Mr. Cheesacre's Hospitality.
As the winter wore itself away, Mr. Cheesacre, happy as he was amidst
the sports of Norfolk, and prosperous as he might be with the augean
spoils of Oileymead, fretted himself with an intense anxiety to bring
to a close that affair which he had on his hands with the widow
Greenow. There were two special dangers which disturbed him. She
would give herself and all her money to that adventurer, Bellfield;
or else she would spend her own money so fast before he got hold upon
it, that the prize would be greatly damaged. "I'm ---- if she hasn't
been and set up a carriage!" he said to himself one day, as standing
on the pavement of Tombland, in Norwich, he saw Mrs. Greenow issue
forth from the Close in a private brougham, accompanied by one of the
Fairstairs girls. "She's been and set up her carriage as sure as my
name's Cheesacre!"
Whatever reason he might have to fear the former danger, we may
declare that he had none whatever as to the latter. Mrs. Greenow knew
what she was doing with her money as well as any lady in England. The
private carriage was only a hired brougham taken by the month, and as
to that boy in buttons whom she had lately established, why should
she not keep a young servant, and call him a page, if it gave her any
comfort to do so? If Mr. Cheesacre had also known that she had lent
the Fairstairs family fifty pounds to help them through with some
difficulty which Joe had encountered with the Norwich tradespeople,
he would have been beside himself with dismay. He desired to obtain
the prize unmutilated,--in all its fair proportions. Any such
clippings he regarded as robberies against himself.
But he feared Bellfield more than he feared the brougham. That
all is fair in love and war was no doubt, at this period, Captain
Bellfield's maxim, and we can only trust that he found in it some
consolation, or ease to his conscience, in regard to the monstrous
lies which he told his friend. In war, no doubt, all stratagems are
fair. The one general is quite justified in making the other believe
that he is far to the right, when in truth he is turning his enemy's
left flank. If successful, he will be put upon a pedestal for his
clever deceit, and crowned with laurels because of his lie. If
Bellfield could only be successful, and achieve for himself the
mastery over those forty thousand pounds, the world would forgive him
and place, on his brow also, some not uncomfortable crown. In the
mean time, his stratagems were as deep and his lies as profound as
those of any general.
It must not be supposed that Cheesacre ever believed him. In the
first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a man to be believed
in any way. Had he not been living on lies for the last ten years?
But then a man may lie in such a way as to deceive, though no one
believe him. Mr. Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt while Captain
Bellfield occupied his lodgings in Norwich. He fee'd Jeannette
liberally. He even fee'd Charlie Fairstairs,--Miss Fairstairs I
mean,--with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might
know whether that kite fluttered about his dovecoat, and of what
nature were the flutterings. He went even further than this, and
fee'd the Captain himself,--binding him down not to flutter as
value given in return for such fees. He attempted even to fee the
widow,--cautioning her against the fluttering, as he tendered to
her, on his knees, a brooch as big as a breast-plate. She waved aside
the breast-plate, declaring that the mourning ring which contained
poor Greenow's final grey lock of hair, was the last article from a
jeweller's shop which should ever find a place about her person. At
the same time she declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to her;
Mr. Cheesacre need have no fears in that quarter. But then, she added,
neither was he to have any hope. Her affections were all buried under
the cold sod. This was harassing. Nevertheless, though no absolute
satisfaction was to be attained in the wooing of Mrs. Greenow, there
was a pleasantness in the occupation which ought to have reconciled
her suitors to their destiny. With most ladies, when a gentleman has
been on his knees before one of them in the morning, with outspoken
protestations of love, with clearly defined proffers of marriage,
with a minute inventory of the offerer's worldly wealth,--down even
to the "mahogany-furnitured" bed-chambers, as was the case with
Mr. Cheesacre, and when all these overtures have been peremptorily
declined,--a gentleman in such a case, I say, would generally feel
some awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady at the close
of such a performance. But with Mrs. Greenow there was no such
awkwardness. After an hour's work of the nature above described she
would play the hostess with a genial hospitality, that eased off
all the annoyance of disappointment; and then at the end of the
evening, she would accept a squeeze of the hand, a good, palpable,
long-protracted squeeze, with that sort of "don't;--have done now,"
by which Irish young ladies allure their lovers. Mr. Cheesacre, on
such occasions, would leave the Close, swearing that she should be
his on the next market-day,--or at any rate, on the next Saturday.
Then, on the Monday, tidings would reach him that Bellfield had
passed all Sunday afternoon with his lady-love,--Bellfield, to whom
he had lent five pounds on purpose that he might be enabled to
spend that very Sunday with some officers of the Suffolk volunteers
at Ipswich. And hearing this, he would walk out among those rich
heaps, at the back of his farmyard, uttering deep curses against the
falsehood of men and the fickleness of women.
