Can You Forgive Her? (17 page)

‘No, my friend, no,’ Mrs Greenow said to Mr Cheesacre when that gentleman endeavoured to persuade her to stand up; ‘Kate will be delighted I am sure to join you, – but as for me, you must excuse me.’

But Mr Cheesacre was not inclined at that moment to ask Kate Vavasor to dance
with him. He was possessed by an undefined idea that Kate had snubbed him, and as Kate’s fortune was, as he said, literally nothing, he was not at all disposed to court her favour at the expense of such suffering to himself.

‘I’m not quite sure that I’ll dance myself,’ said he, seating himself in a corner of the tent by Mrs Greenow’s side. Captain Bellfield at that moment was seen leading Miss
Vavasor away to a new place on the sands, whither he was followed by a score of dancers; and Mr Cheesacre saw that now at last he might reap the reward for which he had laboured. He was alone with the widow, and having been made bold by wine, had an opportunity of fighting his battle, than which none better could ever be found. He was himself by no means a poor man, and he despised poverty in others.
It was well that there should be poor gentry, in order that they might act as satellites to those who, like himself, had money. As to Mrs Greenow’s money, there was no doubt He knew it all to a fraction. She had spread for herself, or some one else had spread for her, a report that her wealth was almost unlimited; but the forty thousand pounds was a fact, and any such innocent fault as that
little fiction might well be forgiven to a woman endorsed with such substantial virtues. And she was handsome too. Mr Cheesacre, as he regarded her matured charms, sometimes felt that he should have been smitten even without the forty thousand pounds. ‘By George! there’s flesh and blood,’ he had once said to his friend Bellfield before he had begun to suspect that man’s treachery. His admiration must
then have been sincere,
for at that time the forty thousand pounds was not an ascertained fact. Looking at the matter in all its bearings Mr Cheesacre thought that he couldn’t do better. His wooing should be fair, honest, and above board. He was a thriving man, and what might not they two do in Norfolk if they put their wealth together?

‘Oh, Mr Cheesacre, you should join them,’ said Mrs Greenow;
‘they’ll not half enjoy themselves without you. Kate will think that you mean to neglect her.’

‘I shan’t dance, Mrs Greenow, unless you like to stand up for a set’

‘No, my friend, no; I shall not do that. I fear you forget how recent has been my bereavement. Your asking me is the bitterest reproach to me for having ventured to join your festive board.’

‘Upon my honour I didn’t mean it, Mrs
Greenow. I didn’t mean it, indeed.’

‘I do not suspect you. It would have been unmanly.’

‘And nobody can say that of me. There isn’t a man or woman in Norfolk that wouldn’t say I was manly.’

‘I’ m quite sure of that.’

‘I have my faults, I’m aware.’

‘And what are your faults, Mr Cheesacre?’

‘Well; perhaps I’m extravagant. But it’s only in these kind of things you know, when I spend a little
money for the sake of making my friends happy. When I’m about, on the lands at home, I ain’t extravagant, I can tell you.’

‘Extravagance is a great vice.’

‘Oh, I ain’t extravagant in that sense; – not a bit in the world. But when a man’s enamoured, and perhaps looking out for a wife, he does like to be a little free, you know.’

‘And are you looking out for a wife, Mr Cheesacre?’

‘If I told
you I suppose you’d only laugh at me.’

‘No; indeed I would not. I am not given to joking when any one that I regard speaks to me seriously.’

‘Ain’t you though? I’m so glad of that. When one has really got a serious thing to say, one doesn’t like to have fun poked at one.’

‘And, besides, how could I laugh at marriages, seeing how
happy I have been in that condition? – so – very – happy,’ and
Mrs Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes.

‘So happy that you’ll try it again some day; won’t you?’

‘Never, Mr Cheesacre; never. Is that the way you talk of serious things without joking? Anything like love – love of that sort – is over for me. It lies buried under the sod with my poor dear departed saint.’

‘But, Mrs Greenow,’ – and Cheesacre, as he prepared to argue the question with
her, got nearer to her in the corner behind the table, – ‘But, Mrs Greenow, care killed a cat, you know.’

‘And sometimes I think that care will kill me.’

‘No, by George; not if I can prevent it.’

You’re very kind, Mr Cheesacre; but there’s no preventing such care as mine.’

