The Claverings, Page 5

  CHAPTER IV.

  FLORENCE BURTON.

  [Illustration.]

  It was now Christmas time at Stratton, or rather Christmas time wasnear at hand; not the Christmas next after the autumn of Lord Ongar'smarriage, but the following Christmas, and Harry Clavering hadfinished his studies in Mr. Burton's office. He flattered himselfthat he had not been idle while he was there, and was now about tocommence his more advanced stage of pupilage, under the great Mr.Beilby in London, with hopes which were still good, if they were notso magnificent as they once had been. When he first saw Mr. Burtonin his office, and beheld the dusty pigeon-holes with dusty papers,and caught the first glimpse of things as they really were in theworkshop of that man of business, he had, to say the truth, beendisgusted. And Mrs. Burton's early dinner, and Florence Burton's"plain face" and plain ways, had disconcerted him. On that day he hadrepented of his intention with regard to Stratton; but he had carriedout his purpose like a man, and now he rejoiced greatly that he haddone so. He rejoiced greatly, though his hopes were somewhat sobered,and his views of life less grand than they had been. He was to startfor Clavering early on the following morning, intending to spend hisChristmas at home, and we will see him and listen to him as he badefarewell to one of the members of Mr. Burton's family.

  He was sitting in a small back parlour in Mr. Burton's house, and onthe table of the room there was burning a single candle. It was adull, dingy, brown room, furnished with horsehair-covered chairs, anold horsehair sofa, and heavy rusty curtains. I don't know that therewas in the room any attempt at ornament, as certainly there was noevidence of wealth. It was now about seven o'clock in the evening,and tea was over in Mrs. Burton's establishment. Harry Clavering hadhad his tea, and had eaten his hot muffin, at the further side fromthe fire of the family table, while Florence had poured out the tea,and Mrs. Burton had sat by the fire on one side with a handkerchiefover her lap, and Mr. Burton had been comfortable with his arm-chairand his slippers on the other side. When tea was over, Harry had madehis parting speech to Mrs. Burton, and that lady had kissed him, andbade God bless him. "I'll see you for a moment before you go, in myoffice, Harry," Mr. Burton had said. Then Harry had gone downstairs,and some one else had gone boldly with him, and they two were sittingtogether in the dingy brown room. After that I need hardly tell myreader what had become of Harry Clavering's perpetual life-enduringheart's misery.

  He and Florence were sitting on the old horsehair sofa, andFlorence's hand was in his. "My darling," he said, "how am I to livefor the next two years?"

  "You mean five years, Harry."

  "No; I mean two,--that is two, unless I can make the time less. Ibelieve you'd be better pleased to think it was ten."

  "Much better pleased to think it was ten than to have no such hope atall. Of course we shall see each other. It's not as though you weregoing to New Zealand."

  "I almost wish I were. One would agree then as to the necessity ofthis cursed delay."

  "Harry, Harry!"

  "It is accursed. The prudence of the world in these latter days seemsto me to be more abominable than all its other iniquities."

  "But, Harry, we should have no income."

  "Income is a word that I hate."

  "Now you are getting on to your high horse, and you know I always goout of the way when you begin to prance on that beast. As for me,I don't want to leave papa's house where I'm sure of my bread andbutter, till I'm sure of it in another."

  "You say that, Florence, on purpose to torment me."

  "Dear Harry, do you think I want to torment you on your last night?The truth is, I love you so well that I can afford to be patient foryou."

  "I hate patience, and always did. Patience is one of the worst vicesI know. It's almost as bad as humility. You'll tell me you're 'umblenext. If you'll only add that you're contented, you'll describeyourself as one of the lowest of God's creatures."

  "I don't know about being 'umble, but I am contented. Are not youcontented with me, sir?"

  "No,--because you're not in a hurry to be married."

  "What a goose you are. Do you know I'm not sure that if you reallylove a person, and are quite confident about him,--as I am ofyou,--that having to look forward to being married is not the bestpart of it all. I suppose you'll like to get my letters now, but Idon't know that you'll care for them much when we've been man andwife for ten years."

