HAL BREAKS THE NEWS TO DEEPDALE.
The vicar and his wife were sitting quietly together one afternoon when
they saw Hal Rushton walking up the carriage drive.
‘Here comes Mr Rushton,’ exclaimed Mrs Measures, ‘and how bright and
happy he looks. Very different from his usual appearance lately. I
wonder if he has had any good news?’
‘I fancy the best news he could hear would be that someone intended to
take his stepmother off his hands,’ replied the vicar. ‘What a life the
poor boy must lead with her. He has been for a little holiday somewhere
this week, and she rails about it as if he had committed a crime.’
‘Why does he keep the old woman at Highbridge Farm?’ said his wife.
‘It is not his duty. I shall ask him the question plump.’
‘Ah, my dear, be careful how you lower his sense of obligation. Some
day he will marry, and then of necessity the Snaleys must go. But here
he is. How are you, Hal? We were just talking about you.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ replied Hal, colouring as he shook hands with them both.
‘We hear you have been away on a holiday, and we hope you enjoyed it.
Where did you go?’
‘That is what I have come over to tell you and Mrs Measures, sir. You
have always been so kind to me since my father’s death that I feel as
if it were only due that you should be the first to hear my news.’
‘So you _have_ some news for us, Hal.’
‘Yes, Mr Measures. I have been down to Devon to settle a certain
matter. I am going to be married, sir.’
Mrs Measures gave a little start and exclaimed, ‘Oh!’ but her husband
laid his hand upon her arm to prevent her saying more.
‘Go on, Hal, tell us all about it.’
‘I daresay you’ve guessed it, sir,’ replied the young man, looking as
foolish as most men do under such circumstances. ‘It’s Miss Stafford.
I’ve been down to see her and her mother. We’ve been fond of each other
for some time past, and if I had had my way she should never have left
Deepdale. But she was too proud to stay here under the circumstances,
and perhaps it is as well she went home first and accepted my proposals
under her mother’s roof.’
‘_Much_ best,’ said Mrs Measures, as she shook his hand again; ‘and oh,
Mr Rushton, I am so glad to hear of it. She is such a nice girl. I like
her so much, and she will make you so happy. And your marriage will
stop all the suspicions and unkind things that the village may have
said about her.’
‘As for that,’ returned Hal proudly, ‘I should like to see the man
or woman who will dare to speak against _my wife_. Of course, Miss
Stafford has told me everything. We have no secrets from each other,
and I am perfectly satisfied that she acted in all things whilst here
as I should have wished her to have done. For the rest, I care nothing.’
‘Certainly not. You are quite right,’ acquiesced the vicar, ‘and
henceforward it will concern no one but your two selves. It will be
a great rise for Miss Stafford, Hal. To jump from being the village
school teacher to become your wife, and the mistress of Highbridge
Farm. She will hold (after Mrs Measures) the highest position in
Deepdale.’
‘She could not hold too high an one,’ said Rushton earnestly. ‘You
do not know her, sir, how good she is, and how true. She has led a
difficult and laborious life hitherto, one totally unfitted to her
birth, for she is the daughter of an officer in the Royal Navy; but,
please God, I shall change all that for her, and she shall live in ease
and comfort, if not in luxury.’
‘Well, I wish you joy, Rushton, and so does Mrs Measures, and you may
rest assured we shall continue to be amongst your best friends. When is
the marriage to take place?’
‘The last week in August, sir, and I hope to bring her home early in
September. But I must have the old place painted and done up a little
first, as well as partially refurnished; and I thought (I trust I am
not presumptuous), but I hoped--’
‘Well, man, out with it!’ cried the vicar, laughing.
‘That Mrs Measures might be so good as to give me the benefit of her
advice,’ replied Hal, stammering. ‘I know nothing about such things,
you see, and I am not acquainted with a lady beside herself.’
‘My dear Mr Rushton, I shall be delighted,’ said the vicar’s wife. ‘You
know it is quite an excitement to a woman to choose pretty things. You
shall drive me over to Haltham, and we will turn Snoad’s shop over from
top to bottom. But you must promise me one thing in return. That when
Paula is Mrs Rushton, you will bring her to stay for a week at the
vicarage, before she goes home to Highbridge Farm. Now, I will take no
excuse, and I must insist upon it for her sake. I know you do not care
for what people say; but you must remember that Paula is coming to live
her life amongst us, and it is just as well to have a good name with
our neighbours. Let her come to me, and then it will little signify
what such canting hypocrites as Gribble and Axworthy may say.’
