Rachel Ray

Vol. II

CHAPTER I.
RACHEL RAY'S FIRST LOVE-LETTER

On the Monday evening, after tea, Mrs. Prime came out to the cottage. It was that Monday on which Mrs. Rowan and her daughter had left Baslehurst and had followed Luke up to London. She came out and sat with her mother and sister for about an hour, restraining herself with much discretion from the saying of disagreeable things about her sister's lover. She had heard that the Rowans had gone away, and she had also heard that it was probable that they would be no more seen in Baslehurst. Mr. Prong had given it as his opinion that Luke would not trouble them again by his personal appearance among them. Under these circumstances Mrs. Prime had thought that she might spare her sister. Nor had she said much about her own love affairs. She had never mentioned Mr. Prong's offer in Rachel's presence; nor did she do so now. As long as Rachel remained in the room the conversation was very innocent and very uninteresting. For a few minutes the two widows were alone together, and then Mrs. Prime gave her mother to understand that things were not yet quite arranged between herself and Mr. Prong.

"You see, mother," said Mrs. Prime, "as this money has been committed to my charge, I do not think it can be right to let it go altogether out of my own hands."

In answer to this Mrs. Ray had uttered a word or two agreeing with her daughter. She was afraid to say much against Mr. Prong; – was afraid, indeed, to express any very strong opinion about this proposed marriage; but in her heart she would have been delighted to hear that the Prong alliance was to be abandoned. There was nothing in Mr. Prong to recommend him to Mrs. Ray.

"And is she going to marry him?" Rachel asked, as soon as her sister was gone.

"There's nothing settled as yet. Dorothea wants to keep her money in her own hands."

"I don't think that can be right. If a woman is married the money should belong to the husband."

"I suppose that's what Mr. Prong thinks; – at any rate, there's nothing settled. It seems to me that we know so little about him. He might go away any day to Australia, you know."

"And did she say anything about – Mr. Rowan?"

"Not a word, my dear."

And that was all that was then said about Luke even between Rachel and her mother. How could they speak about him? Mrs. Ray also believed that he would be no more seen in Baslehurst; and Rachel was well aware that such was her mother's belief, although it had never been expressed. What could be said between them now, – or ever afterwards, – unless, indeed, Rowan should take some steps to make it necessary that his doings should be discussed?

The Tuesday passed and the Wednesday, without any sign from the young man; and during these two sad days nothing was said at the cottage. On that Wednesday his name was absolutely not mentioned between them, although each of them was thinking of him throughout the day. Mrs. Ray had now become almost sure that he had obeyed his mother's behests, and had resolved not to trouble himself about Rachel any further; and Rachel herself had become frightened if not despondent. Could it be that all this should have passed over her and that it should mean nothing? – that the man should have been standing there, only three or four days since, in that very room, with his arm round her waist, begging for her love, and calling her his wife; – and that all of it should have no meaning? Nothing amazed her so much as her mother's firm belief in such an ending to such an affair. What must be her mother's thoughts about men and women in general if she could expect such conduct from Luke Rowan, – and yet not think of him as one whose falsehood was marvellous in its falseness!

But on the Thursday morning there came a letter from Luke addressed to Rachel. On that morning Mrs. Ray was up when the postman passed by the cottage, and though Rachel took the letter from the man's hand herself, she did not open it till she had shown it to her mother.

"Of course it's from him," said Rachel.

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Ray, taking the unopened letter in her hand and looking at it. She spoke almost in a whisper, as though there were something terrible in the coming of the letter.

"Is it not odd," said Rachel, "but I never saw his handwriting before? I shall know it now for ever and ever." She also spoke in a whisper, and still held the letter as though she dreaded to open it.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Ray.

"If you think you ought to read it first, mamma, you may."

"No, Rachel. It is your letter. I do not wish you to imagine that I distrust you."