  "But one can't live upon letters."

  "I shall expect you to live upon mine, and to grow fat on them.There;--I heard papa's step on the stairs. He said you were to go tohim. Good-by, Harry;--dearest Harry! What a blessed wind it was thatblew you here."

  "Stop a moment;--about your getting to Clavering. I shall come foryou on Easter-eve."

  "Oh, no;--why should you have so much trouble and expense?"

  "I tell you I shall come for you,--unless, indeed, you decline totravel with me."

  "It will be so nice! And then I shall be sure to have you with me thefirst moment I see them. I shall think it very awful when I firstmeet your father."

  "He's the most good-natured man, I should say, in England."

  "But he'll think me so plain. You did at first, you know. But hewon't be uncivil enough to tell me so, as you did. And Mary is to bemarried in Easter week? Oh, dear, oh, dear; I shall be so shy amongthem all."

  "You shy! I never saw you shy in my life. I don't suppose you wereever really put out yet."

  "But I must really put you out, because papa is waiting for you.Dear, dear, dearest Harry. Though I am so patient I shall countthe hours till you come for me. Dearest Harry!" Then she bore withhim, as he pressed her close to his bosom, and kissed her lips, andher forehead, and her glossy hair. When he was gone she sat downalone for a few minutes on the old sofa, and hugged herself in herhappiness. What a happy wind that had been which had blown such alover as that for her to Stratton!

  "I think he's a good young man," said Mrs. Burton, as soon as she wasleft with her old husband upstairs.

  "Yes, he's a good young man. He means very well."

  "But he is not idle; is he?"

  "No--no; he's not idle. And he's very clever;--too clever, I'mafraid. But I think he'll do well, though it may take him some timeto settle."

  "It seems so natural his taking to Flo; doesn't it? They've all takenone when they went away, and they've all done very well. Deary me;how sad the house will be when Flo has gone."

  "Yes,--it'll make a difference that way. But what then? I wouldn'twish to keep one of 'em at home for that reason."

  "No, indeed. I think I'd feel ashamed of myself to have a daughternot married, or not in the way to be married afore she's thirty. Icouldn't bear to think that no young man should take a fancy to agirl of mine. But Flo's not twenty yet, and Carry, who was the oldestto go, wasn't four-and-twenty when Scarness took her." Thereupon theold lady put her handkerchief to the corner of her eyes, and weptgently.

  "Flo isn't gone yet," said Mr. Burton.

  "But I hope, B., it's not to be a long engagement. I don't like longengagements. It ain't good,--not for the girl; it ain't, indeed."

  "We were engaged for seven years."

  "People weren't so much in a hurry then at anything; but I ain't sureit was very good for me. And though we weren't just married, we wereliving next door and saw each other. What'll come to Flo if she's tobe here and he's to be up in London, pleasuring himself?"

  "Flo must bear it as other girls do," said the father, as he got upfrom his chair.

  "I think he's a good young man; I think he is," said the mother. "Butdon't stand out for too much for 'em to begin upon. What matters?Sure if they were to be a little short you could help 'em." To sucha suggestion as this Mr. Burton thought it as well to make no answer,but with ponderous steps descended to his office.

  "Well, Harry," said Mr. Burton, "so you're to be off in the morning?"

  "Yes, sir; I shall breakfast at home to-morrow."

  "Ah,--when I was your age I always used to make an early start. Threehours
before breakfast never does any hurt. But it shouldn't be morethan that. The wind gets into the stomach." Harry had no remark tomake on this, and waited, therefore, till Mr. Burton went on. "Andyou'll be up in London by the 10th of next month?"

  "Yes, sir; I intend to be at Mr. Beilby's office on the 11th."

  "That's right. Never lose a day. In losing a day now, you don't losewhat you might earn now in a day, but what you might be earning whenyou're at your best. A young man should always remember that. Youcan't dispense with a round in the ladder going up. You only makeyour time at the top so much the shorter."

