The Claverings

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  SHEWING WHAT HAPPENED OFF HELIGOLAND.

  During the six weeks after this, Harry Clavering settled down tohis work at the chambers in the Adelphi with exemplary diligence.Florence, having remained a fortnight in town after Harry's returnto the sheepfold, and having accepted Lady Ongar's present,--notwithout a long and anxious consultation with her sister-in-law onthe subject,--had returned in fully restored happiness to Stratton.Mrs. Burton was at Ramsgate with the children, and Mr. Burton was inRussia with reference to a line of railway which was being projectedfrom Moscow to Astracan. It was now September, and Harry, in hisletters home, declared that he was the only person left in London.It was hard upon him,--much harder than it was upon the Wallikersand other young men whom fate retained in town, for Harry was a mangiven to shooting,--a man accustomed to pass the autumnal months in acountry house. And then, if things had chanced to go one way insteadof another, he would have had his own shooting down at Ongar Parkwith his own friends,--admiring him at his heels; or if not so thisyear, he would have been shooting elsewhere with the prospect ofthese rich joys for years to come. As it was, he had promised tostick to the shop, and was sticking to it manfully. Nor do I thinkthat he allowed his mind to revert to those privileges which mighthave been his at all more frequently than any of my readers wouldhave done in his place. He was sticking to the shop, and though hegreatly disliked the hot desolation of London in those days, beingabsolutely afraid to frequent his club at such a period of theyear,--and though he hated Walliker mortally,--he was fully resolvedto go on with his work. Who could tell what might be his fate?Perhaps in another ten years he might be carrying that Russianrailway on through the deserts of Siberia. Then there came to himsuddenly tidings which disturbed all his resolutions, and changed thewhole current of his life.

  At first there came a telegram to him from the country, desiringhim to go down at once to Clavering, but not giving him any reason.Added to the message were these words,--"We are all well at theparsonage;"--words evidently added in thoughtfulness. But before hehad left the office there came to him there a young man from the bankat which his cousin Hugh kept his account, telling him the tidingsto which the telegram no doubt referred. Jack Stuart's boat had beenlost, and his two cousins had gone to their graves beneath the sea!The master of the boat, and Stuart himself, with a boy, had beensaved. The other sailors whom they had with them, and the ship'ssteward, had perished with the Claverings. Stuart, it seemed, hadcaused tidings of the accident to be sent to the rector of Claveringand to Sir Hugh's bankers. At the bank they had ascertained thattheir late customer's cousin was in town, and their messenger hadthereupon been sent, first to Bloomsbury Square, and from thence tothe Adelphi.

  Harry had never loved his cousins. The elder he had greatly disliked,and the younger he would have disliked had he not despised him. Butnot the less on that account was he inexpressibly shocked when hefirst heard what had happened. The lad said that there could, as heimagined, be no mistake. The message had come, as he believed, fromHolland, but of that he was not certain. There could, however, be nodoubt about the fact. It distinctly stated that both brothers hadperished. Harry had known when he received the message from home,that no train would take him till three in the afternoon, and hadtherefore remained at the office; but he could not remain now. Hishead was confused, and he could hardly bring himself to think howthis matter would affect himself. When he attempted to explain hisabsence to an old serious clerk there, he spoke of his own returnto the office as certain. He should be back, he supposed, in a weekat the furthest. He was thinking then of his promises to TheodoreBurton, and had not begun to realize the fact that his whole destinyin life would be changed. He said something, with a long face, ofthe terrible misfortune which had occurred, but gave no hint thatthat misfortune would be important in its consequences to himself. Itwas not till he had reached his lodgings in Bloomsbury Square thathe remembered that his own father was now the baronet, and that hewas his father's heir. And then for a moment he thought about theproperty. He believed that it was entailed, but even of that he wasnot certain. But if it were unentailed, to whom could his cousin haveleft it? He endeavoured, however, to expel such thoughts from hismind, as though there was something ungenerous in entertaining them.He tried to think of the widow, but even in doing that he could nottell himself that there was much ground for genuine sorrow. No wifehad ever had less joy from her husband's society than Lady Claveringhad had from that of Sir Hugh. There was no child to mourn theloss,--no brother, no unmarried sister. Sir Hugh had had friends,--asfriendship goes with such men; but Harry could not but doubt whetheramong them all there would be one who would feel anything like truegrief for his loss. And it was the same with Archie. Who in the worldwould miss Archie Clavering? What man or woman would find the worldto be less bright because Archie Clavering was sleeping beneath thewaves? Some score of men at his club would talk of poor Clavvy fora few days,--would do so without any pretence at the tendernessof sorrow; and then even of Archie's memory there would be an end.Thinking of all this as he was carried down to Clavering, Harry couldnot but acknowledge that the loss to the world had not been great;but, even while telling himself this, he would not allow himself totake comfort in the prospect of his heirship. Once, perhaps, he didspeculate how Florence should bear her honours as Lady Clavering; butthis idea he swept away from his thoughts as quickly as he was able.

