CHAPTER VIII.
CAPTAIN AYLMER MEETS HIS CONSTITUENTS.
On the first evening of their visit Captain Aylmer was very attentiveto his aunt. He was quite alive to the propriety of such attentions,and to their expediency; and Clara was amused as she watched himwhile he sat by her side, by the hour together, answering littlequestions and making little remarks suited to the temperament of theold lady's mind. She, herself, was hardly called upon to join in theconversation on that evening, and as she sat and listened, she couldnot but think that Will Belton would have been less adroit, but thathe would also have been more straightforward. And yet why shouldnot Captain Aylmer talk to his aunt? Will Belton would also havetalked to his aunt if he had one, but then he would have talked hisown talk, and not his aunt's talk. Clara could hardly make up hermind whether Captain Aylmer was or was not a sincere man. On thefollowing day Aylmer was out all the morning, paying visits among hisconstituents, and at three o'clock he was to make his speech in theTown-hall. Special places in the gallery were to be kept for Mrs.Winterfield and her niece, and the old woman was quite resolved thatshe would be there. As the day advanced she became very fidgety, andat length she was quite alive to the perils of having to climb up theTown-hall stairs; but she persevered, and at ten minutes before threeshe was seated in her place.
"I suppose they will begin with prayer," she said to Clara. Clara,who knew nothing of the manner in which things were done at suchmeetings, said that she supposed so. A town councillor's wife whosat on the other side of Mrs. Winterfield, here took the liberty ofexplaining that as the Captain was going to talk politics there wouldbe no prayers. "But they have prayers in the Houses of Parliament,"said Mrs. Winterfield, with much anger. To this the town councillor'swife, who was almost silenced by the great lady's wrath, said thatindeed she did not know. After this Mrs. Winterfield continued tohope for the best, till the platform was filled and the proceedingshad commenced. Then she declared the present men of Perivale to bea godless set, and expressed herself very sorry that her nephew hadever had anything to do with them. "No good can come of it, my dear,"she said. Clara from the beginning had feared that no good would comeof her aunt's visit to the Town-hall.
The business was put on foot at once, and with some littleflourishing at the commencement, Captain Aylmer made his speech;--thesame speech which we have all heard and read so often, speciallyadapted to the meridian of Perivale. He was a Conservative, and ofcourse he told his hearers that a good time was coming; that he andhis family were really about to buckle themselves to the work, andthat Perivale would hear things that would surprise it. The malt taxwas to go, and the farmers were to have free trade in beer,--thearguments from the other side having come beautifully round in theirappointed circle,--and old England was to be old England once again.He did the thing tolerably well, as such gentlemen usually do, andPerivale was contented with its member, with the exception of onePerivalian. To Mrs. Winterfield, sitting up there and listening withall her ears, it seemed that he had hitherto omitted all allusion toany subject that was worthy of mention. At last he said some wordabout the marriage and divorce court, condemning the iniquity ofthe present law, to which Perivale had opposed itself violently bypetition and general meetings; and upon hearing this Mrs. Winterfieldhad thumped with her umbrella, and faintly cheered him with her weakold voice. But the surrounding Perivalians had heard the cheer, andit was repeated backwards and forwards through the room, till themember's aunt thought that it might be her nephew's mission to annulthat godless Act of Parliament, and restore the matrimonial bonds ofEngland to their old rigidity. When Captain Aylmer came out to handher up to her little carriage, she patted him, and thanked him, andencouraged him; and on her way home she congratulated herself toClara that she should have such a nephew to leave behind her in herplace.
Captain Aylmer was dining with the mayor on that evening, and Mrs.Winterfield was therefore able to indulge herself in talking abouthim. "I don't see much of young men, of course," she said; "but I donot even hear of any that are like him." Again Clara thought of hercousin Will. Will was not at all like Frederic Aylmer; but was he notbetter? And yet, as she thought thus, she remembered that she hadrefused her cousin Will because she loved that very Frederic Aylmerwhom her mind was thus condemning.
"I'm sure he does his duty as a member of Parliament very well," saidClara.
