Chapter II: Mr Gribble’s Discovery

Without the disfiguring encumbrance of her walking attire she really looked beautiful, particularly when she had somewhat loosened her heavy knot of hair and let it rest upon her slender shoulders. Her figure was very graceful, too, notwithstanding that her cotton dress was old-fashioned and without ornament. It was difficult to believe that she was five-and-twenty, for she looked a mere girl as she walked backwards and forwards with the kettle and the teapot and the bread-and-butter, humming in a low voice to herself as she went. She felt happier now that she was released from the espionage of Mr Gribble, although the unexpected event of the afternoon had upset her, and she looked forward with some trepidation to the coming visit of Seth Brunt. Once, as she passed a little mirror and caught sight of her pale face, she clasped her head with both her hands and spoke aloud.

‘Will the spectre of the past never--_never_ leave me?’ she said. ‘Am I always to be haunted by the misery I have cast behind me? And I think--I am almost sure--I might be so happy. Well, if it comes in my way, I _will_ be,’ she added determinately. ‘I have suffered enough already, Heaven knows! Surely no one is doomed to a whole life of terror.’ It was growing dusk by that time, and the church clock chimed out seven. ‘Brunt will be here presently,’ she thought. ‘I will not take my cup of tea until he can join me.’

She made her little table look as inviting as she could, and lit the gas beside the fireplace. It was a comfortable set of rooms which she occupied, or her deft fingers had made them look so. They were plainly furnished in oak, but fresh flowers and muslin, and an ornament or photograph here and there, had transformed them to the apartments of a lady. There were only two rooms, and a tiny kitchen, but when Miss Stafford had dismissed her scholars, and locked the door behind her, she felt that she was free and at peace. Not happy--far from it. The walls of her little rooms had echoed many heart-breaking sobs, and witnessed many hours of despair, of which Messrs Gribble and Axworthy knew nothing; but the woman had battled against her grief, and conquered it, and now she felt annoyed and excited to think that anything was going to disturb the buried past. Still, Seth Brunt had been a kind friend to her in the bygone days, and she did not like to be ungrateful.

‘Poor old Brunt,’ she thought pitifully, ‘he used to stick up for me against everyone, but I honestly wish he had never run across me here. And what can he possibly have to say to me about _him_?’

As if in answer to her unspoken question, the schoolhouse bell at this moment rang out a clamorous iron peal. Miss Stafford opened the door at once and ushered her visitor in.

‘Sit down, Brunt,’ she said, and then, looking out into the night, she added anxiously, ‘I hope no one saw you come in? Did you meet anybody just about here?’

‘Not a soul, madame,’ replied the sailor; ‘but haven’t you your liberty? Can’t you do as you like?’

‘Oh, yes, Brunt, I am my own mistress, when school is over, of course. Only, I think Deepdale is the most inquisitive place I ever knew. They want to know everything about everybody.’

‘They don’t know much about you, I expect,’ said Brunt.

Her pale face flushed as she reclosed the door and sat down opposite to him in the light. ‘Why should they know anything about me?’ she replied. ‘What business is it of theirs? I do my duty, and there our agreement ends.’

‘Ah, madame, it makes my heart ache to find you here--you, who have never been used to work in your life. I thought you would have gone home to live with your mother. Someone told me that you had.’

‘So I did for a while, but my mother is not rich, and I cannot live upon anyone’s bounty. And then, there is Paul, you see.’

‘True. And how is Paul, madame?’

Miss Stafford sighed.

‘He is just the same. He will never be different. He has been _murdered_!’

She spoke bitterly, and clenching her hand, knocked it in a nervous manner against her teeth.

‘Ah, madame, that is the very thing I wished to speak to you about. I saw the Captain as I passed through London. I may almost say that I came straight from him.’

‘That doesn’t enhance the pleasure of seeing you, Brunt.’

‘Perhaps not. But he is so ill. He is almost at death’s door. He is too feeble to leave the house.’

‘The news does not affect me.’

‘It would if you saw him, madame. He is a wreck of his former self. He is weak as a child.’

‘So much the better for the next poor wretch who falls into his hands,’ she answered.

‘You have grown very hard since I last saw you,’ said the sailor.

The rebuke goaded her into anger.

‘_Hard!_’ she echoed. ‘Can _you_, of all men call me hard? You--who have seen me kicked like a dog, who have heard me insulted as if I had been the lowest creature on the face of earth, outraged, spit upon, deserted. You call me _hard_. It is a wonder I can endure your presence, knowing that you take his hand and call him friend.’

‘Not when he ill-treated you, madame. Pardon me. I quarrelled with him then, as you must remember. But now that he is dying--without you, or anyone to smooth his pillow, I can’t help thinking of the days when we was all happy together aboard the _Lily of Christiansand_, and wondering if he, poor fellow! thinks about them too.’

