THE EARL AND HIS GRAND-DAUGHTER.
We have now to return to other characters in our story.
Aveline Gatcliffe made a protracted stay at Broxbridge Hall. Like a
giddy moth she fluttered around the candles of the rich and great, and
in her new sphere of action felt something like pride and
satisfaction.
She was made much of not only by the old nobleman, but by his
visitors――by the vicar, the lawyer, and a host of other people――so
that she was fain to stop very much longer than she had at first
contemplated.
Lord Ethalwood talked to her of the great world――of its brilliant
pleasures and its honours. He told her how such beauty as hers would
command universal homage; that in London, even amidst the noblest of
ladies, she would be a queen.
He tempted her with the most costly jewels, with the most magnificent
dresses and lavished luxury upon her.
She had the use of a luxurious carriage; she had servants to wait upon
her, hand and foot.
He tempted her through her love of the beautiful; he surrounded her
with everything that was most graceful and choice; he cultivated her
taste, and he spoke highly of her appreciation.
He tempted her through the innate refinement that had always
distinguished her――he ministered to her in every possible way. He
spoke always with the greatest contempt of poverty, of all approaches
to vulgarity, and he spoke with the most condescending pity of those
whose position in life was inferior to his own.
Day by day Aveline loved her new life more and more; it was so
pleasant to wander in those splendid grounds, under the shade of the
ancestral trees; it was so pleasant to live in those delightful rooms,
with their thick, soft carpets, their superb furniture, those rare
pictures and the profusion of flowers――to have carriages, horses,
jewels, dresses, every luxury that imagination could devise.
It was so pleasant always to have a purse full of money, to know that
she had never to trouble about ways and means, to have respect,
homage, flattery shown to her.
She thought with a shudder of the little cottage at Wood Green; she
contrasted her husband, in his working clothes, with the polished
gentlemen she saw around her.
She was weak of soul, weak of purpose, weak of heart, weak of will.
The past, with its poverty and privations, became hateful to her. She
loved the present, she dreaded the thought of returning to her humble
home, of giving up her jewels, of growing again accustomed to an
obscure life. How she would miss the grandeur, the luxury, the
magnificence of Broxbridge Hall!
Yet she loved Tom, loved him as dearly and deeply as her light nature
would allow her to love. There were nights when her pillow was wet
with tears, when she sobbed as though her heart would break, but with
the morning sunshine these thoughts would be scattered and dispelled.
She never forgot her husband. There was hardly an hour in which her
heart did not turn to dear Tom, but she was vain, fond of luxury,
easily persuaded, and the love of self, the love of wealth and
magnificence, was stronger than her love for him.
Then, when Lord Ethalwood thought the love of present surroundings had
taken deep root, he again addressed her in reference to the
all-important subject.
Aveline and her child had been looking over a book with characters
cunningly wrought on vellum. It contained the chronicles of the house
of Ethalwood, and had been the work of years.
The earlier chronicles dated back some centuries, and the missal,
which was quaint and curious, had been originally commenced by an old
monk. Lord Ethalwood explained to his grand-daughter the many parts of
the volume which were to her unintelligible.
“My child, my own Aveline,” said the Earl, closing the volume, “it is
fit and proper that you should know something of your illustrious
ancestors, especially as this little fellow is destined, by God’s
blessing, to carry on the line in his person. Have you thought, my
darling pet, of what I hinted at during the first few days of your
visit?” said he, in a more serious tone.
“Thought!” cried she. “Alas, my lord, I have thought of many
things――indeed, to say the truth, I am always thinking.”
“You are now in your proper sphere,” he said, quickly, “and I hope and
trust you have no desire to leave it.”
“No,” she answered, hesitatingly. “No, my lord, I should be ungrateful
indeed if I did, but then there’s my husband.”
Lord Ethalwood held up his hand reprovingly.
“I charge you, Aveline, as you love this boy, as you respect me, not
to mention that man’s name in my presence.” He said this in so severe
a tone that Aveline grew alarmed.
She fell on her knees before the earl, and placed her hand softly on
his.
“Oh, sir!――oh, my lord!” she ejaculated. “Pity and pardon me. I did
not mean to offend you――indeed I did not, but――――”
“But what, Aveline?” he inquired, coldly.
“I fear you will be angered.”
“No, go on. Be frank with me.”
“I am sure, my lord, you are of too generous and just a nature to
blame any woman having some consideration for her husband, whom she
has sworn to honour, love, and obey.”
