CHAPTER X
KENELM turned from the sight of Punch and Punch’s friend the cur, as his servant, entering, said a person from the country, who would not give his name, asked to see him.
Thinking it might be some message from his father, Kenelm ordered the stranger to be admitted, and in another minute there entered a young man of handsome countenance and powerful frame, in whom, after a surprised stare, Kenelm recognized Tom Bowles. Difficult indeed would have been that recognition to an unobservant beholder: no trace was left of the sullen bully or the village farrier; the expression of the face was mild and intelligent,—more bashful than hardy; the brute strength of the form had lost its former clumsiness, the simple dress was that of a gentleman,—to use an expressive idiom, the whole man was wonderfully “toned down.”
“I am afraid, sir, I am taking a liberty,” said Tom, rather nervously, twiddling his hat between his fingers.
“I should be a greater friend to liberty than I am if it were always taken in the same way,” said Kenelm, with a touch of his saturnine humour; but then yielding at once to the warmer impulse of his nature, he grasped his old antagonist’s hand and exclaimed, “My dear Tom, you are so welcome. I am so glad to see you. Sit down, man; sit down: make yourself at home.”
“I did not know you were back in England, sir, till within the last few days; for you did say that when you came back I should see or hear from you,” and there was a tone of reproach in the last words.
“I am to blame, forgive me,” said Kenelm, remorsefully. “But how did you find me out? you did not then, I think, even know my name. That, however, it was easy enough to discover; but who gave you my address in this lodging?”
“Well, sir, it was Miss Travers; and she bade me come to you. Otherwise, as you did not send for me, it was scarcely my place to call uninvited.”
“But, my dear Tom, I never dreamed that you were in London. One don’t ask a man whom one supposes to be more than a hundred miles off to pay one an afternoon call. You are still with your uncle, I presume? and I need not ask if all thrives well with you: you look a prosperous man, every inch of you, from crown to toe.”
“Yes,” said Tom; “thank you kindly, sir, I am doing well in the way of business, and my uncle is to give me up the whole concern at Christmas.”
While Tom thus spoke Kenelm had summoned his servant, and ordered up such refreshments as could be found in the larder of a bachelor in lodgings. “And what brings you to town, Tom?”
“Miss Travers wrote to me about a little business which she was good enough to manage for me, and said you wished to know about it; and so, after turning it over in my mind for a few days, I resolved to come to town: indeed,” added Tom, heartily, “I did wish to see your face again.”
“But you talk riddles. What business of yours could Miss Travers imagine I wished to know about?”
Tom coloured high, and looked very embarrassed. Luckily, the servant here entering with the refreshment-tray allowed him time to recover himself. Kenelm helped him to a liberal slice of cold pigeon-pie, pressed wine on him, and did not renew the subject till he thought his guest’s tongue was likely to be more freely set loose; then he said, laying a friendly hand on Tom’s shoulders, “I have been thinking over what passed between me and Miss Travers. I wished to have the new address of Will Somers; she promised to write to his benefactor to ask permission to give it. You are that benefactor?”
“Don’t say benefactor, sir. I will tell how it came about if you will let me. You see, I sold my little place at Graveleigh to the new Squire, and when Mother removed to Luscombe to be near me, she told me how poor Jessie had been annoyed by Captain Stavers, who seems to think his purchase included the young women on the property along with the standing timber; and I was half afraid that she had given some cause for his persecution, for you know she has a blink of those soft eyes of hers that might charm a wise man out of his skin and put a fool there instead.”
“But I hope she has done with those blinks since her marriage.”
“Well, and I honestly think she has. It is certain she did not encourage Captain Stavers, for I went over to Graveleigh myself on the sly, and lodged concealed with one of the cottagers who owed me a kindness; and one day, as I was at watch, I saw the Captain peering over the stile which divides Holmwood from the glebe,—you remember Holmwood?”
“I can’t say I do.”
