EVIL WORDS.
Clara Amedroz had received her two letters together,--that, namely,
from the attorney, and that from Captain Aylmer,--and the result of
those letters is already known. She accepted her lover's renewed
offer of marriage, acknowledging the force of his logic, and putting
faith in the strength of his assurances. This she did without seeking
advice from any one. Who was there from whom she could seek advice on
such a matter as that?--who, at least, was there at Belton? That her
father would, as a matter of course, bid her accept Captain Aylmer,
was, she thought, certain; and she knew well that Mrs. Askerton would
do the same. She asked no counsel from any one, but taking the two
letters up to her own room, sat down to consider them. That which
referred to her aunt's money, together with the postscript in Captain
Aylmer's letter on the same subject, would be of the least possible
moment if she could bring herself to give a favourable answer to the
other proposition. But should she not be able to do this,--should she
hesitate as to doing so at once,--then she must write to the lawyer
in very strong terms, refusing altogether to have anything to do with
the money. And in such a case as this, not a word could she say to
her father either on one subject or on the other.
But why should she not accept the offer made to her? Captain Aylmer
declared that he had determined to ask her to be his wife before he
had made any promise to Mrs. Winterfield. If this were in truth so,
then the very ground on which she had separated herself from him
would be removed. Why should she hesitate in acknowledging to herself
that she loved the man and believed him to be true? So she sat
herself down and answered both the letters,--writing to the lawyer
first. To him she said that nothing need be done about the money or
the interest till he should see or hear from Captain Aylmer again.
Then to Captain Aylmer she wrote very shortly, but very openly,--with
the same ill-judged candour which her spoken words to him had
displayed. Of course she would be his; his without hesitation, now
that she knew that he expressed his own wishes, and not merely
those of his aunt. "As to the money," she said, "it would be simply
nonsense now for us to have any talk of money. It is yours in any
way, and you had better manage about it as you please. I have written
an ambiguous letter to Mr. Green, which will simply plague him, and
which you may go and see if you like." Then she added her postscript,
in which she said that she should now at once tell her father, as
the news would remove from his mind all solicitude as to her future
position. That Captain Aylmer did go to Mr. Green we already know,
and we know also that he told Mr. Green of his intended marriage.
Nothing was said by Captain Aylmer as to any proposed period for
their marriage; but that was only natural. It was not probable that
any man would name a day till he knew whether or not he was accepted.
Indeed, Clara, on thinking over the whole affair, was now disposed to
find fault rather with herself than with her lover, and forgetting
his coldness and formality at Perivale, remembered only the fact of
his offer to her, and his assurance now received that he had intended
to make it before the scene which had taken place between him and
his aunt. She did find fault with herself, telling herself that
she had quarrelled with him without sufficient cause;--and the
eager, loving candour of her letter to him was attributable to those
self-accusations.
"Papa," she said, after the postman had gone away from Belton, so
that there might be no possibility of any recall of her letter, "I
have something to tell you which I hope will give you pleasure."
"It isn't often that I hear anything of that kind," said he.
"But I think that this will give you pleasure. I do indeed. I am
going to be married."
"Going to what?"
"Going to be married, papa. That is, if I have your leave. Of course
any offer of that kind that I have accepted is subject to your
approval."
"And I have been told nothing about it!"
"It began at Perivale, and I could not tell you then. You do not ask
me who is to be my husband."
"It is not Will Belton?"
"Poor Will! No; it is not Will. It is Frederic Aylmer. I think you
would prefer him as a son-in-law even to my cousin Will."
"No I shouldn't. Why should I prefer a man whom I don't even know,
who lives in London, and who will take you away, so that I shall
never see you again?"
"Dear papa;--don't speak of it in that way. I thought you would be
glad to know that I was to be so--so--so happy!"
"But why is it to be done this way,--of a sudden? Why didn't he come
to me? Will came to me the very first thing."
"He couldn't come all the way to Belton very well;--particularly as
he does not know you."
"Will came here."
"Oh, papa, don't make difficulties. Of course that was different. He
was here when he first thought of it. And even then he didn't think
very much about it."
"He did all that he could, I suppose?"
"Well;--yes. I don't know how that might be." And Clara almost
laughed as she felt the difficulties into which she was creeping.
