Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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

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The sisters always resented their mother's habit of talking of 'poor
Isabel,' regarding her as the happiest of women; and they were
confirmed in their belief by seeing her looking exceedingly well and
handsome, with perhaps a little more dignity and a sweeter smile.
Virginia loved to snatch private interviews with Miss King, to
express her confidence in dear Isabel's felicity, in the
infallibility and other perfections of James, and in the surpassing
cleverness of little Catharine; and Louisa was always sighing to
behold the twins. But, to the delight of the school-room, the chapel
in the valley was produced in a complete form, and a very pretty
romance it was; but the hermit and the brilliant denouement were
quite a shock to the young ladies, just when their tears were
prepared, and Virginia was almost angry.

'Oh, my dear, there is trouble enough in the world!' said Isabel;
'Hubert and Adeline have been my companions so long, that at least I
must leave them happy.'

'Indeed,' said Miss King, 'I am almost surprised that you have been
able to finish them at all, with so much re-writing.'

To her surprise, Isabel blushed, and her answer partook of self-
defence. 'James is so busy, and the children so young, that this has
been my great resource. When my little girls are older, I must begin
educating in earnest. I want to talk over Madame Neckar's book with
you, Miss King.'

'All systems begin alike from infant obedience, I believe,' said the
governess.

'Yes,' said Isabel, 'little Catharine is obedience itself with us.
It is curious to see how well she knows the difference between us and
the nurses. There are great tempests upstairs, and her papa takes
them very much to heart. He always has her downstairs when he is at
home; and he has accustomed her to so much attention, that there is
no doing anything while she is by, or I would have her more with me.'

The self-justifying tone rather puzzled Miss King. She noted
likewise that Isabel was backward in entering into details of her
home life, and that she never said a word to encourage her sister's
wishes to visit her at Northwold. Knowing Isabel as the governess
did, she was sure that she would not merely talk of things on the
surface, if her spirit were fully content. Only once did she go any
deeper, and that was as she took up a little book of religious poetry
of which she had been very fond. 'Ah!' she said, 'I don't feel these
things as I used. I think practical life dulls one.'

'I should have said, practical life made things real,' gaid Miss
King.

Isabel had not found out that having duties and not doing them was
less practical than having no particular task.

Another cloud of mystery was over the relations with Mr. Dynevor and
Clara. Isabel baffled all Lady Conway's inquiries and advice by
entering into no particulars, but adhering to her own version of the
matter, 'that Mr. Dynevor had required of James conditions
incompatible with his duty,' and not deigning to explain either duty
or conditions, as beyond the capacity of her hearer.

Of Clara no account was vouchsafed, except that Isabel believed she
was abroad; 'they had been very much disappointed in her,' and Isabel
was afraid that she was a good deal altered; and the snbject seemed
so painful, that Virginia did not venture to push her inquiries any
farther.

The great subject of interest in the Conway family was that Virginia
and Louisa were going to lose their maid; and the suggestion somehow
arose that Charlotte should be her successor. It was agreed on all
hands that nature had formed her for a lady's-maid, and a few lessons
from a hairdresser would make her perfection; and she would be
invaluable in reading to Louisa when restless and unable to sleep.

Isabel gave herself credit for the most notable arrangement she had
ever made--promoting the little maiden, whom she really liked, and
relieving herself from the constant annoyance about sparing Ellen
from the nursery by obtaining a stronger housemaid. She had only a
few scruples, or rather she knew that James would have some, as to
exposing Charlotte to Delaford's attentions after what she had heard
in Clara's letter; but the least hint on this score led to a
panegyric upon Delaford's perfections--his steadiness, his prudence,
his cleverness on journeys, his usefulness in taking care of Walter.
'I know that Walter is safe when he is with Delaford,' said Lady
Conway. And even the sensible Miss King observed, smiling, 'that
there always _would_ be nonsense between men and maidservants; and
there were many more dangerous places than the present. She would
watch over Charlotte, and Fanshawe was quite to be trusted.'

The Conway family knew rather less about their own servants' hall
than they did of feudal establishments five hundred years ago.

Still, Isabel, in her superior prudence, resolved to consult Fanshawe
on the true state of affairs. Fanshawe was a comfortable portly
personage, chiefly absorbed in her caps and her good cheer, and
faring smoothly through life, on the principle of always saying what
was expected of her, and never seeing anything to anybody's
disadvantage.

