CHAPTER XXXVII.
WHAT LADY ONGAR THOUGHT ABOUT IT.
[Illustration.]
Mrs. Burton, it may perhaps be remembered, had formed in her hearta scheme of her own--a scheme of which she thought with muchtrepidation, and in which she could not request her husband'sassistance, knowing well that he would not only not assist it, butthat he would altogether disapprove of it. But yet she could not putit aside from her thoughts, believing that it might be the means ofbringing Harry Clavering and Florence together. Her husband had nowthoroughly condemned poor Harry, and had passed sentence againsthim,--not indeed openly to Florence herself, but very often inthe hearing of his wife. Cecilia, womanlike, was more angry withcircumstances than with the offending man,--with circumstances andwith the woman who stood in Florence's way. She was perfectly willingto forgive Harry, if Harry could only be made to go right at last. Hewas good-looking and pleasant, and had nice ways in a house, and wasaltogether too valuable as a lover to be lost without many struggles.So she kept to her scheme, and at last she carried it into execution.
She started alone from her house one morning, and getting into anomnibus at Brompton had herself put down on the rising ground inPiccadilly, opposite to the Green Park. Why she had hesitated to tellthe omnibus-man to stop at Bolton Street can hardly be explained; butshe had felt that there would be almost a declaration of guilt innaming that locality. So she got out on the little hill, and walkedup in front of the Prime Minister's house,--as it was then,--and ofthe yellow palace built by one of our merchant princes, and turnedinto the street that was all but interdicted to her by her ownconscience. She turned up Bolton Street, and with a trembling handknocked at Lady Ongar's door.
Florence in the meantime was sitting alone in Onslow Terrace. Sheknew now that Harry was ill at Clavering,--that he was indeed veryill, though Mrs. Clavering had assured her that his illness was notdangerous. For Mrs. Clavering had written to herself,--addressingher with all the old familiarity and affection,--with a warmth ofaffection that was almost more than natural. It was clear that Mrs.Clavering knew nothing of Harry's sins. Or, might it not be possible,Cecilia had suggested, that Mrs. Clavering might have known, and haveresolved potentially that those sins should be banished, and becomeground for some beautifully sincere repentance? Ah, how sweet itwould be to receive that wicked sheep back again into the sheepfold,and then to dock him a little of his wandering powers, to fix himwith some pleasant clog, to tie him down as a prudent domestic sheepshould be tied, and make him the pride of the flock! But all thishad been part of Cecilia's scheme, and of that scheme poor Florenceknew nothing. According to Florence's view Mrs. Clavering's letterwas written under a mistake. Harry had kept his secret at home,and intended to keep it for the present. But there was the letter,and Florence felt that it was impossible for her to answer itwithout telling the whole truth. It was very painful to her to leaveunanswered so kind a letter as that, and it was quite impossible thatshe should write of Harry in the old strain. "It will be best that Ishould tell her the whole," Florence had said, "and then I shall besaved the pain of any direct communication with him." Her brother, towhom Cecilia had repeated this, applauded his sister's resolution."Let her face it and bear it, and live it down," he had said. "Lether do it at once, so that all this maudlin sentimentality may be atan end." But Cecilia would not accede to this, and as Florence wasin truth resolved, and had declared her purpose plainly, Ceciliawas driven to the execution of her scheme more quickly than she hadintended. In the meantime, Florence took out her little desk andwrote her letter. In tears and an agony of spirit which none canunderstand but women who have been driven to do the same, was itwritten. Could she have allowed herself to express her thoughts withpassion, it would have been comparatively easy; but it behoved her tobe calm, to be very quiet in her words,--almost reticent even in thelanguage which she chose, and to abandon her claim not only without areproach, but almost without an allusion to her love. Whilst Ceciliawas away, the letter was written, and re-written and copied; but Mrs.Burton was safe in this, that her sister-in-law had promised that theletter should not be sent till she had seen it.
