At His Gates: A Novel. Vol. 2 (of 3)

  CHAPTER X.

  It was natural that there should be nothing talked about that morningthroughout Dura except the ball. All the young people were late ofgetting up, and they were all full of the one subject--how this one andthat one looked; how Charlie haunted Clara all the evening; how young MrNicholas, the curate, whom decorum kept from waltzing, stood mournfullyand gazed at Mary Dalton through all the round dances. Things weregetting very serious between Mary and Mr Nicholas; though waltzing wassuch a temptation to her, poor child, and though she had plenty ofpartners, she sat still half the evening out of pity for the curate'swistful eyes; and yet he had been ungrateful all the same, andreproachful on the way home. Katie Dalton, to her own great comfort, wasstill quite loverless and hampered by nobody's looks. 'I would not putup with it,' she said to her sister; 'because a man chooses to makehimself disagreeable, can you not be allowed to enjoy yourself? It isnot so often we have a dance. I should let him know very plainly, if itwere me.'

  'Oh, Katie dear,' said her sister, 'you don't know what you would do ifit were you.'

  'Well, then, I am very glad it isn't me. I hate parsons!' cried Katie.This was but a specimen of the commotion made by the ball. The suddenincursion of quantities of new people into the limited little society inwhich everybody had appropriated a companion to his or herself was atthe first outset as disagreeable as it was bewildering. The Dura boysand girls had each a sore point somewhere. They had each some reproachesto make, if not audibly, yet in their hearts. Norah and Katie, who werequite fancy-free, were the only ones who had received no wound. At themoment when Mr Rivers sat in the drawing-room at the Gatehouse, Ned andClara Burton were walking down the avenue together, discussing the samesubject. They were both of them somewhat sulky; and both with the sameperson. It was Norah who had affronted both the brother and sister; andto Clara, at least, the affront was doubly bitter, from herconsciousness of the fact that, but for the kindness, nay, charity, ofthe Burtons, Norah never could have come into such a scene of splendourat all. Clara was her father's child, and this was a thing which shenever forgot.

  'I have never been so fond of Norah Drummond as the rest of you were,'she said. 'I think she is a heartless little thing. I am sure what sheand her mother want is to be revenged on us because we are so muchbetter off. I am sure papa thinks so. It is the shabbiest, the mostwretched thing in the world, to hate people because they are betteroff.'

  'Trust to you girls for imputing bad motives,' said Ned. He was verysulky, and rather unhappy, and consequently ready to quarrel with hisbest friend. In his heart he had no such bad opinion of 'girls;' but atthis moment he felt that nothing was too disagreeable to be said.

  'We girls know better what we are about a great deal than you do,' saidClara. 'We see through things. Now that you begin to have your eyesopened about Norah Drummond, I may speak. She is a dreadful littleflirt. I have seen it before, though you never did. Why, I have seen hereven with Mr Nicholas; and she asked Charlie Dalton to dance with herlast night--_asked_ him! Would any girl do that who had a respect forherself, or cared for what people think?'

  'Did Charlie tell you?' said Ned with deeper wrath and wretchednessstill. 'She never asked me,' he said to himself; though he would havebeen ready to dance himself half dead in her service had she but takenthe trouble to ask.

  'I heard her,' said Clara; 'and then, as soon as something better came,she forgot all about Charlie. She made Cyril Rivers dance with her,claiming acquaintance because she met him once when we were all little.Ned, I would never think of that girl more, if I were you. In the firstplace, you know it never could come to anything. Papa would not allowit--a girl without a penny, without any position even, and all thatdreadful story about her father!'

  'The less we say of that dreadful story the better,' said Ned.

  'Why? We have nothing to do with it--except that papa has been so verykind. I don't think it is wise to have poor relations near,' said Clara.'You are obliged to take some notice of them; and they always hate you,and try to come in your way. I know mamma was quite wild to see you, thevery first thing--before you had danced with Lady Florizel, or anyone--taking Norah out.'

