ROLAND AND OLIVER
'Twas old ancestral pride,
'Twas hope to raise a fallen house
From penury's disgrace,
To purchase back from usurers
The birthright of his race.
The Lump of Gold--C. MACKAY.
Mary's letter arrived not long after Louis's return to London; and her
calm, serious, beautifully-expressed farewell came upon him at last
like a blow which had been long impending, but of which preparation had
failed to lessen the weight.
'Ah!' said the Earl, when the chief part had been read to him, 'she is
admirable and excellent as ever. It is a great disappointment that she
is unattainable, but I am glad she writes so sensibly, and sees that it
is right you should think no more about her. After all, the connexion
with that fellow Ponsonby might have been very troublesome, and it is
well, as she says, that it was all over while you are so young.'
'Young or old, there is no other Mary in the world,' said Louis, sadly.
'We will say no more about it now. I understand you, but you will
think differently by-and-by.'
Louis did not answer. He knew that others might have been deceived by
the tardiness and uncertainty of his attachment, but that it had taken
such deep root, that he believed he could no more detach himself from
Mary than if she were his wife. His heart fainted as he thought of
years without the strength and soothing which her very letter breathed
forth; as he pictured to himself alternations between his chill and
stately home and the weary maze of London, foresaw persuasions from his
father to induce him to form some new attachment, and dreaded to think
of the facility with which, perhaps, he might still be led out of his
own convictions. Yet he still believed that patience and perseverance
would win the day, and tried to derive encouragement and energy from
the thought that this might be a trial sent for the very purpose of
training him in steadfastness.
A strong impulse drew him to Bryanston Square, where Miss Ponsonby was
very kind and warm, the more so because she had discovered how much
easier it had been to say than to unsay, and strongly regretted the
injustice she had done him. He had the satisfaction of talking for a
good hour about Mary, and of sending a message, that he did not write
because he wished to be guided by her in everything, and that he was
striving to work so as to please her. The conversation ended with some
good auguries as to the effect of Oliver's return to Peru; and Louis
went away cheered, bearing the final dismissal better than his father
had expected. Lord Ormersfield attributed his tranquillity to having
his mind settled; and so it was, though not quite as his lordship
imagined.
Meantime, there was a lull at Dynevor Terrace. Oliver was gone to take
possession and furnish the mansion, and Mrs. Frost's great object was
to keep the subject from irritating her grandson, so as to save him
from binding himself by any rash vows. Cheveleigh was treated in the
domestic circle with judicious silence, Oliver's letters were read by
his mother in private, and their contents communicated to Jane alone,
whose happiness was surpassing, and her contempt for Dynevor Terrace
quite provoking to poor Mrs. Martha.
'Really,' said Charlotte one day, 'I don't think a catastrophe is half
so pretty as it ought to be. Mr. Oliver is but a poor little puny man,
and I never knew Mr. James so hard to please.'
Charlotte and Marianne had begun to merge their rivalry in honest
friendship, cemented by Marianne's increasing weakness, and difficulty
in getting through even the light work her mistress required. Jane
petted her now still more than Charlotte, and was always promising her
the delightful air and the luxuries of Cheveleigh.
'See here, Charlotte,' said Marianne, one afternoon when they sat down
together to their sewing; Marianne's eyes were brighter, and her cheeks
pinker, than for many days--'See here; it is for your good I show it
you, that you mayn't build on no false expectations. It was marked
private; but I think it but fair you should see.'
'Mine was marked private too,' said Charlotte, slowly, as she fixed her
eyes on the envelope Marianne held out to her, and putting her hand
into her pocket, pulled out a similar one, directed to Miss Arnold.
Marianne scarcely suppressed a shriek, gasped, and turned pale. Each
lady then proceeded to unfold a pink sheet of note-paper, containing an
original copy of verses, each labelled, 'On a hair of ----.' Then came
a scented shining note, requesting to be informed whether the right
construction had been put on some words that had dropped from the Miss
Conways, and if it were true that the reverend and respected Mr. F.
Dynevor had come into a large fortune. In that case, Mr. Delaford,
mercenary considerations apart, would take the earliest opportunity of
resigning his present position, and entering the family which contained
his charmer.
The Merry Wives were parodied by the hysterical maids. Charlotte might
afford to laugh, but Marianne's heart was more in the matter, and they
struck up such a chorus that Jane broke upon them, declaring that they
would frighten Mrs. James Frost out of her senses. When Charlotte told
her what was the matter, her comment was, 'And a very good thing, too,
that you should find him out in time! A pair of silly girls you! I
always was thankful I never could write, to be deluded with nonsense by
the post; and I am more so than ever now! Come, leave off crying,
Marianne; he ain't worth it.'
'But how shall we answer him, Mrs. Beckett?' said Charlotte.
'Never demean yourself to answer him,' said Jane; 'let him never hear
nought about you--that's the best for the like of him. I can tell him
he need not be in no hurry about giving warning to Lady Conway. At
Cheveleigh we'll have a solemn, steady butler, with no nonsense, nor
verses, nor guitars--forty years old--and a married man.'
