Haggard Anthology Vol 16, page 15
Clara opened her eyes still wider and looked bewildered, but said nothing.
"There are circumstances," went on Andrew awkwardly—and stopped.
"Of course I have no idea to what you allude, Andrew, but I have observed that, where a man is concerned, 'circumstances' generally means something to do with a lady."
"Your power of observation was always good, Clara," blurted out Andrew, "and if you want to know the truth, I am no exception to the rule. My 'circumstances' have to do with Mrs. Black."
"Oh! Mrs. Black! I was introduced to her the other day when I went to see the doctor about my glands. She is a very pretty young woman and dresses well, almost a beauty indeed, if she had more animation. Have you been following the fashion, Andrew, and falling in love with your neighbour's wife?"
"No, my neighbour fell in love with my wife, or rather with the woman who should have been my wife. I was engaged to Rose Watson, and while I was away she married Black. That's all the story."
"Indeed! What wonderful escapes some men have; it makes one believe in a watching Providence."
"What on earth do you mean, Clara?"
"What I say, that you have had a wonderful escape. When I think of you with all your ability and prospects married to a pretty, empty-headed doll who is not even a lady—for you know she isn't quite—well, it makes me shiver."
"Don't abuse her, Clara. I loved her.
"I have no doubt you did. It is the sort of thing you would have done. But how did this come about? Was she forced into marriage with that old doctor?"
"No. He was rich and I was poor, that's all. You see, she never understood I had any kind of prospects."
"And you never told her, I suppose. Just like you again. Well, you ought to go down on to your knees and thank Heaven for your deliverance. Oh! it makes me angry that a man should waste another thought upon a woman who played him a trick like that—for money. Why, except that she is infinitely worse, what is the difference between her and, well—never mind? I can only say that if I had done such a thing from so base a motive I should never dare to look any honest person in the face again, and goodness knows I don't set up for any particular virtue. Can't you see it yourself?"
"Yes, only I try not to judge hardly. We all have our weak points, even you may have some somewhere, and might give way if we chance to be tempted on them. Indeed I dare say we have, or shall. You see, hers happened to be money and jewels."
Almost imperceptibly Clara winced, though this Andrew never saw. Then she said in a rather gentler voice:
"I agree, and if it were anything else, love, or even passion, or to help others, oh! anything, I should not dare to condemn. But to sell herself body and soul for money to a man almost old enough to be her grandfather, when she had promised herself to you——"
"Well, Clara, did you never do anything for money?" (Here she winced, and again he did not notice.) "I have. I took Algernon abroad for money, thinking it would help me with Rose. So I can make excuses."
"Andrew, that isn't true. You took Algernon to Egypt because he would go with no one else, and you thought it might save his life. By accusing yourself falsely, you only make her conduct the blacker by contrast. Anyway, it is all done with. You are not going to run after her now she is married, are you, though I dare say she wouldn't mind, having found out who you are? You haven't been seeing her, have you?"
"I have met her twice, by accident both times."
"Then I beg of you as one who is your true friend, and who has no one else to—be interested in, not to allow any more such accidents to happen. Pray, pray keep out of scandals. They are so vulgar and degrading."
"I mean to, Clara. That's why I went up North, and have neither seen nor heard of her since. But I tell you straight out that she hit me very hard; everything one believed in and the rest—all gone at a swoop."
"Of course she did, you poor dear Andrew, and oh! I am so sorry for you" (here the blue eyes filled with tears), "so sorry that I will not try to say how much, lest I should make a fool of myself."
"It is awfully good of you to care so much about me and my follies, and I tell you I shan't forget it, Clara," said Andrew, who was touched as any young man would have been under the circumstances.
"Of course I care, dear," she went on. "Who wouldn't have where a—a cousin was concerned? And I am sorry for that poor girl, too, knowing—what she has lost."
"Oh! you mean the title. Well, I would make her a present of it if I could, for it is no use to me. In fact, it is a hindrance. Now I must be going."
History does not reveal what Clara felt within at such remarks as these. Undoubtedly, however, it was something definite and strong. To hear a young man mock at the possession of a peerage, especially an inherited peerage for which everybody knew he had not paid a sixpence, directly or indirectly, was to her little short of blasphemy. Indeed, sooner could she have forgiven blasphemy itself, since in the tolerant world to which she belonged all have a right to their opinions on religious matters. These are far away, but peerages are extremely near.
Still, to her credit she concealed her feelings, and answered:
"I can quite understand your indifference to rank and money. Indeed, sometimes I feel like that myself, for after all, where do they lead?"
"I shouldn't wonder if our uncle is thinking something of that sort to-day," mused Andrew, who had religious convictions of a sort.
"Our uncle is dead, so let him rest in his grave," said Clara, looking rather shocked.
"Quite so. I'm sure I didn't want to bring him out of it, who, as I hope, has been transported to the Isles of the Blest across an ocean of whisky. Well, good-bye."
"Wait one minute, Andrew, for you know you are only going to a museum or something of that sort. I want to give you a lecture. Sit down and take another cigarette."
"Fire away," said Andrew, obeying.
