The Claverings

  CHAPTER VII.

  SOME SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A COUNTESS.

  [Illustration.]

  About the middle of January Harry Clavering went up to London, andsettled himself to work at Mr. Beilby's office. Mr. Beilby's officeconsisted of four or five large chambers, overlooking the river fromthe bottom of Adam Street in the Adelphi, and here Harry found atable for himself in the same apartment with three other pupils. Itwas a fine old room, lofty, and with large windows, ornamented on theceiling with Italian scrollwork, and a flying goddess in the centre.In days gone by the house had been the habitation of some greatrich man, who had there enjoyed the sweet breezes from the riverbefore London had become the London of the present days, and when noembankment had been needed for the Thames. Nothing could be nicerthan this room, or more pleasant than the table and seat which he wasto occupy near a window; but there was something in the tone of theother men towards him which did not quite satisfy him. They probablydid not know that he was a fellow of a college, and treated himalmost as they might have done had he come to them direct from King'sCollege, in the Strand, or from the London University. Down atStratton, a certain amount of honour had been paid to him. They hadknown there who he was, and had felt some deference for him. They hadnot slapped him on the back, or poked him in the ribs, or even calledhim old fellow, before some length of acquaintance justified suchappellation. But up at Mr. Beilby's, in the Adelphi, one young man,who was certainly his junior in age, and who did not seem as yetto have attained any high position in the science of engineering,manifestly thought that he was acting in a friendly and becoming wayby declaring the stranger to be a lad of wax on the second day of hisappearance. Harry Clavering was not disinclined to believe that hewas a "lad of wax," or "a brick," or "a trump," or "no small beer."But he desired that such complimentary and endearing appellationsshould be used to him only by those who had known him long enough tobe aware that he deserved them. Mr. Joseph Walliker certainly was notas yet among this number.

  There was a man at Mr. Beilby's who was entitled to greet him withendearing terms, and to be so greeted himself, although Harry hadnever seen him till he attended for the first time at the Adelphi.This was Theodore Burton, his future brother-in-law, who was nowthe leading man in the London house;--the leading man as regardedbusiness, though he was not as yet a partner. It was understood thatthis Mr. Burton was to come in when his father went out; and inthe meantime he received a salary of a thousand a year as managingclerk. A very hard-working, steady, intelligent man was Mr. TheodoreBurton, with a bald head, a high forehead, and that look of constantwork about him which such men obtain. Harry Clavering could notbring himself to take a liking to him, because he wore cottongloves and had an odious habit of dusting his shoes with hispocket-handkerchief. Twice Harry saw him do this on the first dayof their acquaintance, and he regretted it exceedingly. The cottongloves too were offensive, as were also the thick shoes which hadbeen dusted; but the dusting was the great sin.

  And there was something which did not quite please Harry in Mr.Theodore Burton's manner, though the gentleman had manifestlyintended to be very kind to him. When Burton had been speaking to himfor a minute or two, it flashed across Harry's mind that he had notbound himself to marry the whole Burton family, and that, perhaps,he must take some means to let that fact be known. "Theodore," ashe had so often heard the younger Mr. Burton called by loving lips,seemed to claim him as his own, called him Harry, and upbraidedhim with friendly warmth for not having come direct to his,--Mr.Burton's,--house in Onslow Crescent. "Pray feel yourself at homethere," said Mr. Burton. "I hope you'll like my wife. You needn't beafraid of being made to be idle if you spend your evenings there, forwe are all reading people. Will you come and dine to-day?" Florencehad told him that she was her brother Theodore's favourite sister,and that Theodore as a husband and a brother, and a man, was perfect.But Theodore had dusted his boots with his handkerchief, and HarryClavering would not dine with him on that day.

