The Belton Estate Part 17

"Mr. Possitt has been with me twice whilst you were away, and he, too, asked what you meant to do about the house."

"And what did you say?"

"What could I say? Of course I said I did not know. I suppose he was meditating whether you would live here and ask him to dinner on Sundays!"

"Mr. Possitt is a very good sort of man," said the Captain, gravely;--for Captain Aylmer, in the carrying out of his principles, always spoke seriously of everything connected with the Church in Perivale.

"And quite worthy to be asked to dinner on Sundays," said Clara. "But I did not give him any hope. How could I? Of course I knew that you would not live here, though I did not tell him so."

"No; I don't suppose I shall. But I see very plainly that you think I ought to do so."

"I've the old-fashioned idea as to a man's living near to his own property; that is all. No doubt it was good for other people in Perivale, besides Mr. Possitt, that my dear aunt lived here; and if the house is shut up, or let to some stranger, they will feel her loss the more. But I don't know that you are bound to sacrifice yourself to them."

"If I were to marry," said Captain Aylmer, very slowly and in a low voice, "of course I should have to think of my wife's wishes."

"But if your wife, when she accepted you, knew that you were living here, she would hardly take upon herself to demand that you should give up your residence."

"She might find it very dull."

"She would make her own calculations as to that before she accepted you."

"No doubt;--but I can't fancy any woman taking a man who was tied by his leg to Perivale. What do the people do who live in Perivale?"

"Earn their bread."

"Yes;--that's just what I said. But I shouldn't earn mine here."

"I have the feeling I spoke of very strongly about papa's place,"

said Clara, changing the conversation suddenly. "I very often think of the future fate of Belton Castle when papa shall have gone. My cousin has got his house at Plaistow, and I don't suppose he'd live there."

"And where will you go?" he asked.

As soon as she had spoken, Clara regretted her own imprudence in having ventured to speak upon her own affairs. She had been well pleased to hear him talk of his plans, and had been quite resolved not to talk of her own. But now, by her own speech, she had set him to make inquiries as to her future life. She did not at first answer the question; but he repeated it. "And where will you live yourself?"

"I hope I may not have to think of that for some time to come yet."

"It is impossible to help thinking of such things."

"I can a.s.sure you that I haven't thought about it; but I suppose I shall endeavour to--to--; I don't know what I shall endeavour to do."

"Will you come and live at Perivale?"

"Why here more than anywhere else?"

"In this house I mean."

"That would suit me admirably;--would it not? I'm afraid Mr. Possitt would not find me a good neighbour. To tell the truth, I think that any lady who lives here alone ought to be older than I am. The Perivalians would not show to a young woman that sort of respect which they have always felt for this house."

"I didn't mean alone," said Captain Aylmer.

Then Clara got up and made some excuse for leaving him, and there was nothing more said between them,--nothing, at least, of moment, on that evening. She had become uneasy when he asked her whether she would like to live in his house at Perivale. But afterwards, when he suggested that she was to have some companion with her there, she felt herself compelled to put an end to the conversation. And yet she knew that this was always the way, both with him and with herself. He would say things which would seem to promise that in another minute he would be at her feet, and then he would go no further. And she, when she heard those words,--though in truth she would have had him at her feet if she could,--would draw away, and recede, and forbid him as it were to go on. But Clara continued to make her comparisons, and knew well that her cousin Will would have gone on in spite of any such forbiddings.

On that night, however, when she was alone, she could console herself with thinking how right she had been. In that front bedroom, the door of which was opposite to her own, with closed shutters, in the terrible solemnity of lifeless humanity, was still lying the body of her aunt! What would she have thought of herself if at such a moment she could have listened to words of love, and promised herself as a wife while such an inmate was in the house? She little knew that he, within that same room, had pledged himself, to her who was now lying there waiting for her last removal--had pledged himself, just seven days since, to make the offer which, when he was talking to her, she was always half hoping and half fearing!

He could have meant nothing else when he told her that he had not intended to suggest that she should live there alone in that great house at Perivale. She could not hinder herself from thinking of this, unfit as was the present moment for any such thoughts. How was it possible that she should not speculate on the subject, let her resolutions against any such speculation be ever so strong? She had confessed to herself that she loved the man, and what else could she wish but that he also should love her? But there came upon her some faint suspicion--some glimpse of what was almost a dream--that he might possibly in this matter be guided rather by duty than by love.

It might be that he would feel himself constrained to offer his hand to her--constrained by the peculiarity of his position towards her.

If so--should she discover that such were his motives--there would be no doubt as to the nature of her answer.

CHAPTER X.

SHOWING HOW CAPTAIN AYLMER KEPT HIS PROMISE.

