If Griffith Gaunt suffered anguish, he inflicted agony. Mrs. Gaunt was
a high-spirited, proud, and sensitive woman; and he crushed her with
foul words. Leonard was a delicate, vain, and sensitive man, accustomed
to veneration. Imagine such a man hurled to the ground, and trampled
upon.
Griffith should not have fled; he should have stayed and enjoyed his
vengeance on these two persons. It might have cooled him a little had
he stopped and seen the immediate consequences of his savage act.
The priest rose from the ground, pale as ashes, and trembling with fear
and hate.
The lady was leaning, white as a sheet, against a tree, and holding it
with her very nails for a little support.
They looked round at one another; a piteous glance of anguish and
horror: then Mrs. Gaunt turned and flung her arm round so that the palm
of her hand, high raised, confronted Leonard. I am thus particular,
because it was a gesture grand and terrible as the occasion that called
it forth: a gesture that spoke; and said, "Put the whole earth and sea
between us for ever after this."
The next moment she bent her head and rushed away, cowering and
wringing her hands: she made for her house as naturally as a scared
animal for its lair; but, ere she could reach it, she tottered under
the shame, the distress, and the mere terror, and fell fainting with
her fair forehead on the grass.
Caroline Ryder was crouched in the doorway, and did not see her come
out of the grove, but only heard a rustle, and then saw her proud
mistress totter forward and lie white, senseless, helpless at her very
feet.
Ryder littered a scream, but did not lose her presence of mind. She
instantly kneeled over Mrs. Gaunt, and loosened her stays with quick
and dexterous hand.
It was very like the hawk perched over and clawing the ringdove she has
struck down.
But people with brains are never quite inhuman: a drop of lukewarm
pity entered even Ryder's heart as she assisted her victim. She called
no one to help her; for she saw something very serious had happened,
and she felt sure Mrs. Gaunt would say something imprudent in that
dangerous period when the patient recovers consciousness but has not
all her wits about her. Now Ryder was equally determined to know her
mistress's secrets, and not to share the knowledge with any other
person.
It was a long swoon; and, when Mrs. Gaunt came to, the first thing she
saw was Ryder leaning over her, with a face of much curiosity, and some
concern.
In that moment of weakness the poor lady, who had keen so roughly
handled, saw a woman close to her, and being a little kind to her; so
what did she do but throw her arms round Ryder's neck and burst out
sobbing as if her heart would break.
Then that unprincipled woman shed a tear or two with her,
half-crocodile, half impulse.
Mrs. Gaunt not only cried on her servant's neck; she justified
Ryder's forecast by speaking unguardedly: "I've been
insulted--insulted--insulted!"
But, even while uttering these words, she was recovering her pride: so
the first "insulted" seemed to come from a broken-hearted child, the
second from an indignant lady the third from a wounded queen.
No more words than this; but rose, with Ryder's assistance, and went,
leaning on that faithful creature's shoulder, to her own bedroom. There
she sank into a chair, and said, in a voice to melt a stone, "My child!
Bring me my little Rose."
Ryder ran and fetched the little girl and Mrs. Gaunt held out both arms
to her, angelically, and clasped her so passionately and piteously to
her bosom, that Rose cried for fear, and never forgot the scene all her
days: and Mrs. Ryder, who was secretly a mother, felt a genuine twinge
of pity and remorse. Curiosity, however, was the dominant sentiment:
she was impatient to get all these convulsions over, and learn what had
actually passed between Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt.
She waited till her mistress appeared calmer: and then, in soft
caressing tones, asked her what had happened.
"Never ask me that question again," cried Mrs. Gaunt, wildly: then,
with inexpressible dignity, "my good girl, you have done all you could
for me; now you must leave me alone with my daughter, and my God, who
knows the truth."
Ryder curtsied and retired, burning with baffled curiosity.
Towards dusk Thomas Leicester came into the kitchen, and brought her
news with a vengeance. He told her and the other maids that the Squire
had gone raving mad, and fled the country. "Oh, lasses," said he, "if
you had seen the poor soul's face, a riding headlong through the fair
all one as if it was a ploughed field; 'twas white as your smocks: and
his eyes glowering on t'other world. We shall ne'er see that face alive
again."
And this was her doing.
It surprised and overpowered Ryder; she threw her apron over her head,
and went off in hysterics, and betrayed her lawless attachment to every
woman in the kitchen, she who was so clever at probing others.
This day of violent emotions was followed by a sullen and sorrowful
gloom.
Mrs. Gaunt kept her bedroom, and admitted nobody; till, at last, the
servants consulted together, and sent little Rose to knock at her door,
with a basin of chocolate, while they watched on the stairs.
"It's only me, mamma," said Rose.
"Come in, my precious," said a trembling voice, and so Rose got in with
her chocolate.
The next day she was sent for early: and at noon, Mrs. Gaunt and Rose
came downstairs; but their appearance startled the whole household.
The mother was dressed all in black, and so was her daughter, whom
she led by the hand. Mrs. Gaunt's face was pale, and sad, and stem; a
monument of deep suffering, and high-strung resolution.
