FRESHWATER GATE.
Count Pateroff, Sophie's brother, was a man who, when he had taken a
thing in hand, generally liked to carry it through. It may perhaps
be said that most men are of this turn of mind; but the count was,
I think, especially eager in this respect. And as he was not one who
had many irons in the fire, who made either many little efforts, or
any great efforts after things altogether beyond his reach, he was
justified in expecting success. As to Archie's courtship, any one
who really knew the man and the woman, and who knew anything of the
nature of women in general, would have predicted failure for him.
Even with Doodle's aid he could not have a chance in the race. But
when Count Pateroff entered himself for the same prize, those who
knew him would not speak of his failure as a thing certain.
The prize was too great not to be attempted by so very prudent a
gentleman. He was less impulsive in his nature than his sister, and
did not open his eyes and talk with watering mouth of the seven
thousands of pounds a year; but in his quiet way he had weighed and
calculated all the advantages to be gained, had even ascertained at
what rate he could insure the lady's life, and had made himself
certain that nothing in the deed of Lord Ongar's marriage-settlement
entailed any pecuniary penalty on his widow's second marriage. Then
he had gone down, as we know, to Ongar Park, and as he had walked
from the lodge to the house and back again, he had looked around him
complacently, and told himself that the place would do very well.
For the English character, in spite of the pigheadedness of many
Englishmen, he had,--as he would have said himself,--much admiration,
and he thought that the life of a country gentleman, with a nice
place of his own,--with such a very nice place of his own as was
Ongar Park,--and so very nice an income, would suit him well in his
declining years.
And he had certain advantages, certain aids towards his object, which
had come to him from circumstances;--as, indeed, he had also certain
disadvantages. He knew the lady, which was in itself much. He knew
much of the lady's history, and had that cognisance of the saddest
circumstances of her life, which in itself creates an intimacy. It is
not necessary now to go back to those scenes which had disfigured the
last months of Lord Ongar's life, but the reader will understand that
what had then occurred gave the count a possible footing as a suitor.
And the reader will also understand the disadvantages which had at
this time already shown themselves in the lady's refusal to see the
count.
It may be thought that Sophie's standing with Lady Ongar would be
a great advantage to her brother; but I doubt whether the brother
trusted either the honesty or the discretion of his sister. He
would have been willing to purchase such assistance as she might
give,--not in Archie's pleasant way, with bank-notes hidden under his
glove,--but by acknowledgments for services to be turned into solid
remuneration when the marriage should have taken place, had he not
feared that Sophie might communicate the fact of such acknowledgments
to the other lady,--making her own bargain in doing so. He had
calculated all this, and had come to the conclusion that he had
better make no direct proposal to Sophie; and when Sophie made a
direct proposal to him, pointing out to him in glowing language all
the fine things which such a marriage would give him, he had hardly
vouchsafed to her a word of answer. "Very well," said Sophie to
herself;--"very well. Then we both know what we are about."
Sophie herself would have kept Lady Ongar from marrying any one had
she been able. Not even a brother's gratitude would be so serviceable
to her as the generous kindness of a devoted friend. That she might
be able both to sell her services to a lover, and also to keep Julie
from marrying, was a lucky combination of circumstances which did
not occur to her till Archie came to her with the money in his glove.
That complicated game she was now playing, and was aware that Harry
Clavering was the great stumbling-block in her way. A woman even less
clever than Sophie would have perceived that Lady Ongar was violently
attached to Harry; and Sophie, when she did see it, thought that
there was nothing left for her but to make her hay while the sun was
yet shining. Then she heard the story of Florence Burton; and again
she thought that Fortune was on her side. She told the story of
Florence Burton,--with what result we know; and was quite sharp
enough to perceive afterwards that the tale had had its intended
effect,--even though her Julie had resolutely declined to speak
either of Harry Clavering or of Florence Burton.
Count Pateroff had again called in Bolton Street, and had again been
refused admittance. It was plain to him to see by the servant's
manner that it was intended that he should understand that he was
not to be admitted. Under such circumstances, it was necessary that
he must either abandon his pursuit, or that he must operate upon
Lady Ongar through some other feeling than her personal regard for
himself. He might, perhaps, have trusted much to his own eloquence if
he could have seen her; but how is a man to be eloquent in his wooing
if he cannot see the lady whom he covets? There is, indeed, the penny
post, but in these days of legal restraints, there is no other method
of approaching an unwilling beauty. Forcible abduction is put an end
to as regards Great Britain and Ireland. So the count had resort to
the post.
