THE ALLUREMENTS OF WEALTH AND RANK――THE DESPAIRING HUSBAND.
When Aveline Gatliffe arrived at the earl’s residence she found its
owner by no means so poorly as she had anticipated.
Her grandfather had a slight cold, which for obvious reasons had been
magnified into an attack of a much more serious nature.
His cold soon disappeared after Aveline had taken up her abode once
more at Broxbridge. It was a ruse on the part of the attorney to
excite sympathy――a ruse which answered his purpose very well.
Now that Earl Ethalwood had his darling Aveline once more with him he
was determined not to part with her, not if he could help it, and
seeing that he had wealth, station, and power, the chances were that
he would be able to hold his own against any odds.
Her stay at Broxbridge was much more protracted than it had been on
the occasion of her first visit, and gradually the truth began to dawn
upon the engineer. Mrs. Maitland had pointed out to him the
desirability of not offering any opposition to the expressed wishes of
so great and influential a personage as Lord Ethalwood.
She told him that if he had proper consideration for his wife, and
care for her future prospects, he would let her remain as mistress of
the earl’s establishment.
At this Tom Gatliffe burst into a fit of passion, and vehemently
anathmetised, not only the earl, but the aristocracy generally. He was
so violent that the good lady had considerable difficulty in pacifying
him.
“If she chooses to stay away of her own free will, so be it. She’ll be
no wife of mine if she does――that’s all I have to say.”
“Don’t be unreasonable, Tom,” cried Mrs. Maitland. “The earl is now
stricken in years, and in the common course of nature he cannot be
long here. If only for your boy’s sake, you ought to give way. A grand
future is before him, if the earl chooses to make him his heir, which
he has promised to do.”
“What have I done that I should be cast adrift? Why am I not permitted
to enter the house of which my wife is supposed to be mistress? Tell
me that.”
“You have not done anything, but the earl has a prejudice.”
“Against whom?”
“Against all who are not nobly born. It is altogether most unfortunate
as far as you are concerned, but you must remember, Tom, I never
deceived you. I told you all about Aveline when you proposed and asked
my consent. You knew perfectly well that there was a dark,
impenetrable mystery hanging over her at that time. We cannot see into
futurity, and not anyone of us could have guessed that she was nobly
born. Think of all these things, and be patient.”
“Patient, mother! When a man is robbed of a wife whom he dearly loves,
you preach patience? I will write and ask her to come back.”
“It would not be wise to do so, but you can of course do as you think
best.”
“I will write. She has been gone away seven weeks, and in none of her
letters does she make the slightest allusion to returning home.”
“Well, then, write to her,” said Mrs. Maitland hastily; “write.”
Tom Gatliffe wrote a somewhat hasty epistle to his wife, in which he
expressed a wish for her return. If she had made up her mind to desert
him, he besought her to let him know.
In reply to this Aveline informed him that she could not leave
Broxbridge without incurring the displeasure of its owner, as she had
promised to obey him in all things.
At the same time she informed him that her love was as strong and
powerful as ever, and that she would never voluntarily desert him.
Still for the present it was expedient that they should remain
separate and apart.
It cost her many a pang to indite this epistle, but the urgency of the
case required it, and she had no other alternative.
The letter bewildered him. At first he could not realise it, but in a
little time slowly and clearly the terrible truth came home to him.
Aveline had forsaken him for mere vanity, wealth, and luxury.
She had given him up and left him for ever.
When his mind had quite grasped that truth, a terrible cry came from
his lips, and he fell into a chair in almost a prostrate condition.
When he recovered he sat for long hours in that room which was never
again to be brightened by his wife’s presence.
Then hot anger, fierce invectives succeeded――anger so wild, so
frantic, that he was for the time like a madman.
Who had taken his darling from him? She would not have left him of her
own free will――he felt convinced of that.
Who had tempted her? He cursed the proud lord who had robbed him of
his treasure.
Then he was reminded by her letter that it was of her own free will
that she had done it.
She had left him that she might enjoy wealth, luxury, and splendour.
She had left him and blighted his life――had broken his heart; had
slighted his love for――money!
“And what will not either man or woman do for money?” he cried, with
supreme bitterness. “Anything――everything!”
He struck his forehead with his clenched fist.
“Had I handed Peace over to justice, which I ought to have done, the
chances are that this fatal discovery would never have been made――for
fatal it has proved to me; but it is right that I should be punished
for my dissimulation and falsehood on the night of the burglary
committed by that scoundrel, Peace.”
Gatliffe knew perfectly well that there was legal redress for him. He
could claim his wife and claim his child, but he would not resort to
such a course――he was too proud. If she had voluntarily left him, let
her go.
The law of the country might force his heartless wife to return――might
compel her to come back to him; but he disdained any such
assistance――he held the law in contempt.
“She was light and vain,” he murmured. “She was always that ever since
I’ve known her. She had my heart in her hands――that she knew well
enough; she has broken it, and thrown it away. For her sake I would
have borne starvation, ignominy, and death――she, with a few cool
words, gives me up for money!”
