CHANGES AT ALNWICK.
On a charming summer day in that favourite room whose windows
overlooked the broad lands of Alnwick, sat Mrs. Carleton St. John in
widow's weeds. Opposite to her, in mourning also, her travelling shawl
unpinned and slipping from her slim, falling shoulders, her bonnet
dusty, was Mrs. Darling, not five minutes arrived.
Changes had come to Alnwick, as these signs betrayed. Its master, so
much loved and respected during life, was no more. In the month of May
the deceitful, as poets have it, the crisis came for George Carleton
St. John, and the Hall passed to another owner--the little boy too
young to be conscious of his full loss, and whose chief idea connected
with it was the black attire with which officious attendants hastened
to invest him.
Death at the last was sudden, and Mrs. St. John was alone when it
came. Her mother, Mrs. Darling, had gone abroad, and beyond a very
brief note, just telling her of the event, Mrs. Darling received no
direct news from her. She wrote letter after letter, for it was not
convenient to return home immediately; but all the replies--when she
received any--came from Prance. And Prance, who was in a degree in the
confidence of Mrs. Darling, ventured to intimate that her mistress was
"sulking," and much annoyed by the will.
The last item of intelligence stirred all the curiosity possessed by
Mrs. Darling. It also troubled her. She was aware that George St. John
had little actual property to bequeath to his wife--and George St.
John's own private opinion had been that Mrs. Darling's opposition to
his marriage with her daughter arose from that sole fact--but there
were ways and means of remedying this; and now Mrs. Darling supposed
they had not been taken. As soon as she was able, after June came in,
she made arrangements for returning to England, and hastened down to
Alnwick Hall.
But for the escutcheon on the outer walls, and the badge of widowhood
worn by her daughter, Mrs. Darling might have thought things were as
they had been--that no change had occurred. The windows were open, the
sun was shining, the park was green and flourishing: even Charlotte
was not changed. And Mrs. Darling scanned her with a critical eye.
"My dear, you are looking better than I hoped for."
"I am pretty well, mamma. I wish Prance would come in with Georgy!"
she continued fretfully. "I want you to see him, he is so grown!"
"Dear little fellow! I was so sorry that I could not come over at the
time, Charlotte, but----"
"It did not matter," interrupted Mrs. St. John, speaking quickly.
"Indeed I think I was best alone. You know, mamma"--turning her deep
eyes full upon her mother--"I was always given to being independent.
How is Rose?"
"Oh, dear!" returned Mrs. Darling, with a groan, as if recalled to
some very annoying subject. "Don't talk of Rose."
A half smile crossed the young widow's lips. "Has she been doing
anything very dreadful?"
"No: but she is so rebellious."
"Rebellious!"
"At being kept at school. Mary Anne and Margaret fully expected she
would break bounds and conceal herself on board the boat. We had
sighted Folkestone before they felt any sort of assurance that she was
not there."
"Did Mary Anne and Margaret come over with you?"
"Yes; I left them in London. Frank is expected."
"I think Frank might come down to see me!" said Mrs. St. John,
haughtily.
"My dear, I am sure he will. But he cannot always get leave when he
would."
There was a pause. Charlotte, cool, haughty, reserved, as she had ever
been, even to her mother, turned to the window again, looking out for
her little son. Mrs. Darling was burning to ask various particulars of
things she wanted to know, but did not just now see her opportunity.
She rose from her chair.
"I think I will go, Charlotte, and take off my travelling things. I am
as dusty as I can be."
"Do so, mamma. Your old room. Prance will not be long."
Prance was entering the house even then: she had brought Georgy in the
back way. There was a boisterous meeting; Mrs. St. John coming out to
join in it. Georgy chattered, and shook his fair curls from his pink
cheeks, and was altogether lovely. Mrs. Darling did not wonder at the
faint cry of pain--that intense love, whose expression amounts to
pain--with which his mother caught him to her heart.
"Where is Benja?" asked Mrs. Darling of Prance.
Oh, Master St. John would be coming in sometime, Prance supposed.
Honour had begun with her insolence, as usual, so they parted company.
And Mrs. Darling, as if she would ignore the words, made her way
hastily towards the staircase, Prance following in attendance.
Mrs. Darling scarcely gave the woman time to close the chamber-door
before she began to question her eagerly. Remember that Prance was, so
far as Mrs. Darling was concerned, a confidential servant, and she
imparted all she knew. Mrs. St. John was to remain at the Hall as
Master St. John's guardian, with four thousand a-year.
"I heard the will read," said Prance. "Old Drake the lawyer came to us
after they returned from the funeral, and said we were wanted in the
large drawing-room. Mrs. St. John was there in her new mourning and
her widow's cap; and she looked very cross and haughty as we filed in.
The gentlemen who had gone to the funeral were there, and Dr. Graves,
and Mr. Pym. I had the little one, and Honour came in with Master St.
John----"
"Why do you call him Master St. John?--he was always called Master
Benja," interrupted Mrs. Darling.
