The Belton Estate

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE LAST DAY AT BELTON.

  In course of post there came an answer from Lady Aylmer, naming aday for Clara's journey to Yorkshire, and also a letter from CaptainAylmer, in which he stated that he would meet her in London andconvey her down to Aylmer Park. "The House is sitting," he said, "andtherefore I shall be a little troubled about my time; but I cannotallow that your first meeting with my mother should take place inmy absence." This was all very well, but at the end of the letterthere was a word of caution that was not so well. "I am sure, my dearClara, that you will remember how much is due to my mother's age,and character, and position. Nothing will be wanted to the happinessof our marriage, if you can succeed in gaining her affection, andtherefore I make it my first request to you that you should endeavourto win her good opinion." There was nothing perhaps really amiss,certainly nothing unreasonable, in such words from a future husbandto his future wife; but Clara, as she read them, shook her head andpressed her foot against the ground in anger. It would not do. Sorrowwould come, and trouble and disappointment. She did not say so, evento herself, in words; but the words, though not spoken, were audibleenough to herself. She could not, would not, bend to Lady Aylmer, andshe knew that trouble would come of this visit.

  I fear that many ladies will condemn Miss Amedroz when I tell themthat she showed this letter to her cousin Will. It does not promisewell for any of the parties concerned when a young woman with twolovers can bring herself to show the love-letters of him to whomshe is engaged to the other lover whom she has refused! But I havetwo excuses to put forward in Clara's defence. In the first place,Captain Aylmer's love-letters were not in truth love-letters, butwere letters of business; and in the next place, Clara was teachingherself to regard Will Belton as her brother, and to forget that hehad ever assumed the part of a lover.

  She was so teaching herself, but I cannot say that the lesson wasone easily learned; nor had the outrage upon her of which Will hadbeen guilty, and which was described in the last chapter, made theteaching easier. But she had determined, nevertheless, that it shouldbe so. When she thought of Will her heart would become very softtowards him; and sometimes, when she thought of Captain Aylmer, herheart would become anything but soft towards him. Unloving feelingswould be very strong within her bosom as she re-read his letters, andremembered that he had not come to her, but had sent her seventy-fivepounds to comfort her in her trouble! Nevertheless, he was to beher husband, and she would do her duty. What might have happenedhad Will Belton come to Belton Castle before she had known FredericAylmer,--of that she stoutly resolved that she would never think atall; and consequently the thought was always intruding upon her.

  "You will sleep one night in town, of course?" said Will.

  "I suppose so. You know all about it. I shall do as I'm told."

  "You can't go down to Yorkshire from here in one day. Where would youlike to stay in London?"

  "How on earth should I know? Ladies do sleep at hotels in Londonsometimes, I suppose?"

  "Oh yes. I can write and have rooms ready for you."

  "Then that difficulty is over," said Clara.

  But in Belton's estimation the difficulty was not exactly over.Captain Aylmer would, of course, be in London that night, and it wasa question with Will whether or no Clara was not bound in honourto tell the--accursed beast, I am afraid Mr. Belton called him inhis soliloquies--where she would lodge on the occasion. Or wouldit suffice that he, Will, should hand her over to the enemy at thestation of the Great Northern Railway on the following morning?All the little intricacies of the question presented themselves toWill's imagination. How careful he would be with her, that the innaccommodation should suffice for her comfort! With what pleasurewould he order a little dinner for them two, making something of agentle _fete_ of the occasion! How sedulously would he wait upon herwith those little attentions, amounting almost to worship, with whichsuch men as Will Belton are prone to treat all women in exceptionablecircumstances, when the ordinary routine of life has been disturbed!If she had simply been his cousin, and if he had never regardedher otherwise, how happily could he have done all this! As thingsnow were, if it was left to him to do, he should do it, with whatpatience and grace might be within his power; he would do it, thoughhe would be mindful every moment of the bitterness of the transferwhich he would so soon be obliged to make; but he doubted whether itwould not be better for Clara's sake that the transfer should be madeover-night. He would take her up to London, because in that way hecould be useful; and then he would go away and hide himself. "HasCaptain Aylmer said where he would meet you?" he asked after a pause.