It soon transpired that Griffith had left his home for good: and
friends called on Mrs. Gaunt to slake their curiosity under the mask of
sympathy.
Not one of them was admitted. No false excuses were made. "My mistress
sees no one for the present," was the reply.
Curiosity, thus baffled, took up the pen; but was met with a short
unvarying formula: "There is an unhappy misunderstanding between my
husband and me. But I shall neither accuse him behind his back, nor
justify myself."
Thus the proud lady carried herself before the world; but secretly she
writhed. A wife abandoned is a woman insulted, and makes the wives,
that are not abandoned--cluck.
Ryder was dejected for a time, and, though not honestly penitent,
suffered some remorse at the miserable issue of her intrigues. But her
elastic nature soon shook it off, and she felt a certain satisfaction
at having reduced Mrs. Gaunt to her own level. This disarmed, her
hostility: she watched her as keenly as ever, but out of pure curiosity.
One thing puzzled her strangely. Leonard did not visit the house; nor
could she even detect any communication between the parties.
At last, one day, her mistress told her to put on her hat and go to
Father Leonard.
Ryder's eyes sparkled; and she was soon equipped. Mrs. Gaunt put a
parcel and a letter into her hands. Ryder no sooner got out of her
sight than she proceeded to tamper with the letter. But to her just
indignation she found it so ingeniously folded and sealed that she
could not read a word.
The parcel, however, she easily undid, and it contained forty pounds in
gold and small notes. "Oho! my lady," said Ryder.
She was received by Leonard with a tender emotion he in vain tried to
conceal.
On reading the letter his features contracted sharply, and he seemed to
suffer agony. He would not even open the parcel. "You will take that
hack," said he, bitterly.
"What, without a word?"
"Without a word. But I will write, when I am able."
"Don't be long, sir," suggested Ryder. "I am sure my mistress is
wearying for you. Consider, sir, she is all alone now."
"Not so much alone as I am," said the priest: "nor half so unfortunate."
And with this he leaned his head despairingly on his hand, and motioned
to Ryder to leave him.
"Here's a couple of fools," said she to herself, as she went home.
That very evening Thomas Leicester caught her alone, and asked her to
marry him.
She stared at first, and then treated it as a jest.
"You come at the wrong time, young man," said she. "Marriage is put out
of countenance. No, no, I will never marry, after what I have seen in
this house."
Leicester would not take this for an answer, and pressed her hard.
"Thomas," said this plausible jade, "I like you very well; but I
couldn't leave my mistress in her trouble. Time to talk of marrying
when master comes here alive and well."
"Nay," said Leicester, "my only chance is while he is away: you care
more for his little finger than for my whole body; that they all say."
"Who says?"
"Jane, and all the lasses."
"You simple man, they want you for themselves; that is why they belie
me."
"Nay, nay; I saw how you carried on, when I brought word he was gone.
You let your heart out for once. Don't take me for a fool: I see how
'tis: but I'll face it: for I worship the ground you walk on. Take a
thought, my lass. What good can come of your setting your heart on him?
I'm young, I'm healthy, and not ugly enough to set the dogs a barking:
I've got a good place; I love you dear; I'll cure you of that fancy,
and make you as happy as the day is long. I'll try and make you as
happy as you will make me, my beauty."
He was so earnest, and so much in love, that Mrs. Ryder pitied him, and
wished her husband was in Heaven.
"I am very sorry, Tom," said she, softly: "dear me, I did not think you
cared so much for me as this. I must just tell you the truth. I have
got one in my own country, and I've promised him. I don't care to break
my word: and, if I did, he is such a man, I am sure he would kill me
for it. Indeed he has told me as much, more than once or twice."
"Killing is a game that two can play at."
"Ah! but 'tis an ugly game: and I'll have no hand in it. And--don't you
be angry with me, Tom--I've known him longest, and--I love him best."
By pertinacity and variety in lying, she hit the mark at last. Tom
swallowed this figment whole.
"That is but reason," said he. "I take my answer, and I wish ye both
many happy days together, and well spent."
With this he retired, and blubbered a good hour in an outhouse.
Tom avoided the castle, and fell into low spirits. He told his mother
all, and she advised him to change the air. "You have been too long in
one place," said she; "I hate being too long in one place myself."
This fired Tom's gipsy blood, and he said he would travel to-morrow, if
he could but scrape together money enough to fill a pedlar's pack.
He applied for a loan in several quarters, but was denied in all.
At last the poor fellow summoned courage to lay his case before Mrs.
Gaunt.
Ryder's influence procured him an interview. She took him into the
drawing-room, and bade him wait there. By and by a pale lady, all in
black, glided into the room.
He pulled his front hair, and began to stammer something or other.
She interrupted him. "Ryder has told me," said she, softly. "I am sorry
for you: and I will do what you require. And, to be sure, we need no
gamekeeper here now."
She then gave him some money, and said she would look him up a few
trifles besides, to put in his pack.
Toni's mother helped him to lay out this money to advantage, and one
day he called at Hernshaw, pack and all, to bid farewell.
