# The Story of Jael/Chapter IX

Six weeks had passed since Jael ran away from home, and she had not returned. She had been taken to the work house and thence to the hospital, as she was ill, in a fever and unconscious. She pulled through because she had a splendid constitution, but she did not recover rapidly. Her mind was ever working. She could not rest and recruit. The overstrained body needs relaxation that it may recover its vigour. The mind also, when it has been disturbed by harrowing cares, should also lie down, stretch itself, thaw in the sun, close its spiritual eyes, think of nothing, ask no questions of the present, and especially of the future, roll up the past and put it out of sight, and exist. It should be as the still basking butterfly on the wall in autumn, enjoy the soft air and the warm sun, and put out of consideration the storms and frosts of winter that are coming. When the mind can do this, it rapidly recovers fibre and elasticity, but if it goes on working, tossing, grasping, beating itself, then it takes a long time for renewal. The body may gain its losses, but the mind does not keep pace with it, and the result is a feeble flight like that of the bird with lopped wing.
Jael did not at all know how her father would receive her. She reproached herself for having run away. She had been angry with Mrs Bagg, but had not her father a right to bring the widow into the house? She, Jael, had not made him as comfortable as might be. She had brought herself up without system, with no one to direct her, to show her how household duties should be performed. She had preferred to play on the marsh, to tease her gull, to row on the water, to loiter along the sea wall watching the ships. She had preferred idleness to work, and the result had been that her father had become impatient at his discomforts, and had resolved to make for himself a better home than she could give him. Was he to blame? Did he take Mrs Bagg because he had forgotten Jael’s mother? He took Mrs Bagg to manage for him because Mrs Bagg cooked beef instead of converting it into leather, and baked bread without forgetting the salt and making it insipid, and put on the table-cloth evenly, and made the beds without leaving a strip of blanket at the bottom exposed, and swept up the hearth, and polished the brass candlesticks, and sewed up the splits in Mr Tapp’s garments.
What would be her own reception when she returned? Jael asked, and trembled at the answer she gave herself. What would be thought of her? How could she vindicate her character? Was not that irretrievably smirched? Would all her assurances serve to wash it clean? Now she saw how foolish she had been to trust to the word of Jeremiah, to put the least weight on his advice. All might have been well had he proved true. They might have been married and on their way to America. From Liverpool she would have written to her father and told him how sorry she was to have run away, but that she could not bear to live in the same house with Mrs Bagg, whether as housekeeper or wife to her father. She had been forced to throw herself on the protection of the man who loved her and promised to make a home for her in the New World. As for the money her mother had left, he must do with that as he deemed best. If by her running away, she had forfeited it, let him keep it and do with it what he willed, she would not reproach him, but if he forgave her, and thought she still had a claim on the money, then—but there! as Jael’s mind ran on in this fashion, and she was in imagination writing her letter to the deserted, offended parent, the chilling remembrance came on her that it was in vain; Jeremiah had proved false, and she was returning to her father, as to the only one who could shelter her. Whether he would receive her after what had taken place—that was the question and with this question she proceeded to torture herself.
Even if he did receive her, he could not maintain her for long in idleness. For what was she fit? No respectable man would wish to marry her after her elopement to London, no decent housewife would desire to have her as servant. Besides, she was not fit for domestic service. She did all things badly. She sewed barbarously, she cooked atrociously, she was not tidy in housework. The only thing she could do was row. Yes, she could mind a bridge—a swing bridge—but what railway would entrust a swing bridge to her? Besides, swing bridges were not plentiful.
Jerry—Jerry was the cause of all this doubt and wretchedness. He it was who had lured her from home, and cast a blight over her life and made the future blank to her. Where now was he? What was he doing? Then she tossed in body as in mind, and moaned, and bit her bedclothes and tore holes in them, and when rebuked, bit her fingers and tore them till they bled and stained the pillow and sheets, and was scolded again.
At length, in spite of the fevered mind that would not sleep and smile and become cool, she was pronounced sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital. Then a kind lady who had seen her in the ward gave her an old gown of her own, and a dark bonnet, for her straw hat was battered and torn, and her cotton dress was stained with the seawater and coal grime past use; she gave her also a shawl for her shoulders, and spoiled her kindness, not intentionally, by giving Jael much moral advice and earnest adjuration, believing her to be what she was not. This angered Jael, and she refused the garments, but then considered that the hospital visitor was not to blame in misreading her story. Jael could not tell her the truth, she was too proud. But she humbled herself somewhat, and half penitently, half sulkily, accepted the gown and bonnet and shawl, and the packet of tracts that was thrust into her hands, and trudged away, with bitterness in her heart, and shame and anger staining her cheek.
