Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

Then came a drive with Rosita, resplendent in French millinery, then
supper; then the Opera, to which her father accompanied them, still
without a word. Another day was nearly the same, only that this time
she had to do her best to explain the newest fashions in behalf of a
dress of Rosita's, then being made, and in the evening to go to a
party at the Consul's, where she met Mr. Ward, and had some talk
which she might have enjoyed but for her suspense.

On the third, Rosita was made happy by unpacking an elegant little
black papier mache table, a present from Miss Ponsonby. Good
Melicent! were ever two sisters-in-law more unlike? But Lord
Ormersfield had done Rosita and her husband good service. If Aunt
Melicent had first learned the real facts, her wrath would have been
extreme--a mere child, a foreigner, a Roman Catholic, a nun! Her
horror would have known no bounds, and she would, perhaps, have
broken with her brother forever. But by making the newly-married
pair victims of injustice, the Earl had made the reality a relief,
and Melicent had written civilly to her brother, and a sisterly sort
of stiff letter to the bride--of which the Limenian could not
understand one word; so that Mary had to render it all into Spanish,
even to her good aunt's hopes that Rosita would be kind to her, and
use all her influence in favour of her happiness.

Whether Rosita would have comprehended this without Mary's blushes
might be questioned, but she did say, 'Ah! yes! you were to have
married the Visconde, were you not? El Senor was so angry! Did his
father forbid when your father refused your portion?'

'Oh no, he would receive me if I brought nothing.'

'And you wish to marry?' said Rosita.

'If my father would only consent.'

'But why did you come here then?' said Rosita, opening her large
eyes.

'My father commanded me.'

'England is a long way off,' said Rosita, languidly, 'he could not
have reached you there. You would have been a great lady and noble!
How could you come away, if he would still have you?'

'Because it would have been wrong. We could not have been happy in
disobeying my father.'

'Ah! but you could have done penance. I had many penances to do for
quitting my convent; Padre Inigo was very severe, but they are over
at last, and I am free for giving alms twice a week, and the Sisters
have forgiven me, and send me so many silver flowers and dulces; I
will show them to you some day. Could you not have done penance?'

'I am afraid not.'

'Ah! I forgot you were a heretic, poor thing! How inconvenient! And
so you will not come with me to the bull-fight next Sunday?'

Such being Rosita's ideas on the point, Mary gave up much hope in her
influence, and tried what a good-humoured announcement of her re-
establishment of the English breakfast would effect towards bringing
her father to a tete-a-tete, but he never came near it. The waiting
in silence was miserable enough for herself, but she would have
continued to bear it except for the injustice to Louis, who must not
be kept in suspense. The departure of the next English mail should
be the limit of her endurance, and after a day of watching, she
finally went up to her father when he would have bidden her good
night, and said, in English, 'Papa, if you please, I must speak to
you.'

'So you shall, my dear, but we are all tired; we must have our
night's rest.'

'No, papa, it must be to-night, if you please. It is necessary for
me to know before to-morrow how I am to write to Lord Fitzjocelyn.'

'Pshaw! Mary, I've settled that young fellow!'

'Papa, I don't think you know--'

'I've written him a civil answer, if that's what you mean, much
civiller than he or his father deserve,' he said, speaking loud, and
trying to fling away from her, but she stood her ground, and spoke
calmly and. steadily, though her heart beat violently.

'You do not understand the true state of the case, papa; and without
doing so, you cannot write such an answer aa they deserve.'

'I know this, that old Ormersfield has been the curse of my life!'
and out poured one of those torrents of fierce passion which had been
slowly but surely the death of his wife. Mary had never heard one in
the full tide before, but she stood firm; there were none of the
tears, auch as, in her mother, had been wont to exasperate him
further, but with pale cheeks, compressed lips, and hands locked
together, her heart was one silent entreaty that it might be forgiven
him above. Thus she stood while the storm of anger raged, and when
at last it had exhausted itself, he said, in a lower voice, 'And so
you are still taken with this fellow's son, this young puppy! I
thought you had more spirit and sense, Mary, or I never would have
trusted you among them.'

'There are very few people in this world half so good or so right-
minded as Fitzjocelyn,' said Mary, earnestly and deliberately. 'It
was he who bade me come to you, well knowing that we could never be
happy without your consent.'

