The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 40
Chapter V
Chapter V.
In Very grand and decorous fashion my poor aunt was carried to her grave,
Sir Thomas was, I believe, deeply and sincerely affected at the time of her death; but I think he felt relieved when she was finally hidden from his sight for ever, and that the presence of a dead body in the house struck discomfort and terror into his soul.
Tom Ridly left Lamesley the day after the funeral, and, before he did so, he had a brief interview with his father, at which, by the request of both, I was present.
"Young Franklyn tells me you are going to town to-day," said Sir Thomas, nervously, as his son entered the library. "We had better understand each other before you go."
"Father," said Tom, with a kind of honest manliness in his manner, which I could not but admire, "I have, I know, given you great cause for annoyance; but, for the sake of her who is gone—," and here is voice broke and faltered, "for her sake, I hope you will forget it.',
"No," said Sir Thomas, sharply, "no sir, I won't; but, for your mother's sake, as you say, I will try to regard you as my son. You will now," he continued, with a half-sneer, unconsciously, I believe, appearing on his lips, "have increased expenses, and I propose, therefore, to double your present allowance, on the understanding—or rather, if you'll give your solemn word of honour as a gentleman—that you will raise no money on the estate."
"I will give you my solemn word I will not," said Tom.
"In that case," continued Sir Thomas, "my house will still be open to you; but not to the woman—"
"Sir," said Tom, interrupting him, "she is my wife. Will you please spare any comments on her now."
With a violent effort of will, Sir Thomas controlled himself. I saw his face change colour, and be bent his fingers nervously on the green baize of the table before him; but he did not commit himself, and after a few moments of painful silence, he brought out his cheque-book, and drew a very heavy cheque on his banker.
"There, sir," he said, holding it out towards Tom, "there, will that satisfy you?"
Tom glanced at the amount, and his face flushed, and he held out his hand. "My dear father," he said, "let us be friends.'
"I would give you no more," said Sir Thomas, bitterly, "even if we were, so I don't suppose, in that case, that you care."
"You will be late for the train, Tom," I said, hastily, looking at my watch, for I saw it was better they should part. "You had best say good-bye to Sir Thomas, for we will have to drive fast."
"Good-bye, then, father," said Tom; and for a moment their hands just touched, and then father and son each went on his different way.
"It is impossible to care for him," said Tom, as we drove slowly to the station—for we were in reality much to early for his train—"impossible! He could not, you heard, even spare me that taunt, though, in all probability, we shall never meet again!"
I did not return to London with Tom Ridly. Sir Thomas had requested me to stay to the end of the week, to assist him with some business arrangements for one reason, and for another he wished me help to entertain Sir Harry Royston, who had come to Lamesley for Lady Ridly's funeral, and had promised to remain for a few days; and I also was anxious to see something more of Miss Churchill.
All the four ladies, in their deep mourning, appeared downstairs the day Tom left. My cousins naturally looked very grave and sorrowful at first, but before dinner was over Minnie was laughing and jesting with Sir Harry Royston, and, for the moment at least, her poor mother was forgotten.
She, however, might have spared herself any trouble on account of Sir Harry. I saw his eyes wander from her face across the table, and fix themselves again and again on Miss Churchill's nobler one, and I knew well, with the bitter knowledge which jealousy teaches, that he had remained at Lamesley, not for her sake, but for that of their despised but beautiful guest.
After dinner was over, for the first time since Lady Ridly's death, I had an oppor-tunity of speaking privately to Miss Churchill. She was sitting reading in her old place in the drawing-room as I entered it, and I went up to her at once. We talked about different things for a little while, and then she asked me when I intended to return to town.
"In a few days," I told her; and, after a moment's hesitation, I continued, "but I want to ask you also when you are going—when you leave here?"
"I shall have to seek a situation, you know," she answered, looking at me with rather an anxious smile.
I bit my lips and looked down nervously as she spoke. I was thinking of my aunt's last words. I was thinking should I tell her of the good fortune which, I felt convinced, now lay in her grasp, yet I felt that to do so required almost more self-control than I possessed.
"Do you know of one?" went on Miss Churchill; "I think you would help me if you could."
I rose hastily, and walked once or twice up and down the long room before I answered her. There was no one there but ourselves. My cousins and Sir Harry were in the inner drawing-room, and I could hear them laughing and talking as they sat round the fire, and we were, therefore, virtually alone.