His letter was very long, and shall not, therefore, be given to the
reader. He began by telling Lady Ongar that she owed it to him for
the good services he had done her, to read what he might say, and to
answer him. He then gave her various reasons why she should see him,
pleading, among other things, in language which she could understand,
though the words were purposely as ambiguous as they could be made,
that he had possessed and did possess the power of doing her a
grievous injury, and that he had abstained, and--hoped that he might
be able to abstain for the future. She knew that the words contained
no threat,--that taken literally they were the reverse of a threat,
and amounted to a promise,--but she understood also all that he had
intended to imply. Long as his own letter was, he said nothing in it
as to his suit, confining himself to a request that she should see
him. But with his letter he sent her an enclosure longer than the
letter itself, in which his wishes were clearly explained.
This enclosure purported to be an expression of Lord Ongar's wishes
on many subjects, as they had been communicated to Count Pateroff
in the latter days of the lord's life; but as the manuscript was
altogether in the count's writing, and did not even pretend to
have been subjected to Lord Ongar's eye, it simply amounted to the
count's own story of their alleged conversations. There might have
been no such conversations, or their tenour might have been very
different from that which the count represented, or the statements
and opinions, if expressed at all by Lord Ongar, might have been
expressed at times when no statements or opinions coming from him
could be of any value. But as to these conversations, if they could
have been verified as having come from Lord Ongar's mouth when he was
in full possession of such faculties as he possessed,--all that would
have amounted to nothing with Lady Ongar. To Lord Ongar alive she had
owed obedience, and had been obedient. To Lord Ongar dead she owed no
obedience, and would not be obedient.
Such would have been her feelings as to any document which could have
reached her, purporting to contain Lord Ongar's wishes; but this
document was of a nature which made her specially antagonistic to the
exercise of any such marital authority from the grave. It was very
long, and went into small details,--details which were very small;
but the upshot of it all was a tendering of great thanks to Count
Pateroff, and the expression of a strong wish that the count should
marry his widow. "O. said that this would be the only thing for J.'s
name." "O. said that this would be the safest course for his own
honour." "O. said, as he took my hand, that in promising to take this
step I gave him great comfort." "O. commissioned me to speak to J. in
his name to this effect." The O. was of course Lord Ongar, and the J.
was of course Julia. It was all in French, and went on in the same
strain for many pages. Lady Ongar answered the letter as follows:--
Lady Ongar presents her compliments to Count Pateroff, and
begs to return the enclosed manuscript, which is, to her,
perfectly valueless. Lady Ongar must still decline, and
now more strongly than before, to receive Count Pateroff.
Bolton Street, May 186--.
She was quite firm as she did this. She had no doubt at all on the
matter. She did not feel that she wanted to ask for any advice. But
she did feel that this count might still work her additional woe,
that her cup of sorrow might not even yet be full, and that she was
sadly,--sadly in want of love and protection. For aught she knew, the
count might publish the whole statement, and people might believe
that those words came from her husband, and that her husband had
understood what would be best for her fame and for his honour. The
whole thing was a threat, and not to save herself from any misery,
would she have succumbed to a menace; but still it was possible that
the threat might be carried out.
She was sorely in want of love and protection. At this time, when the
count's letter reached her, Harry had been with her; and we know what
had passed between them. She had bid him go to Florence,--and love
Florence,--and marry Florence,--and leave her in her desolation. That
had been her last command to him. But we all know what such commands
mean. She had not been false in giving him these orders. She had
intended it at the moment. The glow of self-sacrifice had been warm
in her bosom,--and she had resolved to do without that which she
wanted in order that another might have it. But when she thought
of it afterwards in her loneliness, she told herself that Florence
Burton could not want Harry's love as she wanted it. There could
not be such need to this girl, who possessed father and mother, and
brothers, and youth, as there was to her, who had no other arm on
which she could lean, besides that of the one man for whom she had
acknowledged her love, and who had also declared his passion for her.