‘My dear, my dear, remember you are speaking of my churchwardens,’
remonstrated Mr Measures.
‘I don’t care who or what they are, Edward. I repeat that they are a
pair of canting hypocrites. Mr Rushton, I am waiting for your answer.’
‘I cannot refuse your offer, Mrs Measures. It is too kindly meant, and
I am quite aware of what a benefit your friendship will be to Paula.
And so if _she_ is agreeable to the plan, so am I.’
‘Oh, I know Miss Stafford will come to me,’ replied Mrs Measures gaily,
‘for we are the best of friends already, and I am quite glad to think I
shall have her for a companion in this stupid place. But what are you
going to do about your stepmother?’
‘That is the real reason that I came to tell Mr Measures my news before
anybody else,’ said Hal Rushton, ‘because I am so anxious to have his
advice about Mrs Snaley and her son. Of course they cannot remain at
Highbridge. That is quite out of the question. It did not signify for
myself, but I would not have my dar--I mean my wife’s eyes and ears
polluted with the sight and sound of that woman for anything. But I
wish to do what is fair by her. She was my father’s wife, and I have
let her occupy my house for several years, so there must be no scandal
about it. You know all the circumstances of the marriage, Mr Measures,
and so I am sure you are the best person to advise me. You know
that eight-roomed cottage and garden near where the old farm stood,
Wavertree Cottage they call it. It has been vacant since Lady-day, and
I propose to let my stepmother have it rent free for her lifetime, and
with her own income I think she ought to be able to manage to live very
comfortably for her station in life.’
‘I am _sure_ she ought,’ replied the vicar, ‘and the offer is a
generous one, Hal, for you can let that cottage and ground for forty
pounds a year. Ted Snaley should be able to make some money out of the
garden, too. It contains some fine fruit trees. I can imagine nothing
more suitable than their settling there.’
‘I shall furnish it for them from the farm,’ continued Hal, ‘and, of
course, set them going with poultry; and, perhaps, a cow. I should not
like to do anything mean or unfair by her, since she has kept my house
for me so long.’
‘And considerably to her own advantage, I should say,’ replied Mr
Measures. ‘However, you need not be afraid of being mean, Hal. I
consider your proposal most generous, and more than is required of you.
You have not broached the subject to Mrs Rushton yet?’
‘Oh, no, sir. I waited until I should be sure that you thought I was
acting right. But I shall delay no further now, for the sooner the
house is empty the better. There is another thing I wished to ask you
about, though. Highbridge Farm was known as Highbridge Hall when my
poor mother brought it to my father as a marriage portion. It was
_he_ who changed the name. I have a fancy for restoring its original
appellation, and, particularly, as I am no longer dependent on the farm
for a livelihood. Do you think I have a right to do so, Mr Measures?’
‘Every right, my dear fellow, and every reason also, now that you are
bringing a lady home to live in it. Your mother was a lady, Hal, every
inch of her--sweet, gentle Edith Hereford (you will forgive me for
saying I often wondered how she could ever have married your rough,
outspoken father)--and if your wife follows in her footsteps, you will
have gained a treasure.’
‘I believe I have, sir; in fact, I’m _sure_ I have,’ replied Hal, and
then, as though ashamed of having betrayed so much of his feelings, he
added hurriedly: ‘Well, then, the old place is to be Highbridge Hall
once more, and I shall get Collett to paint it up on the drive gates. I
suppose Deepdale will say I am “holding my head high.” Well, so I am,
and so I ought to, with such a prospect before me. I will go now, Mrs
Measures. I have intruded on you too long already.’
‘Not at all, Mr Rushton. I feel almost as excited as you do about all
this, and as anxious that everything should go well. Let me know when
you are ready to choose your carpets and curtains, and we will drive
into Haltham together.’
They then took a friendly leave of the young man, and Hal Rushton
walked back to his own domains. But not without leaving, as in most
cases, his character behind him.