"I think," remarked Clara, standing over him and shaking a slim finger above his curly head, "I think that you are a reprehensible and even a wicked young man."
"Hear hear," said Andrew. "Agreed, if that is all you have to say. I could tell you about things I have done which would make that neat hair of yours come down."
Clara smiled, having perfect confidence in her coiffure and powers of resisting shock. Then she continued:
"Now I'll show you why. You have great opportunities in the world, if you wish to use them. With your position everything is open to you to which most men only attain thirty or forty years later in life, when they have grown old and their chances have gone by."
Andrew became interested, and asked:
"What can I do? If you will show me anything I can do that is worth the doing, I'll bless you and call you my guardian angel."
"The question is, what can't you do with your brains? You can govern this country, if you like, or take a large share in its government. You can advance the cause of the People and help to establish a true democracy. You can make thousands happy who are now wretched. You can leave the nation stronger than you found it, and purer and better, and with it a name that will shine for generations. All these things are in your hands, and many more, such as the furthering of the science which you love."
"You talk like a book, Clara, but if you will show me how to do these things, or any of them, by the help of a small smattering of knowledge, extremely moderate abilities, a title floated on whisky and about £1500 a year on which to keep it up, I shall be much obliged to you."
"I will, Andrew. If you have no engagement, come to dinner to-morrow night, and we will begin, as we have talked enough for to-day."
"All right. As I have no friends, except a few medical people who are busy men, of course I have no engagements, so I'll come, and you shall expound your plans for my regeneration and that of the country. By Jove, Clara, I never knew you thought of such things—imagined that you gave your mind to dresses and dinner-parties and society, and all that empty bosh. You are coming out in a new light with a vengeance."
"You mean that you are beginning to see my humble light, such as it is, Andrew. Hitherto you have been dazzled by another which has led you into a nice trouble, and then gone out," and she nodded her little head at him gravely, adding, "Well, good-bye, dear, till to-morrow night at eight, and don't walk to the British Museum or wherever you are going, via Harley Street, for the sake of the family as well as your own."
"Clara has a deal more in her than ever I imagined," reflected Andrew to himself, as he strolled away aimlessly, "and what's more, she was awfully good to me, although she did say some hard things about Rose. Oh! Rose, Rose, to think that you should have put it into the power of others to say hard things of you, and with justice!"
Andrew dined at Cavendish Square on the following night as he, or rather Clara, had arranged, and that young lady delivered her promised lecture. It cost her a good deal of thought during the intervening hours, also some reference to text-books with which she refreshed her memory. The results, however, were satisfactory, for really she filled the rôle of fair monitress very well indeed. At times she was shy and appealed to his superior knowledge and male judgment, while once or twice she gave way to bursts of enthusiasm for which afterwards she apologized. Although somehow he seemed to have heard it all before, Andrew was much impressed and even dazzled, especially by a last coruscating effort in which she shadowed forth all that might be worked in this imperfect world by one (or two) earnest, devoted souls who chanced to be blest with health, youth, station, and financial advantages.
Andrew went home reflective and touched with a new enthusiasm. For the first time during a whole year or so he did not think of Rose throughout several consecutive hours, and when he did she only filled a bit of his mind instead of overflowing it on every side into space as was customary.
This mental attitude of his grew and gathered during several other tête-à-tête dinners, to say nothing of a course of lectures on the higher Socialism which they attended together, whereat Clara made careful notes of the best points. Truth compels this chronicler to add that when at last she reached the privacy of her chamber, Clara hurled those notes into the paper-basket and, to relieve her soul, delivered herself of the following monologue:
"I can't stand much more of this, I can't indeed! That long-haired donkey who lectures about things he does not in the least understand to a pack of vain idiots full of their own self-importance, is rapidly driving me mad. Cannot they see that if his doctrines were put in practice, within ten years civilization would cease to exist, and the world would become a lunatic asylum in which the stronger maniacs would prey upon the weaker imbeciles until all were destroyed, or some sane people rose up to rule them? How can Andrew swallow such stuff? If he does really swallow it, which I doubt. Well, if so, it is only a phase. Still, this business must come to a head, one way or another, since not for him or anyone else can I endure more of those lectures. Once I am married the word Socialism shall be taboo in my house, or I will know the reason why."
The long-suffering Clara, as it happened, was not called upon to take further notes about the regeneration of mankind by help of the newest nostrums which involved, incidentally, the seizure of everybody's property for the benefit of everybody else. For it came about that as Andrew walked towards Justice Street after his very next dinner at Cavendish Square, he was aware, it might almost be said painfully aware, that in some strange and nebulous way he had become engaged to Clara.
He tried to recall exactly how it happened. There had been the usual dissertation on what might be done in the world, and it was agreed that money would be necessary to make a beginning. He had remarked that so far as he was concerned the filthy lucre was lacking, and Clara answered with a sigh that she had more than she knew what to do with. Thereon he had suggested that she should take the field, to which the reply was that one weak and lonely woman could not attempt this great adventure, though if he were with her (there he remembered that she had sighed and looked down) it might be different.
"Then we had better get married," he said, by way of a joke.
