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CHAPTER XXXIV - HOME AGAIN -- A TRICKSTER
THAT same evening at dusk Gabriel was leaning over Coggan's
garden-gate, taking an up-and-down survey before retiring to
rest.
A vehicle of some kind was softly creeping along the grassy
margin of the lane. From it spread the tones of two women
talking. The tones were natural and not at all suppressed.
Oak instantly knew the voices to be those of Bathsheba and
Liddy.
The carriage came opposite and passed by. It was Miss
Everdene's gig, and Liddy and her mistress were the only
occupants of the seat. Liddy was asking questions about the
city of Bath, and her companion was answering them
listlessly and unconcernedly. Both Bathsheba and the horse
seemed weary.
The exquisite relief of finding that she was here again,
safe and sound, overpowered all reflection, and Oak could
only luxuriate in the sense of it. All grave reports were
forgotten.
He lingered and lingered on, till there was no difference
between the eastern and western expanses of sky, and the
timid hares began to limp courageously round the dim
hillocks. Gabriel might have been there an additional half-
hour when a dark form walked slowly by. "Good-night,
Gabriel," the passer said.
It was Boldwood. "Good-night, sir," said Gabriel.
Boldwood likewise vanished up the road, and Oak shortly
afterwards turned indoors to bed.
Farmer Boldwood went on towards Miss Everdene's house. He
reached the front, and approaching the entrance, saw a light
in the parlour. The blind was not drawn down, and inside
the room was Bathsheba, looking over some papers or letters.
Her back was towards Boldwood. He went to the door,
knocked, and waited with tense muscles and an aching brow.
Boldwood had not been outside his garden since his meeting
with Bathsheba in the road to Yalbury. Silent and alone, he
had remained in moody meditation on woman's ways, deeming as
essentials of the whole sex the accidents of the single one
of their number he had ever closely beheld. By degrees a
more charitable temper had pervaded him, and this was the
reason of his sally to-night. He had come to apologize and
beg forgiveness of Bathsheba with something like a sense of
shame at his violence, having but just now learnt that she
had returned -- only from a visit to Liddy, as he supposed,
the Bath escapade being quite unknown to him.
He inquired for Miss Everdene. Liddy's manner was odd, but
he did not notice it. She went in, leaving him standing
there, and in her absence the blind of the room containing
Bathsheba was pulled down. Boldwood augured ill from that
sign. Liddy came out.
"My mistress cannot see you, sir," she said.
The farmer instantly went out by the gate. He was unforgiven
-- that was the issue of it all. He had seen her who was to
him simultaneously a delight and a torture, sitting in the
room he had shared with her as a peculiarly privileged guest
only a little earlier in the summer, and she had denied him
an entrance there now.
Boldwood did not hurry homeward. It was ten o'clock at
least, when, walking deliberately through the lower part of
Weatherbury, he heard the carrier's spring van entering the
village. The van ran to and from a town in a northern
direction, and it was owned and driven by a Weatherbury man,
at the door of whose house it now pulled up. The lamp fixed
to the head of the hood illuminated a scarlet and gilded
form, who was the first to alight.
"Ah!" said Boldwood to himself, "come to see her again."
Troy entered the carrier's house, which had been the place
of his lodging on his last visit to his native place.
Boldwood was moved by a sudden determination. He hastened
home. In ten minutes he was back again, and made as if he
were going to call upon Troy at the carrier's. But as he
approached, some one opened the door and came out. He heard
this person say "Good-night" to the inmates, and the voice
was Troy's. This was strange, coming so immediately after
his arrival. Boldwood, however, hastened up to him. Troy
had what appeared to be a carpet-bag in his hand -- the same
that he had brought with him. It seemed as if he were going
to leave again this very night.
Troy turned up the hill and quickened his pace. Boldwood
stepped forward.
"Sergeant Troy?"
"Yes -- I'm Sergeant Troy."
"Just arrived from up the country, I think?"
"Just arrived from Bath."
"I am William Boldwood."
"Indeed."
The tone in which this word was uttered was all that had
been wanted to bring Boldwood to the point.
"I wish to speak a word with you," he said.
"What about?"
"About her who lives just ahead there -- and about a woman
you have wronged."
"I wonder at your impertinence," said Troy, moving on.
"Now look here," said Boldwood, standing in front of him,
"wonder or not, you are going to hold a conversation with
me."
