Rachel Ray Read online

  E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.

  RACHEL RAY

  A Novel.

  by

  ANTHONY TROLLOPE,

  Author of"Barchester Towers," "Castle Richmond," "Orley Farm," Etc.

  In Two Volumes.

  VOL. I.

  London:Chapman and Hall, 193, Piccadilly.1863.[The right of Translation is reserved.]

  London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons,Stamford Street and Charing Cross.

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I. THE RAY FAMILY. CHAPTER II. THE YOUNG MAN FROM THE BREWERY. CHAPTER III. THE ARM IN THE CLOUDS. CHAPTER IV. WHAT SHALL BE DONE ABOUT IT? CHAPTER V. MR. COMFORT GIVES HIS ADVICE. CHAPTER VI. PREPARATIONS FOR MRS. TAPPITT'S PARTY. CHAPTER VII. AN ACCOUNT OF MRS. TAPPITT'S BALL--COMMENCED. CHAPTER VIII. AN ACCOUNT OF MRS. TAPPITT'S BALL--CONCLUDED. CHAPTER IX. MR. PRONG AT HOME. CHAPTER X. LUKE ROWAN DECLARES HIS PLANS AS TO THE BREWERY. CHAPTER XI. LUKE ROWAN TAKES HIS TEA QUITE LIKE A STEADY YOUNG MAN. CHAPTER XII. MR. TAPPITT IN HIS COUNTING-HOUSE. CHAPTER XIII. RACHEL RAY THINKS "SHE DOES LIKE HIM." CHAPTER XIV. LUKE ROWAN PAYS A SECOND VISIT TO BRAGG'S END. CHAPTER XV. MATERNAL ELOQUENCE.

  RACHEL RAY.

  CHAPTER I.

  THE RAY FAMILY.

  There are women who cannot grow alone as standard trees;--for whomthe support and warmth of some wall, some paling, some post, isabsolutely necessary;--who, in their growth, will bend and inclinethemselves towards some such prop for their life, creeping with theirtendrils along the ground till they reach it when the circumstancesof life have brought no such prop within their natural and immediatereach. Of most women it may be said that it would be well for themthat they should marry,--as indeed of most men also, seeing that manand wife will each lend the other strength, and yet in lending losenone; but to the women of whom I now speak some kind of marriage isquite indispensable, and by them some kind of marriage is alwaysmade, though the union is often unnatural. A woman in want of a wallagainst which to nail herself will swear conjugal obedience sometimesto her cook, sometimes to her grandchild, sometimes to her lawyer.Any standing corner, post, or stump, strong enough to bear her weightwill suffice; but to some standing corner, post, or stump, she willfind her way and attach herself, and there will she be married.

  Such a woman was our Mrs. Ray. As her name imports, she had beenmarried in the way most popular among ladies, with bell, book, andparson. She had been like a young peach tree that, in its early days,is carefully taught to grow against a propitious southern wall. Hernatural prop had been found for her, and all had been well. But herheaven had been made black with storms; the heavy winds had come,and the warm sheltering covert against which she had felt herselfso safe had been torn away from her branches as they were spreadingthemselves forth to the fulness of life. She had been married ateighteen, and then, after ten years of wedded security, she hadbecome a widow.

  Her husband had been some years older than herself,--a steady, sober,hardworking, earnest man, well fitted to act as a protecting screento such a woman as he had chosen. They had lived in Exeter, bothof them having belonged to Devonshire from their birth; and Mr.Ray, though not a clergyman himself, had been employed in mattersecclesiastical. He was a lawyer,--but a lawyer of that sort that isso nearly akin to the sacerdotal profession, as to make him quiteclerical and almost a clergyman. He managed the property of the deanand chapter, and knew what were the rights, and also what were thewrongs, of prebendaries and minor canons,--of vicars choral, andeven of choristers. But he had been dead many years before our storycommences, and so much as this is now said of him simply to explainunder what circumstances Mrs. Ray had received the first tinge ofthat colouring which was given to her life by church matters.