  "I hope you'll find that I'm all right, sir. I don't mean to beidle."

  "Pray don't. Of course, you know, I speak to you very differentlyfrom what I should do if you were simply going away from my office.What I shall have to give Florence will be very little,--that is,comparatively little. She shall have a hundred a year, when shemarries, till I die; and after my death and her mother's she willshare with the others. But a hundred a year will be nothing to you."

  "Won't it, sir? I think a very great deal of a hundred a year. I'm tohave a hundred and fifty from the office; and I should be ready tomarry on that to-morrow."

  "You couldn't live on such an income,--unless you were to alter yourhabits very much."

  "But I will alter them."

  "We shall see. You are so placed that by marrying you would lose aconsiderable income; and I would advise you to put off thinking of itfor the next two years."

  "My belief is, that settling down would be the best thing in theworld to make me work."

  "We'll try what a year will do. So Florence is to go to your father'shouse at Easter?"

  "Yes, sir; she has been good enough to promise to come, if you haveno objection."

  "It is quite as well that they should know her early. I onlyhope they will like her as well as we like you. Now I'll saygood-night,--and good-by." Then Harry went, and walking up and downthe High Street of Stratton, thought of all that he had done duringthe past year.

  On his arrival at Stratton that idea of perpetual misery arising fromblighted affection was still strong within his breast. He had givenall his heart to a false woman who had betrayed him. He had riskedall his fortune on one cast of the die, and, gambler-like, had losteverything. On the day of Julia's marriage he had shut himself up atthe school,--luckily it was a holiday,--and had flattered himselfthat he had gone through some hours of intense agony. No doubt hedid suffer somewhat, for in truth he had loved the woman; but suchsufferings are seldom perpetual, and with him they had been as easyof cure as with most others. A little more than a year had passed,and now he was already engaged to another woman. As he thought ofthis he did not by any means accuse himself of inconstancy or ofweakness of heart. It appeared to him now the most natural thing inthe world that he should love Florence Burton. In those old dayshe had never seen Florence, and had hardly thought seriously ofwhat qualities a man really wants in a wife. As he walked up anddown the hill of Stratton Street with the kiss of the dear, modest,affectionate girl still warm upon his lips, he told himself that amarriage with such a one as Julia Brabazon would have been altogetherfatal to his chance of happiness.

  And things had occurred and rumours had reached him which assistedhim much in adopting this view of the subject. It was known toall the Claverings,--and even to all others who cared about suchthings,--that Lord and Lady Ongar were not happy together, and ithad been already said that Lady Ongar had misconducted herself.There was a certain count whose name had come to be mingled withhers in a way that was, to say the least of it, very unfortunate.Sir Hugh Clavering had declared, in Mrs. Clavering's hearing, thoughbut little disposed in general to make many revelations to any ofthe family at the rectory, "that he did not intend to take hissister-in-law's part. She had made her own bed, and she must lie uponit. She had known what Lord Ongar was before she had married him, andthe fault was her own." So much Sir Hugh had said, and, in sayingit, had done all that in him lay to damn his sister-in-law's fairfame. Harry Clavering, little as he had lived in the world duringthe last twelve months, still knew that some people told a differentstory. The earl too and his wife had not been in England since theirmarriage;--so that these rumours had been filtered to them at homethrough a foreign medium. During most of their time they had been inItaly, and now, as Harry knew, they were at Florence. He had heardthat Lord Ongar had declared his intention of suing for a divorce;but that he supposed to be erroneous, as the two were still livingunder the same roof. Then he heard that Lord Ongar was ill; andwhispers were spread abroad darkly and doubtingly, as though greatmisfortunes were apprehended.

