A letter from Mrs. Clibborn to General Sir Charles Clow, K.C.B., 8
Gladhorn Terrace, Bath:
"DEAR CHARLES,--I am so glad to hear you are settled in your new
house in Bath, and it is _most_ kind to ask us down. I am devoted
to Bath; one meets such _nice_ people there, and all one's friends
whom one knew centuries ago. It is such a comfort to see how
fearfully old they're looking! I don't know whether we can manage
to accept your kind invitation, but I must say I should be glad of
a change after the truly _awful_ things that have happened here. I
have been dreadfully upset all the winter, and have had several
touches of rheumatism, which is a thing I never suffered from
before.
"I wrote and told you of the sudden and _mysterious_ death of poor
James Parsons, a fortnight before he was going to marry my dear
Mary. He shot himself accidentally while cleaning a gun--that is to
say, every one _thinks_ it was an accident. But I am certain it
was nothing of the kind. Ever since the dreadful thing
happened--six months ago--it has been on my conscience, and I
assure you that the whole time I have not slept a wink. My
sufferings have been _horrible_! You will be surprised at the
change in me; I am beginning to look like an _old_ woman. I tell
you this in strict confidence. _I believe he committed suicide._ He
confessed that he loved me, Charles. Of course, I told him I was
old enough to be his mother; but love is blind. When I think of the
tragic end of poor Algy Turner, who poisoned himself in India for
my sake, I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself. I never gave
James the least encouragement, and when he said that he loved me, I
was so taken aback that I _nearly fainted_. I am convinced that he
shot himself rather than marry a woman he did not love, and what is
more, _my_ daughter. You can imagine my feelings! I have taken care
not to breathe a word of this to Reginald, whose gout is making him
more irritable every day, or to anyone else. So no one suspects the
truth.
"But I shall never get over it. I could not bear to think of poor
Algy Turner, and now I have on my head as well the blood of James
Parsons. They were dear boys, both of them. I think I am the only
one who is really sorry for him. If it had been my son who was
killed I should either have gone _raving mad_ or had hysterics for
a week; but Mrs. Parsons merely said: 'The Lord has given, and the
Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' I cannot
help thinking it was rather profane, and _most_ unfeeling. _I_ was
dreadfully upset, and Mary had to sit up with me for several
nights. I don't believe Mary really loved him. I hate to say
anything against my own daughter, but I feel bound to tell the
truth, and my private opinion is that she loved _herself_ better.
She loved her constancy and the good opinion of Little Primpton;
the fuss the Parsons have made of her I'm sure is very bad for
anyone. It can't be good for a girl to be given way to so much; and
I never really liked the Parsons. They're very good people, of
course; but only infantry!
"I am happy to say that poor Jamie's death was almost
instantaneous. When they found him he said: 'It was an accident; I
didn't know the gun was loaded.' (_Most improbable_, I think. It's
wonderful how they've all been taken in; but then they didn't know
his secret!) A few minutes later, just before he died, he said:
'Tell Mary she's to marry the curate.'
"If my betrothed had died, _nothing_ would have induced me to marry
anybody else. I would have remained an _old maid_. But so few
people have any really _nice_ feeling! Mr. Dryland, the curate,
had already proposed to Mary, and she had refused him. He is a
pleasant-spoken young man, with a rather fine presence--not _my_
ideal at all; but that, of course, doesn't matter! Well, a month
after the funeral, Mary told me that he had asked her again, and
she had declined. I think it was very bad taste on his part, but
Mary said she thought it _most noble_.
"It appears that Colonel and Mrs. Parsons both pressed her very
much to accept the curate. They said it was Jamie's dying wish, and
that his last thought had been for her happiness. There is no doubt
that Mr. Dryland is an excellent young man, but if the Parsons had
_really_ loved their son, they would never have advised Mary to get
married. I think it was most _heartless_.
"Well, a few days ago, Mr. Dryland came and told us that he had
been appointed vicar of Stone Fairley, in Kent. I went to see Mrs.
Jackson, the wife of our Vicar, and she looked it out in the clergy
list. The stipend is L300 a year, and I am told that there is a
good house. Of course, it's not very much, but better than nothing.
This morning Mr. Dryland called and asked for a private interview
with Mary. He said he must, of course, leave Little Primpton, and
his vicarage would sadly want a mistress; and finally, for the
third time, _begged_ her on his _bended knees_ to marry her. He had
previously been to the Parsons, and the Colonel sent for Mary, and
told her that he hoped she would not refuse Mr. Dryland for their
sake, and that they thought it was her duty to marry. The result is
that Mary accepted him, and is to be married very quietly by
special license in a month. The widow of the late incumbent of
Stone Fairley moves out in six weeks, so this will give them time
for a fortnight's honeymoon before settling down. They think of
spending it in Paris.
"I think, on the whole, it is as good a match as poor Mary could
_expect to make_. The stipend is paid by the Ecclesiastical
Commissioners, which, of course, is much safer than glebe. She is
no longer a young girl, and I think it was her last chance.
Although she is my own daughter, I cannot help confessing that she
is not the sort of girl that wears well; she has always been
_plain_--(no one would think she was my daughter)--and as time goes
on, she will grow _plainer_. When I was eighteen my mother's maid
used to say: 'Why, miss, there's many a married woman of thirty who
would be proud to have your bust.' But our poor, _dear_ Mary has
_no figure_. She will do excellently for the wife of a country
vicar. She's so fond of giving people advice, and of looking after
the poor, and it won't matter that she's dowdy. She has no idea of
dressing herself, although I've always done my best for her.
"Mr. Dryland is, of course, in the seventh heaven of delight. He
has gone into Tunbridge Wells to get a ring, and as an engagement
present has just sent round a complete edition of the works of Mr.
Hall Caine. He is evidently _generous_. I think they will suit one
another very well, and I am glad to get my only daughter married.
She was always rather a tie on Reginald and me. We are so devoted
to one another that a third person has often seemed a little in the
way. Although you would not believe it, and we have been married
for nearly thirty years, nothing gives us more happiness than to
sit holding one another's hands. I have always been sentimental,
and I am not ashamed to own it. Reggie is sometimes afraid that I
shall get an attack of my rheumatism when we sit out together at
night; but I always take care to wrap myself up well, and I
invariably make him put a muffler on.
"Give my kindest regards to your wife, and tell her I hope to see
her soon.--Yours very sincerely,
"CLARA DE TULLEVILLE CLIBBORN."