SHOWING HOW THINGS SETTLED THEMSELVES AT THE RECTORY.
When Harry's letter, with the tidings of the fate of his cousins,
reached Florence at Stratton, the whole family was, not unnaturally,
thrown into great excitement. Being slow people, the elder Burtons
had hardly as yet realized the fact that Harry was again to be
accepted among the Burton Penates as a pure divinity. Mrs. Burton,
for some weeks past, had grown to be almost sublime in her wrath
against him. That a man should live and treat her daughter as
Florence was about to be treated! Had not her husband forbidden
such a journey, as being useless in regard to the expenditure,
she would have gone up to London that she might have told Harry
what she thought of him. Then came the news that Harry was again a
divinity,--an Apollo, whom the Burton Penates ought only to be too
proud to welcome to a seat among them!
And now came this other news that this Apollo was to be an Apollo
indeed! When the god first became a god again, there was still a
cloud upon the minds of the elder Burtons as to the means by which
the divinity was to be sustained. A god in truth, but a god with so
very moderate an annual income;--unless indeed those old Burtons made
it up to an extent which seemed to them to be quite unnatural! There
was joy among the Burtons, of course, but the joy was somewhat dimmed
by these reflections as to the slight means of their Apollo. A lover
who was not an Apollo might wait; but, as they had learned already,
there was danger in keeping such a god as this suspended on the
tenter-hooks of expectation.
But now there came the further news! This Apollo of theirs had really
a place of his own among the gods of Olympus. He was the eldest son
of a man of large fortune, and would be a baronet! He had already
declared that he would marry at once;--that his father wished him to
do so, and that an abundant income would be forthcoming. As to his
eagerness for an immediate marriage, no divinity in or out of the
heavens could behave better. Old Mrs. Burton, as she went through
the process of taking him again to her heart, remembered that that
virtue had been his, even before the days of his backsliding had
come. A warm-hearted, eager, affectionate divinity,--with only this
against him, that he wanted some careful looking after in these, his
unsettled days. "I really do think that he'll be as fond of his own
fireside as any other man, when he has once settled down," said Mrs.
Burton.
It will not, I hope, be taken as a blot on the character of this
mother that she was much elated at the prospect of the good things
which were to fall to her daughter's lot. For herself she desired
nothing. For her daughters she had coveted only good, substantial,
painstaking husbands, who would fear God and mind their business.
When Harry Clavering had come across her path and had demanded a
daughter from her, after the manner of the other young men who had
learned the secrets of their profession at Stratton, she had desired
nothing more than that he and Florence should walk in the path which
had been followed by her sisters and their husbands. But then had
come that terrible fear; and now had come these golden prospects.
That her daughter should be Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park! She
could not but be elated at the thought of it. She would not live to
see it, but the consciousness that it would be so was pleasant to her
in her old age. Florence had ever been regarded as the flower of the
flock, and now she would be taken up into high places,--according to
her deserts.
First had come the letter from Harry, and then, after an interval
of a week, another letter from Mrs. Clavering, pressing her dear
Florence to go to the parsonage. "We think that at present we all
ought to be together," said Mrs. Clavering, "and therefore we want
you to be with us." It was very flattering. "I suppose I ought to go,
mamma?" said Florence. Mrs. Burton was of opinion that she certainly
ought to go. "You should write to her ladyship at once," said Mrs.
Burton, mindful of the change which had taken place. Florence,
however, addressed her letter, as heretofore, to Mrs. Clavering,
thinking that a mistake on that side would be better than a mistake
on the other. It was not for her to be over-mindful of the rank with
which she was about to be connected. "You won't forget your old
mother now that you are going to be so grand?" said Mrs. Burton, as
Florence was leaving her.
"You only say that to laugh at me," said Florence. "I expect no
grandness, and I am sure you expect no forgetfulness."
The solemnity consequent upon the first news of the accident had worn
itself off, and Florence found the family at the parsonage happy and
comfortable. Mrs. Fielding was still there, and Mr. Fielding was
expected again after the next Sunday. Fanny also was there, and
Florence could see during the first half-hour that she was very
radiant. Mr. Saul, however, was not there, and it may as well be said
at once that Mr. Saul as yet knew nothing of his coming fortune.
Florence was received with open arms by them all, and by Harry with
arms which were almost too open. "I suppose it may be in about three
weeks from now?" he said at the first moment in which he could have
her to himself.
"Oh, Harry,--no," said Florence.
