XV. 'CAPTAIN' BOB LOVEDAY OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE
While Loveday and his neighbours were thus rambling forth, full of
expectancy, some of them, including Anne in the rear, heard the
crackling of light wheels along the curved lane to which the path
was the chord. At once Anne thought, 'Perhaps that's he, and we are
missing him.' But recent events were not of a kind to induce her to
say anything; and the others of the company did not reflect on the
sound.
Had they gone across to the hedge which hid the lane, and looked
through it, they would have seen a light cart driven by a boy,
beside whom was seated a seafaring man, apparently of good standing
in the merchant service, with his feet outside on the shaft. The
vehicle went over the main bridge, turned in upon the other bridge
at the tail of the mill, and halted by the door. The sailor
alighted, showing himself to be a well-shaped, active, and fine
young man, with a bright eye, an anonymous nose, and of such a rich
complexion by exposure to ripening suns that he might have been some
connexion of the foreigner who calls his likeness the Portrait of a
Gentleman in galleries of the Old Masters. Yet in spite of this,
and though Bob Loveday had been all over the world from Cape Horn to
Pekin, and from India's coral strand to the White Sea, the most
conspicuous of all the marks that he had brought back with him was
an increased resemblance to his mother, who had lain all the time
beneath Overcombe church wall.
Captain Loveday tried the house door; finding this locked he went to
the mill door: this was locked also, the mill being stopped for the
night.
'They are not at home,' he said to the boy. 'But never mind that.
Just help to unload the things and then I'll pay you, and you can
drive off home.'
The cart was unloaded, and the boy was dismissed, thanking the
sailor profusely for the payment rendered. Then Bob Loveday,
finding that he had still some leisure on his hands, looked musingly
east, west, north, south, and nadir; after which he bestirred
himself by carrying his goods, article by article, round to the back
door, out of the way of casual passers. This done, he walked round
the mill in a more regardful attitude, and surveyed its familiar
features one by one--the panes of the grinding-room, now as
heretofore clouded with flour as with stale hoar-frost; the meal
lodged in the corners of the window-sills, forming a soil in which
lichens grew without ever getting any bigger, as they had done since
his smallest infancy; the mosses on the plinth towards the river,
reaching as high as the capillary power of the walls would fetch up
moisture for their nourishment, and the penned mill-pond, now as
ever on the point of overflowing into the garden. Everything was
the same.
When he had had enough of this it occurred to Loveday that he might
get into the house in spite of the locked doors; and by entering the
garden, placing a pole from the fork of an apple-tree to the
window-sill of a bedroom on that side, and climbing across like a
Barbary ape, he entered the window and stepped down inside. There
was something anomalous in being close to the familiar furniture
without having first seen his father, and its silent, impassive
shine was not cheering; it was as if his relations were all dead,
and only their tables and chests of drawers left to greet him. He
went downstairs and seated himself in the dark parlour. Finding
this place, too, rather solitary, and the tick of the invisible
clock preternaturally loud, he unearthed the tinder-box, obtained a
light, and set about making the house comfortable for his father's
return, divining that the miller had gone out to meet him by the
wrong road.
Robert's interest in this work increased as he proceeded, and he
bustled round and round the kitchen as lightly as a girl. David,
the indoor factotum, having lost himself among the quart pots of
Budmouth, there had been nobody left here to prepare supper, and Bob
had it all to himself. In a short time a fire blazed up the
chimney, a tablecloth was found, the plates were clapped down, and a
search made for what provisions the house afforded, which, in
addition to various meats, included some fresh eggs of the elongated
shape that produces cockerels when hatched, and had been set aside
on that account for putting under the next broody hen.
A more reckless cracking of eggs than that which now went on had
never been known in Overcombe since the last large christening; and
as Loveday gashed one on the side, another at the end, another
longways, and another diagonally, he acquired adroitness by
practice, and at last made every son of a hen of them fall into two
hemispheres as neatly as if it opened by a hinge. From eggs he
proceeded to ham, and from ham to kidneys, the result being a
brilliant fry.