  The tidings had reached the parsonage very late on the previousnight; so late that the rector had been disturbed in his bed toreceive them. It was his duty to make known to Lady Clavering thefact that she was a widow, but this he could not do till the nextmorning. But there was little sleep that night for him or for hiswife! He knew well enough that the property was entailed. He feltwith sufficient strength what it was to become a baronet at a suddenblow, and to become also the owner of the whole Clavering property.He was not slow to think of the removal to the great house, of thealtered prospects of his son, and of the mode of life which wouldbe fitting for himself in future. Before the morning came he hadmeditated who should be the future rector of Clavering, and hadmade some calculations as to the expediency of resuming his hunting.Not that he was a heartless man,--or that he rejoiced at what hadhappened. But a man's ideas of generosity change as he advances inage, and the rector was old enough to tell himself boldly that thisthing that had happened could not be to him a cause of much grief. Hehad never loved his cousins, or pretended to love them. His cousin'swife he did love, after a fashion, but in speaking to his own wifeof the way in which this tragedy would affect Hermione, he did notscruple to speak of her widowhood as a period of coming happiness.

  "She will be cut to pieces," said Mrs. Clavering. "She was attachedto him as earnestly as though he had treated her always well."

  "I believe it; but not the less will she feel her release,unconsciously; and her life, which has been very wretched, willgradually become easy to her."

  Even Mrs. Clavering could not deny that this would be so, and thenthey reverted to matters which more closely concerned themselves. "Isuppose Harry will marry at once now," said the mother.

  "No doubt;--it is almost a pity; is it not?" The rector,--as we willstill call him,--was thinking that Florence was hardly a fitting wifefor his son with his altered prospects. Ah, what a grand thing itwould have been if the Clavering property and Lady Ongar's jointurecould have gone together!

  "Not a pity at all," said Mrs. Clavering. "You will find thatFlorence will make him a very happy man."

  "I dare say;--I dare say. Only he would hardly have taken her hadthis sad accident happened before he saw her. But if she will makehim happy that is everything. I have never thought much aboutmoney myself. If I find any comfort in these tidings it is for hissake, not for my own. I would sooner remain as I am." This was notaltogether untrue, and yet he was thinking of the big house and thehunting.

  "What will be done about the living?" It was early in the morningwhen Mrs. Clavering asked this question. She had though
t much aboutthe living during the night. And so had the rector;--but his thoughtshad not run in the same direction as hers. He made no immediateanswer, and then she went on with her question. "Do you think thatyou will keep it in your own hands?"

  "Well,--no; why should I? I am too idle about it as it is. I shouldbe more so under these altered circumstances."

  "I am sure you would do your duty if you resolved to keep it, but Idon't see why you should do so."

  "Clavering is a great deal better than Humbleton," said the rector.Humbleton was the name of the parish held by Mr. Fielding, hisson-in-law.

  But the idea here put forward did not suit the idea which was runningin Mrs. Clavering's mind. "Edward and Mary are very well off," shesaid. "His own property is considerable, and I don't think they wantanything. Besides, he would hardly like to give up a family living."

  "I might ask him at any rate."

  "I was thinking of Mr. Saul," said Mrs. Clavering boldly.

