CHAPTER XVII.
CAMELIAS.
While at the Old Barn, and Rectory also, matters were thus improving,there was no lifting of the clouds, but even deeper gloom atWalderscourt. The house, that had been so gay and happy, warm andhospitable, brisk with pleasant indoor amusement; or eager to sallyforth upon some lively sport, whenever the weather looked tempting; thehouse that had been the home of many joyful dogs--true optimists, andtherefore the best friends of man--and had daily looked out of itswindows, and admired (with noddings of pretty heads, and glances ofbright eyes) the manner a good horse has of saying--"by your leave, Iwant to see a little bit of the world. Two days looking at my ownbreath, and your nasty whitewash! It would grieve me very much to pitchyou off. But remember you have seventy years, and I about seventeen,for seeing God's light, and the glories of the earth."
None of these high-mettled things happened now. If a horse had anairing, it was with a cloth on, and heels of no perception stickingunder him, like nippers; instead of the kind and intelligent approach ofa foot that felt every step, and went with it--though thankful for beingabove the mud--or better still, that stroking of his goodness with thegrain, which every gentlemanly horse throws up his head to answer, whena lady of right feeling floats upon the breeze to please him.
Neither was there any dog about. Volumes of description close with abang, the moment such a thing is said. Any lawn, where dogs have played,and any gravel-walk,--whereon they have sauntered, with keenerobservation than even Shakespeare can have felt, or rushed with headlonginterest into the life-history of some visitor--lawn, and walk, and evenflower-beds (touchy at times about sepulture of bones) wear a desolateaspect, and look as if they are longing to cry, too late--"Oh barkagain, as thou wast wont to bark!"
The premises may not have felt it thus; or if they did, were too mute totell it. But an air of desolation broods over its own breath; andsilence is a ghost that grows bigger at each stalk. There were no leavesleft, to make a little hush by dropping, as a dead man does from thehuman tree; for the nip of early frost had sent them down, on the nightof their Master's funeral, to a grave more peaceful and secure than his.Neither had men worked over hard, to improve the state of things aroundthem. With true philosophy, they had accepted the sere and yellow leaf;because nobody came to make them sweep it up. The less a man labours,the longer will he last, according to general theory; and these menthough plentiful, desired to last long. So that a visitor of thoughtfulvein might form a fair table of the course of "earth-currents," duringthe last three weeks, from the state of the big lawn at Walderscourt;where Sir Thomas used to lean upon his stick, and say--"that man isworking almost too hard. He looks as if he ought to have a glass ofbeer."
But the gentleman, now coming up the drive, was not in the proper frameof mind for groundling observation. Not that he failed to look abouthim, as if to expand or improve his mind; but the only result upon hisnervous system was to make it work harder upon his own affairs. He wasvisited with a depressing sense of something hanging over him--ofsomething that must direct, and shape, the whole course of his futurelife; and whether it might be for good or evil, he was hurrying to gothrough with it.
"I don't care; I don't care," he kept saying to himself; but that selfwas well aware that he did care very much; as much as for all the restof the world put together. "I've a great mind to toss up about it," hesaid, as he felt a lucky sixpence in his pocket; but his sense of thefitness of things prevailed; so he put on a fine turn of speed, and rangthe bell.
The old house looked so different, and everything around so changed,that our friend Fox had a weak impression, and perhaps a strong hope,that the bell would prove to be out of its duty, and refuse to wag. Butalas, far otherwise; the bell replied with a clang that made him jump,and seek reassurance in the flavour of his black kid glove. He hadplenty of time to dwell fully upon that, and even write a report uponthe subject, ere ever door showed any loyalty to bell; and even then,there was stiffness about it. For one of the stiffest of mankind stoodthere, instead of the genial John, or Bob--Mr. Binstock himself, a tallman of three score, Major of the cellar, and commander of the household.He, in a new suit of black, and bearing a gold chain on his portlyfront, looked down upon the vainly upstanding Jemmy, as if in need of anintroduction.
But Dr. Fox was not the man to cave in thus. The door was a large one,with broad aperture; and this allowed the visitor to march in, as if hehad failed to see the great Binstock. Taking his stand upon a leopard'sskin, in the centre of the entrance hall, he gazed around calmly, as ifhe were the stranger contemplated by the serving-man.
"You will have the goodness to take this card up. No thank you, my man,I will stay where I am."
The butler's face deepened from the tint of a radish to that of therichest beet-root; but he feared to reply, and took the card without aword. "My turn will come very soon," was in his eyes.