“This is simply ridiculous. You must have been reading some
highly-coloured romance, or perchance a melodrama. Let us return to
sense and reason. I will not attempt to influence you――will not make
use of either threats or entreaties. I will simply lay before you both
paths in life; you shall choose as you will. You must either give up
your husband, or――give up me!”
“Ah! my lord, you cannot mean it?”
“I do. I am not accustomed to say what I do not mean.”
“I am well assured of that, my lord,” she answered; “but you are not
unreasonable, and will have some consideration for your grand-daughter,
who has every desire to please you and to act in accordance with your
expressed wishes.”
“Pause, my child,” said the earl, “and sit ye down. If you have every
desire――which I do not doubt――to listen to my counsel, I shall not
have any reason to complain or be dissatisfied; but promises are one
thing, and performance another.”
“I hope you do not think so badly of me as to suppose I should forfeit
my word.”
“I have the best opinion of you,” said Lord Ethalwood, handing his
fair companion a seat; “but for divers reasons, Aveline, I must be
plain with you,” he added. “I shall not seek to influence you. I
simply lay both paths in life before you. It is for you to make your
election. If you make up your mind to return, and take your boy with
you, so be it――I will not reproach you; but for his sake, if for none
other, I charge you to duly consider this matter.”
“I have considered it.”
“With what result?”
“Oh, sir, I am in duty bound to obey you; but this is my first visit.
You can have no possible objection to my returning to Wood Green for
awhile, and consulting my husband.”
“Oh, as to that, I must admit that your request is but reasonable. You
are at liberty to return whenever you please; but as to taking the
advice of a man who is so immeasurably inferior to me and mine, that
is not to be thought of.”
“I do not mean to take his advice. All I desire is to explain to him
how I am situated.”
“Ah, I understand. You can explain to him, but I suppose you propose
returning to your proper sphere. I have already told you that your
fate is in your own hands. You have to choose between rank and wealth,
poverty and obscurity. Do not think I shall ever change, my dear
Aveline. If you desire to remain with this young engineer, so be it.
If, on the contrary, you decide to remain with me, I will make you
heiress of all my fortune, and your son shall be my heir-at-law. You
shall have every advantage I can offer you. I will find some lady
accustomed to the usages of good society and the ways of the world, to
give you two or three months’ instruction, so that you may be fitted
to mix with the proudest in the land, and then next season you shall
go to London. You shall be mistress of Broxbridge Hall and one of the
most magnificent mansions in the metropolis.
“You shall be a queen, a leader of fashion, you shall have unlimited
wealth, more than you can possibly desire, and your boy, your
beautiful child, shall succeed to a large fortune.”
The face of Aveline Gatliffe flushed as she listened, and then grew
suddenly pale.
“And what is the condition of all this, my lord?” she inquired.
The earl did not make any immediate reply. He gazed intently in her
face as if he would read her innermost thoughts――then, after a pause,
said, in a firm tone of voice――
“That you give up your husband, who――but I need not tell you what he
is――and be with me, be my adopted daughter.”
“The proposal is cruelly hard.”
“Not so hard as you think,” he rejoined. “Rank always has its
penalties. How many queens have married for the good of their kingdom,
and have given up the men they really loved? How many noble ladies at
the call of duty have married men whom they have positively disliked?
You do not understand these things, my dear Aveline. Not at present,
but let us hope you will do so in good time.”
“I confess I do not,” she answered, sadly.
“Well, my darling, you are not required to suffer in a like degree.
You have but to leave a man whose tastes, habits, and manners do not
and cannot possibly accord with your own.”
“I have never had any reason to complain of my husband,” she answered
quickly.
“Bah!” he ejaculated, “do not offend me by laudatory encomiums on one
who is so far beneath you; but enough of this. You must think this
matter seriously over, my dear Aveline. You know my wishes, and I do
hope and trust you will endeavour to act in accordance with them.
“I shall do my best,” she answered, sadly; “but I suppose you will not
forbid my returning to Wood Green for a short time――only for a short
time?”
“I should not be justified in refusing this request,” he murmured,
bending over her and kissing her fondly. “I am an old man, Aveline,”
he observed, thoughtfully, “and the few years that may be yet in store
for me would be brightened by your presence. Think of that, my child,
and do not deem me harsh or exacting. Your husband I can never
receive. Weigh the matter well over before you decide. For both our
sakes it would be desirable that you should follow my advice, but I
leave it for you to determine; and so, my child, return to your home
at Wood Green as soon as you please, but remember all I have said to
you.”
Aveline Gatliffe rose from her seat, embraced the old nobleman, and
crept softly out of the library.
Later in the day Mr. Chicknell made his appearance at Broxbridge――the
earl had sent a telegram to him to come down as soon as possible to
the Hall.
