"Why, of course it was," repeated the Squire. "I say you might have
known Harry Tinkle better."
Nash sighed. "Well, I suppose you think he might give me trouble now.
But he would hardly care to apprehend a dying man."
"We'll see about it," they said. Duffham undertook this expedition--if
you can call it one. He found it easier than he anticipated. That same
evening, upon quitting Caromel's Farm, Duffham went mooning along, deep
in thought, as to how he should make the disclosure to Charlotte, when
he overtook her near his home. Her crape veil was thrown back; her face
looked pale and quiet in the starlight.
"You are abroad late," said Duffham.
"I went to see old Miss Pinner this afternoon, and stayed tea with
her," answered Charlotte. "And now I am going to run home."
"Would you mind coming in for a few minutes, Mrs. Caromel?" he asked, as
they reached his door. "I have something to say to you."
"Can you say it another time? It is nine o'clock, and my mother will be
wondering."
"No; another time may not do," said Duffham. "Come in. I won't detain
you long."
And being just one of those yielding people that never assert a will of
their own, in she went.
Shut up in Duffham's surgery, which was more remote from Nomy's ears
than the parlour, Duffham disclosed to her by degrees the truth. Whether
he had to get out his sal-volatile over it, or to recover her from fits,
we did not hear. One thing was certain: that when Mrs. Nash Caromel
recommenced her walk homewards, she was too bewildered to know whether
she went on her feet or her head. By that time on the following evening
she would have seen her husband.
At least, such was the programme Duffham carved out. But to that
bargain, as he found the next day, there might be two words.
Eleven was striking in the morning by the kitchen clock at Caromel's
Farm, when Grizzel saw Miss Gwinny driving in. The damaged gig had been
mended, and she now drove backwards and forwards herself.
"How's the master?" asked she, when she entered the kitchen.
"Very ill," answered Grizzel. "He won't be with us long, now, ma'am."
And when Miss Gwinny saw Nash, and saw how greatly he was altered in the
last two days, she thought as Grizzel did--that death was close at hand.
Under these circumstances, she sat down to reflect on what she ought to
do: whether to remain herself in the house, or whether to go back to the
Rill and report to her father and sister. For the latter had come out of
her insensibility; the doctors said there was no permanent injury, and
she could soon be removed home if she wished to be.
"What do you think, Grizzel?" she inquired, condescending to ask
counsel. "It does not seem right to leave him--and you won't like to be
left alone, either, at the last. And I don't see that any end will be
gained by my hastening back to tell them. They'll know it soon enough:
and they cannot come to him."
"As you please, Miss Gwinny," replied Grizzel, trembling lest she should
remain and complicate matters, but not daring to urge her departure;
Gwinny Nave being given, as a great many more ladies are, to act by the
rules of contrary in the matter of advice. "It seems hardly right,
though, not to let the mistress know he is dying. And I am glad the
child's well: dear little thing!"
Gwinny Nave sat pulling at her one straw ringlet, her brow knitted in
abstraction. Various reflections, suggesting certain unpleasant facts,
passed rapidly through her mind. That Nash would not be here many days
longer, perhaps not many hours, was a grave fact: and then, what of the
after-necessities that would arise? A sham funeral had gone out of that
house not very long ago: but how was the real funeral to go out, and
who was to make the arrangements for it? The truth of Nash Caromel's
being alive, and of the trick which had been played, would have to be
disclosed then. And Mr. Nave was incapacitated; he could do nothing, and
her sister could do as little; and it seemed to be all falling upon
herself, Gwinny; and who was to know but she might be punished for
letting Nash lie and die without calling in a doctor to him?
With every fresh moment of thought, some darker complication presented
itself. Miss Gwinny began to see that she had better get away, and leave
old Grizzel to it. The case must be laid before her father. He might
invent some scheme to avoid exposure: for though Lawyer Nave was
deprived for the present of action, his mind was not less keen and
fertile than usual.
"I think, Grizzel, that the mistress ought to be told how ill he is,"
said she, at length. "I shall go back to the Rill. Do all you can for
the master: I dare say he will rally."
"That he never will," spoke Grizzel, on impulse.
"Now don't you be obstinate," returned Miss Gwinny.