Acquainted as he was with the domestic signs and seasons, Fox had not ashadow of a doubt about his fate, so far as the lady of the house couldpronounce it. But for all that he saw no reason to submit to rudeness;and all his tremors vanished now at this man's servile arrogance. Howmany a time had that fat palm borne the impress of a five-shillingpiece, slipped into it by the sympathetic Jemmy! And now, to think thatthis humbug did not know him, and looked at him as a young man aiming atthe maids, but come to the wrong door! If anything is wormwood to anEnglishman,--that a low, supercilious, ungrateful lacquey--well, here hecomes again! Now for it.
Binstock descended the old oak staircase, in a very majestic manner,with the light from a long quarled window playing soft hop-scotch, uponhis large countenance. The young doctor, as in absent mood, feltinterest in the history, value, and probable future, of the beings onthe panels,--stags, otters, foxes, martens, polecats, white hares,badgers, and other noble members of West county suffrage; some entire,and too fat to live, some represented by a very little bit.
Binstock descended, in deep silence still. He felt that the crown hadpassed away. No other five-shilling piece would ever flutter--as a tipon the sly should have the wings to do--from the gentleman of phials, tothe man of bottles.
The salver in his hand was three times as large as the one upon which hehad received the card; but the little card was on it, very truly in thecentre, squaring the circle of a coat of many arms.
The butler came down, and brought his heels together; then made a lowbow, and without a word, conveyed to the owner of that piece ofpasteboard, how frankly and cordially it lay at his disposal. Fox hadbeen expecting at least some message, some shade, however cold it mightbe, of courtesy and acknowledgment. But this was a queer sort ofreception. And Binstock did not even grin. The turn of his lipssuggested only, that others might do so--not he, at such a trifle.
Fox should have taken all, with equal silence. The Foxes were quite asold a race as any Waldrons; Foxden was a bigger place than Walderscourt;and stouter men than Binstock were in service there. But the young manwas in love; and he forgot those spiteful things.
"No message, Binstock?" He asked with timid glance, while he fumbledvery clumsily with his nails (now bitten short, during many sad hours ofdark brooding) to get his poor card out of graven heraldry--"not a wordof any sort, from--from anybody?"
"Had there been a message, sir, I should have delivered it."
"I beg your pardon, Binstock. To be sure--of course, you would. Verywell. Good afternoon. There is nothing more to say. I will put this inmy pocket, for--for a last remembrance."
He put the rejected card in his waistcoat-pocket, and glanced round, asif to say "Good bye," to the old haunt of many a pleasant hour.
Then Binstock, that grave and majestic butler, surprised him by giving amost unmajestic wink. Whether he was touched with reminiscence of hisyouth--for he had been a faithful man, in love, as well as wine--orwhether sweeter memory of crown-pieces moved him; from sympathy, orgratitude, or both combined, beyond any question, Binstock winked. Foxfelt very thankful, and received a lasting lesson, that he
had not givenutterance to the small contempt within him.
"There was a little pipe, sir," said the butler, glancing round, andspeaking in a low voice rather fast, "That our poor Sir Thomas gived toyou, from the Spanish, now called the provincial war. John Hutchingsmade the observation, that he had heard you pronounce opinion that itwas very valuable; and never would you part with it, high or low. AndJohn says that to his certain knowledge now, it is lying in our Cameliahouse."
"Oh never mind about it now. It is kind of you to think of it. Perhapsyou will put it by for me."
"Moreover John was a-saying, sir," continued Mr. Binstock, with a stillmore solemn wink, "that you ought almost to have a look at our poorlittle dog, that all the parish is so full of, including our MissNicie, sir. Vets may be all very well in their way; but a human doctormore immortal. And that makes the young lady so particular no doubt, tokeep her in the Camelia house, because of being cool and warm, sir."
"Oh to be sure! That poor dear little _Jess_! What a fine heart youhave, Binstock! I suppose I may go out that way?"
"The same to you, sir;" said Binstock, as he proved the truth of theproverb--"a fine heart is a vein of gold." "The shortest way out, sir,John always says, when her ladyship's nerves have locked her up. And thequietest way, with no one about, unless it should happen to be MissNicie, certainly is through the west quarry door."
The butler closed the front door with a bang, as if he had thrust theintruder forth; while Jemmy, with his heart in his mouth, hurried downthe west corridor to the Greenhouse.
