WHAT THE FENWICKS THOUGHT ABOUT IT.
Bullhampton unfortunately was at the end of the postman's walk, and
as the man came all the way from Lavington, letters were seldom
received much before eleven o'clock. Now this was a most pernicious
arrangement, in respect to which Mr. Fenwick carried on a perpetual
feud with the Post-office authorities, having put forward a great
postal doctrine that letters ought to be rained from heaven on to
everybody's breakfast-table exactly as the hot water is brought in
for tea. He, being an energetic man, carried on a long and angry
correspondence with the authorities aforesaid; but the old man
from Lavington continued to toddle into the village just at eleven
o'clock. It was acknowledged that ten was his time; but, as he argued
with himself, ten and eleven were pretty much of a muchness. The
consequence of this was, that Mary Lowther's letters to Mrs. Fenwick
had been read by her two or three hours before she had an opportunity
of speaking on the subject to her husband. At last, however, he
returned, and she flew at him with the letter in her hand. "Frank,"
she said, "Frank, what do you think has happened?"
"The Bank of England must have stopped, from the look of your face."
"I wish it had, with all my heart, sooner than this. Mary has gone
and engaged herself to her cousin, Walter Marrable."
"Mary Lowther!"
"Yes; Mary Lowther! Our Mary! And from what I remember hearing about
him, he is anything but nice."
"He had a lot of money left to him the other day."
"It can't have been much, because Mary owns that they will be very
poor. Here is her letter. I am so unhappy about it. Don't you
remember hearing about that Colonel Marrable who was in a horrible
scrape about somebody's wife?"
"You shouldn't judge the son from the father."
"They've been in the army together, and they're both alike. I hate
the army. They are almost always no better than they should be."
"That's true, my dear, certainly of all services, unless it be the
army of martyrs; and there may be a doubt on the subject even as to
them. May I read it?"
"Oh, yes; she has been half ashamed of herself every word she has
written. I know her so well. To think that Mary Lowther should have
engaged herself to any man after two days' acquaintance!"
Mr. Fenwick read the letter through attentively, and then handed it
back.
"It's a good letter," he said.
"You mean that it's well written?"
"I mean that it's true. There are no touches put in to make effect.
She does love the one man, and she doesn't love the other. All I can
say is, that I'm very sorry for it. It will drive Gilmore out of the
place."
"Do you mean it?"
"I do, indeed. I never knew a man to be at the same time so strong
and so weak in such a matter. One would say that the intensity of his
affection would be the best pledge of his future happiness if he were
to marry the girl; but seeing that he is not to marry her, one cannot
but feel that a man shouldn't stake his happiness on a thing beyond
his reach."
"You think it is all up, then;--that she really will marry this man?"
"What else can I think?"
"These things do go off sometimes. There can't be much money,
because, you see, old Miss Marrable opposes the whole thing on
account of there not being income enough. She is anything but rich
herself, and is the last person of all the world to make a fuss about
money. If it could be broken off--."
"If I understand Mary Lowther," said Mr. Fenwick, "she is not the
woman to have her match broken off for her by any person. Of course I
know nothing about the man; but if he is firm, she'll be as firm."
"And then she has written to Mr. Gilmore," said Mrs. Fenwick.
"It's all up with Harry as far as this goes," said Mr. Fenwick.
The Vicar had another matter of moment to discuss with his wife. Sam
Brattle, after having remained hard at work at the mill for nearly a
fortnight,--so hard at work as to induce his father to declare that
he'd bet a guinea there wasn't a man in the three parishes who could
come nigh his Sam for a right down day's work;--after all this,
Sam had disappeared, had been gone for two days, and was said by
the constable to have been seen at night on the Devizes side, from
whence was supposed to come the Grinder, and all manner of Grinder's
iniquities. Up to this time no further arrest had been made on
account of Mr. Trumbull's murder, nor had any trace been found of the
Grinder, or of that other man who had been his companion. The leading
policeman, who still had charge of the case, expressed himself as
sure that the old woman at Pycroft Common knew nothing of her son's
whereabouts; but he had always declared, and still continued to
declare, that Sam Brattle could tell them the whole story of the
murder if he pleased, and there had been a certain amount of watching
kept on the young man, much to his own disgust, and to that of his
father. Sam had sworn aloud in the village--so much aloud that he had
shown his determination to be heard by all men--that he would go to
America, and see whether anyone would dare to stop him. He had been
told of his bail, and had replied that he would demand to be relieved
of his bail;--that his bail was illegal, and that he would have it
all tried in a court of law. Mr. Fenwick had heard of this, and had
replied that as far as he was concerned he was not in the least
afraid. He believed that the bail was illegal, and he believed also
that Sam would stay where he was. But now Sam was gone, and the
Bullhampton constable was clearly of opinion that he had gone to join
the Grinder. "At any rate, he's off somewhere," said Mr. Fenwick,
"and his mother doesn't know where he's gone. Old Brattle, of course,
won't say a word."
