Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

C >> Charlotte M Yonge >> Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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'It is my belief,' said Fitzjocelyn, in his peculiar way, 'that the
worst injury you could do to James would be to give way to the spirit
that has possessed him.'

'But, Louis,' cried Clara, wildly astonished, 'I must go; I can't
have Jem saying these things of me.'

'His saying them does not make them true.'

'He is my brother. He has the only right to me. If I must choose
between him and my uncle, he must be mine--mine.'

'You have not to choose between him and your uncle. You have to
choose between right and wrong, between his frenzy and his true
good.'

'My brother! my brother! I go with my brother!' was still her
vehement cry. Without listening to her cousin's last words, she made
a gesture to put him aside, and rose to hurry to her brother.

But Louis stood before her, and spoke gravely. 'Very well. Yield
yourself to his management. Go back to be another burden upon a
household, poor enough already to sour him with cares. Let him tell
your uncle that both his brother's children loathe the fruit of the
self-sacrifice of a lifetime. Transgress your grandmother's wishes;
condemn that poor man to a desolate, objectless, covetous old age;
make the breach irreconcilable for ever; and will James be the better
or the happier for your allowing his evil temper the full swing?'

Clara wrung her hands. 'My uncle! Yes, what shall I do with my
uncle? If I could only have them both?'

'This way you would have neither. Keep the straight path, and you
may end in having both.'

'Straight--I don't know what straight is! It must be right to cling
to my own brother in his noble poverty. Oh! that he should imagine
me caring for this horrid, horrid state and grandeur!'

Louis recurred to the old argument, that James did not know what he
was saying, and recalled her to the remembrance of what she had felt
to be the right course before James's ebullition. She owned it most
reluctantly; but oh! she said, would James still forgive her, and not
believe such dreadful things, but trust and be patient with her, and
perhaps Uncle Oliver might after all be set on going to Peru, and
beyond remonstrance. Then it would all come right--no, not right,
for granny had dreaded his going. Confused and distressed by the
conflicting claims, Clara was thankful for the present respite given
to her by Louis's promise that his father should sound her uncle as
to his wishes and intentions. Lord Ormersfield's upright,
unimpassioned judgment appeared like a sort of refuge from the
conflict of the various claims, and he was besides in a degree, her
guardian, being the sole executor of the only will which Mrs. Frost
had ever made, soon after the orphans came under her charge, giving
the Terrace to James, and dividing the money in the Funds between the
two.

Weeping, but not unhopeful--convinced, though not acknowledging it-
inly praying for strength and patience, and hungering for one kind
word from James--Clara quitted that almost brother, in whose counsel
he had constrained her to seek relief, and went to her own chamber,
there to throw herself on the guidance of that Friend, who sticketh
closer than a brother.

The remaining part of the day passed quietly. James did not
consciously make any difference in his manner, meaning to be still
affectionate, though disappointed, and pitying her mistake, both as
to her present happiness and future good.

Lord Ormersfield and Walter arrived in the evening, and James applied
himself to finding occupation for his brother-in-law, whom he kept
out of the way in the garden very satisfactorily. The Earl was so
softened and sorrowful, that Clara hardly knew him. He deeply felt
the loss of the kind, gentle aunt, whose sympathy had been more to
him than he had known at the time; the last remnant of the previous
generation, the last link with his youth, and he was even more
grieved for the blank she left with Louis than for himself. By
Louis's desire, he inquired into Oliver's intentions. 'Must stay
here,' was the answer. 'Can't leave that child alone with the
property. I can look to the Equatorial Company here--must do without
me out there. No, no, I can't leave the girl to her brother; he'd
teach her his own nasty, spiteful temper, and waste the property on
all those brats. No, I'm fixed here; I must look after Henry's
child, fine girl, good-tempered girl; takes after Henry, don't you
think so?'

That Clara took after her father in anything but being tall and fair,
would hardly have been granted by any one who knew her better than
the Earl, but he readily allowed it, and Oliver proceeded:--'As long
as she does not marry, here I am; but I trust some one will soon take
the care of her off my hands--man who would look after the property
well. She's a good girl too, and the finest figure in the whole
county; lucky him who gets her. I shall be sorry to part with the
child, too, but I shall be working for her, and there's nothing left
that cares a rush for me now, so I might as well be out of the way of
the young things. I know the old place at Lima, and the place knows
me; and what do I care for this now my mother is gone? If I could
only see Clara safe settled here, then I should care as little what
became of me as I suppose she would.'