"Do you mean it, Andrew? No, that's impertinent, for you would not have said it if you did not. You are not a man who would jest with a woman on such a solemn matter."
"Of course not," he had replied feebly. "I hadn't really considered the business much, but since it has been mooted, do you think you could take me as a husband, Clara? You know my unhappy story, and it is my duty to beg you to bear it in mind before you answer."
"Yes, I know, Andrew, and I give it weight. But mutual trust and strong affection based upon esteem and a common purpose in life will outwear any passion for one who, you must forgive me for saying, has proved herself not to be worthy. I do not fear to put myself in competition with such a woman, whatever advantages she may have over me," and she held out her hands.
After this there was nothing to be done except take them and imprint a timid embrace upon Clara's cool forehead.
Then it was all over, and having returned the embrace, she had told him that he had better go away and give her time to compose herself, returning to lunch upon the morrow. So he went—to tell the truth, with no great reluctance, doubtless because he also needed to compose himself. Why, when his mind should be so very differently occupied, oh! why could he think of nothing save the faithless and passionate Rose (for such to him she was, or seemed to be) seated on the sofa at Red Hall with eyes that said, "Take me, for I am thine"?
XIII. THE HOLY ESTATE
Andrew's engagement followed a perfectly normal course. When once she had seen to its accurate publication in the proper quarters, and had supplied the society papers with a few paragraphs suitable to the social importance of the persons concerned, Clara, dreading more Socialistic lectures, also the return of Mrs. Black who was, she had ascertained, on a holiday, remarked that town was hot, and that she could no longer repress her longings for sylvan shades.
"Literally," she said, "I dream of the country and green leaves and dew upon the grass and the gold of the ripening crops. You see, I was born there."
"Yes," answered Andrew, "but I didn't know you had ever lived there since. Where are you going to?"
Clara, who had not made up her mind on this point, reflected for a moment and then suggested Scarborough.
"Scarborough! You don't call that country, do you, dear? Why, it is a fashionable watering-place with miles of sea front."
"I remember a green hill and some gardens, Andrew. But if you don't like Scarborough, what other place would you prefer? I am quite willing to fall in with your tastes."
"My tastes, dear! Why, I'm not going to the country. I've just come back from it. I'm going to do some work at my hospital, where, as the big men are away, they are quite willing to take me on for a bit—you see, I was one of their house surgeons for a few weeks. But why don't you try Atterton itself? The north of Yorkshire is rural enough for anybody."
"Really, Andrew, you are foolish. How can I possibly go to Atterton, which is your place, without you, or with you either, for the matter of that, before we are married? And as for working at a hospital, I hoped that you would accompany me somewhere, living in a different part of the town or village, so that I might be able to see something of you, as is usual in our circumstances."
"Oh!" answered Andrew, without any particular enthusiasm, for he had set his heart upon that hospital work. "I had forgotten the engagement business, and I suppose you can't go to Atterton alone. Also, as the nearest neighbour is five miles off, you might be rather dull. It almost seems as though the best thing to do would be for us to get married first. Then I suppose we could go together."
Upon hearing this, Clara's first impulse was to exclaim "Absurd!" Quickly, however, she reflected that Andrew's idea, or rather random suggestion, had points. To begin with, it would finally rule out Mrs. Black, of whom she lived in some dread. Also so hurried a marriage would have a romantic air. A few hints in suitable directions would suffice to circulate an attractive story of a lifelong attachment that had begun when first their cradles were set side by side, now made possible of fulfilment by the death of an obstructive relative. Of this opportunity, naturally enough, immediate advantage had been taken by two ardent lovers. Then the whole thing would be so unusual; a quiet but carefully advertised autumn marriage when people were out of town (for, after all, reporters never went out of town). No lists of wedding presents (because probably these would not be forthcoming in sufficient numbers at such short notice)—altogether something quite new for people in their position.
"Of course, love," she said, looking down shyly, "that would be delightful, and though I see great inconveniences and it is usual to wait longer, as you are set on it and I know that men hate being engaged, well, dearest, I should like to give you your wish and myself with it, because, as you know, it is you I think of in everything."
"That's awfully good of you. Really, Clara, you are a perfect angel to sacrifice yourself on the altar in this way, or rather at it," replied Andrew with high-sounding, if hollow enthusiasm. "Well, if you will arrange the business and tell me what day you fix, I'll be ready."
"To share in the sacrifice at the altar," suggested Clara with gentle sarcasm, for after all she was a woman and felt in her heart that something was lacking. Indeed, although her imagination was not active, at the moment she did wonder whether, if the second-rate Rose Black had been concerned and it were a question of his sudden marriage to her, Andrew might not have been more demonstrative in language, or otherwise. However, having made up her mind to this step, she must take him as he was and make the best of things. After all, as a woman of the world she was well aware that the holy state of matrimony was one that has imperfections, since if marriages are made in heaven, they have to be carried through on earth.
After a brief interchange of modified endearments, Andrew departed to attend some particular operation at the hospital, to which the great surgeon Clinton, who it may be remembered had approved of an heroic effort of his own in the same line, had especially invited his attendance.
