"Ah, that's the secret," said Joan Durbeyfield sagely. "However,
'tis well to be kin to a coach, even if you don't ride in 'en." She
dropped her public voice, and continued in a low tone to her husband:
"I've been thinking since you brought the news that there's a great
rich lady out by Trantridge, on the edge o' The Chase, of the name of
d'Urberville." "Hey--what's that?" said Sir John. She repeated the information. "That lady must be our relation," she
said. "And my projick is to send Tess to claim kin."
"There IS a lady of the name, now you mention it," said Durbeyfield.
"Pa'son Tringham didn't think of that. But she's nothing beside
we--a junior branch of us, no doubt, hailing long since King Norman's
day." While this question was being discussed neither of the pair noticed,
in their preoccupation, that little Abraham had crept into the room,
and was awaiting an opportunity of asking them to return.
"She is rich, and she'd be sure to take notice o' the maid,"
continued Mrs Durbeyfield; "and 'twill be a very good thing. I don't
see why two branches o' one family should not be on visiting terms."
"Yes; and we'll all claim kin!" said Abraham brightly from under the
bedstead. "And we'll all go and see her when Tess has gone to live
with her; and we'll ride in her coach and wear black clothes!"
"How do you come here, child? What nonsense be ye talking! Go away,
and play on the stairs till father and mother be ready! ... Well,
Tess ought to go to this other member of our family. She'd be sure
to win the lady--Tess would; and likely enough 'twould lead to some
noble gentleman marrying her. In short, I know it."
"How?"
"I tried her fate in the Fortune-Teller, and it brought out that
very thing! ... You should ha' seen how pretty she looked to-day;
her skin is as sumple as a duchess'."
"What says the maid herself to going?"
"I've not asked her. She don't know there is any such lady-relation
yet. But it would certainly put her in the way of a grand marriage,
and she won't say nay to going."
"Tess is queer."
"But she's tractable at bottom. Leave her to me."
Though this conversation had been private, sufficient of its import
reached the understandings of those around to suggest to them that
the Durbeyfields had weightier concerns to talk of now than common
folks had, and that Tess, their pretty eldest daughter, had fine
prospects in store. "Tess is a fine figure o' fun, as I said to myself to-day when I zeed
her vamping round parish with the rest," observed one of the elderly
boozers in an undertone. "But Joan Durbeyfield must mind that she
don't get green malt in floor." It was a local phrase which had a
peculiar meaning, and there was no reply.