The Belton Estate

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'She may perhaps like to see you.'

'I will come up every now and again. I would remain there altogether,
only I should be in the way.' Then he got a newspaper and made himself
comfortable over the fire, while she went up to her weary task in her
aunt's room.

Neither on that day nor on the next did the lawyer come, and on the
following morning all earthly troubles were over with Mrs Winterfield.
It was early on the Sunday morning that she died, and late on the
Saturday evening Mr Palmer had sent up to say that he had been detained
at Taunton, but that he would wait on Mrs Winterfield early on the
Monday morning. On the Friday the poor lady had said much on the
subject, but had been comforted by an assurance from her nephew that
the arrangement should be carried out exactly as she wished it, whether
the codicil was or was not added to the will. To Clara she said nothing
more on the subject, nor at such a time did Captain Aylmer feel that he
could offer her any assurance on the matter. But Clara knew that the
will was not altered; and though at the time she was not thinking much
about money, she had, nevertheless, very clearly made up her own mind
as to her own conduct. Nothing should induce her to take a present of
fifteen hundred pounds or, indeed, of as many pence from Captain
Aylmer. During those hours of sickness in the house they had been much
thrown together, and no one could have been kinder or more gentle to
her than he had been. He had come to call her Clara, as people will do
when joined together in such duties, and had been very pleasant as well
as affectionate in his manner with her. It had seemed to her that he
also wished to take upon himself the cares and love of an adopted
brother. But as an adopted brother she would have nothing to do with
him. The two men whom she liked best in the world would assume each the
wrong place; and between them both she felt that she would be left
friendless.

On the Saturday afternoon they had both surmised how it was going to be
with Mrs Winterfield, and Captain Aylmer had told Mr Palmer that he
feared his coming on the Monday would be useless. He explained also
what was required, and declared that he would be at once ready to make
good the deficiency in the will Mr Palmer seemed to think that this
would be better even than the making of a codicil in the last moments
of the lady's life; and, therefore, he and Captain Aylmer were at rest
on that subject.

During the greater part of the Saturday night both Clara and Captain
Aylmer remained with their aunt; and once when the morning was almost
there, and the last hour was near at hand, she had said a word or two
which both of them had understood, in which she implored her darling
Frederic to take a brother's care of Clara Amedroz. Even in that moment
Clara had repudiated the legacy, feeling sure in her heart that
Frederic Aylmer was aware what was the nature of the care which he
ought to owe, if he would consent to owe any care to her. He promised
his aunt that he would do as she desired him, and it was impossible
that Clara should then, aloud, repudiate the compact. But she said
nothing, merely allowing her hand to rest with his beneath the thin,
dry hand of the dying woman. To her aunt, however, when for a moment
they were alone together, she showed all possible affection, with
thanks and tears, and warm kisses, and prayers for forgiveness as to
all those matters in which she had offended. 'My pretty one my dear,'
said the old woman, raising her hand on to the head of the crouching
girl, who was hiding her moist eyes on the bed. Never during her life
had her aunt appeared to her in so loving a mood as now, when she was
leaving it. Then, with some eager impassioned words, in which she
pronounced her ideas of what should be the religious duties of a woman,
Mrs Winterfield bade farewell to her niece. After that, she had a
longer interview with her nephew, and then it seemed that all worldly
cares were over with her.

The Sunday was passed in all that blackness of funeral grief which is
absolutely necessary on such occasions. It cannot be said that either
Clara or Captain Aylmer were stricken with any of that agony of woe
which is produced on us by the death of those whom we have loved so
well that we cannot bring ourselves to submit to part with them. They
were both truly sorry for their aunt, in the common parlance of the
world; but their sorrow was of that modified sort which does not numb
the heart and make the surviving sufferer feel that there never can be
a remedy. Nevertheless, it demanded sad countenances, few words, and
those spoken hardly above a whisper; an absence of all amusement and
almost of all employment, and a full surrender to the trappings of woe.
They two were living together without other companion in the big house
sitting down together to dinner and to tea; but on this day hardly a
dozen words were spoken between them, and those dozen were spoken with
no purport. On the Monday Captain Aylmer gave orders for the funeral,
and then went away to London, undertaking to be back on the day before
the last ceremony. Clara was rather glad that he should be gone, though
she feared the solitude of the big house. She was glad that he should
be gone, as she found it impossible to talk to him with ease to
herself. She knew that he was about to assume some position as
protector or quasi guardian over her in conformity with her aunt's
express wish, and she was quite resolved that she would submit to no
such guardianship from his hands. That being so, the shorter period
there might be for any such discussion the better.