'Oh! he did so, did he? He is deeper than I thought would not risk
your fortune. Why, Mary, I did not think a girl of your sense could
be so taken in! It is transparent, I tell you. They get you there,
flatter you up with their attentions, but when they find you too wise
for them the first time, off goes this youth to Miss Conway, finds
her a bad speculation, no heiress at all, and disposes of her to his
cousin. I wonder if he'll find old Dynevor grateful. Meanwhile the
old Lord must needs come out here, finds our gains a better prize
than he expected, trumps up this story at Valparaiso, takes you in,
and brings you home to this precious youth. And you, and your aunt
too, are ready to believe it all! I always knew that women were
fools whenever a title came in their way, I see it more than ever
now, since you and Melicent are both like the rest of 'em.'

'Papa,' said Mary, again rallying her firmness, 'we have found sadly
how easy it is to be deceived when one is not on the spot. Will you
listen to me, who saw it all?'

'No, Mary, I will not hear the nonsense they have put into your head,
my poor girl. No! I tell you it is of no use! It is my resolute
purpose that not one farthing of mine shall go to patch up the
broken-down Ormersfield property! The man is my enemy, and has sown
dissension in my family from the first moment I connected myself with
him. I'll never see my daughter his son's wife. I wonder he had the
impudence to propose it! I shall think you lost to all feeling for
your father, if you say another word about it.'

'Very well,' said Mary, with steady submission. 'Then I will only
write one more letter to Fitzjocelyn, and tell him that your
objections are insuperable, and that he must think of it no more.'

'That's right, Mary! you are a good girl, after all! You'll stand by
your father, in spite of all the House of Peers! I'm glad to see you
hold up your head so bravely. So you did fancy being a Viscountess,
did you! but it is not a heartbreaking matter either, my girl!'

This was too much for Mary, and when her father would have kissed
her, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept silently but
bitterly.

'Ha! what's all this? Why, you don't pretend to care for a young
mercenary scamp like that?'

'He is the noblest, most generous, most disinterested man I ever
knew!' said Mary, standing apart, and speaking clearly. 'I give him
up because--you command me, father, but I will not hear him spoken of
unjustly.'

'Ha! ha! so long as you give him up, we won't quarrel. He shall be
all that, and more too, if you like; and we'll never fight over the
matter again, since I have you safe back, my child.'

'I do not mean to mention him again,' said Mary; 'I wish to obey
you.'

'Then there's an end of the matter. You'll get over it, my girl, and
we'll find some honest man worth two of your niggardly, proud-
spirited earls. There, I know you are a reasonable girl that can be
silent, and not go on teasing. So, Mary, you may have a cup of tea
for me to-morrow in the sala, like old times. Goodnight, my dear.'

Waiting upon himself! That was the reward that Mr. Ponsonby held out
to his daughter for crushing her first love!

But it was a reward. Anything that drew her father nearer to her was
received with gratitude by Mary, and the words of kindness in some
degree softened the blow. She had never had much hope, though now she
found it had been more than she had been willing to believe; and even
now she could not absolutely cease to entertain some hopes of the
results of Oliver's return, nor silence one lingering fancy that
Louis might yet wait unbound; although she told herself of his
vacillation between herself and Isabel, of his father's influence,
and of the certainty that he would see many more worthy of his love
than herself. Not any one who could love him so well--oh no! But
when Mary found her thoughts taking this turn, she rose up as she
lay, clasped her hands together, and repeated half aloud again and
again, 'Be Thou my all!'

And by the morning, though Mary's cheek was very white, and her eyes
sunken for want of sleep, she had a cheerful word for her father, and
a smile, the very sight of which would have gone to the heart of any
one of those from whom he had cut her off.

Then she wrote her letters. It was not so hard to make this final
severance as it had been to watch Louis's face, and think of the pain
she had to inflict. Many a time had she weighed each phrase she set
down, so that it might offend neither against sincerity nor
resignation, and yet be soothing and consoling. Some would have
thought her letter stiff and laboured, but she had learned to believe
that a grave and careful style befitted a serious occasion, and would
have thought incoherency childish or affected.