  "Of course I must write and tell him."

  "And is he to come to you,--when you reach London?"

  "He has said nothing about that. He will probably be at the House ofCommons, or too busy somewhere to come to me then. But why do youask? Do you wish to hurry through town?"

  "Oh dear, no."

  "Or perhaps you have friends you want to see. Pray don't let me be inyour way. I shall do very well, you know."

  Belton rebuked her by a look before he answered her. "I was onlythinking," he said, "of what would be most convenient for yourself.I have nobody to see, and nothing to do, and nowhere to go to." ThenClara understood it all, and said that she would write to CaptainAylmer and ask him to join them at the hotel.

  She determined that she would see Mrs. Askerton before she went; andas that lady did not come to the Castle, Clara called upon her atthe cottage. This she did the day before she left, and she took hercousin with her. Belton had been at the cottage once or twice sincethe day on which Mrs. Askerton had explained to him how the Aylmeralliance might be extinguished, but Colonel Askerton had always beenthere, and no reference had been made to the former conversation.Colonel Askerton was not there now, and Belton was almost afraid thatwords would be spoken to which he would hardly know how to listen.

  "And so you are really going?" said Mrs. Askerton.

  "Yes; we start to-morrow," said Clara.

  "I am not thinking of the journey to London," said Mrs. Askerton,"but of the danger and privations of your subsequent progress to theNorth."

  "I shall do very well. I am not afraid that any one will eat me."

  "There are so many different ways of eating people! Are there not,Mr. Belton?"

  "I don't know about eating, but there are a great many ways of boringpeople," said he.

  "And I should think they will be great at that kind of thing atAylmer Castle. One never hears of Sir Anthony, but I can fancy LadyAylmer to be a terrible woman."

  "I shall manage to hold my own, I dare say," said Clara.

  "I hope you will; I do hope you will," said Mrs. Askerton. "I don'tknow whether you will be powerful to do so, or whether you will fail;my heart is not absolute; but I do know what will be the result ifyou are successful."

  "It is much more then than I know myself."

  "That I can believe too. Do you travel down to Yorkshire alone?"

  "No; Captain Aylmer will meet me in town."

  Then Mrs. Askerton looked at Mr. Belton, but made no immediate reply;nor did she say anything further about Clara's journey. She lookedat Mr. Belton, and Will caught her eye, and understood that he wasbeing rebuked for not having carried out that little scheme which hadbeen prepared for him. But he had come to hate the scheme, and almosthated Mrs. Askerton for proposing it. He had declared to himselfthat her welfare, Clara's welfare, was the one thing which he shouldregard; and he had told himself that he was not strong enough, eitherin purpose or in wit, to devise schemes for her welfare. She wasbetter able to manage things for herself than he was to manage themfor her. If she loved this "accursed beast," let her marry him;only,--for that was now his one difficulty,--only he could not bringhimself to think it possible that she should love him.

  "I suppose you will never see this place again?" said Mrs. Askertonafter a long pause.

  "I hope I shall, very often," said Clara. "Why should I not see itagain? It is n
ot going out of the family."

  "No; not exactly out of the family. That is, it will belong to yourcousin."

  "And cousins may be as far apart as strangers, you mean; but Will andI are not like that; are we, Will?"

  "I hardly know what we are like," said he.

  "You do not mean to say that you will throw me over? But the truthis, Mrs. Askerton, that I do not mean to be thrown over. I look uponhim as my brother, and I intend to cling to him as sisters do cling."

  "You will hardly come back here before you are married," said Mrs.Askerton. It was a terrible speech for her to make, and could onlybe excused on the ground that the speaker was in truth desirous ofdoing that which she thought would benefit both of those whom sheaddressed. "Of course you are going to your wedding now?"

  "I am doing nothing of the kind," said Clara. "How can you speak inthat way to me so soon after my father's death? It is a rebuke to mefor being here at all."