She assured Mrs. James Frost that she did not think Delaford to
blame; many girls would be foolish about a man with personal
advantages, but she could not see it was his fault. Poor Marianne
had been always weakly, and, 'After all, ma'am, some young women will
put constructions upon anything,' said Mrs. Fanshawe, deciding that
at least she should make no mischief by sacrificing poor Marianne.

Isabel did not like to come to more individual inquiries, lest she
should prepare discomfort for Charlotte; but she easily satisfied
herself that all was as right as convenient, and having occasion to
write some orders to Charlotte, communicated the proposal, saying
that all should be settled on her return.

There was wild work in the brain of the poor little Lady of
Eschalott. No more stairs to scrub! No more mats to shake! No more
hurrying after lost time, and an uneasy remembrance of undone duties!
No more hardening of fingers, no more short-sleeved lilac, no more
vulgarities from the cook! Ladylike dress, high wages, work among
flowers and gauzes, reading to Miss Louisa, housekeeper's-room
society, rank as 'Arnold' or 'Miss Arnold!' How much more suitable
to the betrothed of the Superintendent at San Benito! To be sure,
she was aware that a serpent lurked among the flowers; but she had
shown him a bit of her mind once, and she found she could take care
of herself, and keep him at a distance.

With her eyes shut, she already beheld Jane Beckett meeting her, when
seated at the back of a carriage, with a veil and a parasol,
addressing her as a grand lady, and kissing and praising her when she
found her little Charlotte after all.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE TRUSTEES' MEETING.

Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
As You Like It.

'My Lord,' said Frampton, entering the library late one evening, in
visible perturbation, and addressing himself to Fitzjocelyn, 'there
is a person wishing to see you.'

'What person at this time of night?' said Louis.

'In fact, my Lord,' said the butler, hesitating, 'it is the young
person at Mr. Frost's.'

'Something must be the matter!' cried Louis, starting up.

'She would explain nothing to me, she insisted on seeing your
lordship; and--in fact--she was in such a state of agitation that
I left her with Mrs. Bowles.'

Louis lost no time in hurrying into the hall. Charlotte must have
followed Frampton without his knowledge, for she was already there;
and, springing with clasped hands towards Fitzjocelyn, she cried,
sobbing, 'My Lord, my Lord, come to master!'

'Is he ill? or the children?'

'No, no! but he'll be off, he'll be off like poor Tom!' exclaimed
Charlotte, between her gasps; 'but I've locked it!' and she waved a
door-key, and seemed about to laugh hysterically.

'Sit down, Charlotte,' said Louis, authoritatively, bringing a chair.
'If you do not explain yourself reasonably at once, I shall call Mrs.
Bowles, and desire her to put you to bed.'

She made an imploring gesture, sank trembling into the chair, and,
after a few incoherent efforts, managed to speak--'If you would but
come to master, my Lord--I know it is something bad.'

Louis thought it wisest to despatch Frampton at once to order the
carriage to be brought out immediately; and this so far pacified
Charlotte, that she could speak comprehensibly on the cause of her
alarm. 'He is in such a way!' she began. 'He went out to the
school-examination, I believe, in his cap and gown, this morning; he
was gone all day, but just at dusk I heard him slam-to the front
door, fit to shake the house down, like he does when he is put out.
I'd a thought nothing of that; but by-and-by I heard him stamping up
nnd down the study, like one in a frenzy, and I found his cap and
gown lying all of a heap in a corner of the hall. Then, Mr. Calcott
came to call; and when I went into the study, master had his head
down on the table, and wouldn't see no one; he fairly stamped to me
to be gone, and bring him no more messages. Mr. Calcott, he looked
so sorry and concerned, and sent in again. I was to say that he
hoped some arrangement might be made, if Mr. Frost would only see
him; but master had locked the door, and hallooed out that I was to
say he was obliged, but couldn't see nobody. So Mr. Calcott was
forced to go; and there was poor master. Not one morsel of dinner
has he had. I knocked, but he would not open, only said he did not
want for nothing. No, not even when 'twas time for Miss Catharine to
come down. She thumped at the door, and called 'Papa' so pretty;
but he never heeded, except to call out, 'Take her away!' Charlotte
was crying so much that she could hardly proceed. 'Then I knew it
must be something very melancholy indeed. But by-and-by he opens the
door with a great jerk, and runs right up to the lumber-room. I saw
his face, and 'twas like a corpse, my Lord; and he brings down his
portmanteau into his dressing-room, and I hears him pulling out all
his drawers. 'He'll be gone!' I thinks, 'he'll be off to America,
too! And my poor mistress!' So I went up quietly, and in secret,
unbeknown to them all, and got my bonnet; and I've run every step of
the way--for you are the only one, my Lord, as can soothe his wounded
spirit; and I've locked both the doors, and here's the key, so he
can't be gone till you come.'

