CHAPTER XX.
DESOLATION.
In the meantime there was grief down at the great house of Clavering;and grief, we must suppose also, at the house in Berkeley Square,as soon as the news from his country home had reached Sir HughClavering. Little Hughy, his heir, was dead. Early one morning, Mrs.Clavering, at the rectory, received a message from Lady Clavering,begging that she would go up to the house, and, on arriving there,she found that the poor child was very ill. The doctor was then atClavering, and had recommended that a message should be sent to thefather in London, begging him to come down. This message had beenalready despatched when Mrs. Clavering arrived. The poor mother wasin a state of terrible agony, but at that time there was yet hope.Mrs. Clavering then remained with Lady Clavering for two or threehours; but just before dinner on the same day another messenger cameacross to say that hope was past, and that the child had gone. CouldMrs. Clavering come over again, as Lady Clavering was in a sad way?
"You'll have your dinner first?" said the rector.
"No, I think not. I shall wish to make her take something, and I cando it better if I ask for tea for myself. I will go at once. Poordear little boy."
"It was a blow I always feared," said the rector to his daughter assoon as his wife had left them. "Indeed, I knew that it was coming."
"And she was always fearing it," said Fanny. "But I do not think hedid. He never seems to think that evil will come to him."
"He will feel this," said the rector.
"Feel it, papa! Of course he will feel it."
"I do not think he would,--not deeply, that is,--if there were fouror five of them. He is a hard man;--the hardest man I ever knew. Whoever saw him playing with his own child, or with any other? Who everheard him say a soft word to his wife? But he will be hit now, forthis child was his heir. He will be hit hard now, and I pity him."
Mrs. Clavering went across the park alone, and soon found herself inthe poor bereaved mother's room. She was sitting by herself, havingdriven the old housekeeper away from her; and there were no tracesof tears then on her face, though she had wept plentifully when Mrs.Clavering had been with her in the morning. But there had come uponher suddenly a look of age, which nothing but such sorrow as this canproduce. Mrs. Clavering was surprised to see that she had dressedherself carefully since the morning, as was her custom to do daily,even when alone; and that she was not in her bedroom, but in a smallsitting-room which she generally used when Sir Hugh was not at thepark.
"My poor Hermione," said Mrs. Clavering, coming up to her, and takingher by the hand.
"Yes, I am poor; poor enough. Why have they troubled you to comeacross again?"
"Did you not send for me? But it was quite right, whether you sent orno. Of course I should come when I heard it. It cannot be good foryou to be all alone."
"I suppose he will be here to-night?"
"Yes, if he got your message before three o'clock."
"Oh, he will have received it, and I suppose he will come. You thinkhe will come, eh?"
"Of course he will come."
"I do not know. He does not like coming to the country."
"He will be sure to come now, Hermione."
"And who will tell him? Some one must tell him before he comes tome. Should there not be some one to tell him? They have sent anothermessage."
"Hannah shall be at hand to tell him." Hannah was the old housekeeperwho had been in the family when Sir Hugh was born. "Or, if you wishit, Henry shall come down and remain here. I am sure he will do so,if it will be a comfort."
"No; he would, perhaps, be rough to Mr. Clavering. He is so veryhard. Hannah shall do it. Will you make her understand?" Mrs.Clavering promised that she would do this, wondering, as she did so,at the wretched, frigid immobility of the unfortunate woman beforeher. She knew Lady Clavering well;--knew her to be in many thingsweak, to be worldly, listless, and perhaps somewhat selfish; but sheknew also that she had loved her child as mothers always love. Yet,at this moment, it seemed that she was thinking more of her husbandthan of the bairn she had lost. Mrs. Clavering had sat down by herand taken her hand, and was still so sitting in silence when LadyClavering spoke again. "I suppose he will turn me out of his housenow," she said.
"Who will do so? Hugh? Oh, Hermione, how can you speak in such away?"
"He scolded me before because my poor darling was not strong. Mydarling! How could I help it? And he scolded me because there wasnone other but he. He will turn me out altogether now. Oh, Mrs.Clavering, you do not know how hard he is."
Anything was better than this, and therefore Mrs. Clavering asked thepoor woman to take her into the room where the little body lay inits little cot. If she could induce the mother to weep for the child,even that would be better than this hard persistent fear as to whather husband would say and do. So they both went and stood togetherover the little fellow whose short sufferings had thus been broughtto an end. "My poor dear, what can I say to comfort you?" Mrs.Clavering, as she asked this, knew well that no comfort could bespoken in words; but--if she could only make the sufferer weep!
"Comfort!" said the mother. "There is no comfort now, I believe,in anything. It is long since I knew any comfort;--not since Juliawent."
"Have you written to Julia?"
"No; I have written to no one. I cannot write. I feel as though if itwere to bring him back again I could not write of it. My boy! my boy!my boy!" But still there was not a tear in her eye.
