CHAPTER XXXVIII

A LETTER FROM BATH

Jane Marley sat before the door in the shade of a bursting elder, in an atmosphere perfumed by its leaves; the sun was on the white rock against which the cottage was built, and sent a reflection in her face so strong that she was unable to raise her eyes from her knitting.

Her brows were contracted, partly against the glaring light, partly through the working of her stormy mind.

Dazzled by the sun, occupied by her thoughts, she did not notice the approach of Mrs. Jose, and when the latter spoke Jane started, passed her hand across her brow, and recovered herself with an effort.

'Deary me!' said the farmer's wife. 'Always busy. If Satan finds some mischief for idle hands, he need not come to the Undercliff. He will never find those fingers at leisure for his work. But, bless my life, Jane, what can be the matter with the birds? I have known them swarm here and sing and chortle like a concert of choristers――jackdaws, starlings, choughs, gulls, magpies――and to-day not one to be seen or heard.'

'I have noticed it. They are gone.'

'Gone! But what can have driven them away? Have they been chased and shot?'

'No――I have not heard a gun.'

'But this is amazing. What does it mean? I have not started a magpie, nor heard the pipe of a blackbird. It has never happened before. This has been a paradise of birds.'

Mrs. Marley shrugged her shoulders. She did not concern herself about feathered creatures and their ways.

'You have not come here to tell me that the birds have flitted,' she said; and scrutinising Mrs. Jose's face she said, 'You have something on your mind. What is it?'

'I have had a letter.'

'From Winefred?'

'No; from Mrs. Tomkin-Jones.'

'Does she ask for money?'

'No.'

'What does she say about Winefred?'

'Not very much.'

'She is well?'

'Very well――and happy.'

'And happy,' repeated Jane with a tinge of disappointment in her voice. 'Come inside; the light here is too strong.'

'How the mint smells!' said Mrs. Jose.

'Yes.'

'And the young elder-shoots.'

'Yes.'

Jane led the way within, and the change to the shade of the room was grateful.

She signed to her visitor to be seated, but did not take a chair herself. She held a stocking three parts knitted in one hand, in the other a pin. She did not seat herself; she was restless and impatient.

'What is it?' she asked. 'I know there is something that you have to say which is not easy for you to speak. Had it been good news, it would have come forth already.'

'Really the letter I have received is to you or about you. But as you cannot read, it is addressed to me.'

'Then let me hear it at once.'

'That is not so easy done. In truth, my dear, this letter is not pleasant reading. Mrs. Tomkin-Jones informs me――and you――that Winefred has met her father.'

'I am not sorry for that.'

'Her father is vastly taken with her, and walks her out, and shows her the sights, and goes with her to shops and buys sundry pretty things that he gives to her.'

'That is as it should be.'

'If that were all, I should not be in such a fluster over it,' said Mrs. Jose, her pleasant face expressing concern.

'What is there more?'

'Her father has taken a pride in his child, and a liking to her, so that he will not part with her any more.'

Jane was silent. Shadows passed over her face, like those that darken the sea. She stood meditating, with her knitting-pin to her lips.

'He may see her a bit,' she said; then, after a pause, 'he may see a good deal of her.'

'Ay.' Mrs. Jose looked up with distress into the clouded face of the mother. 'But what if he purposed taking her altogether away from you?'

'He cannot do that! He shall not do that!' almost screamed the mother, and then clenched her teeth and stood glaring at her visitor. Presently she said fiercely, 'Bring out that letter and read me every word. Pass none over. I must hear all.'

Mrs. Jose looked from side to side in embarrassment.

'The letter!' said Jane imperiously, and pressed the end of the knitting-pin on the table.

The farmer's wife was compelled to draw the epistle from her pocket and unfold it upon the board. She knew that Jane was illiterate, and it was her intention to soften down as much as possible the harsh expressions, but she could not blunt the edge of the cutting facts.

'Begin with the first words,' said Jane, and pointed with her knitting-pin.

'These are to me,' said Mrs. Jose. 'They are from Mrs. Tomkin-Jones about my chicken I sent her. She is a sort of cousin, and she begins affable enough, seeing the difference in our station in life, and all these first lines contain nothing further than what I have already told you, that Winefred has met her father, and that he is mightily taken with her.'

'How far does that go?' asked Jane, with the pin on the letter.

'To that point――there you have it――"pretty things." It is as I told you. He has bought them for her.'

'Go on from there. What is that word?'

'Then Mrs. Tomkin-Jones continues, "I think he will not be satisfied until he has removed her entirely."'

'From what place? From your cousin's?'

'No, not exactly so. From――――' She hesitated.

'Show me the words. I can count the letters if I cannot read them. What is that little word followed by a long one?'

'"That creature."'

'What does she mean by "that creature"?'

'I think that she means you. But mind this, Jane. It is Mrs. Tomkin-Jones who writes, and not Winefred nor Mr. Holwood; and Mrs. Tomkin-Jones has never seen you, does not know more of you than what she has heard from Winefred.'

'And did Winefred tell her I was a creature?'

'My dear Jane, no; that is merely her way of expressing herself. We are all creatures of God, made in His image, and so in a fashion equal. She means no offence.'

'Very well. That creature――that is me. Read on after "that creature."'

'"Who has――――"' Mrs. Jose turned mottled, and her voice betrayed her uneasiness.

'"Who has"――――Go on, alter not a word.'

'"Who has――has――has had a very prejudicial effect on the girl."'

'Prejudicial effect! What does she mean by that?'

'I think she means that Winefred has learned to talk like us folk of humble life, and not like to gentlefolk.'

'That's like enough. It is true, quite true, and I do not dispute it. Go on.'