"No;--why no? That's what my mother proposes."
"In three weeks!--She could not have said that. Nobody has begun to
think of such a thing yet at Stratton."
"They are so very slow at Stratton!"
"And you are so very fast at Clavering! But, Harry, we don't know
where we are going to live."
"We should go abroad at first, I suppose."
"And what then? That would only be for a month or so."
"Only for a month? I mean for all the winter,--and the spring. Why
not? One can see nothing in a month. If we are back for the shooting
next year that would do,--and then of course we should come here. I
should say next winter,--that is the winter after the next,--we might
as well stay with them at the big house, and then we could look about
us, you know. I should like a place near to this, because of the
hunting!"
Florence, when she heard all this, became aware that in talking
about a month she had forgotten herself. She had been accustomed to
holidays of a month's duration,--and to honeymoon trips fitted to
such vacations. A month was the longest holiday ever heard of in the
chambers in the Adelphi,--or at the house in Onslow Crescent. She had
forgotten herself. It was not to be the lot of her husband to earn
his bread, and fit himself to such periods as business might require.
Then Harry went on describing the tour which he had arranged;--which
as he said he only suggested. But it was quite apparent that in
this matter he intended to be paramount. Florence indeed made no
objection. To spend a fortnight in Paris;--to hurry over the Alps
before the cold weather came; to spend a month in Florence, and then
go on to Rome;--it would all be very nice. But she declared that it
would suit the next year better than this.
"Suit ten thousand fiddlesticks," said Harry.
"But it is October now."
"And therefore there is no time to lose."
"I haven't a dress in the world but the one I have on, and a few
others like it. Oh, Harry, how can you talk in that way?"
"Well, say four weeks then from now. That will make it the seventh of
November, and we'll only stay a day or two in Paris. We can do Paris
next year,--in May. If you'll agree to that, I'll agree."
But Florence's breath was taken away from her, and she could agree to
nothing. She did agree to nothing till she had been talked into doing
so by Mrs. Clavering.
"My dear," said her future mother-in-law, "what you say is
undoubtedly true. There is no absolute necessity for hurrying. It is
not an affair of life and death. But you and Harry have been engaged
quite long enough now, and I really don't see why you should put it
off. If you do as he asks you, you will just have time to make
yourselves comfortable before the cold weather begins."
"But mamma will be so surprised."
"I'm sure she will wish it, my dear. You see Harry is a young man of
that sort,--so impetuous I mean, you know, and so eager,--and so--you
know what I mean,--that the sooner he is married the better. You
can't but take it as a compliment, Florence, that he is so eager."
"Of course I do."
"And you should reward him. Believe me it will be best that it should
not be delayed." Whether or no Mrs. Clavering had present in her
imagination the possibility of any further danger that might result
from Lady Ongar, I will not say, but if so, she altogether failed in
communicating her idea to Florence.
"Then I must go home at once," said Florence, driven almost to bewail
the terrors of her position.
"You can write home at once and tell your mother. You can tell her
all that I say, and I am sure she will agree with me. If you wish it,
I will write a line to Mrs. Burton myself." Florence said that she
would wish it. "And we can begin, you know, to get your things ready
here. People don't take so long about all that now-a-days as they
used to do." When Mrs. Clavering had turned against her, Florence
knew that she had no hope, and surrendered, subject to the approval
of the higher authorities at Stratton. The higher authorities at
Stratton approved also, of course, and Florence found herself fixed
to a day with a suddenness that bewildered her. Immediately,--almost
as soon as the consent had been extorted from her,--she began to be
surrounded with incipient preparation for the event, as to which,
about three weeks since, she had made up her mind that it would never
come to pass.
On the second day of her arrival, in the privacy of her bedroom,
Fanny communicated to her the decision of her family in regard to
Mr. Saul. But she told the story at first as though this decision
referred to the living only,--as though the rectory were to be
conferred on Mr. Saul without any burden attached to it. "He has
been here so long, dear," said Fanny, "and understands the people so
well."
"I am so delighted," said Florence.
"I am sure it is the best thing papa could do;--that is if he quite
makes up his mind to give up the parish himself."
This troubled Florence, who did not know that a baronet could hold a
living.
"I thought he must give up being a clergyman now that Sir Hugh is
dead?"
"O dear, no." And then Fanny, who was great on ecclesiastical
subjects, explained it all. "Even though he were to be a peer,
he could hold a living if he pleased. A great many baronets are
clergymen, and some of them do hold preferments. As to papa, the
doubt has been with him whether he would wish to give up the work.