Mrs. Burton, when she knocked at Lady Ongar's door, had a little noteready for the servant between her fingers. Her compliments to LadyOngar, and would Lady Ongar oblige her by an interview. The notecontained simply that, and nothing more; and when the servant took itfrom her, she declared her intention of waiting in the hall till shehad received an answer. But she was shown into the dining-room, andthere she remained for a quarter of an hour, during which time shewas by no means comfortable. Probably Lady Ongar might refuse toreceive her; but should that not be the case,--should she succeed inmaking her way into that lady's presence, how should she find theeloquence wherewith to plead her cause? At the end of the fifteenminutes, Lady Ongar herself opened the door and entered the room."Mrs. Burton," she said, smiling, "I am really ashamed to have keptyou so long; but open confession, they say, is good for the soul, andthe truth is that I was not dressed." Then she led the way upstairs,and placed Mrs. Burton on a sofa, and placed herself in her ownchair,--from whence she could see well, but in which she could notbe well seen,--and stretched out the folds of her morning dressgracefully, and made her visitor thoroughly understand that she wasat home and at her ease.
We may, I think, surmise that Lady Ongar's open confession would doher soul but little good, as it lacked truth, which is the firstrequisite for all confessions. Lady Ongar had been sufficientlydressed to receive any visitor, but had felt that some specialpreparation was necessary for the reception of the one who hadnow come to her. She knew well who was Mrs. Burton, and surmisedaccurately the purpose for which Mrs. Burton had come. Upon themanner in which she now carried herself might hang the decision ofthe question which was so important to her,--whether that Phoebusin knickerbockers should or should not become lord of Ongar Park.To effect success now, she must maintain an ascendancy during thiscoming interview, and in the maintenance of all ascendancy, muchdepends on the outward man or woman; and she must think a little ofthe words she must use, and a little, too, of her own purpose. Shewas fully minded to get the better of Mrs. Burton if that might bepossible, but she was not altogether decided on the other point. Shewished that Harry Clavering might be her own. She would have wishedto pension off that Florence Burton with half her wealth, had suchpensioning been possible. But not the less did she entertain somehalf doubts whether it would not be well that she could abandon herown wishes, and give up her own hope of happiness. Of Mrs. Burtonpersonally she had known nothing, and having expected to see asomewhat strong-featured and perhaps rather vulgar woman, and to heara voice painfully indicative of a strong mind, she was agreeablysurprised to find a pretty, mild lady, who from the first showed thatshe was half afraid of what she herself was doing. "I have heard yourname, Mrs. Burton," said Lady Ongar, "from our mutual friend, Mr.Clavering, and I have no doubt you have heard mine from him also."This she said in accordance with the little plan which during thosefifteen minutes she had laid down for her own guidance.
Mrs. Burton was surprised, and at first almost silenced, by thisopen mentioning of a name which she had felt that she would havethe greatest difficulty in approaching. She said, however, that itwas so. She had heard Lady Ongar's name from Mr. Clavering. "We areconnected, you know," said Lady Ongar. "My sister is married tohis first-cousin, Sir Hugh; and when I was living with my sisterat Clavering, he was at the rectory there. That was before my ownmarriage." She was perfectly easy in her manner, and flatteredherself that the ascendancy was complete.
"I have heard as much from Mr. Clavering," said Cecilia.
"And he was very civil to me immediately on my return home. Perhapsyou may have heard that also. He took this house for me, and madehimself generally useful, as young men ought to do. I believe he isin the same office with your husband; is he not? I hope I may nothave been the means of making him idle?"
This was all very well and very pretty, but Mrs. Burton was alreadybeginning to feel that
she was doing nothing towards the achievementof her purpose. "I suppose he has been idle," she said, "but I didnot mean to trouble you about that." Upon hearing this, Lady Ongarsmiled. This supposition that she had really intended to animadvertupon Harry Clavering's idleness was amusing to her as she rememberedhow little such idleness would signify if she could only have herway.
"Poor Harry!" she said. "I supposed his sins would be laid at mydoor. But my idea is, you know, that he never will do any good atsuch work as that."
