Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II) Read online

  'Let me call mamma,' said Isabel.

  'As you will, my dear, but cannot you let the simple truth come out between you and your own blood-relation, without all her words to come between? Can't you, Isabel? I am sure you and I shall understand each other.'

  'That we shall,' replied Isabel, warmly. 'I have given her no promise. Dear Mr. Mansell, I have wished all along that you should know that I am engaged, with her full consent, to Mr. Frost Dynevor.'

  'To the little black tutor!' cried Mr. Mansell, recoiling, but recollecting himself. 'I beg your pardon, my dear, he may be a very good man, but what becomes of all this scrambling over barricades with the young Lord?'

  Isabel described the true history of her engagement; and it was received with a long, low whistle, by no means too complimentary.

  'And what makes him come and hide in holes and corners, if this is all with your mamma's good will?'

  'Mamma thought you would be displeased; she insisted on taking her own time for breaking it to you,' said Isabel.

  'Was there ever a woman but must have her mystery? Well, I should have liked him better if he had not given into it!'

  'He never did!' said Isabel, indignant enough to disclose in full the whole arrangement made by Lady Conway's manoeuvres and lax good- nature. 'I knew it would never do,' she added, 'though I could not say so before her and Fitzjocelyn. My note was to tell them so: and look here, Mr. Mansell, this is what Mr. Dynevor had already written before receiving mine.'

  She held it out proudly; and Mr. Manaell, making an unwilling sound between his teeth, took it from her; but, as he read, his countenance changed, and he exclaimed, 'Ha! very well! This is something like! So that's it, is it? You and he would not combine to cheat the old man, like a pair of lovers in a trumpery novel!'

  'No, indeed!' said Isabel, 'that would be a bad way of beginning.'

  'Where is the young fellow?-at Ebbscreek, did you say? I'll tell you what, Isabel,' with his hand on the bell, 'I'll have out the dogcart this minute, and fetch him home to breakfast, to meet my Lady when she comes down stairs, if it be only for the sake of showing that I like plain dealing!'

  'Isabel could only blush, smile, look doubtful, and yet so very happy and grateful, that Mr. Mansell became cautious, lest his impulse should have carried him too far, and, after having ordered the vehicle to be prepared, he caught her by the hand, and detained her, saying, 'Mind you, Miss, you are not to take this for over-much. I'm afraid it is a silly business, and I did not want you to throw yourself away on a schoolmaster. I must see and talk to the man myself; but I won't have anything that's not open and above-board, and that my Lady shall see for once in her life!'

  'I'm not afraid,' said Isabel, smiling. 'James will make his own way with you.'

  Isabel ran away to excuse and explain her confession to Lady Conway; while Mr. Mansell indulged in another whistle, and then went to inform his wife that he was afraid the girl had been making a fool of herself; but it was not Lady Conway's fault that she was nothing worse, and he was resolved, whatever he did, to show that honesty was the only thing that would go down with him.

  The boat was rocking on the green waves, and Louis was in the act of waving an adieu to deaf Mrs. Hannaford, when a huntsman's halloo caused James to look round and behold Mr. Mansell standing up in his dogcart, making energetic signals with his whip.

  He had meant to be very guarded, and wait to judge of James before showing that he approved, but the excitement of the chase betrayed him into a glow of cordiality, and he shook hands with vehemence.

  'That's right!-just in time! Jump in, and come home to breakfast. So you wouldn't be a party to my Lady's tricks!-just like her-just as she wheedled poor Conway. I will let her see how I esteem plain dealing! I don't say that I see my way through this business; but we'll talk it over together, and settle matters without my Lady.'

  James hardly knew where he was, between joy and surprise. The invitation was extended to his companion; but Fitzjocelyn discerned that both James and Mr. Mansell would prefer being left to themselves; he had a repugnance to an immediate discussion with the one aunt, and was in haste to carry the tidings to the other: and besides, it was becoming possible that letters might arrive from the travellers. Actuated by all these motives, he declined the offer of hospitality, and rowed across to Bickleypool, enlightening the Captain on the state of affairs as far as he desired.