Not to be tempted to fall to before his father came back, the
returned navigator emptied the whole into a dish, laid a plate over
the top, his coat over the plate, and his hat over his coat. Thus
completely stopping in the appetizing smell, he sat down to await
events. He was relieved from the tediousness of doing this by
hearing voices outside; and in a minute his father entered.
'Glad to welcome ye home, father,' said Bob. 'And supper is just
ready.'
'Lard, lard--why, Captain Bob's here!' said Mrs. Garland.
'And we've been out waiting to meet thee!' said the miller, as he
entered the room, followed by representatives of the houses of
Cripplestraw, Comfort, Mitchell, Beach, and Snooks, together with
some small beginnings of Fencible Tremlett's posterity. In the rear
came David, and quite in the vanishing-point of the composition,
Anne the fair.
'I drove over; and so was forced to come by the road,' said Bob.
'And we went across the fields, thinking you'd walk,' said his
father.
'I should have been here this morning; but not so much as a
wheelbarrow could I get for my traps; everything was gone to the
review. So I went too, thinking I might meet you there. I was then
obliged to return to the harbour for the luggage.'
Then there was a welcoming of Captain Bob by pulling out his arms
like drawers and shutting them again, smacking him on the back as if
he were choking, holding him at arm's length as if he were of too
large type to read close. All which persecution Bob bore with a
wide, genial smile that was shaken into fragments and scattered
promiscuously among the spectators.
'Get a chair for 'n!' said the miller to David, whom they had met in
the fields and found to have got nothing worse by his absence than a
slight slant in his walk.
'Never mind--I am not tired--I have been here ever so long,' said
Bob. 'And I--' But the chair having been placed behind him, and a
smart touch in the hollow of a person's knee by the edge of that
piece of furniture having a tendency to make the person sit without
further argument, Bob sank down dumb, and the others drew up other
chairs at a convenient nearness for easy analytic vision and the
subtler forms of good fellowship. The miller went about saying,
'David, the nine best glasses from the corner cupboard!'--'David,
the corkscrew!'--'David, whisk the tail of thy smock-frock round the
inside of these quart pots afore you draw drink in 'em--they be an
inch thick in dust!'--'David, lower that chimney-crook a couple of
notches that the flame may touch the bottom of the kettle, and light
three more of the largest candles!'--'If you can't get the cork out
of the jar, David, bore a hole in the tub of Hollands that's buried
under the scroff in the fuel-house; d'ye hear?--Dan Brown left en
there yesterday as a return for the little porker I gied en.'
When they had all had a thimbleful round, and the superfluous
neighbours had reluctantly departed, one by one, the inmates gave
their minds to the supper, which David had begun to serve up.
'What be you rolling back the tablecloth for, David?' said the
miller.
'Maister Bob have put down one of the under sheets by mistake, and I
thought you might not like it, sir, as there's ladies present!'
'Faith, 'twas the first thing that came to hand,' said Robert. 'It
seemed a tablecloth to me.'
'Never mind--don't pull off the things now he's laid 'em down--let
it bide,' said the miller. 'But where's Widow Garland and Maidy
Anne?'
'They were here but a minute ago,' said David. 'Depend upon it they
have slinked off 'cause they be shy.'
The miller at once went round to ask them to come back and sup with
him; and while he was gone David told Bob in confidence what an
excellent place he had for an old man.
'Yes, Cap'n Bob, as I suppose I must call ye; I've worked for yer
father these eight-and-thirty years, and we have always got on very
well together. Trusts me with all the keys, lends me his
sleeve-waistcoat, and leaves the house entirely to me. Widow
Garland next door, too, is just the same with me, and treats me as
if I was her own child.'
'She must have married young to make you that, David.'
