Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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'And is this what it has come to, my poor Clara?'

'Oh, don't pity me! my heart has felt like an India-rubber ball ever
since the crash. Even poor Uncle Oliver being so ill could not keep
me from feeling as if the burthen were off my back, and I were little
Clara Frost again. It seemed to take away the bar between us; and so
it has! O Jem! this is happiness. Tell me of Isabel and the
babies.'

'You will come home to them. Do you think my uncle would consent?'

She answered with an embrace, a look of rapture and of doubt, and
then a negative. 'Oh, no, we cannot be a burthen on you. You have
quite enough on your hands. And, oh! you have grown so spare and
thin. I mean to maintain my uncle, if--' and her spirited bearing
softened into thoughtfulness, as if the little word conveyed that she
meant not to be self-confident.

'But, Clara, is this actual ruin? I know only what Richardson could
tell me.'

'I do not fully understand,' said Clara. 'It had been plain for a
long time that something was on Uncle Oliver's mind; he was so
restless all the winter at Paris, and at last arranged our coming
home very suddenly. I think he was disappointed in London, for he
went out at once, and came back very much discomposed. He even
scolded me for not having married; and when I tried to coax him out
of it, he said it was for my good, and he wanted to see after his
business in Peru. I put him in mind how dear granny had begged him
to stay at home; but he told me I knew nothing about it, and that he
would have gone long ago if I had not been an obstinate girl, and had
known how to play my cards. I said something about going home, but
that made him more furious than ever. But, after all, it is not fair
to tell all about the last few months. Dr. Hastings says his attack
had been a long time coming on, and he must have been previously
harassed.'

'And you had to bear with it all?'

'He was never unkind. Oh, no; but it was sad to see him so
miserable, and not to know why--and so uncertain, too! Sometimes he
would insist on giving grand parties, and yet he was angry with the
expense of my poor little pony-carriage. I don't think he always
quite knew what he was about; and while he hoped to pull through, I
suppose he was afraid of any one guessing at his embarrassments. On
this day fortnight he was reading his letters at breakfast--I saw
there was something amiss, and said something stupid about the hot
rolls, because he could not bear me to notice. I think that roused
him, for he got up, but he tottered, and by the time I came to him he
seemed to slip down into my arms, quite insensible. The surgeon in
the village bled him, and he came to himself, but could not speak.
I had almost sent for you then, but Dr. Hastings came, and thought he
would recover, and I did not venture. Indeed, Jane forbade me; she
is a sort of lioness and her whelps. Well, the next day came Mr.
Morrison, who is the Mr. Richardson to this concern, and by-and-by he
asked to see me. He kept the doctor in the next room. I believe he
thought I should faint or make some such performance, for he began
about his painful duty, and frightened me lest my poor uncle should
be worse, only he was not the right man to tell me. So at last it
came out that we were ruined, and I was not an heiress at all, at
all! If it had not been for poor Uncle Oliver, I should have cried
'Hurrah!' I did nearly laugh to hear him complimenting my firmness.
I believe the history is this:--Hearing that this place was for sale,
brought Uncle Oliver home before his affairs could well do without
him. He paid half the price, and promised to pay the rest in three
years, giving security on the mines and the other property in Peru;
but somehow the remittances have never come properly, and he trusted
to some great success with the Equatorial Company to set things
straight, but it seems that it has totally failed, and that was the
news that overthrew him. Then the creditors, who had been put off
with hopes, all came down on him together, and there seems to be
nothing to be done but to give up everything to them. Poor Uncle
Oliver!--I sat watching him that evening, and thinking how Louis
would say the sea had swept away his whole sand castle with one
wave.'

'Does he know it? Have any steps been taken?'

'Mr. Morrison showed me what my poor uncle had done. He had really
executed a deed giving me the whole estate; he would have borne all
the disgrace and persecution himself--for you know it would have been
a most horrible scrape, as he had given them security on property
that was not really secure. Mr. Morrison said the deed would hold,
and that he would bring me counsel's opinion if I liked. But, oh,
Jem! I was so thankful that my birthday was over, and I was my own
woman! I made him draw up a paper, and I signed it, undertaking that
they shall have quiet possession provided they will come to an
amicable settlement, and not torment my uncle.'

'I hope he is a man of sense, who will make the best terms?'

