CHAPTER XII.
ELLEN FINDS A REMEDY.
When Emma had gone Ellen settled herself comfortably in a garden chair, sighed, and began to fan her face with a newspaper which lay at hand. Her mind was agitated, for it had become obvious to her that the position was full of complications, which at present her well-meant efforts had increased rather than diminished.
“I only hope that I may be forgiven for all the white lies I have been forced to tell this morning,” she reflected. Ellen did not consider her various embellishments of the truth as deserving of any harsher name, since it seemed to her not too sensitive conscience, that if Jove laughs at lovers’ perjuries, he must dismiss with a casual smile the prevarications of those who wish to help other people to become lovers.
Still Ellen felt aggrieved, foreseeing the possibility of being found out and placed in awkward positions. Oh, what fools they were, and how angry she was with both of them—with Emma for her school-girlish sentiment, and with Henry for his idiotic pride and his headstrong obstinacy! Surely the man must be mad to wish to fling away such a girl as Emma and her fortune, to say nothing of the romantic devotion that she cherished for him, little as he deserved it a devotion which Ellen imagined would have been flattering to the self-conceit of any male. It was hard on her that she should be obliged to struggle against such rank and wrong-headed stupidity, and even driven to condescend to plots and falsehoods. After all, it was not for her own benefit that she did this, or only remotely so, since she was well provided for; though it was true that, should she become involved in an immediate financial scandal, her matrimonial prospects might be affected.
No, it was for the benefit of her family, the interests of which to do her justice, Ellen had more at heart than any other earthly thing, her own welfare of course excepted. Should this marriage fall through, ruin must overtake their house, and their name would be lost, in all probability never to be heard again. It seemed impossible to her that her brother should wish to reject the salvation which was so freely proffered to him; and yet, maddening as the thought might be, she could not deny that she saw signs of such a desire. Well, she would not give up the game; tired as she was of it, she would fight to the last ditch. Were she to draw back now, she felt that she should fail in her most sacred duty.
As Ellen came to this determination she saw Mr. Levinger walking towards her. He was leaning on his stick, as usual, and looked particularly refined in his summer suit and grey wide-awake hat.
“How do you do, Miss Graves?” he said, in his gentle voice: “I heard that you were here, but did not come out because I thought you might wish to have a chat with Emma. Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know,” Ellen answered, as they shook hands.
“Well, I dare say that she will be back presently. How hot it is here! Would you like to come and sit in my study till luncheon is ready?” And he led the way to a French window that opened on to the lawn.
Mr. Levinger’s study was a very comfortable room, and its walls were lined with books almost to the ceiling. Books also lay about on the desk. Evidently he had risen from reading one of them, and Ellen noticed with surprise that it was Jeremy Taylor’s “Holy Living.”
“How is your brother to-day?” he asked, when they were seated.
Ellen reflected a moment, and determined to take advantage of the opportunity to unbosom herself.
“He is doing as well as possible, thank you. Still I am anxious about him.”
“Why? I thought that he was clear of all complications except the chance of a limp like mine.”
“I did not mean that I was anxious about his health, Mr. Levinger. I am sure that you will forgive me if I am frank with you, so I will speak out.”
He bowed expectantly, and Ellen went on:
“My father has told me, and indeed I know it from what you have said to me at different times, that for various reasons you would be glad if Henry and Emma—made a match of it.”
Again Mr. Levinger bowed.
“I need not say that our family would be equally glad; and that Emma herself would be glad we learned from what she said the other day. There remains therefore only one person who could object—Henry himself. As you know, he is a curiously sensitive man, especially where money matters are concerned, and I believe firmly that the fact of this marriage being so greatly to his advantage, and to that of his family, is the one thing which makes him hesitate, for I am sure, from the way in which he has spoken of her, that he is much attracted by Emma. Had he come here to stay, however, I fancy that all this would have passed off, and by now they might have been happily engaged, or on the verge of it; but you see, this accident happened, and he is laid up—unfortunately, not here.”
“He will not be laid up for ever, Miss Graves. As you say, I am anxious for this marriage, and I hope that it will come about in due course.”
“No, he will not be laid up for ever; but what I fear is, that it may be too long for Emma’s and his own welfare.”