"And will it hurt you?"
"Not unless they get hold of those other fellows and require Sam's
appearance. I don't doubt but that he'd turn up in that case."
"Then it does not signify?"
"It signifies for him. I've an idea that I know where he's gone, and
I think I shall go after him."
"Is it far, Frank?"
"Something short of Australia, luckily."
"Oh, Frank!"
"I'll tell you the truth. It's my belief that Carry Brattle is living
about twenty miles off, and that he's gone to see his sister."
"Carry Brattle!--down here!"
"I don't know it, and I don't want to hear it mentioned; but I fancy
it is so. At any rate, I shall go and see."
"Poor, dear, bright little Carry! But how is she living, Frank?"
"She's not one of the army of martyrs, you may be sure. I daresay
she's no better than she should be."
"You'll tell me if you see her?"
"Oh, yes."
"Shall I send her anything?"
"The only thing to send her is money. If she is in want, I'll relieve
her,--with a very sparing hand."
"Will you bring her back,--here?"
"Ah, who can say? I should tell her mother, and I suppose we should
have to ask her father to receive her. I know what his answer will
be."
"He'll refuse to see her."
"No doubt. Then we should have to put our heads together, and the
chances are that the poor girl will be off in the meantime,--back to
London and the Devil. It is not easy to set crooked things straight."
In spite, however, of this interruption, Mary Lowther and her
engagement to Captain Marrable was the subject of greatest interest
at the Vicarage that day and through the night. Mrs. Fenwick half
expected that Gilmore would come down in the evening; but the Vicar
declared that his friend would be unwilling to show himself after the
blow which he would have received. They knew that he would know that
they had received the news, and that therefore he could not come
either to tell it, or with the intention of asking questions without
telling it. If he came at all, he must come like a beaten cur with
his tail between his legs. And then there arose the question whether
it would not be better that Mary's letter should be answered before
Mr. Gilmore was seen. Mrs. Fenwick, whose fingers were itching for
pen and paper, declared at last that she would write at once; and did
write, as follows, before she went to bed:--
The Vicarage, Friday.
DEAREST MARY,
I do not know how to answer your letter. You tell me to
write pleasantly, and to congratulate you; but how is one
to do that so utterly in opposition to one's own interests
and wishes? Oh dear, oh dear! how I do so wish you had
stayed at Bullhampton! I know you will be angry with me
for saying so, but how can I say anything else? I cannot
picture you to myself going about from town to town and
living in country-quarters. And as I never saw Captain
Marrable, to the best of my belief, I cannot interest
myself about him as I do about one whom I know and love
and esteem. I feel that this is not a nice way of writing
to you, and indeed I would be nice if I could. Of course
I wish you to be full of joy;--of course I wish with all
my heart that you may be happy if you marry your cousin;
but the thing has come so suddenly that we cannot bring
ourselves to look upon it as a reality.
"You should speak for yourself, Janet," said Mr. Fenwick, when he
came to this part of the letter. He did not, however, require that
the sentence should be altered.
You talk so much of doing what is right! Nobody has ever
doubted that you were right both in morals and sentiment.
The only regret has been that such a course should be
right, and that the other thing should be wrong. Poor man!
we have not seen him yet, nor heard from him. Frank says
that he will take it very badly. I suppose that men do
always get over that kind of thing much quicker than women
do. Many women never can get over it at all; and Harry
Gilmore, though there is so little about him that seems to
be soft, is in this respect more like a woman than a man.
Had he been otherwise, and had only half cared for you,
and asked you to be his wife as though your taking him
were a thing he didn't much care about, and were quite
a matter of course, I believe you would have been up at
Hampton Privets this moment, instead of going soldiering
with a captain.
Frank bids me send you his kindest love and his best
wishes for your happiness. Those are his very words, and
they seem to be kinder than mine. Of course you have my
love and my best wishes; but I do not know how to write as
though I could rejoice with you. Your husband will always
be dear to us, whoever he may be, if he be good to you.
At present I feel very, very angry with Captain Marrable;
as though I wish he had had his head blown off in battle.
However, if he is to be the happy man, I will open my
heart to him;--that is, if he be good.
I know this is not nice, but I cannot make it nicer now.
God bless you, dearest Mary.
Ever your most affectionate friend,
JANET FENWICK.
The letter was not posted till the hour for despatch on the following
day; but, up to that hour, nothing had been seen at the Vicarage of
Mr. Gilmore.