MISS AMEDROZ IS PURSUED.
"I suppose now, my dear, it may be considered that everything is
settled about that young lady," said Lady Aylmer to her son, on the
same day that Miss Amedroz left Aylmer Park.
"Nothing is settled, ma'am," said the Captain.
"You don't mean to tell me that after what has passed you intend to
follow her up any further."
"I shall certainly endeavour to see her again."
"Then, Frederic, I must tell you that you are very wrong
indeed;--almost worse than wrong. I would say wicked, only I feel
sure that you will think better of it. You cannot mean to tell me
that you would--marry her after what has taken place?"
"The question is whether she would marry me."
"That is nonsense, Frederic. I wonder that you, who are generally so
clear-sighted, cannot see more plainly than that. She is a scheming,
artful young woman, who is playing a regular game to catch a
husband."
"If that were so, she would have been more humble to you, ma'am."
"Not a bit, Fred. That's just it. That has been her cleverness. She
tried that on at first, and found that she could not get round me.
Don't allow yourself to be deceived by that, I pray. And then there
is no knowing how she may be bound up with those horrid people, so
that she cannot throw them over, even if she would."
"I don't think you understand her, ma'am."
"Oh;--very well. But I understand this, and you had better understand
it too;--that she will never again enter a house of which I am the
mistress; nor can I ever enter a house in which she is received.
If you choose to make her your wife after that, I have done." Lady
Aylmer had not done, or nearly done; but we need hear no more of her
threats or entreaties. Her son left Aylmer Park immediately after
Easter Sunday, and as he went, the mother, nodding her head, declared
to her daughter that that marriage would never come off, let Clara
Amedroz be ever so sly, or ever so clever.
"Think of what I have said to you, Fred," said Sir Anthony, as he
took his leave of his son.
"Yes, sir, I will."
"You can't be better off than you are;--you can't, indeed." With
these words in his ears Captain Aylmer started for London, intending
to follow Clara down to Belton. He hardly knew his own mind on this
matter of his purposed marriage. He was almost inclined to agree
with his father that he was very well off as he was. He was almost
inclined to agree with his mother in her condemnation of Clara's
conduct. He was almost inclined to think that he had done enough
towards keeping the promise made to his aunt on her deathbed,--but
still he was not quite contented with himself. He desired to be
honest and true, as far as his ideas went of honesty and truth, and
his conscience told him that Clara had been treated with cruelty by
his mother. I am inclined to think that Lady Aylmer, in spite of her
high experience and character for wisdom, had not fought her battle
altogether well. No man likes to be talked out of his marriage by his
mother, and especially not so when the talking takes the shape of
threats. When she told him that under no circumstances would she
again know Clara Amedroz, he was driven by his spirit of manhood to
declare to himself that that menace from her should not have the
slightest influence on him. The word or two which his father said was
more effective. After all it might be better for him in his peculiar
position to have no wife at all. He did begin to believe that he
had no need for a wife. He had never before thought so much of his
father's example as he did now. Clara was manifestly a hot-tempered
woman,--a very hot-tempered woman indeed! Now his mother was also
a hot-tempered woman, and he could see the result in the present
condition of his father's life. He resolved that he would follow
Clara to Belton, so that some final settlement might be made between
them; but in coming to this resolution he acknowledged to himself
that should she decide against him he would not break his heart. She,
however, should have her chance. Undoubtedly it was only right that
she should have her chance.
But the difficulty of the circumstances in which he was placed was
so great, that it was almost impossible for him to make up his mind
fixedly to any purpose in reference to Clara. As he passed through
London on his way to Belton he called at Mr. Green's chambers with
reference to that sum of fifteen hundred pounds, which it was now
absolutely necessary that he should make over to Miss Amedroz, and
from Mr. Green he learned that William Belton had given positive
instructions as to the destination of the Belton estate. He would not
inherit it, or have anything to do with it under the entail,--from
the effects of which he desired to be made entirely free. Mr. Green,
who knew that Captain Aylmer was engaged to marry his client, and
who knew nothing of any interruption to that agreement, felt no
hesitation in explaining all this to Captain Aylmer. "I suppose you
had heard of it before," said Mr. Green. Captain Aylmer certainly
had heard of it, and had been very much struck by the idea; but up
to this moment he had not quite believed in it. Coming simply from
William Belton to Clara Amedroz, such an offer might be no more than
a strong argument used in love-making. "Take back the property, but
take me with it, of course." That Captain Aylmer thought might have
been the correct translation of Mr. William Belton's romance. But he
was forced to look at the matter differently when he found that it
had been put into a lawyer's hands. "Yes," said he, "I have heard of
it. Mr. Belton mentioned it to me himself." This was not strictly
true. Clara had mentioned it to him; but Belton had come into the
room immediately afterwards, and Captain Aylmer might probably have
been mistaken.
