CHAPTER XLV.
IS SHE MAD?
Lady Ongar was at Tenby when she received Mrs. Clavering's letter,and had not heard of the fate of her brother-in-law till the newsreached her in that way. She had gone down to a lodging at Tenbywith no attendant but one maid, and was preparing herself for thegreat surrender of her property which she meditated. Hitherto she hadheard nothing from the Courtons or their lawyer as to the offer shehad made about Ongar Park; but the time had been short, and lawyers'work, as she knew, was never done in a hurry. She had gone to Tenby,flying, in truth, from the loneliness of London to the lonelinessof the sea-shore,--but expecting she knew not what comfort from thechange. She would take with her no carriage, and there would, as shethought, be excitement even in that. She would take long walks byherself;--she would read;--nay, if possible, she would study andbring herself to some habits of industry. Hitherto she had failed ineverything, but now she would try if some mode of success might notbe open to her. She would ascertain, too, on what smallest sum shecould live respectably and without penury, and would keep only somuch out of Lord Ongar's wealth.
But hitherto her life at Tenby had not been successful. Solitary dayswere longer there even than they had been in London. People staredat her more; and, though she did not own it to herself, she missedgreatly the comforts of her London house. As for reading, I doubtwhether she did much better by the seaside than she had done in thetown. Men and women say that they will read, and think so,--those,I mean, who have acquired no habit of reading,--believing the workto be, of all works, the easiest. It may be work, they think, but ofall works it must be the easiest of achievement. Given the absolutefaculty of reading, the task of going through the pages of a bookmust be, of all tasks, the most certainly within the grasp of theman or woman who attempts it! Alas, no;--if the habit be not there,of all tasks it is the most difficult. If a man have not acquiredthe habit of reading till he be old, he shall sooner in his old agelearn to make shoes than learn the adequate use of a book. And worseagain;--under such circumstances the making of shoes shall be morepleasant to him than the reading of a book. Let those who are notold,--who are still young, ponder this well. Lady Ongar, indeed, wasnot old, by no means too old to clothe herself in new habits. Buteven she was old enough to find that the doing so was a matter ofmuch difficulty. She had her books around her; but, in spite of herbooks, she was sadly in want of some excitement when the letter fromClavering came to her relief.
It was indeed a relief. Her brother-in-law dead, and he also who hadso lately been her suitor! These two men whom she had so lately seenin lusty health,--proud with all the pride of outward life,--hadboth, by a stroke of the winds, been turned into nothing. A terribleretribution had fallen upon her enemy,--for as her enemy she hadever regarded Hugh Clavering since her husband's death. She tookno joy in this retribution. There was no feeling of triumph at herheart in that he had perished. She did not tell herself that shewas glad,--either for her own sake or for her sister's. But mingledwith the awe she felt there was a something of unexpressed andinexpressible relief. Her present life was very grievous to her,--andnow had occurred that which would open to her new hopes and a newmode of living. Her brother-in-law had oppressed her by his veryexistence, and now he was gone. Had she had no brother-in-law whoought to have welcomed her, her return to England would not have beenterrible to her as it had been. Her sister would be now restoredto her, and her solitude would probably be at an end. And then thevery excitement occasioned by the news was salutary to her. She was,in truth, shocked. As she said to her maid, she felt it to be verydreadful. But, nevertheless, the day on which she received thosetidings was less wearisome to her than any other of the days that shehad passed at Tenby.
Poor Archie! Some feeling of a tear, some half-formed drop thatwas almost a tear, came to her eye as she thought of his fate. Howfoolish he had always been, how unintelligent, how deficient in allthose qualities which recommend men to women! But the very memoryof his deficiencies created something like a tenderness in hisfavour. Hugh was disagreeable, nay hateful, by reason of the powerwhich he possessed; whereas Archie was not hateful at all, and wasdisagreeable simply because nature had been a niggard to him. Andthen he had professed himself to be her lover. There had not beenmuch in this; for he had come, of course, for her money; but evenwhen that is the case a woman will feel something for the man whohas offered to link his lot with hers. Of all those to whom the fateof the two brothers had hitherto been matter of moment, I think thatLady Ongar felt more than any other for the fate of poor Archie.