But he will preach sometimes, you know; though of course he will not
be able to do that unless Mr. Saul lets him. No one but the rector
has a right to his own pulpit except the bishop; and he can preach
three times a year if he likes it."
"And suppose the bishop wanted to preach four times?"
"He couldn't do it; at least, I believe not. But you see he never
wants to preach at all,--not in such a place as this,--so that does
not signify."
"And will Mr. Saul come and live here, in this house?"
"Some day I suppose he will," said Fanny, blushing.
"And you, dear?"
"I don't know how that may be."
"Come, Fanny."
"Indeed I don't, Florence, or I would tell you. Of course Mr. Saul
has asked me. I never had any secret with you about that; have I?"
"No; you were very good."
"Then he asked me again; twice again. And then there came,--oh, such
a quarrel between him and papa. It was so terrible. Do you know, I
believe they wouldn't speak in the vestry! Not but what each of them
has the highest possible opinion of the other. But of course Mr. Saul
couldn't marry on a curacy. When I think of it it really seems that
he must have been mad."
"But you don't think him so mad now, dear?"
"He doesn't know a word about it yet; not a word. He hasn't been in
the house since, and papa and he didn't speak,--not in a friendly
way,--till the news came of poor Hugh's being drowned. Then he came
up to papa, and, of course, papa took his hand. But he still thinks
he is going away."
"And when is he to be told that he needn't go?"
"That is the difficulty. Mamma will have to do it, I believe. But
what she will say, I'm sure I for one can't think."
"Mrs. Clavering will have no difficulty."
"You mustn't call her Mrs. Clavering."
"Lady Clavering then."
"That's a great deal worse. She's your mamma now,--not quite so much
as she is mine, but the next thing to it."
"She'll know what to say to Mr. Saul."
"But what is she to say?"
"Well, Fanny,--you ought to know that. I suppose you do--love him?"
"I have never told him so."
"But you will?"
"It seems so odd. Mamma will have to-- Suppose he were to turn round
and say he didn't want me?"
"That would be awkward."
"He would in a minute if that was what he felt. The idea of having
the living would not weigh with him a bit."
"But when he was so much in love before, it won't make him out of
love;--will it?"
"I don't know," said Fanny. "At any rate, mamma is to see him
to-morrow, and after that I suppose;--I'm sure I don't know,--but I
suppose he'll come to the rectory as he used to do."
"How happy you must be," said Florence, kissing her. To this Fanny
made some unintelligible demur. It was undoubtedly possible that,
under the altered circumstances of the case, so strange a being as
Mr. Saul might have changed his mind.
There was a great trial awaiting Florence Burton. She had to be taken
up to call on the ladies at the great house,--on the two widowed
ladies who were still remaining there when she came to Clavering.
It was only on the day before her arrival that Harry had seen Lady
Ongar. He had thought much of the matter before he went across to
the house, doubting whether it would not be better to let Julia go
without troubling her with a further interview. But he had not then
seen even Lady Clavering since the tidings of her bereavement had
come, and he felt that it would not be well that he should let his
cousin's widow leave Clavering without offering her his sympathy. And
it might be better, also, that he should see Julia once again, if
only that he might show himself capable of meeting her without the
exhibition of any peculiar emotion. He went, therefore, to the house,
and having asked for Lady Clavering, saw both the sisters together.
He soon found that the presence of the younger one was a relief to
him. Lady Clavering was so sad, and so peevish in her sadness,--so
broken-spirited, so far as yet from recognizing the great
enfranchisement that had come to her, that with her alone he would
have found himself almost unable to express the sympathy which he
felt. But with Lady Ongar he had no difficulty. Lady Ongar, her
sister being with them in the room, talked to him easily, as though
there had never been anything between them to make conversation
difficult. That all words between them should, on such an occasion
as this, be sad, was a matter of course; but it seemed to Harry that
Julia had freed herself from all the effects of that feeling which
had existed between them, and that it would become him to do this
as effectually as she had done it. Such an idea, at least, was in
his mind for a moment; but when he left her she spoke one word
which dispelled it. "Harry," she said, "you must ask Miss Burton
to come across and see me. I hear that she is to be at the rectory
to-morrow." Harry of course said that he would send her. "She will
understand why I cannot go to her, as I should do,--but for poor
Hermy's position. You will explain this, Harry." Harry, blushing up
to his forehead, declared that Florence would require no explanation,
and that she would certainly make the visit as proposed. "I wish to
see her, Harry,--so much. And if I do not see her now, I may never
have another chance."
