Can You Forgive Her? (71 page)

Between nine and ten in the evening, an hour or so after Mr
Cheesacre had left her, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with a little sherry in it. She usually dined early, and it was her habit to take a light repast before she retired for the night.

‘Jeannette,’ she said, as she stirred the lumps of white sugar in the bowl, ‘I’m
afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled’

‘Oh, laws, ma’am, in course they have! How was they to help it?’

Jeannette, on these occasions, was in the habit of standing beside the chair of her mistress, and chatting with her; and then, if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair herself, – and then the two women would be very comfortable together
over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.

‘And why should they quarrel, Jeannette? It’s very foolish.’

‘I don’t know about being foolish, ma’am; but it’s the most natural thing in life. If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, in course I should expect as they would punch each other’s heads. There’s
some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it. One at a time’s what I say.’

‘You’re a young thing, Jeannette.’

‘Well, ma’am – yes; I am young, no doubt. But I won’t say but what I’ve had a beau, young as I look.’

‘But you don’t suppose that I want beaux, as you call them?’

‘I don’t know, ma’am, as you wants ’em exactly. That’s as may be. There they are; and if they was to blow each
other’s brains out in the gig tonight, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised for one. There’s nothing won’t quiet them at Oileymead tonight, if brandy-and-water don’t do it’. As she said this, Jeannette slipt into her chair, and held up her hands in token of the intensity of her fears.

‘Why, you silly child, they’re not going home together at all. Did not the Captain go away first?’

‘The Captain did
go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols and fighting things ready’

‘They won’t fight, Jeannette. Gentlemen have given over fighting.’

‘Have they, ma’am? That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt. Perhaps them peaceable ways will come down to such as us
in time. It’d be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me. I hate to see men knocking each
other’s heads about, – I do. So Mr Cheesacre and the Captain won’t fight, ma’am?’

‘Of course they won’t, you little fool, you.’

‘Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full of it, – and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier! I wonder which it would have been? I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn’t be wounded in any of his wital parts – unless it
was his heart, you know, ma’am?’

‘But why should they quarrel at all, Jeannette? It is the most foolish thing.’

‘Well, ma’am, I don’t know about that. What else is they to do? There’s some things as you can cry halves about, but there’s no crying halves about this.’

‘About what, Jeannette?’ – ‘Why, about you, ma’am.’

‘Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in my position,
had ever said a word to encourage either of them. You know if’s not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn’t say so.’ Whereupon Mrs Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Jeannette, probably in token of contrition, put her apron to hers.

‘To be sure, ma’am, no lady could have behaved better through it than you have done, and goodness knows you have been tried hard.’

‘Indeed I have, Jeannette.’

‘And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn’t your fault; is it, ma’am?’

‘But I’m so sorry that they should have quarrelled. They were such dear friends, you know; – quite all in all to each other.’

‘When you’ve settled which it’s to be, ma’am, that’ll all come right again, – seeing that gentle folks like them have given up fighting, as you say.’ Then there was a little pause. ‘I
suppose, ma’am, it won’t be Mr Cheesacre? To be sure, he’s a man as is uncommonly well to do in the world.’

‘What’s all that to me, Jeannette? I shall ever regard Mr Cheesacre as a dear friend who has been very good to me at a time of trouble; but he’ll never be more than that’

‘Then it’ll be the Captain, ma’am? I’m sure, for my part, I’ve
always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman of
the two, – and have always said so.’

‘He’s nothing to me, girl.’

‘And as for money, – what’s the good of having more than enough? If he can bring love, you can bring money; can’t you, ma’am?’

‘He’s nothing to me, girl,’ repeated Mrs Greenow.

‘But he will be?’ said Jeannette, plainly asking a question.

‘Well, I’m sure! What’s the world come to, I wonder, when you sit yourself down there, and
cross-examine your mistress in that way! Get to bed, will you? It’s near ten o’clock.’

‘I hope I haven’t said anything amiss, ma’am;’ and Jeannette rose from her seat.

‘It’s my fault for encouraging you,’ said Mrs Greenow. ‘Go downstairs and finish your work, do; and then take yourself off to bed. Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there’ll be all my things to see to before that’.
So Jeannette got up and departed, and after some few further thoughts about Captain Bellfield, Mrs Greenow herself went to her bedroom.

Mr Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone from Norwich, after dining with Mrs Greenow, had kept himself hot, and almost comfortable, with passion against Bellfield; and his heat, if not his comfort, had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with
his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his own homestead. But early on the following morning his mind reverted to Mrs Greenow, and he remembered, with anything but satisfaction, some of the hard things which she had said to him. He had made mistakes in his manner of wooing. He was quite aware of that now, and was determined that they should be rectified for the future. She had rebuked him for
having said nothing about his love. He would instantly mend that fault. And she had bidden him not to be so communicative about his wealth. Henceforth he would be dumb on that subject Nevertheless, he could not but think that the knowledge of his circumstances which the lady already possessed, must be of service to him. ‘She can’t really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn’t got a shilling,’ he
said to himself. He was very far from feeling that the battle was
already lost. Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship; and then why should she have been at so much trouble to tell him the way in which he ought to address her if she were herself indifferent as to his addresses? He was, no doubt, becoming tired of his courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over;
but he was not minded to give it up. He therefore prepared himself for another attack, and took himself into Norwich without seeking counsel from any one. He could not trust himself to think that she could really wish to refuse him after all the encouragement she had given him. On this occasion he put on no pink shirt or shiny boots, being deterred from doing so by a remembrance of Captain Bellfield’s
ridicule; but, nevertheless, he dressed himself with considerable care. He clothed his nether person in knickerbockers, with tight, leathern, bright-coloured gaiters round his legs, being conscious of certain manly graces and symmetrical proportions which might as, he thought, stand him in good stead. And he put on a new shooting-coat, the buttons on which were elaborate, and a wonderful waistcoat
worked over with foxes’ heads. He completed his toilet with a round, low-crowned hat, with dog’s-skin gloves, and a cutting whip. Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die, – as far as death might result from any wound which Mrs Greenow might be able to give him. He waited, on this occasion, for the coming of no market-day; indeed, the journey into the city was altogether special,
and he was desirous that she should know that such was the case. He drove at a great pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, took just one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched off across the market-place to the Close, with quiet and decisive steps.

