CHAPTER XXXV.
PARTING.
On the next day Harry was not better, but the doctor still said thatthere was no cause for alarm. He was suffering from a low fever, andhis sister had better be kept out of his room. He would not sleep,and was restless, and it might be some time before he could return toLondon.
Early in the day the rector came into his son's bedroom, and told himand his mother, who was there, the news which he had just heard fromthe great house. "Hugh has come home," he said, "and is going outyachting for the rest of the summer. They are going to Norway in JackStuart's yacht. Archie is going with them." Now Archie was known tobe a great man in a yacht, cognizant of ropes, well up in booms andspars, very intimate with bolts, and one to whose hands a tiller cameas naturally as did the saddle of a steeple-chase horse to the legsof his friend Doodles. "They are going to fish," said the rector.
"But Jack Stuart's yacht is only a river-boat,--or just big enoughfor Cowes harbour, but nothing more," said Harry, roused in his bedto some excitement by the news.
"I know nothing about Jack Stuart or his boat either," said therector; "but that's what they told me. He's down here, at any rate,for I saw the servant that came with him."
"What a shame it is," said Mrs. Clavering,--"a scandalous shame."
"You mean his going away?" said the rector.
"Of course I do;--his leaving her here by herself, all alone. He canhave no heart;--after losing her child and suffering as she has done.It makes me ashamed of my own name."
"You can't alter him, my dear. He has his good qualities and hisbad,--and the bad ones are by far the more conspicuous."
"I don't know any good qualities he has."
"He does not get into debt. He will not destroy the property. He willleave the family after him as well off as it was before him,--andthough he is a hard man, he does nothing actively cruel. Think ofLord Ongar, and then you'll remember that there are worse men thanHugh. Not that I like him. I am never comfortable for a moment in hispresence. I always feel that he wants to quarrel with me, and that Ialmost want to quarrel with him."
"I detest him," said Harry, from beneath the bedclothes.
"You won't be troubled with him any more this summer, for he means tobe off in less than a week."
"And what is she to do?" asked Mrs. Clavering.
"Live here as she has done ever since Julia married. I don't see thatit will make much difference to her. He's never with her when he's inEngland, and I should think she must be more comfortable without himthan with him."
"It's a great catch for Archie," said Harry.
"Archie Clavering is a fool," said Mrs. Clavering.
"They say he understands a yacht," said the rector, who then left theroom.
The rector's news was all true. Sir Hugh Clavering had come downto the Park, and had announced his intention of going to Norway inJack Stuart's yacht. Archie also had been invited to join the party.Sir Hugh intended to leave the Thames in about a week, and had notthought it necessary to give his wife any intimation of the fact,till he told her himself of his intention. He took, I think, adelight in being thus over-harsh in his harshness to her. He provedto himself thus not only that he was master, but that he would bemaster without any let or drawback, without compunctions, and evenwithout excuses for his ill-conduct. There should be no plea put inby him in his absences, that he had only gone to catch a few fish,when his intentions had been other than piscatorial. He intendedto do as he liked now and always,--and he intended that his wifeshould know that such was his intention. She was now childless, andtherefore he had no other terms to keep with her than those whichappertained to her necessities for bed and board. There was thehouse, and she might live in it; and there were the butchers and thebakers, and other tradesmen to supply her wants. Nay;--there were theold carriage and the old horses at her disposal, if they could be ofany service to her. Such were Sir Hugh Clavering's ideas as to thebonds inflicted upon him by his marriage vows.
"I'm going to Norway next week." It was thus Sir Hugh communicatedhis intention to his wife within five minutes of their firstgreeting.
"To Norway, Hugh?"
"Yes;--why not to Norway? I and one or two others have got somefishing there. Archie is going too. It will keep him from spendinghis money;--or rather from spending money which isn't his."
"And for how long will you be gone?"
It was part of Sir Hugh Clavering's theory as to these mattersthat there should be no lying in the conduct of them. He would notcondescend to screen any part of his doings by a falsehood;--so heanswered this question with exact truth.
