Can You Forgive Her? (32 page)

‘He speaks to me, though,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘I dare say he does,’ said Kate.

‘And about you, too, my dear.’

‘He doesn’t come here with those big flowers in his button-hole for nothing,’ said Jeannette, – ‘not if I knows what a gentleman means.’

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘If you don’t object, aunt,’ said Kate, ‘I will write to grandpapa and tell him that I will return home at once.’

‘What! – because of Mr Cheesacre?’ said Mrs Greenow. ‘I don’t think you’ll be so silly as that, my dear.’

On the present occasion Mrs Greenow undertook that she would see the generous gentleman, and endeavour to stop the supplies from his farmyard. It was well understood that he would
call about four o’clock, when his business in the town would be over, and that he would bring with him a little boy, who would carry away the basket. At that hour Kate of course was absent, and the widow received Mr Cheesacre alone. The basket and cloth were there, in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained; – the turkey poult first, on a dish provided
in the lodging-house, then a dozen fresh eggs in a soup plate, then the cream in a little tin can, which, for the last fortnight, had passed regularly between Oileymead and the house in the Close, and as to which Mr Cheesacre was very pointed in his inquiries with Jeannette. Then behind the cream there were two or three heads of broccoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man’s wrist. Altogether
the tribute was a very comfortable assistance to the housekeeping of a lady living in a small way in lodgings.

Mr Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the long sofa-table, knew that he was to prepare himself for some resistance; but that resistance would give him, he thought, an opportunity of saying a few words that he was desirous of speaking, and he did not altogether regret it. ‘I just called
in,’ he said, ‘to see how you were.’

‘We are not likely to starve,’ said Mrs Greenow, pointing to the delicacies from Oileymead.

‘Just a few trifles that my old woman asked me to bring in,’ said Cheesacre. ‘She insisted on putting them up.’

‘But your old woman is by far too magnificent,’ said Mrs Greenow. ‘She really frightens Kate and me out of our wits.’

Mr Cheesacre had no wish that Miss
Vavasor’s name should be brought into play upon the occasion. ‘Dear Mrs Greenow,’ said he, ‘there is no cause for you to be alarmed, I can assure you. Mere trifles; – light as air, you know. I don’t think anything of such things as these.’

‘But I and Kate think a great deal of them, – a very great deal, I can assure you. Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether or no we would return
them to Oileymead?’

‘Return them, Mrs Greenow!’

‘Yes, indeed: what are women, situated as we are, to do under such circumstances? When gentlemen will be too liberal, their liberality must be repressed.’

‘And have I been too liberal, Mrs Greenow? What is a young turkey and a stick of celery when a man is willing to give everything that he has in the world?’

‘You’ve got a great deal more in
the world, Mr Cheesacre, than you’d like to part with. But we won’t talk of that, now.’

‘When shall we talk of it?’

‘If you really have anything to say, you had by far better speak to Kate herself.’

‘Mrs Greenow, you mistake me. Indeed, you mistake me.’ Just at this moment, as he was drawing close to the widow, she heard, or fancied that she heard, Jeannette’s step, and, going to the sitting-room
door, called to her maid. Jeannette did not hear her, but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came. ‘You may take these things down, Jeannette,’ she said. ‘Mr Cheesacre has promised that no more shall come.’

‘But I haven’t promised,’ said Mr Cheesacre.

‘You will oblige me and Kate, I know; – and, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her.’

Then Mr Cheesacre knew that he
could not say those few words on that occasion; and as the hour of his train was near, he took his departure, and went out of the Close, followed by the little boy, carrying the basket, the cloth, and the tin can.

T
HE
next day was Sunday, and it was well known at the lodging-house in the Close that Mr Cheesacre would not be seen there then. Mrs Greenow had specially warned him that she was not fond of Sunday visitors, fearing that otherwise he might find it convenient to give them too much of his society on that idle day. In
the morning the aunt and niece both went to the Cathedral,
and then at three o’clock they dined. But on this occasion they did not dine alone. Charlie Fairstairs, who, with her family, had come home from Yarmouth, had been asked to join them; and in order that Charlie might not feel it dull, Mrs Greenow had, with her usual good-nature, invited Captain Bellfield. A very nice little dinner they had. The captain carved the turkey, giving due honour
to Mr Cheesacre as he did so; and when he nibbled his celery with his cheese, he was prettily jocose about the richness of the farmyard at Oileymead.

