CHAPTER IV.
SAFE AGAINST LOVE-MAKING.
A dear cousin, and safe against love-making! This was Clara's verdictrespecting Will Belton, as she lay thinking of him in bed that night.Why that warranty against love-making should be a virtue in her eyesI cannot, perhaps, explain. But all young ladies are apt to talkto themselves in such phrases about gentlemen with whom they arethrown into chance intimacy;--as though love-making were in itselfa thing injurious and antagonistic to happiness, instead of being,as it is, the very salt of life. Safe against love-making! And yetMrs. Askerton, her friend, had spoken of the probability of suchlove-making as being the great advantage of his coming. And therecould not be a second opinion as to the expediency of a match betweenher and her cousin in a worldly point of view. Clara, moreover,had already perceived that he was a man fit to guide a wife, verygood-humoured,--and good-tempered also, anxious to give pleasure toothers, a man of energy and forethought, who would be sure to do wellin the world and hold his head always high among his fellows;--asgood a husband as a girl could have. Nevertheless, she congratulatedherself in that she felt satisfied that he was safe againstlove-making! Might it be possible that that pressing of hands atTaunton had been so tender, and those last words spoken with CaptainAylmer so soft, that on his account she felt delighted to think thather cousin was warranted not to make love?
And what did Will Belton think about his cousin, insured as he wasthus supposed to be against the dangers of love? He, also, lay awakefor awhile that night, thinking over this new friendship. Or ratherhe thought of it walking about his room, and looking out at thebright harvest moon;--for with him to be in bed was to be asleep.He sat himself down, and he walked about, and he leaned out of thewindow into the cool night air; and he made some comparisons in hismind, and certain calculations; and he thought of his present home,and of his sister, and of his future prospects as they were concernedwith the old place at which he was now staying; and he portrayed tohimself, in his mind, Clara's head and face and figure and feet;--andhe resolved that she should be his wife. He had never seen a girl whoseemed to suit him so well. Though he had only been with her for aday, he swore to himself that he knew he could love her. Nay;--heswore to himself that he did love her. Then,--when he had quite madeup his mind, he tumbled into his bed and was asleep in five minutes.
Miss Amedroz was a handsome young woman, tall, well-made, active, andfull of health. She carried herself as though she thought her limbswere made for use, and not simply for ease upon a sofa. Her head andneck stood well upon her shoulders, and her waist showed none ofthose waspish proportions of which ladies used to be more proud thanI believe them to be now, in their more advanced state of knowledgeand taste. There was much about her in which she was like her cousin,as though the blood they had in common between them had given to boththe same proportions and the same comeliness. Her hair was of a darkbrown colour, as was his. Her eyes were somewhat darker than his,and perhaps not so full of constant movement; but they were equallybright, and possessed that quick power of expressing tenderness whichbelonged to them. Her nose was more finely cut, as was also her chin,and the oval of her face; but she had the same large expressivemouth, and the same perfection of ivory-white teeth. As has been saidbefore, Clara Amedroz, who was now nearly twenty-six years of age,was not a young-looking young woman. To the eyes of many men thatwould have been her fault; but in the eyes of Belton it was no fault.He had not made himself fastidious as to women by much consort withthem, and he was disposed to think that she who was to become hiswife had better be something more than a girl not long since takenout of the nursery. He was well to do in the world, and couldsend his wife out in her carriage, with all becoming bravery ofappurtenances. And he would do so, too, when he should have a wife.But still he would look to his wife to be a useful partner to him.She should be a woman not above agricultural solicitude, or too proudto have a care for her cows. Clara, he was sure, had no false pride;and yet,--as he was sure also, she was at every point such a lady aswould do honour to the carriage and the bravery when it should beforthcoming. And then such a marriage as this would put an end to allthe trouble which he felt in reference to the entail on the estate.He knew that he was to be master of Belton, and of course had,in that knowledge, the satisfaction which men do feel from theconsciousness of their future prosperity. And this with him wasenhanced by a strong sympathy with old-fashioned prejudices as tofamily. He would be Belton of Belton; and there had been Beltons ofBelton in old days, for a longer time backwards than he was able tocount. But still the prospect had not been without its alloy, and hehad felt real distress at the idea of turning his cousin out of herfather's house. Such a marriage as that he now contemplated would putall these things right.
