CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN TO HADLEY.
We must now return for awhile to Hadley. Since the day on which MissBaker had written that letter to Sir Lionel, she had expressed nowish to leave her uncle's house. Littlebath had no charms for hernow. The colonel was still there, and so was the colonel's firstlove--Miss Todd: let them forgive and forget, and marry each otherat last if they so pleased. Miss Baker's fit of ambition was over,and she was content to keep her uncle's house at Hadley, and to seeCaroline whenever she could spare a day and get up to London for thatpurpose.
And the old gentleman was less bearish than she thought he would havebeen. He occasionally became rusty about shillings and sixpences,and scolded because his niece would have a second fire lighted; butby degrees he forgot even this grievance, and did not make himselfmore disagreeable or exacting than old age, wealth, and sufferinggenerally are when they come together.
And then when Adela left London, Miss Baker was allowed to ask her tostop with them at Hadley--and Adela did as she was asked. She wentdirect from Eaton Square to Mr. Bertram's house; and was still thereat the time alluded to in the last chapter.
It was on the second morning after Sir Henry's visit to his wife thatthe postman brought to Miss Baker a letter from Lady Harcourt. Thetwo ladies were sitting at the time over the breakfast-table, and oldMr. Bertram, propped up with pillows, with his crutches close to hishand, was sitting over the fire in his accustomed arm-chair. He didnot often get out of it now, except when he was taken away to bed;but yet both his eye and his voice were as sharp as ever when he sopleased; and though he sat there paralyzed and all but motionless, hewas still master of his house, and master also of his money.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Miss Baker, with startled voice before herletter had been half read through.
"What's the matter?" demanded Mr. Bertram sharply.
"Oh, Miss Baker! what is it?" asked Adela.
"Goodness gracious! Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!" And Miss Baker,with her handkerchief to her eyes, began to weep most bitterly.
"What ails you? Who is the letter from?" said Mr. Bertram.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Read it, Adela. Oh, Mr. Bertram, here is such amisfortune!"
"What is it, Miss Gauntlet? That fool will never tell me."
Adela took the letter, and read it through.
"Oh, sir," she said, "it is indeed a misfortune."
"Devil take it! what misfortune?"
"Caroline has quarrelled with Sir Henry," said Miss Baker.
"Oh, is that all?" said Mr. Bertram.
"Ah, sir; I fear this quarrel will prove serious," said Adela.
"Serious; nonsense; how serious? You never thought, did you, that heand she would live together like turtle doves? He married for money,and she for ambition; of course they'll quarrel." Such was the wisdomof Mr. Bertram, and at any rate he had experience on his side.
"But, uncle; she wishes to leave him, and hopes that you'll let hercome here."
"Come here--fiddlestick! What should I do here with the wife of sucha man as him?"
"She declares most positively that nothing shall induce her to livewith him again."
"Fiddlestick!"
"But, uncle--"
"Why, what on earth did she expect? She didn't think to have it allsunshine, did she? When she married the man, she knew she didn't carefor him; and now she determines to leave him because he won't pick upher pocket-handkerchief! If she wanted that kind of thing, why didnot she marry my nephew?"
This was the first time that Mr. Bertram had been heard to speak ofGeorge in a tone of affection, and both Miss Baker and Miss Gauntletwere not a little surprised. They had never heard him speak ofCaroline as his granddaughter.
During the whole of that day, Mr. Bertram was obdurate; and hepositively refused to receive Lady Harcourt at his house unlessshe came there with the full permission of her husband. Miss Baker,therefore, was obliged to write by the first post, asking for a day'sdelay before she sent her final answer. But on the next morning aletter reached the old gentleman himself, from Sir Henry. Sir Henrysuggested that the loving grandchild should take the occasion of theseason being so nearly over to pay a much-desired visit to her lovinggrandsire. He did not drop the quarrel altogether; but just alludedto it as a passing cloud--an unfortunate cloud certainly, but onethat, without doubt, would soon pass away, and leave the horizon morebright than ever.
The matter was at last arranged by Mr. Bertram giving the desiredpermission. He took no notice himself of Sir Henry's letter, butdesired his niece to tell Caroline that she might come there if sheliked. So Caroline did come; and Sir Henry gave it out that theLondon season had been too much for her, and that she, to her deepregret, had been forced to leave town before it was over.
"Sir Omicron was quite imperative," said Sir Henry, speakingconfidentially to his intimate parliamentary friend Mr. Madden;"and as she was to go, it was as well to do the civil to grandpapaCroesus. I have no time myself; so I must do it by deputy."
