A	>>	B	>>	C	>>	D	>>	E
F	>>	G	>>	H	>>	I	>>	J
K	>>	L	>>	M	>>	N	>>	O
P	>>	R	>>		S	>>		T
U	>>		V			>>		W

Robert Sewell - ""

Gilbert Parker - "The Seats Of The Mighty, Volume 5."

Nathaniel W. Stephenson - "The Day of the Confederacy"

A. Conan Doyle - "The Hound of the Baskervilles"

The Belton Estate

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Belton Estate




'I did not suspect that you would be so cruel. Oh, Will!'

But before he went she told him that she had forgiven him, and she had
preached to him a solemn, sweet sermon on the wickedness of yielding,
to momentary impulses. Her low, grave words sank into his ears as
though they were divine; and when she said a word to him, blushing as
she spoke, of the sin of his passion and of what her sin would be, if
she were to permit it, he sat by her weeping like an infant, tears
which were certainly tears of innocence. She had been very angry with
him; but I think she loved him better when, her sermon was finished
than she had ever loved him before.

There was no further question as to her going to Aylmer Castle, nor was
any mention made of Mrs Askerton's invitation to the cottage. The
letter for Lady Aylmer was sent, and it was agreed between them that
Will should remain at Redicote till the answer from Yorkshire should
come, and should then convey Clara as far as London on her journey. And
when he took leave of her that afternoon, she was able to give him her
hand in her old hearty, loving way, and to call him Will with the old
hearty, loving tone. And he he was able to accept these tokens of her
graciousness, as though they were signs of a pardon which she had been
good to give, but which he certainly had not deserved.

As he went back to Redicote, he swore to himself that he would never
love any woman but her even though she must be the wife of Captain
Aylmer.


CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST DAY AT BELTON

In course of post there came an answer from Lady Aylmer, naming a day
for Clara's journey to Yorkshire, and also a letter from Captain
Aylmer, in, which he stated that he would meet her in London and convey
her down to Aylmer Park. 'The House is sitting,' he said, 'and
therefore I shall be a little troubled about my time; but I cannot
allow that your first meeting with my mother should take place in my
absence.' This was all very well, but at the end of the letter there
was a word of caution that was not so well. 'I am sure, my dear Clara,
that you will remember how much is due to my mother's age, and
character, and position. Nothing will be wanted to the happiness of our
marriage, if you can succeed in gaining her affection, and therefore I
make it my first request to you, that you should endeavour to win her
good opinion.' There was nothing perhaps really amiss, certainly
nothing unreasonable, in such words from a future husband to his future
wife; but Clara, as she read them, shook her head and pressed her foot
against the ground in anger. It would not do. Sorrow would come and
trouble and disappointment. She did not say so, even to herself in
words; but the words, though not spoken, were audible enough to
herself. She could not, would not, bend to Lady Aylmer, and she knew
that trouble would come of this visit.

I fear that many ladies will condemn Miss Amedroz when I tell them that
she showed this letter to her Cousin Will. It does not promise well for
any of the parties concerned when a young woman with two lovers can
bring herself to show the love-letters of him to whom she is engaged to
the other lover whom she has refused! But I have two excuses to put
forward in Clara's defence. In the first place, Captain Aylmer's
love-letters were not in truth love-letters, but were letters of
business; and in the next place, Clara was teaching herself to regard
Will Belton as her brother, and to forget that he had ever assumed the
part of a lover.

She was so teaching herself, but I cannot say that the lesson was one
easily learned; nor had the outrage upon her of which Will had been
guilty, and which was described in the last chapter, made the teaching
easier. But she had determined, nevertheless, that it should be so.
When she thought of Will her heart would become very soft towards him;
and sometimes, when she thought of Captain Aylmer, her heart would
become anything but soft towards him. Unloving feelings would be very
strong within her bosom as she re-read his letters, and remembered that
he had not come to her, but had sent her seventy-five pounds to comfort
her in her trouble! Nevertheless, he was to be her husband, and she
would do her duty. What might have happened had Will Belton come to
Belton Castle before she had known Frederic Aylmer of that she stoutly
resolved that she would never think at all; and consequently the
thought was always intruding upon her.

'You will sleep one night in town, of course?' said Will.

'I suppose so. You know all about it. I shall do as I'm told.'

'You can't go down to Yorkshire from here in one day. Where would you
like to stay in London?'

