Clara Vaughan, Volume 3 (of 3)

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER V.

  Eager as Isola was to see her true father at last, she pressed mestrongly to call at her brother's lodgings on our way to Paddington, andtake him with us if possible; or at any rate learn where he was, and howlong he would be absent. But I refused to do anything of the kind.Though not half so proud as of old, I could not quite stoop to that."You know, dear," she continued, "Conny will think it unfair of me toget such a start of him with the real good Papa; and it would be so muchnicer to have him there to help. And I am terribly frightened, thoughof course you can't understand it."

  "Isola, no more nonsense. For your sake, and my poor Uncle's, I woulddo anything honest and proper: but neither can I travel with yourbrother Conrad, nor can I go near his lodgings. I am not quite reducedto that, however I am trampled on."

  "But, darling, they need not see you. And you know he has made somewonderful mistake."

  Of course I knew it, and told myself so fifty times in a minute; but itwas a likely thing that I would tell his sister so.

  "He has, indeed, a very grave mistake, if he ever thinks I will forgivehim. No mistake ever made by man can be pleaded for what he has done.Even if he believed, by some excess of absurdity, that my father hadmurdered his, instead of his murdering mine (which was much nearer themark), would even that justify his rudeness, low rudeness, and personalviolence to a lady? What he did I never told you; and he, I should hope,was too much ashamed to speak of it: why he actually pushed me; thrustme, Clara Vaughan, away from him, till I almost fell on the floor!"

  "Oh, Donna, how your eyes flash! And you call me excitable! Let me putyour hair back. There now, give me a kiss. I am so sorry for Conny.He loves you with all his heart, and you look as if you could kill him.But no doubt the new good papa will put every thing to rights."

  "Will he indeed? Let us go and see."

  We got to Paddington just in time to catch the two o'clock train, havingtelegraphed first to my Uncle that I was coming to take his advice,before doing anything more. This was true, so far as it went, and asmuch of the truth as I then dared to administer. This message was sent,not for the sake of finding the carriage at Gloucester, but in order tobreak the suddenness of our arrival. Through all my joy I dreaded whatwas to come, and knew not how to manage it. Idols talked fast enoughall the way down the line. As yet she had seen scarcely anything of ourquiet, rich English scenery; and although the Great Western exhibits itrather flatly, some parts there are, below Swindon, which fill the mindwith content. But our minds could not be so filled, being full ofexcitement already. Near Stroud poor Idols was in the greatest ecstasy,and expected me to know the owner of every pretty meadow.

  But after we entered my Uncle's carriage--or mine, I suppose, it shouldnow be called--dear Isola fell away into the deepest silence. Shestored her wonder inwardly, nor showed the sweet depths of her eyes,until she sprang out at the foot of the old stone steps, trodden by somany hundreds of her ancestors. Then she looked up at the long grayhouse, with the dusk of July around it, and bats of three varietiesflitting about the gables; and I saw beneath her dark eye-lashes thetremulous light of a tear.

  After leading my sweet new cousin--whom everybody stared at, and whofeared to look at the pavement--to my own snug quarters, I left herthere under kind Mrs. Fletcher's charge, and ran to my Uncle's favouriteroom. Already my breath was short, and my heart up and down withexcitement, and I had but the presence of mind to know that I was sureto make a mistake of it. I saw a great change in him, even since theMonday; but he was the first to speak.

  "My dear child, kiss me again. You are nearly as tall as I am, since myupright ways have departed. From the moment you went away, I have donenothing but miss you, every hour and every minute; and last night Islept never a single wink. Let us give it up, my darling. God has sentyou to me to make up for both daughter and son."

  "Well, Uncle, that's all very fine, but I doubt it strongly." I wasforced to be flippant a little, for fear of breaking down. "It is myfirm belief that proud Clara will still have to wash at the pump."

  He knew what I meant; it was an old tale, in our neighbourhood, of anobleman's second wife who would not allow her step-children even theuse of a yellow basin.

  "What! do you mean to say"--and he began to tremble exceedingly--"thatyou have found any trace, any clue even, to my poor darlings?"

  "Yes, thank God, I have. Oh, Uncle, I am so glad!" And I threw myselfinto his arms: his head fell heavily on my shoulder, and I felt that Ihad been too sudden. He could not speak, but fetched one long sob. Iparted his white hair, and looked at him as if in surprise at hishastiness.

  "Dear Uncle, we must not be certain yet. I mean that I have foundsomething, or fancy I have found something, which--which--I mean ifproperly followed up--may lead in time--but you know how sanguine I am."

  "Clara, you are playing with me. It is a mistake to do so. I cannotbear it, child. But the sudden shock I can bear. Let me know all atonce. Are they alive or dead?"