Then Rachel sat herself down, and with extreme care opened the envelope. The letter, which she read to herself very slowly, was as follows: —

My own dearest Rachel,

It seems so nice having to write to you, though it would be much nicer if I could see you and be sitting with you at this moment at the churchyard stile. That is the spot in all Baslehurst that I like the best. I ought to have written sooner, I know, and you will have been very angry with me; but I have had to go down into Northamptonshire to settle some affairs as to my father's property, so that I have been almost living in railway carriages ever since I saw you. I am resolved about the brewery business more firmly than ever, and as it seems that "T"

– Mrs. Tappitt would occasionally so designate her lord, and her doing so had been a joke between Luke and Rachel, —

will not come to reason without a lawsuit, I must scrape together all the capital I have, or I shall be fifty years old before I can begin. He is a pig-headed old fool, and I shall be driven to ruin him and all his family. I would have done, – and still would do, – anything for him in kindness; but if he drives me to go to law to get what is as much my own as his share is his own, I will build another brewery just under his nose. All this will require money, and therefore I have to run about and get my affairs settled.

But this is a nice love-letter, – is it not? However, you must take me as I am. Just now I have beer in my very soul. The grand object of my ambition is to stand and be fumigated by the smoke of my own vats. It is a fat, prosperous, money-making business, and one in which there is a clear line between right and wrong. No man brews bad beer without knowing it, – or sells short measure. Whether the fatness and the honesty can go together; – that is the problem I want to solve.

You see I write to you exactly as if you were a man friend, and not my own dear sweet girl. But I am a very bad hand at love-making. I considered that that was all done when you nodded your head over my arm in token that you consented to be my wife. It was a very little nod, but it binds you as fast as a score of oaths. And now I think I have a right to talk to you about all my affairs, and expect you at once to get up the price of malt and hops in Devonshire. I told you, you remember, that you should be my friend, and now I mean to have my own way.

You must tell me exactly what my mother has been doing and saying at the cottage. I cannot quite make it out from what she says, but I fear that she has been interfering where she had no business, and making a goose of herself. She has got an idea into her head that I ought to make a good bargain in matrimony, and sell myself at the highest price going in the market; – that I ought to get money, or if not money, family connexion. I'm very fond of money, – as is everybody, only people are such liars, – but then I like it to be my own; and as to what people call connexion, I have no words to tell you how I despise it. If I know myself I should never have chosen a woman as my companion for life who was not a lady; but I have not the remotest wish to become second cousin by marriage to a baronet's grandmother. I have told my mother all this, and that you and I have settled the matter together; but I see that she trusts to something that she has said or done herself to upset our settling. Of course, what she has said can have no effect on you. She has a right to speak to me, but she has none to speak to you; – not as yet. But she is the best woman in the world, and as soon as ever we are married you will find that she will receive you with open arms.

You know I spoke of our being married in August. I wish it could have been so. If we could have settled it when I was at Bragg's End, it might have been done. I don't, however, mean to scold you, though it was your fault. But as it is, it must now be put off till after Christmas. I won't name a day yet for seeing you, because I couldn't well go to Baslehurst without putting myself into Tappitt's way. My lawyer says I had better not go to Baslehurst just at present. Of course you will write to me constantly, – to my address here; say, twice a week at least. And I shall expect you to tell me everything that goes on. Give my kind love to your mother.

Yours, dearest Rachel,

Most affectionately,

Luke Rowan.

The letter was not quite what Rachel had expected, but, nevertheless, she thought it very nice. She had never received a love-letter before, and probably had never read one, – even in print; so that she was in possession of no strong preconceived notions as to the nature or requisite contents of such a document. She was a little shocked when Luke called his mother a goose; – she was a little startled when he said that people were "liars," having an idea that the word was one not to be lightly used; – she was amused by the allusion to the baronet's grandmother, feeling, however, that the manner and language of his letter was less pretty and love-laden than she had expected; – and she was frightened when he so confidently called upon her to write to him twice a week. But, nevertheless, the letter was a genial one, joyous, and, upon the whole, comforting. She read it very slowly, going back over much of it twice and thrice, so that her mother became impatient before the perusal was finished.

"It seems to be very long," said Mrs. Ray.

"Yes, mamma, it is long. It's nearly four sides."

"What can he have to say so much?"

"There's a good deal of it is about his own private affairs."

"I suppose, then, I mustn't see it."

