Hester's Courage
After that Caldigate did not allow the grass to grow under his feet, and
before the end of November the two young people were engaged. As Robert
Bolton had said, Hester was of course flattered and of course delighted
with this new joy. John Caldigate was just the man to recommend himself
to such a girl, not too light, not too prone to pleasure, not contenting
himself with bicycles, cricket matches, or billiards, and yet not wholly
given to serious matters as had been those among whom she had hitherto
passed her days. And he was one who could speak of his love with soft
winning words, neither roughly nor yet with too much of shame-faced
diffidence. And when he told her how he had sworn to himself after
seeing her that once,--that once when all before him in life was
enveloped in doubt and difficulty,--that he would come home and make her
his wife, she thought that the manly constancy of his heart was almost
divine. Of course she loved him with all her heart. He was in all
respects one made to be loved by a woman;--and then what else had she
ever had to love? When once it was arranged that he should be allowed to
speak to her, the thing was done. She did not at once tell him that it
was done. She took some few short halcyon weeks to dally with the vow
which her heart was ready to make; but those around her knew that the
vow had been inwardly made; and those who were anxious on her behalf
with a new anxiety, with a new responsibility, redoubled their inquiries
as to John Caldigate. How would Robert Bolton or Mrs. Robert excuse
themselves to that frightened miserable mother if at last it should turn
out that John Caldigate was not such as they had represented him to be?
But no one could pick a hole in him although many attempts to pick holes
were made. The question of his money was put quite at rest by the
transference of all his securities, balances, and documents to the
Boltons' bank, and the £60,000 for Polyeuka was accepted, so that there
was no longer any need that he should go again to the colony. This was
sweet news to Hester when she first heard it;--for it had come to pass
that it had been agreed that the marriage should be postponed till his
return, that having been the one concession made to Mrs. Bolton. There
had been many arguments about it;--but Hester at last told him that she
had promised so much to her mother and that she would of course keep her
promise. Then the arrangement took such a form that the journey was not
necessary,--or perhaps the objection to the journey became so strong in
Caldigate's mind that he determined to dispense with it at any price.
And thus, very greatly to the dismay of Mrs. Bolton, suddenly there came
to be no reason why they should not be married almost at once.
But there was an attempt made at the picking of holes,--or rather many
attempts. It would be unfair to say that this was carried on by Mrs.
Bolton herself;--but she was always ready to listen to what evil things
were said to her. Mrs. Nicholas, in her horror at the general wickedness
of the Caldigates almost reconciled herself to her step-mother, and
even Mrs. Daniel began to fear that a rash thing was being done. In
the first place there was the old story of Davis and Newmarket. Robert
Bolton, who had necessarily become the advocate and defender of our
hero generally, did not care much for Davis and Newmarket. All young
men sow their wild oats. Of course he had been extravagant. Since his
extravagance he had shown himself to be an industrious, sensible, steady
member of society;--and there was the money that he had earned! What
young man had earned more in a shorter time, or had ever been more
prudent in keeping it? Davis and Newmarket were easily answered by a
reference to the bank account. Did he ever go to Newmarket now, though
he was living so close to it? On that matter Robert Bolton was very
strong.
But Mrs. Nicholas had found out that Caldigate had spent certainly two
Sundays running at Folking without going to church at all; and, as far
as she could learn, he was altogether indifferent about public worship.
Mrs. Bolton, who could never bring herself to treat him as a son-in-law,
but who was still obliged to receive him, taxed him to his face with his
paganism. 'Have you no religion, Mr. Caldigate?' He assured her that he
had, and fell into a long discussion in which he thoroughly confused
her, though he by no means convinced her that he was what he ought to
be. But he went with her to church twice on one Sunday, and showed her
that he was perfectly familiar with the ways of the place.
But perhaps the loudest complaint came from the side of Babington; and
here two sets of enemies joined their forces together who were
thoroughly hostile to each other. Mrs. Babington declared loudly that
old Bolton had been an errand-boy in his youth, and that his father had
been a porter and his mother a washerwoman. This could do no real harm,
as Caldigate would not have been deterred by any such rumours, even had
they been true; but they tended to show animosity, and enabled Mrs.
Nicholas to find out the cause of the Babington opposition. When she
learned that John Caldigate had been engaged to his cousin Julia, of
course she made the most of it; and so did Mrs. Bolton. And in this way
it came to be reported not only that the young man had been engaged to
Miss Babington before he went to Australia,--but also that he had
renewed his engagement since his return. 'You do not love her, do you?'
Hester asked him. Then he told her the whole story, as nearly as he
could tell it with some respect for his cousin, laughing the while at
his aunt's solicitude, and saying, perhaps something not quite
respectful as to Julia's red cheeks and green hat, all of which
certainly had not the effect of hardening Hester's heart against him.
'The poor young lady can't help it if her feet are big,' said Hester,
who was quite alive to the grace of a well-made pair of boots, although
she had been taught to eschew braided hair and pearls and gold.
