Tribute from Oileymead.
Kate Vavasor, in writing to her cousin Alice, felt some little
difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in Norfolk with Mrs.
Greenow. She had laughed at Mrs. Greenow before she went to Yarmouth,
and had laughed at herself for going there. And in all her letters
since, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly woman,
weeping crocodile tears, for an old husband whose death had released
her from the tedium of his company, and spreading lures to catch new
lovers. But yet she agreed to stay with her aunt, and remain with her
in lodgings at Norwich for a month.
But Mrs. Greenow had about her something more than Kate had
acknowledged when she first attempted to read her aunt's character.
She was clever, and in her own way persuasive. She was very generous,
and possessed a certain power of making herself pleasant to those
around her. In asking Kate to stay with her she had so asked as to
make it appear that Kate was to confer the favour. She had told her
niece that she was all alone in the world. "I have money," she had
said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had observed
before. "I have money, but I have nothing else in the world. I have
no home. Why should I not remain here in Norfolk, where I know a few
people? If you'll say that you'll go anywhere else with me, I'll go
to any place you'll name." Kate had believed this to be hardly true.
She had felt sure that her aunt wished to remain in the neighbourhood
of her seaside admirers; but, nevertheless, she had yielded, and at
the end of October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled themselves
in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the Close at Norwich.
Mr. Greenow at this time had been dead very nearly six months, but his
widow made some mistakes in her dates and appeared to think that the
interval had been longer. On the day of their arrival at Norwich it
was evident that this error had confirmed itself in her mind. "Only
think," she said, as she unpacked a little miniature of the departed
one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, as she pressed her
handkerchief to her eyes, "only think, that it is barely nine months
since he was with me?"
"Six, you mean, aunt," said Kate, unadvisedly.
"Only nine months" repeated Mrs. Greenow, as though she had not heard
her niece. "Only nine months!" After that Kate attempted to correct
no more such errors. "It happened in May, Miss," Jeannette said
afterwards to Miss Vavasor, "and that, as we reckons, it will be just
a twelvemonth come Christmas." But Kate paid no attention to this.
And Jeannette was very ungrateful, and certainly should have indulged
herself in no such sarcasms. When Mrs. Greenow made a slight change in
her mourning, which she did on her arrival at Norwich, using a little
lace among her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of
clothes. Mrs. Greenow knew well enough that she expected more from
a servant than mere service;--that she wanted loyalty, discretion,
and perhaps sometimes a little secrecy;--and as she paid for these
things, she should have had them.
Kate undertook to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich, and Mrs.
Greenow undertook that Mr. Cheesacre should declare himself as Kate's
lover, before the expiration of the month. It was in vain that Kate
protested that she wanted no such lover, and that she would certainly
reject him if he came. "That's all very well, my dear," Aunt Greenow
would say. "A girl must settle herself some day, you know;--and you'd
have it all your own way at Oileymead."
But the offer certainly showed much generosity on the part of Aunt
Greenow, inasmuch as Mr. Cheesacre's attentions were apparently paid
to herself rather than to her niece. Mr. Cheesacre was very attentive.
He had taken the lodgings in the Close, and had sent over fowls and
cream from Oileymead, and had called on the morning after their
arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more
particularly than the niece. "I am all for Mr. Cheesacre, Miss,"
said Jeannette once. "The Captain is perhaps the nicerer-looking
gentleman, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a
gentleman hasn't got nothing? I can't abide anything that's poor;
neither can't Missus." From which it was evident that Jeannette gave
Miss Vavasor no credit in having Mr. Cheesacre in her train.
Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some
quasi-military employment there in the matter of drilling volunteers.
Certain capacities in that line it may be supposed that he possessed,
and, as his friend Cheesacre said of him, he was going to earn an
honest penny once in his life. The Captain and Mr. Cheesacre had made
up any little differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth,
and were close allies again when they left that place. Some little
compact on matters of business must have been arranged between
them,--for the Captain was in funds again. He was in funds again
through the liberality of his friend,--and no payment of former loans
had been made, nor had there been any speech of such. Mr. Cheesacre
had drawn his purse-strings liberally, and had declared that if all
went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be wanting during
the winter. Captain Bellfield had nodded his head and declared that
all should go well.
"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr. Cheesacre to
Mrs. Greenow on the morning of the day after her arrival at Norwich.
