CHAPTER XII.
LADY ONGAR TAKES POSSESSION.
I do not know that there is in England a more complete gentleman'sresidence than Ongar Park, nor could there be one in better repair,or more fit for immediate habitation than was that house when it cameinto the hands of the young widow. The park was not large, containingabout sixty or seventy acres. But there was a home-farm attached tothe place, which also now belonged to Lady Ongar for her life, andwhich gave to the park itself an appearance of extent which it wouldotherwise have wanted. The house, regarded as a nobleman's mansion,was moderate in size, but it was ample for the requirements of anyordinarily wealthy family. The dining-room, library, drawing-rooms,and breakfast-room, were all large and well-arranged. The hall washandsome and spacious, and the bed-rooms were sufficiently numerousto make an auctioneer's mouth water. But the great charm of OngarPark lay in the grounds immediately round the house, which slopeddown from the terrace before the windows to a fast-running streamwhich was almost hidden,--but was not hidden,--by the shrubs on itsbank. Though the domain itself was small, the shrubberies and walkswere extensive. It was a place costly to maintain in its presentperfect condition, but when that was said against it, all was saidagainst it which its bitterest enemies could allege.
But Lady Ongar, with her large jointure, and with no externalexpenses whatever, could afford this delight without imprudence.Everything in and about the place was her own, and she might livethere happily, even in the face of the world's frowns, if she couldteach herself to find happiness in rural luxuries. On her immediatereturn to England, her lawyer had told her that he found there wouldbe opposition to her claim, and that an attempt would be made to keepthe house out of her hands. Lord Ongar's people would, he said, bribeher to submit to this by immediate acquiescence as to her income.But she had declared that she would not submit,--that she wouldhave house and income and all; and she had been successful. "Whyshould I surrender what is my own?" she had said, looking the lawyerfull in the face. The lawyer had not dared to tell her that heropponents,--Lord Ongar's heirs,--had calculated on her anxiety toavoid exposure; but she knew that that was meant. "I have nothing tofear from them," she said, "and mean to claim what is my own by mysettlement." There had, in truth, been no ground for disputing herright, and the place was given up to her before she had been threemonths in England. She at once went down and took possession, andthere she was, alone, when her sister was communicating to HarryClavering her plan about Captain Archie.
She had never seen the place till she reached it on this occasion;nor had she ever seen, nor would she now probably ever see, LordOngar's larger house, Courton Castle. She had gone abroad with himimmediately on their marriage, and now she had returned a widow totake possession of his house. There she was in possession of it all.The furniture in the rooms, the books in the cases, the gilded clocksand grand mirrors about the house, all the implements of wealthycare about the gardens, the corn in the granaries and the ricksin the hay-yard, the horses in the stable, and the cows lowing inthe fields,--they were all hers. She had performed her part of thebargain, and now the price was paid to her into her hands. When shearrived she did not know what was the extent of her riches in thisworld's goods; nor, in truth, had she at once the courage to askquestions on the subject. She saw cows, and was told of horses; andwords came to her gradually of sheep and oxen, of poultry, pigs, andgrowing calves. It was as though a new world had opened itself beforeher eyes, full of interest, and as though all that world were herown. She looked at it, and knew that it was the price of her bargain.Upon the whole she had been very lucky. She had, indeed, passedthrough a sharp agony,--an agony sharp almost to death; but the agonyhad been short, and the price was in her hand.
A close carriage had met her at the station, and taken her with hermaid to the house. She had so arranged that she had reached thestation after dark, and even then had felt that the eyes of many wereupon her as she went out to her carriage, with her face covered bya veil. She was all alone, and there would be no one at the houseto whom she could speak;--but the knowledge that the carriage washer own perhaps consoled her. The housekeeper who received her was astout, elderly, comfortable body, to whom she could perhaps say a fewwords beyond those which might be spoken to an ordinary servant; butshe fancied at once that the housekeeper was cold to her, and solemnin her demeanour. "I hope you have good fires, Mrs. Button." "Yes,my lady." "I think I will have some tea; I don't want anything elseto-night." "Very well, my lady." Mrs. Button, maintaining a solemncountenance, would not go beyond this; and yet Mrs. Button lookedlike a woman who could have enjoyed a gossip, had the lady been alady to her mind. Perhaps Mrs. Button did not like serving a lady asto whom such sad stories were told. Lady Ongar, as she thought ofthis, drew herself up unconsciously, and sent Mrs. Button away fromher.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, Lady Ongar went out. Shewas determined that she would work hard; that she would understandthe farm; that she would know the labourers; that she would assistthe poor; that she would have a school; and, above all, that shewould make all the privileges of ownership her own. Was not the pricein her hand, and would she not use it? She felt that it was very goodthat something of the price had come to her thus in the shape ofland, and beeves, and wide, heavy outside garniture. From them shewould pluck an interest which mere money could not have given her.She was out early, therefore, that she might look round upon thethings that were her own.