She threw the tracts over the hedge into a pond when she got outside Romford. She had looked at the titles of some, and they made her more angry.
In her pocket was still a little money. She went to the station and took a third-class ticket for Colchester. When she had taken this she had but a sixpence left.
‘That will serve,’ she muttered. ‘I will go by carrier to Wyvenhoe, and walk thence along the railway embankment. It is not allowed, but that doesn’t matter. I belong to the B. and W. R.’
The good lady who had supplied her with the tracts had thought also of bodily nourishment, and Jael found a packet of sandwiches in the pocket of the gown. ‘The sixpence will just do,’ she said. ‘To-day is market day at Colchester, the carrier’s van will be at the “Plough.” I can get into it, sit behind, draw my shawl over my face, and eat the sandwiches, and wait till the horse be put to. No one will interfere with me. No one will know me.’
Jael did not leave Romford till after noon, and it was evening when she reached Colchester. She at once went to the inn where the Wyvenhoe carrier put up, and entered his van. This was a long covered waggon, with side and back of black tarpaulin stretched on a frame. It was open only in front; it had seats down the sides and at the end. Jael ensconced herself at the extremity, in the darkest corner, and drew her shawl about her, so as to partly screen her face.
‘Now then,’ said the carrier, climbing in. ‘Oh! how doy’ do, ma’am—or miss is it? A passenger to Wyvenhoe?’
‘Yes.’
‘We don’t start for twenty minutes. I’ve to pack in all my commissions. You’ll excuse me if I incommode you, miss. Let me see! There’s the camellia from Mr Cant, the nurseryman, for the vicar; and there’s the writing stand-up desk from the National Society De-pot for the schoolmaster; and the laundry stove, and the flat irons, and the elbow and chimney, and the painted iron wire, from Messrs Catchpool, for the Laundry Company, Limited; and there’s four pairs of stays to choose from for Mrs Pudney from Ager’s; and there’s four and twenty copies of the Police News to distribute, and one Ancient and Modern, and a baby’s bottle.’ He checked off his commissions on his fingers. ‘Then there’s the drench for Master Pullen’s cow, and the boots to choose from sent by Mr Pocock; and the cold-drawn castor oil, and a packet of butterscotch from Sheldrake; and to mind and tell Malonie, the chimney-sweep, that if he don’t come sharp and clean the chimleys at the old Hall, they’ll shoot guns up ’em and do without chimney-sweeps’ brushes. Now then, miss, would you mind? Come—will you sit for’ard and enjoy the air and the scenery, or will you sit back and let me pack the commissions in afront of you? Back is it? Very well, miss. Here’s the schoolmaster’s desk, takes up a lot of room, but I’ll stow the camellia under it, and so too the ironing stove. Perhaps you won’t mind putting of your foot between them, lest in the jolting of the van the stove should crack the pot. I might shove in straw, but then in going up hill the heavy articles will work back’ards, and in going down they’ll be for’ard in their movements, and the straw might get displaced; so, miss, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer your foot. If you could conveniently get the foot across so as to hold the stove with the heel, and the camellia pot with the toe, it would be more springy, and safer for both. Lor’ bless me! I’d almost forgotten the rolls of wall-paper, at eightpence, for Mrs Baker. Perhaps miss, you’d find it no inconvenience to take the cow-drench, and the feeding-bottle, and the cold-drawn castor oil on your lap. It would be safer for them, and greatly oblige me. I’ve shoved the bag of boots under the seat, and you can sit upon the pairs of stays.’ Then the carrier surveyed his arrangements. ‘Lord love you! I’m sorry you’re so stuffed in behind, but it was your own wish not to be forward. I don’t think we shall have many passengers back. Coming with me, sir?’ (addressing a young man who approached the van.)
‘Yes—room for two to Wyvenhoe?’
‘Room for a score, sir—you and Miss Soames, certainly.’
A spasm shot through Jael’s heart; the voice was that of Jeremiah, and he was with Julia, the daughter of Argent Soames.
She drew her shawl over her bonnet, so as to completely hide her face, but she saw the young man help up his companion on the box.
‘How long before you start, Fincham?’
‘Directly, sir. I shall harness the horse at once.’
‘Time for me to go to the tap and have a drink,’ said Jeremiah, and disappeared into the bar.
In ten minutes the grey horse was between the shafts, and Jeremiah Mustard appeared, wiping his mouth, and sprang on the shaft, and without looking into the depths of the van, said to the carrier, ‘Fincham! you’ve a good load.’
‘Middling, Mr Mustard. Not much in the way of passengers—I mean in quantity: quality is everything I could wish.
‘Going to have a dirty night,’ said Jeremiah.
