Irresolute Catherine

by Violet Jacob

Charles was a little disconcerted. Were the other to keep his word he would be likely to prove the falseness of his statement; were he to precede him to his house he would certainly do so. He suspected that Heber knew where he lived.

“You’ll have some way to go, then,” said he. “A decent man doesn’t keep his wench under other folks’ noses. If you’ve a mind to see Catherine, I’ll not stop you. I’m going out to see her myself, an’ perhaps the sight of the pair of us’ll please her.”

As he spoke, Saunders’s eyes twinkled, for he was due at a village out in the neighbourhood and was going to start almost immediately in the gig. If Moorhouse chose to annoy him by following him, he would let him have the wild-goose chase he deserved for his pains; and as he left the shepherd standing in the street he could hardly keep himself from bursting out laughing. He looked over his shoulder. Heber was a few paces behind.

When Charles entered his house he saw that the shepherd was going to carry out his threat, for he was standing on the pavement watching him from the other side of the way; and as he emerged again to go into the stable behind the dwelling to fetch his gig, he was a little disappointed at finding that Heber had disappeared. But when he had harnessed the cob and was driving out of the yard his cheerfulness returned, for Heber had apparently only gone to get his horse—the same which had carried him and Catherine to Talgwynne—and was waiting for him at the end of the street. Just as Charles was starting, his uncle called after him to stop, as he meant to accompany him; and little as he desired the old man’s company at the present juncture, he had no choice but to accept it. He drove out of the town and on to the Brecon road, with the trotting hoofs of the shepherd’s horse following steadily with a rhythmic beat that kept exact pace behind the gig, neither increasing nor slackening.

It was only when they had left Llangarth behind that it occurred to Charles what an egregious fool he had been. When he lured Heber after him he had forgotten that, in order to reach his destination, he would have to pass through Mrs. Cockshow’s tollgate.

How he had perpetrated such an imbecility was beyond his understanding. On ordinary occasions he reached the village he was bound for by turning off the highway into a lane on the near side of the gate; but he remembered now that this was under repair and barred, and that he could only proceed by a cart track half a mile beyond the tollhouse. There was nothing for him to do but to put the best face he could on the business and to go forward. It was impossible to turn back because of his uncle’s presence beside him; for the old man was not in his confidence, and Catherine’s face at the window yesterday had conveyed nothing to him. He did not know her by sight. He was aware of the trick that his nephew’s intended bride had played him, and, because he had never favoured the marriage, he had made some very sour jokes on the subject. As they neared the toll Charles prayed that he might not have the chance of making more.

Still the tireless hoofs beat on behind them. Once he glanced back. Heber was rising and falling mechanically in his stirrups with the swing of the big horse’s trot, apparently less interested in him and his gig than in the fields on either side. They went by the mouth of the closed lane. The bars were up and workmen were laying a seemingly interminable drain-pipe along the very middle of it.

As the little white house came in sight Saunders stared earnestly before him for Mrs. Cockshow and felt in his waistcoat pocket for the gate-money. The widow was usually in the road, but to-day there was no sign of her familiar and unforgettable shape. He drew a sharp breath of annoyance. There would be shouting and waiting and all sorts of untoward delays; possibly a fresh battle between Mrs. Cockshow and his uncle. The latter was muttering already and beginning to look, as he did when excited, like a crazy hen.

Heber sat, immovable and unconcerned, on his horse when they pulled up, and Saunders raised his voice in the customary manner of travellers. The shepherd’s money was in his fingers, but when Catherine came out of the tollhouse he almost dropped it into the dust.