Rachel Ray

had then told her also that there was no longer any room for doubt or argument between them as regarding Rachel. He had gone out to Bragg’s End that morning, had made his offer, and had been accepted. His mother therefore would see⁠—so he surmised⁠—that, as any opposition on her part must now be futile, she might as well take Rachel to her heart at once. He went so far as to propose to her that she should go over to Rachel in his absence⁠—“it would be very gracious if you could do it tomorrow, mother,” he said⁠—and go through that little process of taking her future daughter-in-law to her heart. But in answer to this Mrs. Rowan said very little. She said very little, but she looked much. “My dear, I cannot move so quick as you do; I am older. I am afraid, however, that you have been rash.” He said something, as on such occasions young men do, as to his privilege of choosing for himself, as to his knowing what wife would suit him, as to his contempt for money, and as to the fact⁠—“the undoubted fact,” as he declared it⁠—and in that declaration I am prepared to go hand-in-hand with him⁠—that Rachel Ray was a lady. But he was clearheaded enough to perceive that his mother did not intend to agree with him. “When we are married she will come round,” he said to himself, and then he took himself off by the night mail train to London.

Under these circumstances Mrs. Rowan felt that her only chance of carrying on the battle would be by means of a treaty with Mrs. Tappitt. Had the affair of the brewery stood alone, Mrs. Rowan would have ranged herself loyally on the side of her son. She would have resented the uplifting of that poker, and shown her resentment by an immediate withdrawal from the brewery. She would have said a word or two⁠—a stately word or two⁠—as to the justice of her son’s cause, and have carried herself and her daughter off to the inn. As things were now, her visit to the brewery must no doubt be curtailed in its duration; but in the meantime might not a blow be struck against that foolish matrimonial project⁠—an opportune blow, and by the aid of Mrs. Tappitt? Therefore on that Friday morning, when Mr. Prong was listening with enraptured ears to Mrs. Prime’s acceptance of his suit⁠—under certain pecuniary conditions⁠—Mrs. Rowan and Mrs. Tappitt were sitting in conference at the brewery.

They agreed together at that meeting that Rachel Ray was the head and front of the whole offence, the source of all the evil done and to be done, and the one great sinner in the matter. It was clear to Mrs. Rowan that Rachel could have no just pretensions to look for such a lover or such a husband as her son; and it was equally clear to Mrs. Tappitt that she could have had no right to seek a lover or a husband out of the brewery. If Rachel Ray had not been there all might have gone smoothly for both of them. Mrs. Tappitt did not, perhaps, argue very logically as to the brewery business, or attempt to show either to herself or to her ally that Luke Rowan would have made himself an agreeable partner if he had kept himself free from all love vagaries; but she was filled with an indefinite woman’s idea that the mischief, which she felt, had been done by Rachel Ray, and that against Rachel and Rachel’s pretensions her hand should be turned.

They resolved therefore that they would go out together and call at the cottage. Mrs. Tappitt knew, from long neighbourhood, of what stuff Mrs. Ray was made. “A very good sort of woman,” she said to Mrs. Rowan, “and not at all headstrong and perverse like her daughter. If we find the young lady there we must ask her mamma to see us alone.” To this proposition Mrs. Rowan assented, not eagerly, but with a slow, measured, dignified assent, feeling that she was derogating somewhat from her own position in allowing herself to be led by such a one as Mrs. Tappitt. It was needful that on this occasion she should act with Mrs. Tappitt and connect herself with the Tappitt interests; but all this she did with an air that distinctly claimed for herself a personal superiority. If Mrs. Tappitt did not perceive and understand this, it was her fault, and not Mrs. Rowan’s.

At two o’clock they stepped into a fly at the brewery door and had themselves driven out to Bragg’s End.

“Mamma, there’s a carriage,” said Rachel.

“It can’t be coming here,” said Mrs. Ray.

“But it is; it’s the fly from the Dragon. I know it by the man’s white hat. And, oh dear, there’s Mrs. Rowan and Mrs. Tappitt! Mamma, I shall go away.” And Rachel, without another word, escaped out into the garden. She escaped, utterly heedless of her mother’s little weak prayer that she would remain. She went away quickly, so that not a skirt of her dress might be visible. She felt instantly, by instinct, that these two women had come out there especially as her enemies, as upsetters of her happiness, as opponents of her one great hope in life; and she knew that she could not fight her battle with them face to face. She could not herself maintain her love stoutly and declare her intention of keeping her lover to his word; and yet she did intend to maintain her love, not doubting that he would be true to his word without any effort on her part. Her mother would make a very poor fight⁠—of that she was quite well aware. It would have been well if her mother could have run away also. But, as that could not be, her mother must be left to succumb, and the fight must be carried on afterwards as best it might.