  And then it was painfully manifest to him that every one in theoffice knew his destiny with reference to old Burton's daughter. Hehad been one of the Stratton men, and no more than any other had hegone unscathed through the Stratton fire. He had been made to do theregular thing, as Granger, Scarness, and others had done it. Strattonwould be safer ground now, as Clavering had taken the last. That wasthe feeling on the matter which seemed to belong to others. It wasnot that Harry thought in this way of his own Florence. He knew wellenough what a lucky fellow he was to have won such a girl. He waswell aware how widely his Florence differed from Carry Scarness. Hedenied to himself indignantly that he had any notion of repentingwhat he had done. But he did wish that these private matters mighthave remained private, and that all the men at Beilby's had notknown of his engagement. When Walliker, on the fourth day of theiracquaintance, asked him if it was all right at Stratton, he made uphis mind that he hated Walliker, and that he would hate Walliker tothe last day of his life. He had declined the first invitation givento him by Theodore Burton; but he could not altogether avoid hisfuture brother-in-law, and had agreed to dine with him on this day.

  On that same afternoon Harry, when he left Mr. Beilby's office, wentdirect to Bolton Street, that he might call on Lady Ongar. As he wentthither he bethought himself that these Wallikers and the like hadhad no such events in life as had befallen him! They laughed at himabout Florence Burton, little guessing that it had been his lot tolove, and to be loved by such a one as Julia Brabazon had been,--sucha one as Lady Ongar now was. But things had gone well with him. JuliaBrabazon could have made no man happy, but Florence Burton would bethe sweetest, dearest, truest little wife that ever man took to hishome. He was thinking of this, and determined to think of it more andmore daily, as he knocked at Lady Ongar's door. "Yes; her ladyshipwas at home," said the servant whom he had seen on the railwayplatform; and in a few moments' time he found himself in thedrawing-room which he had criticized so carefully when he was takingit for its present occupant.

  He was left in the room for five or six minutes, and was able to makea full mental inventory of its contents. It was very different in itspresent aspect from the room which he had seen not yet a month since.She had told him that the apartments had been all that she desired;but since then everything had been altered, at least in appearance.A new piano had been brought in, and the chintz on the furniture wassurely new. And the room was crowded with small feminine belongings,indicative of wealth and luxury. There were ornaments about, andpretty toys, and a thousand knickknacks which none but the rich canpossess, and which none can possess even among the rich unless theycan give taste as well as money to their acquisition. Then he heard alight step; the door opened, and Lady Ongar was there.

  He expected to see the same figure that he had seen on the railwayplatform, the same gloomy drapery, the same quiet, almost deathlikedemeanour, nay, almost the same veil over her features; but the LadyOngar whom he now saw was as unlike that Lady Ongar as she was unlikethat Julia Brabazon whom he had known in old days at Clavering Park.She was dressed, no doubt, in black; nay, no doubt, she was dressedin weeds; but in spite of the black and in spite of the weeds therewas nothing about her of the weariness or of the solemnity of woe.He hardly saw that her dress was made of crape, or that long whitependants were hanging down from the cap which sat so prettily uponher head. But it was her face at which he gazed. At first he thoughtthat she could hardly be the same woman, she was to his eyes so mucholder than she had been! And yet as he looked at her, he found thatshe was as handsome as ever,--more handsome than she had ever beenbefore. There was a dignity about her face and figure which becameher well, and which she carried as though she knew herself to be invery truth a countess. It was a face which bore well such signs ofage as those which had come upon it. She seemed to be a woman fitterfor womanhood than for girlhood. Her eyes were brighter than of yore,and, as Harry thought, larger; and her high forehead and noble stampof countenance seemed fitted for the dress and headgear which shewore.

  "I hav
e been expecting you," said she, stepping up to him. "Hermionewrote me word that you were to come up on Monday. Why did you notcome sooner?" There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and aconfidence in her tone which almost confounded him.

  "I have had so many things to do," said he lamely.

  "About your new profession. Yes, I can understand that. And so youare settled in London now? Where are you living;--that is, if you aresettled yet?" In answer to this, Harry told her that he had takenlodgings in Bloomsbury Square, blushing somewhat as he named sounfashionable a locality. Old Mrs. Burton had recommended him to thehouse in which he was located, but he did not find it necessary toexplain that fact to Lady Ongar.

  "I have to thank you for what you did for me," continued she. "Youran away from me in such a hurry on that night that I was unable tospeak to you. But to tell the truth, Harry, I was in no mood then tospeak to any one. Of course you thought that I treated you ill."

  "Oh, no," said he.

  "Of course you did. If I thought you did not, I should be angry withyou now. But had it been to save my life I could not have helpedit. Why did not Sir Hugh Clavering come to meet me? Why did not mysister's husband come to me?" To this question Harry could make noanswer. He was still standing with his hat in his hand, and nowturned his face away from her and shook his head.

