Anthony Trollope - The Palliser Novels - Complete Series - All 6 Books in One Edition

Driven to despair, he at last resolved to ask Bellfield to come to Oileymead for a month. That drilling at Norwich, or the part of it which was supposed to be profitable, was wearing itself out. Funds were low with the Captain,—as he did not scruple to tell his friend Cheesacre, and he accepted the invitation. “I’ll mount you with the harriers, old fellow,” Cheesacre had said; “and give you a little shooting. Only I won’t have you go out when I’m not with you.” Bellfield agreed, Each of them understood the nature of the bargain; though Bellfield, I think, had somewhat the clearer understanding in the matter. He would not be so near the widow as he had been at Norwich, but he would not be less near than his kind host. And his host would no doubt watch him closely;—but then he also could watch his host. There was a railway station not two miles from Oileymead, and the journey thence into Norwich was one of half an hour. Mr Cheesacre would doubtless be very jealous of such journeys, but with all his jealousy he could not prevent them. And then, in regard to this arrangement, Mr Cheesacre paid the piper, whereas Captain Bellfield paid nothing. Would it not be sweet to him if he could carry off his friend’s prize from under the very eaves of his friend’s house?

And Mrs Greenow also understood the arrangement. “Going to Oileymead; are you?” she said when Captain Bellfield came to tell her of his departure. Charlie Fairstairs was with her, so that the Captain could not utilize the moment in any special way. “It’s quite delightful,” continued the widow, “to see how fond you two gentlemen are of each other.”

“I think gentlemen always like to go best to gentlemen’s houses where there are no ladies,” said Charlie Fairstairs, whose career in life had not as yet been satisfactory to her.

“As for that,” said Bellfield, “I wish with all my heart that dear old Cheesy would get a wife. He wants a wife badly, if ever a man did, with all that house full of blankets and crockery. Why don’t you set your cap at him, Miss Fairstairs?”

“What;—at a farmer!” said Charlie who was particularly anxious that her dear friend, Mrs Greenow, should not marry Mr Cheesacre, and who weakly thought to belittle him accordingly.

“Give him my kind love,” said Mrs Greenow, thereby resenting the impotent interference. “And look here, Captain Bellfield, suppose you both dine with me next Saturday. He always comes in on Saturday, and you might as well come too.”

Captain Bellfield declared that he would only be too happy.

“And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr Cheesacre,” said the widow, turning a soft and gracious eye on the Captain.

“I shall be happy to come,”—said Charlie, quite delighted; “but not with that object. Mr Cheesacre is very respectable, I’m sure.” Charlie’s mother had been the daughter of a small squire who had let his land to tenants, and she was, therefore, justified by circumstances in looking down upon a farmer.

The matter was so settled,—pending the consent of Mr Cheesacre; and Bellfield went out to Oileymead. He knew the ways of the house, and was not surprised to find himself left alone till after dusk; nor was he much surprised when he learned that he was not put into one of the mahogany-furnitured chambers, but into a back room looking over the farmyard in which there was no fireplace. The Captain had already endured some of the evils of poverty, and could have put up with this easily had nothing been said about it. As it was, Cheesacre brought the matter forward, and apologized, and made the thing difficult.

“You see, old fellow,” he said, “there are the rooms, and of course they’re empty. But it’s such a bore hauling out all the things and putting up the curtains. You’ll be very snug where you are.”

“I shall do very well,” said Bellfield rather sulkily.

“Of course you’ll do very well. It’s the warmest room in the house in one way.” He did not say in what way. Perhaps the near neighbourhood of the stables may have had a warming effect.

Bellfield did not like it; but what is a poor man to do under such circumstances? So he went upstairs and washed his hands before dinner in the room without a fireplace, flattering himself that he would yet be even with his friend Cheesacre.

They dined together not in the best humour, and after dinner they sat down to enjoy themselves with pipes and brandy and water. Bellfield, having a taste for everything that was expensive, would have preferred cigars; but his friend put none upon the table. Mr Cheesacre, though he could spend his money liberally when occasion required such spending, knew well the value of domestic economy. He wasn’t going to put himself out, as he called it, for Bellfield! What was good enough for himself was good enough for Bellfield. “A beggar, you know; just a regular beggar!” as he was betrayed into saying to Mrs Greenow on some occasion just at this period. “Poor fellow! He only wants money to make him almost perfect,” Mrs Greenow had answered;—and Mr Cheesacre had felt that he had made a mistake.

Both the men became talkative, if not good-humoured, under the effects of the brandy and water, and the Captain then communicated Mrs Greenow’s invitation to Mr Cheesacre. He had had his doubts as to the propriety of doing so,—thinking that perhaps it might be to his advantage to forget the message. But he reflected that he was at any rate a match for Cheesacre when they were present together, and finally came to the conclusion that the message should be delivered. “I had to go and just wish her goodbye you know,” he said apologetically, as he finished his little speech.

“I don’t see that at all,” said Cheesacre.

“Why, my dear fellow, how foolishly jealous you are. If I were to be downright uncivil to her, as you would have me be, it would only call attention to the thing.”

“I’m not a bit jealous. A man who sits upon his own ground as I do hasn’t any occasion to be jealous.”

“I don’t know what your own ground has to do with it,—but we’ll let that pass.”

“I think it has a great deal to do with it. If a man does intend to marry he ought to have things comfortable about him; unless he wants to live on his wife, which I look upon as about the meanest thing a man can do. By George, I’d sooner break stones than that.”

This was hard for any captain to bear,—even for Captain Bellfield; but he did bear it,—looking forward to revenge.

“There’s no pleasing you, I know,” said he. “But there’s the fact. I went to say goodbye to her, and she asked me to give you that message. Shall we go or not?”

Cheesacre sat for some time silent, blowing out huge clouds of smoke while he meditated a little plan. “I’ll tell you what it is, Bellfield,” he said at last. “She’s nothing to you, and if you won’t mind it, I’ll go. Mrs Jones shall get you anything you like for dinner,—and,—and—I’ll stand you a bottle of the ‘34 port!”

But Captain Bellfield was not going to put up with this. He had not sold himself altogether to work Mr Cheesacre’s will. “No, old fellow,” said he; “that cock won’t fight. She has asked me to dine with her on Saturday, and I mean to go. I don’t intend that she shall think that I’m afraid of her,—or of you either.”

“You don’t;—don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” said the Captain stoutly.

“I wish you’d pay me some of that money you owe me,” said Cheesacre.

“So I will,—when I’ve married the widow. Ha,—ha,—ha.”

Cheesacre longed to turn him out of the house. Words to bid him go, were, so to say, upon his tongue. But the man would only have taken himself to Norwich, and would have gone without any embargo upon his suit; all their treaties would then be at an end. “She knows a trick worth two of that,” said Cheesacre at last.