The Belton Estate Part 43

"If I may tell you, I will."

"Of course you may tell me."

"Because Miss Amedroz is engaged to be married to that old woman's son, and is not engaged to be married to your sister's brother. The thing is done, and what is the good of interfering. As far as she is concerned, a great burden is off your hands."

"What do you mean by a burden?"

"I mean that her engagement to Captain Aylmer makes it unnecessary for you to suppose that she is in want of any pecuniary a.s.sistance.

You told me once before that you would feel yourself called upon to see that she wanted nothing."

"So I do now."

"But Captain Aylmer will look after that."

"I tell you what it is, Joe; I mean to settle the Belton property in such a way that she shall have it, and that he shan't be able to touch it. And it shall go to some one who shall have my name,--William Belton. That's what I want you to arrange for me."

"After you are dead, you mean."

"I mean now, at once. I won't take the estate from her. I hate the place and everything belonging to it. I don't mean her. There is no reason for hating her."

"My dear Will, you are talking nonsense."

"Why is it nonsense? I may give what belongs to me to whom I please."

"You can do nothing of the kind;--at any rate, not by my a.s.sistance.

You talk as though the world were all over with you,--as though you were never to be married or have any children of your own."

"I shall never marry."

"Nonsense, Will. Don't make such an a.s.s of yourself as to suppose that you'll not get over such a thing as this. You'll be married and have a dozen children yet to provide for. Let the eldest have Belton Castle, and everything will go on then in the proper way."

Belton had now got the poker into his hands, and sat silent for some time, knocking the coals about. Then he got up, and took his hat, and put on his coat. "Of course I can't make you understand me," he said; "at any rate not all at once. I'm not such a fool as to want to give up my property just because a girl is going to be married to a man I don't like. I'm not such an a.s.s as to give him my estate for such a reason as that;--for it will be giving it to him, let me tie it up as I may. But I've a feeling about it which makes it impossible for me to take it. How would you like to get a thing by another fellow having destroyed himself?"

"You can't help that. It's yours by law."

"Of course it is. I know that. And as it's mine I can do what I like with it. Well;--good-bye. When I've got anything to say, I'll write."

Then he went down to his cab and had himself driven to the Great Western Railway Hotel.

Captain Aylmer had sent to his betrothed seventy-five pounds; the exact interest at five per cent. for one year of the sum which his aunt had left her. This was the first subject of which Belton thought when he found himself again in the railway carriage, and he continued thinking of it half the way down to Taunton. Seventy-five pounds!

As though this favoured lover were prepared to give her exactly her due, and nothing more than her due! Had he been so placed, he, Will Belton, what would he have done? Seventy-five pounds might have been more money than she would have wanted, for he would have taken her to his own house,--to his own bosom, as soon as she would have permitted, and would have so laboured on her behalf, taking from her shoulders all money troubles, that there would have been no question as to princ.i.p.al or interest between them. At any rate he would not have confined himself to sending to her the exact sum which was her due. But then Aylmer was a cold-blooded man,--more like a fish than a man. Belton told himself over and over again that he had discovered that at the single glance which he had had when he saw Captain Aylmer in Green's chambers. Seventy-five pounds indeed! He himself was prepared to give his whole estate to her, if she would take it,--even though she would not marry him, even though she was going to throw herself away upon that fish! Then he felt somewhat as Hamlet did when he jumped upon Laertes at the grave of Ophelia. Send her seventy-five pounds indeed, while he was ready to drink up Esil for her, or to make over to her the whole Belton estate, and thus abandon the idea for ever of being Belton of Belton!

He reached Taunton in the middle of the night,--during the small hours of the morning in a winter night; but yet he could not bring himself to go to bed. So he knocked up an ostler at the nearest inn, and ordered out a gig. He would go down to the village of Redicote, on the Minehead road, and put up at the public-house there. He could not now have himself driven at once to Belton Castle, as he would have done had the old squire been alive. He fancied that his presence would be a nuisance if he did so. So he went to the little inn at Redicote, reaching that place between four and five o'clock in the morning; and very uncomfortable he was when he got there. But in his present frame of mind he preferred discomfort. He liked being tired and cold, and felt, when he was put into a chill room, without fire, and with a sanded floor, that things with him were as they ought to be.

Yes,--he could have a fly over to Belton Castle after breakfast.

Having learned so much, and ordered a dish of eggs and bacon for his morning's breakfast, he went up-stairs to a miserable little bedroom, to dress himself after his night's journey.

CHAPTER XXI.

MRS. ASKERTON'S GENEROSITY.