"Dear Will. He is much better as a cousin than as a husband."
"I don't see that at all. Captain Aylmer will not have the Belton
estate or Plaistow Hall."
"Surely he is well enough off to take care of a wife. He will have
the whole of the Perivale estate, you know."
"I don't know anything about it. According to my ideas of what is
proper he should have spoken to me first. If he could not come he
might have written. No doubt my ideas may be old-fashioned, and I'm
told that Captain Aylmer is a fashionable young man."
"Indeed he is not, papa. He is a hard-working member of Parliament."
"I don't know that he is any better for that. People seem to think
that if a man is a member of Parliament he may do what he pleases.
There is Thompson, the member for Minehead, who has bought some sort
of place out by the moors. I never saw so vulgar, pig-headed a fellow
in my life. Being in Parliament used to be something when I was
young, but it won't make a man a gentleman now-a-days. It seems to
me that none but brewers, and tallow-chandlers, and lawyers go into
Parliament now. Will Belton could go into Parliament if he pleased,
but he knows better than that. He won't make himself such a fool."
This was not comfortable to Clara; but she knew her father, and
allowed him to go on with his grumbling. He would come round by
degrees, and he would appreciate, if he could not be induced to
acknowledge, the wisdom of the step she was about to take.
"When is it to be?" he asked.
"Nothing of that kind has ever been mentioned, papa."
"It had better be soon, if I am to have anything to do with it." Now
it was certainly the case that the old man was very ill. He had not
been out of the house since Clara had returned home; and, though he
was always grumbling about his food, he could hardly be induced to
eat anything when the morsels for which he expressed a wish were got
for him.
"Of course you will be consulted, papa, before anything is settled."
"I don't want to be in anybody's way, my dear."
"And may I tell Frederic that you have given your consent?"
"What's the use of my consenting or not consenting? If you had been
anxious to oblige me you would have taken your cousin Will."
"Oh, papa, how could I accept a man I didn't love?"
"You seemed to me to be very fond of him at first; and I must say, I
thought he was ill-treated."
"Papa, papa; do not say such things as that to me!"
"What am I to do? You tell me, and I can't altogether hold my
tongue." Then there was a pause. "Well, my dear, as for my consent,
of course you may have it,--if it's worth anything. I don't know that
I ever heard anything bad about Captain Aylmer."
He had heard nothing bad about Captain Aylmer! Clara, as she left her
father, felt that this was very grievous. Whatever cause she might
have had for discontent with her lover, she could not but be aware
that he was a man whom any father might be proud to welcome as a
suitor for his daughter. He was a man as to whom no ill tales had
ever been told;--who had never been known to do anything wrong or
imprudent; who had always been more than respectable, and as to whose
worldly position no exception could be taken. She had been entitled
to expect her father's warmest congratulations, and her tidings had
been received as though she had proposed to give her hand to one
whose character and position only just made it not imperative on the
father to withhold his consent! All this was hard, and feeling it
to be so, she went up-stairs, all alone, and cried bitterly as she
thought of it.
On the next day she went down to the cottage and saw Mrs. Askerton.
She went there with the express purpose of telling her friend of her
engagement,--desirous of obtaining in that quarter the sympathy which
her father declined to give her. Had her communication to him been
accepted in a different spirit, she might probably have kept her
secret from Mrs. Askerton till something further had been fixed about
her marriage; but she was in want of a few kind words, and pined
for some of that encouragement which ladies in love usually wish to
receive, at any rate from some one chosen friend. But when she found
herself alone with Mrs. Askerton she hardly knew how to tell her
news; and at first could not tell it at all, as that lady was eager
in speaking on another subject.
"When do you expect your cousin?" Mrs. Askerton asked, almost as soon
as Clara was seated.
"The day after to-morrow."
"And he is in London now?"
"He may be. I dare say he is. But I don't know anything about it."
"I can tell you then that he is. Colonel Askerton has heard of his
being there."
"You seem to speak of it as though there were some offence in it. Is
there any reason why he should not be in London if he pleases?"
"None in the least. I would much rather that he should be there than
here."
"Why so? Will his coming hurt you?"
"I don't like him. I don't like him at all;--and now you know the
truth. You believe in him;--I don't. You think him to be a fine
fellow and a gentleman, whereas I don't think him to be either."