  They had been married somewhat over ten years when he died, and shewas left with two surviving daughters, the eldest and the youngest ofthe children she had borne. The eldest, Dorothea, was then more thannine years old, and as she took much after her father, being stern,sober, and steady, Mrs. Ray immediately married herself to her eldestchild. Dorothea became the prop against which she would henceforthgrow. And against Dorothea she had grown ever since, with theexception of one short year. In that year Dorothea had taken ahusband to herself and had lost him;--so that there were two widowsin the same house. She, like her mother, had married early, havingjoined her lot to that of a young clergyman near Baslehurst; but hehad lived but a few months, and Mrs. Ray's eldest child had come backto her mother's cottage, black, and stiff, and stern, in widow'sweeds,--Mrs. Prime by name. Black, and stiff, and stern, in widow'sweeds, she had remained since, for nine years following, and thosenine years will bring us to the beginning of our story.

  As regards Mrs. Ray herself, I think it was well that poor Mr. Primehad died. It assured to her the support which she needed. It must,however, be acknowledged that Mrs. Prime was a harder taskmaster thanDorothea Ray had been, and that the mother might have undergone agentler ruling had the daughter never become a wife. I think therewas much in the hardness of the weeds she wore. It seemed as thoughMrs. Prime in selecting her crape, her bombazine, and the models ofher caps, had resolved to repress all ideas of feminine softness;--asthough she had sworn to herself, with a great oath, that man shouldnever again look on her with gratified eyes. The materials shewore have made other widows very pleasant to be seen,--with a sadthoughtful pleasantness indeed, but still very pleasant. There wasnothing of that with Mrs. Prime. When she came back to her mother'scottage near Baslehurst she was not yet twenty years old, but she wasrough with weeds. Her caps were lumpy, heavy, full of woe, and cleanonly as decency might require,--not nicely clean with feminine care.The very stuff of which they were made was brown, rather than white,and her dress was always the same. It was rough, and black, andclinging,--disagreeable to the eye in its shape, as will always bethe dress of any woman which is worn day after day through all hours.By nature and education Mrs. Prime was a prim, tidy woman, but itseemed that her peculiar ideas of duty required her to militateagainst her nature and education, at any rate in appearance. And thiswas her lot in life before she had yet reached her twentieth year!

  Dorothea Ray had not been wanting in some feminine attraction.She had ever been brown and homely, but her features had beenwell-formed, and her eyes had been bright. Now, as she approached tothirty years of age, she might have been as well-looking as at anyearlier period of her life if it had been her wish to possess goodlooks. But she had had no such wish. On the contrary, her desire hadbeen to be ugly, forbidding, unattractive, almost repulsive; so that,in very truth, she might be known to be a widow indeed. And hereI must not be misunderstood. There was nothing hypocritical aboutMrs. Prime, nor did she make any attempt to appear before men tobe weighted with a deeper sorrow than that which she truly bore;hypocrisy was by no means her fault. Her fault was this; that she hadtaught herself to believe that cheerfulness was a sin, and that themore she became morose, the nearer would she be to the fruition ofthose hopes of future happiness on which her heart was set. In allher words and thoughts she was genuine; but, then, in so very many ofthem she was mistaken! This was the wall against which Mrs. Ray hadallowed herself to be fastened for many years past, and though thesupport was strong it must be admitted that it could hardly have beenat all times pleasant.