  Harry could not fail to tell himself that had Julia become his wife,as she had once promised, these whispers and this darkness wouldhardly have come to pass. But not on that account did he now regretthat her early vows had not been kept. Living at Stratton, he hadtaught himself to think much of the quiet domesticities of life, andto believe that Florence Burton was fitter to be his wife than JuliaBrabazon. He told himself that he had done well to find this out,and that he had been wise to act upon it. His wisdom had in truthconsisted in his capacity to feel that Florence was a nice girl,clever, well-minded, high-principled, and full of spirit,--and infalling in love with her as a consequence. All his regard for thequiet domesticities had come from his love, and had had no share inproducing it. Florence was bright-eyed. No eyes were ever brighter,either in tears or in laughter. And when he came to look at her wellhe found that he had been an idiot to think her plain. "There arethings that grow to beauty as you look at them,--to exquisite beauty;and you are one of them," he had said to her. "And there are men,"she had answered, "who grow to flattery as you listen to them,--toimpudent flattery; and you are one of them." "I thought you plainthe first day I saw you. That's not flattery." "Yes, sir, it is; andyou mean it for flattery. But after all, Harry, it comes only tothis, that you want to tell me that you have learned to love me." Herepeated all this to himself as he walked up and down Stratton, anddeclared to himself that she was very lovely. It had been given tohim to ascertain this, and he was rather proud of himself. But he wasa little diffident about his father. He thought that, perhaps, hisfather might see Florence as he himself had first seen her, and mightnot have discernment enough to ascertain his mistake as he had done.But Florence was not going to Clavering at once, and he would be ableto give beforehand his own account of her. He had not been home sincehis engagement had been a thing settled; but his position with regardto Florence had been declared by letter, and his mother had writtento the young lady asking her to come to Clavering.

  When Harry got home all the family received him with congratulations."I am so glad to think that you should marry early," his mothersaid to him in a whisper. "But I am not married yet, mother," heanswered.

  "Do show me a lock of her hair," said Fanny, laughing. "It's twiceprettier hair than yours, though she doesn't think half so much aboutit as you do," said her brother, pinching Fanny's arm. "But you'llshow me a lock, won't you?" said Fanny.

  "I'm so glad she's to be here at my marriage," said Mary, "becausethen Edward will know her. I'm so glad that he will see her." "Edwardwill have other fish to fry, and won't care much about her," saidHarry.

  "It seems you're going to do the regular thing," said his father,"like all the good apprentices. Marry your master's daughter,and then become Lord Mayor of London." This was not the view inwhich it had pleased Harry to regard his engagement. All the other"young men" that had gone to Mr. Burton's had married Mr. Burton'sdaughters,--or, at least, enough had done so to justify the Strattonassertion that all had fallen into the same trap. The Burtons, withtheir five girls, were supposed in Stratton to have managed theiraffairs very well, and something of these hints had reached Harry'sears. He would have preferred that the thing should not have beenmade so common, but he was not fool enough to make himself reallyunhappy on that head. "I don't know much about becoming Lord Mayor,"he replied. "That promotion doesn't lie exactly in our line." "Butmarrying you
r master's daughter does, it seems," said the Rector.Harry thought that this, as coming from his father, was almostill-natured, and therefore dropped the conversation.

  "I'm sure we shall like her," said Fanny.

  "I think that I shall like Harry's choice," said Mrs. Clavering.

  "I do hope Edward will like her," said Mary.

  "Mary," said her sister, "I do wish you were once married. When youare, you'll begin to have a self of your own again. Now you're nobetter than an unconscious echo."

  "Wait for your own turn, my dear," said the mother.

  Harry had reached home on a Saturday, and the following Monday wasChristmas-day. Lady Clavering, he was told, was at home at thepark, and Sir Hugh had been there lately. No one from the houseexcept the servants were seen at church either on the Sunday or onChristmas-day. "But that shows nothing," said the Rector, speakingin anger. "He very rarely does come, and when he does, it would bebetter that he should be away. I think that he likes to insult meby misconducting himself. They say that she is not well, and I caneasily believe that all this about her sister makes her unhappy. If Iwere you I would go up and call. Your mother was there the other day,but did not see them. I think you'll find that he's away, huntingsomewhere. I saw the groom going off with three horses on Sundayafternoon. He always sends them by the church gate just as we'recoming out."