"Mrs. Askerton!"
"This is strong language, I know."
"Very strong language."
"Yes, my dear; but the truth is, Clara, that you and I, living
together here this sort of hermit's life, each seeing so much of
the other and seeing nothing of anybody else, must either be real
friends, telling each other what we think, or we must be nothing. We
can't go on with the ordinary make-believes of society, saying little
civil speeches and not going beyond them. Therefore I have made up my
mind to tell you in plain language that I don't like your cousin, and
don't believe in him."
"I don't know what you mean by believing in a man."
"I believe in you. Sometimes I have thought that you believe in me,
and sometimes I have feared that you do not. I think that you are
good, and honest, and true; and therefore I like to see your face and
hear your voice,--though it is not often that you say very pleasant
things to me."
"Do I say unpleasant things?"
"I am not going to quarrel with you,--not if I can help it. What
business has Mr. Belton to go about London making inquiries as to me?
What have I done to him, that he should honour me so far?"
"Has he made inquiries?"
"Yes; he has. If you have been contented with me as I am,--if you are
satisfied, why should he want to learn more? If you have any question
to ask me I will answer it. But what right can he have to be asking
questions among strangers?"
Clara had no question to ask, and yet she could not say that she was
satisfied. She would have been better satisfied to have known more of
Mrs. Askerton, but yet she had never condescended to make inquiries
about her friend. But her curiosity was now greatly raised; and,
indeed, Mrs. Askerton's manner was so strange, her vehemence so
unusual, and her eagerness to rush into dangerous subjects so unlike
her usual tranquillity in conversation, that Clara did not know how
to answer her.
"I know nothing of any questioning," she said.
"I am sure you don't. Had I thought you did, much as I love
you,--valuable as your society is to me down in this desert,--I would
never speak to you again. But remember,--if you want to ask any
questions, and will ask them of me,--of me,--I will answer them, and
will not be angry."
"But I don't want to ask any questions."
"You may some day; and then you can remember what I say."
"And am I to understand that you are determined to quarrel with my
cousin Will?"
"Quarrel with him! I don't suppose that I shall see him. After what
I have said it is not probable that you will bring him here, and the
servant will have orders to say that I am not at home if he should
call. Luckily he and Colonel Askerton did not meet when he was here
before."
"This is the most strange thing I ever heard in my life."
"You will understand it better, my dear, when he makes his
communication to you."
"What communication?"
"You'll find that he'll have a communication to make. He has been
so diligent and so sharp that he'll have a great deal to tell, I do
not doubt. Only, remember, Clara, that if anything that he tells you
makes any difference in your feelings towards me, I shall expect
you to come to me and say so openly. If he makes his statement, let
me make mine. I have a right to ask for that, after what I have
promised."
"You may be sure that I will."
"I want nothing more. I have no distrust in you,--none in the least.
I tell you that I believe in you. If you will do that, and will keep
Mr. William Belton out of my way during his visit to these parts,
I shall be satisfied." For some time past Mrs. Askerton had been
walking about the room, but, as she now finished speaking, she
sat herself down as though the subject was fully discussed and
completed. For a minute or two she made an effort to resume her usual
tranquillity of manner, and in doing so attempted to smile, as though
ridiculing her own energy. "I knew I should make a fool of myself
when you came," she said; "and now I have done it."
"I don't think you have been a fool at all, but you may have been
mistaken."
"Very well, my dear, we shall see. It's very odd what a dislike I
took to that man the first time I saw him."
"And I am so fond of him!"
"Yes; he has cozened you as he has your father. I am only glad that
he did not succeed in cozening you further than he did. But I ought
to have known you better than to suppose you could give your heart of
hearts to one who is--"
"Do not abuse him any more."
"Who is so very unlike the sort of people with whom you have lived. I
may, at any rate, say that."
"I don't know that. I haven't lived much with any one yet,--except
papa, and my aunt, and you."
"But you know a gentleman when you see him."
"Come, Mrs. Askerton, I will not stand this. I thought you had done
with the subject, and now you begin again. I had come here on purpose
to tell you something of real importance,--that is, to me; but I must
go away without telling you, unless you will give over abusing my
cousin."