"He has been called so since that same time, ma'am," was the woman's
answer. "A gruff old gentleman who was one of the mourners, upright
and stiff as a backboard and yellow as gold--it was General Carleton,
I believe--heard one of us call the boy Master Benja, and he spoke up
very severely, saying he was not Master Benja, but Master St. John,
and must be nothing else to us until he should be Sir Benjamin. The
servants were quite taken to, and have called him Master St. John ever
since."
"Well, go on."
"We found we had been called in to hear the will read. I did not
understand it altogether; but I am quite certain that Mrs. St. John is
to reside at the Hall and to be paid four thousand a-year as the
heir's guardian. There was something I was unable to catch, through
Master Georgy's being troublesome at the moment, about the four
thousand being reduced to two if Master St. John went away. And, on
the other hand, it is to be increased by two, whenever he comes into
the title and the other estates. Which will make six thousand a-year."
"Then what did you mean, Prance, by sending me word that your mistress
was annoyed at the terms of the will? Four thousand a-year now, and
six in prospective! She cannot find fault with that. It is
munificent."
"You may depend upon it, ma'am, that she is so," was the unhesitating
reply of Prance. "She is very much annoyed at it, and she has shown it
in her manner. It is some clause in the will that vexes her. That
precious Honour----"
"Stay, Prance," interrupted Mrs. Darling. "How often have I warned you
not to encourage this ill-feeling against Honour!"
"It's Honour's fault," promptly answered Prance.
"It is the fault of both of you," returned Mrs. Darling; "of the one
as much as the other. It is a strange thing you cannot be at peace
together! You will arouse jealousy between the two children next!"
"It never comes to open quarrelling between us," rejoined Prance. "But
she's uncommonly aggravating."
"Be quiet, Prance! I desire once for all that there may be more
pleasantness between you. It is a scandal that the two upper maids of
the Hall should be ever at variance, and it's a thoroughly bad example
for the children; and it's--you _know_ it's not well for your
mistress. Mrs. St. John requires peace, not----"
Prance uttered an exclamation: it caused Mrs. Darling, who was looking
into a bandbox at the time, to turn sharply. Mrs. St. John was
standing there, behind the bed-curtains--to the startled lady's
intense dismay. How much had she heard?
"Charlotte, my dear, I did not know you were there. I was just giving
Prance a lecture upon this ill-feeling that seems always to be going
on between her and Honour. Have you come to stay with me, child,
whilst I unpack?" added Mrs. Darling, seeing that her daughter was
seating herself comfortably in an easy-chair. "Then, Prance, I think
you may go now."
But while she so spoke, Mrs. Darling was tormenting herself, as much
as one of her easy disposition can do so, as to whether she _had_
caught a word of her conversation with Prance--that part of it
relating to money. There had been some noise in the room from the
opening of drawers and moving of boxes, which must have prevented
their hearing her come in. "I'll speak of it," thought Mrs. Darling.
"It's better to take the bull by the horns and make the best of it,
when one does get into these dilemmas."
She stole a glance at her daughter, while busily intent to all
appearance in straightening the trimmings of a bonnet she had just
taken out of a bandbox. Mrs. St. John looked cold and stern. _Had_ she
heard anything?
"Charlotte, my dear, I am so very anxious about you: as to how things
are left, and all that. I dropped a remark to poor Prance, but she
seems to think it is all right; that you are left well-off and remain
here. These simple servants can't know much, of course. I am glad your
husband made a just and proper will."
"He made an infamous will," cried the young widow, her cheeks flaming.
The words completely took Mrs. Darling aback, and she forgot to
enlarge on the opinion she had just expressed of poor, simple Prance's
imperfect knowledge. "An infamous will, Charlotte!" she exclaimed,
"when you have the Hall and four thousand a-year."
"It _is_ infamous. I am left dependent upon the heir."
"The heir! Do you mean Benja?"
"There's no other heir but he. Why did George leave me dependent upon
him?"
"I don't quite understand you, my dear. In what way are you dependent
upon Benja?"
"The four thousand a-year is paid to me as his guardian only,--as his
guardian and Georgy's. I only remain at the Hall as Benja's guardian.
It's all on sufferance."
"But, my dear, your husband had it not in his power to leave you
comfortably off in any other manner. All the settlement he could make
on you at your marriage--I really don't think it will amount to more
than six hundred a-year--he did make. This, of course, is yours in
addition; and it will be your child's after you."
"Think of the contrast," was the rejoinder; and Mrs. St. John's bosom
heaved ominously, as if the wrong were almost too great to bear. "The
one with his thousands upon thousands, his title, his state,
everything that's high and mighty; the other, with his few poor
hundreds and his obscurity."
"But, my dear Charlotte, there was no help for this. Benja was born to
it, and Mr. Carleton could no more alter it than you could."
"It is not the less unjust."
"Unjust is not the right word. The law of entail may not be an
equitable law, but Englishmen live under it, and must obey it. You
should not blame your husband for this."
"I do not blame him for it."
"You blame his will, which is the same thing."
Mrs. St. John was leaning back, the broad lappets of her cap thrown
from her face; her elbows rested on the arms of the chair, and she
pressed the tips of her fingers nervously together. The slight storm
had passed outwardly, and all her habitual coldness of manner had
returned to her.
"Why did he add that codicil to it?"