The funeral was to take place on the Saturday, and during the four days
that intervened she received two visits from Mr Possitt. Mr Possitt was
very discreet in what he said, and Clara was angry with herself for not
allowing his words to have any avail with her. She told herself that
they were commonplace; but she told herself, also, after his first
visit, that she had no right to expect anything else but commonplace
words. How often are men found who can speak words on such occasions
that are not commonplaces that really stir the soul, and bring true
comfort to the listener? The humble listener may receive comfort even
from commonplace words; but Clara was not humble, and rebuked herself
for her own pride. On the second occasion of his coming she did
endeavour to receive him with a meek heart, and to accept what he said
with an obedient spirit. But the struggle within her bosom was hard,
and when he bade her to kneel and pray with him, she doubted for a
moment between rebellion and hypocrisy. But she had determined to be
meek, and so hypocrisy carried the hour.

What would a clergyman say on such an occasion if the object of his
solicitude were to decline the offer, remarking that prayer at that
moment did not seem to be opportune; and that, moreover, he, the person
thus invited, would like, first of all, to know what was to be the
special object of the proposed prayer, if he found that he could, at
the spur of the moment, bring himself at all into a fitting mood for
the task? Of him who would decline, without argument, the clergyman
would opine that he was simply a reprobate. Of him who would propose to
accompany an hypothetical acceptance with certain stipulations, he
would say to himself that he was a stiff-necked wrestler against grace,
whose condition was worse than that of the reprobate. Men and women,
conscious that they will be thus judged, submit to the hypocrisy, and
go down upon their knees unprepared, making no effort, doing nothing
while they are there, allowing their consciences to be eased if they
can only feel themselves numbed into some ceremonial awe by the
occasion. So it was with Clara, when Mr Possitt, with easy piety, went
through the formula of his devotion, hardly ever having realized to
himself the fact that of all works in which man can engage himself,
that of prayer is the most difficult.

'It is a sad loss to me,' said Mr Possitt, as he sat for half an hour
with Clara, after she had thus submitted herself. Mr Possitt was a
weakly, pale-faced little man, who worked so hard in the parish that on
every day, Sundays included, he went to bed as tired in all his bones
as a day labourer from the fields 'a very great loss. There are not
many now who understand what a clergyman has to go through, as our dear
friend did.' If he was mindful of his two glasses of port wine on
Sundays, who could blame him?

'She was a very kind woman, Mr Possitt.'

'Yes, indeed and so thoughtful! That she will have an exceeding great
reward, who can doubt? Since I knew her she always lived as a saint
upon earth. I suppose there's nothing known as to who will live in this
house, Miss Amedroz?'

'Nothing I should think.'

'Captain Aylmer won't keep it in his own hands?'

'I cannot tell in the least; but as he is obliged to live in London
because of Parliament, and goes to Yorkshire always in the autumn, he
can hardly want it.

'I suppose not. But it will be a sad loss a sad loss to have this house
empty. Ah I shall never forget her kindness to me. Do you know, Miss
Amedroz,' and as he told his little secret he became beautifully
confidential 'do you know, she always used to send me ten guineas at
Christmas to help me along. She understood, as well as any one, how
hard it is for a gentleman to live on seventy pounds a year. You will
not wonder that I should feel that I've had a loss.' It is hard for a
gentleman to live upon seventy pounds a year; and it is very hard, too,
for a lady to live upon nothing a year, which lot in life fate seemed
to have in store for Miss Amedroz.