The Earl was touched by the dreary, desponding tone of the reply, and
reported it to Louis and Clara with such terms, that Clara's decision
was made at once, namely, that it would be wrong and cruel to cast
away her uncle, and be swayed by James's prejudice; and Lord
Ormersfield told her with grave approval that she was quite right,
and that he hoped that James would recover from his unreasonable
folly.

'Make Jem forgive me,' said Clara, faintly, as her announcement of
her purpose, when she finally sought her room, obliged to be thought
meanly of, rather than do ill, denying her fondest affections,
cutting herself off from all she loved, and, with but this
consolation, that she was doing as grandmamma would have bidden her.
Oh, how her heart yearned after home!

On the morrow, Clara sorrowed in her solitary chamber alone with
faithful Jane, who, amid her bursts of tears, felt the one
satisfaction, that her dear mistress had lived to be buried like the
stock she came of, and who counted the carriages and numbered the
scarfs, like so many additional tributes from the affection of her
dear Master Oliver.

Once on that day James was visibly startled from his heavy, stern
mood of compressed, indignant sorrow. It was as he advanced to the
entrance of the vault, and his eye was struck by a new and very
handsome tablet on the wall. It was to the father, mother, and young
brother and sisters, whose graves had been hastily made far away in
the time of the pestilence, the only Dynevors who did not lie in the
tombs of their fathers. For one moment James moved nearer to his
uncle. Could he have spoken then, what might not have followed? but
it was impossible, and the impulse passed away.

But he was kind when he hurried upstairs for a last embrace to Clara.
He still felt fondly, brotherly, and compassionate; and all the more,
because she had proved more weak against temptation than he had
expected. His farewell was, 'Good-bye, my poor Clara, God bless
you.'

'Oh, thank you!' cried Clara, from the bottom of her heart. 'You
forgive me, James?'

'I forgive; I am sorry for you, my poor child. Mind, Dynevor Terrace
is still your home, if you do not find the happiness you expect in
your chosen lot.'

'Happiness!' but he had no time to hear. He was gone, while she
sobbed out her message of love for Isabel, and Louis ran up, pale
with repressed suffering, and speaking with difficulty, as he wrung
her hand, and murmured, 'Oh, Clara! may we but abide patiently.'

After his good-bye, he turned back again to say, 'I'm selfish; but
let me put you in mind not to let the Lima correspondence drop.'

'Oh, no, no; you know I won't.'

'Thank you! And let me leave you Mary's keynote of comfort, 'Commit
thy way unto the Lord, and He will bring it to pass.''

'Thank you,' said Clara, in her turn, and she was left alone.

CHAPTER XII.

THE FKOST HOUSEHOLD.

The wind of late breathed gently forth,
Now shifted east, and east by north,
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow,
Stepping into their nests they paddled,
Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled,
Soon every father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other.
Pairing Time Anticipated-COWPER.

Three weeks longer did the session drag on, but on the joyful day
when release was given, Lord Ormersfield was surprised to find Mr.
Dynevor's card upon his table, with an address at Farrance's hotel.

Louis alone was at leisure to repair thither. He found Clara alone,
looking as if her grief were still very fresh, and, though striving
to speak gaily, the tears very near the surface.

'We are going abroad,' she said; 'Uncle Oliver thinks it a part of my
education, and declares he will not have me behind the Miss Brittons.
We are bound straight for Switzerland.'

'Lucky girl,' said Louis.

'I'm sure I don't care for it,' said Clara; 'mountains and pictures
are not a bit in my line, unless I had Isabel and you, Louis, to make
me care.'

'Learn, then,' said Louis; 'it shows that your education is
defective. Yes, I see,' he continued, as Clara signed heavily, 'but
you don't know the good it will do you to have your mind forcibly
turned aside.'

'If I could only sit quiet in a corner,' said Clara.

'So you will, in many a corner of a railway carriage.'

She smiled a little. 'The truth is,' she said, 'that poor Uncle
Oliver cannot be quiet. I can't see what pleasure Italy will be to
him, but he is too miserable at home. I never saw such restless
unhappiness!' and her eyes filled with tears. 'Oh, Louis! I am glad
you would not let me say anything about leaving him. Sometimes when
he bids me good night, he puts his arm round me, and says so
pitifully that I do not care for him. Do you know, I think mine is
the little spar of love that he tries to cling to in the great ship
wreck; and I feel quite sorry and hypocritical that it is such a
poor, miserable shred.'

