The Claverings

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XV.

  AN EVENING IN BOLTON STREET.

  Ten days after his visit in Mount Street, Harry received the notewhich Lady Ongar had written to him on the night of her arrival inLondon. It was brought to Mr. Beilby's office by her own footmanearly in the morning; but Harry was there at the time, and was thusable to answer it, telling Lady Ongar that he would come as she haddesired. She had commenced her letter "Dear Harry," and he wellremembered that when she had before written she had called him "DearMr. Clavering." And though the note contained only half-a-dozenordinary words, it seemed to him to be affectionate, and almostloving. Had she not been eager to see him, she would hardly thus havewritten to him on the very instant of her return. "Dear Lady Ongar,"he wrote, "I shall dine at my club, and be with you about eight.Yours always, H. C." After that he could hardly bring himself to worksatisfactorily during the whole day. Since his interview with theFranco-Polish lady he had thought a good deal about himself, and hadresolved to work harder and to love Florence Burton more devotedlythan ever. The nasty little woman had said certain words to himwhich had caused him to look into his own breast and to tell himselfthat this was necessary. As the love was easier than the work, hebegan his new tasks on the following morning by writing a long andvery affectionate letter to his own Flo, who was still stayingat Clavering rectory;--a letter so long and so affectionate thatFlorence, in her ecstasy of delight, made Fanny read it, and confessthat, as a love-letter, it was perfect.

  "It's great nonsense, all the same," said Fanny.

  "It isn't nonsense at all," said Florence; "and if it were, it wouldnot signify. Is it true? That's the question."

  "I'm sure it's true," said Fanny.

  "And so am I," said Florence. "I don't want any one to tell me that."

  "Then why did you ask, you simpleton?" Florence indeed was havinga happy time of it at Clavering rectory. When Fanny called her asimpleton, she threw her arms round Fanny's neck and kissed her.

  And Harry kept his resolve about the work too, investigating planswith a resolution to understand them which was almost successful.During those days he would remain at his office till past fouro'clock, and would then walk away with Theodore Burton, diningsometimes in Onslow Crescent, and going there sometimes in theevening after dinner. And when there he would sit and read; andonce when Cecilia essayed to talk to him, he told her to keep herapron-strings to herself. Then Theodore laughed and apologized,and Cecilia said that too much work made Jack a dull boy; and thenTheodore laughed again, stretching out his legs and arms as herested a moment from his own study, and declared that, under thosecircumstances, Harry never would be dull. And Harry, on thoseevenings, would be taken upstairs to see the bairns in their cots;and as he stood with their mother looking down upon the children,pretty words would be said about Florence and his future life; andall was going merry as a marriage bell. But on that morning, whenthe note had come from Lady Ongar, Harry could work no more to hissatisfaction. He scrawled upon his blotting-paper, and made noprogress whatsoever towards the understanding of anything. It wasthe day on which, in due course, he would write to Florence; and hedid write to her. But Florence did not show this letter to Fanny,claiming for it any meed of godlike perfection. It was a stupid,short letter, in which he declared that he was very busy, and thathis head ached. In a postscript he told her that he was going to seeLady Ongar that evening. This he communicated to her under an ideathat by doing so he made everything right. And I think that thetelling of it did relieve his conscience.

  He left the office soon after three, having brought himself tobelieve in the headache, and sauntered down to his club. He found menplaying whist there, and, as whist might be good for his head, hejoined them. They won his money, and scolded him for playing badlytill he was angry, and then he went out for a walk by himself. As hewent along Piccadilly, he saw Sophie Gordeloup coming towards him,trotting along, with her dress held well up over her ankles, eager,quick, and, as he said to himself, clearly intent upon some mischief.He endeavoured to avoid her by turning up the Burlington Arcade, butshe was too quick for him, and was walking up the arcade by his sidebefore he had been able to make up his mind as to the best mode ofridding himself of such a companion.

