Томас Харди (Гарди)
The Trumpet-Major
XXIV. A LETTER, A VISITOR, AND A TIN BOX
The result of the explanation upon Anne was bitter self-reproach. She was so sorry at having wronged the kindly soldier that next morning she went by herself to the down, and stood exactly where his tent had covered the sod on which he had lain so many nights, thinking what sadness he must have suffered because of her at the time of packing up and going away. After that she wiped from her eyes the tears of pity which had come there, descended to the house, and wrote an impulsive letter to him, in which occurred the following passages, indiscreet enough under the circumstances: —
‘I find all justice, all rectitude, on your side, John; and all impertinence, all inconsiderateness, on mine. I am so much convinced of your honour in the whole transaction, that I shall for the future mistrust myself in everything. And if it be possible, whenever I differ from you on any point I shall take an hour’s time for consideration before I say that I differ. If I have lost your friendship, I have only myself to thank for it; but I sincerely hope that you can forgive.’
After writing this she went to the garden, where Bob was shearing the spring grass from the paths. ‘What is John’s direction?’ she said, holding the sealed letter in her hand.
‘Exonbury Barracks,’ Bob faltered, his countenance sinking.
She thanked him and went indoors. When he came in, later in the day, he passed the door of her empty sitting-room and saw the letter on the mantelpiece. He disliked the sight of it. Hearing voices in the other room, he entered and found Anne and her mother there, talking to Cripplestraw, who had just come in with a message from Squire Derriman, requesting Miss Garland, as she valued the peace of mind of an old and troubled man, to go at once and see him.
‘I cannot go,’ she said, not liking the risk that such a visit involved.
An hour later Cripplestraw shambled again into the passage, on the same errand.
‘Maister’s very poorly, and he hopes that you’ll come, Mis’ess Anne. He wants to see ’ee very particular about the French.’
Anne would have gone in a moment, but for the fear that some one besides the farmer might encounter her, and she answered as before.
Another hour passed, and the wheels of a vehicle were heard. Cripplestraw had come for the third time, with a horse and gig; he was dressed in his best clothes, and brought with him on this occasion a basket containing raisins, almonds, oranges, and sweet cakes. Offering them to her as a gift from the old farmer, he repeated his request for her to accompany him, the gig and best mare having been sent as an additional inducement.
‘I believe the old gentleman is in love with you, Anne,’ said her mother.
‘Why couldn’t he drive down himself to see me?’ Anne inquired of Cripplestraw.
‘He wants you at the house, please.’
‘Is Mr. Festus with him?’
‘No; he’s away to Budmouth.’
‘I’ll go,’ said she.
‘And I may come and meet you?’ said Bob.
‘There’s my letter – what shall I do about that?’ she said, instead of answering him. ‘Take my letter to the post-office, and you may come,’ she added.
He said yes and went out, Cripplestraw retreating to the door till she should be ready.
‘What letter is it?’ said her mother.
‘Only one to John,’ said Anne. ‘I have asked him to forgive my suspicions. I could do no less.’
‘Do you want to marry him?’ asked Mrs. Loveday bluntly.
‘Mother!’
‘Well; he will take that letter as an encouragement. Can’t you see that he will, you foolish girl?’
Anne did see instantly. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Tell Robert that he need not go.’
She went to her room to secure the letter. It was gone from the mantelpiece, and on inquiry it was found that the miller, seeing it there, had sent David with it to Budmouth hours ago. Anne said nothing, and set out for Oxwell Hall with Cripplestraw.
‘William,’ said Mrs. Loveday to the miller when Anne was gone and Bob had resumed his work in the garden, ‘did you get that letter sent off on purpose?’
‘Well, I did. I wanted to make sure of it. John likes her, and now ’twill be made up; and why shouldn’t he marry her? I’ll start him in business, if so be she’ll have him.’
‘But she is likely to marry Festus Derriman.’
‘I don’t want her to marry anybody but John,’ said the miller doggedly.
‘Not if she is in love with Bob, and has been for years, and he with her?’ asked his wife triumphantly.
‘In love with Bob, and he with her?’ repeated Loveday.
‘Certainly,’ said she, going off and leaving him to his reflections.
When Anne reached the hall she found old Mr. Derriman in his customary chair. His complexion was more ashen, but his movement in rising at her entrance, putting a chair and shutting the door behind her, were much the same as usual.
‘Thank God you’ve come, my dear girl,’ he said earnestly. ‘Ah, you don’t trip across to read to me now! Why did ye cost me so much to fetch you? Fie! A horse and gig, and a man’s time in going three times. And what I sent ye cost a good deal in Budmouth market, now everything is so dear there, and ’twould have cost more if I hadn’t bought the raisins and oranges some months ago, when they were cheaper. I tell you this because we are old friends, and I have nobody else to tell my troubles to. But I don’t begrudge anything to ye since you’ve come.’
