make it sound so much more regular like; but he said he couldn't do it because the gas has gone up so much. He could have done it if I had sixty pounds, but of course I hadn't."

"But, mamma, whom did you see except Mr. Goodall? I know you saw somebody, and you must tell me."

"That's nonsense, Rachel. You can't know that I saw anybody." It may, however, be well to explain at once the cause of Mrs. Ray's hesitation, and that this may be done in the proper course, we will go back to her journey to Exeter. All the incidents of her day may be told very shortly; but there was one incident in her day which filled her with so much anxiety, and almost dismay, that it must be narrated.

On arriving at Exeter she got into an omnibus which would have taken her direct to Mr. Goodall's office in the Close; but she was minded to call at a shop in the High Street, and had herself put down at the corner of one of those passages which lead from the High Street to the Close. She got down from the step of the vehicle, very carefully, as is the wont with middle-aged ladies from the country, and turned round to walk directly into the shop; but before her, on the pavement, she saw Luke Rowan. He was standing close to her, so that it was impossible that they should have pretended to miss seeing each other, even had they been so minded. Any such pretence would have been impossible to Mrs. Ray, and would have been altogether contrary to Luke Rowan's nature. He had been coming out of the shop, and had been arrested at once by Mrs. Ray's figure as he saw it emerging from the door of the omnibus.

"How d'you do?" said he, coming forward with outstretched hand, and speaking as though there was nothing between him and Mrs. Ray which required any peculiar word or tone.

"Oh, Mr. Rowan! is this you?" said she. "Dear, dear! I'm sure I didn't expect to see you in Exeter."

"I dare say not, Mrs. Ray; and I didn't expect to see you. But the odd thing is I've come here about the same business as you, though I didn't know anything about it till yesterday."

"What business, Mr. Rowan?"

"I've bought your cottages in Baslehurst."

"No!"

"But I have, and I've paid for them too, and you're going this very minute to Mr. Goodall to sign the deed of sale. Isn't that true? So you see I know all about it."

"Well, that is strange! Isn't it, now?"

"The fact is I must have a bit of land at Baslehurst for building. Tappitt will go on fighting; and as I don't mean to be beaten, I'll have a place of my own there."

"And you'll pull down the cottages?"

"If I don't pull him down first, so as to get the old brewery. I was obliged to buy your bit of ground now, as I might not have been able to get any just when I wanted it. You've sold it a deal too cheap. You tell Mr. Goodall I say so."

"But he says I'm to gain something by selling it."

"Does he? If it is so, I'm very glad of it. I only came down from London yesterday to finish this piece of business, and I'm going back to-day."

During all this time not a word had been said about Rachel. He had not even asked after her in the ordinary way in which men ask after their ordinary acquaintance. He had not looked as though he were in the least embarrassed in speaking to Rachel's mother, and now it seemed as though he were going away, as though all had been said between them that he cared to say. Mrs. Ray at the first moment had dreaded any special word; but now, as he was about to leave her, she felt disappointed that no special word had been spoken. But he was not as yet gone.

"I literally haven't a minute to spare," he said, offering her his hand for a second time; "for I've two or three people to see before I get to the train."

"Good-bye," said Mrs. Ray.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Ray. I don't think I've been very well treated among you. I don't indeed. But I won't say any more about that at present. Is she quite well?"

"Pretty well, thank you," said she, all of a tremble.

"I won't send her any message. As things are at present, no message would be of any service. Good-bye." And so saying he went from her.

Mrs. Ray at that moment had no time for making up her mind as to what she would do or say in consequence of this meeting, – or whether she would do or say anything. She looked forward to all the leisure time of her journey home for thinking of that; so she finished her shopping and hurried on to Mr. Goodall's office without resolving whether or no she would tell Rachel of the encounter. At Mr. Goodall's she remained some little time, dining at that gentleman's house as well as signing the deed, and asking questions about the gas company. He had grateful recollections of kindnesses received from Mr. Ray, and always exercised his hospitality on those rare occasions which brought Mrs. Ray up to Exeter. As they sat at table he asked questions about the young purchaser of the property which somewhat perplexed Mrs. Ray. Yes, she said, she did know him. She had just met him in the street and heard his news. Young Rowan, she told her friend, had been at the cottage more than once, but no mention had been made of his desire to buy these cottages. Was he well spoken of in Baslehurst? Well; – she was so little in Baslehurst that she hardly knew. She had heard that he had quarrelled with Mr. Tappitt, and she believed that many people had said that he was wrong in his quarrel. She knew nothing of his property; but certainly had heard somebody say that he had gone away without paying his debts. It may easily be conceived how miserable and ineffective she would be under this cross-examination, although it was made by Mr. Goodall without any allusion to Rachel.

