Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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Louis, rather against the will of his father, who was jealous of any
additional tasks thrown on him, entered into the matter with the head
of an accountant, and the zeal of a pursuer of justice; and stirred
up a frightful mass of petty and unblushing fraud, long practised as
a mere matter of course upon the mistress, who had set the example of
easy-going, insincere self-seeking. It involved the whole household
so completely, that there was no alternative but a clearance of every
servant, whether innocent or guilty, and a fresh beginning. Indeed,
so great had been the debts which had accumulated, that there was no
doubt that the treacherous butler must have been gambling to a great
extent with his mistress's money; and the loss was so heavy that Lady
Conway found she should be obliged to retrench, 'just when she should
have been so glad to have helped poor dear Isabel!' She must even
give up a season in London, but dear Virginia was far too good and
sensible to repine.

Lord Ormersfield, who had become much interested in the
investigation, and assisted much by his advice, wanted her to go to
Thornton Conway; and Louis urged the step warmly as the best hope for
Walter. But she could not live there, she said, without far too
heavy an expenditure; and she would make visits for the present, and
find some cheap place abroad, where the girls could have masters.

And so her establishment was broken up, and Louis wrote warm
congratulations to James that poor little Charlotte had not been
tempted into the robber's den. Isabel could not help reading the
whole history to Charlotte, who turned white at the notion of such
wickedness, and could hardly utter a word; though afterwards, as she
sat rocking little Mercy to sleep, she bestowed a great deal of good
advice on her, 'never to mind what nobody said to her, above all,
when they talked like a book, for there were a great many snakes and
vipers in the grass, and 'twas best to know good friends when one had
them.' And coupled with her moralizing, there was no small degree of
humble thankfulness for the impulse that had directed her away from
the evil. How could she ever have met Tom again if she had shared in
the stigma on the dishonest household? Simple-hearted loyalty had
been a guard against more perils than she had even imagined!

CHAPTER XVI.

THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.

This Valley is that from whence also the King will give to His their
Vineyards; and they that go through it shall sing, as Christian did,
for all he met with Apollyon.
Pilgrim's Progress.

The close of the session still found Lord Ormersfield so stiff, bent,
and suffering, that Louis with some difficulty persuaded him into
trying the experiment of foreign baths, and in a few weeks' time they
were both established at the Hotel du Grand Monarque at Aix-la-
Chapelle.

The removing his son to a dull watering-place, when he had so many
avocations at home, had been a great vexation to the Earl; but he was
delighted at the versatile spirits which made a holiday and delight
of the whole, and found an endless fund of interest and occupation
even in his attendance on the wearisome routine of health-seeking.
German books, natural history, the associations of the place, and the
ever-fresh study of the inhabitants and the visitors, were food
enough for his lively conversation; and the Earl, inspirited by
improving health, thought he had never enjoyed his son so much.

They were already old inhabitants of their hotel, when one afternoon
they were much amused by finding a consequential courier
gesticulating vehemently to the whole establishment on the apartments
he was to secure for a superb Milord Anglais, who seemed to require
half the hotel. Their sitting-room, overlooking the court, was
especially coveted, and the landlord even followed them upstairs with
many excuses to ask if they could exchange it for another for only
two days. Lord Ormersfield's negative had all the exceeding
politeness of offended dignity; and Louis was much amused at the
surmises, with which he consoled himself, that this was nothing but
some trumpery speculator, most likely a successful quack doctor--no
one else went about in such a style.

In a grave, grand way, he was not a little curious, and took care to
place himself where he could command a view of the court; while
Louis, making no secret of his own amusement, worked up an excitement
to entertain his father, and stood watching at the window.

'Crack! crack! there are the postilion's whips! Now for the Grand
Monarque himself--thundering under the archway! Why, there are only
two of them, after all!--a lady and a little yellow old man! Father,
you are right after all--he is the very pattern of a successful
quack! How tall the lady is! Halloo!' and he stood transfixed for a
moment, then sprang to the door, replying to his father's astonished
question--'Clara! Clara Dynevor!'