Now Sir Omicron in those days was a great physician.
And so Caroline returned to Hadley; but no bells rang now togreet her coming. Little more than six months had passed sincethose breakfast speeches had been spoken, in which so much goldenprosperity had been promised to bride and bridegroom; and now thatvision of gold was at an end; that solid, substantial prosperity hadmelted away. The bridal dresses of the maids had hardly lost theirgloss, and yet all that well-grounded happiness was gone.
"So, you are come back," said Mr. Bertram.
"Yes, sir," said Caroline, in a low voice. "I have made a mistake inlife, and I must hope that you will forgive me."
"Such mistakes are very foolish. The sooner you unmake it thebetter."
"There will be no unmaking this mistake, sir, never--never--never.But I blame no one but myself."
"Nonsense! you will of course go back to your husband."
"Never, Mr. Bertram--never! I will obey him, or you, or both, if thatbe possible, in all things but in that. But in that I can obey noone."
"Psha!" said Mr. Bertram. Such was Lady Harcourt's first greeting onher return to Hadley.
Neither Miss Baker nor Adela said much to her on the matter on thefirst day of her arrival. Her aunt, indeed, never spoke openly toher on the subject. It seemed to be understood between them that itshould be dropped. And there was occasionally a weight of melancholyabout Lady Harcourt, amounting in appearance almost to savagesternness, which kept all inquiry aloof. Even her grandfatherhesitated to speak to her about her husband, and allowed her to liveunmolested in the quiet, still, self-controlling mood which sheseemed to have adopted with a determined purpose.
For the first fortnight she did not leave the house. At theexpiration of that time, on one fine sunny Sunday morning she camedown dressed for church. Miss Baker remarked that the very clothesshe wore were things that had belonged to her before her marriage,and were all of them of the simplest that a woman can wear withoutmaking herself conspicuous before the world. All her jewelry she hadlaid aside, and every brooch, and every ring that had come to her asa married woman, or as a girl about to be married--except that onering from which an iron fate would not allow her to be parted. Ah, ifshe could but have laid aside that also!
And then she went to church. There were the same persons there tostare at her now, in her quiet wretchedness, who were there beforestaring at her in her--triumph may I say? No, there had been notriumph; little even then, except wretchedness; but that misery hadnot been so open to the public eye.
She went through it very well; and seemed to suffer even less thandid her aunt. She had done nothing to spread abroad among the publicof Hadley that fiction as to Sir Omicron's opinion which her lordhad been sedulous to disseminate in London. She had said very littleabout herself, but she had at any rate said nothing false. Nor hadshe acted falsely; or so as to give false impressions. All thatlittle world now around her knew that she had separated herselffrom her grand husband; and most of them had heard th
at she had nointention of returning to him.
She had something, therefore, to bear as she sat out that service;and she bore it well. She said her prayers, or seemed to say them, asthough unconscious that she were in any way a mark for other women'seyes. And when the sermon was over, she walked home with a steady,even step; whereas Miss Baker trembled at every greeting shereceived, and at every step she heard.
On that afternoon, Caroline opened her heart to Adela. Hithertolittle had passed between them, but those pressings of the hand,those mute marks of sympathy which we all know so well how to givewhen we long to lighten the sorrows which are too deep to be probedby words. But on this evening after their dinner, Caroline calledAdela into her room, and then there was once more confidence betweenthem.
"No, no, Adela, I will never go back to him." Caroline went onprotesting; "you will not ask me to do that?"
"Those whom God has joined together, let not man put asunder," saidAdela, solemnly.
"Ah, yes; those whom God _has_ joined. But did God join us?"
"Oh, Caroline; do not speak so."
"But, Adela, do not misunderstand me. Do not think that I want toexcuse what I have done; or even to escape the penalty. I havedestroyed myself as regards this world. All is over for me here. WhenI brought myself to stand at that altar with a man I never loved;whom I knew I never could love--whom I never tried, and never wouldtry to love--when I did that, I put myself beyond the pale of allhappines. Do not think that I hope for any release." And LadyHarcourt looked stern enough in her resolution to bear all that fatecould bring on her.
"Caroline, God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb, now as alwaysif you will ask him."
"I hope so; I hope so, Adela."
"Say that you trust so."
"I do trust. I trust in this--that He will do what is best. Oh,Adela! if you could know what the last month has been; since he cameto the house!"
"Ah! why did he ever come?"
"Why, indeed! Did a man ever behave so madly?"