When he got up in the morning he was quite as keen about it as he hadbeen on the previous evening;--and as he thought about it the more,he became keener and still more keen. On the previous evening, as hewas leaning out of the window endeavouring to settle in his own mindwhat would be the proper conduct of the romance of the thing, he hadconsidered that he had better not make his proposal quite at once.He was to remain eight days at Belton, and as eight days was not along period of acquaintance, he had reflected that it might be wellfor him to lay what foundation for love it might be in his power toconstruct during his present sojourn, and then return and completethe work before Christmas. But as he was shaving himself, thehabitual impatience of his nature predominated, and he becamedisposed to think that delay would be useless, and might perhaps bedangerous. It might be possible that Clara would be unable to givehim a decisive answer so quickly as to enable him to return home anaccepted lover; but if such doubt were left, such doubt would givehim an excuse for a speedy return to Belton. He did not omit to tellhimself that very probably he might not succeed at all. He was a mannot at all apt to feel assurance that he could carry all before himin love. But in this matter, as in all others which required from himany personal effort, he prepared himself to do his best, leaving theconsequences to follow as they might. When he threw his seed corninto the earth with all such due appliances of agricultural skill andindustry as his capital and experience enabled him to use, he did hispart towards the production of next year's crop; and after that hemust leave it to a higher Power to give to him, or to withhold fromhim, the reward of his labour. He had found that, as a rule, thereward had been given when the labour had been honest; and he was nowprepared to follow the same plan, with the same hopes, in this matterof his love-making.
After much consideration,--very much consideration, a considerationwhich took him the whole time that he was brushing his hair andwashing his teeth,--he resolved that he would, in the first instance,speak to Mr. Amedroz. Not that he intended that the father should winthe daughter for him. He had an idea that he would like to do thatwork for himself. But he thought that the old squire would be betterpleased if his consent were asked in the first instance. The presentday was Sunday, and he would not speak on the subject till Monday.This day he would devote to the work of securing his futurefather-in-law's good opinion; to that,--and to his prayers.
And he had gained very much upon Mr. Amedroz before the eveningof the day was over. He was a man before whom difficulties seemedto yield, and who had his own way simply because he had becomeaccustomed to ask for it,--to ask for it and to work for it. He hadso softened the squire's tone of thought towards him, that the futurestocking of the land was spoken of between them with something likeenergy on both sides; and Mr. Amedroz had given his consent, withoutany difficulty, to the building of a shed for winter stall-feeding.Clara sat by listening, and perceived that Will Belton would soon beallowed to do just what he pleased with the place. Her father talkedas she had not heard him talk since her poor brother's death, andwas quite animated on the subject of woodcraft. "We don't know muchabout timber down where I am," said Will, "just because we've got notrees."
"I'll show you your way," said the old man. "I've managed the timberon the estate myself for the last forty years." Wil
l Belton of coursedid not say a word as to the gross mismanagement which had beenapparent even to him. What a cousin he was! Clara thought,--what aparagon among cousins! And then he was so manifestly safe againstlove-making! So safe, that he only cared to talk about timber, andoxen, and fences, and winter-forage! But it was all just as it oughtto be; and if her father did not call him Will before long, sheherself would set the way by doing so first. A very paragon amongcousins!
"What a flatterer you are," she said to him that night.
"A flatterer! I?"
"Yes, you. You have flattered papa out of all his animosity already.I shall be jealous soon; for he'll think more of you than of me."
"I hope he'll come to think of us as being nearly equally near tohim," said Belton, with a tone that was half serious and half tender.Now that he had made up his mind, he could not keep his hand from thework before him an instant. But Clara had also made up her mind, andwould not be made to think that her cousin could mean anything thatwas more than cousinly.
"Upon my word," she said, laughing, "that is very cool on your part."
"I came here determined to be friends with him at any rate."
"And you did so without any thought of me. But you said you would bemy brother, and I shall not forget your promise. Indeed, indeed, Icannot tell you how glad I am that you have come,--both for papa'ssake and my own. You have done him so much good that I only dread tothink that you are going so soon."
"I'll be back before long. I think nothing of running across herefrom Norfolk. You'll see enough of me before next summer."
Soon after breakfast on the next morning he got Mr. Amedroz out intothe grounds, on the plea of showing him the proposed site for thecattle shed; but not a word was said about the shed on that occasion.He went to work at his other task at once, and when that was well onhand the squire was quite unfitted for the consideration of any lessimportant matter, however able to discuss it Belton might have beenhimself.
"I've got something particular that I want to say to you, sir,"Belton began.
Now Mr. Amedroz was of opinion that his cousin had been sayingsomething very particular ever since his arrival, and was ratherfrightened at this immediate prospect of a new subject.
"There's nothing wrong; is there?"
"No, nothing wrong;--at least, I hope it's not wrong. Would not it bea good plan, sir, if I were to marry my cousin Clara?"
What a terrible young man! Mr. Amedroz felt that his breath was socompletely taken away from him that he was quite unable to speak aword of answer at the moment. Indeed, he was unable to move, andstood still, where he had been fixed by the cruel suddenness of theproposition made to him.
"Of course I know nothing of what she may think about it," continuedBelton. "I thought it best to come to you before I spoke a word toher. And I know that in many ways she is above me. She is bettereducated, and reads more, and all that sort of thing. And it may bethat she'd rather marry a London man than a fellow who passes allhis time in the country. But she couldn't get one who would love herbetter or treat her more kindly. And then as to the property; youmust own it would be a good arrangement. You'd like to know it wouldgo to your own child and your own grandchild;--wouldn't you, sir? AndI'm not badly off, without looking to this place at all, and couldgive her everything she wants. But then I don't know that she'd careto marry a farmer." These last words he said in a melancholy tone, asthough aware that he was confessing his own disgrace.
