The Belton Estate

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE HEIR'S SECOND VISIT TO BELTON.

  Clara began to doubt whether any possible arrangement of thecircumstances of her life could be regarded as fortunate. She wasvery fond, in a different degree and after a different fashion, ofboth Captain Aylmer and Mr. Belton. As regarded both, her positionwas now exactly what she herself would have wished. The man thatshe loved was betrothed to her, and the other man, whom she lovedindeed also as a brother, was coming to her in that guise,--with theunderstanding that that was to be his position. And yet everythingwas going wrong! Her father, though he did not actually say anythingagainst Captain Aylmer, showed by a hundred little signs, of whichhe was a skilful master, that the Aylmer alliance was distasteful tohim, and that he thought himself to be aggrieved in that his daughterwould not marry her cousin; whereas, over at the cottage, there wasa still more bitter feeling against Mr. Belton--a feeling so bitter,that it almost induced Clara to wish that her cousin was not comingto them.

  But the cousin did come, and was driven up to the door in the gigfrom Taunton, just as had been the case on his previous visit. Then,however, he had come in the full daylight, and the hay-carts had beenabout, and all the prettiness and warmth of summer had been there;now it was mid-winter, and there had been some slight beginnings ofsnow, and the wind was moaning about the old tower, and the outsideof the house looked very unpleasant from the hall-door. As it hadbecome dusk in the afternoon, the old squire had been very careful inhis orders as to preparations for Will's comfort,--as though Clarawould have forgotten all those things in the preoccupation of hermind, caused by the constancy of her thoughts towards Will's rival.He even went so far as to creep across the up-stairs landing-place tosee that the fire was lighted in Will's room, this being the firsttime that he had left his chamber for many days,--and had givenspecial orders as to the food which was to be prepared for Will'sdinner,--in a very different spirit from that which had dictatedsome former orders when Will was about to make his first visit, andwhen his coming had been regarded by the old man as a heartless,indelicate, and almost hostile proceeding.

  "I wish I could go down to receive him," said Mr. Amedroz,plaintively. "I hope he won't take it amiss."

  "You may be sure he won't do that."

  "Perhaps I can to-morrow."

  "Dear papa, you had better not think of it till the weather ismilder."

  "Milder! how is it to get milder at this time of the year?"

  "Of course he'll come up to you, papa."

  "He's very good. I know he's very good. No one else would do asmuch."

  Clara understood accurately what all this meant. Of course she wasglad that her father should feel so kindly towards her cousin, andthink so much of his coming; but every word said by the old manin praise of Will Belton implied an equal amount of dispraise asregarded Captain Aylmer, and contained a reproach against hisdaughter for having refused the former and accepted the latter.

  Clara was in the hall when Belton arrived, and received him as heentered, enveloped in his damp great-coats. "It is so good of you tocome in such weather," she said.

  "Nice seasonable weather, I call it," he said. It was the samecomfortable, hearty, satisfactory voice which had done so muchtowards making his way for him on his first arrival at Belton Castle.The voices to which Clara was most accustomed were querulous,--asthough the world had been found by the owners of them to be but a badplace. But Belton's voice seemed to speak of cheery days and happyfriends, and a general state of things which made life worth having.Nevertheless, forty-eight hours had not yet passed over his headsince he was walking about London in such misery that he had almostcursed the hour in which he was born. His misery still remained withhim, as black now as it had been then; and yet his voice was cheery.The sick birds, we are told, creep into holes, that they may diealone and unnoticed; and the wounded beasts hide themselves thattheir grief may not be seen of their fellows. A man has the sameinstinct to conceal the weakness of his sufferings; but, if he be aman, he hides it in his own heart, keeping it for solitude and thewatches of the night, while to the outer world he carries a face onwhich his care has made no marks.

  "You will be sorry to hear that papa is too ill to come down-stairs."

  "Is he, indeed? I am truly sorry. I had heard he was ill; but did notknow he was so ill as that."