Colonel Waldron, while in Portugal, five and twenty years ago, had beengreatly impressed with the glorious sight of noble Camelia-trees in fullbloom, a sight perhaps unequalled in the world of flowers. He had vowedthat if ever he returned alive, and could afford the outlay, Camelias hewould have in England; not so magnificent of course, but worthy toremind him of Parque da Pena. He had studied the likings of the race,and built a house on purpose for them; and here they were in this darkmonth, beginning to offer bright suggestion of the Spring. Fine trees oftwenty years' sturdy growth, flourishing in the prime flush of health,with the dark leaves glancing like bulls'-eyed glass, and the youngerones gleaming like gauffered satin. And these but a cushion, and acontrast, for the stately luxuriance of blossom; some in the perfectrosette already, of clean-cut, snow-white ivory; some just presentingthe pure deep chalice; others in the green bud, tipped with snow, orsoft maiden blush, or lips of coral.
For the trees were planted in a border of good sod, cut from healthypasture; instead of being crammed and jammed in pots, with the rootslike a ganglion, or burr-knot wen. Hence the fibres spread, and suckedup strength, and poured the lush juices into elastic cells, ready toflow into grace of form and colour, and offer fair delight, and pride,to the eyes and heart of watchful men.
But Fox was not a watchful man at all of any of the charming feats ofvegetation now. Flowers were all very well in their way; but they werenot in his way just at present, or--worse again--some of them were, andstopped him from clear view of something worth all the flowers, all thefruit, and all the fortunes of the wide wide world.
For lo, not far away, betwixt a pink tree and a white one, sat Miss InezWaldron, in a square-backed garden chair. At her feet was a cushionedbasket, with an invalid dog asleep in it; while a sound dog, of pugrace, was nudging in between, fain to push it out of sight, if his bodyhad been big enough. Jealousy lurked in every wrinkle of his face, andgoverned every quiver of his half-cocked tail.
The girl looked very pale and sad, and could not even raise a smile, atall the sharp manoeuvres and small-minded whines of _Pixie_. Heartily asshe loved the dogs, their sorrows, views, and interests now were not thefirst she had to dwell on. With the colour gone from her cheeks, and herlarge deep-gray eyes dulled with weeping, her face was not so lovely asin gayer times, but even yet more lovable and tender.
Following _Pixie's_ rush, without much expectation in her gaze--for shethought it was her mother coming--her eyes met those of the young man,parted by such a dark cloud from her. For an instant her pale cheeksflushed, and then the colour vanished from them, and she trembled sothat she could not rise. Her head fell back on the rail of the chair;while trees, and flowers, and lines of glass began to quiver, and losetheir shape, and fade away from her languid eyes.
"You are faint--she has fainted!" cried Fox in dismay, as he caught upthe handkerchief she had dropped, and plunged it into a watering pot,then wrung and laid it gently on her smooth white forehead. Then he tookboth her hands in his, and chafed them, kneeling at her side in a stateof agitation, unlikely to add to his medical repute. And from time totime, he whispered words, of more than sympathy or comfort, words thathad never passed between them yet.
For a while she knew not what he said, until as she slowly revived, oneword attracted her vague attention.
"Happy!" she said, only conscious yet of speaking to some kind person;"no, I must never think of such a thing again." The sadness of her ownvoice told upon her, reacting on the sad heart from which it came. Shelooked, as if for somebody to comfort her; perhaps the dear father whohad always loved to do it. He was not to be found--oh, piteous grief! Ifhe could come, would he ever leave her thus?
Then the whole of her misery broke upon her. She knew too well where shewas, and what. Turn away the face there is none to kiss, and toss backthe curls there is nobody to stroke. From a woman, she fell back into apetted child, spoiled by sweet love, and now despoiled by bitter fate.She could look at nothing more. Why did consciousness come back? Theonly thing for her was to sob, and weep--tears that rolled more big andheavy, because they must ever roll in vain.
Fox had never been in such a state of mind before. Hundreds of times hehad been driven to the end of his wits, and the bottom of his heart, toknow what to do with wailing women, stricken down at last by inexorabledeath, from the hope that laughs at doctors. But the difference wasthis--he was the doctor then; and now he was the lover. The lover,without acknowledged right to love; but the shadow of death, and worsethan that, betwixt him and the right to love.
While he was feebly holding on, knowing that he could not leave herthus--for there was a large tank near her--yet feeling that no man--savehusband, or father--should be admitted to this deep distress, he heardthe light steps of a woman in the corridor, and he muttered--"Thank God!There is some kind person coming."