'Yes, yes--I'm years older than she. 'Tis only my common way of
speaking.'
Mrs. Garland would not come in to supper, and the meal proceeded
without her, Bob recommending to his father the dish he had cooked,
in the manner of a householder to a stranger just come. The miller
was anxious to know more about his son's plans for the future, but
would not for the present interrupt his eating, looking up from his
own plate to appreciate Bob's travelled way of putting English
victuals out of sight, as he would have looked at a mill on improved
principles.
David had only just got the table clear, and set the plates in a row
under the bakehouse table for the cats to lick, when the door was
hastily opened, and Mrs. Garland came in, looking concerned.
'I have been waiting to hear the plates removed to tell you how
frightened we are at something we hear at the back-door. It seems
like robbers muttering; but when I look out there's nobody there!'
'This must be seen to,' said the miller, rising promptly. 'David,
light the middle-sized lantern. I'll go and search the garden.'
'And I'll go too,' said his son, taking up a cudgel. 'Lucky I've
come home just in time!'
They went out stealthily, followed by the widow and Anne, who had
been afraid to stay alone in the house under the circumstances. No
sooner were they beyond the door when, sure enough, there was the
muttering almost close at hand, and low upon the ground, as from
persons lying down in hiding.
'Bless my heart!' said Bob, striking his head as though it were some
enemy's: 'why, 'tis my luggage. I'd quite forgot it!'
'What!' asked his father.
'My luggage. Really, if it hadn't been for Mrs. Garland it would
have stayed there all night, and they, poor things! would have been
starved. I've got all sorts of articles for ye. You go inside, and
I'll bring 'em in. 'Tis parrots that you hear a muttering, Mrs.
Garland. You needn't be afraid any more.'
'Parrots?' said the miller. 'Well, I'm glad 'tis no worse. But how
couldst forget so, Bob?'
The packages were taken in by David and Bob, and the first
unfastened were three, wrapped in cloths, which being stripped off
revealed three cages, with a gorgeous parrot in each.
'This one is for you, father, to hang up outside the door, and amuse
us,' said Bob. 'He'll talk very well, but he's sleepy to-night.
This other one I brought along for any neighbour that would like to
have him. His colours are not so bright; but 'tis a good bird. If
you would like to have him you are welcome to him,' he said, turning
to Anne, who had been tempted forward by the birds. 'You have
hardly spoken yet, Miss Anne, but I recollect you very well. How
much taller you have got, to be sure!'
Anne said she was much obliged, but did not know what she could do
with such a present. Mrs. Garland accepted it for her, and the
sailor went on--'Now this other bird I hardly know what to do with;
but I dare say he'll come in for something or other.'
'He is by far the prettiest,' said the widow. 'I would rather have
it than the other, if you don't mind.'
'Yes,' said Bob, with embarrassment. 'But the fact is, that bird
will hardly do for ye, ma'am. He's a hard swearer, to tell the
truth; and I am afraid he's too old to be broken of it.'
'How dreadful!' said Mrs. Garland.
'We could keep him in the mill,' suggested the miller. 'It won't
matter about the grinder hearing him, for he can't learn to cuss
worse than he do already!'
'The grinder shall have him, then,' said Bob. 'The one I have given
you, ma'am, has no harm in him at all. You might take him to church
o' Sundays as far as that goes.'
The sailor now untied a small wooden box about a foot square,
perforated with holes. 'Here are two marmosets,' he continued.
'You can't see them tonight; but they are beauties--the tufted
sort.'
'What's a marmoset?' said the miller.
'O, a little kind of monkey. They bite strangers rather hard, but
you'll soon get used to 'em.'
'They are wrapped up in something, I declare,' said Mrs. Garland,
peeping in through a chink.
'Yes, that's my flannel shirt,' said Bob apologetically. 'They
suffer terribly from cold in this climate, poor things! and I had
nothing better to give them. Well, now, in this next box I've got
things of different sorts.'