  "I intend no rebuke, as you well know. What I mean is this; if you donot stay in Yorkshire till you are married, let the time be when itmay, where do you intend to go in the meantime?"

  "My plans are not settled yet."

  "She will have this house if she pleases," said Will. "There will beno one else here. It will be her own, to do as she likes with it."

  "She will hardly come here,--to be alone."

  "I will not be inquired into, my dear," said Clara, speaking withrestored good-humour. "Of course I am an unprotected female, andsubject to disadvantages. Perhaps I have no plans for the future; andif I have plans, perhaps I do not mean to divulge them."

  "I had better come to the point at once," said Mrs. Askerton."If--if--if it should ever suit you, pray come here to us. Flowersshall not be more welcome in May. It is difficult to speak of it all,though you both understand everything as well as I do. I cannot pressmy invitation as another woman might."

  "Yes, you can," said Clara with energy. "Of course you can."

  "Can I? Then I do. Dear Clara, do come to us." And then as she spokeMrs. Askerton knelt on the ground at her visitor's knees. "Mr.Belton, do tell her that when she is tired with the grandeur ofAylmer Park she may come to us here."

  "I don't know anything about the grandeur of Aylmer Park," said Will,suddenly.

  "But she may come here;--may she not?"

  "She will not ask my leave," said he.

  "She says that you are her brother. Whose leave should she ask?"

  "He knows that I should ask his rather than that of any livingperson," said Clara.

  "There, Mr. Belton. Now you must say that she may come;--or that shemay not."

  "I will say nothing. She knows what to do much better than I can tellher."

  Mrs. Askerton was still kneeling, and again appealed to Clara."You hear what he says. What do you say yourself? Will you cometo us?--that is, if such a visit will suit you,--in point ofconvenience?"

  "I will make no promise; but I know no reason why I should not."

  "And I must be content with that? Well: I will be content." Thenshe got up. "For such a one as I am, that is a great deal. And, Mr.Belton, let me tell you this;--I can be grateful to you, though youcannot be gracious to me."

  "I hope I have not been ungracious," said he.

  "Upon my word, I cannot compliment you. But there is something somuch better than grace, that I can forgive you. You know, at anyrate, how thoroughly I wish you well."

  Upon this Clara got up to take her leave, and the demonstrativeaffection of an embrace between the two women afforded a remedy forthe awkwardness of the previous conversation.

  "God bless you, dearest," said Mrs. Askerton. "May I write to you?"

  "Certainly," said Clara.

  "And you will answer my letters?"

  "Of course I will. You must tell me everything about the place;--andespecially as to Bessy. Bessy is never to be sold;--is she, Will?"Bessy was the cow which Belton had given her.

  "Not if you choose to keep her."

  "I will go down and see to her myself," said Mrs. Askerton, "and willutter little prayers of my own over her horns,--that certain eventsthat I desire may come to pass. Good-bye, Mr. Belton. You may be asungracious as you please, but it will not make any difference."

  When Clara and her cousin left the cottage they did not return to thehouse immediately, but took a last walk round the park, and throughthe shrubbery, and up to the rocks on which a remarkable scene hadonce taken place between them. Few words were spoken as they werewalking, and there had been no agreement as to the path they wouldtake. Each seemed to understand that there was much of melancholy intheir present mood, and that silence was more fitting than speech.But when they reached the rocks Belton sat himself down, askingClara's leave to stop there for a moment. "I don't suppose I shallever come to this place again," said he.

  "You are as bad as Mrs. Askerton," said Clara.

  "I do not think I shall ever come to this place again," said he,repeating his words very solemnly. "At any rate, I will never do sowillingly, unless--"

  "Unless what?"

  "Unless you are either my wife, or have promised to become so."

  "Oh, Will; you know that that is impossible."

  "Then it is impossible that I should come here again."

  "You know that I am engaged to another man."