"Oh yes, mamma!" And Rachel handed her the letter. "I shouldn't think of having a letter from him and not showing it to you; – not as things are now." Then Mrs. Ray took the letter and spent quite as much time in reading it as Rachel had done. "He writes as though he meant to have everything quite his own way," said Mrs. Ray.

"That's what he does mean. I think he will do that always. He's what people call imperious; but that isn't bad in a man, is it?"

Mrs. Ray did not quite know whether it was bad in a man or no. But she mistrusted the letter, not construing it closely so as to discover what might really be its full meaning, but perceiving that the young man took, or intended to take, very much into his own hands; that he demanded that everything should be surrendered to his will and pleasure, without any guarantee on his part that such surrendering should be properly acknowledged. Mrs. Ray was disposed to doubt people and things that were at a distance from her. Some check could be kept over a lover at Baslehurst; or, if perchance the lover had removed himself only to Exeter, with which city Mrs. Ray was personally acquainted, she could have believed in his return. He would not, in that case, have gone utterly beyond her ken. But she could put no confidence in a lover up in London. Who could say that he might not marry some one else to-morrow, – that he might not be promising to marry half a dozen? It was with her the same sort of feeling which made her think it possible that Mr. Prong might go to Australia. She would have liked as a lover for her daughter a young man fixed in business, – if not at Baslehurst, then at Totnes, Dartmouth, or Brixham, – under her own eye as it were; – a young man so fixed that all the world of South Devonshire would know of all his doings. Such a young man, when he asked a girl to marry him, must mean what he said. If he did not there would be no escape for him from the punishment of his neighbours' eyes and tongues. But a young man up in London, – a young man who had quarrelled with his natural friends in Baslehurst, – a young man who was confessedly masterful and impetuous, – a young man who called his own mother a goose, and all the rest of the world liars, in his first letter to his lady-love; – was that a young man in whom Mrs. Ray could place confidence as a lover for her pet lamb? She read the letter very slowly, and then, as she gave it back to Rachel, she groaned.

For nearly half an hour after that nothing was said in the cottage about the letter. Rachel had perceived that it had not been thought satisfactory by her mother; but then she was inclined to believe that her mother would have regarded no letter as satisfactory until arguments had been used to prove to her that it was so. This, at any rate, was clear, – must be clear to Mrs. Ray as it was clear to Rachel, – that Luke had no intention of shirking the fulfilment of his engagement. And after all, was not that the one thing as to which it was essentially necessary that they should be confident? Had she not accepted Luke, telling him that she loved him? and was it not acknowledged by all around her that such a marriage would be good for her? The danger which they feared was the expectation of such a marriage without its accomplishment. Even the forebodings of Mrs. Prime had shown that this was the evil to which they pointed. Under these circumstances what better could be wished for than a ready, quick, warm assurance on Luke's part, that he did intend all that he had said?

With Rachel now, as with all girls under such circumstances, the chief immediate consideration was as to the answer which should be given. Was she to write to him, to write what she pleased; and might she write at once? She felt that she longed to have the pen in her hand, and that yet, when holding it, she would have to think for hours before writing the first word. "Mamma," she said at last, "don't you think it's a good letter?"

"I don't know what to think, my dear. I doubt whether any letters of that sort are good for much."

"Of what sort, mamma?"

"Letters from men who call themselves lovers to young girls. It would be safer, I think, that there shouldn't be any; – very much safer."

"But if he hadn't written we should have thought that he had forgotten all about us. That would not have been good. You said yourself that if he did not write soon, there would be an end of everything."

"A hundred years ago there wasn't all this writing between young people, and these things were managed better then than they are now, as far as I can understand."

"People couldn't write so much then," said Rachel, "because there were no railways and no postage stamps. I suppose I must answer it, mamma?" To this proposition Mrs. Ray made no immediate answer. "Don't you think I ought to answer it, mamma?"

"You can't want to write at once."

"In the afternoon would do."

"In the afternoon! Why should you be in so much hurry, Rachel? It took him four or five days to write to you."

"Yes; but he was down in Northamptonshire on business. Besides he hadn't any letter from me to answer. I shouldn't like him to think – "

"To think what, Rachel?"

"That I had forgotten him."

"Psha!"