"Yes," I said, returning to her, and speaking quickly and with much emotion; "yes, I would help you if I could. Do you think I have forgotten Lady Ridly's last words, or that now I ever can regard you with indifference?"
She looked up steadily and inquiringly in my face for a moment, and then a burning blush rose in her own, and dyed it crimson; "I thank you!" she said, and held out her hand.
At her touch, all prudence, and all my generous resolutions regarding Sir Harry, passed from my mind.
"Katherine," I said, clasping her hand tightly, "Katherine, you know what I am. You know all I can offer you; but if you are willing to share that—and, if you feel half for me what I feel to you, you will be—I ask you now, will you be—my wife?"
"You would marry me with nothing?" said Miss Churchill, in a low, faltering voice.
"With nothing but your love," I answered. "Without that I would marry no woman; but if you give me—have given me—that, then I am content."
"Shall we be very poor?" asked Miss Churchill, and she smiled.
"Yes," I said, "we shall be very poor—what you, I daresay, will call very poor; but, if a man and woman are all in all to each other, I don't think they need much besides; and, after all, you know," I added with a laugh, "I can afford to give you butter to your bread sometimes."
"That will do," she answered, and she laughed also, "I daresay we shall do very well."
I sat down by her side and looked at her after she had said this. I could scarcely believe that I had won her—scarcely believe that my darling was to be mine. But, amid my rapturous reflections, I suddenly started at the sound of a voice coming from the room beyond.
"Do you like Sir Harry Royston?" I said; "Do you hear him there?"
"Yes, I like him very much," she answered. "I think he is so unaffected and good-natured. She will be a happy woman, I believe, who marries Sir Harry Royston."
"Of course," I said, sneeringly, while my heart seemed almost to cease to beat; "of course—he is rich."
"He is better than rich," said Miss Churchill, gently; "he is good. Don't you like him?"
I turned away my head. If she loves me, I thought, she will be true to me; if she does not, I had better let her go. I will put her to the test.
"Katherine," I said, the next moment, "you like Sir Harry Royston; well before you bind yourself for good to a poor man, it is only right you should know that I believe you can have the offer of a rich one; I believe Sir Harry Royston—"
"And you pretend you love me!" said Miss Churchill, throwing back her head, and looking at me with more indignation and scorn than I thought it possible her face could express. "You, who have just asked me to be your wife, tell me, if I like, I can have somebody else! Truly, you must hold me cheap!"
"No, no, do not say that. I meant to be generous; I meant only that if you cared for money—"
"More than you!" interrupted Miss Churchill. "Had I done so, Mr. Franklyn, I would never have said what I have to you. Perhaps I, too, may have noticed Sir Harry's feelings; but had I seen any rich heiress admired by you, do you think I would have told you that you might have her instead of me if you liked?"
"Forgive me," I said, "dear Katherine, forgive me. I have lived so long with those who make money their chief idol, that I can scarcely believe in a noble and generous heart like yours."
"But you do not make it your chief idol, do you?" said Katherine.
"No, I make you," I answered; and so our little quarrel was forgotten, and, when we joined the others, I felt too happy to be jealous, even of Sir Harry Royston.
Our arrangements were soon made after this. We agreed next day that Katherine was to remain for the present at Lamesley—at least for the two following weeks, and then that she was to come up to town, and stay for a short time with an old friend of her father's, and that we were to be married from his house.
"And who may the gentleman be?" I asked.
She mentioned in reply the head of a highly respectable firm of solicitors, and added, "You know Mr. Pocock manages all my little affairs; so I hope, sir, you are able to give a very good account of yourself."
"You know, Katherine, I have nothing."
"Nothing to settle on me, as you call it in England," she replied, smiling, "What a dreadfully bad match I must be going to make! I shall have to settle my hundreds on you, instead."
I told her then, what I had not before, of the railway-shares, and added that we should be able to take a small house, and that I would look out for one immediately on my return to town.
"No," she said, "we must not think of such a thing at first. We must not go to unnecessary expense, and, by-and-bye, if we really want one," she added gaily, "I will see after it far more economically than you would."
"Well, have it your own way," I answered. "I don't much care where I live as long as I live with you."
We did not name our engagement to any one at Lamesley, and I had to listen for two nights longer to Sir Harry's rhapsodies on my future wife. I felt half savage at the lad, and half proud at the same time that I had won her in spite of everything he had to offer. Still, it is not pleasant to hear another man raving about the woman you are in love with, after all. Jealousy is a subtle passion, which comes and goes very often alike without reason in the human heart, and I saw I hurt Katherine sometimes during these two days by some very stupid displays of mine. "But she loves me!" I told myself a hundred times on my journey back to town. "She loves me! and what sweeter thought could I have than that?"
