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The hand of ethelberta

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The Hand of Ethelberta, by Thomas Hardy The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Hand of Ethelberta, by Thomas Hardy This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Hand of Ethelberta Author: Thomas Hardy Release Date: October 28, 2004 [eBook #3469] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA*** This eBook was produced from the 1907 Macmillan and Co edition by Les Bowler, St Ives, Dorset THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA—A COMEDY IN CHAPTERS by Thomas Hardy “Vitae post-scenia celant.”—Lucretius PREFACE This somewhat frivolous narrative was produced as an interlude between stories of a more sober design, and it was given the sub-title of a comedy to indicate— though not quite accurately—the aim of the performance A high degree of probability was not attempted in the arrangement of the incidents, and there was expected of the reader a certain lightness of mood, which should inform him with a good-natured willingness to accept the production in the spirit in which it was offered The characters themselves, however, were meant to be consistent and human On its first appearance the novel suffered, perhaps deservedly, for what was involved in these intentions—for its quality of unexpectedness in particular— that unforgivable sin in the critic’s sight—the immediate precursor of ‘Ethelberta’ having been a purely rural tale Moreover, in its choice of medium, and line of perspective, it undertook a delicate task: to excite interest in a drama —if such a dignified word may be used in the connection—wherein servants were as important as, or more important than, their masters; wherein the drawing-room was sketched in many cases from the point of view of the servants’ hall Such a reversal of the social foreground has, perhaps, since grown more welcome, and readers even of the finer crusted kind may now be disposed to pardon a writer for presenting the sons and daughters of Mr and Mrs Chickerel as beings who come within the scope of a congenial regard T H December 1895 CONTENTS A STREET IN ANGLEBURY—A HEATH NEAR IT—INSIDE THE ‘RED LION’ INN CHRISTOPHER’S HOUSE—SANDBOURNE TOWN—SANDBOURNE MOOR SANDBOURNE MOOR (continued) SANDBOURNE PIER—ROAD TO WYNDWAY—BALLROOM IN WYNDWAY HOUSE AT THE WINDOW—THE ROAD HOME THE SHORE BY WYNDWAY THE DINING-ROOM OF A TOWN HOUSE—THE BUTLER’S PANTRY CHRISTOPHER’S LODGINGS—THE GROUNDS ABOUT ROOKINGTON A LADY’S DRAWING-ROOMS—ETHELBERTA’S DRESSING-ROOM 10 LADY PETHERWIN’S HOUSE 11 SANDBOURNE AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD—SOME LONDON STREETS 12 ARROWTHORNE PARK AND LODGE 13 THE LODGE (continued)—THE COPSE BEHIND 14 A TURNPIKE ROAD 15 AN INNER ROOM AT THE LODGE 16 A LARGE PUBLIC HALL 17 ETHELBERTA’S HOUSE 18 NEAR SANDBOURNE—LONDON STREETS—ETHELBERTA’S 19 ETHELBERTA’S DRAWING-ROOM 20 THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE HALL—THE ROAD HOME 21 A STREET—NEIGH’S ROOMS—CHRISTOPHER’S ROOMS 22 ETHELBERTA’S HOUSE 23 ETHELBERTA’S HOUSE (continued) 24 ETHELBERTA’S HOUSE (continued)—THE BRITISH MUSEUM 25 THE ROYAL ACADEMY—THE FARNFIELD ESTATE 26 ETHELBERTA’S DRAWING-ROOM 27 MRS BELMAINE’S—CRIPPLEGATE CHURCH 28 ETHELBERTA’S—MR CHICKEREL’S ROOM 29 ETHELBERTA’S DRESSING-ROOM—MR DONCASTLE’S HOUSE 30 ON THE HOUSETOP 31 KNOLLSEA—A LOFTY DOWN—A RUINED CASTLE 32 A ROOM IN ENCKWORTH COURT 33 THE ENGLISH CHANNEL—NORMANDY 34 THE HÔTEL BEAU SÉJOUR, AND SPOTS NEAR IT 35 THE HOTEL (continued), AND THE QUAY IN FRONT 36 THE HOUSE IN TOWN 37 KNOLLSEA—AN ORNAMENTAL VILLA 38 ENCKWORTH COURT 39 KNOLLSEA—MELCHESTER 40 MELCHESTER (continued) 41 WORKSHOPS—AN INN—THE STREET 42 THE DONCASTLES’ RESIDENCE, AND OUTSIDE THE SAME 43 THE RAILWAY—THE SEA—THE SHORE BEYOND 44 SANDBOURNE—A LONELY HEATH—THE ‘RED LION’—THE HIGHWAY 45 KNOLLSEA—THE ROAD THENCE—ENCKWORTH 46 ENCKWORTH (continued)—THE ANGLEBURY HIGHWAY 47 ENCKWORTH AND ITS PRECINCTS—MELCHESTER SEQUEL ANGLEBURY—ENCKWORTH—SANDBOURNE A STREET IN ANGLEBURY—A HEATH NEAR IT—INSIDE THE ‘RED LION’ INN Young Mrs Petherwin stepped from the door of an old and well-appointed inn in a Wessex town to take a country walk By her look and carriage she appeared to belong to that gentle order of society which has no worldly sorrow except when its jewellery gets stolen; but, as a fact not generally known, her claim to distinction was rather one of brains than of blood She was the daughter of a gentleman who lived in a large house not his own, and began life as a baby christened Ethelberta after an infant of title who does not come into the story at all, having merely furnished Ethelberta’s mother with a subject of contemplation She became teacher in a school, was praised by examiners, admired by gentlemen, not admired by gentlewomen, was touched up with accomplishments by masters who were coaxed into painstaking by her many graces, and, entering a mansion as governess to the daughter thereof, was stealthily married by the son He, a minor like herself, died from a chill caught during the wedding tour, and a few weeks later was followed into the grave by Sir Ralph Petherwin, his unforgiving father, who had bequeathed his wealth to his wife absolutely These calamities were a sufficient reason to Lady Petherwin for pardoning all concerned