  "Of Mr. Saul!" The image of Mr. Saul, as rector of Clavering,perplexed the new baronet egregiously.

  "Well;--yes. He is an excellent; clergyman. No one can deny that."Then there was silence between them for a few moments. "In that casehe and Fanny would of course marry. It is no good concealing the factthat she is very fond of him."

  "Upon my word I can't understand it," said the rector.

  "It is so,--and as to the excellence of his character there can beno doubt." To this the rector made no answer, but went away into hisdressing-room, that he might prepare himself for his walk across thepark to the great house. While they were discussing who should be thefuture incumbent of the living, Lady Clavering was still sleeping inunconsciousness of her fate. Mr. Clavering greatly dreaded the taskwhich was before him, and had made a little attempt to induce hiswife to take the office upon herself; but she had explained to himthat it would be more seemly that he should be the bearer of thetidings. "It would seem that you were wanting in affection for her ifyou do not go yourself," his wife had said to him. That the rector ofClavering was master of himself and of his own actions, no one whoknew the family ever denied, but the instances in which he declinedto follow his wife's advice were not many.

  It was about eight o'clock when he went across the park. He hadalready sent a messenger with a note to beg that Lady Claveringwould be up to receive him. As he would come very early, he had said,perhaps she would see him in her own room. The poor lady had, ofcourse, been greatly frightened by this announcement; but this fearhad been good for her, as they had well understood at the rectory;the blow, dreadfully sudden as it must still be, would be somewhatless sudden under this preparation. When Mr. Clavering reachedthe house the servant was in waiting to show him upstairs to thesitting-room which Lady Clavering usually occupied when alone. Shehad been there waiting for him for the last half-hour.

  "Mr. Clavering, what is it?" she exclaimed, as he entered withtidings of death written on his visage. "In the name of heaven, whatis it? You have something to tell me of Hugh."

  "Dear Hermione," he said, taking her by the hand.

  "What is it? Tell me at once. Is he still alive?"

  The rector still held her by the hand, but spoke no word. He had beentrying as he came across the park to arrange the words in which heshould tell his tale, but now it was told without any speech on hispart.

  "He is dead. Why do you not speak? Why are you so cruel?"

  "Dearest Hermione, what am I to say to comfort you?"

  What he might say after this was of little moment, for she hadfainted. He rang the bell, and then, when the servants werethere,--the old housekeeper and Lady Clavering's maid,--he told tothem, rather than to her, what had been their master's fate.

  "And Captain Archie?" asked the housekeeper.

  The rector shook his head, and the housekeeper knew that the rectorwas now the baronet. Then they took the poor widow to her ownroom,--should I not rather call her, as I may venture to speak thetruth, the enfranchised slave than the poor widow?--and the rector,taking up his hat, promised that he would send his wife across totheir mistress. His morning's task had been painful, but it had beeneasily accomplished. As he walked home among the oaks of ClaveringPark, he told himself, no doubt, that they were now all his own.

  That day at the rectory was very sombre, if it was not actually sad.The greater part of the morning Mrs. Clavering passed with the widow,and sitting near her sofa she wrote sundry letters to those who wereconnected with the family. The longest of these was to Lady Ongar,who was now at Tenby; and in that there was a pressing request fromHermione that her sister would come to her at Clavering Park. "Tellher," said Lady Clavering, "that all her anger must be over now." ButMrs. Clavering said nothing of Julia's anger. She merely urged therequest that Julia would come to her sister. "She will be sure tocome," said Mrs. Clavering. "You need have no fear on that head."

  "But how can I invite her here, when the house is not my own?"

  "Pray do not talk in that way, Hermione. The house will be your ownfor any time that you may want it. Your husband's relations are yourdear friends; are they not?" But this allusion to her husband broughther to another fit of hysterical tears. "Both of them gone," shesaid. "Both of them gone!" Mrs. Clavering knew well that she was notalluding to the two brothers, but to her husband and to her baby. Ofpoor Archie no one had said a word,--beyond that one word spoken bythe housekeeper. For her, it had been necessary that she should knowwho was now the master of Clavering Park.