‘He is the most generous man I ever met,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘So he is,’ said Captain Bellfield, ‘and we’ll drink his health. Poor old Cheesy! It’s a great pity he shouldn’t get himself a wife.’

‘I don’t know any man more calculated to make a young
woman happy,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘No, indeed,’ said Miss Fairstairs. ‘I’m told that his house and all about it is quite beautiful.’

‘Especially the straw-yard and the horse-pond,’ said the Captain. And then they drank the health of their absent friend.

It had been arranged that the ladies should go to church in the evening and it was thought that Captain Bellfield would, perhaps, accompany them;
but when the time for starting came, Kate and Charlie were ready, but the widow was not, and she remained, – in order, as she afterwards explained to Kate, that Captain Bellfield might not seem to be turned out of the house. He had made no offer churchwards, and, – ‘Poor man,’ as Mrs Greenow said in her little explanation, ‘if I hadn’t let him stay there, he would have had no resting-place for
the sole of his foot but some horrid barrack-room!’ Therefore the Captain was allowed to find a resting-place in Mrs Greenow’s drawing-room; but on the return of the young ladies from church, he was not there, and the widow was alone, ‘looking back,’ she said, ‘to things that were gone; – that were gone. But come, dears, I am not going to make you melancholy.’ So they had tea, and Mr Cheesacre’s
cream was used with liberality.

Captain Bellfield had not allowed the opportunity to slip idly from his hands. In the first quarter of an hour after the younger
ladies had gone, he said little or nothing, but sat with a wine-glass before him, which once or twice he filled from the decanter. ‘I’m afraid the wine is not very good,’ said Mrs Greenow‘ ‘But one can’t get good wine in lodgings.’

‘I’m not thinking very much about it, Mrs Greenow; that’s the truth,’ said the Captain. ‘I daresay the wine is very good of its kind.’ Then there was another period of silence between them.

‘I suppose you find it rather dull, living in lodgings; don’t you?’ asked the Captain.

‘I don’t know quite what you mean by dull, Captain Bellfield; but a woman circumstanced as I am, can’t find her life very
gay. It’s not a full twelvemonth yet since I lost all that made life desirable, and sometimes I wonder at myself for holding up as well as I do.’

It’s wicked to give way to grief too much, Mrs Greenow.’

‘That’s what my dear Kate always says to me, and I’m sure I do my best to overcome it.’ Upon this soft tears trickled down her cheek, showing in their course that she at any rate used no paint
in producing that freshness of colour which was one of her great charms. Then she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and removing it, smiled faintly on the Captain. ‘I didn’t intend to treat you to such a scene as this, Captain Bellfield.’

‘There is nothing on earth, Mrs Greenow, I desire so much, as permission to dry those tears.’

‘Time alone can do that, Captain Bellfield; – time alone.’

‘But cannot time be aided by love and friendship and affection?’

‘By friendship, yes. What would life be worth without the solace of friendship?’

‘And how much better is the warm glow of love?’ Captain Bellfield, as he asked this question, deliberately got up, and moved his chair over to the widow’s side. But the widow as deliberately changed her position to the corner of a sofa. The Captain
did not at once follow her, nor did he in any way show that he was aware that she had fled from him.

‘How much better is the warm glow of love?’ he said again, contenting himself with looking into her face with all his eyes. He had
hoped that he would have been able to press her hand by this time.

‘The warm glow of love, Captain Bellfield, if you have ever felt it –’

‘If I have ever felt it!
Do I not feel it now, Mrs Greenow? There can be no longer any mask kept upon my feelings. I never could restrain the yearnings of my heart when they have been strong.’

‘Have they often been strong, Captain Bellfield?’

‘Yes; often; – in various scenes of life; on the field of battle –’

‘I did not know that you had seen active service.’

‘What! – not on the plains of Zuzuland, when with fifty
picked men I kept five hundred Caffres
¹
at bay for seven weeks; – never knew the comfort of a bed, or a pillow to my head, for seven long weeks!’