She took by the hand the forlorn Ethelberta—who seemed rather a detached bride than a widow—and finished her education by placing her for two or three years in a boarding-school at Bonn Latterly she had brought the girl to England to live under her roof as daughter and companion, the condition attached being that Ethelberta was never openly to recognize her relations, for reasons which will hereafter appear The elegant young lady, as she had a full right to be called if she cared for the definition, arrested all the local attention when she emerged into the summerevening light with that diadem-and-sceptre bearing—many people for reasons of heredity discovering such graces only in those whose vestibules are lined with ancestral mail, forgetting that a bear may be taught to dance While this air of hers lasted, even the inanimate objects in the street appeared to know that she was there; but from a way she had of carelessly overthrowing her dignity by versatile moods, one could not calculate upon its presence to a certainty when she was round corners or in little lanes which demanded no repression of animal spirits ‘Well to be sure!’ exclaimed a milkman, regarding her ‘We should freeze in our beds if ’twere not for the sun, and, dang me! if she isn’t a pretty piece A man could make a meal between them eyes and chin—eh, hostler? Odd nation dang my old sides if he couldn’t!’ The speaker, who had been carrying a pair of pails on a yoke, deposited them upon the edge of the pavement in front of the inn, and straightened his back to an excruciating perpendicular His remarks had been addressed to a rickety person, wearing a waistcoat of that preternatural length from the top to the bottom button which prevails among men who have to do with horses He was sweeping straws from the carriage-way beneath the stone arch that formed a passage to the stables behind ‘Never mind the cursing and swearing, or somebody who’s never out of hearing may clap yer name down in his black book,’ said the hostler, also pausing, and lifting his eyes to the mullioned and transomed windows and moulded parapet above him—not to study them as features of ancient architecture, but just to give as healthful a stretch to the eyes as his acquaintance had done to his back ‘Michael, a old man like you ought to think about other things, and not be looking two ways at your time of life Pouncing upon young flesh like a carrion crow—’tis a vile thing in a old man.’ ‘’Tis; and yet ’tis not, for ’tis a naterel taste,’ said the milkman, again surveying Ethelberta, who had now paused upon a bridge in full view, to look down the river ‘Now, if a poor needy feller like myself could only catch her alone when she’s dressed up to the nines for some grand party, and carry her off to some lonely place—sakes, what a pot of jewels and goold things I warrant he’d find about her! ’Twould pay en for his trouble.’ ‘I don’t dispute the picter; but ’tis sly and untimely to think such roguery Though I’ve had thoughts like it, ’tis true, about high women—Lord forgive me for’t.’ ‘And that figure of fashion standing there is a widow woman, so I hear?’ ‘Lady—not a penny less than lady Ay, a thing of twenty-one or thereabouts.’ ‘A widow lady and twenty-one ’Tis a backward age for a body who’s so forward in her state of life.’ ‘Well, be that as ’twill, here’s my showings for her age She was about the figure of two or three-and-twenty when a’ got off the carriage last night, tired out wi’ boaming about the country; and nineteen this morning when she came downstairs after a sleep round the clock and a clane-washed face: so I thought to myself, twenty-one, I thought.’ ‘And what’s the young woman’s name, make so bold, hostler?’ ‘Ay, and the house were all in a stoor with her and the old woman, and their boxes and camp-kettles, that they carry to wash in because hand-basons bain’t big enough, and I don’t know what all; and t’other folk stopping here were no more than dirt thencefor’ard.’ ‘I suppose they’ve come out of some noble city a long way herefrom?’ ‘And there was her hair up in buckle as if she’d never seen a clay-cold man at all However, to cut a long story short, all I know besides about ’em is that the name upon their luggage is Lady Petherwin, and she’s the widow of a city gentleman, who was a man of valour in the Lord Mayor’s Show.’ ‘Who’s that chap in the gaiters and pack at his back, come out of the door but now?’ said the milkman, nodding towards a figure of that description who had just emerged from the inn and trudged off in the direction taken by the lady— now out of sight ‘Chap in the gaiters? Chok’ it all—why, the father of that nobleman that you call chap in the gaiters used to be hand in glove with half the Queen’s court.’ ‘What d’ye tell o’?’ ‘That man’s father was one of the mayor and corporation of Sandbourne, and was that familiar with men of money, that he’d slap ’em upon the shoulder as you or I or any other poor fool would the clerk of the parish.’ ‘O, what’s my lordlin’s name, make so bold, then?’ ‘Ay, the toppermost class nowadays have left off the use of wheels for the good of their constitutions, so they traipse and walk for many years up foreign hills, where you can see nothing but snow and fog, till there’s no more left to walk up; and if they reach home alive, and ha’n’t got too old and weared out, they walk and see a little of their own parishes So they tower about with a pack and a stick and a clane white pocket-handkerchief over their hats just as you see he’s got on his He’s been staying here a night, and is off now again “Young man, young man,” I think to myself, “if your shoulders were bent like a bandy and your knees bowed out as mine be, till there is not an inch of straight bone or gristle in ’ee, th’ wouldstn’t go doing hard work for play ’a b’lieve.”’ ‘True, true, upon my song Such a pain as I have had in my lynes all this day to be sure; words don’t know what shipwreck I suffer in these lynes o’ mine—that they do not! And what was this young widow lady’s maiden name, then, hostler? Folk have been peeping after her, that’s true; but they don’t seem to know much about her family.’ ‘And while I’ve tended horses fifty year that other folk might straddle ’em, here I be now not a penny the better! Often-times, when I see so many good things about, I feel inclined to help myself in common justice to my pocket “Work hard and be poor, Do nothing and get more.” But I draw in the horns of my mind and think to myself, “Forbear, John Hostler, forbear!”—Her maiden name? Faith, I don’t know the woman’s maiden name, though she said to me, “Good evening, John;” but I had no memory of ever seeing her afore—no, no more than the dead inside church-hatch—where I shall soon be likewise—I had not “Ay, my nabs,” I think to myself, “more know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows.”’ ‘More know Tom Fool—what rambling old canticle is it you say, hostler?’ inquired the milkman, lifting his ear ‘Let’s have it again—a good saying well spit out is a Christmas fire to my withered heart More know Tom Fool—’ ‘Than Tom Fool knows,’ said the hostler ‘Ah! That’s the very feeling I’ve feeled over and over again, hostler, but not in such gifted language ’Tis a thought I’ve had in me for years, and never could lick into shape!—O-ho-ho-ho! Splendid! Say it again, hostler, say it again! To hear my own poor notion that had no name brought into form like that—I wouldn’t ha’ lost it for the world! More know Tom Fool than—than—h-ho-hoho-ho!’ ‘Don’t let your sense o’ vitness break out in such uproar, for heaven’s sake, or folk will surely think you’ve been laughing at the lady and gentleman Well, here’s at it again—Night t’ee, Michael.’ And the hostler went on with his sweeping ‘Night t’ee, hostler, I must move too,’ said the milkman, shouldering his yoke, and walking off; and there reached the inn in a gradual diminuendo, as he receded up the street, shaking his head convulsively, ‘More know—Tom Fool— than Tom Fool—ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!’ The ‘Red Lion,’ as the inn or hotel was called which of late years had become the fashion among tourists, because of the absence from its precincts of all that was fashionable and new, stood near the middle of the town, and formed a corner where in winter the winds whistled and assembled their forces previous to plunging helter-skelter along the streets In summer it was a fresh and pleasant spot, convenient for such quiet characters as sojourned there to study the geology and beautiful natural features of the country round The lady whose appearance had asserted a difference between herself and the Anglebury people, without too clearly showing what that difference was, passed out of the town in a few moments and, following the highway across meadows fed by the Froom, she crossed the railway and soon got into a lonely heath She had been watching the base of a cloud as it closed down upon the line of a distant ridge, like an upper upon a lower eyelid, shutting in the gaze of the evening sun She was about to return before dusk came on, when she heard a commotion in the air immediately behind and above her head The saunterer looked up and saw a wild-duck flying along with the greatest violence, just in its rear being another large bird, which a countryman would have pronounced to be one of the biggest duck-hawks that he had ever beheld The hawk neared its intended victim, and the duck screamed and redoubled its efforts Ethelberta impulsively started off in a rapid run that would have made a little dog bark with delight and run after, her object being, if possible, to see the end of this desperate struggle for a life so small and unheard-of Her stateliness went away, and it could be forgiven for not remaining; for her feet suddenly became as quick as fingers, and she raced along over the uneven ground with such force of tread that, being a woman slightly heavier than gossamer, her patent heels punched little D’s in the soil with unerring accuracy wherever it was bare, crippled the heather-twigs where it was not, and sucked the swampy places with a sound of quick kisses altogether Well, the idea of Lucy’s will containing our names! I am sure I would have gone to the funeral had I known.’ ‘I wish it were a thousand.’ ‘O no—it doesn’t matter at all But, certainly, three hundred for two is a tantalizing sum: not enough to enable us to change our condition, and enough to make us dissatisfied with going on as we are.’ ‘We must forget we have it, and let it increase.’ ‘It isn’t enough to increase much We may as well use it But how? Take a bigger house—what’s the use? Give up the organ?