AFTER A YEAR.
_Lady Davyntry to James Dugdale_.
"The Deane, March 17, 18--.
"MY DEAR MR. DUGDALE,--Your last letter, imposing upon me the task of
advising my brother, in the sense of the conclusions arrived at by
yourself and Mr. Meredith, gave me a great deal to think about. I
could not answer it fully before, and I am sure the result which I
have now to state to you will not, in reality, be displeasing to you,
but I cannot uphold its soundness of wisdom, in a worldly sense, even
to my own judgment--though it carries with it all my sympathies; and I
am confident Mr. Meredith will entirely disapprove of it.
"I was obliged to be careful in selecting an opportunity for entering
upon the discussion prescribed by your letter with Fitzwilliam. Since
his great affliction fell upon him, he is not so gentle, so easy of
access, as he used to be; and though he will sometimes talk freely to
me of the past, the occasions must be of his own choosing. Hence the
delay. I took the best means, as I thought, of making him understand
the gravity and earnestness of the matter it was necessary he should
consider--I read your letter to him. The mere hearing of it distressed
him very much. He said, what I also felt, that he had not thought it
could be possible to make him feel the loss of Margaret more deeply,
but that the statement of his present position, so clear, so true, so
indisputable, has made him feel it. He listened while I read the
letter again, at his request, and then left me suddenly, saying he
would tell me what to answer as soon as he could.
"Some days elapsed, and we saw very little of him--I perceived that
one of his dark moods was upon him--and yesterday he came to me, to
tell me to answer your letter. He took me to the sitting-room which
was Margaret's, and where everything remains just as she left it on
the last day that she came downstairs at the Deane. I suppose he felt
that I could understand his decision more clearly, and be less
inclined to listen to all the reasons which render it unwise, when
everything around should speak of her whose undimmed memory dictated
it.
"The sum of what he said to me--with many strayings from the matter,
and so much revival of the past in all its first bitterness, that I
was astonished, such a faculty of grief being rarely seen in a
man--was this. He cannot bring himself to contemplate, as you and Mr.
Meredith are agreed he ought, a second marriage. As nearly as
possible, this was what he said:
"When we found out the wrong which had been innocently done to
Gertrude, we hoped, indeed we were so persuaded, that the child we
were expecting would be a boy, and the wrong be thus righted, that we
never looked beyond the birth of the child, or discussed the future in
any way with reference to a disappointment in that particular. The
child would be the heir, and Gertrude's future would be safe, rich,
and prosperous. Such were our dreams-and when the fearful awakening
came, it was some time before I understood all it meant. It was weeks
before I remembered that the wrong done to the child my Margaret had
loved so much, that she broke her heart because that wrong had been
done, could never be righted now. It was very long before the thought
occurred to me that those to whom this dreadful truth was known would
perceive that a second marriage, by giving me the chance of a male
heir, and thus putting the two children on an equal footing in the
eyes of the world, would afford me the only means of avoiding
injustice to Eleanor."
"Here he stopped, and said he suffered equally about both children,
for the youngest had also sustained the greatest loss of all. Then he
continued:
"'I did think of this sometimes, but with horror, and a full knowledge
that though it would be a just and wise thing in one sense for the
interests of my children, it would be unjust and unwise towards them
and myself, and any woman whom I might induce to marry me, in another.
I daresay you will think I am talking nonsense, forgetting the
influence, which, however slow, is always sure, of the lapse of
time--forgetting that others have been heavily bereaved and yet have
found consolation, and even come to know much happiness again--when I
tell you that I never could take the slightest interest in any woman
any more. Well, supposing I am wrong there--I don't think I can be;
there is something in my inmost heart which tells me I am right--we
are dealing now not with the future, but with the present. James is
right in pointing out that I must make up my mind to some course, and
I am glad Meredith is still interested in me and in the children's
future. Time may alter my state of mind, but if it does, no
arrangements made now will be irrevocable.