"He's quite in earnest," said Mr. Green.
"Of course, I can say nothing, Mr. Green, as I am myself so nearly
interested in the matter. It is a great question, no doubt, how far
such an entail as that should be allowed to operate."
"I think it should stand, as a matter of course. I think Belton is
wrong," said Mr. Green.
"Of course I can give no opinion," said the other.
"I'll tell you what you can do, Captain Aylmer. You can suggest to
Miss Amedroz that there should be a compromise. Let them divide it.
They are both clients of mine, and in that way I shall do my duty to
each. Let them divide it. Belton has money enough to buy up the other
moiety, and in that way would still be Belton of Belton."
Captain Aylmer had not the slightest objection to such a plan.
Indeed, he regarded it as in all respects a wise and salutary
arrangement. The moiety of the Belton estate might probably be worth
twenty-five thousand pounds, and the addition of such a sum as that
to his existing means would make all the difference in the world as
to the expediency of his marriage. His father's arguments would all
fall to the ground if twenty-five thousand pounds were to be obtained
in this way; and he had but little doubt that such a change in
affairs would go far to mitigate his mother's wrath. But he was by
no means mercenary in his views;--so, at least, he assured himself.
Clara should have her chance with or without the Belton estate,--or
with or without the half of it. He was by no means mercenary. Had he
not made his offer to her,--and repeated it almost with obstinacy,
when she had no prospect of any fortune? He could always remember
that of himself at least; and remembering that now, he could take
a delight in these bright money prospects without having to accuse
himself in the slightest degree of mercenary motives. This fortune
was a godsend which he could take with clean hands;--if only he
should ultimately be able to take the lady who possessed the fortune!
From London he wrote to Clara, telling her that he proposed to visit
her at Belton. His letter was written before he had seen Mr. Green,
and was not very fervent in its expressions; but, nevertheless, it
was a fair letter, written with the intention of giving her a fair
chance. He had seen with great sorrow,--"with heartfelt grief," that
quarrel between his mother and his own Clara. Thinking, as he felt
himself obliged to think, about Mrs. Askerton, he could not but
feel that his mother had cause for her anger. But he himself was
unprejudiced, and was ready, and anxious also,--the word anxious
was underscored,--to carry out his engagement. A few words between
them might probably set everything right, and therefore he proposed
to meet her at the Belton Castle house, at such an hour, on such
a day. He should run down to Perivale on his journey, and perhaps
Clara would let him have a line addressed to him there. Such was his
letter.
"What do you think of that?" said Clara, showing it to Mrs. Askerton
on the afternoon of the day on which she had received it.
"What do you think of it?" said Mrs. Askerton. "I can only hope, that
he will not come within the reach of my hands."
"You are not angry with me for showing it to you?"
"No;--why should I be angry with you? Of course I knew it all without
any showing. Do not tell Colonel Askerton, or they will be killing
each other."
"Of course I shall not tell Colonel Askerton; but I could not help
showing this to you."
"And you will meet him?"
"Yes; I shall meet him. What else can I do?"
"Unless, indeed, you were to write and tell him that it would do no
good."
"It will be better that he should come."
"If you allow him to talk you over you will be a wretched woman all
your life."
"It will be better that he should come," said Clara again. And then
she wrote to Captain Aylmer at Perivale, telling him that she would
be at the house at the hour he had named, on the day he had named.
When that day came she walked across the park a little before the
time fixed, not wishing to meet Captain Aylmer before she had reached
the house. It was now nearly the middle of April, and the weather was
soft and pleasant. It was almost summer again, and as she felt this,
she thought of all the events which had occurred since the last
summer,--of their agony of grief at the catastrophe which had closed
her brother's life, of her aunt's death first, and then of her
father's following so close upon the other, and of the two offers of
marriage made to her,--as to which she was now aware that she had
accepted the wrong man and rejected the wrong man. She was steadily
minded, now, at this moment, that before she parted from Captain
Aylmer, her engagement with him should be brought to a close. Now,
at this coming interview, so much at any rate should be done. She
had tried to make herself believe that she felt for him that sort of
affection which a woman should have for the man she is to marry, but
she had failed. She hardly knew whether she had in truth ever loved
him; but she was quite sure that she did not love him now. No;--she
had done with Aylmer Park, and she could feel thankful, amidst all
her troubles, that that difficulty should vex her no more. In showing
Captain Aylmer's letter to Mrs. Askerton she had made no such promise
as this, but her mind had been quite made up. "He certainly shall not
talk me over," she said to herself as she walked across the park.
But she could not see her way so clearly out of that further
difficulty with regard to her cousin. It might be that she would be
able to rid herself of the one lover with comparative ease; but she
could not bring herself to entertain the idea of accepting the other.
