Lady Wetheral's reception of Sir John Spottiswoode was most
flatteringly kind. His arrival had certainly taken great effect upon
her spirits, for she rose, at a bound, from listless, irritable apathy,
into the lively and amusing hostess. Her mind appeared again full of
employment, and capable of every exertion. Sir John Spottiswoode was
at once inducted into all the mysteries of Wetheral; and his peculiar
tact in quietly amalgamating with the different elements of which they
were composed, was admirably exhibited in his visit. Sir John became
Christobelle's tutor in many accomplishments; he argued literary points
with her father; and he was the depository of her mother's sentiments
and complaints. Such a visitor was worshipped at Wetheral.
It was a new existence to Christobelle to enjoy perfect liberty--to be
allowed to enter freely into conversation in the boudoir--to be even
consulted--and to roam through the grounds with Sir John Spottiswoode,
without fearing harsh and unkind remarks. On the contrary, her intimate
and improving acquaintance with Sir John was encouraged, and even urged
forward, by Lady Wetheral. She approved the hours devoted to drawing,
to music, and to botany; she smiled at their application, and thanked,
in grateful terms, "the polite consideration of such a man as Sir
John Spottiswoode, devoting his hours to the education of a perfect
schoolgirl."
Christobelle certainly had never known happiness unconnected with her
father's library till now. Never, till Sir John Spottiswoode arrived at
Wetheral, had she entered the precincts of the boudoir without fear;
and never, till his arrival, had she felt the enthusiastic pleasure of
associating with a companion who could accompany her in her wanderings,
and lead her taste, as an equal and a friend. She did truly love and
venerate the kind, considerate Sir John Spottiswoode--the guide of
her talents, and the companion of her walks and rides. She no longer
lingered in the library, and listened for her father's step. She had
now to fulfil the allotted tasks of her new instructor, and his praise
was the goal of happiness to her young mind. She only dreaded his
departure from Wetheral; but Sir John still lingered, and he did not
talk of Worcestershire.
The concerns of Ripley were now becoming the engrossing topic of the
neighbourhood. Clara's haughty temper would not endure her husband's
domination, and the scenes which now constantly occurred at Ripley,
began to threaten some direful termination. Since Sir Foster Kerrison's
interdiction of her mother's society, Clara's spirit had increased
in audacity, and a separation was hinted at, among the reports of
the hour. Sir John Wetheral heard the general rumour, and he sought
an interview with Sir Foster, some time after the arrival of Sir
John Spottiswoode at Wetheral. Sir Foster received him with great
politeness. Sir John at once opened the subject to his son-in-law, and
spoke most feelingly and sorrowfully upon the nature of the reports
which had caused his visit to Ripley. Sir Foster winked his eye during
the gentle remonstrance, and he tapped his boot with quickness, when
the propriety of a separation was alluded to.
"Let her go--glad to get rid of a she-devil," was Sir Foster's laconic
observation, as Sir John concluded his remarks.
"I think, Sir Foster, a separation would be advisable, since you cannot
live together in peace."
"Take her back with you, Sir John--devilish glad!"
"There was no settlement, Sir Foster; but you will make your lady an
allowance out of your ample fortune?"
"Not a penny," chuckled Sir Foster; "not a halfpenny, by G--!"
"You will not allow your wife to be a burthen to her friends, Sir
Foster, since you received ten thousand pounds as her portion?"
"Let her stay at home, then, and behave."
"My daughter is wrong, Sir Foster; I cannot excuse Lady Kerrison, but
I am willing to receive her at Wetheral, to prevent the unpleasant
recurrence of domestic quarrels. You will make your lady a stated
allowance?"
"Take her clothes--nothing more, Sir John."
"This is a most painful and disagreeable task," observed Sir John; "but
I must insist upon an allowance for Lady Kerrison, before I withdraw
her from Ripley."
Sir Foster chuckled and winked, as he repeated, "not a halfpenny--not a
penny; let her take her clothes, and set off."
"I cannot take Lady Kerrison from your house, without a proper
understanding that an allowance shall be paid to her regularly, Sir
Foster."
"Then let her stay at home, and behave."
Since the resolutions of Sir Foster could not be shaken, her father
resolved to seek an interview with Clara, and represent to her reason
the turpitude of her conduct as a wife, and the punishment which must
accrue to her in the lost affections of her husband, and the disesteem
of her friends. Lady Kerrison was accordingly summoned to meet him in
her husband's presence.
Clara entered the room with an air of haughty defiance, which vanished
at the sight of her father. She rushed to him with open arms. "My dear
father, take me away from this ruffian--I beseech you to take me away!"