"'But, as my life is uncertain, I am not justified in allowing any more
time to go by, without providing, as well as I can, for the
contingencies which may arise. Tell James I am deeply impressed with
the truth of this, and the strong necessity of acting on all he and
Meredith have set before me, though I cannot act upon it in the way in
which they prescribe. For the present--and you will not need to be
assured that I am not regardless of what Margaret would wish--I must
only make all the reparation which money can make to Eleanor.'
"Then Fitzwilliam entered into a full explanation of the position of
the estate, and gave me the enclosed memorandum, which he wishes you
and Mr. Meredith to see, and showed me how the ready money he can
leave to Eleanor, and the income, apart from the entailed estate,
which he can settle on her, in reality amount to within two thousand a
year of the income which must come to Gertrude as heir of entail. To
this purpose he intends to devote all this money, his great object
being to render the position of his children as nearly equal as
possible, and so reduce the unintentional injustice done to Eleanor,
and the wrong, now past atonement, inflicted on Gertrude, to such
small dimensions as may relieve him from any suffering on the subject.
"He has requested that no portion of Mr. Carteret's property should be
left to either of the children. They will be rich enough, and he
considers, very justly, that Haldane's children will have a superior
claim on Mr. Carteret, who was feverishly anxious, Fitzwilliam tells
me, to have all his affairs settled; when he spoke to him, he did not
like this idea at all, he is so much attached to little Gertrude; but
when my brother told him he knew it would have been Margaret's wish
that her brother should have all it was in their father's power to
give, he was satisfied, and promised that it should be so.
"In telling you this, I daresay I am repeating what is already known
to you; but I give it its place in the conversation between us, as
bearing upon the point that the only way in which the past can now be
repaired, is by securing to the children as much equality in money
matters as possible.
"As a branch of this subject, I may tell you that the future
disposition of my property has been discussed between us. In Davyntry
I have, as I daresay you know, only a life-interest, and the money of
which I have to dispose comes to me from my father. It is six hundred
a year, and I shall at once make my will in favour of Eleanor. Thus
the inequality in the fortunes of the girls will be decreased, and
Fitzwilliam is much less likely than ever to live up to his income.
The girls will both be very rich heiresses, no doubt, and I do not
think any of us who are in the secret need feel that the advantage to
Gerty of appearing as the heiress of the Deane is very material.
"Her father feels very deeply the condition of the entail which
prescribed that she must bear her own name, her husband being obliged
to assume it. There is a sting in that which you will thoroughly
comprehend. He asked me if I thought that remembrance had contributed
to the pain which Margaret had suffered about this calamity, but I
could assure him conscientiously that I did not think it had ever
occurred to her. The child was so mere an infant, and the strong hope
and expectation, disappointed by Eleanor's birth, possessed them so
completely, that money matters, in connection with the future, were
never discussed between them. He confirmed me in this. They never
were; and now it is a keen source of regret to him, because, he says,
he should be fortified by the knowledge of how she would have desired
he should act, under the present circumstances.
"Poor fellow! I listened to him, seriously of course; but, sad as it
was, I could hardly keep from smiling at the way in which he confounds
the present with the past, forgetting that he had no fear, no
misgivings, no presentiment, and therefore that no reason existed for
such a discussion. All this will appear impracticable to Mr. Meredith,
but he will have patience with my brother; he saw enough of what their
life together was, to understand, in some degree, the immeasurable
loss. My ignorance of all that had occurred, at the time of Margaret's
death, is, perhaps, regrettable on this score, that I might have
gotten at more of her mind than, for his sake, she would have betrayed
to him; but it is too late now to repair that ignorance, and we must
only do the best we can in the children's interests.
"Keeping in view the change time may produce--that my brother is still
a young man, and that a second marriage may not always be so repugnant
to him as it is at present--I think we may rest satisfied in having
induced him to contemplate, and, no doubt, as soon as possible to
make, a proper disposition of his property. As for the children, they
are as happy as little unconscious creatures like them can be, and I
Where is there a second Margaret to be found?
