Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (399 page)

‘I am ruffled,’ said Paula, allowing him to take her hand.

‘What is it?’ said her betrothed.

As Paula did not immediately answer Mrs. Goodman beckoned to Charlotte, and they left the room together.

‘A man has to be given in charge, or a boy, or a demon,’ she replied. ‘I was going to do it, but you can do it better than I. He will run away if we don’t mind.’

‘But, my dear Paula, who is it? — what has he done?’

‘It is Dare — that young man you see out there against the sky.’ She looked from the window sideways towards the new wing, on the roof of which Dare was walking prominently about, after having assisted two of the workmen in putting a red streamer on the tallest scaffold-pole. ‘You must send instantly for Mr. Cunningham Haze!’

‘My dearest Paula,’ repeated De Stancy faintly, his complexion changing to that of a man who had died.

‘Please send for Mr. Haze at once,’ returned Paula, with graceful firmness. ‘I said I would be just to a wronged man before I was generous to you — and I will. That lad Dare — to take a practical view of it — has attempted to defraud me of one hundred pounds sterling, and he shall suffer. I won’t tell you what he has done besides, for though it is worse, it is less tangible. When he is handcuffed and sent off to jail I’ll proceed with my dressing. Will you ring the bell?’

‘Had you not better consider?’ began De Stancy.

‘Consider!’ said Paula, with indignation. ‘I have considered. Will you kindly ring, Sir William, and get Thomas to ride at once to Mr. Haze? Or must I rise from this chair and do it myself?’

‘You are very hasty and abrupt this morning, I think,’ he faltered.

Paula rose determinedly from the chair. ‘Since you won’t do it, I must,’ she said.

‘No, dearest! — Let me beg you not to!’

‘Sir William De Stancy!’

She moved towards the bell-pull; but he stepped before and intercepted her.

‘You must not ring the bell for that purpose,’ he said with husky deliberateness, looking into the depths of her face.

‘It wants two hours to the time when you might have a right to express such a command as that,’ she said haughtily.

‘I certainly have not the honour to be your husband yet,’ he sadly replied, ‘but surely you can listen? There exist reasons against giving this boy in charge which I could easily get you to admit by explanation; but I would rather, without explanation, have you take my word, when I say that by doing so you are striking a blow against both yourself and me.’

Paula, however, had rung the bell.

‘You are jealous of somebody or something perhaps!’ she said, in tones which showed how fatally all this was telling against the intention of that day. ‘I will not be a party to baseness, if it is to save all my fortune!’

The bell was answered quickly. But De Stancy, though plainly in great misery, did not give up his point. Meeting the servant at the door before he could enter the room he said. ‘It is nothing; you can go again.’

Paula looked at the unhappy baronet in amazement; then turning to the servant, who stood with the door in his hand, said, ‘Tell Thomas to saddle the chestnut, and — ’

‘It’s all a mistake,’ insisted De Stancy. ‘Leave the room, James!’

James looked at his mistress.

‘Yes, James, leave the room,’ she calmly said, sitting down. ‘Now what have you to say?’ she asked, when they were again alone. ‘Why must I not issue orders in my own house? Who is this young criminal, that you value his interests higher than my honour? I have delayed for one moment sending my messenger to the chief constable to hear your explanation — only for that.’

‘You will still persevere?’

‘Certainly. Who is he?’

‘Paula... he is my son.’

She remained still as death while one might count ten; then turned her back upon him. ‘I think you had better go away,’ she whispered. ‘You need not come again.’

He did not move. ‘Paula — do you indeed mean this?’ he asked.

‘I do.’

De Stancy walked a few paces, then said in a low voice: ‘Miss Power, I knew — I guessed just now, as soon as it began — that we were going to split on this rock. Well — let it be — it cannot be helped; destiny is supreme. The boy was to be my ruin; he is my ruin, and rightly. But before I go grant me one request. Do not prosecute him. Believe me, I will do everything I can to get him out of your way. He shall annoy you no more.... Do you promise?’

‘I do,’ she said. ‘Now please leave me.’

‘Once more — am I to understand that no marriage is to take place to-day between you and me?’

‘You are.’