"I don't suppose we shall be back before October."
"Not before October?"
"No. We are talking of putting in on the coast of Normandy somewhere;and probably may run down to Brittany. I shall be back, at any rate,for the hunting. As for the partridges, the game has gone so much tothe devil here, that they are not worth coming for."
"You'll be away four months!"
"I suppose I shall if I don't come back till October." Then he lefther, calculating that she would have considered the matter beforehe returned, and have decided that no good could come to her fromcomplaint. She knew his purpose now, and would no doubt reconcileherself to it quickly;--perhaps with a few tears, which would nothurt him if he did not see them.
But this blow was almost more than Lady Clavering could bear,--wasmore than she could bear in silence. Why she should have grudged herhusband his trip abroad, seeing that his presence in England couldhardly have been a solace to her, it is hard to understand. Had heremained in England, he would rarely have been at Clavering Park; andwhen he was at the Park he would rarely have given her the benefitof his society. When they were together he was usually scolding her,or else sitting in gloomy silence, as though that phase of his lifewas almost insupportable to him. He was so unusually disagreeable inhis intercourse with her, that his absence, one would think, must bepreferable to his presence. But women can bear anything better thandesertion. Cruelty is bad, but neglect is worse than cruelty, anddesertion worse even than neglect. To be treated as though she werenot in existence, or as though her existence were a nuisance simplyto be endured, and, as far as possible, to be forgotten, was morethan even Lady Clavering could bear without complaint. When herhusband left her, she sat meditating how she might turn against heroppressor. She was a woman not apt for fighting,--unlike her sister,who knew well how to use the cudgels in her own behalf; she wastimid, not gifted with a full flow of words, prone to sink and becomedependent; but she,--even she,--with all these deficiencies,--feltthat she must make some stand against the outrage to which she wasnow to be subjected.
"Hugh," she said, when next she saw him, "you can't really mean thatyou are going to leave me from this time till the winter?"
"I said nothing about the winter."
"Well,--till October?"
"I said that I was going, and I usually mean what I say."
"I cannot believe it, Hugh; I cannot bring myself to think that youwill be so cruel."
"Look here, Hermy, if you take to calling names I won't stand it."
"And I won't stand it, either. What am I to do? Am I to be here inthis dreadful barrack of a house all alone? How would you like it?Would you bear it for one month, let alone four or five? I won'tremain here; I tell you that fairly."
"Where do you want to go?"
"I don't want to go anywhere, but I'll go away somewhere and die;--Iwill indeed. I'll destroy myself, or something."
"Psha!"
"Yes; of course it's a joke to you. What have I done to deserve this?Have I ever done anything that you told me not? It's all because ofHughy,--my darling,--so it is; and it's cruel of you, and not like ahusband; and it's not manly. It's very cruel. I didn't think anybodywould have been so cruel as you are to me." Then she broke down andburst into tears.
"Have you done, Hermy?" said her husband.
"No; I've not done."
"Then go on again," said he.
But in truth she had done, and could only repeat her last accusation."You're very, very cruel."
"You said that before."
"And I'll say it again. I'll tell everybody; so I will. I'll tellyour uncle at the rectory, and he shall speak to you."
"Look here, Hermy; I can bear a deal of nonsense from you becausesome women are given to talk nonsense; but if I find you tellingtales about me out of this house, and especially to my uncle, orindeed to anybody, I'll let you know what it is to be cruel."
"You can't be worse than you are."
"Don't try me; that's all. And as I suppose you have now said allthat you've got to say, if you please we will regard that subject asfinished." The poor woman had said all that she could say, and had nofurther means of carrying on the war. In her thoughts she could doso; in her thoughts she could wander forth out of the gloomy house inthe night, and perish in the damp and cold, leaving a paper behindher to tell the world that her husband's cruelty had brought her tothat pass. Or she would go to Julia and leave him for ever. Julia,she thought, would still receive her. But as to one thing she hadcertainly made up her mind; she would go with her complaint to Mrs.Clavering at the rectory, let her lord and master show his anger inwhatever form he might please.