The party were in course of proceeding up the principal staircase-
the tall figure of a young lady in mourning moving on with so
stately, so quiet, and almost weary a manner, that Louis for a moment
drew back, doubting whether the remarkable height had not deceived
him. Her head was turned away, and she was following the host,
scarcely exerting herself to gaze round, when she came close to the
open door, where Louis moved slightly forwards. There was a little
ecstatic shriek, and both her hands were clasped in his, while her
face was glowing with animation and delight.

'I don't know how to believe it!' she said; 'can you be here?'

'We are curing my father. Had you not heard of his illness?'

'I hear nothing,' said Clara, sadly, as she held out her hand to Lord
Ormersfield, who had also come to meet her; and her uncle, who
followed close behind, was full of cordial rejoicings on the
encounter.

There was Jane Beckett also, whom Louis next intercepted on her way
to the bedrooms, laden with bags, and smiling most joyously to see
him. 'To be sure, my young Lord! And your papa here too, my Lord!
Well! who'll be coming abroad next, I wonder?'

'I wonder at nothing since I have met you here, Jane.'

'And I am right glad of it, my Lord. You'll cheer up poor Miss Clara
a bit, I hope--for--Bless me! wont those Frenchmen never learn to
carry that box right side up?'

And off rushed Jane to a never-ending war of many tongues in defence
of Clara's finery; while Louis, following into the sitting-room,
found Mr. Dynevor inviting his father to the private dinner which he
had ordered for greater dignity.

The proposal was accepted for the sake of spending the evening
together, but little was thus gained; for, excepting for that one
little scream, Louis would hardly have felt himself in the company of
his Giraffe. She had become a very fine-looking person, not quite
handsome, but not many degrees from it, and set off by profuse hair,
and every advantage of figure and dress; while her manner was self-
possessed and formal, indifferent towards ordinary people, but warm
and coaxing towards her uncle. Blunt--almost morose to others--he
was fondling and affectionate towards her; continually looking at the
others as if to claim admiration of her, appealing to her every
moment, and even when talking himself, his keen eye still seeming to
watch every word or gesture.

The talk was all Switzerland and Italy--routes and pictures,
mountains and cathedrals--all by rote, and with no spirit nor heart
in the discussion--not a single word coming near home, nothing to
show that Dynevor Terrace had any existence. Louis bade Clara good-
night, mortified at the absence of all token of feeling for her
brother, and more than half repenting his advice to remain with her
uncle. How could the warm-hearted girl have become this cold,
haughty being, speaking by mechanism? He scarcely felt inclined to
see her again; but early the next morning, as he was at breakfast
with his father, there was a knock at the door, and a voice said,
'May I come in?' and as Louis opened, there stood the true Clara, all
blushes and abruptness. 'I beg your pardon if it is wrong,' she
said, 'but I could not help it. I must hear of him--of James.'

Lord Ormersfield welcomed her in an almost fatherly manner, and made
her sit down, telling her that she had come at a good moment, since
Louis had just received a letter; but he feared that it was not a
very good account of Isabel.

'Isabel! Is anything the matter?'

'You are behindhand. Had you not heard of the arrival of number
four?'

'I never hear anything,' said Clara, her eyes overflowing.

'Ha! not since we last met?' asked the Earl.

'They wrote once or twice; but you know they thought me wrong, and it
has all died away since I went abroad. The last letter I had was
dated in November.'

'You know nothing since that time!'

'No; I often thought of writing to Miss Faithfull, but I could not
bear to show how it was, since they would not answer me. So I made
bold to come to you, for I cannot ask before my uncle. He is quite
passionate at the very name.'

'He is kind to you?' asked Lord Ormersfield, hastily.

'Most kind, except for that, the only thing I care about. But you
have a letter! Oh! I am famishing to hear of them!'

She did not even know of the loss of the school; and her distress was
extreme as she heard of their straits. 'It must be killing Isabel,'
she said; 'if I could but be at home to work for her!'

'Isabel has come out beyond all praise,' said Louis. 'I am afraid
there is much for them to undergo; but I do believe they are much
happier in the midst of it.'

'Everybody must be happy in Dynevor Terrace,' said Clara.

Louis shook his head and smiled, adding, 'But, Clara, I do believe,
if it were to come over again, Jem would hardly act in the same way.'

'Do you think he has forgiven me?'

'Judge for yourself.'