The squire had listened to it all, and had not as yet said a word.And now, when Belton ceased, he did not know what word to speak. Hewas a man whose thoughts about women were chivalrous, and perhaps alittle old-fashioned. Of course, when a man contemplates marriage,he could do nothing better, nothing more honourable, than consultthe lady's father in the first instance. But he felt that even afather should be addressed on such a subject with great delicacy.There should be ambages in such a matter. The man who resolved tocommit himself to such a task should come forward with apparentdifficulty,--with great diffidence, and even with actual difficulty.He should keep himself almost hidden, as behind a mask, and shouldtell of his own ambition with doubtful, quivering voice. And theambages should take time. He should approach the citadel to be takenwith covered ways,--working his way slowly and painfully. But thisyoung man, before he had been in the house three days, said allthat he had to say without the slightest quaver in his voice, andevidently expected to get an answer about the squire's daughter asquickly as he had got it about the squire's land.
"You have surprised me very much," said the old man at last, drawinghis breath.
"I'm quite in earnest about it. Clara seems to me to be the very girlto make a good wife to such a one as I am. She's got everything thata woman ought to have;--by George she has!"
"She is a good girl, Mr. Belton."
"She is as good as gold, every inch of her."
"But you have not known her very long, Mr. Belton."
"Quite long enough for my purposes. You see I knew all about herbeforehand,--who she is, and where she comes from. There's a greatdeal in that, you know."
Mr. Amedroz shuddered at the expressions used. It was grievous tohim to hear his daughter spoken of as one respecting whom some oneknew who she was and whence she came. Such knowledge respecting thedaughter of such a family was, as a matter of course, common to allpolite persons. "Yes," said Mr. Amedroz, stiffly: "you know as muchas that about her, certainly."
"And she knows as much about me. Now the question is, whether youhave any objection to make?"
"Really, Mr. Belton, you have taken me so much by surprise that I donot feel myself competent to answer you at once."
"Shall we say in an hour's time, sir?" An hour's time! Mr. Amedroz,if he could have been left to his own guidance, would have thought amonth very little for such a work.
"I suppose you would wish me to see Clara first," said Mr. Amedroz.
"Oh dear, no. I would much rather ask her myself;--if only I couldget your consent to my doing so."
"And you have said nothing to her?"
"Not a word."
"I am glad of that. You would have behaved badly, I think, had youdone so while staying under my roof."
"I thought it best, at any rate, to come to you first. But as I mustbe back at Plaistow on this day week, I haven't much time to lose. Soif you could think about it this afternoon, you know--"
Mr. Amedroz, much bewildered, promised that he would do his best, andeventually did bring himself to give an answer on the next morning."I have been thinking about this all night," said Mr. Amedroz.
"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you," said Belton, feeling ratherashamed of his own remissness as he remembered how soundly he hadhimself slept.
"If you are quite sure of yourself--"
"Do you mean sure of loving her? I am as sure of that as anything."
"But men are so apt to change their fancies."
"I don't know much about my fancies; but I don't often change mypurpose when I'm in earnest. In such a matter as this I couldn'tchange. I'll say as much as that for myself, though it may seembold."
"Of course, in regard to money such a marriage would be advantageousto my child. I don't know whether you know it, but I shall havenothing to give her--literally nothing."
"All the better, sir, as far as I am concerned. I'm not one who wantsto be saved from working by a wife's fortune."
"But most men like to get something when they marry."
"I want to get nothing;--nothing, that is, in the way of money. IfClara becomes my wife I'll never ask you for one shilling."
"I hope her aunt will do something for her." This the old man said ina wailing voice, as though the expression of such a hope was grievousto him.
"If she becomes my wife, Mrs. Winterfield will be quite at liberty toleave her money elsewhere." There were old causes of dislike betweenMr. Belton and Mrs. Winterfield, and even now Mrs. Winterfield wasalmost offended because Mr. Belton was staying at Belton Castle.
"But al
l that is quite uncertain," continued Mr. Amedroz.
"And I have your leave to speak to Clara myself?"
"Well, Mr. Belton; yes; I think so. I do not see why you should notspeak to her. But I fear you are a little too precipitate. Clara hasknown you so very short a time, that you can hardly have a right tohope that she should learn to regard you at once as you would haveher do." As he heard this, Belton's face became long and melancholy.He had taught himself to think that he could dispense with that delaytill Christmas which he had at first proposed to himself, and that hemight walk into the arena at once, and perhaps win the battle in thefirst round. "Three days is such a very short time," said the squire.
"It is short certainly," said Belton.
The father's leave was however given, and armed with that, Belton wasresolved that he would take, at any rate, some preliminary steps inlove-making before he returned to Plaistow. What would be the natureof the preliminary steps taken by such a one as him, the reader bythis time will probably be able to surmise.