  "Alive, I think, dear Uncle; and I hope to find them soon, if you willcalmly advise me."

  "You have found them. No more fencing. I know it by your eyes. Allthe truth this moment, unless you wish to kill me."

  He stood up as if to seize me, for I had withdrawn from his grasp, buthis poor legs would not carry him; so I was obliged to seize himinstead. He fell sideways on a chair, and vainly tried to speak; buthis eyes never faltered from mine.

  "Dearest Uncle, I tell you the truth. Of course I cannot be certainyet, and it won't do to make a mistake; and so I want more evidence."

  "I want no more. Only let me see them." He spoke very slowly, and themuscles of his face twitched at every word.

  "Now, keep your mind calm and clear, to help me, my dear Uncle; for Iknow not what to do. Have you anything, any tokens at all, of theirbeloved mother?"

  My object was to divert his mind, for I saw the approach of coma, andnow trembled more than he did.

  With a feeble smile at the folly of my question, after such a love ashis, he answered in great exhaustion,

  "Take the key from my neck. You know the large black box in--in--"

  Here his chin fell on his breast, and he could not lift the key, but hiseyes still shone with intelligence, and followed me everywhere. Ribbonand all I took the key, and rang the bell for Jane, the most careful andkind of nurses. I ordered her, in a whisper, to give my Uncle a glassof very strong brandy and water, if she could get him to swallow it; andaway I ran upstairs, hoping to relieve him. Then suddenly it struck methat I had no right to open that box, without the presence of acompetent witness. I knew at once what box it was, from the constantanxiety my poor Uncle had shown about it. Who had such right to be mywitness as his darling daughter? So back I flew to my own rooms, anddragged the bewildered Isola down the broad corridor. The poor littlething was frightened so that she could hardly breathe. I had noespecial object in opening that old box, at that particular moment, muchas I had often longed to know what its contents were. My presence ofmind was lost, and all I could think of was, that I might find somethingthere to break that awful suspension of life, so likely to end in death.

  The box was in a panelled closet by the head of my Uncle's bed. When Ihanded Idols the light to hold, she took it as if in a dream; her cheekswere as white and transparent as the wax, and she held the candle sothat a hot flake splashed on my neck. The lock of the long box turnedmost easily, and the hinges moved without creaking: most likely it hadbeen pored over every day, for many years. The lid was arched andhollow, with straps of faded web inside it.

  In beautiful order, so fair that I hardly dared to touch them, lay theclothes and trinkets, the letters and little relics, the gloves andpocket-handkerchiefs, the fairy slippers, the wedding-dress, thecoquettish veil, and saucy hat of the dead. I am not over sensitive,thank God, or I should not be living now; but the sight of those thingsupset me more than any distress of my own. The small parcels of silverp
aper, screwed at the end and pinned in the middle, the pins putstupidly as men always put them, the light gay dresses made for somesweet figure, folded with such care, and yet quite out of the plaits,and labelled with the dates when last the dear one wore them, even awithered fern-wreath and a sprig of shrivelled myrtle--I could notthrust my commonplace hands into these holy treasures; if I could Ishould never deserve to be myself so remembered. But one thing struckme, as thoughts profane always strike us crookedly; if the poor ladycould have been wept to life again, how much better would she have foundall her things arranged, than she had ever kept them! That is to say ifshe resembled her wondering and crying daughter, who knelt down andwanted to kiss every article in the box. Her little white hands were asbusy as mice among them; and long-drawn sobs were tumbled withinterjections.

  "Now, my dearest Idols, you must not disturb these things. Your fatherwill be so vexed."

  Would he though?--said I to myself--not if he knew whose hand it wasthat did it. She paid no attention to me.

  "Now just put back that silver knife, with the bit of peach-skin uponit: and leave the stone as it was."

  To my surprise she began to suck the stone, which her mother perhaps hadsucked, eighteen years ago. Inside the paper was written, "Knife andpeach-stone found in my Lily's pocket. The stone was meant for me toset. I will plant it, when I have found her children. E.V., January,1834."

  "Now, you foolish child, you are really too bad." And with that I gaveher a little push. In her heedless way, she fell almost into the box,and her light form lay amongst her mother's dresses. A sudden thoughtflashed across me.

  "Isola, off with that nasty dark frock!"

  "Nasty, indeed, Clara! Why you said this morning how very pretty itwas."

  "What has that to do with it? Pull it off, or I'll tear it. Now, outwith the other arm."