Her hand trembling, she caught at the well-known handwriting that to
her seemed as if it could hardly be the property of any one else; and
it was well for her that Louis had partly prepared her for the tone
of depression, and the heavy trials it revealed, when she had been
figuring to herself the writer enjoying all the felicity from which
she was banished.

'No. 5, Dynevor Terrace, Sept. 14th, 1851.

'Dear Fitzjocelyn,--I ought to have written yesterday; but I took the
whole duty at Ormersfield on Sunday, and was too lazy the next day to
do more than keep the children out of the way, and look after Isabel;
for, though I am told not to be uneasy, she does not regain strength
as she has done before. Over-exertion, or bad nursing, one or both,
tell upon her; and I wish we may not have too dear a bargain in the
nurse whom she chose for cheapness' sake. My lectures were to have
paid the expenses, but the author's need is not always the first
consideration; the money will not be forthcoming till Christmas, and
meantime we cannot launch out. However, Ormersfield partridges are
excellent fare for Isabel, and I could return thanks for the abundant
supply that would almost seem disproportionate; but you can guess the
value as substantial comforts. A box of uneatable grouse from
Beauchastel, carriage twelve shillings, was a cruel subject of
gratitude; but those good people mean more kindly than I deserve; and
when Isabel is well again, we shall rub on. This little one promises
more resemblance to her than the others. We propose to call her
Frances, after my poor mother and sister. Do you remember the thrill
of meeting their names in Cheveleigh church? That memorial was well
done of my uncle. If these children were to be left as we were, you
would, I know, be their best friend; but I have a certain desire to
see your own assurance to that effect. Don't fancy this any
foreboding, but four daughters bind a man to life, and I sometimes
feel as if I hardly deserved to see good days. If I am spared to
bring up these children, I hope to make them understand the
difference between independence and pride.

'I have been looking back on my life; I have had plenty of time
during these months of inaction, which I begin to see were fit
discipline. Till Holdsworth left his parish under my charge the
other day for six weeks, I have exercised no office of my ministry,
as you know that Mr. Purvis's tone with me cut me off from anything
that could seem like meddling with him. I never felt more grateful
to any man than I did when Holdsworth made the proposal. It was as
if my penance were accepted for the spirit against which you too
justly warned me before my Ordination. Sunday was something between
a very sorrowful and a very happy day.

'I did not see the whole truth at first. I was only aware of my
unhappy temper, which had provoked the immediate punishment; but the
effort (generally a failure) to prevent my irritability from adding
to the distresses I had brought on my poor wife, opened my eyes to
much that I had never understood. Yet I had presumed to become an
instructor--I deemed myself irreproachable!

'I believe the origin of the whole was, that I never distinguished a
fierce spirit of self-exaltation from my grandmother's noble
resolution to be independent. It was a demon which took the
semblance of good, and left no room for demons of a baser sort. Even
as a boy at the Grammar-school, I kept out of evil from the pride of
proving myself gentlemanly under any circumstances; the motive was
not a bit better than that which made me bully you. I can never
remember being without an angry and injured feeling that my uncle's
neglect left my grandmother burdened, and obliged me to receive an
inferior education; and with this, a certain hope that he would never
put himself in the right, nor lay me under obligations. You saw how
this motive actuated me, when I never discerned it. I trust that I
was not insincere, though presumptuous and self-deceiving I was to an
extent which I can only remember with horror. If it approached to
sacrilege, may the wilful blindness be forgiven! At least, I knew it
not; and with all my heart I meant to fulfil the vows I had taken on
me. Thus, when my uncle actually returned, there was a species of
revengeful satisfaction in making my profession interfere with his
views, when he had made it the only one eligible for me. How ill I
behaved--how obstinately I set myself against all mediation--how I
wrapped myself in self-approval--you know better than I do. My
conceit, and absurdity, and thanklessness, have risen up before me;
and I remember offers that would have involved no sacrifice of my
clerical obligations--offers that I would not even consider--classing
them all as 'mere truckling with my conscience.' What did I take for
a conscience?

'Ever since, things have gone from bad to worse, grieving my dear
grandmother's last year, and estranging me from my poor little sister
because she would not follow my dictation. At last my sins brought
down the penalty, and I would not grieve except for the innocent who
suffer with me. Perhaps, but for them, I should never have felt it.
Nor do I feel tempted to murmur; for there is a strange peace with us
throughout, in spite of a sad heart and too many explosions of my
miserable temper, and the sight of the hardships so bravely met by my
dear wife. But for all this, I should never have known what she is!
She whispered to me last evening, when she saw me looking tired and
depressed, that she had no fears for the future, for this had been
the happiest year of her life. Nothing can make her forget to soothe
me!