And how would it affect Harry Clavering? She had desired to giveHarry all the good things of the world, thinking that they wouldbecome him well,--thinking that they would become him very well asreaching him from her hand. Now he would have them all, but wouldnot have them from her. Now he would have them all, and would sharethem with Florence Burton. Ah,--if she could have been true tohim in those early days,--in those days when she had feared hispoverty,--would it not have been well now with her also? The measureof her retribution was come full home to her at last! Sir HarryClavering! She tried the name and found that it sounded very well.And she thought of the figure of the man and of his nature, and sheknew that he would bear it with a becoming manliness. Sir HarryClavering would be somebody in his county,--would be a husband ofwhom his wife would be proud as he went about among his tenants andhis gamekeepers,--and perhaps on wider and better journeys, lookingup the voters of his neighbourhood. Yes; happy would be the wife ofSir Harry Clavering. He was a man who would delight in sharing hishouse, his hopes, his schemes and councils with his wife. He wouldfind a companion in his wife. He would do honour to his wife, andmake much of her. He would like to see her go bravely. And then, ifchildren came, how tender he would be to them! Whether Harry couldever have become a good head to a poor household might be doubtful,but no man had ever been born fitter for the position which he wasnow called upon to fill. It was thus that Lady Ongar thought of HarryClavering as she owned to herself that the full measure of her justretribution had come home to her.
Of course she would go at once to Clavering Park. She wrote to hersister saying so, and the next day she started. She started soquickly on her journey that she reached the house not very many hoursafter her own letter. She was there when the rector started forLondon, and there when Mr. Fielding preached his sermon; but she didnot see Mr. Clavering before he went, nor was she present to hear theeloquence of the younger clergyman. Till after that Sunday the onlymember of the family she had seen was Mrs. Clavering, who spent someperiod of every day up at the great house. Mrs. Clavering had nothitherto seen Lady Ongar since her return, and was greatly astonishedat the change which so short a time had made. "She is handsomerthan ever she was," Mrs. Clavering said to the rector; "but it isthat beauty which some women carry into middle life, and not theloveliness of youth." Lady Ongar's manner was cold and stately whenfirst she met Mrs. Clavering. It was on the morning of her marriagewhen they had last met,--when Julia Brabazon was resolving that shewould look like a countess, and that to be a countess should beenough for her happiness. She could not but remember this now, andwas unwilling at first to make confession of her failure by anymeekness of conduct. It behoved her to be proud, at any rate till sheshould know how this new Lady Clavering would receive her. And thenit was more than probable that this new Lady Clavering knew all thathad taken place between her and Harry. It behoved her, therefore, tohold her head on high.
But before the week was over, Mrs. Clavering,--for we will still callher so,--had broken Lady Ongar's spirit by her kindness; and the poorwoman who had so much to bear had brought herself to speak of theweight of her burden. Julia had, on one occasion, called her LadyClavering, and for the moment this had been allowed to pass withoutobservation. The widowed lady was then present, and no notice of thename was possible. But soon afterwards Mrs. Clavering made her littlerequest on the subject. "I do not quite know what the custom may be,"she said, "but do not call me so just yet. It will only be remindin
gHermy of her bereavement."
"She is thinking of it always," said Julia.
"No doubt she is; but still the new name would wound her. And,indeed, it perplexes me also. Let it come by-and-by, when we are moresettled."
Lady Ongar had truly said that her sister was as yet always thinkingof her bereavement. To her now it was as though the husband she hadlost had been a paragon among men. She could only remember of him hismanliness, his power,--a dignity of presence which he possessed,--andthe fact that to her he had been everything. She thought of thatlast and vain caution which she had given him, when with her hardlypermitted last embrace she had besought him to take care of himself.She did not remember now how coldly that embrace had been received,how completely those words had been taken as meaning nothing, how hehad left her not only without a sign of affection, but without anattempt to repress the evidences of his indifference. But she didremember that she had had her arm upon his shoulder, and tried tothink of that embrace as though it had been sweet to her. And she didremember how she had stood at the window, listening to the sounds ofthe wheels which took him off, and watching his form as long as hereye could rest upon it. Ah! what falsehoods she told herself now ofher love to him, and of his goodness to her; pious falsehoods whichwould surely tend to bring some comfort to her wounded spirit.