“I am glad you’ve come, Chicknell,” said Lord Ethalwood, when the
lawyer entered the library――“glad for many reasons.”
The man of parchment rubbed the palms of his hands together, and
smiled grimly.
“Be seated,” said his patron.
Chicknell drew a chair towards the table and sat down.
“Well, my lord,” he murmured. “Is everything going on as you desire?”
“Pretty well. You have not seen this young man, I suppose?”
“I have not deemed it expedient to do so at present――not till I
received further commands from your lordship.”
“You have acted with your usual discretion.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“But a truce to compliments. Let us to business. My grand-daughter is
desirous of returning to Wood Green.”
[Sidenote: No. 25.]
[Illustration: “I LEAVE IT FOR MY HUSBAND TO DETERMINE,” SAID
AVELINE.]
“Ah!” ejaculated the attorney.
“Yes, but only for a time. Understand that, only for a short period.”
The lawyer nodded.
“I think she is disposed to accede to my wishes――at least, that is my
impression.”
“I am delighted to hear it.”
“Well, this being so, I have thought it best to humour her; let her
have her own way; she’ll soon be glad to return to Broxbridge.”
“You think so?”
“I feel assured of it; but that is not of any immediate moment. What I
have sent to you for is to beg a favour.”
“There is no favour Lord Ethalwood can possibly require from so poor
an individual as myself.”
“Aye, but there is. What I want you to do is to escort my
grand-daughter to her husband’s house. After then it would be
advisable for you to see Mrs. Maitland, who, from what I have heard,
is a sensible worthy woman. Wrench spoke in the highest terms of her.”
“I will make it my business to see her.”
“Yes, and you can explain many things which may be most important for
her to know――such as our relative positions, my determination as
regards this low-bred fellow, my wish to place Aveline in her proper
sphere; and in addition to all this you may tell her that the only way
open to effect this desirable object is for this young man to give up
all claim upon the lady who has demeaned herself by becoming his wife.
I leave the matter for you to arrange. I don’t mind allowing this
young fellow a handsome income; in point of fact I commission you to
arrange with him. If he is open to reason I will settle a certain sum
on him for the remainder of his life, provided he agrees to sign a
deed of separation.”
“I’ll do my best to carry out your wishes, but the task is by no means
an easy one.”
“Tut, man, I’ll dare be sworn it is much easier than we either of us
anticipate. Fellows of his class are not likely to refuse a competency
for life. If you play your cards well the matter will be easy enough.
A deed of separation, signed by both parties, would be most desirable.
Don’t you see that, Chicknell?”
“Doubtless it would, as far as you yourself are concerned.”
“You are not wanting in penetration, and are well adapted to bring
this affair to a successful issue. Nay, I am sure you will be able to
do so if you choose,” said Lord Ethalwood, with pointed emphasis.
“If I choose,” repeated the lawyer. “I do hope your lordship will do
me the justice in believing that I shall not shrink from the
performance of what I deem a duty.”
“I am sure of that; pardon my expressing any doubt, but to say the
truth, Chicknell, I appear to be full of doubts and fears. Aveline
must return――that is quite certain. She must see this low-bred fellow
whom she calls her husband, but she will return to Broxbridge. I feel
assured of that, for she has pledged her word, which I do not think
she is likely to forfeit, and in addition to this there are other
cogent and weighty reasons for her to seek the hospitable walls of her
ancestors.”
Mr. Chicknell bowed, and said he quite coincided with his lordship in
the opinion he had expressed.
In two days after this conversation Aveline Gatliffe and her little
boy left Broxbridge under the charge of Mr. Chicknell, who accompanied
them to Wood Green.
Upon arriving at their destination they found nobody at the little
cottage, save a little girl, who had been engaged by Mrs. Maitland to
wait upon Gatliffe, who was expected home in about an hour.
Aveline took off her things, and awaited the return of her husband.
The lawyer paid a diplomatic visit to Mrs. Maitland.
Tom Gatliffe’s joy knew no bounds when he beheld his wife and child
seated in the parlour.
The meeting between husband and wife was of a tender and touching
nature.
The former seemed almost beside himself with joy――the latter, however,
although as affectionate as could very well be desired, displayed at
times a certain restraint.
“You have come back, my own darling Aveline,” exclaimed Gatliffe, “and
will, I think, never leave me again.”
His wife made no reply to this.
“Eh, dearest?” he again murmured. “Do you mean never to leave me
again.”