“You must pardon me, but I do not quite understand.”
“Then you must pardon me if I speak to you without reserve. You may have noticed that there is a singularly handsome girl at the Bradmouth inn. I mean Joan Haste.”
At the mention of this name Mr. Levinger rose suddenly from his chair and walked to the end of the room, where he appeared to lose himself in the contemplation of the morocco backs of an encyclopedia. Presently he turned, and it struck Ellen that his face was strangely agitated, though at this distance she could not be sure.
“Yes, I know the girl,” he said in his usual voice—“the one who brought about the accident. What of her?”
“Only this: I fear that, unless something is done to prevent it, she may bring about another and a greater accident. Listen, Mr. Levinger. I have no facts to go on, or at least very few, but I have my eyes and my instinct. If I am not mistaken, Joan Haste is in love with Henry, and doing her best to make him in love with her—an effort in which, considering her opportunities, her great personal advantages, and the fact that men generally do become fond of their nurses, she is likely enough to succeed, for he is just the kind of person to make a fool of himself in this way.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Mr. Levinger, with evident anxiety.
“A hundred things: when he was not himself he would scarcely allow her out of his sight, and now it is much the same. But I go more by what I saw upon her face during all that day of the crisis, and the way in which she looks at him when she fancies that no one is observing her. Of course I may be wrong, and a passing flirtation with a village beauty is not such a very serious matter, or would not be in the case of most men; but, on the other hand, perhaps I am right, and where an obstinate person like my brother Henry is concerned, the consequences might prove fatal to all our hopes.”
Mr. Levinger seemed to see the force of this contention, and indeed Ellen had put the case very sensibly and clearly. At any rate he did not try to combat it.
“What do you suggest?” he asked. “You are a woman of experience and common sense, and I am sure that you have thought of a remedy before speaking to me.”
“My suggestion is, that Joan should be got out of the way as quickly as possible; and I have consulted you, Mr. Levinger, because your interest in the matter is as strong as my own, and you are the only person who can get rid of her.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, rising for the second time. “The girl is of age, and I cannot control her movements.”
“Is she? I was not aware of her precise age,” answered Ellen; “but I have noticed, Mr. Levinger, that you seem to have a great deal of authority in all sorts of unsuspected places, and perhaps if you think it over a little you may find that you have some here. For instance, I believe that you own the Crown and Mitre, and I should fancy, from what I have seen of her, that Mrs. Gillingwater, the aunt, is a kind of person who might be approached with some success. There goes the bell for luncheon, and as I think I have said everything that occurs to me, I will run up to Emma’s room and wash my hands.”
“The bell for luncheon,” mused Mr. Levinger, looking after her. “Well, I have not often been more glad to hear it. That woman has an alarming way of putting things; and I wonder how much she knows, or if she was merely stabbing in the dark? Gone to wash her hands, has she? Yes, I see, and left me to wash mine, if I can. Anyway, she is sharp as a needle, and she is right. The man will have no chance with that girl if she chooses to lay siege to him. Her mother before her was fascinating enough, and she was nothing compared to Joan, either in looks or mind. She must be got rid of: but how?” and he looked round as though searching for a clue, till his eye fell upon the book that lay open before him.
“’Holy Living’,” he said, shutting it impatiently: “no more of that for me to-day, or for some time to come. I have other things to think of now, things that I hoped I had done with. Well, there goes the bell for luncheon, and I must go too, but without washing my hands,” and he stared at his delicate fingers. “After all, they do not look so very dirty; even Ellen Graves will scarcely notice them;” and laughing bitterly at his own jest he left the room.
That afternoon Mr. Levinger had a long conversation with Mrs. Gillingwater, whom he sent for to see him after Ellen had gone.
With the particulars of this interview we need not concern ourselves, but the name of Samuel Rock was mentioned in it.
On the following morning it chanced that Mr. Samuel Rock received a letter from Mr. Levinger referring to the erection of a cattle-shed upon some fifty acres of grass land which he held as that gentleman’s tenant. This cattle-shed Samuel had long desired; indeed, it is not too much to say that he had clamoured for it, for he did not belong to that class of tenant which considers the landlord’s pocket, or makes shift without improvements when they can be had by importunity. Consequently, as was suggested in the letter, he hastened to present himself at Monk’s Lodge on that very afternoon, adorned in his shiniest black coat and his broadest-brimmed wide-awake.