But her sister could hardly bear to hear the praises of Sir Hugh.When she found how it was to be, she resolved that she would bearthem,--bear them, and not contradict them; but her struggle in doingso was great, and was almost too much for her.
"He had judged me and condemned me," she said at last, "andtherefore, as a matter of course, we were not such friends when welast met as we used to be before my marriage."
"But, Julia, there was much for which you owed him gratitude."
"We will say nothing about that now, Hermy."
"I do not know why your mouth should be closed on such a subjectbecause he has gone. I should have thought that you would be glad toacknowledge his kindness to you. But you were always hard."
"Perhaps I am hard."
"And twice he asked you to come here since you returned,--but youwould not come."
"I have come now, Hermy, when I have thought that I might be of use."
"He felt it when you would not come before. I know he did." LadyOngar could not but think of the way in which he had manifested hisfeelings on the occasion of his visit to Bolton Street. "I nevercould understand why you were so bitter."
"I think, dear, we had better not discuss that. I also have had muchto bear,--I, as well as you. What you have borne has come in no wisefrom your own fault."
"No, indeed; I did not want him to go. I would have given anything tokeep him at home."
Her sister had not been thinking of the suffering which had cometo her from the loss of her husband, but of her former miseries.This, however, she did not explain. "No," Lady Ongar continued tosay. "You have nothing for which to blame yourself, whereas I havemuch,--indeed everything. If we are to remain together, as I hope wemay, it will be better for us both that bygones should be bygones."
"Do you mean that I am never to speak of Hugh?"
"No;--I by no means intend that. But I would rather that you shouldnot refer to his feelings towards me. I think he did not quiteunderstand the sort of life that I led while my husband was alive,and that he judged me amiss. Therefore I would have bygones bebygones."
Three or four days after this, when the question of leaving ClaveringPark was being mooted, the elder sister started a difficulty as tomoney matters. An offer had been made to her by Mrs. Clavering toremain at the great house, but this she had declined, alleging thatthe place would be distasteful to her after her husband's death.She, poor soul, did not allege that it had been made distasteful toher for ever by the solitude which she had endured there during herhusband's lifetime! She would go away somewhere, and live as bestshe might upon her jointure. It was not very much, but it would besufficient. She did not see, she said, how she could live with hersister, because she did not wish to be dependent. Julia, of course,would live in a style to which she could make no pretence.
Mrs. Clavering, who was present,--as was also Lady Ongar,--declaredthat she saw no such difficulty. "Sisters together," she said, "needhardly think of a difference in such matters."
Then it was that Lady Ongar first spoke to either of them of herhalf-formed resolution about her money, and then too, for the firsttime, did she come down altogether from that high horse on whichshe had been, as it were, compelled to mount herself while in Mrs.Clavering's presence. "I think I must explain," said she, "somethingof what I mean to do,--about my money that is. I do not think thatthere will be much difference between me and Hermy in that respect."
"That is nonsense," said her sister, fretfully.
"There will be a difference in income certainly," said Mrs.Clavering, "but I do not see that that need create any uncomfortablefeeling."
"Only one doesn't like to be dependent," said Hermione.
"You shall not be asked to give up any of your independence," saidJulia, with a smile,--a melancholy smile, that gave but little signof pleasantness within. Then on a sudden her face became stern andhard. "The fact is," she said, "I do not intend to keep Lord Ongar'smoney."
"Not to keep your income!" said Hermione.
"No;--I will give it back to them,--or at least the greater part ofit. Why should I keep it?"
"It is your own," said Mrs. Clavering.
"Yes; legally it is my own. I know that. And when there was somequestion whether it should not be disputed I would have fought for itto the last shilling. Somebody,--I suppose it was the lawyer,--wantedto keep from me the place in Surrey. I told them then that I wouldnot abandon my right to an inch of it. But they yielded,--and now Ihave given them back the house."
"You have given it back!" said her sister.
"Yes;--I have said they may have it. It is of no use to me. I hatethe place."
"You have been very generous," said Mrs. Clavering.
"But that will not affect your income," said Hermione.
"No;--that would not affect my income." Then she paused, not knowinghow to go on with the story of her purpose.
"If I may say so, Lady Ongar," said Mrs. Clavering, "I would not, ifI were you, take any steps in so important a matter without advice."
