LORD CASTLEWOOD
In the morning, when I was called again to see my afflicted
cousin--Stixon junior having gladly gone to explain things for me at
Bruntsea--little as I knew of any bodily pain (except hunger, or thirst,
or weariness, and once in my life a headache), I stood before Lord
Castlewood with a deference and humility such as I had never felt before
toward any human being. Not only because he bore perpetual pain in
the two degrees of night and day--the day being dark and the night
jet-black--without a murmur or an evil word; not only because through
the whole of this he had kept his mind clear and his love of knowledge
bright; not even because he had managed, like Job, to love God through
the whole of it. All these were good reasons for very great and very
high respect of any man; and when there was no claim whatever on his
part to any such feeling, it needs must come. But when I learned another
thing, high respect at once became what might be called deep reverence.
And this came to pass in a simple and, as any one must confess, quite
inevitable way.
It was not to be supposed that I could sit the whole of my first evening
in that house without a soul to speak to. So far as my dignity and sense
of right permitted, I wore out Mr. Stixon, so far as he would go,
not asking him any thing that the very worst-minded person could call
“inquisitive,” but allowing him to talk, as he seemed to like to do,
while he waited upon me, and alternately lamented my hapless history and
my hopeless want of taste.
“Ah, your father, the Captain, now, he would have knowed what this is!
You've no right to his eyes, Miss Erma, without his tongue and palate.
No more of this, miss! and done for you a-purpose! Well, cook will be
put out, and no mistake! I better not let her see it go down, anyhow.”
And the worthy man tearfully put some dainty by, perhaps without any
view to his own supper.
“Lord Castlewood spoke to me about a Mrs. Price--the housekeeper, is
she not?” I asked at last, being so accustomed to like what I could get,
that the number of dishes wearied me.
“Oh yes, miss,” said Stixon, very shortly, as if that description
exhausted Mrs. Price.
“If she is not too busy, I should like to see her as soon as these
things are all taken away. I mean if she is not a stranger, and if she
would like to see me.”
“No new-comers here,” Mr. Stixon replied; “we all works our way up
regular, the same as my lad is beginning for to do. New-fangled ways is
not accepted here. We puts the reforming spirits scrubbing of the steps
till their knuckles is cracked and their knees like a bean. The old lord
was the man for discipline--your grandfather, if you please, miss. He
catched me when I were about that high--”
“Excuse me, Mr. Stixon; but would he have encouraged you to talk as you
so very kindly talk to me, instead of answering a question?”
I thought that poor Stixon would have been upset by this, and was angry
with myself for saying it; but instead of being hurt, he only smiled and
touched his forehead.
“Well, now, you did remind me uncommon of him then, miss. I could
have heard the old lord speak almost, though he were always harsh and
distant. And as I was going for to say, he catched me fifty years agone
next Lammas-tide; a pear-tree of an early sort it was; you may see the
very tree if you please to stand here, miss, though the pears is quite
altered now, and scarcely fit to eat. Well, I was running off with my
cap chock-full, miss--”
“Please to keep that story for another time,” I said; “I shall be most
happy to hear it then. But I have a particular wish, if you please, to
see Mrs. Price before dark, unless there is any good reason why I should
not.”
“Oh no, Miss Erma, no reason at all. Only please to bear in mind,
miss, that she is a coorous woman. She is that jealous, and I might say
forward--”
“Then she is capable of speaking for herself.”
“You are right, miss, there, and no mistake. She can speak for herself
and for fifty others--words enough, I mean, for all of them. But I would
not have her know for all the world that I said it.”
“Then if you do not send her to me at once, the first thing I shall do
will be to tell her.”
“Oh no, miss, none of your family would do that; that never has been
done anonymous.”
I assured him that my threat was not in earnest, but of pure impatience.
And having no motive but downright jealousy for keeping Mrs. Price from
me, he made up his mind at last to let her come. But he told me to be
careful what I said; I must not expect it to be at all like talking to
himself, for instance.