It was true that this man longed for her,--desired to call her his
own, with a wearing, anxious, painful desire which made his heart
grievously heavy,--heavy as though with lead hanging to its strings;
and it was true that Clara knew that it was so. It was true also that
his spirit had mastered her spirit, and that his persistence had
conquered her resistance,--the resistance, that is, of her feelings.
But there remained with her a feminine shame, which made it seem to
her to be impossible that she should now reject Captain Aylmer, and
as a consequence of that rejection, accept Will Belton's hand. As
she thought of this, she could not see her way out of her trouble in
that direction with any of that clearness which belonged to her in
reference to Captain Aylmer.
She had been an hour in the house before he came, and never did an
hour go so heavily with her. There was no employment for her about
the place, and Mrs. Bunce, the old woman who now lived there, could
not understand why her late mistress chose to remain seated among the
unused furniture. Clara had of course told her that a gentleman was
coming. "Not Mr. Will?" said the woman. "No; it is not Mr. Will,"
said Clara; "his name is Captain Aylmer." "Oh, indeed." And then Mrs.
Bunce looked at her with a mystified look. Why on earth should not
the gentleman call on Miss Amedroz at Mrs. Askerton's cottage. "I'll
be sure to show 'un up, when a comes, at any rate," said the old
woman solemnly;--and Clara felt that it was all very uncomfortable.
At last the gentleman did come, and was shown up with all the
ceremony of which Mrs. Bunce was capable. "Here he be, mum." Then
Mrs. Bunce paused a moment before she retreated, anxious to learn
whether the new comer was a friend or a foe. She concluded from
the Captain's manner that he was a very dear friend, and then she
departed.
"I hope you are not surprised at my coming," said Captain Aylmer,
still holding Clara by the hand.
"A little surprised," she said, smiling.
"But not annoyed?"
"No;--not annoyed."
"As soon as you had left Aylmer Park I felt that it was the right
thing to do;--the only thing to do,--as I told my mother."
"I hope you have not come in opposition to her wishes," said Clara,
unable to control a slight tone of banter as she spoke.
"In this matter I found myself compelled to act in accordance with my
own judgment," said he, untouched by her sarcasm.
"Then I suppose that Lady Aylmer is,--is vexed with you for coming
here. I shall be so sorry for that;--so very sorry, as no good can
come of it."
"Well;--I am not so sure of that. My mother is a most excellent
woman, one for whose opinions on all matters I have the highest
possible value;--a value so high, that--that--that--"
"That you never ought to act in opposition to it. That is what you
really mean, Captain Aylmer; and upon my word I think that you are
right."
"No, Clara; that is not what I mean,--not exactly that. Indeed, just
at present I mean the reverse of that. There are some things on which
a man must act on his own judgment, irrespectively of the opinions of
any one else."
"Not of a mother, Captain Aylmer?"
"Yes;--of a mother. That is to say, a man must do so. With a lady of
course it is different. I was very, very sorry that there should have
been any unpleasantness at Aylmer Park."
"It was not pleasant to me, certainly."
"Nor to any of us, Clara."
"At any rate, it need not be repeated."
"I hope not."
"No;--it certainty need not be repeated. I know now that I was wrong
to go to Aylmer Park. I felt sure beforehand that there were many
things as to which I could not possibly agree with Lady Aylmer, and I
ought not to have gone."
"I don't see that at all, Clara."
"I do see it now."
"I can't understand you. What things? Why should you be determined to
disagree with my mother? Surely you ought at any rate to endeavour to
think as she thinks."
"I cannot do that, Captain Aylmer."
"I am sorry to hear you speak in this way. I have come here all the
way from Yorkshire to try to put things straight between us; but you
receive me as though you would remember nothing but that unpleasant
quarrel."
"It was so unpleasant,--so very unpleasant! I had better speak out
the truth at once. I think that Lady Aylmer ill-used me cruelly. I
do. No one can talk me out of that conviction. Of course I am sorry
to be driven to say as much to you,--and I should never have said
it, had you not come here. But when you speak of me and your mother
together, I must say what I feel. Your mother and I, Captain Aylmer,
are so opposed to each other, not only in feeling, but in opinions
also, that it is impossible that we should be friends;--impossible
that we should not be enemies if we are brought together."
This she said with great energy, looking intently into his face as
she spoke. He was seated near her, on a chair from which he was
leaning over towards her, holding his hat in both hands between his
legs. Now, as he listened to her, he drew his chair still nearer,
ridding himself of his hat, which he left upon the carpet, and
keeping his eyes upon hers as though he were fascinated. "I am sorry
to hear you speak like this," he said.
"It is best to say the truth."