“The footway from the village to Squire Travers’s goes through the wood, which is a few hundred yards at the back of Will Somers’s orchard. Presently the Captain drew himself suddenly back from the stile, and disappeared among the trees, and then I saw Jessie coming from the orchard with a basket over her arm, and walking quick towards the wood. Then, sir, my heart sank. I felt sure she was going to meet the Captain. However, I crept along the hedgerow, hiding myself, and got into the wood almost as soon as Jessie got there, by another way. Under the cover of the brushwood I stole on till I saw the Captain come out from the copse on the other side of the path, and plant himself just before Jessie. Then I saw at once I had wronged her. She had not expected to see him, for she hastily turned back, and began to run homeward; but he caught her up, and seized her by the arm. I could not hear what he said, but I heard her voice quite sharp with fright and anger. And then he suddenly seized her round the waist, and she screamed, and I sprang forward—”
“And thrashed the Captain?”
“No, I did not,” said Tom; “I had made a vow to myself that I never would be violent again if I could help it. So I took him with one hand by the cuff of the neck, and with the other by the waistband, and just pitched him on a bramble bush,—quite mildly. He soon picked himself up, for he is a dapper little chap, and became very blustering and abusive. But I kept my temper, and said civilly, ‘Little gentleman, hard words break no bones; but if ever you molest Mrs. Somers again, I will carry you into her orchard, souse you into the duck-pond there, and call all the villagers to see you scramble out of it again; and I will do it now if you are not off. I dare say you have heard of my name: I am Tom Bowles.’ Upon that his face, which was before very red, grew very white, and muttering something I did not hear, he walked away.
“Jessie—I mean Mrs. Somers—seemed at first as much frightened at me as she had been at the Captain; and though I offered to walk with her to Miss Travers’s, where she was going with a basket which the young lady had ordered, she refused, and went back home. I felt hurt, and returned to my uncle’s the same evening; and it was not for months that I heard the Captain had been spiteful enough to set up an opposition shop, and that poor Will had been taken ill, and his wife was confined about the same time, and the talk was that they were in distress and might have to be sold up.
“When I heard all this, I thought that after all it was my rough tongue that had so angered the Captain and been the cause of his spite, and so it was my duty to make it up to poor Will and his wife. I did not know how to set about mending matters, but I thought I’d go and talk to Miss Travers; and if ever there was a kind heart in a girl’s breast, hers is one.”
“You are right there, I guess. What did Miss Travers say?”
“Nay; I hardly know what she did say, but she set me thinking, and it struck me that Jessie—Mrs. Somers—had better move to a distance, and out of the Captain’s reach, and that Will would do better in a less out-of-the-way place. And then, by good luck, I read in the newspaper that a stationary and a fancywork business, with a circulating library, was to be sold on moderate terms at Moleswich, the other side of London. So I took the train and went to the place, and thought the shop would just suit these young folks, and not be too much work for either; then I went to Miss Travers, and I had a lot of money lying by me from the sale of the old forge and premises, which I did not know what to do with; and so, to cut short a long story, I bought the business, and Will and his wife are settled at Moleswich, thriving and happy, I hope, sir.”
Tom’s voice quivered at the last words, and he turned aside quickly, passing his hand over his eyes.
Kenelm was greatly moved.
“And they don’t know what you did for them?”
“To be sure not. I don’t think Will would have let him self be beholden to me. Ah! the lad has a spirit of his own, and Jessie—Mrs. Somers—would have felt pained and humbled that I should even think of such a thing. Miss Travers managed it all. They take the money as a loan which is to be paid by instalments. They have sent Miss Travers more than one instalment already, so I know they are doing well.”
“A loan from Miss Travers?”
“No; Miss Travers wanted to have a share in it, but I begged her not. It made me happy to do what I did all myself; and Miss Travers felt for me and did not press. They perhaps think it is Squire Travers (though he is not a man who would like to say it, for fear it should bring applicants on him), or some other gentleman who takes an interest in them.”