  Mrs. Ray had become a widow before she was thirty; and she hadgrieved for her husband with truest sorrow, pouring herself out atfirst in tears, and afterwards expending herself in long hours ofvain regrets. But she had never been rough or hard in her widowhood.It had ever been her nature to be soft. She was a woman all over,and had about her so much of a woman's prettiness, that she had notaltogether divested herself of it, even when her weepers ha
d been ofthe broadest. To obtain favour in men's eyes had never been in hermind since she had first obtained favour in the eyes of him who hadbeen her lord; but yet she had never absolutely divested herselfof her woman charms, of that look half retreating, half beseeching,which had won the heart of the ecclesiastical lawyer. Gradually herweeds and her deep heavy crapes had fallen away from her, and then,without much thought on the matter, she dressed herself much asdid other women of forty or forty-five,--being driven, however, oncertain occasions by her daughter to a degree of dinginess, not byany means rivalling that of the daughter herself, but which she wouldnot have achieved had she been left to her own devices. She was asweet-tempered, good-humoured, loving, timid woman, ever listeningand believing and learning, with a certain aptitude for gentlemirth at her heart which, however, was always being repressed andcontrolled by the circumstances of her life. She could gossip over acup of tea, and enjoy buttered toast and hot cake very thoroughly, ifonly there was no one near her to whisper into her ear that any suchenjoyment was wicked. In spite of the sorrows she had suffered shewould have taught herself to believe this world to be a pleasantplace, were it not so often preached into her ears that it is a valeof tribulation in which no satisfaction can abide. And it may be saidof Mrs. Ray that her religion, though it sufficed her, tormented hergrievously. It sufficed her; and if on such a subject I may ventureto give an opinion, I think it was of a nature to suffice her in thatgreat strait for which it had been prepared. But in this world ittormented her, carrying her hither and thither, and leaving her ingrievous doubt, not as to its own truth in any of its details, but asto her own conduct under its injunctions, and also as to her own modeof believing in it. In truth she believed too much. She could neverdivide the minister from the Bible;--nay, the very clerk in thechurch was sacred to her while exercising his functions therein. Itnever occurred to her to question any word that was said to her. If alinen-draper were to tell her that one coloured calico was better forher than another, she would take that point as settled by the man'sword, and for the time would be free from all doubt on that heading.So also when the clergyman in his sermon told her that she shouldlive simply and altogether for heaven, that all thoughts as to thisworld were wicked thoughts, and that nothing belonging to this worldcould be other than painful, full of sorrow and vexations, she wouldgo home believing him absolutely, and with tear-laden eyes wouldbethink herself how utterly she was a castaway, because of that tea,and cake, and innocent tittle tattle with which the hours of herSaturday evening had been beguiled. She would weakly resolve that shewould laugh no more, and that she would live in truth in a valley oftears. But then as the bright sun came upon her, and the birds sangaround her, and some one that she loved would cling to her and kissher, she would be happy in her own despite, and would laugh with alow musical sweet tone, forgetting that such laughter was a sin.

  And then that very clergyman himself would torment her;--he that toldher from the pulpit on Sundays how frightfully vain were all attemptsat worldly happiness. He would come to her on the Monday with agood-natured, rather rubicund face, and would ask after all herlittle worldly belongings,--for he knew of her history and hermeans,--and he would joke with her, and tell her comfortably of hisgrown sons and daughters, who were prospering in worldly matters,and express the fondest solicitude as to their worldly advancement.Twice or thrice a year Mrs. Ray would go to the parsonage, and suchevenings would be by no means hours of wailing. Tea and butteredtoast on such occasions would be very manifestly in the ascendant.Mrs. Ray never questioned the propriety of her clergyman's life, nortaught herself to see a discrepancy between his doctrine and hisconduct. But she believed in both, and was unconsciously troubledat having her belief so varied. She never thought about it, ordiscovered that her friend allowed himself to be carried away in hissermons by his zeal, and that he condemned this world in all things,hoping that he might thereby teach his hearers to condemn it insome things. Mrs. Ray would allow herself the privilege of no suchargument as that. It was all gospel to her. The parson in the church,and the parson out of the church, were alike gospels to her sweet,white, credulous mind; but these differing gospels troubled her andtormented her.