'How on earth should I know? Ladies do sleep at hotels in London
sometimes, I suppose?'

'Oh yes. I can write and have rooms ready for you.'

'Then that difficulty is over,' said Clara.

But in Belton's estimation the difficulty was not exactly over. Captain
Aylmer would, of course, be in London that night, and it was a question
with Will whether or no Clara was not bound in honour to tell the
accursed beast, I am afraid Mr Belton called him in his soliloquies
where she would lodge on the occasion. Or would it suffice that he,
Will, should hand her over to the enemy at the station of the Great
Northern Railway on the following morning? All the little intricacies
of the question presented themselves to Will's imagination. How careful
he would be with her, that the inn accommodation should suffice for her
comfort! With what pleasure would he order a little dinner for them
two, making something of a gentle fˆte of the occasion! How sedulously
would he wait upon her with those little attentions, amounting almost
to worship, with which such men as Will Belton are prone to treat all
women in exceptionable circumstances, when the ordinary routine of life
has been disturbed! If she had simply been his cousin, and if he had
never regarded her otherwise, how happily could he have done all this!
As things now were, if it was left to him to do, he should do it, with
what patience and grace might be within his power; he would do it,
though he would be mindful every moment of the bitterness of the
transfer which he would so soon be obliged to make; but he doubted
whether it would not be better for Clara's sake that the transfer
should be made overnight. He would take her up to London, because in
that way he could be useful; and then he would go away and hide
himself. 'Has Captain Aylmer said where he would meet you?' he asked
after a pause.

'Of course I must write and tell him.'

'And is he to come to you when you reach London?'

'He has said nothing about that. 'He will probably be at the House of
Commons, or too busy somewhere to come to me then. But why do you ask?
Do you wish to hurry through town?'

'Oh dear, no.'

'Or perhaps you have friends you want to see. Pray don't let me be in
your way. I shall do very well, you know.'

Belton rebuked her by a look before he answered her. 'I was only
thinking,' he said, 'of what would be most convenient for yourself. I
have nobody to see, and nothing to do, and nowhere to go to.' Then
Clara understood it all, and said that she would write to Captain
Aylmer and ask him, to join them at the hotel.

She determined that she would see Mrs Askerton before she went; and as
that lady did not come to the Castle, Clara called upon her at the
cottage. This she did the day before she left, and she took her cousin
with her. Belton had been at the cottage once or twice since the day on
which Mrs Askerton had explained to him how the Aylmer alliance might
be extinguished, but Colonel Askerton had always been there, and no
reference had been made to the former conversation. Colonel Askerton
was not there now, and Belton was almost afraid that words would be
spoken to which he would hardly know how to listen.

'And so you are really going?' said Mrs Askerton.

'Yes; we start tomorrow,' said Clara.

'I am not thinking of the journey to London,' said Mrs Askerton, 'but
of the danger and privations of your subsequent progress to the North.'

'I shall do very well. I am not afraid that any one will eat me.'

'There are so many different ways of eating people! Are there not, Mr
Belton?'

'I don't know about eating, but there are a great many ways of boring
people,' said he.

'And I should think they will be great at that kind of thing at Aylmer
Castle. One never hears of Sir Anthony, but I can fancy Lady Aylmer to
be a terrible woman.'

'I shall manage to hold my own, I dare say,' said Clara.

'I hope you will; I do hope you will,' said Mrs Askerton. 'I don't know
whether you will be powerful to do so, or whether you will fail; my
heart is not absolute; but I do know what will be the result if you are
successful.'

'It is much more then than I know myself.'

'That I can believe too. Do you travel down to Yorkshire alone?'

'No; Captain Aylmer will meet me in town.'

Then Mrs Askerton looked at Mr Belton, but made no immediate reply; nor
did she say anything further about Clara's journey. She looked at Mr
Belton, and Will caught her eye, and understood that he was being
rebuked for not having carried out that little scheme which, had been
prepared for him. But he had come to hate the scheme, and almost hated
Mrs Askerton for proposing it. He had declared to himself that her
welfare, Clara's welfare, was the one thing which the should regard;
and he had told himself that he was not strong enough, either in
purpose or in wit, to devise schemes for her welfare. She was better
able to manage things for herself than he was to manage them for her.
If she loved this 'accursed beast,' let her marry him; only for that
was now his one difficulty only he could not bring himself to think it
possible that she should love him.

'I suppose you will never see this place again?' said Mrs Askerton
after a long pause.