Sir Foster winked and tapped his boot at the sight of his lady, but
he offered no opinion during the dialogue which ensued between the
father and daughter. It seemed as if Sir Foster Kerrison had no power
to understand, or feeling to be interested in any thing which had not
a direct reference to himself. Sir John Wetheral led Clara to a chair,
and spoke in tones of deep sorrow upon the subject which concerned so
nearly her respectability and happiness.
"I did not think, Lady Kerrison, I should be doomed, by a child's
forgetfulness to her duty, to become a party against her. Report has
loudly declared what I have unfortunately witnessed more than once at
Ripley--that it has become the scene of a wife's altercation with her
husband."
"It is the scene of a brute's treatment of an unfortunate creature in
his power," retorted Clara--"it is the scene of violence, blasphemy,
and disgust. I desire to be taken from this hateful place, and I will
never see it more!"
"What has made you so forgetful of the duty you decided so rashly upon
assuming, Clara, when you fled from your father's house?..."
"I know I did--I know I did!" shrieked Clara--"God help me! I did leave
my father's house, but my mother helped my flight, and beset me with
her persuasions to marry that monster. She caused the mischief, and she
must bear the blame. Who else had power to lead me into this horrible
snare, or direct my thoughts to wretchedness?"
Sir John Wetheral was greatly distressed.
"Clara, it matters little now who guided you into this luckless
marriage. You have vowed, at the altar, to obey the man you married,
and your submission to Sir Foster is your duty and your vow."
"I vow to detest him all the days of my life!" answered Clara, with
scornful energy.
"Then," said her father, rising, "farewell, Clara. I have no feelings
to throw away upon a disobedient wife--I can be of no use."
"Stay--stay," exclaimed Clara, rushing forward, and detaining
him--"stay, my dear father, and hear me! _You_ never taught me to marry
for this world's wealth--_you_ never taught me to barter happiness
for a miserable title--for a low-minded, disgusting creature like
that"--she pointed to Sir Foster with a shudder.--"_You_ were always
good and gentle, so stay and hear me."
"I beseech you, Clara, to command yourself, and do not use this
intemperate language," replied her father, "or I cannot return: be
calm, and be rational."
"I will be so, papa; I should be very calm, if I did not see that man
before me."
"I will not listen to such improper, such wicked language, Clara: hear
me!"
"I do, papa."
"I have learned the fearful news of your wretched and open quarrels,
from common report; and public opinion is against you, Clara, as it
ever will be against the daring and insolent wife."
Clara's neck and face became suffused with crimson, but she was silent.
"The world, Clara, saw your determination, when you eloped with Sir
Foster; let it see your determination to remain constant and obedient,
now that he is your husband."
Clara burst into tears, and her head sank upon her clasped hands, as
she stood before her father. She seemed struggling for composure. Sir
John seated her, and spoke strongly and feelingly upon her situation.
"Loved by none, and respected by none, how was an imperious wife to
pass her remainder of existence, condemned to opprobrium and contempt?
How could a woman presume to hope for happiness, when she was breaking
down the proprieties of life, and offending her God by broken vows and
unholy thoughts?" Clara cast her weeping eyes upon Sir Foster, as he
sat buried in his easy chair, winking his eye, and appearing perfectly
unconcerned at her distress. Her spirit rose again like the whirlwind
at his sight--she started up. "Let the world talk on--let it upbraid
me with every crime under heaven, I care not; but I will not live with
_him_--I will not look upon _him_--my brain will not bear the constant
misery of living in this place--this wretched place--the home of him
who disgusts me so horribly! Oh, take me away for ever!"
"Would you return to Wetheral, Clara?"
"No, no, no, not to Wetheral; my mother is there. She only loves the
wealthy and the high; and she drove me to all this! As I hope to meet
with mercy, she drove me into this!"
"Be still, Clara, and listen to me once more," said her father.
"Nay, hear _me_," cried Clara, "and hear what months of misery have
passed away under the influence of wine and laudanum. I have drank
wine, and I have drank laudanum, but it only stills for the time!
It is worse and worse to my brain! Oh, take me home, or take me
somewhere--but here I cannot, will not stay!"
Sir John was anxious to remove Clara for a few days from her home
of wretchedness, and he appealed again to the heart of Sir Foster
Kerrison. He begged to take Lady Kerrison, for change of air, to
Wetheral. A few days only, he would ask for his daughter's society: a
few days might be a short but beneficial visit to her own family. Sir
Foster chuckled.
"Take her home--never come back, I can tell her."