  Of that particular clergyman, I may as well here say that he was theRev. Charles Comfort, and that he was rector of Cawston, a parish inDevonshire, about two miles out of Baslehurst. Mr. Prime had for ayear or two been his curate, and during that term of curacy he hadmarried Dorothea Ray. Then he had died, and his widow had returnedfrom the house her husband had occupied near the church to hermother's cottage. Mr. Prime had been possessed of some property, andwhen he died he left his widow in the uncontrolled possession oftwo hundred a year. As it was well known that Mrs. Ray's income wasconsiderably less than this, the people of Baslehurst and Cawstonhad declared how comfortable for Mrs. Ray would be this accession ofwealth to the family. But Mrs. Ray had not become much the richer.Mrs. Prime did no doubt pay her fair quota towards the maintenanceof the humble cottage at Bragg's End, for such was the name of thespot at which Mrs. Ray lived. But she did not do more than this.She established a Dorcas society at Baslehurst, of which she becamepermanent president, and spent her money in carrying on thisinstitution in the manner most pleasing to herself. I fear that Mrs.Prime liked to be more powerful at these charitable meetings than hersister labourers in the same vineyard, and that she achieved thispower by the means of her money. I do not bring this as a heavyaccusation against her. In such institutions there is generally needof a strong, stirring, leading mind. If some one would not assumepower, the power needed would not be exercised. Such a one as Mrs.Prime is often necessary. But we all have our own pet temptations,and I think that Mrs. Prime's temptation was a love of power.

  It will be understood that Baslehurst is a town,--a town with amarket, and hotels, and a big brewery, and a square, and street;whereas Cawston is a village, or rather a rural parish, three milesout of Baslehurst, north of it, lying on the river Avon. But Bragg'sEnd, though within the parish of Cawston, lies about a mile and ahalf from the church and village, on the road to Baslehurst, andpartakes therefore almost as much of the township of Baslehurst asit does of the rusticity of Cawston. How Bragg came to such an end,or why this corner of the parish came to be thus united for everto Bragg's name, no one in the parish knew. The place consisted ofa little green, and a little wooden bridge, over a little streamthat trickled away into the Avon. Here were clustered half a dozenlabourers' cottages, and a beer or cider shop. Standing back from thegreen was the house and homestead of Farmer Sturt, and close uponthe green, with its garden hedge running down to the bridge, was thepretty cottage of Mrs. Ray. Mr. Comfort had known her husband, andhe had found for her this quiet home. It was a pretty place, withone small sitting-room opening back upon the little garden, and withanother somewhat larger fronting towards the road and the green. Inthe front room Mrs. Ray lived, looking out upon so much of the worldas Bragg's End green afforded to her view. The other seemed to bekept with some faint expectation of company that never came. Many ofthe widow's neatest belongings were here preserved in most perfectorder; but one may say that they were altogether thrown away,--unlessindeed they afforded solace to their owner in the very act of dustingthem. Here there were four or five books, prettily bound, with giltleaves, arranged in shapes on the small round table. Here also wasdeposited a spangled mat of wondrous brightness, made of short whitesticks of glass strung together. It must have taken care and time inits manufacture, but was, I should say, but of little efficacy eitherfor domestic use or domestic ornament. There were shells on thechimneypiece, and two or three china figures. There was a birdcagehung in the window but without a bird. It was all very clean, but theroom conveyed at the first glance an overpowering idea of its ownabsolute inutility and vanity. It was capable of answering no purposefor which men and women use rooms; but he who could have said so toMrs. Ray must have been a cruel and a hardhearted man.

  The other room which looked out upon the green was snug enough, andsufficed for all the widow
's wants. There was a little book-caseladen with books. There was the family table at which they ate theirmeals; and there was the little table near the window at which Mrs.Ray worked. There was an old sofa, and an old arm-chair; and therewas, also, a carpet, alas, so old that the poor woman had becomepainfully aware that she must soon have either no carpet or a newone. A word or two had already been said between her and Mrs. Primeon that matter, but the word or two had not as yet been comfortable.Then, over the fire, there was an old round mirror; and, having toldof that, I believe I need not further describe the furniture of thesitting room at Bragg's End.