"I will write to Julia," said Mrs. Clavering; "and I will read to youmy letter."
"No, do not read it me. What is the use? He has made her quarrel withme. Julia cares nothing now for me, or for my angel. Why should shecare? When she came home we would not see her. Of course she will notcare. Who is there that will care for me?"
"Do not I care for you, Hermione?"
"Yes, because you are here; because of the nearness of the houses.If you lived far away you would not care for me. It is just thecustom of the thing." There was something so true in this that Mrs.Clavering could make no answer to it. Then they turned to go backinto the sitting-room, and as they did so Lady Clavering lingeredbehind for a moment; but when she was again with Mrs. Clavering hercheek was still dry.
"He will be at the station at nine," said Lady Clavering. "They mustsend the brougham for him, or the dog-cart. He will be very angry ifhe is made to come home in the fly from the public-house." Then theelder lady left the room and gave orders that Sir Hugh should be metby his carriage. What must the wife think of her husband, when shefeared that he would be angered by little matters at such a time asthis! "Do you think it will make him very unhappy?" Lady Claveringasked.
"Of course it will make him unhappy. How should it be otherwise?"
"He had said so often that the child would die. He will have got usedto the fear."
"His grief will be as fresh now as though he had never thought so,and never said so."
"He is so hard; and then he has such will, such power. He will thrustit off from him and determine that it shall not oppress him. I knowhim so well."
"We should all make some exertion like that in our sorrow, trustingto God's kindness to relieve us. You too, Hermione, should determinealso; but not yet, my dear. At first it is better to let sorrow haveits way."
"But he will determine at once. You remember when Meeny went." Meenyhad been a little girl who had been born before the boy, and who haddied when little more than twelve months old. "He did not expectthat; but then he only shook his head, and went out of the room. Hehas never spoken to me one word of her since that. I think he hasforgotten Meeny altogether,--even that she was ever here."
"He cannot forget the boy who was his heir."
"Ah, that is where it is. He will say words to me which would makeyou weep if you could hear them. Yes, my darling was his heir. Archiewill marry now, and will have children, and his boy will be the heir.There will be more division and more quarrels, for Hugh will hate hisbrother now."
"I do not understand why."
&
nbsp; "Because he is so hard. It is a pity he should ever have married, forhe wants nothing that a wife can do for him. He wanted a boy to comeafter him in the estate, and now that glory has been taken from him.Mrs. Clavering, I often wish that I could die."
It would be bootless here to repeat the words of wise and lovingcounsel with which the elder of the two ladies endeavoured to comfortthe younger, and to make her understand what were the duties whichstill remained to her, and which, if they were rightly performed,would, in their performance, soften the misery of her lot. LadyClavering listened with that dull, useless attention which on suchoccasions sorrow always gives to the prudent counsels of friendship;but she was thinking ever and always of her husband, and watching themoment of his expected return. In her heart she wished that he mightnot come on that evening. At last, at half-past nine, she exertedherself to send away her visitor.
"He will be here soon, if he comes to-night," Lady Clavering said,"and it will be better that he should find me alone."
"Will it be better?"
"Yes, yes. Cannot you see how he would frown and shake his head ifyou were here? I would sooner be alone when he comes. Good-night. Youhave been very kind to me; but you are always kind. Things are donekindly always at your house, because there is so much love there. Youwill write to Julia for me. Good-night." Then Mrs. Clavering kissedher and went, thinking as she walked home in the dark to the rectory,how much she had to be thankful in that these words had been truewhich her poor neighbour had spoken. Her house was full of love.
For the next half hour Lady Clavering sat alone listening with eagerear for the sound of her husband's wheels, and at last she had almosttold herself that the hour for his coming had gone by, when she heardthe rapid grating on the gravel as the dog-cart was driven up tothe door. She ran out on to the corridor, but her heart sank withinher as she did so, and she took tightly hold of the balustrade tosupport herself. For a moment she had thought of running down to meethim;--of trusting to the sadness of the moment to produce in him, ifit were but for a minute, something of tender solicitude; but sheremembered that the servants would be there, and knew that he wouldnot be soft before them. She remembered also that the housekeeper hadreceived her instructions, and she feared to disarrange the settledprogramme. So she went back to the open door of the room, that herretreating step might not be heard by him as he should come up toher, and standing there she still listened. The house was silentand her ears were acute with sorrow. She could hear the movement ofthe old woman as she gently, tremblingly, as Lady Clavering knew,made her way down the hall to meet her master. Sir Hugh of coursehad learned his child's fate already from the servant who had methim; but it was well that the ceremony of such telling should beperformed. She felt the cold air come in from the opened front door,and she heard her husband's heavy quick step as he entered. Then sheheard the murmur of Hannah's voice; but the first word she heard wasin her husband's tones, "Where is Lady Clavering?" Then the answerwas given, and the wife, knowing that he was coming, retreated backto her chair.