"Perhaps not;--that is, I really can't say. I don't think Mr. Burtonhas ever expressed any such opinion; and if he had--"
"If he had, you wouldn't mention it."
"I don't suppose I should, Lady Ongar;--not to a stranger."
"Harry Clavering and I are not strangers," said Lady Ongar, changingthe tone of her voice altogether as she spoke.
"No; I know that. You have known him longer than we have. I am awareof that."
"Yes; before he ever dreamed of going into your husband's business,Mrs. Burton; long before he had ever been to--Stratton."
The name of Stratton was an assistance to Cecilia, and seemed tohave been spoken with the view of enabling her to commence her work."Yes," she said, "but nevertheless he did go to Stratton. He wentto Stratton, and there he became acquainted with my sister-in-law,Florence Burton."
"I am aware of it, Mrs. Burton."
"And he also became engaged to her."
"I am aware of that too. He has told me as much himself."
"And has he told you whether he means to keep, or to break thatengagement?"
"Ah, Mrs. Burton, is that question fair? Is it fair either to him, orto me? If he has taken me into his confidence and has not taken you,should I be doing well to betray him? Or if there can be anything insuch a secret specially interesting to myself, why should I be madeto tell it to you?"
"I think the truth is always the best, Lady Ongar."
"Truth is always better than a lie;--so at least people say, thoughthey sometimes act differently; but silence may be better thaneither."
"This is a matter, Lady Ongar, in which I cannot be silent. I hopeyou will not be angry with me for coming to you,--or for asking youthese questions--"
"O dear, no."
"But I cannot be silent. My sister-in-law must at any rate know whatis to be her fate."
"Then why do you not ask him?"
"He is ill at present."
"Ill! Where is he ill? Who says he is ill?" And Lady Ongar, thoughshe did not quite leave her chair, raised herself up and forgot allher preparations. "Where is he, Mrs. Burton? I have not heard of hisillness."
"He is at Clavering;--at the parsonage."
"I have heard nothing of this. What ails him? If he be really ill,dangerously ill, I conjure you to tell me. But pray tell me thetruth. Let there be no tricks in such a matter as this."
"Tricks, Lady Ongar!"
"If Harry Clavering be ill, tell me what ails him. Is he in danger?"
"His mother in writing to Florence says that he is not in danger; butthat he is confined to the house. He has been taken by some fever."On that very morning Lady Ongar had received a letter from hersister, begging her to come to Clavering Park during the absenceof Sir Hugh; but in the letter no word had been said as to Harry'sillness. Had he been seriously, or at least dangerously ill, Hermionewould certainly have mentioned it. All this flashed across Julia'smind as these tidings about Harry reached her. If he were not reallyin danger, or even if he were, why should she betray her feelingbefore this woman? "If there had been much in it," she said, resumingher former position and manners, "I should no doubt have heard of itfrom my sister."
"We hear that it is not dangerous," continued Mrs. Burton; "but he isaway, and we cannot see him. And, in truth, Lady Ongar, we cannot seehim any more until we know that he means to deal honestly by us."
"Am I the keeper of his honesty?"
"From what I have heard, I think you are. If you will tell methat I have heard falsely, I will go away and beg your pardon formy intrusion. But if what I have heard be true, you must not besurprised that I show this anxiety for the happiness of my sister. Ifyou knew her, Lady Ongar, you would know that she is too good to bethrown aside with indifference."
"Harry Clavering tells me that she is an angel,--that she isperfect."
"And if he loves her, will it not be a shame that they should beparted?"
"I said nothing about his loving her. Men are not always fond ofperfection. The angels may be too angelic for this world."
"He did love her."
"So I suppose;--or at any rate he thought that he did."
"He did love her, and I believe he loves her still."
"He has my leave to do so, Mrs. Burton."
Cecilia, though she was somewhat afraid of the task which she hadundertaken, and was partly awed by Lady Ongar's style of beauty anddemeanour, nevertheless felt that if she still hoped to do any good,she must speak the truth out at once. She must ask Lady Ongar whethershe held herself to be engaged to Harry Clavering. If she did not dothis, nothing could come of the present interview.
