The Lovels of Arden by M. E. Braddon

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"The madness--if you are really in earnest, and not carrying on some absurd
jest--is all on your side."

"Well, that seems hard. I was vain enough to think otherwise. I thought so
strong a feeling on one side could not co-exist with perfect indifference
on the other. I fancied there was something like predestination in this,
and that my wandering unwedded soul had met its other half--it's an old
Greek notion, you know, that men and women were made in pairs--but I was
miserably mistaken, I suppose. How many lovers have you rejected since you
left school, Miss Lovel?" he asked with a short bitter laugh. "Geraldine
herself could not have given me my quietus more coldly."

He was evidently wounded to the quick, being a creature spoiled by easy
conquests, and would have gone on perhaps in the same angry strain, but
there was a light step on the floor within, and Lady Laura Armstrong came
quickly towards the balcony.

"My dearest Clary, Captain Westleigh tells me that you are quite knocked
up--" she began; and then recognizing the belated traveller, cried out,
"George Fairfax! Is it possible?"

"George Fairfax, my dear Lady Laura, and not quite so base a delinquent as
he seems. I must plead guilty to pushing matters to the last limit; but
I made my plans to be here at seven o'clock this evening, and should
inevitably have arrived at that hour, but for a smash between Edinburgh and
Carlisle."

"An accident! Were you hurt?"

"Not so much as shaken; but the break-down lost me half a dozen hours.
We were stuck for no end of time at a dingy little station whose name I
forget, and when I did reach Carlisle, it was too late for any train to
bring me on, except the night-mail, which does not stop at Holborough. I
had to post from York, and arrived about ten minutes ago--too late for
anything except to prove to you that I did make heroic efforts to keep my
word."

"And how, in goodness' name, did you get here, to this room, without my
seeing you?"

"From the garden. Finding myself too late to make an appearance in the
ball-room, I prowled round the premises, listening to the sounds of revelry
within; and then seeing Miss Lovel alone here--playing Juliet without a
Romeo--I made so bold as to accost her and charge her with a message for
you."

"You are amazingly considerate; but I really cannot forgive you for having
deferred your return to the last moment. You have quite spoilt Geraldine's
evening, to say nothing of the odd look your absence must have to our
friends. I shall tell her you have arrived, and I suppose that is all I can
do. You must want some supper, by the bye: you'll find plenty of people in
the dining-room."

"No, thanks; I had some cold chicken and coffee at Carlisle. I'll ring
for a soda-and-brandy when I get to my room, and that's all I shall do
to-night. Good-night, Lady Laura; good-night, Miss Lovel."

He dropped lightly across the balcony and vanished. Lady Laura stood in
the window for a few moments in a meditative mood, and then, looking up
suddenly, said,

"O, by the bye, Clarissa, I came to fetch you for another dance, the last
quadrille, if you feel well enough to dance it. Mr. Granger wants you for a
partner."

"I don't think I can dance any more, Lady Laura. I refused Captain
Westleigh the last waltz."

"Yes, but a quadrille is different. However, if you are really tired, I
must tell Mr. Granger so. What was George Fairfax saying to you just now?
You both looked prodigiously serious."

"I really don't know--I forget--it was nothing very particular,"
Clarissa answered, conscious that she was blushing, and confused by that
consciousness.

Lady Laura looked at her with a sharp scrutinising glance.

"I think it would have been better taste on George's part if he had taken
care to relieve my sister's anxiety directly he arrived, instead of acting
the balcony scene in _Romeo and Juliet_. I must go back to Mr. Granger with
your refusal, Clarissa. O, here comes Captain Westleigh with some water."

The Captain did appear at this very moment carrying a glass of that
beverage, much to Clarissa's relief, for a _tete-a-tete_ with Lady Laura
was very embarrassing to her just now.

"My dear Miss Lovel, you must think me an utter barbarian," exclaimed
the Captain; "but you really can't conceive the difficulties I've had to
overcome. It seemed as if there wasn't a drop of iced water to be had in
the Castle. If you'd wanted Strasburg pies or barley-sugar temples, I could
have brought you them by cartloads. Moselle and Maraschino are the merest
drugs in the market; but not a creature could I persuade to get me this
glass of water. Of course the fellows all said, 'Yes, sir;' and then went
off and forgot all about me. And even when I had got my prize, I was
waylaid by thirsty dowagers who wanted to rob me of it. It was like
searching for the North-west Passage."

Lady Laura had departed by this time. Clarissa drank some of the water and
took the Captain's arm to return to the ball-room, which was beginning to
look a little empty. On the threshold of the saloon they met Mr. Granger.

"I am so sorry to hear you are not well, Miss Lovel," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Granger, but I am really not ill--only too tired to dance
any more."

"So Lady Laura tells me--very much to my regret. I had hoped for the honour
of dancing this quadrille with you."

"If you knew how rarely Mr. Granger dances, you'd consider yourself rather
distinguished, I think, Miss Lovel," said the Captain, laughing.

"Well, no, I don't often dance," replied Mr. Granger, with a shade of
confusion in his manner; "but really, such a ball as this quite inspires a
man--and Lady Laura was good enough to wish me to dance."

He remained by Clarissa's side as they walked back through the rooms. They
were near the door when Miss Granger met them, looking as cold and prim
in her pink crape and pearls as if she had that moment emerged from her
dressing-room.

"Do you know how late it is, papa?" she asked, contemplating her parent
with severe eyes.

"Well, no, one does not think of time upon such an occasion as this. I
suppose it is late; but it would not do for us of the household to desert
before the rest of the company."

