Chapter 3
O nce in the garden, though, I realised that since I usually spent Sunday evenings in my study, that was where Mrs Fowke or Milly would look for me.
What if they did not think to find me in the garden?
What if they let Jem go without his seeing me again?
But I had said ‘let’s talk when you have eaten’, which made it plain I expected to speak with Jem again.
I was suddenly not sorry for having said it.
I looked the beans without seeing them.
Perhaps, under the circumstances, it would not be wrong for me to stop by the kitchen door? I could say ‘Come, Jem, let us talk now, then I must get to my study’. Or I could invent a need for tea, or bread and butter, or some other excuse that would give me a reason to stop by the kitchen.
Then I hit upon it. The gate.
There were two front gates to the property: the main—or garden—gate and the stable gate, but both gave directly onto the lane.
Jem must pass through one or the other to leave.
It was more likely he would leave by the stable gate, because that would be more fitting for a man of his station, and because it lay closer to Hunsford which was likely the direction he would go when he departed.
In the other direction lay only Rosings Park and some of Mr Butler’s fields, and it was unlikely Jem could have any reason to go to either of those places.
I went around to the front of the house, passed alongside it and thence into the stable yard, which was some thirty yards from the house. I rested my hand upon the stable gate and at once felt easier.
Jem did not come and I began to walk to and fro.
I could hear faint voices, occasionally, from around the back of the house.
Mrs Fowke’s, mainly, and occasionally Milly’s.
I could not hear Jem, but then he always spoke soft.
The voices of the others seemed quite loud.
They must have the kitchen door open to let in the cooler air.
Or perhaps Mrs Fowke had asked him to stand outside so as to keep the kitchen clean.
Pilot stuck his head out of his box and nickered, his brown coat lit to a lovely coppery-red by the late sun. I scratched the place beneath his forelock, as he liked, and he mouthed my ear with velvet lips.
“Jem has come,” I whispered to him, for the pleasure of saying it aloud. “My friend, Jem.”
My eyes filled with tears as I spoke, and I wiped them away, unsure what sentiment had caused them, whether joy or relief or fear of something I could not name.
Pilot rubbed his nose against my hair. How much better are beasts than humanity?
Pilot listened and seemed to understand but did not remark nor try to make me explain myself. I scratched beneath his forelock again.
The house and stable faced south and the sun, though it was now low in the sky, still held a great deal of warmth.
There was a bench by the stable, and I sat upon it, but the sun dazzled me and sweat pricked out under my arms and down my back.
I pulled out my handkerchief and mopped my brow.
Pilot blew a sweet-smelling gust through his nose and turned back to his hay net.
I could get inside his stall and be out of the sun, but then I might miss Jem.
I stood up and spied a long strip of shadow under the hedgerow on the other side of the lane. It would be cooler there. I opened the gate, crossed the lane, and edged into the shade.
The hedgerow was not quite high enough and my head and shoulders were still full in the sun.
I could not sit in the dust of the road, but I stepped across the ditch and up onto the verge, which rose a little above the level of the lane at that point.
I turned and stood in the long grass. Now I was in the shade of the hedge and, moreover, from my vantage point had an excellent view of the house and both gates.
There was even a breeze coming through the hedgerow, pleasantly cool upon my back.
Now I could not miss him.
I had asked him why he had come and had not heard his answer. I should have begged his pardon and asked him to repeat himself, but in my excitement to show him all the points of interest I had quite failed to do so.
It seemed odd that he should come all this way to see me just because I had enquired after him at his sister’s. I always enquired after him when I was in Marshing visiting my great aunt, and he had never come before. Of course, he had been at sea.
I had wondered about it earlier, but it struck me suddenly as tremendously odd that he had been dressed in rags.
He must have left his ship, but why would he exchange his sailor’s rig for something worse?
Perhaps he had fallen on hard times, in which case he had come a long way for a few words and a bite of mutton.
I was pleased, of course, but why should he?—
Oh.
Money.
He must want some.
A pang that was sharper than disappointment shot through my heart. But after all, was I not likely the only person he could ask? He could not ask the new man at Marshing. The living there was very poor, as I knew well, my father having been the perpetual curate.