  Twice in the day Mrs. Clavering went over to the big house, and onher second return, late in the evening, she found her son. When shearrived, there had already been some few words on the subject betweenhim and his father.

  "You have heard of it, Harry?"

  "Yes; a clerk came to me from the banker's."

  "Dreadful; is it not? Quite terrible to think of!"

  "Indeed it is, sir. I was never so shocked in my life."

  "He would go in that cursed boat, though I know that he was advisedagainst it," said the father, holding up his hands and shaking hishead. "And now both of them gone;--both gone at once!"

  "How does she bear it?"

  "Your mother is with her now. When I went in the morning,--I hadwritten a line, and she expected bad news,--she fainted. Of course,I could do nothing. I can hardly say that I told her. She asked thequestion, and then saw by my face that her fears were well-founded.Upon my word, I was glad when she did faint;--it was the best thingfor her."

  "It must have been very painful for you."

  "Terrible;--terrible;" and the rector shook his head. "It will make agreat difference in your prospects, Harry."

  "And in your life, sir! So to say, you are as young a man as myself."

  "Am I? I believe I was about as young when you were born. But I don'tthink at all about myself in this matter. I am too old to care tochange my manner of living. It won't affect me very much. Indeed, Ihardly know yet how it may affect me. Your mother thinks I ought togive up the living. If you were in orders, Harry--"

  "I'm very glad, sir, that I am not."

  "I suppose so. And there is no need; certainly, there is no need. Youwill be able to do pretty nearly what you like about the property. Ishall not care to interfere."

  "Yes, you will, sir. It feels strange now, but you will soon get usedto it. I wonder whether he left a will."

  "It can't make any difference to you, you know. Every acre of theproperty is entailed. She has her settlement. Eight hundred a year,I think it is. She'll not be a rich woman like her sister. I wonderwhere she'll live. As far as that goes, she might stay at the house,if she likes it. I'm sure your mother wouldn't object."

  Harry on this occasion asked no question about the living, but healso had thought of that. He knew well that his mother would befriendMr. Saul, and he knew also that his father would ultimately take hismother's advice. As regarded himself he had no personal objection toMr. Saul, though he could not understand how his sister should feelany strong regard for such a man.

  Edward F
ielding would make a better neighbour at the parsonage, andthen he thought whether an exchange might not be made. After that,and before his mother's return from the great house, he took a strollthrough the park with Fanny. Fanny altogether declined to discuss anyof the family prospects, as they were affected by the accident whichhad happened. To her mind the tragedy was so terrible that she couldonly feel its tragic element. No doubt she had her own thoughts aboutMr. Saul as connected with it. "What would he think of this suddendeath of the two brothers? How would he feel it? If she could beallowed to talk to him on the matter, what would he say of theirfate here and hereafter? Would he go to the great house to offer theconsolations of religion to the widow?" Of all this she thought much;but no picture of Mr. Saul as rector of Clavering, or of herself asmistress in her mother's house, presented itself to her mind. Harryfound her to be a dull companion, and he, perhaps, consoled himselfwith some personal attention to the oak trees. The trees loomedlarger upon him now than they had ever done before.

  On the third day the rector went up to London, leaving Harry at theparsonage. It was necessary that lawyers should be visited, andthat such facts as to the loss should be proved as were capable ofproof. There was no doubt at all as to the fate of Sir Hugh and hisbrother. The escape of Mr. Stuart and of two of those employed by himprevented the possibility of a doubt. The vessel had been caught in agale off Heligoland, and had foundered. They had all striven to getinto the yacht's boat, but those who had succeeded in doing so hadgone down. The master of the yacht had seen the two brothers perish.Those who were saved had been picked up off the spars to which theyhad attached themselves. There was no doubt in the way of the newbaronet, and no difficulty.

  Nor was there any will made either by Sir Hugh or his brother. PoorArchie had nothing to leave, and that he should have left no will wasnot remarkable. But neither had there been much in the power of SirHugh to bequeath, nor was there any great cause for a will on hispart. Had he left a son, his son would have inherited everything. Hehad, however, died childless, and his wife was provided for by hersettlement. On his marriage he had made the amount settled as smallas his wife's friends would accept, and no one who knew the manexpected that he would increase the amount after his death. Havingbeen in town for three days the rector returned,--being then in fullpossession of the title; but this he did not assume till after thesecond Sunday from the date of the telegram which brought the news.