"Or that I didn't treat his letter with respect."

"He won't think that. But I must turn it over in my mind; and I believe I ought to ask somebody."

"Not Dolly," said Rachel, eagerly.

"No, not your sister. I will not ask her. But if you don't mind, my dear, I'll take the young man's letter out to Mr. Comfort, and consult him. I never felt myself so much in need of somebody to advise me. Mr. Comfort is an old man, and you won't mind his seeing the letter."

Rachel did mind it very much, but she had no means of saving herself from her fate. She did not like the idea of having her love-letter submitted to the clergyman of the parish. I do not know any young lady who would have liked it. But bad as that was, it was preferable to having the letter submitted to Mrs. Prime. And then she remembered that Mr. Comfort had advised that she might go to the ball, and that he was father to her friend Mrs. Butler Cornbury.

CHAPTER II.
ELECTIONEERING

And now, in these days, – the days immediately following the departure of Luke Rowan from Baslehurst, – the Tappitt family were constrained to work very hard at the task of defaming the young man who had lately been living with them in their house. They were constrained to do this by the necessities of their position; and in doing so by no means showed themselves to be such monsters of iniquity as the readers of the story will feel themselves inclined to call them. As for Tappitt himself, he certainly believed that Rowan was so base a scoundrel that no evil words against him could be considered as malicious or even unnecessary. Is it not good to denounce a scoundrel? And if the rascality of any rascal be specially directed against oneself and one's own wife and children, is it not a duty to denounce that rascal, so that his rascality may be known and thus made of no effect? When Tappitt declared in the reading-room at the Dragon, and afterwards in the little room inside the bar at the King's Head, and again to a circle of respectable farmers and tradesmen in the Corn Market, that young Rowan had come down to the brewery and made his way into the brewery-house with a ready prepared plan for ruining him – him, the head of the firm, – he thought that he was telling the truth. And again, when he spoke with horror of Rowan's intention of setting up an opposition brewery, his horror was conscientious. He believed that it would be very wicked in a man to oppose the Bungall establishment with money left by Bungall, – that it would be a wickedness than which no commercial rascality could be more iniquitous. His very soul was struck with awe at the idea. That anything was due in the matter to the consumer of beer, never occurred to him. And it may also be said in Tappitt's favour that his opinion, – as a general opinion, – was backed by those around him. His neighbours could not be made to hate Rowan as he hated him. They would not declare the young man to be the very Mischief, as he did. But that idea of a rival brewery was distasteful to them all. Most of them knew that the beer was almost too bad to be swallowed; but they thought that Tappitt had a vested interest in the manufacture of bad beer; – that as a manufacturer of bad beer he was a fairly honest and useful man; – and they looked upon any change as the work, or rather the suggestion, of a charlatan.

"This isn't Staffordshire," they said. "If you want beer like that you can buy it in bottles at Griggs'."

"He'll soon find where he'll be if he tries to undersell me," said young Griggs. "All the same, I hope he'll come back, because he has left a little bill at our place."

And then to other evil reports was added that special evil report, – that Rowan had gone away without paying his debts. I am inclined to think that Mr. Tappitt can be almost justified in his evil thoughts and his evil words.

I cannot make out quite so good a case for Mrs. Tappitt and her two elder daughters; – for even Martha, Martha the just, shook her head in these days when Rowan's name was mentioned; – but something may be said even for them. It must not be supposed that Mrs. Tappitt's single grievance was her disappointment as regarded Augusta. Had there been no Augusta on whose behalf a hope had been possible, the predilection of the young moneyed stranger for such a girl as Rachel Ray would have been a grievance to such a woman as Mrs. Tappitt. Had she not been looking down on Rachel Ray and despising her for the last ten years? Had she not been wondering among her friends, with charitable volubility, as to what that poor woman at Bragg's End was to do with her daughter? Had she not been regretting that the young girl should be growing up so big, and promising to look so coarse? Was it not natural that she should be miserable when she saw her taken in hand by Mrs. Butler Cornbury, and made the heroine at her own party, to the detriment of her own daughters, by the fashionable lady in catching whom she had displayed so much unfortunate ingenuity? Under such circumstances how could she do other than hate Luke Rowan, – than believe him to be the very Mischief, – than prophesying all manner of bad things for Rachel, – and assist her husband tooth and nail in his animosity against the sinner?

