"But he was never fond of him in his heart—that every one knows,"said Mrs. Tom Toller. "Mr. Thesiger never goes into extremes. He keepsto the truth in what is evangelical. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke,who want to use Dissenting hymn-books and that low kind of religion,who ever found Bulstrode to their taste."
"I understand, Mr. Tyke is in great distress about him," said Mrs.Hackbutt. "And well he may be: they say the Bulstrodes have half keptthe Tyke family."
"And of coarse it is a discredit to his doctrines," said Mrs. Sprague,who was elderly, and old-fashioned in her opinions.
"People will not make a boast of being methodistical in Middlemarchfor a good while to come."
"I think we must not set down people's bad actions to their religion,"said falcon-faced Mrs. Plymdale, who had been listening hitherto.
"Oh, my dear, we are forgetting," said Mrs. Sprague. "We ought notto be talking of this before you."
"I am sure I have no reason to be partial," said Mrs. Plymdale,coloring. "It's true Mr. Plymdale has always been on good terms with Mr.Bulstrode, and Harriet Vincy was my friend long before she married him.But I have always kept my own opinions and told her where she waswrong, poor thing. Still, in point of religion, I must say, Mr. Bulstrodemight have done what he has, and worse, and yet have been a man of noreligion. I don't say that there has not been a little too much of that—Ilike moderation myself. But truth is truth. The men tried at the assizesare not all over-religious, I suppose."
"Well," said Mrs. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, "all I can say is, that Ithink she ought to separate from him."
"I can't say that," said Mrs. Sprague. "She took him for better orworse, you know."
"But 'worse' can never mean finding out that your husband is fit forNewgate," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "Fancy living with such a man! I shouldexpect to be poisoned."
"Yes, I think myself it is an encouragement to crime if such men areto be taken care of and waited on by good wives," said Mrs. Tom Toller.
"And a good wife poor Harriet has been," said Mrs. Plymdale. "Shethinks her husband the first of men. It's true he has never denied heranything."
"Well, we shall see what she will do," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "I supposeshe knows nothing yet, poor creature. I do hope and trust I shall not seeher, for I should be frightened to death lest I should say anything abouther husband. Do you think any hint has reached her?"
"I should hardly think so," said Mrs. Tom Toller. "We hear that he isill, and has never stirred out of the house since the meeting on Thursday;but she was with her girls at church yesterday, and they had new Tuscanbonnets. Her own had a feather in it. I have never seen that her religionmade any difference in her dress."
"She wears very neat patterns always," said Mrs. Plymdale, a littlestung. "And that feather I know she got dyed a pale lavender on purposeto be consistent. I must say it of Harriet that she wishes to do right." "As to her knowing what has happened, it can't be kept from herlong," said Mrs. Hackbutt. "The Vincys know, for Mr. Vincy was at themeeting. It will he a great blow to him. There is his daughter as well ashis sister."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Sprague. "Nobody supposes that Mr.Lydgate can go on holding up his head in Middlemarch, things look soblack about the thousand pounds he took just at that man's death. Itreally makes one shudder."
"Pride must have a fall," said Mrs. Hackbutt.
"I am not so sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was as I am for heraunt," said Mrs. Plymdale. "She needed a lesson."
"I suppose the Bulstrodes will go and live abroad somewhere," saidMrs. Sprague. "That is what is generally done when there is anythingdisgraceful in a family."
"And a most deadly blow it will be to Harriet," said Mrs. Plymdale."If ever a woman was crushed, she will be. I pity her from my heart. Andwith all her faults, few women are better. From a girl she had the neatestways, and was always good-hearted, and as open as the day. You mightlook into her drawers when you would—always the same. And so she hasbrought up Kate and Ellen. You may think how hard it will be for her togo among foreigners."
"The doctor says that is what he should recommend the Lydgates todo," said Mrs. Sprague. "He says Lydgate ought to have kept among theFrench."
"That would suit her well enough, I dare say," said Mrs. Plymdale;"there is that kind of lightness about her. But she got that from hermother; she never got it from her aunt Bulstrode, who always gave hergood advice, and to my knowledge would rather have had her marryelsewhere."