Charlotte took the advice, and acted with dignified contempt and
silence, relieved to imagine that Tom had never been in danger from
such a rival. Marianne did not divulge the tender and melancholy
letter of reproach that she posted privately; but she grew paler, and
coughed more, all that bright summer.
Mrs. Frost had refused to let any cause remove her from Northwold,
until after an event which it was hoped would render James less
disdainful of his inheritance. But--'Was there ever anything more
_contrary_?' exclaimed Jane, as she prepared to set out the table for a
grand tea. 'There's Master James as pleased and proud of that there
little brown girl, as if she was as fine a boy as Master Henry himself.
I do believe, upon my word, it is all to spite poor dear Master Oliver.'
Poor Jane, she was almost growing tart in her partizanship of Oliver.
The little brown girl was no dove of peace. Her father decidedly
triumphed in the mortification that her sex was to others of the
family; and though he averred that the birth of a son would not have
made him change his mind, he was well satisfied to be spared the attack
which would have ensued. Oliver, like Jane, appeared to regard the
poor child as a wilful offence, and revenged himself by a letter
announcing that Clara would be his heiress, information which Mrs.
Frost kindly withheld from her granddaughter, in the hope of a
reconciliation.
Lord Ormersfield took James in hand, undertaking to make him hear
common sense; but the sense was unfortunately too common, and the
authoritative manner was irritating, above all when a stately warning
was given that no Church-preferment was to be expected from his
influence; whereupon James considered himself insulted, and they parted
very stiff and grand, the Earl afterwards pronouncing that nothing was
so wrongheaded as a conscientious man. But they were too much
accustomed to be on respectfully quarrelsome terms to alter their
regard for one retort more or less; and after all, there were very few
men whom Lord Ormersfield liked or esteemed half so much as the
fearless and uncompromising James Frost--James Frost--as he curtly
signed himself, in spite of all Louis's wit on Rolands and Olivers--and
yet those soft satirical speeches did more than all direct attacks to
shake his confidence in his own magnanimity; more especially because
Fitzjocelyn always declared himself incompetent to judge, and never
failed to uphold that he was so far right, that his ministry must stand
above all worldly considerations.
The breach had become so wide, that Oliver would not have accepted the
terms he had formerly offered. His object seemed to be to pique his
nephew and niece, by showing them what they had lost. He wrote the
most magnificent descriptions of Cheveleigh, and insisted that his
mother and Clara should come and take possession on the eightieth
birthday of the former, the 14th of September; and Isabel was
recovering so rapidly, that there was nothing to oppose to his project,
although the new Catharine would be scarcely three weeks old by that
time.
Thereupon came down, addressed to Clara, a case of Peruvian jewels,
newly set in London--intended doubtless to excite great jealousy in her
sister-in-law. Poor Oliver! could he but have known that Isabel only
glanced at them to tell Clara the names of the ornaments, and to
relieve her mind by assurances that the whole of a set need not be worn
at once! Next arrived an exceedingly smart French milliner, who, by
the help of Jane and Marianne, got Clara into her toils, and pinned and
measured her for a whole mortal morning; and even grandmamma ordered a
black velvet gown and accompaniments.
Lastly, there descended on Clara's devoted head a cheque for a sum
which terrified her imagination, and orders to equip herself suitably
as Miss Dynevor of Cheveleigh, who was to enjoy the same allowance
half-yearly. Her first idea was what delightful presents could be made
to every one; but as she was devising showers of gifts for her niece,
James cut her short,--'I am sorry to give you pain, Clara, but it must
be understood that neither directly nor indirectly can I nor mine
receive anything bought with my uncle's money.'
'That was the only thing to make me not hate it.'
'It is best you should hate it.'
'I do! Why did he come home to bother us? Oh, Jem, can't I still live
here, and only visit there?'
'No, Clara. The care of granny is your first duty; and during her
life, so long as you are single, her home must be yours.'
The edict was given in stern self-abnegation; but James was very kind
to her, treating her as a victim, and spending his leisure in walking
about with her, that she might take leave of every favourite haunt. He
was indulgent enough even to make no objection to going with her to
Ormersfield, where she wandered about the park, visited old scenes with
Louis, and went over all his improvements. His cottages had as yet the
sole fault of looking too new, and one of his tenants would not shut up
his pigs; but otherwise all was going on well, and Inglewood was in the
excitement of Louis's first harvest. He walked about with ears of
wheat in his hand, talked knowingly of loads and acres, and had almost
taught his father to watch the barometer. It added to Clara's regrets
that she should miss the harvest-supper, for which he and Mr.
Holdsworth had wonderful designs; but it was not to take place until
Fitzjocelyn's return from Cheveleigh. Oliver had invited him and his
father to conduct Mrs. Frost thither, and add eclat to her reception;
and this, as Clara said, 'was the only comfort in the business.'
James had effectually destroyed all pleasure on her part, and had made
the change appear an unmitigated misfortune, even though she did not
know what she would have thought the worst. Congratulations were
dreadful to her, and it was all that Isabel could do to persuade her to
repress her dislike so as not to distress her grandmother.