She released him entirely from his engagement, entreating him not to
rebel against the decision, but to join her in thankfulness that no
shade need be cast over the remembrance of the happy hours spent
together; and begging him not to grieve, since she had, after the
first pain, been able to acquiesce in the belief that the separation
might conduce to his happiness; and she should always regard him as
one of those most near and dear to her, and rejoice in whatever was
for his welfare, glad that his heart was still young enough to form
new ties. 'Forgive me for speaking thus,' she added; 'I know that it
may wound you now, but there may come a time when it may make you
feel more at ease and unfettered; and I could not endure to imagine
that the affection which you brought yourself to lavish on one so
unworthy, should stand in the way of your happiness for life.' She
desired him to make no answer, but to consider this as the final
dissolution: and she concluded by all that she thought would prove
most consoling, as to the present state of affairs with her; and with
a few affectionate words, to show that he was still a great deal to
her, though everything he might not be.

This done, Mary faced her life in the New World. She had to form her
habits for herself, for her importance in the house was gone; but she
went to work resolutely, and, lonely as she was, she had far more
resources than if she had never been at Ormersfield. She had many
hours to herself, and she unpacked her books, and set herself courses
of study, to which Louis had opened the door. She unveiled her eyes
to natural history, and did not find flower or butterfly unsoothing.
She undertook the not very hopeful task of teaching a tiny negro imp,
who answered the purpose of a bell, to read and work; and she was
persevering in her efforts to get Xavier and Dolores to make her
father comfortable.

Her father was decidedly glad of her company. He liked conversation,
and enjoyed the morning meeting, to which Mr. Ward was often a
welcome addition, delighting in anything so English, and finding Miss
Ponsonby much improved by her introduction to English society.
Sometimes Mary wrote for her father, and now and then was consulted;
and she was always grateful for whatever made her feel herself of
use. She was on kind and friendly terms with Rosita, but they did
not become more intimate than at first. The Senora was swinging in a
hammock half-asleep, with a cigarette between her lips, all the
morning; and when she emerged from this torpid state, in a splendid
toilette, she had too many more congenial friends often to need her
step-daughter in her visits, her expeditions to lotteries, and her
calls on her old friends the nuns. On a fast-day, or any other
occasion that kept her at home, she either arranged her jewels,
discussed her dresses, or had some lively chatter, which she called
learning English. She coaxed, fondled, and domineered prettily over
Mr. Ponsonby; and he looked on amused, gratified her caprices,
caressed her, and seemed to regard her as a pretty pet and plaything.

CHAPTER VI.

THE TWO PENDRAGONS.

The red dragon and the white,
Hard together gan they smite,
With mouth, paw, and tail,
Between hem was full hard batail.
The History of Merlin.

SPRING was on the borders of summer, when one afternoon, as Clara sat
writing a note in the drawing-room, she heard a tap at the door of
the little sitting-room, and springing to open it, she beheld a
welcome sight.

'Louis! How glad I am! Where do you come from?'

'Last from the station,' said Louis.

'What makes you knock at that door, now the drawing-room is alive?'

'I could not venture on an unceremonious invasion of Mrs. James
Frost's territory.'

'You'll find no distinction of territory here,' laughed Clara. 'It
was a fiction that we were to live in separate rooms, like naughty
children. Does not the drawing-room look nice?'

'As much improved as the inhabitant. Where are the other natives?'

'Granny and Isabel are walking, and will end by picking up Jem coming
out of school. We used to wait for him so often, that at last he
said we should be laughed at, so there's a law against it which no
one dares to transgress but granny.'

'So I conclude that you are a happy family.'

'After all, it was worth spending two years at school to enjoy
properly the having it over.'

'I give Jem credit for having secured a first-rate governess for
you.'

'That she is! Why, with her I really do like reading and drawing all
the morning! I almost believe that some day I shall wake up and find
myself an accomplished young lady! And, Louis, have you read the
last Western Magazine?'

'I have read very little for sport lately.'

'Then I must tell you. Jem was bemoaning himself about having
nothing to give to the new Blind Asylum, and the next evening Isabel
brought out the prettiest little manuscript book, tied with blue
ribbon, and told him to do as he pleased with it. It was a charming
account of her expedition to the Hebrides, written out for her
sisters, without a notion of anything further; but Jem sent it to
this Magazine, and it is accepted, and the first part is out. She
will have quite a sum for it, and all is to go to the Blind Asylum!'

'Capital!--Let me take it home to night, Clara, and I will stand an
examination on it to-morrow.'

'We ask her whether she projects a sketch of the Paris Revolution,'
said Clara, laughing. 'She has a famous heap of manuscripts in her
desk, and one long story about a Sir Roland, who had his name before
she knew Jem, but it is all unfinished, she tore out a great many
pages, and has to make a new finish; and I am afraid the poor knight
is going to die of a mortal wound at his lady's feet. Isabel likes
sad things best;--but oh! here they come, and I'm talking dreadful
treason.'

