Clara Vaughan, Volume 2 (of 3)

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER IV.

  The bailiff's discovery, and the pursuit commenced thereon, appeared tome so important, that in reply to the message received the nextmorning--that my uncle was much the same, and longing for my return--Isent word that my journey was put off until the day after the morrow.This allowed me one day more for tidings from my new scouts, as to thesuccess of their efforts. I was very sorry to disappoint my poor sickuncle, but it seemed still worse to run away all in the dark.

  The next thing I did was to arrange with Mrs. Shelfer about the money Ihad paid for her. It was not the money I cared for, but I had otherviews. Although she was politely thankful, I perceived that she thoughtit a very bad job indeed, and a most romantic transaction. Thirty percent. was the very largest dividend she had ever intended to pay. Butthe plan which I proposed was so much for her benefit, while it suitedme, who otherwise must have lost the money, that it almost recovered herfrom the shock of having paid a debt. The plan was simply this, thatshe should reserve my rooms for me, airing and cleaning them duly, andalways keeping the bed in a fit state to be slept on at an hour'snotice. My previous rent had been twelve shillings a week, the utmost Icould afford out of my narrow income; attendance, and linen, and othertroubles being now dispensed with, I thought it fair to allow her tenshillings off her debt to me, for every week I should so retain therooms. The 4*l.* for the expenses of the execution I forgave heraltogether; inasmuch as I had paid without consulting her. Directly mypayment should be exhausted, to wit in twenty weeks, I would send her afurther sum, if I still required the rooms.

  She was delighted with this arrangement, which in fact enabled her tohave her "sticks" all to herself, to pet them and talk to them everyday, and even to clean them, if such a freak of destruction ever shouldenter her brain. She could use the sitting-room for her own pleasureand pride, as much as ever she chose, so long as it always was ready forme; and already visions were passing before her mind's eye, of lettingthe parlour downstairs with the onion-room for its dormitory. To me thearrangement was very convenient, as affording a fixed and familiarresort in London, and a pivot of ready communication. Nor was it a smallconsolation to feel that I still retained a stronghold in theneighbourhood of dear friends.

  All this being comfortably settled, Giudice and I went forth to pay ourvisit in Lucas Street. The whole of that street we found so utterlychanged in appearance by a vigorous onset of painters, grainers, anddecorators, that it was not easy to know the house we were in quest of.Even the numbers on the doors, which had been illegible, or very nearlyso, had now been re-arranged and painted over again upon the fashionableand very sensible mode of marking odd numerals on one side, and evenones on the other. Finding myself in a difficulty, and the houses allalike as the central peas of a pod, I trusted to Judy's delicate nose,and rang the bell of the door at which he halted. Then he drew back,and trembled, and crouched upon the pavement, to wait for my return. AsI heard the tinkle, my heart began to flutter: who could tell what newphase of my life might begin with that little pull? After some delay,poor old Cora came, looking as weird and woebegone as ever--fierce wouldhave been that look to any one but me. I knew that I held her by mymagic gordit, like the slave of the lamp. After imploring in somemumbled words (which I interpreted only by knowledge of her desire)gracious leave to kiss that potent charm, she led me into thebreakfast-parlour, where I found sweet Isola in a passionate flood oftears.

  At sight of me, her beautiful smile broke through them, and her quickdeep sobs spent themselves in kisses.

  "Oh, I am so gug-gug-glad, my own dear Cla-Cla-Clara; and I won'tcuc-cuc-cry one bit more, the moment I can stop."

  She put her arms around me, and her head upon my breast, as if I hadbeen, at the very least, her brother.

  "My pretty dear, what is it all about?"

  I had never seen her look so lovely as now, her violet eyes brimmingwith liquid brightness, the velvet of her cheeks deepened to richcarmine, and the only thing that sweet face ever wanted, the expressionof earnest feeling, now radiant through the whole.

  "Why, dear, I ought not to tell you; but I must tell somebody, or myheart will break."

  Here she pressed her little hand on that pure unfissured casket, wheresorrow was as yet an undreamed-of robber.

  "You know, dear, it's all about papa and my darling Conny. The onlytrouble I ever have, but a very great one, big enough and too big fortwo little folk of my size. Half an hour ago, I went in suddenly to geta book upon the politico-economical science, the very one papa islecturing about so beautifully; and I did not even know that Conny wasin the house. There papa was, white as death with passion; and Conradwith his eyes like coals of sparkling fire; and what do you suppose mypapa called his own son Conny?"