‘Middling, sir,’ answered the carrier. ‘I don’t think there’ll be wind; but it’s the fog is driving in from the sea, we’ll have it thick as smoke.’ Then he cracked his whip, and the grey horse, understanding the signal, shambled on.
Either Jerry and his companion did not notice that there was a third passenger in the van, or they were indifferent to the presence of one, for they talked to each other unconcernedly, and Jerry put his arm round Julia’s waist to hold her, lest the shaking of the van should dislodge her from her seat. At first, as the wheels went over the pavement of the street, Jael could not hear what was said, perhaps they did not speak much, owing to the rattle, but when once out of the town, on the sandy road, they talked with great freedom and unconcern.
‘What time have you to be back at Brightlingsea?’ asked Julia.
‘I’ve got to run the engine with a score of empty trucks at ten, not before, and we shall go together then. Well, now, what will your father say when we spring the news on him?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Julia, with a falter in her voice. ‘It doesn’t seem to me quite right, going and getting married at the Registrar’s without his knowing anything about it—and when it’s done, telling him.’
‘My dear, it is all right. Trust me. What is the good of loving a man if you don’t trust him? I like runaway matches on principle. It does put the father into such a corner; he must come round; he can’t help himself. He has no other way out than coming round.’
‘But he will be angry.’
‘Oh, yes, at first because he has not been asked; but he must come round. I put it to you frankly. Can he do anything else? He can’t stick in the corner all the rest of his natural life with his face to the wall. Look here, Julia?’
He unfolded a great sheet of paper, coloured red.
‘There’s going to be a grand concert of African Serenaders to-night at the Town Hall in Colchester. Sixteen of them—black as coffins. If we hadn’t been married to-day, and weren’t expected back at Brightlingsea by my mother, I’d have gone and heard them sing.’
‘We are expected?’
‘Yes. I told my mother to make all ready for us. You shall come with me on the engine when I run the empty trucks. I told mother to have supper ready—Irish stew. I do love Irish stew above everything.’
‘But—my father——’
‘We’ll announce it to him when we get to Wyvenhoe—knock old Argent Soames into a heap; and we shall be off whether he comes round to-night or not. Take my word for it, he’ll come round more rapid than an engine on a turn-table. No man likes a corner.’
Julia was silent.
‘I say,’ observed Jeremiah, ‘was it a hundred you said your mother left you in the funds?’
‘Yes, Jerry.’
‘And no one can meddle with it—I mean your father can’t keep you out of it, even if he remains in his corner rubbing his nose against the wall?’
‘I think not.’
‘By George! Julia, we’ll buy the Cordelia; Tom May will have to sell her; and we’ll build a beautiful house with green doors and windows and white curtains, and an umbrella stand in the hall.’
Again a silence ensued. Julia began to fidget.
‘Jerry,’ she said in a low voice, but with some sharpness in it, although so low—like a very small pocket-knife blade, ‘Jerry, I never properly understood about you and that—that girl Jael. What was that story?’
‘I’m glad you’ve mentioned it,’ said Jeremiah, clearing his throat. ‘Drat it! how the fog fills one’s lungs. I’m glad you’ve mentioned it, because I can explain the whole matter so easy. Poor thing! poor thing! I and Tom May were going in the ’Cordelia'’ to London with a cargo of beans and peas, and when we’d got to sea I chanced to go for’ard and look into the fo’castle, ’twixt decks, and what should I see but a young woman curled up there “Hullo!” shouted I, “how came you there? And who are you?” Then she came out looking awful frightened, and said as how her father was going to marry again, and she didn’t like it, and wanted to go to London and see a bit of life there, and so she’d come and hid in the Cordelia unbeknown to me and May.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘Well, we couldn’t pitch her overboard. We took her on to Rotherhithe, and there we lost her. She went her way, we went ours. But I do confess,’ said Jeremiah, ’I did deal handsome by the poor creature. I took her to an eating-house, and I ordered a pint of bitter, and the Daily News, and Irish stew. What more could she have?’
‘Then you lost sight of her?’
‘Yes; I didn’t want to see more of her. I was sighing for my Julia. I came back and took the situation I had been offered, owing to the quarrel between the G.E.R. and the B. and W. R., and the strike of the engine-drivers. You see, I’ve been on the line a while before, and know the working of an engine just as I know that of a ship. But if you love me, Julia, and wish to make home a paradise, and fill it with sunshine and smiles, have Irish stew on Tuesdays—once a week, anyhow. By George! here we are at Wyvenhoe. Get out, Julia. You must do it—break the news to your father. I’ll go into the public-house close by, and when it’s done you come by the window, warbling “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,” and I’ll come out and go to your father with you—that is, behind you—and throw myself on my knees before him, and he’ll tell me about that hundred pounds.’