‘I am not much pleased to come, even now,’ said she. ‘What can make you so seriously anxious to see me?’
‘Well, you be a good girl and true; and I’ve been thinking that of all people of the next generation that I can trust, you are the best. ’Tis my bonds and my title-deeds, such as they be, and the leases, you know, and a few guineas in packets, and more than these, my will, that I have to speak about. Now do ye come this way.’
‘O, such things as those!’ she returned, with surprise. ‘I don’t understand those things at all.’
‘There’s nothing to understand. ’Tis just this. The French will be here within two months; that’s certain. I have it on the best authority, that the army at Boulogne is ready, the boats equipped, the plans laid, and the First Consul only waits for a tide. Heaven knows what will become o’ the men o’ these parts! But most likely the women will he spared. Now I’ll show ’ee.’
He led her across the hall to a stone staircase of semi-circular plan, which conducted to the cellars.
‘Down here?’ she said.
‘Yes; I must trouble ye to come down here. I have thought and thought who is the woman that can best keep a secret for six months, and I say, “Anne Garland.” You won’t be married before then?’
‘O no!’ murmured the young woman.
‘I wouldn’t expect ye to keep a close tongue after such a thing as that. But it will not be necessary.’
When they reached the bottom of the steps he struck a light from a tinder-box, and unlocked the middle one of three doors which appeared in the whitewashed wall opposite. The rays of the candle fell upon the vault and sides of a long low cellar, littered with decayed woodwork from other parts of the hall, among the rest stair-balusters, carved finials, tracery panels, and wainscoting. But what most attracted her eye was a small flagstone turned up in the middle of the floor, a heap of earth beside it, and a measuring-tape. Derriman went to the corner of the cellar, and pulled out a clamped box from under the straw. ‘You be rather heavy, my dear, eh?’ he said, affectionately addressing the box as he lifted it. ‘But you are going to be put in a safe place, you know, or that rascal will get hold of ye, and carry ye off and ruin me.’ He then with some difficulty lowered the box into the hole, raked in the earth upon it, and lowered the flagstone, which he was a long time in fixing to his satisfaction. Miss Garland, who was romantically interested, helped him to brush away the fragments of loose earth; and when he had scattered over the floor a little of the straw that lay about, they again ascended to upper air.
‘Is this all, sir?’ said Anne.
‘Just a moment longer, honey. Will you come into the great parlour?’
She followed him thither.
‘If anything happens to me while the fighting is going on – it may be on these very fields – you will know what to do,’ he resumed. ‘But first please sit down again, there’s a dear, whilst I write what’s in my head. See, there’s the best paper, and a new quill that I’ve afforded myself for’t.’
‘What a strange business! I don’t think I much like it, Mr. Derriman,’ she said, seating herself.
He had by this time begun to write, and murmured as he wrote —
‘“Twenty-three and a half from N.W. Sixteen and three-quarters from N.E.” – There, that’s all. Now I seal it up and give it to you to keep safe till I ask ye for it, or you hear of my being trampled down by the enemy.’
‘What does it mean?’ she asked, as she received the paper.
‘Clk! Ha! ha! Why, that’s the distance of the box from the two corners of the cellar. I measured it before you came. And, my honey, to make all sure, if the French soldiery are after ye, tell your mother the meaning on’t, or any other friend, in case they should put ye to death, and the secret be lost. But that I am sure I hope they won’t do, though your pretty face will be a sad bait to the soldiers. I often have wished you was my daughter, honey; and yet in these times the less cares a man has the better, so I am glad you bain’t. Shall my man drive you home?’
‘No, no,’ she said, much depressed by the words he had uttered. ‘I can find my way. You need not trouble to come down.’
‘Then take care of the paper. And if you outlive me, you’ll find I have not forgot you.’
XXV. FESTUS SHOWS HIS LOVE
Festus Derriman had remained in the Royal watering-place all that day, his horse being sick at stables; but, wishing to coax or bully from his uncle a remount for the coming summer, he set off on foot for Oxwell early in the evening. When he drew near to the village, or rather to the hall, which was a mile from the village, he overtook a slim, quick-eyed woman, sauntering along at a leisurely pace. She was fashionably dressed in a green spencer, with ‘Mameluke’ sleeves, and wore a velvet Spanish hat and feather.
‘Good afternoon t’ye, ma’am,’ said Festus, throwing a sword-and-pistol air into his greeting. ‘You are out for a walk?’
‘I am out for a walk, captain,’ said the lady, who had criticized him from the crevice of her eye, without seeming to do much more than continue her demure look forward, and gave the title as a sop to his apparent character.