When I parted with Sir Thomas he produced his cheque-book.
"Fifty pounds," he said, with something in his manner approaching his old grim jocularity, "won't, I suppose, do a young fellow like you any harm?" And he wrote a cheque, and held it towards me as he spoke.
"No, Sir Thomas, no," I said, drawing back; "I cannot take it."
"Let it alone, then," said the baronet brusquely. "All I can say is, few would have refused it, and I think you are a fool for doing so."
But he was glad, I believe really, to save his money, for in a little while he continued, more affably, "Well, at all events, I suppose you would like something to keep in memory of her, poor soul. I have a ring here I picked out for you; for I do not forget you are her own sister's child—though your mother was a very foolish woman, still the relationship is there—and it pleased her, poor thing, to remember it; so take this, if you are not too proud to accept it;" and he offered me an old and valuable ring of my late aunt's.
I said I was not, and, after thanking him in a few words, I told him I was grateful for what he had already done for me.
"That's enough; that's enough," said Sir Thomas, waving his hand. "I do what I think my duty, sir, and I trust you will try and follow my example."
Minnie Ridly parted with me very coldly. I think she guessed that the little feeble love I had once felt for her had died away in a new and stronger one; for, though she never for a moment dreamt of marrying me, still she resented my not breaking my heart for her sake.
Lady Cullompton and Fannie were, however, very kind, and pressed me to visit them on their return to town; and Katherine and I parted with a simple handclasp—a hand-clasp which to us meant now so much.
It was, however, more than a month after I left Lamesley before she came to London. She was detained at the Hall by a very serious illness which attacked Lady Cullompton a few days after my departure, and my cousin would not hear of her leaving till she was better.
During this time, though I heard very often from Katherine, I felt restless and jealous to a miserable degree. I knew from Tom Ridly that Sir Harry was constantly with them, yet in her letters she never mentioned his name. One day, however, I accidentally met him in town, and was struck at once with the evident depression of his manner.
He asked me to dine with him, but had apparently lost alike his appetite and his good nature. He was, indeed, cross, absent, and almost capricious, and I am afraid I felt my spirits rise in proportion to the very lowness of his. Alter dinner it all came out. Sir Harry had asked Miss Churchill to marry him; and to the perfect amazement of the rich and flattered young man, she had refused him, and had given no reason as to the cause of her rejection.
"It is unaccountable," said Sir Harry, with perfect ingenuousness. "I'm not such a bad-looking fellow as all that; and a girl who absolutely means to go out for a governess or something, for Minnie Ridly told me that was true. I could not have believed it possible. There's some mystery about it, Franklyn, depend upon it," went on Sir Harry. "Girls don't refuse fifteen thousand a year in a hurry now-a-days. She, in my opinion, couldn't marry."
"How do you mean, my dear fellow?" I asked, rather sharply.
"She's married, or something, already, that's the secret," said Sir Harry, mysterionsly, rapping down his doubled fist on the table. His vanity was too great to allow him to think that anyone would refuse him if they could help it.
Yet he was scarcely to blame for this. Tom Ridly told me that from boyhood this young baronet had been set at and made love to wherever he went. At his private tutor's a mature young lady of five-and-twenty had actually tried to run away with him when he was only sixteen, and had but been prevented from doing so by the boy-lover taking an awkward attack of measles just at the very time. Poor Sir Harry then was certainly to be pitied under his first disappointment, and I was amused to see how his injured vanity was stronger than his love, for he preferred to cast an aspersion on Miss Churchill's good name rather than let it be supposed she could have had the bad taste to be indifferent to him.
I left his rooms, however, with a lightened heart, and found a letter from my Katherine waiting for me at home. She was coming to town in a few days, and scolded me in her pretty way for being extravagant, because I had sent her a ring. "A ring far too handsome for poor people like us," she told me; "but still she would wear it and value it too."
She came when she had promised, and I met her at the station, and escorted her to Mr. Pocock's house. She asked me to call again the next day, and when I went, I was received by rather a crusty old gentleman, who eyed me all over—I did not think with very approving looks.
