Desperate Remedies

T >> Thomas Hardy >> Desperate Remedies


She preceded Cytherea upstairs, pointed out her own room, and then
took her into Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room, on the first-floor;
where, after explaining the whereabouts of various articles of
apparel, the housekeeper left her, telling her that she had an hour
yet upon her hands before dressing-time. Cytherea laid out upon the
bed in the next room all that she had been told would be required
that evening, and then went again to the little room which had been
appropriated to herself.

Here she sat down by the open window, leant out upon the sill like
another Blessed Damozel, and listlessly looked down upon the
brilliant pattern of colours formed by the flower-beds on the lawn
--now richly crowded with late summer blossom. But the vivacity of
spirit which had hitherto enlivened her, was fast ebbing under the
pressure of prosaic realities, and the warm scarlet of the
geraniums, glowing most conspicuously, and mingling with the vivid
cold red and green of the verbenas, the rich depth of the dahlia,
and the ripe mellowness of the calceolaria, backed by the pale hue
of a flock of meek sheep feeding in the open park, close to the
other side of the fence, were, to a great extent, lost upon her
eyes. She was thinking that nothing seemed worth while; that it was
possible she might die in a workhouse; and what did it matter? The
petty, vulgar details of servitude that she had just passed through,
her dependence upon the whims of a strange woman, the necessity of
quenching all individuality of character in herself, and
relinquishing her own peculiar tastes to help on the wheel of this
alien establishment, made her sick and sad, and she almost longed to
pursue some free, out-of-doors employment, sleep under trees or a
hut, and know no enemy but winter and cold weather, like shepherds
and cowkeepers, and birds and animals--ay, like the sheep she saw
there under her window. She looked sympathizingly at them for
several minutes, imagining their enjoyment of the rich grass.

'Yes--like those sheep,' she said aloud; and her face reddened with
surprise at a discovery she made that very instant.

The flock consisted of some ninety or a hundred young stock ewes:
the surface of their fleece was as rounded and even as a cushion,
and white as milk. Now she had just observed that on the left
buttock of every one of them were marked in distinct red letters the
initials 'E. S.'

'E. S.' could bring to Cytherea's mind only one thought; but that
immediately and for ever--the name of her lover, Edward Springrove.

'O, if it should be--!' She interrupted her words by a resolve.
Miss Aldclyffe's carriage at the same moment made its appearance in
the drive; but Miss Aldclyffe was not her object now. It was to
ascertain to whom the sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at rest
one way or the other. She flew downstairs to Mrs. Morris.

'Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. Morris?'

'Farmer Springrove's.'

'What Farmer Springrove is that?' she said quickly.

'Why, surely you know? Your friend, Farmer Springrove, the
cider-maker, and who keeps the Three Tranters Inn; who recommended
you to me when he came in to see me the other day?'

Cytherea's mother-wit suddenly warned her in the midst of her
excitement that it was necessary not to betray the secret of her
love. 'O yes,' she said, 'of course.' Her thoughts had run as
follows in that short interval:--

'Farmer Springrove is Edward's father, and his name is Edward too.

'Edward knew I was going to advertise for a situation of some kind.

'He watched the Times, and saw it, my address being attached.

'He thought it would be excellent for me to be here that we might
meet whenever he came home.

'He told his father that I might be recommended as a lady's-maid;
and he knew my brother and myself.

'His father told Mrs. Morris; Mrs. Morris told Miss Aldclyffe.'

The whole chain of incidents that drew her there was plain, and
there was no such thing as chance in the matter. It was all
Edward's doing.

The sound of a bell was heard. Cytherea did not heed it, and still
continued in her reverie.

'That's Miss Aldclyffe's bell,' said Mrs. Morris.

'I suppose it is,' said the young woman placidly.

'Well, it means that you must go up to her,' the matron continued,
in a tone of surprise.

Cytherea felt a burning heat come over her, mingled with a sudden
irritation at Mrs. Morris's hint. But the good sense which had
recognized stern necessity prevailed over rebellious independence;
the flush passed, and she said hastily--

'Yes, yes; of course, I must go to her when she pulls the bell
--whether I want to or no.'

However, in spite of this painful reminder of her new position in
life, Cytherea left the apartment in a mood far different from the
gloomy sadness of ten minutes previous. The place felt like home to
her now; she did not mind the pettiness of her occupation, because
Edward evidently did not mind it; and this was Edward's own spot.
She found time on her way to Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room to
hurriedly glide out by a side door, and look for a moment at the
unconscious sheep bearing the friendly initials. She went up to
them to try to touch one of the flock, and felt vexed that they all
stared sceptically at her kind advances, and then ran pell-mell down
the hill. Then, fearing any one should discover her childish
movements, she slipped indoors again, and ascended the staircase,
catching glimpses, as she passed, of silver-buttoned footmen, who
flashed about the passages like lightning.

Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room was an apartment which, on a casual
survey, conveyed an impression that it was available for almost any
purpose save the adornment of the feminine person. In its hours of
perfect order nothing pertaining to the toilet was visible; even the
inevitable mirrors with their accessories were arranged in a roomy
recess not noticeable from the door, lighted by a window of its own,
called the dressing-window.

The washing-stand figured as a vast oak chest, carved with grotesque
Renaissance ornament. The dressing table was in appearance
something between a high altar and a cabinet piano, the surface
being richly worked in the same style of semi-classic decoration,
but the extraordinary outline having been arrived at by an ingenious
joiner and decorator from the neighbouring town, after months of
painful toil in cutting and fitting, under Miss Aldclyffe's
immediate eye; the materials being the remains of two or three old
cabinets the lady had found in the lumber-room. About two-thirds of
the floor was carpeted, the remaining portion being laid with
parquetry of light and dark woods.

Miss Aldclyffe was standing at the larger window, away from the
dressing-niche. She bowed, and said pleasantly, 'I am glad you have
come. We shall get on capitally, I dare say.'

Her bonnet was off. Cytherea did not think her so handsome as on
the earlier day; the queenliness of her beauty was harder and less
warm. But a worse discovery than this was that Miss Aldclyffe, with
the usual obliviousness of rich people to their dependents'
specialities, seemed to have quite forgotten Cytherea's
inexperience, and mechanically delivered up her body to her handmaid
without a thought of details, and with a mild yawn.

Everything went well at first. The dress was removed, stockings and
black boots were taken off, and silk stockings and white shoes were
put on. Miss Aldclyffe then retired to bathe her hands and face,
and Cytherea drew breath. If she could get through this first
evening, all would be right. She felt that it was unfortunate that
such a crucial test for her powers as a birthday dinner should have
been applied on the threshold of her arrival; but set to again.

Miss Aldclyffe was now arrayed in a white dressing-gown, and dropped
languidly into an easy-chair, pushed up before the glass. The
instincts of her sex and her own practice told Cytherea the next
movement. She let Miss Aldclyffe's hair fall about her shoulders,
and began to arrange it. It proved to be all real; a satisfaction.

Miss Aldclyffe was musingly looking on the floor, and the operation
went on for some minutes in silence. At length her thoughts seemed
to turn to the present, and she lifted her eyes to the glass.

'Why, what on earth are you doing with my head?' she exclaimed, with
widely opened eyes. At the words she felt the back of Cytherea's
little hand tremble against her neck.

'Perhaps you prefer it done the other fashion, madam?' said the
maiden.

'No, no; that's the fashion right enough, but you must make more
show of my hair than that, or I shall have to buy some, which God
forbid!'

'It is how I do my own,' said Cytherea naively, and with a sweetness
of tone that would have pleased the most acrimonious under
favourable circumstances; but tyranny was in the ascendant with Miss
Aldclyffe at this moment, and she was assured of palatable food for
her vice by having felt the trembling of Cytherea's hand.

'Yours, indeed! _Your_ hair! Come, go on.' Considering that
Cytherea possessed at least five times as much of that valuable
auxiliary to woman's beauty as the lady before her, there was at the
same time some excuse for Miss Aldclyffe's outburst. She remembered
herself, however, and said more quietly, 'Now then, Graye
--By-the-bye, what do they call you downstairs?'

'Mrs. Graye,' said the handmaid.

'Then tell them not to do any such absurd thing--not but that it is
quite according to usage; but you are too young yet.'

This dialogue tided Cytherea safely onward through the hairdressing
till the flowers and diamonds were to be placed upon the lady's
brow. Cytherea began arranging them tastefully, and to the very
best of her judgment.

'That won't do,' said Miss Aldclyffe harshly.

'Why?'

'I look too young--an old dressed doll.'

'Will that, madam?'

'No, I look a fright--a perfect fright!'

'This way, perhaps?'

'Heavens! Don't worry me so.' She shut her lips like a trap.

Having once worked herself up to the belief that her head-dress was
to be a failure that evening, no cleverness of Cytherea's in
arranging it could please her. She continued in a smouldering
passion during the remainder of the performance, keeping her lips
firmly closed, and the muscles of her body rigid. Finally,
snatching up her gloves, and taking her handkerchief and fan in her
hand, she silently sailed out of the room, without betraying the
least consciousness of another woman's presence behind her.