'Locked the doors!' cried Louis. 'What have you done? Suppose your
mistress or Miss Clara were ill?'

'Oh, no--no, it is not that,' said Charlotte; 'or why should he flee
from the face of his children? Why, I took Miss Salome up to the top
of the stairs, when she was screaming and crying with all her might,
and you would not have thought he was within a mile of her. No, my
Lord, no one can't do nothing but you.'

'I'll come at once,' said Louis. 'You did quite right to fetch me;
but it was a frightful thing to lock the door.'

Sending Charlotte to the housekeeper, he went to communicate her
strange intelligence to his father, who shared his dismay so much as
almost to wish to come with him to Northwold; but Louis felt he could
deal better alone with James. His fears took the direction of the
Italian travellers, knowing that any misfortune to them must recoil
on James with double agony after such a parting.

In very brief space the carriage was at Northwold, and desiring that
it should wait at the corner of the Terrace, Louis followed
Charlotte, who had jumped down from the box, and hastened forward to
unlock the door; and he was in time to hear the angry, though
suppressed, greeting that received her. 'Pretty doings, ma'am! So I
have caught you out at last, though you did think to lock me in! He
shan't come in! I wonder at your impudence! The very front door!'

'Oh, cook, don't!' The poor breathless voice managed at last to be
heard. 'This is Lord Fitzjocelyn.'

Cook had vanished out of sight or hearing before Louis's foot was
within the threshold. The study-door was open, the fire expiring,
the books and papers pushed back; and James's fierce, restless tread
was heard pacing vehemently about his own room. Louis ran hastily
up, and entered at once. His cousin stood staring with wild eyes,
his hair was tossed and tangled, his face lividly pale, and the table
was strewn with fragments of letters, begun and torn up again; his
clothes lay tumbled in disorder on the floor, where his portmanteau
lay open and partly packed. All Louis's worst alarm seemed fulfilled
at once. 'What has happened?' he cried, catching hold of both
James's hands, as if to help him to speak. 'Who is ill?--not Clara?'

'No--no one is ill,' said James, withdrawing his hands, and kneeling
down by his box, with an air of feigned indifference; 'I am only
going to London.'

'To London?'

'Aye, to see what is to be done,--ship--chaplaincy, curacy,
literature, selling sermons at five shillings each,--what not.
I am no longer master of Northwold school!' He strove to speak
carelessly, but bending over his packing, thrust down the clothes
with desperate blows.

Louis sat down, too much dismayed to utter a word.

'One morning's work in the conclave,' said James, with the same
assumed ease. 'Here's their polite reprimand, which they expected me
to put up with,--censuring all my labour, forbidding Sunday-classes,
accusing me of partiality and cruelty, with a lot of nonsense about
corporal punishment and dignity. I made answer, that if I were
master at all, I must be at liberty to follow my own views, otherwise
I would resign; and, would you believe it, they snapped at the offer-
-they thought it highly desirable! There's an end of it.'

'Impossible!' cried Louis, casting his eye over the reprimand, and
finding that the expressions scarcely warranted James's abstract of
them. 'You must have mistaken!'

'Do you doubt _that_?' and James threw to him a sheet where, in
Richardson's clerkly handwriting, the trustees of King Edward's
Northwold Grammar School formally accepted the resignation of the
Reverend James Roland Frost Dynevor.

'They cannot be so hasty! Did not Mr. Calcott call to gee you?'

'An old humbug!'

'I'll go and see him this instant. Something may be done.'

'No,' said James, holding him down by the shoulder, 'I will not be
degraded by vain solicitations.'

'This must be that wretched Ramsbotham!' exclaimed Louis. 'Oh, Jem!
I little thought he had so much power to injure you.'

'It is as well you did not,' said James. 'It would have made no
difference, except in the pain it would have cost you; and the only
gratification in this business is, that I suffer because neither you
nor I would deny our principles. I thank you, Fitzjocelyn!' and he
straightened himself in the satisfaction of persecuted rectitude.