Troy heard the dull determination in Boldwood's voice,
looked at his stalwart frame, then at the thick cudgel he
carried in his hand. He remembered it was past ten o'clock.
It seemed worth while to be civil to Boldwood.
"Very well, I'll listen with pleasure," said Troy, placing
his bag on the ground, "only speak low, for somebody or
other may overhear us in the farmhouse there."
"Well then -- I know a good deal concerning your Fanny
Robin's attachment to you. I may say, too, that I believe I
am the only person in the village, excepting Gabriel Oak,
who does know it. You ought to marry her."
"I suppose I ought. Indeed, I wish to, but I cannot."
"Why?"
Troy was about to utter something hastily; he then checked
himself and said, "I am too poor." His voice was changed.
Previously it had had a devil-may-care tone. It was the
voice of a trickster now.
Boldwood's present mood was not critical enough to notice
tones. He continued, "I may as well speak plainly; and
understand, I don't wish to enter into the questions of
right or wrong, woman's honour and shame, or to express any
opinion on your conduct. I intend a business transaction
with you."
"I see," said Troy. "Suppose we sit down here."
An old tree trunk lay under the hedge immediately opposite,
and they sat down.
"I was engaged to be married to Miss Everdene," said
Boldwood, "but you came and ----"
"Not engaged," said Troy.
"As good as engaged."
"If I had not turned up she might have become engaged to
you."
"Hang might!"
"Would, then."
"If you had not come I should certainly -- yes, CERTAINLY --
have been accepted by this time. If you had not seen her
you might have been married to Fanny. Well, there's too
much difference between Miss Everdene's station and your own
for this flirtation with her ever to benefit you by ending
in marriage. So all I ask is, don't molest her any more.
Marry Fanny. I'll make it worth your while."
"How will you?"
"I'll pay you well now, I'll settle a sum of money upon her,
and I'll see that you don't suffer from poverty in the
future. I'll put it clearly. Bathsheba is only playing
with you: you are too poor for her as I said; so give up
wasting your time about a great match you'll never make for
a moderate and rightful match you may make to-morrow; take
up your carpet-bag, turn about, leave Weatherbury now, this
night, and you shall take fifty pounds with you. Fanny
shall have fifty to enable her to prepare for the wedding,
when you have told me where she is living, and she shall
have five hundred paid down on her wedding-day."
In making this statement Boldwood's voice revealed only too
clearly a consciousness of the weakness of his position, his
aims, and his method. His manner had lapsed quite from that
of the firm and dignified Boldwood of former times; and such
a scheme as he had now engaged in he would have condemned as
childishly imbecile only a few months ago. We discern a
grand force in the lover which he lacks whilst a free man;
but there is a breadth of vision in the free man which in
the lover we vainly seek. Where there is much bias there
must be some narrowness, and love, though added emotion, is
subtracted capacity. Boldwood exemplified this to an
abnormal degree: he knew nothing of Fanny Robin's
circumstances or whereabouts, he knew nothing of Troy's
possibilities, yet that was what he said.
"I like Fanny best," said Troy; "and if, as you say, Miss
Everdene is out of my reach, why I have all to gain by
accepting your money, and marrying Fan. But she's only a
servant."
"Never mind -- do you agree to my arrangement?"
"I do."
"Ah!" said Boldwood, in a more elastic voice. "Oh, Troy, if
you like her best, why then did you step in here and injure
my happiness?"
"I love Fanny best now," said Troy. "But Bathsh ---- Miss
Everdene inflamed me, and displaced Fanny for a time. It is
over now."
"Why should it be over so soon? And why then did you come
here again?"
"There are weighty reasons. Fifty pounds at once, you
said!"
"I did," said Boldwood, "and here they are -- fifty
sovereigns." He handed Troy a small packet.
"You have everything ready -- it seems that you calculated
on my accepting them," said the sergeant, taking the packet.
"I thought you might accept them," said Boldwood.
"You've only my word that the programme shall be adhered to,
whilst I at any rate have fifty pounds."
"I had thought of that, and I have considered that if I
can't appeal to your honour I can trust to your -- well,
shrewdness we'll call it -- not to lose five hundred pounds
in prospect, and also make a bitter enemy of a man who is
willing to be an extremely useful friend."
"Stop, listen!" said Troy in a whisper.
A light pit-pat was audible upon the road just above them.
