CHAPTER LII
The tardy gig had overtaken me at last. I entered it, and bade the
man who brought it drive to Grassdale Manor - I was too busy with
my own thoughts to care to drive it myself. I would see Mrs.
Huntingdon - there could be no impropriety in that now that her
husband had been dead above a year - and by her indifference or her
joy at my unexpected arrival I could soon tell whether her heart
was truly mine. But my companion, a loquacious, forward fellow,
was not disposed to leave me to the indulgence of my private
cogitations.
'There they go!' said he, as the carriages filed away before us.
'There'll be brave doings on yonder to-day, as what come to-morra.
- Know anything of that family, sir? or you're a stranger in these
parts?'
'I know them by report.'
'Humph! There's the best of 'em gone, anyhow. And I suppose the
old missis is agoing to leave after this stir's gotten overed, and
take herself off, somewhere, to live on her bit of a jointure; and
the young 'un - at least the new 'un (she's none so very young) -
is coming down to live at the Grove.'
'Is Mr. Hargrave married, then?'
'Ay, sir, a few months since. He should a been wed afore, to a
widow lady, but they couldn't agree over the money: she'd a rare
long purse, and Mr. Hargrave wanted it all to hisself; but she
wouldn't let it go, and so then they fell out. This one isn't
quite as rich, nor as handsome either, but she hasn't been married
before. She's very plain, they say, and getting on to forty or
past, and so, you know, if she didn't jump at this hopportunity,
she thought she'd never get a better. I guess she thought such a
handsome young husband was worth all 'at ever she had, and he might
take it and welcome, but I lay she'll rue her bargain afore long.
They say she begins already to see 'at he isn't not altogether that
nice, generous, perlite, delightful gentleman 'at she thought him
afore marriage - he begins a being careless and masterful already.
Ay, and she'll find him harder and carelesser nor she thinks on.'
'You seem to be well acquainted with him,' I observed.
'I am, sir; I've known him since he was quite a young gentleman;
and a proud 'un he was, and a wilful. I was servant yonder for
several years; but I couldn't stand their niggardly ways - she got
ever longer and worse, did missis, with her nipping and screwing,
and watching and grudging; so I thought I'd find another place.'
'Are we not near the house?' said I, interrupting him.
'Yes, sir; yond's the park.'
My heart sank within me to behold that stately mansion in the midst
of its expansive grounds. The park as beautiful now, in its wintry
garb, as it could be in its summer glory: the majestic sweep, the
undulating swell and fall, displayed to full advantage in that robe
of dazzling purity, stainless and printless - save one long,
winding track left by the trooping deer - the stately timber-trees
with their heavy-laden branches gleaming white against the dull,
grey sky; the deep, encircling woods; the broad expanse of water
sleeping in frozen quiet; and the weeping ash and willow drooping
their snow-clad boughs above it - all presented a picture, striking
indeed, and pleasing to an unencumbered mind, but by no means
encouraging to me. There was one comfort, however, - all this was
entailed upon little Arthur, and could not under any circumstances,
strictly speaking, be his mother's. But how was she situated?
Overcoming with a sudden effort my repugnance to mention her name
to my garrulous companion, I asked him if he knew whether her late
husband had left a will, and how the property had been disposed of.
Oh, yes, he knew all about it; and I was quickly informed that to
her had been left the full control and management of the estate
during her son's minority, besides the absolute, unconditional
possession of her own fortune (but I knew that her father had not
given her much), and the small additional sum that had been settled
upon her before marriage.
Before the close of the explanation we drew up at the park-gates.
Now for the trial. If I should find her within - but alas! she
might be still at Staningley: her brother had given me no
intimation to the contrary. I inquired at the porter's lodge if
Mrs. Huntingdon were at home. No, she was with her aunt in -shire,
but was expected to return before Christmas. She usually spent
most of her time at Staningley, only coming to Grassdale
occasionally, when the management of affairs, or the interest of
her tenants and dependents, required her presence.
'Near what town is Staningley situated?' I asked. The requisite
information was soon obtained. 'Now then, my man, give me the
reins, and we'll return to M-. I must have some breakfast at the
"Rose and Crown," and then away to Staningley by the first coach
for -.'
At M- I had time before the coach started to replenish my forces
with a hearty breakfast, and to obtain the refreshment of my usual
morning's ablutions, and the amelioration of some slight change in
my toilet, and also to despatch a short note to my mother
(excellent son that I was), to assure her that I was still in
existence, and to excuse my non-appearance at the expected time.
It was a long journey to Staningley for those slow-travelling days,
but I did not deny myself needful refreshment on the road, nor even
a night's rest at a wayside inn, choosing rather to brook a little
delay than to present myself worn, wild, and weather-beaten before
my mistress and her aunt, who would be astonished enough to see me
without that. Next morning, therefore, I not only fortified myself
with as substantial a breakfast as my excited feelings would allow
me to swallow, but I bestowed a little more than usual time and
care upon my toilet; and, furnished with a change of linen from my
small carpet-bag, well-brushed clothes, well-polished boots, and
neat new gloves, I mounted 'The Lightning,' and resumed my journey.
I had nearly two stages yet before me, but the coach, I was
informed, passed through the neighbourhood of Staningley, and
having desired to be set down as near the Hall as possible, I had
nothing to do but to sit with folded arms and speculate upon the
coming hour.
