The Belton Estate

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XIV.

  MR. WILLIAM BELTON TAKES A WALK IN LONDON.

  At the time of my story there was a certain Mr. Green, a worthyattorney, who held chambers in Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, muchto the profit of himself and family,--and to the profit and comfortalso of a numerous body of clients,--a man much respected in theneighbourhood of Chancery Lane, and beloved, I do not doubt, in theneighbourhood of Bushey, in which delightfully rural parish he waspossessed of a genteel villa and ornamental garden. With Mr. Green'sprivate residence we shall, I believe, have no further concern; butto him at his chambers in Stone Buildings I must now introduce thereader of these memoirs. He was a man not yet forty years of age,with still much of the salt of youth about him, a pleasant companionas well as a good lawyer, and one who knew men and things in London,as it is given to pleasant clever fellows, such as Joseph Green, toknow them. Now Mr. Green, and his father before him, had been thelegal advisers of the Amedroz family, and our Mr. Joseph Green hadhad but a bad time of it with Charles Amedroz in the last years ofthat unfortunate young man's life. But lawyers endure these troubles,submitting themselves to the extravagances, embarrassments, and evenvillany of the bad subjects among their clients' families, with agood-humoured patience that is truly wonderful. That, however, wasall over now as regarded Mr. Green and the Amedrozes, and he hadnothing further to do but to save for the father what relics of theproperty he might secure. And he was also legal adviser to our friendWill Belton, there having been some old family connection among them,and had often endeavoured to impress upon his old client at BeltonCastle his own strong conviction that the heir was a generous fellow,who might be trusted in everything. But this had been taken amissby the old squire, who, indeed, was too much disposed to take allthings amiss and to suspect everybody. "I understand," he had saidto his daughter. "I know all about it. Belton and Mr. Green havebeen dear friends always. I can't trust my own lawyer any longer." Inall which the old squire showed much ingratitude. It will, however,be understood that these suspicions were rife before the time ofBelton's visit to the family estate.

  Some four or five days before Christmas there came a visitor to Mr.Green with whom the reader is acquainted, and who was no less a manthan the Member for Perivale. Captain Aylmer, when Clara parted fromhim on the morning of her return to Belton Castle, had resolved thathe would repeat his offer of marriage by letter. A month had passedby since then, and he had not as yet repeated it. But his intentionwas not altered. He was a deliberate man, who did not do such thingsquite as quickly as his rival, and who upon this occasion had thoughtit prudent to turn over more than once in his mind all that heproposed to do. Nor had he as yet taken any definite steps as to thatfifteen hundred pounds which he had promised to Clara in her aunt'sname, and which Clara had been, and was, so unwilling to receive. Hehad now actually paid it over, having purchased government stock inClara's name for the amount, and had called upon Mr. Green, in orderthat that gentleman, as Clara's lawyer, might make the necessarycommunication to her.

  "I suppose there's nothing further to be done?" asked Captain Aylmer.

  "Nothing further by me," said the lawyer. "Of course I shall write toher, and explain that she must make arrangements as to the interest.I am very glad that her aunt thought of her in her last moments."

  "Mrs. Winterfield would have provided for her before, had she knownthat everything had been swallowed up by that unfortunate young man."

  "All's well that ends well. Fifteen hundred pounds are better thannothing."

  "Is it not enough?" said the Captain, blushing.

  "It isn't for me to have an opinion about that, Captain Aylmer.It depends on the nature of the claim; and that again depends onthe relative position of the aunt and niece when they were alivetogether."

  "You are aware that Miss Amedroz was not Mrs. Winterfield's niece?"

  "Do not think for a moment that I am criticising the amount of thelegacy. I am very glad of it, as, without it, there was literally noprovision,--no provision at all."

  "You will write to herself?"

  "Oh yes, certainly to herself. She is a better man of business thanher father;--and then this is her own, to do as she likes with it."

  "She can't refuse it, I suppose?"

  "Refuse it!"