The next day Sir Hugh himself made her a proposition which somewhatsoftened the aspect of affairs. This he did in his usual voice, withsomething of a smile on his face, and speaking as though he werealtogether oblivious of the scenes of yesterday. "I was thinking,Hermy," he said, "that you might have Julia down here while I amaway."
"Have Julia here?"
"Yes; why not? She'll come, I'm sure, when she knows that my back isturned."
"I've never thought about asking her,--at least not lately."
"No; of course. But you might as well do so now. It seems that shenever goes to Ongar Park, and, as far as I can learn, never will. I'mgoing to see her myself."
"You going to see her?"
"Yes; Lord Ongar's people want to know whether she can be inducedto give up the place; that is, to sell her interest in it. I havepromised to see her. Do you write her a letter first, and tell herthat I want to see her; and ask her also to come here as soon as shecan leave London."
"But wouldn't the lawyers do it better than you?"
"Well;--one would think so; but I am commissioned to make her a kindof apology from the whole Courton family. They fancy they've beenhard upon her; and, by George, I believe they have. I may be able tosay a word for myself too. If she isn't a fool she'll put her angerin her pocket, and come down to you."
Lady Clavering liked the idea of having her sister with her, but shewas not quite meek enough to receive the permission now given her asfull compensation for the injury done. She said that she would do ashe had bidden her, and then went back to her own grievances. "I don'tsuppose Julia, even if she would come for a little time, would findit very pleasant to live in such a place as this, all alone."
"She wouldn't be all alone when you are with her," said Hugh,gruffly, and then again went out, leaving his wife to become used toher misfortune by degrees.
It was not surprising that Lady Clavering should dislike her solitudeat Clavering Park house, nor surprising that Sir Hugh should find theplace disagreeable. The house was a large, square, stone building,with none of the prettinesses of modern country-houses about it.The gardens were away from the house, and the cold desolate flatpark came up close around the windows. The rooms were large andlofty,--very excellent for the purpose of a large household, butwith nothing of that snug, pretty comfort which solitude requires forits solace. The furniture was old and heavy, and the hangings weredark in colour. Lady Clavering when alone there,--and she generallywas alone,--never entered the rooms on the ground-floor. Nor did sheever pass through the wilderness of a hall by which the front-doorwas to be reached. Throughout more than half her days she never camedownstairs at all; but when she did so, preparatory to being draggedabout the parish lanes in the old family carriage, she was let out ata small side-door; and so it came to pass that during the absences ofthe lord of the mansion, the shutters were not even moved from any ofthe lower windows. Under such circumstances there can be no wonderthat Lady Clavering regarded the place as a prison. "I wish you couldcome upon it unawares, and see how gloomy it is," she said to him."I don't think you'd stand it alone for two days, let alone all yourlife."
"I'll shut it up altogether if you like," said he.
"And where am I to go?" she asked.
"You can go to Moor Hall if you please." Now Moor Hall was a smallhouse, standing on a small property belonging to Sir Hugh, in thatpart of Devonshire which lies north of Dartmoor, somewhere near theHolsworthy region, and which is perhaps as ugly, as desolate, and asremote as any part of England. Lady Clavering had heard much of MoorHall, and dreaded it as the heroine, made to live in the big grimcastle low down among the Apennines, dreads the smaller and grimmercastle which is known to exist somewhere higher up in the mountains.
"Why couldn't I go to Brighton?" said Lady Clavering boldly.
"Because I don't choose it," said Sir Hugh. After that she did goto the rectory, and told Mrs. Clavering all her troubles. She hadwritten to her sister, having, however, delayed the doing of this fortwo or three days, and she had not at this time received an answerfrom Lady Ongar. Nor did she hear from her sister till after Sir Hughhad left her. It was on the day before his departure that she went tothe rectory, finding herself driven to this act of rebellion by histhreat of Moor Hall. "I will never go there unless I am dragged thereby force," she said to Mrs. Clavering.
"I don't think he means that," said Mrs. Clavering. "He only wants tomake you understand that you'd better remain at the Park."
