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

'Pshaw! Louis, can't you understand? Frost is a glorious name to
me, recording my grandmother's noble exertions on our behalf, but I
can imagine it to be hateful to him, recalling the neglect that made
her slaving necessary.'

'For which amiable reason you insist on obtruding it. Pray, are the
houses henceforth to be Frost Terrace or Arctic Row?'

'Are you come to laugh or to remonstrate?' exclaimed James, stopping.

'Oh! you want to put on your armour! Certainly, I should never tell
if I were come to remonstrate, nor should I venture in such a case--'

'Then you are come to approve,' said Isabel. I knew it!'

'Little you two care--each of you sure of an admiring double.'

'I care for your opinion as much as ever I did,' said James.

'Exactly so,' said Louis, laughing.

'I desire to have your judgment in this matter.'

'If I could judge, I would,' said Louis. 'I see you right in
principle, but are you right in spirit? I own my heart bleeds for
Aunt Kitty, regaining her son to battle with her grandson.'

'I am very sorry for her,' said James; 'but it can't be helped. I
cannot resign my duties here for the sake of living dependent on a
suitable allowance.'

'Ah! Jem! Jem! Oliver little knew the damage his neglect did you.'

'What damage?'

'The fostering an ugly little imp of independence.'

'Aye! you grandees have naturally a distaste for independence, and
make common cause against it.'

'Especially when in a rabid state. Take care, Jem. Independence
never was a Christian duty yet--'

'Then, you want me to go and live on the hoards for the sake of which
my grandmother was left to toil. You would like to see me loitering
about, pensioned to swell the vanity of Cheveleigh, neglecting my
vows, forsaking my duties--'

'You unreasonable man! Is there no way in this whole world for you
to do your duty as a clergyman, but hearing Northwold boys the Latin
grammar?'

'Then, what do you want me to do?'

'I don't want you to do anything. You are the man to know what is
right; only, Isabel, don't help him to hate people more than can
possibly be avoided; and don't break dear Aunt Kitty's heart amongst
you. That's what I care most about!'

When Louis bade his aunt farewell, he threw his arm round her neck,
looked fondly at her, and said, 'Dear aunt, you won't let them tease
you?'

'No, my dear, I am getting past being teased,' she said. 'Vexations
don't hurt me as much as love does me good, and they'll not forget
their affection. It is all goodness in Jem, and poor Oliver will
understand it when I have got him into our home ways again; but he
has been so long away from home, poor fellow!'

'That's right. I won't be uneasy for you. Squabble as they will,
they won't hurt you. But, oh! Dynevor Terrace without you!'

'Ah! you must come to me at _home_!'

'Home! I'm like Jem, jealous for this old house.'

'It is odd how little I feel these things,' said his aunt. 'If any
one had told me, when I tore myself away from Cheveleigh, that I
should have it back, how little I should have thought that I could
take it so easily! I wonder at myself when I wake in the morning
that I am not more moved by it, nor by leaving this dear old place.
I suppose it is because I have not long to stay anywhere. I can keep
nothing in my head, but that I have got my Oliver!'

'I believe it is the peace that is not of this world!' said Louis.

CHAPTER VII.

ROLAND AND OLIVER

'Twas old ancestral pride,
'Twas hope to raise a fallen house
From penury's disgrace,
To purchase back from usurers
The birthright of his race.
The Lump of Gold--C. MACKAY.

Mary's letter arrived not long after Louis's return to London; and
her calm, serious, beautifully-expressed farewell came upon him at
last like a blow which had been long impending, but of which
preparation had failed to lessen the weight.

'Ah!' said the Earl, when the chief part had been read to him, 'she
is admirable and excellent as ever. It is a great disappointment
that she is unattainable, but I am glad she writes so sensibly, and
sees that it is right you should think no more about her. After all,
the connexion with that fellow Ponsonby might have been very
troublesome, and it is well, as she says, that it was all over while
you are so young.'

'Young or old, there is no other Mary in the world,' said Louis,
sadly.

'We will say no more about it now. I understand you, but you will
think differently by-and-by.'

Louis did not answer. He knew that others might have been deceived
by the tardiness and uncertainty of his attachment, but that it had
taken such deep root, that he believed he could no more detach
himself from Mary than if she were his wife. His heart fainted as he
thought of years without the strength and soothing which her very
letter breathed forth; as he pictured to himself alternations between
his chill and stately home and the weary maze of London, foresaw
persuasions from his father to induce him to form some new
attachment, and dreaded to think of the facility with which, perhaps,
he might still be led out of his own convictions. Yet he still
believed that patience and perseverance would win the day, and tried
to derive encouragement and energy from the thought that this might
be a trial sent for the very purpose of training him in
steadfastness.