  But I have not as yet described the whole of Mrs. Ray's family. HadI done so, her life would indeed have been sour, and sorrowful, forshe was a woman who especially needed companionship. Though I havehitherto spoken but of one daughter, I have said that two had beenleft with her when her husband died. She had one whom she fearedand obeyed, seeing that a master was necessary to her; but she hadanother whom she loved and caressed, and I may declare, that somesuch object for her tenderness was as necessary to her as the master.She could not have lived without something to kiss, something totend, something to which she might speak in short, loving, pet termsof affection. This youngest girl, Rachel, had been only two years oldwhen her father died, and now, at the time of this story, was not yetquite twenty. Her sister was, in truth, only seven years her senior,but in all the facts and ways of life, she seemed to be the elder byat least half a century. Rachel indeed, at the time, felt herself tobe much nearer of an age with her mother. With her mother she couldlaugh and talk, ay, and form little wicked whispered schemes behindthe tyrant's back, during some of those Dorcas hours, in which Mrs.Prime would be employed at Baslehurst; schemes, however, for thefinal perpetration of which, the courage of the elder widow would toofrequently be found insufficient.

  Rachel Ray was a fair-haired, well-grown, comely girl,--very likeher mother in all but this, that whereas about the mother's eyesthere was always a look of weakness, there was a shadowing of comingstrength of character round those of the daughter. On her brow therewas written a capacity for sustained purpose which was wanting toMrs. Ray. Not that the reader is to suppose that she was masterfullike her sister. She had been brought up under Mrs. Prime'sdirections, and had not, as yet, learned to rebel. Nor was she inany way prone to domineer. A little wickedness now and then, to theextent, perhaps, of a vain walk into Baslehurst on a summer evening,a little obstinacy in refusing to explain whither she had been andwhom she had seen, a yawn in church, or a word of complaint as to thelength of the second Sunday sermon,--these were her sins; and whenrebuked for them by her sister, she would of late toss her head, andlook slily across to her mother, with an eye that was not penitent.Then Mrs. Prime would become black and angry, and would foretell hardthings for her sister, denouncing her as fashioning herself wilfullyin the world's ways. On such occasions Mrs. Ray would become veryunhappy, believing first in the one child and then in the other.She would defend Rachel, till her weak defence would be knockedto shivers, and her poor vacillating words taken from out of hermouth. Then, when forced to acknowledge that Rachel was in dangerof backsliding, she would kiss her and cry over her, and beg her tolisten to the sermons. Rachel hitherto had never rebelled. She hadnever declared that a walk into Baslehurst was better than a sermon.She had never said out boldly that she liked the world and itswickednesses. But an observer of physiognomy, had such observer beenthere, might have seen that the days of such rebellion were coming.

  She was a fair-haired girl, with hair, not flaxen, but of light-browntint,--thick, and full, and glossy, so that its charms could notall be hidden away let Mrs. Prime do what she would to effect suchhiding. She was well made, being tall and straight, with greatappearance of health and strength. She walked as though the motionwere pleasant to her, and easy,--as though the very act of walkingwere a pleasure. She was bright too, and clever in their littlecottage, striving hard with her needle to make things look well, andnot sparing her strength in giving household assistance. One littlemaiden Mrs. Ray employed, and a gardener came to her for half a dayonce a week;--but I doubt whether the maiden in the house, or thegardener out of the house, did as much hard work as Rachel. Howshe had toiled over that carpet, patching it and piecing it! EvenDorothea could not accuse her of idleness. Therefore Dorothea accusedher of profitless industry, because she would not attend morefrequently at those Dorcas meetings.

  "But, Dolly, how on earth am I to make my own things, and look aftermamma's? Charity begins at home." Then had Dorothea put down her hugeDorcas basket, and explained to her sister, at considerable length,her reading of that text of Scripture. "One's own clothes mustbe made all the same," Rachel said when the female preacher hadfinished. "And I don't suppose even you would like mamma to go tochurch without a decent gown." Then Dorothea had seized up herhuge basket angrily, and had trudged off into Baslehurst at aquick pace,--at a pace much too quick when the summer's heat isconsidered;--and as she went, unhappy thoughts filled her mind. Acoloured dress belonging to Rachel herself had met her eye, and shehad heard tidings of--a young man!

  Such tidings, to her ears, were tidings of iniquity, of vanity,of terrible sin; they were tidings which hardly admitted of beingdiscussed with decency, and which had to be spoken of below thebreath. A young man! Could it be that such disgrace had fallen uponher sister! She had not as yet mentioned the subject to Rachel, butshe had given a dark hint to their afflicted mother.