‘I have no pity for him. He has brought his misfortunes on his own head. And if I _had_, one thought of Paul would drown it. You seem to forget _Paul_,’ said Miss Stafford indignantly.

‘No, madame, I do not. But the poor Captain was not in his right mind. When a man drinks to excess, he becomes mad. If you only saw him now--’

‘I don’t want to see him now,’ interrupted his companion. ‘I never wish to see him again, either in this world or the next. I hope I never shall. I lead a life of labour and privation--sometimes I feel it to be a very hard life. But I thank God every night that I lie down in my bed that I am free and alone.’

‘Then, I suppose, there’s no chance of anything like a coming together again,’ said Brunt wistfully.

She veered round upon him with a face full of astonishment.

‘Are you _mad_?’ she exclaimed.

‘No, madame; I’m only sorry for both of you. It wouldn’t have entered my head to say such a thing if I hadn’t come acrost you so unexpectedly. But I’ve often wondered where you was, and wished I could tell you of him.’

‘It is quite useless, I assure you,’ she answered coldly. ‘Even if I _could_ go I would not. _That_ part of my life is over, thank Heaven. I should never be such a fool as to renew it.’

‘Perhaps the future will be happier. You have many years before you yet,’ said Brunt. ‘But the poor Captain’s days are numbered--there’s no doubt of that. Death’s written in his face. And I felt somehow as I must tell you of it. For once’--he added hesitatingly--‘_once_, you was very fond of him.’

‘Yes, once I was,’ admitted Miss Stafford, after a short pause. She poured the sailor out a cup of tea, and took one herself, and for a few minutes she was busied with the milk and the sugar, and said nothing. Then she recommenced,--

‘I am not quite sure if I am glad or sorry to have met you again, Brunt. You were a kind friend to me in the old days, and I am grateful for it, but I never wish to think of that time again. I was too utterly miserable. I have buried myself in Deepdale, and I hoped I should never hear the past spoken of. But your presence revives it terribly, and your speech still more so. Pray talk of something else. Are you going to sea again soon?’

‘Whenever I get a ship, madame. But I almost hope that mayn’t be just yet. My old mother has ailed lately, and I seem never sure that each parting mayn’t be the last. _Your_ mother is well, I trust?’

‘Yes. She was terribly cut up about my trouble. Any mother would be. But she knows I am happier as it is.’

‘And Paul--’ inquired Brunt.

‘Paul is with her. I could not have him here. I have told you that I am known as Miss Stafford only, and I have no intention of taking any other name.’

‘Ah, you will some day,’ said the sailor significantly.

She coloured.

‘I think not. I have had too much trouble to wish for any change excepting death. But I am really very comfortable here. The work is monotonous, but I am interested in it, and it makes me independent. I did not get it for the asking, Brunt. I had to study hard for more than a year before I was qualified. But now I should be sorry to give it up. Deepdale is a lovely village, and I have made several friends here.’

‘Aye, aye, you’re the better off of the two,’ replied Seth Brunt.

‘As I deserve to be,’ trembled on her tongue, but she wished for no more argument, and turned the subject to a less dangerous theme.

Meanwhile the two Miss Gribbles had returned home with their papa, and were recounting the adventures of the afternoon to their mamma. Mrs Gribble was a stout woman, with red cheeks with a glaze on them, round black eyes, a broad nose, and a figure which encouraged the fallacious idea that she was about to add to the population. She was extremely jealous of her ugly little husband, and had been set against the school teacher from the beginning of her career. Miss Stafford was far too handsome and refined in appearance to suit Mrs Gribble, who now heard for the first time that she had accompanied her family to Haltham.

‘What’s that you say, Caroline?’ she demanded of her eldest daughter. ‘Miss Stafford went into Haltham with you?’

‘Yes, ma. We met her outside of the school’ouse, and pa asked if she’d like to drive into Haltham, so she came too.’

‘And why was _I_ not informed of your intentions, Mr Gribble?’ Mrs Gribble said sternly to her husband, who was sitting by with his mouth full of bread-and-butter.

‘Well, my dear, as our little one puts it, it was quite a haccident. Miss Stafford required sundries for the school from Spring’s, so I offered to take her there. I considered it a dooty!’

‘Oh!’ ejaculated Mrs Gribble significantly, and then turned to Carrie again, ‘And what else have you to tell me, dear?’

‘Oh, ma!’ they both chimed in at once, ‘Miss Stafford was _so_ unkind. She nearly pulled our arms off because we went the wrong way, and shoved us into Spring’s shop quite hard. She ’urt us,’ they grumbled, sticking their lips out.