"I _will_ return!" exclaimed Clara, with impetuosity; "I will never
be turned out of your home: it was too great an honour ever to have
entered it, but I will enter it now, whenever I please."
"Go along, you she-devil!"
Clara's violent spirit was not to be controlled. She struck Sir Foster
upon the face, with the whole force of her delicate hand. The blow was
trifling in itself, but it raised the equally strong passions of the
person on whom it was directed. Sir Foster rose furious with passion,
and kicked his lady with brutal and senseless anger. This scene
determined her father no longer to endure his daughter's situation at
Ripley. He ordered his carriage round, without a moment's delay, to
withdraw Clara from the presence of her husband. It was a scene of
horror to his excellent and indulgent mind.
Both parties had acted wickedly and weakly. Clara deserved punishment
for her insolent and unfeminine action, in striking her husband; but
it was unbecoming and dreadful in Sir Foster, to wreak his fury upon a
defenceless woman. Ripley was not the proper home for Clara: since Sir
Foster and herself could not preserve even the decencies of appearance,
it was better to part at once. Sir John would place Lady Kerrison in
his own house--under his own protection; and if Sir Foster persevered
in declining to allow her a proper maintenance, the law should decide
the question. The carriage drew up, but Clara was not in a condition
to be moved. The violence of her anger, combined with her screams of
terror, had ruptured a blood-vessel, and she sunk at her father's
feet, deluged with the blood which streamed from her mouth. Clara was
carried to her bed by her father and Sir Foster, who had rushed from
his seat, and now winked his eye with astonishment and regret; he bore
his suffering lady in silence to her room; and, though in spite of the
chastening hand which had dealt the calamity, Clara twice endeavoured
to push him from her, Sir Foster remained by her bed-side in nervous
distress.
Sir John ordered the carriage to proceed instantly for his lady, who
was desired to set out without any delay, and an express was sent to
summon Dr. Darwin. All was confusion at Ripley. Sir Foster, except
when his eye caught the blood-stained dress of Clara, who lay almost
insensible, could scarcely remember the events of the hour: he did
not utter a word, or join in the orders which were issued by Sir John
Wetheral; but his usual habit of winking and making low short coughs,
indicated his satisfaction that some one did act for himself and the
unfortunate Clara.
Dr. Darwin arrived first, and his prompt mind applied the proper
remedies which the sufferer's case required. He remained that day and
night at Ripley. Lady Wetheral had most unexpectedly encountered the
Hatton carriage as she drove out of the Wetheral lodges; and, deeply
as she deprecated Mrs. Pynsent's boisterous and offensive conduct
towards herself, she now gladly availed herself of her useful and more
powerful mind, under the emergency of the moment. The kind-hearted Mrs.
Pynsent listened to her ladyship's statement, and took instant measures
to render herself of use to the shocked and distressed mind of her
companion.
She entered Lady Wetheral's carriage, and, sending her own back to
Hatton, with a message to her son, she prepared to assist in the
melancholy charge of Clara. She was well aware of her ladyship's
perfect helplessness in situations which required promptness of thought
and action; she was equally well assured that the dreadful circumstance
must have originated in Clara's alarming explosions of temper. Mrs.
Pynsent was therefore prepared to act the Christian part of adviser and
nurse to the ill-fated Clara, and to the woman she despised. In the
hour of need, Mrs. Pynsent developed all the real excellence of the
female character.
Clara lay silent and exhausted, when Mrs. Pynsent and her mother
entered her room. Her eyes rested with an expression of satisfaction
upon the former, as she preceded her weeping companion to the bed-side;
but they flashed with emotion when she perceived the figure of the
author of her misery. She waved her hand, and would have risen in
her bed, but Mrs. Pynsent prevented the movement. She placed Clara's
hands with gentleness beneath the bedclothes, and signed to her, by
placing her finger on her lips, that silence was absolutely necessary
on her part. Clara again raised her hands, to wave her mother away, and
exclaimed, in low and thick accents, "Don't let her come here. Is she
coming to lecture me about my misery?--it was her own doing."
"Hush, hush," whispered Mrs. Pynsent, "no one is come to lecture
you--only to nurse you."
"I saw my mother, just now; I know she is come to upbraid and jeer me.
She made me marry a ruffian--and it roused my nature. I might have been
better; but she would have me do it."
"Hush, hush!" repeated Mrs. Pynsent, signing to Lady Wetheral to
withdraw; "there is no one here but Dr. Darwin and myself."
"Is there not?" said Clara, faintly.