"At any rate we have got our money," said Mr. Goodall; "and I suppose that's all we care about. But I should say he's rather a harum-scarum sort of fellow. Why he should leave his debts behind him I can't understand, as he seems to have plenty of money."

All this made Mrs. Ray's task the more difficult. During the last two or three weeks she had been wishing that she had not gone to Mr. Comfort, – wishing that she had allowed Rachel to answer Rowan's letter in any terms of warmest love that she might have chosen, – wishing, in fact, that she had permitted the engagement to go on. But now she began again to think that she had been right. If this man were in truth a harum-scarum fellow was it not well that Rachel should be quit of him, – even with any amount of present sorrow? Thinking of this on her way back to Baslehurst she again made up her mind that Rowan was a wolf. But she had not made up her mind as to what she would, or what she would not tell Rachel about the meeting, even when she reached her own door. "I will send her no message," he had said. "As things are at present no message would be of service." What had he meant by this? What purpose on his part did these words indicate? These questions Mrs. Ray had asked herself, but had failed to answer them.

But no resolution on Mrs. Ray's part to keep the meeting secret would have been of avail, even had she made such resolution. The fact would have fallen from her as easily as water falls from a sieve. Rachel would have extracted from her the information, had she been ever so determined not to impart it. As things had turned out she had at once given Rachel to understand that she had met some one in Exeter whom she had not expected to meet.

"But, mamma, whom did you see except Mr. Goodall?" Rachel asked. "I know you saw somebody, and you must tell me."

"That's nonsense, Rachel; you can't know that I saw anybody."

After that there was a pause for some moments, and then Rachel persisted in her inquiry. "But, mamma, I do know that you met somebody." – Then there was another pause. – "Mamma, was it Mr. Rowan?"

Mrs. Ray stood convicted at once. Had she not spoken a word, the form of her countenance when the question was asked would have answered it with sufficient clearness. But she did speak a word. "Well; yes, it was Mr. Rowan. He had come down to Exeter on business."

"And what did he say, mamma?"

"He didn't say anything, – at least, nothing particular. It is he that has bought the cottages, and he had come down from London about that. He told me that he wanted some ground near Baslehurst, because he couldn't get the brewery."

"And what else did he say, mamma?"

"I tell you that he said nothing else."

"He didn't – didn't mention me then?"

Mrs. Ray had been looking away from Rachel during this conversation, – had been purposely looking away from her. But now there was a tone of agony in her child's voice which forced her to glance round. Ah me! She beheld so piteous an expression of woe in Rachel's face that her whole heart was melted within her, and she began to wish instantly that they might have Rowan back again with all his faults.

"Tell me the truth, mamma; I may as well know it."

"Well, my dear, he didn't mention your name, but he did say a word about you."

"What word, mamma?"

"He said he would send no message because it would be no good."

"He said that, did he?"

"Yes, he said that. And so I suppose he meant it would be no good sending anything till he came himself."

"No, mamma; he didn't mean quite that. I understand what he meant. As it is to be so, he was quite right. No message could be of any use. It has been my own doing, and I have no right to blame him. Mamma, if you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed."

"My dear, you're wrong. I'm sure you're wrong. He didn't mean that."

"Didn't he, mamma?" And as she spoke a sad, weary, wobegone smile came over her face, – a smile so sad and piteous that it went to her mother's heart more keenly than would have done any sound of sorrow, any sobs, or wail of grief. "But I think he did mean that, mamma. It's no good doubting or fearing any longer. It's all over now."

"And it has been my fault!"