"That alone would not be much; but when that is joined to so muchthat is better, it is a great deal. I am told that very few of themen in the House now are believers at all."
"Oh, aunt!"
"It is terrible to think of, my dear."
"But, aunt; they have to take some oath, or something of that sort,to show that they are Christians."
"Not now, my dear. They've done away with all that since we had Jewmembers. An atheist can go into Parliament now; and I'm told thatmost of them are that, or nearly as bad. I can remember when noPapist could sit in Parliament. But they seem to me to be doing awaywith everything. It's a great comfort to me that Frederic is what heis."
"I'm sure it must be, aunt."
Then there was a pause, during which, however, Mrs. Winterfield gaveno sign that the conversation was to be considered as being over.Clara knew her aunt's ways so well, that she was sure something morewas coming, and therefore waited patiently, without any thought oftaking up her book. "I was speaking to him about you yesterday," Mrs.Winterfield said at last.
"That would not interest him very much."
"Why not? Do you suppose he is not interested in those I love?Indeed, it did interest him; and he told me what I did not knowbefore, and what you ought to have told me."
Clara now blushed, she knew not why, and became agitated. "I don'tknow that I have kept anything from you that I ought to have told,"she said.
"He says that the provision made for you by your father has all beensquandered."
"If he used that word he has been very unkind," said Clara, angrily.
"I don't know what word he used, but he was not unkind at all; henever is. I think he was very generous."
"I do not want his generosity, aunt."
"That is nonsense, my dear. If he has told me the truth, what haveyou to depend on?"
"I don't want to depend on anything. I hate hearing about it."
"Clara, I wonder you can talk in that way. If you were only seventeenit would be very foolish; but at your age it is inexcusable. When Iam gone, and your father is gone, who is to provide for you? Willyour cousin do it--Mr. Belton, who is to have the property?"
"Yes, he would--if I would let him;--of course I would not let him.But, aunt, pray do not go on. I would sooner have to starve than talkabout it at all."
There was another pause; but Clara again knew that the conversationwas not over; and she knew also that it would be vain for her toendeavour to begin another subject. Nor could she think of anythingelse to say, so much was she agitated.
"What makes you suppose that Mr. Belton would be so liberal?" askedMrs. Winterfield.
"I don't know. I can't say. He is the nearest relation I shall have;and of all the people I ever knew he is the best, and the mostgenerous, and the least selfish. When he came to us papa was quitehostile to him--disliking his very name; but when the time came, papacould not bear to think of his going, because he had been so good."
"Clara!"
"Well, aunt."
"I hope you know my affection for you."
"Of course I do, aunt; and I hope you trust mine for you also."
"Is there anything between you and Mr. Belton besides cousinship?"
"Nothing."
"Because if I thought that, my trouble would of course be at an end."
"There is nothing;--but pray do not let me be a trouble to you."Clara, for a moment, almost resolved to tell her aunt the wholetruth; but she remembered that she would be treating her cousin badlyif she told the story of his rejection.
There was another short period of silence, and then Mrs. Winterfieldwent on. "Frederic thinks t
hat I should make some provision for youby will. That, of course, is the same as though he offered to do ithimself. I told him that it would be so, and I read him my will lastnight. He said that that made no difference, and recommended me toadd a codicil. I asked him how much I ought to give you, and he saidfifteen hundred pounds. There will be as much as that after buryingme without burden to the estate. You must acknowledge that he hasbeen very generous."
But Clara, in her heart, did not at all thank Captain Aylmer forhis generosity. She would have had everything from him, or nothing.It was grievous to her to think that she should owe to him a barepittance to keep her out of the workhouse,--to him who had twiceseemed to be on the point of asking her to share everything with him.She did not love her cousin Will as she loved him; but her cousinWill's assurance to her that he would treat her with a brother'scare was sweeter to her by far than Frederic Aylmer's well-balancedcounsel to his aunt on her behalf. In her present mood, too, shewanted no one to have forethought for her; she desired no provision;for her, in the discomfiture of heart, there was consolation in thefeeling that when she should find herself alone in the world, shewould have been ill-treated by her friends all round her. There was acharm in the prospect of her desolation of which she did not wish tobe robbed by the assurance of some seventy pounds a year, to be givento her by Captain Frederic Aylmer. To be robbed of one's grievance isthe last and foulest wrong,--a wrong under which the most enduringtemper will at last yield and become soured,--by which the strongestback will be broken. "Well, my dear," continued Mrs. Winterfield,when Clara made no response to this appeal for praise.