The death of the old man at Belton Castle had been very sudden. At three o'clock in the morning Clara had been called into his room, and at five o'clock she was alone in the world,--having neither father, mother, nor brother; without a home, without a shilling that she could call her own;--with no hope as to her future life, if,--as she had so much reason to suppose,--Captain Aylmer should have chosen to accept her last letter as a ground for permanent separation. But at this moment, on this saddest morning, she did not care much for that chance. It seemed to be almost indifferent to her, that question of Lady Aylmer and her anger. The more that she was absolutely in need of external friendship, the more disposed was she to reject it, and to declare to herself that she was prepared to stand alone in the world.

For the last week she had understood from the doctor that her father was in truth sinking, and that she might hardly hope ever to see him again convalescent. She had therefore in some sort prepared herself for her loneliness, and antic.i.p.ated the misery of her position. As soon as it was known to the women in the room that life had left the old man, one of them had taken her by the hand and led her back to her own chamber. "Now, Miss Clara, you had better lie down on the bed again;--you had indeed; you can do nothing sitting up." She took the old woman's advice, and allowed them to do with her as they would. It was true that there was no longer any work by which she could make herself useful in that house,--in that house, or, as far as she could see, in any other. Yes; she would go to bed, and lying there would feel how convenient it would be for many persons if she also could be taken away to her long rest, as her father, and aunt, and brother had been taken before her. Her name and family had been unfortunate, and it would be well that there should be no Amedroz left to trouble those more fortunate persons who were to come after them. In her sorrow and bitterness she included both her cousin Will and Captain Aylmer among those more fortunate ones for whose sake it might be well that she should be made to vanish from off the earth. She had read Captain Aylmer's letter over and over again since she had answered it, and had read nearly as often the copy of her own reply,--and had told herself, as she read them, that of course he would not forgive her. He might perhaps pardon her, if she would submit to him in everything; but that she would not submit to his commands respecting Mrs. Askerton she was fully resolved,--and, therefore, there could be no hope. Then, when she remembered how lately her dear father's spirit had fled, she hated herself for having allowed her mind to dwell on anything beyond her loss of him.

She was still in her bedroom, having fallen into that half-waking slumber which the numbness of sorrow so often produces, when word was brought to her that Mrs. Askerton was in the house. It was the first time that Mrs. Askerton had ever crossed the door, and the remembrance that it was so came upon her at once. During her father's lifetime it had seemed to be understood that their neighbour should have no admittance there;--but now,--now that her father was gone,--the barrier was to be overthrown. And why not? Why should not Mrs. Askerton come to her? Why, if Mrs. Askerton chose to be kind to her, should she not altogether throw herself into her friend's arms?

Of course her doing so would give mortal offence to everybody at Aylmer Park; but why need she stop to think of that? She had already made up her mind that she would not obey orders from Aylmer Park on this subject.

She had not seen Mrs. Askerton since that interview between them which was described some few chapters back. Then everything had been told between them, so that there was no longer any mystery either on the one side or on the other. Then Clara had a.s.sured her friend of her loving friendship in spite of any edicts to the contrary which might come from Aylmer Park; and after that what could be more natural than that Mrs. Askerton should come to her in her sorrow.

"She says she'll come up to you if you'll let her," said the servant.

But Clara declined this proposition, and in a few minutes went down to the small parlour in which she had lately lived, and where she found her visitor.

"My poor dear, this has been very sudden," said Mrs. Askerton.

"Very sudden;--very sudden. And yet, now that he has gone, I know that I expected it."

"Of course I came to you as soon as I heard of it, because I knew you were all alone. If there had been any one else I should not have come."

"It is very good of you."

"Colonel Askerton thought that perhaps he had better come. I told him of all that which we said to each other the other day. He thought at first that it would be better that I should not see you."

"It was very good of you to come," said Clara again, and as she spoke she put out her hand and took Mrs. Askerton's,--continuing to hold it for awhile; "very good indeed."

"I told him that I could not but go down to you,--that I thought you would not understand it if I stayed away."

"At any rate it was good of you to come to me."

"I don't believe," said Mrs. Askerton, "that what people call consolation is ever of any use. It is a terrible thing to lose a father."

"Very terrible. Ah, dear, I have hardly yet found out how sad it is.

As yet I have only been thinking of myself, and wishing that I could be with him."

"Nay, Clara."

"How can I help it? What am I to do, or where am I to go? Of what use is life to such a one as me? And for him,--who would dare to wish him back again? When people have fallen and gone down in the world it is bad for them to go on living. Everything is a trouble, and there is nothing but vexation."

"Think what I have suffered, dear."

"But you have had somebody to care for you,--somebody whom you could trust."

"And have not you?"

"No; no one."

"What do you mean, Clara?"