He had come across the whole way from Oileymead to ask her if she
found herself comfortable,--and perhaps with an eye to the Norwich
markets at the same time. He now wore a pair of black riding boots
over his trousers, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at
home than he had done by the seaside.
"Not much, I dare say," said the widow. "He tells me that he must be
on duty ten or twelve hours a day. Poor fellow!"
"It's a deuced good thing for him, and he ought to be very much
obliged to me for putting him in the way of getting it. But he told
me to tell you that if he didn't call, you were not to be angry with
him."
"Oh, no;--I shall remember, of course."
"You see, if he don't work now he must come to grief. He hasn't got
a shilling that he can call his own."
"Hasn't he really?"
"Not a shilling, Mrs. Greenow;--and then he's awfully in debt. He
isn't a bad fellow, you know, only there's no trusting him for
anything." Then after a few further inquiries that were almost
tender, and a promise of further supplies from the dairy, Mr.
Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss
Vavasor.
But as he left the house he had a word to say to Jeannette. "He
hasn't been here, has he, Jenny?" "We haven't seen a sight of him
yet, sir,--and I have thought it a little odd." Then Mr. Cheesacre
gave the girl half-a-crown, and went his way. Jeannette, I think,
must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in after leaving his
military duties on the preceding evening.
The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work was performed,
no doubt, at irregular intervals,--some days late and some days
early,--for he might be seen about Norwich almost at all times,
during the early part of that November;--and he might be very
often seen going into the Close. In Norwich there are two weekly
market-days, but on those days the Captain was no doubt kept more
entirely to his military employment, for at such times he never
was seen near the Close. Now Mr. Cheesacre's visits to the town
were generally made on market-days, and so it happened that they
did not meet. On such occasions Mr. Cheesacre always was driven
to Mrs. Greenow's door in a cab,--for he would come into town by
railway,--and he would deposit a basket bearing the rich produce of
his dairy. It was in vain that Mrs. Greenow protested against these
gifts,--for she did protest and declared that if they were continued,
they would be sent back. They were, however, continued, and Mrs.
Greenow was at her wits' end about them. Cheesacre would not come
up with them; but leaving them, would go about his business, and
would return to see the ladies. On such occasions he would be very
particular in getting his basket from Jeannette. As he did so he
would generally ask some question about the Captain, and Jeannette
would give him answers confidentially,--so that there was a strong
friendship between these two.
"What am I to do about it?" said Mrs. Greenow, as Kate came into the
sitting-room one morning, and saw on the table a small hamper lined
with a clean cloth. "It's as much as Jeannette has been able to
carry."
"So it is, ma'am,--quite; and I'm strong in the arm, too, ma'am."
"What am I to do, Kate? He is such a good creature."
"And he do admire you both so much," said Jeannette.
"Of course I don't want to offend him for many reasons," said the
aunt, looking knowingly at her niece.
"I don't know anything about your reasons, aunt, but if I were
you, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the
afternoon."
"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that
it won't do to get on in this way. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling
him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to
take this one."
"Indeed, aunt, I can't do that. They're not brought to me."
"Oh, Kate!"
"Nonsense, aunt;--I won't have you say so;--before Jeannette, too."
"I think it's for both, ma'am; I do indeed. And there certainly ain't
any cream to be bought like it in Norwich:--nor yet eggs."
"I wonder what there is in the basket." And the widow lifted up
the corner of the cloth. "I declare if there isn't a turkey poult
already."
"My!" said Jeannette. "A turkey poult! Why, that's worth ten and
sixpence in the market if it's worth a penny."
"It's out of the question that I should take upon myself to say
anything to him about it," said Kate.
"Upon my word I don't see why you shouldn't, as well as I," said Mrs.
Greenow.
"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who
they're for;--he'll tell me anything."
"Don't do anything of the kind, Jeannette," said Kate. "Of course,
aunt, they're brought for you. There's no doubt about that. A
gentleman doesn't bring cream and turkeys to-- I've never heard of
such a thing!"
"I don't see why a gentleman shouldn't bring cream and turkeys to you
just as well as to me. Indeed, he told me once as much himself."
"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them down outside the front
door, and he may find his provisions there." And Kate proceeded to
lift the basket off the table.
"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was
rather solemn; and which had, too, something of sadness in its tone.
"Leave it alone. I'll see Mr. Cheesacre myself."
"And I do hope you won't mention my name. It's the most absurd thing
in the world. The man never spoke two dozen words to me in his life."
"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.