Chapter II: Ralph Trulock's Story

BONNIE May Cloudesley caught cold on that Christmas Day, and was so ill that as soon as she was fit to travel, her husband took her home to her mother to be nursed for a while. Very dreary and uncomfortable the poor fellow was during her absence; and when she came home, quite recovered, he informed her that she must never be ill again, as he could not possibly get on without her.

"Nonsense, Gilbert! Why, we have not been married a year—and how did you get on all the thirty-four years before you even knew me?"

"I don't know, May. But it just shows how short a time it takes to spoil a man; for I was really rather a jolly kind of bachelor."

But at the notion of her shy, silent, grave Gilbert ever having been a jolly bachelor, May laughed in the most unkind and disrespectful way.

"You may laugh," said Gilbert; and May seemed to agree with him, for she did laugh very heartily. Then she said,—

"How are all the poor people, Gilbert. How is the boy we met at Lady Mabel's Rest? And oh! How are the two new people there going on?"

"I have seen Mrs. Short several times, and she always tells me what a good kind of woman she is. I've nothing to say against it—she ought to know, of course. Mr. Trulock I have only seen in church; he is always out when I call."

"I must go there to-morrow. When does Mr. Barton come home?"

"Not until June, I think," replied Mr. Cloudesley.

May kept her word, and the next day, putting on her warmest wraps, for it was bitter February weather, she trotted down the hill, over the bridge, and away to Lady Mabel's Rest. She paid one or two visits—one to Miss Jones. Miss Jones was that unnatural thing, a very disagreeable Christian. She had a heart of gold, loved her Master and served Him for love's sake, but she had a queer temper and a natural love of fault-finding. If she had not been a good woman, she would have been a most censorious one; as it was, she never permitted herself to speak ill of the absent, but she "took it out" in scolding. She was greatly pleased to see Mrs. Cloudesley, and had a hundred questions to ask about Polly Burr, a girl whom she had trained, and who was now Mrs. Cloudesley's cook.

"Polly is a really good girl," said May, "and an excellent servant. You really have a gift for training servants, Miss Jones."

Miss Jones's dark, solemn face softened into a pleased smile.

"A poor gift, ma'am," said she.

"Not poor at all," replied May. "How many Fairford girls have you trained for service, now?"

"Seventeen altogether, ma'am. Three are married, two died, three emigrated, and the rest are doing well in their place—all but one. One, poor thing—well, well, we don't know the end yet."

"No, indeed," said May; "and we can pray, you know. That's always a comfort, isn't it? Have you made acquaintance with your new neighbours yet?"

"I knew them both long ago, ma'am."

"I was in hopes that Mrs. Short would follow your good example, and take a girl to train."

"Martha Short will never take that much—No, ma'am, she has no girl."

"Do you find her a pleasant neighbour?"

"We don't see much of each other, ma'am."

"You knew Mr. Trulock also, didn't you say?"

"Yes, ma'am, and his wife—she was a schoolfellow of mine. A decent man, Ralph always was, and at one time a very rich one; but there was something about the son—I never heard the rights of it. It killed poor Annie, I believe; and Ralph looks heartbroken himself. I see very little of him—he is out all day. There never was such a man for going about the country."

Mrs. Cloudesley's next visit was to Mr. Trulock, or rather to his door, for her knock brought no one to let her in. Mrs. Short's door opened, and that dumpy dame put out her round head and called out:

"You need not knock again, ma'am, for Mr. Trulock is out; and out he always is, I may truly say. I couldn't abear to see you knocking, standing there in the bitter wind, you that has lately had a cold too; I'm that good-natered. 'Do as you'd be done by,' is my motter, and I wouldn't fancy standing out in the cold;—you're welcome back, Mrs. Cloudesley,—and won't you walk in?"

"I was coming to see you," replied May, going round to the door, and following the waddling steps of Mrs. Short into the parlour. If that room had surprised her on her first visit, it fairly astounded her now! The handsome chiffonier with glass doors, the wax flowers under a bell shade, the pictures in their massive gilt frames! These last were three in number, and one of them represented Mrs. Short—a shade less round than Mrs. Short was now, but still an undeniable likeness,—looking sentimental with all her might at a miniature which she held out straight before her—so straight, in fact, that only half the miniature could be got into the picture at all. The second picture represented the late Mr. Short, a thin little man with a deprecating smile upon his face, carrying in his hand a bunch of flowers, of which he seemed mortally afraid. The third was that of the youthful son of this worthy couple, a fat, staring boy with crimson cheeks, hard and shiny as two rosy apples. He was depicted drawing by a string a toy horse—black with red spots. The horse was very well done: it was quite as wooden and as little like a real horse as the original had been.