  'Mamma is too sensible to think anything about it,' said Ned.

  'You may suppose so, but I know to the contrary. Mamma was very anxiousyou should be attentive to Lady Florizel. We are rich, but we have notany connections to speak of; only rich people, like poor grandpapa. Idon't mean to say I am not very fond of grandpapa; but the exhibition healways makes of himself at those meetings and things, and the way hethrows his money away--money that he ought to be saving up for us. Papasays so, Ned! Why should you look so fierce at me?'

  'Because it is odious to hear you,' said Ned. 'You have no right torepeat what papa says--if papa does say such things. I hope mygrandfather will do exactly what he likes with his money. I am sure hehas the best right.'

  'Oh, that is all very well,' said Clara. '_I_ never had college debts tobe paid. It suits you to be so independent, but it is chiefly you thatthe rest of us are thinking of. You know we have no connections, Ned.Grandpapa and his Dissenters are enough to make one ill. If he had onlybeen philanthropic, one would not have minded so much; but fancy having,every month or two, Mr Truston from the chapel to dinner! So you arebound to make a high marriage when you marry.'

  'I wish, Clara, you would talk of things you understand. I marry--is itlikely?' said Ned.

  'Very likely--if you ask Lady Florizel. Papa would not ask you to gointo the business, or anything. Oh, I know! He does not say much abouthis plans, but he cannot hide a great deal from me. But you spoil itall, Ned,' said Clara severely. 'You put everything wrong, and make yourown people your enemies. Instead of seeing how nice and how sweet andhow charming the right young lady is, you go and throw yourself away onNorah Drummond--who leaves you in the lurch the moment she sees some oneelse better worth her pains.'

  'And who might that be?' asked Ned. He tried to laugh, poor fellow, buthis laugh and his voice were both unsteady. There was truth in it all;that was what made him so tremulous with anger and suppressed passion.

  'As if you could not see for yourself,' said Clara, herself flushingwith indignation. 'Why, Cyril Rivers, of course. No doubt they haddecided he was the best man to pitch upon. Lord Merewether was toogrand; they could not venture upon him--and the Marchioness was thereto take care of her son. But poor Cyril had nobody to take care of him.I saw Mrs Drummond look at him in her languid way. She has somemagnetism about her, that woman. I have seen her look at people before,and gradually something drew them that they had to go and talk to her.That was how it was last night. Of course, Norah thought no more of you.She had bigger game. She knew very well, if things changed, and CyrilRivers escaped from her, that, so far as you were concerned, she hadonly to hold out a finger.'

  'You don't seem to make very much of me,' said Ned with an angry blush.

  'No, I should not make much of--any boy,' said Clara calmly. 'What couldyou do? You would fall into the net directly. You are such a simpleton,such a baby, that, of course, Norah would not need even to take anytrouble. If she only held up her finger----'

  'That is what you mean to do to Charlie, I suppose?' said Ned, withconcentrated brotherly malice; and then it was Clara's turn to flashcrimson, not so much with shame as with anger. Her complexion was sobeautiful, her white so white, and her red so rosy, that the deepercolour which flushed all over her face in a moment seemed to dye thewavy, downy, velvety surface. Her blue eyes flashed out, deepening incolour like the sea under the wind.