  "Sit down, Harry," she said, "and let me talk to you like afriend;--unless you are in a hurry to go away."

  "Oh, no," said he, seating himself.

  "Or unless you, too, are afraid of me."

  "Afraid of you, Lady Ongar?"

  "Yes, afraid; but I don't mean you. I don't believe that you arecoward enough to desert a woman who was once your friend becausemisfortune has overtaken her, and calumny has been at work with hername."

  "I hope not," said he.

  "No, Harry; I do not think it of you. But if Sir Hugh be not acoward, why did he not come and meet me? Why has he left me to standalone, now that he could be of service to me? I knew that money washis god, but I have never asked him for a shilling and should nothave done so now. Oh, Harry, how wicked you were about that cheque!Do you remember?"

  "Yes; I remember."

  "So shall I; always, always. If I had taken that money how oftenshould I have heard of it since?"

  "Heard of it?" he asked. "Do you mean from me?"

  "Yes; how often from you? Would you have dunned me, and told me of itonce a week? Upon my word, Harry, I was told of it more nearly everyday. Is it not wonderful that men should be so mean?"

  It was clear to him now that she was talking of her husband who wasdead, and on that subject he felt himself at present unable to speaka word. He little dreamed at that moment how openly she would soonspeak to him of Lord Ongar and of Lord Ongar's faults!

  "Oh, how I have wished that I had taken your money! But never mindabout that now, Harry. Wretched as such taunts were, they soon becamea small thing. But it has been cowardly in your cousin, Hugh; has itnot? If I had not lived with him as one of his family, it would nothave mattered. People would not have expected it. It was as though myown brother had cast me forth."

  "Lady Clavering has been with you; has she not?"

  "Once, for half-an-hour. She came up for one day, and came here byherself, cowering as though she were afraid of me. Poor Hermy! Shehas not a good time of it either. You lords of creation lead yourslaves sad lives when it pleases you to change your billing andcooing for matter-of-fact masterdom and rule. I don't blame Hermy.I suppose she did all she could, and I did not utter one word ofreproach of her. Nor should I to him. Indeed, if he came now theservant would deny me to him. He has insulted me, and I shallremember the insult."

  Harry Clavering did not clearly understand what it was that LadyOngar had desired of her brother-in-law,--what aid she had required;nor did he know whether it would be fitting for him to offer to actin Sir Hugh's place. Anything that he could do, he felt himself atthat moment willing to do, even though the necessary service shoulddemand some sacrifice greater than prudence could approve. "If I hadthought that anything was wanted, I should have come to you sooner,"said he.

  "Everything is wanted, Harry. Everything is wanted;--except thatcheque for six hundred pounds which you sent me so treacherously. Didyou ever think what might have happened if a certain person had heardof that? All the world would have declared that you had done it foryour own private purposes;--all the world, except one."

  Harry, as he heard this, felt that he was blushing. Did Lady Ongarknow of his engagement with Florence Burton? Lady Clavering knew it,and might probably have told the tidings; but then, again, she mightnot have told them. Harry at this moment wished that he knew how itwas. All that Lady Ongar said to him would come with so differenta meaning according as she did, or did not know that fact. But hehad no mind to tell her of the fact himself. He declared to himselfthat he hoped she knew it, as it would serve to make them both morecomfortable together; but he did not think that it would do for himto bring forward the subject, neck and heels as it were. The properthing would be that she should congratulate him, but this she did notdo. "I certainly meant no ill," he said, in answer to the last wordsshe had spoken.

  "You have never meant ill to me, Harry; though you know you haveabused me dreadfully before now. I daresay you forget the hard namesyou have called me. You men do forget such things."

  "I remember calling you one name."

  "Do not repeat it now, if you please. If I deserved it, it wouldshame me; and if I did not, it should shame you."

  "No; I will not repeat it."

  "Does it not seem odd, Harry, that you and I should be sitting,talking together in this way?" She was leaning now towards him,across the table, and one hand was raised to her forehead while hereyes were fixed intently upon his. The attitude was one which hefelt to express extreme intimacy. She would not have sat in thatway, pressing back her hair from her brow, with all appearance ofwidowhood banished from her face, in the presence of any but a dearand close friend. He did not think of this, but he felt that it wasso, almost by instinct. "I have such a tale to tell you," she said;"such a tale!"