"By George -- 'tis she," he continued. "I must go on and
meet her."
"She -- who?"
"Bathsheba."
"Bathsheba -- out alone at this time o' night!" said
Boldwood in amazement, and starting up. "Why must you meet
her?"
"She was expecting me to-night -- and I must now speak to
her, and wish her good-bye, according to your wish."
"I don't see the necessity of speaking."
"It can do no harm -- and she'll be wandering about looking
for me if I don't. You shall hear all I say to her. It
will help you in your love-making when I am gone."
"Your tone is mocking."
"Oh no. And remember this, if she does not know what has
become of me, she will think more about me than if I tell
her flatly I have come to give her up."
"Will you confine your words to that one point? -- Shall I
hear every word you say?"
"Every word. Now sit still there, and hold my carpet bag
for me, and mark what you hear."
The light footstep came closer, halting occasionally, as if
the walker listened for a sound. Troy whistled a double
note in a soft, fluty tone.
"Come to that, is it!" murmured Boldwood, uneasily.
"You promised silence," said Troy.
"I promise again."
Troy stepped forward.
"Frank, dearest, is that you?" The tones were Bathsheba's.
"O God!" said Boldwood.
"Yes," said Troy to her.
"How late you are," she continued, tenderly. "Did you come
by the carrier? I listened and heard his wheels entering
the village, but it was some time ago, and I had almost
given you up, Frank."
"I was sure to come," said Frank. "You knew I should, did
you not?"
"Well, I thought you would," she said, playfully; "and,
Frank, it is so lucky! There's not a soul in my house but
me to-night. I've packed them all off so nobody on earth
will know of your visit to your lady's bower. Liddy wanted
to go to her grandfather's to tell him about her holiday,
and I said she might stay with them till to-morrow -- when
you'll be gone again."
"Capital," said Troy. "But, dear me, I had better go back
for my bag, because my slippers and brush and comb are in
it; you run home whilst I fetch it, and I'll promise to be
in your parlour in ten minutes."
"Yes." She turned and tripped up the hill again.
During the progress of this dialogue there was a nervous
twitching of Boldwood's tightly closed lips, and his face
became bathed in a clammy dew. He now started forward
towards Troy. Troy turned to him and took up the bag.
"Shall I tell her I have come to give her up and cannot
marry her?" said the soldier, mockingly.
"No, no; wait a minute. I want to say more to you -- more
to you!" said Boldwood, in a hoarse whisper.
"Now," said Troy, "you see my dilemma. Perhaps I am a bad
man -- the victim of my impulses -- led away to do what I
ought to leave undone. I can't, however, marry them both.
And I have two reasons for choosing Fanny. First, I like
her best upon the whole, and second, you make it worth my
while."
At the same instant Boldwood sprang upon him, and held him
by the neck. Troy felt Boldwood's grasp slowly tightening.
The move was absolutely unexpected.
"A moment," he gasped. "You are injuring her you love!"
"Well, what do you mean?" said the farmer.
"Give me breath," said Troy.
Boldwood loosened his hand, saying, "By Heaven, I've a mind
to kill you!"
"And ruin her."
"Save her."
"Oh, how can she be saved now, unless I marry her?"
Boldwood groaned. He reluctantly released the soldier, and
flung him back against the hedge. "Devil, you torture me!"
said he.
Troy rebounded like a ball, and was about to make a dash at
the farmer; but he checked himself, saying lightly --
"It is not worth while to measure my strength with you.
Indeed it is a barbarous way of settling a quarrel. I shall
shortly leave the army because of the same conviction. Now
after that revelation of how the land lies with Bathsheba,
'twould be a mistake to kill me, would it not?"
"'Twould be a mistake to kill you," repeated Boldwood,
mechanically, with a bowed head.
"Better kill yourself."
"Far better."
"I'm glad you see it."
"Troy, make her your wife, and don't act upon what I
arranged just now. The alternative is dreadful, but take
Bathsheba; I give her up! She must love you indeed to sell
soul and body to you so utterly as she has done. Wretched
woman -- deluded woman -- you are, Bathsheba!"
"But about Fanny?"
"Bathsheba is a woman well to do," continued Boldwood, in
nervous anxiety, and, Troy, she will make a good wife; and,
indeed, she is worth your hastening on your marriage with
her!"
"But she has a will -- not to say a temper, and I shall be a
mere slave to her. I could do anything with poor Fanny
Robin."