Mrs. Plymdale was in a situation which caused her somecomplication of feeling. There had been not only her intimacy with Mrs.Bulstrode, but also a profitable business relation of the great Plymdaledyeing house with Mr. Bulstrode, which on the one hand would haveinclined her to desire that the mildest view of his character should be thetrue one, but on the other, made her the more afraid of seeming topalliate his culpability. Again, the late alliance of her family with theTollers had brought her in connection with the best circle, whichgratified her in every direction except in the inclination to those seriousviews which she believed to be the best in another sense. The sharp littlewoman's conscience was somewhat troubled in the adjustment of theseopposing "bests," and of her griefs and satisfactions under late events,which were likely to humble those who needed humbling, but also to fallheavily on her old friend whose faults she would have preferred seeingon a background of prosperity.
Poor Mrs. Bulstrode, meanwhile, had been no further shaken by theoncoming tread of calamity than in the busier stirring of that secretuneasiness which had always been present in her since the last visit ofRaffles to The Shrubs. That the hateful man had come ill to Stone Court,and that her husband had chosen to remain there and watch over him,she allowed to be explained by the fact that Raffles had been employedand aided in earlier-days, and that this made a tie of benevolencetowards him in his degraded helplessness; and she had been since theninnocently cheered by her husband's more hopeful speech about his ownhealth and ability to continue his attention to business. The calm wasdisturbed when Lydgate had brought him home ill from the meeting, andin spite of comforting assurances during the next few days, she cried inprivate from the conviction that her husband was not suffering frombodily illness merely, but from something that afflicted his mind. Hewould not allow her to read to him, and scarcely to sit with him, allegingnervous susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet she suspected thatin shutting himself up in his private room he wanted to be busy with hispapers. Something, she felt sure, had happened. Perhaps it was somegreat loss of money; and she was kept in the dark. Not daring toquestion her husband, she said to Lydgate, on the fifth day after themeeting, when she had not left home except to go to church—
"Mr. Lydgate, pray be open with me: I like to know the truth. Hasanything happened to Mr. Bulstrode?"
"Some little nervous shock," said Lydgate, evasively. He felt that itwas not for him to make the painful revelation.
"But what brought it on?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking directly athim with her large dark eyes.
"There is often something poisonous in the air of public rooms," saidLydgate. "Strong men can stand it, but it tells on people in proportion tothe delicacy of their systems. It is often impossible to account for theprecise moment of an attack—or rather, to say why the strength givesway at a particular moment."
Mrs. Bulstrode was not satisfied with this answer. There remained inher the belief that some calamity had befallen her husband, of which shewas to be kept in ignorance; and it was in her nature strongly to objectto such concealment. She begged leave for her daughters to sit with theirfather, and drove into the town to pay some visits, conjecturing that ifanything were known to have gone wrong in Mr. Bulstrode's affairs, sheshould see or hear some sign of it.
She called on Mrs. Thesiger, who was not at home, and then droveto Mrs. Hackbutt's on the other side of the churchyard. Mrs. Hackbuttsaw her coming from an up-stairs window, and remembering her formeralarm lest she should meet Mrs. Bulstrode, felt almost bound inconsistency to send word that she was not at home; but against that,there was a sudden strong desire within her for the excitement of aninterview in which she was quite determined not to make the slightestallusion to what was in her mind.
Hence Mrs. Bulstrode was shown into the drawing-room, and Mrs.Hackbutt went to her, with more tightness of lip and rubbing of herhands than was usually observable in her, these being precautionsadopted against freedom of speech. She was resolved not to ask how Mr.Bulstrode was.
"I have not been anywhere except to church for nearly a week," saidMrs. Bulstrode, after a few introductory remarks. "But Mr. Bulstrode wastaken so ill at the meeting on Thursday that I have not liked to leave thehouse."
Mrs. Hackbutt rubbed the back of one hand with the palm of theother held against her chest, and let her eyes ramble over the pattern onthe rug.
"Was Mr. Hackbutt at the meeting?" persevered Mrs. Bulstrode.
"Yes, he was," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with the same attitude. "The landis to be bought by subscription, I believe."
