Tess of the dUrbervilles - Page 13/283

There still faintly beamed from the woman's features something of

the freshness, and even the prettiness, of her youth; rendering it

probable that the personal charms which Tess could boast of were in

main part her mother's gift, and therefore unknightly, unhistorical.

"I'll rock the cradle for 'ee, mother," said the daughter gently.

"Or I'll take off my best frock and help you wring up? I thought you

had finished long ago."

Her mother bore Tess no ill-will for leaving the housework to her

single-handed efforts for so long; indeed, Joan seldom upbraided

her thereon at any time, feeling but slightly the lack of Tess's

assistance whilst her instinctive plan for relieving herself of her

labours lay in postponing them. To-night, however, she was even in a

blither mood than usual. There was a dreaminess, a pre-occupation,

an exaltation, in the maternal look which the girl could not

understand. "Well, I'm glad you've come," her mother said, as soon as the last

note had passed out of her. "I want to go and fetch your father;

but what's more'n that, I want to tell 'ee what have happened. Y'll

be fess enough, my poppet, when th'st know!" (Mrs Durbeyfield

habitually spoke the dialect; her daughter, who had passed the Sixth

Standard in the National School under a London-trained mistress,

spoke two languages: the dialect at home, more or less; ordinary

English abroad and to persons of quality.)

"Since I've been away?" Tess asked.

"Ay!"

"Had it anything to do with father's making such a mommet of himself

in thik carriage this afternoon? Why did 'er? I felt inclined to

sink into the ground with shame!"

"That wer all a part of the larry! We've been found to be the

greatest gentlefolk in the whole county--reaching all back long

before Oliver Grumble's time--to the days of the Pagan Turks--with

monuments, and vaults, and crests, and 'scutcheons, and the Lord

knows what all. In Saint Charles's days we was made Knights o' the

Royal Oak, our real name being d'Urberville! ... Don't that make

your bosom plim? 'Twas on this account that your father rode home

in the vlee; not because he'd been drinking, as people supposed."

"I'm glad of that. Will it do us any good, mother?"

"O yes! 'Tis thoughted that great things may come o't. No doubt a

mampus of volk of our own rank will be down here in their carriages

as soon as 'tis known. Your father learnt it on his way hwome

from Shaston, and he has been telling me the whole pedigree of the

matter."