She made no scheme to deprive Florence of her lover. In the long
hours of her own solitude she never revoked, even within her own
bosom, the last words she had said to Harry Clavering. But not the
less did she hope that he might come to her again, and that she
might learn from him that he had freed himself from that unfortunate
engagement into which her falseness to him had driven him.
It was after she had answered Count Pateroff's letter that she
resolved to go out of town for three or four days. For some short
time she had been minded to go away altogether, and not to return
till after the autumn; but this scheme gradually diminished itself
and fell away, till she determined that she would come back
after three or four days. Then came to her Sophie,--her devoted
Sophie,--Sophie whom she despised and hated; Sophie of whom she was
so anxious to rid herself that in all her plans there was some little
under-plot to that effect; Sophie whom she knew to be dishonest to
her in any way that might make dishonesty profitable; and before
Sophie had left her, Sophie had engaged herself to go with her dear
friend to the Isle of Wight! As a matter of course, Sophie was to
be franked on this expedition. On such expeditions Sophies are
always franked as a matter of course. And Sophie would travel with
all imaginable luxury,--a matter to which Sophie was by no means
indifferent, though her own private life was conducted with an
economy that was not luxurious. But, although all these good things
came in Sophie's way, she contrived to make it appear that she was
devoting herself in a manner that was almost sacrificial to the
friend of her bosom. At the same time Lady Ongar sent a few words,
as a message, to the count by his sister. Lady Ongar, having told to
Madame Gordeloup the story of the document which had reached her, and
having described her own answer, was much commended by her friend.
"You are quite right, dear, quite. Of course I am fond of my brother.
Edouard and I have always been the best of friends. But that does not
make me think you ought to give yourself to him. Bah! Why should a
woman give away everything? Edouard is a fine fellow. But what is
that? Fine fellows like to have all the money themselves."
"Will you tell him,--from me," said Lady Ongar, "that I will take it
as a kindness on his part if he will abstain from coming to my house.
I certainly shall not see him with my own consent."
Sophie promised,--and probably gave the message; but when she also
informed Edouard of Lady Ongar's intended visit to the Isle of Wight,
telling him the day on which they were going and the precise spot,
with the name of the hotel at which they were to stay, she went a
little beyond the commission which her dearest friend had given her.
At the western end of the Isle of Wight, and on the further shore,
about three miles from the point of the island which we call
the Needles, there is a little break in the cliff, known to all
stay-at-home English travellers as Freshwater Gate. Here there is a
cluster of cottages and two inns, and a few bathing-boxes, and ready
access by easy ascents to the breezy downs on either side, over which
the sea air blows with all its salt and wholesome sweetness. At one
of these two inns Lady Ongar located herself and Sophie; and all
Freshwater, and all Yarmouth, and all that end of the island were
alive to the fact that the rich widowed countess respecting whom
such strange tales were told, had come on a visit to these parts.
Innkeepers like such visitors. The more venomous are the stories told
against them, the more money are they apt to spend, and the less
likely are they to examine their bills. A rich woman altogether
without a character is a mine of wealth to an innkeeper. In the
present case no such godsend had come in the way,--but there was
supposed to be a something a little odd, and the visitor was on that
account the more welcome.
Sophie was not the most delightful companion in the world for such
a place. London was her sphere, as she herself had understood when
declaiming against those husbands who keep their wives in the
country. And she had no love for the sea specially, regarding all
winds as nuisances excepting such as had been raised by her own
efforts, and thinking that salt from a saltcellar was more convenient
than that brought to her on the breezes. It was now near the end of
May, but she had not been half an hour at the inn before she was loud
in demanding a fire,--and when the fire came she was unwilling to
leave it. Her gesture was magnificent when Lady Ongar proposed to
her that she should bathe. What,--put her own dear little dry body,
by her own will, into the cold sea! She shrugged herself, and shook
herself, and without speaking a word declined with so much eloquence
that it was impossible not to admire her. Nor would she walk. On the
first day, during the warmest part of the day, she allowed herself to
be taken out in a carriage belonging to the inn; but after her drive
she clung to the fire, and consumed her time with a French novel.
