“Surely, sir, you don’t bring news of Mr. Holdsworth—of the fine young man that went to sea and was shipwrecked?” inquired the woman with a face of excitement, and staring hard, as if she were about to receive some astounding news.
“No, no!” he answered, almost under his breath; and then he added, “Tell me what you know of the widow.”
“I remember Mr. Holdsworth well,” said the woman, her speech answering to her mood. “A handsomer young fellow I never saw. He used often to be at the rectory with his wife, and the love between them was something beautiful. How she ever had the heart to let him leave her I never could guess. But he went and was drowned, and left the young thing without a friend or a shilling in the wide world, God help her; and though I said it was almost stupid her marrying Mr. Conway, remembering what love there was between her and Mr. Holdsworth, yet I have always believed it was for her child’s sake that she married the dentist, for they were in desperate want when he courted her, and must have starved for want of help.”
“You are speaking of Holdsworth’s child?”
“Yes, sir. A bright little thing, and fair as a lily. I saw her the other day when I was over at Hanwitch. She was with her mamma, and I never see such a likeness as there is between her and her poor drowned papa. But you’re askin’ about old Mrs. Flemming. Why, she died four years ago. She was very old, and went off quite peaceful, they said. What with Mrs. Flemming’s death, and her never getting any news of her husband, and having a tiny little baby to find food for, I do think the poor young lady’s heart nearly broke. I never heard exactly how the money matter was with her, but I believe that when Mrs. Flemming died she would have nothing to live on but her husband’s pay, which was stopped when he was given up for lost. Mr. Newcome was very kind, and paid her rent, and helped her along while he lived; and then Mr. Conway saw her; but it was a long time before she would marry him, long after the poor old rector was dead and gone, and she found that taking in needlework was worse than going on the parish. I often think of her—I do, indeed, sir—waiting day after day for her husband, who was never to come home. I’d rather, myself, have married anybody than a sailor. There’s no telling, when once they go, whether they’ll ever come back again. They’re worse nor soldiers for that.”
Here the woman, suddenly conceiving that she had talked quite enough, and perhaps a little too much, dropped a courtesy and left the room; but came back again to ask two questions—At what hour would the gentleman please to dine? and would he like to have a bed-room in her house? She could recommend her bed-rooms. Her linen was clean as snow.
“I will tell you presently,” answered Holdsworth. “I have not yet decided upon my movements.”
“There’s a nice plump fowl——”
“Yes, cook me that by seven o’clock,” said Holdsworth, who was feverishly impatient to be left alone.
She closed the door, and Holdsworth leaned his temples on his hands and fixed his heavy eyes on the bare table, taking the attitude of a student striving to master some difficult problem.