'It will grow,' said Louis, smiling.

'I don't know; he is terribly provoking sometimes--and without dear
granny to hinder the rubs. O, Louis! it is true that there is no
bearing to stay at home in those great empty rooms!'

'And Jane?'

'Oh, she goes,' said Clara, recovering a smile; 'she is firmly
persuaded that we shall run into another revolution, and as she could
not frighten us by the description of your wounds, she decides to
come and dress ours when we get any. Dear old Jenny, I am glad she
goes; she is the only creature I can talk to; but, Louis, before my
uncle comes in, I have something to give you.'

It was the letters that Mary had written to her aunt since the
parting, and the Spanish books which she had left in her charge.

'It is very kind in you, Clara,' said Louis, fervently.

They talked of Mary, and a little of James, from whom Clara had once
heard; but it had been a stiff letter, as if a barrier were between
them, and then Mr. Dynevor came in, and seemed pleased to find Louis
there; even asking him whether he could not join them on their tour,
and help Clara to speak French.

'No, thank you, sir,' said Louis, 'I am afraid my company brought no
good luck last time.'

'Never mind that--manage better now--ha, Clara.'

'It would be very nice; but he has a great deal too much to do at
home,' said Clara.

Oliver would not be persuaded that Fitzjocelyn would not meet them
abroad, and began magniloquently talking of his courier, and his
route, and while he was looking for the map, the two cousins smiled,
and Clara said,--'Lucky you to have work at home, and to stay with
it.'

'Only I say, Clara, when you break down anywhere, send me a
telegraph.'

'No such good luck,' sighed Clara.

'So he won't come,' said her uncle, when he was gone; 'but we shall
have him following us yet--Ha! ha! Never mind, Clara.'

Clara laughed. She knew what her uncle meant, but the notion was to
her too impossible and ridiculous even to need a blush. She did not
think the world contained Louis's equal; but she had always known
that his love was disposed of, and she no more thought of wishing for
it than for any other impossible thing. His affection for Mary gave
her no more pain than did that of James for Isabel; and she would
have treated with scorn and anger anything that impeached his
constancy. The pleasure with which he received Mary's letters was
the single satisfaction that she carried away with her.

And so she was borne away, and her sad heart could not choose but be
somewhat enlivened by change and novelty, while her uncle made it his
business to show her everything as rapidly as it could be seen,
apparently with no relish himself for aught but perpetual movement.

So passed the autumn with Clara. It was not much brighter at Dynevor
Terrace. Clara, being still under age, had it not in her power to
resign her half of her grandmother's income, even if her brother
would have accepted it; and 70 pounds made a difference in such an
income as James's, more especially as his innovations did not tend to
fill the school.

Murmurs were going about that Mr. Frost was severe, or that he was
partial. Some censured his old opinions, others his new studies; one
had been affronted by being almost told his boy was a dunce, another
hated all this new-fangled nonsense. The ladies were all, to a
woman, up against his wife, her airs, her poverty, her twins, and her
housekeeping; and seldom spoke of her save to contrast her with good
old Mrs. Frost. And then it was plain that something was wrong
between him and his uncle, and no one could believe but that his
temper had been the cause. The good Miss Faithfulls struggled in
vain to silence scandal, and keep it from 'coming round;' and luckily
Isabel was the last person likely either to hear or resent.

The boys met with decreased numbers after the holidays; and James
received them with undiminished energy, but with failing patience,
and a temper not improved by the late transactions at Cheveleigh, and
fretted, as Louis had divined, by home cares.