"It is so hard for me to say anything about it, aunt. What can I saybut that I don't want to be a burden to any one?"
"That is a position which very few women can attain,--that is, veryfew single women."
"I think it would be well if all single women were strangled by thetime they are thirty," said Clara with a fierce energy whichabsolutely frightened her aunt.
"Clara! how can you say anything so wicked,--so abominably wicked!"
"Anything would be better than being twitted in this way. How can Ihelp it that I am not a man and able to work for my bread? But I amnot above being a housemaid, and so Captain Aylmer shall find. I'dsooner be a housemaid, with nothing but my wages, than take the moneywhich you say he is to give me. It will be of no use, aunt, for Ishall not take it."
"It is I that am to leave it to you. It is not to be a present fromFrederic."
"It is the same thing, aunt. He says you are to do it; and you toldme just now that it was to come out of his pocket."
"I should have done it myself long ago, had you told me all the truthabout your father's affairs."
"How was I to tell you? I would sooner have bitten my tongue out. ButI will tell you the truth now. If I had known that all this was to besaid to me about money, and that our poverty was to be talked overbetween you and Captain Aylmer, I would not have come to Perivale. Iwould rather that you should be angry with me and think that I hadforgotten you."
"You would not say that, Clara, if you remembered that this willprobably be your last visit to me."
"No, no; it will not be the last. But do not talk about these things.And it will be so much better that I should be here when he is nothere."
"I had hoped that when I died you might both be with me together,--ashusband and wife."
"Such hopes never come to anything."
"I still think that he would wish it."
"That is nonsense, aunt. It is indeed, for neither of us wish it." Alie on such a subject from a woman under such circumstances is hardlyto be considered a lie at all. It is spoken with no mean object, andis the only bulwark which the woman has ready at her need to coverher own weakness.
"From what he said yesterday," continued Mrs. Winterfield, "I thinkit is your own fault."
"Pray,--pray do not talk in that way. It cannot be matter of anyfault that two people do not want to marry each other."
"Of course I asked him no positive question. It would be indelicateeven in me to have done that. But he spoke as though he thought veryhighly of you."
"No doubt he does. And so do I of Mr. Possitt."
"Mr. Possitt is a very excellent young man," said Mrs. Winterfield,gravely. Mr. Possitt was, indeed, her favourite curate at Perivale,and always dined at the house on Sundays between services, when Mrs.Winterfield was very particular in seeing that he took two glasses ofher best port wine to support him. "But Mr. Possitt has nothing buthis curacy."
"There is no danger, aunt, I can assure you."
"I don't know what you call danger; but Frederic seemed to think thatyou are always sharp with him. You don't want to quarrel with him, Ihope, because I love him better than any one in the world?"
"Oh, aunt, what cruel things you say to me without thinking of them!"
"I do not mean to be cruel, but I will say nothing more about him. AsI told you before, that I had not thought it expedient to leave awayany portion of my little property from Frederic,--believing as Idid then, that the money intended for you by your father was stillremaining,--it is best that you should now know that I have at lastlearnt the truth, and that I will at once see my lawyer about makingthis change."
"Dear aunt, of course I thank you."
"I want no thanks, Clara. I humbly strive to do what I believe to bemy duty. I have never felt myself to be more than a steward of mymoney. That I have often failed in my stewardship I know well;--forin what duties do we not all fail?" Then she gently laid herselfback in her arm-chair, closing her eyes, while she kept fast claspedin her hands the little book of daily devotion which she had beenstriving to read when the conversation had been commenced. Claraknew then that nothing more was to be said, and that she was not atpresent to interrupt her aunt. From her posture, and the closing ofher eyelids, Mrs. Winterfield might have been judged to be asleep;but Clara could see the gentle motion of her lips, and was aware thather aunt was solacing herself with prayer.