  "Ah, Mr. Clavering, I am so glad to see you. I was with Julie lastnight. She was fagged, very much fagged; the journey, you know, andthe business. But yet so handsome! And we talked of you. Yes, Mr.Clavering; and I told her how good you had been in coming to me. Shesaid you were always good; yes, she did. When shall you see her?"

  Harry Clavering was a bad hand at fibbing, and a bad hand also atleaving a question unanswered. When questioned in this way he did notknow what to do but to answer the truth. He would much rather nothave said that he was going to Bolton Street that evening, but hecould find no alternative. "I believe I shall see her this evening,"he said, simply venturing to mitigate the evil of making thecommunication by rendering it falsely doubtful. There are men who fibwith so bad a grace and with so little tact that they might as wellnot fib at all. They not only never arrive at success, but never evenventure to expect it.

  "Ah, this evening. Let me see. I don't think I can be there to-night;Madame Berenstoff receives at the embassy."

  "Good afternoon," said Harry, turning into Truefit's, thehairdresser's, shop.

  "Ah, very well," said Sophie to herself; "just so. It will be better,much better. He is simply one lout, and why should he have it all? MyGod, what fools, what louts, are these Englishmen!" Now having readSophie's thoughts so far, we will leave her to walk up the remainderof the arcade by herself.

  I do not know that Harry's visit to Truefit's establishment had beenin any degree caused by his engagement for the evening. I fancy thathe had simply taken to ground at the first hole, as does a huntedfox. But now that he was there he had his head put in order, andthought that he looked the better for the operation. He then wentback to his club, and when he sauntered into the card-room one oldgentleman looked askance at him, as though inquiring angrily whetherhe had come there to make fresh misery. "Thank you; no,--I won't playagain," said Harry. Then the old gentleman was appeased, and offeredhim a pinch of snuff. "Have you seen the new book about whist?" saidthe old gentleman. "It is very useful,--very useful. I'll send you acopy if you will allow me." Then Harry left the room, and went downto dinner.

  It was a little past eight when he knocked at Lady Ongar's door.I fear he had calculated that if he were punctual to the moment,she would think that he thought the matter to be important. It wasimportant to him, and he was willing that she should know that it wasso. But there are degrees in everything, and therefore he was twentyminutes late. He was not the first man who has weighed the diplomaticadvantage of being after his time. But all those ideas went from himat once when she met him almost at the door of the room, and, takinghim by the hand, said that she was "so glad to see him,--so veryglad. Fancy, Harry, I haven't seen an old friend since I saw youlast. You don't know how hard all that seems."

  "It is hard," said he; and when he felt the pressure of her hand, andsaw the brightness of her eye, and when her dress rustled againsthim as he followed her to her seat, and he became sensible of theinfluence of her presence, all his diplomacy vanished, and he wassimply desirous of devoting himself to her service. Of course,any such devotion was to be given without detriment to that otherdevotion which he owed to Florence Burton. But this stipulation,though it was made, was made quickly, and with a confused brain.

  "Yes,--it is hard," she said. "Harry, sometimes I think I shall gomad. It is more than I can bear. I could bear it if it hadn't been myown fault,--all my own fault."

  There was a suddenness about this which took him quite by surprise.No doubt it had been her own fault. He also had told himself that;though, of course, he would make no such charge to her. "You have notrecovered yet," he said, "from what you have suffered lately. Thingswill look brighter to you after a while."

  "Will they? Ah,--I do not know. But come, Harry; come and sit down,and let me get you some
tea. There is no harm, I suppose, in havingyou here,--is there?"

  "Harm, Lady Ongar?"

  "Yes,--harm, Lady Ongar." As she repeated her own name after him,nearly in his tone, she smiled once again; and then she looked as sheused to look in the old days, when she would be merry with him. "Itis hard to know what a woman may do, and what she may not. When myhusband was ill and dying, I never left his bedside. From the momentof my marrying him till his death, I hardly spoke to a man but in hispresence; and when once I did, it was he that had sent him. And forall that people have turned their backs upon me. You and I were oldfriends, Harry, and something more once,--were we not? But I jiltedyou, as you were man enough to tell me. How I did respect you whenyou dared to speak the truth to me. Men don't know women, or theywould be harder to them."