The next day was necessarily very sad. Clara had declared her determination to follow her aunt to the churchyard, and did so, together with Martha, the old servant. There were three or four mourning coaches, as family friends came over from Taunton, one or two of whom were to be present at the reading of the will. How melancholy was the occasion, and how well the work was done; how substantial and yet how solemn was the luncheon, spread after the funeral for the gentlemen; and how the will was read, without a word of remark, by Mr. Palmer, need hardly be told here. The will contained certain substantial legacies to servants--the amount to that old handmaid Martha being so great as to produce a fit of fainting, after which the old handmaid declared that if ever there was, by any chance, an angel of light upon the earth, it was her late mistress; and yet Martha had had her troubles with her mistress; and there was a legacy of two hundred pounds to the gentleman who was called upon to act as co-executor with Captain Aylmer. Other clause in the will there was none, except that one substantial clause which bequeathed to her well-beloved nephew, Frederic Folliott Aylmer, everything of which the testatrix died possessed. The will had been made at some moment in which Clara's spirit of independence had offended her aunt, and her name was not mentioned. That nothing should have been left to Clara was the one thing that surprised the relatives from Taunton who were present. The relatives from Taunton, to give them their due, expected nothing for themselves; but as there had been great doubt as to the proportions in which the property would be divided between the nephew and adopted niece, there was aroused a considerable excitement as to the omission of the name of Miss Amedroz--an excitement which was not altogether unpleasant. When people complain of some cruel shame, which does not affect themselves personally, the complaint is generally accompanied by an unexpressed and unconscious feeling of satisfaction.

On the present occasion, when the will had been read and refolded, Captain Aylmer, who was standing on the rug near the fire, spoke a few words. His aunt, he said, had desired to add a codicil to the will, of the nature of which Mr. Palmer was well aware. She had expressed her intention to leave fifteen hundred pounds to her niece, Miss Amedroz; but death had come upon her too quickly to enable her to perform her purpose. Of this intention on the part of Mrs. Winterfield, Mr. Palmer was as well aware as himself; and he mentioned the subject now, merely with the object of saying that, as a matter of course, the legacy to Miss Amedroz was as good as though the codicil had been completed. On such a question as that there could arise no question as to legal right; but he understood that the legal claim of Miss Amedroz, under such circ.u.mstances, was as valid as his own. It was therefore no affair of generosity on his part.

Then there was a little buzz of satisfaction on the part of those present, and the meeting was broken up.

A certain old Mrs. Folliott, who was cousin to everybody concerned, had come over from Taunton to see how things were going. She had always been at variance with Mrs. Winterfield, being a woman who loved cards and supper parties, and who had throughout her life stabled her horses in stalls very different to those used by the lady of Perivale. Now this Mrs. Folliott was the first to tell Clara of the will. Clara, of course, was altogether indifferent. She had known for months past that her aunt had intended to leave nothing to her, and her only hope had been that she might be left free from any commiseration or remark on the subject. But Mrs. Folliott, with sundry shakings of the head, told her how her aunt had omitted to name her--and then told her also of Captain Aylmer's generosity.

"We all did think, my dear," said Mrs. Folliott, "that she would have done better than that for you, or at any rate that she would not have left you dependent on him." Captain Aylmer's horses were also supposed to be stabled in strictly Low Church stalls, and were therefore regarded by Mrs. Folliott with much dislike.

"I and my aunt understood each other perfectly," said Clara.

"I dare say. But if so, you really were the only person that did understand her. No doubt what she did was quite right, seeing that she was a saint; but we sinners would have thought it very wicked to have made such a will, and then to have trusted to the generosity of another person after we were dead."

"But there is no question of trusting to any one's generosity, Mrs.

Folliott."

"He need not pay you a shilling, you know, unless he likes it."

"And he will not be asked to pay me a shilling."

"I don't suppose he will go back after what he has said publicly."

"My dear Mrs. Folliott," said Clara earnestly, "pray do not let us talk about it. It is quite unnecessary. I never expected any of my aunt's property, and knew all along that it was to go to Captain Aylmer,--who, indeed, was Mrs. Winterfield's heir naturally. Mrs.

Winterfield was not really my aunt, and I had no claim on her."

"But everybody understood that she was to provide for you."

"As I was not one of the everybodies myself, it will not signify."

Then Mrs. Folliott retreated, having, as she thought, performed her duty to Clara, and contented herself henceforth with abusing Mrs.

Winterfield's will in her own social circles at Taunton.

On the evening of that day, when all the visitors were gone and the house was again quiet, Captain Aylmer thought it expedient to explain to Clara the nature of his aunt's will, and the manner in which she would be allowed to inherit under it the amount of money which her aunt had intended to bequeath to her. When she became impatient and objected to listen to him, he argued with her, pointing out to her that this was a matter of business to which it was now absolutely necessary that she should attend. "It may be the case," he said, "and, indeed, I hope it will, that no essential difference will be made by it;--except that it will gratify you to know how careful she was of your interests in her last moments. But you are bound in duty to learn your own position; and I, as her executor, am bound to explain it to you. But perhaps you would rather discuss it with Mr.

Palmer."