The housekeeper came up at last, by dint of my persistence, and she
stopped in the doorway and made me a courtesy, which put me out of
countenance, for nobody ever does that in America, and scarcely any one
in England now, except in country-dancing. Instead of being as described
by Stixon, Mrs. Price was of a very quiet, sensible, and respectful
kind. She was rather short, but looked rather tall, from her even
walk and way of carrying her head. Her figure was neat, and her face
clear-spoken, with straight pretty eyebrows, and calm bright eyes. I
felt that I could tell her almost any thing, and she would think
before she talked of it. And in my strong want of some woman to advise
with--Betsy Bowen being very good but very narrow, and Mrs. Hockin a
mere echo of the Major until he contradicted her, and Suan Isco, with
her fine, large views, five thousand miles out of sight just now--this
was a state of things to enhance the value of any good countenance
feminine.
At any rate, I was so glad to see her that, being still ungraduated in
the steps of rank (though beginning to like a good footing there), I ran
up and took her by both hands, and fetched her out of her grand courtesy
and into a low chair. At this she was surprised, as one quick glance
showed; and she thought me, perhaps, what is called in England “an
impulsive creature.” This put me again upon my dignity, for I never have
been in any way like that, and I clearly perceived that she ought to
understand a little more distinctly my character.
It is easy to begin with this intention, but very hard indeed to keep
it up when any body of nice ways and looks is sitting with a proper
deferential power of listening, and liking one's young ideas, which
multiply and magnify themselves at each demand. So after some general
talk about the weather, the country, the house, and so on, we came to
the people of the house, or at any rate the chief person. And I asked
her a few quiet questions about Lord Castlewood's health and habits, and
any thing else she might like to tell me. For many things had seemed
to me a little strange and out of the usual course, and on that account
worthy to be spoken of without common curiosity. Mrs. Price told me that
there were many things generally divulged and credited, which therefore
lay in her power to communicate without any derogation from her office.
Being pleased with these larger words (which I always have trouble in
pronouncing), I asked her whether there was any thing else. And she
answered yes, but unhappily of a nature to which it was scarcely
desirable to allude in my presence. I told her that this was not
satisfactory, and I might say quite the opposite; that having “alluded”
to whatever it might be, she was bound to tell me all about it. That
I had lived in very many countries, in all of which wrong things
continually went on, of which I continually heard just in that sort of
way and no more. Enough to make one uncomfortable, but not enough to
keep one instructed and vigilant as to things that ought to be avoided.
Upon this she yielded either to my arguments or to her own dislike
of unreasonable silence, and gave me the following account of the
misfortunes of Lord Castlewood:
Herbert William Castlewood was the third son of Dean Castlewood, a
younger brother of my grandfather, and was born in the year 1806. He
was older, therefore, than my father, but still (even before my father's
birth, which provided a direct heir) there were many lives betwixt him
and the family estates. And his father, having as yet no promotion in
the Church, found it hard to bring up his children. The eldest son got
a commission in the army, and the second entered the navy, while Herbert
was placed in a bank at Bristol--not at all the sort of life which he
would have chosen. But being of a gentle, unselfish nature, as well as a
weak constitution, he put up with his state in life, and did his best to
give satisfaction.
This calm courage generally has its reward, and in the year 1842, not
very long before the death of my grandfather at Shoxford, Mr. Herbert
Castlewood, being well-connected, well-behaved, diligent, and pleasing,
obtained a partnership in the firm, which was, perhaps, the foremost in
the west of England. His two elder brothers happened then to be at home,
Major and Commander Castlewood, each of whom had seen very hard service,
and found it still harder slavery to make both ends meet, although
bachelors. But, returning full of glory, they found one thing harder
still, and that was to extract any cash from their father, the highly
venerated Dean, who in that respect, if in no other, very closely
resembled the head of the family. Therefore these brave men resolved to
go and see their Bristol brother, to whom they were tenderly attached,
and who now must have money enough and to spare. So they wrote to their
brother to meet them on the platform, scarcely believing that they could
be there in so short a time from London; for they never had travelled by
rail before; and they set forth in wonderful spirits, and laughed at
the strange, giddy rush of the travelling, and made bets with each other
about punctual time (for trains kept much better time while new), and,
as long as they could time it, they kept time to a second. But, sad to
relate, they wanted no chronometers when they arrived at Bristol, both
being killed at a blow, with their watches still going, and a smile
on their faces. For the train had run into a wall of Bath stone, and
several of the passengers were killed.
The sight of his two brothers carried out like this, after so many years
of not seeing them, was too much for Mr. Herbert Castlewood's nerves,
which always had been delicate. And he shivered all the more from
reproach of conscience, having made up his mind not to lend them any
money, as a practical banker was compelled to do. And from that very
moment he began to feel great pain.
