Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Soon after this, a ridiculous thing occurred, the consequences of whichwere grave enough. The summer and autumn after that weary drought wererather wet and stormy. One night towards the end of October, it blew aheavy gale after torrents of rain. Going to the churchyard next day, Ifound, as I had expected, that the flowers so carefully kept through thesummer were shattered and strewn by the tempest; and so I returned tothe garden for others to plant in their stead. My cousin Clement (as hewas told to call himself) came sauntering towards me among the beds.His usual look of shallow brightness and empty self-esteem had failedhim for the moment, and he looked like a fan-tailed pigeon who hastumbled down the horse-rack. He followed me to and fro, with a sort ofstuttering walk, as I chose the plants I liked best; but I took littlenotice of him, for such had been my course since I first discoveredtheir scheme.

  At last, as I stooped to dig up a white verbena, he came behind me, andbegan his errand with more than his usual lisp. This I shall not copy,as it is not worth the trouble.

  "Oh, Clara," he said, "I want to tell you something, if you'll only begood-natured!"

  "Don't you see I am busy now?" I replied, without turning to look."Won't it do when you have taken your curl-papers off?"

  "Now, Clara, you know that I never use curl-papers. My hair doesn't wantit. You know it's much prettier than your long waving black stuff, andit curls of its own accord, if mamma only brushes it. But I want totell you something particular."

  "Well, then, be quick, for I am going away." And with that I stood upand confronted him. He was scarcely so tall as myself, and his lightshowy dress and pink rose of a face, which seemed made to be worn in thehair, were thrown into brighter relief by my sombre apparel and earnesttwilight look. Some lurking sense of this contrast seemed to add to hishesitation. At last he began again:

  "You know, Cousin Clara, you must not be angry with me, because it isn'tmy fault."

  "What is not your fault?"

  "Why, that I should fall--what do they call it?--fall in love, Isuppose."

  "You fall in love, you dissolute doll! How dare you fall in love, sir,without my leave?"

  "Well, I was afraid to ask you, Clara. I couldn't tell what you wouldsay."

  "Oh, that must depend, of course, on who Mrs. Doll is to be! If it's agood little thing with blue satin arms, and a sash and a slip, andpretty blue eyes that go with a string, perhaps I'll forgive you, poorchild, and set you up with a house, and a tea-set, and a mother-of-pearlperambulator."

  "Now, don't talk nonsense," he answered. "Before long I shall be a man,and then you'll be afraid of me, and put up your hands, and shriek, andwant me to kiss you."

  I had indulged him too much, and his tongue was taking liberties. Isoon stopped him.

  "How dare you bark at me, you wretched little white-woolled nurserydog?"

  I left him, and went with my basket of flowers along the path to thechurchyard. For a while he stood there frightened, till his motherlooked forth from the drawing-room window. Between the two fears hechose the less, and followed me to my father's grave. I stood there andangrily waved him back, but he still persisted, though trembling.

  "Cousin Clara," he said--and his lisp was quite gone, and he tried to bein a passion--"Cousin Clara, you shall hear what I have got to say. Youhave lived with me now a long time, and I'm sure we have agreed verywell, and I--I--no, I don't see why we should not be married."

  "Don't you indeed, sir?"

  "Perhaps," he continued, "you are afraid that I don't care about you.Really now, I often think that you would be very good-looking, if youwould only laugh now and then, and leave off those nasty black gowns;and then if you would only leave off being so grand, and mysterious, andstately, and getting up so early, I would let you do as you liked, andyou might paint me and have a lock of my hair."

  "Clement Daldy," I asked, "do you see that lake?"

  "Yes," he replied, turning pale, and inclined to fly.

  "There's water enough there now. If you ever dare again to say one wordlike this to me, or even to show by your looks that you think it, I'lltake you and drown you there, as sure as my father lies here."

  He slunk away quickly without a word, and could eat no lunch that day.In the afternoon, as I sat in my favourite bow-window seat, Mrs. Daldyglided in. She had put on with care her clinging smile, as she would anIndian shawl. I thought how much better her face would have looked withits natural, bold, haughty gaze.

  "My dear Clara," began this pious tidewaiter, "what have you done to vexso your poor cousin Clement?"

  "Only this, Mrs. Daldy: he was foolish or mad, and I gave him advice ina truly Christian spirit, entirely for his own good."

  "I hope, my dear, that some day it may be his duty as well as hisprivilege to advise you. But, of course, you need not take his advice.My Clara loves her own way as much as any girl I ever knew; and withpoor Clement she will be safe to have it."

  "No doubt of that," I replied.

  "And then, my pet, you will be in a far better position than you couldattain as an unmarried girl to pursue the great aim of your life; sofar, I mean, as is not inconsistent with the spirit of Christianforgiveness. Your guardian has thought of that, in effecting thisarrangement; and I trust that I was not wrong in allowing so fair aprospect, under Providence, of your ultimate peace of mind to influenceme considerably when he sought my consent."

  "I am sure I am much obliged to you."