Driven to despair, he at last resolved to ask Bellfield to come to
Oileymead for a month. That drilling at Norwich, or the part of it
which was supposed to be profitable, was wearing itself out. Funds
were low with the Captain,--as he did not scruple to tell his friend
Cheesacre, and he accepted the invitation. "I'll mount you with the
harriers, old fellow," Cheesacre had said; "and give you a little
shooting. Only I won't have you go out when I'm not with you."
Bellfield agreed. Each of them understood the nature of the bargain;
though Bellfield, I think, had somewhat the clearer understanding
in the matter. He would not be so near the widow as he had been at
Norwich, but he would not be less near than his kind host. And his
host would no doubt watch him closely;--but then he also could watch
his host. There was a railway station not two miles from Oileymead,
and the journey thence into Norwich was one of half an hour. Mr.
Cheesacre would doubtless be very jealous of such journeys, but with
all his jealousy he could not prevent them. And then, in regard
to this arrangement, Mr. Cheesacre paid the piper, whereas Captain
Bellfield paid nothing. Would it not be sweet to him if he could
carry off his friend's prize from under the very eaves of his
friend's house?
And Mrs. Greenow also understood the arrangement. "Going to Oileymead;
are you?" she said when Captain Bellfield came to tell her of his
departure. Charlie Fairstairs was with her, so that the Captain could
not utilize the moment in any special way. "It's quite delightful,"
continued the widow, "to see how fond you two gentlemen are of each
other."
"I think gentlemen always like to go best to gentlemen's houses where
there are no ladies," said Charlie Fairstairs, whose career in life
had not as yet been satisfactory to her.
"As for that," said Bellfield, "I wish with all my heart that dear
old Cheesy would get a wife. He wants a wife badly, if ever a man
did, with all that house full of blankets and crockery. Why don't you
set your cap at him, Miss Fairstairs?"
"What;--at a farmer!" said Charlie who was particularly anxious that
her dear friend, Mrs. Greenow, should not marry Mr. Cheesacre, and who
weakly thought to belittle him accordingly.
"Give him my kind love," said Mrs. Greenow, thereby resenting the
impotent interference. "And look here, Captain Bellfield, suppose you
both dine with me next Saturday. He always comes in on Saturday, and
you might as well come too."
Captain Bellfield declared that he would only be too happy.
"And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr. Cheesacre," said the
widow, turning a soft and gracious eye on the Captain.
"I shall be happy to come,"--said Charlie, quite delighted; "but
not with that object. Mr. Cheesacre is very respectable, I'm sure."
Charlie's mother had been the daughter of a small squire who had
let his land to tenants, and she was, therefore, justified by
circumstances in looking down upon a farmer.
The matter was so settled,--pending the consent of Mr. Cheesacre; and
Bellfield went out to Oileymead. He knew the ways of the house, and
was not surprised to find himself left alone till after dusk; nor was
he much surprised when he learned that he was not put into one of the
mahogany-furnitured chambers, but into a back room looking over the
farm-yard in which there was no fire-place. The Captain had already
endured some of the evils of poverty, and could have put up with this
easily had nothing been said about it. As it was, Cheesacre brought
the matter forward, and apologized, and made the thing difficult.
"You see, old fellow," he said, "there are the rooms, and of course
they're empty. But it's such a bore hauling out all the things and
putting up the curtains. You'll be very snug where you are."
"I shall do very well," said Bellfield rather sulkily.
"Of course you'll do very well. It's the warmest room in the house in
one way." He did not say in what way. Perhaps the near neighbourhood
of the stables may have had a warming effect.
Bellfield did not like it; but what is a poor man to do under such
circumstances? So he went up-stairs and washed his hands before
dinner in the room without a fire-place, flattering himself that he
would yet be even with his friend Cheesacre.
They dined together not in the best humour, and after dinner they
sat down to enjoy themselves with pipes and brandy and water.
Bellfield, having a taste for everything that was expensive, would
have preferred cigars; but his friend put none upon the table. Mr.
Cheesacre, though he could spend his money liberally when occasion
required such spending, knew well the value of domestic economy. He
wasn't going to put himself out, as he called it, for Bellfield! What
was good enough for himself was good enough for Bellfield. "A beggar,
you know; just a regular beggar!" as he was betrayed into saying
to Mrs. Greenow on some occasion just at this period. "Poor fellow!
He only wants money to make him almost perfect," Mrs. Greenow had
answered;--and Mr. Cheesacre had felt that he had made a mistake.
Both the men became talkative, if not good-humoured, under the
effects of the brandy and water, and the Captain then communicated
Mrs. Greenow's invitation to Mr. Cheesacre. He had had his doubts as
to the propriety of doing so,--thinking that perhaps it might be to
his advantage to forget the message. But he reflected that he was
at any rate a match for Cheesacre when they were present together,
and finally came to the conclusion that the message should be
delivered. "I had to go and just wish her goodbye you know," he said
apologetically, as he finished his little speech.