"You must like Walter for my sake," said Katherine, and Mr Pocock said, "Well, my dear, for your sake I would do much; but—"
"But nothing," said Katherine, putting her pretty hand over the old gentleman's mouth. "You must know Walter," she continued, "that my guardian here thinks no one good enough for me. He knew me when I was a little girl; and he knew dear papa all his life; so that accounts for his delusion," and she laughed as she spoke.
"Well," said Mr. Pocock, "you are your own mistress, and, of course, must have your own way; but Mr. Franklyn is not in a position I think—"
"He promised me bread—and butter sometimes," said Katherine, gaily, "and so I am content." And I, too, was content; so what more could there be said?
We were married just three weeks after she came up to town, and in the quietest possible manner. Mr. Pocock gave Katherine away, and presented her with his blessing, and a very magnificent silver tea service.
"Utterly ridiculous for people like us," Katherine said, when he gave them; but she went up and kissed her old friend's forehead, and, in spite of her joking speech, I thought I saw tears for a moment dimming her bright eyes.
We had fixed to go for one week to Brighton after the ceremony, as Katherine said we could not possibly afford a wedding tour; and as, in my heart, I agreed with her, we made our arrangements accordingly.
Well, we were married, and from the church door drove to the station, and presently found ourselves comfortably seated in the train. We were all alone, and as I wrapped my young wife's shawl closer round her, I told her what I felt and believed, that I was one of the happiest men on earth.
"But I have a confession to make to you, Walter," said Katherine, lifting up her head from my shoulder, and looking with her dark eyes straight into mine.
" A confession!" I echoed, and my heart sank.
" Yes, one you should hear now," said Katherine, quietly.
" Don't, don't," I cried, with sudden pain, half pushing her from me. "Don't tell me now, Katherine, I cannot bear to hear," and I turned away my head; Sir Harry Royston's suggestion flashing back with a terrible pang into my mind.
"Why, Walter," said she, looking at me," of what are you afraid? Don't look like that, my dear, I am not going to tell you anything to hurt you. Why you have turned pale, silly child—and it's only—well, it's only—I am still, and was always, an heiress."
"What?" I said. I could scarcely understand her.
"It is a long story," said Katherine, putting her hand into mine; "but I will try to make it as short as I can. You know dear papa married, what is called, beneath him. He married, in fact, the daughter of a German Jew, who was a dealer in diamonds, and also a very wealthy man. How he came to do this was easily accounted for. He had been engaged, and deeply attached, for years to a very handsome young English lady. Can you guess, Walter, who it was?"
"No," I said; "how could I guess?"
"It was your aunt Lady Ridly," replied Katherine; "and for more than two years it had been an understood thing between them, when suddenly Sir Thomas Ridley made her acquaintance, and, almost without notice, she threw over my poor father, and married the rich new lover she had won.
"Papa was at Homburg when the news came, and so violent was the shock, that, after a few days of miserable suffering, he was attacked by brain-fever in a strange city, and lay between life and death for many days.
"In the same hotel where he was, my grandfather and my mother—then a beautiful girl of nineteen—were also staying. The dangerous illness of the handsome young Englishman naturally aroused all my poor mother's sympathies. She was ardent and impulsive, and insisted on helping to nurse papa, and overwhelmed him with kindness and attention.
"The natural consequence ensued. Papa, smarting from the heartless conduct of one woman, was glad to find refuge in the tender affection of another, and, in spite of the violent opposition of her father—in spite of some strong prejudices of his own—he married the lovely Jewish maiden, and was, I believe, truly happy with her while she lived.
"But poor mamma's life was a very short one. She died when a little brother of mine was born, about a year after my own birth, and she and her babe were buried together in the cemetery of Père la Chaise, in Paris, and papa and I led a kind of wandering life ever afterwards.
"Papa was not a fortunate man. The few thousands he possessed as a younger son, and from his mother, were soon either squandered or lost, and his father cast him off completely from the time of his marriage. His life, therefore, was rather a bitter one. Indeed, we had generally to depend on assistance from my grandfather to satisfy our daily wants.
"At last, about five years ago, grandpapa died, and I found myself unexpectedly the heiress of a very large fortune. By this time poor papa had grown, from his many disappointments, a bitter and misanthropic man. He was for ever railing at the heartlessness of the world, and one of his favourite subjects now became that I would fall a victim to some despicable fortune-hunter, and that my very wealth would only serve to make me a miserable woman.