"Was there a codicil? What was it? But I don't know what the will
itself was, Charlotte."
"He had left the children under my exclusive guardianship. They were
to reside at the Hall here with me, subject to their absences for
education, and he willed that a sum of four thousand a-year should be
paid to me."
"Well?" said Mrs. Darling, for she had stopped.
"That was in the will. But the codicil altered this, and Benja's
residence with me is subject to the pleasure of Mr. Isaac St. John. He
has it in his power to remove Benja from me if he sees fitting; and if
Benja is so removed, two thousand of the four are to be withdrawn, and
my allowance reduced thereby one half. Why did George do this? Why did
he do it secretly, and never say a word to me about it?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Darling, who was revolving the news
in her mind. "Benja to be removed from you at the pleasure of Isaac
St. John? But is he not a helpless invalid?"
"Physically he may be next door to it, but he is all powerful as to
Benja. This codicil was dated the day subsequent to a visit George
paid Castle Wafer at the close of winter, a long time after the will
was made. Isaac St. John must have put him up to it that day. I will
pay him out, if I live."
"Well, I can't tell why he should have done it," cried Mrs. Darling,
who felt altogether puzzled. "_He_ does not want the two thousand
a-year; he is rich and an invalid. Did you question him of his
motives, Charlotte? I should have done so."
"Question whom?--Isaac St. John? I have never seen him."
"Did he not come to the funeral?"
"No; he was too ill, they said. His brother came--handsome Fred.
Mamma, I _hate_ Isaac St. John."
"Hush, my dear. It is more than likely that he will never interfere
with you. I have always heard him spoken of as one of the most just
and honourable men breathing."
"I don't like it to have been done. I don't like the world to know
that George could put so great a slight upon me. It is known
everywhere. The servants know it. He desired that they should be
present while the will was read. Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
"Your husband desired it?"
"He did; at least, Mr. Drake says so. When they were about to read the
will, and I had come down into the drawing-room before them all, Mr.
Drake said to me, 'I am going to call in the servants, with your
permission; Mr. Carleton St. John desired me to do so.' I objected,
but it was of no use; Mr. Drake appeared not to hear me; and I could
not make a fuss at a moment like that. But now, mamma, don't you see
the drift of all this?"
"N--o," said Mrs. Darling, gathering no idea of Charlotte's meaning.
"I do," said Charlotte, the keen look sometimes seen in them gleaming
from her unfathomable eyes. "That will was read out to the servants on
purpose that they might know they have it in their power to carry
tales to Isaac St. John. I hate him! I hate him! But for him, I am
sure my husband would have entrusted me absolutely with Benja. Who is
so fitting to bring him up as I?"
"And I think you will bring him up, Charlotte. I don't understand all
this that you are telling me; but I feel little doubt Isaac St. John
will be all that is courteous and kind. Whilst you do your part by
Benja, there can be no plea for removing him. You _will_ do it?"
"I shall do it, certainly;" and Mrs. St. John fully meant what she
said; "I shall make no distinction between the boys. If Benja needs
correcting, I shall correct _him_. If Georgy needs correcting, I shall
correct him. The thing's easy enough, and simple enough; and there was
not the least need for interfering with me. What I dislike most, is
George's having kept it from me."
"I dare say he did not think to mention it to you," said Mrs. Darling,
soothingly; and it was notable that she was in the habit of smoothing
things to her daughter always, as though she were afraid of her. "And
you are quite right, my dear, not to make any difference between the
children; your husband did not."
"Not outwardly, or in a general way. In his heart, though, he loved
the one and not the other; and I love the other and not the one. Oh,
Georgy! Georgy! if you were only the heir!"
"That's an unprofitable thought, Charlotte. Don't indulge it. Benja
was the first-born."
"How can I help indulging it? Georgy is _my_ first-born, and it seems
as a wrong done him--done to us both."
"My dear, where's the use of this? You married George Carleton St.
John with your eyes open, in defiance of me. It is too late to repent
now."
"I don't repent. I would marry him again tomorrow, though he had two
heirs instead of one. But I can't help--I can't help----"
"What can't you help?"
"Never mind. The position is unalterable, and it is useless to dwell
upon it. Mamma, I shall never speak of this again. If you want any
other particulars of the will, you can get them from old Drake. Tell
me now all about Rose and her rebellion. I have often thought I should
like her to live here when she leaves school."
_Why_, Mrs. Darling could not have told; but she felt the greatest
relief when Charlotte thus quitted the subject. It was next to
impossible that any child could have been born with a disposition so
jealous as had Charlotte Norris; and Mrs. Darling had been pleased,
but for curtailing her income, that Benja should be removed from her.
She had no fear that Charlotte would be unkind to him; systematically
unkind she believed Charlotte would not be to any one; but, so long as
the boy was with her, he must and would keep alive the jealousy she
felt on Georgy's account. Two thousand a-year, however, in Mrs.
Darlings estimation, was--two thousand a-year.
Willingly she turned to the topic named by Charlotte--her youngest,
her troublesome, but most lovable daughter. And it is quite time, my
reader, that you made her acquaintance also. To do which it will be
necessary to cross the water.