  So Harry went up to the house, and found Lady Clavering at home. Shewas looking old and careworn, but she was glad to see him. Harry wasthe only one of the rectory family who had been liked at the greathouse since Sir Hugh's marriage, and he, had he cared to do so, wouldhave been made welcome there. But, as he had once said to Sir Hugh'ssister-in-law, if he shot the Clavering game, he would be expectedto do so in the guise of a head gamekeeper, and he did not choose toplay that part. It would not suit him to drink Sir Hugh's claret, andbe bidden to ring the bell, and to be asked to step into the stablefor this or that. He was a fellow of his college, and quite as biga man, he thought, as Sir Hugh. He would not be a hanger-on at thepark, and, to tell the truth, he disliked his cousin quite as much ashis father did. But there had even been a sort of friendship,--nay,occasionally almost a confidence, between him and Lady Clavering, andhe believed that by her he was really liked.

  Lady Clavering had heard of his engagement, and of coursecongratulated him. "Who told you?" he asked,--"was it my mother?"

  "No; I have not seen your mother I don't know when. I think it wasmy maid told me. Though we somehow don't see much of you all at therectory, our servants are no doubt more gracious with the rectoryservants. I'm sure she must be nice, Harry, or you would not havechosen her. I hope she has got some money."

  "Yes, I think she is nice. She is coming here at Easter."

  "Ah, we shall be away then, you know; and about the money?"

  "She will have a little, but very little;--a hundred a year."

  "Oh, Harry, is not that rash of you? Younger brothers should alwaysget money. You're the same as a younger brother, you know."

  "My idea is to earn my own bread. It's not very aristocratic, but,after all, there are a great many more in the same boat with me."

  "Of course you will earn your bread, but having a wife with moneywould not hinder that. A girl is not the worse because she can bringsome help. However, I'm sure I hope you'll be happy."

  "What I meant was that I think it best when the money comes from thehusband."

  "I'm sure I ought to agree with you, because we never had any." Thenthere was a pause. "I suppose you've heard about Lord Ongar," shesaid.

  "I have heard that he is very ill."

  "Very ill. I believe there was no hope when we heard last; but Julianever writes now."

  "I'm sorry that it is so bad as that," said Harry, not well knowingwhat else to say.

  "As regards Julia, I do not know whether it may not be for the best.It seems to be a cruel thing to say, but of course I cannot but thinkmost of her. You have heard, perhaps, that they have not been happy?"

  "Yes; I had heard that."

  "Of course; and what is the use of pretending anything with you? Youknow what people have said of her."

  "I have never believed it."

  "You always loved her, Harry. Oh, dear, I remember how unhappy thatmade me once, and I was so afraid that Hugh would suspect it. Shewould never have done for you;--would she, Harry?"

  "She did a great deal better for herself," said Harry.

  "If you mean that ironically, you shouldn't say it now. If he dies,she will be well off, of course, and people will in time forget whathas been said,--that is, if she will live quietly. The worst of it isthat she fears nothing."

  "But you speak as though you thought she had been--been--"

  "I think she was probably imprudent, but I believe nothing worsethan that. But who can say what is absolutely wrong, and what onlyimprudent? I think she was too proud to go really astray. And thenwith such a man as that, so difficult and so ill-tempered--! Sir Hughthinks--" But at that moment the door was opened and Sir Hugh camein.

  "What does Sir Hugh think?" said he.

  "We were speaking of Lord Ongar," said Harry, sitting up and shakinghands with his cousin.

  "Then, Harry, you were speaking on a subject that I would rathernot have discussed in this house. Do you understand that, Hermione?I will have no talking about Lord Ongar or his wife. We know verylittle, and what we hear is simply uncomfortable. Will you dine hereto-day, Harry?"

  "Thank you, no; I have only just come home."

  "And I am just going away. That is, I go to-morrow. I cannot standthis place. I think it the dullest neighbourhood in all England, andthe most gloomy house I ever saw. Hermione likes it."

  To this last assertion Lady Clavering expressed no assent; nor didshe venture to contradict him.