Cytherea's fears that at the undressing this suppressed anger would
find a vent, kept her on thorns throughout the evening. She tried
to read; she could not. She tried to sew; she could not. She tried
to muse; she could not do that connectedly. 'If this is the
beginning, what will the end be!' she said in a whisper, and felt
many misgivings as to the policy of being overhasty in establishing
an independence at the expense of congruity with a cherished past.

3. MIDNIGHT

The clock struck twelve. The Aldclyffe state dinner was over. The
company had all gone, and Miss Aldclyffe's bell rang loudly and
jerkingly.

Cytherea started to her feet at the sound, which broke in upon a
fitful sleep that had overtaken her. She had been sitting drearily
in her chair waiting minute after minute for the signal, her brain
in that state of intentness which takes cognizance of the passage of
Time as a real motion--motion without matter--the instants throbbing
past in the company of a feverish pulse. She hastened to the room,
to find the lady sitting before the dressing shrine, illuminated on
both sides, and looking so queenly in her attitude of absolute
repose, that the younger woman felt the awfullest sense of
responsibility at her Vandalism in having undertaken to demolish so
imposing a pile.

The lady's jewelled ornaments were taken off in silence--some by her
own listless hands, some by Cytherea's. Then followed the outer
stratum of clothing. The dress being removed, Cytherea took it in
her hand and went with it into the bedroom adjoining, intending to
hang it in the wardrobe. But on second thoughts, in order that she
might not keep Miss Aldclyffe waiting a moment longer than
necessary, she flung it down on the first resting-place that came to
hand, which happened to be the bed, and re-entered the dressing-room
with the noiseless footfall of a kitten. She paused in the middle
of the room.

She was unnoticed, and her sudden return had plainly not been
expected. During the short time of Cytherea's absence, Miss
Aldclyffe had pulled off a kind of chemisette of Brussels net, drawn
high above the throat, which she had worn with her evening dress as
a semi-opaque covering to her shoulders, and in its place had put
her night-gown round her. Her right hand was lifted to her neck, as
if engaged in fastening her night-gown.

But on a second glance Miss Aldclyffe's proceeding was clearer to
Cytherea. She was not fastening her night-gown; it had been
carelessly thrown round her, and Miss Aldclyffe was really occupied
in holding up to her eyes some small object that she was keenly
scrutinizing. And now on suddenly discovering the presence of
Cytherea at the back of the apartment, instead of naturally
continuing or concluding her inspection, she desisted hurriedly; the
tiny snap of a spring was heard, her hand was removed, and she began
adjusting her robes.

Modesty might have directed her hasty action of enwrapping her
shoulders, but it was scarcely likely, considering Miss Aldclyffe's
temperament, that she had all her life been used to a maid,
Cytherea's youth, and the elder lady's marked treatment of her as if
she were a mere child or plaything. The matter was too slight to
reason about, and yet upon the whole it seemed that Miss Aldclyffe
must have a practical reason for concealing her neck.

With a timid sense of being an intruder Cytherea was about to step
back and out of the room; but at the same moment Miss Aldclyffe
turned, saw the impulse, and told her companion to stay, looking
into her eyes as if she had half an intention to explain something.
Cytherea felt certain it was the little mystery of her late
movements. The other withdrew her eyes; Cytherea went to fetch the
dressing-gown, and wheeled round again to bring it up to Miss
Aldclyffe, who had now partly removed her night-dress to put it on
the proper way, and still sat with her back towards Cytherea.

Her neck was again quite open and uncovered, and though hidden from
the direct line of Cytherea's vision, she saw it reflected in the
glass--the fair white surface, and the inimitable combination of
curves between throat and bosom which artists adore, being brightly
lit up by the light burning on either side.

And the lady's prior proceedings were now explained in the simplest
manner. In the midst of her breast, like an island in a sea of
pearl, reclined an exquisite little gold locket, embellished with
arabesque work of blue, red, and white enamel. That was undoubtedly
what Miss Aldclyffe had been contemplating; and, moreover, not
having been put off with her other ornaments, it was to be retained
during the night--a slight departure from the custom of ladies which
Miss Aldclyffe had at first not cared to exhibit to her new
assistant, though now, on further thought, she seemed to have become
indifferent on the matter.

'My dressing-gown,' she said, quietly fastening her night-dress as
she spoke.

Cytherea came forward with it. Miss Aldclyffe did not turn her
head, but looked inquiringly at her maid in the glass.