‘Mr Gribble!’ exclaimed Mrs Gribble, ‘I will _not_ have my children struck and pushed about by that young woman. She takes a great deal too much on herself. But, of course, if _you_--the churchwarden of Deepdale--go driving her in my phee-aton into Haltham, she thinks she is _everybody_!’

‘It was very wrong of her, my dear, if it occurred, but I confess I have never seen her anything but kind to _all_ the children.’

‘Oh, of course, you take _her_ part. _That_ is only what I expected,’ replied Mrs Gribble sarcastically.

‘Oh, ma! she _isn’t_ kind--not to _us_! She kissed Mrs Corney’s baby to-day, _twice_, but she never kisses us.’

‘You hear, Mr Gribble, you hear!’

‘And to-day, when pa left us with her,’ continued the little animals, perceiving their advantage, ‘she didn’t take no care of us at all, but went away with a man.’

‘With a _man_!’ cried Mrs Gribble in horror; ‘you must be mistaken, my loves.’

‘Oh, no, ma,’ replied the children eagerly, ‘he _was_ a man. He had a long black beard. And when he first saw teacher, he said, “Hullo! here’s madam,” and she said, “No, I ain’t,” and then afterwards she said, “Yes, I am, and you must come outside with me.” And they went outside, and stayed ever so long, and when she came back her face was so red we thought he must have been scolding her.’

Mrs Gribble leaned back in her chair and folded her hands majestically upon her black silk stomach.

‘Well, Mr Gribble,’ she said, after a pause, ‘do you hear _that_?’

‘I do; but I can hardly believe it. In Mr Spring’s shop, did you say, Lottie?’

‘Yes, pa; a big man, with a loud voice and a blue jacket--a sailor-looking sort of man. And he said, “Hullo! here’s madam.”’

‘_Hullo! here’s madam_,’ repeated Mrs Gribble contemptuously; ‘a nice sort of greeting to a respectable young woman. One of her former associates, doubtless. And _this_ is the person to whom you have entrusted the charge of my precious children.’

‘I must inquire into it, most decidedly,’ said Mr Gribble. ‘Charlotte and Caroline, if you have finished your meal, say your grace and go up to bed. I wish to speak alone with your mamma.’

‘He’s going to give ’er a wigging for talking against Miss Stafford,’ whispered Carrie to Lottie, oracularly, as they climbed the stairs together. ‘Pa likes teacher a deal more than ma does. I think ma hates ’er--don’t you?’

‘I suppose you’ll ’ardly stick up for Miss Stafford any more after _this_,’ said Mrs Gribble when they were gone. ‘A nice thing for the schoolmistress of Deepdale to be called a “_madam_” in an open shop on market day. Why, it’ll be all over Haltham by this time.’

‘I don’t like it, my dear, I confess. I don’t like it,’ replied Mr Gribble, rubbing his scrubby little chin. ‘We must have no scandal in Deepdale school, and no levity on the part of its mistress. I didn’t quite like the way in which she received an admonition I gave her as we were coming home respecting young Rushton.’

‘Young Rushton! Oh, so there’s another, is there. _One_ is not enough for my lady at a time. Well, if it isn’t the most disgraceful thing I ever heard in my life.’

‘Not quite that, my dear, not quite that,’ replied Mr Gribble. ‘Mr Rushton’s attentions may mean nothing, but the teacher of Deepdale cannot be too careful. I was pointing this out to her, but she did not take my warning in the spirit I should have liked to see. And now there is this other person. I think I must ask Miss Stafford for an explanation.’

‘Explanation!’ snorted Mrs Gribble. ‘Her conduct ought to be exposed before the whole parish. I always said she wasn’t fit to ’old the position.’

‘I’ll walk down and speak to her about it to-night,’ said her husband, with sudden resolution, as he stood up and buttoned his coat.

‘You had much better go to the parsonage and inform Mr Measures of her disgraceful behaviour,’ retorted Mrs Gribble.

‘No, my dear, not until I have tried my own authority. Miss Stafford is a sensible young woman. She will surely listen to the voice of her churchwarden.’

‘Well, don’t you let her keep you there till midnight, or I’ll know the reason why,’ screamed out his spouse as he left the room.

‘My dear, my dear,’ he said expostulatingly as he hurried down the garden path.

He honestly considered Miss Stafford a very valuable assistant in the task of rearing the future generation of Deepdale, though there was not the slightest ground for the unworthy suspicions of Mrs Gribble. But he was both a prudish and a priggish little man, with a vast idea of his own importance, and quite believed that an angry tone from him would be sufficient to make the teacher tremble in her shoes and entreat him to avert the evil consequences of her levity. He was thinking thus as he reached the schoolhouse and rang the bell. Miss Stafford came to the door, but she did not throw it open for him to enter. On the contrary, she retained her hold upon the handle as she spoke to him.