"You're looking at my picter, ma'am! Ah, I'm greatly altered since that was done. It was a minnychure of my poor diseased—" (probably meant for deceased) "father that I 'ad in my 'and, ma'am, and I requested of the artiss to put in my poor father's face, but would you believe it, he refused! He said I wanted to get two 'eads out of him for the price of one! Some folks is wonderful ill-natered. That's my poor Matthew, as is dead and buried, poor man! Very like him it is, but you never saw him. And that's my son Matt; and I hope he'll do well and be 'appy, though he's not been quite the son he might have been to his widowed mother, as did for him for years, and kept his places like a 'pictur.' But there! I'll never mention it to mortal, nor remember it against him—I'm too good-natured for that!"

"How is Mr. Trulock getting on?" said May, longing to interrupt the flow of words. "Has he got a servant yet?"

"No, ma'am, nor won't! I've been at him about it dozens of times, for it spoils my disjection to see him look the way he does—half-starved—half-clothed, too, I may say; for though decent, yet very threadbare and scant, ma'am, as your own heyes may tell you. But there! I might as well talk to a stone, the best I get is, 'You've no gel yourself'; and it's vain to tell him that I'm a woman and he's a man, and so the cases is very differential. And what is he starving himself for, now? As I says to him, while there was a chance of righting the business and keeping his connection together, it was all very well to be miserly; but now that he's broke, and had to retire to this place, which others that expected it as little, though never keeping a carriage nor having a viller at 'Ackney, mightn't he as well make use of the comforts provided for him, and not go on pinch, pinch, and look at a friendly neighbour as if he'd like to bid her to mind her own business? But there! A hard man Ralph Trulock ever was—hard to his son, and hard to all, and hard he'll be, to his dying day."

"He does not look like a hard man, exactly," said May Cloudesley.

"Ah, but if you knew his story, ma'am, which I can tell it to you, for I know it well. I've known him all my life."

May by no means wished to listen to gossip of this kind; but she found she must listen to Mrs. Short, or abruptly say good-bye, and this she did not like to do. She was not one of those who have one manner for the rich and another for the poor; so it was as impossible for her to interrupt Mrs. Short rudely, as if she had been my Lady Short, and the vulgar little crowded parlour a spacious reception room; so she heard her perforce.

"Ralph and me were married in the same year, and his shop—it was a shop then, afterwards an establishment, if you please—was in our street. My Matthew was a baker,—I ain't ashamed of it,—Ralph Trulock was a master tailor, what they call a milingtery tailor, uniforms and the like, and officers always going in and out, going to India and sich. He got on wonderful—often I said to my poor Matthew that's dead and buried, that pride will have fall, and a 'aughty sperrit goes before bankruptcy, which is as true a word as any other Solomon ever said. And yet it lasted a long time, too. Mrs. Trulock had her carriage, and Fred his pony, and afterwards his horse, and they lived in a viller like the gentry, and Ralph looked down on Matthew and me, as if we were no more than a couple of our own penny rolls. The boy grew up—and a fine young man to look at—but got into fine company through knowing the officers that came to the shop, and it was he could spend faster than Ralph could save. And his father was terrible hard on him—Ah! A hard man Trulock was, even then, and—"

Here the welcome sound of a knock at the door reached May's ears. She sprang from her chair, saying, "That is Mr. Cloudesley; he promised to come for me."

"I'll let him in, ma'am—what, you must go? Well, I must finish my story. Fred spent everything, and then ran away because the father was so hard on him, and left Trulock in debt awful—he's never got before the world since, and had to pay half a crown in the pound, and the wife died—"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Short, but Mr. Cloudesley must find it very cold."

"Yes, ma'am, I must let the dear gentleman in. And Ralph, ma'am—I have my own suspicions about the way things went at the last; but that's neither here nor there, and certain it is his behaviour killed his wife; and when Fred ventured back, he cursed him frightful, and has always sent back his letters, just tore up, and—"

"I really must not keep Mr. Cloudesley waiting any longer; that is the third time he has knocked," cried May in desperation; and going quickly to the door, she opened it herself.

Mrs. Short followed her as fast as she could, and began at once:

"Well, sir, you must not think me unmannerly for letting your good lady open the door for you, for we were so interested in what we were saying, that we quite forgot that you had knocked, and then when you knocked again she ran like a hare, and I hadn't a chance with her. Must you go at once, sir? Well, ma'am, call again soon, and I'll tell you plenty more about him; but you may take my word for it, he brought that boy up very badly, and then turned on him, broke his wife's heart, and owes a mint o' money, leastways did, but went through the courts, you know, and got himself whitewashed; and what he's starving himself for now I don't know, and I'd give my ears to find out, though not curious by nater."