  "Even though she did not wish to take it, it would be legally herproperty, just as though it had been really left by the will?"

  "Well; I don't know. I dare say you could have resisted the payment.But that has been made now, and there seems to be an end of it."

  At this moment a clerk entered the room and handed a card to hisemployer. "Here's the heir himself," said Mr. Green.

  "What heir?"

  "Will Belton;--the heir of the property which Mr. Amedroz holds."Captain Aylmer had soon explained that he was not personallyacquainted with Mr. William Belton; but, having heard much abouthim, declared himself anxious to make the acquaintance. Our friendWill, therefore, was ushered into the room, and the two rivals forClara's favour were introduced to each other. Each had heard muchof the other, and each had heard of the other from the same person.But Captain Aylmer knew much more as to Belton than Belton knew inrespect to him. Aylmer knew that Belton had proposed to Clara and hadbeen rejected; and he knew also that Belton was now again going downto Somersetshire.

  "You are to spend your Christmas, I believe, with our friends atBelton Castle?" said the Captain.

  "Yes;--and am now on my way there. I believe you know themalso,--intimately." Then there was some explanation as to theWinterfield connection, a few remarks as to the precarious state ofthe old squire's health, a message or two from Captain Aylmer, whichof course were of no importance, and the Captain took his leave.

  Then Green and Belton became very comfortably intimate in theirconversation, calling each other Will and Joe,--for they were oldand close friends. And they discussed matters in that cozy tone ofconfidential intercourse which is so directly at variance with thetones used by men when they ordinarily talk of business. "He hasbrought me good news for your friend, Miss Amedroz," said the lawyer.

  "What good news?"

  "That aunt of hers left her fifteen hundred pounds, after all. Orrather, she did not leave it, but desired on her death-bed that itmight be given."

  "That's the same thing, I suppose?"

  "Oh quite;--that is to say, it's the same thing if the person who hasto hand over the money does not dispute the legacy. But it shows howthe old lady's conscience pricked her at last. And after all it was ashabby sum, and should have been three times as much."

  "Fifteen hundred pounds! And that is all she will have when herfather dies?"

  "Every farthing, Will. You'll take all the rest."

  "I wish she wasn't going to have that."

  "Why? Why on earth should you of all men grudge her such a moderatemaintenance, seeing that you have not got to pay it?"

  "It isn't a maintenance. How could it be a maintenance for such asher? What sort of maintenance would it be?"

  "Much better than nothing. And so you would feel if she were yourdaughter."

  "She shall be my daughter, or my sister, or whatever you like to callher. You don't think that I'll take the whole estate and leave her tostarve on the interest of fifteen hundred pounds a year!"

  "You'd better make her your wife at once, Will."

  Will Belton blushed as he answered, "That, perhaps, would be easiersaid than done. That is not in my power,--even if I should wish it.But the other is in my power."

  "Will, take my advice, and don't make any romantic promises when youare down at Belton. You'll be sure to regret them if you do. And youshould remember that in truth Miss Amedroz has no greater claim onyou than any other lady in the land."

  "Isn't she my cousin?"

  "Well;--yes. She is your cousin, but a distant one only; and I'm notaware that cousinship gives any claim."

  "Who is she to have a claim on? I'm the nearest she has got. Besides,am not I going to take all the property which ought to be her
s?"

  "That's just it. There's no such ought in the case. The property isas much your own as this poker is mine. That's exactly the mistake Iwant you to guard against. If you liked her, and chose to marry her,that would be all very well; presuming that you don't want to getmoney in marriage."

  "I hate the idea of marrying for money."

  "All right. Then marry Miss Amedroz if you please. But don't make anyrash undertakings to be her father, or her brother, or her uncle, orher aunt. Such romance always leads a man into trouble."

  "But I've done it already."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've told her that I would be her brother, and that as long as I hada shilling she should never want sixpence. And I mean it. And as forwhat you say about romance and repenting it, that simply comes fromyour being a lawyer."