'You may see to that now. I'm sure he is a man of compliments. He
tells me grand things about my disinterestedness, and the creditors
and they have promised to let us stay unmolested as long as I please,
which will be only till my uncle can move, for I must get rid of all
these servants and paraphernalia, and in the meantime they are
concocting the amicable adjustment, and Mr. Morrison said he should
try to stipulate for a maintenance for my uncle, but he was not sure
of it, without giving up what may yet come from Peru. Jane's annuity
is safe--that is a comfort! What work I had to make her believe it!
and now she wants us all to live upon it.'

'That was a rare and beautiful power by which my grandmother infused
such faithful love into all her dependants. But now for the person
really to be pitied.'

'It was only three days ago that it was safe to speak of it, but then
he had grown so anxious that the doctors said I must begin. So I
begged and prayed him to forgive me, and then told what I had done,
and he was not so very angry. He only called me a silly child, and
said I did not know what I had done in those few days that I had been
left to myself. So I told him dear granny had had it, and that was
all that signified, and that I never had any right here. Then,' said
Clara, tearfully, 'he began to cry like a child, and said at least
she had died in her own home, and he called me Henry's child: and
then Jane came and turned me out, and wont let me go near him unless
I promise to be good and say nothing. But I must soon; for however
she pats him, and says, 'Don't, Master Oliver,' I see his mind runs
on nothing else, and the doctor says he may soon hear the plans, and
be moved.'

'Can you venture to tell him that I am here?'

Before Clara could answer, Jane opened the door--'Miss Clara, your
uncle;' and there she stopped, at the unexpected sight of the brother
and sister still hand in hand. 'Here, Jane, do you see him?' cried
Clara; and James came forward with outstretched hand, but he was not
graciously received.

'Now, Master James, you ain't coming here to worrit your poor uncle?'

'No, indeed, Jane. I am come in the hope of being of some use to
him.'

'I'd rather by half it had been Lord Fitzjocelyn,' muttered Jane, 'he
was always quieter.'

'Now, Jane, you should not be so cross,' cried Clara, 'when it is
your own Jemmy, come on purpose to help and comfort us all! You are
going to tell Uncle Oliver, and make him glad to see him, as you know
you are.'

'I know,' said James, 'that last time I was here, I behaved ill
enough to make you dread my presence, Jane; but I have learnt and
suffered a good deal since that time, and I wish for nothing so much
as for my uncle's pardon.'

Mrs. Beckett would have been more impressed, had she ever ceased to
think of Master Jemmy otherwise than as a self-willed but candid boy;
and she answered as if he had been throwing himself on her mercy
after breaking a window, or knocking down Lord Fitzjocelyn--

'Well, sir, that is all you can say. I'm glad you are sorry. I'll
see if I can mention, it to your uncle.'

Off trotted Jane, while Clara's indignation and excited spirits
relieved themselves by a burst of merry laughter, as she hung about
her brother, and begged to hear of the dear old home.

The old servant, in her simplicity, went straight upstairs, and up to
her nursling, as he had again become. 'Master Oliver,' said she, 'he
is come. Master Jem is come back, and 'twould do your heart good to
see how happy the children are together--just like you and poor
Master Henry.'

'Did she ask him here?' said Mr. Dynevor, uneasily.

'No, sir, he came right out of his own head, because he thought she
would feel lost.'

Oliver vouchsafed no reply, and Jane pressed no farther. He never
alluded to his guest; but when Clara came into the room, his eye
dwelt on her countenance of bright content and animation, and the
smiles that played round her lips as she sat silent. Her voice was
hushed in the sick-room, but he heard it about the house with the
blithe, lively ring that had been absent from it since he carried her
away from Northwold; and her steps danced upstairs, and along the
galleries, with the light, bounding tread unknown to the constrained,
dignified Miss Dynevor. Ah the notice he took that night was to say,
petulantly, when Clara was sitting with him, 'Don't stay here; you
want to be down-stairs.'

'Oh, no, dear uncle, I am come to stay with you. I don't want, in
the least, to be anywhere but here.'

He seemed pleased, although he growled; and next morning Jane
reported that he had been asking for how long his nephew had come,
and saying he was glad that Miss Dynevor had someone to look after
her--a sufferance beyond expectation. In his helpless state, Jane
had resumed her nursery relations with him; and he talked matters
over with her so freely that it was well that the two young people
were scarcely less her children, and had almost an equal share of her
affection, so that Clara felt that matters might be safely trusted in
her hands.