But his joy was premature. The branches of a fine Camelia-tree wereswept aside like cobwebs, and there stood Lady Waldron, drawing theheavy black folds around her, and bearing him down with her cold darkeyes. Her gaze of contemptuous loathing passed from him--as if he werenot worth it--to the helpless embodiment of anguish in the chair; andeven then there was no pity.
Inez turned and faced her, and the meeting of their eyes was not of thegentle sweetness due betwixt a mother and her daughter. Without anotherglance at Fox, Lady Waldron swept by, as if he were not present; andstanding before her daughter, spoke a few Spanish words very slowly,pronouncing every syllable. Then with a smile far worse to see than anyfrown, she turned away, and her stately figure disappeared in theshadows of the corridor.
The maiden watched her without a word, and the sense of wrong renewedher strength. Her eyes met the light, as if they had never known a tear,and she threw up her head, and swept her long hair back. For her proudspirit rose through the storm of her trouble, as a young palm standsforth from the cloud it has defied. She cast a glance at Fox, and to hergreat relief saw nothing in his face but anxiety about herself. But shemust have his ignorance confirmed.
"What trouble I have given you!" she said, with her usual clear softtones, and gentle look. "I am quite ashamed of myself, for having sovery little strength of mind. I cannot thank you as I ought to do. Mymother would have done it, I--I suppose at least, if she had been at alllike herself. But she has not been well, not at all as she used to be,ever since--I need not tell you what. We are doing our best to bearthings; but we find it very, very hard. As the Spanish proverb is--but Ibeg your pa
rdon, you don't know Spanish?"
"I am nothing of a linguist. I am no exception to the general rule ofEnglishmen, that their own tongue is enough for them."
"Please to tell me plainly. My memory seems confused. But I think youhave shown some knowledge of it. And I think, I have heard my father saythat you could read Don Quixote very fairly from his copy."
"No; but just a little, very badly, and with the help of a dictionary,and my own recollection of Latin."
"Then you know what my mother said just now? I hope not. Oh I shouldgrieve so!"
"Well, Miss Waldron, if you insist upon the truth, I cannot deny that Iunderstood her."
Nicie's eyes flashed as he spoke: then she rose, and went to himhastily; for he was going, and had taken up his hat to leave her,inasmuch as she now could take care of herself.
"Put down your hat," she said in her own pretty style of issuing orders,in the days of yore; "now give me both your hands, as you held mine justnow, and look at me honestly, and without reserve."
"All that I am doing," answered Jemmy Fox, happy to have her so, andthrowing the dawn of a smile into the depth of her dear eyes. "MissWaldron, I am doing it."
"Then go on like this--'Miss Waldron,' or you may even for once say,'Nicie--I have never been base enough, for a moment, to imagine that youhad any doubt of me.' Say all that from the bottom of your heart."
"Nicie, I say from the bottom of my heart, that I knew you were toonoble to have any doubt of me, in that way."
"I should hope so;" she said, as she dropped her eyes, for fear ofshowing all that was in them. "You have done me justice, and it will bedone to you. I was only afraid, though I knew better, that youmight--for men are not like us----"
"No, they are not. And more shame for them. Oh Nicie, what do I carenow, if the whole world goes against me?"
She gave him one steadfast look, as if that recklessness had no shockfor her, and in fact had been duly expected. Then knowing by the eyeswhat had been nursing in her heart for months, she smiled the smile thatis deeper almost in the human kind than tears, and happily more lasting.The young man proved himself worthy of her, by cherishing it, without aword.
"I may never see you again," said Nicie, coming back to proper form,though they both knew that was humbug; "never again, or not for years.It will be impossible for you now to come--to come, as you used to do.But remember, if it is any comfort to you, and I think it will be alittle, that no one is more miserable about this wicked, wicked charge,than the one who has more right than any--yes much more than shehas"--and she waved her hand after her mother's steps.
"Yes. Or at any rate quite as much. Darling, darling Nicie dear. Don'tget excited again, for my sake."
"I am not excited. And I don't mean to be. But you are welcome to telleverybody, everybody, Jemmy, exactly what I think of you. And my dearfather thought the same."
"You are an angel, and nothing less. Something considerably more, Ithink," said Jemmy, confining himself to moderation.
"Hush!" she replied, though not in anger; for ladies like thatcomparison. And then, as he could not better it, he whispered, "Godbless you, dear, as you have blessed me!" Before she could answer, hewas gone.