Sir William De Stancy left the room. It was noticeable throughout the interview that his manner had not been the manner of a man altogether taken by surprise. During the few preceding days his mood had been that of the gambler seasoned in ill-luck, who adopts pessimist surmises as a safe background to his most sanguine hopes.

She remained alone for some time. Then she rang, and requested that Mr. Wardlaw, her father’s solicitor and friend, would come up to her. A messenger was despatched, not to Mr. Cunningham Haze, but to the parson of the parish, who in his turn sent to the clerk and clerk’s wife, then busy in the church. On receipt of the intelligence the two latter functionaries proceeded to roll up the carpet which had been laid from the door to the gate, put away the kneeling-cushions, locked the doors, and went off to inquire the reason of so strange a countermand. It was soon proclaimed in Markton that the marriage had been postponed for a fortnight in consequence of the bride’s sudden indisposition: and less public emotion was felt than the case might have drawn forth, from the ignorance of the majority of the populace that a wedding had been going to take place at all.

Meanwhile Miss De Stancy had been closeted with Paula for more than an hour. It was a difficult meeting, and a severe test to any friendship but that of the most sterling sort. In the turmoil of her distraction Charlotte had the consolation of knowing that if her act of justice to Somerset at such a moment were the act of a simpleton, it was the only course open to honesty. But Paula’s cheerful serenity in some measure laid her own troubles to rest, till they were reawakened by a rumour — which got wind some weeks later, and quite drowned all other surprises — of the true relation between the vanished clerk of works, Mr. Dare, and the fallen family of De Stancy.

BOOK THE SIXTH. PAULA.

CHAPTER I.

‘I have decided that I cannot see Sir William again: I shall go away,’ said Paula on the evening of the next day, as she lay on her bed in a flushed and highly-strung condition, though a person who had heard her words without seeing her face would have assumed perfect equanimity to be the mood which expressed itself with such quietness. This was the case with her aunt, who was looking out of the window at some idlers from Markton walking round the castle with their eyes bent upon its windows, and she made no haste to reply.

‘Those people have come to see me, as they have a right to do when a person acts so strangely,’ Paula continued. ‘And hence I am better away.’

‘Where do you think to go to?’

Paula replied in the tone of one who was actuated entirely by practical considerations: ‘Out of England certainly. And as Normandy lies nearest, I think I shall go there. It is a very nice country to ramble in.’

‘Yes, it is a very nice country to ramble in,’ echoed her aunt, in moderate tones. ‘When do you intend to start?’

‘I should like to cross to-night. You must go with me, aunt; will you not?’

Mrs. Goodman expostulated against such suddenness. ‘It will redouble the rumours that are afloat, if, after being supposed ill, you are seen going off by railway perfectly well.’

‘That’s a contingency which I am quite willing to run the risk of. Well, it would be rather sudden, as you say, to go to-night. But we’ll go to-morrow night at latest.’ Under the influence of the decision she bounded up like an elastic ball and went to the glass, which showed a light in her eye that had not been there before this resolution to travel in Normandy had been taken.

The evening and the next morning were passed in writing a final and kindly note of dismissal to Sir William De Stancy, in making arrangements for the journey, and in commissioning Havill to take advantage of their absence by emptying certain rooms of their furniture, and repairing their dilapidations — a work which, with that in hand, would complete the section for which he had been engaged. Mr. Wardlaw had left the castle; so also had Charlotte, by her own wish, her residence there having been found too oppressive to herself to be continued for the present. Accompanied by Mrs. Goodman, Milly, and Clementine, the elderly French maid, who still remained with them, Paula drove into Markton in the twilight and took the train to Budmouth.

When they got there they found that an unpleasant breeze was blowing out at sea, though inland it had been calm enough. Mrs. Goodman proposed to stay at Budmouth till the next day, in hope that there might be smooth water; but an English seaport inn being a thing that Paula disliked more than a rough passage, she would not listen to this counsel. Other impatient reasons, too, might have weighed with her. When night came their looming miseries began. Paula found that in addition to her own troubles she had those of three other people to support; but she did not audibly complain.

‘Paula, Paula,’ said Mrs. Goodman from beneath her load of wretchedness, ‘why did we think of undergoing this?’

A slight gleam of humour crossed Paula’s not particularly blooming face, as she answered, ‘Ah, why indeed?’