  "Don't tell me, if it's anything bad. I can't bear it, Isola."

  "Oh, I knew you were fond of him, and I am so glad!"

  This she said in such an artless way--as if Conrad and I were two dollswhich she meant to put in one doll's house--that instead of colouring, Iactually laughed.

  "Oh, but I must tell you, Clara: it's right for you to know; one of theleading principles of political economy--"

  "Don't talk to me of that stuff."

  "Well, I won't; because I see that you don't understand it. But heactually called him--and his voice came from a depth, like an Artesianwell--he called our darling Conny--"

  "What?" And in my passion, I flung off her hand, and stood up.

  "A low bastard, a renegade hound, a scandal to his country--and then heeven said Rimbecco."

  She pronounced the last word almost with a scream, as an insult beyondforgiveness. What it meant I did not ask, I had heard enough already.

  "I must leave this house. Where is your brother Conrad?"

  "Gone, I believe, to inquire for you. Nothing but that composes him. Iwish he would never come here. And he was ordered not to. But it isabout some business. Oh, he never will come again." And she began tocry at the thought of the very thing she had wished for.

  "Neither will I come again. Where is your father now?"

  "Up at his lumbering cabinet, where he always consoles himself, wheneverhe is put out. But if you are going, dear child, do let me come withyou. I shall cry till I die here, all by myself: and Pappy never caresabout me, when he is in his black dudgeon."

  In a few minutes we left the rude unpleasant house, and even Judy seemedrelieved to get away from the door. By the time we reached Mrs.Shelfer's, Idols was in capital spirits again, and pressed me for someaccount of the wonderful wealth, and the grand house she had heard of.No doubt this rumour had found its way through Ann Maples.

  "And the great Lord--what's his name, dear Donna? I wouldn't believe aword of it; though I'm sure you are a deal too good for all the house ofpeers. But Conny did; and wasn't he in a way? But he ought to be veryglad you know--wish you every blessing, as they say in the plays; and apeer is the very highest blessing to an Englishwoman. But one thing Iam quite resolved on: Judy belongs to me now, don't you, lovely Judy?"

  "No," said the judicious, "I belong to Clara."

  "Though Conny pretends, since he was left at your place, that he belongsto him. Now I will give him to you; and so will Conny too. You canafford to keep him now, and I can't, he does eat such a lot; and he doesnot care a pin for me, but he loves you with all his heart."

  "How do you know he does?" I was not attending much, but thinking ofsome one else.

  "Why, can't you see that he does, how he wags his tail every time youeven look at him? But I hope poor Conny is here. I should think hewould stop, when he finds _darling Clara_ come back."

  I had jumped to that hope long ago, before we even left Lucas Street,and that had something to do with my walking so fast.

  No, he was not there, he had not been there to-day. It was my turn nowto cry; what might he not have done, after that fearful insult, and fromhis own father too?

  The tears, which I confided to no one e
xcept the wooden-leggedblackbird--for Giudice would have made such a fuss about them--werestill upon my cheeks, when I heard the well-known step--not half soelastic as usual. I fled into my bedroom, and pushed the boxes about,to make a goodly noise, and to account for the colour in my face. Thenout I came at the side-door, and ran downstairs perversely, though Iknew that Conrad and Isola were in my sitting-room.

  But this first-rate manoeuvre only outwitted its author, for Isola randown after me, and sent me upstairs alone. All my little nonsensevanished the moment I looked in Conrad's face. His healthy browncomplexion was faded to an opal white; beneath his eyes such dark bluerims, that I thought he had spectacles on; and on either cheek a roundred spot was burning. So shocked I was, that when he took my hand, Iturned my face away and smothered down a sob. I felt that I had noright to be so fresh and blooming. Nor was it only in health that thecontrast between us lay. I was dressed with unusual care, havingfidgeted all the morning, and with my utmost taste. Poor Conrad was inhis working clothes, full of marble dust, tumbled, threadbare, and evenin need of mending; his hair swept anyhow, and his hands not over-latelywashed. Yet, for all that, he was as clearly a gentleman, as I was alady.

  Not so would he have been arrayed, I fancy, had he thought to see neatClara. And yet, who knows? "I trust that you will excuse me," he beganto say, "but such things have happened lately--you will not account merude--I had no sense at all of this great pleasure."