"But if you knew what a house it is to be all alone in!"
"Dear Hermione, I do know! But you must come to us oftener, and letus endeavour to make it better for you."
"But how can I do that? How can I come to his uncle's house, justbecause my own husband has made my own home so wretched that I cannotbear it. I'm ashamed to do that. I ought not to be telling you allthis, of course. I don't know what he'd do if he knew it; but it isso hard to bear it all without telling some one."
"My poor dear!"
"I sometimes think I'll ask Mr. Clavering to speak to him, and totell him at once that I will not submit to it any longer. Of coursehe would be mad with rage, but if he were to kill me I should like itbetter than having to go on in this way. I'm sure he is only waitingfor me to die."
Mrs. Clavering said all that she could to comfort the poor woman, butthere was not much that she could say. She had strongly advocated theplan of having Lady Ongar at the Park, thinking perhaps that Harrywould be more safe while that lady was at Clavering, than he mightperhaps be if she remained in London. But Mrs. Clavering doubted muchwhether Lady Ongar would consent to make such a visit. She regardedLady Ongar as a hard, worldly, pleasure-seeking woman,--sinnedagainst perhaps in much, but also sinning in much herself,--to whomthe desolation of the Park would be even more unendurable than it wasto the elder sister. But of this, of course, she said nothing. LadyClavering left her, somewhat quieted, if not comforted; and went backto pass her last evening with her husband.
"Upon second thought, I'll go by the first train," he said, as he sawher for a moment before she went up to dress. "I shall have to be offfrom here a little after six, but I don't mind that in summer." Thusshe was to be deprived of such gratification as there might have beenin breakfasting with him on the last morning! It might be hard to sayin what that gratification would have consisted. She must by thistime have learned that his presence gave her none of the pleasuresusually expected from society. He slighted her in everything. Herarely vouchsafed to her those little attentions which all womenexpect from all gentlemen. If he handed her a plate, or cut for hera morsel of bread from the loaf, he showed by his manner and by hisbrow that the doing so was a nuisance to him. At their meals herarely spoke to her,--having always at breakfast a paper or a bookbefore h
im, and at dinner devoting his attention to a dog at hisfeet. Why should she have felt herself cruelly ill-used in thismatter of his last breakfast,--so cruelly ill-used that she weptafresh over it as she dressed herself,--seeing that she would lose solittle? Because she loved the man;--loved him, though she now thoughtthat she hated him. We very rarely, I fancy, love those whose lovewe have not either possessed or expected,--or at any rate for whoselove we have not hoped; but when it has once existed, ill-usage willseldom destroy it. Angry as she was with the man, ready as she was tocomplain of him, to rebel against him,--perhaps to separate herselffrom him for ever, nevertheless she found it to be a cruel grievancethat she should not sit at table with him on the morning of hisgoing. "Jackson shall bring me a cup of coffee as I'm dressing,"he said, "and I'll breakfast at the club." She knew that there wasno reason for this, except that breakfasting at his club was moreagreeable to him than breakfasting with his wife.
She had got rid of her tears before she came down to dinner, butstill she was melancholy and almost lachrymose. This was the lastnight, and she felt that something special ought to be said; butshe did not know what she expected, or what it was that she herselfwished to say. I think that she was longing for an opportunity toforgive him,--only that he would not be forgiven. If he would havespoken one soft word to her, she would have accepted that one word asan apology; but no such word came. He sat opposite to her at dinner,drinking his wine and feeding his dog; but he was no more gracious toher at this dinner than he had been on any former day. She sat therepretending to eat, speaking a dull word now and then, to which hisanswer was a monosyllable, looking out at him from under her eyes,through the candlelight, to see whether any feeling was moving him;and then having pretended to eat a couple of strawberries she lefthim to himself. Still, however, this was not the last. There wouldcome some moment for an embrace,--for some cold half-embrace, inwhich he would be forced to utter something of a farewell.