Mrs. Price assured me that the doctors all agreed that nothing but
change of climate could restore Mr. Castlewood's tone and system, and
being full of art (though so simple, as she said, which she could not
entirely reconcile), he set off for Italy, and there he stopped, with
the good leave of his partners, being now valued highly as heir to the
Dean, who was known to have put a good trifle together. And in Italy
my father must have found him, as related by Mr. Shovelin, and there
received kindness and comfort in his trouble, if trouble so deep could
be comforted.
Now I wondered and eagerly yearned to know whether my father, at such
a time, and in such a state of loneliness, might not have been led to
impart to his cousin and host and protector the dark mystery which lay
at the bottom of his own conduct. Knowing how resolute and stern he was,
and doubtless then imbittered by the wreck of love and life, I thought
it more probable that he had kept silence even toward so near a
relative, especially as he had seen very little of his cousin Herbert
till he had found him thus. Moreover, my grandfather and the Dean had
spent little brotherly love on each other, having had a life-long feud
about a copy-hold furze brake of nearly three-quarters of an acre, as
Betsy remembered to have heard her master say.
To go on, however, with what Mrs. Price was saying. She knew scarcely
any thing about my father, because she was too young at that time to
be called into the counsels of the servants' hall, for she scarcely was
thirty-five yet, as she declared, and she certainly did not look forty.
But all about the present Lord Castlewood she knew better than any body
else, perhaps, because she had been in the service of his wife, and,
indeed, her chief attendant. Then, having spoken of her master's wife,
Mrs. Price caught herself up, and thenceforth called her only his
“lady.”
Mr. Herbert Castlewood, who had minded his business for so many years,
and kept himself aloof from ladies, spending all his leisure in good
literature, at this time of life and in this state of health (for the
shock he had received struck inward), fell into an accident tenfold
worse--the fatal accident of love. And this malady raged the more
powerfully with him on account of breaking out so late in life. In one
of the picture-galleries at Florence, or some such place, Mrs. Price
declared, he met with a lady who made all the pictures look cold and
dull and dead to him. A lovely young creature she must have been (as
even Mrs. Price, who detested her, acknowledged), and to the eyes of a
learned but not keen man as good as lovely. My father was gone to look
after me, and fetch me out of England, but even if he had been there,
perhaps he scarcely could have stopped it; for this Mr. Castlewood,
although so quiet, had the family fault of tenacity.
Mrs. Price, being a very steady person, with a limited income, and
enough to do, was inclined to look down upon the state of mind in which
Mr. Castlewood became involved. She was not there at the moment, of
course, but suddenly sent for when all was settled; nevertheless, she
found out afterward how it began from her master's man, through what he
had for dinner. And in the kitchen-garden at Castlewood no rampion
would she allow while she lived. I asked her whether she had no pity, no
sympathy, no fine feeling, and how she could have become Mrs. Price if
she never had known such sentiments. But she said that they only called
her “Mistress” on account of her authority, and she never had been drawn
to the opposite sex, though many times asked in marriage. And what she
had seen of matrimony led her far away from it. I was sorry to hear her
say this, and felt damped, till I thought that the world was not all
alike.
Then she told me, just as if it were no more than a bargain for a pound
of tallow candles, how Mr. Herbert Castlewood, patient and persistent,
was kept off and on for at least two years by the mother of his sweet
idol. How the old lady held a balance in her mind as to the likelihood
of his succession, trying, through English friends, to find the value
and the course of property. Of what nation she was, Mrs. Price could
not say, and only knew that it must be a bad one. She called herself the
Countess of Ixorism, as truly pronounced in English; and she really was
of good family too, so far as any foreigner can be. And her daughter's
name was Flittamore, not according to the right spelling, perhaps, but
pronounced with the proper accent.
Flittamore herself did not seem to care, according to what Mrs. Price
had been told, but left herself wholly in her mother's hands, being sure
of her beauty still growing upon her, and desiring to have it admired
and praised. And the number of foreigners she always had about her
sometimes made her real lover nearly give her up. But, alas! he was not
quite wise enough for this, with all that he had read and learned and
seen. Therefore, when it was reported from Spain that my father had
been killed by bandits--the truth being that he was then in Greece--the
Countess at last consented to the marriage of her daughter with Herbert
Castlewood, and even seemed to press it forward for some reasons of her
own. And the happy couple set forth upon their travels, and Mrs. Price
was sent abroad to wait upon the lady.