Of all living women, Isabel was one of the least formed by habits or
education to be an economical housewife and the mother of twins.
Maternal love did not develop into unwearied delight in infant
companionship, nor exclusive interest in baby smiles; and while she
had great visions for the future education of her little maidens, she
was not desirous to prolong the time spent in their society, but in
general preferred peace and Sir Hubert. On the other hand, James was
an unusually caressing father. After hours among rough inattentive
boys, nothing rested him so much as to fondle those tender creatures;
his eldest girl knew him, and was in ecstasy whenever he approached;
and the little pair of babies, by their mere soft helplessness, gave
him an indescribable sense of fondness and refreshment. His little
ones were all the world to him, and he could not see how a pattern
mother should ever be so happy as with them around her. He forgot
the difference between the pastime of an hour and the employment of a
day. The need of such care on her part was the greater since the
nursery establishment was deficient. The grand nurse had almost
abdicated on the double addition to her charge, and had only been
bribed to stay by an ill-spared increase in wages, and a share in an
underling, who was also to help Charlotte in her housemaid's
department. Nevertheless, the nurse was always complaining; the
children, though healthy, always crying, and their father always
certain it was somebody's fault. Nor did the family expenses
diminish, retrench his own indulgences as he might. It was the
mistress's eye that was wanting, and Isabel did not know how to use
it. The few domestic cares that she perceived to be her duty were
gone through as weary tasks, and her mind continued involved in her
own romantic world, where she was oblivious of all that was
troublesome or vexatious. Now and then she was aware of a sluggish
dulness that seemed to be creeping over her higher aspirations--a
want of glow and feeling on religious subjects, even in the most
sacred moments; and she wondered and grieved at a condition, such as
she had never experienced in what she had thought far more untoward
circumstances. She did not see the difference between doing her best
when her will was thwarted, and her present life of neglect and
indulgence. Nothing roused her; she did not perceive omissions that
would have fretted women of housewifely instincts, and her soft
dignity and smooth temper felt few annoyances; and though James could
sometimes be petulant, he was always withheld from reproving her both
by his enthusiastic fondness, and his sense that for him she had
quitted her natural station of ease and prosperity.

On a dark hazy November afternoon, when the boys had been unusually
obtuse and mischievous, and James, worn-out, wearied, and uncertain
whether his cuts had alighted on the most guilty heads, strode home
with his arm full of Latin exercises, launched them into the study,
and was running up to the drawing-room, when he almost fell over
Charlotte, who was scouring the stairs.

She gave a little start and scream, and stood up to let him pass. He
was about to rebuke her for doing such work at such an hour; but he
saw her flushed, panting, and evidently very tired, and his wrath was
averted. Hurrying on to the drawing-room, he found Isabel eagerly
writing. She looked up with a pretty smile of greeting; but he only
ran his hand through his already disordered hair, and exclaimed--

'Our stairs are like the Captain of Knockdunder's. You never know
they are cleaned, except by tumbling over the bucket and the maid.'

'Are they being done?' said Isabel, quietly. 'I suppose the maids
were busy this morning.'

'And Charlotte, too! She looks half dead. I thought Ellen was to do
such work, and ought to have done it in proper time.'

'Little Catharine is so fretful, that Ellen cannot be spared from the
nursery.'

'I suppose she might be, if you were not absorbed in that writing.'

'I had the children with me, while the servants were at dinner; but
Kitty was so troublesome, that I could not keep her. I am
particularly anxious to finish this.'

'Some people would think a sick child more engrossing than that--' He
had very nearly said trash, but he broke off short.

'There is nothing really the matter with her,' began Isabel,
composedly; but James did not wait to listen, and muttering, 'That
girl will be killed if she goes on,' he ran up to the nursery, whence
he already heard a sound of low fretting.

The child was sitting on the nurse's lap, with a hot red spot on one
cheek, teased and disturbed by the noises that the lesser ones were
constantly making, as one lay in her cot, and the other was carried
about by the girl. As he entered, she shrieked joyously, and
stretched out her arms, and Kitty was at once clinging, hugging round
his neck. Sending Ellen down to finish the stairs, he carried off
the little girl, fondling and talking to her, and happy in her
perfect content. But he did not go to the drawing-room. 'No, no,
mamma must not be interrupted,' he bitterly thought, as he carried
her down to the fireless study, hung his plaid round himself and her,
and walked up and down the room with her, amusing her till she fell
into a slumber on his shoulder.

Isabel could not at once resume her pen. Her even temper was for
once ruffled, and her bosom swelled at the thought that his reproach
was unjust; she was willing to do what was fitting, and he ought not
to expect her to be an absolute nursery-maid. Women must keep up the
tone of their own minds, and she might be being useful to the world
as well as to her own family. If he wanted a mere household drudge,
why had he not looked elsewhere? Up went her queenly head, as she
believed her powers were meant for other things; but her heart gave a
painful throb at the recollection that poverty had been her voluntary
choice, and had seemed perfect felicity with James. Alas! she loved,
honoured, and admired him, as her upright, unselfish, uncompromising
husband, but worries, and rebukes, and tart answers, had made many a
rent in the veil in which her fancy had enfolded him. Sir Roland had
disappeared, and James and Sir Hubert were falling farther and
farther asunder.