The man she here alluded was Sir Henry Harcourt, not Mr. Bertram.
"But I am glad of it, dearest; very glad. Is it not better so? Thetruth has been spoken now. I have told him all."
"You mean Sir Henry?"
"Yes, I told him all before I left. But it was nothing new, Adela. Heknew it before. He never dreamed that I loved him. He knew, he musthave known that I hated him."
"Oh, Caroline, Caroline! do not speak like that."
"And would not you have hated him had you been tied to him? Now thatsin will be over. I shall hate him no longer now."
"Such hatred is a crime. Say what you will, he is still yourhusband."
"I deny it. What! when he called me by that name, was he my husbandthen? Was that a husband's usage? I must carry his name, and wearilywalk with that burden to the grave. Such is my penalty for that day'ssin. I must abandon all hope of living as other women live. I shallhave no shoulder on which to lean, hear no words of love when I amsick, have no child to comfort me. I shall be alone, and yet notmaster of myself. This I must bear because I was false to my ownheart. But yet he is not my husband. Listen to me, Adela; sooner thanreturn to him again, I would put an end to all this world's misery atonce. That would be sinful, but the sin would be lighter than thatother sin."
When she spoke in this way, Adela no longer dared to suggest to herthat she and Sir Henry might even yet again live together. In Adela'sown mind, that course, and that alone, would have been the right one.She looked on such unions as being literally for better or for worse;and failing to reach the better, she would have done her best, withGod's assistance, to bear the worst. But then Adela Gauntlet couldnever have placed herself in the position which Lady Harcourt nowfilled.
But greatly as they differed, still there was confidence betweenthem. Caroline could talk to her, and to her only. To her grandfathershe was all submission; to her aunt she was gentle and affectionate;but she never spoke of her fate with either of them. And so they wenton till Adela left them in July; and then the three that were leftbehind lived together as quiet a household as might have been foundin the parish of Hadley, or perhaps in the county of Middlesex.
During this time Lady Harcourt had received two letters from herhusband, in both of which he urged her to return to him. In answer tothe first, she assured him, in the civilest words which she knew howto use, that such a step was impossible; but, at the same time, shesignified her willingness to obey him in any other particular, andsuggested that as they must live apart, her present home with hergrandfather would probably be thought to be the one most suitable forher. In answer to the second, she had simply told him that she mustdecline any further correspondence with him as to the possibility ofher return.
His next letter was addressed to Mr. Bertram. In this he did not gointo the matter of their difference at all, but merely suggested thathe should be allowed to call at Hadley--with the object of having aninterview with Mr. Bertram himself.
"There," said the old man, when he found himself alone with hisgranddaughter; "read that." And Caroline did read it. "What am I tosay to that?"
"What do you think you ought to say, sir?"
"I suppose I must see him. He'll bring an action against me else, forkeeping his wife from him. Mind, I tell you, you'll have to go backto him."
"No, sir! I shall not do that," said Caroline, very quietly, withsomething almost like a smile on her face. And then she left him, andhe wrote his answer to Sir Henry.
And then Sir Henry came down to Hadley. A day had been named, andCaroline was sore put to it to know how she might best keep out ofthe way. At last she persuaded her aunt to go up to London with herfor the day. This they did, both of them fearing, as they got out ofthe train and returned to it, that they might unfortunately meet theman they so much dreaded. But fortune was not so malicious to them;and when they returned to Hadley they found that Sir Henry had alsoreturned to London.
"He speaks very fair," said Mr. Bertram, who sent for Caroline tocome to him alone in the dining-room.
"Does he, sir?"
"He is very anxious that you should go back."
"Ah, sir, I cannot do that."
"He says you shall have the house in Eaton Square to yourself for thenext three months."
"I shall never go back to Eaton Square, sir."
"Or he will take a small place for you anywhere at the sea-side thatyou may choose."
"I shall want no place if you will allow me to remain here."
"But he has all your money, you know--your fortune is now his."
"Well, sir!"
"And what do you mean to do?"
"I will do what you bid me--except going back to him."
The old man sat silent for awhile, and then again he spoke.
"Well, I don't suppose you know your own mind, as yet."
"Oh, sir! indeed I do."
"I say I suppose you don't. Don't interrupt me--I have suggestedthis: that you should remain here six months, and that then he shouldcome again and see--"
"You, sir."
"Well--see me, if I'm alive: at the end of that time you'll have togo back to him. Now, good-night."
And so it was settled; and for the next six months the same dull,dreary life went on in the old house at Hadley.
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