"I will not say a word more about him,--not at present."
"I feel so sure that you are mistaken, you know."
"Very well;--and I feel sure that you are mistaken. We will leave it
so, and go to this matter of importance." But Clara felt it to be
very difficult to tell her tidings after such a conversation as that
which had just occurred. When she had entered the room her mind had
been tuned to the subject, and she could have found fitting words
without much difficulty to herself; but now her thoughts had been
scattered and her feelings hurt, and she did not know how to bring
herself back to the subject of her engagement. She paused, therefore,
and sat with a doubtful, hesitating look, meditating some mode of
escape. "I am all ears," said Mrs. Askerton; and Clara thought that
she discovered something of ridicule or of sarcasm in the tone of her
friend's voice.
"I believe I'll put it off till another day," she said.
"Why so? You don't think that anything really important to you will
not be important to me also?"
"I'm sure of that, but somehow--"
"You mean to say that I have ruffled you?"
"Well;--perhaps; a little."
"Then be unruffled again, like my own dear, honest Clara. I have been
ruffled too, but I'll be as tranquil now as a drawing-room cat." Then
Mrs. Askerton got up from her chair, and seated herself by Clara's
side on the sofa. "Come; you can't go till you've told me; and if you
hesitate, I shall think that you mean to quarrel with me."
"I'll come to you to-morrow."
"No, no; you shall tell me to-day. All to-morrow you'll be preparing
for your cousin."
"What nonsense!"
"Or else you'll come prepared to vindicate him, and then we shan't
get on any further. Tell me what it is to-day. You can't leave me in
curiosity after what you have said."
"You've heard of Captain Aylmer, I think."
"Of course I've heard of him."
"But you've never seen him?"
"You know I never have."
"I told you that he was at Perivale when Mrs. Winterfield died."
"And now he has proposed, and you are going to accept him? That will
indeed be important. Is it so?--say. But don't I know it is so? Why
don't you speak?"
"If you know it, why need I speak?"
"But it is so? Oh, Clara, I am so glad. I congratulate you with all
my heart,--with all my heart. My dearest, dearest Clara! What a happy
arrangement! What a success! It is just as it should be. Dear, good
man! to come forward in that sensible way, and put an end to all the
little family difficulties!"
"I don't know so much about success. Who is it that is successful?"
"You, to be sure."
"Then by the same measurement he must be unsuccessful."
"Don't be a fool, Clara."
"Of course I have been successful if I've got a man that I can love
as my husband."
"Now, my dear, don't be a fool. Of course all that is between you and
him, and I don't in the least doubt that it is all as it should be.
If Captain Aylmer had been the elder brother instead of the younger,
and had all the Aylmer estates instead of the Perivale property, I
know you would not accept him if you did not like him."
"I hope not."
"I am sure you would not. But when a girl with nothing a year has
managed to love a man with two or three thousand a year, and has
managed to be loved by him in return,--instead of going through the
same process with the curate or village doctor,--it is a success,
and her friends will always think so. And when a girl marries a
gentleman, and a member of Parliament, instead of--; well, I'm not
going to say anything personal,--her friends will congratulate her
upon his position. It may be very wicked, and mercenary, and all
that; but it's the way of the world."
"I hate hearing about the world."
"Yes, my dear; all proper young ladies like you do hate it. But I
observe that such girls as you never offend its prejudices. You can't
but know that you would have done a wicked as well as a foolish thing
to marry a man without an adequate income."
"But I needn't marry at all."
"And what would you live on then? Come Clara, we needn't quarrel
about that. I've no doubt he's charming, and beautiful, and--"
"He isn't beautiful at all; and as for charming--"
"He has charmed you at any rate."
"He has made me believe that I can trust him without doubt, and love
him without fear."
"An excellent man! And the income will be an additional comfort;
you'll allow that?"
"I'll allow nothing."
"And when is it to be?"
"Oh,--perhaps in six or seven years."
"Clara!"
"Perhaps sooner; but there's been no word said about time."
"Is not Mr. Amedroz delighted?"
"Not a bit. He quite scolded me when I told him."
"Why;--what did he want?"
"You know papa."
"I know he scolds at everything, but I shouldn't have thought he
would have scolded at that. And when does he come here?"