"Lady Wetheral is _not_ here, Lady Kerrison. Be calm, and be silent, I
entreat you."
"I will," replied Clara, "but don't leave me. Stay with me, Mrs.
Pynsent."
Mrs. Pynsent remained by the side of Lady Kerrison, till she slept;
and her place was taken silently, and at a late hour, by the doctor,
who enjoined the strictest quiet to be preserved. At eight o'clock the
following morning, Clara woke from a slumber produced by narcotics.
Dr. Darwin named to his patient, Lady Wetheral's wish to watch by her
bed-side, in the gentlest manner, and he approached her name with great
caution; but Clara shuddered and became feverish.
"Let no one speak of my mother," she said, "unless they want to kill
me."
It was useless to contend with Clara's wishes. The very allusion to
her mother's name raised a discordant spirit, and threw her into
almost convulsive alarms. Mrs. Pynsent, therefore, fixed herself at
the bed-side of Lady Kerrison. Clara slumbered through the day, and
appeared so calm, that the doctor quitted Ripley for a few hours. Mrs.
Pynsent was all-sufficient to meet any little change which might take
place before his return, but he did not anticipate any thing to give
alarm, provided she was kept in profound quiet. A change, however, did
occur. Clara woke suddenly, with very feverish and alarming symptoms.
"She had dreamt of her father, and she wished to see his kind face. She
could not rest again, unless she beheld him." Mrs. Pynsent renewed the
dose of laudanum, and Clara again slumbered.
Sir Foster Kerrison suffered as much agitation as his nature
was capable of enduring. He sat close to Lady Wetheral, in the
sitting-room, and did not offer to resume his daily round of
occupation. He did not visit the stable, or enter the kitchen; and his
attention was riveted upon Lucy, as she glided to and fro, between the
dressing-room and sitting-room, to give from time to time the last
accounts of the progress in the sick chamber.
Sir John Wetheral waited, in calm acquiescence, the issue of that
day's events. He believed Clara to be beyond all hope of a permanent
recovery, but he prayed in silence to the Giver of all good, that her
life might yet be spared, to become a penitent, and gain self-command
by her trials. Lady Wetheral wept severely, but she could not
believe her own hands had prepared her child's sorrow. "It was harsh
and ill-judged of Clara to decline her own parent, and accept the
attentions of a comparative stranger, especially after the efforts she
had made to procure her present eligible position. She deserved more
gratitude at the hands of her children--but she had done her duty, and
the world would do her justice." Nevertheless, her ladyship wept, and
suffered sincere distress at her banishment from her daughter's couch.
Mrs. Pynsent was Clara's watchful and most kind attendant; from her
hands she received her medicines without a murmur, and forbore to
agitate herself with asking questions, according to her expressed wish.
Towards evening, however, fever again rose high, and Mrs. Pynsent
felt that all hope was over, and that her patient must sink under its
raging influence. Clara again demanded to see her father; and, from
her excited state, Mrs. Pynsent deemed it prudent to acquiesce. Her
exertions were the feverish and uncertain effects of a roused, though
dying spirit, which would terminate fearfully and suddenly, when its
strength should exhaust. When her father entered the chamber, Clara
rose up in her bed, and extended her arms towards him. "Dear, good
papa, you are come to see me"--her thoughts took another and more
distressing direction; and her eyes, flashing with scorn, became
gradually heavy and half-closed, as she spoke.
"Look at poor Clara, wedded to riches, and see her state _now_! Where
is she? Where is Lady Kerrison, of Ripley? Where is the mother who
sacrificed her child, and why does she not come to look upon me?
Let her look--I am here, struck down--dying!" A copious hemorrhage
succeeded the last words, and Clara never more spoke. Before Dr. Darwin
returned to Ripley, Lady Kerrison was gone to her rest.
And this was the fate of Clara Wetheral! the young and beautiful Clara!
Scarcely passed the bounds of childhood, her days were sacrificed
to the false light of ambitious hope, which, like the delusive
Will-o'-the-wisp, led her only into the darkest and most impassable
paths. Like the Will-o'-the-wisp, it lured her on, and deserted her
in her hour of need. Few and evil were the married days of Clara. Her
maid disclosed, at the death of her mistress, the secrets of the dead.
Clara had habituated herself to the fatal influence of laudanum, upon
every dissention with her husband; and she had endeavoured to drown
the remembrance of her error, in potent and destroying libations. Her
father remembered that she had alluded to the baneful practice, on the
morning of his last visit.