"Fitzwilliam spoke to me very freely on this point. He could not
pretend to any woman that he loved her; and as, in that case, his
second wife must necessarily marry him for mercenary motives, could he
regard any woman who would do so as a fitting representative of their
mother to his children--could he make her even tolerably happy, thus
entering upon a life in which there could be no mutual respect? Such
arguments are all-powerful with a woman, especially with me; for I
know how pure, how disinterested, our lost Margaret's feelings and
motives in her marriage were, and remember only too well seeing how
they were realised--the doubt and dread she expressed when she first
recognised the prospect for the future which lay before her. How
wonderful and dreadful it seems to speak of her thus in the past, to
refer to that which seemed so completely all in all to us then, and is
now gone for ever!
"My brother is content with the care the children have from me, and,
far more effectually, from Rose. Time teaches me her value more and
more forcibly, and I am more and more thankful that, in the blackest
and worst time of our distress, you suggested her being sent for. How
strange and fortunate that Margaret had given you a clue to what her
wishes would have been! Neither Fitzwilliam nor I would have thought
of her; indeed, I had entirely forgotten the 'Irish-Australian
importation of Margaret's,' as I once heard poor Mrs. Carteret speak
of her. She is a comfort to us all past describing.
"I do not know whether Fitzwilliam has told you that Terence Doran,
Rose's husband, is coming to him in a month as factor. He is a very
clever young man, we understand, and, though well placed in Ireland,
willing to come here, for his wife's sake, to enable her to remain
with the children. I have no intention of leaving the Deane for the
present. Fitzwilliam seems restless; he does not say so, but I fancy
he wishes to go abroad again. I should not be surprised if he started
off soon on some prolonged tour.
"You ask me about the children. Before I reply to your questions, let
me tell you how sorry we all are that there is no chance of our seeing
you here. We understand, of course, that the state of your own health,
and the duty you feel imposed upon you with regard to poor Mr.
Carteret, to whom it would be naturally most distasteful to come here,
furnish indisputable reasons for your absence, but we do not the less
regret it. I infer from the news that Mr. Meredith means to leave
England next month, that he has satisfactorily brought all his
business to a conclusion. His return will be a great boon to his
family. An absence which, by the time he reaches Melbourne, will have
been prolonged to nearly two years, is a terrible slice out of this
short mortal life. I suppose all the arrangements made for his son
have succeeded to his satisfaction, and that you, with your invariable
kindness, have undertaken the supervision of the boy.
"And now, about the children. Gertrude is a fine child, very like
Margaret in face, and, so far as one can judge of so young a child, of
a nice disposition, rather grave and sensitive. Her father idolises
her; he is never weary of the little girl's company, and I can see
that he is always tracing the likeness to the face hidden from him for
a while. Little Eleanor is delicate and peevish; indeed, if it be not
foolish to say so of an infant, I should say she is of a passionate
nature; she is not so pretty as Gertrude, but has large brown eyes,
quite unlike either her sister or her poor mother. She is Rose Doran's
favourite, and I can trace sometimes, in her candid Irish face, some
surprise and displeasure when she notices my brother's intense
affection for the elder girl. She has no knowledge of anything which
makes the child an object of compassionate love to the father."
"March 18.
"When I had written so far, I was interrupted by Fitzwilliam. He
brought me a letter which he has written to Mr. Janvrin, of Lincoln's
Inn, his solicitor, and which contains instructions for the drawing up
of a will according to the plan I have mentioned. He wishes me to
recapitulate to you what would be the children's positions in the
event of his death, unmarried, and not having revoked this will.
"Gertrude would succeed to all the entailed property, chargeable, as
in Fitzwilliam's case, with a provision for her younger children.
"Eleanor would have all the savings from the general income up to the
time of her father's death, and all such property as is not included
in the entail.
"Haldane Carteret and I are named as the guardians and trustees, and
my brother signifies his wish that his children should reside
alternately with either Mrs. Carteret or me, according to the general
convenience.
"Will you kindly communicate this to Mr. Meredith, together with my
personal acknowledgment of the kind interest he has taken in us all
during the sorrowful period of his stay in England?
