Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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

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Lord Ormersfield showed her a few old houses that they both
recognised, looking antiquated in the midst of a modern growth of
narrow, conceited new tenements. The shouting crowd had, to
Fitzjocelyn's eyes, more the aspect of a rabble than of a genuine
rejoicing peasantry. What men there were looked beer-attracted
rather than reputable, and the main body were whooping boys, women,
nurse-girls, and babies. The suspicion crossed him that it was a new
generation, without memories of forty years since, wondering rather
than welcoming, in spite of arches, bells, and shouts.

After another half-mile, a gate swung wide beneath another arch, all
over C. D., the F. studiously omitted; and the carriage wheeled in
amid a shower of tight little nosegays from a squadron of school-
children. They drove up the long approach, through fir plantations,
which drew from Mrs. Frost a cry of friendly recognition--for her
husband had planted them; but they had not taken kindly to the soil,
and fifty years had produced but a starveling growth. Beyond lay an
expanse of parched brown turf, here and there an enclosure of
unprosperous trees, and full in front stood the wide space of
stuccoed wall, with a great Gothic window full in the midst, and
battlements in the castellated style of the early years of the
nineteenth century.

No one spoke. After the first glance, Mrs. Frost shut her eyes to
restrain the hot tears that arose at the thought of the wintry
morning, when ice-drops hung hoary on the fir-trees, as she had
driven away from the portal, whence music was now pealing forth a
greeting, and where Oliver was standing on the very spot where, with
clenched hand, he had vowed that all should be restored.

Alas! how much was in his power to restore?

Gaily-dressed people surrounded the entrance, and, amid triumphant
strains from the band, the carriage stopped, and Oliver held out his
hand, saying, 'Welcome home, mother!'

She leant forward, kissed his brow, and suffered him to lead her up
the steps to the hall-door, Lord Ormersfield conducting Clara. At
the door Mrs. Frost paused, to turn, curtsey, and sign her thanks to
the throng who had followed. Her noble aspect and demeanour, so full
of dignity and feeling, obtained a fresh and more genuine
acclamation; but throughout there was a strange sense of unreality;
she seemed like one performing a part to gratify her son. Clara
asked her cousin if it were not like acting a play; and it was plain
to him that the spectators beheld it with more curiosity than
sympathy.

They were a new race. Property had changed hands rapidly in a region
of trade and manufacture, and the old Dynevor name had been forgotten
past recall, amid the very population who were thriving upon the
identical speculations which had swamped Mr. Frost's fortune. If the
crowd without looked like a mob, the assembly within had a parvenu
appearance; and as Oliver handed his mother across the hall, he
muttered something, as if he were disappointed both in the number and
consequence of his guests.

He led her into a magnificent apartment, all gilding, blue brocade,
and mirrors, as far as might be after the model of the days of the
Shrievalty; but the bare splendour could ill recall the grace and
elegance that had then reigned there without effort. Peru had not
taught Oliver taste either of the eye or of the mind, and his
indefatigable introductions--'My mother, Mrs. Dynevor, my niece, Miss
Dynevor, Lord Ormersfield, Lord Fitzjocelyn,' came so repeatedly as
quite to jingle in their ears.

Sir Andrew Britton, a burly cotton lord, with a wife in all the
colours of the rainbow, seemed to be the grand guest. His lady
seated herself beside Mrs. Frost, and began to tell her, with a tone
of patronage, how good a neighbourhood it was, and how much pleasure
she should have in introducing Miss Dynevor.

In vain did Mrs. Frost look for a face she knew, and inquire from her
new acquaintance after familiar old names of places and people. The
places were either become factories, or some charming new family
lived there; and for the people, it seemed as if she might as well
aak for antediluvians; Lady Britton had seldom heard their names, or
if any trace survived, they had never been on her visiting list.

At last Oliver came up to her, saying, 'Here, ma'am, Mr. Henderson
claims an early acquaintance with you.'

'Mr. Henderson!' and she eagerly started up, but looked baffled.

'Little George Henderson,' said the grey-headed gentleman--for once a
real gentleman--'I assure you I have not forgotten the happy days I
have spent here.'

'Little George!' as she took him by both hands--'who would have
thought it! You were little George with the apple cheeks. And are
no more of you here?'

He shook his head sadly. 'They would have been even more glad than I
am to welcome you home; they were older, and knew you better.'

'Ah! I must learn to ask no questions. And yet, that dear sister
Fanny of yours--'

'Gone many years since, ma'am. She died in India. I hope my
daughter Fanny may put you a little mind of her.'

