The gaiety of Wetheral was not much interrupted by the marriage of
its most influential members. Lady Wetheral lamented the loss of her
daughters, and often in public alluded to her solitary hours of grief;
but she was indefatigable in her efforts to amuse Miss Kerrison and
Clara; and, though her lips breathed sorrowful words, her eyes and
attention exclusively belonged to Sir Foster Kerrison. Her ladyship
laboured to maintain "that no passion could be more selfish than
sorrow," and she took credit to herself, "that, in despite of low
and sad feelings which prompted her to remain at Wetheral in silent
meditation, _she_ had never given way to her wishes. Indeed, she felt
the claims of others upon her time and attention; and, though her heart
did hope Clara might remain single for some years, to be her companion,
yet it was her duty to chaperone her to the amusements which her youth
expected, and, perhaps, required. All young people loved vivacity, and,
though some parents forgot the days of their own youth, and checked the
happy views of their children, _she_ would not shrink from a mother's
duty." With these impressions of "duty," Lady Wetheral was fully
employed in escorting Clara and her young companion to every public
amusement; and Wetheral still continued the scene of festivity, and
the arena of matchmaking, as it had ever been, since the day Mrs. Tom
Pynsent made her _début_ in public.
However easily the tastes of young men might bend to Lady Wetheral's
flattering lips, combined with her daughter's attractions, there was
some cleverness required in guiding Sir Foster Kerrison to the desired
point. His silent manner, and provoking absence of mind, perpetually
defeated the mother's purposes, but her spirit rose superior to all
annoyances. "It might and would take time to throw fetters upon a man
who forgot every word or engagement of the previous half-hour, but
perseverance must level every impediment. Clara was very young, and
patience must be severely taxed, if people were resolved to carry a
favourite wish into operation." Clara had not such a provision of
that precious gift as her mother possessed, and it required constant
watchfulness on her part to subdue the appearance of irritability
before the object of her wishes. Her mother, too, watched over the
unquiet spirit, and diverted its attention in the time of need. One
day, Clara became impetuous upon the subject. Sir Foster never called
at Wetheral without a special invitation; and how was she to manage
a great, stupid creature, who neither saw nor felt attentions? Lady
Wetheral smiled.
"My dear girl, patience! Sir Foster must be managed, and if you will
only leave the affair in my hands, all will be well. Do not, I beseech
you, look so very cross; the sight of temper drives away all men who
are not actually in love, and perpetual good-humour is a perpetual
attraction."
"How can I keep any temper with such a heavy mass of human nature?"
exclaimed Clara, scornfully.
"Don't call names, my love; I am going to tell you. Do not give
yourself any trouble, only look pleased and pleasantly at Sir Foster;
I will effect the rest. Some men are rather dull, but absence of mind
requires skill only in the parties concerned. I do not think Sir
Foster dull; absent only--very absent; but perhaps that may operate in
our favour."
"In what way?" asked Clara, inquisitively.
"Never mind, my love, look pleasantly at Sir Foster, and leave the
minutiæ to me. We must lead him gently and gradually to make Wetheral
a daily resting-place; and while Lucy is here, it can be done. Pray,
Clara, endeavour to check your temper before Lucy. I should not wish
her to report unfavourably of your manners at Ripley; so _much_ depends
upon your trying to appear good-humoured--do, my love."
With evident painful effort, Clara did manage to conceal her irritable
nature from the particular observation of her friend Miss Kerrison, who
was the main spring of that machinery which was to involve her father.
To Lucy Kerrison Lady Wetheral directed the most flattering attentions,
and offered the most agreeable series of parties of pleasure; to
her young and unsuspicious ear was consigned every compliment which
could lull observation, awaken her love, and interest her in all Lady
Wetheral's actions. In short, a separation from Clara and the delights
of Wetheral was becoming unbearable to the heart and imagination of
poor Miss Kerrison, and her eyes filled with tears of real sorrow,
soon made apparent to her ladyship's quick apprehension, the regret
with which her young guest contemplated a return to Ripley. This
was, to use her favourite expression, "all in their favour;" and she
mentioned the circumstance to Sir John in her own way.