  "Thank ye, Will."

  "If one goes to a chemist, of course one gets physic, and has to putup with the bad smells."

  "Thank you again."

  "But the chemist may be a very good sort of fellow at home all thesame, and have a cupboard full of sweetmeats and a garden full offlowers. However, the thing is done as far as I am concerned, and Ican almost find it in my heart to be sorry that Clara has got thisdriblet of money. Fifteen hundred pounds! It would keep her out ofthe workhouse, and that is about all."

  "If you knew how many ladies in her position would think that theheavens had rained wealth upon them if some one would give themfifteen hundred pounds!"

  "Very well. At any rate I won't take it away from her. And now I wantyou to tell me something else. Do you remember a fellow we used toknow named Berdmore?"

  "Philip Berdmore?"

  "He may have been Philip, or Daniel, or Jeremiah, for anything Iknow. But the man I mean was very much given to taking his liquorfreely."

  "That was Jack Berdmore, Philip's brother. Oh yes, I remember him.He's dead now. He drank himself to death at last, out in India."

  "He was in the army?"

  "Yes;--and what a pleasant fellow he was at times! I see Philconstantly, and Phil's wife, but they never speak of Jack."

  "He got married, didn't he, after we used to see him?"

  "Oh yes;--he and Phil married sisters. It was a sad affair, that."

  "I remember being with him and her,--and the sister too, after theywere engaged, and he got so drunk that we were obliged to take himaway. There was a large party of us at Richmond, but I don't thinkyou were there."

  "But I heard of it."

  "And she was a Miss Vigo?"

  "Exactly. I see the younger sister constantly. Phil isn't very rich,and he's got a lot of children,--but he's very happy."

  "What became of the other sister?"

  "Of Jack's wife?"

  "Yes. What became of her?"

  "I haven't an idea. Something bad, I suppose, as they never speak ofher."

  "And how long is he dead?"

  "He died about three years since. I only knew it from Phil's tellingme that he was in mourning for him. Then he did speak of him for amoment or two, and I came to know that he had carried on to the endin the same way. If a fellow takes to drink in this country, he'llnever get cured in India."

  "I suppose not."

  "Never."

  "And now I want to find out something about his widow."

  "And why?"

  "Ah;--I'm not sure that I can tell you why. Indeed I'm sure that Icannot. But still you might be able to assist me."

  "There were heaps of people who used to know the Vigos," said thelawyer.

  "No end of people,--though I couldn't for the life of me say who anyof them were."

  "They used to come out in London with an aunt, but nobody knew muchabout her. I fancy they had neither father nor mother."

  "They were very pretty."

  "And how well they danced! I don't think I ever knew a girl whodanced so pleasantly,--giving herself no airs, you know,--as MaryVigo."

  "Her name was Mary," said Belton, remembering that Mrs. Askerton'sname was also Mary.

  "Jack Berdmore married Mary."

  "Well now, Joe, you must find out for me what became of her. Was shewith her husband when he died?"

  "Nobody was with him. Phil told me so. No one, that is, but a younglieutenant and his own servant. It was very sad. He had D.T., and allthat sort of thing."

  "And where was she?"

  "At Jericho, for anything that I know."

  "Will you find out?" Then Mr. Joseph Green thought for a moment ofhis capabilities in that line, and having made an engagement to dinewith his friend at his club on the evening before Will left London,said at last that he thought he could find out through certain mutualfriends who had known the Berdmores in the old days. "But the factis," said the lawyer, "that the world is so good-natured,--instead ofbeing ill-natured, as people say,--that it always forgets those whowant to be forgotten."