‘I _hope_,’ said Mr Measures, with a long stress on the word, ‘I _hope_
that poor boy is choosing wisely.’
‘What do you mean, Edward?’ exclaimed his wife. ‘How could he have
chosen better? I consider Miss Stafford one of the prettiest girls
I have ever seen, and quite a lady. I was astonished from the
first to meet so refined and intelligent a companion in a village
schoolmistress. But she had evidently come down in the world, poor
thing!’
‘My dear Mary, I don’t deny her beauty, nor her refinement. But there
is always something suspicious in a gentlewoman “coming down,” as you
call it. Hal Rushton says she is the daughter of a naval officer,
but what does he know of her antecedents. She is not quite a girl,
remember. She must be five or six-and-twenty. And yet I think she told
me this was her first situation. What had she been doing before?’
‘My dear Edward, I think you are both ungenerous and uncharitable,’
replied Mrs Measures warmly. ‘Why need she have done anything before?
How can you tell what trouble or disappointment drove her to occupation
as a distraction to her mind? Why need we make a mystery out of such a
very simple thing? Mr Gribble engaged her, and I conclude he did not do
so without a satisfactory character.’
‘He had references from the high school from which she obtained her
certificate, of course.’
‘Then what more is necessary. Oh, I do hate these petty doubts and
surmises,’ cried Mrs Measures impatiently. ‘You didn’t ask for a
history of _my_ antecedents before you married me, Edward. Why should
Hal Rushton demand more with _his_ wife?’
‘My dear, you had lived close to your mother’s side all your life.
There was no necessity to ask such a question of you.’
‘And Paula may have lived close to that of her mother until she came to
this tattling, back-biting little place. Surely you may give the poor
girl the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Mary, I should never have raised the question had it not been for
the unfortunate circumstance which caused Miss Stafford to leave
Deepdale. I have never been quite satisfied about that, my dear. She
had certainly something to conceal. What could have been easier for her
than to tell the name and business of her visitor, yet she obstinately
withheld both. I was sorry for it before, and now that she is to be Hal
Rushton’s wife, I am more sorry still.’
‘Well, _he_ is satisfied evidently, so I don’t see that we have any
cause to complain. You heard him say that there were no secrets
between them.’
‘Hal is in love, Mary, and men in love are so eager to secure what they
covet that they will neglect their best interests to do so. We see that
occur every day. But at the same time he possesses a proud and jealous
nature, and if his wife should be as reticent with him as she was with
us, I shall tremble for their married happiness.’
‘Well, let us hope she will _not_ be,’ said Mrs Measures shortly.
She had not forgotten the interview she had held with Paula in the
schoolhouse, nor the partial revelations then made to her, but she had
pitied the poor girl far more than she had censured her, and she had
never told the vicar what passed between them. Even the best of wives
are not always entirely open with their lords and masters, and silence
is sometimes a greater virtue than candour. And having kept her counsel
so far, Mrs Measure had no intention of revealing it now. She felt that
the less said about the past the better. So she tossed her usually meek
little head, and continued: ‘For my own part, I see no reason why they
should not be happy, and I sincerely hope they may be.’
‘And so do I,’ replied the vicar, ‘though I am afraid Miss Stafford
will find it uphill work to get on friendly terms with her neighbours.’
‘What! when she is the mistress of Highbridge Hall? Don’t you believe
it, Edward. They will all be ready to bow the knee to her, and I only
hope she will keep them at a distance. I for one shall be her friend to
the end. I promised her so, and I shall keep my promise.’
‘And I shall be the last person to prevent your doing so,’ said Mr
Measures kindly. But he was a very upright man, and not one to forget
easily, and so Paula always remained, more or less, an object of
suspicion to him.
Meanwhile Hal was ‘making tracks’ for Highbridge Hall. His heart was
light as a feather, but his heels moved somewhat slowly, for he was
determined to break the news of his coming marriage to Mrs Rushton that
very evening, and he felt much as though he were walking up to the
scaffold. How lovely the old place looked in the parting rays of the
August sun. He was so used to his home that he had not often observed
its beauties, but now his changed prospects made him regard everything
with a different eye. A warm glow made the dull red brick of which the
house was composed flame like fire, and brought out all the delicate
tracery of clinging leaves and tendrils to perfection. A heavy scent
pervaded the air--the scent of the fallen rose leaves with which the
large smooth-shaven lawn was laden. Hal gave a quick sigh as he noticed
how rapidly the roses were fading, but it was followed by a smile as he
thought of his pet name for Paula.
