The Belton Estate

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'Who is she to have a claim on? I'm the nearest she has got. Besides,
am not I going to take all the property which ought to be hers?'

'That's just it. There's no such ought in the case. The property is as
much your own as this poker is mine. That's exactly the mistake I want
you to guard against. If you liked her, and chose to marry her, that
would be all very well; presuming that you don't want to get money in
marriage.'

'I hate the idea of marrying for money.'

'All right. Then marry Miss Amedroz if you please. But don't make any
rash undertakings to be her father, or her brother, or her uncle, or
her aunt. Such romance always leads a man into trouble.'

'But I've done it already.'

'What do you mean?'

'I've told her that I would be her brother, and that as long as I had a
shilling she should never want sixpence. And I mean it. And as for what
you say about romance and repenting it, that simply comes from your
being a lawyer.'

'Thank ye, Will.'

'If one goes to a chemist, of course one gets physic, and has to put up
with the bad smells.'

'Thank you again.'

'But the chemist may be a very good sort of fellow at home all the
same, and have a cupboard full of sweetmeats and a garden full of
flowers. However, the thing is done as far as I am concerned, and I can
almost find it in my heart to be sorry that Clara has got this driblet
of money. Fifteen hundred pounds I It would keep her out of the
workhouse, and that is about all.'

'If you knew how many ladies in her position would think that the
heavens had rained wealth upon them if some one would give them fifteen
hundred pounds!'

'Very well. At any rate I won't take it away from her. And now I want
you to tell me something else. Do you remember a fellow we used to know
named Berdmore?'

'Philip Berdmore?'

'He may have been Philip, or Daniel, or Jeremiah, for anything I know.
But the man I mean was very much given to taking his liquor freely.'

'That was Jack Berdmore, Philip's brother. Oh yes, I remember him. He's
dead now. He drank himself to death at last, out in India.'

'He was in the army?'

'Yes and what a pleasant fellow he was at times! I see Phil constantly,
and Phil's wife, but they never speak of Jack.'

'He got married, didn't he, after we used to see him?'

Oh yes he and Phil married sisters. It was a sad affair, that.'

'I remember being with him and her and the sister too, after they were
engaged, and he got so drunk that we were obliged to take him away.
There was a large party of us at Richmond, but I don't think you were
there.'

'But I heard of it'

'And she was a Miss Vigo?'

'Exactly. I see the younger sister constantly. Phil isn't very rich,
and he's got a lot of children but he's very happy.'

'What became of the other sister?

'Of Jack's wife?'

'Yes. What became of her?'

'I haven't an idea. Something bad, I suppose, as they never speak of
her.'

'And how long is he dead?'

'He died about three years since. I only knew it from Phil's telling me
that he was in mourning for him. Then he did speak of him for a moment
or two, and I came to know that he had carried on to the end in the
same way. If a fellow takes to drink in this country, he'll never get
cured in India.'

'I suppose not.'

'Never.'

'And now I want to find out something about his widow.'

'And why?'

'Ah I'm not sure that I can tell you why. Indeed I'm sure that I
cannot. But still you might be able to assist me.'

'There were heaps of people who used to know the Vigos,' said the
lawyer.

'No end of people though I couldn't for the life of me say who any of
them were.'

'They used to come out in London with an aunt, but nobody knew much
about her. I fancy they had neither father nor mother.'

'They were very pretty.'

'And how well they danced. I don't think I ever knew a girl who danced
so pleasantly giving herself no airs, you know as Mary Vigo.'

'Her name was Mary,' said Belton, remembering that Mrs Askerton's name
was also Mary.

'Jack Berdmore married Mary.'

'Well now, Joe, you must find out for me what became of her. Was she
with her husband when he died?'

'Nobody was with him. Phil told me so. No one, that is, but a young
lieutenant and his own servant. It was very sad. He had D.T., and all
that sort of thing.'

'And where was she?'

'At Jericho, for anything that I know.'

'Will you find out?' Then Mr Joseph Green thought for a moment of his
capabilities in that line, and having made an engagement to dine with
his friend at his club on the evening before Will left London, said at
last that he thought he could find out through certain mutual friends
who had known the Berdmores in the old days. 'But the fact is,' said
the lawyer, 'that the world is so good- natured instead of being
ill-natured, as people say that it always forgets those who want to be
forgotten.'