To Mrs. Frost it was pain to leave what she owned, with thankful tears,
to have been a happy, peaceful refuge for her widowhood and poverty;
she grieved over each parting, clung to the Faithfulls, reiterated fond
counsels to Isabel, and could hardly bear to detach herself from the
great-grandchild. But still it was her own son, and her own home, and
Oliver and Cheveleigh were more to her than even James and Dynevor
Terrace; so that, though she was sorry, it was not with a melancholy
sorrow, and she could still hope against hope, that uncle and nephew
might be brought together at last, and that a son of James would yet
reign in the dear old place.
Besides, she had not time to be unhappy. She was fully employed
nursing Isabel, doing honour to the little one, answering Oliver's
letters, superintending Clara's wardrobe; choosing parting gifts for
innumerable friends, high and low; and making arrangements for the
inexperienced household.
Jane's place was to be--not exactly supplied, but occupied by a cook.
Miss Dynevor was to have 'a personal attendant;' and Mrs. Beckett
begged that Marianne might be chosen, since she could not bear to see
the poor thing sent away, when in so much need of care. The diamonds,
the French millinery, and Jane's motherly care, came in strong contrast
to the miserable lodging, or the consumptive hospital, which poor
Marianne had begun to anticipate; and weeping with gratitude, she
declared that she had never seen nor thought of such kindness since her
mother died.
Isabel seldom roused herself to understand anything about her servants;
but she liked Marianne, and was glad Clara should have her, since she
was not strong enough to undertake nursery cares. She believed it had
not agreed with her to sit up late. Compunction for having been the
cause had never dawned on Isabel's mind.
Charlotte was to remain at Dynevor Terrace; James and Isabel wished to
keep her, and Mrs. Beckett thought her sufficiently indoctrinated with
her ways to have some chance of going on well. 'Besides,' as Jane
said, 'I can't be accountable for taking her into that large family,
until I see what company there may be. She's a well-behaved girl
enough, but she's too pretty and too simple-like for me to have her
among the common run of servants. I'll see what I can do for her, when
I see what sort of a housekeeper it is.'
And Jane gave Charlotte infinite injunctions, varying from due care of
the 'chaney images' to reserve with mankind. 'Because you see,
Charlotte' she said, 'you'll be terribly forsaken. Mrs. James, poor
dear!--she would not know if the furniture weren't rubbed once in ten
years; but you must make it a pride to yourself to be faithful.'
'I am faithful!' cried Charlotte. 'I never cared for that traitor,
Delaford, and his guitar; but I could not get rid of him. And I'll
tell you what--I'll seal up his fine red book, and all his verses; and
you shall leave them in London as you go through, with my compliments.
I think that will be proper and scornful.'
'Hoity-toity! That's what she's at! The best thing you can do too,
Charlotte; and I'm glad that you've too much spirit to pine like poor
Marianne. I'd take my affidavit that if the crowner could sit upon her
when she dies--and die she will--that there fine gentleman and his
guitar will be found at the bottom of her chest. But don't go off
about that now--though 'tis the reason I won't part from the poor thing
till I can help--the better luck for you that you'd got more in your
head than vanities and furbelows. What I meant was not being faithful
to him out in Peru--that's your own affair, but the being faithful to
your duty to your mistress, whether she's after you or not. You know
what a good servant is, and you've got to show it ain't all
eye-service.'
Charlotte cried heartily. No one else was allowed that privilege when
the 13th came, excepting Mrs. Frost herself. James, afraid that a
scene would hurt his wife, severely forbade Clara to give way; and the
poor girl, mute and white, did as she was told, and ventured not a word
of farewell, though her embraces were convulsive, and when she went
down stairs she could not help kissing Charlotte.
James handed his grandmother to her seat in the carriage which was to
take her to the station.
'Good-bye, my dear,' she said; 'I know the day will come when all this
will be made up. You know how I have loved you both.'
'I wish my uncle all good.'
'I see it now,' she said, holding his hand between both of hers. 'It
is my fault. I fostered our family pride. May God take away the sin
from us both!'
The words were hardly articulate through tears, and perhaps James did
not hear. He hurried Clara down the garden and into the carriage, and
she had her last nod from Miss Faithfull at the open window. Miss Mercy
was at the station, whither school-hours had hindered James from
accompanying them, but where they found Lord Ormersfield and Louis.
The warm-hearted little woman was all tears and smiles. 'Oh! dear Mrs.
Frost, I am so sorry, and yet it is selfish. I am so happy! but where
shall we find such another neighbour?'
'Come and see us. You know you are to persuade your sister.'
'Ah!' She shook her head. 'Salome is hard to move. But you--you are
such a traveller--you will come to see Mr. James?'
'I'm eighty to-morrow: I little expect to make any more journeys except
one, Mercy. I never look to see poor Northwold more; but it has been a
place of blessings to me, and you have been one of them. Don't think
I'm too glad to go away, but I cannot but be thankful that my dear boy
is bringing me home to lay me down where my father and his father lie.'
It was said with that peculiar cheerfulness with which happy old age
can contemplate the end of the pilgrimage, and she looked at Louis with
a sunny smile.