"This poor, dear Lucy Kerrison, my love, is sadly overcome at the
thoughts of leaving us. Clara and herself are exceedingly attached; the
tears rush to her eyes whenever the subject is alluded to."
"Miss Kerrison is a ladylike, nice girl," replied Sir John.
"Yes, my love, she is quite the companion Clara should have. I approve
her good and judicious selection. I wish they may often meet."
Sir John did not reply, and a short pause succeeded.
"I could almost wish Lucy was going to remain with us for Clara's sake.
If I thought Sir Foster would not object, I would request him not to
recall her."
"Isabel is still with us, Gertrude; Clara has her two sisters."
"Yes--to be sure--oh, yes, Mrs. Boscawen is here, but she is never
visible till the half-hour bell rings. I see very little of poor Isabel
myself, and Clara still less. Bell is shut up, too, in the schoolroom,
learning to be over-wise and disagreeable; besides, my love, Bell can
be no companion to Clara. I wonder Sir Foster does not call to see
his daughter! do you know, my love, he has been but once within this
fortnight to see us."
"His company is not particularly acceptable, Gertrude."
"Well, Sir John, I only name the circumstance--I am afraid we are not
very attractive; however, my love, I will try to extend Miss Kerrison's
leave of absence for Clara's sake."
"Do as you please, my only objection is to her father being obliged
to marry Clara. I have nothing to produce against his pretty, elegant
daughter: don't let Kerrison marry a daughter of mine, and I shall not
interfere in your plans."
"Oh! my love, I never compel men to marry. I hope my dear Clara will
be my companion for some years. I feel very keenly my dear Lady
Ennismore's loss, and so I do poor Mrs. Pynsent."
"Why is Anna Maria 'poor,' Gertrude?--she has married a good man, and a
man she likes."
"She is in a manner banished Hatton," replied Lady Wetheral, sighing;
"I cannot think her happy while she roves about plain Mrs. Pynsent,
no style--at least, not the Hatton style--no proper establishment, no
home, like Lady Ennismore, who drove off to Bedinfield, like the wife
of a nobleman--liveries, carriage--all magnificent! How I long to see
Julia in her glory."
Sir John could offer no counsel which might check the eager delight his
lady felt towards the good things of the earth; he therefore resumed
his book, and her ladyship wrote, privately, a most polite billet to
Sir Foster, upon the strength of her husband's concurrence in her wish
to detain his daughter at Wetheral.
"My dear sir,
"It will break all our hearts to part with your lovely Lucy, and
Clara suffers so much in the idea of parting with her friend, that
we have a proposal to make. I will not tell you at this moment its
nature, because I wish to see you. Ladies, my dear sir, prefer
speaking to principals. May I hope to see you at Wetheral to-morrow
morning?
"Yours truly,
"G. WETHERAL."
Clara feared Sir Foster would withstand the invitation, so blandly
expressed, by forgetting its existence; but her mother conceived the
ambiguity of its expression would raise a germ of curiosity in his
mind, which even the inveterate disorder of his brain might not subdue.
The wording of the note was talked over before Isabel, and explained to
her. Mrs. Boscawen could only entreat Clara not to marry so old a man.
"My dear Clara, Sir Foster will put you into a schoolroom, as Mr.
Boscawen has done by me, for old men are alike, I dare say. I assure
you, it will be a shocking affair, and I can't give my consent unless
you insist upon it. I can't imagine any body marrying an old man, and
going to their studies as if they were schoolgirls. Pray take warning
by me, Clara, and don't marry Sir Foster."
"My dear Isabel, I am resolved to make the man propose to me. Mamma
says I shall lose caste if I am single, for Anna Maria did not
marry till she was nineteen, and almost past hope. If I don't take
immediately, I shall become _passé_; for mamma says my style of beauty
ought to take effect at once."
"You are very handsome, certainly, dear Clara--very handsome. Mr.
Boscawen says you are a very beautiful girl."
"Well," replied Clara, smiling complacently, "I must be up and be
doing. Sir Foster is very rich."