We must now go back for a few moments to Captain Aylmer and his
affairs. Having given a full month to the consideration of his position
as regarded Miss Amedroz, he made up his mind to two things. In the
first place, he would at once pay over to her the money which was to be
hers as her aunt's legacy, and then he would renew his offer. To that
latter determination he was guided by mixed motives by motives which,
when joined together, rarely fail to be operative. His conscience told
him that he ought to do so and then the fact of her having, as it were,
taken herself away from him, made him again wish to possess her. And
there was another cause which, perhaps, operated in the same direction.
He had consulted his mother, and she had strongly advised him to have
nothing further to do with Miss Amedroz. Lady Aylmer abused her dead
sister heartily for having interfered in the matter, and endeavoured to
prove to her son that he was released from his promise by having in
fact performed it. But on this point his conscience interfered backed
by his wishes and he made his resolve as has been above stated. On
leaving Mr Green's chambers he went to his own lodgings, and wrote his
letter as follows:

'Mount Street, December, 186

Dearest Clara,

When you parted from me at Perivale you said certain things about our
engagement which I have come to understand better since then, than I
did at the time. It escaped from me that my dear aunt and I had had
some conversation about you, and that I had told her what was my
intention. Something was said about a promise, and I think it was that
word which made you unhappy. At such a time as that when I and my aunt
were talking together, and when she was, as she well knew, on her
deathbed, things will be said which would not be thought of in other
circumstances. I can only assure you now, that the promise I gave her
was a promise to do that which I had previously resolved upon doing. If
you can believe what I say on this head, that ought to be sufficient to
remove the feeling which induced you to break our engagement.

I now write to renew my offer to you, and to assure you that I do so
with my whole heart. You will forgive me if I tell you that I cannot
fail to remember, and always to bear in my mind, the sweet assurances
which you gave me of your regard for myself. As I do not know that
anything has occurred to alter your opinion of me, I write this letter
in strong hope that it may be successful. I believe that your fear was
in respect to my affection for you, not as to yours for me. If this was
so, I can assure you that there is no necessity for such fear.

I need not tell you that I shall expect your answer with great anxiety.

Yours most affectionately,

F. F. AYLMER.

P.S. I have today caused to be bought in your name Bank Stock to the
amount of fifteen hundred pounds, the amount of the legacy coming to
you from my aunt.'

This letter, and that from Mr Green respecting the money, both reached
Clara on the same morning. Now, having learned so much as to the
position of affairs at Belton Castle, we may return to Will and his
dinner engagement with Mr Joseph Green.

'And what have you heard about Mrs Berdmore?' Belton asked, almost as
soon as the two men wore together.

'I wish I knew why you want to know.'

'I don't want to do anybody any harm.'

'Do you want to do anybody any good?'

'Any good! I can't say that I want to do any particular good. The truth
is, I think I know where she is, and that she is living under a false
name.'

'Then you know more of her than I do.'

'I don't know anything. I'm only in doubt. But as the lady I mean lives
near to friends of mine, I should like to know.'

'That you may expose her?'

'No by no means. But I hate the idea of deceit. The truth is, that any
one living anywhere under a false name should be exposed or should be
made to assume their right name.'

'I find that Mrs Berdmore left her husband some years before he died.
There was nothing in that to create wonder, for he was a man with whom
a woman could hardly continue to live. But I fear she left him under
protection that was injurious to her character.

'And how long ago is that?'

'I do not know. Some years before his death.'

'And how long ago did he die?'

'About three years since. My informant tells me that he believes she
has since married. Now you know all that I know.' And Belton also knew
that Mrs Askerton of the cottage was the Miss Vigo with whom he had
been acquainted in earlier years.

After that they dined comfortably, and nothing passed between them
which need be recorded as essential to our story till the time came for
them to part. Then, when they were both standing at the club door, the
lawyer said a word or two which is essential. 'So you're off tomorrow?'
said he.

'Yes; I shall go down by the express.'

'I wish you a pleasant journey. By the by, I ought to tell you that you
won't have any trouble in being either father or mother, or uncle or
aunt to Miss Amedroz.'

'Why not?'