  "Of course I do. I am not asking you to break your engagement. I amsimply telling you that in spite of that engagement I love you aswell as I did love you before you had made it. I have a right to letyou know the truth." As if she had not known it without his tellingit to her now! "It was here that I told you that I loved you. I nowrepeat it here; and will never come here again unless I may say thesame thing over and over and over. That is all. We might as well goon now." But when he got up she sat down, as though unwilling toleave the spot. It was still winter, and the rock was damp with colddrippings from the trees, and the moss around was wet, and littlepools of water had formed themselves in the shallow holes upon thesurface. She did not speak as she seated herself; but he was ofcourse obliged to wait till she should be ready to accompany him. "Itis too cold for you to sit there," he said. "Come, Clara; I will nothave you loiter here. It is cold and wet."

  "It is not colder for me than for you."

  "You are not used to that sort of thing as I am."

  "Will," she said, "you must never speak to me again as you spoke justnow. Promise me that you will not."

  "Promises will do no good in such a matter."

  "It is almost a repetition of what you did before;--though of courseit is not so bad as that."

  "Everything I do is bad."

  "No, Will:--dear Will! Almost everything you do is good. But of whatuse can it be to either of us for you to be thinking of that whichcan never be? Cannot you think of me as your sister,--and only asyour sister?"

  "No; I cannot."

  "Then it is not right that we should be together."

  "I know nothing of right. You ask me a question, and I suppose youdon't wish that I should tell you a lie."

  "Of course I do not wish that."

  "Therefore I tell you the truth. I love you,--as any other man lovesthe girl that he does love; and, as far as I know myself now, I nevercan be happy unless you are my own."

  "Oh, Will, how can that be when I am engaged to marry another man?"

  "As to your engagement I should care nothing. Does he love you as Ilove you? If he loves you, why is he not here? If he loves you, whydoes he let his mother ill-use you, and treat you with scorn? If heloves you as I love you, how could he write to you as he does write?Would I write to you such a letter as that? Would I let you be herewithout coming to you,--to be looked after by any one else? If youhad said that you would be my wife, would I leave you in solitude andsorrow, and then send you seventy-five pounds to console you? If youthink he loves you, Clara--"

  "He thought he was doing right when he sent me the money."

  "But he shouldn't have thought it right. Never mind. I don't want toaccuse him; but thi
s I know,--and you know; he does not love you as Ilove you."

  "What can I say to answer you?"

  "Say that you will wait till you have seen him. Say that I may have ahope,--a chance; that if he is cold, and hard, and,--and,--and, justwhat we know he is, then I may have a chance."

  "How can I say that when I am engaged to him? Cannot you understandthat I am wrong to let you speak of him as you do?"

  "How else am I to speak of him? Tell me this. Do you love him?"

  "Yes;--I do."

  "I don't believe it!"

  "Will!"

  "I don't believe it. Nothing on earth shall make me believe it. It isimpossible;--impossible!"

  "Do you mean to insult me, Will?"

  "No; I do not mean to insult you, but I mean to tell you the truth. Ido not think you love that man as you ought to love the man whom youare going to marry. I should tell you just the same thing if I werereally your brother. Of course it isn't that I suppose you love anyone else,--me for instance. I'm not such a fool as that. But I don'tthink you love him; and I'm quite sure he doesn't love you. That'sjust what I believe; and if I do believe it, how am I to help tellingyou?"

  "You've no right to have such beliefs."

  "How am I to help it? Well;--never mind. I won't let you sit thereany longer. At any rate you'll be able to understand now that I shallnever come to this place any more." Clara, as she got up to obey him,felt that she also ought never to see it again;--unless,indeed,--unless--

  They passed that evening together without any reference to the sceneon the rock, or any allusion to their own peculiar troubles. Clara,though she would not admit to Mrs. Askerton that she was going awayfrom the place for ever, was not the less aware that such might veryprobably be the case. She had no longer any rights of ownership atBelton Castle, and all that had taken place between her and hercousin tended to make her feel that under no circumstances could sheagain reside there. Nor was it probable that she would be able tomake to Mrs. Askerton the visit of which they had been talking. IfLady Aylmer were wise,--so Clara thought,--there would be no mentionof Mrs. Askerton at Aylmer Park; and, if so, of course she would notoutrage her future husband by proposing to go to a house of whichshe knew that he disapproved. If Lady Aylmer were not wise;--ifshe should take upon herself the task of rebuking Clara for herfriendship,--then, in such circumstances as those, Clara believedthat the visit to Mrs. Askerton might be possible.