Nor was Lady Ongar much more comfortable in the Isle of Wight than
she had been in London. The old poet told us how Black Care sits
behind the horseman, and some modern poet will some day describe to
us that terrible goddess as she takes her place with the stoker close
to the fire of the locomotive engine. Sitting with Sophie opposite
to her, Lady Ongar was not happy, even though her eye rested on the
lines of that magnificent coast. Once indeed, on the evening of their
first day, Sophie left her, and she was alone for nearly an hour.
Ah, how happy could she have been if Harry Clavering might have been
there with her. Perhaps a day might come in which Harry might bring
her there. In such a case Atra Cura would be left behind, and then
she might be altogether happy. She sat dreaming of this for above an
hour, and Sophie was still away. When Sophie returned, which she did
all too soon, she explained that she had been in her bedroom. She had
been very busy, and now had come down to make herself comfortable.
On the next evening Lady Ongar declared her intention of going up
on the downs by herself. They had dined at five, so that she might
have a long evening, and soon after six she started. "If I do not
break down I will get as far as the Needles," she said. Sophie, who
had heard that the distance was three miles, lifted up her hands in
despair. "If you are not back before nine I shall send the people
after you." Consenting to this with a laugh, Lady Ongar made her way
up to the downs, and walked steadily on towards the extreme point of
the island. To the Needles themselves she did not make her way. These
rocks are now approached, as all the stay-at-home travellers know,
through a fort, and down to the fort she did not go. But turning a
little from the highest point of the hill towards the cliffs on her
left hand, she descended till she reached a spot from which she could
look down on the pebbly beach lying some three hundred feet below
her, and on the soft shining ripple of the quiet waters as they
moved themselves with a pleasant sound on the long strand which lay
stretched in a line from the spot beneath her out to the point of
the island. The evening was warm, and almost transparent in its
clearness, and very quiet. There was no sound even of a breeze. When
she seated herself close upon the margin of the cliff, she heard the
small waves moving the stones which they washed, and the sound was
as the sound of little children's voices, very distant. Looking
down, she could see through the wonderful transparency of the water,
and the pebbles below it were bright as diamonds, and the sands
were burnished like gold. And each tiny silent wavelet as it moved
up towards the shore and lost itself at last in its own effort,
stretched itself the whole length of the strand. Such brightness on
the sea-shore she had never seen before, nor had she ever listened as
now she listened to that infantine babble of the baby waves. She sat
there close upon the margin, on a seat of chalk which the winds had
made, looking, listening, and forgetting for a while that she was
Lady Ongar whom people did not know, who lived alone in the world
with Sophie Gordeloup for her friend,--and whose lover was betrothed
to another woman. She had been there perhaps half-an-hour, and had
learned to be at home on her perch, sitting there in comfort, with no
desire to move, when a voice which she well knew at the first sound
startled her, and she rose quickly to her feet. "Lady Ongar," said
the voice, "are you not rather near the edge?" As she turned round
there was Count Pateroff with his hand already upon her dress, so
that no danger might be produced by the suddenness of his speech.
[Illustration: "Lady Ongar, are you not rather near the edge?"]
"There is nothing to fear," she said, stepping back from her seat. As
she did so, he dropped his hand from her dress, and, raising it to
his head, lifted his hat from his forehead. "You will excuse me, I
hope, Lady Ongar," he said, "for having taken this mode of speaking
to you."
"I certainly shall not excuse you; nor, further than I can help it,
shall I listen to you."
"There are a few words which I must say."
"Count Pateroff, I beg that you will leave me. This is treacherous
and unmanly,--and can do you no good. By what right do you follow me
here?"
"I follow you for your own good, Lady Ongar; I do it that you may
hear me say a few words that are necessary for you to hear."
"I will hear no words from you,--that is, none willingly. By this
time you ought to know me and to understand me." She had begun to
walk up the hill very rapidly, and for a moment or two he had thought
that she would escape him; but her breath had soon failed her, and
she found herself compelled to stand while he regained his place
beside her. This he had not done without an effort, and for some
minutes they were both silent. "It is very beautiful," at last he
said, pointing away over the sea.
"Yes;--it is very beautiful," she answered. "Why did you disturb me
when I was so happy?" But the count was still recovering his breath,
and made no answer to this question. When, however, she attempted to
move on again, still breasting the hill, he put his hand upon her arm
very gently.