  "Perhaps he fancies himself weaker than he is."

  "We must try and cure him of that. I can see him, I hope?"

  "Oh dear, yes. He is most anxious for you to go to him. As soon asever you can come up-stairs I will take you." He had already strippedhimself of his wrappings, and declaring himself ready, at oncefollowed Clara to the squire's room.

  "I'm sorry, sir, to find you in this way," he said.

  "I'm very poorly, Will;--very," said the squire, putting out hishand as though he were barely able to lift it above his knee. Now itcertainly was the fact that half an hour before he had been walkingacross the passage.

  "We must see if we can't soon make you better among us," said Will.

  The squire shook his head with a slow, melancholy movement, notraising his eyes from the ground. "I don't think you'll ever see memuch better, Will," he said. And yet half an hour since he had beentalking of being down in the dining-room on the next day. "I shan'ttrouble you much longer," said the squire. "You'll soon have it allwithout paying rent for it."

  This was very unpleasant, and almost frustrated Belton's attempts tobe cheery. But he persevered nevertheless. "It'll be a long time yetbefore that day comes, sir."

  "Ah; that's easily said. But never mind. Why should I want to remainwhen I shall have once seen her properly settled. I've nothing tolive for except that she may have a home."

  On this subject it was quite impossible that Belton should sayanything. Clara was standing by him, and she, as he knew, was engagedto Captain Aylmer. So circumstanced, what could he say as to Clara'ssettlement in life? That something should be said between him and theold man, and something also between him and Clara, was a matter ofcourse; but it was quite out of the question that he should discussClara's prospects in life in presence of them both together.

  "Papa's illness makes him a little melancholy," said Clara.

  "Of course,--of course. It always does," said Will.

  "I think he will be better when the weather becomes milder," saidClara.

  "I suppose I may be allowed to know how I feel myself," said thesquire. "But don't keep Will up here when he wants his dinner. There;that'll do. You'd better leave me now." Then Will went out to his oldroom, and a quarter of an hour afterwards he found himself seatedwith Clara at the dinner-table; and a quarter of an hour after thatthe dinner was over, and they had both drawn their chairs to thefire.

  Neither of them knew how to begin with the other. Clara was under noobligation to declare her engagement to her cousin, but yet she feltthat it would be unhandsome in her not to do so. Had Will never madethe mistake of wanting to marry her himself, she would have done soas a matter of course. Had she supposed him to cherish any intentionof renewing that mistake she would have felt herself bound to tellhim,--so that he might save himself from unnecessary pain. But shegave him credit for no such intention, and yet she could not butremember that scene among the rocks. And then was she, or was shenot, to say anything to him about the Askertons? With him also thedifficulty was as great. He did not in truth believe that the tidingswhich he had heard from his friend the lawyer required corroboration;but yet it was necessary that he should know from herself that shehad disposed of her hand;--and it was necessary also that he shouldsay some word to her as to their future standing and friendship.

  "You must be very anxious to see how your farm goes on," said she.

  He had not thought much of his agricultural venture at Belton forthe last three or four days, and would hardly have been vexed had hebeen told that every head of cattle about the place had died of themurrain. Some general idea of the expediency of going on with a thingwhich he had commenced still actuated
him; but it was the principleinvolved, and not the speculation itself, which interested him. Buthe could not explain all this, and he therefore was driven to somecold agreement with her. "The farm!--you mean the stock. Yes; I shallgo and have a look at them early to-morrow. I suppose they're allalive."

  "Pudge says that they are doing uncommonly well." Pudge was a leadingman among the Belton labourers, whom Will had hired to look after hisconcerns.

  "That's all right. I dare say Pudge knows quite as much about it as Ido."

  "But the master's eye is everything."

  "Pudge's eye is quite as good as mine; and probably much better, ashe knows the country."

  "You used to say that it was everything for a man to look after hisown interests."