“The man looks more like a Methodist parson than ever,” thought Mr. Levinger, as he watched his advent. “I wonder if she will have anything to say to him? Well, I must try.”
In due course Samuel Rock was shown in, and took the chair that was offered to him, upon the very edge of which he seated himself in a gingerly fashion, his broad hat resting on his knee. Mr. Rock’s manner towards his landlord was neither defiant nor obsequious, but rather an unhappy combination of these two styles. He did not touch his forehead according to the custom of the old-times tenant, nor did he offer to shake hands. His greeting consisted of a jerky bow, lacking alike dignity and politeness, a half-hearted salute which seemed to aim at compromise between a certain respect for tradition and a proper sense of the equality of all men in the sight of Heaven.
“How do you do, Mr. Rock?” said Mr. Levinger cheerfully. “I thought that I would ask you to have a chat with me on the matter of that cowshed, about which you spoke at the audit last January—rather strongly, if I remember.”
“Yes, Mr. Levinger, sir,” answered Samuel, in a hesitating but mellifluous voice. “I shall be very glad to speak about it. A shed is needed on those marshes, sir, where we look to let the cattle lie out till late in autumn, un-tempered to all the winds of heaven, which blow keen down there, and also in the spring; and I hope you see your way to build one, Mr. Levinger, else I fear that I shall have to give you notice and find others more accommodating.”
“Really! do you think so? Well, if you wish to do that, I am ready to meet you half way and accept short service, so that you can clear out next Michaelmas; for I don’t mind telling you that I know another party who will be glad to take the land.”
“Indeed, sir, I was not aware,” answered Samuel, running his fingers through his straight hair uncomfortably—for the last thing that he desired was to part with these particular marshes. “Not that I should wish to stand between a landlord and a better offer in these times. Still, Mr. Levinger, I don’t hold it right, as between man and man, to slip like that behind a tenant’s back as has always paid his rent.”
The conversation, which was a long one, need not be pursued further. Samuel was of the opinion that Mr. Levinger should bear the entire cost of the shed, which the latter declined to do. At length, however, an arrangement was effected that proved mutually satisfactory; the “said landlord” agreeing to find all material necessary, and to pay the skilled labour, and the “said tenant” undertaking to dig the holes for the posts and to cut the reed for thatch.
“Ah, Mr. Rock,” said Levinger, as he signed a note of their contract, “it is very well for you to pretend that you are hard up; but I know well enough, notwithstanding the shocking times, that you are the warmest man in these parts. You see you began well, with plenty of capital; and though you rent some, you have been wise enough to keep your own land in hand, and not trust it to the tender mercies of a tenant. That, combined with good farming, careful living and hard work, is what has made you rich, when many others are on the verge of ruin. You ought to be getting a wife, Mr. Rock, and starting a family of your own, for if anything happened to you there is nowhere for the property to go.”
“We are in the Lord’s hands, sir, and man is but grass,” answered Samuel sententiously, though it was clear from his face that he did not altogether appreciate this allusion to his latter end. “Still, under the mercy of Heaven, having my health, and always being careful to avoid chills, I hope to see a good many younger men out yet. And as for getting married, Mr. Levinger, I think it is the whole duty of man, or leastways half of it, when he has earned enough to support a wife and additions which she may bring with her. But the thing is to find the woman, sir, for it isn’t every girl that a careful Christian would wish to wed.”
“Quite so, Mr. Rock. Have a glass of port, won’t you?”—and Mr. Levinger poured out some wine from a decanter which stood on the table and pushed it towards him. Then, taking a little himself by way of company, he added, “I should have thought that you could find a suitable person about here.”
“Your health, sir,” said Samuel, drinking off the port and setting down the glass, which Mr. Levinger refilled. “I am not saying, sir,” he added, “that such a girl cannot be found,—I am not even saying that I have not found such a girl: that’s one thing, marrying is another.”
“Ah! indeed,” said Mr. Levinger.