"Let us hope that there will be no more cases of cholera to be buriedin it," said Mrs. Bulstrode. "It is an awful visitation. But I always thinkMiddlemarch a very healthy spot. I suppose it is being used to it from achild; but I never saw the town I should like to live at better, andespecially our end."
"I am sure I should be glad that you always should live atMiddlemarch, Mrs. Bulstrode," said Mrs. Hackbutt, with a slight sigh."Still, we must learn to resign ourselves, wherever our lot may be cast.Though I am sure there will always be people in this town who will wishyou well."
Mrs. Hackbutt longed to say, "if you take my advice you will partfrom your husband," but it seemed clear to her that the poor womanknew nothing of the thunder ready to bolt on her head, and she herselfcould do no more than prepare her a little. Mrs. Bulstrode felt suddenlyrather chill and trembling: there was evidently something unusual behindthis speech of Mrs. Hackbutt's; but though she had set out with thedesire to be fully informed, she found herself unable now to pursue herbrave purpose, and turning the conversation by an inquiry about theyoung Hackbutts, she soon took her leave saying that she was going tosee Mrs. Plymdale. On her way thither she tried to imagine that theremight have been some unusually warm sparring at the meeting betweenMr. Bulstrode and some of his frequent opponents—perhaps Mr.Hackbutt might have been one of them. That would account foreverything.
But when she was in conversation with Mrs. Plymdale thatcomforting explanation seemed no longer tenable. "Selina" received herwith a pathetic affectionateness and a disposition to give edifyinganswers on the commonest topics, which could hardly have reference toan ordinary quarrel of which the most important consequence was aperturbation of Mr. Bulstrode's health. Beforehand Mrs. Bulstrode hadthought that she would sooner question Mrs. Plymdale than any oneelse; but she found to her surprise that an old friend is not always theperson whom it is easiest to make a confidant of: there was the barrier ofremembered communication under other circumstances—there was thedislike of being pitied and informed by one who had been long wont toallow her the superiority. For certain words of mysteriousappropriateness that Mrs. Plymdale let fall about her resolution never toturn her back on her friends, convinced Mrs. Bulstrode that what hadhappened must be some kind of misfortune, and instead of being able tosay with her native directness, "What is it that you have in your mind?"she found herself anxious to get away before she had heard anythingmore explicit. She began to have an agitating certainty that themisfortune was something more than the mere loss of money, beingkeenly sensitive to the fact that Selina now, just as Mrs. Hackbutt haddone before, avoided noticing what she said about her husband, as theywould have avoided noticing a personal blemish.
She said good-by with nervous haste, and told the coachman to driveto Mr. Vincy's warehouse. In that short drive her dread gathered somuch force from the sense of darkness, that when she entered theprivate counting-house where her brother sat at his desk, her kneestrembled and her usually florid face was deathly pale. Something of thesame effect was produced in him by the sight of her: he rose from hisseat to meet her, took her by the hand, and said, with his impulsiverashness—
"God help you, Harriet! you know all."
That moment was perhaps worse than any which came after. Itcontained that concentrated experience which in great crises of emotionreveals the bias of a nature, and is prophetic of the ultimate act whichwill end an intermediate struggle. Without that memory of Raffles shemight still have thought only of monetary ruin, but now along with herbrother's look and words there darted into her mind the idea of someguilt in her husband—then, under the working of terror came the imageof her husband exposed to disgrace—and then, after an instant ofscorching shame in which she felt only the eyes of the world, with oneleap of her heart she was at his side in mournful but unreproachingfellowship with shame and isolation. All this went on within her in amere flash of time—while she sank into the chair, and raised her eyes toher brother, who stood over her. "I know nothing, Walter. What is it?"she said, faintly.
He told her everything, very inartificially, in slow fragments, makingher aware that the scandal went much beyond proof, especially as to theend of Raffles.
"People will talk," he said. "Even if a man has been acquitted by ajury, they'll talk, and nod and wink—and as far as the world goes, a manmight often as well be guilty as not. It's a breakdown blow, and itdamages Lydgate as much as Bulstrode. I don't pretend to say what isthe truth. I only wish we had never heard the name of either Bulstrodeor Lydgate. You'd better have been a Vincy all your life, and so hadRosamond." Mrs. Bulstrode made no reply.
