Erema; Or, My Father's Sin

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XXXII

  AT HOME

  Some of the miserable, and I might say strange, things which hadbefallen me from time to time unseasonably, now began to force theirremembrance upon me. Such dark figures always seem to make the most ofa nervous moment, when solid reason yields to fluttering fear and smallmisgivings. There any body seems to lie, as a stranded sailor lies, atthe foot of perpendicular cliffs of most inhuman humanity, with all theworld frowning down over the crest, and no one to throw a rope down.Often and often had I felt this want of any one to help me, but the onlyway out of it seemed to be to do my best to help myself.

  Even, now I had little hope, having been so often dashed, and knowingthat my father's cousin possessed no share of my father's strength. Hemight, at the utmost, give good advice, and help me with kind feeling;but if he wanted to do more, surely he might have tried ere now. But mythoughts about this were cut short by a message that he would be glad tosee me, and I followed the servant to the library.

  Here I found Lord Castlewood sitting in a high-backed chair, uncushionedand uncomfortable. When he saw me near him he got up and took my hand,and looked at me, and I was pleased to find his face well-meaning,brave, and generous. But even to rise from his chair was plainly nosmall effort to him, and he leaned upon a staff or crutch as he offeredme a small white hand.

  "Miss Castlewood," he said, with a very weak yet clear and silveryvoice, "for many years I have longed in vain and sought in vain to hearof you. I have not escaped all self-reproach through my sense of want ofenergy; yet, such as I am, I have done my best, or I do my best to thinkso."

  "I am sure you have," I replied, without thinking, knowing his kindnessto my father, and feeling the shame of my own hot words to Mr. Shovelinabout him. "I owe you more gratitude than I can tell, for your goodnessto my dear father. I am not come now to trouble you, but because it wasmy duty."

  While I was speaking he managed to lead me, feebly as himself couldwalk, to a deep chair for reading, or some such use, whereof I have hadfew chances. And in every step and word and gesture I recognized thatforeign grace which true-born Britons are proud to despise on both sidesof the Atlantic. And, being in the light, I watched him well, because Iam not a foreigner.

  In the clear summer light of the westering sun (which is better foraccurate uses than the radiance of the morning) I saw a firm, calm face,which might in good health have been powerful--a face which might becalled the moonlight image of my father's. I could not help turning awayto cry, and suspicion fled forever.

  "My dear young cousin," he said, as soon as I was fit to speak to, "yourfather trusted me, and so must you. You may think that I have forgottenyou, or done very little to find you out. It was no indifference, noforgetfulness: I have not been able to work myself, and I have had verydeep trouble of my own."

  He leaned on his staff, and looked down at me, for I had sat down whenthus overcome, and I knew that the forehead and eyes were those of alearned and intellectual man. How I knew this it is impossible to say,for I never had met with such a character as this, unless it were theAbbe of Flechon, when I was only fourteen years old, and valued hisgreat skill in spinning a top tenfold more than all his deep learning.Lord Castlewood had long, silky hair, falling in curls of silver grayupon either side of his beautiful forehead, and the gaze of his softdark eyes was sad, gentle, yet penetrating. Weak health and almostconstant pain had chastened his delicate features to an expressionalmost feminine, though firm thin lips and rigid lines showed masculinewill and fortitude. And when he spoke of his own trouble (which,perhaps, he would not have done except for consolation's sake), I knewthat he meant something even more grievous than bodily anguish.

  "It is hard," he said, "that you, so young and healthy and full of highspirit as you are (unless your face belies you), should begin the bestyears of your life, as common opinion puts such things, in such a cloudof gloom and shame."

  "There is no shame at all," I answered; "and if there is gloom, I amused to that; and so was my father for years and years. What is mytrouble compared with his?"

  "Your trouble is nothing when compared with his, so far as regards themere weight of it; but he was a strong man to carry his load; you are ayoung and a sensitive woman. The burden may even be worse for you. Nowtell me all about yourself, and what has brought you to me."

  His voice was so quiet and soothing that I seemed to rest beneath it. Hehad not spoken once of religion or the will of God, nor plied me at allwith those pious allusions, which even to the reverent mind are likeillusions when so urged. Lord Castlewood had too deep a sense of thewill of God to know what it is; and he looked at me wistfully as at onewho might have worse experience of it.

