CONCLUSION.
About two months after the scene described in the last chapter, when
the full summer had arrived, Clara received two letters from the two
lovers, the history of whose loves have just been told, and these
shall be submitted to the reader, as they will serve to explain the
manner in which the two men proposed to arrange their affairs. We
will first have Captain Aylmer's letter, which was the first read;
Clara kept the latter for the last, as children always keep their
sweetest morsels.
Aylmer Park, August, 186--.
MY DEAR MISS AMEDROZ,
I heard before leaving London that you are engaged to
marry your cousin Mr. William Belton, and I think that
perhaps you may be satisfied to have a line from me to let
you know that I quite approve of the marriage.
"I do not care very much for his approval or disapproval," said Clara
as she read this.
No doubt it will be the best thing you can do, especially
as it will heal all the sores arising from the entail.
"There never was any sore," said Clara.
Pray give my compliments to Mr. Belton, and offer him
my congratulations, and tell him that I wish him all
happiness in the married state.
"Married fiddlestick!" said Clara. In this she was unreasonable;
but the euphonious platitudes of Captain Aylmer were so unlike the
vehement protestations of Mr. Belton that she must be excused if by
this time she had come to entertain something of an unreasonable
aversion for the former.
I hope you will not receive my news with perfect
indifference when I tell you that I also am going to be
married. The lady is one whom I have known for a long
time, and have always esteemed very highly. She is Lady
Emily Tagmaggert, the youngest daughter of the Earl of
Mull.
Why Clara should immediately have conceived a feeling of supreme
contempt for Lady Emily Tagmaggert, and assured herself that
her ladyship was a thin, dry, cross old maid with a red nose, I
cannot explain; but I do know that such were her thoughts, almost
instantaneously, in reference to Captain Aylmer's future bride.
Lady Emily is a very intimate friend of my sister's; and
you, who know how our family cling together, will feel how
thankful I must be when I tell you that my mother quite
approves of the engagement. I suppose we shall be married
early in the spring. We shall probably spend some months
every year at Perivale, and I hope that we may look
forward to the pleasure of seeing you sometimes as a guest
beneath our roof.
On reading this Clara shuddered, and made some inward protestation
which seemed to imply that she had no wish whatever to revisit the
dull streets of the little town with which she had been so well
acquainted. "I hope she'll be good to poor Mr. Possit," said Clara,
"and give him port wine on Sundays."
I have one more thing that I ought to say. You will
remember that I intended to pay my aunt's legacy
immediately after her death, but that I was prevented
by circumstances which I could not control. I have paid
it now into Mr. Green's hands on your account, together
with the sum of L59 18_s._ 3_d._, which is due upon it as
interest at the rate of five per cent. I hope that this
may be satisfactory.
"It is not satisfactory at all," said Clara, putting down the letter,
and resolving that Will Belton should be instructed to repay the
money instantly. It may, however, be explained here that in this
matter Clara was doomed to be disappointed; and that she was forced,
by Mr. Green's arguments, to receive the money. "Then it shall go to
the hospital at Perivale," she declared when those arguments were
used. As to that, Mr. Green was quite indifferent, but I do not think
that the legacy which troubled poor Aunt Winterfield so much on her
dying bed was ultimately applied to so worthy a purpose.
"And now, my dear Miss Amedroz," continued the letter,
I will say farewell, with many assurances of my unaltered
esteem, and with heartfelt wishes for your future
happiness. Believe me to be always,
Most faithfully and sincerely yours,
FREDERIC F. AYLMER.
"Esteem!" said Clara, as she finished the letter. "I wonder which
he esteems the most, me or Lady Emily Tagmaggert. He will never get
beyond esteem with any one."
The letter which was last read was as follows:--
Plaistow, August, 186--.
DEAREST CLARA,
I don't think I shall ever get done, and I am coming to
hate farming. It is awful lonely here, too, and I pass all
my evenings by myself, wondering why I should be doomed
to this kind of thing, while you and Mary are comfortable
together at Belton. We have begun with the wheat, and as
soon as that is safe I shall cut and run. I shall leave
the barley to Bunce. Bunce knows as much about it as I
do,--and as for remaining here all the summer, it's out of
the question.