Clara's felicity could hardly be described, with her fond affections
satisfied by her brother's presence, and her fears of managing ill,
removed by reliance on him; and many as were the remaining cases, and
great as was the suspense lest her uncle should still nourish
resentment, nothing could overcome the sense of restored joy ever
bubbling up, not even the dread that James might not bear patiently
with continued rebuffs. But James was so much more gentle and
tolerant than she had ever known him, that at first she could not
understand missing the retort, the satire, the censure which had
seemed an essential part of her brother. She was always
instinctively guarding against what never happened, or if some slight
demonstration flashed out, he caught himself up, and asked pardon
before she had perceived anything, till she began to think marriage
had altered him wonderfully, and almost to owe Isabel a grudge for
having cowed his spirit. She could hardly believe that he was
waiting so patiently in the guise of a suppliant, when she thought
him in the right from the first; though she could perceive that the
task was easier now that the old man was in adversity, and she saw
that he regarded his exclusion from his uncle's room in the light of
a just punishment, to be endured with humility.

James, on his side, was highly pleased with his sister. Having only
seen her as the wild, untamed Giraffe, he was by no means prepared
for the dignity and decision with which Miss Dynevor reigned over the
establishment. Her tall figure, and the simple, straightforward ease
of her movements and manners, seemed made to grace those large, lofty
rooms; and as he watched her playing the part of mistress of the
house so naturally in the midst of the state, the servants, the
silver covers, and the trappings, he felt that heiress-ship became
her so well, that he could hardly believe that her tenure there was
over, and unregretted. 'Even Isabel could not do it better,' he
said, smiling; and she made a low curtsey for the compliment, and
laughed back, 'I'm glad you have come to see my performance. It has
been a very long, dull pageant, and here comes Mr. Morrison, I hope
with the last act.'

Morrison was evidently much relieved that Miss Dynevor should have
some relative to advise with, since he did not like the
responsibility of her renunciation, though owning that it was the
only thing that could save her uncle from disgraceful ruin, and
perhaps from prosecution; whereas now the gratitude and forbearance
of the creditors were secured, and he hoped that Mr. Dynevor might be
set free from the numerous English involvements, without sacrificing
his remaining property in Peru. The lawyer seemed to have no words
to express to James his sense of Miss Dynevor's conduct in the
matter, her promptitude and good sense having apparently struck him
as much as her generosity, and there was no getting him to believe,
as Clara wished, that the sacrifice was no sacrifice at all--nothing,
as she said, but 'common honesty and a great riddance.' He promised
to take steps in earnest for the final settlement with the creditors;
and though still far from the last act, Clara began to consider of
hastening her plans. It was exceedingly doubtful whether Oliver
would hear of living at Dynevor Terrace, and Clara could not be
separated from him; besides which, she was resolved that her brother
should not be burthened, and she would give James no promises,
conditional or otherwise.

Mr. Dynevor had discovered that Morrison had been in the house, and
was obviously restless to know what had taken place. By-and-by he
said to Jane, with an air of inquiry, 'Why does not the young man
come near me?'

Mrs. Beckett was too happy to report the invitation, telling 'Master
Jem' at the same time that 'he was not to rake up nothing gone and
past; there was quite troubles enough for one while.' Clara thought
the same, and besides was secretly sure that if he admitted that he
had been wrong in part, his uncle would imagine him to mean that he
had been wrong in the whole. Their instructions and precautions were
trying to James, whose chaplaincy had given him more experience of
the sick and the feeble than they gave him credit for; but he was
patient enough to amaze Clara and pacify Jane, who ushered him into
the sick-chamber. There, even in his worst days, he must have laid
aside ill-feeling at the aspect of the shrunken, broken figure in the
pillowed arm-chair, prematurely aged, his hair thin and white, his
face shrivelled, his eyelid drooping, and mouth contracted. He was
still some years under sixty; but this was the result of toil and
climate--of the labour generously designed, but how conducted, how
resulting?

He had not learned to put out his left hand--he only made a sharp
nod, as James, with tender and humble respect, approached, feeling
that, how his grandmother was gone, this frail old man, his father's
brother, was the last who claimed by right his filial love and
gratitude. How different from the rancour and animosity with which
he had met his former advances!