  "I fear you have not been very happy." I knew not what to say, or howto keep my voice clear.

  "Yes," he replied, "as happy as I deserve. It serves me aright foresteeming so much of myself, before that I do anything. But I will winmy way"--and his own proud glance flashed out--"and we shall see howmany will scorn me then."

  "No one in the world can scorn you," I said very softly, and my voicethrilled through him.

  "Ah, you are always kind and gentle:"--am I though, thought I--"but Iwill no more fatigue you with my different lot in life. I am told thatsome great nobleman has won you for his own. Perhaps you will give mean order."

  His throat was swelling with these bitter words, and he looked at hisdusty clothes. Somewhat rude I thought him, but I knew not half histroubles.

  "Whoever told you that, has made a great mistake. I am engaged to noone. Your sister knows me better." And I turned away to the window.For a minute he said nothing; but I could hear his heart beat.Stedfastly I looked at the cheesemonger's shop. Oh for a flower, orsomething on the balcony!

  Presently he came round the corner of the sofa. Without being rude, Icould not help turning round.

  His face was much, much, brighter, and his eyes more kind.

  "Have I said any harm--I would not for the world--I knew not it washarm."

  "No harm," I said, "to think so ill of me! To believe, for a singlemoment, that because I am not so poor, I would go and forsake--at least,I mean, forget--any one I cared for!"

  "Can I ever hope, if I serve you all my life, that you will ever carefor me?"

  "Don't you know I do?" And I burst into my violent flood.

  When I came to myself, both his arms were round me, and I was looking upat his poor sick face, my hair quite full of marble chips, and he wastelling me with glad tears in his eyes, which he never took from mine,how he cared for nothing now, not for all the world, not for glory orfur shame, so long as I only loved him.

  "With all my heart and soul," I whispered, "him and no one elsewhatever, whether in life or death."

  All the folly we went through I am not going to repeat, though Iremember well every atom of it. Let the wise their wisdom keep, we arebabes and sucklings. Neither of us had ever loved before, or ever meantto love again, except of course each other, and that should be for ever.

  "One thing I must tell you, my own sweet love, and yet I fear to do it.But you are not like other girls. There is no one like you, nor hasthere ever been. I think you will not scorn me for another's fault."

  "Of course I won't, my own pet Conny. What is this awful thing?"

  "I am an illegitimate son."

  One moment I sprang from him; the next I despised myself. But in spiteof all my troubles, there still lurked in my heart the narrow pride ofbirth. Down to the earth it fell beneath the foot of true love, and Ikissed away from his eyes the mingled reproach and sorrow, assuring himthat at least he should have a legitimate wife.

  To make amends, I leaned upon him one moment, and put my hand on hisshoulder, and let him play awhile with the dark shower of my hair.

  "Darling Conny, you have told me yours, now you shall hear my secret.Only promise me you will give tit for tat. You say you loved me eversince you saw me first; then you must have loved your Clara when yousaved her life."

  "What do you mean, my Clara? Those low ruffians in the Park were notgoing to kill you."

  "No, dearest; I don't mean that at all. But there's a kiss for that, Ihave owed it you ever since. But what I mean no kisses can repay; no,nor a life of love. You saved a life worth fifty of my own."

  Some dark alarm was growing in his eyes, on which I gazed with vagueincreasing terror.

  "Why, dearest, it is nothing. Only your own Clara is not Clara Valence;you must call her 'Clara Vaughan.'"

  With actual violence he thrust me from his arms, and stood staring atme, while I trembled from head to foot; his face was one scarlet flame.

  "And pray, Sir, what harm have I done? Am I to suppose thatyou"--special emphasis meant for illegitimacy--"that you are ashamed ofmy father and me?"

  "Yes, I am. Accursed low licentious race! If you knew what you havedone, you would tear your heart out rather than give it to me."

  "Thank you--I feel obliged--my heart indeed--to a bastard. Take backyour ring if you please; kindly restore me mine. May I trouble you forroom enough to go by?"

  And I swept out of the room, and through the side-door into my bed-room,where I crouched in a corner, with both hands on my heart, and the wholeworld gone away. "Mad!" I heard him cry, "yes, I must go mad at last!"Away he rushed from the house, and I fell upon the bed, and lay in fitstill midnight.