Tom Gatliffe’s trouble seemed to warp and change his whole nature――it
hardened him as nothing else could have done; yet to no living man did
he make any complaint.
He said nothing of what had happened; he went about his work for some
days as usual, but with a grim determined look on his face.
He had a strange desire. He wanted to see Peace――not that he had any
respect or friendship for the man――far from it――but he wanted to know
how the discovery relative to Aveline’s paternity first came about.
Peace would be able to give him this information.
Meanwhile his wife was in the enjoyment of wealth, luxury, and every
earthly delight and comfort; if these could give her happiness she
ought to be well satisfied, and to a certain extent she was. It is
true at times she confessed to herself that the part she was playing
was not altogether without its darker aspects.
She had not used her husband well, and she was much surprised that he
had not chosen to answer her last letter. She thought he would be sure
to write――there would perhaps be a passionate appeal to her to
return――a passionate cry for love and pity.
She must answer that as well as she could. The die was cast now. She
was as inflexible as the earl her grandfather――for she was an
Ethalwood. Poor thing, she was proud when she thought of this――it was
the very nature of the Ethalwoods to be uncompromising and
unyielding――therefore, come what would, she could not alter her
decision.
Still it was somewhat singular that Tom should have not thought it
worth while to make an appeal――it was annoying.
She waited in vain for a letter from her husband. She would have been
glad to have heard from him, if it were only two or three lines just
to say how he was. She was piqued, and not a little vexed; she felt
hurt.
She longed to know what he thought of her conduct, what he suffered,
if he was unhappy. Unknown to herself in the midst of the splendour
with which she was surrounded, she was still longing for his love.
What strange inconsistencies there are in the human character! Any way
she could not fail to acknowledge to herself that Tom was not selfish,
and she did not feel that she could say the same of those by whom she
was surrounded. Her mind and thoughts might be said to be in a state
of transition.
It is true that she was made an idol of in her new home――she was
surrounded with stately grandeur.
If her head ached every remedy and every luxury was offered to her,
but there was no Tom to soothe and comfort her until the pain had
ceased.
She missed him more than words can tell, and for some little time
after her last letter to him she was undergoing the pangs of remorse.
The earl, who was an adept in reading characters, saw this. He judged
that the young wife could not give up her husband without experiencing
some sharp pangs, and in this he was not mistaken.
He did all he could to rouse her. He gave a grand dinner party, to
which the leading notabilities of the county were invited, who paid
homage to the mistress of Broxbridge, to whom they were most profuse
in their compliments.
The earl ordered a magnificent costume from Paris for his
grand-daughter, who was delighted.
In the novelty and excitement she forgot her sorrow, and from that
hour the world took possession of her.
Lord Ethalwood kept most faithfully every promise he had made her. In
this respect he was the soul of honour.
He busied himself in getting together every legal proof of her
identity, and in this he succeeded even beyond his anticipation.
No one could for a moment question the fact of her being veritably his
grandchild.
But as the world is censorious, he deemed it advisable to put the
question beyond the reach of cavillers.
Then he formally declared his great grandson his heir, and made his
will, bequeathing to Aveline, his beloved grandchild, a fortune, which
was to have been divided between three of his children, and which
would have made each of them rich.
These arrangements seemed to give him more pleasure than they did
Aveline, who felt that after all she was but a mere puppet in the hand
of her courtly relative.
Nevertheless, she was thankful for the consideration displayed in so
profuse and munificent a manner by the earl, who seemed so solicitous
for her welfare and happiness.
Indeed, to say the truth, she seemed to be his idol.
He proposed introducing her into fashionable and aristocratic circles,
but before doing this he was impressed with the necessity of placing
her under the care of some experienced lady, who would induct her into
the usages of what is termed good society.
At present she was natural and unsophisticated. These qualities,
excellent as they were in themselves, were of no great value to one
who was destined to mix with the upper classes.
No one knew this better than Lord Ethalwood, for, as we have already
observed, he was a close observer of human nature.
He therefore looked about for an instructor and companion for his
well-beloved grand-daughter, and he succeeded in finding the very
person of all others he most desired.
Lady Marvlynn, relic of Sir Eric Marvlynn, was a lady most admirably
adapted for the purpose. She knew everybody “who was worth knowing,”
to use her own words, had the history and genealogy of every titled
family by heart, was good-natured, loquacious, courtly, and a gossip;
and the earl felt assured that she would take a pleasure in preparing
his grand-daughter for the new sphere of action in which she was
destined to move.
Her ladyship consented to educate the beautiful girl so as to fit her
for her new position.
“She will never be accomplished,” said Lord Ethalwood. “That we cannot
help. It would be useless to attempt to teach her French and German;
but she knows something of music, can play tolerably well, and sings
very sweetly. As for other accomplishments we must dispense with them.
Teach her to take her place gracefully as mistress of my house; teach
her all the little details of etiquette that every lady ought to know,
and she will be no discredit either to me or her tutor――at least, I
hope not.”