“Well, Tom, that depends upon circumstances you know. I cannot
promise――indeed it would be unjust and wrong to do so. The earl, my
grandfather, is an old man, and old people are at times whimsical. I
fear I shall have to return.”
A dark shade passed over the features of the engineer, who looked hard
at the speaker.
“Have to return?” he murmured.
“I suppose so; but don’t let us trouble ourselves about that.”
She placed her arms round the neck of her husband, who for her sake
forbore from asking any further questions.
For some days after Aveline’s return nothing occurred to disturb the
harmony of her small domestic circle; albeit the engineer could not
fail to note the air of refinement which seemed to surround his wife,
and pervade all her actions. He grew alarmed.
There came one evening when Tom Gatliffe sat in his garden a prey to
most anxious thoughts. The sun was setting, and the birds were singing
in the green depths of the trees.
He had returned home that evening, and had found Aveline with a sad
pale face standing listlessly at the cottage window.
The smile that usually greeted him was absent from her pale face.
He loved her too fondly to offer any remonstrance――he went up to her
and embraced her tenderly.
She appeared listless and abstracted, and took but little notice of
his endearments.
He was pained and troubled, and said, after a pause――
“My dear, you don’t appear to be well. Are you poorly?”
“No――oh, dear, no,” she exclaimed, flinging her arms round his neck,
with a low passionate cry, and hiding her face against his shoulder.
“I am sure you are not well,” he repeated. “Something’s the matter.”
“There is nothing the matter――nothing at all. What puts such a thought
into your head? You seem to have such strange fancies.”
“Me, fancies?”
“Well, yes――more than you used to have.”
“My dear girl, what will you say next?” he exclaimed, with a hollow
attempt at a laugh, which, to say the truth, was a dismal failure, for
deep down in the bottom of his heart sat fear――a terrible, nameless,
ill-defined fear.
“I cannot quite understand you, Aveline,” he said sadly. “You are so
changed, so variable, so unlike your own sweet self. One moment you
are here with your arms clasped round my neck; the next, you are cold
and reserved, and as haughty as though you were a princess and I your
slave. At times you seem to love me; and then, again, you seem to
despise me. I cannot make it out. One day I think you are perfectly
happy; the next, you are silent and engrossed with melancholy
thoughts. Aveline, there must be a cause for all this. You are tired
of your husband, and feel it hard to dwell in this humble abode. Tell
me if this is not so? I can bear it. Do not hesitate to speak the
truth; for it is far better for me to know the worst than be kept in a
state of suspense.”
She clasped her arms round his neck and said he was the dearest, best,
and truest of husbands.
He sighed deeply as he soothed her. What had come to this lovely young
wife of his?
He little dreamed of the terrible struggle in the heart of her whom he
had believed at one time to be all his own.
“I am afraid to say what I think,” cried Gatliffe, “and perhaps it had
better remain unsaid.”
“I wish you to say what you think. Nothing would please me better,”
she answered. “Tell me what it is.”
“Why, that you are more attached to your grandfather than your
husband.”
“Ah, shame upon you to make such an observation!” cried she.
“I hope I am not mistaken. But tell me, has this proud earl ever
invited me to his grand house?”
The young wife’s face became suffused with a deep blush. She hardly
knew what reply to make.
“Oh, I am convinced he has not,” said Gatliffe.
“No, he has not.”
“He need not be afraid. I am not good enough for him, and shall never
trouble him,” he exclaimed, with something like bitterness in his
tone.
Aveline was pained. She could not find it in her heart to make her
husband acquainted with the insurmountable barrier which separated him
from the earl――a barrier which nothing could remove.
It seemed to her that her very soul was rent in twain.
She longed, with an intensity of longing, for the wealth, the
position, the grandeur, which she had left behind at Broxbridge.
It seemed so cruel that she should be deprived of all these glorious
advantages because she loved her husband, and was constrained from a
sense of duty to remain with him.
How happy would she be, installed at Broxbridge as mistress of the
grand old mansion!
No wonder, when she thought of this, that she grew sad, silent, and
unhappy.
The little cottage became unbearable then, the needful little
economies most hateful, the husband for whom she was sacrificing so
much a source of aversion.
Then a sudden fit of remorse would seize her――she would prove her love
for him by every possible means――she would laugh and sing, all to show
him that she was happy――she would utter a thousand little
extravagances about their little home and her affection for it.
And then would follow the reaction, and she would be intensely
wretched again.
So matters went on for three long weeks, until her health began to
give way.
A nobler woman, having once determined to make the sacrifice, would
have abided by it; not so with her, however――she wavered even while
she believed herself most firm.
She looked ill――her face was always either flushed or white, her hands
trembled; she was nervous, hysterical, and unlike herself.