The latter was a regular seaman's chest, and out of it he produced
shells of many sizes and colours, carved ivories, queer little
caskets, gorgeous feathers, and several silk handkerchiefs, which
articles were spread out upon all the available tables and chairs
till the house began to look like a bazaar.
'What a lovely shawl!' exclaimed Widow Garland, in her interest
forestalling the regular exhibition by looking into the box at what
was coming.
'O yes,' said the mate, pulling out a couple of the most bewitching
shawls that eyes ever saw. 'One of these I am going to give to that
young lady I am shortly to be married to, you know, Mrs. Garland.
Has father told you about it? Matilda Johnson, of Southampton,
that's her name.'
'Yes, we know all about it,' said the widow.
'Well, I shall give one of these shawls to her--because, of course,
I ought to.'
'Of course,' said she.
'But the other one I've got no use for at all; and,' he continued,
looking round, 'will you have it, Miss Anne? You refused the
parrot, and you ought not to refuse this.'
'Thank you,' said Anne calmly, but much distressed; 'but really I
don't want it, and couldn't take it.'
'But do have it!' said Bob in hurt tones, Mrs. Garland being all the
while on tenter-hooks lest Anne should persist in her absurd
refusal.
'Why, there's another reason why you ought to!' said he, his face
lighting up with recollections. 'It never came into my head till
this moment that I used to be your beau in a humble sort of way.
Faith, so I did, and we used to meet at places sometimes, didn't we-
-that is, when you were not too proud; and once I gave you, or
somebody else, a bit of my hair in fun.'
'It was somebody else,' said Anne quickly.
'Ah, perhaps it was,' said Bob innocently. 'But it was you I used
to meet, or try to, I am sure. Well, I've never thought of that
boyish time for years till this minute! I am sure you ought to
accept some one gift, dear, out of compliment to those old times!'
Anne drew back and shook her head, for she would not trust her
voice.
'Well, Mrs. Garland, then you shall have it,' said Bob, tossing the
shawl to that ready receiver. 'If you don't, upon my life I will
throw it out to the first beggar I see. Now, here's a parcel of cap
ribbons of the splendidest sort I could get. Have these--do, Anne!'
'Yes, do,' said Mrs. Garland.
'I promised them to Matilda,' continued Bob; 'but I am sure she
won't want 'em, as she has got some of her own: and I would as soon
see them upon your head, my dear, as upon hers.'
'I think you had better keep them for your bride if you have
promised them to her,' said Mrs. Garland mildly.
'It wasn't exactly a promise. I just said, "Til, there's some cap
ribbons in my box, if you would like to have them." But she's got
enough things already for any bride in creation. Anne, now you
shall have 'em--upon my soul you shall--or I'll fling them down the
mill-tail!'
Anne had meant to be perfectly firm in refusing everything, for
reasons obvious even to that poor waif, the meanest capacity; but
when it came to this point she was absolutely compelled to give in,
and reluctantly received the cap ribbons in her arms, blushing
fitfully, and with her lip trembling in a motion which she tried to
exhibit as a smile.
'What would Tilly say if she knew!' said the miller slily.
'Yes, indeed--and it is wrong of him!' Anne instantly cried, tears
running down her face as she threw the parcel of ribbons on the
floor. 'You'd better bestow your gifts where you bestow your l--l--
love, Mr. Loveday--that's what I say!' And Anne turned her back and
went away.
'I'll take them for her,' said Mrs. Garland, quickly picking up the
parcel.
'Now that's a pity,' said Bob, looking regretfully after Anne. 'I
didn't remember that she was a quick-tempered sort of girl at all.
Tell her, Mrs. Garland, that I ask her pardon. But of course I
didn't know she was too proud to accept a little present--how should
I? Upon my life if it wasn't for Matilda I'd--Well, that can't be,
of course.'
'What's this?' said Mrs. Garland, touching with her foot a large
package that had been laid down by Bob unseen.