It was a clear, frosty morning. The very fact of sitting exalted
aloft, surveying the snowy landscape and sweet sunny sky, inhaling
the pure, bracing air, and crunching away over the crisp frozen
snow, was exhilarating enough in itself; but add to this the idea
of to what goal I was hastening, and whom I expected to meet, and
you may have some faint conception of my frame of mind at the time
- only a faint one, though: for my heart swelled with unspeakable
delight, and my spirits rose almost to madness, in spite of my
prudent endeavours to bind them down to a reasonable platitude by
thinking of the undeniable difference between Helen's rank and
mine; of all that she had passed through since our parting; of her
long, unbroken silence; and, above all, of her cool, cautious aunt,
whose counsels she would doubtless be careful not to slight again.
These considerations made my heart flutter with anxiety, and my
chest heave with impatience to get the crisis over; but they could
not dim her image in my mind, or mar the vivid recollection of what
had been said and felt between us, or destroy the keen anticipation
of what was to be: in fact, I could not realise their terrors now.
Towards the close of the journey, however, a couple of my fellow-
passengers kindly came to my assistance, and brought me low enough.
'Fine land this,' said one of them, pointing with his umbrella to
the wide fields on the right, conspicuous for their compact
hedgerows, deep, well-cut ditches, and fine timber-trees, growing
sometimes on the borders, sometimes in the midst of the enclosure:
'very fine land, if you saw it in the summer or spring.'
'Ay,' responded the other, a gruff elderly man, with a drab
greatcoat buttoned up to the chin, and a cotton umbrella between
his knees. 'It's old Maxwell's, I suppose.'
'It was his, sir; but he's dead now, you're aware, and has left it
all to his niece.'
'All?'
'Every rood of it, and the mansion-house and all! every hatom of
his worldly goods, except just a trifle, by way of remembrance, to
his nephew down in -shire, and an annuity to his wife.'
'It's strange, sir!'
'It is, sir; and she wasn't his own niece neither. But he had no
near relations of his own - none but a nephew he'd quarrelled with;
and he always had a partiality for this one. And then his wife
advised him to it, they say: she'd brought most of the property,
and it was her wish that this lady should have it.'
'Humph! She'll be a fine catch for somebody.'
'She will so. She's a widow, but quite young yet, and uncommon
handsome: a fortune of her own, besides, and only one child, and
she's nursing a fine estate for him in -. There'll be lots to
speak for her! 'fraid there's no chance for uz' - (facetiously
jogging me with his elbow, as well as his companion) - 'ha, ha, ha!
No offence, sir, I hope?' - (to me). 'Ahem! I should think she'll
marry none but a nobleman myself. Look ye, sir,' resumed he,
turning to his other neighbour, and pointing past me with his
umbrella, 'that's the Hall: grand park, you see, and all them
woods - plenty of timber there, and lots of game. Hallo! what
now?'
This exclamation was occasioned by the sudden stoppage of the coach
at the park-gates.
'Gen'leman for Staningley Hall?' cried the coachman and I rose and
threw my carpet-bag on to the ground, preparatory to dropping
myself down after it.
'Sickly, sir?' asked my talkative neighbour, staring me in the
face. I daresay it was white enough.
'No. Here, coachman!'
'Thank'ee, sir. - All right!'
The coachman pocketed his fee and drove away, leaving me, not
walking up the park, but pacing to and fro before its gates, with
folded arms, and eyes fixed upon the ground, an overwhelming force
of images, thoughts, impressions crowding on my mind, and nothing
tangibly distinct but this: My love had been cherished in vain -
my hope was gone for ever; I must tear myself away at once, and
banish or suppress all thoughts of her, like the remembrance of a
wild, mad dream. Gladly would I have lingered round the place for
hours, in the hope of catching at least one distant glimpse of her
before I went, but it must not be - I must not suffer her to see
me; for what could have brought me hither but the hope of reviving
her attachment, with a view hereafter to obtain her hand? And
could I bear that she should think me capable of such a thing? - of
presuming upon the acquaintance - the love, if you will -
accidentally contracted, or rather forced upon her against her
will, when she was an unknown fugitive, toiling for her own
support, apparently without fortune, family, or connections; to
come upon her now, when she was reinstated in her proper sphere,
and claim a share in her prosperity, which, had it never failed
her, would most certainly have kept her unknown to me for ever?
And this, too, when we had parted sixteen months ago, and she had
expressly forbidden me to hope for a re-union in this world, and
never sent me a line or a message from that day to this. No! The
very idea was intolerable.
And even if she should have a lingering affection for me still,
ought I to disturb her peace by awakening those feelings? to
subject her to the struggles of conflicting duty and inclination -
to whichsoever side the latter might allure, or the former
imperatively call her - whether she should deem it her duty to risk
the slights and censures of the world, the sorrow and displeasure
of those she loved, for a romantic idea of truth and constancy to
me, or to sacrifice her individual wishes to the feelings of her
friends and her own sense of prudence and the fitness of things?
No - and I would not! I would go at once, and she should never
know that I had approached the place of her abode: for though I
might disclaim all idea of ever aspiring to her hand, or even of
soliciting a place in her friendly regard, her peace should not be
broken by my presence, nor her heart afflicted by the sight of my
fidelity.
'Adieu then, dear Helen, forever! Forever adieu!'
So said I - and yet I could not tear myself away. I moved a few
paces, and then looked back, for one last view of her stately home,
that I might have its outward form, at least, impressed upon my
mind as indelibly as her own image, which, alas! I must not see
again - then walked a few steps further; and then, lost in
melancholy musings, paused again and leant my back against a rough
old tree that grew beside the road.