'I have written a long rigmarole all about myself; but an outpouring
is sometimes a relief, and you have borne with me often enough to do
so now. My poor Clara's pardon, and some kind of clerical duty, are
my chief wishes; but my failures in the early part of the year have
taught me how unworthy I am to stir a step in soliciting anything of
the kind. Did I tell you how some ten of the boys continue to touch
their hats to me? and Smith, the butcher's son, often comes to borrow
a book, and consult me on some of the difficulties that his father
throws in his way. He is a fine fellow, and at least I hope that my
two years at the school did him no harm. I was much impressed with
the orderliness at Ormersfield Sunday-school. I wish I could have
got half as much religious knowledge into my poor boys. I walked
through your turnips in the South field, and thought they wanted
rain. Frampton tells me the Inglewood harvest is in very good
condition; but I will see the bailiff, and give you more particulars,
when I can be better spared from home for a few hours. Kitty's
assistance in writing has discomposed these last few lines.

'Yours ever,
'J.R.F.D.'

Clara turned away and groaned aloud several times as she read; but
all she said, as she gave it back to Louis, was, 'What is to be done?
You must talk to my uncle.'

'Ah, Clara! young gentlemen of the nineteenth century make but a bad
hand of the part of benevolent fairy.'

'I don't think my speaking would be of any use,' said Clara. 'Oh, if
this only would have been a boy!'

Lord Ormersfield undertook to sound Mr. Dynevor, and found an early
opportunity of asking whether he had heard of poor James's
misfortune. Yes, he had known it long ago. No wonder, with such a
temper. Kept it from the child, though. Would not have her always
hankering after them.

Was he aware of his great distress and difficulties? Ha, ha! thought
so! Fine lady wife! No end of children--served him right!--to bring
down his pride.

Lord Ormersfield hazarded a hint that James had seen his errors, and
the school was no longer in the way.

'No, no!' said Oliver. 'Too late now. Drink as he has brewed. He
should have thought twice before he broke my poor mother's heart with
his cantankerous ways. Cheveleigh beneath him, forsooth! I'm not
going to have it cut up for a lot of trumpery girls! I've settled
the property and whatever other pickings there may be upon my little
Clara--grateful, and worthy of it! Her husband shall take Dynevor
name and arms--unless, to be sure, he had a title of his own. The
girl was much admired at Rome last winter, had a fair offer or two,
but not a word will she say to any of them. I can't tell what's in
her head, not I!'

And he looked knowingly at Lord Ormersfield, and willingly extended
his stay at Aix-la-Chapelle, letting Fitzjocelyn organize expeditions
from thence to Liege and other places in the neighbourhood.

The two cousins were so glad to be together, and the Earl so much
pleased that Louis should have anything which gave him so much
delight as this meeting with his old playfellow, that he did all in
his power to facilitate and prolong their intercourse. He often
sacrificed himself to Oliver's prosings on the Equatorial navigation,
that the two young people might be at liberty; and he invited Clara
to their early breakfast and walk before her uncle wanted her in the
morning. These were Clara's times of greatest happiness, except that
it gave her a new and strange sensation to be talked to by his
lordship like a grown-up--nay, a sensible woman. Once she said to
herself, laughing, 'He really treats me almost as if I were poor Mary
herself.' And then came another flash: 'Perhaps he would even like
me on the same terms!' And then she laughed again, and shook her
head: 'No, no, my Lord, your son is much too good for that! Uncle
Oliver would not have looked so benignant at us when we were sitting
in the gardens last night, if he had known that I was giving Louis
all my Lima letters. I wish they were more worth having! It was
very stupid of me not to know Mary better, so that we write like two
old almanacs. However, my letter from hence will be worth its
journey to Peru.'

Clara's heart was several degrees lighter, both from the pleasure of
the meeting and a suggestion of the Earl's, upon which she had at
once acted, and which seemed, even as she laid pen to paper, to bring
her somewhat nearer to her brother.