"No, dearest. It has not been your fault, nor do I think that it has been mine. I think we'd better not talk of faults. Ah dear; – I do wish he had never come here!"

"Perhaps it may be all well yet, Rachel."

"Perhaps it may, – in another world. It will never be well again for me in this. Good-night, mamma. You must never think that I am angry with you."

Then she went up stairs, leaving Mrs. Ray alone with her sorrow.

CHAPTER VII.

DOMESTIC POLITICS AT THE BREWERY

In the mean time things were not going on very pleasantly at the brewery, and Mr. Tappitt was making himself unpleasant in the bosom of his family. A lawsuit will sometimes make a man extremely pleasant company to his wife and children. Even a losing lawsuit will sometimes do so, if he be well backed up in his pugnacity by his lawyer, and if the matter of the battle be one in which he can take a delight to fight. "Ah," a man will say, "though I spend a thousand pounds over it, I'll stick to him like a burr. He shan't shake me off." And at such times he is almost sure to be in a good humour, and in a generous mood. Then let his wife ask him for money for a dinner-party, and his daughters for new dresses. He has taught himself for the moment to disregard money, and to think that he can sow five-pound notes broadcast without any inward pangs. But such was by no means the case with Mr. Tappitt. His lawyer Honyman was not backing him up; and as cool reflection came upon him he was afraid of trusting his interests to those other men, Sharpit and Longfite. And Mrs. Tappitt, when cool reflection came on her, had begun to dread the ruin which it seemed possible that terrible young man might inflict upon them. She had learned already, though Mrs. Ray had not, how false had been that report which had declared Luke Rowan to be frivolous, idle, and in debt. To her it was very manifest that Honyman was afraid of the young man; and Honyman, though he might not be as keen as some others, was at any rate honest. Honyman also thought that if the brewery were given up to Rowan that thousand a year which had been promised would be paid regularly; and to this solution of the difficulty Mrs. Tappitt was gradually bending herself to submit as the best which an untoward fate offered to them. Honyman himself had declared to her that Mr. Tappitt, if he were well advised, would admit Rowan in as a partner, on equal terms as regarded power and ultimate possession, but with that lion's share of the immediate concern for himself which Rowan offered. But this she knew that Tappitt would not endure; and she knew, also, that if he were brought to endure it for a while, it would ultimately lead to terrible sorrows. "They would be knocking each other about with the pokers, Mr. Honyman," she had said; "and where would the custom be when that got into the newspapers?" "If I were Mr. Tappitt, I would just let him have his own way," Honyman had replied. "That shows that you don't know Tappitt," had been Mrs. Tappitt's rejoinder. No; – the thousand a year and dignified retirement in a villa had recommended itself to Mrs. Tappitt's mind. She would use all her influence to attain that position, – if only she could bring herself to feel assured that the thousand a year would be forthcoming.

As to Tappitt himself, he was by no means so anxious to prolong the battle as he had been at the time of Rowan's departure. His courage for fighting was not maintained by good backing. Had Honyman clapped him on the shoulder and bade him put ready money in his purse, telling him that all would come out right eventually, and that Rowan would be crushed, he would have gone about Baslehurst boasting loudly, and would have been happy. Then Mrs. T. and the girls would have had a merry time of it; and the Tappitts would have come out of the contest with four or five hundred a year for life instead of the thousand now offered to them, and nobody would have blamed anybody for such a result. But Honyman had not spirit for such backing. In his dull, slow, droning way he had shaken his head and said that things were looking badly. Then Tappitt had cursed and had sworn, and had half resolved to go to Sharpit and Longfite. Sharpit and Longfite would have clapped him on the back readily enough, and have bade him put plenty of money in his purse. But we may suppose that Fate did not intend the ruin of Tappitt, seeing that she did not make him mad enough to seek the counsels of Sharpit and Longfite. Fate only made him very cross and unpleasant in the bosom of his family. Looking out himself for some mode of escape from this terrible enemy that had come upon him, he preferred the raising of the sum of money which would be necessary to buy off Rowan altogether. Rowan had demanded ten thousand pounds, but Tappitt still thought that seven, or, at any rate, eight thousand would do it.