“I always said you were a grand fellow, Tom. But you are grander still than I thought you.”
“If there be any good in me, I owe it to you, sir. Think what a drunken, violent brute I was when I first met you. Those walks with you, and I may say that other gentleman’s talk, and then that long kind letter I had from you, not signed in your name, and written from abroad,—all these changed me, as the child is changed at nurse.”
“You have evidently read a good deal since we parted.”
“Yes; I belong to our young men’s library and institute; and when of an evening I get hold of a book, especially a pleasant story-book, I don’t care for other company.”
“Have you never seen any other girl you could care for, and wish to marry?”
“Ah, sir,” answered Tom, “a man does not go so mad for a girl as I did for Jessie Wiles, and when it is all over, and he has come to his senses, put his heart into joint again as easily as if it were only a broken leg. I don’t say that I may not live to love and to marry another woman: it is my wish to do so. But I know that I shall love Jessie to my dying day; but not sinfully, sir,—not sinfully. I would not wrong her by a thought.”
There was a long pause.
At last Kenelm said, “You promised to be kind to that little girl with the flower-ball; what has become of her?”
“She is quite well, thank you, sir. My aunt has taken a great fancy to her, and so has my mother. She comes to them very often of an evening, and brings her work with her. A quick, intelligent little thing, and full of pretty thoughts. On Sundays, if the weather is fine, we stroll out together in the fields.”
“She has been a comfort to you, Tom.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And loves you?”
“I am sure she does; an affectionate, grateful child.”
“She will be a woman soon, Tom, and may love you as a woman then.”
Tom looked indignant and rather scornful at that suggestion, and hastened to revert to the subject more immediately at his heart.
“Miss Travers said you would like to call on Will Somers and his wife; will you? Moleswich is not far from London, you know.”
“Certainly, I will call.”
“I do hope you will find them happy; and if so, perhaps you will kindly let me know; and—and—I wonder whether Jessie’s child is like her? It is a boy; somehow or other I would rather it had been a girl.”
“I will write you full particulars. But why not come with me?”
“No, I don’t think I could do that, just at present. It unsettled me sadly when I did again see her sweet face at Graveleigh, and she was still afraid of me too! that was a sharp pang.”
“She ought to know what you have done for her, and will.”
“On no account, sir; promise me that. I should feel mean if I humbled them,—that way.”
“I understand, though I will not as yet make you any positive promise. Meanwhile, if you are staying in town, lodge with me; my landlady can find you a room.”
“Thank you heartily, sir; but I go back by the evening train; and, bless me! how late it is now! I must wish you good-by. I have some commissions to do for my aunt, and I must buy a new doll for Susey.”
“Susey is the name of the little girl with the flower-ball?”
“Yes. I must run off now; I feel quite light at heart seeing you again and finding that you receive me still so kindly, as if we were equals.”
“Ah, Tom, I wish I was your equal,—nay, half as noble as Heaven has made you!”
Tom laughed incredulously, and went his way.
“This mischievous passion of love,” said Kenelm to himself, “has its good side, it seems, after all. If it was nearly making a wild beast of that brave fellow,—nay, worse than wild beast, a homicide doomed to the gibbet,—so, on the other hand, what a refined, delicate, chivalrous nature of gentleman it has developed out of the stormy elements of its first madness! Yes, I will go and look at this new-married couple. I dare say they are already snarling and spitting at each other like cat and dog. Moleswich is within reach of a walk.”
BOOK V
CHAPTER I
TWO days after the interview recorded in the last chapter of the previous Book, Travers, chancing to call at Kenelm’s lodgings, was told by his servant that Mr. Chillingly had left London, alone, and had given no orders as to forwarding letters. The servant did not know where he had gone, or when he would return.