For a few months they seemed to get on very well, Flittamore showing
much affection for her husband, whose age was a trifle more than her own
doubled, while he was entirely wrapped up in her, and labored that the
graces of her mind might be worthy to compare with those more visible.
But her spiritual face and most sweet poetic eyes were vivid with bodily
brilliance alone. She had neither mind enough to learn, nor heart enough
to pretend to learn.
It is out of my power to describe such things, even if it were my duty
to do so, which, happily, it has never been; moreover, Mrs. Price, in
what she told me, exercised a just and strict reserve. Enough that Mr.
Castlewood's wedded life was done with in six months and three days.
Lady Castlewood, as she would be called, though my father still was
living and his cousin disclaimed the title--away she ran from some dull
German place, after a very stiff lesson in poetry, and with her ran off
a young Englishman, the present Sir Montague Hockin. He was Mr. Hockin
then, and had not a half-penny of his own; but Flittamore met that
difficulty by robbing her husband to his last farthing.
This had happened about twelve years back, soon after I was placed at
the school in Languedoc, to which I was taken so early in life that
I almost forget all about it. But it might have been better for poor
Flittamore if she had been brought up at a steady place like that, with
sisters and ladies of retreat, to teach her the proper description of
her duties to mankind. I seemed now in my own mind to condemn her quite
enough, feeling how superior her husband must have been; but Mrs. Price
went even further, and became quite indignant that any one should pity
her.
“A hussy! a hussy! a poppet of a hussy!” she exclaimed, with greater
power than her quiet face could indicate; “never would I look at her.
Speak never so, Miss Castlewood. My lord is the very best of all men,
and she has made him what he is. The pity she deserves is to be trodden
under foot, as I saw them do in Naples.”
After all the passion I had seen among rough people, I scarcely could
help trembling at the depth of wrath dissembled and firmly controlled
in calm clear eyes under very steadfast eyebrows. It was plain that Lord
Castlewood had, at any rate, the gift of being loved by his dependents.
“I hope that he took it aright!” I cried, catching some of her
indignation; “I hope that he cast her to the winds, without even a sigh
for such a cruel creature!”
“He was not strong enough,” she answered, sadly; “his bodily health was
not equal to it. From childhood he had been partly crippled and spoiled
in his nerves by an accident. And the shock of that sight at Bristol
flew to his weakness, and was too much for him. And now this third and
worst disaster, coming upon him where his best hope lay, and at such a
time of life, took him altogether off his legs. And off his head too,
I might almost say, miss; for, instead of blaming her, he put the fault
entirely upon himself. At his time of life, and in such poor health, he
should not have married a bright young girl: how could he ever hope to
make her happy? That was how he looked at it, when he should have sent
constables after her.”
“And what became of her--the mindless animal, to forsake so good and
great a man! I do hope she was punished, and that vile man too.”
“She was, Miss Castlewood; but he was not; at least he has not received
justice yet. But he will, he will, he will, miss. The treacherous thief!
And my lord received him as a young fellow-countryman under a cloud, and
lent him money, and saved him from starving; for he had broken with his
father and was running from his creditors.”
“Tell me no more,” I said; “not another word. It is my fate to meet
that--well, that gentleman--almost every day. And he, and he--oh, how
thankful I am to have found out all this about him!”
The above will show why, when I met my father's cousin on the following
morning--with his grand, calm face, as benevolent as if he had passed a
night of luxurious rest instead of sleepless agony--I knew myself to be
of a lower order in mind and soul and heart than his; a small, narrow,
passionate girl, in the presence of a large, broad-sighted, and
compassionate man.
I threw myself altogether on his will; for, when I trust, I trust
wholly. And, under his advice, I did not return with any rash haste to
Bruntsea, but wrote in discharge of all duty there; while Mrs. Price, a
clear and steadfast woman, was sent to London to see Wilhelmina Strouss.
These two must have had very great talks together, and, both being
zealous and faithful, they came to many misunderstandings. However, on
the whole, they became very honest friends, and sworn allies at last,
discovering more, the more they talked, people against whom they felt a
common and just enmity.