My own dear, darling love, of course I don't intend to
urge you to do anything that you don't like; but upon my
honour I don't see the force of what you say. You know I
have as much respect for your father's memory as anybody,
but what harm can it do to him that we should be married
at once? Don't you think he would have wished it himself?
It can be ever so quiet. So long as it's done, I don't
care a straw how it's done. Indeed, for the matter of
that, I always think it would be best just to walk to
church and to walk home again without saying anything to
anybody. I hate fuss and nonsense, and really I don't
think anybody would have a right to say anything if we
were to do it at once in that sort of way. I have had a
bad time of it for the last twelvemonth. You must allow
that, and I think that I ought to be rewarded.
As for living, you shall have your choice. Indeed you
shall live anywhere you please;--at Timbuctoo if you like
it. I don't want to give up Plaistow, because my father
and grandfather farmed the land themselves; but I am quite
prepared not to live here. I don't think it would suit
you, because it has so much of the farm-house about it.
Only I should like you sometimes to come and look at the
old place. What I should like would be to pull down the
house at Belton and build another. But you mustn't propose
to put it off till that's done, as I should never have the
heart to do it. If you think that would suit you, I'll
make up my mind to live at Belton for a constancy; and
then I'd go in for a lot of cattle, and don't doubt I'd
make a fortune. I'm almost sick of looking at the straight
ridges in the big square fields every day of my life.
Give my love to Mary. I hope she fights my battle for me.
Pray think of all this, and relent if you can. I do so
long to have an end of this purgatory. If there was any
use, I wouldn't say a word; but there's no good in being
tortured, when there is no use. God bless you, dearest
love. I do love you so well!
Yours most affectionately,
W. BELTON.
She kissed the letter twice, pressed it to her bosom, and then sat
silent for half an hour thinking of it;--of it, and the man who wrote
it, and of the man who had written the other letter. She could not
but remember how that other man had thought to treat her, when it was
his intention and her intention that they two should join their lots
together;--how cold he had been; how full of caution and counsel; how
he had preached to her himself and threatened her with the preaching
of his mother; how manifestly he had purposed to make her life a
sacrifice to his life; how he had premeditated her incarceration at
Perivale, while he should be living a bachelor's life in London! Will
Belton's ideas of married life were very different. Only come to me
at once,--now, immediately, and everything else shall be disposed
just as you please. This was his offer. What he proposed to give,--or
rather his willingness to be thus generous, was very sweet to her;
but it was not half so sweet as his impatience in demanding his
reward. How she doted on him because he considered his present state
to be a purgatory! How could she refuse anything she could give to
one who desired her gifts so strongly?
As for her future residence, it would be a matter of indifference to
her where she should live, so long as she might live with him; but
for him,--she felt that but one spot in the world was fit for him.
He was Belton of Belton, and it would not be becoming that he should
live elsewhere. Of course she would go with him to Plaistow Hall as
often as he might wish it; but Belton Castle should be his permanent
resting-place. It would be her duty to be proud for him, and
therefore, for his sake, she would beg that their home might be in
Somersetshire.
"Mary," she said to her cousin soon afterwards, "Will sends his love
to you."
"And what else does he say?"
"I couldn't tell you everything. You shouldn't expect it."
"I don't expect it; but perhaps there may be something to be told."
"Nothing that I need tell,--specially. You, who know him so well, can
imagine what he would say."
"Dear Will! I am sure he would mean to write what was pleasant."
Then the matter would have dropped had Clara been so minded,--but
she, in truth, was anxious to be forced to talk about the letter.
She wished to be urged by Mary to do that which Will urged her to
do;--or, at least, to learn whether Mary thought that her brother's
wish might be gratified without impropriety. "Don't you think we
ought to live here?" she said.
"By all means,--if you both like it."
"He is so good,--so unselfish, that he will only ask me to do what
I like best."
"And which would you like best?"
"I think he ought to live here because it is the old family property.
I confess that the name goes for something with me. He says that he
would build a new house."
