The Palliser Novels: Complete Parliamentary Chronicles (All Six Novels in One Volume). Anthony Trollope
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“Why, you haven’t been and married him since yesterday? He only had twenty-four hours’ start of me, I know. Or, perhaps, you had it done clandestine in Norwich? Oh, Mrs Greenow!”
He got out of the gig, and the three walked back towards the Hall together, while the boy drove on with Mr Cheesacre’s carpetbag. “I hardly know,” said Mrs Greenow, “whether we can welcome you. There are other visitors, and the house is full.”
“I’m not one to intrude where I’m not wanted. You may be sure of that. If I can’t get my supper for love, I can get it for money. That’s more than some people can say. I wonder when you’re going to pay me what you owe me, Lieutenant Bellfield?”
Nevertheless, the widow had contrived to reconcile the two men before she reached the Hall. They had actually shaken hands, and the lamb Cheesacre had agreed to lie down with the wolf Bellfield. Cheesacre, moreover, had contrived to whisper into the widow’s ears the true extent of his errand into Westmoreland. This, however, he did not do altogether in Bellfield’s hearing. When Mrs Greenow ascertained that there was something to be said, she made no scruple in sending her betrothed away from her “You won’t throw a fellow over, will you, now?” whispered Bellfield into her ear as he went. She merely frowned at him, and bade him begone, so that the walk which Mrs Greenow began with one lover she ended in company with the other.
Bellfield, who was sent on to the house, found Alice and Kate surveying the newly arrived carpet bag. “He knows ‘un,” said the boy who had driven the gig, pointing to the Captain.
“It belongs to your old friend, Mr Cheesacre,” said Bellfield to Kate.
“And has he come too?” said Kate.
The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that it was hard. “And it’s not the slightest use,” said he, “not the least in the world. He never had a chance in that quarter.”
“Not enough of the rocks and valleys about him, was there, Captain Bellfield?” said Kate. But Captain Bellfield understood nothing about the rocks and valleys, though he was regarded by certain eyes as being both a rock and a valley himself.
In the meantime Cheesacre was telling his story. He first asked, in a melancholy tone, whether it was really necessary that he must abandon all his hopes. “He wasn’t going to say anything against the Captain,” he said, “if things were really fixed. He never begrudged any man his chance.”
“Things are really fixed,” said Mrs Greenow.
He could, however, not keep himself from hinting that Oileymead was a substantial home, and that Bellfield had not as much as a straw mattress to lie upon. In answer to this Mrs Greenow told him that there was so much more reason why some one should provide the poor man with a mattress. “If you look at it in that light, of course it’s true,” said Cheesacre. Mrs Greenow told him that she did look at it in that light. “Then I’ve done about that,” said Cheesacre; “and as to the little bit of money he owes me, I must give him his time about it, I suppose.” Mrs Greenow assured him that it should be paid as soon as possible after the nuptial benediction had been said over them. She offered, indeed, to pay it at once if he was in distress for it, but he answered contemptuously that he never was in distress for money. He liked to have his own,—that was all.
After this he did not get away to his next subject quite so easily as he wished; and it must be admitted that there was a difficulty. As he could not have Mrs Greenow he would be content to put up with Kate for his wife. That was his next subject. Rumours as to the old Squire’s will had no doubt reached him, and he was now willing to take advantage of that assistance which Mrs Greenow had before offered him in this matter. The time had come in which he ought to marry; of that he was aware. He had told many of his friends in Norfolk that Kate Vavasor had thrown herself at his head, and very probably he had thought it true. In answer to all his love speeches to herself, the aunt had always told him what an excellent wife her niece would make him. So now he had come to Westmoreland with this second string to his bow. “You know you put it into my head your own self,” pleaded Mr Cheesacre. “Didn’t you, now?”
“But things are so different since that,” said the widow.
“How different? I ain’t different. There’s Oileymead just where it always was, and the owner of it don’t owe a shilling to any man. How are things different?”
“My niece has inherited property.”
“And is that to make a change? Oh! Mrs Greenow, who would have thought to find you mercenary like that? Inherited property! Is she going to fling a man over because of that?”
Mrs Greenow endeavoured to explain to him that her niece could hardly be said to have flung him over, and at last pretended to become angry when he attempted to assert his position. “Why, Mr Cheesacre, I am quite sure she never gave you a word of encouragement in her life.”
“But you always told me I might have her for the asking.”
“And now I tell you that you mayn’t. It’s of no use your going on there to ask her, for she will only send you away with an answer you won’t like. Look here, Mr Cheesacre; you want to get married, and it’s quite time you should. There’s my dear friend Charlie Fairstairs. How could you get a better wife than Charlie?”
“Charlie Fairstairs!” said Cheesacre, turning up his nose in disgust. “She hasn’t got a penny, nor any one belonging to her. The man who marries her will have to find the money for the smock she stands up in.”
“Who’s mercenary now, Mr Cheesacre? Do you go home and think of it; and if you’ll marry Charlie, I’ll go to your wedding. You shan’t be ashamed of her clothing. I’ll see to that.”
They were now close to the gate, and Cheesacre paused before he entered. “Do you think there’s no chance at all for me, then?” said he.
“I know there’s none. I’ve heard her speak about it.”
“Somebody else, perhaps, is the happy man?”
“I can’t say anything about that, but I know that she wouldn’t take you. I like farming, you know, but she doesn’t.”
“I might give that up,” said Cheesacre readily,—”at any rate, for a time.”
“No, no, no; it would do no good. Believe me, my friend, that it is of no use.”
He still paused at the gate. “I don’t see what’s the use of my going in,” said he. To this she made him no answer. “There’s a pride about me,” he continued, “that I don’t choose to go where I’m not wanted.”
“I can’t tell you, Mr Cheesacre, that you are wanted in that light, certainly.”
“Then I’ll go. Perhaps you’ll be so good as to tell the boy with the gig to come after me? That’s six pound ten it will have cost me to come here and go back. Bellfield did it cheaper, of course; he travelled second class. I heard of him as I came along.”
“The expense does not matter to you, Mr Cheesacre.”
To this he assented, and then took his leave, at first offering his hand to Mrs Greenow with an air of offended dignity, but falling back almost into humility during the performance of his adieu. Before he was gone he had invited her to bring the Captain to Oileymead when she was married, and had begged her to tell Miss Vavasor how happy he should be to receive her. “And Mr Cheesacre,” said the widow, as he walked back along the road, “don’t forget dear Charlie Fairstairs.”
They were all standing at the front door of the house when Mrs Greenow reappeared,—Alice, Kate, Captain Bellfield, the Shap boy, and the Shap horse and gig. “Where is he?” Kate asked in a low voice, and everyone there felt how important was the question. “He has gone,” said the widow. Bellfield was so relieved that he could not restrain his joy, but took off his little straw hat and threw it up into the air. Kate’s satisfaction was almost as intense. “I am so glad,” said