"Oh! Clara, and so is Mr. Boscawen: but I never have any money. Once
Mr. Boscawen gave me a guinea, and then took it back again because I
would not keep an account of all I spent. I bought a shilling's worth
of alicampane, and made myself so ill! However, I did not say I had
bought it; so, as I could not account for the shilling, I was obliged
to relinquish the rest. Don't marry an old man, Clara!"
"Sir Foster lets every body spend his money, Isabel."
"Ah, but remember what Mr. Boscawen promised, Clara! I was promised
every thing, and got nothing. You don't know how disagreeable it is to
be shut up in a morning, reading and translating."
"I shan't read or translate to please Sir Foster," said Clara, with
scornful energy. "I marry upon other principles."
"Well, Clara, only try not to marry an old man, for I assure you it is
a very unpleasant thing."
"I wonder if Sir Foster _will_ call to-morrow, Isabel?"
"Oh, to be sure he will: I am sure I should, if any one asked me."
"Don't name this to Boscawen, Isabel: I don't wish him to know my
intentions."
"Certainly not--that is, if I can keep it from him; but he manages
to find out all my secrets. However, I will try to keep this all to
myself."
So did Mrs. Boscawen resolutely intend; but her secret transpired at
the touch of her husband's mental wand. Mr. Boscawen began to talk of
returning to Brierly, the very evening of the conversation which had
taken place between his lady and Clara, and, after retiring for the
night, he mentioned his intention of leaving Wetheral the following
week. Isabel clasped her hands in alarm.
"Oh, Mr. Boscawen, not so soon! must we return so very soon?"
"Why not, Isabel? are you afraid of the dullness of Brierly?"
"Yes--no," cried Isabel, "but I want to watch Clara, Mr. Boscawen: I
want to observe something."
"What is it all about?" asked Mr. Boscawen. "Is your sister engaged in
some speculation, or has your mother decided upon any one whom your
sister is decreed to captivate? I think I have stumbled upon the
truth, Isabel, by your countenance."
"How you find things out, Mr. Boscawen!" cried Isabel, blushing and
hesitating; "you never allow me to keep a secret."
"Then there _is_ one, Isabel. Have the kindness to admit me into the
mystery: a wife should have no secrets."
"Well, only promise not to tell," said Isabel, awed by her husband's
grave manner and remark, "and I will not keep the secret to myself,
though I promised to do so."
"Who required the promise, Isabel?"
Isabel became alarmed, and disclosed the plot upon Sir Foster. Mr.
Boscawen listened in silence, and then coolly made his annotations upon
the subject.
"When a mother plots for a son-in-law, and her daughter acts upon it,
besides implicating a young married sister, under promises of secrecy,
it is time to take steps towards withdrawing from such society. I had
every intention of leaving Wetheral next week, but now I shall set off
to-morrow, at twelve o'clock; therefore, Isabel, give your maid orders
accordingly."
Mrs. Boscawen's distress was too violent to be controlled. "Oh,
Mr. Boscawen, how can you take me away to horrible Brierly so
suddenly!--how can you frighten me, and threaten to leave Wetheral
before our month is quite over! I shall never be confined at all, I'm
sure, and Clara will be so angry!" Isabel sat down, overcome with
terror.
Mr. Boscawen patiently and kindly explained his line of conduct to
his terrified wife. He assured her no notice would be taken of her
disclosure, and that no one should suspect the cause of his departure.
He expressed his disgust at Clara's conduct, but he was silent upon the
abhorrence he conceived to the untired manœuvring of the mother. He
trusted Isabel would become attached to Brierly in the course of time;
it was a safer home than the infected air of Wetheral; and, after her
confinement, if she fancied change of air, he would take her to the sea.
Mr. Boscawen's observations, in some measure, pacified the extreme
grief of Isabel; but her night's rest was gone, and she was extremely
feverish in the morning, complaining of painful oppression and
headache. Mr. Boscawen was fearful his young wife might suffer from
the complicated effects of fear and dislike to returning home; but he
was resolved in his purpose: nothing now could alter his determination
to carry his lady from Wetheral. He announced his intention openly
at breakfast, and Lady Wetheral's polite expression of sorrow fell
from her lips upon a cold and barren soil: no flowers rose under her
gracious shower of compliments.
"My dear Mr. Boscawen, you surprise and grieve me by your resolution:
the absence of Isabel and yourself will throw a deep gloom around us."