A strong impulse drew him to Bryanston Square, where Miss Ponsonby
was very kind and warm, the more so because she had discovered how
much easier it had been to say than to unsay, and strongly regretted
the injustice she had done him. He had the satisfaction of talking
for a good hour about Mary, and of sending a message, that he did not
write because he wished to be guided by her in everything, and that
he was striving to work so as to please her. The conversation ended
with some good auguries as to the effect of Oliver's return to Peru;
and Louis went away cheered, bearing the final dismissal better than
his father had expected. Lord Ormersfield attributed his
tranquillity to having his mind settled; and so it was, though not
quite as his lordship imagined.

Meantime, there was a lull at Dynevor Terrace. Oliver was gone to
take possession and furnish the mansion, and Mrs. Frost's great
object was to keep the subject from irritating her grandson, so as to
save him from binding himself by any rash vows. Cheveleigh was
treated in the domestic circle with judicious silence, Oliver's
letters were read by his mother in private, and their contents
communicated to Jane alone, whose happiness was surpassing, and her
contempt for Dynevor Terrace quite provoking to poor Mrs. Martha.

'Really,' said Charlotte one day, 'I don't think a catastrophe is
half so pretty as it ought to be. Mr. Oliver is but a poor little
puny man, and I never knew Mr. James so hard to please.'

Charlotte and Marianne had begun to merge their rivalry in honest
friendship, cemented by Marianne's increasing weakness, and
difficulty in getting through even the light work her mistress
required. Jane petted her now still more than Charlotte, and was
always promising her the delightful air and the luxuries of
Cheveleigh.

'See here, Charlotte,' said Marianne, one afternoon when they sat
down together to their sewing; Marianne's eyes were brighter, and her
cheeks pinker, than for many days--'See here; it is for your good I
show it you, that you mayn't build on no false expectations. It was
marked private; but I think it but fair you should see.'

'Mine was marked private too,' said Charlotte, slowly, as she fixed
her eyes on the envelope Marianne held out to her, and putting her
hand into her pocket, pulled out a similar one, directed to Miss
Arnold.

Marianne scarcely suppressed a shriek, gasped, and turned pale. Each
lady then proceeded to unfold a pink sheet of note-paper, containing
an original copy of verses, each labelled, 'On a hair of --.' Then
came a scented shining note, requesting to be informed whether the
right construction had been put on some words that had dropped from
the Miss Conways, and if it were true that the reverend and respected
Mr. F. Dynevor had come into a large fortune. In that case, Mr.
Delaford, mercenary considerations apart, would take the earliest
opportunity of resigning his present position, and entering the
family which contained his charmer.

The Merry Wives were parodied by the hysterical maids. Charlotte
might afford to laugh, but Marianne's heart was more in the matter,
and they struck up such a chorus that Jane broke upon them, declaring
that they would frighten Mrs. James Frost out of her senses. When
Charlotte told her what was the matter, her comment was, 'And a very
good thing, too, that you should find him out in time! A pair of
silly girls you! I always was thankful I never could write, to be
deluded with nonsense by the post; and I am more so than ever now!
Come, leave off crying, Marianne; he ain't worth it.'

'But how shall we answer him, Mrs. Beckett?' said Charlotte.

'Never demean yourself to answer him,' said Jane; 'let him never hear
nought about you--that's the best for the like of him. I can tell
him he need not be in no hurry about giving warning to Lady Conway.
At Cheveleigh we'll have a solemn, steady butler, with no nonsense,
nor verses, nor guitars--forty years old--and a married man.'

Charlotte took the advice, and acted with dignified contempt and
silence, relieved to imagine that Tom had never been in danger from
such a rival. Marianne did not divulge the tender and melancholy
letter of reproach that she posted privately; but she grew paler, and
coughed more, all that bright summer.

Mrs. Frost had refused to let any cause remove her from Northwold,
until after an event which it was hoped would render James less
disdainful of his inheritance. But--'Was there ever anything more
_contrary_?' exclaimed Jane, as she prepared to set out the table for
a grand tea. 'There's Master James as pleased and proud of that
there little brown girl, as if she was as fine a boy as Master Henry
himself. I do believe, upon my word, it is all to spite poor dear
Master Oliver.'

