Joan Haste - H. Rider Haggard (fiction books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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“Handsome and attractive? Eh! she is all that. To me she is what the
sun is to the corn and the water to the fish. I can’t live without
her. Look here: I have watched her for years, ever since she was a
child. I have summered her and wintered her, as the saying is,
thinking that I wouldn’t make no mistake about her, whatever I might
feel, nor give myself away in a hurry, seeing that I wanted to keep
what I earn for myself, and not to spend it on others just because a
pretty face chanced to take my fancy.”
“Perhaps you have been a little too careful under the circumstances,
Mr. Rock.”
“Maybe I have: anyway, it has come home to me now. A month or so back
I spoke out, because I couldn’t keep myself in no longer.”
“To Joan Haste?”
“Yes, to Joan Haste. Her aunt knew about it before, but she didn’t
seem able to help me much.”
“And what did Joan say?”
“She said that she did not love me, and that she never would love me
nor marry me; but she said also that she had no thought for any other
man.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Rock, but did this interview happen before Captain
Graves and Joan Haste met with their accident in Ramborough Abbey? I
want to fix the date, that’s all.”
“It happened on that same afternoon, sir. The Captain must have come
along just after I left.”
And Samuel paused, passing his white hands over each other uneasily,
as though he were washing them, for Mr. Levinger’s question seemed to
suggest some new and unpleasant idea in his mind.
“Well?”
“Well, there isn’t much more to say, sir, except that I think I was a
bit unlucky in the way I put it to her; for it slipped out of my mouth
about her father never having had a name, and that seemed to anger
her.”
“Perhaps it was not the best possible way to ingratiate yourself with
the young woman,” replied Mr. Levinger sweetly. “So you came to no
understanding with her?”
“Well, I did and I didn’t. I found out that she is afraid for her life
of her aunt, who favours me; so I made a bargain with her that, if she
would let the matter stand open for six months, I’d promise to say
nothing to Mrs. Gillingwater.”
“I see: you played upon the girl’s fears. Doubtful policy again, I
think.”
“It was the best I could do, sir; for starving dogs must eat offal, as
the saying is. And now, Mr. Levinger, if you can help me, I shall be a
grateful man all my days. They do say down in Bradmouth that you know
something about Joan’s beginnings, and have charge of her in a way,
and that is why I made bold to speak to you; for I only promised to be
mum to her aunt.”
“Do they indeed, Mr. Rock? Truly in Bradmouth their tongues are long
and their ears are open. And yet, as you are seeking to marry her, I
do not mind telling you that there is enough truth in this report to
give it colour. As it chances, I did know something of Joan’s father,
though I am not at liberty to mention his name. He was a gentleman,
and has been dead many years; but he left me, not by deed but in an
informal manner, in a position of some responsibility towards her, and
entrusted me with a sum of money—small, but sufficient—to be
employed for her benefit, at my entire discretion, which was only
hampered by one condition—namely, that she should not be educated as
a lady. Now, Mr. Rock, I have told you so much in order to make
matters clear; but I will add this to it: if you repeat a single word,
either to Joan herself or to anybody else, you need hope for no help
from me in your suit. You see I am perfectly frank with you. I ask no
promises, but I appeal to your interests.”
“I understand, sir; but the mischief of it is, whether you wished it
or not, you have made a lady of her, and that is why she looks down
on me; or perhaps, being in her blood, it will out.”
“It would be possible to suggest other reasons for her unwillingness
to accept your offer,” replied Mr. Levinger drily; “but this is
neither here nor there. On the whole I approve of your suit, provided
that you are ready to make proper settlements upon Joan, for I know
you are a thriving man, and I see that you are attached to her.”
“I’ll do anything that I can, sir, for I have no mind to stint money
in this matter. But though you are so kind as to wish me well, I don’t
see how that sets me any forrarder with Joan.”
“Perhaps you will in a few days’ time, though. And now I’ve got a bit
of advice to give you: don’t you bother about that six months’
promise. You go at her again—in a week, let us say. You know how she
is employed now, do you not?”
“I have heard that she is helping to nurse the Captain.”
“Quite so: she is helping to nurse the Captain. Now, please understand
that I make no imputations, but I don’t know if you consider this a
suitable occupation for a beautiful young woman whom you happen to
wish to marry. Captain Graves is a very fine fellow, and people
sometimes grow intimate under such circumstances. Joan told you that
she cared for no man on the tenth of June. Perhaps if you wait till
the tenth of December she may not be able to say so much.”
