Chapter VII: Jerry and the Widow

Alison's tears, agitation, and fears, together with her admission that he was far from indifferent to her--the memory of their mutual kisses, and all that had passed so briefly, sank deeply into the heart of Bevil Goring, who thought the secret terms on which they now were, if they were to meet again, as he could not doubt, were ridiculous to himself and derogatory to her.

His natural impulses of honour led him to think he should at once address Sir Ranald on the subject; but the girl's dread of his doing so made him pause. He thought he would consult Dalton or Wilmot on the subject; but the former was on duty, and the latter was full of his own affairs; for Jerry, in fact, had made up his mind to propose--to Mrs. Trelawney!

Jerry made a more than usually careful toilette that forenoon, and was more than ever irreproachable in the matters of boots, gloves, studs, and collar, even to the waxen flower at his button-hole--all with the aid of his soldier valet, Larry O'Farrel, whom he had just found deep in the columns of the _Aldershot Military Gazette_.

'Any news, O'Farrel?' asked Jerry, as he rasped his thick hair with a pair of ivory-handled brushes to adjust the parting of his back hair.

'Only that the Sultan of Turkey is dead, sir.'

'The deuce he is--died of want of breath, I suppose?'

'Yes, sir; strangled or something of that kind, sir.'

'Well, O'Farrel, would you like to be Sultan of Turkey? The berth would suit you, for, like the Bradies,

"You'd make a most iligant Turk,
Being fond of tobacco and ladies."'

'Shouldn't mind, sir, if the pay and allowances was good.'

'Well,' said Jerry, who was in excellent spirits with himself and the world at large, 'send in your application in proper form through me as the captain of your company, and in time I have not the slightest doubt you will be O'Farrel the First.'

Jerry said all this so gravely and impressively that, though used to his jokes, not a smile spread over the face of Larry, who raised his right hand in salute while standing erect as a pike.

He had heard about the Champac necklace and the proposed second visit of Tony Dalton, so he resolved to anticipate his brother officer, to 'turn his flank,' if possible, for Jerry was never more in love in his life, or thought himself so.

He had been dazzled by the notice the brilliant widow had taken of himself ever since the last Divisional Steeple Chase meeting, at which he first met her, and had lost 'no end' of gloves to her in bets on the 'Infantry Hunt;' her coquettish familiarity, the rapidity with which she adopted him as it were, and slid into making him do errands for her, calling him by his Christian name or the abbreviation thereof, 'Jerry' (which sounded so sweetly on her charming scarlet lips), her _œillades_ and tricks with her fan when she tapped his arm or cheek therewith, were all things to think pleasantly of, and served to encourage him.

'Hang it all,' thought Jerry; 'why shouldn't I open the trenches and make my innings now?'

So he got into his mail-phaeton, and drove leisurely through the North Camp. Dalton was on guard that day, and saw Jerry, of whose mission he had not then the least idea, fortunately, as his own mind was full of Mrs. Trelawney; he gave Jerry a cigar from his case, exchanged a word or two, and saw him turn away into Aldershot--intent on his own destruction, as some of the mess might have said.

'I am awfully spooney,' thought Jerry, as he tooled along the level highway, flicking his high-stepper's ears with the lash of his whip. 'She is certainly a lovely woman, and would make a creditable wife to me, and be quite a feature at all the garrison balls and cricket matches; but what the deuce will the mess think of Netty--of me having a daughter nearly half as old as myself! There's the rub! She is a pretty little thing just now, but will be awfully in the way ten years hence, when all my aim in life may be to marry her to some coal or iron man, or any fellow that will have her.'

And Jerry was laughing softly to himself at this idea as he drew up at the door of Chilcote Grange, and threw the reins to his tiny top-booted tiger.

Mrs. Trelawney was 'at home,' and in a few minutes Jerry found himself face to face with her, in all her bloom and radiance, seated on a sofa in her charming little drawing-room, the appurtenances of which were all in excellent taste, so far as couches, pretty chairs, fragile tables, curtains, lace, and statuettes could make it, and pretty landscapes hung on the walls with blue ribbons in lieu of cords; and then Mrs. Trelawney's tightly-fighting costume of dark blue, which showed the exquisite outline of her bust and shoulders, was perfect, from the ruche of soft tulle round her delicate neck to the dainty slippers which encased her handsome feet.

The brightness of her smile encouraged Jerry, who, after a few well-turned expressions of pleasure at seeing her looking so well, lost no time in 'opening the trenches,' for he was, though a young fellow, a remarkably cool hand.

The widow's bright hazel eyes dilated with surprise for a moment, and then their white lids and long silky lashes drooped, as if to veil the amusement that sparkled in them, as she withdrew her hand, of which Jerry had possessed himself, and said--

'Oh, Mr. Wilmot, are you in earnest?'

'Could I dare to be anything else in addressing you thus? Earnest--can you ask me!--always when with you, and you know how much I love you. Will you marry me?'

'My dear Jerry, don't be foolish! You are but a boy compared with me, in my experience as a woman of the world especially. It is too absurd!'

'If you are older than me at all, it can only be by a year or two,' said Jerry, who thought it was not such a difficult matter to propose as he had first deemed it; 'and so, dearest Laura----'

'You must not address me thus.'

'But don't you call me Jerry?'

'There is a difference, and I may never do so again.'

'Don't say so; besides you cannot help me thinking of you as "Laura"?'

'Thought is free, but speech is not.'