"Good evening, Mrs. Short," said May gravely, as she took her husband's arm and turned away.

"Oh, Gilbert, I do not like Mrs. Short; and if what she has been telling me is true, we shall not like Mr. Trulock either."

"What has she told you? You look half dead, May."

"Nothing tries me like having to listen to talk like that; but she told me—" and May repeated the substance of Mrs. Short's story.

"Well, I know nothing of the man myself, but this is certain," said Mr. Cloudesley in reply. "Mrs. Short may abandon her suspicion that he behaved dishonourably in any way; for if he had, he would not have been admitted here. I fancy he is very unhappy, poor old fellow; you must make friends with him, May."

"But, Gilbert, if he really turned his son out of doors and cursed him?"

"If that is true, he must be a miserable man, May."

"You are right. Yes, Gilbert, I'll go and see him again."

May Cloudesley went several times to visit Mr. Trulock before she found him at home; and her ineffectual knock at his door never failed to bring Mrs. Short to hers, urging her to come in and "have a chat." Sometimes May escaped, but more often she was obliged to go in and listen unwillingly to much gossip, principally about poor old Ralph, but many of the other neighbours were also discussed. Still Ralph was plainly a mystery to her, and (of course in the most good-natured spirit) Mrs. Short talked incessantly about him. At last Mrs. Cloudesley determined to go quite early some day, and try if she could catch Trulock; before he was off on his wanderings. It was not quite ten o'clock when she raised her hand to knock at his door, and before she had reached the knocker the door opened, and Ralph, in a worn great-coat and shabby muffler, stood before her. He looked even more depressed than when she had seen him last.

"Good morning, Mr. Trulock. I am a very early visitor, but later in the day you are never at home, and I wanted so much to see you."

"You are very good, madam. I don't know why any one should trouble themselves about such as I am now. Will you walk in, madam?—though I fear you will find it cold."

"Oh, I am very well wrapped up; I don't mind the cold."

"I sit in the kitchen, madam, in order to keep but one fire," said Ralph, leading the way to that very melancholy apartment, where he placed her in a chair near the grate; she perceived that the fire was raked out, and the dismal chill of the room was most depressing.

May looked round, and then up into the face of the old man, and wondered if she could venture to beg him to allow himself the comforts he so sadly needed. He was watching her with a strange, sad smile.

"I know what you are thinking, madam," he said. "My neighbour, Mrs. Short, has been telling me that she informed you that I am starving myself to death; and I have no doubt she told you more than that. She would not spare me. I was a fool to come here—but truly I had little choice. She has given me a bad name with every one."

May could not deny this, so she said:

"I wish you would make yourself a little more comfortable, Mr. Trulock. I cannot bear to think of the life you seem to lead. This place, you know, was meant to make those who live here comfortable."

"I am as comfortable as I—wish to be," Ralph replied.

"But—please forgive me for speaking plainly—you know this place—the money here—was meant to be used to make you comfortable; don't you think you ought to use it as it was intended?"

"Comfort, Mrs. Cloudesley, is a matter of feeling; if I do what I wish to do, I am more comfortable than I should be if I were doing what I don't wish."

He sat down as he spoke, for hitherto he had been standing, and said: "Madam, you are very kind to me, and I should not wish you to think worse of me than I deserve. I don't know what you may have heard from Mrs. Short, nor even what you may conclude from my own words and conduct. May I briefly tell you the truth concerning myself, madam, and then at least I shall know that you are not misled about me."

"Indeed, I will listen with great interest," said May. "I fear you have had many trials."

"I have, indeed; but people say I brought them on myself."

"That, even if true, does not lighten them."

"No," he replied, with his slow, grave smile; "that is true; but it hinders sympathy, I find. You know, perhaps, that I began life as an apprentice in a great military outfitting shop in London? I was hard-working and careful, and got on well. I set up for myself when I married, as my wife had a little money, and I had saved. I prospered greatly. My business grew and grew; I was soon a rich man. I had the best wife, madam, that ever man was blessed with, and a fine boy—only the one child. I said I would make a gentleman of him. I gave him every advantage—I never said No to him—I—"

His voice trembled, and he was silent for a minute.

"Madam, I find that I cannot speak much of him, even now. I do not believe he ever knew what he was to me. I ruined him by over-indulgence—letting him have too much money; and then, when I began to fear he was going astray, I pulled him up too short. Then—I see it now—I went as much too far the other way—would give him no money, and wanted to part him from all his acquaintance, because I thought they helped to make him idle. He was idle—that I know—but he was good and affectionate until—Well, he rebelled; got into debt; borrowed money right and left. My business went down, for I was forced to make my customers pay up their bills, and that makes discomfort. People naturally go where they get credit. All went wrong with me; and my poor Annie took the boy's misdoing so much to heart that she lost her health."

