Rachel Ray Part 57

Rowan--"

"Call him Luke, mamma."

"When she first heard of him she was taught to believe that he was giddy, and that he didn't mean anything."

"Why should she think evil of people? Who taught her?"

"Miss Pucker, and Mr. p.r.o.ng, and that set."

"Yes; and they are the people who talk most of Christian charity!"

"But, my dear, they don't mean to be uncharitable. They try to do good. If Dorothea really thought that this young man was a dangerous acquaintance what could she do but say so? And you can't expect her to turn round all in a minute. Think how she has been troubled herself about this affair of Mr. p.r.o.ng's."

"But that's no reason she should say that Luke is dangerous.

Dangerous! What makes me so angry is that she should think everybody is a fool except herself. Why should anybody be more dangerous to me than to anybody else?"

"Well, my dear, I think that perhaps she is not so wrong there. Of course everything is all right with you now, and I'm sure I'm the happiest woman in the world to feel that it is so. I don't know how to be thankful enough when I think how things have turned out;--but when I first heard of him I thought he was dangerous too."

"But you don't think he is dangerous now, mamma?"

"No, my dear; of course I don't. And I never did after he drank tea here that night; only Mr. Comfort told me it wouldn't be safe not to see how things went a little before you,--you understand, dearest?"

"Yes, I understand. I ain't a bit obliged to Mr. Comfort, though I mean to forgive him because of Mrs. Cornbury. She has behaved best through it all,--next to you, mamma."

I am afraid it was late before Mrs. Ray went to sleep that night, and I almost doubt whether Rachel slept at all. It seemed to her that in the present condition of her life sleep could hardly be necessary.

During the last month past she had envied those who slept while she was kept awake by her sorrow. She had often struggled to sleep as she sat in her chair, so that she might escape for a few moments from the torture of her waking thoughts. But why need she sleep now that every thought was a new pleasure? There was no moment that she had ever pa.s.sed with him that had not to be recalled. There was no word of his that had not to be re-weighed. She remembered, or fancied that she remembered, her idea of the man when her eye first fell upon his outside form. She would have sworn that her first glance of him had conveyed to her far more than had ever come to her from many a day's casual looking at any other man. She could almost believe that he had been specially made and destined for her behoof. She blushed even while lying in bed as she remembered how the gait of the man, and the tone of his voice, had taken possession of her eyes and ears from the first day on which she had met him. When she had gone to Mrs.

Tappitt's party, so consciously alive to the fact that he was to be there, she had told herself that she was sure she thought no more of him than of any other man that she might meet; but she now declared to herself that she had been a weak fool in thus attempting to deceive herself; that she had loved him from the first,--or at any rate from that evening when he had told her of the beauty of the clouds; and that from that day to the present hour there had been no other chance of happiness to her but that chance which had now been so wondrously decided in her favour. When she came down to breakfast on the next morning she was very quiet,--so quiet that her sister almost thought she was frightened at her future prospects; but I think that there was no such fear. She was so happy that she could afford to be tranquil in her happiness.

On that day Rowan came out to the cottage in the evening and was formally introduced to Mrs. Prime. Mrs. Ray, I fear, did not find the little tea-party so agreeable on that evening as she had done on the previous occasion. Mrs. Prime did make some effort at conversation; she did endeavour to receive the young man as her future brother-in-law; she was gracious to him with such graciousness as she possessed;--but the duration of their meal was terribly long, and even Mrs. Ray herself felt relieved when the two lovers went forth together for their evening walk. I think there must have been some triumph in Rachel's heart as she tied on her hat before she started.

I think she must have remembered the evening on which her sister had been so urgent with her to go to the Dorcas meeting;--when she had so obstinately refused that invitation, and had instead gone out to meet the Tappitt girls, and had met with them the young man of whom her sister had before been speaking with so much horror. Now he was there on purpose to take her with him, and she went forth with him, leaning lovingly on his arm, while yet close under her sister's eyes. I think there must have been a gleam of triumph in her face as she put her hand with such confidence well round her lover's arm.