"You say that, Lady Ongar, but do you mean it?" she asked. "We havebeen told that you also are engaged to marry Mr. Clavering."
"Who has told you so?"
"We have heard it. I have heard it, and have been obliged to tell mysister that I had done so."
"And who told you? Did you hear it from Harry Clavering himself?"
"I did. I heard it in part from him."
"Then why have you come beyond him to me? He must know. If he hastold you that he is engaged to marry me, he must also have told youthat he does not intend to marry Miss Florence Burton. It is not forme to defend him or to accuse him. Why do you come to me?"
"For mercy and forbearance," said Mrs. Burton, rising from her seatand coming over to the side of the room in which Lady Ongar wasseated.
A plea for mercy.]
"And Miss Burton has sent you?"
"No; she does not know that I am here; nor does my husband know it.No one knows it. I have come to tell you that before God this man isengaged to become the husband of Florence Burton. She has learned tolove him, and has now no other chance of happiness."
"But what of his happiness?"
"Yes; we are bound to think of that. Florence is bound to think ofthat above all things."
"And so am I. I love him too;--as fondly, perhaps, as she can do. Iloved him first, before she had even heard his name."
"But, Lady Ongar--"
"Yes; you may ask the question if you will, and I will answer ittruly." They were both standing now and confronting each other. "OrI will answer it without your asking it. I was false to him. I wouldnot marry him because he was poor; and then I married another becausehe was rich. All that is true. But it does not make me love him theless now. I have loved him through it all. Yes; you are shocked, butit is true. I have loved him through it all. And what am I to do now,if he still loves me? I can give him wealth now."
"Wealth will not make him happy."
"It has not made me happy; but it may help to do so with him. Butwith me at any rate there can be no doubt. It is his happiness towhich I am bound to look. Mrs. Burton, if I thought that I could makehim happy, and if he would come to me, I would marry him to-morrow,though I broke your sister's heart by doing so. But if I felt thatshe could do so more than I, I would leave him to her, though I brokemy own. I have spoken to you very openly. Will she say as much asthat?"
"She would act in that way. I do not know what she would say."
"Then let her do so, and leave him to be the judge of his ownhappiness. Let her pledge herself that no reproaches shall comefrom her, and I will pledge myself equally. It was I who loved himfirst, and it is I who have brought him into this trouble. I owe himeverything. Had I been true to him, he would never have thought of,never have seen, Miss Florence Burton."
All that was, no doubt, true, but it did not touch the question ofFlorence's right. The fact on which M
rs. Burton wished to insist, ifonly she knew how, was this, that Florence had not sinned at all, andthat Florence therefore ought not to bear any part of the punishment.It might be very true that Harry's fault was to be excused in partbecause of Lady Ongar's greater and primary fault;--but why shouldFlorence be the scapegoat?
"You should think of his honour as well as his happiness," said Mrs.Burton at last.
"That is rather severe, Mrs. Burton, considering that it is saidto me in my own house. Am I so low as that, that his honour willbe tarnished if I become his wife?" But she, in saying this, wasthinking of things of which Mrs. Burton knew nothing.
"His honour will be tarnished," said she, "if he do not marry herwhom he has promised to marry. He was welcomed by her father andmother to their house, and then he made himself master of her heart.But it was not his till he had asked for it, and had offered his ownand his hand in return for it. Is he not bound to keep his promise?He cannot be bound to you after any such fashion as that. If you aresolicitous for his welfare, you should know that if he would livewith the reputation of a gentleman, there is only one course open tohim."
"It is the old story," said Lady Ongar; "the old story! Has notsomebody said that the gods laugh at the perjuries of lovers? I donot know that men are inclined to be much more severe than the gods.These broken hearts are what women are doomed to bear."
"And that is to be your answer to me, Lady Ongar?"