Three more joyous-looking people could hardly have been found than
those who entered the room, welcoming Louis with delight, and asking
what good wind had brought him.

'Partly that Inglewood is crying out for the master's eye,' said
Louis; 'and partly that my father fancied I looked fagged, and kindly
let me run down for a holiday.'

'I am of his mind,' said Mrs. Frost, tenderly; 'there is an M.P.
expression gathering on your brows, Louis.'

'For you to dispel, Aunt Kitty. I told him you were the best
dissipation, and Virginia was of the same mind. Isabel, she says
Dynevor Terrace is the only place she ever wishes to see again.'

'Do you often see Virginia?' asked Isabel.

'Not unless I go early, and beg for her; and then she generally has
some master. That last onset of accomplishments is serious!'

'Yes,' said Isabel, 'the sense of leisure and tranquillity here is
marvellous!'

'Not leisure in the sense of idleness,' said James.

'No,' said Isabel; 'but formerly idle requirements thronged my time,
and for nothing worth doing could I find leisure.'

'There is nothing more exacting than idle requirements,' said James.
'Pray is Clara accepting that invitation? Come to dinner, Louis, and
give us an excuse.'

'No, he won't,' said Mrs. Frost, 'he will take my side. These young
people want to cast off all their neighbours.'

'Now, granny,' exclaimed James, 'have we not dutifully dined all
round? Did not Isabel conduct Clara to that ball? Is it not hard to
reproach us with sighing at an evening immolated at the shrine of the
Richardsons?'

'Well, my dears, you must judge.'

'I am ready to do whatever you think right; I leave you to settle
it,' said Isabel, moving out of the room, that Louis might be free
for a more intimate conversation.

'Now,' cried James, 'is it in the nature of things that she should
live in such society as Mrs. Walby's and Mrs. Richardson's? People
who call her Mrs. James!'

'Such a queen as she looks among them!' said Clara.

'One comfort is, they don't like that,' said James. 'Even Mrs.
Calcott is not flattered by her precedence. I hope we shall soon be
dropped out of their parties. As long as I do my duty by their sons,
what right have they to impose the penance of their society on my
wife? All the irksomeness of what she has left, and none of the
compensations!'

'Blissful solitude' said Louis, 'thereto I leave you.'

'You are not going yet! You mean to dine here?' was the cry.

'My dear friends,' he said, holding up his hands, 'if you only knew
how I long to have no one to speak to!'

'You crying out for silence!' exclaimed James.

'I am panting for what I have not had these five months--space for my
thoughts to turn round.'

'Surely you are at liberty to form your own habits!' said James.

'I am told so whenever my father sees me receive a note,' said Louis,
wearily; 'but I see that, habituated as he is to living alone, he is
never really at ease unless I am in the way; so I make our hours
agree as far as our respective treadmills permit; and though we do
not speak much, I can never think in company.'

'Don't you have your rides to yourself?'

'Why, no. My father will never ride enough to do him good, unless he
wants to do me good. People are all surprised to see him looking so
well; the country lanes make him quite blooming.'

'But not you, my poor boy,' said his aunt; 'I am afraid it is a sad
strain.'

'There now, Aunt Kitty, I am gone. I must have the pleasure of
looking natural sometimes, without causing any vituperation of any
one beyond seas.'

'You shall look just as you please if you will only stay. We are
just going to dinner.'

'Thank you, let me come to-morrow. I shall be better company when I
have had my sulk out.'

His aunt followed him to the stairs, and he turned to her, saying,
anxiously, 'No letter?' She shook her head. 'It would be barely
possible,' he said, 'but if it would only come while I am at home in
peace!'

'Ah! this is sadly trying!' said she, parting his hair on his brow as
he stood some steps below her, and winning a sweet smile from him.

'All for the best,' he said. 'One thing may mitigate another. That
political whirlpool might suck me in, if I had any heart or hopes for
it. And, on the other hand, it would be very unwholesome to be left
to my own inertness--to be as good for nothing as I feel.'

'My poor dear boy, you are very good about it. I wish you could have
been spared.'