It was nearly a week after this that Florence went across to
the great house with Mrs. Clavering and Fanny. I think that she
understood the nature of the visit she was called upon to make,
and no doubt she trembled much at the coming ordeal. She was going
to see her great rival,--her rival, who had almost been preferred
to her,--nay, who had been preferred to her for some short space
of time, and whose claims as to beauty and wealth were so greatly
superior to her own. And this woman whom she was to see had been the
first love of the man whom she now regarded as her own,--and would
have been about to be his wife at this moment had it not been for her
own treachery to him. Was she so beautiful as people said? Florence,
in the bottom of her heart, wished that she might have been saved
from this interview.
The three ladies from the rectory found the two ladies at the great
house sitting together in the small drawing-room. Florence was
so confused that she could hardly bring herself to speak to Lady
Clavering, or so much as to look at Lady Ongar. She shook hands with
the elder sister, and knew that her hand was then taken by the other.
Julia at first spoke a very few words to Mrs. Clavering, and Fanny
sat herself down beside Hermione. Florence took a chair at a little
distance, and was left there for a few minutes without notice. For
this she was very thankful, and by degrees was able to fix her eyes
on the face of the woman whom she so feared to see, and yet on whom
she so desired to look. Lady Clavering was a mass of ill-arranged
widow's weeds. She had assumed in all its grotesque ugliness those
paraphernalia of outward woe which women have been condemned to wear,
in order that for a time they may be shorn of all the charms of
their sex. Nothing could be more proper or unbecoming than the heavy,
drooping, shapeless blackness in which Lady Clavering had enveloped
herself. But Lady Ongar, though also a widow, though as yet a
widow of not twelve months' standing, was dressed,--in weeds, no
doubt,--but in weeds which had been so cultivated that they were as
good as flowers. She was very beautiful. Florence owned to herself
as she sat there in silence, that Lady Ongar was the most beautiful
woman that she had ever seen. But hers was not the beauty by which,
as she would have thought, Harry Clavering would have been attracted.
Lady Ongar's form, bust, and face were, at this period of her life,
almost majestic; whereas the softness and grace of womanhood were the
charms which Harry loved. He had sometimes said to Florence that, to
his taste, Cecilia Burton was almost perfect as a woman. And there
could be no contrast greater than that between Cecilia Burton and
Lady Ongar. But Florence did not remember that the Julia Brabazon of
three years since had not been the same as the Lady Ongar whom now
she saw.
When they had been there some minutes Lady Ongar came and sat beside
Florence, moving her seat as though she were doing the most natural
thing in the world. Florence's heart came to her mouth, but she made
a resolution that she would, if possible, bear herself well. "You
have been at Clavering before, I think?" said Lady Ongar. Florence
said that she had been at the parsonage during the last Easter.
"Yes,--I heard that you dined here with my brother-in-law." This she
said in a low voice, having seen that Lady Clavering was engaged with
Fanny and Mrs. Clavering. "Was it not terribly sudden?"
"Terribly sudden," said Florence.
"The two brothers! Had you not met Captain Clavering?"
"Yes,--he was here when I dined with your sister."
"Poor fellow! Is it not odd that they should have gone, and that
their friend, whose yacht it was, should have been saved? They say,
however, that Mr. Stuart behaved admirably, begging his friends to
get into the boat first. He stayed by the vessel when the boat was
carried away, and he was saved in that way. But he meant to do the
best he could for them. There's no doubt of that."
"But how dreadful his feelings must be!"
"Men do not think so much of these things as we do. They have so much
more to employ their minds. Don't you think so?" Florence did not at
the moment quite know what she thought about men's feelings, but said
that she supposed that such was the case. "But I think that after
all they are juster than we are," continued Lady Ongar,--"juster and
truer, though not so tender-hearted. Mr. Stuart, no doubt, would have
been willing to drown himself to save his friends, because the fault
was in some degree his. I don't know that I should have been able to
do so much."
"In such a moment it must have been so difficult to think of what
ought to be done."
"Yes, indeed; and there is but little good in speculating upon it
now. You know this place, do you not;--the house, I mean, and the
gardens?"