In vain her husband tried everything to please her; he was, if
possible, more unhappy than herself.
She could not be contented with her lot at Wood Green. It was not
possible for her to forget Broxbridge and its surroundings.
It had been such a glimpse of paradise to her. Now the gates were shut
and she was debarred from entering.
So the fourth week dawned.
She was in receipt of a letter from the earl. It was couched in the
most affectionate terms. In it the writer inquired when she would
return to the home of her ancestors.
She did not deem it prudent to show this epistle to her husband, as
his name was not mentioned therein, but it contained an intimation
that Mr. Chicknell would pay her an early visit.
Meanwhile the astute lawyer had been endeavouring to bring Mrs.
Maitland over to the earl’s way of thinking.
He had not as yet made known to the lady his client’s proposition for
a deed of separation.
Matters were not ripe enough for that at present. He must play with
fish before he landed it.
Mrs. Maitland, who was honest and straightforward, besought him to
speak plainly but kindly to the young engineer. She said that perhaps
it would be best for all parties if Tom Gatliffe consented to Aveline
taking up her abode at Broxbridge――that is assuming the earl was
obdurate, and no other course remained open.
Mr. Chicknell paid many visits to Mrs. Maitland, and felt assured she
would do her best in bringing matters to a satisfactory issue.
While all this had been going on, Tom Gatliffe could not conceal from
himself that his wife was in a great measure estranged from him.
It was painfully evident that she yearned to be again at Broxbridge.
How all this would end it was not so easy to say.
One morning, before Gatliffe had started to the works, Mr. Chicknell
presented himself, and demanded to see the owner of the cottage.
Gatliffe received him stiffly, but courteously.
The lawyer was a wary old soldier, who was not accustomed to jump at a
sudden proposition or conclusion.
After some preliminary remarks he told Gatliffe that Earl Ethalwood
was ill, and that he most particularly desired to see his
grand-daughter.
He laid a great stress on this last word.
A feeling as of sudden faintness came over the engineer.
“Wishes to see my wife, sir?” he said quickly.
“Yes, if you can spare her for a few days, it would be deemed a
special favour. You see, my young friend, the earl has been accustomed
to receive homage and obedience from his inferiors, and, indeed, from
his equals in many instances, and he is, from this very circumstance,
exacting and uncompromising. I don’t say it disrespectfully――for a
more honourable gentleman does not live――but he is headstrong and
self-willed, and cannot brook contradiction.”
“Ah, indeed! That is but natural, I suppose. Well, sir, what do you
require――my consent to the absence of my wife?”
“Well, yes, if you have no objection.”
“Since our marriage she has been accustomed to have her own way in
everything. I have never thwarted her or offered any opposition to her
expressed wishes. If she wishes to go, there is an end of the matter.”
“Better ask her――hadn’t we?” returned Chicknell.
“As you please.”
Gatliffe arose from his seat, opened the door, and called his wife by
her Christian name.
She hurriedly entered the parlour. At the sight of the lawyer her face
became irradiated with a smile, which was not lost upon her husband,
who explained to her the reason for Mr. Chicknell honouring them with
a visit.
“The earl ill?” cried Aveline, in a tone of alarm. “I’m sorry indeed
to hear that. Anything serious?”
“Ahem! No, nothing very serious. His medical attendant says he
requires rest, and a change of air when he gets better. There’s
nothing to be alarmed at――that is, as far as I can learn. And so what
say you, my dear lady?” inquired the lawyer, in oleaginous accents.
“As far as I am individually concerned, I should hasten at once to
Broxbridge,” answered Aveline; “but I leave it for my husband to
determine.”
“He will not offer any opposition to that, I am well assured,”
returned Chicknell, with a winning smile, who, throughout the
interview, did his best to conciliate the engineer.
“You had better go, dear,” said the latter.
Aveline went to his side, and placing one arm round his neck as he was
seated in his chair, she then, addressing the lawyer, said――
“I hope you will tell the earl, my grandfather, what a good,
indulgent, kind husband I have got, for it is but right and proper he
should hear this from other lips beside mine own.”
“I will tell him so, rest assured of that. Shall feel a pleasure in
making this known to him,” said the lawyer.
“I cannot remain longer. My time is up, sir,” observed Gatliffe.
“Then I will not detain you,” said the lawyer. “I shall, I dare say,
have occasion to see you shortly upon a little matter of business, and
so farewell till we meet again.”
Soon after Gatliffe’s departure his wife and little boy started off in
company with the solicitor, and reached Broxbridge Hall early in the
afternoon.