Mrs. Babington, however, pushed her remonstrances so far that she boldly
declared that the man was engaged to her daughter, and wrote to him more
than once declaring that it was so. She wrote, indeed, very often,
sometimes abusing him for his perfidy, and then, again, imploring him to
return to them, and not to defile the true old English blood of the
Caldigates with the suds of a washerwoman and the swept-up refuse of a
porter's shovel. She became quite eloquent in her denunciation, but
always saying that if he would only come back to Babington all would be
forgiven him. But in these days he made no visits to Babington.
Then there came a plaintive little note from Mrs. Shand. Of course they
wished him joy if it were true. But could it be true? Men were very
fickle, certainly; but this change seemed to have been very, very
sudden! And there was a word or two, prettily written in another hand,
on a small slip of paper--'Perhaps you had better send back the book';
and Caldigate, as he read it, thought that he could discern the
almost-obliterated smudge of a wiped-up tear. He wrote a cheerful letter
to Mrs. Shand, in which he told her that though he had not been
absolutely engaged to marry Hester Bolton before he started for
Australia,--and consequently before he had ever been at Pollington,--yet
his mind had been quite made up to do so; and that therefore he regarded
himself as being abnormally constant rather than fickle. 'And tell your
daughter, with my kindest regards,' he added, 'that I hope I may be
allowed to keep the book.'
The Babington objections certainly made their way in Cambridge and out
at Chesterton further than any others, and for a time did give a hope to
Mrs. Bolton and Mrs. Nicholas,--and made Robert Bolton shrug his
shoulders uneasily when he heard all the details of the engagement in
the linen-closet. But there came at one moment a rumour, which did not
count for much among the Boltons, but which disturbed Caldigate himself
more than any of the other causes adduced for breaking off his intended
marriage. Word came that he had been very intimate with a certain woman
on his way out to Melbourne;--a woman supposed to be a foreigner and an
actress; and the name of Cettini was whispered. He did not know whence
the rumour came;--but on one morning Robert Bolton, half-laughing, but
still with a tone of voice that was half-earnest, taxed him with having
as many loves as Lothario. 'Who is Cettini?' asked Robert Bolton.
'Cettini?' said Caldigate, with a struggle to prevent a blush.
'Did you travel with such a woman?'
'Yes;--at least, if that was her name. I did not hear it till
afterwards. A very agreeable woman she was.'
'They say that you promised to marry her when on board.'
'Then they lie. But that is a matter of course. There are so many lies
going about that I almost feel myself to be famous.'
'You did not see her after the journey?'
'Yes, I did. I saw her act at Sydney; and very well she acted. Have you
anything else to ask?' Robert Bolton said that he had nothing else to
ask,--and seemed, at the moment, to turn his half-serious mood into one
that was altogether jocular. But the mention of the name had been a
wound; and when an anonymous letter a few days afterwards reached Hester
herself he was really unhappy. Hester made nothing of the letter--did
not even show it to her mother. At that time a day had been fixed for
their marriage; and she already regarded her lover as nearer to her than
either father or mother. The letter purported to be from some one who
had travelled with her lover and this woman on board ship, and declared
that everybody on board the ship had thought that Caldigate meant to
marry the woman,--who then, so said the letter, called herself Mrs.
Smith. Hester showed the letter to Caldigate, and then Caldigate told
his story. There had been such a woman, who had been much ill-treated
because of her poverty. He had certainly taken the woman's part. She had
been clever and, as he had thought, well-behaved. And, no doubt, there
had been a certain amount of friendship. He had seen her again in
Sydney, where he had found her exercising her profession as an actress.
That had been all. 'I cannot imagine, dear,' he said, 'that you should
be jealous of any woman; but certainly not of such a one as she.' 'Nor
can I imagine,' said Hester, stoutly, 'that I could possibly be jealous
of any woman.' And then there was nothing more said about the woman
Smith-Cettini.
During all this time there were many family meetings. Those between Mr.
Caldigate, the father, and old Mr. Bolton were pleasant enough, though
not peculiarly cordial. The banker, though he had been brought to agree
to the marriage had not been quite reconciled to it. His younger son had
been able to convince him that it was his duty to liberate his daughter
from the oppression of her mother's over-vigilance, and all the rest had
followed very quickly,--overwhelming him, as it were, by stern
necessity. When once the girl had come to understand that she could have
her own way, if she chose to have a way of her own, she very quickly
took the matter into her own management. And in this way the engagement
became a thing settled before the banker had realised the facts of the
position. Though he could not be cordial he endeavoured to be gracious
to his old friend. But Mrs. Bolton spoke words which made all friendship
impossible. She asked old Mr. Caldigate after his soul, and when he
replied to her less seriously than she thought becoming, she told him
that he was in the bad way. And then she said things about the marriage
which implied that she would sooner see her daughter in her grave than
married to a man who was no more than a professing Christian. The
conversation ended in a quarrel, after which the squire would not go
again to Puritan Grange.