  We must now go back for a few moments to Captain Aylmer and hisaffairs. Having given a full month to the consideration of hisposition as regarded Miss Amedroz, he made up his mind to two things.In the first place, he would at once pay over to her the moneywhich was to be hers as her aunt's legacy, and then he would renewhis offer. To that latter determination he was guided by mixedmotives,--by motives which, when joined together, rarely fail to beoperative. His conscience told him that he ought to do so,--and thenthe fact of her having, as it were, taken herself away from him, madehim again wish to possess her. And there was another cause which,perhaps, operated in the same direction. He had consulted his mother,and she had strongly advised him to have nothing further to do withMiss Amedroz. Lady Aylmer abused her dead sister heartily for havinginterfered in the matter, and endeavoured to prove to her son thathe was released from his promise by having in fact performed it. Buton this point his conscience interfered,--backed by his wishes,--andhe made his resolve as has been above stated. On leaving Mr. Green'schambers he went to his own lodgings, and wrote his letter, asfollows:--

  Mount Street, December, 186--.

  DEAREST CLARA,

  When you parted from me at Perivale you said certain things about our engagement which I have come to understand better since then, than I did at the time. It escaped from me that my dear aunt and I had had some conversation about you, and that I had told her what was my intention. Something was said about a promise, and I think it was that word which made you unhappy. At such a time as that, when I and my aunt were talking together, and when she was, as she well knew, on her deathbed, things will be said which would not be thought of in other circumstances. I can only assure you now, that the promise I gave her was a promise to do that which I had previously resolved upon doing. If you can believe what I say on this head, that ought to be sufficient to remove the feeling which induced you to break our engagement.

  I now write to renew my offer to you, and to assure you that I do so with my whole heart. You will forgive me if I tell you that I cannot fail to remember, and always to bear in my mind, the sweet assurances which you gave me of your regard for myself. As I do not know that anything has occurred to alter your opinion of me, I write this letter in strong hope that it may be successful. I believe that your fear was in respect to my affection for you, not as to yours for me. If this was so, I can assure you that there is no necessity for such fear.

  I need not tell you that I shall expect your answer with great anxiety.

  Yours most affectionately,

  F. F. AYLMER.

  P.S. I have to-day caused to be bought in your name Bank Stock to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds, the amount of the legacy coming to you from my aunt.

  This letter, and that from Mr. Green respecting the money, bothreached Clara on the same morning. Now, having learned so much as tothe position of affairs at Belton Castle, we may return to Will andhis dinner engagement with Mr. Joseph Green.

  "And what have you heard about Mrs. Berdmore?" Belton asked, almostas soon as the two men were togeth
er.

  "I wish I knew why you want to know."

  "I don't want to do anybody any harm."

  "Do you want to do anybody any good?"

  "Any good! I can't say that I want to do any particular good. Thetruth is, I think I know where she is, and that she is living under afalse name."

  "Then you know more of her than I do."

  "I don't know anything. I'm only in doubt. But as the lady I meanlives near to friends of mine, I should like to know."

  "That you may expose her?"

  "No;--by no means. But I hate the idea of deceit. The truth is, thatany one living anywhere under a false name should be exposed,--orshould be made to assume their right name."

  "I find that Mrs. Berdmore left her husband some years before hedied. There was nothing in that to create wonder, for he was a manwith whom a woman could hardly continue to live. But I fear she lefthim under protection that was injurious to her character."

  "And how long ago is that?"

  "I do not know. Some years before his death."

  "And how long ago did he die?"

  "About three years since. My informant tells me that he believes shehas since married. Now you know all that I know." And Belton alsoknew that Mrs. Askerton of the cottage was the Miss Vigo with whom hehad been acquainted in earlier years.

  After that they dined comfortably, and nothing passed between themwhich need be recorded as essential to our story till the time camefor them to part. Then, when they were both standing at the clubdoor, the lawyer said a word or two which is essential. "So you'reoff to-morrow?" said he.

  "Yes; I shall go down by the express."

  "I wish you a pleasant journey. By-the-by, I ought to tell you thatyou won't have any trouble in being either father or mother, or uncleor aunt to Miss Amedroz."

  "Why not?"

  "I suppose it's no secret."

  "What's no secret?"

  "She's going to be married to Captain Aylmer."