"Always, my dear Mr. Dugdale, most faithfully yours,
"ELEANOR DAVYNTRY."
--------------------
_James Dugdale to Lady Davyntry_.
"CHAYLEIGH, MARCH 20.
"MY DEAR LADY DAVYNTRY,--I have to thank you for your kind and
explanatory letter. I never expected Baldwin to take the view of the
matter on which I wrote to you which Meredith takes. Meredith is so
much more of a man of the world than I am, has so much longer a head,
and so much sounder judgment, that I could not hesitate to transmit to
you and Baldwin his views, in which the world, could it know what we
are so unfortunate as to know, would no doubt recognise reason and
force. Well, we too recognise them, but that is all.
"All the dispositions which you tell me Baldwin has made are admirable
under the circumstances, and considering his determination, which I do
not think is likely to yield to the influence of time, which cannot
restore her who was lost, and will, I am convinced, but increase his
appreciation of the extent and severity of that loss. Gertrude gains
only in name and appearance, and does her sister no real injury. I
have often thought how terrible Baldwin's position would have been had
not Eleanor lived. Then he must either have married again, or done an
injury to the heir of entail by permitting Gertrude to succeed.
Meredith was asking me about the succession, but I could not tell him.
I fancy I heard, but I don't remember where, when, or how, that the
next heir is a distant relative, with whom Baldwin is not acquainted.
"Mr. Carteret had told me, before I received your letter, Baldwin's
wishes about his will, and that he intended to comply with them. The
only legacy Gertrude will inherit from her grandfather is the
unfinished portrait which you brought from Naples. He never mentioned
it, or seemed to notice that I had had it unpacked and placed in the
study, until the day on which he mentioned Baldwin's request, and then
he looked at it, quite a fond, quiet smile. The calm, the
impassability of old age is coming over him, fortunately for him.
"But while I perfectly understand the force and approve the object of
the representation which Baldwin has made to Mr. Carteret, and while I
heartily approve the reason and the generosity of the disposition you
intend making of such portion of your property as is within your
power, I do not think I am bound by similar restrictions. Partly
because the little I possess is so small, so utterly trivial and
unimportant, in comparison with the handsome fortune, which the
measures Baldwin is taking will secure, with your assistance, to
Eleanor; and partly because I feel towards the elder child in a
peculiar way, almost inexplicable to myself--I intend to bequeath to
Gertrude the small sum I possess the power of bequeathing.
"She shall have it when I am gone, and it shall be left at her free
and uncontrolled disposition; it will add a little yearly sum to her
pleasures, or, if she be as like her mother in her nature as in her
face, to her charities. It will be a great pleasure to me to know that
Gertrude, whose splendid inheritance will come to her by a real though
guiltless error, will at least have that small heritage in her own
real undisputable right--not as the heiress of anything or any one,
only as Margaret's child.
"I am so glad to know what you tell me concerning Rose Doran. She was
always a good, genuine creature, and it is almost as rare as it is
pleasant to anticipate excellence and not to be disappointed. Baldwin
should be careful, however, of annoying her by displaying too marked a
preference for Gerty. Rose is a very shrewd person, and in her
impulsive Irish mind the process, which should make her suspicious of
a reason for this preference, and jealous for the child whose life
cost that of her mother, would not be a difficult one.
"Meredith's plans are unchanged. He has every reason to be satisfied
with the arrangements made for Robert. I have no doubt the boy will do
well. He wants neither ability nor application; I wish he had as much
heart and as much frankness. Davyntry is looking very well, lonely, of
course, but well taken care of; I ramble about there almost every day.
Haldane and his wife are expected next week at the Croftons.
"Yours, dear Lady Davyntry, always truly,
"JAMES DUGDALE."
-------------------------
_Hayes Meredith to Fitzwilliam Meriton Baldwin_.
"CHAYLEIGH, APRIL 2.
"MY DEAR BALDWIN,--I am off in a short time now, and this is to say
good-bye--most likely for ever. At my time of life I am not likely to
get back to England again, unless, indeed, I should make a fortune by
some very unlikely hazard, of which not the faintest indication
appears at present.