By this time the poison of Mr. Levinger’s hints had sunk deep into his
hearer’s mind; though had he known Samuel’s character more thoroughly,
he might have thought the danger of distilling it greater than any
advantage that was to be gained thereby. Indeed, a minute later, he
regretted having said so much, for, glancing at him, he saw that Rock
was deeply affected. His sallow face had become red, his quivering
lips were livid, and he was snatching at his thin beard.
“Damn him!” he said, springing to his feet; “if he leads her that way,
fine fellow or not, I’ll do for him. I tell you that if he wants to
keep a whole skin, he had better leave my ewe-lamb alone.”
In an instant Mr. Levinger saw, that he had set fire to a jealousy
fierce enough to work endless mischief, and too late he tried to stamp
out the flame.
“Sit down, sir,” he said quietly, but in the tone of one who at some
time in his career had been accustomed to the command of men; “sit
down, and never dare to speak before me like that again. Now,” he
added, as Samuel obeyed him, “you will apologise to me for those
words, and you will dismiss all such thoughts from your mind.
Otherwise I tell you that I take back everything I have said, and that
you shall never even speak to Joan Haste again.”
Samuel’s fit of passion had passed by now, or perhaps it had been
frightened away, for his face grew pale, paler than usual, and the
constant involuntary movement of his furtive hands was the only sign
left of the storm that shook him.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a whining voice: “the Lord knows
I beg your pardon; and what’s more, I didn’t mean nothing of what I
said. It was jealousy that made me speak so, jealousy bitter as the
grave; and when I heard you talk of her getting fond of that
Captain—my Joan fond of another man, a gentleman too, who would be
bound to treat her as her mother was treated by some villain—it
seemed as though all the wickedness in the world bubbled up in my
heart and spoke through my mouth.”
“There, that will do,” answered Mr. Levinger testily. “See that you do
not let such wickedness bubble again in your heart, or anywhere else,
that’s all; for at the first sign of it—and remember I shall have my
eye on you—there will be an end of your courtship. And now you had
better go. Take my advice and ask her again in a week or so; you can
come and tell me how you get on. Good-day.”
Samuel picked up his broad hat, bowed, and departed, walking
delicately, like Agag, as though he expected at every moment to put
his foot upon an egg.
“Upon my word,” thought Mr. Levinger, “I’m half afraid of that fellow!
I wonder if it is safe to let the girl marry him. On the whole I
should think so; he has a great deal to recommend him, and this kind
of thing will pass off. She isn’t the woman to stand much of it.
Anyway, it seems necessary for everybody’s welfare, though somehow I
doubt if good will come of all this scheming.”
A MEETING BY THE MERE
Mr. Levinger’s confidential interview with Mrs. Gillingwater was not
long in bearing fruit. Joan soon became aware that her aunt was
watching her closely, and most closely of all whenever she chanced to
be in attendance on Henry, with whom she now was left alone as little
as possible. The effect of this knowledge was to produce an intense
irritation in her mind. Her conscience was guilty, but Joan was not a
woman to take a warning from a guilty conscience. Indeed, its sting
only drove her faster along the downward road, much as a high-mettled
horse often rebels furiously under the punishment of the whip. There
was a vein of self-willed obstinacy and of “devil-may-caredness” in
Joan’s nature that, dormant hitherto, at this crisis in her life began
to assert itself with alarming power. Come what might, she was
determined to have her way and not to be thwarted. There is this to be
said in excuse for her, that now her whole being was dominated by her
passion for Henry. In the ordinary sense of the word it was not love
that possessed her, nor was it strictly what is understood by passion,
but rather, if it can be defined at all, some strange new force, some
absorbing influence that included both love and passion, and yet had
mysterious qualities of its own. Fortunately, with English women such
infatuations are not common, though they are to found frequently
enough among people of the Latin race, where sometimes they result in
blind tragedies that seem almost inexplicable to our sober sense. But,
whatever the cause, Joan had fallen a victim to this fate, and now it
mastered her, body and mind and soul. She had never cared for any one
before, and on Henry she let loose the pent-up affections of a
lifetime. No breath of passion had ever moved her, and now a look from
his eyes or a touch of his hand stirred all the fibres of her nature
as the wind stirs every leaf upon a tree. He was her darling, her
desire. Till she had learnt to love him she had not know the powers
and the possibilities of life, and if she could win his love she would
even have been willing to pay for it at the price of her own death.
The approach of such an infatuation would have terrified most girls:
they would have crushed it, or put themselves beyond its reach before
it took hold of them.
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