"Does he think he could have it ready by the time you are married?"
"Ah;--that is just the difficulty. Perhaps, after all, you had
better read his letter. I don't know why I should not show it to
you. It will only tell you what you know already,--that he is the
most generous fellow in all the world." Then Mary read the letter.
"What am I to say to him?" Clara asked. "It seems so hard to refuse
anything to one who is so true, and good, and generous."
"It is hard."
"But you see my poor, dear father's death has been so recent."
"I hardly know," said Mary, "how the world feels about such things."
"I think we ought to wait at least twelve months," said Clara, very
sadly.
"Poor Will! He will be broken-hearted a dozen times before that. But
then, when his happiness does come, he will be all the happier."
Clara, when she heard this, almost hated her cousin Mary,--not for
her own sake, but on Will's account. Will trusted so implicitly to
his sister, and yet she could not make a better fight for him than
this! It almost seemed that Mary was indifferent to her brother's
happiness. Had Will been her brother, Clara thought, and had any girl
asked her advice under similar circumstances, she was sure that she
would have answered in a different way. She would have told such girl
that her first duty was owing to the man who was to be her husband,
and would not have said a word to her about the feeling of the world.
After all, what did the feeling of the world signify to them, who
were going to be all the world to each other?
On that afternoon she went up to Mrs. Askerton's; and succeeded in
getting advice from her also, though she did not show Will's letter
to that lady. "Of course, I know what he says," said Mrs. Askerton.
"Unless I have mistaken the man, he wants to be married to-morrow."
"He is not so bad as that," said Clara.
"Then the next day, or the day after. Of course he is impatient, and
does not see any earthly reason why his impatience should not be
gratified."
"He is impatient."
"And I suppose you hesitate because of your father's death."
"It seems but the other day;--does it not?" said Clara.
"Everything seems but the other day to me. It was but the other day
that I myself was married."
"And, of course, though I would do anything I could that he would ask
me to do--"
"But would you do anything?"
"Anything that was not wrong I would. Why should I not, when he is so
good to me?"
"Then write to him, my dear, and tell him that it shall be as
he wishes it. Believe me, the days of Jacob are over. Men don't
understand waiting now, and it's always as well to catch your fish
when you can."
"You don't suppose I have any thought of that kind?"
"I am sure you have not;--and I'm sure that he deserves no such
thought;--but the higher that are his deserts, the greater should be
his reward. If I were you, I should think of nothing but him, and I
should do exactly as he would have me." Clara kissed her friend as
she parted from her, and again resolved that all that woman's sins
should be forgiven her. A woman who could give such excellent advice
deserved that every sin should be forgiven her. "They'll be married
yet before the summer is over," Mrs. Askerton said to her husband
that afternoon. "I believe a man may have anything he chooses to ask
for, if he'll only ask hard enough."
And they were married in the autumn, if not actually in the summer.
With what precise words Clara answered her lover's letter I will
not say; but her answer was of such a nature that he found himself
compelled to leave Plaistow, even before the wheat was garnered.
Great confidence was placed in Bunce on that occasion, and I have
reason to believe that it was not misplaced. They were married in
September;--yes, in September, although that letter of Will's was
written in August, and by the beginning of October they had returned
from their wedding trip to Plaistow. Clara insisted that she should
be taken to Plaistow, and was very anxious when there to learn all
the particulars of the farm. She put down in a little book how many
acres there were in each field, and what was the average produce of
the land. She made inquiry about four-crop rotation, and endeavoured,
with Bunce, to go into the great subject of stall-feeding. But Belton
did not give her as much encouragement as he might have done. "We'll
come here for the shooting next year," he said; "that is, if there is
nothing to prevent us."
"I hope there'll be nothing to prevent us."
"There might be, perhaps; but we'll always come if there is not. For
the rest of it, I'll leave it to Bunce, and just run over once or
twice in the year. It would not be a nice place for you to live at
long."
"I like it of all things. I am quite interested about the farm."