Gwendolen Nave drove back to the Rill. Leaving, as she thought, all
responsibility upon old Grizzel. And, that evening, the coast being
clear again, Charlotte Tinkle, piloted by Duffham, came to Caromel's
Farm and had an interview with her once recreant husband. It lasted
longer than Duffham had bargained for; every five minutes he felt
inclined to go and knock at the door. Her sobs and his dying voice,
which seemed to be sobbing too, might be heard by all who chose to
listen. At last Duffham went in and said that it must end: the emotion
was bad for Nash. She was kneeling before the sofa on which he lay, her
tears dropping.
"Good-bye, good-bye, Charlotte," he whispered. "I have never cared for
any one as I cared for you. Believe that. God bless you, my dear--and
forgive me!"
And the next to go in was Harry Tinkle--to clasp Caromel's hand, and to
say how little he had needed to fear him. And the next was the Reverend
Mr. Holland; Nash had asked for the parson to be sent for.
Grizzel had a surprise the next day. She had just taken some beef-tea up
to the master, which Duffham had called out for--for the end was now so
near that the doctor had not chosen to defer his visit till dark--when a
closed fly drove up, out of which stepped Miss Gwinny and her sister.
Old Grizzel dropped the waiter, thinking it must be her mistress's
ghost.
But it was Charlotte herself. Upon hearing Gwinny's report she had
insisted upon coming home--and Nave supported her views. That stupid old
Grizzel, left to her own devices, might be for getting frightened and
call in half the parish. The doctor in attendance at the Rill had said
Mrs. Caromel might go home if she had any urgent reason for wishing
it--and here she was. And really she seemed tolerably well again; quite
herself.
Passing Grizzel with a nod, she went straight upstairs, opened Nash's
door, and then--drew back with a scream. For there she saw two
strangers. Mr. Duffham was leaning over the bed, trying to feed Nash
with spoonfuls of beef-tea; Parson Holland (who had stayed with Nash all
night) sat by the fire. Poor Nash himself lay without motion: the hours
were very limited now.
Well, there ensued a commotion. Charlotte Nave went down to blow up
Grizzel; and she did it well, in spite of her recent illness. Grizzel
answered that she was not to blame; it was not she who had betrayed
him: Dobbs the blacksmith and Squire Todhetley had found him out, and
the Squire had called in Duffham. Charlotte the Second had to make the
best of a bad case; but she did not suspect half the treachery that had
been at work.
There is no space to enlarge upon the day. Nash died that night; without
having been able to speak a word to Charlotte the Second; he was past
that when she came; though he shook hands with her.
And the other funeral, which Miss Nave had foreseen a difficulty over,
took place without any difficulty. Unless it might be said that the
crowd made one. Nash Caromel dead a second time! Church Dykely had never
been astounded like this.
But the one dire act of treachery had to come out yet. Nash Caromel had
made a fresh will. Crow the lawyer brought it in his pocket when he came
from Evesham to attend the funeral, and he read it aloud afterwards.
Mrs. Nash the Second sat biting her lips as she listened.
Caromel's Farm and everything upon it, every stick and stone possessed
by Nash, was directed to be sold without delay. Of the money this should
realize, the one half was devised to "my dear wife Charlotte, formerly
Charlotte Tinkle;" the other half was to be invested by trustees and
settled upon "my child, Duncan Nave." His mother, Charlotte Nave, was to
receive a stated portion of the interest for life, or until she should
marry again; and that was all the will said about Charlotte the Second.
There's not much more to tell. As soon as might be, the changes were
carried out. Before Lawyer Nave's leg was fit to go again, Caromel's
Farm had been purchased by the Squire, and Harry Tinkle had taken it
from him on a long lease. Just after Harry got into it with his little
girl, Mrs. Tinkle died; and Charlotte, well off now, came to live in it
with him. The other Charlotte proclaimed herself to be in bad health,
and went off to stay at the sea-side. And Nave, when he came out again
to rejoice the eyes of Church Dykely (walking lame), was fit to swallow
us up with rage. He considered ladies' parasols an infamous institution,
and wished they were all sunk in the sea; especially that particular
blue one of Charlotte's which had led to the accident that unlucky
afternoon.
It seemed strange that, after all the chances and changes, it should be
a Mrs. Nash Caromel (she was always given her true name now) to inhabit
Caromel's Farm. She, forgiving and loving, made friends with little Dun
for poor Nash's sake, inviting him often to spend the day with her, and
picking him choice fruit off the trees.