  Then Will Belton started so violently, and assumed on a sudden somanifest a look of anger, that his tale was at once told to Mr.Green. "Who says so?" he asked. "I don't believe it."

  "I'm afraid it's true all the same, Will."

  "Who says it?"

  "Captain Aylmer was with me to-day, and he told me. He ought to begood authority on such a subject."

  "He told you that he was going to marry Clara Amedroz?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  "And what made him come to you, to tell you?"

  "There was a question about some money which he had paid to her, andwhich, under existing circumstances, he thought it as well that heshould not pay. Matters of that kind are often necessarily told tolawyers. But I should not have told it to you, Will, if I had notthought that it was good news."

  "It is not good news," said Belton moodily.

  "At any rate, old fellow, my telling it will do no harm. You musthave learned it soon." And he put his hand kindly,--almost tenderly,on the other's arm. But Belton moved himself away angrily. The woundhad been so lately inflicted that he could not as yet forgive thehand that had seemed to strike him.

  "I'm sorry that it should be so bad with you, Will."

  "What do you mean by bad? It is not bad with me. It is very wellwith me. Keep your pity for those who want it." Then he walked offby himself across the broad street before the club door, leavinghis friend without a word of farewell, and made his way up into St.James's Square, choosing, as was evident to Mr. Green, the firststreet that would take him out of sight.

  "He's hit, and hit hard," said the lawyer, looking after him. "Poorfellow! I might have guessed it from what he said. I never knew ofhis caring for any woman before." Then Mr. Green put on his glovesand went away home.

  We will now follow Will Belton into St. James's Square, and we shallfollow a very unhappy gentleman. Doubtless he had hitherto known andappreciated the fact that Miss Amedroz had refused his offer, and hadoften declared, both to himself and to his sister, his convictionthat that refusal would never be reversed. But, in spite of thatexpressed conviction, he had lived on hope. Till she belonged toanother man she might yet be his. He might win her at last byperseverance. At any rate he had it in his power to work towards thedesired end, and might find solace even in that working. And themisery of his loss would not be so great to him,--as he found himselfforced to confess to himself before he had completed his wanderingson this night,--in not having her for his own, as it would be inknowing that she had given herself to another man. He had often toldhimself that of course she would become the wife of some man, but hehad never yet realised to himself what it would be to know that shewas the wife of any one specified rival. He had been sad enough onthat moonlight night in the avenue at Plaistow,--when he had leanedagainst the tree, striking his hands together as he thought of hisgreat want; but his unhappiness then had been as nothing to his agonynow. Now it was all over,--and he knew the man who had supplantedhim!

  How he hated him! With what an unchristian spirit did he regard thatworthy captain as he walked across St. James's Square, across JermynStreet, across Piccadilly, and up Bond Street, not knowing whither hewas going. He thought with an intense regret of the laws of modernsociety which forbid duelling,--forgetting altogether that even hadthe old law prevailed, the conduct of the man whom he so hated wouldhave afforded him no _casus belli_. But he was too far gone in miseryand animosity to be capable of any reason on the matter. CaptainAylmer had interfered with his dearest wishes, and during this nowpassing hour he would willingly have crucified Captain Aylmer hadit been within his power to do so. Till he had gone beyond OxfordStreet, and had wandered away into the far distance of Portman Squareand Baker Street, he had not begun to think of any interest whichClara Amedroz might have in the matter on which his thoughts wereemployed. He was sojourning at an hotel in Bond Street, and had gonethitherwards more by habit than by thought; but he had passed thedoor of his inn, feeling it to be impossible to render himself up tohis bed in his present disturbed mood. As he was passing the housein Bond Street he had been intent on the destruction of CaptainAylmer,--and had almost determined that if Captain Aylmer could notbe made to vanish into eternity, he must make up his mind to go thatroad himself.

