Irresolute Catherine

by Violet Jacob

The last sentence was addressed, in a murderous tone, to the white dog, who wagged his tail. He took it for a caress.

Mrs. Cockshow arose next morning in her most jovial humour. It was Thursday; and now, for the first time for months, she was dispensing with the services of that neighbour who called to take her eggs to market and was looking forward to carrying them there herself. Catherine also was happy; for the two Saunderses had driven by last evening on their return journey, without so much as a look at the toll-house windows, and she was sure the widow was right in saying that Charles now hated the sight of her.

She was not afraid that Heber would pass, though she knew that he went on Thursdays to Llangarth; for his way thither from the hill farm joined the highroad some way east of the toll. She sighed. Could she see him, while remaining invisible herself, she knew that she would secretly be glad. But, admitting that, she put him from her thoughts with a heightened colour. Since Susannah’s plain speaking, she had never let her mind dwell on the shepherd; yet she had learned of late that if her pride had been cruelly handled, her heart had fared little better. She could not think, looking back, how she had ever liked or tolerated Saunders. She was bitter against Black Heber, as well she might be; but she hated him and loved him at the same moment. For the first time, the simple girl was in a terribly complicated state of mind.

Mrs. Cockshow had tied on her late husband’s hat with a new piece of twine and loaded her person yet more completely with clothes. Before she climbed into the antiquated side-saddle on her pony’s back, she went to the roadside and began to fill the most accessible of her pockets with stones. While so engaged, she directed Catherine, who looked on with astonishment, to shut the gate and tie the animal to it. The girl obeyed, and when the widow approached, bulging more strangely than usual, she helped her to mount. Mrs. Cockshow used the toll bars as a horse-block. Then the egg basket was handed up to her, a switch cut from the hedge, and Catherine was bidden to attend to the needs of passers and to suffer no one to shirk payment. Before the rider was out of sight, Bungo burst with a yell from the toll-house and began to follow, raising a trail of dust as he went.

In one moment Mrs. Cockshow had turned and the air was one hail of flying stones, while, through the cloud sent up by the sudden facing about of the pony, her arm could be seen whirling above her head like the arm of a mounted drummer through the smoke of battle; and as, in the blinding hurricane of hard metal and abuse, Bungo flew homewards like the greyhound which had evidently been too intimate with his grandmother, Catherine realised as she had never realised before, the infinite forethought of her protectress. She shut the dog into the house and sat down to await her first summons from the public.

Mrs. Cockshow gained Llangarth without further inconvenience. Many looks followed her as she rode up the street; but though there was a smile on most faces, no one addressed her with levity. Having disposed of the pony, she disappeared with her basket into the market-place.

The market had drawn more than one of the actors in our story to Llangarth; for Charles and his uncle were among those inspecting cattle in the street, and Heber, who had come on horseback to take some sheep to the railway station, was in the town too.

Instead of answering Susannah’s letter Saunders had put it into the fire, for he was resolved that the episode of his acquaintance with Catherine Dennis should be closed for good and all. He was ashamed of it now, and felt that he had deserved all he got for meddling with a woman so far beneath him in every possible way. There was some comfort in assuring himself that he was well out of it and that he would take care never to get into such a position again. He felt little resentment against her; not because he was broad-minded or forgiving, but because his rancour was so completely concentrated on Heber that it put everything else out of his head. He would never forgive the smile he had seen on the shepherd’s face as he looked back at him from the saddle on the Talgwynne road. It was constantly in his mind, and he was thinking of it as he came out of the post-office door when his business with the cattle was over. He turned down the street and saw his enemy, who was on his way from the station, coming to meet him.

Heber looked grim and weary as he approached. Since Sunday, when he had parted from Susannah, he had had no chance of leaving his work either to question his father at Talgwynne or to make any other attempt at discovering where Catherine had hidden herself. He did not know what to believe; his doubt of his cousin’s truthfulness was strong and his opinion of Mrs. Job’s wisdom great. Yet, as he looked back in cold blood at their ride in the dark and at his own roughness, he could not help seeing some likelihood in the girl’s return to his rival. He was not accustomed to considering himself from the outside—few primitive men are; but he had thought a good deal as he went about his business in the solitudes of the mountains; and failure will open new vistas to those who are not eaten up by vanity. Though not given to succumbing to circumstances, Heber was tried by the enforced patience and inaction of the last week and his heart was heavy in him.