  Falling happily under his influence, as his clear, kind eyes met mine,I told him every thing I could think of about my father and myself, andall I wanted to do next, and how my heart and soul were set upongetting to the bottom of every thing. And while I spoke with spirit, orsoftness, or, I fear, sometimes with hate, I could not help seeing thathe was surprised, but not wholly displeased, with my energy. And then,when all was exhausted, came the old question I had heard so often, andfound so hard to answer--

  "And what do you propose to do next, Erema?"

  "To go to the very place itself," I said, speaking strongly underchallenge, though quite unresolved about such a thing before; "to livein the house where my father lived, and my mother and all of the familydied; and from day to day to search every corner and fish up every bitof evidence, until I get hold of the true man at last, of the villainwho did it--who did it, and left my father and all the rest of us to becondemned and die for it."

  "Erema," replied my cousin, as he had told me now to call him, "you aretoo impetuous for such work, and it is wholly unfit for you. For such atask, persons of trained sagacity and keen observation are needed. Andafter all these eighteen years, or nearly nineteen now it must be, therecan not be any thing to discover there."

  "But if I like, may I go there, cousin, if only to satisfy my own mind?I am miserable now at Bruntsea, and Sir Montague Hockin wears me out."

  "Sir Montague Hockin!" Lord Castlewood exclaimed; "why, you did not tellme that he was there. Wherever he is, you should not be."

  "I forgot to speak of him. He does not live there, but is continuallyto and fro for bathing, or fishing, or rabbit-shooting, or any otherpretext. And he makes the place very unpleasant to me, kind as the Majorand Mrs. Hockin are, because I can never make him out at all."

  "Do not try to do so," my cousin answered, looking at me earnestly; "becontent to know nothing of him, my dear. If you can put up with a verydull house, and a host who is even duller, come here and live with me,as your father would have wished, and as I, your nearest relative, nowask and beg of you."

  This was wonderfully kind, and for a moment I felt tempted. LordCastlewood being an elderly man, and, as the head of our family, mynatural protector, there could be nothing wrong, and there might be muchthat was good, in such an easy arrangement. But, on the other hand, itseemed to me that after this my work would languish. Living in comfortand prosperity under the roof of my forefathers, beyond any doubt Ishould begin to fall into habits of luxury, to take to the love ofliterature, which I knew to be latent within me, to lose the clear,strong, practical sense of the duty for which I, the last of seven, wasspared, and in some measure, perhaps, by wanderings and by hardships,fitted. And then I thought of my host's weak health, continual pain (thesigns of which were hardly repressed even while he was speaking), andprobably also his secluded life. Was it fair to force him, by virtue ofhis inborn kindness and courtesy, to come out of his privileges and dealwith me, who could not altogether be in any place a mere nobody? And soI refused his offer.

  "I am very much obliged to you indeed," I said, "but I think you mightbe sorry for it. I will come and stop with you every now and then, whenyour health is better, and you ask me. But to live here altogether wouldnot do; I should like it too well, and do nothing else."

  "Perhaps you are r
ight," he replied, with the air of one who careslittle for any thing, which is to me the most melancholy thing, andworse than any distress almost; "you are very young, my dear, and yearsshould be allowed to pass before you know what full-grown sorrow is. Youhave had enough, for your age, of it. You had better not live in thishouse; it is not a house for cheerfulness."

  "Then if I must neither live here nor at Bruntsea," I asked, with suddenremonstrance, feeling as if every body desired to be quit of me or toworry me, "to what place in all the world am I to go, unless it is backto America? I will go at once to Shoxford, and take lodgings of my own."

  "Perhaps you had better wait a little while," Lord Castlewood answered,gently, "although I would much rather have you at Shoxford than whereyou are at present. But please to remember, my good Erema, that you cannot go to Shoxford all alone. I have a most faithful and trusty man--theone who opened the door to you. He has been here before his remembrance.He disdains me still as compared with your father. Will you have him tosuperintend you? I scarcely see how you can do any good, but if you dogo, you must go openly, and as your father's daughter."

  "I have no intention whatever of going in any other way, LordCastlewood; but perhaps," I continued, "it would be as well to make aslittle stir as possible. Of an English village I know nothing but thelittle I have seen at Bruntsea, but there they make a very great fussabout any one who comes down with a man-servant."

  "To be sure," replied my cousin, with a smile; "they would not be trueBritons otherwise. Perhaps you would do better without Stixon; but ofcourse you must not go alone. Could you by any means persuade your oldnurse Betsy to go with you?"