  "And I do look after them. Pudge and I will go and have a look atevery beast to-morrow, and I shall look very wise and pretend to knowmore about it than he does. In stock-farming the chief thing is notto have too many beasts. They used to say that half-stocking waswhole profit, and whole-stocking was half profit. If the animals haveplenty to eat, and the rent isn't too high, they'll take care oftheir owner."

  "But then there is so much illness."

  "I always insure."

  Clara perceived that the subject of the cattle didn't suit thepresent occasion. When he had before been at Belton he had likednothing so much as talking about the cattle-sheds, and the land, andthe kind of animals which would suit the place; but now the noveltyof the thing was gone,--and the farmer did not wish to talk of hisfarm. In her anxiety to find a topic which would not be painful, shewent from the cattle to the cow. "You can't think what a pet Bessyhas been with us. And she seems to think that she is privileged to goeverywhere, and do anything."

  "I hope they have taken care that she has had winter food."

  "Winter food! Why Pudge, and all the Pudges, and all the family inthe house, and all your cattle would have to want, before Bessy wouldbe allowed to miss a meal. Pudge always says, with his sententiousshake of the head, that the young squire was very particular aboutBessy."

  "Those Alderneys want a little care,--that's all."

  Bessy was of no better service to Clara in her present difficultythan the less aristocratic herd of common cattle. There was a pausefor a moment, and then she began again. "How did you leave yoursister, Will?"

  "Much the same as usual. I think she has borne the first of the coldweather better than she did last year."

  "I do so wish that I knew her."

  "Perhaps you will some day. But I don't suppose that you ever will."

  "Why not?"

  "It's not likely that you'll ever come to Plaistow now;--and Marynever leaves it except to go to my uncle's."

  Clara instantly knew that he had heard of her engagement, thoughshe could not imagine from what source he had heard it. There wassomething in the tone of his voice,--something especially in theexpression of that word "now," which told her that it must be so."I should be so glad to go there if I could," she said, with thatspecial hypocrisy which belongs to women, and is allowed to them;"but, of course, I cannot leave papa in his present state."

  "And if you did leave him you would not go to Plaistow."

  "Not unless you and Mary asked me."

  "And you wouldn't if we did. How could you?"

  "What do you mean, Will? It seems as though you were almost savage tome."

  "Am I? Well;--I feel savage, but not to you."

  "Nor to any one, I hope, belonging to me." She knew that it wasall coming; that the whole subject of her future life must now bediscussed; and she began to fear that the discussion might not beeasy. But she did not know how to give it a direction. She fearedthat he would become angry, and yet she knew not why. He had acceptedhis own rejection tranquilly, and could hardly take it as an offencethat she should now be engaged to Captain Aylmer.

  "Mr. Green has told me," said he, "that you are going to be married."

  "How could Mr. Green have known?"

  "He did know;--at least I suppose he knew, for he told me."

  "How very odd."

  "I suppose it is true?" Clara did not make any immediate answer, andthen he repeated the question. "I suppose it is true?"

  "It is true that I am engaged."

  "To Captain Aylmer?"

  "Yes; to Captain Aylmer. You know that I had known him very long. Ihope that you are not angry with me because I did not write and tellyou. Strange as it may seem, seeing that you had heard it already, itis not a week yet since it was settled; and had I written to you, Icould only have addressed my letter to you here."

  "I wasn't thinking about that. I didn't specially want you to writeto me. What difference would it make?"

  "But I should have felt that I owed it to your kindness andyour--regard for me."

  "My regard! What's the use of regard?"

  "You are not going to quarrel with me, Will,because--because--because--. If you had really been my brother, asyou once said you would be, you could not but have approved of whatI have done."

  "But I am not your brother."

  "Oh, Will; that sounds so cruel!"

  "I am not your brother, and I have no right to approve ordisapprove."

  "I will not say that I could make my engagement with Captain Aylmerdependent on your approval. It would not be fair to him to do so, andit would put me into a false position."