And Isabel sighed, partly at the memory of the imaginary being for
whom she had taken James, and partly at the future prospect, the
narrow sphere, the choice between solitude and dull society, the
homely toils that must increase, worn-out garments, perpetual
alphabets, children always whining, and James always irritated,
thinking her remiss, and coming in with that furrow on his forehead,
and his hair standing up wildly. She shrank from the contemplation,
took her letter-case on her knee, moved close to the fire to profit
by the light, stirred up a clear flame, and proceeded with the
benevolent hermit, who came to the rescue when Sir Hubert was at the
last gasp, and Adeline had received his beautiful resigned words.
The hermit had transported him into his hut, and comforted Adeline,
and was beginning a consolatory harangue, making revelations that
were to set everything right, when just as he had gone as far as 'My
son, know that I did not always wear this amice,' there was a tap at
the door, and she saw Fitzjocelyn, who had been at Oakstead for the
last few weeks, attending to some matters connected with his
constituency.

'Ah! is it you?' she said, her lap too full of papers for her to
rise. 'I did not know you were come home.'

'I came yesterday; and what company do you think I had in the train
as far as Estminster?'

'Ah, I can guess! How does Louisa look?'

'Rather languid; but Estminster is to work wonders. She declares
that Northwold is her best cure, and I am speculating whether she
will prevail. I think Lady Conway dreads your example.'

'Mamma does not allow for the force of imagination,' said Isabel, not
exactly knowing what prompted either the words or the sigh.

'I am come to ask if you will kindly give me a dinner. My father is
gone to the book-club meeting, so I thought we would try to revive
old times,' he said, smiling, but sadly, for the present scene was
little like the No. 5 of old times.

'We shall be delighted,' said Isabel, with alacrity, relieved at
avoiding a tete-it-tete with her husband at present, and refreshed by
the sight of one belonging to her former life, and external to her
present round of monotonous detail. 'Fortunately, it is not a
lecture night and James will be very glad.'

I suppose he ia not come in from school?'

'Yea, he is. I think he is in the study. I will let him know,' she
said, with her hand on the bell.

'I will go to him,' said Louis, departing out of consideration that
she might wish for space to attend to dinner, room, and dress. The
two last were scarcely in such a state as he had been used to see at
No. 5: books were on the sofa, the table-cover hung awry; the Dresden
Shepherd's hat was grimed, and his damsel's sprigged gown hemmed with
dust; there were no flowers in the vases, which his aunt had never
left unsupplied; and Isabel, though she could not be otherwise than
handsome and refined, had her crape rumpled, and the heavy folds of
her dark hair looking quite ready for the evening toilette; and, as
she sat on her low seat by the fire, the whole had an indescribable
air of comfort passing into listless indulgence.

Fitzjocelyn politely apologized to Ellen for a second time stepping
over her soapy deluge, and, as he opened the study door with a
preliminary knock, a voice, as sharp and petulant as it was low,
called out, 'Hollo! Be quiet there, can't you! You've no business
here yet, and I have no time to waste on your idleness.'

'I am sorry to hear it,' said Louis, advancing into the dim light of
the single bed-room candle, which only served to make visible the
dusky, unshuttered windows, and the black gulf of empty grate. James
was sitting by the table, with his child wrapped in the plaid, asleep
on his breast, and his disengaged hand employed in correcting
exercises. Without moving, he held it out, purple and chilled,
exclaiming, 'Ha! Fitzjocelyn, I took you for that lout of a Garett.'

'Is this an average specimen of your reception of your scholars?'

'I was afraid of his waking the child. She has been unwell all day,
and I have scarcely persuaded her to go to sleep.'

'Emulating Hooker.'

'As little in patience as in judgment,' sighed James.

'And which of them is it who is lulled by the strains of 'As in
proesenti?''

'Which?' said James, somewhat affronted. 'Can't you tell sixteen
months from five?'

'I beg her pardon; but I can't construct a whole child from an inch
of mottled leg--as Professor Owen would a megalosaurus from a tooth.
Does she walk?'

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