"I am obliged to you," quietly replied Mr. Boscawen, as he buttered his
piece of dry toast.
"Losing three daughters at one fell swoop, is a severe trial,"
continued her ladyship. "I shall miss my dear Isabel every hour."
Mr. Boscawen deigned no reply; but Isabel, pale and without appetite,
sat dissolved in tears, and dared not trust her voice: she feared to
displease her husband by any manifestation of grief, but her heart was
sinking under the fearful anticipations of Miss Tabitha, and the gloomy
routine of Brierly.
"I suppose Sir John is in his study," observed Mr. Boscawen, rising at
the conclusion of breakfast.
"Oh, yes, Sir John breakfasts at seven o'clock, when people are, or
ought to be, fast asleep. I can't comprehend such ungenial hours and
taste. Surely, if breakfast is ended before eleven o'clock, there is
sufficient leisure for the affairs of life."
Mr Boscawen's disgust rose to his eyes, and overflowed in the
expression of his countenance; but a strong effort subdued the sentence
which trembled upon his lips. He rose, and quitted the breakfast-room.
When the door closed upon his awful figure, Isabel's misery burst
forth: she threw her arms around Clara, who was seated near her, and
sobbed violently.
"Oh, mamma, I wish I had never, never married!"
"My dear Mrs. Boscawen," replied her mother, in very soothing accents,
"you are not aware of what you say. I am sure you would have been
miserable single, and I should have been tormented to death with an
unmarried daughter always at my elbow. You are very comfortably and
happily married, my love."
"Oh, how can you say so, mamma! I wish I was Chrystal, to sit with
papa, and never be obliged to do what I did not like! I wish I was you,
Clara, happy and unmarried! I wish I was a bird, or the cat, or any
thing but what I am!" Poor Isabel wept freely: she proceeded--"I am
going to be shut up with Miss Tabitha and Mr. Boscawen, in that large,
gloomy Brierly; I must not laugh, or speak to old John, or see any
pleasant company. Oh, no one can tell the dullness and frightfulness
of Brierly!"
"My dear Isabel, reflect upon matrimony, and tell me who you ever saw
perfectly free from care in that state? I consider it a very proper and
natural institution, so very properly arranged, and so particularly
enforced, that I confess I have no opinion of a woman who does not
marry, if all the comforts of life are secured to her. If a woman is
protected by a handsome settlement, and those kind of things, she
_ought_ to marry."
"Do you think so?" said Isabel, languidly.
"I do: I think you married extremely well, and you ought to consider
yourself peculiarly fortunate. If Mr. Boscawen is rigid in exacting
painful sacrifices from you, remember he was very liberal in making a
settlement; there must be trials, my dear children. I am a proof that
the happiest matrimony has cares. Your poor father never assisted me
in my anxieties about you all: I am certain Lord Ennismore would never
have married Julia, if my unwearied efforts had not domesticated him at
Wetheral."
"Tom Pynsent will never contradict Anna Maria," said Isabel, as the
tears sprang again to her eyes--"Tom will never wish my sister to
read!"
Mr. Boscawen was heard in the hall, giving orders.
"Oh, we are going, mamma; I hear Mr. Boscawen ordering the carriage. I
know the tone of his voice in giving that order so well! how my heart
beats!" Isabel clung to her mother's arm.
Mr. Boscawen entered, and gave his arm to his pale, trembling wife. "My
dear Isabel, I have arranged every thing; you have only your father to
visit before you enter the carriage."
His lady appeared ready to faint. "Don't let me see papa! don't let me
see papa!" she exclaimed.
"You are agitated, my love," observed her husband, putting his arm
round her waist, and speaking kindly. "Do not be flurried, my dear
Isabel, you shall see and speak to no one. Clara will be kind enough
to tell Sir John how you feel. You tremble very much; try to gain
firmness, my love."
Poor Isabel was placed in her carriage, half fainting, without the
power to speak or move. Mr. Boscawen was hurt and alarmed for the
effects of this agitation upon his lady's health; but his mind was
decided to persevere in removing Isabel. He deputed Clara to explain
to her father how much emotion her sister evinced at the thoughts
of taking leave; and bowing to Lady Wetheral and Miss Kerrison, Mr.