  "Have I asked you to make any such absurd sacrifice?"

  "Listen to me, Will. I say that I could not do that. But, short ofthat, there is nothing I would not do to satisfy you. I think so muchof your judgment and goodness, and so very much of your affection; Ilove you so dearly, that--. Oh, Will, say a kind word to me!"

  "A kind word; yes, but what sort of kindness?"

  "You must know that Captain Aylmer--"

  "Don't talk to me of Captain Aylmer. Have I said anything againsthim? Have I ventured to make any objection? Of course, I know hissuperiority to myself. I know that he is a man of the world, and thatI am not; that he is educated, and that I am ignorant; that he has aposition, and that I have none; that he has much to offer, and that Ihave nothing. Of course, I see the difference; but that does not makeme comfortable."

  "Will, I had learned to love him before I had ever seen you."

  "Why didn't you tell me so, that I might have known there was nohope, and have gone away utterly,--out of the kingdom? If it was allsettled then, why didn't you tell me, and save me from breaking myheart with false hopes?"

  "Nothing was settled then. I hardly knew my own mind; but yet I lovedhim. There; cannot you understand it? Have I not told you enough?"

  "Yes, I understand it."

  "And do you blame me?"

  He paused awhile before he answered her. "No; I do not blame you. Isuppose I must blame no one but myself. But you should bear with me.I was so happy, and now I am so wretched."

  There was nothing that she could say to comfort him. She hadaltogether mistaken the nature of the man's regard, and had evenmistaken the very nature of the man. So much she now learned, andcould tell herself that had she known him better she would eitherhave prevented this second visit, or would have been careful that heshould have learned the truth from herself before he came. Now shecould only wait till he should again have got strength to hide hissuffering under the veil of his own manliness.

  "I have not a word to say against what you are doing," he said atlast; "not a word. But you will understand what I mean when I tellyou that it is not likely that you will come to Plaistow."

  "Some day, Will, when you have a wife of your own--"

  "Very well; but we won't talk about that at present, if you please.When I have, things will be different. In the meantime your courseand mine will be separate. You, I suppose, will be with him inLondon, while I shall be,--at the devil as likely as not."

  "How can you speak to me in that way? Is that like being my brother?"

  "I don't feel like being your brother. However, I beg your pardon,and now we will have done with it. Spilt milk c
an't be helped, andmy milk pans have got themselves knocked over. That's all. Don't youthink we ought to go up to your father again?"

  On the following day Belton and Mr. Amedroz discussed the samesubject, but the conversation went off very quietly. Will wasdetermined not to exhibit his weakness before the father as he haddone before the daughter. When the squire, with a maundering voice,drawled out some expression of regret that his daughter's choice hadnot fallen in another place, Will was able to say that bygones mustbe bygones. He regretted it also, but that was now over. And whenthe squire endeavoured to say a few ill-natured words about CaptainAylmer, Will stopped him at once by asserting that the Captain wasall that he ought to be.

  "And it would have made me so happy to think that my daughter's childshould come to live in his grandfather's old house," murmured Mr.Amedroz.

  "And there's no knowing that he mayn't do so yet," said Will. "Butall these things are so doubtful that a man is wrong to fix hishappiness upon them." After that he went out to ramble about theplace, and before the third day was over Clara was able to perceivethat, in spite of what he had said, he was as busy about the cattleas though his bread depended on them.