  CHAPTER II. THE THIRD TIME.

  Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And you the toast of all the town, I sighed and said, amang them a', Ye are not Mary Morison. BURNS.

  Mrs. Frost and Louis were very merry over the result of Lady Conway's stratagems, and sat up indulging in bright anticipations until so late an hour, that Louis was compelled to relinquish his purpose of going home that night, but he persisted in walking to Ormersfield before breakfast, that he might satisfy himself whether there were any letters.

  It was a brisk October morning, the sportsman's gun and whistle re- echoing from the hill sides; where here and there appeared the dogs careering along over green turnip-fields or across amber stubble. The Little Northwold trees, in dark, sober tints of brown and purple, hung over the grey wall, tinted by hoary lichen; and as Louis entered the Ormersfield field paths, and plunged into his own Ferny dell, the long grass and brackens hung over the path, weighed down with silvery dew, and the large cavernous web of the autumnal spider was all one thick flake of wet.

  If he could not enter the ravine without thankfulness for his past escape, neither could he forget gratitude to her who had come to his relief from hopeless agony! He quickened his pace, in the earnest longing for tidings, which had seized him, even to heart sickness.

  It was the reaction of the ardour and excitement that had so long possessed him. The victory had been gained-he had been obliged to leave James to work in his own cause, and would be no longer wanted in the same manner by his cousin. The sense of loneliness, and of the want of an object, came strongly upon him as he walked through the prim old solitary garden, and looked up at the dreary windows of the house, almost reluctant to enter, as long as it was without Mary's own serene atmosphere of sympathy and good sense, her precious offices of love, her clear steady eyes, even in babyhood his trustworthy counsellors.

  Was it a delusion of fancy, acting on reflections in the glass, that, as he mounted the steps from the lawn, depicted Mary's figure through the dining-room windows? Nay, the table was really laid for breakfast-a female figure was actually standing over the tea-chest.

  'A scene from the Vicar of Wakefield deluding me,' decided Louis, advancing to the third window, which was open.

  It was Mary Ponsonby.

  'Mary!'

  'You here?-They said you were not at home!'

  'My father!-Where?'

  'He is not come down. He is as well as possible. We came at eleven last night. I found I was not wanted,' added Mary, with a degree of agitation, that made him conclude that she had lost her father.

  One step he made to find the Earl, but too much excited to move away or to atand still, he came towards her, wrung her hand in a more real way than in his first bewildered surprise, and exclaimed in transport, 'O Mary! Mary! to have you back again!' then, remembering his inference, added, low and gravely, 'It makes me selfish-I was not thinking of your grief.'

  'Never mind,' said Mary, smiling, though her eyes overflowed, 'I must be glad to be at home again, and such a welcome as this-'

  'O Mary, Mary!' he cried, nearly beside himself, 'I have not known what to do without you! You will believe it now, won't you?'-oh, won't you?'

  Mary would have been a wonderful person had she not instantly and utterly forgotten all her conclusions from Frampton's having declared him gone to Beauchastel for an unlimited time; but all she did was to turn away her crimson tearful face, and reply, 'Your father would not wish it now.'

  'Then the speculations have failed? So much the better!'

  'No, no! he must tell you-'

  She was trying
to withdraw her hand, when Lord Ormersfield opened the door, and in the moment of his amazed 'Louis!' Mary had fled.

  'What is it? oh! what is it, father? cried Louis for all greeting, 'why can she say you would not wish it now?'

  'Wish it? wish what?' asked the Earl, without the intuitive perception of the meaning of the pronoun.

  'What you have always wished-Mary and me-What is the only happiness that life can offer me!'

  'If I wished it a year ago, I could only wish it the more now,' said the Earl. 'But how is this?-I fully believed you committed to Miss Conway.'

  'Miss Conway! Miss Conway!' burst out Louis, in a frenzy. 'Because Jem Frost was in love with her himself, he fancied every one else must be the same, and now he will be married to her before Christmas, so that's disposed of. As to my feeling for her a particle, a shred of what I do for Mary, it was a mere fiction-a romance, an impossibility.'