‘What is the real reason, my dear? For God’s sake tell me!’

‘It begins with S.’

‘Well, I would do anything for that young man short of personal martyrdom; but really when it comes to that — ’

‘Don’t criticize me, auntie, and I won’t criticize you.’

‘Well, I am open to criticism just now, I am sure,’ said her aunt, with a green smile; and speech was again discontinued.

The morning was bright and beautiful, and it could again be seen in Paula’s looks that she was glad she had come, though, in taking their rest at Cherbourg, fate consigned them to an hotel breathing an atmosphere that seemed specially compounded for depressing the spirits of a young woman; indeed nothing had particularly encouraged her thus far in her somewhat peculiar scheme of searching out and expressing sorrow to a gentleman for having believed those who traduced him; and this coup d’audace to which she had committed herself began to look somewhat formidable. When in England the plan of following him to Normandy had suggested itself as the quickest, sweetest, and most honest way of making amends; but having arrived there she seemed further off from his sphere of existence than when she had been at Stancy Castle. Virtually she was, for if he thought of her at all, he probably thought of her there; if he sought her he would seek her there. However, as he would probably never do the latter, it was necessary to go on. It had been her sudden dream before starting, to light accidentally upon him in some romantic old town of this romantic old province, but she had become aware that the recorded fortune of lovers in that respect was not to be trusted too implicitly.

Somerset’s search for her in the south was now inversely imitated. By diligent inquiry in Cherbourg during the gloom of evening, in the disguise of a hooded cloak, she learnt out the place of his stay while there, and that he had gone thence to Lisieux. What she knew of the architectural character of Lisieux half guaranteed the truth of the information. Without telling her aunt of this discovery she announced to that lady that it was her great wish to go on and see the beauties of Lisieux.

But though her aunt was simple, there were bounds to her simplicity. ‘Paula,’ she said, with an undeceivable air, ‘I don’t think you should run after a young man like this. Suppose he shouldn’t care for you by this time.’

It was no occasion for further affectation. ‘I am SURE he will,’ answered her niece flatly. ‘I have not the least fear about it — nor would you, if you knew how he is. He will forgive me anything.’

‘Well, pray don’t show yourself forward. Some people are apt to fly into extremes.’

Paula blushed a trifle, and reflected, and made no answer. However, her purpose seemed not to be permanently affected, for the next morning she was up betimes and preparing to depart; and they proceeded almost without stopping to the architectural curiosity-town which had so quickly interested her. Nevertheless her ardent manner of yesterday underwent a considerable change, as if she had a fear that, as her aunt suggested, in her endeavour to make amends for cruel injustice, she was allowing herself to be carried too far.

On nearing the place she said, ‘Aunt, I think you had better call upon him; and you need not tell him we have come on purpose. Let him think, if he will, that we heard he was here, and would not leave without seeing him. You can also tell him that I am anxious to clear up a misunderstanding, and ask him to call at our hotel.’

But as she looked over the dreary suburban erections which lined the road from the railway to the old quarter of the town, it occurred to her that Somerset would at that time of day be engaged in one or other of the mediaeval buildings thereabout, and that it would be a much neater thing to meet him as if by chance in one of these edifices than to call upon him anywhere. Instead of putting up at any hotel, they left the maids and baggage at the station; and hiring a carriage, Paula told the coachman to drive them to such likely places as she could think of.

‘He’ll never forgive you,’ said her aunt, as they rumbled into the town.

‘Won’t he?’ said Paula, with soft faith. ‘I’ll see about that.’

‘What are you going to do when you find him? Tell him point-blank that you are in love with him?’

‘Act in such a manner that he may tell me he is in love with me.’

They first visited a large church at the upper end of a square that sloped its gravelled surface to the western shine, and was pricked out with little avenues of young pollard limes. The church within was one to make any Gothic architect take lodgings in its vicinity for a fortnight, though it was just now crowded with a forest of scaffolding for repairs in progress. Mrs. Goodman sat down outside, and Paula, entering, took a walk in the form of a horse-shoe; that is, up the south aisle, round the apse, and down the north side; but no figure of a melancholy young man sketching met her eye anywhere. The sun that blazed in at the west doorway smote her face as she emerged from beneath it and revealed real sadness there.