  'What does it matter to you what I mean to do?' she cried, and turnedher back upon him in her wrath, and went back again up the avenuewithout a word of warning. Ned, in his surprise, stood and looked afterher. She was like a Juno, as Mr Rivers had said. She was the youngest ofthe whole band; but yet the great scale on which she was formed, herimperious manner and looks, gave her a certain command among them. Theothers were pretty girls; but Clara was splendid, and a woman. She hadto be judged on a differen
t standard. Poor Ned's heart was very sore; hewas very angry, and wounded, and unhappy; and yet he recognised thedifference as he stood and looked after his sister. It was natural thatshe should make up her mind to marry whosoever pleased her--and break aheart as she would cast away a flower. There was nothing out ofcharacter in the superior tone she had taken with her elder brother. Onthe contrary, it was natural to her; and as for Norah, poor littleNorah, what would befall her should she come in the way of this queen?Ned went upon his own way down the village with a hankering in hisheart which all Clara's worldly wisdom and all his wounded pride couldnot quite subdue. Norah had been unkind to him. She had danced with himbut twice all that long evening. She had danced with everybody but him.He had seen her--was it a dozen times?--with Rivers--confound him! Andthen he wondered whether there was any truth in Clara's theory aboutRivers. Had Mrs Drummond herself fallen into that way of matchmakingwhich was natural to mothers? He breathed a little more freely when hepresumed that it must be she, and she only, who was to blame, not Norah.He strolled on with his hands in his pockets, thinking if, perhaps, hecould meet her, or see her at a window, or persuade Katie Dalton tofetch her; there was always a hundred chances of an accidental meetingin Dura. But he could not with his own sore heart and wounded temper goto the Gatehouse.

  Just as Ned reached the lodge going out, Mr Rivers entered the gatescoming back. He had a condescending, friendly way of accosting Ned whichthe young fellow could not bear.

  'Ah, going into the village?' he said. 'I am glad to be able to assureyou that nobody has suffered from last night.'

  'I didn't suppose they had. I am going to the post,' said Ned, surly asa young bear.

  'Don't let me detain you, in that case. The post is too important towait for anything,' Rivers said, stepping aside.

  Ned looked at him, and would have liked to knock him down. He thoughtwhat an effeminate puppy the fellow was, what a curled darling--the sortof thing that girls admire and think very fine, and all men despise. Inshort, the feelings with which a washed-out young woman contemplates thecreature who is recognised as 'a gentleman's beauty' were a trifle tothose which governed Ned. Such feelings, it would appear, must benatural. Ned despised the man for being handsome, and the women forthinking him so, with a virulence which no neglected maiden eversurpassed.

  'Do you want me, Burton?' Mr Rivers said pleasantly, seeing that theother did not pass on.

  'Oh, good heavens, no! not the least in the world,' cried boorish Ned,and went on without another word.

  'Country lout!' the hero said quietly, with a smile to himself. If hecould but have heard the comments upon him which were passing throughthe mind of Ned!

  Clara, for her part, went home with her mind full of angry thoughts. Shehad no personal feeling about Cyril Rivers. If she liked any one it waspoor Charlie, who was her slave. But Clara knew with precocious worldlywisdom that _that_ would never come to anything. It might be all verywell for the moment. It was pleasant enough to have him hanging about,watching her every look, attentive to her lightest word. But it nevercould come to anything. The highest prosperity which the future couldbring to Charlie would be advancement in the public office where he wasnow a junior clerk. And that was no lot for her to share: she, MrBurton's daughter, might (her father said) pick and choose among themost eligible men in England. Mr Burton was in the habit of speaking inthis unguarded way. Clara was his favourite in the family, his chosencompanion, his almost confidante. He was proud of her beauty and'style,' and fond of thinking that, in mind at least, she resembledhimself. It was he who had settled that Cyril Rivers should be invitedto Dura, and should, as a natural consequence, offer all that remainedto the Riverses to Clara. The idea of this alliance pleased his mind,though the Riverses were not so rich as they used to be. 'They arestill very well off, and the title must be taken into consideration,' hehad said to his wife. And when Clara returned home she found her parentssitting together in the library, which was not very common, anddiscussing their children's prospects, which was less common still. Itwas October, and there was a fire over which Mrs Burton was sitting. Shewas a chilly woman at all times. She had not blood enough, nor lifeenough physically, to keep her warm, and she had been up late, and wastired and not disposed to be on her best company behaviour in the bigdrawing-room on the chance that the Marchioness might come down-stairs.Mrs Burton was not quite so placid as she once had been. As her childrenhad grown up there had been complications to encounter more trying tothe temper than the naughtiness of their childhood; and it sometimeshappened that all the advantages to be gained from a succession of finevisitors would be neutralized, or partially neutralized, by thereluctance of the mistress of the house to devote her personal attentionto them. Or so, at least, Mr Burton thought. His wife, on the otherhand, was of opinion that it was best to leave the visitors sometimes tothemselves; and this was what she had done to-day. She had establishedherself over the library fire with a book after luncheon, leaving theMarchioness and the young ladies to drive or to repose as they pleased.And this piece of self-will had procured her a reprimand, as forcible asMr Burton dared to deliver, when he came in and found her there.