"I don't see that at all," said Cheesacre.
"Why, my dear fellow, how foolishly jealous you are. If I were to be
downright uncivil to her, as you would have me be, it would only call
attention to the thing."
"I'm not a bit jealous. A man who sits upon his own ground as I do
hasn't any occasion to be jealous."
"I don't know what your own ground has to do with it,--but we'll let
that pass."
"I think it has a great deal to do with it. If a man does intend to
marry he ought to have things comfortable about him; unless he wants
to live on his wife, which I look upon as about the meanest thing a
man can do. By George, I'd sooner break stones than that."
This was hard for any captain to bear,--even for Captain Bellfield;
but he did bear it,--looking forward to revenge.
"There's no pleasing you, I know," said he. "But there's the fact.
I went to say goodbye to her, and she asked me to give you that
message. Shall we go or not?"
Cheesacre sat for some time silent, blowing out huge clouds of
smoke while he meditated a little plan. "I'll tell you what it is,
Bellfield," he said at last. "She's nothing to you, and if you won't
mind it, I'll go. Mrs. Jones shall get you anything you like for
dinner,--and,--and--I'll stand you a bottle of the '34 port!"
But Captain Bellfield was not going to put up with this. He had
not sold himself altogether to work Mr. Cheesacre's will. "No, old
fellow," said he; "that cock won't fight. She has asked me to dine
with her on Saturday, and I mean to go. I don't intend that she shall
think that I'm afraid of her,--or of you either."
"You don't;--don't you?"
"No, I don't," said the Captain stoutly.
"I wish you'd pay me some of that money you owe me," said Cheesacre.
"So I will,--when I've married the widow. Ha,--ha,--ha."
Cheesacre longed to turn him out of the house. Words to bid him go,
were, so to say, upon his tongue. But the man would only have taken
himself to Norwich, and would have gone without any embargo upon his
suit; all their treaties would then be at an end. "She knows a trick
worth two of that," said Cheesacre at last.
"I dare say she does; and if so, why shouldn't I go and dine with her
next Saturday?"
"I'll tell you why,--because you're in my way. The deuce is in it if
I haven't made the whole thing clear enough. I've told you all my
plans because I thought you were my friend, and I've paid you well to
help me, too; and yet it seems to me you'd do anything in your power
to throw me over,--only you can't."
"What an ass you are," said the Captain after a pause; "just you
listen to me. That scraggy young woman, Charlie Fairstairs, is to be
there of course."
"How do you know?"
"I tell you that I do know. She was present when the whole thing
was arranged, and I heard her asked, and heard her say that she
would come;--and for the matter of that I heard her declare that she
wouldn't set her cap at you, because you're a farmer."
"Upon my word she's kind. Upon my word she is," said Cheesacre,
getting very angry and very red. "Charlie Fairstairs, indeed! I
wouldn't pick her out of a gutter with a pair of tongs. She ain't
good enough for my bailiff, let alone me."
"But somebody must take her in hand on Saturday, if you're to do any
good," said the crafty Bellfield.
"What the deuce does she have that nasty creature there for?" said
Cheesacre, who thought it very hard that everything should not be
arranged exactly as he would desire.
"She wants a companion, of course. You can get rid of Charlie, you
know, when you make her Mrs. Cheesacre."
"Get rid of her! You don't suppose she'll ever put her foot in this
house. Not if I know it. I've detested that woman for the last ten
years." Cheesacre could forgive no word of slight respecting his
social position, and the idea of Miss Fairstairs having pretended to
look down upon him, galled him to the quick.
"You'll have to dine with her at any rate," said Bellfield, "and
I always think that four are better company than three on such
occasions."
Mr. Cheesacre grunted an unwilling assent, and after this it was
looked upon as an arranged thing that they two should go into Norwich
on the Saturday together, and that they should both dine with the
widow. Indeed, Mrs. Greenow got two notes, one from each of them,
accepting the invitation. Cheesacre wrote in the singular number,
altogether ignoring Captain Bellfield, as he might have ignored his
footman had he intended to take one. The captain condescended to use
the plural pronoun. "We shall be so happy to come," said he. "Dear
old Cheesy is out of his little wits with delight," he added, "and
has already begun to polish off the effects of the farmyard."
"Effects of the farmyard," said Mrs. Greenow aloud, in Jeannette's
hearing, when she received the note. "It would be well for Captain
Bellfield if he had a few such effects himself."
"You can give him enough, ma'am," said Jeannette, "to make him a
better man than Mr. Cheesacre any day. And for a gentleman--of course
I say nothing, but if I was a lady, I know which should be the man
for me."