"Lady Ongar," he said, "you must listen to me for a moment. Why not
do it without a quarrel?"
"If you mean that I cannot escape from you, it is true enough."
"Why should you want to escape? Did I ever hurt you? Before this have
I not protected you from injury?"
"No;--never. You protect me!"
"Yes;--I; from your husband, from yourself, and from the world. You
do not know,--not yet, all that I have done for you. Did you read
what Lord Ongar had said?"
"I read what it pleased you to write."
"What it pleased me! Do you pretend to think that Lord Ongar did not
speak as he speaks there? Do you not know that those were his own
words? Do you not recognize them? Ah, yes, Lady Ongar; you know them
to be true."
"Their truth or falsehood is nothing to me. They are altogether
indifferent to me either way."
"That would be very well if it were possible; but it is not. There;
now we are at the top, and it will be easier. Will you let me have
the honour to offer you my arm? No! Be it so; but I think you would
walk the easier. It would not be for the first time."
"That is a falsehood." As she spoke she stepped before him, and
looked into his face with eyes full of passion. "That is a positive
falsehood. I never walked with a hand resting on your arm."
There came over his face the pleasantest smile as he answered her.
"You forget everything," he said;--"everything. But it does not
matter. Other people will not forget. Julie, you had better take me
for your husband. You will be better as my wife, and happier, than
you can be otherwise."
"Look down there, Count Pateroff;--down to the edge. If my misery is
too great to be borne, I can escape from it there on better terms
than you propose to me."
"Ah! That is what we call poetry. Poetry is very pretty, and in
saying this as you do, you make yourself divine. But to be dashed
over the cliffs and broken on the rocks;--in prose it is not so
well."
"Sir, will you allow me to pass on while you remain; or will you let
me rest here, while you return alone?"
"No, Julie; not so. I have found you with too much difficulty. In
London, you see, I could not find you. Here, for a minute, you must
listen to me. Do you not know, Julie, that your character is in my
hands?"
"In your hands? No;--never; thank God, never. But what if it were?"
"Only this,--that I am forced to play the only game that you leave
open to me. Chance brought you and me together in such a way that
nothing but marriage can be beneficial to either of us;--and I swore
to Lord Ongar that it should be so. I mean that it shall be so,--or
that you shall be punished for your misconduct to him and to me."
"You are both insolent and false. But listen to me, since you are
here and I cannot avoid you. I know what your threats mean."
"I have never threatened you. I have promised you my aid, but have
used no threats."
"Not when you tell me that I shall be punished? But to avoid no
punishment, if any be in your power, will I ever willingly place
myself in your company. You may write of me what papers you please,
and repeat of me whatever stories you may choose to fabricate, but
you will not frighten me into compliance by doing so. I have, at any
rate, spirit enough to resist such attempts as that."
"As you are living at present, you are alone in the world!"
"And I am content to remain alone."
"You are thinking, then, of no second marriage?"
"If I were, does that concern you? But I will speak no further word
to you. If you follow me into the inn, or persecute me further by
forcing yourself upon me, I will put myself under the protection of
the police."
Having said this, she walked on as quickly as her strength would
permit, while he walked by her side, urging upon her his old
arguments as to Lord Ongar's expressed wishes, as to his own efforts
on her behalf,--and at last as to the strong affection with which he
regarded her. But she kept her promise, and said not a word in answer
to it all. For more than an hour they walked side by side, and during
the greater part of that time not a syllable escaped from her.
From moment to moment she kept her eye warily on him, fearing that
he might take her by the arm, or attempt some violence with her.
But he was too wise for this, and too fully conscious that no
such proceeding on his part could be of any service to him. He
continued, however, to speak to her words which she could not avoid
hearing,--hoping rather than thinking that he might at last frighten
her by a description of all the evil which it was within his power
to do her. But in acting thus he showed that he knew nothing of her
character. She was not a woman whom any prospect of evil could
possibly frighten into a distasteful marriage.
Within a few hundred yards of the hotel there is another fort, and at
this point the path taken by Lady Ongar led into the private grounds
of the inn at which she was staying. Here the count left her, raising
his hat as he did so, and saying that he hoped to see her again
before she left the island.
"If you do so," said she, "it shall be in presence of those who can
protect me." And so they parted.