  In the meantime Harry had written to Florence, to whom the tidingswere as important as to any one concerned. She had left London verytriumphant,--quite confident that she had nothing now to fear fromLady Ongar or from any other living woman, having not only forgivenHarry his sins, but having succeeded also in persuading herselfthat there had been no sins to forgive,--having quarrelled with herbrother half-a-dozen times in that he would not accept her argumentson this matter. He too would forgive Harry,--had forgiven him; wasquite ready to omit all further remark on the matter; but could notbring himself when urged by Florence to admit that her Apollo hadbeen altogether godlike. Florence had thus left London in triumph,but she had gone with a conviction that she and Harry must remainapart for some indefinite time, which probably must be measured byyears. "Let us see at the end of two years," she had said; and Harryhad been forced to be content. But how would it be with her now?

  Harry of course began his letter by telling her of the catastrophe,with the usual amount of epithets. It was very terrible, awful,shocking,--the saddest thing that had ever happened! The poor widowwas in a desperate state, and all the Claverings were nearly besidethemselves. But when this had been duly said, he allowed himselfto go into their own home question. "I cannot fail," he wrote, "tothink of this chiefly as it concerns you,--or rather, as it concernsmyself in reference to you. I suppose I shall leave the business now.Indeed, my father seems to think that my remaining there would beabsurd, and my mother agrees with him. As I am the only son, theproperty will enable me to live easily without a profession. When Isay 'me,' of course you will understand what 'me' means. The betterpart of 'me' is so prudent, that I know she will not accept thisview of things without ever so much consideration, and, therefore,she must come to Clavering to hear it discussed by the elders. Formyself, I cannot bear to think that I should take delight in theresults of this dreadful misfortune; but how am I to keep myself frombeing made happy by the feeling that we may now be married withoutfurther delay? After all that has passed, nothing will make me happyor even permanently comfortable till I can call you fairly my own. Mymother has already said that she hopes you will come here in about afortnight,--that is, as soon as we shall have fallen tolerably intoour places again; but she will write herself before that time. Ihave written a line to your brother addressed to the office, which Isuppose will find him. I have written also to Cecilia. Your brother,no doubt, will hear the news first through the French newspapers."Then he said a little, but a very little, as to their future modesof life, just intimating to her, and no more, that her destiny mightprobably call upon her to be the mother of a future baronet.

  The news had reached Clavering on a Saturday. On the following Sundayevery one in the parish had no doubt heard of it, but nothing on thesubject was said in church on that day. The rector remained at homeduring the morning, and the whole service was performed by Mr. Saul.But on the second Sunday Mr. Fielding had come over from Humbleton,and he preached a sermon on the loss which the parish had sustainedin the sudden death of the two brothers. It is, perhaps, well thatsuch sermons should be preached. The inhabitants of Clavering wouldhave felt that their late lords had been treated like dogs, had noword been said of them in the house of God. The nature of their fatehad forbidden even the common ceremony of a burial service. It iswell that some respect should be maintained from the low in stationtowards those who are high, even when no respect has been deserved.And, for the widow's sake, it was well that some notice should betaken in Clavering of this death of the head of the Claverings. ButI should not myself have liked the duty of preaching an eulogisticsermon on the lives and death of Hugh Clavering and his brotherArchie. What had either of them ever done to merit a good word fromany man, or to earn the love of any woman? That Sir Hugh had beenloved by his wife had come from the nature of the woman, not at allfrom the qualities of the man. Both of the brothers had lived onthe unexpressed theory of consuming, for the benefit of their ownbacks and their own bellies, the greatest possible amount of thosegood things which fortune might put in their way. I doubt whethereither of them had ever contributed anything willingly to the comfortor happiness of any human being. Hugh, being powerful by natureand having a strong will, had tyrannized over all those who weresubject to him. Archie, not gifted as was his brother, had beenmilder, softer, and less actively hateful; but his principle ofaction had been the same. Everything for himself! Was it not wellthat two such men should be consigned to the fishes, and that theworld,--especially the Clavering world, and that poor widow, whonow felt herself to be so inexpressibly wretched when her period ofcomfort was in truth only commencing,--was it not well that the worldand Clavering should be well quit of them? That idea is the one whichone would naturally have felt inclined to put into one's sermon onsuch an occasion; and then to sing some song of rejoicing;--either todo that, or to leave the matter alone.