‘Is that you, Cheesacre?’ said a friendly voice, in one of the narrow streets. ‘Who expected to see you in Norwich on
a Thursday!’ It was Grimsby, the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwich, a country gentleman, and one, therefore, to whom Cheesacre would generally pay much respect; but on this occasion he did not even pull up for an instant, or moderate his pace. ‘A little bit of private business’ he said, and marched onwards with his head towards the Close. ‘I’m not going to be afraid of a woman – not if I know
it,’ he said to himself; but, nevertheless, at a certain pastrycook’s, of whose shop he had knowledge, he pulled up and had another glass of cherry-brandy.

‘Mrs Greenow is at home,’ he said to Jeannette, not deigning to ask any question.

‘Oh, yes, sir; she is at home,’ said Jeannette, conscious that some occasion had arrived; and in another second he was in the presence of his angel.

‘Mr Cheesacre,
whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?’ said the lady, as she welcomed him, using almost the same words as his friend had done in the street. Why should not he come into Norwich on a Thursday, as well as any one else? Did they suppose that he was tied for ever to his ploughs and carts? He was minded to conduct himself with a little spirit on this occasion, and to improve the
opinion which Mrs Greenow had formed about him. On this account he answered her some what boldly.

‘There’s no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs Greenow, or when I mayn’t I’m one of those men of whom nobody knows anything certain, except that I pay as I go.’ Then he remembered that he was not to make any more boasts about his money, and he endeavoured to cover the error. There’s one other
thing they may all know if they please, but we won’t say what that is just at present’

‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Cheesacre?’

‘Well, – thank you, – I will sit down for a few minutes if you’ll let me, Mrs Greenow. Mrs Greenow, I’m in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage.’

‘Dear me! what has happened to you? You’re going out
shooting, presently; are you not?’ and Mrs Greenow looked down at his garments.

‘No, Mrs Greenow, I’m not going out shooting. I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I came along. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn’t take them off again. What does it matter what a man wears?’

‘Not in the least, so long as he is decent’

I‘m’ sure I’m always that, Mrs
Greenow.’

‘Oh, dear, yes. More than that, I should say. I consider you to be rather gay in your attire.’

‘I’ don’t pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs Greenow. I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing. There are people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck. It is the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it’
Then he remembered that he was again treading on forbidden ground, and stopped himself. ‘But it don’t matter what a man wears if his heart isn’t easy within him.’

‘I don’t know why you should speak in that way, Mr Cheesacre; but it’s what I have felt every hour since – since Greenow left me.’

Mr Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin. This allusion to the departed one did
not at all assist him. He had so often told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog was better than a dead lion; and had found so little efficacy in the proverbs, that he did not care to revert to them. He was aware that some more decided method of proceeding was now required. Little hints at love-making had been all very well in the earlier days of their acquaintance; but there must
be something more than little hints before he could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion. The widow herself had told him that he ought to talk about love; and he had taken two glasses of cherry-brandy, hoping that they might enable him to do so. He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, and new knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the occasion. He was resolved to
call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of his passion; but how was he to begin? There was the difficulty. He was now seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute or two, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after her last slight ebullition of grief.

‘Mrs Greenow,’ he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; ‘dearest Mrs Greenow; darling Mrs Greenow, will you
be my wife? There! I have said it at last, and I mean it. Everything that I’ve got shall be yours. Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart. As for love; – oh, Arabella, if you only knew me! I don’t think
there’s a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am. Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I’ve been in love to that extent that I’ve not known what I’ve been about If you’ll
ask them at home, they’ll tell you that I’ve not been able to look after anything about the place, – not as it should be done. I haven’t really. I don’t suppose I’ve opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July.’

‘And has that been my fault, Mr Cheesacre?’

‘Upon my word it has. I can’t move about anywhere without thinking about you. My mind’s made up; I won’t stay at Oileymead unless
you will come and be its mistress.’

‘Not stay at Oileymead?’

‘No, indeed. I’ll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What’s the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart? I couldn’t do it, Mrs Greenow; I couldn’t, indeed. Of course I’ve got everything there that money can buy, – but if’s all of no use to a man that’s in love. Do you know, I’ve come quite to despise money
and stock, and all that sort of thing. I haven’t had my banker’s book home these last three months. Only think of that now.’

‘But how can I help you, Mr Cheesacre?’

‘Just say one word, and the thing’ll be done. Say you’ll be my wife? I’ll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As for your fortune, I don’t care that for it! I’m not like somebody else; it’s yourself I want You shall be my pet, and
my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life.’