But still he did not come quite at once. He was pulling off his coatand laying aside his hat and gloves. Then came upon her a feelingthat at such a time any other husband and wife would have been atonce in each other's arms. And at the moment she thought of all thatthey had lost. To her her child had been all and everything. To himhe had been his heir and the prop of his house. The boy had been theonly link that had still bound them together. Now he was gone, andthere was no longer any link between them. He was gone and she hadnothing left to her. He was gone, and the father was also alonein the world, without any heir and with no prop to his house. Shethought of all this as she heard his step coming slowly up thestairs. Slowly he came along the passage, and though she dreaded hiscoming it almost seemed as though he would never be there.
When he had entered the room she was the first to speak. "Oh, Hugh!"she exclaimed, "oh, Hugh!" He had closed the door before he uttered aword, and then he threw himself into a chair. There were candles nearto him and she could see that his countenance also was altered. Hehad indeed been stricken hard, and his half-stunned face showed theviolence of the blow. The harsh, cruel, selfish man had at last beenmade to suffer. Although he had spoken of it and had expected it, thedeath of his heir hit him hard, as the rector had said.
"When did he die?" asked the father.
"It was past four I think." Then there was again silence, and LadyClavering went up to her husband and stood close by his shoulder. Atlast she ventured to put her hand upon him. With all her own miseryheavy upon her, she was chiefly thinking at this moment how she mightsoothe him. She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and by degrees shemoved it softly to his breast. Then he raised his own hand and withit moved hers from his person. He did it gently;--but what was theuse of such nonsense as that?
"The Lord giveth," said the wife, "and the Lord taketh away." Hearingthis Sir Hugh made with his head a gesture of impatience. "Blessed bethe name of the Lord," continued Lady Clavering. Her voice was lowand almost trembling, and she repeated the words as though they werea task which she had set herself.
"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away."]
"That's all very well in its way," said he, "but what's the specialuse of it now? I hate twaddle. One must bear one's misfortune as onebest can. I don't believe that kind of thing ever makes it lighter."
"They say it does, Hugh."
"Ah! they say! Have they ever tried? If you have been living up tothat kind of thing all your life, it may be very well;--that is aswell at one time as another. But it won't give me back my boy."
"No, Hugh; he will never come back again; but we may think that he'sin Heaven."
"If that is enough for you, let it be so. But don't talk to me of it.I don't like it. It doesn't suit me. I had only one, and he has gone.It is always the way." He spoke of the child as having been his--nothis and hers. She felt this, and understood the want of affectionwhich it conveyed; but she said nothing of it.
"Oh, Hugh; what could we do? It was not our fault."
"Who is talking of any fault? I have said nothing as to fault. Hewas always poor and sickly. The Claverings, generally, have been sostrong. Look at myself, and Archie, and my sisters. Well, it cannotbe helped. Thinking of it will not bring him back again. You hadbetter tell some one to get me something to eat. I came away, ofcourse, without any dinner."
She herself had eaten nothing since the morning, but she neitherspoke nor thought of that. She rang the bell, and going out into thepassage gave the servant the order on the stairs.
"It is no good my staying here," he said. "I will go and dress. Itis the best not to think of such things,--much the best. People callthat heartless, of course, but then people are fools. If I were tosit still, and think of it for a week together, what good could Ido?"
"But how not to think of it? that is the thing."
"Women are different, I suppose. I will dress and then go down to thebreakfast-room. Tell Saunders to get me a bottle of champagne. Youwill be better also if you will take a glass of wine."
It was the first word he had spoken which showed any care for her,and she was grateful for it. As he arose to go, she came close tohim again, and put her hand very gently on his arm. "Hugh," she said,"will you not see him?"
"What good will that do?"
"I think you would regret it if you were to let them take him awaywithout looking at him. He is so pretty as he lays in his little bed.I thought you would come with me to see him." He was more gentle withher than she had expected, and she led him away to the room which hadbeen their own, and in which the child had died.
"Why here?" he said, almost angrily, as he entered.
"I have had him here with me since you went."
"He should not be here now," he said, shuddering. "I wish he had beenmoved before I came. I will not have this room any more; rememberthat." She led him up to the foot of the little cot, which stoodclose by the head of her own bed, and then she removed a handkerchiefwhich lay upon the chil
d's face.
"Oh, Hugh! oh, Hugh!" she said, and, throwing her arms round hisneck, she wept violently upon his breast. For a few moments he didnot disturb her, but stood looking at his boy's face. "Hugh, Hugh,"she repeated, "will you not be kind to me? Do be kind to me. It isnot my fault that we are childless."