'You have very little to thank me for,' said Louis, wringing his
hand, and turning aside, as if unable yet to face the full extent of
the evil.

'Never fear for us,' continued James, boldly; 'we shall struggle on.
Mens conscia,--you see I can't forget to be a schoolmaster.'

'But what are you about? Where are you going?'

'To London. You spoke to a publisher about my lectures on history;
they will serve for introduction. He may make me his hack--a willing
one, while I advertise--apply for anything. I must be gone!'

'You do not look fit for a night journey. You would be too early at
Estminster to see Isabel.'

'Don't name her!' cried James, starting round as if the word were a
dart. 'Thank Heaven that she is away! I must write to her. Maybe,
Lady Conway will keep her till I am settled--till I have found some
lodging in London where no one will know us.'

'And where you may run up a comfortable doctor's bill.'

With a gesture--half passion, half despair--James reiterated,
'There's no staying here. I must be gone. I must be among
strangers.'

'Your mens conscia would better prove that it has no cause for shame
by staying here, instead of rushing out of sight into the human
wilderness, and sacrificing those poor little--'

James struck his foot on the floor, as though to intercept the word;
but Louis continued, apparently unmoved by his anger--'Those poor
little children. If misfortune and injury be no disgrace to the
injured, I call it cowardly pride to fly off by night to hide
oneself, instead of living in your own house, like an honest man.'

'Live!--pray what am I to live on?' cried James, laughing hoarsely.

'You will not find out by whirling to London in your present state.'

In fact, Louis's most immediate care was to detain him for that one
night. There was a look of coming illness about him, and his
desperate, maddened state of mind might obscure his judgment, and
urge him into some precipitate measure, such as he might afterwards
rue bitterly for the sake of the wife and children, the bare thought
of whom seemed at present to sting him so intolerably. Moreover,
Louis had a vague hope that so harsh a proceeding would be abandoned
by the trustees; his father would remonstrate, and James might be
able to think and to apologize. He was hardly a rational being to-
night, and probably would have driven away any other companion; but
long habit, and external coolness, enabled Louis to stand his ground,
and to protract matters till the clock, striking eleven, relieved
him, as much as it exasperated James, by proving it so late that the
last train would have already past.

He persisted in declaring that he should go by the first in the
morning, and Louis persuaded him to go to bed, after Charlotte had
brought them some tea, which, he said, choked him. Deciding on
sleeping at No. 5, Louis sent home the carriage, with a note to his
father; and Charlotte pressed her hands together in a transport of
gratitude when she found that he was not going to abandon her master.
She did her best to make the forlorn house comfortable; but it was
but cold comfort, with all the fires gone out, and he was too sad and
anxious to heed it.

She was at his door early the next morning, with a summons more
alarming than surprising. She was sure that master was very ill.

There was James lying across his bed, half-dressed, turned away from
the dim morning light, and more frightfully pale than ever. He
started angrily at Louis's entrance, and sprang up, but fell back,
insisting with all his might that nothing ailed him but a common
headache, which needed only to be left quiet for an hour or two. He
said it venomously.

'A very uncommon headache,' thought Louis. 'My belief is, that it is
little short of brain fever! If I could only feel his pulse! But it
would be very like taking a mad dog's hand. There's nothing for it
but to fetch old Walby. He may have some experience of refractory
patients.'

'Go home, Louis,' reiterated James, savagely, on opening his eyes and
finding him not gone. 'I tell you I want nobody. I shall be in
London before night.'

And starting up, he tried to draw the curtain at his feet, to shut
out the tardy dawn; but too giddy to persevere, he sank back after
one noisy pull.

Louis drew it completely, shaded the window, and would have settled
the pillows, but was not allowed; and obtaining an impatient grunt by
way of dismissal, he ran down stairs, caught up hat and stick, and
set off to summon Mr. Walby from his comfortable family breakfast-
table. The good old doctor was more concerned than amazed. He could
hardly surmount the shock to his trustee conscience, on hearing of
the consequence of yesterday's proceedings.

'I was much grieved at the time,' he said, as they walked to the
Terrace together. 'You will believe me that I was no willing party,
my Lord.'

'I could never believe that you would do anything hard towards any
one, Mr. Walby,' said Louis, kindly; and a few more like assurances
led the old man to volunteer the history of the case in confidence.