  Nothing had been said as yet about the Askertons, and Clara hadresolved that their name should not first be mentioned by her. Mrs.Askerton had prophesied that Will would have some communication tomake about herself, and Clara would at any rate see whether hercousin would, of his own accord, introduce the subject. But threedays passed by, and he had made no allusion to the cottage or itsinhabitants. This in itself was singular, as the Askertons werethe only local friends whom Clara knew, and as Belton had becomepersonally acquainted with Mrs. Askerton. But such was the case;and when Mr. Amedroz once said something about Mrs. Askerton in thepresence of both Clara and Belton, they both of them shrank from thesubject in a manner that made Clara understand that any conversationabout the Askertons was to be avoided. On the fourth day Clara sawMrs. Askerton, but then Will Belton's name was not mentioned. Therewas therefore, among them all, a sense of some mystery which madethem uncomfortable, and which seemed to admit of no solution. Clarawas more sure than ever that her cousin had made no inquiries that heshould not have made, and that he would put no information that hemight have to an improper use. But of such certainty on her part shecould say nothing.

  Three weeks passed by, and it seemed as though Belton's visit wereto come to an end without any further open trouble. Now and thensomething was said about Captain Aylmer; but it was very little, andBelton made no further reference to his own feelings. It had cometo be understood that his visit was to be limited to a month; andto both him and Clara the month wore itself away slowly, neitherof them having much pleasure in the society of the other. The oldsquire came down-stairs once for an hour or two, and spent the wholetime in bitter complaints. Everything was wrong, and everybody wasill-treating him. Even with Will he quarrelled, or did his best toquarrel, in regard to everything about the place, though at thesame time he did not cease to grumble at his visitor for going awayand leaving him. Belton bore it all so well that the grumblingand quarrelling did not lead to much; but it required all hisgood-humour and broad common sense to prevent serious troubles andmisunderstanding.

  During the period of her cousin's visit at Belton, Clara received twoletters from Captain Aylmer, who was spending the Christmas holidayswith his father and mother, and on the day previous to that of hercousin's departure there came a third. In neither of these letterswas there much said about Sir Anthony, but they were all very fullof Lady Aylmer. In the first he wrote with something of the personalenthusiasm of a lover, and therefore Clara hardly felt the littledrawbacks to her happiness which were contained in certain innuendoesrespecting Lady Aylmer's ideas, and Lady Aylmer's hopes, and LadyAylmer's fears. Clara was not going to marry Lady Aylmer, and did notfear but that she could hold her own against any mother-in-law inthe world when once they should be brought face to face. And as longas Captain Aylmer seemed to take her part rather than that of hismother it was all very well. The second letter was more trying toher temper, as it contained one or two small morsels of advice as toconduct which had evidently originated with her ladyship. Now thereis nothing, I take it, so irritating to an engaged young lady ascounsel from her intended husband's mamma. An engaged young lady, ifshe be really in love, will take almost anything from her lover aslong as she is sure that it comes altogether from himself. He maytake what liberties he pleases with her dress. He may prescribe highchurch or low church,--if he be not, as is generally the case, ina condition to accept, rather than to give, prescriptions on thatsubject. He may order almost any course of reading,--providing thathe supply the books. And he may even interfere with the style ofdancing, and recommend or prohibit partners. But he may not thrusthis mother down his future wife's throat. In answer to the secondletter, Clara did not say much to show her sense of objection. Indeedshe said nothing. But in saying nothing she showed her objection,and Captain Aylmer understood it. Then came the third letter, andas it contained matter touching upon our story, it shall be givenentire,--and I hope it may be taken by gentlemen about to marry as afair specimen of the sort of letter they ought not to write to thegirls of their hearts:--

  Aylmer Castle, 19th January, 186--.

  DEAREST CLARA,--I got your letter of the 16th yesterday, and was sorry you said nothing in reference to my mother's ideas as to the house at Perivale. Of course she knew that I heard from you, and was disappointed when I was obliged to tell her that you had not alluded to the subject. She is very anxious about you, and, having now given her assent to our marriage, is of course desirous of knowing that her kindly feeling is reciprocated. I assured her that my own Clara was the last person to be remiss in such a matter, and reminded her that young ladies are seldom very careful in their mode of answering letters. Remember, therefore, that I am now your guarantee, and send some message to relieve me from my liability.