  'I do not understand you, Louis. Why did you not find this out before?'

  'Mrs. Ponsonby called it my duty to test my feelings, and I have tested them. That one is a beautiful poet's dream. Mary is a woman, the only woman I can ever love. Not an hour but I have felt it, and now, father, what does she mean?'

  'She means, poor girl, what only her own scrupulous delicacy could regard as an objection, but what renders me still more desirous to have a right to protect her. The cause of our return-'

  'How? I thought her father was dead.'

  'Far worse. At Valparaiso we met Robson, the confidential agent. I learnt from him that Mr. Ponsonby had hardly waited for her mother's death to marry a Limenian, a person whom everything pointed out as unfit to associate with his daughter. Even Robson, cautious as he was, said he could not undertake to recommend Miss Ponsonby to continue her journey.'

  'And this was all?' exclaimed Louis, too intent on his own views for anything but relief.

  'All? Is it not enough to set her free? She acquiesced in my judgment that she could do no otherwise than return. She wrote to her father, and I sent three lines to inform him that, under the circumstances, I fulfilled my promise to her mother by taking her home. I had nearly made her promise that, should we find you about to form an establishment of your own, she would consider herself as my child; but-'

  'Oh, father! how shall we make her believe you care nothing for her scruple? The wretched man! But-oh! where is she?'

  'It does not amount to a scruple in her case,' deliberately resumed the Earl. 'I always knew what Ponsonby was, and nothing from him coldd surprise me-even such an outrage on feeling and decency. Besides, he has effectually shut himself out of society, and degraded himself beyond the power of interfering with you. For the rest, Mary is already, in feeling, so entirely my child, that to have the right to call her so has always been my fondest wish. And, Louis, the months I have spent with her have not diminished my regard. My Mary! she will have a happier lot than her mother!'

  The end of the speech rewarded Louis for the conflict by which he had kept himself still to listen to the beginning. Lord Ormersfield had pity on him, and went in search of Mary; while he, remembering former passages, felt that his father might be less startling and more persuasive, but began to understand what James must have suffered in committing his affairs to another.

  The Earl found Mary in what had been her mother's sitting-room, striving to brace her resolution by recalling the conversation that had taken place there on a like occasion. But alas! how much more the heart had now to say! How much it felt as if the only shelter or rest in the desolate world was in the light of the blue eyes whose tender sunshine had been on her for one instant!

  Yet she began firmly-'If you please, would you be so kind as to let me go to Aunt Melicent?'

  'By-and-by, my dear, when you think fit.'

  'Oh, then, at once, and without seeing any one, please!'

  'Nay, Mary,' with redoubled gentleness, 'there is one who cannot let you go without seeing him. Mary, you will not disappoint my poor boy again. You will let him be an amendment in my scheme.'

  'You have been always most kind to me, but you cannot really like this.'

  'You forget that it has been my most ardent wish from the moment I saw you what only your mother's child could be.'

  'That was before- No, I ought not! Yours is not a family to bring disgrace into.'

  'I cannot allow you to speak thus. I knew your trials at home when first I wished you to be my son's wife, and my opinion is unchanged, except by my increased wish to have the first claim to you.'

  'Lord Ormersfield,' said Mary, collecting herself 'only one thing. Tell me, as if we were indifferent persons, is this a connexion such as would do Louis any harm? I trust you to answer.'

  He paced along the room, and she tried to control her trembling. He came back and spoke: No, Mary. If he were a stranger, I should give the same advice. Your father's own family is unexceptionable; and those kind of things, so far off-few will ever hear of them, and no one will attach consequence to them. If that be your only scruple, it does you infinite credit; but I can entirely remove it. What might be an injury to you, single, would be of comparatively little importance to him.'

  'Miss Conway,' faltered Mary, who could never remember her, when in Louis's presence.

  'A mere delusion, of our own. There was nothing in it. He calls you the only woman who can make him happy, as I always knew you were. He must explain all. You will come to him, my dear child.'

  Mary resisted no more; he led her down stairs, and left her within the dining-room door.