  "I did not mean to be hard to you."

  "If you had taken me by the shoulders and shaken me, and havedeclared that before God you would not allow such wickedness, Ishould have obeyed you. I know I should." Harry thought of Florence,and could not bring himself to say that he wished it had been so."But where would you have been then, Harry? I was wrong and false anda beast to marry that man; but I should not, therefore, have beenright to marry you and ruin you. It would have been ruin, you know,and we should simply have been fools."

  "The folly was very pleasant," said he.

  "Yes, yes; I will not deny that. But then the wisdom and the prudenceafterwards! Oh, Harry, that was not pleasant. That was not pleasant!But what was I saying? Oh! about the propriety of your being here. Itis so hard to know what is proper. As I have been married, I supposeI may receive whom I please. Is not that the law?"

  "You may receive me, I should think. Your sister is my cousin'swife." Harry's matter-of-fact argument did as well as anything else,for it turned her thought at the moment.

  "My sister, Harry! If there was nothing to make us friends but ourconnection through Sir Hugh Clavering, I do not know that I should beparticularly anxious to see you. How unmanly he has been, and howcruel."

  "Very cruel," said Harry. Then he thought of Archie and Archie'ssuit. "But he is willing to change all that now. Hermione asked methe other day to persuade you to go to Clavering."

  "And have you come here to use your eloquence for that purpose? Iwill never go to Clavering again, Harry, unless it should be yoursand your wife should offer to receive me. Then I'd pack up for thedear, dull, solemn old place though I was on the other side ofEurope."

  "It will never be mine."

  "Probably not, and probably, therefore, I shall never be there again.No; I can forgive an injury, but not an insult,--not an insult suchas that. I will not go to Clavering; so, Harry, you may save youreloquence. Hermione I shall be glad to see whenever she will cometo me. If you can persuade her to that, you will persuade her to acharity."

  "She goes nowhere, I think, without his--his--"

  "Without his permission. Of course she does not. That, I suppose, isall as it should be. And he is such a tyrant that he will give nosuch permission. He would tell her, I suppose, that her sister was nofit companion for her."

  "He could not say that now, as he has asked you there."

  "Ah, I don't know that. He would say one thing first and anotherafter, just as it would suit him. He has some object in wishingthat I should go there, I suppose." Harry, who knew the object, andwho was too faithful to betray Lady Clavering, even though he wasaltogether hostile to his cousin Archie's suit, felt a little proudof his position, but said nothing in answer to this. "But I shallnot go; nor will I see him, or go to his house when he comes up toLondon. When do they come, Harry?"

  "He is in town now."

  "What a nice husband, is he not? And when does Hermione come?"

  "I do not know; she did not say. Little Hughy is ill, and that maykeep her."

  "After all, Harry, I may have to pack up and go to Clavering evenyet,--that is, if the mistress of the house will have me."

  "Never in the way you mean, Lady Ongar. Do not propose to kill all myrelations in order that I might have their property. Archie intendsto marry, and have a dozen children."

  "Archie marry! Who will have him? But such men as he are often in theway by marrying some cookmaid at last. Archie is Hugh's body-slave.Fancy being body-slave to Hugh Clavering! He has two, and poor Hermyis the other; only he prefers not to have Hermy near him, which islucky for her. Here is some tea. Let us sit down and be comfortable,and talk no more about our horrid relations. I don't know what mademe speak of them. I did not mean it."

  Harry sat down and took the cup from her hand, as she had bidden theservant to leave the tray upon the table.

  "So you saw Count Pateroff," she said.

  "Yes, and his sister."

  "So she told me. What do you think of them?" To this question Harrymade no immediate answer. "You may speak out. Though I lived abroadwith such as them for twelve months, I have not forgotten the sweetscent of our English hedgerows, nor the wholesomeness of Englishhousehold manners. What do you think of them?"

  "They are not sweet or wholesome," said he.