  When I told her of your father's long illness, which she laments greatly, and of your cousin's continued presence at Belton Castle, she seemed to think that Mr. Belton's visit should not be prolonged. When I told her that he was your nearest relative, she remarked that cousins are the same as any other people,--which indeed they are. I know that my Clara will not suppose that I mean more by this than the words convey. Indeed I mean less. But not having the advantage of a mother of your own, you will not be sorry to know what are my mother's opinions on matters which so nearly concern you.

  And now I come to another subject, as to which what I shall say will surprise you very much. You know, I think, that my aunt Winterfield and I had some conversation about your neighbours, the Askertons; and you will remember that my aunt, whose ideas on such matters were always correct, was a little afraid that your father had not made sufficient inquiry respecting them before he allowed them to settle near him as tenants. It now turns out that she is,--very far, indeed, from what she ought to be. My mother at first thought of writing to you about this; but she is a little fatigued, and at last resolved that under all the circumstances it might be as well that I should tell you. It seems that Mrs. Askerton was married before to a certain Captain Berdmore, and that she left her first husband during his lifetime under the protection of Colonel Askerton. I believe they, the Colonel and Mrs. Askerton, have been since married. Captain Berdmore died about four years ago in India, and it is probable that such a marriage has taken place. But under these circumstances, as Lady Aylmer says, you will at once perceive that all acquaintance between you and the lady should be brought to an end. Indeed, your own sense of what is becoming to you, either as an unmarried girl or as my future wife, or indeed as a woman at all, will at once make you feel that this must be so. I think, if I were you, I would tell the whole to Mr. Amedroz; but this I will leave to your own discretion. I can assure you that Lady Aylmer has full proof as to the truth of what I tell you.

  I go up to
London in February. I suppose I may hardly hope to see you before the recess in July or August; but I trust that before that we shall have fixed the day when you will make me the happiest of men.

  Yours, with truest affection,

  F. F. AYLMER.

  It was a disagreeable, nasty letter from the first line to the last.There was not a word in it which did not grate against Clara'sfeelings,--not a thought expressed which did not give rise to fearsas to her future happiness. But the information which it containedabout the Askertons,--"the communication," as Mrs. Askerton herselfwould have called it,--made her for the moment almost forget LadyAylmer and her insolence. Could this story be true? And if true, howfar would it be imperative on her to take the hint, or rather obeythe order which had been given her? What steps should she take tolearn the truth? Then she remembered Mrs. Askerton's promise--"If youwant to ask any questions, and will ask them of me, I will answerthem." The communication, as to which Mrs. Askerton had prophesied,had now been made;--but it had been made, not by Will Belton, whomMrs. Askerton had reviled, but by Captain Aylmer, whose praises Mrs.Askerton had so loudly sung. As Clara thought of this, she could notanalyse her own feelings, which were not devoid of a certain triumph.She had known that Belton would not put on his armour to attack awoman. Captain Aylmer had done so, and she was hardly surprised athis doing it. Yet Captain Aylmer was the man she loved! CaptainAylmer was the man she had promised to marry. But, in truth, shehardly knew which was the man she loved!

  This letter came on a Sunday morning, and on that day she and Beltonwent to church together. On the following morning early he was tostart for Taunton. At church they saw Mrs. Askerton, whose attendancethere was not very frequent. It seemed, indeed, as though she hadcome with the express purpose of seeing Belton once during his visit.As they left the church she bowed to him, and that was all they sawof each other throughout the month that he remained in Somersetshire.

  "Come to me to-morrow, Clara," Mrs. Askerton said as they all passedthrough the village together. Clara muttered some reply, having notas yet made up her mind as to what her conduct must be. Early on thenext morning Will Belton went away, and again Clara got up to givehim his breakfast. On this occasion he had no thought of kissingher. He went away without having had a word said to him aboutMrs. Askerton, and then Clara settled herself down to the work ofdeliberation. What should she do with reference to the communicationthat had been made to her by Captain Aylmer?