Boscawen took his place by the side of Isabel, whose head reclined
against the side of the carriage, nor did she raise it to look her
adieus. She appeared too exhausted and sick at heart to make an effort
of any kind. How differently she quitted Wetheral upon her nuptial
morning!
Sir Foster Kerrison did actually call at Wetheral some hours after
the Boscawens' departure. Clara was soothed and flattered, her mother
charmed, by the visit. Sir Foster sat silent till he was spoken to.
"My dear sir, this is courteous, indeed," Lady Wetheral began; "I feel
much honoured by your polite attention to my wish."
Sir Foster winked his eye and tapped his boot, but he did not seem to
comprehend the purport of her ladyship's speech. "Umph, eh?"
"Papa, you received Lady Wetheral's note, of course?" said Miss
Kerrison.
"Eh, what?"
"Lady Wetheral's note, papa--the note you received yesterday from
Wetheral!"
Sir Foster sat winking, but could not remember any note.
"Oh, papa, you received a note, and I am sure it is in your pocket.
Pray, let me look into the recesses of your enormous pockets?"
Miss Kerrison playfully emptied her father's pockets, and Lady
Wetheral's note appeared with its seal unbroken, accompanied by sundry
letters, straps, nails, and a shoeing horn. Clara's eyes flashed
indignation, but her mother's smiled sweetly.
"My dear Sir Foster, I must not complain of your very absent mind,
since I only suffer with the rest of the world. Upon my word, this is
very amusing! See, my dear Lucy, how entertaining this assemblage of
articles promises to be!"
Sir Foster stared, while the ladies laughed over the miscellaneous
contents of his pocket. Clara alone sat dignified and offended. Lady
Wetheral explained the purport of her note, and begged the company of
Miss Kerrison for a longer and indefinite period. Sir Foster hummed an
air and tapped his boot during her complimentary and lengthy speech.
"Papa always implies consent when he hums and taps, Lady Wetheral, so
that is delightfully arranged: but why, papa, did you call here this
morning?"
"Where's Boscawen?"
"They have left some hours, to return to Brierly, papa. Did you want to
see Mr. Boscawen?"
A smile curled Sir Foster's handsome lip.
"I am sorry Mr. Boscawen is gone then, papa. I suppose you had some
horse in view?"
Another smile and tap of the boot.
"I thought so. But, papa, you will never read your letters and notes if
I do not return to Ripley; will you?"
Sir Foster winked his eye in silence.
"My dear Lucy," said Lady Wetheral, playfully, "Sir Foster must bring
his letters here every morning for your perusal and advice."
"Oh yes, papa, that is an excellent plan; is it not? You must ride over
every morning to be searched, and then you will not require my presence
at Ripley."
Sir Foster sat two hours without speaking, or appearing to attend to
the conversation which took place between his fair companions. He sat
in the most complete absence of mind, tapping his boot, which Clara
resented by silent looks of contempt. Miss Kerrison was so intimately
acquainted with her father's ways that her chat flowed on undisturbed,
till the ormolu clock struck six; Miss Kerrison then approached her
father.
"Well, papa, it's time for you to return home; it is six o'clock."
"Eh, umph, what?"
"You must order your horse, papa, and go to Ripley to dinner."
"Oh, Sir Foster surely will not quit us; we shall hope for his company
at dinner to-day." Lady Wetheral spoke in earnest and bewitching tones.
"No, thank you, dear Lady Wetheral, not to-day. This is papa's way;
he always goes on in this way at some person's house, and I dare say,
having once called here, papa will be regularly at Wetheral every day."
Her ladyship's quick perceptions saw the advantage of gaining Sir
Foster Kerrison as a daily visitor; she caught at once the propriety
of allowing him to take his own way in the manner and time of his
visits: she therefore ceased to pour forth invitations, but, taking
at once a comprehensive view of his character and habits, Sir Foster
was allowed to depart in the same mechanical form which characterised
his entrance. Clara's indignation almost threatened destruction to her
plans. She inveighed against the excessive stolidity of a man who could
sit in a fine woman's society, and yet be ignorant of her presence!