—then I shall be rather worse off than I am at present Positively, it is the most provoking amount anybody could have invented had they tried ever so long Poor Lucy, to do that, and not even to come near us when father died Ah, I know what we’ll do We’ll go abroad—we’ll live in Italy.’ SEQUEL ANGLEBURY—ENCKWORTH— SANDBOURNE Two years and a half after the marriage of Ethelberta and the evening adventures which followed it, a man young in years, though considerably older in mood and expression, walked up to the ‘Red Lion’ Inn at Anglebury The anachronism sat not unbecomingly upon him, and the voice was precisely that of the Christopher Julian of heretofore His way of entering the inn and calling for a conveyance was more off-hand than formerly; he was much less afraid of the sound of his own voice now than when he had gone through the same performance on a certain chill evening the last time that he visited the spot He wanted to be taken to Knollsea to meet the steamer there, and was not coming back by the same vehicle It was a very different day from that of his previous journey along the same road; different in season; different in weather; and the humour of the observer differed yet more widely from its condition then than did the landscape from its former hues In due time they reached a commanding situation upon the road, from which were visible knots and plantations of trees on the Enckworth manor Christopher broke the silence ‘Lord Mountclere is still alive and well, I am told?’ ‘O ay He’ll live to be a hundred Never such a change as has come over the man of late years.’ ‘Indeed!’ ‘O, ’tis my lady She’s a one to put up with! Still, ’tis said here and there that marrying her was the best day’s work that he ever did in his life, although she’s got to be my lord and my lady both.’ ‘Is she happy with him?’ ‘She is very sharp with the pore man—about happy I don’t know He was a good-natured old man, for all his sins, and would sooner any day lay out money in new presents than pay it in old debts But ’tis altered now ’Tisn’t the same place Ah, in the old times I have seen the floor of the servants’ hall over the vamp of your boot in solid beer that we had poured aside from the horns because we couldn’t see straight enough to pour it in See? No, we couldn’t see a hole in a ladder! And now, even at Christmas or Whitsuntide, when a man, if ever he desires to be overcome with a drop, would naturally wish it to be, you can walk out of Enckworth as straight as you walked in All her doings.’ ‘Then she holds the reins?’ ‘She do! There was a little tussle at first; but how could a old man hold his own against such a spry young body as that! She threatened to run away from him, and kicked up Bob’s-a-dying, and I don’t know what all; and being the woman, of course she was sure to beat in the long run Pore old nobleman, she marches him off to church every Sunday as regular as a clock, makes him read family prayers that haven’t been read in Enckworth for the last thirty years to my certain knowledge, and keeps him down to three glasses of wine a day, strict, so that you never see him any the more generous for liquor or a bit elevated at all, as it used to be There, ’tis true, it has done him good in one sense, for they say he’d have been dead in five years if he had gone on as he was going.’ ‘So that she’s a good wife to him, after all.’ ‘Well, if she had been a little worse ’twould have been a little better for him in one sense, for he would have had his own way more But he was a curious feller at one time, as we all know and I suppose ’tis as much as he can expect; but ’tis a strange reverse for him It is said that when he’s asked out to dine, or to anything in the way of a jaunt, his eye flies across to hers afore he answers: and if her eye says yes, he says yes: and if her eye says no, he says no ’Tis a sad condition for one who ruled womankind as he, that a woman should lead him in a string whether he will or no.’ ‘Sad indeed!’ ‘She’s steward, and agent, and everything She has got a room called “my lady’s office,” and great ledgers and cash-books you never see the like In old times there were bailiffs to look after the workfolk, foremen to look after the tradesmen, a building-steward to look after the foremen, a land-steward to look after the building-steward, and a dashing grand agent to look after the landsteward: fine times they had then, I assure ye My lady said they were eating out the property like a honeycomb, and then there was a terrible row Half of ’em were sent flying; and now there’s only the agent, and the viscountess, and a sort of surveyor man, and of the three she does most work so ’tis said She marks the trees to be felled, settles what horses are to be sold and bought, and is out in all winds and weathers There, if somebody hadn’t looked into things ’twould soon have been all up with his lordship, he was so very extravagant In one sense ’twas lucky for him that she was born in humble life, because owing to it she knows the ins and outs of contriving, which he never did.’ ‘Then a man on the verge of bankruptcy will do better to marry a poor and sensible wife than a rich and stupid one Well, here we are at the tenth milestone I will walk the remainder of the distance to Knollsea, as there is ample time for meeting the last steamboat.’ When the man was gone Christopher proceeded slowly on foot down the hill, and reached that part of the highway at which he had stopped in the cold November breeze waiting for a woman who never came He was older now, and he had ceased to wish that he had not been disappointed There was the lodge, and around it were the trees, brilliant in the shining greens of June Every twig sustained its bird, and every blossom its bee The roadside was not muffled in a garment of dead leaves as it had been then, and the lodge-gate was not open as it always used to be He paused to look through the bars The drive was well kept and gravelled; the grass edgings, formerly marked by hoofs and ruts, and otherwise trodden away, were now green and luxuriant, bent sticks being placed at intervals as a protection While he looked through the gate a woman stepped from the lodge to open it In her haste she nearly swung the gate into his face, and would have completely done so had he not jumped back ‘I beg pardon, sir,’ she said, on perceiving him ‘I was going to open it for my lady, and I didn’t see you.’ Christopher moved round the corner The perpetual snubbing that he had received from Ethelberta ever since he had known her seemed about to be continued through the medium of her dependents A trotting, accompanied by the sound of light wheels, had become perceptible; and then a vehicle came through the gate, and turned up the road which he had come down He saw the back of a basket carriage, drawn by a pair of piebald ponies A lad in livery sat behind with folded arms; the driver was a lady He saw her bonnet, her shoulders, her hair—but no more She lessened in his gaze, and was soon out of sight He stood a long time thinking; but he did not wish her his In this wholesome frame of mind he proceeded on his way, thankful that he had escaped meeting her, though so narrowly But perhaps at this remote season the embarrassment of a rencounter would not have been intense At Knollsea he entered the steamer for Sandbourne Mr Chickerel and his family now lived at Firtop Villa, in that place, a house which, like many others, had been built since Julian’s last visit to the town He was directed to the outskirts, and into a fir plantation where drives and intersecting roads had been laid out, and where new villas had sprung up like mushrooms He entered by a swing gate, on which ‘Firtop’ was painted, and a maid-servant showed him into a neatly-furnished room, containing Mr Chickerel, Mrs Chickerel, and Picotee, the matron being reclined on a couch, which improved health had permitted her to substitute for a bed He had been expected, and all were glad to see again the sojourner in foreign lands, even down to the ladylike tabby, who was all purr and warmth towards him except when she was all claws and nippers But had the prime sentiment of the meeting shown itself it would have been the unqualified surprise of Christopher at seeing how much Picotee’s face had grown to resemble her sister’s: it was less a resemblance in contours than in expression and tone They had an early tea, and then Mr Chickerel, sitting in a patriarchal chair, conversed pleasantly with his guest, being well acquainted with him through other members of the family They talked of Julian’s residence at different Italian towns with his sister; of Faith, who was at the present moment staying with some old friends in Melchester: and, as was inevitable, the discourse hovered over and settled upon Ethelberta, the prime ruler of the courses of them all, with little exception, through recent years ‘It was a hard struggle for her,’ said Chickerel, looking reflectively out at the fir trees ‘I never thought the girl would have got through it When she first entered the house everybody was against her She had to fight a whole host of them single-handed There was the viscount’s brother, other relations, lawyers, ladies, servants, not one of them was her friend; and not one who wouldn’t rather have seen her arrive there in evil relationship with him than as she did come But she stood her ground She was put upon her mettle; and one by one they got to feel there was somebody among them whose little finger, if they insulted her, was thicker than a Mountclere’s loins She must have had a will of iron; it was a situation that would have broken the hearts of a dozen ordinary women, for everybody soon knew that we were of no family, and that’s what made it so hard for her But there she is as mistress now, and everybody respecting her I sometimes fancy she is occasionally too severe with the servants and I know what service is But she says it is necessary, owing to her birth; and perhaps she is right.’ ‘I suppose she often comes to see you?’ ‘Four or five times a year,’ said Picotee ‘She cannot come quite so often as she would,’ said Mrs Chickerel, ‘because of her lofty position, which has its juties Well, as I always say, Berta doesn’t take after me I couldn’t have married the man even though he did bring a coronet with him.’ ‘I shouldn’t have cared to let him ask ye,’ said Chickerel ‘However, that’s neither here nor there—all ended better than I expected He’s fond of her.’ ‘And it is wonderful what can be done with an old man when you are his darling,’ said Mrs Chickerel ‘If I were Berta I should go to London oftener,’ said Picotee, to turn the conversation ‘But she lives mostly in the library And, O, what do you think? She is writing an epic poem, and employs Emmeline as her reader.’ ‘Dear me And how are Sol and Dan? You mentioned them once in your letters,’ said Christopher ‘Berta has set them up as builders in London.’ ‘She bought a business for them,’ said Chickerel ‘But Sol wouldn’t accept her help for a long time, and now he has only agreed to it on condition of paying her back the money with interest, which he is doing They have just signed a contract to build a hospital for twenty thousand pounds.’ Picotee broke in—‘You knew that both Gwendoline and Cornelia married two years ago, and went to Queensland? They married two brothers, who were farmers, and left England the following week Georgie and Myrtle are at school.’ ‘And Joey?’ ‘We are thinking of making Joseph a parson,’ said Mrs Chickerel ‘Indeed! a parson.’ ‘Yes; ’tis a genteel living for the boy And he’s talents that way Since he has been under masters he knows all the strange sounds the old Romans and Greeks used to make by way of talking, and the love stories of the ancient women as if they were his own I assure you, Mr Julian, if you could hear how beautiful the boy tells about little Cupid with his bow and arrows, and the rows between that pagan apostle Jupiter and his wife because of another woman, and the handsome young gods who kissed Venus, you’d say he deserved to be made a bishop at once!’ The evening advanced, and they walked in the garden Here, by some means, Picotee and Christopher found themselves alone ‘Your letters to my sister have been charming,’ said Christopher ‘And so regular, too It was as good as a birthday every time one arrived.’ Picotee blushed and said nothing Christopher had full assurance that her heart was where it always had been A suspicion of the fact had been the reason of his visit here to-day ‘Other letters were once written from England to Italy, and they acquired great celebrity Do you know whose?’ ‘Walpole’s?’ said Picotee timidly ‘Yes; but they never charmed me half as much as yours You may rest assured that one person in the world thinks Walpole your second.’ ‘You should not have read them; they were not written to you But I suppose you wished to hear of Ethelberta?’ ‘At first I did,’ said Christopher ‘But, oddly enough, I got more interested in the writer than in her news I don’t know if ever before there has been an instance of loving by means of letters If not, it is because there have never been such sweet ones written At last I looked for them more anxiously than Faith.’ ‘You see, you knew me before.’ Picotee would have withdrawn this remark if she could, fearing that it seemed like a suggestion of her love long ago ‘Then, on my return, I thought I would just call and see you, and go away and think what would be best for me to do with a view to the future But since I have been here I have felt that I could not go away to think without first asking you what you think on one point—whether you could ever marry me?’ ‘I thought you would ask that when I first saw you.’ ‘Did you Why?’ ‘You looked at me as if you would.’ ‘Well,’ continued Christopher, ‘the worst of it is I am as poor as Job Faith and I have three hundred a year between us, but only half is mine So that before I get your promise I must let your father know how poor I am Besides what I mention, I have only my earnings by music But I am to be installed as chief organist at Melchester soon, instead of deputy, as I used to be; which is something.’ ‘I am to have five hundred pounds when I marry That was Lord Mountclere’s arrangement with Ethelberta He is extremely anxious that I should marry well.’ ‘That’s unfortunate A marriage with me will hardly be considered well.’ ‘O yes, it will,’ said Picotee quickly, and then looked frightened Christopher drew her towards him, and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek, at which Picotee was not so wretched as she had been some years before when he mistook her for another in that performance ‘Berta will never let us come to want,’ she said, with vivacity, when she had recovered ‘She always gives me what is necessary.’ ‘We will endeavour not to trouble her,’ said Christopher, amused by Picotee’s utter dependence now as ever upon her sister, as upon an eternal Providence ‘However, it is well to be kin to a coach though you never ride in it Now, shall we go indoors to your father? You think he will not object?’ ‘I think he will be very glad,’ replied Picotee ‘Berta will, I know.’ ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA*** ***** This file should be named 3469-h.htm or 3469-h.zip****** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/6/3469 Updated editions will replace the previous one the old editions will be renamed Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific 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A STREET—NEIGH’S ROOMS—CHRISTOPHER’S ROOMS 22 ETHELBERTA S HOUSE 23 ETHELBERTA S HOUSE (continued) 24 ETHELBERTA S HOUSE (continued) THE BRITISH MUSEUM 25 THE ROYAL ACADEMY THE FARNFIELD ESTATE 26 ETHELBERTA S DRAWING-ROOM... He just lifted his hat, and put the only question he could think of as a beginning: ‘Have I the pleasure of addressing the author of a book of very melodious poems that was sent me the other day?’ The girl’s forefinger twirled rapidly the loop of braid that it had previously been