On the Friday evening Captain Aylmer came back, and Clara was in truth
glad to see him. Her aunt's death had been now far enough back to admit
of her telling Martha that she would not dine till Captain Aylmer had
come, and to allow her to think somewhat of his comfort. People must
eat and drink even when the grim monarch is in the house; and it is a
relief when they first dare to do so with some attention to the
comforts which are ordinarily so important to them. For themselves
alone women seldom care to exercise much trouble in this direction; but
the presence of a man at once excuses and renders necessary the
ceremony of a dinner. So Clara prepared for the arrival, and greeted
the corner with some returning pleasantness of manner. And he, too, was
pleasant with her, telling her of his plans, and speaking to her as
though she were one of those whom it was natural that he should
endeavour to interest in his future welfare.

'When I come back tomorrow,' he said, 'the will must be opened and
read. It had better be done here.' They were sitting over the fire in
the dining-room, after dinner, and Clara knew that the coming back to
which he alluded was his return from the funeral. But she made no
answer to this, as she wished to say nothing about her aunt's will.
'And after that,' he continued, 'you had better let me take you out.'

'I am very well,' she said. 'I do not want any special taking out.'

'But you have been confined to the house a whole week.'

'Women are accustomed to that, and do not feel it as you would.
However, I will walk with you if you'll take me.'

'Of course I'll take you. And then we must settle our future plans.
Have you fixed upon any day yet for returning? Of course, the longer
you stay, the kinder you will be.'

'I can do no good to any one by staying.'

'You do good to me but I suppose I'm nobody. I wish I could tell what
to do about this house. Dear, good old woman! I know she would have
wished that I should keep it in my own hands, with some idea of living
here at some future time but of course I shall never live here.'

'Why not?'

'Would you like it yourself?'

'I am not Member of Parliament for Perivale, and should not be the
leading person in the town. You would be a sort of king here; and then,
some day, you will have your mother's property as well as your aunt's;
and you would be near to your own tenants.'

'But that does not answer my question. Could you bring yourself to live
here even if it were your own?'

'Why not?'

'Because it is so deadly dull because it has no attraction whatever
because of all lives it is the one you would like the least. No one
should live in a provincial town but they who make their money by doing
so.'

'And what are the wives and daughters of such people to do and
especially their widows? I have no doubt I could live here very happily
if I had anybody near me that I liked. I should not wish to have to
depend altogether on Mr Possitt for society.'

'And you would find him about the best.'

'Mr Possitt has been with me twice whilst you were away, and he, too,
asked what you meant to do about the house.'

'And what did you say?'

'What could I say? Of course I said I did not know. I suppose he was
meditating whether you would live here and ask him to dinner on
Sundays!'

'Mr Possitt is a very good sort of man,' said the captain, gravely for
Captain Aylmer, in the carrying out of his principles, always spoke
seriously of everything connected with the Church in Perivale.

'And quite worthy to be asked to dinner on Sundays,' said Clara. 'But I
did not give him any hope. How could I? Of course I knew that you would
not live here, though I did not tell him so.'

'No; I don't suppose I shall. But I see very plainly that you think I
ought to do so.'

'I've the old-fashioned idea as to a man's living near to his own
property; that is all. No doubt it was good for other people in
Perivale, besides Mr Possitt, that my dear aunt lived here; and if the
house is shut up, or let to some stranger, they will feel her loss the
more. But I don't know that you are bound to sacrifice yourself to
them.'

'If I were to marry,' said Captain Aylmer, very slowly and in a low
voice, 'of course I should have to think of my wife's wishes.'

'But if your wife, when she accepted you, knew that you were living
here, she would hardly take upon herself to demand that you should give
up your residence.'

'She might find it very dull.'

'She would make her own calculations as to that before she accepted
you.'

'No doubt but I can't fancy any woman taking a man who was tied by his
leg to Perivale. What do people do who live in Perivale?'

'Earn their bread.'

'Yes that's just what I said. But I shouldn't earn mine here.'

'I have the feeling I spoke of very strongly about papa's place,' said
Clara, changing the conversation suddenly. 'I very often think of the
future fate of Belton Castle when papa shall have gone. My cousin has
got his house at Plaistow, and I don't suppose he'd live there.'

'And where will you go?' he asked.

As soon as she had spoken, Clara regretted her own imprudence in having
ventured to speak upon her own affairs. She had been well pleased to
hear him talk of his plans, and had been quite resolved not to talk of
her own. But now, by her own speech, she had sot him to make inquiries
as to her future life. She did not at first answer the question; but he
repeated it. 'And where will you live yourself?'