Such a man as Sir Foster might visit at Wetheral innocently enough, for
he had not the use of his senses.
"My dear Clara," argued her mother, "you are wrong in all your
conclusions. Sir Foster has peculiar ways, it is true, but I consider
them altogether in our favour. I wish him to become a daily visitor,
under the idea of seeing Lucy, who assists me most materially without
being aware of it. I wish him to sit as stupidly as he pleases, and to
come whenever he pleases; only, my dear Clara, don't look so indignant."
"I cannot understand your tactics," said Clara, sharply. "I can't
comprehend how stupidity and indifference can be considered in my
favour."
"I dare say not, my love; but when you become a mother, these things
will explain themselves. Give me a little credit for foresight, I
beseech you, in the establishments I procured your sisters. Be patient,
and appear calm, Clara, till I have decided yours."
Clara became impatient and offended, which caused her mother infinite
vexation and alarm. She dreaded lest Clara's irritable spirit should
transpire even to Lucy Kerrison: she dreaded lest her own web should
become unravelled by the very hand she wished to bestow upon Sir
Foster. It was necessary to deal very gently and delicately with a
disposition like Clara's. She did not possess the gentleness of manner
which was so eminent in Anna Maria, or the sprightly sweetness of Lady
Ennismore. Her beauty was superior to both sisters, which prepossessed
many in her favour; but her wayward and powerful temper was known only
in her own home. It was her mother's aim to shield it if possible from
observation. Thompson, who had ever played a conspicuous part in the
family, was at this time installed into a kind of confidential friend;
and to her Lady Wetheral bitterly complained of the fatigue and terror
attendant upon her own watchfulness.
"I declare, Thompson, Miss Clara gives me infinitely more trouble than
my three eldest daughters combined. I am always fearful of some display
of temper occurring in an unfortunate hour to betray her to gentlemen."
"Yes, my lady, that would be sad indeed. I'm sure I am always boasting
of Miss Clara's sweet temper, as far as I am concerned."
"I wish her to be silent and calm in appearance, yet I am ever upon the
watch to soften Miss Clara's remarks, and explain away offensive looks.
I don't think, Thompson, Miss Clara will marry soon."
"Oh, my lady, I have heard many remarks about Sir Foster Kerrison's
attentions at my young ladies' wedding!"
"What remarks, Thompson? what do foolish people say now?" asked her
lady, affecting nonchalance.
"People say Sir Foster is not a very talkative gentleman, my lady, but
then he stood always close to Miss Clara; I heard too he called this
morning; so people put two and two together, as they very well may."
"If people calculate so erroneously, they must expect to be wrong in
the sum total," replied her ladyship, smiling and internally pleased at
remarks having been uttered; "but we shall see, Thompson."
Miss Kerrison's prediction concerning her father's way of sitting
hours in silence at people's houses was verified. Having called
at Wetheral to see Mr. Boscawen upon some affair connected with
horses, and having also remained his usual two hours with the ladies,
unnoticed and unbored with attentions which required him to talk, Sir
Foster Kerrison, on the following morning, again deposited himself at
Wetheral, and was allowed, with the tact of a veteran matron, to sit
in a lounging chair, tapping his boot, and winking his eye without
molestation. Miss Kerrison took an inventory of the stores deposited
in his pockets during the first moment of her father's entrance, an
employment he never noticed beyond an absent smile; after which ordeal
he was consigned to a half-dozing kind of existence, till Miss Kerrison
warned him to depart, by assuring him the clock had struck six. Day
after day Sir Foster was found regularly installed in the ladies'
boudoir at Wetheral, and as regularly did he depart at his daughter's
summons.
Had Lady Wetheral rashly urged Sir Foster to dine at the Castle,
it would have broken through the habit which impelled him to move
backwards and forwards at stated times, and by certain sounds; it might
too have drawn him towards new people and other houses. Lucy Kerrison
was perfectly right in her suggestion that, having called by accident,
his visits might continue through habit.
There was another advantage attendant upon Sir Foster's morning lounge.