"Poor thing—oh, poor mother!" whispered May.

"The boy went from bad to worse. At last—I never told this to mortal before except my poor Annie, and she guessed it. I had a large sum of money coming to me, and I depended on it, as I had a great payment to make. He knew it; he went the day before I was to receive it, and got it, saying I had a sudden need for it, and had sent him. And then he disappeared. I concealed his—theft—from every one except my wife—she guessed it, and it finished what his wild doings had begun. She never held her head up again, madam. She pined away, longing for her boy, that she might try to bring him to a sense of his faults; but he never came. I put advertisements in the paper, begging him to come home, and that all should be forgiven; but he never saw them. He was abroad, I believe. At last—she died; and the night before her funeral, Fred, knowing nothing of this, came home. He came in on me suddenly, and I had no heart to speak. He said he had seen the advertisement at last, and had come home to confess that he was married,—and he told me who the girl was. A good girl, I believe; but she belonged to bad people—low, dishonest folk, in a small way of trade—and my heart rose up against the thought of her bearing my Annie's name, and she lying in her coffin. I got up—" Ralph straightened himself and spoke louder, "I opened the door; I said, 'Your mother lies dead upstairs, murdered by you. You have brought her to the grave, and me to ruin. Go to the wife you have chosen—never let me see your face again.'"

"Oh, Mr. Trulock! Surely he did not take you at your word? Surely he saw that you were speaking wildly?"

"He had his faults, madam, but want of affection was never one of them. He tried again and again—he both wrote and came to the house; but I would neither see him nor read his letters. I was mad, I think; mad with sorrow and anger. At last he got a friend to trick me into reading one letter, the last he ever wrote to me. He said he saw that I could not forgive him, although he hoped I would believe that he had not meant to leave his mother to die without seeing him; that he was going to emigrate, and that he would repay the money he had taken from me as soon as he could. I have never heard of him since—not a word."

"He will come yet," said May; but Trulock shook his head.

"I think he must be dead," he said in a low voice. "Then I began to try to pay my creditors, and retrieve my business. I struggled on alone, madam, for twelve weary years, during which I never spent an unnecessary penny—only to fail at last. I paid seventeen and sixpence in the pound, and—I must pay the other half-crown before I die. That is what I am saving for, Mrs. Cloudesley. I can allow myself no comforts until that is done."

May was crying, and made no answer.

"God bless you, madam, for those tears!" said Trulock, earnestly. "You're sorry for Annie;—yes, and you would have learned to love her—you would have loved Annie."

"I'm crying for you, not for her," May said, looking up. "I'm so sorry; yours has been a sad, sad life. Annie is at rest."

"Yes," he answered, "Annie is in heaven; she was a saint, if ever there was one."

"Ah!" said May, smiling. "How that takes the sting out of the sorrow! But will you let me tell my husband what you have told me? And I will try to see you soon again, and tell you if he thinks that you are doing right now. Gilbert is so upright—he would know."

"You may tell him, but no one else, madam, if you please. I do not care to defend myself; let people believe Mrs. Short if they like. I care nothing for their opinion."

"Yet you must be very lonely."

"I don't care for company; I feel as if every one was a stranger, and must always be so—and I think I don't wish it otherwise."

"Mr. Trulock, that is not the way to grow Christmas roses."

"But I told you none would grow for me, madam."

"They won't grow except in their own soil. Good-bye,—when shall I have a chance of seeing you again?"

"I cannot have you troubled to come out so early on my account," Ralph answered. "If you will leave word at the gate, appointing your own time, I will be here. You have been very kind, madam, and I feel it deeply; but do not mistake me, I do not promise to be ruled by what you and Mr. Cloudesley may advise."

"Yet we may talk it over with you. Good-bye then, Mr. Trulock. I will leave a message for you."

As May hurried away, she heard Mrs. Short calling her. She stopped, and that worthy dame actually followed her, cold as it was.

"You've sat a long time with Trulock," said she. "I hope, ma'am, that he was civil?"

"Civil!" said May, laughing. "Oh dear, yes, Mrs. Short. I like Mr. Trulock very much indeed. Good morning, for I have sat so long with him that I must hurry home now."

Mrs. Short retired to her house, much disgusted.

"After all I've told her, not to tell me one word of what passed between 'em! I could see that she cried,—but the winders is so small! It's very ill-natured of her; and if I did right I'd never tell her another thing!"