'You will ever be Laura in my thoughts and in my heart, whatever you may be on my lips.'

Jerry said this with so much emotion that Mrs. Trelawney ceased to laugh at him, and gave her hand, saying,

'Jerry, let us be friends; be assured we can be nothing more, and, indeed, nothing better.'

Jerry retained her soft hand lovingly, and, taking heart of grace therefrom, said,

'I shall speak of this matter again, Laura. I see that I quite deserve your refusal.'

'Why?'

'Because I spoke too soon--too abruptly.'

'Believe me, dear Jerry, my answer is a final one. I could never bestow on you the love a wife should feel for her husband.'

'That would come in time--after marriage, Laura.'

'No, it cannot be; leave me and forget me.'

'That is impossible. I shall never, while life lasts, forget you.'

Mrs. Trelawney felt an inclination to laugh again. She controlled her lips, but her half-closed eyes were sparkling with a smile.

'I am unworthy the regard I have won. Thrust me from your thoughts, Jerry, and forget me, I pray you, forget me,' said she, emphatically, as she again withdrew her hand.

'I have been a fool!' exclaimed Jerry, bitterly, as he twisted his dark moustache and betrayed considerable emotion, at least for him.

'Oh, no,' said Mrs. Trelawney, patting his shoulder with her fan. 'You are no worse than other men. You could not help it, if I was silly enough to be--shall I say it?--amused, perhaps pleased, by all your tender speeches, though I could not believe in them.'

Jerry stared at her in doubt whether to be indignant or not, but again her beauty and _espieglerie_ of manner triumphed.

'Oh, Laura, once again,' he was resuming, when she interrupted him--

'I know all you would say, but please not to renew this subject, or I shall lose all faith in you, Captain Wilmot.'

'Say "Jerry,"' he urged.

'Well, then, Jerry, I like you very much,' she said, coquettishly, and with an infinite sweetness of tone; 'but I shall be sorry if your persistence makes me view you differently.'

'If you like me so very much, why cannot you marry me? You would like me ever so much more afterwards.'

'It is impossible,' said Mrs. Trelawney, smiling openly now.

'Why are you so hard-hearted?'

'I am not hard-hearted. I am indifferent, that is all--what I have been made by others.'

'What others?'

'That is my secret. But, here come visitors,' said she, rising and presenting her hand. 'And let us part, Jerry, as I hope we shall meet again--good friends.'

In a few minutes Jerry was tooling back to the camp again.

'Her manner is deuced mysterious,' thought he, in great perplexity. 'What can she mean? She spoke of herself as "unworthy," too. Has she a husband somewhere, after all? Oh, the devil! That can't be.'

'Where have you been, Jerry?' asked Dalton, who was again loitering in front of the guard-hut at the camp gate, with a cigar between his lips, and saw his friend coming slowly along, with the reins dropped on his horse's neck.

'I have been at Chilcote Grange,' said Jerry, almost sulkily.

'The deuce you have,' said Dalton, with surprise.

'There is nothing new in that.'

'Calling, were you?'

'Yes, and proposing to the widow _la belle_ Trelawney.'

'Nonsense!' exclaimed Dalton.

'A fact though.'

'And with what success?' asked Dalton, his colour changing perceptibly.

'None at all, old fellow; bowled out; thrown over--I may trust to your silence, I know--fairly laughed at me, and won't have me at any price, by Jove.'

'Proposed, and was refused,' said Dalton, as if speaking to himself.

'Proposed right off the reel, whatever that may mean, and was refused. But I don't mean to break my heart over it,' added Jerry, twirling and untwirling the long lash of his whip.

'And what do you mean to do?'

'Make love to some one else--get tight at the mess to-night--tight as a drum. So you may go in and win at a canter, if you choose.'

'Thanks, Jerry; but I don't mean to propose to the widow,' said Dalton, laughing. 'She has some history of her own, I think.'

'So do I,' said Jerry, angrily; 'and it is bad form for women to have histories or mysteries either.'

'Sour grapes, Jerry,' said Dalton, still laughing.

'I thought you were hit a little in that quarter yourself, Tony; but I am much mistaken if there is not more in her life than you know, or any of us is ever likely to know.'

Dalton, though secretly pleased that Jerry had not met with success, was also secretly provoked at what he deemed the young fellow's over-confidence. He had felt himself--he knew not why--curiously affected when in the presence of Laura Trelawney; there was a subtle influence in her voice and smile that wakened old memories and strangely bewildered him; and especially when she sang, these stole over him and seemed to take tangible form.

'And now, I suppose,' said Jerry, as he manipulated a cigar, 'I must just do as she probably did when the "late lamented" took himself off.'

'What is that?'

'"Drop some natural tears and wipe them soon," as Milton has it.'

'I'll give you another quotation, Jerry--what does Abou Adhem say?'

'Don't know--never heard of the fellow.'

'"Your lost love is neither the beginning nor ending of life. Several things remain to you. She is false, and you are the victim. Very good. Nature is not going into bankruptcy; the sun will rise and set just the same; corn will grow, birds sing, and the rain fall just as before. My experience is, that it's a toss up that you are not the better without her, and she not better without _you_."'

'Likely enough, Tony; but, as "Cœlebs in search of a wife," I need not go there any more,' half grumbled Jerry, as he whipped up his high-stepper and bowled away through the long street of huts to his quarters; while to Dalton's graver mind there seemed to be something intensely comical in the equanimity with which he took his repulse.