"I am very much obliged to you for letting me know all the
arrangements you have made. I am sure you know my feeling in the
matter was interest, not curiosity, and though not only the safest,
surest, speediest, but also the most natural and agreeable way of
putting an end to your difficulties appeared to me to be a second
marriage, I am not going to blame you because you don't think so. I
know the difficulties of the position, but, after all, you inflict a
mere technical wrong on one sister, while you make up for it by
endowing her with a much larger fortune than she would have had, had
her real position been what her apparent one is--that of a younger
child.
"From what you say of the amount of the savings which you expect to
leave to Eleanor, I should think she would be little less rich than
Gertrude, and without the burden of a large landed estate and
establishment to keep up--also enjoying the immense advantage of being
able to dispose of her property as she chooses, an advantage which
Gertrude will not enjoy, and which, with my colonial ideas, I am
disposed to estimate very highly indeed.
"I have so many kindnesses and attentions to thank you for, that I
must put all my acknowledgments into this one, and beg you to believe
that I feel them deeply. The most welcome of all the acts of
friendship I have received from you is your promise not to lose sight
of Robert. He will get on well, I think. If he does not, his heart
will be more in fault than his head, in my belief.
"As to O----, I hardly know what to think of your proposal. I doubt
its being altogether safe to open communications voluntarily with a
man of his sort. He is so very likely, after his kind, to impute some
bad, or at least suspicious motive to an act of charity which I should
not be disposed to give him credit for understanding or believing in.
The least danger we should have to fear would be his establishing
himself as a regular pensioner in consideration of your aid extended
to him in so inexplicable a fashion.
"But, beyond this, there is more to apprehend. I think I told you he
knew nothing of M----, not even her former name, nor her destination
in England. If he receives a sum of money from you, he will naturally
make inquiries about you, and there will be no means of keeping the
required information from him. Once supply him with a clue to any
connection between you and his worthy comrade deceased, and O---- must
be very unlike the man I believe him to be, and must have profited
very insufficiently by such companionship, if he does not see his way
to a profitable secret, and the chance of _chantage_, in a very short
time. This is the risk I foresee, and which I should not like to run.
"At the same time, I understand the feeling which has dictated the
proposition you make to me, and I can quite believe, remembering her
noble nature so well as I do remember it, that M---- would, as you
suppose, have been glad to rescue from want the man to whom
H---- owed, after all, relief in his last days, if to him she also
owed the knowledge of her sorrow. I propose therefore (subject to your
approval), when I arrive at Melbourne, to inquire, with judicious
caution, into what has become of O----, and if I find him living and
in distress, to assist him to a limited extent, provided he is not
quite so incorrigible a scoundrel as that assisting him would be
enabling him to prey on society on a larger and more successful scale.
"I would suggest, however, that under no circumstances should he be
told that the money comes from you. I shall be credited, if I find him
a proper object or anything short of an entirely unjustifiable object
for your bounty, with a charitable action, which it certainly never
would have come into my head to perform; but I am quite willing, if it
gives you any pleasure or consolation, to carry the burden of
undeserved praise and such gratitude as is to be expected from
O----, not a very oppressive quantity, I fancy.
"I am glad to hear good news of you all from Dugdale. And now, my dear
Baldwin, nothing remains for me to say, except that which cannot be
written. Farewell. We shall hear how the world wags for each of us
through Dugdale.
"Yours faithfully,
"HAYES MEREDITH."
-------------------------
_Mrs. Haldane Carteret to Miss Crofton_.
"CHAYLEIGH, APRIL 18.
"MY DEAR MINNIE,--I promised to write to you as soon as I arrived
here, but I have been so busy, finding myself in a manner at home, and
_tant soit peu_ mistress of the house, that I could not manage it. No
doubt you find it desperately dull at school, but then you are coming
out after a while, and the vacation is not far off--and I can assure
you I am almost as dull here as you are. I have my own way in
everything, to be sure; but then that is not of much use, unless one
has something in view which it is worth while to be persistent about.
