SAFE AGAINST LOVE-MAKING.
A dear cousin, and safe against love-making! This was Clara's verdict
respecting Will Belton, as she lay thinking of him in bed that night.
Why that warranty against love-making should be a virtue in her eyes
I cannot, perhaps, explain. But all young ladies are apt to talk
to themselves in such phrases about gentlemen with whom they are
thrown into chance intimacy;--as though love-making were in itself
a thing injurious and antagonistic to happiness, instead of being,
as it is, the very salt of life. Safe against love-making! And yet
Mrs. Askerton, her friend, had spoken of the probability of such
love-making as being the great advantage of his coming. And there
could not be a second opinion as to the expediency of a match between
her and her cousin in a worldly point of view. Clara, moreover,
had already perceived that he was a man fit to guide a wife, very
good-humoured,--and good-tempered also, anxious to give pleasure to
others, a man of energy and forethought, who would be sure to do well
in the world and hold his head always high among his fellows;--as
good a husband as a girl could have. Nevertheless, she congratulated
herself in that she felt satisfied that he was safe against
love-making! Might it be possible that that pressing of hands at
Taunton had been so tender, and those last words spoken with Captain
Aylmer so soft, that on his account she felt delighted to think that
her cousin was warranted not to make love?
And what did Will Belton think about his cousin, insured as he was
thus supposed to be against the dangers of love? He, also, lay awake
for awhile that night, thinking over this new friendship. Or rather
he thought of it walking about his room, and looking out at the
bright harvest moon;--for with him to be in bed was to be asleep.
He sat himself down, and he walked about, and he leaned out of the
window into the cool night air; and he made some comparisons in his
mind, and certain calculations; and he thought of his present home,
and of his sister, and of his future prospects as they were concerned
with the old place at which he was now staying; and he portrayed to
himself, in his mind, Clara's head and face and figure and feet;--and
he resolved that she should be his wife. He had never seen a girl who
seemed to suit him so well. Though he had only been with her for a
day, he swore to himself that he knew he could love her. Nay;--he
swore to himself that he did love her. Then,--when he had quite made
up his mind, he tumbled into his bed and was asleep in five minutes.
Miss Amedroz was a handsome young woman, tall, well-made, active, and
full of health. She carried herself as though she thought her limbs
were made for use, and not simply for ease upon a sofa. Her head and
neck stood well upon her shoulders, and her waist showed none of
those waspish proportions of which ladies used to be more proud than
I believe them to be now, in their more advanced state of knowledge
and taste. There was much about her in which she was like her cousin,
as though the blood they had in common between them had given to both
the same proportions and the same comeliness. Her hair was of a dark
brown colour, as was his. Her eyes were somewhat darker than his,
and perhaps not so full of constant movement; but they were equally
bright, and possessed that quick power of expressing tenderness which
belonged to them. Her nose was more finely cut, as was also her chin,
and the oval of her face; but she had the same large expressive
mouth, and the same perfection of ivory-white teeth. As has been said
before, Clara Amedroz, who was now nearly twenty-six years of age,
was not a young-looking young woman. To the eyes of many men that
would have been her fault; but in the eyes of Belton it was no fault.
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 assurance 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 passes 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."
"Of course, in regard to money such a marriage would be advantageous
to my child. I don't know whether you know it, but I shall have
nothing to give her--literally nothing."
"All the better, sir, as far as I am concerned. I'm not one who wants
to be saved from working by a wife's fortune."
"But most men like to get something when they marry."
"I want to get nothing;--nothing, that is, in the way of money. If
Clara becomes my wife I'll never ask you for one shilling."
"I hope her aunt will do something for her." This the old man said in
a wailing voice, as though the expression of such a hope was grievous
to him.
"If she becomes my wife, Mrs. Winterfield will be quite at liberty to
leave her money elsewhere." There were old causes of dislike between
Mr. Belton and Mrs. Winterfield, and even now Mrs. Winterfield was
almost offended because Mr. Belton was staying at Belton Castle.
"But all that is quite uncertain," continued Mr. Amedroz.
"And I have your leave to speak to Clara myself?"
"Well, Mr. Belton; yes; I think so. I do not see why you should not
speak to her. But I fear you are a little too precipitate. Clara has
known you so very short a time, that you can hardly have a right to
hope that she should learn to regard you at once as you would have
her do." As he heard this, Belton's face became long and melancholy.
He had taught himself to think that he could dispense with that delay
till Christmas which he had at first proposed to himself, and that he
might walk into the arena at once, and perhaps win the battle in the
first round. "Three days is such a very short time," said the squire.
"It is short certainly," said Belton.
The father's leave was however given, and armed with that, Belton was
resolved that he would take, at any rate, some preliminary steps in
love-making before he returned to Plaistow. What would be the nature
of the preliminary steps taken by such a one as him, the reader by
this time will probably be able to surmise.