The Mayor of Casterbridge

Elizabeth-Jane was quite sure.

“Your stepfather saved her?”

“Entirely.”

Farfrae checked his horse’s pace; she guessed why. He was thinking that it would be best not to intrude on the other two just now. Henchard had saved Lucetta, and to provoke a possible exhibition of her deeper affection for himself was as ungenerous as it was unwise.

The immediate subject of their talk being exhausted she felt more embarrassed at sitting thus beside her past lover; but soon the two figures of the others were visible at the entrance to the town. The face of the woman was frequently turned back, but Farfrae did not whip on the horse. When these reached the town walls Henchard and his companion had disappeared down the street; Farfrae set down Elizabeth-Jane on her expressing a particular wish to alight there, and drove round to the stables at the back of his lodgings.

On this account he entered the house through his garden, and going up to his apartments found them in a particularly disturbed state, his boxes being hauled out upon the landing, and his bookcase standing in three pieces. These phenomena, however, seemed to cause him not the least surprise. “When will everything be sent up?” he said to the mistress of the house, who was superintending.

“I am afraid not before eight, sir,” said she. “You see we wasn’t aware till this morning that you were going to move, or we could have been forwarder.”

“A – well, never mind, never mind!” said Farfrae cheerily. “Eight o’clock will do well enough if it be not later. Now, don’t ye be standing here talking, or it will be twelve, I doubt.” Thus speaking he went out by the front door and up the street.

During this interval Henchard and Lucetta had had experiences of a different kind. After Elizabeth’s departure for the muff the corn-merchant opened himself frankly, holding her hand within his arm, though she would fain have withdrawn it. “Dear Lucetta, I have been very, very anxious to see you these two or three days,” he said, “ever since I saw you last! I have thought over the way I got your promise that night. You said to me, ‘If I were a man I should not insist.’ That cut me deep. I felt that there was some truth in it. I don’t want to make you wretched; and to marry me just now would do that as nothing else could – it is but too plain. Therefore I agree to an indefinite engagement – to put off all thought of marriage for a year or two.”

“But – but – can I do nothing of a different kind?” said Lucetta. “I am full of gratitude to you – you have saved my life. And your care of me is like coals of fire on my head! I am a monied person now. Surely I can do something in return for your goodness – something practical?”

Henchard remained in thought. He had evidently not expected this. “There is one thing you might do, Lucetta,” he said. “But not exactly of that kind.”

“Then of what kind is it?” she asked with renewed misgiving.

“I must tell you a secret to ask it. – You may have heard that I have been unlucky this year? I did what I have never done before – speculated rashly; and I lost. That’s just put me in a strait.

“And you would wish me to advance some money?”

“No, no!” said Henchard, almost in anger. “I’m not the man to sponge on a woman, even though she may be so nearly my own as you. No, Lucetta; what you can do is this and it would save me. My great creditor is Grower, and it is at his hands I shall suffer if at anybody’s; while a fortnight’s forbearance on his part would be enough to allow me to pull through. This may be got out of him in one way – that you would let it be known to him that you are my intended – that we are to be quietly married in the next fortnight. – Now stop, you haven’t heard all! Let him have this story, without, of course, any prejudice to the fact that the actual engagement between us is to be a long one. Nobody else need know: you could go with me to Mr. Grower and just let me speak to ‘ee before him as if we were on such terms. We’ll ask him to keep it secret. He will willingly wait then. At the fortnight’s end I shall be able to face him; and I can coolly tell him all is postponed between us for a year or two. Not a soul in the town need know how you’ve helped me. Since you wish to be of use, there’s your way.”

It being now what the people called the “pinking in” of the day, that is, the quarter-hour just before dusk, he did not at first observe the result of his own words upon her.

“If it were anything else,” she began, and the dryness of her lips was represented in her voice.

“But it is such a little thing!” he said, with a deep reproach. “Less than you have offered – just the beginning of what you have so lately promised! I could have told him as much myself, but he would not have believed me.”

“It is not because I won’t – it is because I absolutely can’t,” she said, with rising distress.

“You are provoking!” he burst out. “It is enough to make me force you to carry out at once what you have promised.”