  It was out of the question that he should go down to Belton. As tothat he had come to a very decided opinion by the time that he hadcrossed Oxford Street. Go down to see her, when she had treated himafter this fashion! No, indeed. She wanted no brother now. She hadchosen to trust herself to this other man, and he, Will Belton,would not interfere further in her affairs. Then he drew upon hisimagination for a picture of the future, in which he portrayedCaptain Aylmer as a ruined man, who would probably desert his wife,and make himself generally odious to all his acquaintance--a pictureas to the realisation of which I am bound to say that CaptainAylmer's antecedents gave no probability. But it was the lookingat this self-drawn picture which first softened the artist's hearttowards the victim whom he had immolated on his imaginary canvas.When Clara should be ruined by the baseness and villany and generalscampishness of this man whom she was going to marry,--to whom shewas about to be weak enough and fool enough to trust herself,--thenhe would interpose and be her brother once again,--a broken-heartedbrother no doubt, but a brother efficacious to keep the wolf fromthe door of this poor woman and her--children. Then, as he thuscreated Captain Aylmer's embryo family of unprovided orphans,--forafter a while he killed the captain, making him to die some deaththat was very disgraceful, but not very distinct even to his ownimagination,--as he thought of those coming pledges of a love whichwas to him so bitter, he stormed about the streets, performing anticsof which no one would have believed him capable, who had known him asthe thriving Mr. William Belton, of Plaistow Hall, among the fens ofNorfolk.

  But the character of a man is not to be judged from the pictureswhich he may draw or from the antics which he may play in hissolitary hours. Those who act generally with the most consummatewisdom in the affairs of the world, often meditate very silly doingsbefore their
wiser resolutions form themselves. I beg, therefore,that Mr. Belton may be regarded and criticised in accordance with hisconduct on the following morning,--when his midnight rambles, whichfinally took him even beyond the New Road, had been followed by a fewtranquil hours in his Bond Street bedroom:--for at last he did bringhimself to return thither and put himself to bed after the usualfashion. He put himself to bed in a spirit somewhat tranquillised bythe exercise of the night, and at last--wept himself to sleep like ababy.

  But he was by no means like a baby when he took him early on thefollowing morning to the Paddington Station, and booked himselfmanfully for Taunton. He had had time to recognise the fact that hehad no ground of quarrel with his cousin because she had preferredanother man to him. This had happened to him as he was recrossingthe New Road about two o'clock, and was beginning to find that hislegs were weary under him. And, indeed, he had recognised one or twothings before he had gone to sleep with his tears dripping on to hispillow. In the first place, he had ill-treated Joe Green, and hadmade a fool of himself in his friend's presence. As Joe Green was asensible, kind-hearted fellow, this did not much signify;--but noton that account did he omit to tell himself of his own fault. Thenhe discovered that it would ill become him to break his word to Mr.Amedroz and to his daughter, and to do so without a word of excuse,because Clara had exercised a right which was indisputably her own.He had undertaken certain work at Belton which required his presence,and he would go down and do his work as though nothing had occurredto disturb him. To remain away because of this misfortune would be toshow the white feather. It would be unmanly. All this he recognisedas the pictures he had painted faded away from their canvases. As toCaptain Aylmer himself, he hoped that he might never be called uponto meet him. He still hoped that, even as he was resolutely cramminghis shirts into his portmanteau before he began his journey. Hiscousin Clara he thought he could meet, and tender to her someexpression of good wishes as to her future life, without giving wayunder the effort. And to the old squire he could endeavour to makehimself pleasant, speaking of the relief from all trouble which thismarriage with Captain Aylmer would afford,--for now, in his coolermoments, he could perceive that Captain Aylmer was not a man aptto ruin himself, or his wife and children. But to Captain Aylmerhimself, he could not bring himself to say pleasant things or toexpress pleasant wishes. She who was to be Captain Aylmer's wife, wholoved him, would of course have told him what had occurred up amongthe rocks in Belton Park; and if that was so, any meeting betweenWill and Captain Aylmer would be death to the former.

  Thinking of all this he journeyed down to Taunton, and thinking ofall this he made his way from Taunton across to Belton Park.