Girls do triumph in their lovers,--in their acknowledged and permitted lovers, as young men triumph in their loves which are not acknowledged or perhaps permitted. A man's triumph is for the most part over when he is once allowed to take his place at the family table, as a right, next to his betrothed. He begins to feel himself to be a sacrificial victim,--done up very prettily with blue and white ribbons round his horns, but still an ox prepared for sacrifice. But the girl feels herself to be exalted for those few weeks as a conqueror, and to be carried along in an ovation of which that bucolic victim, tied round with blue ribbons on to his horns, is the chief grace and ornament. In this mood, no doubt, both Rachel and Luke Rowan went forth, leaving the two widows together in the cottage.

"It is pretty to see her so happy, isn't it now?" said Mrs. Ray.

The question for the moment made Mrs. Prime uncomfortable and almost wretched, but it gave her the opportunity which in her heart she desired of recanting her error in regard to Luke Rowan's character.

She wished to give in her adhesion to the marriage,--to be known to have acknowledged its fitness so that she could, with some true word of sisterly love, wish her sister well. In Rachel's presence she could not have first made this recantation. Though Rachel spoke no triumph, there was a triumph in her eye, which prevented almost the possibility of such yielding on the part of Dorothea. But when the thing should have been once done, when she should once have owned that Rachel was not wrong, then gradually she could bring herself round to the utterance of some kindly expression.

"Pretty," she said; "yes, it is pretty. I do not know that anybody ever doubted its prettiness."

"And isn't it nice too? Dear girl! It does make me so happy to see her light-hearted again. She has had a sad time of it, Dorothea, since we made her write that letter to him; a very sad time of it."

"People here, mother, do mostly have what you call a sad time of it.

Are we not taught that it is better for us that it should be so? Have not you and I, mother, had a sad time of it? It would be all sad enough if this were to be the end of it."

"Yes, just so; of course we know that. But it can't be wrong that she should be happy now, when things are so bright all around her. You wouldn't have thought it better for her, or for him either, that they should be kept apart, seeing that they really love each other?"

"No; I don't say that. If they love one another of course it is right that they should marry. I only wish we had known him longer."

"I am not sure that these things always go much better because young people have known each other all their lives. It seems to be certain that he is an industrious, steady young man. Everybody seems to speak well of him now."

"Well, mother, I have nothing to say against him,--not a word. And if it will give Rachel any pleasure,--though I don't suppose it will, the least in the world; but if it would, she may know that I think she has done wisely to accept him."

"Indeed it will; the greatest pleasure."

"And I hope they will be happy together for very many years. I love Rachel dearly, though I fear she does not think so, and anything I have said, I have said in love, not in anger."

"I'm sure of that, Dorothea."

"Now that she is to be settled in life as a married woman, of course she must not look for counsel either to you or to me. She must obey him, and I hope that G.o.d may give him grace to direct her steps aright."

"Amen!" said Mrs. Ray, solemnly. It was thus that Mrs. Prime read her recantation, which was repeated on that evening to Rachel with some little softening touches. "You won't be living together in the same house after a bit," said Mrs. Ray, thinking, with some sadness, that those little evening festivities of b.u.t.tered toast and thick cream were over for her now,--"but I do hope you will be friends."

"Of course we will, mamma. She has only to put out her hand the least little bit in the world, and I will go the rest of the way. As for her living, I don't know what will be best about that, because Luke says that of course you'll come and live with us."

It was two or three days after this that Rachel saw the Tappitt girls for the first time since the fact of her engagement had become known.

It was in the evening, and she had been again walking with Luke, when she met them; but at that moment she was alone. Augusta would have turned boldly away, though they had all come closely together before either had been aware of the presence of the other. But to this both Martha and Cherry objected.

"We have heard of your engagement," said Martha, "and we congratulate you. You have heard, of course, that we are going to move to Torquay, and we hope that you will be comfortable at the brewery."

