The Belton Estate Part 6

He had not made himself fastidious as to women by much consort with them, and he was disposed to think that she who was to become his wife had better be something more than a girl not long since taken out of the nursery. He was well to do in the world, and could send his wife out in her carriage, with all becoming bravery of appurtenances. And he would do so, too, when he should have a wife.

But still he would look to his wife to be a useful partner to him.

She should be a woman not above agricultural solicitude, or too proud to have a care for her cows. Clara, he was sure, had no false pride; and yet,--as he was sure also, she was at every point such a lady as would do honour to the carriage and the bravery when it should be forthcoming. And then such a marriage as this would put an end to all the trouble which he felt in reference to the entail on the estate.

He knew that he was to be master of Belton, and of course had, in that knowledge, the satisfaction which men do feel from the consciousness of their future prosperity. And this with him was enhanced by a strong sympathy with old-fashioned prejudices as to family. He would be Belton of Belton; and there had been Beltons of Belton in old days, for a longer time backwards than he was able to count. But still the prospect had not been without its alloy, and he had felt real distress at the idea of turning his cousin out of her father's house. Such a marriage as that he now contemplated would put all these things right.

When he got up in the morning he was quite as keen about it as he had been on the previous evening;--and as he thought about it the more, he became keener and still more keen. On the previous evening, as he was leaning out of the window endeavouring to settle in his own mind what would be the proper conduct of the romance of the thing, he had considered that he had better not make his proposal quite at once.

He was to remain eight days at Belton, and as eight days was not a long period of acquaintance, he had reflected that it might be well for him to lay what foundation for love it might be in his power to construct during his present sojourn, and then return and complete the work before Christmas. But as he was shaving himself, the habitual impatience of his nature predominated, and he became disposed to think that delay would be useless, and might perhaps be dangerous. It might be possible that Clara would be unable to give him a decisive answer so quickly as to enable him to return home an accepted lover; but if such doubt were left, such doubt would give him an excuse for a speedy return to Belton. He did not omit to tell himself that very probably he might not succeed at all. He was a man not at all apt to feel a.s.surance that he could carry all before him in love. But in this matter, as in all others which required from him any personal effort, he prepared himself to do his best, leaving the consequences to follow as they might. When he threw his seed corn into the earth with all such due appliances of agricultural skill and industry as his capital and experience enabled him to use, he did his part towards the production of next year's crop; and after that he must leave it to a higher Power to give to him, or to withhold from him, the reward of his labour. He had found that, as a rule, the reward had been given when the labour had been honest; and he was now prepared to follow the same plan, with the same hopes, in this matter of his love-making.

After much consideration,--very much consideration, a consideration which took him the whole time that he was brushing his hair and washing his teeth,--he resolved that he would, in the first instance, speak to Mr. Amedroz. Not that he intended that the father should win the daughter for him. He had an idea that he would like to do that work for himself. But he thought that the old squire would be better pleased if his consent were asked in the first instance. The present day was Sunday, and he would not speak on the subject till Monday.

This day he would devote to the work of securing his future father-in-law's good opinion; to that,--and to his prayers.

And he had gained very much upon Mr. Amedroz before the evening of the day was over. He was a man before whom difficulties seemed to yield, and who had his own way simply because he had become accustomed to ask for it,--to ask for it and to work for it. He had so softened the squire's tone of thought towards him, that the future stocking of the land was spoken of between them with something like energy on both sides; and Mr. Amedroz had given his consent, without any difficulty, to the building of a shed for winter stall-feeding.

Clara sat by listening, and perceived that Will Belton would soon be allowed to do just what he pleased with the place. Her father talked as she had not heard him talk since her poor brother's death, and was quite animated on the subject of woodcraft. "We don't know much about timber down where I am," said Will, "just because we've got no trees."

"I'll show you your way," said the old man. "I've managed the timber on the estate myself for the last forty years." Will Belton of course did not say a word as to the gross mismanagement which had been apparent even to him. What a cousin he was! Clara thought,--what a paragon among cousins! And then he was so manifestly safe against love-making! So safe, that he only cared to talk about timber, and oxen, and fences, and winter-forage! But it was all just as it ought to be; and if her father did not call him Will before long, she herself would set the way by doing so first. A very paragon among cousins!

"What a flatterer you are," she said to him that night.

"A flatterer! I?"

"Yes, you. You have flattered papa out of all his animosity already.

I shall be jealous soon; for he'll think more of you than of me."

"I hope he'll come to think of us as being nearly equally near to him," said Belton, with a tone that was half serious and half tender.

Now that he had made up his mind, he could not keep his hand from the work before him an instant. But Clara had also made up her mind, and would not be made to think that her cousin could mean anything that was more than cousinly.

"Upon my word," she said, laughing, "that is very cool on your part."

"I came here determined to be friends with him at any rate."

