The Belton Estate Part 47

"I do not understand you, Mr. Belton."

"It does not signify;--we will say no more about it."

"And you think she likes going to Lady Aylmer's?"

"How should I say what she likes?"

Then there was another pause before Mrs. Askerton spoke again. "I can tell you one thing," she said: "she does not like him."

"That is her affair."

"But she should be taught to know her own mind before she throws herself away altogether. You would not wish your cousin to marry a man whom she does not love because at one time she had come to think that she loved him. That is the truth of it, Mr. Belton. If she goes to Aylmer Castle she will marry him,--and she will be an unhappy woman always afterwards. If you would sanction her coming here for a few days, I think all that would be cured. She would come in a moment, if you advised her."

Then he went away, allowing himself to make no further answer at the moment, and discussed the matter with himself as he walked back to Redicote, meditating on it with all his mind, and all his heart, and all his strength. And, as he meditated, it came on to rain bitterly,--a cold piercing February rain,--and the darkness of night came upon him, and he floundered on through the thick mud of the Somersetshire lanes, unconscious of the weather and of the darkness.

There was a way open to him by which he might even yet get what he wanted. He thought he saw that there was a way open to him through the policy of this woman, whom he perceived to have become friendly to him. He saw, or thought that he saw, it all. No day had absolutely been fixed for this journey to Yorkshire; and if Clara were induced to go first to the cottage, and stay there with Mrs. Askerton, no such journey might ever be taken. He could well understand that such a visit on her part would give a mortal offence to all the Aylmers. That tyranny of which Clara spoke with so much dread would be exhibited then without reserve, and so there would be an end altogether of the Aylmer alliance. But were she once to start for Aylmer Park, then there would be no hope for him. Then her fate would be decided,--and his. As far as he could see, too,--as far as he could see then, there would be no dishonesty in this plan. Why should Clara not go to Mrs. Askerton's house? What could be more natural than such a visit at such a time? If she were in truth his sister he would not interfere to prevent it if she wished it. He had told himself that the woman should be forgiven her offence, and had thought that that forgiveness should be complete. If the Aylmers were so unreasonable as to quarrel with her on this ground, let them quarrel with her. Mrs. Askerton had told him that Clara did not really like Captain Aylmer. Perhaps it was so; and if so, what greater kindness could he do her than give her an opportunity for escaping such a union?

The whole of the next day he remained at Redicote, thinking, doubting, striving to reconcile his wishes and his honesty. It rained all day, and as he sat alone, smoking in the comfortless inn, he told himself that the rain was keeping him;--but in truth it was not the rain. Had he resolved to do his best to prevent this visit to Yorkshire, or had he resolved to further it, I think he would have gone to Belton without much fear of the rain. On the second day after the funeral he did go, and he had then made up his mind. Clara, if she would listen to him, should show her independence of Lady Aylmer by staying a few days with the Askertons before she went to Yorkshire, and by telling Lady Aylmer that such was her intention.

"If she really loves the man," he said to himself, "she will go at once, in spite of anything that I can say. If she does not, I shall be saving her."

"How cruel of you not to come yesterday!" Clara said, as soon as she saw him.

"It rained hard," he answered.

"But men like you care so little for rain; but that is when you have business to take you out,--or pleasure."

"You need not be so severe. The truth is I had things to trouble me."

"What troubled you, Will? I thought all the trouble was mine."

"I suppose everybody thinks that his own shoe pinches the hardest."

"Your shoe can't pinch you very bad, I should think. Sometimes when I think of you it seems that you are an embodiment of prosperity and happiness."

"I don't see it myself;--that's all. Did you write to Lady Aylmer, Clara?"

"I wrote; but I didn't send it. I would not send any letter till I had shown it to you, as you are my confessor and adviser. There; read it. Nothing, I think, could be more courteous or less humble."

He took the letter and read it. Clara had simply expressed herself willing to accept Lady Aylmer's invitation, and asked her ladyship to fix a day. There was no mention of Captain Aylmer's name in the note.

"And you think this is best?" he said. His voice was hardly like his own as he spoke. There was wanting to it that tone of self-a.s.surance which his voice almost always possessed, even when self-a.s.surance was lacking to his words.

"I thought it was your own advice," she said.

"Well;--yes; that is, I don't quite know. You couldn't go for a week or so yet, I suppose."

"Perhaps in about a week."

"And what will you do till then?"

"What will I do!"

"Yes;--where do you mean to stay?"

"I thought, Will, that perhaps you would let me--remain here."

"Let you!--Oh, heavens! Look here, Clara."

"What is it, Will?"

"Before heaven I want to do for you what may be the best for you,--without thinking of myself;--without thinking of myself, if I could only help it."

"I have never doubted you. I never will doubt you. I believe in you next to my G.o.d. I do, Will; I do." He walked up and down the room half-a-dozen times before he spoke again, while she stood by the table watching him. "I wish," she said, "I knew what it is that troubles you." To this he made no answer, but went on walking till she came up to him, and putting both her hands upon his arm said, "It will be better, Will, that I should go;--will it not? Speak to me, and say so. I feel that it will be better." Then he stopped in his walk and looked down upon her, as her hands still rested upon his shoulder. He gazed upon her for some few seconds, remaining quite motionless, and then, opening his arms, he surrounded her with his embrace, and pressing her with all his strength close to his bosom, kissed her forehead, and her cheeks, and her lips, and her eyes. His will was so masterful, his strength so great, and his motion so quick, that she was powerless to escape from him till he relaxed his hold. Indeed she hardly struggled, so much was she surprised and so soon released. But the moment that he left her he saw that her face was burning red, and that the tears were streaming from her eyes. She stood for a moment trembling, with her hands clenched, and with a look of scorn upon her lips and brow that he had never seen before; and then she threw herself on a sofa, and, burying her face, sobbed aloud, while her whole body was shaken as with convulsions. He leaned over her repentant, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to speak.