'That's a bit of baccy for myself,' said Robert meekly.
The examination of presents at last ended, and the two families
parted for the night. When they were alone, Mrs. Garland said to
Anne, 'What a close girl you are! I am sure I never knew that Bob
Loveday and you had walked together: you must have been mere
children.'
'O yes--so we were,' said Anne, now quite recovered. 'It was when
we first came here, about a year after father died. We did not walk
together in any regular way. You know I have never thought the
Lovedays high enough for me. It was only just--nothing at all, and
I had almost forgotten it.'
It is to be hoped that somebody's sins were forgiven her that night
before she went to bed.
When Bob and his father were left alone, the miller said, 'Well,
Robert, about this young woman of thine--Matilda what's her name?'
'Yes, father--Matilda Johnson. I was just going to tell ye about
her.'
The miller nodded, and sipped his mug.
'Well, she is an excellent body,' continued Bob; 'that can truly be
said--a real charmer, you know--a nice good comely young woman, a
miracle of genteel breeding, you know, and all that. She can throw
her hair into the nicest curls, and she's got splendid gowns and
headclothes. In short, you might call her a land mermaid. She'll
make such a first-rate wife as there never was.'
'No doubt she will,' said the miller; 'for I have never known thee
wanting in sense in a jineral way.' He turned his cup round on its
axis till the handle had travelled a complete circle. 'How long did
you say in your letter that you had known her?'
'A fortnight.'
'Not VERY long.'
'It don't sound long, 'tis true; and 'twas really longer--'twas
fifteen days and a quarter. But hang it, father, I could see in the
twinkling of an eye that the girl would do. I know a woman well
enough when I see her--I ought to, indeed, having been so much about
the world. Now, for instance, there's Widow Garland and her
daughter. The girl is a nice little thing; but the old woman--O
no!' Bob shook his head.
'What of her?' said his father, slightly shifting in his chair.
'Well, she's, she's--I mean, I should never have chose her, you
know. She's of a nice disposition, and young for a widow with a
grown-up daughter; but if all the men had been like me she would
never have had a husband. I like her in some respects; but she's a
style of beauty I don't care for.'
'O, if 'tis only looks you are thinking of,' said the miller, much
relieved, 'there's nothing to be said, of course. Though there's
many a duchess worse-looking, if it comes to argument, as you would
find, my son,' he added, with a sense of having been mollified too
soon.
The mate's thoughts were elsewhere by this time.
'As to my marrying Matilda, thinks I, here's one of the very
genteelest sort, and I may as well do the job at once. So I chose
her. She's a dear girl; there's nobody like her, search where you
will.'
'How many did you choose her out from?' inquired his father.
'Well, she was the only young woman I happened to know in
Southampton, that's true. But what of that? It would have been all
the same if I had known a hundred.'
'Her father is in business near the docks, I suppose?'
'Well, no. In short, I didn't see her father.'
'Her mother?'
'Her mother? No, I didn't. I think her mother is dead; but she has
got a very rich aunt living at Melchester. I didn't see her aunt,
because there wasn't time to go; but of course we shall know her
when we are married.'
'Yes, yes, of course,' said the miller, trying to feel quite
satisfied. 'And she will soon be here?'
'Ay, she's coming soon,' said Bob. 'She has gone to this aunt's at
Melchester to get her things packed, and suchlike, or she would have
come with me. I am going to meet the coach at the King's Arms,
Casterbridge, on Sunday, at one o'clock. To show what a capital
sort of wife she'll be, I may tell you that she wanted to come by
the Mercury, because 'tis a little cheaper than the other. But I
said, "For once in your life do it well, and come by the Royal Mail,
and I'll pay." I can have the pony and trap to fetch her, I
suppose, as 'tis too far for her to walk?'
'Of course you can, Bob, or anything else. And I'll do all I can to
give you a good wedding feast.'