"By accident we met Lady Ridly, just before papa's last illness, at Homburg, and, as our position was well known there, she welcomed her old friend with the greatest cordiality. Here, then, was a case in point. Papa forcibly represented to me that, had we been in poverty or distress, our reception would have been very different. The sight, in fact, of his old love, seemed to waken all the bitterest feelings of his nature. It became a sort of monomania with him to be ever impressing on me that the smallest kindness or attention he then received was bought. That there was much truth in what he said I knew. I had learnt by bitter experience that the want of money is regarded as a sort of crime by most people, which they punish by neglect and contempt; but, naturally, I did not feel as he did, and one day I jokingly told him I thought I was good-looking and nice enough to be married for myself alone.
"You would see if you tried, silly child," said papa, and his words struck deeper than he thought. Our acquaintance with Lady Ridly continued, and it ended in her giving us a pressing invitation to visit them in England. Papa, however, made his health the excuse for declining her hospitality; but he said he would like me to see a little of English life, and it was finally agreed that I should visit them.
"Very shortly after Lady Ridly left Homburg, poor papa was attacked by his last fatal illness. On his death-bed the old-vexed subject was renewed, and he implored me to consider well before I trusted my happiness to any of the vile fortune-hunters, as he called them, who were sure to surround me.
"At last the idea occurred to me to tell him, that, if he liked, I would pretend to have lost my fortune, and take my chance as a penniless girl after all. The very thought, I believe, made his last days happy! With tears he entreated me to keep to my resolution, and never, till I was married, to allow my husband to know of my wealth.
"You understand the rest, silly boy," went on Katherine, smiling fondly. "You understand how I liked somebody's dark face, and what a fright I was in lest I should find I had been mistaken in thinking myself charming enough for you to care for myself alone. But I was, wasn't I?" she asked, lifting up her face half coquettishly to mine; and I do not think that my answer need be recorded here.
When we returned to town, I (as in duty bound) went to call on my cousins, and tell them of my good fortune. Lady Cullompton and Fanny received the news with hearty good nature and apparent pleasure; and Minnie, after reflecting a moment or two, also said that she was glad.
"But she gave you some hint about her money, Walter, I believe," said my pretty cousin, before our interview ended. "Ah! don't tell me she did not; I am sure of it. I noticed from the first that she wished to attract you; and you were quite right, and have done very well for yourself, and I hope you will be happy."
Sir Thomas's congratulations were yet more characteristic. I met him in the street shortly after our return, and he stopped me, and shook me by the hand.
"Ah! sir," he said. "Ah! so you knew what you were about, eh?—Knew how the land lay? Ha, ha, ha! you were a sly dog, and knew what you were after"—and he poked me in the waistcoat. He even condescended to be jocular to me.
Of poor Tom Ridly I have but little that is pleasant to tell. The unhappy marriage he has made hangs as a drag and a millstone round his neck, which I fear will only pull him deeper and deeper down. He, however, is a very constant visitor at our house, and has a strong feeling of regard and admiration for Katherine, who, like a good woman as she is, ever tries to raise him above degrading and lowering influences. But the poor lad is his own worst enemy; and I often think, sadly enough, what his fond mother would have felt if she could see him, now, reeling away the hours of his unhappy and wasted life!
Messrs. Speller and Preston have just brought out a new and good "Newspaper Scrap Book," appropriately ornamented, well bound, large 4 to, containing 100 pages of excellent stiff paper, each page divided into three columns by perpendicular lines, and ready folioed, with the proper provision for additional leaves if needed. There is also a lettered index in ledger style, so that each item entered can be readily referred to. Every housekeeper, everyone with a hobby, or specially interested in one or two things—price of stocks, butterflies, and what not—should keep a scrap-book—a very improper old term, by the way; for "scrap" means what is rejected, inferior remains, fit for dogs, or waste; whereas a scrap-book is a receptacle of facts, hints, truths, ways of doing things, &c., choice and complete, all of special value, and to be kept for use or for reconsideration. A carefully filled scrap-book is a thing of value to the collector.
The Caledonian Club of New York, it is stated, intend to publish this year "the most sumptuous edition of the works of Robert Burns that the world has seen." It is to be hoped that in the first place it will have all the essentials of good book printing, which are seldom studied. Again, as with most editions of poets' works, the works of Burns would be much more read if many of the less interesting and important pieces were omitted; the present generation have not leisure to look for beauties or study fragments; and the general reader judges of an author by a sort of average-taking, so that he (the author) gains by the omission of inferior matter. If they could engage Mr. Arnold to give such an edition of Burns as he has just published of the poetry of Wordsworth, they would confer a favour on the English-speaking world.