Travers repeated this news incidentally to Cecilia, and she felt somewhat hurt that he had not written her a line respecting Tom’s visit. She, however, guessed that he had gone to see the Somerses, and would return to town in a day or so. But weeks passed, the season drew to its close, and of Kenelm Chillingly she saw or heard nothing: he had wholly vanished from the London world. He had but written a line to his servant, ordering him to repair to Exmundham and await him there, and enclosing him a check to pay outstanding bills.
We must now follow the devious steps of the strange being who has grown into the hero of this story. He had left his apartment at daybreak long before his servant was up, with his knapsack, and a small portmanteau, into which he had thrust—besides such additional articles of dress as he thought he might possibly require, and which his knapsack could not contain—a few of his favourite books. Driving with these in a hack-cab to the Vauxhall station, he directed the portmanteau to be forwarded to Moleswich, and flinging the knapsack on his shoulders, walked slowly along the drowsy suburbs that stretched far into the landscape, before, breathing more freely, he found some evidences of rural culture on either side of the high road. It was not, however, till he had left the roofs and trees of pleasant Richmond far behind him that he began to feel he was out of reach of the metropolitan disquieting influences. Finding at a little inn, where he stopped to breakfast, that there was a path along fields, and in sight of the river, through which he could gain the place of his destination, he then quitted the high road, and traversing one of the loveliest districts in one of our loveliest counties, he reached Moleswich about noon.
CHAPTER II
ON entering the main street of the pretty town, the name of Somers, in gilt capitals, was sufficiently conspicuous over the door of a very imposing shop. It boasted two plate-glass windows, at one of which were tastefully exhibited various articles of fine stationery, embroidery patterns, etc.; at the other, no less tastefully, sundry specimens of ornamental basket-work.
Kenelm crossed the threshold and recognized behind the counter—fair as ever, but with an expression of face more staid, and a figure more rounded and matron-like—his old friend Jessie. There were two or three customers before her, between whom she was dividing her attention. While a handsome young lady, seated, was saying, in a somewhat loud but cheery and pleasant voice, “Do not mind me, Mrs. Somers: I can wait,” Jessie’s quick eye darted towards the stranger, but too rapidly to distinguish his features, which, indeed, he turned away, and began to examine the baskets.
In a minute or so the other customers were served and had departed; and the voice of the lady was again heard, “Now, Mrs. Somers, I want to see your picture-books and toys. I am giving a little children’s party this afternoon, and I want to make them as happy as possible.”
“Somewhere or other, on this planet, or before my Monad was whisked away to it, I have heard that voice,” muttered Kenelm. While Jessie was alertly bringing forth her toys and picture-books, she said, “I am sorry to keep you waiting, sir; but if it is the baskets you come about, I can call my husband.”
“Do,” said Kenelm.
“William, William,” cried Mrs. Somers; and after a delay long enough to allow him to slip on his jacket, William Somers emerged from the back parlour.
His face had lost its old trace of suffering and ill health; it was still somewhat pale, and retained its expression of intellectual refinement.
“How you have improved in your art!” said Kenelm, heartily.
William started, and recognized Kenelm at once. He sprang forward and took Kenelm’s outstretched hand in both his own, and, in a voice between laughing and crying, exclaimed, “Jessie, Jessie, it is he!—he whom we pray for every night. God bless you! God bless and make you as happy as He permitted you to make me!”
Before this little speech was faltered out, Jessie was by her husband’s side, and she added, in a lower voice, but tremulous with deep feeling, “And me too!”
“By your leave, Will,” said Kenelm, and he saluted Jessie’s white forehead with a kiss that could not have been kindlier or colder if it had been her grandfather’s.
Meanwhile the lady had risen noiselessly and unobserved, and stealing up to Kenelm, looked him full in the face.
“You have another friend here, sir, who has also some cause to thank you—”
“I thought I remembered your voice,” said Kenelm, looking puzzled. “But pardon me if I cannot recall your features. Where have we met before?”
“Give me your arm when we go out, and I will bring myself to your recollection. But no: I must not hurry you away now. I will call again