  But she determined that she would leave the home in which she hadbeen born, and had passed so many happy and so many unhappy days, asthough she were never to see it again. All her packing had been done,down to the last fragment of an old letter that was stuffed into herwriting-desk; but, nevertheless, she went about the house with acandle in her hand, as though she were still looking that nothing hadbeen omitted, while she was in truth saying farewell in her heart toevery corner which she knew so well. When at last she came down topour out for her desolate cousin his cup of tea, she declared thateverything was done. "You may go to work now, Will," she said, "anddo what you please with the old place. My jurisdiction in it isover."

  "Not altogether," said he. He no longer spoke like a despairinglover. Indeed there was a smile round his mouth, and his voice wascheery.

  "Yes;--altogether. I give over my sovereignty from this moment;--anda dirty dilapidated sovereignty it is."

  "That's all very well to say."

  "And also very well to do. What best pleases me in going to AylmerCastle just now is the power it gives me of doing at once that whichotherwise I might have put off till the doing of it had become muchmore unpleasant. Mr. Belton, there is the key of the cellar,--whichI believe gentlemen always regard as the real sign of possession. Idon't advise you to trust much to the contents." He took the key fromher, and without saying a word chucked it across the room on to anold sofa. "If you won't take it, you had better, at any rate, have ittied up with the others," she said.

  "I dare say you'll know where to find it when you want it," heanswered.

  "I shall never want it."

  "Then it's as well there as anywhere else."

  "But you won't remember, Will."

  "I don't suppose I shall have occasion for remembering." Then hepaused a moment before he went on. "I have told you before that I donot intend to take possession of the place. I do not regard it asmine at all."

  "And whose is it, then?"

  "Yours."

  "No, dear Will; it is not mine. You know that."

  "I intend that it shall be so, and therefore you might as well putthe keys where you will know how to find them."

  After he had gone she did take up the key, and tied it with sundryothers, which she intended to give to the old servant who was to beleft in charge of the house. But after a few moments' considerationshe took the cellar key again off the bunch, and put it back upon thesofa,--in the place to which he had thrown it.

  On the following morning they started on their journey. The old flyfrom Redicote was not used on this occasion, as Belton had ordered apair of post-horses and a comfortable carriage from Taunton. "I thinkit such a shame," said Clara, "going away for the last time withouthaving Jerry and the grey horse." Jerry was the man who had oncedriven her to Taunton when the old horse fell with her on the road."But Jerry and the grey horse could not have taken you and me too,and all our luggage," said Will. "Poor Jerry! I suppose not," saidClara; "but still there is an injury done in going without him."

  There were four or five old dependents of the family standing roundthe door to bid her adieu, to all of whom she gave her hand with acordial pressure. They, at least, seemed to regard her departure asfinal. And of course it was final. She had assured herself of thatduring the night. And just as they were about to start, both Coloneland Mrs. Askerton walked up to the door. "He wouldn't let you gowithout bidding you farewell," said Mrs. Askerton. "I am so glad toshake hands with him," Clara answered. Then the Colonel spoke a wordto her, and, as he did so, his wife contrived to draw Will Belton fora moment behind the carriage. "Never give it up, Mr. Belton," saidshe, eagerly. "If you persevere she'll be yours yet." "I fear not,"he said. "Stick to her like a man," said she, pressing his hand inher vehemence. "If you do, you'll live to thank me for having toldyou so." Will had not a word to say for himself, but he thought thathe would stick to her. Indeed, he thought that he had stuck to herpretty well.