'I suppose it's no secret.'

'What's no secret?

'She's going to be married to Captain Aylmer.'

Then Will Belton started so violently, and assumed on a sudden so
manifest a look of anger, that his tale was at once told to Mr Green.
'Who says so?' he asked. 'I don't believe it.'

'I'm afraid it's true all the same, Will.'

'Who says it?'

'Captain Aylmer was with me today, and he told me. He ought to be good
authority on such a subject.'

'He told you that he was going to marry Clara Amedroz?'

'Yes, indeed.'

'And what made him come to you, to tell you?'

'There was a question about some money which he had paid to her, and
which, under existing circumstances, he thought it as well that he
should not pay. Matters of that kind are often necessarily told to
lawyers. But I should not have told it to you, Will, if I had not
thought that it was good news.'

'It is not good news,' said Belton moodily.

'At any rate, old fellow, my telling it will do no harm. You must have
learned it soon.' And he put his hand kindly almost tenderly, on the
other's arm. But Belton moved himself away angrily. The wound had been
so lately inflicted that he could not as yet forgive the hand that had
seemed to strike him.

'I'm sorry that it should be so bad with you, Will.'

'What do you mean by bad? It is not bad with me. it is very well with
me. Keep your pity for those who want it.' Then he walked off by
himself across the broad street before the club door, leaving his
friend without a word of farewell, and made his way up into St. James's
Square, choosing, as was evident to Mr Green, the first street that
would take him out of sight.

'He's hit, and hit hard,' said the lawyer, looking after him. 'Poor
fellow! I might have guessed it from what he said. I never knew of his
caring for any woman before.' Then Mr Green put on his gloves and went
away home.

We will now follow Will Belton into St. James's Square, and we shall
follow a very unhappy gentleman. Doubtless he had hitherto known and
appreciated the fact that Miss Amedroz had refused his offer, and had
often declared, both to himself and to his sister, his conviction that
that refusal would never be reversed. But, in spite of that expressed
conviction, he had lived on hope. Till she belonged to another man she
might yet be his. He might win her at last by perseverance. At any rate
he had it in his power to work towards the desired end, and might find
solace even in that working. And the misery of his loss would not be so
great to him as he found himself forced to confess to himself before he
had completed his wanderings on this night in not having her for his
own, as it would be in knowing that she had given herself to another
man. He had often told himself that of course she would become the wife
of some man, but he had never yet realized to himself what it would be
to know that she was the wife of any one specified rival. He had been
sad enough on that moonlight night in the avenue at Plaistow when he
had leaned against the tree, striking his hands together as he thought
of his great want; but his unhappiness then had been as nothing to his
agony now. Now it was all over and he knew the man who had supplanted
him.

How he hated him! With what an unchristian spirit did he regard that
worthy captain as he walked across St. James's Square, across Jermyn
Street, across Piccadilly, and up Bond Street, not knowing whither he
was going. He thought with an intense regret of the laws of modern
society which forbid duelling forgetting altogether that even had the
old law prevailed, the conduct of the man whom he so hated would have
afforded him no casus belli. But he was too far gone in misery and
animosity to be capable of any reason on the matter. Captain Aylmer had
interfered with his dearest wishes, and during this now passing hour he
would willingly have crucified Captain Aylmer had it been within his
power to do so. Till he had gone beyond Oxford Street, and had wandered
away into the far distance of Portman Square and Baker Street, he had
not begun to think of any interest which Clara Amedroz might have in
the matter on which his thoughts were employed. He was sojourning at an
hotel in Bond Street, and had gone thitherwards more by habit than by
thought; but he had passed the door of his inn, feeling it to be
impossible to render himself up to his bed in his present disturbed
mood. As he was passing the house in Bond Street he had been intent on
the destruction of Captain Aylmer and had almost determined that if
Captain Aylmer could not be made to vanish into eternity, he must make
up his mind to go that road himself.