  A friendly talk.]

  Why should she tell it to him? Of course he asked himself thisquestion. Then he remembered that she had no brother,--rememberedalso that her brother-in-law had deserted her, and he declared tohimself that, if necessary, he would be her brother. "I fear that youhave not been happy," said he, "since I saw you last."

  "Happy!" she replied. "I have lived such a life as I did not thinkany man or woman could be made to live on this side the grave. I willbe honest with you, Harry. Nothing but the conviction that it couldnot be for long has saved me from destroying myself. I knew that hemust die!"

  "Oh, Lady Ongar!"

  "Yes, indeed; that is the name he gave me; and because I consented totake it from him, he treated me;--O heavens! how am I to find wordsto tell you what he did, and the way in which he treated me. A womancould not tell it to a man. Harry, I have no friend that I trust butyou, but to you I cannot tell it. When he found that he had beenwrong in marrying me, that he did not want the thing which he hadthought would suit him, that I was a drag upon him rather than acomfort,--what was his mode, do you think, of ridding himself of theburden?" Clavering sat silent looking at her. Both her hands were nowup to her forehead, and her large eyes were gazing at him till hefound himself unable to withdraw his own for a moment from her face."He strove to get another man to take me off his hands; and when hefound that he was failing,--he charged me with the guilt which hehimself had contrived for me."

  "Lady Ongar!"

  "Yes; you may well stare at me. You may well speak hoarsely and looklike that. It may be that even you will not believe me;--but by theGod in whom we both believe, I tell you nothing but the truth. Heattempted that and he failed,--and then he accused me of the crimewhich he could not bring me to commit."

  "And what then?"

  "Yes; what then? Harry, I had a thing to do, and a life to live,that would have tried the bravest; but I w
ent through it. I stuck tohim to the last! He told me before he was dying,--before that lastfrightful illness, that I was staying with him for his money. 'Foryour money, my lord,' I said, 'and for my own name.' And so it was.Would it have been wise in me, after all that I had gone through, tohave given up that for which I had sold myself? I had been very poor,and had been so placed that poverty, even such poverty as mine, wasa curse to me. You know what I gave up because I feared that curse.Was I to be foiled at last, because such a creature as that wantedto shirk out of his bargain? I knew there were some who would say Ihad been false. Hugh Clavering says so now, I suppose. But they nevershould say I had left him to die alone in a foreign land."

  "Did he ask you to leave him?"

  "No;--but he called me that name which no woman should hear and stay.No woman should do so unless she had a purpose such as mine. Hewanted back the price that he had paid, and I was determined to donothing that should assist him in his meanness! And then, Harry, hislast illness! Oh, Harry, you would pity me if you could know all!"

  "It was his own intemperance!"

  "Intemperance! It was brandy,--sheer brandy. He brought himself tosuch a state that nothing but brandy would keep him alive, and inwhich brandy was sure to kill him;--and it did kill him. Did you everhear of the horrors of drink?"

  "Yes; I have heard of such a state."

  "I hope you may never live to see it. It is a sight that would stickby you for ever. But I saw it, and tended him through the whole, asthough I had been his servant. I remained with him when that man whoopened the door for you could no longer endure the room. I was withhim when the strong woman from the hospital, though she could notunderstand his words, almost fainted at what she saw and heard. Hewas punished, Harry. I need wish no farther vengeance on him, evenfor all his cruelty, his injustice, his unmanly treachery. Is itnot fearful to think that any man should have the power of bringinghimself to such an end as that?"

  Harry was thinking rather how fearful it was that a man should haveit in his power to drag any woman through such a Gehenna as thatwhich this lord had created. He felt that had Julia Brabazon beenhis, as she had once promised him, he never would have allowedhimself to speak a harsh word to her, to have looked at her exceptwith loving eyes. But she had chosen to join herself to a man who hadtreated her with a cruelty exceeding all that his imagination couldhave conceived. "It is a mercy that he has gone," said he at last.