  At last they were off, and the village of Belton was behind them.Will, glancing into his cousin's face, saw that her eyes were ladenwith tears, and refrained from speaking. As they passed the uglyred-brick rectory-house, Clara for a moment put her face to thewindow, and then withdrew it. "There is nobody there," she said, "whowill care to see me. Considering that I have lived here all my life,is it not odd that there should be so few to bid me good-bye?"

  "People do not like to put themselves forward on such occasions,"said Will.

  "People!--there are no people. No one ever had so few to care forthem as I have. And now--. But never mind; I mean to do very well,and I shall do very well." Belton would not take advantage of her inher sadness, and they reached the station at Taunton almost withoutanother word.

  Of course they had to wait there for half an hour, and of course thewaiting was very tedious. To Will it was very tedious indeed, as hewas not by nature good at waiting. To Clara, who on this occasionsat perfectly still in the waiting-room, with her toes on the fenderbefore the fire, the evil of the occasion was not so severe. "The manwould take two hours for the journey, though I told him an hour and ahalf would be enough," said Will, querulously.

  "But we might have had an accident."

  "An accident! What accident? People don't have accidents every day."

  At last the train came and they started. Clara, though she had withher her best friend,--I may almost say the friend whom in the worldshe loved the best,--did not have an agreeable journey. Belton wouldnot talk; but as he made no attempt at reading, Clara did not liketo have recourse to the book which she had in her travelling-bag. Hesat opposite to
her, opening the window and shutting it as he thoughtshe might like it, but looking wretched and forlorn. At Swindonhe brightened up for a moment under the excitement of getting hersomething to eat, but that relaxation lasted only for a few minutes.After that he relapsed again into silence till the train had passedSlough, and he knew that in another half-hour they would be inLondon. Then he leant over her and spoke.

  "This will probably be the last opportunity I shall have of saying afew words to you,--alone."

  "I don't know that at all, Will."

  "It will be the last for a long time at any rate. And as I have gotsomething to say, I might as well say it now. I have thought a greatdeal about the property,--the Belton estate, I mean; and I don'tintend to take it as mine.

  "That is sheer nonsense, Will. You must take it, as it is yours, andcan't belong to any one else."

  "I have thought it over, and I am quite sure that all the business ofthe entail was wrong,--radically wrong from first to last. You are tounderstand that my special regard for you has nothing whatever to dowith it. I should do the same thing if I felt that I hated you."

  "Don't hate me, Will!"

  "You know what I mean. I think the entail was all wrong, and I shan'ttake advantage of it. It's not common sense that I should haveeverything because of poor Charley's misfortune."

  "But it seems to me that it does not depend upon you or upon me, orupon anybody. It is yours,--by law, you know."

  "And therefore it won't be sufficient for me to give it up withoutmaking it yours by law also,--which I intend to do. I shall stay intown to-morrow and give instructions to Mr. Green. I have thoughtit proper to tell you this now, in order that you may mention it toCaptain Aylmer."

  They were leaning over in the carriage one towards the other; herface had been slightly turned away from him; but now she slowlyraised her eyes till they met his, and looking into the depth ofthem, and seeing there all his love and all his suffering, and thegreat nobility of his nature, her heart melted within her. Gradually,as her tears came,--would come, in spite of all her constraint, sheagain turned her face towards the window. "I can't talk now," shesaid, "indeed I can't."

  "There is no need for any more talking about it," he replied. Andthere was no more talking between them on that subject, or on anyother, till the tickets had been taken and the train was again inmotion. Then he referred to it again for a moment. "You will tellCaptain Aylmer, my dear."

  "I will tell him what you say, that he may know your generosity. Butof course he will agree with me that no such offer can be accepted.It is quite,--quite,--quite,--out of the question."

  "You had better tell him and say nothing more; or you can ask himto see Mr. Green,--after to-morrow. He, as a man who understandsbusiness, will know that this arrangement must be made, if I chooseto make it. Come; here we are. Porter, a four-wheeled cab. Do you gowith him, and I'll look after the luggage."

  Clara, as she got into the cab, felt that she ought to have beenmore stout in her resistance to his offer. But it would be better,perhaps, that she should write to him from Aylmer Park, and getFrederic to write also.