  "I cannot conceal from you, so clear-sighted as you are--and if I could,I object to concealment of any kind, on principle--that there are alsocertain worldly advantages, which are not without weight, however theheart be weaned by trials and chastened from transient things. And yourguardian has this arrangement so very much at heart. My own dear child,I have felt for you so long that I love you as a daughter. How thankfulI ought to be to the Giver of all good things to have you really my owndear child."

  "Be thankful, madam, when you have got it. This is a good thing whichunder Providence you must learn to do without."

  It was coarse of me to hint at my riches. But what could I do with her?

  "Why, Clara," she asked, in great amazement, "you cannot be so foolishand wilful as to throw away this chance of revenge? If only for yourdear mother's sake, as well as your father's, it is the path of duty.Let me tell you, both she and yourself are very much more in yourguardian's power than you have any idea. And what would be your poorfather's wish, who has left you so entirely to his brother's care anddiscretion? Will you put off for ever the discovery of his murderer?"

  "My father," I said, proudly, "would scorn me for doing a thing belowhim and myself. The last of the Vaughans to be plotted away to agrocer's doll!"

  It had been a trial of temper; and contempt was too much for hypocrisy.Through the rouge of the world, and the pearl-powder of religion, natureflushed forth on her cheek; for she really loved her son. She knewwhere to wound me the deepest.

  "Is it no condescension in us that my beautiful boy should stoop to themaniac-child of a man who was stabbed--stabbed in his midnight bed--toatone, no doubt, for some low act of his own?"

  I sprang up, and rang the bell. Thomas Kenwood, who made a point ofattending me, came at once. I said to him, calmly and slowly:

  "Allow this person one hour to pack her things. Get a fly from theWalnut Tree Inn, and see her beyond the Lodge."

  If I had told him to drag her away by the hair, I believe that man wouldhave done it. She shrunk away from me; for the moment her spirit wasquelled, and she trembled into a chair.

  "I assure you, Clara, I did not mean what I said. You provoked me so."

  "Not one word more. Leave the room and the house."

  "Miss Vaughan, I will not leave this house until your guardian returns."

  "Thomas," I said, without looking towards her, "if Mrs. Daldy is notgone in an hour, you quit my service."

  How Thomas Kenwood managed it, I never asked. He wa
s a resolute man, andall the servants obeyed him. She turned round once, as she crossed thethreshold, and gave me a look which I shall never forget. Was such thelook that had glared on my father before the blow? She lifted the whitearm of which she was proud, and threw back her head, like the Fecialhurling his dart.

  "Clara Vaughan, you shall bitterly grieve for this. It shall throw youand your mother at the feet of your father's murderer, and you shallcrave meat worse than your enemy's blood."

  Until she had quitted the house, I could not sit down; but went to myfather's bedroom, where I often took refuge when strongly excited andunable to fly to his grave. The thoughts and the memories hovering andsighing around that fatal chamber were enough to calm and allay thesensations of trivial wrong.

  But now this was not the case. The outrage offered had been, not to me,but to him who seemed present there. The suggestion, too, of an injurydone by my father, though scorned at first, was working and rufflingwithin me, as children put bearded corn-ears in another's sleeve, whichby-and-by work their own way to the breast. Till now, I had alwaysbelieved that some worldly advantage or gain had impelled my foe to thedeed which left me an orphan. But that woman's dark words had started anew train of reasoning, whose very first motion was doubt of the man Iworshipped. Among all I had ever met, there existed but one opinion asto what he had been--a true gentleman, who had injured not one of God'screatures, whose life had been guided mainly by the wishes and welfareof others. Moreover, I had my own clear recollections--his voice, hiseyes, and his smile, his manner and whole expression; these, it is true,were but outward things, yet a child's intuition is strong and hard torefute.

  Again, during my remembrance, he had never been absent from us, exceptfor a day or two, now and then, among his county neighbours; and any illwill which he might have incurred from them must, from his position,have become notorious.

  And yet, in the teeth of this reasoning, and in spite of my own warmfeeling, that horrible suspicion clave to my heart and chilled it likethe black spot of mildew. And what if the charge were true? In thatcase, how was I better than he who had always been to my mind a fiend inspecial commission? His was vengeance, and mine revenge; he hadsuffered perhaps a wanton wrong, as deep to his honour as mine to mylove.

  While I was brooding thus miserably, my eyes fell upon the bed. Therewere the red streaks, grained and fibred like the cross-cut of afern-stalk; framed and looking down on me, the sampler of my life.Drawing near, I trembled with an unknown awe, to find myself in thatlonely presence, not indeed thinking, but inkling such things of myfather, my own darling father, whose blood was looking at me. In astorm of self-loathing and sorrow, I knelt there and sobbed myatonement; but never thenceforth could I wholly bar out the idea. Foulideas when once admitted will ever return on their track, as the cholerawalks in the trail of its former pall.

  But instead of abating my dogged pursuit, I now had a new incentive--todispel the aspersions cast on my father's shadow.