"Troy," said Boldwood, imploringly, "I'll do anything for
you, only don't desert her; pray don't desert her, Troy."
"Which, poor Fanny?"
"No; Bathsheba Everdene. Love her best! Love her tenderly!
How shall I get you to see how advantageous it will be to
you to secure her at once?"
"I don't wish to secure her in any new way."
Boldwood's arm moved spasmodically towards Troy's person
again. He repressed the instinct, and his form drooped as
with pain.
Troy went on --
"I shall soon purchase my discharge, and then ----"
"But I wish you to hasten on this marriage! It will be
better for you both. You love each other, and you must let
me help you to do it."
"How?"
"Why, by settling the five hundred on Bathsheba instead of
Fanny, to enable you to marry at once. No; she wouldn't
have it of me. I'll pay it down to you on the wedding-day."
Troy paused in secret amazement at Boldwood's wild
infatuation. He carelessly said, "And am I to have anything
now?"
"Yes, if you wish to. But I have not much additional money
with me. I did not expect this; but all I have is yours."
Boldwood, more like a somnambulist than a wakeful man,
pulled out the large canvas bag he carried by way of a
purse, and searched it.
"I have twenty-one pounds more with me," he said. "Two
notes and a sovereign. But before I leave you I must have a
paper signed ----"
"Pay me the money, and we'll go straight to her parlour, and
make any arrangement you please to secure my compliance with
your wishes. But she must know nothing of this cash
business."
"Nothing, nothing," said Boldwood, hastily. "Here is the
sum, and if you'll come to my house we'll write out the
agreement for the remainder, and the terms also."
"First we'll call upon her."
"But why? Come with me to-night, and go with me to-morrow
to the surrogate's."
"But she must be consulted; at any rate informed."
"Very well; go on."
They went up the hill to Bathsheba's house. When they stood
at the entrance, Troy said, "Wait here a moment." Opening
the door, he glided inside, leaving the door ajar.
Boldwood waited. In two minutes a light appeared in the
passage. Boldwood then saw that the chain had been fastened
across the door. Troy appeared inside, carrying a bedroom
candlestick.
"What, did you think I should break in?" said Boldwood,
contemptuously.
"Oh, no, it is merely my humour to secure things. Will you
read this a moment? I'll hold the light."
Troy handed a folded newspaper through the slit between door
and doorpost, and put the candle close. "That's the
paragraph," he said, placing his finger on a line.
Boldwood looked and read --
"MARRIAGES.
"On the 17th inst., at St. Ambrose's Church, Bath, by the
Rev. G. Mincing, B.A., Francis Troy, only son of the late
Edward Troy, Esq., M.D., of Weatherbury, and sergeant with
Dragoon Guards, to Bathsheba, only surviving daughter of the
late Mr. John Everdene, of Casterbridge."
"This may be called Fort meeting Feeble, hey, Boldwood?"
said Troy. A low gurgle of derisive laughter followed the
words.
The paper fell from Boldwood's hands. Troy continued --
"Fifty pounds to marry Fanny. Good. Twenty-one pounds not
to marry Fanny, but Bathsheba. Good. Finale: already
Bathsheba's husband. Now, Boldwood, yours is the ridiculous
fate which always attends interference between a man and his
wife. And another word. Bad as I am, I am not such a
villain as to make the marriage or misery of any woman a
matter of huckster and sale. Fanny has long ago left me. I
don't know where she is. I have searched everywhere.
Another word yet. You say you love Bathsheba; yet on the
merest apparent evidence you instantly believe in her
dishonour. A fig for such love! Now that I've taught you a
lesson, take your money back again."
"I will not; I will not!" said Boldwood, in a hiss.
"Anyhow I won't have it," said Troy, contemptuously. He
wrapped the packet of gold in the notes, and threw the whole
into the road.
Boldwood shook his clenched fist at him. "You juggler of
Satan! You black hound! But I'll punish you yet; mark me,
I'll punish you yet!"
Another peal of laughter. Troy then closed the door, and
locked himself in.
Throughout the whole of that night Boldwood's dark form
might have been seen walking about hills and downs of
Weatherbury like an unhappy Shade in the Mournful Fields by
Acheron.
Content of CHAPTER XXXIV - HOME AGAIN -- A TRICKSTER [Thomas Hardy's novel: Far From The Madding Crowd]
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