  "Oh, Harry, you are so honest! Your honesty is beautiful. A spadewill ever be a spade with you."

  He thought that she was laughing at him, and coloured.

  "You pressed me to speak," he said, "and I did but use your ownwords."

  "Yes, but you used them with such straightforward violence! Well, youshall use what words you please, and how you please, because a wordof truth is so pleasant after living in a world of lies. I know youwill not lie to me, Harry. You never did."

  He felt that now was the moment in which he should tell her of hisengagement, but he let the moment pass without using it. And, indeed,it would have been hard for him to tell. In telling such a story hewould have been cautioning her that it was useless for her to lovehim,--and this he could not bring himself to do. And he was not sureeven now that she had not learned the fact from her sister. "I hopenot," he said. In all that he was saying he knew that his words weretame and impotent in comparison with hers, which seemed to him tomean so much. But then his position was so unfortunate! Had it notbeen for Florence Burton he would have been long since at her feet;for, to give Harry Clavering his due, he could be quick enough atswearing to a passion. He was one of those men to whom love-makingcomes so readily that it is a pity that they should ever marry. Hewas ever making love to women, usually meaning no harm. He madelove to Cecilia Burton over her children's beds, and that discreetmatron liked it. But it was a love-making without danger. It simplysignified on his part the pleasure he had in being on good terms witha pretty woman. He would have liked to have made love in the sameway to Lady Ongar; but that was impossible, and in all love-makingwith Lady Ongar there must be danger. There was a pause after theexpression of his last hopes, during which he finished his tea, andthen looked at his boots.

  "You do not ask me what I have been doing at my country-house."

  "And what have you been doing there?"

  "Hating it."

  "That is wrong."

  "Everything is wrong that I do; everything must be wrong. That is thenature of the curse upon me."

  "You think too much of all that now."

  "Ah, Harry, that is so easily said. People do not think of suchthings if they can help themselves. The place is full of him and hismemories; full of him, though I do not as yet know whether he everput his foot in it. Do you know, I have a plan, a scheme, whichwould, I think, make me happy for one half-hour. It is to giveeverything back to the family. Everything! money, house, and name;to call myself Julia Brabazon, and let the world call me what itpleases. Then I would walk out into the streets, and beg some oneto give me my bread. Is there one in all the wide world that wouldgive me a crust? Is there one, except yourself, Harry--one, exceptyourself?"

  Poor Florence! I fear it fared badly with her cause at this moment.How was it possible that he should not regret, that he should notlook back upon Stratton with something akin to sorrow? Julia had beenhis first love, and to her h
e could have been always true. I fear hethought of this now. I fear that it was a grief to him that he couldnot place himself close at her side, bid her do as she had planned,and then come to him, and share all his crusts. Had it been open tohim to play that part, he would have played it well, and would havegloried in the thoughts of her poverty. The position would havesuited him exactly. But Florence was in the way, and he could not doit. How was he to answer Lady Ongar? It was more difficult now thanever to tell her of Florence Burton.

  His eyes were full of tears, and she accepted that as his excuse fornot answering her. "I suppose they would say that I was a romanticfool. When the price has been taken one cannot cleanse oneself of thestain. With Judas, you know, it was not sufficient that he gave backthe money. Life was too heavy for him, and so he went out and hangedhimself."

  "Julia," he said, getting up from his chair, and going over to whereshe sat on a sofa, "Julia, it is horrid to hear you speak of yourselfin that way. I will not have it. You are not such a one as theIscariot." And as he spoke to her, he found her hand in his.

  "I wish you had my burden, Harry, for one half day, so that you mightknow its weight."

  "I wish I could bear it for you--for life."

  "To be always alone, Harry; to have none that come to me and scoldme, and love me, and sometimes make me smile! You will scold me atany rate; will you not? It is terrible to have no one near one thatwill speak to one with the old easiness of familiar affection. Andthen the pretence of it where it does not, cannot, could not, exist!Oh, that woman, Harry;--that woman who comes here and calls me Julie!And she has got me to promise too that I would call her Sophie! Iknow that you despise me because she comes here. Yes; I can see it.You said at once that she was not wholesome, with your dear outspokenhonesty."