'Is she not here?'

'Why, no. I wished to bring her, but she is but fifteen, and mamma
will not trust her out without herself. We are quiet people, and the
world is growing too gay for us.'

'Clara and I must come to find you out. Can you believe this tall
creature is poor dear Henry's daughter?' as Clara hastened to greet
her father's playfellow, with an alacrity which piqued Lady Britton
into a supercilious aside to Lord Fitzjocelyn that the Hendersons
were in poor circumstances, and no one visited them.

'And is no one here whom I know? Not one of the old set, George?'
asked the old lady, mournfully.

'I fear there is hardly any one,' said Mr. Henderson. 'All seem even
to me new people. Stay, do you recollect old Mrs. Golding?'

After a little confusion, Mr. Henderson's old Mrs. Golding proved to
be Mrs. Frost's young Mrs. Golding; and, on the eager inquiry whether
she were present, ensued the melancholy answer that she was deaf and
infirm, only just able to smile with pleasure at the tidings of her
old friend's restoration; and the daughter, whom she could only just
believe to be grown up, was a worn, elderly woman. Not even the one
heartfelt greeting was without sadness; and Clara likewise met with
one solitary satisfaction, and that a very mixed one. Mr. Danvers,
the young curate, whom Oliver had not thought worth presenting, was
hailed by Fitzjocelyn as if their slight Oxford acquaintance had been
an intimacy, and was by him introduced to Clara as belonging to
James's college. She frankly held out her hand, but was discomfited
by his inquiry for her brother, whom he had hoped to meet. Louis
said something about not expecting the schoolmaster abroad in the
half-year, and Clara was not at all grateful to him for relieving her
from the embarrassment, but regarded the reply as a shabby
prevarication, and was much inclined to speak out; but Louis was
drawing the curate into conversation about the population, and
hearing but a desponding history. It was interrupted when Oliver,
after waiting in vain for more distinguished company, began to
marshal his guests to the grand hall, paved with black and white
marble, and with a vast extent of wall and window, decked with
evergreens, flags, and mottoes. Here a cold collation was prepared,
with a band in a music-gallery above, and all the et ceteras dear to
county papers. Oliver himself handed in Lady Britton, his mother
fell to the lot of the Earl, and Fitzjocelyn received orders to
conduct a handsome, young, giggling Mrs. Smithers, who, never having
been in contact with a live Lord, wanted to make the most of him,
and, before she had arrived at her place, was declaring that it was a
most interesting occasion, just like a scene at the Opera.

Louis glanced back to see what became of Clara, and, finding her
following with Sir Andrew Britton, contrived to sit immediately
opposite to her, at the long, narrow table, with nothing between them
but a couple of cold chickens and a tongue garnished with transfixed
crayfish. His eyes were, perhaps, a greater support to her than even
conversation, for she gathered a little philosophy and charity from
their cheering smile and arch twinkling, and she managed to listen
civilly to her neighbour, while she saw that her cousin was being
very polite to Mrs. Smithers. She was a great way from all other
friends, for the table had been spread for a more numerous assembly,
and the company sat in little clusters, with dreary gaps between,
where moulds of jelly quaked in vain, and lobster-salads wasted their
sweetness on the desert air. Her uncle could just be seen in the far
perspective at the head of the table, and, between him and the Earl,
Louis descried his Aunt Catharine, looking bright, with a little
embellishing flush on her withered cheek.

Sir Andrew was not a lady's man; and, after he had heard how far Miss
Dynevor had come to-day, that she had never ridden, and had not seen
the Menai tubular bridge, he discontinued the difficult task; and
she, finding that he had not even seen the cathedral, which she had
passed only fifteen miles off, gave him up, and occupied herself with
watching the infinite variety of affectations which Mrs. Smithers was
playing off, and the grave diversion with which Louis received them.
The lady was evidently trying to discover what had been the
intermediate history of Mrs. and Miss Dynevor; and Louis was taking
pleasure in baffling her, with cool, quiet answers, especially when
she came to the question whether Miss Dynevor had not a brother, and
why he was not present. It appeared that Oliver had made almost as
if his mother had been buried and dug up again; involving the thirty-
four years of her exile in such utter mystery, that people had begun
to make all sorts of wild stories to account for her proceedings; and
Lord Fitzjocelyn's explanation that she had lived in her own house in
Northwold, and taught him the Latin grammar, seemed quite a
disappointment from the simplicity and want of romance.