  "No, I didn't see it myself, but I heard it from Miss Pucker."

  "She that was to have been married to William Whitecoat, the baker'sson, only he went away to Torquay and picked up with somebody else.People said he did it because she does squint so dreadfully."

  "Mother!"--and Dorothea spoke very sternly as she answered--"whatdoes it matter to us about William Whitecoat, or Miss Pucker'ssquint? She is a woman eager in doing good."

  "It's only since he left Baslehurst, my dear."

  "Mother!--does that matter to Rachel? Will that save her if she be indanger? I tell you that Miss Pucker saw her walking with that youngman from the brewery!"

  Though Mrs. Ray had been strongly inclined to throw what odium shecould upon Miss Pucker, and though she hated Miss Pucker in herheart,--at this special moment,--for having carried tales against herdarling, she could not deny, even to herself, that a terrible stateof things had arrived if it were really true that Rachel had beenseen walking with a young man. She was not bitter on the subjectas was Mrs. Prime and poor Miss Pucker, but she was filled full ofindefinite horror with regard to young men in general. They were allregarded by her as wolves,--as wolves, either with or without sheep'sclothing. I doubt whether she ever brought it home to herself thatthose whom she now recognized as the established and well-creditedlords of the creation had ever been young men themselves. When sheheard of a wedding,--when she learned that some struggling son ofAdam had taken to himself a wife, and had settled himself down to thesober work of the world, she rejoiced greatly, thinking that the sonof Adam had done well to get himself married. But whenever it waswhispered into her ear that any young man was looking after a youngwoman,--that he was taking the only step by which he could hope tofind a wife for himself,--she was instantly shocked at the wickednessof the world, and prayed inwardly that the girl at least might besaved like a brand from the burning. A young man, in her estimation,was a wicked wild beast, seeking after young women to devour them, asa cat seeks after mice. This at least was her established idea,--theidea on which she worked, unless some other idea on any specialoccasion were put into her head. When young Butler Cornbury, theeldest son of the neighbouring squire, came to Cawston after prettyPatty Comfort,--for Patty Comfort was said to have been the prettiestgirl in Devonshire;--and when Patty Comfort had been allowed to go tothe assemblies at Torquay almost on purpose to meet him, Mrs. Ray hadthought it all right, because it had been presented to her mind asall right by the Rector. Butler Cornbury had married Patty Comfortand it was all right. But had she heard of Patty's danci
ngs withoutthe assistance of a few hints from Mr. Comfort himself, her mindwould have worked in a different way.

  She certainly desired that her own child Rachel should some dayfind a husband, and Rachel was already older than she had beenwhen she married, or than Mrs. Prime had been at her wedding; but,nevertheless, there was something terrible in the very thought of--ayoung man; and she, though she would fain have defended her child,hardly knew how to do so otherwise than by discrediting the words ofMiss Pucker. "She always was very ill-natured, you know," Mrs. Rayventured to hint.

  "Mother!" said Mrs. Prime, in that peculiarly stern voice of hers."There can be no reason for supposing that Miss Pucker wishes tomalign the child. It is my belief that Rachel will be in Baslehurstthis evening. If so, she probably intends to meet him again."

  "I know she is going into Baslehurst after tea," said Mrs. Ray,"because she has promised to walk with the Miss Tappitts. She told meso."

  "Exactly;--with the brewery girls! Oh, mother!" Now it is certainlytrue that the three Miss Tappitts were the daughters of Bungall andTappitt, the old-established brewers of Baslehurst. They were, atleast, the actual children of Mr. Tappitt, who was the sole survivingpartner in the brewery. The name of Bungall had for many years beenused merely to give solidity and standing to the Tappitt family.The Miss Tappitts certainly came from the brewery, and Miss Puckerhad said that the young man came from the same quarter. There wasground in this for much suspicion, and Mrs. Ray became uneasy. Thisconversation between the two widows had occurred before dinner at thecottage on a Saturday;--and it was after dinner that the elder sisterhad endeavoured to persuade the younger one to accompany her to theDorcas workshop;--but had endeavoured in vain.