‘Isn’t there though? I’ll tell you what, Mrs Greenow; I’m in earnest, I am indeed. If you’ll inquire, you’ll find there
isn’t a fellow in Norfolk pays his way better than I do, or is better able to do it. I don’t pay a sixpence of rent, and I sit upon seven hundred acres of as good land as there is in the county. There’s not an acre that won’t do me a bullock and a half. Just put that and that together, and see what it comes to. And, mind you, some of these fellows that farm their own land are worse off than if they’d
rent to pay. They’ve borrowed so much to carry on with, that the interest is more than rent. I don’t owe a sixpence to ere a man or ere a company in the world. I can walk into every bank in Norwich without seeing my master. There ain’t any of my paper
²
flying about, Mrs Greenow. I’m Samuel Cheesacre of Oileymead, and it’s all my own.’ Mr Cheesacre, as he thus spoke of his good fortunes and firm
standing in the world, became impetuous in the energy of the moment, and brought down his fist powerfully on the slight table before them. The whole fabric rattled, and the boat resounded, but the noise he had made seemed to assist him. ‘It’s all my own, Mrs Greenow, and the half of it shall be yours if you’ll please to take it;’ then he stretched out his hand to her, not as though he intended to
grasp hers in a grasp of love, but as if he expected some hand-pledge from her as a token that she accepted the bargain.

‘If you’d known Greenow, Mr Cheesacre – ’

‘I’ve no doubt he was a very good sort of man.’

‘If you’d known him, you would not have addressed me in this way.’

‘What difference would that make? My idea is that care killed a cat, as I said before. I never knew what was the good
of being unhappy. If I find early mangels don’t do on a bit of land, then I sow late turnips; and never cry after spilt milk. Greenow was the early mangels; I’ll be the late turnips. Come then, say the word. There ain’t a bedroom in my house, – not one of the front ones, – that isn’t mahogany furnished!’

‘What’s furniture to me?’ said Mrs Greenow, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

Just at this
moment Maria’s mother stepped in under the canvas. It was most inopportune. Mr Cheesacre felt that he was progressing well, and was conscious that he had got safely over those fences in the race which his bashfulness would naturally make difficult to him. He knew that he had done this under the influence of the champagne, and was aware that it might not be easy to procure again a combination of
circumstances that would be so beneficial to him. But now he was interrupted just as he was expecting success. He was interrupted, and felt himself to be looking like a guilty creature under the eye of the strange lady. He had not a word to say; but drawing himself suddenly a foot and half away from the widow’s side, sat there confessing his guilt in his face.

Mrs Greenow felt no guilt, and was
afraid of no strange eyes. ‘Mr Cheesacre and I are talking about farming,’ she said.

‘Oh; farming!’ answered Maria’s mother.

‘Mr Cheesacre thinks that turnips are better than early mangels,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘Yes, I do,’ said Cheesacre.

‘I prefer the early mangels,’ said Mrs Greenow. ‘I don’t think nature ever intended those late crops. What do you say, Mrs Walker?’

‘I daresay Mr Cheesacre
understands what he’s about when he’s at home,’ said the lady.

‘I know what a bit of land can do as well as any man in Norfolk,’ said the gentleman.

It may be very well in Norfolk,’ said Mrs Greenow, rising from her seat; ‘but the practice isn’t thought much of in the other counties with which I am better acquainted.’

‘I’d just come in to say that I thought we might be getting to the boats,’
said Mrs Walker. ‘My Ophelia is so delicate.’ At this moment the delicate Ophelia was to be seen, under the influence of the music, taking a distant range upon the sands with Joe Fair-stairs’ arm round her waist The attitude was justified by the tune that was in progress, and there is no reason why a galop on the sands should have any special termination in distance, as it must have in a room. But,
under such circumstances, Mrs Walker’s solicitude was not unreasonable.

The erratic steps of the distant dancers were recalled and preparations were made for the return journey. Others had strayed besides the delicate Ophelia and the idle Joe, and some little time was taken up in collecting the party. The boats had to be drawn down, and the boatmen fetched from their cans and tobacco-pipes. ‘I
hope they’re sober’ said Mrs Walker, with a look of great dismay.

‘Sober as judges,’ said Bellfield, who had himself been looking after the remains of Mr Cheesacre’s hampers, while that gentleman had been so much better engaged in the tent.

‘Because,’ continued Mrs Walker, ‘I know that they play all manner of tricks when they’re – in liquor. They’d think nothing of taking us out-to sea, Mrs
Greenow.’

