"I wishes to see Miss Lawrie do her dooty, and become your wife, as a lady should do. You wishes it, and she ought to wish it too. Drat her! If she is going back from her word--"
"She is not going back from her word. Nothing is more excellent, nothing more true, nothing more trustworthy than Miss Lawrie. You should not allow yourself to speak of her in such language."
"Is it you, then, as is going back?"
"I do not know. To tell the truth, Mrs Baggett, I do not know."
"Then let me tell you, sir. I"m an old woman whom you"ve known all your life pretty nigh, and you can trust me. Don"t give up to none of "em. You"ve got her word, and keep her to it. What"s the good o" your fine feelings if you"re to break your heart. You means well by her, and will make her happy. Can you say as much for him? When them diamonds is gone, what"s to come next? I ain"t no trust in diamonds, not to live out of, but only in the funds, which is reg"lar. I wouldn"t let her see John Gordon again,--never, till she was Mrs Whittlestaff. After that she"ll never go astray; nor yet won"t her thoughts."
"G.o.d bless you! Mrs Baggett," he said.
"She"s one of them when she"s your own she"ll remain your own all out. She"ll stand the washing. I"m an old woman, and I knows "em."
"And yet you cannot live with such a lady as her?"
"No! if she was one of them namby-pambys as"d let an old woman keep her old place, it might do."
"She shall love you always for what you said just now."
"Love me! I don"t doubt her loving me. She"ll love me because she is loving--not that I am lovable. She"ll want to do a"most everything about the house, and I shall want the same; and her wants are to stand uppermost,--that is, if she is to be Mrs Whittlestaff."
"I do not know; I have to think about it."
"Don"t think about it no more; but just go in and do it. Don"t have no more words with him nor yet with her,--nor yet with yourself. Let it come on just as though it were fixed by fate. It"s in your own hands now, sir, and don"t you be thinking of being too good-natured; there ain"t no good comes from it. A man may maunder away his mind in softnesses till he ain"t worth nothing, and don"t do no good to no one. You can give her bread to eat, and clothes to wear, and can make her respectable before all men and women. What has he to say? Only that he is twenty years younger than you. Love! Rot it! I suppose you"ll come in just now, sir, and see my boxes when they"re ready to start." So saying, she turned round sharply on the path and left him.
In spite of the excellent advice which Mr Whittlestaff had received from his housekeeper, bidding him not have any more words even with himself on the matter, he could not but think of all the arguments which John Gordon had used to him. According to Mrs Baggett, he ought to content himself with knowing that he could find food and raiment and shelter for his intended wife, and also in feeling that he had her promise, and her a.s.surance that that promise should be respected. There was to him a very rock in all this, upon which he could build his house with absolute safety. And he did not believe of her that, were he so to act, she would turn round upon him with future tears or neglect her duty, because she was ever thinking of John Gordon. He knew that she would be too steadfast for all that, and that even though there might be some sorrow at her heart, it would be well kept down, out of his sight, out of the sight of the world at large, and would gradually sink out of her own sight too.
But if it be given to a man "to maunder away his mind in softnesses,"
he cannot live otherwise than as nature has made him. Such a man must maunder. Mrs Baggett had understood accurately the nature of his character; but had not understood that, as was his character, so must he act. He could not alter his own self. He could not turn round upon himself, and bid himself be other than he was. It is necessary to be stern and cruel and determined, a man shall say to himself. In this particular emergency of my life I will be stern and cruel. General good will come out of such a line of conduct. But unless he be stern and cruel in other matters also,--unless he has been born stern and cruel, or has so trained himself,--he cannot be stern and cruel for that occasion only. All this Mr Whittlestaff knew of himself. As sure as he was there thinking over John Gordon and Mary Lawrie, would he maunder away his mind in softnesses. He feared it of himself, was sure of it of himself, and hated himself because it was so.
