The Belton Estate Part 38

"Yes. Lady Aylmer is one of those hard, severe women who never forgive."

"Ah, I see it all now. I understand it all. Clara, you must forget me, and come here no more. You shall not be ruined because you are generous."

"Ruined! If Lady Aylmer's displeasure can ruin me, I must put up with ruin. I will not accept her for my guide. I am too old, and have had my own way too long. Do not let that thought trouble you. In this matter I shall judge for myself. I have judged for myself already."

"And your father?"

"Papa knows nothing of it."

"But you will tell him?"

"I do not know. Poor papa is very ill. If he were well I would tell him, and he would think as I do."

"And your cousin?"

"You say that he has heard it all."

"I think so. Do you know that I remembered him the first moment that I saw him. But what could I do? When you mentioned to me my old name, my real name, how could I be honest? I have been driven to do that which has made honesty to me impossible. My life has been a lie; and yet how could I help it? I must live somewhere,--and how could I live anywhere without deceit?"

"And yet that is so sad."

"Sad indeed! But what could I do? Of course I was wrong in the beginning. Though how am I to regret it, when it has given me such a husband as I have? Ah!--if you could know it all, I think,--I think you would forgive me."

Then by degrees she told it all, and Clara was there for hours listening to her story. The reader will not care to hear more of it than he has heard. Nor would Clara have desired any closer revelation; but as it is often difficult to obtain a confidence, so is it impossible to stop it in the midst of its effusion. Mrs.

Askerton told the history of her life,--of her first foolish engagement, her belief, her half-belief, in the man's reformation, of the miseries which resulted from his vices, of her escape and shame, of her welcome widowhood, and of her second marriage. And as she told it, she paused at every point to insist on the goodness of him who was now her husband. "I shall tell him this," she said at last, "as I do everything; and then he will know that I have in truth got a friend."

She asked again and again about Mr. Belton, but Clara could only tell her that she knew nothing of her cousin's knowledge. Will might have heard it all, but if so he had kept his information to himself.

"And now what shall you do?" Mrs. Askerton asked of Clara, at length prepared to go.

"Do? in what way? I shall do nothing."

"But you will write to Captain Aylmer?"

"Yes;--I shall write to him."

"And about this?"

"Yes;--I suppose I must write to him."

"And what will you say?"

"That I cannot tell. I wish I knew what to say. If it were to his mother I could write my letter easily enough."

"And what would you say to her?"

"I would tell her that I was responsible for my own friends. But I must go now. Papa will complain that I am so long away." Then there was another embrace, and at last Clara found her way out of the house and was alone again in the park.

She clearly acknowledged to herself that she had a great difficulty before her. She had committed herself altogether to Mrs. Askerton, and could no longer entertain any thought of obeying the very plainly expressed commands which Captain Aylmer had given her. The story as told by Captain Aylmer had been true throughout; but, in the teeth of that truth, she intended to maintain her acquaintance with Mrs.

Askerton. From that there was now no escape. She had been carried away by impulse in what she had done and said at the cottage, but she could not bring herself to regret it. She could not believe that it was her duty to throw over and abandon a woman whom she loved, because that woman had once, in her dire extremity, fallen away from the path of virtue. But how was she to write the letter?

When she reached her father he complained of her absence, and almost scolded her for having been so long at the cottage. "I cannot see,"

said he, "what you find in that woman to make so much of her."

"She is the only neighbour I have, papa."

"And better none than her, if all that people say of her is true."

"All that people say is never true, papa."

"There is no smoke without fire. I am not at all sure that it's good for you to be so much with her."

"Oh, papa,--don't treat me like a child."

"And I'm sure it's not good for me that you should be so much away.

For anything I have seen of you all day you might have been at Perivale. But you are going soon, altogether, so I suppose I may as well make up my mind to it."

"I'm not going for a long time yet, papa."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that there's nothing to take me away from here at present."

"You are engaged to be married."

"But it will be a long engagement. It is one of those engagements in which neither party is very anxious for an immediate change." There was something bitter in Clara's tone as she said this, which the old man perceived, but could only half understand. Clara remained with him then for the rest of the day, going down-stairs for five minutes, to her dinner, and then returning to him and reading aloud while he dozed. Her winter evenings at Belton Castle were not very bright, but she was used to them and made no complaint.

When she left her father for the night she got out her desk and prepared herself for her letter to her lover. She was determined that it should be finished that night before she went to bed. And it was so finished; though the writing of it gave her much labour, and occupied her till the late hours had come upon her. When completed it was as follows:--

Belton Castle, Thursday Night.

DEAR FREDERIC,--I received your letter last Sunday, but I could not answer it sooner, as it required much consideration, and also some information which I have only obtained to-day. About the plan of living at Perivale I will not say much now, as my mind is so full of other things. I think, however, I may promise that I will never make any needless difficulty as to your plans. My cousin Will left us on Monday, so your mother need not have any further anxiety on that head. It does papa good to have him here, and for that reason I am sorry that he has gone.

I can a.s.sure you that I don't think what you said about him meant anything at all particular. Will is my nearest cousin, and of course you would be glad that I should like him,--which I do, very much.

And now about the other subject, which I own has distressed me, as you supposed it would;--I mean about Mrs. Askerton. I find it very difficult in your letter to divide what comes from your mother and what from yourself.

Of course I want to make the division, as every word from you has great weight with me. At present I don't know Lady Aylmer personally, and I cannot think of her as I do of you. Indeed, were I to know her ever so well, I could not have the same deference for her that I have for the man who is to be my husband. I only say this, as I fear that Lady Aylmer and I may not perhaps agree about Mrs.

Askerton.

I find that your story about Mrs. Askerton is in the main true. But the person who told it you does not seem to have known any of the provocations which she received. She was very badly treated by Captain Berdmore, who, I am afraid, was a terrible drunkard; and at last she found it impossible to stay with him. So she went away. I cannot tell you how horrid it all was, but I am sure that if I could make you understand it, it would go a long way in inducing you to excuse her. She was married to Colonel Askerton as soon as Captain Berdmore died, and this took place before she came to Belton. I hope you will remember that. It all occurred out in India, and I really hardly know what business we have to inquire about it now.

At any rate, as I have been acquainted with her a long time, and very intimately, and as I am sure that she has repented of anything that has been wrong, I do not think that I ought to quarrel with her now. Indeed I have promised her that I will not. I think I owe it you to tell you the whole truth, and that is the truth.

Pray give my regards to your mother, and tell her that I am sure she would judge differently if she were in my place. This poor woman has no other friend here; and who am I, that I should take upon myself to condemn her? I cannot do it. Dear Frederic, pray do not be angry with me for a.s.serting my own will in this matter. I think you would wish me to have an opinion of my own. In my present position I am bound to have one, as I am, as yet, responsible for what I do myself. I shall be very, very sorry, if I find that you differ from me; but still I cannot be made to think that I am wrong. I wish you were here, that we might talk it over together, as I think that in that case you would agree with me.

If you can manage to come to us at Easter, or any other time when Parliament does not keep you in London, we shall be so delighted to see you.

Dear Frederic, Yours very affectionately,