Her letter arrived at No. 5, on the next Monday morning at breakfast-
time. It did not at first attract the attention of James. The
Sunday exertions had again left a mental and physical lassitude,
showing how much care and privation had told upon his strength; and
Isabel's still tardy convalescence weighed him down with anxiety for
the future, and almost with despair, as he thought of the comforts
for want of which she suffered, though so patiently and silently
dispensing with them. To his further vexation, he had, on the
previous Saturday, seen Charlotte receiving at the back-door an
amount of meat beyond her orders; and, having checked himself because
too angry and too much grieved to speak at once, had reserved the
reproof for the Monday, when Charlotte brought in her book of petty
disbursements.

Failing to detect the obnoxious item, he said, 'Where's the account
of the meat that came in on Saturday?'

'There, sir!' said Charlotte, indicating the legitimate amount, but
blushing violently.

'That was not all?' he said, with a look of stern, interrogation.

'Oh! if you please, sir, that was nothing!'

'This will not do, Charlotte! I can have nothing taken into my house
without being paid for. I insist on knowing what you could mean?'

'Oh, sir!' tearfully exclaimed the girl, 'it is paid for--I'll show
you the account, if you will--with my own money. I'd not have had
you hear of it for the world; but I could not bear that nurse's
insinuations about her meat five times a-day--she that never nursed
nothing like a real lady before! But I meant no harm, sir; and I
hope you'll excuse the liberty, for I did not mean to take none; and
I'm sure I'm quite contented for my own part, nor never meant to
complain.'

'I know you did not, Charlotte! You are only too patient and kind--'
But his voice broke down, and he was forced silently to sign to her
to leave him.

'Can humiliation go farther!' he thought. 'My boasted independence
ending in this poor, faithful servant being stung, by the sneers of
this hired woman, into eking out her scanty meals with her own
insufficient wages!'

Little Catharine, who had been gazing with dilated black eyes, came
scrambling on his knee to caress him, perceiving that he was grieved.

'Ah! Kitty, Kitty!' he said, 'it is well that you are too young to
feel these troubles!'

'Papa! letter!' cried Kitty, waving the unregarded letter in the
triumph of discovery.

'The Reverend James Frost.' It was the writing formed by his own
copies, which he could not see without a sharp pang of self-reproach
for cruel injustice and unkindness.

Kitty slid down with the empty envelope to act reading to the twins,
whom she caught by turns as they crawled away, and set up straight
before her. Her operations and their remonstrances, though as loud
as they were inarticulate, passed utterly unheard and unheeded by
their father, as he read:--

'Hotel du Grand Monarque. Aix-la-Chapelle,
Sept. 18th.

'My Dearest James,--As a mere matter of honesty and justice, I may
venture to write to you. You always accepted from dear grandmamma
the income from the money in the Stocks. I did not know that half of
it has since come to me, till Lord Ormersfield paid me this last
year's dividend; and if you will not have his enclosed cheque for it,
put it in the fire, for I will never have it in any form. It is not
my uncle's, but my own; and if you would make me very happy, write to
me here. You must not suppose that I am trying to buy a letter; but
I look on this as yours, and I thought you had it till Lord
Ormersfield told me about it. We met him and Louis quite
unexpectedly--the best thing that has happened to me for years,
though they told me much that grieves me exceedingly--but I cannot
write about it till I know that I may. Tell me of dear Isabel and
the babes. My heart yearns after them! it would leap up at the sight
of a stone from the Terrace!

'Your ever affectionate
'Clara.'

His first impulse was, as though he feared to repent, to turn to his
desk, the tears of feeling still in his eyes, and dash off these
words:--

'Your bounty, my dearest sister, is scarcely less welcome than the
forgiving spirit which prompted it. I will not conceal that I was
sorely in need of means to supply Isabel with the comforts that she
requires. That your affection can survive my treatment last year,
makes me equally grateful to you and ashamed of what then took
place.'

He scarcely dared to look upon those phrases. Great as were his
needs, and kindly as the proffer was made, it was new and painful to
him to be under any such obligation, and he could hardly bend his
spirit to know that never again should he be able to feel that he had
never been beholden for money to a living creature. And while he
felt it due to his sister to own the full extent of the benefit, he
weighed his words as he wrote on, lest the simplest facts should look
like a craving for further assistance.

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