  'Mary, you will now-' was all Louis said; but she let him draw her into his arms, and she rested against his breast, as when he had come to comfort her in the great thunderstorm in auld lang-syne. She felt herself come at length to the shelter and repose for which her heart had so long yearned, in spite of her efforts, and as if the world had nothing more to offer of peace or joy.

  'Oh, Mary, how I have wanted you! You believe in me now!'

  'I am sure mamma would!' murmured Mary.

  He could have poured forth a torrent of affection, but the suspicion of a footstep made her start from him; and the next moment she was herself, glowing, indeed, and half crying with happiness, but alarmed at her own agitation, and struggling to resume her common-place manner.

  'There's your father not had a morsel of breakfast!' she exclaimed, hurrying back to her teacups, whose ringing betrayed her trembling hand. 'Call him, Louis.'

  'Must I go?' said Louis, coming to assist in a manner that threatened deluge and destruction.

  'Oh yes, go! I shall be able to speak to you when you come back.'

  He had only to go into the verandah. His father was watching at the library window, and they wrung each other's hand in gladness beyond utterance.

  Mary had seated herself in the solid stately chair, with the whole entrenchment of tea equipage before her. They knew it signified that she was to be unmolested; they took their places, and the Earl carved ham, and Louis cut bread, and Mary poured out tea in the most matter- of-fact manner, hazarding nothing beyond such questions as, 'May I give you an egg?'

  Then curiosity began to revive: Louis ventured, 'Where did you land?' and his father made answer, 'At Liverpool, yesterday,' and how the Custom-house had detained them, and he had, therefore, brought Mary straight home, instead of stopping with her at Northwold, at eleven o'clock, to disturb Mrs. Frost.

  'You would have found us up,' said Louis.

  'You were sleeping at the Terrace?'

  'Yes, I walked here this morning.'

  'Then your ankle must be pretty well,' was Mary's first contribution to the conversation.

  'Quite well for all useful purposes,' said Louis, availing himself of the implied permission to turn towards her.

  'But, Louis,' suddenly exclaimed the Earl, 'did you not tell me something extraordinary about James Frost? Whom did you say he was going to marry?'

  'Isabel Conway.'

  Never was his love of electrifying more fully gratified! Lord Ormersfie
ld was surprised into an emphatic interjection, and inquiry whether they were all gone mad.

  'Not that I am aware of,' said Louis. 'Perhaps you have not heard that Mr. Lester is going to retire, and Jem has the school?'

  'Then, it must be Calcott and the trustees who are out of their senses.'

  'Do you not consider it an excellent appointment?'

  'It might be so some years hence,' said the Earl. 'I am afraid it will tie him down to a aecond-rate affair, when he might be doing better; and the choice is the last thing I should have expected from Calcott.'

  'He opposed it. He wanted to bring in a very ordinary style of person, from - School, but Jem's superiority and the general esteem for my aunt carried the day.'

  'What did Ramsbotham and his set do?'

  'They were better than could have been hoped; they gave us their votes when they found their man could not get in.'

  'Ha? As long as that fellow is against Calcott, he cares little whom he supports. I am sorry that Calcott should be defeated, even for James's sake. How did Richardson vote?'

  'He was doubtful at first, but I brought him over.'

  Lord Ormersfield gave a quick, searching glance as he said,' James Frost did not make use of our interest in this matter.'

  'Jem never did. He and my aunt held back, and were unwilling to oppose the Squire. They would have given it up, but for me. Father, I never supposed you could be averse to my doing my utmost for Jem, when all his prospects were at stake.'

  'I should have imagined that James was too well aware of my sentiments to allow it.'

  What a cloud on the happy morning!

  Louis eagerly exclaimed: 'James is the last person to be blamed! He and my aunt were always trying to stop me, but I would not listen to their scruples. I knew his happiness depended on his success, and I worked for him, in spite of himself. If I did wrong, I can only be very sorry; but I cannot readily believe that I transgressed by setting the question before people in a right light. Only, whose fault soever it was, it was not Jem's.'