  "It is a mercy for both. Perhaps you can understand now something ofmy married life. And through it all I had but one friend;--if I maycall him a friend who had come to terms with my husband, and was tohave been his agent in destroying me. But when this man understoodfrom me that I was not what he had been taught to think me,--which myhusband had told him I was,--he relented."

  "May I ask what was that man's name?"

  "His name is Pateroff. He is a Pole, but he speaks English like anEnglishman. In my presence he told Lord Ongar that he was false andbrutal. Lord Ongar laughed, with that little, low, sneering laughterwhich was his nearest approach to merriment, and told Count Pateroffthat that was of course his game before me. There, Harry,--I willtell you nothing more of it. You will understand enough to know whatI have suffered; and if you can believe that I have not sinned--"

  "Oh, Lady Ongar!"

  "Well, I will not doubt you again. But as far as I can learn you arenearly alone in your belief. What Hermy thinks I cannot tell, but shewill soon come to think as Hugh may bid her. And I shall not blameher. What else can she do, poor creature?"

  "I am sure she believes no ill of you."

  "I have one advantage, Harry,--one advantage over her and someothers. I am free. The chains have hurt me sorely during my slavery;but I am free, and the price of my servitude remains. He had writtenhome,--would you believe that?--while I was living with him he hadwritten home to say that evidence should be collected for getting ridof me. And yet he would sometimes be civil, hoping to cheat me intoinadvertencies. He would ask that man to dine, and then of a suddenwould be absent; and during this he was ordering that evidence shouldbe collected! Evidence, indeed! The same servants have lived with methrough it all. If I could now bring forward evidence I could make itall clear as the day. But there needs no care for a woman's honour,though a man may have to guard his by collecting evidence!"

  "But what he did cannot injure you."

  "Yes, Harry, it has injured me; it has all but destroyed me. Have notreports reached even you? Speak out like a man, and say whether it isnot so?"

  "I have heard something."

  "Yes, you have heard something! If you heard something of your sisterwhere would you be? All the world would be a chaos to you till youhad pulled out somebody's tongue by the roots. Not injured me! Fortwo years your cousin Hugh's house was my home. I met Lord Ongar inhis house. I was married from his house. He is my brother-in-law, andit so happens that of all men he is the nearest to me. He stands wellbefore the world, and at this time could have done me real service.How is it that he did not welcome me home;--that I am not now at hishouse with my sister; that he did not meet me so that the world mightknow that I was received back among my own people? Why is it, Harry,that I am telling this to you;--to you, who are nothing to me; mysister's husband's cousin; a young man, from your position not fit tobe my confidant? Why am I telling this to you, Harry?"

  "Because we are old friends," said he, wondering again at this momentwhether she knew of his engagement with Florence Burton.

  "Yes, we are old friends, and we have always liked each other; butyou must know that, as the world judges, I am wrong to tell all thisto you. I should be wrong,--only that the world has cast me out,so that I am no longer bound to regard it. I am Lady Ongar, and Ihave my share of that man's money. They have given me up Ongar Park,having satisfied themselves that it is mine by right, and must bemine by law. But he has robbed me of every friend I had in the world,and yet you tell me he has not injured me!"

  "Not every friend."

  "No, Harry, I will not forget you, though I spoke so slightinglyof you just now. But your vanity need not be hurt. It is only theworld,--Mrs. Grundy, you know, that would deny me such friendshipas yours; not my own taste or choice. Mrs. Grundy always denies usexactly those things which we ourselves like best. You are cleverenough to understand that."

  He smiled and looked foolish, and declared that he only offered hisassistance because perhaps it might be convenient at the presentmoment. What could he do for her? How could he show his friendshipfor her now at once?

  "You have done it, Harry, in listening to me and giving me yoursympathy. It is seldom that we want any great thing from our friends.I want nothing of that kind. No one can hurt me much further now. Mymoney and my rank are safe; and, perhaps, by degrees, acquaintances,if not friends, will form themselves round me again. At present, ofcourse, I see no one; but because I see no one, I wanted some one towhom I could speak. Poor Hermy is worse than no one. Good-by, Harry;you look surprised and bewildered now, but you will soon get overthat. Don't be long before I see you again."

  Then, feeling that he was bidden to go, he wished her good-by, andwent.