'I did not come to make you sad, Aunt Kitty,' he replied, smiling;
'no; I get some energy back when I remember that this may be a
probation. Her mother would not have thought me man enough, and that
is what I have to work for. Whether this end well or not, she is the
leading star of my life.' And, with the renewal of spirit with which
he had spoken, he pressed his aunt's hand, and ran down stairs.

When he rode to Northwold, the following afternoon, having spent the
morning in walking over his fields, he overtook a most comfortable
couple--James and Isabel, returning from their holiday stroll, and
Louis, leaving his horse at the inn, and joining them, began to hear
all their school affairs. James had thrown his whole heart into his
work, had been making various reforms, introducing new studies,
making a point of religious instruction, and meditating on a course
of lectures on history, to be given in the evenings, the attendance
to be voluntary, but a prize held out for proficiency. Louis took up
the subject eagerly, and Isabel entered into the discussion with all
her soul, and the grammar-school did indeed seem to be in a way to
become something very superior in tone to anything Northwold had
formerly seen, engrossing as it did all the powers of a man of such
ability, in the full vigour of youth.

Talking earnestly, the trio had reached the Terrace, and James was
unlatching the iron gate, when he interrupted himself in the midst of
detailing his views on modern languages to say, 'No, I have nothing
for you.'

'Sir, I beg your pardon!' was the quick reply from a withered, small,
but not ill-dressed old man, 'I only asked--'

'Let the lady pass,' said James, peremptorily, wishing to save his
wife from annoyance, 'it is of no use, I never look at petitions.'

'Surely he is not a beggar!' said Isabel, as he drew her on.

'You may be easy about him, my dear,' said James. 'He has laid hold
of Louis, who would swallow the whole Spanish legion of impostors.
He will be after us directly with a piteous story.'

Louis was after him, with a face more than half arch fun--'Jem, Jem,
it is your uncle!'

'Nonsense! How can you be so taken in! Don't go and disappoint
granny--I'll settle him.'

'Take care, Jem--it is Oliver, and no mistake! Why, he is as like
you as Pendragon blood can make him! Go and beg his pardon.'

James hastened down stairs, as Louis bounded up--sought Mrs. Frost in
the sitting-rooms, and, without ceremony, rushed up and knocked at
the bed-room door. Jane opened it.

'He is come!' cried Louis--'Oliver is come.'

Old Jane gave a shriek, and ran back wildly, clapping her hands. Her
mistress started forward--'Come!--where?'

'Here!--in the hall with Jem.'

He feared that he had been too precipitate, for she hid her face in
her hands; but it was the intensity of thanksgiving; and though her
whole frame was in a tremor, she flew rather than ran forward, never
even seeing Louis's proffered arm. He had only reached the landing-
place, when beneath he heard the greeting--'Mother, I can take you
home--Cheveleigh is yours.' But to her the words were drowned in her
own breathless cry--'My boy! my boy!' She saw, knew, heard nothing,
save that the son, missed and mourned for thirty-four years, was safe
within her arms, the longing void filled up. She saw not that the
stripling had become a worn and elderly man,--she recked not how he
came. He was Oliver, and she had him again! What was the rest to
her?

Those words? They might be out of taste, but Fitzjocelyn guessed
that to speak them at the first meeting had been the vision of
Oliver's life--the object to which he had sacrificed everything.
And yet how chill and unheeded they fell!

Louis could have stood moralizing, but his heart had begun to throb
at the chance that Oliver brought tidings of Mary. He felt himself
an intrusive spectator, and hastened into the drawing-room, when
Clara nearly ran against him, but stood still. 'I beg your pardon,
but what is Isabel telling me? Is it really?'

'Really! Kindred blood signally failed to speak.'

Clara took a turn up and down the room. 'I say, Louis, ought I to go
down?'

'No; leave him and granny to their happiness,' said Louis; and James,
at the same moment running up, threw himself into a chair, with an
emphatic 'There!'

'Dear grandmamma!' said Isabel; 'I hope it is not too much for her.'

James made no answer.

'Are you disappointed in him, dear James?' she continued.

'I could not be disappointed,' he answered, shortly.

'Poor man--he has a poor welcome among you,' said Louis.

'Welcome is not to be bought,' said James. 'I could not stand
hearing him reply to poor granny's heartfelt rapture with his riches
and his Cheveleigh, as if that were all she could prize.'

Steps were mounting the stairs, and the alert, sharp tones of Oliver
were heard--'Married then? Should have waited--done it in style.'

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27