Ramsbotham had brought before the meeting of the trustees a serious
mass of charges, on which he founded a motion that Mr. Frost should
be requested to resign. Every one rejected such a measure, and the
complaints were sifted. Some were palpably false, others
exaggerated, others related to matters of principle; but deducting
these, it still was proved that the Sunday attendance and evening
lectures were too visibly the test of his favour, and that the boys
were sometimes treated with undue severity, savouring of violent
temper. 'I must confess, my Lord,' said Mr. Walby, sinking his
voice, 'I am afraid Mr. Frost is too prompt with his hand. A man
does not know how hard he hits, when he knocks a boy over the ears
with a book. Mrs. Barker's little boy really had a gathering under
the ear in consequence;--I saw it myself.'

Louis was confounded; he had nothing to say to this; he knew the
force that irritation gave to James's hand too well to refuse his
credence, and he could only feel shame and dismay, as if himself
guilty by his misjudged patronage.

Mr. Walby proceeded to say that, under the circumstances, the
trustees had decided on remonstrating by letter, after the
examination; and it was easy to perceive that the reprimand, which
might have been wise and moderate from the Squire, had gained a
colour from every one concerned, so as to censure what was right and
aggravate what was wrong. Mr. Frost's reply had been utterly
unexpected; Ramsbotham and the bookseller had caught at the
resignation, and so did the butcher, who hated the schoolmaster for
having instilled inconveniently high principles into his son.
Richardson abstained from voting; Mr. Calcott fought hard for Mr.
Frost, but the grocer was ill, and only poor old Mr. Walby supported
him, and even they felt that their letter had not deserved such
treatment. Alas! had not Fitzjocelyn himself taught Northwold that
the Squire was not a dictator? Even then, Mr. Calcott, still hoping
that an apology might retrieve the day, had set forth to argue the
matter with James Frost, whom he could not suppose serious in his
intentions, but thought he meant to threaten the trustees into
acquiescence. The doors had been closed against him, and Mr. Walby
feared that now the step was known, it was too late to retract it.
'The ladies would never allow it,' he declared; 'there was no saying
how virulent they were against Mr. Frost; and as to consideration for
his family, that rather inflamed their dislike. They had rich
relations enough! It would be only too good for so fine a lady to be
brought down.' Every one had some story of her pride, neglect, or
bad housewifery. 'And I can tell you,' said Mr. Walby, 'that I am
not in their good books for declaring that I never saw anything from
her but very pretty, affable manners.'

With these words they reached the house; and with sighs and murmurs
of 'Ah! poor young man!' Mr. Walby followed Louis to the landing-
place, where they both paused, looking at each other in doubt how to
effect an entrance, Louis suddenly remembering that no presence would
be more intolerable to the patient than that of a trustee. However,
there was nothing for it but to walk in, and announce, as a matter of
course, that he had thought it right to call in Mr. Walby.

The extremity of displeasure brought James to his feet, and out into
the passage, saying, with grave formality, that he was much obliged,
and glad to see Mr. Walby as a friend, but Lord Fitzjocelyn was
mistaken in thinking him in need of his advice. Many thanks, he
would trouble him no further; and affecting a laugh, he said that
Fitzjocelyn seemed never to have heard of a bad headache.

'Acting does not mend matters, Jem,' said Louis. 'You had much
better confess how really ill you are.'

Excessive giddiness made James stagger against his cousin, and Louis,
throwing his arms round him, looked in great alarm to the doctor for
help, but was answered by something very like a smile. 'Aye, aye,
sir, there's nothing for it but to go to bed. If his lordship there
had seen as many cases of jaundice as I have, he would not look so
frightened. Very wholesome disorder! Yes, lie down, and I'll send
you a thing or two to take.'

So saying, Mr. Walby helped Louis to lay their unwilling invalid on
the bed without much resistance or reply, and presently departed, so
infinitely relieved that he could not help indulging in a little
chuckle at the young Viscount's mistake. As soon as he was gone,
James revived enough to protest that it was all nonsense, doctors
must needs give a name to everything; if they would only let him
alone, he should be himself and off to London in two hours; and that
it was Fitzjocelyn himself who was looking excessively ill, and as
yellow as a guinea. He would not hear of undressing and going
absolutely to bed, and fairly scolded every one out of sight. Good
Miss Mercy, who had trotted in at the tidings of illness, stood at
the nursery-door, telegraphing signs of commiseration in answer to
Louis's looks of perplexity.

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