There was indeed a time, an entire week, during which the mother and
daughter hardly spoke to each other. In these days Mrs. Bolton
continually demanded of her husband that he should break off the match,
always giving as a reason the alleged fact that John Caldigate was not a
true believer. It had been acknowledged between them that if such were
the fact the man would be an unfit husband for their daughter. But they
differed as to the fact. The son had over and over again declared
himself to be a faithful member of the Church of England,--not very
scrupulous perhaps in the performance of her ceremonies,--but still a
believing member. That his father was not so every one knew, but he was
not responsible for his father. Mr. Bolton seemed to think that the
argument was good;--but Mrs. Bolton was of opinion that to become
willingly the daughter-in-law of an infidel, would be to throw oneself
with one's eyes open in the way of perdition. Hester through all this
declared that nothing should now turn her from the man she loved, 'Not
though he were an infidel himself?' said the terror-stricken mother.
'Nothing!' said Hester, bravely. 'Of course I should try to change him.'
A more wretched woman than Mrs. Bolton might not probably then have been
found. She suddenly perceived herself to be quite powerless with the
child over whom her dominion had hitherto been supreme. And she felt
herself compelled to give way to people whom, with all her heart, she
hated. She determined that nothing,--nothing should induce her to soften
her feelings to this son-in-law who was forced upon her. The man had
come and had stolen from her her treasure, her one treasure. And that
other man whom she had always feared and always hated, Robert Bolton,
the man whose craft and worldliness had ever prevented her from
emancipating her husband from the flesh and the devil, had brought all
this about. Then she reconciled herself to her child, and wept over her,
and implored heaven to save her. Hester tried to argue with her,--spoke
of her own love,--appealed to her mother, asking whether, as she had now
declared her love, it could be right that she should abandon a man who
was so good and so fondly attached to her. Then Mrs. Bolton would hide
her face, and sob, and put up renewed prayers to heaven that her
daughter might not by means of this unhappy marriage become lost to all
sense of grace.
It was very miserable, but still the prospect of the marriage was never
abandoned nor postponed. A day had been settled a little before
Christmas, and the Robert Boltons would allow of no postponement. The
old man was so tormented by the misery of his own home that he himself
was averse to delay. There could be no comfort for him till the thing
should have been done. Mrs. Bolton had suggested that it should be put
off till the spring;--but he had gloomily replied that as the thing had
to be done, the sooner it was done the better.
It had been settled almost from the first that the marriage festival
should be held, not at Puritan Grange, but at The Nurseries; and
gradually it came to be understood that Mrs. Bolton herself would not be
present, either at the church or at the breakfast. It was in vain that
Hester implored her mother to yield to her in something, to stand with
her at any rate on the steps before the altar. 'Would you wish me to go
and lie before my God?' said the unhappy woman. 'When I would give all
that I have in the world except my soul,--my life, my name, even my
child herself, to prevent this, am I to go and smile and be
congratulated, and to look as though I were happy?' There was,
therefore, very much unhappiness at the Grange, and an absence of all
triumph even at The Nurseries. At the old bank-house in the town where
the Nicholases lived, the marriage was openly denounced; and even the
Daniels, though they were pledged to be present, were in doubt.
'I suppose it is all right,' said Mrs. Robert to her husband.
'Of course it is all right. Why not?'
'It seems sad that such an event as a marriage should give rise to so
much ill-feeling. I almost wish we had not meddled, Robert.'
'I don't think there is anything to regret. Remember what Hester's
position would have been if my father had died, leaving her simply to
her mother's guardianship! We were bound to free her from that, and we
have done it.' This was all very well;--but still there was no triumph,
no ringing of those inward marriage bells the sound of whose music ought
to be so pleasant to both the families concerned.
There were, however, two persons quite firm to their purpose, and these
were the bride and bridegroom. With him firmness was comparatively easy.
When his father suggested that the whole Bolton family was making itself
disagreeable, he could with much satisfaction reply that he did not
intend to marry the whole Bolton family. Having answered the first
letter or two he could ignore the Babington remonstrances. And when he
was cross-examined as to points of doctrine, he could with sincerity
profess himself to be of the same creed with his examiners. If he went
to church less often than old Mr. Bolton, so did old Mr. Bolton go less
often than his wife. It was a matter as to which there was no rule. Thus
his troubles were comparatively light, and his firmness might be
regarded as a thing of course. But she was firm too, and firm amidst
very different circumstances. Though her mother prayed and sobbed,
implored her, and almost cursed her, still she was firm. She had given
her word to the man, and her heart, and she would not go back. 'Yes,
papa. It is too late now,' she said, when her father coming from his
wife, once suggested to her that even yet it was not too late. 'Of
course I shall marry him,' she said to Mrs. Robert, almost with
indignation, when Mrs. Robert on one occasion almost broke down in her
purpose.
'Dear aunt, indeed, indeed, you need not interfere,' she said to Mrs.
Nicholas. 'If he were all that they have called him, still I would marry
him,' she said to her other aunt,--'because I love him.' And so they all
became astonished at the young girl whom they had reared up among them,
and to understand that whatever might now be their opinions, she would
have her way.
And so it was decided that they should be married on a certain Tuesday
in the middle of December. Early in the morning she was to be brought
down to her aunt's house, there to be decked in her bridal robes, thence
to be taken to the church, then to return for the bridal feast, and from
thence to be taken off by her husband,--to go whither they might list.