The weary banquet had arrived at ices, and Clara hoped the end was
near, when the worse trial of speeches began. Mr. Henderson was
declaring how strongly he felt the honour which had been devolved on
him, of expressing the universal joy in having so excellent and much-
beloved a neighbour restored by the noble exertions of her son. He
said all that the rest of the world ought to have felt, and so
heartily and sincerely as to make every one imagine the whole the
general sentiment, and the welcoming hurrah was cordial and joyous.
Mrs. Frost was deeply touched and gratified, and Lord Ormersfield
congratulated himself on having instigated Oliver to give this toast
to Mr. Henderson. If Clara could have driven James from her mind,
she would have been delighted, but there could be no triumph for her
where he was excluded.

The Earl returned thanks on behalf of his aunt, and said a great deal
that could have come from the mouth of no one 'unaccustomed to public
speaking,' ending by proposing the health of 'Mr. Oliver Frost
Dynevor.' In the midst of 'the fine old English gentleman,' while
Louis was suppressing a smile at the incongruity, a note was brought
to him, which he tossed to Clara, purporting that he was to return
thanks for her. She bent over the table to say, 'You will say
nothing I cannot bear to hear,' folded her hands, and shut her eyes,
as if she had been going to stand fire.

Oliver's clear, harsh tones, incapable of slowness or solemnity,
began to return thanks for himself, and pronounce this to be the
happy day to which he had been looking throughout his life--the day
of restoring the family inheritance to his mother, and the child of
his elder brother; he faltered--he never could calmly speak of Henry.
Failing the presence of one so dear, he rejoiced, however, to be able
to introduce to them his only daughter, and he begged that his
friends would drink the health of the heiress of Cheveleigh, Miss
Dynevor.

Never did toast apparently conduce so little to the health of the
subject. Unprepared as Clara was for such a declaration, it was to
her as if she had been publicly denounced as the supplanter of her
brother. She became deadly white, and sat bolt upright, stiff and
motionless, barely stifling a scream, and her eyes fixed between
command and entreaty on her cousin without seeing, far less
acknowledging, the bows levelled at her. Louis, alarmed by her
looks, saw that no time was to be lost; and rising hastily before any
one was ready, perilled his fame for eloquence by rapidly assuring
the gentlemen and ladies that Miss Dynevor was truly sensible of the
kindness of their welcome, and their manner of receiving the toast.
Then pushing back his chair, with 'never mind,' to Mrs. Smithers and
her scent-bottle, he was at the back of Clara's chair almost before
her confused eyes had missed him in her gasps for breath, and impulse
to do something desperate; and so she might, if his voice had not
been in her ear, his hand grasping hers, both to console and raise
her. 'Clara, come, take care.' She obeyed, but trembling so much
that he was obliged to support her. Others would have risen in
alarm, but he silenced them by signs, and entreaties that no one
would frighten her grandmother. There was a large glass door
standing open under the Gothic window, and through it he led her out
upon a wide green lawn. She drew her breath in sobs, but could not
speak. Louis asked her to untie her bonnet, and touched the string,
which was merely a streamer. This brought a kind of laugh, but she
unfastened the bonnet herself, and the first use she made of her
breath was fiercely to exclaim--'How could you! Why did you not tell
them I never will--'

'Sit down,' said Louis, gently. 'Let me fetch some water.'

'No--no--let me get away from this place!' and she almost dragged him
along, as fresh cheers and peals of music broke out, till they had
entered a lonely walk in a sort of wilderness of shrubs. Still she
hurried on, till they came out on a quiet little garden, where the
tinkling of a little fountain was the only sound; the water looked
clear and fresh with the gold-fish darting in it, and the sun shone
calmly on the bright flowers and wavy ferns adorning the rockwork.

'What are you doing, Clara? You must rest here,' said he, drawing
her down on a rustic bench, intended to represent a crocodile.

'I can't rest here! I must go home! I'm going home to Jem!' she
exclaimed, obeying, however, because, though she could run, she could
not stand.

'Dear Clara,' he said, affectionately, 'it was much worse than I
expected. I never believed he could have committed himself to such
an open declaration, especially without warning.'

'I'll not stay!' cried Clara, with all the vehemence of her Dynevor
nature. 'I'll go straight home to Northwold to-morrow morning--to-
night if I could. Yes, I will! I never came here for this!'

'And what is to become of my poor Aunt Kitty?'