Again Samuel lifted his glass and drank half its contents. The wine was of the nature that is known as “full-bodied,” and, not having eaten for some hours, it began to take effect on him. Samuel grew expansive.
“I wonder, sir,” he said, “if I might take a liberty? I wonder if I might ask your advice? I should be grateful if you would give it to me, for I know that you have the cleverest head of any gentleman in these parts. Also, sir, you are no talker.”
“I shall be delighted if I can be of any service to an old friend and tenant like yourself,” answered Mr. Levinger airily. “What is the difficulty?”
Samuel finished the second glass of wine, and felt it go ever so little to his head; for which he was not sorry, as it made him eloquent.
“The difficulty is this, sir. Thank you—just a taste more. I don’t drink wine myself, as a rule—it is too costly; but this is real good stuff, and maketh glad the heart of man, as in the Bible. Well, sir, here it is in a nutshell: I want to marry a girl; I am dead set on it; but she won’t have me, or at least she puts me off.”
“Why not try another, then?”
“Because I don’t want no other, Mr. Levinger, sir,” he answered, suddenly taking fire. The wine had done its work with him, and moreover this was the one subject that had the power to break through the cold cunning which was a characteristic of his nature. “I want this girl or none, and I mean to have her if I wait half a lifetime for her.”
“You are in earnest, at any rate, which is a good augury for your success. And who may the lady be?”
“Who may she be? Why, I thought you knew! There’s only one about here that she could be. Joan Haste, of course.”
“Joan Haste! Ah! Yes, she is a handsome and attractive girl.”
“Handsome and attractive? Eh! she is all that. To me she is what the sun is to the corn and the water to the fish. I can’t live without her. Look here: I have watched her for years, ever since she was a child. I have summered her and wintered her, as the saying is, thinking that I wouldn’t make no mistake about her, whatever I might feel, nor give myself away in a hurry, seeing that I wanted to keep what I earn for myself, and not to spend it on others just because a pretty face chanced to take my fancy.”
“Perhaps you have been a little too careful under the circumstances, Mr. Rock.”
“Maybe I have: anyway, it has come home to me now. A month or so back I spoke out, because I couldn’t keep myself in no longer.”
“To Joan Haste?”
“Yes, to Joan Haste. Her aunt knew about it before, but she didn’t seem able to help me much.”
“And what did Joan say?”
“She said that she did not love me, and that she never would love me nor marry me; but she said also that she had no thought for any other man.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Rock, but did this interview happen before Captain Graves and Joan Haste met with their accident in Ramborough Abbey? I want to fix the date, that’s all.”
“It happened on that same afternoon, sir. The Captain must have come along just after I left.”
And Samuel paused, passing his white hands over each other uneasily, as though he were washing them, for Mr. Levinger’s question seemed to suggest some new and unpleasant idea to his mind.
“Well?”
“Well, there isn’t much more to say, sir, except that I think I was a bit unlucky in the way I put it to her; for it slipped out of my mouth about her father never having had a name, and that seemed to anger her.”
“Perhaps it was not the best possible way to ingratiate yourself with the young woman,” replied Mr. Levinger sweetly. “So you came to no understanding with her?”
“Well, I did and I didn’t. I found out that she is afraid for her life of her aunt, who favours me; so I made a bargain with her that, if she would let the matter stand open for six months, I’d promise to say nothing to Mrs. Gillingwater.”
“I see: you played upon the girl’s fears. Doubtful policy again, I think.”
“It was the best I could do, sir; for starving dogs must eat offal, as the saying is. And now, Mr. Levinger, if you can help me, I shall be a grateful man all my days. They do say down in Bradmouth that you know something about Joan’s beginnings, and have charge of her in a way, and that is why I made bold to speak to you; for I only promised to be mum to her aunt.”