Poor Jane, she was almost growing tart in her partizanship of Oliver.

The little brown girl was no dove of peace. Her father decidedly
triumphed in the mortification that her sex was to others of the
family; and though he averred that the birth of a son would not have
made him change his mind, he was well satisfied to be spared the
attack which would have ensued. Oliver, like Jane, appeared to
regard the poor child as a wilful offence, and revenged himself by a
letter announcing that Clara would be his heiress, information which
Mrs. Frost kindly withheld from her granddaughter, in the hope of a
reconciliation.

Lord Ormersfield took James in hand, undertaking to make him hear
common sense; but the sense was unfortunately too common, and the
authoritative manner was irritating, above all when a stately warning
was given that no Church-preferment was to be expected from his
influence; whereupon James considered himself insulted, and they
parted very stiff and grand, the Earl afterwards pronouncing that
nothing was so wrongheaded as a conscientious man. But they were too
much accustomed to be on respectfully quarrelsome terms to alter
their regard for one retort more or less; and after all, there were
very few men whom Lord Ormersfield liked or esteemed half so much as
the fearless and uncompromising James Frost--James Frost--as he
curtly signed himself, in spite of all Louis's wit on Rolands and
Olivers--and yet those soft satirical speeches did more than all
direct attacks to shake his confidence in his own magnanimity; more
especially because Fitzjocelyn always declared himself incompetent to
judge, and never failed to uphold that he was so far right, that his
ministry must stand above all worldly considerations.

The breach had become so wide, that Oliver would not have accepted
the terms he had formerly offered. His object seemed to be to pique
his nephew and niece, by showing them what they had lost. He wrote
the most magnificent descriptions of Cheveleigh, and insisted that
his mother and Clara should come and take possession on the eightieth
birthday of the former, the 14th of September; and Isabel was
recovering so rapidly, that there was nothing to oppose to his
project, although the new Catharine would be scarcely three weeks old
by that time.

Thereupon came down, addressed to Clara, a case of Peruvian jewels,
newly set in London--intended doubtless to excite great jealousy in
her sister-in-law. Poor Oliver! could he but have known that Isabel
only glanced at them to tell Clara the names of the ornaments, and to
relieve her mind by assurances that the whole of a set need not be
worn at once! Next arrived an exceedingly smart French milliner,
who, by the help of Jane and Marianne, got Clara into her toils, and
pinned and measured her for a whole mortal morning; and even
grandmamma ordered a black velvet gown and accompaniments.

Lastly, there descended on Clara's devoted head a cheque for a sum
which terrified her imagination, and orders to equip herself suitably
as Miss Dynevor of Cheveleigh, who was to enjoy the same allowance
half-yearly. Her first idea was what delightful presents could be
made to every one; but as she was devising showers of gifts for her
niece, James cut her short,--'I am sorry to give you pain, Clara, but
it must be understood that neither directly nor indirectly can I nor
mine receive anything bought with my uncle's money.'

'That was the only thing to make me not hate it.'

'It is best you should hate it.'

'I do! Why did he come home to bother us? Oh, Jem, can't I still
live here, and only visit there?'

'No, Clara. The care of granny is your first duty; and during her
life, so long as you are single, her home must be yours.'

The edict was given in stern self-abnegation; but James was very kind
to her, treating her as a victim, and spending his leisure in walking
about with her, that she might take leave of every favourite haunt.
He was indulgent enough even to make no objection to going with her
to Ormersfield, where she wandered about the park, visited old scenes
with Louis, and went over all his improvements. His cottages had as
yet the sole fault of looking too new, and one of his tenants would
not shut up his pigs; but otherwise all was going on well, and
Inglewood was in the excitement of Louis's first harvest. He walked
about with ears of wheat in his hand, talked knowingly of loads and
acres, and had almost taught his father to watch the barometer. It
added to Clara's regrets that she should miss the harvest-supper, for
which he and Mr. Holdsworth had wonderful designs; but it was not to
take place until Fitzjocelyn's return from Cheveleigh. Oliver had
invited him and his father to conduct Mrs. Frost thither, and add
eclat to her reception; and this, as Clara said, 'was the only
comfort in the business.'

James had effectually destroyed all pleasure on her part, and had
made the change appear an unmitigated misfortune, even though she did
not know what she would have thought the worst. Congratulations were
dreadful to her, and it was all that Isabel could do to persuade her
to repress her dislike so as not to distress her grandmother.