“I cannot!” she insisted desperately.

“Why? When I have only within these few minutes released you from your promise to do the thing offhand.”

“Because – he was a witness!”

“Witness? Of what?

“If I must tell you – . Don’t, don’t upbraid me!”

“Well! Let’s hear what you mean?”

“Witness of my marriage – Mr. Grower was!”

“Marriage?”

“Yes. With Mr. Farfrae. O Michael! I am already his wife. We were married this week at Port-Bredy. There were reasons against our doing it here. Mr. Grower was a witness because he happened to be at Port-Bredy at the time.”

Henchard stood as if idiotized. She was so alarmed at his silence that she murmured something about lending him sufficient money to tide over the perilous fortnight.

“Married him?” said Henchard at length. “My good – what, married him whilst – bound to marry me?”

“It was like this,” she explained, with tears in her eyes and quavers in her voice; “don’t – don’t be cruel! I loved him so much, and I thought you might tell him of the past – and that grieved me! And then, when I had promised you, I learnt of the rumour that you had – sold your first wife at a fair like a horse or cow! How could I keep my promise after hearing that? I could not risk myself in your hands; it would have been letting myself down to take your name after such a scandal. But I knew I should lose Donald if I did not secure him at once – for you would carry out your threat of telling him of our former acquaintance, as long as there was a chance of keeping me for yourself by doing so. But you will not do so now, will you, Michael? for it is too late to separate us.”

The notes of St. Peter’s bells in full peal had been wafted to them while he spoke, and now the genial thumping of the town band, renowned for its unstinted use of the drum-stick, throbbed down the street.

“Then this racket they are making is on account of it, I suppose?” said he.

“Yes – I think he has told them, or else Mr. Grower has…May I leave you now? My – he was detained at Port-Bredy to-day, and sent me on a few hours before him.”

“Then it is HIS WIFE’S life I have saved this afternoon.”

“Yes – and he will be for ever grateful to you.”

“I am much obliged to him…O you false woman!” burst from Henchard. “You promised me!”

“Yes, yes! But it was under compulsion, and I did not know all your past – ”

“And now I’ve a mind to punish you as you deserve! One word to this bran-new husband of how you courted me, and your precious happiness is blown to atoms!”

“Michael – pity me, and be generous!”

“You don’t deserve pity! You did; but you don’t now.”

“I’ll help you to pay off your debt.”

“A pensioner of Farfrae’s wife – not I! Don’t stay with me longer – I shall say something worse. Go home!”

She disappeared under the trees of the south walk as the band came round the corner, awaking the echoes of every stock and stone in celebration of her happiness. Lucetta took no heed, but ran up the back street and reached her own home unperceived.

30

Farfrae’s words to his landlady had referred to the removal of his boxes and other effects from his late lodgings to Lucetta’s house. The work was not heavy, but it had been much hindered on account of the frequent pauses necessitated by exclamations of surprise at the event, of which the good woman had been briefly informed by letter a few hours earlier.

At the last moment of leaving Port-Bredy, Farfrae, like John Gilpin, had been detained by important customers, whom, even in the exceptional circumstances, he was not the man to neglect. Moreover, there was a convenience in Lucetta arriving first at her house. Nobody there as yet knew what had happened; and she was best in a position to break the news to the inmates, and give directions for her husband’s accommodation. He had, therefore, sent on his two-days’ bride in a hired brougham, whilst he went across the country to a certain group of wheat and barley ricks a few miles off, telling her the hour at which he might be expected the same evening. This accounted for her trotting out to meet him after their separation of four hours.

By a strenuous effort, after leaving Henchard she calmed herself in readiness to receive Donald at High-Place Hall when he came on from his lodgings. One supreme fact empowered her to this, the sense that, come what would, she had secured him. Half-an-hour after her arrival he walked in, and she met him with a relieved gladness, which a month’s perilous absence could not have intensified.

“There is one thing I have not done; and yet it is important,” she said earnestly, when she had finished talking about the adventure with the bull. “That is, broken the news of our marriage to my dear Elizabeth-Jane.”