'She has her Oliver! She would not have me put Jem out of his
birthright.'

'James will not be put into it.'

She wrenched away her hand, and looked at him with all her brother's
fierceness. 'And you!' she cried, 'why could not you speak up like a
man, and tell them that I thank none of them, and will have nothing
to say to any of them; and that if this is to belong to any one, it
must be to my noble, my glorious, generous brother; and, if he hasn't
it, it may go to the Queen, for what I care! I'll never have one
stone of it. Why could you not say so, instead of all that humbug'!'

'I thought the family had afforded quite spectacles enough for one
day,' said Louis; 'and besides, I had some pity upon your
grandmother, and on your uncle too.'

'Jem told me grandmamma claimed my first duty; but he never knew of
this wicked plan.'

'Yes, he did.'

'Knew that I was to supplant him!'

'Yes; we all knew it was a threat of your uncle; but we spared you
the knowledge, thinking that all might yet be accommodated, and never
expecting it would come on you in this sudden way.'

'Then I think I have been unfairly used,' cried Clara; 'I have been
brought here on false pretences. As if I would have come near the
place if I had known it!'

'A very false pretence that your grandmother must not be left alone
at eighty, by the child whom she brought up.'

'Oh, Louis! you want to tear me to pieces!'

'I have pity on my aunt; I have far more pity on your uncle.' Clara
stared at him. 'Here is a man who started with a grand heroic
purpose to redeem the estate, not for himself, but for her and his
brother; he exiles himself, he perseveres, till this one pursuit, for
which he denies himself home, kindred, wife or child, absorbs and
withers him up. He returns to find his brother dead; and the
children, for whom he sacrificed all, set against him, and rejecting
his favours.'

This was quite a new point of view to Clara. 'It is his own fault,'
she said.

'That a misfortune is by our own fault is no comfort,' said Louis.
'His apparent neglect, after all, arose from his absorption in the
one object.'

'Yes; but how shameful to wish James to forget his Ordination.'

'A strong way of putting it. He asked too much: but he would have
been, and may yet be, contented with concessions involving nothing
wrong. His way of life can hardly have taught him to appreciate
James's scruples, as we do; and even if right and wrong were more
neatly partitioned between them than I think they are, it would still
be hard on him to find this destined heir spurning his benefits.'

'What are you coming to, Louis! You think James right?

'I would give the world to think so, Clara. One motive is too high
for praise, the other--No, I will say nothing of it. But I could
wish I had not precipitated matters last year.'

'What, would you have robbed us of our few happy months?'

'It was your uncle whom I robbed; he would otherwise have come home
like a good genius; but he found you all happy without him, and with
no gratitude to spare for him. And there he sits at the head of that
long melancholy table, trying to bring back days that have gone too
far ever to be recalled, and only raising their spectres in this
mocking finery; scarcely one man present, whose welcome comes from
his heart; his mother past the days of heeding the display, except
for his sake; his nephew rejecting him; you indignant and miserable.
Oh, Clara! I never saw more plainly money given for that which is
not bread, and labour for that which satisfieth not. Empty and
hollow as the pageant was, I could better bear to take my part in it,
so far as truth would let me, than tell that poor man that the last
of his brother's children rejects him and his benefits.'

'At this rate, you will make a hero of Uncle Oliver.'

'It is because he is one of this world's heroes that he is
distasteful to you.'

'I don't understand.'

'Exclusive devotion to one object, grand though it was, has made him
the man he appears to us. Think what the spirit must have been that
conceived and carried out such a design! Depend upon it there is a
greatness in him, which may show, when, as dear granny says, she has
cured him of all he learnt away from home. I think that must be the
work for which you are all brought together here.'

'But I can't thrust out Jem. I won't stay here on those terms. I
shall protest--'

'It is not graceful to make an uproar about your own magnanimity, nor
to talk of what is to happen after a man's death. You don't come
here to be heiress, but to take care of your grandmother. There is
no need to disturb the future, unless, to be sure, you were obliged
to explain your expectations.'

'Ah! to be sure, any way I could restore it all to James.'

'Or, better still, you may yet be able to draw the uncle and nephew
together, and bring back peace and union.'

'Then I must stay and bear all this, you think?'

'As a mere matter of obedience, certainly.'

Clara's countenance fell.

'That may deprive it of the brilliance of a voluntary sacrifice; but,
after all, it is what makes your course safe and plain.'

'And very dismal, just because no one will believe so.'