The servants all laid out something with him for luck: and Mrs. Gaunt
sent for him, and gave him a gold thimble, and a pound of tea, and
several yards of gold lace, slightly tarnished, and a Queen Anne's
guinea.
He thanked her heartily. "Ay, Dame," said he, "you had always an open
hand, married or single. My heart is heavy at leaving you. But I miss
the Squire's kindly face too. Hernshaw is not what it used to be."
Mrs. Gaunt turned her head aside, and the man could see his words had
made her cry.
"My good Thomas," said she, at last, "you are going to travel the
country: you might fall in with him."
"I might," said Leicester, incredulously.
"God grant you may: and, if ever you should, think of your poor
mistress, and give him--this." She put her finger into her bosom and
drew out a bullet wrapped in silver paper. "You will never lose
this," said she. "I value it more than gold or silver. Oh, if ever you
_should_ see him, think of me and my daughter, and just put it in his
hand without a word."
As he went out of the room Ryder intercepted him, and said, "Mayhap
you will fall in with our master: if ever you do, tell him he is under
a mistake, and the sooner he comes home the better." Tom Leicester
departed: and, for days and weeks, nothing occurred to break the
sorrowful monotony of the place.
But the mourner had written to her old friend and confessor Francis:
and, after some delay, involuntary on his part, he came to see her.
They were often closeted together, and spoke so low that Ryder could
not catch a word.
Francis also paid several visits to Leonard; and the final result of
these visits was that the latter left England.
Francis remained at Hernshaw as long as he could; and it was Mrs.
Gaunt's hourly prayer that Griffith might return while Francis was with
her.
Ho did, at her earnest request, stay much longer than he had intended;
but, at length, he was obliged to fix next Monday to return to his own
place.
It was on Thursday he made this arrangement; but the very next day the
postman brought a letter to the Castle, thus addressed:--
"To Mistress Caroline Ryder,
"Living Servant with Griffith Gaunt, Esq.,
"at his house, called Hernshaw Castle,
"near Wigeonmoor,
"in the county of Cumberland.
"These with speed."
The address was in a feigned hand. Ryder opened it in the kitchen, and
uttered a scream.
Instantly three female throats opened upon her with questions.
She looked them contemptously in them faces, put the letter into her
pocket; and, soon after, slipped away to her own room, and locked
herself in while she read it. It ran thus:----
"GOOD MISTRESS RYDER,--I am alive yet, by the blessing; though
somewhat battered; being now risen from a fever, wherein I lost
my wits for a time. And, on coming to myself, I found them
making of my shroud; whereby you shall learn how near I was to
death. And all this I owe to that false perjured woman that was
my wife, and is your mistress.
"Know that I have donned russet and doffed gentility; for I
find a heavy heart's best cure is occupation. I have taken
a wayside inn, and think of renting a small farm, which two
things go well together. Now you are, of all those I know, most
fitted to manage the inn, and I the farm. You were always my
good friend: and, if you be so still, then I charge you most
solemnly that you utter no word to any living soul about this
letter; but meet me privately where we can talk fully of these
matters; for I will not set foot in Hernshaw Castle. Moreover,
she told me once 'twas hers; and so be it. On Friday I shall
be at Stapleton, and the next day, by an easy journey, to the
place where I once was so happy.
"So then at seven of the clock on Saturday evening, be the same
wet or dry, prithee come to the gate of the Grove unbeknown,
and speak to
"Your faithful friend
"and most unhappy master,
"GRIFFITH GAUNT.
"Be secret as the grave. Would I were in it."
This letter set Caroline Ryder in a tumult. Griffith alive and well,
and set against his wife, and coming to her for assistance!
After the first agitation she read it again, and weighed every
syllable. There was one book she had studied more than most of
us--the Heart. And she soon read Griffith's in this letter. It was no
love-letter: he really intended business: but, weak in health, and
broken in spirit, and alone in the world, he naturally turned to one
who had confessed an affection for him, and would therefore be true to
his interests, and study his happiness.
The proposal was every way satisfactory to Mrs. Ryder. To be mistress
of an inn, and have servants under her instead of being one herself.
And then, if Griffith and she began as allies in business, she felt
very sure she could make herself, first necessary to him, and then dear
to him.
She was so elated she could hardly contain herself; and all her fellow
servants remarked that Mrs. Ryder had heard good news.
Saturday came, and never did hours seem to creep so slowly.
But at last the sun set, and the stars came out: there was no moon.
Ryder opened the window and looked out: it was an admirable night for
an assignation.
She washed her face again, put on her grey silk gown, and purple
petticoat--Mrs. Gaunt had given them to her--and, at the last moment,
went and made up her mistress's fire, and put out everything she
thought could be wanted, and, five minutes after seven o'clock, tied a
scarlet hand-kerchief over her head, and stepped out at the back door.
What with her coal black hair, so streaked with red, her black
eyes, flashing in the starlight, and her glowing cheeks, she looked
bewitching.
And, thus armed for conquest, wily, yet impassioned, she stole out,
with noiseless foot and beating heart, to her appointment with her
imprudent master.