'I hope I shall, very often,' said Clara. 'Why should I not see it
again? It is not going out of the family.'

'No not exactly out of the family. That is, it will belong to your
cousin.'

'And cousins may be as far apart as strangers, you mean; but Will and I
are not like that; are we, Will?'

'I hardly know what we are like,' said he.

'You do not mean to say that you will throw me over? But the truth is,
Mrs Askerton, that I do not mean to be thrown over. I look upon him as
my brother, and I intend to cling to him as sisters do cling.'

'You will hardly come back here before you are married,' said Mrs
Askerton. It was a terrible speech for her to make, and could only be
excused on the ground that the speaker was in truth desirous of doing
that which she thought would benefit both of those whom she addressed.

'Of course you are going to your wedding now?'

'I am doing nothing of the kind,' said Clara. 'How can you speak in
that way to me so soon after my father's death? It is a rebuke to me
for being here at all.'

'I intend no rebuke, as you well know. What I mean is this; if you do
not stay in Yorkshire till you are married, let the time be when it
may, where do you intend to go in the meantime?'

'My plans are not settled yet.'

'She will have this house if she pleases,' said Will. 'There will be no
one else here. It will be her own, to do as she likes with it.'

'She will hardly come here to be alone.'

'I will not be inquired into, my dear,' said Clara, speaking with
restored good-humour. 'Of course I am an unprotected female, and
subject to disadvantages. Perhaps I have no plans for the future; and
if I have plans, perhaps I do not mean to divulge them.'

'I had better come to the point at once,' said Mrs Askerton. 'If if if
it should ever suit you, pray come here to us. Flowers shall not be
more welcome in May. It is difficult to speak of it all, though you
both understand everything as well as I do. I cannot press my
invitation as another woman might.'

'Yes, you can,' said Clara with energy. 'Of course you can.'

'Can I? Then I do. Dear Clara, do come to us.' And then as she spoke
Mrs Askerton knelt on the ground at her visitor's knees. 'Mr Belton, do
tell her that when she is tired with the grandeur of Aylmer Park she
may come to us here.'

'I don't know anything about the grandeur of Aylmer Park,' said Will,
suddenly.

'But she may come here may she not?'

'She will not ask my leave,' said he.

'She says that you are her brother. Whose leave should she ask?'

'He knows that I should ask his rather than that of any living person,'
said Clara.

'There, Mr Belton. Now you must say that she may come or that she may
not.'

'I will say nothing. She knows what to do much better than I can tell
her.'

Mrs Askerton was still kneeling, and again appealed to Clara. 'You hear
what he says. What do you say yourself? Will you come to us? that is,
if such a visit will suit you in point of convenience?'

'I will make no promise; but I know no reason why I should not.'

'And I must be content with that? Well: I will be content.' Then she
got up. 'For such a one as I am, that is a great deal. And, Mr Belton,
let me tell you this I can be grateful to you, though you cannot be
gracious to me.'

'I hope I have not been ungracious,' said he.

'Upon my word, I cannot compliment you. But there is something so much
better than grace, that I can forgive you. You know, at any rate, how
thoroughly I wish you well.'

Upon this Clara got up to take her leave, and the demonstrative
affection of an embrace between the two women afforded a remedy for the
awkwardness of the previous conversation.

'God bless you, dearest,' said Mrs Askerton. 'May I write to you?'

'Certainly,' said Clara.

'And you will answer my letters?'

'Of course I will. You must tell me everything about the place and
especially as to Bessy. Bessy is never to be sold is she, Will? Bessy
was the cow which Belton had given her.

'Not if you choose to keep her.'

'I will go down and see to her myself,' said Mrs Askerton, and will
utter little prayers of my own over her horns that certain events that
I desire may come to pass. Good-bye, Mr Belton. You may be as
ungracious as you please, but it will not make any difference.'

When Clara and her cousin left the cottage they did not return to the
house immediately, but took a last walk round the park, and through the
shrubbery, and up to the rocks on which a remarkable scene bad once
taken place between them. Few words were spoken as they were walking,
and there had been no agreement as to the path they would take. Each
seemed to understand that there was much of melancholy in their present
mood, and that silence was more fitting than speech. But when they
reached the rocks Belton sat himself down, asking Clara's leave to stop
there for a moment. 'I don't suppose I shall ever come to this place
again,' said he.

'You are as bad as Mrs Askerton,' said Clara.