"Who is there that can advise me? Of course the lawyer tells me thatI ought to keep it all. It is his business to give such advice asthat. But what does he know of what I feel? How can he understand me?How, indeed, can I expect that any one shall understand me?"
"But it is possible that people should misunderstand you," said Mrs.Clavering.
"Exactly. That is just what he says. But, Mrs. Clavering, I carenothing for that. I care nothing for what anybody says or thinks.What is it to me what they say?"
"I should have thought it was everything," said her sister.
"No,--it is nothing;--nothing at all." Then she was again silent, andwas unable to express herself. She could not bring herself to declarein words that self-condemnation of her own conduct which was nowweighing so heavily upon her. It was not that she wished to keep backher own feelings, either from her sister or from Mrs. Clavering; butthat the words in which to express them were wanting to her.
"And have they accepted the house?" Mrs. Clavering asked.
"They must accept it. What else can they do? They cannot make me callit mine if I do not choose. If I refuse to take the income which Mr.Courton's lawyer pays in to my bankers', they cannot compel me tohave it."
"But you are not going to give that up too?" said her sister.
"I am. I will not have his money,--not more than enough to keep mefrom being a scandal to his family. I will not have it. It is acurse to me, and has been from the first. What right have I to allthat money, because,--because,--because--" She could not finish hersentence, but turned away from them, and walked by herself to thewindow.
Lady Clavering looked at Mrs. Clavering as though she thought th
ather sister was mad. "Do you understand her?" said Lady Clavering ina whisper.
"I think I do," said the other. "I think I know what is passing inher mind." Then she followed Lady Ongar across the room, and takingher gently by the arm tried to comfort her,--to comfort her, and toargue with her as to the rashness of that which she proposed to do.She endeavoured to explain to the poor woman how it was that sheshould at this moment be wretched, and anxious to do that which, ifdone, would put it out of her power afterwards to make herself usefulin the world. It shocked the prudence of Mrs. Clavering,--this ideaof abandoning money, the possession of which was questioned by noone. "They do not want it, Lady Ongar," she said.
"That has nothing to do with it," answered the other.
"And nobody has any suspicion but what it is honourably and fairlyyour own."
"But does anybody ever think how I got it?" said Lady Ongar, turningsharply round upon Mrs. Clavering. "You,--you,--you,--do you dare totell me what you think of the way in which it became mine? Could youbear it, if it had become yours after such a fashion? I cannot bearit, and I will not." She was now speaking with so much violence thather sister was awed into silence, and Mrs. Clavering herself found adifficulty in answering her.
"Whatever may have been the past," said she, "the question now is howto do the best for the future."
"I had hoped," continued Lady Ongar without noticing what was said toher, "I had hoped to make everything straight by giving his money toanother. You know to whom I mean, and so does Hermy. I thought, whenI returned, that bad as I had been I might still do some good in theworld. But it is as they tell us in the sermons. One cannot make goodcome out of evil. I have done evil, and nothing but evil has comefrom the evil which I have done. Nothing but evil will come from it.As for being useful in the world,--I know of what use I am! Whenwomen hear how wretched I have been they will be unwilling to sellthemselves as I did." Then she made her way to the door, and left theroom, going out with quiet steps, and closing the lock behind herwithout a sound.
"I did not know that she was such as that," said Mrs. Clavering.
"Nor did I. She has never spoken in that way before."
"Poor soul! Hermione, you see there are those in the world whosesufferings are worse than yours."
"I don't know," said Lady Clavering. "She never lost what I havelost,--never."
"She has lost what I am sure you never will lose, her ownself-esteem. But, Hermy, you should be good to her. We must all begood to her. Will it not be better that you should stay with us for awhile,--both of you?"
"What, here at the park?"
"We will make room for you at the rectory, if you would like it."
"Oh, no; I will go away. I shall be better away. I suppose she willnot be like that often; will she?"
"She was much moved just now."
"And what does she mean about her income? She cannot be in earnest."
"She is in earnest now."
"And cannot it be prevented? Only think,--if after all she were togive up her jointure! Mrs. Clavering, you do not think she is mad; doyou?"
Mrs. Clavering said what she could to comfort the elder and weakersister on this subject, explaining to her that the Courtons would notbe at all likely to take advantage of any wild generosity on the partof Lady Ongar, and then she walked home across the park, meditatingon the character of the two sisters.