‘Not for seven weeks?’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘No. Did I not see active service at Essiquebo, on the burning coast of Guiana, when all the wild Africans
²
from the woods rose up to destroy the colony; or again at the mouth of the Kitchyhomy River, when I
made good the capture of a slaver by my own hand and my own sword!’

‘I really hadn’t heard,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘Ah, I understand. I know. Cheesy is the best fellow in the world in some respects, but he cannot bring himself to speak well of a fellow behind his back. I know who has belittled me. Who was the first to storm the heights of Inkerman
⁸
?’ demanded the Captain, thinking in the heat of
the moment that he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

‘But when you spoke of yearnings, I thought you meant yearnings of a softer kind.’

‘So I did. So I did. I don’t know why I have been led away to speak of deeds that are very seldom mentioned, at any rate by myself. But I cannot bear that a slanderous backbiting tongue should make you think that I have seen no service. I have served
her Majesty in the four quarters of the globe, Mrs Greenow; and now I am ready to serve you in any way in which you will allow me to make my service acceptable.’ Whereupon he took one stride over to the sofa, and went down upon his knees before her.

‘But, Captain Bellfield, I don’t want any services. Pray get up now; the girl will come in.’

‘I care nothing for any girl. I am planted here till
some answer shall have been made to me; till some word shall have been said that may give me a little hope.’ Then he attempted to get hold of her hand, but she put them behind her back and shook her head. ‘Arabella,’ he said, ‘will you not speak a word to me?’

‘Not a word, Captain Bellfield, till you get up; and I won’t have you call me Arabella. I am the widow of Samuel Greenow, than whom no
man was more respected where he was known, and it is not fitting that I should be addressed in that way.’

‘But I want you to become my wife, – and then –’

‘Ah, then indeed! But that then isn’t likely to come. Get up, Captain Bellfield, or I’ll push you over and then ring the bell. A man never looks so much like a fool as when he’s kneeling down, – unless he’s saying his prayers, as you ought
to be doing now. Get up, I tell you. It’s just half past seven, and I told Jeannette to come to me then.’

There was that in the widow’s voice which made him get up, and he rose slowly to his feet. You’ve pushed all the chairs about, you stupid man,’ she said. Then in one minute she had restored the scattered furniture to their proper places, and had rung the bell. When Jeannette came she desired
that tea might be ready by the time that the young ladies returned, and asked Captain Bellfield if a cup should be set for him. This he declined, and bade her farewell while Jeannette was still in the room. She shook hands with him without any sign of anger, and even expressed a hope that they might see him again before long.

‘He’s a very handsome man, is the Captain,’ said Jeannette, as the
hero of the Kitchyhomy River descended the stairs.

‘You shouldn’t think about handsome men, child,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘And I’m sure I don’t,’ said Jeannette. ‘Not no more than anybody else; but if a man is handsome, ma’am, why it stands to reason that he is handsome.’

‘I suppose Captain Bellfield has given you a kiss and a pair of gloves.’

‘As for gloves and such like, Mr Cheesacre is much
better for giving than the Captain; as we all know; don’t we, ma’am? But in regard to kisses, they’re presents as I never takes from anybody. Let everybody pay his debts. If the Captain ever gets a wife, let him kiss her.’

On the following Tuesday morning Mr Cheesacre as usual called in the Close, but he brought with him no basket. He merely left a winter nosegay made of green leaves and laurestinus
flowers, and sent up a message to say that he should call at half past three, and hoped that he might then be able to see Mrs Greenow – on particular business.

‘That means you, Kate,’ said Mrs Greenow.

‘No, it doesn’t; it doesn’t mean me at all. At any rate he won’t see me.’

‘I dare say it’s me he wishes to see. It seems to be the fashionable plan now for gentlemen to make offers by deputy.
If he says anything, I can only refer him to you, you know.’

‘Yes, you can; you can tell him simply that I won’t have him. But he is no more thinking of me than – ’

‘Than he is of me, you were going to say.’

‘No, aunt; I wasn’t going to say that at all.’

‘Well, we shall see. If he does mean anything, of course you can please yourself; but I really think you might do worse.’