Sir Foster Kerrison winked with more nervous rapidity than was his
usual custom, when Mrs. Pynsent announced to him the death of his wife;
but his mind appeared relieved by the knowledge that she would no more
appear before him, to reproach and annoy. Mrs. Pynsent's remarks to Sir
Foster, immediately after her announcement of the event, was either
unheard or unheeded.
"Now you have killed two wives, you be quiet, and don't bring a woman
to Ripley again, for they can't live in peace here. I wonder how you
had the face to marry at all; but your first wife's family shut you up,
and hid your coat, that you mightn't be off on the wedding-day; and we
all know how the second wife was managed, so you are a poor thing, in
spite of your temper. When the girls marry you in spite of yourself, be
quiet and temperate, like Bobby."
Clara's funeral was attended by few, and it took place by torch-light,
in the church of Ripley. Sir Foster sat perfectly quiet in his easy
chair, and allowed Sir John Wetheral to superintend the arrangements
of his lady's last removal from his home. He would not hear of any
attendance, or indite an invitation to his friends; but he followed
the _cortège_ to the church, and remained watching the workmen as they
closed up the vault. The following day, Sir Foster was busily employed
dragging the lake, with his servants.
Lady Wetheral had a severe illness upon her removal from Ripley,
which threatened fatal consequences. Again, Mrs. Pynsent appeared as
the good Samaritan, and assisted Christobelle in long and fatiguing
watches. Sir John Spottiswoode also remained at Wetheral, and his
attentions were very soothing to his friends. Christobelle feared lest
Anna Maria should feel the constant absence of her mother-in-law, who
daily visited Wetheral, and remained even through the night, when her
ladyship relapsed; but Mrs. Pynsent set aside all her fears. "Tom was
left to take care of his wife and child, and poor Bobby, who was half
another. Tom, God bless him! was like the Irishman's bird--he could
be in two places at once. She had great pleasure in being useful to
her poor, dear, honest Bell, who got more kicks than halfpence from my
lady, and come she would."
Lady Wetheral recovered very slowly, but her spirits were severely
depressed, and nothing appeared to give pleasure to her mind. The
Boscawens came to Wetheral, upon Sir John's departure, for it was
thought their presence might rouse her attention. Isabel, truly
happy in maternal cares, looked the picture of animated health, as
Mr. Boscawen proudly and silently watched her erratic movements, and
gloried in his lively, sweet-tempered wife. But her mother looked
heavily and unconsciously upon the scene, and did not notice the
gambols of her grandchild. Even the sight of Anna Maria failed to take
effect upon her attention.
It was thought prudent to change the air and scene. By her medical
attendant's advice, Sir John resolved to quit, for some time, the
scenes which brought the fate of her daughter before her mental
sight; and it was hoped a perfectly new situation, new people, and a
complete change in every point, would effect a gradual restoration of
her faculties and health. It was decided Lady Wetheral should spend two
or three years at Fairlee. Scotland was remote from all recollections
and painful reminiscence--there was nothing at Fairlee which could be
connected with the departed; and, perhaps, among the grander scenery of
the North, its bracing air, and novel inhabitants, Lady Wetheral might
forget her banishment from the deathbed of the child who had reproached
her as the cause of her bitter sufferings and untimely death. When her
ladyship was able to leave her room without effort, the family set
forth on their distant journey.
The Boscawens parted with Christobelle under many regrets, and they
promised to join them at Fairlee, the ensuing year. Christobelle
wept over her sisters--she wept over the little ones she must
leave far behind--but her father was with her, and he would again
be her companion, as he had been for thirteen years, in the happy
tranquillity of Wetheral library. Mrs. Pynsent promised to correspond
with Christobelle, and give her the news of the neighbourhood. She
prophecied respecting Sir Foster Kerrison.
"That fellow will be run down again, in spite of his two wives dying.
You may depend upon it, the fellow will be married again, without his
own consent, or being consulted in the matter. The deuce was in the
mothers!"
Mrs. Pynsent also winked her eye at Mr. Boscawen, and assured him,
"Jacky Spottiswoode had an eye to Miss Bell--she could see _that_.
Jacky would wait three or four years, and then pop. She thought my
lady had another trial to endure; for she was not Pen Pynsent, if that
poor Lady Ennismore came to good. What with the tartar Countess, that
poor wizen Lord, and the fine-looking Colonel, Julia would be the next
sacrifice;--every thing would come home to my Lady Wetheral."
How Christobelle wept as she drove away from the scenes of her youth,
and the hearts she loved! How Christobelle wept when she could see no
more the woods of Wetheral Castle!
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON:
F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Manoeuvring Mother, by Charlotte Campbell Bury