No, I was not disappointed. I was pleased.
Of course, Jem should come to me. Yes, I was pleased and would be gratified to be able to help him.
People expected charity from a clergyman.
It was fitting. Though I must not get a reputation as too soft a touch.
Already I had been warned by certain farmers of my acquaintance that other farmers were ever looking for ways to give the rector rather less than one in ten come tithing time.
Anyway, when it came to Jem, it would not really be charity.
Others could call it that if they wished.
To me, secretly, it would be upholding the bond of friendship.
Not only would I give him whatever he needed, I would not quibble nor delay but give him it immediately so he should not be embarrassed.
My noble thoughts had distracted me, and I became suddenly aware that Mrs Fowke and Jem were standing at the stable gate, peering up at me. My heart leapt to see his familiar countenance once more.
As a boy, people had called him ugly. Mr Scatcherd, my father’s gardener, had called him a little old gargoyle. But to me, Jem’s countenance was pleasing above all others. His dark brows were glossy as chestnuts, his eyes were kind, and his lip was charming because it was his own.
“Is…er…now convenient, sir?” Mrs Fowke sounded uncertain. “You did say as how you wanted to speak with the lad.”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Mrs Fowke.” I stepped down off the verge and across the ditch. “Now will do very well. No time like the present, eh?”
She nodded and bobbed, gave the place I had been standing a puzzled glance, and went off towards the house.
I had him all to myself at the gate.
“Well, Jem!” I said. “Have you eaten? Have you had enough?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
I did not want his thanks. As boys we had shared everything, half and half, and had taken it for granted that it should be so, or at least I had. And soon he would be going, with nothing but politeness between us.
“No, no. You are welcome.” I wanted to plead with him. Don’t you remember? What’s mine is yours . But ten years had passed so I mumbled something about duty, and added, “Mrs Fowke keeps a good kitchen. We are very fortunate here.”
“Yes.” He twisted his cap and added, shyly, staring at his boots, “I hope it ain’t getting above myself, sir, to offer my congratulations on your position here.”
“Thank you, Jem. That’s very kind.”
“Always knew as how you’d do well, Master Willie. You being so clever, sir, with your Latin and your Greek.”
In fact, I had never been much of a scholar and had got my degree by the skin of my teeth, but I was happy to hear him say the old familiar name he used to call me, and it was pleasing to be thought book-learned.
Compared to him, I suppose I was. He had never mastered his letters. I had tried to teach him myself once, but he never could seem to tell b from d and so we had not got very far. It was strange, for he was clever enough in all other respects.
“Thank you, Jem,” I said. “It was great good fortune that brought me here. My previous position as a curate was much less comfortable, but I thank God for it because through it I met my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I owe her my position here, and my happiness.”
“Must be a fine lady, sir.”
“Indeed, she is. I have never met a lady so high who is so gracious in her manner. Why, only the other day—well, it was perhaps three weeks ago—she praised my sermon freely.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked suitably awestruck and I refrained from adding that she terrified me. Jem was no gossip and knew nobody hereabouts, but an ill-chosen word may be passed about and where it might end up one never knew.
On my first day in the rectory, I had made a solemn vow that I should never, by word or deed, in private or in public, show one single ounce of ingratitude to Lady Catherine, so that if any were ever to carry report of me to her, she should hear only humble praise and admiration.
It was a good vow. It made me feel safe.
“And, you, Jem? How has life treated you?”
“Well, sir, you know I went away to sea. But it’s a hard life aboard, that it is, sir.
So, I came ashore last time we made port and I worked awhile in…
in a tannery. Near Hastings. But I don’t know as how I was suited to the work.
And I…I had a wish to pay my respects and offer my congratulations.
Everyone in Marshing says as how you’ve done so well, sir, begging your pardon. ”
“Thank you, Jem.” I have been told my voice can be monotonous which can cause people to believe me lacking in feeling, so I tried to put true sentiment into my tone. “I am glad you came. Truly glad, for I have often thought of you and wondered how you were faring.”
“Thank you, sir.”