"But, Clara, if you intend to be my wife--"
"Oh, no;--that is impossible now."
"What is impossible?"
"Impossible that I should become your wife. Indeed I have convinced
myself that you do not wish it."
"But I do wish it."
"No;--no. If you will question your heart about it quietly, you will
find that you do not wish it."
"You wrong me, Clara."
"At any rate it cannot be so."
"I will not take that answer from you," he said, getting up from his
chair, and walking once up and down the room. Then he returned to it,
and repeated his words. "I will not take that answer from you. An
engagement such as ours cannot be put aside like an old glove. You
do not mean to tell me that all that has been between us is to mean
nothing." There was something now like feeling in his tone, something
like passion in his gesture, and Clara, though she had no thought
of changing her purpose, was becoming unhappy at the idea of his
unhappiness.
"It has meant nothing," she said. "We have been like children
together, playing at being in love. It is a game from which you will
come out scatheless, but I have been scalded."
"Scalded!"
"Well;--never mind. I do not mean to complain, and certainly not of
you."
"I have come here all the way from Yorkshire in order that things may
be put right between us."
"You have been very good,--very good to come, and I will not say that
I regret your trouble. It is best, I think, that we should meet each
other once more face to face, so that we may understand each other.
There was no understanding anything during those terrible days at
Aylmer Park." Then she paused, but as he did not speak at once she
went on. "I do not blame you for anything that has taken place, but I
am quite sure of this,--that you and I could never be happy together
as man and wife."
"I do not know why you say so; I do not indeed."
"You would disapprove of everything that I should do. You do
disapprove of what I am doing now."
"Disapprove of what?"
"I am staying with my friend, Mrs. Askerton."
He felt that this was hard upon him. As she had shown herself
inclined to withdraw herself from him, he had become more resolute in
his desire to follow her up, and to hold by his engagement. He was
not employed now in giving her another chance,--as he had proposed to
himself to do,--but was using what eloquence he had to obtain another
chance for himself. Lady Aylmer had almost made him believe that
Clara would be the suppliant, but now he was the suppliant himself.
In his anxiety to keep her he was willing even to pass over her
terrible iniquity in regard to Mrs. Askerton,--that great sin which
had led to all these troubles. He had once written to her about Mrs.
Askerton, using very strong language, and threatening her with his
mother's full displeasure. At that time Mrs. Askerton had simply been
her friend. There had been no question then of her taking refuge
under that woman's roof. Now she had repelled Lady Aylmer's counsels
with scorn, was living as a guest in Mrs. Askerton's house; and yet
he was willing to pass over the Askerton difficulty without a word.
He was willing not only to condone past offences, but to wink at
existing iniquity! But she,--she who was the sinner, would not permit
of this. She herself dragged up Mrs. Askerton's name, and seemed to
glory in her own shame.
"I had not intended," said he, "to speak of your friend."
"I only mention her to show how impossible it is that we should ever
agree upon some subjects,--as to which a husband and wife should
always be of one mind. I knew this from the moment in which I got
your letter,--and only that I was a coward I should have said so
then."
"And you mean to quarrel with me altogether?"
"No;--why should we quarrel?"
"Why, indeed?" said he.
"But I wish it to be settled,--quite settled, as from the nature of
things it must be, that there shall be no attempt at renewal of our
engagement. After what has passed, how could I enter your mother's
house?"
"But you need not enter it." Now in his emergency he was willing
to give up anything,--everything. He had been prepared to talk her
over into a reconciliation with his mother, to admit that there had
been faults on both sides, to come down from his high pedestal and
discuss the matter as though Clara and his mother stood upon the same
footing. Having recognised the spirit of his lady-love, he had told
himself that so much indignity as that must be endured. But now, he
had been carried so far beyond this, that he was willing, in the
sudden vehemence of his love, to throw his mother over altogether,
and to accede to any terms which Clara might propose to him. "Of
course, I would wish you to be friends," he said, using now all the
tones of a suppliant; "but if you found that it could not be so--"
"Do you think that I would divide you from your mother?"
"There need be no question as to that."
"Ah;--there you are wrong. There must be such questions. I should
have thought of it sooner."
"Clara, you are more to me than my mother. Ten times more." As he
said this he came up and knelt down beside her. "You are everything
to me. You will not throw me over." He was a suppliant indeed, and
such supplications are very potent with women. Men succeed often by
the simple earnestness of their prayers. Women cannot refuse to give
that which is asked for with so much of the vehemence of true desire.
"Clara, you have promised to be my wife. You have twice promised; and
can have no right to go back because you are displeased with what my
mother may have said. I am not responsible for my mother. Clara, say
that you will be my wife." As he spoke he strove to take her hand,
and his voice sounded as though there were in truth something of
passion in his heart.