'You saw what I wear on my neck, I suppose?' she said to Cytherea's
reflected face.

'Yes, madam, I did,' said Cytherea to Miss Aldclyffe's reflected
face.

Miss Aldclyffe again looked at Cytherea's reflection as if she were
on the point of explaining. Again she checked her resolve, and said
lightly--

'Few of my maids discover that I wear it always. I generally keep
it a secret--not that it matters much. But I was careless with you,
and seemed to want to tell you. You win me to make confidences
that. . .'

She ceased, took Cytherea's hand in her own, lifted the locket with
the other, touched the spring and disclosed a miniature.

'It is a handsome face, is it not?' she whispered mournfully, and
even timidly.

'It is.'

But the sight had gone through Cytherea like an electric shock, and
there was an instantaneous awakening of perception in her, so
thrilling in its presence as to be well-nigh insupportable. The
face in the miniature was the face of her own father--younger and
fresher than she had ever known him--but her father!

Was this the woman of his wild and unquenchable early love? And was
this the woman who had figured in the gate-man's story as answering
the name of Cytherea before her judgment was awake? Surely it was.
And if so, here was the tangible outcrop of a romantic and hidden
stratum of the past hitherto seen only in her imagination; but as
far as her scope allowed, clearly defined therein by reason of its
strangeness.

Miss Aldclyffe's eyes and thoughts were so intent upon the miniature
that she had not been conscious of Cytherea's start of surprise.
She went on speaking in a low and abstracted tone.

'Yes, I lost him.' She interrupted her words by a short meditation,
and went on again. 'I lost him by excess of honesty as regarded my
past. But it was best that it should be so. . . . I was led to
think rather more than usual of the circumstances to-night because
of your name. It is pronounced the same way, though differently
spelt.'

The only means by which Cytherea's surname could have been spelt to
Miss Aldclyffe must have been by Mrs. Morris or Farmer Springrove.
She fancied Farmer Springrove would have spelt it properly if Edward
was his informant, which made Miss Aldclyffe's remark obscure.

Women make confidences and then regret them. The impulsive rush of
feeling which had led Miss Aldclyffe to indulge in this revelation,
trifling as it was, died out immediately her words were beyond
recall; and the turmoil, occasioned in her by dwelling upon that
chapter of her life, found vent in another kind of emotion--the
result of a trivial accident.

Cytherea, after letting down Miss Aldclyffe's hair, adopted some
plan with it to which the lady had not been accustomed. A rapid
revulsion to irritation ensued. The maiden's mere touch seemed to
discharge the pent-up regret of the lady as if she had been a jar of
electricity.

'How strangely you treat my hair!' she exclaimed.

A silence.

'I have told you what I never tell my maids as a rule; of course
_nothing_ that I say in this room is to be mentioned outside it.'
She spoke crossly no less than emphatically.

'It shall not be, madam,' said Cytherea, agitated and vexed that the
woman of her romantic wonderings should be so disagreeable to her.

'Why on earth did I tell you of my past?' she went on.

Cytherea made no answer.

The lady's vexation with herself, and the accident which had led to
the disclosure swelled little by little till it knew no bounds. But
what was done could not be undone, and though Cytherea had shown a
most winning responsiveness, quarrel Miss Aldclyffe must. She
recurred to the subject of Cytherea's want of expertness, like a
bitter reviewer, who finding the sentiments of a poet unimpeachable,
quarrels with his rhymes.

'Never, never before did I serve myself such a trick as this in
engaging a maid!' She waited for an expostulation: none came.
Miss Aldclyffe tried again.

'The idea of my taking a girl without asking her more than three
questions, or having a single reference, all because of her good
l--, the shape of her face and body! It _was_ a fool's trick. There,
I am served right, quite right--by being deceived in such a way.'

'I didn't deceive you,' said Cytherea. The speech was an
unfortunate one, and was the very 'fuel to maintain its fires' that
the other's petulance desired.

'You did,' she said hotly.

'I told you I couldn't promise to be acquainted with every detail of
routine just at first.'

'Will you contradict me in this way! You are telling untruths, I
say.'

Cytherea's lip quivered. 'I would answer the remark if--if--'

'If what?'

'If it were a lady's!'

'You girl of impudence--what do you say? Leave the room this
instant, I tell you.'

'And I tell you that a person who speaks to a lady as you do to me,
is no lady herself!'

'To a lady? A lady's-maid speaks in this way. The idea!'

'Don't "lady's-maid" me: nobody is my mistress I won't have it!'

'Good Heavens!'