Clara was angry with herself, and angry with all the world. She knewthat the old lady who was sitting then before her was very good; andthat all this that had now been said had come from pure goodness, anda desire that strict duty might be done; and Clara was angry withherself in that she had not been more ready with her thanks, andmore demonstrative with her love and gratitude. Mrs. Winterfield wasaffectionate as well as good, and her niece's coldness, as the niecewell knew, had hurt her sorely. But still what could Clara have doneor said? She told herself that it was beyond her power to burst outinto loud praises of Captain Aylmer; and of such nature was thegratitude which Mrs. Winterfield had desired. She was not gratefulto Captain Aylmer, and wanted nothing that was to come from hisgenerosity. And then her mind went away to that other portion of heraunt's discourse. Could it be possible that this man was in truthattached to her, and was repelled simply by her own manner? She wasaware that she had fallen into a habit of fighting with him, ofsparring against him with words about indifferent things, and callinghis conduct in question in a manner half playful and half serious.Could it be the truth that she was thus robbing herself of that whichwould be to her,--as to herself she had frankly declared,--the onetreasure which she would desire? Twice, as has been said before,words had seemed to tremble on his lips which might have settledthe question for her for ever; and on both occasions, as she knew,she herself had helped to laugh off the precious word that had beencoming. But had he been thoroughly in earnest,--in earnest as shewould have him to be,--no laugh would have deterred him from hispurpose. Could she have laughed Will Belton out of his declaration?
At last the lips ceased to move, and she knew that her aunt was intruth asleep. The poor old lady hardly ever slept at night; butnature, claiming something of its due, would give her rest such asthis in her arm-chair by the fire-side. They were sitting in a largedouble drawing-room upstairs, in which there were, as was customarywith Mrs. Winterfield in winter, two fires; and the candles were inthe back-room, while the two ladies sat in that looking
out into thestreet. This Mrs. Winterfield did to save her eyes from the candles,and yet to be within reach of light if it were wanted. And Clara alsosat motionless in the dark, careful not to disturb her aunt, anddesirous of being with her when she should awake. Captain Aylmer haddeclared his purpose of being home early from the Mayor's dinner, andthe ladies were to wait for his arrival before tea was brought tothem. Clara was herself almost asleep when the door was opened, andCaptain Aylmer entered the room.
"H--sh!" she said, rising gently from her chair, and putting up herfinger. He saw her by the dull light of the fire, and closed the doorwithout a sound. Clara then crept into the back-room, and he followedher with noiseless step. "She did not sleep at all last night," saidClara; "and now the unusual excitement of the day has fatigued her,and I think it is better not to wake her." The rooms were large,and they were able to place themselves at such a distance from thesleeper that their low words could hardly disturb her.
"Was she very tired when she got home?" he asked.
"Not very. She has been talking much since that."
"Has she spoken about her will to you?"
"Yes;--she has."
"I thought she would." Then he was silent, as though he expected thatshe would speak again on that matter. But she had no wish to discussher aunt's will with him, and therefore, to break the silence, askedhim some trifling question. "Are you not home earlier than youexpected?"
"It was very dull, and there was nothing more to be said. I did comeaway early, and perhaps have given affront. I hope you will acceptthe compliment implied."
"Your aunt will, when she wakes. She will be delighted to find youhere."
"I am awake," said Mrs. Winterfield. "I heard Frederic come in. It isvery good of him to come so soon. Clara, my dear, we will have tea."
During tea, Captain Aylmer was called upon to give an account ofthe Mayor's feast,--how the rector had said grace before dinner,and Mr. Possitt had done so after dinner, and how the soup had beenuneatable. "Dear me!" said Mrs. Winterfield. "And yet his wife washousekeeper formerly in a family that lived very well!" The Mrs.Winterfields of this world allow themselves little spiteful pleasuresof this kind, repenting of them, no doubt, in those frequent momentsin which they talk to their friends of their own terrible vilenesses.Captain Aylmer then explained that his own health had been drunk,and his aunt desired to know whether, in returning thanks, he hadbeen able to say anything further against that wicked Divorce Actof Parliament. This her nephew was constrained to answer with anegative, and so the conversation was carried on till tea was over.She was very anxious to hear every word that he could be made toutter as to his own doings in Parliament, and as to his doings inPerivale, and hung upon him with that wondrous affection which oldpeople with warm hearts feel for those whom they have selected astheir favourites. Clara saw it all, and knew that her aunt was almostdoting.