'I hope I may not have to think of that for some time to come yet.'

'It is impossible to help thinking of such things.'

'I can assure you that I haven't thought about it; but I suppose I
shall endeavour to to I don't know what I shall endeavour to do.'

'Will you come and live at Perivale?'

'Why here more than anywhere else?

'In this house I mean.'

'That would suit me admirably would it not? I'm afraid Mr Possitt would
not find me a good neighbour. To tell the truth, I think that any lady
who lives here alone ought to be older than I am. The Penvalians would
not show to a young woman that sort of respect which they have always
felt for this house.'

'I didn't mean alone,' said Captain Aylmer.

Then Clara got up and made some excuse for leaving him, and there was
nothing more said between them nothing, at least, of moment, on that
evening. She had become uneasy when he asked her whether she would like
to live in his house at Perivale. But afterwards, when he suggested
that she was to have some companion with her there, she felt herself
compelled to put an end to the conversation. And yet she knew that this
was always the way, both with him and with herself. He would say things
which would seem to promise that in another minute he would be at her
feet, and then he would go no farther. And she, when she heard those
words though in truth size would have had him at her feet if she could
would draw away, and recede, and forbid him as it were to go on. But
Clara continued to make her comparisons, and knew well that her cousin
Will would have gone on in spite of any such forbiddings.

On that night, however, when she was alone, she could console herself
with thinking how right she had been. In that front bedroom, the door
of which was opposite to her own, with closed shutters, in the terrible
solemnity of lifeless humanity, was still lying the body of her aunt!
What would she have thought of herself if at such a moment she could
have listened to words of love, and promised herself as a wife while
such an inmate was in the house? She little knew that he, within that
same room, had pledged himself, to her who was now lying there waiting
for her last removal had pledged himself, just seven days since, to
make the offer which, when he was talking to her, she was always half
hoping and half fearing!

He could have meant nothing else when he told her that he had not
intended to suggest that she should live there alone in that great
house at Perivale. She could not hinder herself from thinking of this,
unfit as was the present moment for any such thoughts. How was it
possible that she should not speculate on the subject, let her
resolutions against any such speculation be ever so strong? She had
confessed to herself that she loved the man, and what else could she
wish but that he also should love her? But there came upon her some
faint suspicion some glimpse of what was almost a dream that he might
possibly in this matter be guided rather by duty than by love. It might
be that he would feel himself constrained to offer his hand to her
constrained by the peculiarity of his position towards her. If so
should she discover that such were his motives there would be no doubt
as to the nature of her answer.

CHAPTER X

SHOWING HOW CAPTAIN AYLMER KEPT HIS PROMISE

The next day was necessarily very sad. Clara had declared her
determination to follow her aunt to the churchyard, and did so,
together with Martha, the old servant. There were three or four
mourning coaches, as family friends came over from Taunton, one or two
of whom were to be present at the reading of the will. How melancholy
was the occasion, and how well the work was done; how substantial and
yet how solemn was the luncheon, spread after the funeral for the
gentlemen; and how the will was read, without a word of remark, by Mr
Palmer, need hardly be told here. The will contained certain
substantial legacies to servants the amount to that old handmaid Martha
being so great as to produce a fit of fainting, after which the old
handmaid declared that if ever there was, by any chance, an angel of
light upon the earth, it was her late mistress; and yet Martha had had
her troubles with her mistress; and there was a legacy of two hundred
pounds to the gentleman who was called upon to act as co-executor with
Captain Aylmer. Other clause in the will there was none, except that
one substantial clause which bequeathed to her well-beloved nephew,
Frederic Folliott Aylmer, everything of which the testatrix died
possessed. The will had been made at some moment in which Clara's
spirit of independence had offended her aunt, and her name was not
mentioned. That nothing should have been left to Clara was the one
thing that surprised the relatives from Taunton who were present. The
relatives from Taunton, to give them their due, expected nothing for
themselves; but as there had been great doubt as to the proportions in
which the property would be divided between the nephew and adopted
niece, there was aroused a considerable excitement as to the omission
of the name of Miss Amedroz an excitement which was not altogether
unpleasant. When people complain of some cruel shame, which does not
affect themselves personally, the complaint is generally accompanied by
an unexpressed and unconscious feeling of satisfaction.