He did acknowledge to himself the truth of the position as a.s.serted by John Gordon. Had the man come but a day earlier, he would have been in time to say the first word; and then, as Mr Whittlestaff said to himself, there would not for him have been a chance. And in such case there would have been no reason, as far as Mr Whittlestaff could see, why John Gordon should be treated other than as a happy lover. It was the one day in advance which had given him the strength of his position. But it was the one day also which had made him weak. He had thought much about Mary for some time past. He had told himself that by her means might be procured some cure to the wound in his heart which had made his life miserable for so many years.
But had John Gordon come in time, the past misery would only have been prolonged, and none would have been the wiser. Even Mrs Baggett would have held her peace, and not thrown it in his teeth that he had attempted to marry the girl and had failed. As it was, all the world of Alresford would know how it had been with him, and all the world of Alresford as they looked at him would tell themselves that this was the man who had attempted to marry Mary Lawrie, and had failed.
It was all true,--all that John Gordon alleged on his own behalf. But then he was able to salve his own conscience by telling himself that when John Gordon had run through his diamonds, there would be nothing but poverty and distress. There was no reason for supposing that the diamonds would be especially short-lived, or that John Gordon would probably be a spendthrift. But diamonds as a source of income are volatile,--not trustworthy, as were the funds to Mrs Baggett. And then the nature of the source of income offered, enabled him to say so much as a plea to himself. Could he give the girl to a man who had nothing but diamonds with which to pay his weekly bills? He did tell himself again and again, that Mary Lawrie should not be encouraged to put her faith in diamonds. But he felt that it was only an excuse.
In arguing the matter backwards and forwards, he could not but tell himself that he did believe in John Gordon.
And then an idea, a grand idea, but one very painful in its beauty, crept into his mind. Even though these diamonds should melt away, and become as nothing, there was his own income, fixed and sure as the polar star, in the consolidated British three per cents. If he really loved this girl, could he not protect her from poverty, even were she married to a John Gordon, broken down in the article of his diamonds?
If he loved her, was he not bound, by some rule of chivalry which he could not define even to himself, to do the best he could for her happiness? He loved her so well that he thought that, for her sake, he could abolish himself. Let her have his money, his house, and his horses. Let her even have John Gordon. He could with a certain feeling of delight imagine it all. But then he could not abolish himself. There he would be, subject to the remarks of men. "There is he," men would say of him, "who has maundered away his mind in softnesses;--who in his life has loved two girls, and has, at last, been thrown over by both of them because he has been no better than a soft maundering idiot." It would be thus that his neighbours would speak of him in his vain effort to abolish himself.
It was not yet too late. He had not yielded an inch to this man. He could still be stern and unbending. He felt proud of himself in that he had been stern and unbending, as far as the man was concerned.
And as regarded Mary, he did feel sure of her. If there was to be weakness displayed, it would be in himself. Mary would be true to her promise;--true to her faith, true to the arrangement made for her own life. She would not provoke him with arguments as to her love for John Gordon; and, as Mrs Baggett had a.s.sured him, even in her thoughts she would not go astray. If it were but for that word, Mrs Baggett should not be allowed to leave his house.
But what as to Mary"s love? Any such question was maunderingly soft.
It was not for him to ask it. He did believe in her altogether, and was perfectly secure that his name and his honour were safe in her hands. And she certainly would learn to love him. "She"ll stand the washing," he said to himself, repeating another morsel of Mrs Baggett"s wisdom. And thus he made up his mind that he would, on this occasion, if only on this occasion, be stern and cruel. Surely a man could bring himself to sternness and cruelty for once in his life, when so much depended on it.
Having so resolved, he walked back into the house, intending to see Mary Lawrie, and so to speak to her as to give her no idea of the conversation which had taken place between him and John Gordon. It would not be necessary, he thought, that he should mention to her John Gordon"s name any more. Let his marriage go on, as though there were no such person as John Gordon. It would be easier to be stern and cruel when he could enact the character simply by silence. He would hurry on his wedding as quickly as she would allow him, and then the good thing--the good that was to come out of sternness and cruelty--would be achieved.