"I think I'll go up to bed now, my dears," said Mrs. Winterfield,when she had taken her cup of tea. "I am tired with those wearystairs in the Town-hall, and I shall be better in my own room." Claraoffered to go with her, but this attendance her aunt declined,--asshe did always. So the bell was rung, and the old maid-servant walkedoff with her mistress, and Miss Amedroz and Captain Aylmer were lefttogether.
"I don't think she will last long," said Captain Aylmer, soon afterthe door was closed.
"I should be sorry to believe that; but she is certainly muchaltered."
"She has great courage to keep her up,--and a feeling that she shouldnot give way, but do her duty to the last. In spite of all that,however, I can see how changed she is since the summer. Have youever thought how sad it will be if she should be alone when the daycomes?"
"She has Martha, who is more to her now than any one else,--unless itis you."
"You could not remain with her over Christmas, I suppose?"
"Who, I? What would my father do? Papa is as old, or nearly as old,as my aunt."
"But he is strong."
"He is very lonely. He would be more lonely than she is, for he hasno such servant as Martha to be with him. Women can do better thanmen, I think, when they come to my aunt's age."
From this they got into a conversation as to the character of thelady with whom they were both so nearly connected, and, in spite ofall that Clara could do to prevent it, continual references weremade by Captain Aylmer to her money and her will, and the need of anaddition to that will on Clara's behalf. At last she was driven tospeak out. "Captain Aylmer," she said, "the subject is so distastefulto me, that I must ask you not to speak about it."
"In my position I am driven to think about it."
"I cannot, of course, help your thoughts; but I can assure you thatthey are unnecessary."
"It seems to me so hard that there should be such a gulf between youand me." This he said after he had been silent for a while; and as hespoke he looked away from her at the fire.
"I don't know that there is any particular gulf," she replied.
"Yes, there is. And it is you that make it. Whenever I attempt tospeak to you as a friend you draw yourself off from me, and shutyourself up. I know that it is not jealousy."
"Jealousy, Captain Aylmer!"
"Jealousy with my aunt, I mean."
"No, indeed."
"You are infinitely too proud for that; but I am sure that a strangerseeing it all would think that it was so."
"I don't know what it is that I do or that I ought not to do. Butall my life everything that I have done at Perivale has always beenwrong."
"It would have been so natural that you and I should be friends."
"If we are enemies, Captain Aylmer, I don't know it."
"But if ever I venture to speak of your future life you always repelme;--as though you were determined to let me know that it should notbe a matter of care to me."
"That is exactly what I am determined to let you know. You are, orwill be, a rich man, and you have everything the world can give you.I am, or shall be, a very poor woman."
"Is that a reason why I should not be interested in your welfare?"
"Yes;--the best reason in the world. We are not related to eachother, though we have a common connection in dear Mrs. Winterfield.And nothing, to my idea, can be more objectionable than any sort ofdependence from a woman of my age on a man of yours,--there being noreal tie of blood between them. I have spoken very plainly, CaptainAylmer, for you have made me do it."
"Very plainly," he said.
"If I have said anything to offend you, I beg your pardon; but I wasdriven to explain myself." Then she got up and took her bed-candle inher hand.
"You have not offended me," he said, as he also rose.
"Good-night, Captain Aylmer."
He took her hand and kept it. "Say that we are friends."
"Why should we not be friends?"
"There is no reason on my part why we should not be the dearestfriends," he said. "Were it not that I am so utterly withoutencouragement, I should say the very dearest." He still held herhand, and was looking into her face as he spoke. For a moment shestood there, bearing his gaze, as though she expected some furtherwords to be spoken. Then she withdrew her hand, and again saying, ina clear voice, "Good-night, Captain Aylmer," she left the room.
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