'I do not think I shall ever come to this place again,' said he,
repeating his words very solemnly. At any rate, I will never do so
willingly, unless'

'Unless what?'

'Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so.'

'Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible.'

'Then it is impossible that I should come here again.'

'You know that I am engaged to another man.'

'Of course I do. I am not asking you to break your engagement. I am
simply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you as well
as I did love you before you had made it. I have a right to let you
know the truth.' As if she had not known it without his telling it to
her now! 'It was here that I told you that I loved you. I now repeat it
here; and will never come here again unless I may say the same thing
over and over and over. That is all. We might as well go on now.' But
when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling to leave the spot. It
was still winter, and the rock was damp with cold drippings from the
trees, and the moss around was wet, and little pools of water had
formed themselves in the shallow holes upon the surface. She did not
speak as she seated herself; but he was of course obliged to wait till
she should be ready to accompany him. 'It is too cold for you to sit
there,' he said. 'Come, Clara; I will not have you loiter here. It is
cold and wet.'

'It is not colder for me than for you.'

'You are not used to that sort of thing as I am.'

'Will,' she said, ' you must never speak to me again as you spoke just
now. Promise me that you will not.'

'Promises will do no good in such a matter.'

'It is almost a repetition of what you did before though of course it
is not so bad as that.'

'Everything I do is bad.'

'No, Will dear Will! Almost everything you do is good. But of what use
can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that which can
never be? Cannot you think of me as your sister and only as your sister?

'No; I cannot.'

'Then it is not right that we should be together.'

'I know nothing of right. You ask me a question, and I suppose you
don't wish that I should tell you a lie.'

'Of course I do not wish that.'

'Therefore I tell you the truth. I love you as any other man loves the
girl that he does love; and, as far as I know myself now, I never can
be happy unless you are my own.'

'Oh, Will, how can that be when I am engaged to marry another man?'

'As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as I
love you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, why
does he let his mother ill-use you, and treat you with scorn? If he
loves you as I love you, how could he write to you as he does write?
Would I write to you such a letter as that? Would I let you be here
without coming to you to be looked after by any one else? If you had
said that you would be my wife, would I leave you in solitude and
sorrow, and then send you seventy-five pounds to console you? If you
think he loves you, Clara'

'He thought he was doing right when he sent me the money.'

'But he shouldn't have thought it right. Never mind. I don't want to
accuse him; but this I know and you know; he does not love you as I
love you.'

'What can I say to answer you?'

'Say that you will wait till you have seen him. Say that I may have a
hope a chance; that if he is cold, and hard, and and and, just what we
know he is, then I may have a chance.'

'How can I say that when I am engaged to him? Cannot you understand
that I am wrong to let you speak of him as you do?'

'How else am I to speak of him? Tell me this. Do you love him?' 'Yes I
do.'

'I don't believe it!'

'Will!'

'I don't believe it. Nothing on earth shall make me believe it. It is
impossible impossible!'

'Do you mean to insult me, Will?'

'No; I do not mean to insult you, but I mean to tell you the truth. I
do not think you love that man as you ought to love the man whom you
are going to marry. I should tell you just the same thing if I were
really your brother. Of course it isn't that I suppose you love any one
else me for instance. I'm not such a fool as that. But I don't think
you love him; and I'm quite sure he doesn't love you. That's just what
I believe; and if I do believe it, how am I to help telling you?'

'You've no right to have such beliefs.'

'How am I to help it? Well never mind. I won't let you sit there any
longer. At any rate you'll be able to understand now that I shall never
come to this place any more.' Clara, as she got up to obey him, felt
that she also ought never to see it again unless, indeed unless

They passed that evening together without any reference to the scene on
the rock, or any allusion to their own peculiar troubles. Clara, though
she would not admit to Mrs Askerton that she was going away from the
place for ever, was not the less aware that such might very probably be
the case. She had no longer any rights of ownership at Belton Castle,
and all that had taken place between her and her cousin tended to make
her feel that under no circumstances could she again reside there. Nor
was it probable that she would be able to make to Mrs Askerton the
visit of which they had been talking. If Lady Aylmer were wise so Clara
thought there would be no mention of Mrs Askerton at Aylmer Park; and,
if so, of course she would not outrage her future husband by proposing
to go to a house of which she knew that he disapproved. If Lady Aylmer
were not wise if she should take upon herself the task of rebuking
Clara for her friendship then, in such circumstances as those, Clara
believed that the visit to Mrs Askerton might be possible.