‘From the town? – I’d swear it, ma’am; ’pon my honour I would!’
‘Yes, I am from the town, sir,’ said she.
‘Ah, you are a visitor! I know every one of the regular inhabitants; we soldiers are in and out there continually. Festus Derriman, Yeomanry Cavalry, you know. The fact is, the watering-place is under our charge; the folks will be quite dependent upon us for their deliverance in the coming struggle. We hold our lives in our hands, and theirs, I may say, in our pockets. What made you come here, ma’am, at such a critical time?’
‘I don’t see that it is such a critical time?’
‘But it is, though; and so you’d say if you was as much mixed up with the military affairs of the nation as some of us.’
The lady smiled. ‘The King is coming this year, anyhow,’ said she.
‘Never!’ said Festus firmly. ‘Ah, you are one of the attendants at court perhaps, come on ahead to get the King’s chambers ready, in case Boney should not land?’
‘No,’ she said; ‘I am connected with the theatre, though not just at the present moment. I have been out of luck for the last year or two; but I have fetched up again. I join the company when they arrive for the season.’
Festus surveyed her with interest. ‘Faith! and is it so? Well, ma’am, what part do you play?’
‘I am mostly the leading lady – the heroine,’ she said, drawing herself up with dignity.
‘I’ll come and have a look at ye if all’s well, and the landing is put off – hang me if I don’t! – Hullo, hullo, what do I see?’
His eyes were stretched towards a distant field, which Anne Garland was at that moment hastily crossing, on her way from the hall to Overcombe.
‘I must be off. Good-day to ye, dear creature!’ he exclaimed, hurrying forward.
The lady said, ‘O, you droll monster!’ as she smiled and watched him stride ahead.
Festus bounded on over the hedge, across the intervening patch of green, and into the field which Anne was still crossing. In a moment or two she looked back, and seeing the well-known Herculean figure of the yeoman behind her felt rather alarmed, though she determined to show no difference in her outward carriage. But to maintain her natural gait was beyond her powers. She spasmodically quickened her pace; fruitlessly, however, for he gained upon her, and when within a few strides of her exclaimed, ‘Well, my darling!’ Anne started off at a run.
Festus was already out of breath, and soon found that he was not likely to overtake her. On she went, without turning her head, till an unusual noise behind compelled her to look round. His face was in the act of falling back; he swerved on one side, and dropped like a log upon a convenient hedgerow-bank which bordered the path. There he lay quite still.
Anne was somewhat alarmed; and after standing at gaze for two or three minutes, drew nearer to him, a step and a half at a time, wondering and doubting, as a meek ewe draws near to some strolling vagabond who flings himself on the grass near the flock.
‘He is in a swoon!’ she murmured.
Her heart beat quickly, and she looked around. Nobody was in sight; she advanced a step nearer still and observed him again. Apparently his face was turning to a livid hue, and his breathing had become obstructed.
‘’Tis not a swoon; ’tis apoplexy!’ she said, in deep distress. ‘I ought to untie his neck.’ But she was afraid to do this, and only drew a little closer still.
Miss Garland was now within three feet of him, whereupon the senseless man, who could hold his breath no longer, sprang to his feet and darted at her, saying, ‘Ha! ha! a scheme for a kiss!’
She felt his arm slipping round her neck; but, twirling about with amazing dexterity, she wriggled from his embrace and ran away along the field. The force with which she had extricated herself was sufficient to throw Festus upon the grass, and by the time that he got upon his legs again she was many yards off. Uttering a word which was not exactly a blessing, he immediately gave chase; and thus they ran till Anne entered a meadow divided down the middle by a brook about six feet wide. A narrow plank was thrown loosely across at the point where the path traversed this stream, and when Anne reached it she at once scampered over. At the other side she turned her head to gather the probabilities of the situation, which were that Festus Derriman would overtake her even now. By a sudden forethought she stooped, seized the end of the plank, and endeavoured to drag it away from the opposite bank. But the weight was too great for her to do more than slightly move it, and with a desperate sigh she ran on again, having lost many valuable seconds.
But her attempt, though ineffectual in dragging it down, had been enough to unsettle the little bridge; and when Derriman reached the middle, which he did half a minute later, the plank turned over on its edge, tilting him bodily into the river. The water was not remarkably deep, but as the yeoman fell flat on his stomach he was completely immersed; and it was some time before he could drag himself out. When he arose, dripping on the bank, and looked around, Anne had vanished from the mead. Then Festus’s eyes glowed like carbuncles, and he gave voice to fearful imprecations, shaking his fist in the soft summer air towards Anne, in a way that was terrible for any maiden to behold. Wading back through the stream, he walked along its bank with a heavy tread, the water running from his coat-tails, wrists, and the tips of his ears, in silvery dribbles, that sparkled pleasantly in the sun. Thus he hastened away, and went round by a by-path to the hall.
