§ 1
Belle spent at Three Cups Corner some quiet, sullen days. Then she said
that she could not stay there any longer. She must go home and face her
fortune. She felt restored by that quiet week--the change of
surroundings, her sense of isolation in her aunt’s family, whose
attitude was casual and whose curiosity easily satisfied, the freedom
from manual work--all these things helped build up her mind into a form
of courage. She had better go home while she felt like this.
So one afternoon she travelled Down-wards, leaving the wealden slope,
with its woods and its show of houses, for the lonely reedy places of
the Cuckmere winding at the roots of Firle. The family was at tea when
she arrived, and during the meal nothing passed but the commonplaces of
return, news of the Dengates and news of the farm; but at the end of it,
Ted Shackford hurried the younger members out rather peremptorily.
“It’s time you were off to Gadgett’s, Nell, with those eggs. Tim will go
with you.”
“There’s no need to start now,” grumbled Nell; “it’s the first time I’ve
sat down this afternoon.”
“You be off,” said her father, with such unaccustomed decision that she
actually rose to go.
“Don’t be a fool,” Belle heard Tim whisper to her as they went through
the door--“they’re going to ask Belle about the baby.”
So she was not going to be kept long in suspense. The racket was going
to start right off this minute. She wished she could have entered into
it without the disconcertment of Tim’s words, without the blush and the
prick of tears that they had brought. Still, it was just as well for her
to realize what she was in for with her family. Lucy remained seated at
the table, blushing as red as Belle; Ted Shackford had risen and
slouched about the room.
“When are you going to get married?” he asked suddenly.
“Never, as far as I know.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I’ve broken off my engagement with Daniel Sheather.”
“Broken it off! When?”
“Before I went to Heathfield.”
“_You_ broke it off--yourself?--in heaven’s name....”
“Don’t be a fool, Belle,” said Lucy--“you can speak the truth to us. If
that man’s let you down, dad ull jolly well make him----”
“He hasn’t let me down. He’d marry me at once if I’d have him, but I
won’t.”
“Are you quite mad?”
“Maybe”--Belle laughed.
“But, look here,” continued Lucy--“we’ve a right to know why you’ve done
this. Why do you send him away directly you know that if you don’t
marry....”
“That’s just it. I’m not going to marry Daniel Sheather just because I’m
going to have another man’s child. I don’t love him, and I couldn’t bear
it.”
“But if you don’t love him why the hell did you get engaged to him in
the first place?” cried Shackford.
“Because I thought I could love him some day, and I--I didn’t know
this.”
“But are you so thick that you can’t see that it’s this what makes it
all the more necessary that you should get married at once?”
“Not to Daniel Sheather.”
“Oh--I see--you’re still thinking of Munk.”
Belle winced.
“I’m not.”
“But you must marry one or other of ’em.”
“I shan’t marry either.”
“I don’t believe she’s broken it off,” said Lucy--“I believe it’s
Sheather’s cried off now he knows.”
“Well, I’ll soon find out if it’s that,” said her father. “I’m going
over to see him to-morrow.”
“No, dad, no! For heaven’s sake leave Daniel alone. I tell you it’s my
doing, not his--I won’t have him.”
“Will you have Munk, then?”
“No--I won’t. And, besides, he’s engaged to somebody else.”
“Oh, is he? He thinks he can do that sort of thing when he’s landed you
in this mess. I’ll soon show him different.”
“Oh, father, I’d rather die----”
“I think you’re very selfish, Belle,” said Lucy. “Don’t you see that
it’s not only you who has to go through this; it’s all of us. If you
have a baby without being married your family will get some of the
disgrace; and me hoping soon to be married myself----” Lucy held up her
handkerchief to her eyes.
“I can’t help that,” said Belle sullenly--“if you like, I’ll go right
away.”
“That won’t help us much,” wailed Lucy, “people ull get to know of it
just the same. Really, Belle, I do think you might consider your family
a little. For years now we’ve put up with your goings on. I don’t want
to preach, but really I think you deserve what you’ve got--first it’s
been one man and then it’s been another, and you’ve been lucky that this
hasn’t happened long ago. Now at last you’ve got the chance of marrying
and settling down, and you won’t take it.”
“I tell you I don’t love him.”
“And I tell you that you ought to sacrifice yourself a little and not
insist on that. Besides, you don’t know whether you love him or whether
you don’t. You loved him two months ago.”
“I didn’t really.”
“Then you were a fool, and you’ve no right to ask us to take the
consequences of the silly things you done.”
“Would you marry Munk?” asked her father.
“No--no--not for worlds.”
“Well, you’ve got to marry one of ’em--either the one who’s willing or
the one who ain’t. I tell you I’m going over to see ’em both to-morrow,
so you can choose which you’ll have.”
“Dad, you’d never!”
“By God, I will! I’ve stood enough from you, miss. Reckon I’m an
easy-going chap or I’d have learned you better ways. But now you’ve gone
too far--dragged us all into the mud and then turned obstinate. This
isn’t the time for you to chuck a good offer of marriage. You aren’t
ever likely to get another--and if your sort don’t marry it goes to the
bad. It’ll be a fine thing for us when we’ve got a daughter on the
town--prouder than ever we’ll be of our Belle. You behave yourself and
try and undo a little of the bad you’ve done. If you won’t marry Daniel
Sheather you can marry Ernley Munk, and I give you till to-morrow to
decide which.”
Belle burst into tears.
“I can’t be sorry for you,” said Lucy--“you’ve thought of nobody but
yourself all through. You don’t know how it stands against a girl to
have a bad lot for her sister. If you’ve got no shame on your own
account, you might have a little on ours. Besides, this time next year
you’ll be jolly glad we made you patch it up.”
“I won’t! I won’t! I’ll die sooner than marry either of them. There’s no
good your going over to Bullockdean, dad--I won’t have either Dan or
Ernley--and they won’t have me, neither--you’ll only have disgraced me
for nothing.”
“Disgrace! You talk as if that was something new for you. Disgrace!
You’re a walking disgrace, and if I was a man like my father I’d have
given you the rope’s end long ago and learned you morals. I tell you
what’s going to happen now. If by to-morrow morning you’ve given me your
solemn promise you’ll marry Sheather, I’ll go over and settle up with
him, and there won’t be any more trouble. But if you won’t have
Sheather, you shall have Munk. I’ll see him to-morrow, and if he’s
engaged to that Eastbourne girl he’ll have to chuck her and marry you.”
“He can’t--he won’t--and I won’t have him, if he does.”
“Well, I’ll have a try, anyhow. At least he shall know what’s happened
and what’s expected.”
“Don’t!” cried Belle.
But Shackford, furious as only an easy-going man can be, had gone out,
slamming the door.
Belle turned wildly on Lucy.
“You swine!--you might have stood by me! At least we’re both women.”
She clutched Lucy’s fair crimped hair in her hands as she sat at the
table, and pulled it about her ears. Lucy screamed, and Belle, suddenly
more terrified of herself than of anything, ran out of the room.