‘Oh, I do wish they would,’ said Ophelia.

‘Ophelia, mind you come in the boat with me,’ said her mother, and she looked very savage when she gave the order. It was Mrs Walker’s intention that that boat should not carry Joe Fairstairs. But Joe and her daughter together were too clever for her. When the boats went off she found herself to be in that one over which Mr Cheesacre presided,
while the sinning Ophelia with her good-for-nothing admirer were under the more mirthful protection of Captain Bellfield.

‘Mamma will be so angry,’ said Ophelia, ‘and it was all your
fault I did mean to go into the ether boat Don’t, Mr Fairstairs,’ Then they got settled down in their seats, to the satisfaction, let us hope, of them both.

Mr Cheesacre had vainly endeavoured to arrange that Mrs
Greenow should return with him. But not only was Captain Bellfield opposed to such a change in their positions, but so also was Mrs Greenow. ‘I think we’d better go back as we came,’ she said, giving her hand to the Captain.

‘Oh, certainly,’ said Captain Bellfield. ‘Why should there be any change? Cheesacre, old fellow, mind you look after Mrs Walker. Come along, my hearty.’ It really almost
appeared that Captain Bellfield was addressing Mrs Greenow as ‘his hearty’, but it must be presumed that the term of genial endearment was intended for the whole boat’s load. Mrs Greenow took her place on the comfortable broad bench in the stern, and Bellfield seated himself beside her, with the tiller in his hand.

‘If you’re going to steer, Captain Bellfield, I beg that you’ll be careful.’

‘Careful, – and with you on board!’ said the Captain. ‘Don’t you know that I would sooner perish beneath the waves than that a drop of water should touch you roughly?’

‘But you see, we might perish beneath the waves together.’

‘Together! What a sweet word that is; – perish together! If it were not that there might be something better even than that, I would wish to perish in such company.’

‘But I should not wish anything of the kind, Captain Bellfield, and therefore pray be careful.’

There was no perishing by water on that occasion. Mr Chees-acre’s boat reached the pier at Yarmouth first, and gave up its load without accident. Very shortly afterwards Captain Bellfield’s crew reached the same place in the same state of preservation. There,’ said he, as he handed out Mrs Greenow.
’I have brought you to no harm, at any rate as yet’

‘And, as I hope, will not do so hereafter.’

‘May the heavens forbid it, Mrs Greenow! Whatever may be our lots hereafter, – yours I mean and mine, – I trust that yours may be free from all disaster. Oh, that I might venture to hope that, at
some future day, the privilege might be mine of protecting you from all danger!’

‘I can protect myself
very well, I can assure you. Goodnight, Captain Bellfield. We won’t take you and Mr Cheesacre out of your way; – will we, Kate? We have had a most pleasant day.’

They were now upon the esplanade, and Mrs Greenow’s house was to the right, whereas the lodgings of both the gentlemen were to the left. Each of them fought hard for the privilege of accompanying the widow to her door; but Mrs Greenow
was self-willed, and upon this occasion would have neither of them. ‘Mr Joe Fairstairs must pass the house,’ said she, ‘and he will see us home. Mr Cheesacre, good night. Indeed you shall not; – not a step.’ There was that in her voice which induced Mr Cheesacre to obey her, and which made Captain Bellfield aware that he would only injure his cause if he endeavoured to make further progress in it
on the present occasion.

‘Well, Kate, what do you think of the day?’ the aunt said when she was alone with her niece.

‘I never think much about such days, aunt. It was all very well, but I fear I have not the temperament fitted for enjoying the fun. I envied Ophelia Walker because she made herself thoroughly happy.’

‘I do like to see girls enjoy themselves,’ said Mrs Greenow, ‘I do, indeed;
– and young men too. It seems so natural; why shouldn’t young people flirt?’

‘Or old people either for the matter of that?’

‘Or old people either, – if they don’t do any harm to anybody. I’ll tell you what it is, Kate; people have become so very virtuous, that they’re driven into all manner of abominable resources for amusement and occupation. If I had sons and daughters I should think a little
flirting the very best thing for them as a safety valve. When people get to be old, there’s a difficulty. They want to flirt with the young people and the young people don’t want them. If the old people would be content to flirt together, I don’t see why they should ever give it up; – till they’re obliged to give up everything, and go away.’

That was Mrs Greenow’s doctrine on the subject of flirtation.