"No; that is not my answer to you. That is the excuse that I make forHarry Clavering. My answer to you has been very explicit. Pardon meif I say that it has been more explicit than you had any right toexpect. I have told you that I am prepared to take any step that maybe most conducive to the happiness of the man whom I once injured,but whom I have always loved. I will do this, let it cost myself whatit may; and I will do this let the cost to any other woman be whatit may. You cannot expect that I should love another woman betterthan myself." She said this, still standing, not without somethingmore than vehemence in her tone. In her voice, in her manner, andin her eye there was that which amounted almost to ferocity. Shewas declaring that some sacrifice must be made, and that she reckedlittle whether it should be of herself or of another. As she wouldimmolate herself without hesitation, if the necessity should exist,so would she see Florence Burton destroyed without a twinge ofremorse, if the destruction of Florence would serve the purposewhich she had in view. You and I, O reader, may feel that the manfor whom all this was to be done was not worth the passion. He hadproved himself to be very far from such worth. But the passion,nevertheless, was there, and the woman was honest in what she wassaying.
After this Mrs. Burton got herself out of the room as soon as shefound an opening which allowed her to go. In making her farewellspeech, she muttered some indistinct apology for the visit which shehad been bold enough to make. "Not at all," said Lady Ongar. "Youhave been quite right;--you are fighting your battle for the friendyou love bravely; and were it not that the cause of the battle must,I fear, separate us hereafter, I should be proud to know one whofights so well for her friends. And when all this is over and hasbeen settled, in whatever way it may be settled, let Miss Burton knowfrom me that I have been taught to hold her name and character inthe highest possible esteem." Mrs. Burton made no attempt at furtherspeech, but left the room with a low curtsey.
Till she found herself out in the street, she was unable to thinkwhether she had done most harm or most good by her visit to BoltonStreet,--whether she had in any way served Florence, or whether shehad simply confessed to Florence's rival the extent of her sister'smisery. That Florence herself would feel the latter to be the case,when she should know it all, Mrs. Burton was well aware. Her ownears had tingled with shame as Harry Clavering had been discussedas a grand prize for which her sister was contending with anotherwoman,--and contending with so small a chance of success. It wasterrible to her that any woman dear to her should seem to seek for aman's love. And the audacity with which Lady Ongar had proclaimed herown feelings had been terrible also to Cecilia. She was aware thatshe was meddling with things which were foreign to her nature, andwhich would be odious to her husband. But yet, was not the battleworth fighting? It was not to be endured that Florence should seekafter this thing; but, after all, the possession of the thing inquestion was the only earthly good that could give any comfort topoor Florence. Even Cecilia, with all her partiality for Harry,felt that he was not worth the struggle; but it was for her now toestimate him at the price which Florence might put upon him,--not ather own price.
But she must tell Florence what had been done, and tell her on thatvery day of her meeting with Lady Ongar. In no other way could shestop that letter which she knew that Florence would have alreadywritten to Mrs. Clavering. And could she now tell Florence that therewas ground for hope? Was it not the fact that Lady Ongar had spokenthe simple and plain truth when she had said that Harry must beallowed to choose the course which appeared to him to be the best forhim? It was hard, very hard, that it should be so. And was it nottrue also that men, as well as gods, excuse the perjuries of lovers?She wanted to have back Harry among them as one to be forgiveneasily, to be petted much, and to be loved always; but, in spiteof the softness of her woman's nature, she wished that he might bepunished sorely if he did not so return. It was grievous to her thathe should any longer have a choice in the matter. Heavens and earth!was he to be allowed to treat a woman as he had treated Florence, andwas nothing to come of it? In spite both of gods and men, the thingwas so grievous to Cecilia Burton, that she could not bring herselfto acknowledge that it was possible. Such things had not been done inthe world which she had known.
She walked the whole way home to Brompton, and had hardly perfectedany plan when she reached her own door. If only Florence would allowher to write the letter to Mrs. Clavering, perhaps something might bedone in that way. So she entered the house prepared to tell the storyof her morning's work.
And she must tell it also to her husband in the evening! It had beenhard to do the thing without his knowing of it beforehand; but itwould be impossible to her to keep the thing a secret from him, nowthat it was done.