And there came upon her a feeling that she would not empty this sweetcup at one draught, that she would dally somewhat with the richbanquet that was spread for her. She had many griefs to overcome,much sorrow to conquer, perhaps a long period of desolation toassuage, and she would not be prodigal of her resources. As shelooked around her while she walked, almost furtively, lest somegardener as he spied her might guess her thoughts and tell how mylady was revelling in her pride of possession,--it appeared to herthat those novelties in which she was to find her new interest werewithout end. There was not a tree there, not a shrub, not a turn inthe walks, which should not become her friend. She did not go farfrom the house, not even down to the water. She was husbanding herresources. But yet she lost herself amidst the paths, and tried tofind a joy in feeling that she had done so. It was all her own. Itwas the price of what she had done; and the price was even now beingpaid into her hand,--paid with current coin and of full weight.
As she sat down alone to her breakfast, she declared to herself thatthis should be enough for her,--that it should satisfy her. She hadmade her bargain with her eyes open, and would not now ask for thingswhich had not been stipulated in the contract. She was alone, and allthe world was turning its back on her. The relatives of her latehusband would, as a matter of course, be her enemies. Them she hadnever seen, and that they should speak evil of her seemed to be onlynatural. But her own relatives were removed from her by a gulf nearlyequally wide. Of Brabazon cousins she had none nearer than the thirdor fourth degree of cousinship, and of them she had never taken heed,and expected no heed from them. Her set of friends would naturallyhave been the same as her sister's, and would have been made up ofthose she had known when she was one of Sir Hugh's family. But fromSir Hugh she was divided now as widely as from the Ongar people,and,--for any purposes of society,--from her sister also. Sir Hughhad allowed his wife to invite her to Clavering, but to this shewould not submit after Sir Hugh's treatment to her on her return.Though she had suffered much, her spirit was unbroken. Sir Hugh was,in truth, responsible for her reception in England. Had he comeforward like a brother, all might have been well. But it was too latenow for Sir Hugh Clavering to remedy the evil he had done, and heshould be made to understand that Lady Ongar would not become asuppliant to him for mercy. She was striving to think how "rich shewas in horses, how rich in broidered garments and in gold," as shesat solitary over her breakfast; but her mind would run off to otherthings, cumbering itself with unnecessary miseries and uselessindignation. Had she not her price in her hand?
Would she see th
e steward that morning? No,--not that morning. Thingsoutside could go on for a while in their course as heretofore. Shefeared to seem to take possession with pride, and then there was thatconviction that it would be well to husband her resources. So shesent for Mrs. Button, and asked Mrs. Button to walk through the roomswith her. Mrs. Button came, but again declined to accept her lady'scondescension. Every spot about the house, every room, closet, andwardrobe, she was ready to open with zeal; the furniture she wasprepared to describe, if Lady Ongar would listen to her; but everyword was spoken in a solemn voice, very far removed from gossiping.Only once was Mrs. Button moved to betray any emotion. "That, mylady, was my lord's mother's room, after my lord died,--my lord'sfather that was; may God bless her." Then Lady Ongar reflected thatfrom her husband she had never heard a word either of his father orhis mother. She wished that she could seat herself with that woman insome small upstairs room, and then ask question after question aboutthe family. But she did not dare to make the attempt. She could notbring herself to explain to Mrs. Button that she had never knownanything of the belongings of her own husband.
When she had seen the upper part of the house, Mrs. Button offered toconvoy her through the kitchens and servants' apartments, but shedeclined this for the present. She had done enough for the day. Soshe dismissed Mrs. Button, and took herself to the library. How oftenhad she heard that books afforded the surest consolation to thedesolate. She would take to reading; not on this special day, but asthe resource for many days and months, and years to come. But thisidea had faded and become faint, before she had left the gloomy,damp-feeling, chill room, in which some former Lord Ongar had storedthe musty volumes which he had thought fit to purchase. The librarygave her no ease, so she went out again among the lawns and shrubs.For some time to come her best resources must be those which shecould find outside the house.