And really the old gentleman, though he is a dear nice old thing and
sweet-tempered to a degree, is very tiresome.
"You know, of course, from mamma's letter, that Haldane is not coming
for a week or two. He has to remain in London to meet Mr. Baldwin on
some _very important_ business. I believe it is simply that Haldane is
to be made trustee and guardian to our little nieces, if their father
dies, and that cannot be anything very particular; but then, you know,
there never were such children. (I am sure I shall not wish mine to be
made such a fuss with, not that it is in the least likely.) Everything
that concerns them must be fussed and bothered about in the most
intolerable way.
"A great deal of this is Lady Davyntry's fault; I must say, though she
and I are the greatest friends--as such near relations ought to
be--she does worry me sometimes. However, she is not here to worry me
now; she is at the Deane, and writes to Mr. Carteret almost every day,
of course about nothing but the children. If they are made so much of
now when they are infants, what will it be when they are grown up
enough to understand, and be utterly spoiled by it, as of course they
must be? It would not be easy to imagine worse training for the
heiresses; however, you don't want me to moralise about them, but to
tell you some news. And so I would, my dear Minnie, if I had any to
tell, but I have not.
"Mr. Dugdale is, if possible, less amusing than ever: but I see
very little of him. He has installed himself in poor Margaret's
room--fortunately for me it is not the best room, as I suspect I
should have had some difficulty in making him decamp, for he is
excessively pertinacious in a quiet way, and as for Mr. Carteret
interfering, one might as well expect one of his pinned butterflies to
stand up for one's rights; so there he generally is, except at
meal-times, or when he is wandering about at Davyntry. The fact is,
the house, and every one in it, is be-Baldwinised to an intolerable
extent.
"Of course I was dreadfully sorry for poor dear Margaret. I must have
been, considering she was my sister-in-law, if even she had not been
my greatest friend; but there is reason in everything, and I should
not be doing my duty to Haldane if I went on fretting for ever;
there's nothing men dislike so much in women as moping, or an
over-exhibition of feeling. I assure you if she had died only last
week--and after all, the melancholy event took place at the Deane, you
know, and not here at all--the house could not be more mopey.
"I don't think it is quite fair to me, considering the state of my
health, and that my spirits naturally require a little rousing; and
really sometimes, when I can get nothing out of Mr. Carteret but 'Yes,
my dear,' or 'No, my dear,' and when I know he is thinking rather of
Margaret or of the collection--such a lot of trash as it is, and it
takes up such a quantity of room--I am quite provoked. And as for Mr.
Dugdale, it is worse; for though he is very polite, I declare I don't
think he ever really sees me, and I am sure, if he was asked suddenly,
on oath, he could not tell whether my hair is red, black, or gray. And
_it_ is a nuisance when there are only two men in the house with one
that they should be men of that sort.
"I don't suppose it will be much better when Haldane comes, for I
fancy there is not the faintest chance of any company; nothing but
Carteret and Crofton, Crofton and Carteret,--after a whole year, too,
it is a little too bad. I have slipped out of mourning, though, that's
a comfort. You know I never looked well in black, and it is not _the
dress_ after all, is it? Haldane thought I might go on with grays and
lilacs, but mourning, however slight, is not considered lucky, and
though I am not at all superstitious myself, it would never do to
offend other people's prejudices, would it?
"There is really nothing to look forward to until you come home,
except, perhaps, a visit from Robert Meredith; and he is only a boy;
but he is very clever and amusing, and greatly inclined to make a fool
of himself about me. Of course it would not do to encourage him if he
were older; but it does me no harm, and keeps him out of mischief. His
father has sailed for Melbourne. I really have no more to say, as of
course you get all the home news from mamma.--Your affectionate
sister,
"LUCY CARTERET.
"P.S. I have just heard from Haldane. It is almost settled that he is
to leave the army. Mr. Baldwin is going in a few days to the East, and
intends to be away for three years at the least."
END OF VOL. II.
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LONDON: ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Righted Wrong, Volume 2 (of 3), by Edmund Yates