He, when he was left alone, first turned his mind to the subject ofJack Stuart and his yacht. He had on that day received a letter froma noble friend,--a friend so noble that he was able to take libertieseven with Sir Hugh Clavering,--in which his noble friend had told himthat he was a fool to trust himself on so long an expedition in JackStuart's little boat. Jack, the noble friend said, knew nothing ofthe matter, and as for the masters who were hired for the sailing ofsuch crafts, their only object was to keep out as long as possible,with an eye to their wages and perquisites. It might be all very wellfor Jack Stuart, who had nothing in the world to lose but his lifeand his yacht; but his noble friend thought that any such ventureon the part of Sir Hugh was simply tomfoolery. But Sir Hugh was anobstinate man, and none of the Claverings were easily made afraid bypersonal danger. Jack Stuart might know nothing about the managementof a boat, but Archie did. And as for the smallness of the craft,--heknew of a smaller craft which had been out on the Norway coast duringthe whole of the last season. So he drove that thought away from hismind, with no strong feelings of gratitude towards his noble friend.
And then for a few moments he thought of his own home. What had hiswife done for him, that he should put himself out of his way to domuch for her? She had brought him no money. She had added nothingeither by her wit, beauty, or rank to his position in the world.She had given him no heir. What had he received from her that heshould endure her commonplace conversation, and washed-out, dowdyprettinesses? Perhaps some momentary feeling of compassion, sometwang of conscience, came across his heart, as he thought of it all;but if so he checked it instantly, in accordance with the teachingsof his whole life. He had made his reflections on all these things,and had tutored his mind to certain resolutions, and would not allowhimself to be carried away by any womanly softness. She had herhouse, her carriage, her bed, her board, and her clothes; and seeinghow very little she herself had contributed to the common fund, herhusband determined that in having those things she had all that shehad a right to claim. Then he drank a glass of sherry, and went intothe drawing-room with that hard smile upon his face, which he wasaccustomed to wear when he intended to signify to his wife thatshe might as well make the best of existing things, and not causeunnecessary trouble, by giving herself airs or assuming that she wasunhappy.
He had his cup of coffee, and she had her cup of tea, and she madeone or two little attempts at saying something special,--somethingthat might lead to a word or two as to their parting; but he wascareful and crafty, and she was awkward and timid,--and she failed.He had hardly been there an hour, when looking at his watch hedeclared that it was ten o'clock, and that he would go to bed. Well;perhaps it might be best to bring it to an end, and to go throughthis embrace, and have done with it! Any tender word that was to bespoken on either side, it was now clear to her, must be spoken inthat last farewell. There was a tear in her eye as she rose to kisshim; but the tear was not there of her own good will, and she stroveto get rid of it without his seeing it. As he spoke he also rose,and having lit for himself a bed-candle was ready to go. "Good-by,Hermy," he said, submitting himself, with the candle in his hand, tothe inevitable embrace.
"Good-by, Hugh; and God bless you," she said, putting her arms roundhis neck. "Pray,--pray take care of yourself."
"All right," he said. His position with the candle was awkward, andhe wished that it might be over.
Husband and wife.]
But she had a word prepared which she was determined to utter,--poorweak creature that she was. She still had her arm round hisshoulders, so that he could not escape without shaking her off, andher forehead was almost resting on his bosom. "Hugh," she said, "youmust not be angry with me for what I said to you."
"Very well," said he;--"I won't."
"And, Hugh," said she; "of course I can't like your going."
"Oh, yes, you will," said he.
"No;--I can't like it; but, Hugh, I will not think ill of it anymore. Only be here as much as you can when you come home."
"All right," said he; then he kissed her forehead and escaped fromher, and went his way, telling himself, as he went, that she was afool.
That was the last he saw of her,--before his yachting commenced;but she,--poor fool,--was up by times in the morning, and, peepingout between her curtains as the early summer sun glanced upon hereyelids, saw him come forth from the porch and descend the greatsteps, and get into his dog-cart and drive himself away. Then, whenthe sound of the gig could be no longer heard, and when her eyescould no longer catch the last expiring speck of his hat, the poorfool took herself to bed again and cried herself to sleep.
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