To Mrs. Frost it was pain to leave what she owned, with thankful
tears, to have been a happy, peaceful refuge for her widowhood and
poverty; she grieved over each parting, clung to the Faithfulls,
reiterated fond counsels to Isabel, and could hardly bear to detach
herself from the great-grandchild. But still it was her own son, and
her own home, and Oliver and Cheveleigh were more to her than even
James and Dynevor Terrace; so that, though she was sorry, it was not
with a melancholy sorrow, and she could still hope against hope, that
uncle and nephew might be brought together at last, and that a son of
James would yet reign in the dear old place.

Besides, she had not time to be unhappy. She was fully employed
nursing Isabel, doing honour to the little one, answering Oliver's
letters, superintending Clara's wardrobe; choosing parting gifts for
innumerable friends, high and low; and making arrangements for the
inexperienced household.

Jane's place was to be--not exactly supplied, but occupied by a cook.
Miss Dynevor was to have 'a personal attendant;' and Mrs. Beckett
begged that Marianne might be chosen, since she could not bear to see
the poor thing sent away, when in so much need of care. The
diamonds, the French millinery, and Jane's motherly care, came in
strong contrast to the miserable lodging, or the consumptive
hospital, which poor Marianne had begun to anticipate; and weeping
with gratitude, she declared that she had never seen nor thought of
such kindness since her mother died.

Isabel seldom roused herself to understand anything about her
servants; but she liked Marianne, and was glad Clara should have her,
since she was not strong enough to undertake nursery cares. She
believed it had not agreed with her to sit up late. Compunction for
having been the cause had never dawned on Isabel's mind.

Charlotte was to remain at Dynevor Terrace; James and Isabel wished
to keep her, and Mrs. Beckett thought her sufficiently indoctrinated
with her ways to have some chance of going on well. 'Besides,' as
Jane said, 'I can't be accountable for taking her into that large
family, until I see what company there may be. She's a well-behaved
girl enough, but she's too pretty and too simple-like for me to have
her among the common run of servants. I'll see what I can do for
her, when I see what sort of a housekeeper it is.'

And Jane gave Charlotte infinite injunctions, varying from due care
of the 'chaney images' to reserve with mankind. 'Because you see,
Charlotte' she said, 'you'll be terribly forsaken. Mrs. James, poor
dear!--she would not know if the furniture weren't rubbed once in ten
years; but you must make it a pride to yourself to be faithful.'

'I am faithful!' cried Charlotte. 'I never cared for that traitor,
Delaford, and his guitar; but I could not get rid of him. And I'll
tell you what--I'll seal up his fine red book, and all his verses;
and you shall leave them in London as you go through, with my
compliments. I think that will be proper and scornful.'

'Hoity-toity! That's what she's at! The best thing you can do too,
Charlotte; and I'm glad that you've too much spirit to pine like poor
Marianne. I'd take my affidavit that if the crowner could sit upon
her when she dies--and die she will--that there fine gentleman and
his guitar will be found at the bottom of her chest. But don't go
off about that now--though 'tis the reason I won't part from the poor
thing till I can help--the better luck for you that you'd got more in
your head than vanities and furbelows. What I meant was not being
faithful to him out in Peru--that's your own affair, but the being
faithful to your duty to your mistress, whether she's after you or
not. You know what a good servant is, and you've got to show it
ain't all eye-service.'

Charlotte cried heartily. No one else was allowed that privilege
when the 13th came, excepting Mrs. Frost herself. James, afraid that
a scene would hurt his wife, severely forbade Clara to give way; and
the poor girl, mute and white, did as she was told, and ventured not
a word of farewell, though her embraces were convulsive, and when she
went down stairs she could not help kissing Charlotte.

James handed his grandmother to her seat in the carriage which was to
take her to the station.

'Good-bye, my dear,' she said; 'I know the day will come when all
this will be made up. You know how I have loved you both.'

'I wish my uncle all good.'

'I see it now,' she said, holding his hand between both of hers. 'It
is my fault. I fostered our family pride. May God take away the sin
from us both!'

The words were hardly articulate through tears, and perhaps James did
not hear. He hurried Clara down the garden and into the carriage,
and she had her last nod from Miss Faithfull at the open window.
Miss Mercy was at the station, whither school-hours had hindered
James from accompanying them, but where they found Lord Ormersfield
and Louis.