"And you did so without any thought of me. But you said you would be my brother, and I shall not forget your promise. Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have come,--both for papa's sake and my own. You have done him so much good that I only dread to think that you are going so soon."

"I'll be back before long. I think nothing of running across here from Norfolk. You'll see enough of me before next summer."

Soon after breakfast on the next morning he got Mr. Amedroz out into the grounds, on the plea of showing him the proposed site for the cattle shed; but not a word was said about the shed on that occasion.

He went to work at his other task at once, and when that was well on hand the squire was quite unfitted for the consideration of any less important matter, however able to discuss it Belton might have been himself.

"I've got something particular that I want to say to you, sir,"

Belton began.

Now Mr. Amedroz was of opinion that his cousin had been saying something very particular ever since his arrival, and was rather frightened at this immediate prospect of a new subject.

"There's nothing wrong; is there?"

"No, nothing wrong;--at least, I hope it's not wrong. Would not it be a good plan, sir, if I were to marry my cousin Clara?"

What a terrible young man! Mr. Amedroz felt that his breath was so completely taken away from him that he was quite unable to speak a word of answer at the moment. Indeed, he was unable to move, and stood still, where he had been fixed by the cruel suddenness of the proposition made to him.

"Of course I know nothing of what she may think about it," continued Belton. "I thought it best to come to you before I spoke a word to her. And I know that in many ways she is above me. She is better educated, and reads more, and all that sort of thing. And it may be that she'd rather marry a London man than a fellow who pa.s.ses all his time in the country. But she couldn't get one who would love her better or treat her more kindly. And then as to the property; you must own it would be a good arrangement. You'd like to know it would go to your own child and your own grandchild;--wouldn't you, sir? And I'm not badly off, without looking to this place at all, and could give her everything she wants. But then I don't know that she'd care to marry a farmer." These last words he said in a melancholy tone, as though aware that he was confessing his own disgrace.

The squire had listened to it all, and had not as yet said a word.

And now, when Belton ceased, he did not know what word to speak. He was a man whose thoughts about women were chivalrous, and perhaps a little old-fashioned. Of course, when a man contemplates marriage, he could do nothing better, nothing more honourable, than consult the lady's father in the first instance. But he felt that even a father should be addressed on such a subject with great delicacy.

There should be ambages in such a matter. The man who resolved to commit himself to such a task should come forward with apparent difficulty,--with great diffidence, and even with actual difficulty.

He should keep himself almost hidden, as behind a mask, and should tell of his own ambition with doubtful, quivering voice. And the ambages should take time. He should approach the citadel to be taken with covered ways,--working his way slowly and painfully. But this young man, before he had been in the house three days, said all that he had to say without the slightest quaver in his voice, and evidently expected to get an answer about the squire's daughter as quickly as he had got it about the squire's land.

"You have surprised me very much," said the old man at last, drawing his breath.

"I'm quite in earnest about it. Clara seems to me to be the very girl to make a good wife to such a one as I am. She's got everything that a woman ought to have;--by George she has!"

"She is a good girl, Mr. Belton."

"She is as good as gold, every inch of her."

"But you have not known her very long, Mr. Belton."

"Quite long enough for my purposes. You see I knew all about her beforehand,--who she is, and where she comes from. There's a great deal in that, you know."

Mr. Amedroz shuddered at the expressions used. It was grievous to him to hear his daughter spoken of as one respecting whom some one knew who she was and whence she came. Such knowledge respecting the daughter of such a family was, as a matter of course, common to all polite persons. "Yes," said Mr. Amedroz, stiffly: "you know as much as that about her, certainly."

"And she knows as much about me. Now the question is, whether you have any objection to make?"

"Really, Mr. Belton, you have taken me so much by surprise that I do not feel myself competent to answer you at once."

"Shall we say in an hour's time, sir?" An hour's time! Mr. Amedroz, if he could have been left to his own guidance, would have thought a month very little for such a work.

"I suppose you would wish me to see Clara first," said Mr. Amedroz.

"Oh dear, no. I would much rather ask her myself;--if only I could get your consent to my doing so."

"And you have said nothing to her?"

"Not a word."

"I am glad of that. You would have behaved badly, I think, had you done so while staying under my roof."

"I thought it best, at any rate, to come to you first. But as I must be back at Plaistow on this day week, I haven't much time to lose. So if you could think about it this afternoon, you know--"

Mr. Amedroz, much bewildered, promised that he would do his best, and eventually did bring himself to give an answer on the next morning.

"I have been thinking about this all night," said Mr. Amedroz.

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you," said Belton, feeling rather ashamed of his own remissness as he remembered how soundly he had himself slept.

"If you are quite sure of yourself--"

"Do you mean sure of loving her? I am as sure of that as anything."

"But men are so apt to change their fancies."

"I don't know much about my fancies; but I don't often change my purpose when I'm in earnest. In such a matter as this I couldn't change. I'll say as much as that for myself, though it may seem bold."