"Who come here?"
"Captain Aylmer."
"I don't know that he is coming at all."
"He must come to be married."
"All that is in the clouds as yet. I did not like to tell you,
but you mustn't suppose that because I've told you, everything is
settled. Nothing is settled."
"Nothing except the one thing?"
"Nothing else."
It was more than an hour after that before Clara went away, and when
she did so she was surprised to find that she was followed out of the
house by Colonel Askerton. It was quite dusk at this time, the days
being just at their shortest, and Colonel Askerton, according to his
custom, would have been riding, or returning from his ride. Clara
had been over two hours at the cottage, and had been aware when she
reached it that he had not as yet gone out. It appeared now that
he had not ridden at all, and, as she remembered to have seen his
horse led before the window, it at once occurred to her that he had
remained at home with the view of catching her as she went away. He
came up to her just as she was passing through the gate, and offered
her his right hand as he raised his hat with his left. It sometimes
happens to all of us in life that we become acquainted with persons
intimately,--that is, with an assumed intimacy,--whom in truth we
do not know at all. We meet such persons frequently, often eating
and drinking in their company, being familiar with their appearance,
and well-informed generally as to their concerns; but we never find
ourselves holding special conversations with them, or in any way
fitting the modes of our life to the modes of their life. Accident
has brought us together, and in one sense they are our friends. We
should probably do any little kindness for them, or expect the same
from them; but there is nothing in common between us, and there is
generally a mutual though unexpressed agreement that there shall
be nothing in common. Miss Amedroz was intimately acquainted with
Colonel Askerton after this fashion. She saw him very frequently, and
his name was often on her tongue; but she rarely, if ever, conversed
with him, and knew of his habits only from his wife's words
respecting them. When, therefore, he followed her through the garden
gate into the park, she was driven to suppose that he had something
special to say to her.
"I'm afraid you'll have a dark walk, Miss Amedroz," he said.
"It's only just across the park, and I know the way so well."
"Yes,--of course. I saw you coming out, and as I want to say a word
or two, I have ventured to follow you. When Mr. Belton was down here
I did not have the pleasure of meeting him."
"I remember that you missed each other."
"Yes, we did. I understand from my wife that he will be here again in
a day or two."
"He will be with us the day after to-morrow."
"I hope you will excuse my saying that it will be very desirable that
we should miss each other again." Clara felt that her face became
red with anger as she listened to Colonel Askerton's words. He spoke
slowly, as was his custom, and without any of that violence of
expression which his wife had used; but on that very account there
was more, if possible, of meaning in his words than in hers. William
Belton was her cousin, and such a speech as that which Colonel
Askerton had made, spoken with deliberation and unaccompanied by any
previous explanation, seemed to her almost to amount to insult. But
as she did not know how to answer him at the spur of the moment, she
remained silent. Then he continued, "You may be sure, Miss Amedroz,
that I should not make so strange a request to you if I had not good
reason for making it."
"I think it a very strange request."
"And nothing but a strong conviction of its propriety on my part
would have induced me to make it."
"If you do not want to see my cousin, why cannot you avoid him
without saying anything to me on the subject?"
"Because you would not then have understood as thoroughly as I wish
you to do why I kept out of his way. For my wife's sake,--and for
yours, if you will allow me to say so,--I do not wish to come to any
open quarrel with him; but if we met, a quarrel would, I think, be
inevitable. Mary has probably explained to you the nature of his
offence against us?"
"Mrs. Askerton has told me something as to which I am quite sure that
she is mistaken."
"I will say nothing about that, as I have no wish at all to set you
against your cousin. I will bid you good-night now as you are close
at home." Then he turned round and left her.
Clara, as she thought of all this, could not but call to mind her
cousin's remembrances about Miss Vigo and Mr. Berdmore. What if he
made some inquiry as to the correctness of his old recollections?
Nothing, she thought, could be more natural. And then she reflected
that, in the ordinary way of the world, persons feel none of that
violent objection to the asking of questions about their antecedents
which was now evinced by both Colonel and Mrs. Askerton. But of
one thing she felt quite assured,--that her cousin, Will Belton,
would make no inquiry which he ought not to make; and would make no
improper use of any information which he might obtain.