"You'd get very sick of it if you were here in the winter. The truth
is that if you farm well, you must farm ugly. The picturesque nooks
and corners have all to be turned inside out, and the hedgerows must
be abolished, because we want the sunshine. Now, down at Belton, just
about the house, we won't mind farming well, but will stick to the
picturesque."
The new house was immediately commenced at Belton, and was made
to proceed with all imaginable alacrity. It was supposed at one
time,--at least Belton himself said that he so supposed,--that the
building would be ready for occupation at the end of the first
summer; but this was not found to be possible. "We must put it off
till May, after all," said Belton, as he was walking round the
unfinished building with Colonel Askerton. "It's an awful bore, but
there's no getting people really to pull out in this country."
"I think they've pulled out pretty well. Of course you couldn't have
gone into a damp house for the winter."
"Other people can get a house built within twelve months. Look what
they do in London."
"And other people with their wives and children die in consequence of
colds and sore throats and other evils of that nature. I wouldn't go
into a new house, I know, till I was quite sure it was dry."
As Will at this time was hardly ten months married, he was not as
yet justified in thinking about his own wife and children; but he
had already found it expedient to make arrangements for the autumn,
which would prevent that annual visit to Plaistow which Clara had
contemplated, and which he had regarded with his characteristic
prudence as being subject to possible impediments. He was to be
absent himself for the first week in September, but was to return
immediately after that. This he did; and before the end of that
month he was justified in talking of his wife and family. "I suppose
it wouldn't have done to have been moving now,--under all the
circumstances," he said to his friend, Mrs. Askerton, as he still
grumbled about the unfinished house.
"I don't think it would have done at all, under all the
circumstances," said Mrs. Askerton.
But in the following spring or early summer they did get into the new
house;--and a very nice house it was, as will, I think, be believed
by those who have known Mr. William Belton. And when they were well
settled, at which time little Will Belton was some seven or eight
months old,--little Will, for whom great bonfires had been lit, as
though his birth in those parts was a matter not to be regarded
lightly; for was he not the first Belton of Belton who had been born
there for more than a century?--when that time came visitors appeared
at the new Belton Castle, visitors of importance, who were entitled
to, and who received, great consideration. These were no less than
Captain Aylmer, member for Perivale, and his newly-married bride,
Lady Emily Aylmer, _nee_ Tagmaggert. They were then just married,
and had come down to Belton Castle immediately after their honeymoon
trip. How it had come to pass that such friendship had sprung up,--or
rather how it had been revived,--it would be bootless here to say.
But old alliances, such as that which had existed between the Aylmer
and the Amedroz families, do not allow themselves to die out easily,
and it is well for us all that they should be long-lived. So Captain
Aylmer brought his bride to Belton Park, and a small fatted calf was
killed, and the Askertons came to dinner,--on which occasion Captain
Aylmer behaved very well, though we may imagine that he must have had
some misgivings on the score of his young wife. The Askertons came
to dinner, and the old rector, and the squire from a neighbouring
parish, and everything was very handsome and very dull. Captain
Aylmer was much pleased with his visit, and declared to Lady Emily
that marriage had greatly improved Mr. William Belton. Now Will had
been very dull the whole evening, and very unlike the fiery, violent,
unreasonable man whom Captain Aylmer remembered to have met at the
station hotel of the Great Northern Railway.
"I was as sure of it as possible," Clara said to her husband that
night.
"Sure of what, my dear?"
"That she would have a red nose."
"Who has got a red nose?"
"Don't be stupid, Will. Who should have it but Lady Emily?"
"Upon my word I didn't observe it."
"You never observe anything, Will; do you? But don't you think she is
very plain?"
"Upon my word I don't know. She isn't as handsome as some people."
"Don't be a fool, Will. How old do you suppose her to be?"
"How old? Let me see. Thirty, perhaps."
"If she's not over forty, I'll consent to change noses with her."
"No;--we won't do that; not if I know it."
"I cannot conceive why any man should marry such a woman as that. Not
but what she's a very good woman, I dare say; only what can a man get
by it? To be sure there's the title, if that's worth anything."
But Will Belton was never good for much conversation at this hour,
and was too fast asleep to make any rejoinder to the last remark.