"Not very well." Florence, as she answered this question, began again
to tremble. "Take a turn with me, and I will show you the garden. My
hat and cloak are in the hall." Then Florence got up to accompany
her, trembling very much inwardly. "Miss Burton and I are going
out for a few minutes," said Lady Ongar, addressing herself to Mrs.
Clavering. "We will not keep you waiting very long."
"We are in no hurry," said Mrs. Clavering. Then Florence was carried
off, and found herself alone with her conquered rival.
"Not that there is much to show you," said Lady Ongar; "indeed
nothing; but the place must be of more interest to you than to any
one else; and if you are fond of that sort of thing, no doubt you
will make it all that is charming."
"I am very fond of a garden," said Florence.
"I don't know whether I am. Alone, by myself, I think I should care
nothing for the prettiest Eden in all England. I don't think I
would care for a walk through the Elysian fields by myself. I am a
chameleon, and take the colour of those with whom I live. My future
colours will not be very bright as I take it. It's a gloomy place
enough; is it not? But there are fine trees, you see, which are the
only things which one cannot by any possibility command. Given good
trees, taste and money may do anything very quickly; as I have no
doubt you'll find."
"I don't suppose I shall have much to do with it--at present."
"I should think that you will have everything to do with it. There,
Miss Burton; I brought you here to show you this very spot, and to
make to you my confession here,--and to get from you, here, one word
of confidence, if you will give it me." Florence was trembling now
outwardly as well as inwardly. "You know my story; as far, I mean, as
I had a story once, in conjunction with Harry Clavering?"
[Illustration: Lady Ongar and Florence.]
"I think I do," said Florence.
"I am sure you do," said Lady Ongar. "He has told me that you do; and
what he says is always true. It was here, on this spot, that I gave
him back his troth to me, and told him that I would have none of his
love, because he was poor. That is barely two years ago. Now he is
poor no longer. Now, had I been true to him, a marriage with him
would have been, in a prudential point of view, all that any woman
could desire. I gave up the dearest heart, the sweetest temper, ay,
and the truest man that, that-- Well, you have won him instead, and
he has been the gainer. I doubt whether I ever should have made him
happy; but I know that you will do so. It was just here that I parted
from him."
"He has told me of that parting," said Florence.
"I am sure he has. And, Miss Burton, if you will allow me to say one
word further,--do not be made to think any ill of him because of what
happened the other day."
"I think no ill of him," said Florence proudly.
"That is well. But I am sure you do not. You are not one to think
evil, as I take it, of anybody; much less of him whom you love. When
he saw me again, free as I am, and when I saw him, thinking him also
to be free, was it strange that some memory of old days should come
back upon us? But the fault, if fault there has been, was mine."
"I have never said that there was any fault."
"No, Miss Burton; but others have said so. No doubt I am foolish
to talk to you in this way; and I have not yet said that which I
desired to say. It is simply this;--that I do not begrudge you your
happiness. I wished the same happiness to be mine; but it is not
mine. It might have been, but I forfeited it. It is past; and I will
pray that you may enjoy it long. You will not refuse to receive my
congratulations?"
"Indeed, I will not."
"Or to think of me as a friend of your husband's?"
"Oh, no."
"That is all then. I have shown you the gardens, and now we may
go in. Some day, perhaps, when you are Lady Paramount here, and
your children are running about the place, I may come again to see
them;--if you and he will have me."
"I hope you will, Lady Ongar. In truth, I hope so."
"It is odd enough that I said to him once that I would never go to
Clavering Park again till I went there to see his wife. That was long
before those two poor brothers perished,--before I had ever heard of
Florence Burton. And yet, indeed, it was not very long ago. It was
since my husband died. But that was not quite true, for here I am,
and he has not yet got a wife. But it was odd; was it not?"
"I cannot think what should have made you say that."
"A spirit of prophecy comes on one sometimes, I suppose. Well; shall
we go in? I have shown you all the wonders of the garden, and told
you all the wonders connected with it of which I know aught. No doubt
there would be other wonders, more wonderful, if one could ransack
the private history of all the Claverings for the last hundred years.
I hope, Miss Burton, that any marvels which may attend your career
here may be happy marvels." She then took Florence by the hand, and
drawing close to her, stooped over and kissed her. "You will think me
a fool, of course," said she; "but I do not care for that." Florence
now was in tears, and could make no answer in words; but she pressed
the hand which she still held, and then followed her companion back
into the house. After that, the visit was soon brought to an end, and
the three ladies from the rectory returned across the park to their
house.