  'You are throwing away our chances, Clara,' he said. 'You are settingthe worst example to the children. If the Marchioness had not beenresting in her own rooms----'

  'The Marchioness is very well, Mr Burton,' said his wife. 'You may besure I know what I am doing so far as she is concerned. She does notwant me to follow her about and make a fuss, as some people do.'

  'I have always told you,' said Mr Burton, 'that I wished the utmostcivility to be shown to people of her rank in my house. Why, Clara, whatcan you be thinking of? With all the ambitious ideas you have in yourhead for Ned----'

  'My ambition is very easily satisfied,' she said, 'if you will let theboy follow his own inclinations. He has no turn for business; all thathe would do in business would be to lose what you have made.'

  'If he makes a good match--if he marries into the Merewether family--Ishould not say another word about business,' said Mr Burton. Looking athim in daylight, it was still more easy to perceive the change that hadcome over him. His clothes, those well-made, light-coloured clotheswhich had once been a model of everything that clothes should be, hadbegun to look almost shabby, though they were in themselves as glossyand as spotless as ever. Anxiety was written in the lines about hiseyes. 'Should the children do well, Clara--should they do as we wishthem--I should be tempted myself to get out of the business, when I havean opportunity,' he said. 'It is wearing work, especially when one hasnobody to help, nobody to sympathize;' and the man who had been alwaysthe incarnation of prosperity, needing no props of external support,puffed out from his bosom a real sigh.

  Mrs Burton took no notice; she was perfectly calm and unmoved, eitherunaware that her husband had displayed anything like emotion, orindifferent to it.

  'I cannot say that I have ever been fond of these matchmaking schemes,'she said, 'and Ned is only a boy; but there is one thing that must betaken into consideration, whatever you may do in this matter; that isNorah Drummond. If she thinks differently, you may as well give up theconflict.'

  'Norah Drummond!' said Mr Burton, grinding his teeth. 'By Jove! theytalk about a man's pleasant sins being against him; but there is nothingso bad in that way as his unpleasant virtues, I can tell you. If all theannoyance I have had through these two women could be reckoned up----'

  'I do not know what annoyance you may have had yourself,' said MrsBurton, in her cold, judicial way. 'I have seen nothing to complain of.But now I confess it begins to be unpleasant. She has more influenceover Ned than any of us. He danced with her last night before any oneelse. He is always there, or meeting her at other places. I haveobserved it for some time. But you have done nothing to stop it, MrBurton. Sometimes I have thought you approved, from the way you haveallowed things to go on.'

  'I approve!' he cried, with something like horror.

  'How was I to know? I do not say it is of very much importance
. Ned, ofcourse, will follow his own taste, not ours.'

  'But, by Jove, he sha'n't!' cried Mr Burton. 'By Jove, he shall takehimself out of this, and make his own way, if I hear any more nonsense.What! after all I have done to set them up in the world--after all Ihave gone through!'

  He was affected, whatever was the cause. There was something likeagitation about him. He was changed altogether from the confident man offormer times. His wife looked at him with a little surprise, and came tothis conclusion quite suddenly. She had not noticed it when he was amongother people, playing his part of host with an offensive hospitalitywhich often annoyed her, and which the Marchioness, for example,scarcely hesitated to show her contempt of. But now, when there was noone present, when he was free to look as he pleased, Mrs Burton foundout all at once that her husband was changed. Was it merely that he wasolder, tired with last night's dissipation, not so able to defy latehours, and supper and champagne, as he had once done? She was not awoman to rest in so superficial a view of affairs; but for the momentthese were the questions she asked herself, as she looked at him withcalm yet undeniable surprise.