He ventured gently on kindly hopes that his uncle was better, and
they were not ill taken, though not without fretfulness. Presently
Oliver said, 'Come to look after your sister? that's right--good
girl, good girl!'

'That she is!' exclaimed James, heartily.

'Too hasty! too great hurry,' resumed Oliver; 'she had better have
waited, saved the old place,--never mind what became of the old man,
one-half dead already.'

'She would not have been a Clara good for much, if she had treated
you after that fashion, sir,' said James, smiling.

He gave his accustomed snort. 'The mischief a girl let alone can do
in three days, when once she's of age, and one can't stop her! Women
ought never to come of age, ain't fit for it, undo all the work of my
lifetime with a stroke of her pen!'

'For your sake, sir!'

'Pshaw! Pity but she'd been safe married--tied it up well with
settlements then out of her power. Can't think what that young
Fitzjocelyn was after--it ain't the old affair. Ponsonby writes me
that things are to be settled as soon as Ward comes back.'

'Indeed!'

'Aye, good sort of fellow--no harm to have him in our concerns--I
hope he'll look into the accounts, and find what Robson is at. After
all, I shall soon be out there myself, and make Master Robson look
about him. Mad to allow myself to stay--but I'll wait no longer.
Morrison may put the fellows off'--I'll give him a hint; we'll save
the place, after all, when I once get out to Lima. If only I knew
what to do with that girl!'

James could not look at him without a conviction that he would never
recover the use of his hand and foot; but this was no time to
discourage his spirits, and the answer was--'My sister's natural home
would be with me.'

'Ha! the child would like it, I suppose. I'd make a handsome
allowance for her. I shall manage that when my affairs are in my own
hands; but I may as well write to the mountains as to Ponsonby. Aye,
aye! Clara might go to you. She'll have enough any way to be quite
worth young Fitzjocelyn's while, you may tell him. That mine in the
San Benito would retrieve all, and I'll not forget. Pray, how many
children have you by this time?'

'Four little girls, sir,' said James, restraining the feeling which
was rising in the contact with his uncle, revealing that both were
still the same men.

'Hm! No time lost, however! Well, we shall see! Any way, an
allowance for Clara's board won't hurt. What's your notion?'

James's notion was profound pity for the poor old man. 'Indeed,
sir,' he said, 'Clara is sure to be welcome. All we wish is, that
you would kindly bring her to us at once. Perhaps you would find the
baths of service; we would do our utmost to make you comfortable, and
we are not inhabiting half the house, so that there would be ample
space to keep the children from inconveniencing you.'

'Clara is set on it, I'll warrant.'

'Clara waits to be guided by your wishes; but my wife and I should
esteem it as the greatest favour you could do us.'

'Ha! we'll see what I can manage. I must see Morrison'--and he fell
into meditation, presently breaking from it to say fretfully, 'I say,
Roland, would you reach me that tumbler?'

Never had James thought to be grateful for that name! He would
gladly have been Roland Dynevor for the rest of his days, if he could
have left behind him the transgressions of James Frost! But the poor
man's shattered thoughts had been too long on the stretch; and,
without further ceremony, Jane came in and dismissed his nephew.

Clara hardly trusted her ears when she was told shortly after, by her
uncle, that they were to go to Northwold. Roland wished it; and,
poor fellow! the board and lodging were a great object to him. He
seemed to have come to his senses now it was too late; and if Clara
wished it, and did not think it dull, there she might stay while he
himself was gone to Lima.

'A great object the other way,' Clara had nearly cried, in her
indignation that James could not be supposed disinterested in an
invitation to an old man, who probably was destitute.

Brother and uncle appeared to have left her out of the consultation;
but she was resolved not to let him be a burthen on those who had so
little already, and she called her old friend Jane to take counsel
with her, whether it would not be doing them an injury to carry him
thither at all. So much of Jane's heart as was not at Cheveleigh was
at Dynevor Terrace, and her answer was decided.

'To be sure, Miss Clara, nothing couldn't be more natural.'

'Nothing, indeed, but I can't put them to trouble and expense.'

'I'll warrant,' said Jane, 'that I'll make whatever they have go
twice as far as Charlotte ever will. Why, you know I keeps myself;
and for the rest, it will be a mere saving to have me in the kitchen!
There's no air so good for Master Oliver.'

'I see you mean to go, Jane,' said Clara. 'Now, I have to look out
for myself.'