But she determined that she would leave the home in which she had been
born, and had passed so many happy and so many unhappy days, as though
she were never to see it again. All her packing had been done, down to
the last fragment of an old letter that was stuffed into her
writing-desk; but, nevertheless, she went about the house with a candle
in her hand, as though she were still looking that nothing had been
omitted, while she was in truth saying farewell in her heart to every
corner which she knew so well. When at last she came down to pour out
for her desolate cousin his cup of tea, she declared that everything
was done. 'You may go to work now, Will,' she said, and do what you
please with the old place. My jurisdiction is over.'

'Not altogether,' said he. He no longer spoke like a despairing lover.
Indeed there was a smile round his mouth, and his voice was cheery.

'Yes altogether. I give over my sovereignty from this moment and a
dirty dilapidated sovereignty it is.'

'That's all very well to say.'

'And also very well to do. What best pleases me in going to Aylmer
Castle just now is the power it gives me of doing at once that which
otherwise I might have put off till the doing of it had become much
more unpleasant. Mr Belton, there is the key of the cellar which I
believe gentlemen always regard as the real sign of possession. I don't
advise you to trust much to the contents.' He took the key from her,
and without saying a word chucked it across the room on to an old sofa.
'If you won't take it, you had better, at any rate, have it tied up
with the others,' she said.

'I dare say you'll know where to find it when you want it,' he answered.

'I shall never want it.'

'Then it's as well there as anywhere else.'

'But you won't remember, Will.'

'I don't suppose I shall have occasion for remembering.' Then he paused
a moment before he went on. 'I have told you before that I do not
intend to take possession of the place. I do not regard it as mine at
all.'

'And whose is it, then?'

'Yours.'

'No, dear Will; it is not mine. You know that.'

'I intend that it shall be so, and therefore you might as well put the
keys where you will know how to find them.'

Alter he had gone she did take up the key, and tied it with sundry
others, which she intended to give to the old servant who was to be
left in charge of the house. But after a few moments' consideration she
took the cellar key again off the bunch, and put it back upon the sofa
in the place to which he had thrown it.

On the following morning they started on their journey. The old fly
from Redicote was not used on this occasion, as Belton had ordered a
pair of post-horses and a comfortable carriage from Taunton. 'I think
it such a shame,' said Clara, 'going away for the last time without
having Jerry and the grey horse.' Jerry was the man who had once driven
her to Taunton when the old horse fell with her on the road. 'But Jerry
and the grey horse could not have taken you and me too, and all our
luggage,' said Will. 'Poor Jerry! I suppose not,' said Clara; 'but
still there is an injury done in going without him.'

There were four or five old dependents of the family standing round the
door to bid her adieu, to all of whom she gave her hand with a cordial
pressure. They, at least, seemed to regard her departure as final. And
of course it was final. She had assured herself of that during the
night. And just as they were about to start, both Colonel and Mrs
Askerton walked up to the door. 'He wouldn't let you go without bidding
you farewell,' said Mrs Askerton. 'I am so glad to shake hands with
him,' Clara answered. Then the colonel spoke a word to her, and, as he
did so, his wife contrived to draw Will Belton for a moment behind the
carriage. 'Never give it up, Mr Belton,' said she eagerly. 'If you
persevere she'll be yours yet.' 'I fear not,' he said. 'Stick to her
like a man,' said she, pressing his hand in her vehemence. 'If you do,
you'll live to thank me for having told you so.' Will had not a word to
say for himself, but he thought that he would stick to her. Indeed, he
thought that he had stuck to her pretty well.

At last they were off, and the village of Belton was behind them; Will,
glancing into his cousin's face, saw that her eyes were laden with
tears, and refrained from speaking. As they passed the ugly red-brick
rectory. house, Clara for a moment put her face to the window, and then
withdrew it. 'There is nobody there,' she said, 'who will care to see
me. Considering that I have lived here all my life, is it not odd that
there should be so few to bid me good-bye?'

The 10 Best Books of 2008
The Book Review picks the best works from the last year.

ArtsBeat: Major Reorganization at Random House
The shakeup at the world’s largest publisher of consumer books includes the resignations of two top executives.

Books of The Times: The Days of Their Lives: Lesbians Star in Funny Pages
This anthology of Alison Bechdel’s weekly comic strip follows an articulate group of lesbians through more than 20 years of daily life, with plenty of sex and politics along the way.