  'You seem to be excited, Mr Burton,' she said.

  'Excited!' he cried; 'and good reason, too; with you sitting there ascold as a little fish, never thinking of the interests of your family,talking of Ned thwarting me as if it was nothing! If I were excited itwould be little wonder, I think.'

  'I have no desire that Ned should thwart you,' she said; 'on thecontrary, it is my own wish. He will never make a good man of business.A marriage with one of the Merewethers, or a girl in that position, withyour money, Mr Burton, would be the best thing for him. He might getinto Parliament, and do all that I once hoped for you; but what I hopedis neither here nor there.'

  Mrs Burton was only human, though she was so philosophical; and this wasa stroke in her own defence.

  'See that Ned does it, then,' he said. 'Perhaps it was what I hoped too;but business has swallowed me up, instead of leaving me more free. Youought to make it your duty to see that Ned does what we both wish. Whatis there to stand in the way?'

  'Not much,' said Mrs Burton, shrugging her shoulders. 'NorahDrummond--not a very large person--that is all.'

  'Confound Norah Drummond! A man is always a fool when he thinks of otherpeople. I am finding that out too late. But you may compose yourselfabout Ned,' added the father, with irony. 'That little thing has otherfish to fry. She is poking herself into Clara's way, confound her! Thatsentimental ass, Rivers, who is unfit to touch my child's hand----'

  'I heard of that too,' said Mrs Burton, in a low voice.

  'I should think you did hear of it; but you never interfered, so far asI could see. He would have danced with her all night, if I had not takenit into my own hands. The ass! a poor little chit like that, when hemight have had Clary! But, however, understand me, Clara, this is awoman's business. I want these children settled and put out in life. Nedmay be rather young, but many a young fellow in his position is marriedat one-and-twenty. And, by Jove, I can't go on bearing this infernalstrain! I should give it up if it was not for them.'

  'Is there anything going wrong, Mr Burton?' asked his wife.

  'What should be going wrong? I am tired of working and never getting anysympathy. I want a son-in-law and a daughter-in-law who will do uscredit--but, above all, a son-in-law. And I don't see any obstacle inthe way which you cannot overcome, if you choose.'

  'I wonder,' said Mrs Burton, 'can I overcome Norah Drummond?--and hermother? They are the obstacles in the way.'

  'Thanks to my confounded good-heartedness,' said her husband.

  And it was at this moment Clara came in and joined their deliberations.Little more, however, was said, and she was sent away to seek out LadyFlorizel, and do her duty to the young visitors as the daughter of thehouse should. Mr Burton went off himself to see if the Marchioness hadmade herself visible, and do his best to overwhelm her with fussyhospitality. But Mrs Burton sat still on the library fire and warmed hercold little feet, and set her mind to work out the problem. It was likea game of chess, with two skilfully-arrayed, scientific lines of attackall brought to nothing by a cunning little knight, of doublemovement-power, in the centre of the board. Either of the schemes onwhich her husband had set his heart, or both--and one of them was dearto herself also if she would have acknowledged it--might be brought to asatisfactory issue, if this little Norah, this penniless child, thispoor little waif, who had grown up at their gates, could but be put outof the way. Was the part of Nemesis, so unlike her childish appearanceand character, reserved for Norah? or was the mother using her child asthe instrument of a deep, and patient, and long-prepared vengeance? Itwas the latter view of the question which was most congenial to MrsBurton's mind; but whether it was that or fate, the greatestcombinations which the family at the great house had yet ventured on,the things most concerning their comfort and happiness, were suddenlystopped short by this little figure. It was Norah Drummond, only Norah,who was the lion in the way.