All ideas of his scheme had gone from him now. He had offended her for ever,--past redemption. What could be the use now of any scheme?

And as he stood there he hated himself because of his scheme. The utter misery and disgrace of the present moment had come upon him because he had thought more of himself than of her. It was but a few moments since she had told him that she trusted him next to her G.o.d; and yet, in those few moments, he had shown himself utterly unworthy of that trust, and had destroyed all her confidence. But he could not leave her without speaking to her. "Clara!" he said;--"Clara." But she did not answer him. "Clara; will you not speak to me? Will you not let me ask you to forgive me?" But still she only sobbed. For her, at that moment, we may say that sobbing was easier than speech.

How was she to pardon so great an offence? How was she to resent such pa.s.sionate love?

But he could not continue to stand there motionless, all but speechless, while she lay with her face turned away from him. He must at any rate in some manner take himself away out of the room; and this he could not do, even in his present condition of unlimited disgrace, without a word of farewell. "Perhaps I had better go and leave you," he said.

Then at last there came a voice, "Oh, Will, why have you done this?

Why have you treated me so badly?" When he had last seen her face her mouth had been full of scorn, but there was no scorn now in her voice. "Why--why--why?"

Why indeed;--except that it was needful for him that she should know the depth of his pa.s.sion. "If you will forgive me, Clara, I will not offend you so again," he said.

"You have offended me. What am I to say? What am I to do? I have no other friend."

"I am a wretch. I know that I am a wretch."

"I did not suspect that you would be so cruel. Oh, Will!"

But before he went she told him that she had forgiven him, and she had preached to him a solemn, sweet sermon on the wickedness of yielding to momentary impulses. Her low, grave words sank into his ears as though they were divine; and when she said a word to him, blushing as she spoke, of the sin of his pa.s.sion, and of what her sin would be if she were to permit it, he sat by her weeping like an infant, tears which were certainly tears of innocence. She had been very angry with him; but I think she loved him better when her sermon was finished, than she had ever loved him before.

There was no further question as to her going to Aylmer Castle, nor was any mention made of Mrs. Askerton's invitation to the cottage.

The letter for Lady Aylmer was sent, and it was agreed between them that Will should remain at Redicote till the answer from Yorkshire should come, and should then convey Clara as far as London on her journey. And when he took leave of her that afternoon, she was able to give him her hand in her old hearty, loving way, and to call him Will with the old hearty, loving tone. And he,--he was able to accept these tokens of her graciousness, as though they were signs of a pardon which she had been good to give, but which he certainly had not deserved.

As he went back to Redicote, he swore to himself that he would never love any woman but her,--even though she must be the wife of Captain Aylmer.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE LAST DAY AT BELTON.

In course of post there came an answer from Lady Aylmer, naming a day for Clara's journey to Yorkshire, and also a letter from Captain Aylmer, in which he stated that he would meet her in London and convey her down to Aylmer Park. "The House is sitting," he said, "and therefore I shall be a little troubled about my time; but I cannot allow that your first meeting with my mother should take place in my absence." This was all very well, but at the end of the letter there was a word of caution that was not so well. "I am sure, my dear Clara, that you will remember how much is due to my mother's age, and character, and position. Nothing will be wanted to the happiness of our marriage, if you can succeed in gaining her affection, and therefore I make it my first request to you that you should endeavour to win her good opinion." There was nothing perhaps really amiss, certainly nothing unreasonable, in such words from a future husband to his future wife; but Clara, as she read them, shook her head and pressed her foot against the ground in anger. It would not do. Sorrow would come, and trouble and disappointment. She did not say so, even to herself, in words; but the words, though not spoken, were audible enough to herself. She could not, would not, bend to Lady Aylmer, and she knew that trouble would come of this visit.

I fear that many ladies will condemn Miss Amedroz when I tell them that she showed this letter to her cousin Will. It does not promise well for any of the parties concerned when a young woman with two lovers can bring herself to show the love-letters of him to whom she is engaged to the other lover whom she has refused! But I have two excuses to put forward in Clara's defence. In the first place, Captain Aylmer's love-letters were not in truth love-letters, but were letters of business; and in the next place, Clara was teaching herself to regard Will Belton as her brother, and to forget that he had ever a.s.sumed the part of a lover.

She was so teaching herself, but I cannot say that the lesson was one easily learned; nor had the outrage upon her of which Will had been guilty, and which was described in the last chapter, made the teaching easier. But she had determined, nevertheless, that it should be so. When she thought of Will her heart would become very soft towards him; and sometimes, when she thought of Captain Aylmer, her heart would become anything but soft towards him. Unloving feelings would be very strong within her bosom as she re-read his letters, and remembered that he had not come to her, but had sent her seventy-five pounds to comfort her in her trouble! Nevertheless, he was to be her husband, and she would do her duty. What might have happened had Will Belton come to Belton Castle before she had known Frederic Aylmer,--of that she stoutly resolved that she would never think at all; and consequently the thought was always intruding upon her.