‘My White Rose,’ he said softly, ‘who will be always by my side, both
in summer and winter. What will seasons matter to us then? We shall
always have sunshine in our faces and our hearts. My sweet flower!
The old Hall will look as it has never done before when her figure is
flitting about from room to room. Why should I feel so awkward about
telling Mrs Rushton the truth? I am my own master, and this house is
mine. I will stand upon my rights, and tell her at once what I intend
to do.’
The sight which met his eyes on entering the dining-room furthered
his resolution. The tea was on the table, and though the meal was
sufficiently plentiful, there was a want of refinement in its serving,
and the manner in which the widow and her son partook of it, that
offended his more sensitive nature.
‘Do we only possess one knife?’ he inquired caustically, as he sunk
into a chair, ‘that Ted is obliged to cut the bread-and-butter with his
own? Really, Mrs Rushton, I think you might teach him better manners.
It is not everyone who would care to eat after him.’
‘Hoity toity! here’s a fuss about nothing,’ exclaimed the widow; ‘one
would think you was a lord, at the very least. What’s the matter with
my poor lad, I wonder, that he mayn’t do as he likes with his own
knife? You’ve been away on your holiday, without even saying as much as
“by your leave” or “with your leave,” and I should think you might let
us have a bit of peace now you’re come home.’
This speech nettled Hal, and gave his courage the fillip it required.
He answered quickly,--
‘Well, he’ll soon be able to do as he likes in every particular, and
you too, for I’m going to make changes at Highbridge Farm.’
‘Changes. What sort of changes? You can’t paper and paint this year, if
that’s what you’re thinking of, for I’ve made no arrangements for going
away, and the smell of fresh paint always made me ill from a child.’
‘You’ll have to make arrangements, Mrs Rushton, and very quickly too,
for I am not only going to paper and paint, but to bring a new mistress
into the house into the bargain.’
Mrs Rushton dropped the teapot on to the tray with a bang.
‘A new missus! Do you mean you’re going to be such a fool as to marry?’
‘Just so; but I shall be obliged if you will moderate your expressions.
I don’t take kindly to being called names. I am going to be married on
the twenty-eighth of this month, and you will have anticipated me that,
under such circumstances, we cannot all continue to live under the same
roof.’
‘You’re going to turn us out of the farm?’ ejaculated the widow. ‘For
two years I sacrificed my life to your old father, a-making of all his
messes, and waiting on him like a slave, and he rewarded me by breaking
his promises at the last, and telling lies on his very deathbed. But
being a forgiving nature, I kept on house for you. It’s seven years
since your father died, Hal Rushton, and left me to “do” for you--and
what you would have done without a notable body to look after things
_I_ don’t know--and now you want to turn me out neck and crop, like a
dog, and to put a fine madam over my head. But there’s law for sich
wrongs and I’ll have it, as sure my name’s Eliza,’ and the widow stuck
her arms akimbo and looked very ferocious.
‘Look here Mrs Snaley--’ commenced Hal.
‘Don’t you dare to call me out of my name, sir. Snaley was a good
man, and a good ’usband, but he’s in Heaven, and my name is Mrs ’Enery
Rushton. I am your father’s widdy, sir, and _your_ mother. Don’t you
forget that.’
‘You are _not_ my mother,’ cried Hal hotly. ‘You are only a herdsman’s
widow, whom my father was foolish enough to put in her place. Don’t
attempt to threaten me, please, or this interview may end very
unpleasantly. I acknowledge you have kept house for me at Highbridge
for the last seven years, but that is no reason it should go on for
ever. Since I am going to be married, it _cannot_ go on. My wife must
have her house to herself. And I wish the change to take place as soon
as possible.’
‘And pray where do you expect me and my Ted to go? To the work’us?’
‘That is absurd, Mrs Rushton. You have your life allowance of a hundred
a year, and I intend, in addition, to give you Wavertree Cottage rent
free.’