Sir John, who rarely appeared out of the precincts of his study, was
ignorant of the events which gilded the pleasures of the boudoir. The
study was far removed from sights and sounds, and the chapel must be
traversed to reach its perfect seclusion. The windows received light
from a court, walled round, and closed to curious view by a deep and
impervious shrubbery of laurels and evergreen oaks. In this sequestered
part of the castle, its master loved to pass his mornings; and how
could he suppose his wishes, nay, almost commands, were of non-effect?
Sir Foster was not seen at his table--his name was rarely mentioned
at Wetheral--no visiting-ticket met his eye--no allusion was made to
recent visits on the part of his family--every thing appeared regular
and in its usual order. Sir John was, therefore, calm, and almost
oblivious to the existence of Sir Foster Kerrison. This was most
favourable to his lady's schemes.
For three weeks, consecutively, this order of things continued; and
only once, during that period, did Sir John meet Sir Foster within the
domain of Wetheral; which was, of course, attributed to an anxiety to
see his daughter. Under that impression, Sir John hastened to do him
honour; and, on the morning in question, he ushered Sir Foster into
the boudoir himself, with the politeness and consideration due to a
gentleman, and a fond father visiting a beloved child.
Astonishment was depicted in his countenance, when he beheld his
guest, _sans céremonie_, take possession of the lounging chair, and,
after placing his hat upon a work-table, begin, as was his wont, to
hum an air and tap his boot, without offering a word of compliment, or
even addressing the daughter he had ridden four miles to see. There
was something extraordinary, he fancied, in the quiet smile bestowed
upon Sir Foster by Lady Wetheral, and he was much displeased at Miss
Kerrison's sudden movement to examine her father's pockets, without
bestowing a word of filial obeisance to a parent she had not seen for
some weeks; yet did the truth escape his unsuspicious mind. It never
entered into his heart to believe his expressed resolutions were
unheeded. His good taste was shocked at the style of Sir Foster's
entrance into a lady's sitting-room, and he did not remain to endure
its continuance. He retired again to his study; secure, at least, that
such a man could never propitiate Clara, however strongly his lady's
wishes might point that way.
So far all things combined again to favour Lady Wetheral's plans and
hopes. It seemed as though Fortune went hand in hand with her thoughts,
and that Fate set his seal upon her wish. Sir Foster's constant visits
produced much remark, and prepared the way for her last stroke--a
stroke which was to end all further suspense, and decide for ever the
happy fortunes of Clara. Every event led the way gently and surely. Sir
Foster had walked into the net with his own free will: he came each day
to Wetheral, uninvited; and her ladyship could affirm, most seriously
and truly, that no effort had been employed on her side to coerce Sir
Foster's intentions. He had not even been asked to dinner. He had never
been alone with Clara. If he came to visit his daughter, a parent
possessed a right to demand admittance any where; but no attractions
had been held out to allure him--no second-hand influence detained
him. Sir Foster came without invitation, and remained without any
inducements beyond his own pleasure. Sir Foster, therefore, prepared
his own destiny; for Lady Wetheral, anxious to preserve her daughter's
peace of mind, thought it now high time to understand upon what terms
they were in future to meet.
To be so very regularly at Wetheral--to sit with herself and daughter
daily, uninvited, and without inquiring for Sir John--wore an
appearance which the world could express only in its conventional
language, as "paying his addresses to Miss Wetheral." Young ladies had
feelings, which must be cared for; they had sensibility, which should
not be wounded with impunity. There was a part which every parent
should act with firmness towards a young girl, whose affections were
trifled with; and she would undertake the painful task of leading Sir
Foster to explain his sentiments, herself. Clara was to engage Miss
Kerrison, the following morning, in a walk round the garden, at the
hour of Sir Foster's visit; and Lady Wetheral would soon penetrate
his intentions. If all went well, the window of the boudoir was to be
thrown open; in which case, Clara was to appear as by accident. If
Sir Foster was very resolute and ungallant, all would remain closed;
but she would not allow a doubt, in her own mind, to arise upon the
subject.
At breakfast, on the eventful morning, Lady Wetheral issued her orders
to the butler--
"When Sir Foster Kerrison comes, show him into the drawing-room."
Sir Foster was shown into the drawing-room, accordingly.
END OF VOL. I.
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