  "It was your word."

  "And she is not wholesome, whosever word it was. She was there,hanging about him when he was so bad, before the worst came. She readnovels to him,--books that I never saw, and played ecarte with himfor what she called gloves. I believe in my heart she was spying me,and I let her come and go as she would, because I would not seem tobe afraid of her. So it grew. And once or twice she was useful tome. A woman, Harry, wants to have a woman near her sometimes,--eventhough it be such an unwholesome creature as Sophie Gordeloup. Youmust not think too badly of me on her account."

  "I will not;--I will not think badly of you at all."

  "He is better, is he not? I know little of him or nothing, but he hasa more reputable outside than she has. Indeed I liked him. He hadknown Lord Ongar well; and though he did not toady him nor was afraidof him, yet he was gentle and considerate. Once to me he said wordsthat I was called on to resent;--but he never repeated them, and Iknow that he was prompted by him who should have protected me. It istoo bad, Harry, is it not? Too bad almost to be believed by such asyou."

  "It is very bad," said Harry.

  "After that he was always courteous; and when the end came and thingswere very terrible, he behaved well and kindly. He went in and outquietly, and like an old friend. He paid for everything, and wasuseful. I know that even this made people talk;--yes, Harry, even atsuch a moment as that! But in spite of the talking I did better withhim then than I could have done without him."

  "He looks like a man who could be kind if he chooses."

  "He is one of those, Harry, who find it easy to be good-natured,and who are soft by nature, as cats are,--not from their heart, butthrough instinctive propensity to softness. When it suits them,they scratch, even though they have been ever so soft before. CountPateroff is a cat. You, Harry, I think are a dog." She perhapsexpected that he would promise to her that he would be her dog,--adog in constancy and affection; but he was still mindful in part ofFlorence, and restrained himself.

  "I must tell you something further," she said. "And indeed it is thisthat I particularly want to tell you. I have not seen him, you know,since I parted with him at Florence."

  "I did not know," said Harry.

  "I thought I had told you. However, so it is. And now, listen:--Hecame down to Ongar Park the other day while I was there, and sentin his card. When I refused to receive him, he wrote to me pressinghis visit. I still declined, and he wrote again. I burned his note,because I did not choose that anything from him should be in mypossession. He told some story about papers of Lord Ongar. I havenothing to do with Lord Ongar's papers. Everything of which I knewwas sealed up in the count's presence and in mine, and was sent tothe lawyers for the executors. I looked at nothing; not at one wordin a single letter. What could he have to say to me of Lord Ongar'spapers?"

  "Or he might have written?"

  "At any rate he should not have come there, Harry. I would not seehim, nor, if I can help it, will I see him here. I will be open withyou, Harry. I think that perhaps it might suit him to make me hiswife. Such an arrangement, however, would not suit me. I am not goingto be frightened into marrying a man, because he has been falselycalled my lover. If I cannot escape the calumny in any other way, Iwill not escape it in that way."

  "Has he said anything?"

  "No; not a word. I have not seen him since the day after Lord Ongar'sfuneral. But I have seen his sister."

  "And has she proposed such a thing?"

  "No, she has not proposed it. But she talks of it, saying that itwould not do. Then, when I tell her that of course it would not do,she shows me all that would make it expedient. She is so sly and sofalse, that with all my eyes open I cannot quite understand her, orquite know what she is doing. I do not feel sure that she wishes itherself."

  "She told me that it would not do."

  "She did, did she? If she speaks of it again, tell her that she isright, that it will never do. Had he not come down to Ongar Park, Ishould not have mentioned this to you. I should not have thought thathe had in truth any such scheme in his head. He did not tell you thathe had been there?"

  "He did not mention it. Indeed, he said very little about you atall."