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  • The Hand of Ethelberta, by Thomas Hardy

  • THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA—A COMEDY IN CHAPTERS by Thomas Hardy.

    • PREFACE

    • CONTENTS

    • 1. A STREET IN ANGLEBURY—A HEATH NEAR IT—INSIDE THE ‘RED LION’ INN

    • 2. CHRISTOPHER’S HOUSE—SANDBOURNE TOWN—SANDBOURNE MOOR

    • 3. SANDBOURNE MOOR (continued)

    • 4. SANDBOURNE PIER—ROAD TO WYNDWAY—BALL-ROOM IN WYNDWAY HOUSE

    • 5. AT THE WINDOW—THE ROAD HOME

    • 6. THE SHORE BY WYNDWAY

    • 7. THE DINING-ROOM OF A TOWN HOUSE—THE BUTLER’S PANTRY

    • 8. CHRISTOPHER’S LODGINGS—THE GROUNDS ABOUT ROOKINGTON

    • 9. A LADY’S DRAWING-ROOMS—ETHELBERTA’S DRESSING-ROOM

    • 10. LADY PETHERWIN’S HOUSE

    • 11. SANDBOURNE AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD—SOME LONDON STREETS

    • 12. ARROWTHORNE PARK AND LODGE

    • 13. THE LODGE (continued)—THE COPSE BEHIND

    • 14. A TURNPIKE ROAD

    • 15. AN INNER ROOM AT THE LODGE

    • 16. A LARGE PUBLIC HALL

    • 17. ETHELBERTA’S HOUSE

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