'Bless me, Miss Clara, don't you do nothing in a hurry. Go home
quiet and look about you.'

Jane had begun to call Northwold home; and, in spite of her mournings
over the old place, Clara thought she had never been so happy there
as in her present dominion over Master Oliver, and her prospects of
her saucepans and verbenas at No. 5.

Poor Oliver! what a scanty measure of happiness had his lifelong
exertions produced! Many a human sacrifice has been made to a grim
and hollow idol, failing his devotees in time of extremity. Had it
not been thus with Oliver Dynevor's self-devotion to the honour of
his family?

CHAPTER XIX.

FAREWELL TO GREATNESS.

Soon from the halls my fathers reared
Their scutcheons must descend.
Scott

Mr. Holdsworth contrived to set James at liberty for a fortnight, and
he was thus enabled to watch over the negotiation, and expedite
matters for the removal. The result was, that the resignation of the
estate, furniture, and of Clara's jewels, honourably cleared off the
debts contracted in poor Mr. Dynevor's eagerness to reinstate the
family in all its pristine grandeur, and left him totally dependent
on whatever might be rescued in Peru. He believed this to be
considerable, but the brother and sister founded little hopes on the
chance; as, whatever there might be, had been entangled in the
Equatorial Company, and nothing could be less comprehensible than Mr.
Robson's statements.

Clara retained her own seventy pounds per annum, which, thrown into
the common stock, would, James assured her, satisfy him, in a
pecuniary point of view, that he was doing no wrong to his children;
though he added, that even if there had been nothing, he did not
believe they would ever be the worse for what might be spent on their
infirm old uncle.

Notice was sent to Isabel to prepare, and she made cordial reply that
the two rooms on the ground-floor were being made ready for Mr.
Dynevor, and Clara's own little room being set in order; Miss Mercy
Faithfull helping with all her might, and little Kitty stamping
about, thinking her services equally effectual.

Oliver was in haste to leave a place replete with disappointment and
failure, and was so helpless and dependent as to wish for his
nephew's assistance on the journey; and it was, therefore, fixed for
the end of James's second week. No one called to take leave, except
the Curate and good Mr. Henderson, who showed Clara much warm, kind
feeling, and praised her to her brother.

She begged James to walk with her for a farewell visit to her
grandmother's other old friend. Great was her enjoyment of this
expedition; she said she had not had a walk worth having since she
was at Aix-la-Chapelle, and liberty and companionship compensated for
all the heat and dust in the dreary tract, full of uncomfortable
shabby-genteel abodes, and an unpromising population.

'One cannot regret such a tenantry,' said Clara.

'Poor creatures!' said James. 'I wonder into whose hands they will
fall. Your heart may be free, Clara; you have followed the clear
path of duty; but it is a painful thought for me, that to strive to
amend these festering evils, caused very likely by my grandfather's
speculations, might have been my appointed task. I should not have
had far to seek for occupation. When I was talking to the Curate
yesterday, my heart smote me to think what I might have done to help
him.'

'It would all have been over now.'

'It ought not. Nay, perhaps, my presence might have left my uncle
free to attend to his own concerns.'

'I really believe you are going to regret the place!'

'After all, Clara, I was a Dynevor before my uncle came home. It
might have been my birthright. But, as Isabel says, what we are now
is far more likely to be safe for the children. I was bad enough as
I was, but what should I have been as a pampered heir! Let it go.'

'Yes, let it go,' said Clara; 'it has been little but pain to me. We
shall teach my poor uncle that home love is better than old family
estates. I almost wish he may recover nothing in Peru, that he may
learn that you receive him for his own sake.'

'That is more than I can wish,' said James. 'A hundred or two a-year
would come in handily. Besides, I am afraid that Mary Ponsonby may
be suffering in this crash.'

'She seems to have taken care of herself,' said Clara. 'She does not
write to me, and I am almost ready to believe her father at last. I
could not have thought it of her!'

'Isabel has always said it was the best thing that could happen to
Louis.'

'Isabel never had any notion of Louis. I don't mean any offence, but
if she had known what he was made of, she would never have had you.'

'Thank you, Clara! I always thought it an odd predilection, but no
one can now esteem Fitzjocelyn more highly than ahe does.'

'Very likely; but if she thinks Louis can stand Mary's deserting
him--'

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