“Do they indeed, Mr. Rock? Truly in Bradmouth their tongues are long and their ears open. And yet, as you are seeking to marry her, I do not mind telling you that there is enough truth in this report to give it colour. As it chances, I did know something of Joan’s father, though I am not at liberty to mention his name. He was a gentleman, and has been dead many years; but he left me, not by deed but in an informal manner, in a position of some responsibility towards her, and entrusted me with a sum of money—small, but sufficient to be employed for her benefit, at my entire discretion, which was only hampered by one condition—namely, that she should not be educated as a lady. Now, Mr. Rock, I have told you so much in order to make matters clear; but I will add this to it: if you repeat a single word, either to Joan herself or to anybody else, you need hope for no help from me in your suit. You see I am perfectly frank with you. I ask no promises, but I appeal to your interests.”
“I understand, sir; but the mischief of it is, whether you wished or not, that you have made a lady of her, and that is why she looks down on me; or perhaps, being in her blood, it will out.”
“It would be possible to suggest other reasons for her unwillingness to accept your offer,” replied Mr. Levinger drily; “but this is neither here nor there. On the whole I approve of your suit, provided that you are ready to make proper settlements upon Joan, for I know you are a thriving man, and I see that you are attached to her.”
“I’ll do anything that I can, sir, for I have no mind to stint money in this matter. But though you are so kind as to wish me well, I don’t see how that sets me any forrarder with Joan.”
“Perhaps you will in a few days’ time, though. And now I’ve got a bit of advice to give you: don’t you bother about that six months’ promise. You go at her again in a week, let us say. You know how she is employed now, do you not?”
“I have heard that she is helping to nurse the Captain.”
“Quite so: she is helping to nurse the Captain. Now, please understand that I make no imputations, but I don’t know if you consider this a suitable occupation for a beautiful young woman whom you happen to wish to marry. Captain Graves is a very fine fellow, and people sometimes grow intimate under such circumstances. Joan told you that she cared for no man on the tenth of June. Perhaps if you wait till the tenth of December she may not be able to say so much.”
By this time the poison of Mr. Levinger’s hints had sunk deep into his hearer’s mind; though had he known Samuel’s character more thoroughly, he might have thought the danger of distilling it greater than any advantage that was to be gained thereby. Indeed, a minute later he regretted having said so much, for, glancing at him, he saw that Rock was deeply affected. His sallow face had become red, his quivering lips were livid, and he was snatching at his thin beard.
“Damn him!” he said, springing to his feet: “if he leads her that way, fine fellow or not, I’ll do for him. I tell you that if he wants to keep a whole skin, he had better leave my ewe-lamb alone.”
In an instant Mr. Levinger saw that he had set fire to a jealousy fierce enough to work endless mischief, and too late he tried to stamp out the flame.
“Sit down, sir,” he said quietly, but in the tone of one who at some time in his career had been accustomed to the command of men; “sit down, and never dare to speak before me like that again. Now,” he added, as Samuel obeyed him, “you will apologise to me for those words, and you will dismiss all such thoughts from your mind. Otherwise I tell you that I take back everything I have said, and that you shall never even speak to Joan Haste again.”
Samuel’s fit of passion had passed by now, or perhaps it had been frightened away, for his face grew pale, paler than usual, and the constant involuntary movement of his furtive hands was the only sign left of the storm that shook him.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a whining voice: “the Lord knows I beg your pardon; and what’s more, I didn’t mean nothing of what I said. It was jealousy that made me speak so, jealousy bitter as the grave; and when I heard you talk of her getting fond of that Captain—my Joan fond of another man, a gentleman too, who would be bound to treat her as her mother was treated by some villain—it seemed as though all the wickedness in the world bubbled up in my heart and spoke through my mouth.”
“There, that will do,” answered Mr. Levinger testily. “See that you do not let such wickedness bubble again in your heart, or anywhere else, that’s all; for at the first sign of it—and remember I shall have my eye on you—there will be an end of your courtship. And now you had better go. Take my advice and ask her again in a week or so; you can come and tell me how you get on. Good-day.”
Samuel picked up his broad hat, bowed, and departed, walking delicately, like Agag, as though he expected at every moment to put his foot upon an egg.
“Upon my word,” thought Mr. Levinger, “I’m half afraid of that fellow! I wonder if it is safe to let the girl marry him. On the whole I should think so; he has a great deal to recommend him, and this kind of thing will pass off. She isn’t the woman to stand much of it. Anyway, it seems necessary for everybody’s welfare, though somehow I doubt if good will come of all this scheming.”