‘_Wavertree Cottage!_’ cried the widow shrilly. ‘A tumbledown ’ouse,
with only eight rooms in it, and when the farm has twenty. ’Ere’s
gratitoode for you! Why don’t you send us to one of your labourer’s
tenements at once? Wavertree Cottage, indeed! I refuses to go into it.’
Hal lost patience with her.
‘Well, then, you can provide yourself with a residence. There was
nothing said in my father’s will about giving you a house, and since
the cottage is not good enough for you, I will let it to someone else.
It is worth forty pounds a year, and Mr Measures said it was a generous
offer on my part.’
The widow perceived she had gone too far, and might be left at a
disadvantage, so she threw her apron over her head and resorted to
lamentation.
‘I never thought I should live to see this day,’ she wailed. ‘To
be turned out of the ’ouse, where my word was law, and to ’ave to
stoop to a cottage. ’Tisn’t what I was led to expect when I married
your father--and a good wife I was to him for two long years, making
his poultices, and sitting up night and day to minister to his
comforts--and this is the hend of it, to be turned out of my own ’ouse,
with my poor suffering son, by those as I’ve benefited.’
‘You mistake, Mrs Rushton,’ said Hal quietly. ‘This house is _mine_,
as it was my mother’s before me. There is no injustice in the matter
at all, and it is only what you might have expected--that some day I
should marry and require it to myself. If you refuse to accept my offer
of Wavertree Cottage--’
‘Oh, I’ll accept it, sir, I’ll accept it! I should be a-wronging myself
to decline. It’s little enough, after all I’ve done and suffered. But
you must put it in proper repair.’
‘I will engage to see it papered and painted, and you can choose what
furniture you like from the Hall to make it comfortable. It is a pretty
little place, you know, and Ted ought to keep the garden in beautiful
order for you. Many a dowager would think herself well off with such a
home to go to.’
‘Ah, well, the furniture is the least as you could do for me,’ said the
widow, drying her tears; ‘and I suppose I may take some of my pigs and
my poultry with me? ’Twould be very ’ard to grudge me the poultry as
I’ve reared with my own ’ands.’
‘We will see about the pigs and poultry afterwards,’ replied Hal,
amused at her demands.
‘And what are we to do for milk, I should like to know?’
‘You can have all the milk you require from the farm. I thought of
giving you a cow, but I think it would prove more expense than profit.’
‘Oh, but I should like to have a cow,’ said Mrs Rushton; ‘and what
about my phee-aton, Hal--the phee-aton you father give me when I
married him, and a ’orse for it? You don’t expect me, I hope, to go
walking about at my time of life, after having ridden in my carriage
for nigh ten years.’
Hal shook his head.
‘I must draw a line at the phaeton, Mrs Rushton. You forget, I am not
a rich man. Eight hundred a year will not keep up two places like
Highbridge Hall. I hope to keep a little carriage for my wife, but my
means will not run further than that.’
Mrs Rushton relapsed into insolence.
‘Oh, of course, madam will ’ave everything, carriages and ’orses and
what not, and you with your two ’unters in the stables eating their
’eads off, whilst your poor father’s widdy may walk, wet or shine. But
mark my words, Hal Rushton. No good will come of sich doings, and so I
warns you.’
‘Come, come, I can’t stand any more of this nonsense,’ said Hal
impatiently, as he rose from the table; ‘you know my intentions now,
and my wishes, and you must abide by them. Collett shall be put into
the cottage to-morrow morning, and in a couple of days it will be ready
for you. Meantime you had better have a look round and tell me what
articles of furniture you would like to take with you. I hope to bring
my wife home early in September, and so you must see the necessity of
dispatch.’
‘_Your wife_,’ sighed the widow, ‘well, well, times _do_ alter, to be
sure. But it’s little I ever thought as a wife, or hanythink, would
turn _me_ out of Highbridge Farm.’
‘What’s her name?’ demanded Ted Snaley, speaking for the first time.
‘Aye, _who_ is she?’ echoed his mother. ‘Why, you’ve never as much as
told us the name of the gal as you’re treating your own flesh and blood
so cruel for.’
‘Her name is Miss Stafford,’ replied Hal curtly, as he left the room.