“She’s a charming girl――a loveable creature; so unsophisticated――so
ingenuous; so much warmth of temperament――so much refinement. I am
most delighted to take her under my charge, my lord; most flattered
that you should have entrusted me with the pleasing task.”
“I am glad you like her, for without all would be of no avail.”
“Oh, my dear Lord Ethalwood, I undertake my duties _con amore_. It
will be a labour of love. What am I saying? Labour, indeed; it will be
recreation――a pleasant pastime for me. You know since the death of
poor dear Sir Eric I have had but little to engage my thoughts――have
sought in vain for an object upon whom I could place my affection.
Pardon my blunder. Your grand-daughter is not an object. Ah-ah!”
And the dowager laughed immoderately at this sally.
The earl joined in chorus.
“She’s a wonderfully good-natured creature,” he murmured to himself,
“and Aveline will doubtless get on very well with her.”
He was quite right in this surmise, Aveline did get on exceedingly
well with the gossiping, merry, elderly lady, who had always something
pleasant to say; sometimes it was about the movements of the upper
ten――sometimes it was biographical or anecdotal.
In her society Aveline found the hours pass gaily and merrily away.
The result of her companionship with Lady Marvlynn was a perfect
success.
The little deficiencies of manner were soon toned down, the musical
voice took a more delicate and silvery tone――the actions and
movements, always graceful, became more graceful in their high-bred
elegance.
Aveline was so quick in learning to adapt herself to her new sphere
that Lord Ethalwood wondered at her marvellous progress.
When she had been with Lady Marvlynn for three months, one might have
thought that her whole life had been spent at Broxbridge.
“You have produced a visible change in the manner and demeanour of my
pet,” said Lord Ethalwood; “I cannot sufficiently thank you for your
valuable instruction.”
“Don’t thank me, my dear Lord Ethalwood,” exclaimed Lady Marvlynn.
“She has natural grace, is so remarkably impressionable, so easily
moved――her appearance is so _distingue_ and her manners so winning, I
assure you that she will bear the very highest polish. She is a
diamond――a very gem of the first water. Still I do flatter myself she
has greatly improved since I first became acquainted with her. I admit
that, but at the same time am not vain enough to suppose for one
moment that it is attributable altogether to me. I’ve done my best,
and now the dear girl will be an ornament to any society or coterie.”
The earl smiled――he liked to hear Aveline praised by others besides
himself.
When the London season opened Lord Ethalwood took Aveline to his town
residence in Mayfair.
She made her _début_ in the great world, and was received there with
every flattering demonstration.
The earl’s prophecy was realised――her marvellous grace and beauty
created a perfect _furore_.
More than ever he at this time regretted her unfortunate and
ill-assorted marriage; but for that there was no rank she might not
have attained.
The only thing that reconciled him in the least to it was the fact of
the child’s existence.
There opened then to Aveline Gatliffe a most brilliant life. Nothing
she had ever dreamed of equalled the magnificent reality.
There was, however, one drawback.
She had one dispute with her grandfather――he was desirous that she
should relinquish the name of Gatliffe, and that she would not consent
to do.
She looked at him with flashing eyes, and her face flushed up with
anger as he made this proposition.
“I have broken my husband’s heart,” she said, in a tone of sadness; “I
have deserted him, my lord――I have embittered his life. All this is
bad enough, but I will not give up his name. I was proud enough the
day I bore it first, and you have no right to ask me to give it up.”
These were the first angry words she had spoken to the proud old
earl――the first that had ever fallen from her lips since he had known
her.
He was astounded at her boldness, and murmured, “The Ethalwood spirit.
I could never have believed it had I not heard her utter such a bold
defiance.”
He saw it was useless to urge the point――she had evidently more
determination and spirit than he had given her credit for.
Nevertheless he was deeply mortified.
Aveline was known as “Mrs. Gatliffe,” Lord Ethalwood’s beautiful
grand-daughter.
People at first used to ask where was her husband――who was he?
And the answer was――
“She married a man much beneath her, and is separated from him.”
After a time they ceased to ask, and the beautiful Mrs. Gatliffe
became one of the queens of the fashionable world.
She enjoyed life, she gave herself up heart and soul to the spirit of
gaiety. No party, no ball or soirée, was complete without her.
She was indefatigable in the pursuit of pleasure.
Lord Ethalwood smiled as he watched her.
“I was not mistaken in my estimate of her character,” he thought. “She
has forgotten her husband.”
He became warmly attached to her, chiefly because her great beauty and
popularity flattered his pride.
He loved her, too, because she so closely resembled her mother.
There were times too, when Aveline Gatliffe, looking around her, said
to herself――
“I did well. If the time and the choice were to come again, I should
do the same. It would have been cruel, such a life as mine in a
mechanic’s cottage; it would have been cruel and unjust to deprive my
darling boy of this grand heritage.”
Such is the sophistry people use in cheating themselves into the
belief that they have acted right in casting aside their natural ties
for the blandishments of the world――for the acquirement of wealth and
power. We shall see in good time if these brought happiness and a
contented mind.