Still he endured her for a few moments longer. He spoke no word toher, but he let her remain there, with her head upon his breast.
"Dear Hugh, I love you so truly!"
"This is nonsense," said he, "sheer nonsense." His voice was low andvery hoarse. "Why do you talk of kindness now?"
"Because I am so wretched."
"What have I done to make you wretched?"
"I do not mean that; but if you will be gentle with me, it willcomfort me. Do not leave me here all alone, now my darling has beentaken from me."
Then he shook her from him, not violently, but with a persistentaction.
"Do you mean that you want to go up to town?" he said.
"Oh, no; not that."
"Then what is it you want? Where would you live, if not here?"
"Anywhere you please, only that you should stay with me."
"All that is nonsense. I wonder that you should talk of such thingsnow. Come away from this, and let me go to my room. All this is trashand nonsense, and I hate it." She put back with careful hands thepiece of cambric which she had moved, and then, seating herself ona chair, wept violently, with her hands closed upon her face. "Thatcomes of bringing me here," he said. "Get up, Hermione. I will nothave you so foolish. Get up, I say. I will have the room closed tillthe men come."
"Oh, no!"
"Get up, I say, and come away." Then she rose, and followed him outof the chamber, and when he went to change his clothes she returnedto the room in which he had found her. There she sat and wept, whilehe went down and dined and drank alone. But the old housekeeperbrought her up a morsel of food and a glass of wine, saying that hermaster desired that she would take it.
"I will not leave you, my lady, till you have done so," said Hannah."To fast so long must be bad always."
Then she eat the food, and drank a drop of wine, and allowed the oldwoman to take her away to the bed that had been prepared for her. Ofher husband she saw no more for four days. On the next morning a notewas brought to her, in which Sir Hugh told her that he had returnedto London. It was necessary, he said, that he should see his lawyerand his brother. He and Archie would return for the funeral. Withreference to that he had already given orders.
During the next three days, and till her husband's return, LadyClavering remained at the rectory, and in the comfort of Mrs.Clavering's presence she almost felt that it would be well for herif those days could be prolonged. But she knew the hour at whichher husband would return, and she took care to be at home when hearrived. "You will come and see him?" she said to the rector, as sheleft the parsonage. "You will come at once;--in an hour or two?"Mr. Clavering remembered the circumstances of his last visit to thehouse, and the declaration he had then made that he would not returnthere. But all that could not now be considered.
"Yes," he said, "I will come across this evening. But you had bettertell him, so that he need not be troubled to see me if he wouldrather be alone."
"Oh, he will see you. Of course he will see you. And you will notremember that he ever offended you?"
Mrs. Clavering had written both to Julia and to Harry, and the dayof the funeral had been settled. Harry had already communicatedhis intention of coming down; and Lady Ongar had replied to Mrs.Clavering's letter, saying that she could not now offer to go toClavering Park, but that if her sister would go elsewhere withher,--to some place, perhaps, on the sea-side,--she would be glad toaccompany her; and she used many arguments in her letter to show thatsuch an arrangement as this had better be made.
"You will be with my sister," she had said; "and she will understandwhy I do not write to her myself, and will not think that it comesfrom coldness." This had been written before Lady Ongar saw HarryClavering.
Mr. Clavering, when he got to the great house, was immediately showninto the room in which the baronet and his younger brother weresitting. They had, some time since, finished dinner, but thedecanters were still on the table before them. "Hugh," said therector, walking up to his elder nephew, briskly, "I grieve for you.I grieve for you from the bottom of my heart."
"Yes," said Hugh, "it has been a heavy blow. Sit down, uncle. Thereis a clean glass there; or Archie will fetch you one." Then Archielooked out a clean glass and passed the decanter; but of this therector took no direct notice.
"It has been a blow, my poor boy,--a heavy blow," said the rector."None heavier could have fallen. But our sorrows come from Heaven, asdo our blessings, and must be accepted."
"We are all like grass," said Archie, "and must be cut down inour turns." Archie, in saying this, intended to put on his bestbehaviour. He was as sincere as he knew how to be.
"Come, Archie, none of that," said his brother. "It is my uncle'strade."
"Hugh," said the rector, "unless you can think of it so, you willfind no comfort."
"And I expect none, so there is an end of that. Different peoplethink of these things differently, you know, and it is of no moreuse for me to bother you than it is for you to bother me. My boy hasgone, and I know that he will not come back to me. I shall never haveanother, and it is hard to bear. But, meaning no offence to you, Iwould sooner be left to bear it in my own way. If I were to talkabout the grass as Archie did just now, it would be humbug, and Ihate humbug. No offence to you. Take some wine, uncle."
But the rector could not drink wine in that presence, and thereforehe escaped as soon as he could. He spoke one word of intended comfortto Lady Clavering, and then returned to the rectory.
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