  "No, he would not. He is cautious. He never talks of anybody toanybody. He speaks only of the outward things of the world. Now,Harry, what you must do for me is this." As she was speaking to himshe was leaning again upon the table, with her forehead resting uponher hands. Her small widow's cap had become thus thrust back, and wasnow nearly off her head, so that her rich brown hair was to be seenin its full luxuriance, rich and lovely as it had ever been. Could itbe that she felt,--half thought, half felt, without knowing that shethought it,--that while the signs of her widowhood were about her,telling in their too plain language the tale of what she had been, hecould not dare to speak to her of his love? She was indeed a widow,but not as are other widows. She had confessed, did hourly confess toherself, the guilt which she had committed in marrying that man; butthe very fact of such confessions, of such acknowledgment, absolvedher from the necessity of any show of sorrow. When she declared howshe had despised and hated her late lord, she threw off mentallyall her weeds. Mourning, the appearance even of mourning, becameimpossible to her, and the cap upon her head was declared openly tobe a sacrifice to the world's requirements. It was now pushed back,but I fancy that nothing like a thought on the matter had made itselfplain to her mind. "What you must do for me is this," she continued."You must see Count Pateroff again, and tell him from me,--as myfriend,--that I cannot consent to see him. Tell him that if he willthink of it, he must know the reason why."

  "Of course he will know."

  "Tell him what I say, all the same; and tell him that as I havehitherto had cause to be grateful to him for his kindness, so alsoI hope he will not put an end to that feeling by anything now, thatwould not be kind. If there be papers of Lord Ongar's, he can takethem either to my lawyers, if that be fit, or to those of the family.You can tell him that, can you not?"

  "Oh, yes; I can tell him."

  "And have you any objection?"

  "None for myself. The question is,--would it not come better fromsome one else?"

  "Because you are a young man, you mean? Whom else can I
trust, Harry?To whom can I go? Would you have me ask Hugh to do this? Or, perhapsyou think Archie Clavering would be a proper messenger. Who else haveI got?"

  "Would not his sister be better?"

  "How should I know that she had told him? She would tell him her ownstory,--what she herself wished. And whatever story she told, hewould not believe it. They know each other better than you and I knowthem. It must be you, Harry, if you will do it."

  "Of course I will do it. I will try and see him to-morrow. Where doeshe live?"

  "How should I know? Perhaps nobody knows; no one, perhaps, of allthose with whom he associates constantly. They do not live after ourfashion, do they, these foreigners? But you will find him at hisclub, or hear of him at the house in Mount Street. You will do it;eh, Harry?"

  "I will."

  "That is my good Harry. But I suppose you would do anything I askedyou. Ah, well; it is good to have one friend, if one has no more.Look, Harry! if it is not near eleven o'clock! Did you know that youhad been here nearly three hours? And I have given you nothing but acup of tea!"

  "What else do you think I have wanted?"

  "At your club you would have had cigars and brandy-and-water, andbilliards, and broiled bones, and oysters, and tankards of beer.I know all about it. You have been very patient with me. If you goquick perhaps you will not be too late for the tankards and theoysters."

  "I never have any tankards or any oysters."

  "Then it is cigars and brandy-and-water. Go quick, and perhaps youmay not be too late."

  "I will go, but not there. One cannot change one's thoughts sosuddenly."

  "Go, then; and do not change your thoughts. Go and think of me, andpity me. Pity me for what I have got, but pity me most for what Ihave lost." Harry did not say another word, but took her hand, andkissed it, and then left her.

  Pity her for what she had lost! What had she lost? What did she meanby that? He knew well what she meant by pitying her for what she hadgot. What had she lost? She had lost him. Did she intend to evoke hispity for that loss? She had lost him. Yes, indeed. Whether or no theloss was one to regret, he would not say to himself; or rather, he,of course, declared that it was not; but such as it was, it had beenincurred. He was now the property of Florence Burton, and, whateverhappened, he would be true to her.

  Perhaps he pitied himself also. If so, it is to be hoped thatFlorence may never know of such pity. Before he went to bed, whenhe was praying on his knees, he inserted it in his prayers that theGod in whom he believed might make him true in his faith to FlorenceBurton.