The warm-hearted little woman was all tears and smiles. 'Oh! dear
Mrs. Frost, I am so sorry, and yet it is selfish. I am so happy! but
where shall we find such another neighbour?'

'Come and see us. You know you are to persuade your sister.'

'Ah!' She shook her head. 'Salome is hard to move. But you--you
are such a traveller--you will come to see Mr. James?'

'I'm eighty to-morrow: I little expect to make any more journeys
except one, Mercy. I never look to see poor Northwold more; but it
has been a place of blessings to me, and you have been one of them.
Don't think I'm too glad to go away, but I cannot but be thankful
that my dear boy is bringing me home to lay me down where my father
and his father lie.'

It was said with that peculiar cheerfulness with which happy old age
can contemplate the end of the pilgrimage, and she looked at Louis
with a sunny smile.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE RESTORATION.

When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears.
As I drew near my ancient pile,
My heart beat a' the way;
The place I passed seemed yet to speak
Of some dear former day.
Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race,
Wad next their welcome pay;
* * * * * * * *
But sair on ilka well-kenned face
I missed the youthful bloom.
Miss Blamire

Oliver had sent orders to his mother to sleep in London, and proceed
the next morning by a train which would arrive at about two o'clock.

On that eventful morning, Clara was the prey of Mrs. Beckett,
Marianne, and the French milliner, and in such a flounced glace silk,
such a lace mantle, and such a flowery bonnet was she arrayed, that
Lord Ormersfield bowed to her as a stranger, and Louis talked of the
transformations of the Giraffe. 'Is it not humiliating,' she said,
'to be so altered by finery? You might dress Isabel for ever, and
her nobleness would surmount it all.'

'If you are not the rose, at least you have lived near the rose,'
said Louis. 'You don't fall quite short of the character of Miss
Dynevor.'

'I wish I were going to school,' said Clara, as they passed along
familiar streets; 'then, at least, some one would pity me.'

After two hours spent on the railroad, the train entered a district
with the bleakness, but not the beauty, of the neighbourhood of
mountains; the fresh September breeze was laden with smoke, and
stations stood thick upon the line. As the train dashed up to one of
these, a flag was seen waving, and the shout of 'Cheveleigh,
Cheveleigh road!' greeted them.

On the platform stood a tall footman, in the most crimson of coats,
powdered hair, and a stupendous crimson and white shoulder-knot, auch
as Clara had only seen going to St. James's. She would never have
imagined that she had any concern with such splendour; but her
grandmother asked him if the carriage were there, as a mere matter of
course, and Jane devolved on him all luggage cares, as coolly as if
she had been ruling over him all his life.

As they issued from the station, a thin, uncertain, boyish cheer rang
out, and before them stood a handsome open carriage and four chestnut
horses, with crimson postillions, and huge crimson-and-white satin
rosettes.

'Wont they all turn to rats and pumpkins?' whispered Clara to Louis.

'Bless the poor boy!' cried Mrs. Frost, between laughing and crying,
'what has he been about? Does he think I am the Sheriff's lady
still?'

The party entered the carriage, and the crowd of little boys and
girls, flymen and porters, got up another 'hurrah!' as the four
horses went thundering off, with Mrs. Frost apologizing--'Poor
Oliver's notions were on such a grand scale!--He had been so long
absent, that he did not know how much these things had been disused.'
But no one could look at her bright tearful eyes, and quivering
mouth, without seeing that she exulted in her son's affection and his
victory; and after all it was natural to her, and a resumption of old
habits.

They drove through two miles of brown flat heath, with far-away
mountain outlines, which she greeted as dear friends. Here and there
the engine-house of a mine rose up among shabby buildings, and by-
and-by was seen a square church-tower, with lofty pinnacles, among
which floated forth a flag. The old lady caught hold convulsively of
Clara's hand--'The old church!--My old church!--See, Clara, that is
where your dear grandfather lies!--My last home!'

With brimming eyes Mrs. Frost gazed on it as it came forth more
distinctly, and Clara looked with a sense of awe; but rending her
away from grave thoughts, shouts burst upon her ears, and above them
the pealing crash of all the bells, as they dashed under a splendid
triumphal arch, all evergreens and dahlias, forming the word
'Welcome!' and were met by a party on horseback waving their hats,
while a great hurrah burst out from the numbers who lined the street.
Mrs. Frost bowed her thanks and waved her hand. 'But oh!' she said,
almost sobbing, 'where am I? This is not Cheveleigh.'

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