Meanwhile the author of his troubles was rapidly drawing nearer to the mill, and soon, to her inexpressible delight, she saw Bob coming to meet her. She had heard the flounce, and, feeling more secure from her pursuer, had dropped her pace to a quick walk. No sooner did she reach Bob than, overcome by the excitement of the moment, she flung herself into his arms. Bob instantly enclosed her in an embrace so very thorough that there was no possible danger of her falling, whatever degree of exhaustion might have given rise to her somewhat unexpected action; and in this attitude they silently remained, till it was borne in upon Anne that the present was the first time in her life that she had ever been in such a position. Her face then burnt like a sunset, and she did not know how to look up at him. Feeling at length quite safe, she suddenly resolved not to give way to her first impulse to tell him the whole of what had happened, lest there should be a dreadful quarrel and fight between Bob and the yeoman, and great difficulties caused in the Loveday family on her account, the miller having important wheat transactions with the Derrimans.
‘You seem frightened, dearest Anne,’ said Bob tenderly.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I saw a man I did not like the look of, and he was inclined to follow me. But, worse than that, I am troubled about the French. O Bob! I am afraid you will be killed, and my mother, and John, and your father, and all of us hunted down!’
‘Now I have told you, dear little heart, that it cannot be. We shall drive ’em into the sea after a battle or two, even if they land, which I don’t believe they will. We’ve got ninety sail of the line, and though it is rather unfortunate that we should have declared war against Spain at this ticklish time, there’s enough for all.’ And Bob went into elaborate statistics of the navy, army, militia, and volunteers, to prolong the time of holding her. When he had done speaking he drew rather a heavy sigh.
‘What’s the matter, Bob?’
‘I haven’t been yet to offer myself as a sea-fencible, and I ought to have done it long ago.’
‘You are only one. Surely they can do without you?’
Bob shook his head. She arose from her restful position, her eye catching his with a shamefaced expression of having given way at last. Loveday drew from his pocket a paper, and said, as they slowly walked on, ‘Here’s something to make us brave and patriotic. I bought it in Budmouth. Isn’t it a stirring picture?’
It was a hieroglyphic profile of Napoleon. The hat represented a maimed French eagle; the face was ingeniously made up of human carcases, knotted and writhing together in such directions as to form a physiognomy; a band, or stock, shaped to resemble the English Channel, encircled his throat, and seemed to choke him; his epaulette was a hand tearing a cobweb that represented the treaty of peace with England; and his ear was a woman crouching over a dying child.3
‘It is dreadful!’ said Anne. ‘I don’t like to see it.’
She had recovered from her emotion, and walked along beside him with a grave, subdued face. Bob did not like to assume the privileges of an accepted lover and draw her hand through his arm; for, conscious that she naturally belonged to a politer grade than his own, he feared lest her exhibition of tenderness were an impulse which cooler moments might regret. A perfect Paul-and-Virginia life had not absolutely set in for him as yet, and it was not to be hastened by force. When they had passed over the bridge into the mill-front they saw the miller standing at the door with a face of concern.
‘Since you have been gone,’ he said, ‘a Government man has been here, and to all the houses, taking down the numbers of the women and children, and their ages and the number of horses and waggons that can be mustered, in case they have to retreat inland, out of the way of the invading army.’
The little family gathered themselves together, all feeling the crisis more seriously than they liked to express. Mrs. Loveday thought how ridiculous a thing social ambition was in such a conjuncture as this, and vowed that she would leave Anne to love where she would. Anne, too, forgot the little peculiarities of speech and manner in Bob and his father, which sometimes jarred for a moment upon her more refined sense, and was thankful for their love and protection in this looming trouble.
On going upstairs she remembered the paper which Farmer Derriman had given her, and searched in her bosom for it. She could not find it there. ‘I must have left it on the table,’ she said to herself. It did not matter; she remembered every word. She took a pen and wrote a duplicate, which she put safely away.
But Anne was wrong. She had, after all, placed the paper where she supposed, and there it ought to have been. But in escaping from Festus, when he feigned apoplexy, it had fallen out upon the grass. Five minutes after that event, when pursuer and pursued were two or three fields ahead, the gaily-dressed woman whom the yeoman had overtaken, peeped cautiously through the stile into the corner of the field which had been the scene of the scramble; and seeing the paper she climbed over, secured it, loosened the wafer without tearing the sheet, and read the memorandum within. Unable to make anything of its meaning, the saunterer put it in her pocket, and, dismissing the matter from her mind, went on by the by-path which led to the back of the mill. Here, behind the hedge, she stood and surveyed the old building for some time, after which she meditatively turned, and retraced her steps towards the Royal watering-place.