It was out of the question that he should go down to Belton. As to that
he had come to a very decided opinion by the time that he had crossed
Oxford Street. Go down to see her, when she had treated him after this
fashion I No, indeed. She wanted no brother now. She had chosen to
trust herself to this other man, and he, Will Belton, would not
interfere further in her affairs. Then he drew upon his imagination for
a picture of the future, in which he portrayed Captain Aylmer as a
ruined man, who would probably desert his wife, and make himself
generally odious to all his acquaintance a picture as to the
realization of which I am bound to say that Captain Aylmer's
antecedents gave no probability. But it was the looking at this
self-drawn picture which first softened the artist's heart towards the
victim whom he had immolated on his imaginary canvas. When Clara should
be ruined by the baseness and villainy and general scampishness of this
man whom she was going to marry to whom she was about to be weak enough
and fool enough to trust herself then he would interpose and be her
brother once again a broken-hearted brother no doubt, but a brother
efficacious to keep the wolf from the door of this poor woman and her
children. Then, as he thus created Captain Aylmer's embryo family of
unprovided orphans for after a while he killed the captain, making him
to die some death that was very disgraceful, but not very distinct even
to his own imagination as he thought of those coming pledges of a love
which was to him so bitter, he stormed about the streets, performing
antics of which no one would have believed him capable who had known
him as the thriving Mr William Belton, of Plaistow Hall, among the fens
of Norfolk.

But the character of a man is not to be judged from the pictures which
he may draw or from the antics which he may play in his solitary hours.
Those who act generally with the most consummate wisdom in the affairs
of the world, often meditate very silly doings before their wiser
resolutions form themselves. I beg, therefore, that Mr Belton may be
regarded and criticized in accordance with his conduct on the following
morning when his midnight rambles, which finally took him even beyond
the New Road, had been followed by a few tranquil hours in his Bond
Street bedroom for at last he did bring himself to return thither and
put himself to bed after the usual fashion. He put himself to bed in a
spirit somewhat tranquillized by the exercise of the night, and at last
wept himself to sleep like a baby.

But he was by no means like a baby when he took him early on the
following morning to the Paddington Station, and booked himself
manfully for Taunton. He had had time to recognize the fact that he had
no ground of quarrel with his cousin because she had preferred another
man to him. This had happened to him as he was recrossing the New Road
about two o'clock, and was beginning to find that his legs were weary
under him. And, indeed, he had recognized one or two things before he
had gone to sleep with his tears dripping on to his pillow. In the
first place, he had ill-treated Joe Green, and had made a fool of
himself in his friend's presence. As Joe Green was a sensible, kind-
hearted fellow, this did not much signify but not on that account did
be omit to tell himself of his own fault. Then he discovered that it
would ill become him to break his word to Mr Amedroz and to his
daughter, and to do so without a word of excuse, because Clara had
exercised a right which was indisputably her own. He had undertaken
certain work at Belton which required his presence, and he would go
down and do his work as though nothing had occurred to disturb him. To
remain away because of this misfortune would be to show the white
feather. It would be unmanly. All this he recognized as the pictures he
had painted faded away from their canvases. As to Captain Aylmer
himself, he hoped that he might never be called upon to meet him. He
still hoped that, even as he was resolutely cramming his shirts into
his portmanteau before he began his journey. His Cousin Clara he
thought he could meet, and tender to her some expression of good wishes
as to her future life, without giving way under the effort. And to the
old squire he could endeavour to make himself pleasant, speaking of the
relief from all trouble which this marriage with Captain Aylmer would
afford for now, in his cooler moments, be could perceive that Captain
Aylmer was not a man apt to ruin himself, or his wife and children. But
to Captain Aylmer himself, he could not bring himself to say pleasant
things or to express pleasant wishes. She who was to be Captain
Aylmer's wife, who loved him, would of course have told him what had
occurred up among the rocks in Belton Park; and if that was so, any
meeting between Will and Captain Aylmer would be death to the former.

Thinking of all this he journeyed down to Taunton, and thinking of all
this he made his way from Taunton across to Belton Park.