'So the safer for humility,' said Louis. 'Perhaps the dear old
Terrace did not offer training and trial enough. I try to believe
something of the kind in my own case. If choice had been mine, I
should hardly have been exactly what I am; and you know how my chief
happiness has been put far from me; but I can imagine that to be at
the summit of my wishes might foster my sluggishness, and that I
might rest too much on better judgment than my own, if it were beside
me. Probation maybe safer than joy; and you may do more good to
yourself and others than even under Isabel's wing. Only think of the
means in your hands, and all the wretched population round! There
will be some hope of help for the curate now--besides, I shall know
where to come for subscriptions next time I run crazy about any
wonderful charity.'

Clara smiled. 'I suppose I must bear it,' she said.

'For shame, Clara! With Aunt Kitty, who would make a palace of a
dungeon, in the glorious glow of such a sunset, turning each cloud to
red and purple radiance by the very force of love and faith, who
could regret the being beside her? My own dear and precious aunt, to
see her so happy, with bliss and peace so undisturbed, so far above
these toys, and these distresses, gives me a sort of fear--'

'Oh, don't, Louis--'

They were interrupted by approaching voices. Clara hastily started
up, as her uncle and Lady Britton appeared in the green alley.

'Oh, must I go back to them all! My head does ache!'

Louis gave her his arm, pursued the path in the opposite direction,
and emerged at the lower end of the bowling-green, with the
battlemented front of the house rising before them. Presently, he
met his father searching for him. 'Poor Clara has been overcome,' he
said, in explanation. 'The speechifying has been too much for her.'

It was the first time that Clara had appeared to the Earl in any
light but that of an idle school-girl, and he said, kindly, 'It must
have been very trying. There should have been more preparation.
Your uncle would have shown better taste in sparing your grandmamma
so obtrusive a reception, and I was much pained both for her and for
you during some of the speeches.'

Sympathy from Lord Ormersfield nearly overthrew Clara again, and she
involuntarily squeezed Louis's arm. He asked for his aunt, and was
told, 'She is in the house, entertaining these people. They do not
know when to go away. How could Oliver inflict such a party on her
and such a style of people!'

'I must go and help her,' said Louis.

Clara was in no condition to appear, but Louis caused Mrs. Beckett to
be summoned, and committed her to her care. Her transport was one of
the few pleasant things of that day. 'Oh, Miss Clara! Oh, my Lord!
Was there ever the like? Isn't Master Oliver the most blessed boy?
Missus in her own home again! Eight men, and a French man-cook! If
ever I thought to see the day! Her old room just as it was, only
grander! Oh, if poor Mr. James was but here!'

'Ay, Jane, and here's Clara thinking herself ill about Mr. James.
Take her up and give her some tea, and make her fit to behave
prettily by-and-by, that granny may not be vexed.'

Having seen her safe under Jane's fondling care and infectious
exultation, he betook himself to the drawing-room, relieved his
aunt's anxiety by a whisper, and won golden opinions from the whole
company, before they were fairly got rid of; and Oliver begged to
conduct his mother to her apartment. 'Yes, my dear, I must go to
poor little Clara.'

'I've no fears for Clara,' said Oliver, as he led her upstairs.
'Knowing young fellow to wait for my announcement! I can give her
near double what Ponsonby could. I'd not object--old Dynevor blood--'

'My poor Oliver, you have so learnt to think of money, that you can't
believe others live for anything else. You'll learn your mistake.'

'You think the young chap meant nothing? I shall look sharp after
him, then. I look on Clara as my own. I'll have no trifling.'

'You may save yourself the trouble,' said his mother. 'They
understand each other--they have always been like brother and sister,
and I cannot have the children teased, or things put into their
heads.'

Oliver laughed his scornful chuckle, and said he did not understand
that sort of brother and sister, but happily he became absorbed in
showing his mother the fittings of her splendid bedroom.

Clara had the comfort of clinging round her grandmother's neck, and
being told that it was all nonsense. Jem should have his rights, and
Uncle Oliver would learn to love and honour him at last; and she was
a good child, and ought to have been prepared, if granny could have
guessed he would do it so publicly and suddenly, but she must forgive
him, for he was beside himself at having got them home again, and he
could not make enough of her because she was poor Henry's child. So
she saw granny must not be grieved, and she let herself be dressed
for a constrained dinner in the vast dining-room, where the servants
outnumbered the diners, and the silver covers bore the Dynevor dragon
as a handle, looking as spiteful as some of the race could do.

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