  In a moment or two, I had all her beauty gleaming in white before me;and carefully taking from the box a frock of pale blue silk, I lifted itover her head, and drew her dimpled arms through the sleeves; then Ifixed it in front with the turquoise buttons, and buckled the slenderzone. Her blue eyes looked on in amazement, like violets at asnow-storm. Then I led her to the mirror, and proud as we both hadalways been of her beauty, the same thought struck us now. I saw it inthe mirror, by the toss of her pointed chin and the coy bend of herneck: she saw it there as clearly, by the flash of my tear-bright eyes.Neither of us had ever seen that loveliest of all girls look half solovely before. The glow of pride and beauty's glory mantled in hercheeks; and her eyes were softly beaming down the avenue of lashes, fromclearest depths of azure. I never saw such eyes as she had, among allour English beauties. Some perhaps are as fine of colour, and asliquid, though not so lustrous: but the exquisite arch of the upper lid,and the rich short fringe of the lower, cast a tremulous light andshade, which dull Anglo-Saxons feel not. Like moonbeams playing througha mantled bridge.

  The dress fitted her exactly. It had been made for a slender, buoyantfigure, as graceful and pure as a snow-wreath, yet full of warm motionand richness. Indeed, I must confess, that, although correct enough forthe time and clime of the owner, it showed too much of the lifting snowfor our conceptions of maidenhood: so I drew a gauzy scarf--perhaps atrue _fazoletto_--over the velvet slope of the shoulders, and imprisonedit in the valley. This being nicely arranged, I hung her chalcedonycharm from her neck, and fastened it to her waist-band. Then I caughtup her clustering hair, nearly as thick and long as my own, after theCorsican fashion, snooded it close in ripples with a pink andwhite-striped mandile, and told her to love herself in the glass, whileI ran off to the hot-house for a truss of Stephanotis. This, with aglossy sprig of Gardenia leaves to back it, I fastened cleverly into theclear mandile, on the curve of her elegant head, and my darling wascomplete. Then I kissed her sweet lips, and admired her, more than sheadmired herself.

  "Clara, it does not matter how much trouble you take; you can't make melook a quarter so well as you do."

  "Not quite so tall, my darling, nor anything like so naughty; but athousand times more lovely."

  "Well, I wish I could think so. I am always longing to change withyou."

  "Don't talk nonsense, my pretty; if I were a man I should die for you.Now I glory in you as a Vaughan. Come along."

  I led her through the gallery and to the door of her father's room,before she had time to think. She did not know but what I was takingher back to my own rooms, along another passage. At the sick man's doorI left her, while I went in to see how much might be safely ventured.

  My Uncle was leaning back in his deep reclining chair, with his weakeyes fixed most eagerly on the door. In vain he strove to hide hisdisappointment, and to look at me with gratitude. The wandering mindtoo plainly hoped for something dearer than a brother's child.

  Dismissing Jane through the other room, that she might not encounterIsola, I sat down to examine him. The brandy and water had rallied hisvital power, but made him hot and feverish. He kissed my hand to atonefor some sharp and impatient expressions, and I saw that the moment wasfavourable.

  "Uncle dear, what will you say to me? I have brought you another newvisitor, the loveliest girl in London. You know her well by name. Youhave often longed to see my sweet darling Isola. And she wants to seeyou so much. Only you must promise me one thing honourably. Be gay andsprightly with her; she is timid in this old house."

  "My dear, I can't see her to-night. You don't mean that of course.Give her my best apologies. You say she is very sweet-tempered; I amsure she will excuse me."

  "If she would, I will not. Nor would you excuse her, if you knew whomshe resembles."

  "What do you mean? Have you locked my box again?"

  "Yes, and here is the key. I found a portrait of a lady"--I had notshown this to my cousin--"very like beautiful Isola."

  He began to tremble again, so I thought the quicker the better. Placingthe lamp-shade so that a dim light fell on the door, I ran out to fetchhis daughter.

  "Now, don't be a baby, Isola. Remember how ill he is. Keep as much inthe shadow as possible; and if he should guess who you are, pretend notto care a bit for him."

  "I will try my very best, Clara. But I don't think I can do that."

  She shook so much that I was obliged to support her, as she hadsupported me that evening when first we met. Stiffly I brought her in,and began to introduce her, holding her back all the time.

  "Uncle Edgar, this is my dearest friend, of whom you have heard sooften, Miss Isola"--Ross I could not say. "Why, Uncle--why, Idols,darling--"

  It was all in vain; I might as well have spared my devices. From themoment she crossed the threshold, his eyes had been leaping towards her.The paralysed man bounded forward, as if with galvanic life. Hisdaughter met him as wildly. "My Lily, my Lily," was all he could sob,"my own Lily come from the grave!" With a father's strength he claspedher, and her dark locks were showered with silver. As for tears--but Ileft them together when I had seen both safe on the sofa.