'I wouldn't have come--no--I wouldn't! if I had known!'

'What?'

'That you were such an ill-tempered, unjust woman!'

'Possest beyond the Muse's painting,' Miss Aldclyffe exclaimed--

'A Woman, am I! I'll teach you if I am a Woman!' and lifted her
hand as if she would have liked to strike her companion. This stung
the maiden into absolute defiance.

'I dare you to touch me!' she cried. 'Strike me if you dare, madam!
I am not afraid of you--what do you mean by such an action as that?'

Miss Aldclyffe was disconcerted at this unexpected show of spirit,
and ashamed of her unladylike impulse now it was put into words.
She sank back in the chair. 'I was not going to strike you--go to
your room--I beg you to go to your room!' she repeated in a husky
whisper.

Cytherea, red and panting, took up her candlestick and advanced to
the table to get a light. As she stood close to them the rays from
the candles struck sharply on her face. She usually bore a much
stronger likeness to her mother than to her father, but now, looking
with a grave, reckless, and angered expression of countenance at the
kindling wick as she held it slanting into the other flame, her
father's features were distinct in her. It was the first time Miss
Aldclyffe had seen her in a passionate mood, and wearing that
expression which was invariably its concomitant. It was Miss
Aldclyffe's turn to start now; and the remark she made was an
instance of that sudden change of tone from high-flown invective to
the pettiness of curiosity which so often makes women's quarrels
ridiculous. Even Miss Aldclyffe's dignity had not sufficient power
to postpone the absorbing desire she now felt to settle the strange
suspicion that had entered her head.

'You spell your name the common way, G, R, E, Y, don't you?' she
said, with assumed indifference.

'No,' said Cytherea, poised on the side of her foot, and still
looking into the flame.

'Yes, surely? The name was spelt that way on your boxes: I looked
and saw it myself.'

The enigma of Miss Aldclyffe's mistake was solved. 'O, was it?'
said Cytherea. 'Ah, I remember Mrs. Jackson, the lodging-house
keeper at Budmouth, labelled them. We spell our name G, R, A, Y, E.'

'What was your father's trade?'

Cytherea thought it would be useless to attempt to conceal facts any
longer. 'His was not a trade,' she said. 'He was an architect.'

'The idea of your being an architect's daughter!'

'There's nothing to offend, you in that, I hope?'

'O no.'

'Why did you say "the idea"?'

'Leave that alone. Did he ever visit in Gower Street, Bloomsbury,
one Christmas, many years ago?--but you would not know that.'

'I have heard him say that Mr. Huntway, a curate somewhere in that
part of London, and who died there, was an old college friend of
his.'

'What is your Christian name?'

'Cytherea.'

'No! And is it really? And you knew that face I showed you? Yes,
I see you did.' Miss Aldclyffe stopped, and closed her lips
impassibly. She was a little agitated.

'Do you want me any longer?' said Cytherea, standing candle in hand
and looking quietly in Miss Aldclyffe's face.

'Well--no: no longer,' said the other lingeringly.

'With your permission, I will leave the house to morrow morning,
madam.'

'Ah.' Miss Aldclyffe had no notion of what she was saying.

'And I know you will be so good as not to intrude upon me during the
short remainder of my stay?'

Saying this Cytherea left the room before her companion had
answered. Miss Aldclyffe, then, had recognized her at last, and had
been curious about her name from the beginning.

The other members of the household had retired to rest. As Cytherea
went along the passage leading to her room her skirts rustled
against the partition. A door on her left opened, and Mrs. Morris
looked out.

'I waited out of bed till you came up,' she said, 'it being your
first night, in case you should be at a loss for anything. How have
you got on with Miss Aldclyffe?'

'Pretty well--though not so well as I could have wished.'

'Has she been scolding?'

'A little.'

'She's a very odd lady--'tis all one way or the other with her.
She's not bad at heart, but unbearable in close quarters. Those of
us who don't have much to do with her personally, stay on for years
and years.'

'Has Miss Aldclyffe's family always been rich?' said Cytherea.

'O no. The property, with the name, came from her mother's uncle.
Her family is a branch of the old Aldclyffe family on the maternal
side. Her mother married a Bradleigh--a mere nobody at that time
--and was on that account cut by her relations. But very singularly
the other branch of the family died out one by one--three of them,
and Miss Aldclyffe's great-uncle then left all his property,
including this estate, to Captain Bradleigh and his wife--Miss
Aldclyffe's father and mother--on condition that they took the old
family name as well. There's all about it in the "Landed Gentry."
'Tis a thing very often done.'