  But not so are such sermons preached; and not after that fashiondid the young clergyman who had married the first-cousin of theseClaverings buckle himself to the subject. He indeed had, I think, butlittle difficulty, either inwardly with his conscience, or outwardlywith his subject. He possessed the power of a pleasant, easy flow ofwords, and of producing tears, if not from other eyes, at any ratefrom his own. He drew a picture of the little ship amidst the storm,and of God's hand as it moved in its anger upon the waters; but ofthe cause of that divine wrath and its direction he said nothing.Then, of the suddenness of death and its awfulness he said much, notinsisting as he did so on the necessity of repentance for salvation,as far as those two poor sinners were concerned. No, indeed;--howcould an
y preacher have done that? But he improved the occasion bytelling those around him that they should so live as to be ever readyfor the hand of death. If that were possible, where then indeed wouldbe the victory of the grave? And at last he came to the master andlord whom they had lost. Even here there was no difficulty for him.The heir had gone first, and then the father and his brother. Whoamong them would not pity the bereaved mother and the widow? Whoamong them would not remember with affection the babe whom they hadseen at that font, and with respect the landlord under whose rulethey had lived? How pleasant it must be to ask those questions whichno one can rise to answer! Farmer Gubbins as he sat by, listeningwith what power of attention had been vouchsafed to him, felt himselfto be somewhat moved, but soon released himself from the task, andallowed his mind to run away into other ideas. The rector was akindly man and a generous. The rector would allow him to enclose thatlittle bit of common land, that was to be taken in, without addinganything to his rent. The rector would be there on audit days, andthings would be very pleasant. Farmer Gubbins, when the slightmurmuring gurgle of the preacher's tears was heard, shook hisown head by way of a responsive wail; but at that moment he wascongratulating himself on the coming comfort of the new reign. Mr.Fielding, however, got great credit for his sermon; and it did,probably, more good than harm,--unless, indeed, we should take intoour calculation, in giving our award on this subject, the permanentutility of all truth, and the permanent injury of all falsehood.

  Mr. Fielding remained at the parsonage during the greater part ofthe following week, and then there took place a great deal of familyconversation respecting the future incumbent of the living. At thesefamily conclaves, however, Fanny was not asked to be present. Mrs.Clavering, who knew well how to do such work, was gradually bringingher husband round to endure the name of Mr. Saul. Twenty times hadhe asserted that he could not understand it; but, whether or no suchunderstanding might ever be possible, he was beginning to recognizeit as true that the thing not understood was a fact. His daughterFanny was positively in love with Mr. Saul, and that to such anextent that her mother believed her happiness to be involved in it."I can't understand it;--upon my word I can't," said the rector forthe last time, and then he gave way. There was now the means ofgiving an ample provision for the lovers, and that provision was tobe given.

  Mr. Fielding shook his head,--not in this instance as to Fanny'spredilection for Mr. Saul; though in discussing that matter with hisown wife he had shaken his head very often; but he shook it now withreference to the proposed change. He was very well where he was. Andalthough Clavering was better than Humbleton, it was not so muchbetter as to induce him to throw his own family over by proposing tosend Mr. Saul among them. Mr. Saul was an excellent clergyman, butperhaps his uncle, who had given him his living, might not like Mr.Saul. Thus it was decided in these conclaves that Mr. Saul was to bethe future rector of Clavering.

  In the meantime poor Fanny moped,--wretched in her solitude,anticipating no such glorious joys as her mother was preparing forher; and Mr. Saul was preparing with energy for his departure intoforeign parts.