Augusta was less strong in her feelings than her parents, but of course she disliked the man who could admire Rachel Ray. As regards Martha, her dislike to him, – or rather, her judicial disapproval, – was founded on his social and commercial improprieties. She understood that he had threatened her father about the business, – and she had been scandalized in that matter of the champagne. Cherry was very brave, and still stood up for him before her mother and sisters; – but even Cherry did not dare to say a word in his favour before her father. Mr. Tappitt had been driven to forget himself, and to take a poker in his hand as a weapon of violence! After that let no one speak a word on the offender's behalf in Tappitt's house and within Tappitt's hearing!

In that affair of the champagne Rowan was most bitterly injured. He had ordered it, if not at the request, at least at the instigation of Mrs. Tappitt; – and he had paid for it. When he left Baslehurst he owed no shilling to any man in it; and, indeed, he was a man by no means given to owing money to any one. He was of a spirit masterful, self-confident, and perhaps self-glorious; – but he was at the same time honest and independent. That wine had been ordered in some unusual way, – not at the regular counter, and in the same way the bill for it had been paid. Griggs, when he made his assertion in the bar-room at the King's Head, had stated what he believed to be the truth. The next morning he chanced to hear that the account had been settled, but not, at the moment, duly marked off the books. As far as Griggs went that was the end of it. He did not again say that Rowan owed money to him; but he never contradicted his former assertion, and allowed the general report to go on, – that report which had been founded on his own first statement. Thus before Rowan had been a week out of the place it was believed all over the town that he had left unpaid bills behind him.

"I am told that young man is dreadfully in debt," said Mr. Prong to Mrs. Prime. At this time Mr. Prong and Mrs. Prime saw each other daily, and were affectionate in their intercourse, – with a serious, solemn affection; but affairs were by no means settled between them. That affection was, however, strong enough to induce Mr. Prong to take a decided part in opposing the Rowan alliance. "They say he owes money all over the town."

"So Miss Pucker tells me," said Mrs. Prime.

"Does your mother know it?"

"Mother never knows anything that other people know. But he has gone now, and I don't suppose we shall hear of him or see him again."

"He has not written to her, Dorothea?"

"Not that I know of."

"You should find out. You should not leave them in this danger. Your mother is weak, and you should give her the aid of your strength. The girl is your sister, and you should not leave her to grope in darkness. You should remember, Dorothea, that you have a duty in this matter."

Dorothea did not like being told of her duty in so pastoral a manner, and resolved to be more than ever particular in the protection of her own pecuniary rights before she submitted herself to Mr. Prong's marital authority once and for ever. By Miss Pucker she was at any rate treated with great respect, and was allowed perhaps some display of pastoral manner on her own part. It began to be with her a matter of doubt whether she might not be of more use in that free vineyard which she was about to leave, than in that vineyard with closed doors and a pastoral overseer, which she was preparing herself to enter. At any rate she would be careful about the money. But, in the mean time, she did agree with Mr. Prong that Rowan's proper character should be made known to her mother, and with this view she went out to the cottage and whispered into Mrs. Ray's astonished ears the fact that Luke was terribly in debt.

"You don't say so!"

"But I do say so, mother. Everybody in Baslehurst is talking about it. And they all say that he has treated Mr. Tappitt shamefully. Has anything come from him since he went?"

Then Mrs. Ray told her elder daughter of the letter, and told her also that she intended to consult Mr. Comfort. "Oh, Mr. Comfort!" said Mrs. Prime, signifying her opinion that her mother was going to a very poor counsellor. "And what sort of a letter was it?" said Mrs. Prime, with a not unnatural desire to see it.

"It was an honest letter enough, – very honest to my thinking; and speaking as though everything between them was quite settled."

"That's nonsense, mother."

"Perhaps it may be nonsense, Dorothea; but I am only telling you what the letter said. He called his mother a goose; that was the worst thing in it."

"You cannot expect that such a one as he should honour his parents."