Peering about, she made her way behind the stables, which wereattached to the house, to a farmyard gate, through which the way ledto the head-quarters of the live-stock. She did not go through, butshe looked over the gate, telling herself that those barns and sheds,that wealth of straw-yard, those sleeping pigs and idle dreamingcalves, were all her own. As she did so, her eye fell upon an oldlabourer, who was sitting close to her, on a felled tree, under theshelter of a paling, eating his dinner. A little girl, some six yearsold, who had brought him his meal tied up in a handkerchief, wascrouching near his feet. They had both seen her before she had seenthem, and when she noticed them, were staring at her with all theireyes. She and they were on the same side of the farmyard paling, andso she could reach them and speak to them without difficulty. Therewas apparently no other person near enough to listen, and it occurredto her that she might at any rate make a friend of this old man. Hisname, he said, was Enoch Gubby, and the girl was his grandchild. Hername was Patty Gubby. Then Patty got up and had her head patted byher ladyship and received sixpence. They neither of them, however,knew who her ladyship was, and, as far as Lady Ongar could ascertainwithout a question too direct to be asked, had never heard of her.Enoch Gubby said he worked for Mr. Giles, the steward,--that was formy lord, and as he was old and stiff with rheumatism he only goteight shillings a week. He had a daughter, the mother of Patty, whoworked in the fields, and got six shillings a week. Everything aboutthe poor Gubbys seemed to be very wretched and miserable. Sometimeshe could hardly drag himself about, he was so bad with therheumatics. Then she thought that she would make one person happy,and told him that his wages should be raised to ten shillings a week.No matter whether he earned it or not, or what Mr. Giles might say,he should have ten shillings a week. Enoch Gubby bowed, and rubbedhis head, and stared, and was in truth thankful because of thesixpence in ready money; but he believed nothing about the tenshillings. He did not especially disbelieve, but simply feltconfident that he understood nothing that was said to him. Thatkindness was intended, and that the sixpence was there, he didunderstand.
Was not the price in her hand?]
But Enoch Gubby got his weekly ten shillings, though Lady Ongarhardly realized the pleasure that she had expected from thetransaction. She sent that afternoon for Mr. Giles, the steward, andtold him what she had done. Mr. Giles did not at all approve, andspoke his disapproval very plainly, though he garnished his rebukewith a great many "my lady's." The old man was a hanger-on about theplace, and for years had received eight shillings a week, which hehad not half earned. "Now he will have ten, that is all," said LadyOngar. Mr. Giles acknowledged that if her ladyship pleased, EnochGubby must have the ten shillings, but declared that the businesscould not be carried on in that way. Everybody about the place wouldexpect an addition, and those people who did earn what they received,would think themselves cruelly used in being worse treated than EnochGubby, who, according to Mr. Giles, was by no means the most worthyold man in the parish. And as for his daughter--oh! Mr. Giles couldnot trust himself to talk about the daughter to her ladyship. Beforehe left her, Lady Ongar was convinced that she had made a mistake.Not even from charity will pleasure come, if charity be taken upsimply to appease remorse.
The price was in her hand. For a fortnight the idea clung to her,that gradually she would realize the joys of possession; but therewas no moment in which she could tell herself that the joy was hers.She was now mistress of the geography of the place. There was no morelosing herself amidst the shrubberies, no thought of economizing herresources. Of Mr. Giles and his doings she still knew very little,but the desire of knowing much had faded. The ownership of thehaystacks had become a thing tame to her, and the great cart-horses,as to every one of which she had intended to feel an interest, werematters of indifference to her. She observed that since her arrival anew name in new paint,--her own name,--was attached to the carts, andthat the letters were big and glaring. She wished that this had notbeen done, or, at any rate, that the letters had been smaller. Thenshe began to think that it might be well for her to let the farm toa tenant; not that she might thus get more money, but because shefelt that the farm would be a trouble. The apples had indeed quicklyturned to ashes between her teeth!
On the first Sunday that she was at Ongar Park she went to the parishchurch. She had resolved strongly that she would do this, and she didit; but when the moment for starting came, her courage almost failedher. The church was but a few yards from her own gate, and she walkedthere without any attendant. She had, however, sent word to thesexton to say that she would be there, and the old man was ready toshow her into the family pew. She wore a thick veil, and was dressed,of course, in all the deep ceremonious woe of widowhood. As shewalked up the centre of the church she thought of her dress, and toldherself that all there would know how it had been between her and herhusband. She was pretending to mourn for the man to whom she had soldherself; for the man who through happy chance had died so quickly,leaving her with the price in her hand! All of course knew that, andall thought that they knew, moreover, that she had been foully falseto her bargain, and had not earned the price! That, also, she toldherself. But she went through it, and walked out of the church amongthe village crowd with her head on high.
Three days afterwards she wrote to the clergyman, asking him to callon her. She had come, she said, to live in the parish, and hoped tobe able, with his assistance, to be of some use among the people.She would hardly know how to act without some counsel from him. Theschools might be all that was excellent, but if there was anythingrequired she hoped he would tell her. On the following morning theclergyman called, and, with many thanks for her generosity, listenedto her plans, and accepted her subsidies. But he was a married man,and he said nothing of his wife, nor during the next week did hiswife come to call on her. She was to be left desolate by all, becausemen had told lies of her!
She had the price in her hands, but she felt herself tempted to do asJudas did,--to go out and hang herself.
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