"Yes," said Augusta, "the place isn't what it used to be, and so we think it best to go. Mamma has already looked at a villa near Torquay, which will suit us delightfully."

Then they pa.s.sed on, but Cherry remained behind to say another word.

"I am so happy," said Cherry, "that you and he have hit it off. He's a charming fellow, and I always said he was to fall in love with you.

After the ball of course there wasn't a doubt about it. Mind you send us cake, dear; and by-and-by we'll come and see you at the old place, and be better friends than ever we were."

CHAPTER XV.

CONCLUSION.

Early in November Mr. Tappitt officially announced his intention of abdicating, and the necessary forms and deeds and parchment obligations were drawn out, signed and sealed, for the giving up of the brewery to Luke Rowan. Mr. Honyman's clerk revelled in thinly-covered folio sheets to the great comfort and profit of his master; while Mr. Sharpit went about Baslehurst declaring that Tappitt was an egregious a.s.s, and hinting that Rowan was little better than a clever swindler. What he said, however, had but little effect on Baslehurst. It had become generally understood that Rowan would spend money in the town, employing labour and struggling to go ahead, and Baslehurst knew that such a man was desirable as a citizen. The parchments were prepared, and the signatures were written with the necessary amount of witnessing, and Tappitt and Rowan once more met each other on friendly terms. Tappitt had endeavoured to avoid this, pleading, both to Honyman and to his wife, that his personal dislike to the young man was as great as ever; but they had not permitted him thus to indulge his wrath. Mr. Honyman pointed out to Mrs. Tappitt that such ill-humour might be very detrimental to their future interests, and Tappitt had been made to give way. We may as well declare at once that the days of Tappitt's domestic dominion were over, as is generally the case with a man who retires from work and allows himself to be placed, as a piece of venerable furniture, in the chimney corner. Hitherto he, and he only, had known what funds could be made available out of the brewery for household purposes; and Mrs. Tappitt had been subject, at every turn of her life, to provoking intimations of reduced profits: but now there was the clear thousand a year, and she could demand her rights in accordance with that sum. Tappitt, too, could never again stray away from home with mysterious hints that matters connected with malt and hops must be discussed at places in which beer was consumed. He had no longer left to him any excuse for deviating from the regular course of his life even by a hair's breadth; and before two years were over he had learned to regard it almost as a favour to be allowed to take a walk with one of his own girls. No man should abdicate,--unless, indeed, he does so for his soul's advantage. As to happiness in this life it is hardly compatible with that diminished respect which ever attends the relinquis.h.i.+ng of labour. Otium c.u.m dignitate is a dream. There is no such position at any rate for the man who has once worked. He may have the ease or he may have the dignity; but he can hardly combine the two. This truth the unfortunate Tappitt learned before he had been three months settled in the Torquay villa.

He was called upon to meet Rowan on friendly terms, and he obeyed.

The friends.h.i.+p was not very cordial, but such as it was it served its purpose. The meeting took place in the dining-room of the brewery, and Mrs. Tappitt was present on the occasion. The lady received her visitor with some little affectation of grandeur, while T., standing with his hands in his pockets on his own rug, looked like a whipped hound. The right hand he was soon forced to bring forth, as Rowan demanded it that he might shake it.

"I am very glad that this affair has been settled between us amicably," said Luke, while he still held the hand of the abdicating brewer.

"Yes; well, I suppose it's for the best," said Tappitt, bringing out his words uncomfortably and with hesitation. "Take care and mind what you're about, or I suppose I shall have to come back again."

"There'll be no fear of that, I think," said Rowan.

"I hope not," said Mrs. Tappitt, with a tone that showed that she was much better able to master the occasion than her husband. "I hope not; but this is a great undertaking for so young a man, and I trust you feel your responsibility. It would be disagreeable to us, of course, to have to return to the brewery after having settled ourselves pleasantly at Torquay; but we shall have to do so if things go wrong with you."

"Don't be frightened, Mrs. Tappitt; you shall never have to come back here."