On the present occasion, when the will had been read and refolded,
Captain Aylmer, who was standing on the rug near the fire, spoke a few
words. His aunt, he said, had desired to add a codicil to the will, of
the nature of which Mr Palmer was well aware. She had expressed her
intention to leave fifteen hundred pounds to her niece, Miss Amedroz;
but death had come upon her too quickly to enable her to perform her
purpose. Of this intention on the part of Mrs Winterfield, Mr Palmer
was as well aware as himself; and he mentioned the subject now, merely
with the object of saying that, as a matter of course, the legacy to
Miss Amedroz was as good as though the codicil had been completed. On
such a question as that there could arise no question as to legal
right; but he understood that the legal claim of Miss Amedroz, under
such circumstances, was as void as his own. It was therefore no affair
of generosity on his part. Then there was a little buzz of satisfaction
on the part of those present, and the meeting was broken up.

A certain old Mrs. Folliott, who was cousin to everybody concerned, had
come over from Taunton to see how things were going. She had always
been at variance with Mrs Winterfield, being a woman who loved cards
and supper parties, and who had throughout her life stabled her horses
in stalls very different to those used by the lady of Perivale. Now
this Mrs Folliott was the first to tell Clara of the will. Clara. of
course, was altogether indifferent. She had known for months past that
her aunt had intended to leave nothing to her, and her only hope had
been that she might be left free from any commiseration or remark on
the subject. But Mrs Folliott, with sundry shakings of the head, told
her how her aunt had omitted to name her and then told her also of
Captain Aylmer's generosity. 'We all did think, my dear,' said Mrs
Folliott, 'that she would have done better than that for you, or at any
rate that she would not have left you dependent on him.' Captain
Aylmer's horses were also supposed to be stabled in strictly Low Church
stalls, and were therefore regarded by Mrs Folliott with much dislike.

'I and my aunt understood each other perfectly,' said Clara.

'I dare say. But if so, you really were the only person that did
understand her. No doubt what she did was quite right, seeing that she
was a saint; but we sinners would have thought it very wicked to have
made such a will, and then to have trusted to the generosity of another
person after we were dead.'

'But there is no question of trusting to any one's generosity, Mrs
Folliott.'

'He need not pay you a shilling, you know, unless he likes it.'

'And he will not be asked to pay me a shilling.'

'I don't suppose he will go back after what he has said publicly.'

'My dear Mrs Folliott,' said Clara earnestly, 'pray do not let us talk
about it. it is quite unnecessary. I never expected any of my aunt's
property, and knew all along that it was to go to Captain Aylmer who,
indeed, was Mrs Winterfield's heir naturally. Mrs Winterfield was not
really my aunt, and I had no claim on her.'

'But everybody understood that she was to provide for you.'

'As I was not one of the everybodies myself, it will not signify.' Then
Mrs Folliott retreated, having, as she thought, performed her duty to
Clara, and contented herself henceforth with abusing Mrs Winterfield's
will in her own social circles at Taunton.

On the evening of that day, when all the visitors were gone and the
house was again quiet, Captain Aylmer thought it expedient to explain
to Clara the nature of his aunt's will, and the manner in which she
would be allowed to inherit under it the amount of money which her aunt
had intended to bequeath to her. When she became impatient and objected
to listen to him, he argued with her, pointing out to her that this was
a matter of business to which it was now absolutely necessary that she
should attend. 'It may be the case,' he said, 'and, indeed, I hope it
will, that no essential difference will be made by it except that it
will gratify you to know how careful she was of your interests in her
last moments. But you are bound in duty to learn your own position; and
I, as her executor, am bound to explain it to you. But perhaps you
would rather discuss it with Mr Palmer.'

'Oh no save me from that.'

'You must understand, then, that I shall pay over to you the sum of
fifteen hundred pounds as soon as the will has been proved.'

'I understand nothing of the kind. I know very well that if I were to
take it, I should be accepting a present from you, and to that I cannot
consent.'

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