CHAPTER XV

EVIL WORDS

Clara Amedroz had received her two letters together that, namely, from
the attorney, and that from Captain Aylmer and the result of those
letters is already known. She accepted her lover's renewed offer of
marriage, acknowledging the force of his logic, and putting faith in
the strength of his assurances. This she did without seeking advice
from any one. Who was there from whom she could seek advice on such a
matter as that who, at least, was there at Belton? That her father
would, as a matter of course, bid her accept Captain Aylmer, was, she
thought, certain; and she knew well that Mrs Askerton would do the
same. She asked no counsel from any one, but taking the two letters up
to her own room, sat down to consider them. That which referred to her
aunt's money, together with the postscript in Captain Aylmer's letter
on the same subject, would be of the least possible moment if she could
bring herself to give a favourable answer to the other proposition. But
should she not be able to do this should she hesitate as to doing so at
once then she must write to the lawyer in very strong terms, refusing
altogether to have anything to do with the money. And in such a case as
this, not a word could she say to her father either on one subject or
on the other.

But why should she not accept the offer made to her? Captain Aylmer
declared that he had determined to ask her to be his wife before he had
made any promise to Mrs Winterfield. If this were in truth so, then the
very ground on which she had separated herself from him would be
removed. Why should she hesitate in acknowledging to herself that she
loved the man and believed him to be true? So she sat herself down and
answered both the letters writing to the lawyer first. To him she said
that nothing need be done about the money or the interest till he
should see or hear from Captain Aylmer again. Then to Captain Aylmer
she wrote very shortly, but very openly with the same ill-judged
candour which her spoken words to him had displayed. Of course she
would be his; his without hesitation, now that she knew that he
expressed his own wishes, and not merely those of his aunt. 'As to the
money,' she said, 'it would be simply nonsense now for us to have any
talk of money. It is yours in any way, and you had better manage about
it as you please. I have written an ambiguous letter to Mr Green, which
will simply plague him, and which you may go and see if you like.' Then
she added her postscript, in which she said that she should now at once
tell her father, as the news would remove from his mind all solicitude
as to her future position. That Captain Aylmer did go to Mr Green we
already know, and we know also that he told Mr Green of his intended
marriage.

Nothing was said by Captain Aylmer as to any proposed period for their
marriage; but that was only natural. It was not probable that any man
would name a day till he knew whether or not he was accepted. Indeed,
Clara, on thinking over the whole affair, was now disposed to find
fault rather with herself than with her lover, and forgetting his
coldness and formality at Perivale, remembered only the fact of his
offer to her, and his assurance now received that he had intended to
make it before the scene which had taken place between him and his
aunt. She did find fault with herself, telling herself that she had
quarrelled with him without sufficient cause and the eager loving
candour of her letter to him was attributable to those self-accusations.

'Papa,' she said, after the postman had gone away from Belton, so that
there might be no possibility of any recall of her letter, 'I have
something to tell you which I hope will give you pleasure.'

'It isn't often that I hear anything of that kind,' said he.

'But I think that this will give you pleasure. I do indeed. I am going
to be married.'

'Going to what?'

'Going to be married, papa. That is, if I have your leave. Of course
any offer of that kind that I have accepted is subject to your
approval.'

'And I have been told nothing about it!'

'It began at Perivale, and I could not tell you then. You do not ask me
who is to be my husband.'

'It is not Will Belton?'

'Poor Will! No; it is not Will. It is Frederic Aylmer. I think you
would prefer him as a son-in-law even to my Cousin Will.'

'No I shouldn't. Why should I prefer a man whom I don't even know, who
lives in London, and who will take you away, so that I shall never see
you again?'

'Dear papa don't speak of it in that way. I thought you would be glad
to know that I was to be so so so happy!'

'But why is it to be done this way of a sudden? Why didn't he come to
me? Will came to me the very first thing.'

'He couldn't come all the way to Belton very well particularly as he
does not know you.'

'Will came here.'

'Oh, papa, don't make difficulties. Of course that was different. He
was here when he first thought of it. And even then he didn't think
very much about it.'

'He did all that he could, I suppose?'

'Well yes. I don't know how that might be.' And Clara almost laughed as
she felt the difficulties into which she was creeping. 'Dear Will. He
is much better as a cousin than as a husband.'

'I don't see that at all. Captain Aylmer will not have the Belton
estate or Plaistow Hall.'

'Surely he is well enough off to take care of a wife. He will have the
whole of the Perivale estate, you know.'

'I don't know anything about it. According to my ideas of what is
proper he should have spoken to me first. If he could not come he might
have written. No doubt my ideas may be old-fashioned, and I'm told that
Captain Aylmer is a fashionable young man.'

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