Mrs. Jose fidgeted in her seat, and was reluctant to proceed. She was not a woman of readiness to substitute a word, an expression for another; moreover, Jane Marley overawed her.

'Go on,' said the mother sternly. 'I will hear every word in that letter. I can bear it. God in heaven knows that I have borne much already.'

'Then be prepared for what follows, though it may not be to your liking. You must remember that it is the lady who writes, who has neither seen nor known you.'

Jane nodded. She was choking. But she said hoarsely, 'Go on!' and pointed with her knitting-pin.

Mrs. Jose read, '"Mr. Holwood is resolved that the connection between his daughter and that woman shall cease entirely."'

'Shall cease entirely――that connection,' muttered Jane. Then she looked up and laughed bitterly. 'Can any man make that connection cease entirely――that――the connection between mother and child? She is my daughter; she is more mine than she is his. She has drunk her young life at my bosom. She has lived all that life with me. She has been, she is still, in my heart of hearts. He may tear my limbs away. But he cannot separate Winefred from me. Go on.'

Mrs. Jose, conscious of the pain that she was giving, aware that every word was as the iron tooth of a harrow drawn over the mother's heart, wiped her eyes that were full. Then she continued, '"He is prepared to give Marley an annuity, a liberal allowance, but――――"'

'But what?'

'"But Winefred and she must never meet again."'

'It shall not be!' cried Jane, as she beat the table with clenched hand and snapped the steel needle. 'He has ruined my happiness, wrecked my life――nothing, nothing whatever has been left me, nothing, nothing, save only my child, and her he will tear from me. He shall not do it.'

'Pray do not be excited and angry, Jane,' said the farmer's wife. 'You must remember that you yourself desired to have Winefred brought up as a lady.'

'Yes, as a lady. I desire that still.'

'And as a lady she must of necessity be much severed from you.'

'Yes. I grant it. But not altogether.'

'No, perhaps that need not have been; but the father thinks differently. If he takes her to live with him, what can you do? Can you go to him, uninvited? Will he recognise you as his wife? The situation will be most untoward for yourself, for him, for Winefred. You must weigh this well.'

'I do weigh it. I will not be parted from her for ever. If she is made a lady, let me look on her. Let me see her from afar off. But see her I must, or it will kill me. She is my child.' Jane looked half fiercely, half imploringly into her visitor's face. 'You do not understand what it is to be a mother――and a mother of one child. She lives for one thing only――her child. She has but one pride――her child; one hope――her child. She cannot do without her. Look you. There is a woman at Seaton, a widow. She lost her son, her only son. He clambered after gulls' eggs, fell over the cliffs, and was dashed to pieces. Thenceforth she is no more a woman, she is a moving image. She has no soul, no heart, no life more, nothing in the world to hope for, nothing in the world to love, nothing even to fear. All her life died out in her when she lost her son. I have a daughter. She lives. I may not be with her always. I am content for her sake that it shall be so. But not to see her, never to hear her speak, not again to feel her arms round me, and to rock her head on my bosom!――I could not bear it. Promise me but this, twenty years hence I shall kiss her, and I will live in that single hope――but never――never――――' She cast herself at full length on the ground and burst into a rage of tears.

'I have sinned――I have sold my soul for this!――to this have I been brought by my wickedness!' was what she wailed. Then she gathered herself up in a crouching position. 'I have not heard all. There is something more. After where my pin broke.'

'There is no need. You have the substance.'

'I will have it. Read me the last lines.'

'I will not do so,' exclaimed Mrs. Jose in desperation.

Then the unfortunate mother tore at the letter, and ripped away the conclusion. 'I have it,' she said, 'I will go with it to Olver Dench. He will read it to me.'

'No――no. Give it me. Rather than that I will read.'

'It must be read,' said Jane, surrendering the fragment.

Then falteringly Mrs. Jose read, '"In this Winefred fully concurs."'

'Concurs!――she agrees!' cried Jane Marley, and again flung herself on the floor and writhed like a bruised worm.

Mrs. Jose knelt by her, stroked her hair, wiped the tears from her eyes, patted her――uttering kind words; but it was long before she could assuage the paroxysms of grief and despair.

When Mrs. Marley was slightly more composed, raising herself on her hands that rested on the floor, and glaring like a wild beast at her consoler, she said hoarsely, 'Hearken to me!――on the night when every door was shut against me, then I would have thrown myself over the cliffs with Winefred in my arms. I would to God I had done as I purposed. Cursed be he who prevented me, cursed whether in heaven above or in hell beneath, for he is dead. But for him we should have been together now, together inseparable, for ever――in one deep sea, in one eternity. But now――――'

She cast herself again with her face to the floor, and rocked from side to side in irrepressible grief.

'Jane,' said Mrs. Jose, 'you are in no condition to be left alone. Come with me to Bindon.'

'I will not.'

'Then I shall come here and stay the night with you. Compose yourself. I shall run home and fetch such things as I may require, and be with you in a jiffy.'

The wretched mother tossed but made no reply. Mrs. Jose seated herself again, talked to her soothingly, till she considered that the first violence of her grief was over. Then she rose and proposed, 'Have a cup o' tea.'

An hour later she had induced Jane to sit by the hearth.

Then, convinced that she might quit her temporarily, she departed for Bindon to make such arrangements there as would be necessitated by her absence during the night.

She was back again in three-quarters of an hour, but found the house locked and Jane gone, as she satisfied herself by looking through the window.

In alarm she hurried home.

'Please, ma'am,' said the maid, 'just after you was gone that Mrs. Marley came here, looking wild-like, and she gave me this key and said it was that of the house, and that you was to take charge of it till she came again.'