  "How good of you to think of it!--how wise you are!" I really could nothelp saying, as I gazed at his delicate and noble face. "I am sure thatif Betsy can come, she will; though of course she must be compensatedwell for the waste all her lodgers will make of it. They are verywicked, and eat most dreadfully if she even takes one day's holiday.What do you think they even do? She has told me with tears in her eyesof it. They are all allowed a pat of butter, a penny roll, and twosardines for breakfast. No sooner do they know that her back isturned--"

  "Erema!" cried my cousin, with some surprise; and being so recalled,I was ashamed. But I never could help taking interest in very littlethings indeed, until my own common-sense, or somebody else, came to tellme what a child I was. However, I do believe that Uncle Sam liked me allthe better for this fault.

  "My dear, I did not mean to blame you," Lord Castlewood said, mostkindly; "it must be a great relief for you to look on at other people.But tell me--or rather, since you have told me almost every thing youknow--let me, if only in one way I can help you, help you at least inthat way."

  Knowing that he must mean money, I declined, from no false pride, but aset resolve to work out my work, if possible, through my own resources.But I promised to apply to him at once if scarcity should again befallme, as had happened lately. And then I longed to ask him why he seemedto have so low an opinion of Sir Montague Hockin. That question,however, I feared to put, because it might not be a proper one, andalso because my cousin had spoken in a very strange tone, as if of someprivate dislike or reserve on that subject. Moreover, it was too evidentthat I had tried his courtesy long enough. From time to time pale shadesof bodily pain, and then hot flushes, had flitted across his face, likeclouds on a windy summer evening. And more than once he had glanced atthe time-piece, not to hurry me, but as if he dreaded its announcements.It was a beautiful clock, and struck with a silvery sound every quarterof an hour. And now, as I rose to say good-by, to catch my eveningtrain, it struck a quarter to five, and my cousin stood up, with hisweight upon his staff, and looked at me with an inexpressible depth ofweary misery.

  "I have only a few minutes left," he said, "during which I can say anything. My time is divided into two sad parts: the time when I am capableof very little, and the time when I am capable of nothing; and thelatter part is twice the length of the other. For sixteen hours of everyday, far better had I be dead than living, so far as our own littleinsolence may judge. But I speak of it only to excuse bad manners, andperhaps I show worse by doing so. I shall not be able to see you againuntil to-morrow morning. Do not go; they will arrange all that. Send anote to Major Hockin by Stixon's boy. Stixon and Mrs. Price will see toyour comfort, if those who are free from pain require any other comfort.Forgive me; I did not mean to be rude. Sometimes I can not help givingway."

  Less enviable than the poorest slave, Lord Castlewood sank upon his hardstiff chair, and straightened his long narrow hands upon his knees, andset his thin lips in straight blue lines. Each hand was as rigid as theivory handle of an umbrella or walking-stick, and his lips were likeclamped wire. This was his regular way of preparing for the onset ofthe night, so that no grimace, no cry, no moan, or other token of fierceagony should be wrung from him.

  "My lord will catch it stiff to-night," said Mr. Stixon, who came as Irang, and then led me away to the drawing-room; "he always have it tentimes worse after any talking or any thing to upset him like. And so,then, miss--excuse a humble servant--did I understand from him that youwas the Captain's own daughter?"

  "Yes; but surely your master wants you--he is in such dreadful pain. Doplease to go to him, and do something."

  "There is nothing to be done, miss," Stixon answered, with calmresignation; "he is bound to stay so for sixteen hours, and thenhe eases off again. But bless my heart, miss--excuse me in yourpresence--his lordship is thoroughly used to it. It is my certainknowledge that for seven years now he has never had seven minutes freefrom pain--seven minutes all of a heap, I mean. Some do say, miss, asthe Lord doeth every thing according to His righteousness, that thereason is not very far to seek."

  I asked him what he meant, though I ought, perhaps, to have put a stopto his loquacity; and he pretended not to hear, which made me ask himall the more.

  "A better man never lived than my lord," he answered, with a littleshock at my misprision; "but it has been said among censoorous personsthat nobody ever had no luck as came in suddenly to a property and ahigh state of life on the top of the heads of a family of seven."

  "What a poor superstition!" I cried, though I was not quite sure of itsbeing a wicked one. "But what is your master's malady, Stixon? Surelythere might be something done to relieve his violent pain, even if thereis no real cure for it?"

  "No, miss, nothing can be done. The doctors have exorced themselves.They tried this, that, and the other, but nature only flew worse againstthem. 'Tis a thing as was never heard of till the Constitooshon wasknocked on the head and to pieces by the Reform Bill. And though theycouldn't cure it, they done what they could do, miss. They discovered avery good name for it--they christened it the 'New-rager!'"