"But his mother thinks him the finest young man in the world. And I must say this for him, that he has always spoken of her as though he loved her very dearly; and I believe he has been a most excellent son. He shouldn't have said goose; – at any rate in a letter; – not to my way of thinking. But perhaps they don't mind those things up in London."

"I never knew a young man so badly spoken of at a place he'd left as he is in Baslehurst. I think it right to tell you; but if you have made up your mind to ask Mr. Comfort – "

"Yes; I have made up my mind to ask Mr. Comfort. He has sent to say he will call the day after to-morrow." Then Mrs. Prime went back home, having seen neither the letter nor her sister.

It may be remembered that an election was impending over the town of Baslehurst, the coming necessities of which had induced Mrs. Butler Cornbury to grace Mrs. Tappitt's ball. It was now nearly the end of July, and the election was to be made early in September. Both candidates were already in the field, and the politicians of the neighbourhood already knew to a nicety how the affair would go. Mr. Hart the great clothier from Houndsditch and Regent Street, – Messrs. Hart and Jacobs of from 110 to 136 Houndsditch, and about as many more numbers in Regent Street, – would come in at the top of the poll with 173 votes, and Butler Cornbury, whose forefathers had lived in the neighbourhood for the last four hundred years and been returned for various places in Devonshire to dozens of parliaments, would be left in the lurch with 171 votes. A petition might probably unseat the Jew clothier; but then, as was well known, the Cornbury estate could not bear the expenditure of the necessary five thousand pounds for the petition, in addition to the twelve hundred which the election itself was computed to cost. It was all known and thoroughly understood; and men in Baslehurst talked about the result as though the matter were past a doubt. Nevertheless there were those who were ready to bet on the Cornbury side of the question.

But though the thing was thus accurately settled, and though its termination was foreseen by so many and with so perfect a certainty, still the canvassing went on. In fact there were votes that had not even yet been asked, much less promised, – and again, much less purchased. The Hart people were striving to frighten the Cornbury people out of the field by the fear of the probable expenditure; and had it not been for the good courage of Mrs. Butler Cornbury would probably have succeeded in doing so. The old squire was very fidgety about the money, and the young squire declared himself unwilling to lean too heavily upon his father. But the lady of the household declared her conviction that there was more smoke than fire, and more threats of bribery than intention of bribing. She would go on, she declared; and as her word passed for much at Cornbury Grange, the battle was still to be fought.

Among the votes which certainly had not as yet been promised was that of Mr. Tappitt. Mr. Hart in person had called upon him, but had not been quite satisfied with his reception. Mr. Tappitt was a man who thought much of his local influence and local privileges, and was by no means disposed to make a promise of his vote on easy terms, at a moment when his vote was becoming of so much importance. He was no doubt a liberal as was also Mr. Hart; but in small towns politics become split, and a man is not always bound to vote for a liberal candidate because he is a liberal himself. Mr. Hart had been confident in his tone, and had not sufficiently freed himself from all outer taint of his ancient race to please Mr. Tappitt's taste. "He's an impudent low Jew," he had said to his wife. "As for Butler Cornbury he gives himself airs, and is too grand even to come and ask. I don't think I shall vote at all." His wife had reminded him how civil to them Mrs. Cornbury had been; – this was before the morning of the poker; – but Tappitt had only sneered, and declared he was not going to send a man to Parliament because his wife had come to a dance.

But we, who know Tappitt best, may declare now that his vote was to have been had by any one who would have joined him energetically in abuse of Luke Rowan. His mind was full of his grievance. His heart was laden with hatred of his enemy. His very soul was heavy with that sorrow. Honyman, whom he had not yet dared to desert, had again recommended submission to him, submission to one of the three terms proposed. Let him take the thousand a year and go out from the brewery. That was Honyman's first advice. If not that, then let him admit his enemy to a full partnership. If that were too distasteful to be possible, then let him raise ten thousand pounds on a mortgage on the whole property, and buy Rowan out. Honyman thought that the money might be raised if Tappitt were willing to throw into the lump the moderate savings of his past life. But in answer to either proposal Tappitt only raved. Had Mr. Hart known all about this, he might doubtless have secured Tappitt's vote.