He went through from the library to knock at Mary"s door, and in doing so, had to pa.s.s the room in which Mrs Baggett had slept tranquilly for fifteen years. There, in the doorway, was a big trunk, and in the lock of the door was a key. A brilliant idea at once occurred to Mr Whittlestaff. He shoved the big box in with his foot, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. At that moment the heads of the gardener and the groom appeared up the back staircase, and after them Mrs Baggett.
"Why, Mrs Baggett, the door is locked!" said the gardener.
"It is, to be sure," said the groom. "Why, Mrs Baggett, you must have the key in your own pocket!"
"I ain"t got no such thing. Do you bring the box down with you."
"I have got the key in my pocket," said Mr Whittlestaff, in a voice of much authority. "You may both go down. Mrs Baggett"s box is not to be taken out of that room to-day."
"Not taken out! Oh, Mr Whittlestaff! Why, the porter is here with his barrow to take it down to the station."
"Then the porter must have a shilling and go back again empty." And so he stalked on, to bid Miss Lawrie come to him in the library.
"I never heard of such a go in all my life;--and he means it, too,"
said Th.o.r.n.ybush, the gardener.
"I never quite know what he means," said Hayonotes, the groom; "but he"s always in earnest, whatever it is. I never see one like the master for being in earnest. But he"s too deep for me in his meaning.
I suppose we is only got to go back." So they retreated down the stairs, leaving Mrs Baggett weeping in the pa.s.sage.
"You should let a poor old woman have her box," she said, whining to her master, whom she followed to the library.
"No; I won"t! You shan"t have your box. You"re an old fool!"
"I know I"m an old fool;--but I ought to have my box."
"You won"t have it. You may just go down and get your dinner. When you want to go to bed, you shall have the key."
"I ought to have my box, Miss Mary. It"s my own box. What am I to do with Baggett? They have given him more gin out there, and he"s as drunk as a beast. I think I ought to have my own box. Shall I tell Th.o.r.n.ybush as he may come back? The train"ll be gone, and then what am I to do with Baggett? He"ll get hisself that drunk, you won"t be able to stir him. And it is my own box, Mr Whittlestaff?"
To all which Mr Whittlestaff turned a deaf ear. She should find that there was no maundering softness with him now. He felt within his own bosom that it behoved him to learn to become stern and cruel. He knew that the key was in his pocket, and found that there was a certain satisfaction in being stern and cruel. Mrs Baggett might sob her heart out after her box, and he would decline to be moved.
"What"ll I do about Baggett, sir?" said the poor woman, coming back.
"He"s a lying there at the gate, and the perlice doesn"t like to touch him because of you, sir. He says as how if you could take him into the stables, he"d sleep it off among the straw. But then he"d be just as bad after this first go, to-morrow."
To this, however, Mr Whittlestaff at once acceded. He saw a way out of the immediate difficulty. He therefore called Hayonotes to him, and succeeded in explaining his immediate meaning. Hayonotes and the policeman between them lifted Baggett, and deposited the man in an empty stall, where he was accommodated with ample straw. And an order was given that as soon as he had come to himself, he should be provided with something to eat.
"Summat to eat!" said Mrs Baggett, in extreme disgust. "Provide him with a lock-up and plenty of cold water!"
CHAPTER XII.
MR BLAKE"S GOOD NEWS.
In the afternoon, after lunch had been eaten, there came a ring at the back-door, and Mr Montagu Blake was announced. There had been a little _contretemps_ or misadventure. It was Mr Blake"s habit when he called at Croker"s Hall to ride his horse into the yard, there to give him up to Hayonotes, and make his way in by the back entrance.
On this occasion Hayonotes had been considerably disturbed in his work, and was discussing the sad condition of Mr Baggett with Th.o.r.n.ybush over the gate of the kitchen-garden. Consequently, Mr Blake had taken his own horse into the stable, and as he was about to lead the beast up to the stall, had been stopped and confused by Sergeant Baggett"s protruding wooden leg.
""Alloa! what"s up now?" said a voice, addressing Mr Blake from under the straw. "Do you go down, old chap, and get us three-penn"orth of cream o" the valley from the c.o.c.k."