"I was thinking of saying good-night," answered Miss Granger. "I don't
suppose any one would miss me, or you either, papa, if we slipped away
quietly; and I am sure you will have one of your headaches to-morrow
morning."

There is no weapon so useful in the hands of a dutiful child as some
chronic complaint of its parent. A certain nervous headache from which Mr.
Granger suffered now and then served the fair Sophia as a kind of rod for
his correction on occasions.

"I am not tired, my dear."

"O, papa, I know your constitution better than you do yourself. Poor Lady
Laura, how worn out she must be!"

"Lady Laura has been doing wonders all the evening," said Captain
Westleigh. "She has been as ubiquitous as Richmond at Bosworth, and she has
the talent of never seeming tired."

Clarissa took the first opportunity of saying good-night. If so important a
person as the heiress of Arden Court could depart and not leave a void in
the assembly, there could be assuredly no fear that she would be missed.
Mr. Granger shook hands with her for the first time in his life as he
wished her good-night, and then stood in the doorway watching her receding
figure till it was beyond his ken.

"I like your friend Miss Lovel, Sophia," he said to his daughter presently.

"Miss Lovel is hardly a friend of mine, papa," replied that young lady
somewhat sharply. "I am not in the habit of making sudden friendships, and
I have not known Miss Lovel a week. Besides which, she is not the kind of
girl I care for."

"Why not?" asked her father bluntly.

"One can scarcely explain that kind of thing. She is too frivolous for me
to get on very well with her. She takes no real interest in my poor, in
spite of her connection with Arden, or in church music. I think she hardly
knows one _Te Deum_ from another."

"She is rather a nice girl, though," said the Captain, who would fain be
loyal to Clarissa, yet for whom the good opinion of such an heiress is Miss
Granger could not be a matter of indifference--there was always the chance
that she might take a fancy to him, as he put it to his brother-officers,
and what a lucky hit that would be! "She's a nice girl," he repeated, "and
uncommonly pretty."

"I was not discussing her looks, Captain Westleigh," replied Miss Granger
with some asperity; "I was talking of her ideas and tastes, which are quite
different from mine. I am sorry you let Lady Laura persuade you to dance
with a girl like that, papa. You may have offended old friends, who would
fancy they had a prior claim on your attention."

Mr. Granger laughed at this reproof.

"I didn't think a quadrille was such a serious matter, Sophy," he said.
"And then, you see, when a man of my age does make a fool of himself, he
likes to have the prettiest girl in the room for his partner."

Miss Granger made an involuntary wry face, as if she had been eating
something nasty. Mr. Granger gave a great yawn, and, as the rooms by this
time were almost empty, made his way to Lady Laura in order to offer his
congratulations upon her triumph before retiring to rest.

For once in a way, the vivacious chatelaine of Hale Castle was almost
cross.

"Do you really think the ball has gone off well?" she asked incredulously.
"It seems to me to have been an elaborate failure." She was thinking of
those two whom she had surprised tete-a-tete in the balcony, and wondering
what George Fairfax could have been saying to produce Clarissa's confusion.
Clarissa was her protegee, and she was responsible to her sister Geraldine
for any mischief brought about by her favourite.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MORNING AFTER.

The day after the ball was a broken straggling kind of day, after the usual
manner of the to-morrow that succeeds a festival. Hale Castle was full to
overflowing with guests who, having been invited to spend one night, were
pressed to stay longer. The men spent their afternoon for the most part in
the billiard-room, after a late lingering luncheon, at which there was
a good deal of pleasant gossip. The women sat together in groups in the
drawing-room, pretending to work, but all desperately idle. It was a
fine afternoon, but no one cared for walking or driving. A few youthful
enthusiasts did indeed get up a game at croquet, but even this
soul-enthralling sport was pursued with a certain listlessness.

Mr. Fairfax and Lady Geraldine walked in the garden. To all appearance, a
perfect harmony prevailed between them. Clarissa, sitting alone in an oriel
at the end of the drawing-room, watched them with weary eyes and a dull
load at her heart, wondering about them perpetually, with a painful wonder.

If she could only have gone home, she thought to herself, what a refuge
the dull quiet of her lonely life would have been! She had not slept five
minutes since the festival of last night, but had lain tossing wearily from
side to side, thinking of what George Fairfax had said to her--thinking of
what might have been and could never be, and then praying that she might do
her duty; that she might have strength to keep firmly to the right, if he
should try to tempt her again.

He would scarcely do that, she thought. That wild desperate talk of last
night was perhaps the merest folly--a caprice of the moment, the shallowest
rodomontade, which he would be angry with himself for having spoken. She
told herself that this was so; but she knew now, as she had not known
before last night, that she had given this man her heart.

It would be a hard thing to remain at Hale to perform her part in the grand
ceremonial of the marriage, and yet keep her guilty secret hidden from
every eye; above all, from his whom it most concerned. But there seemed no
possibility of escape from this ordeal, unless she were to be really ill,
and excused on that ground. She sat in the oriel that afternoon, wondering
whether a painful headache, the natural result of her sleeplessness and
hyper-activity of brain, might not be the beginning of some serious
illness--a fever perhaps, which would strike her down for a time and make
an end to all her difficulties.

She had been sitting in the window for a long time quite alone, looking out
at the sunny garden and those two figures passing and repassing upon an
elevated terrace, with such an appearance of being absorbed in each other's
talk, and all-sufficient for each other's happiness. It seemed to Clarissa
that she had never seen them so united before. Had he been laughing at
her last night? she asked herself indignantly; was that balcony scene a
practical joke? He had been describing it to Lady Geraldine perhaps this
afternoon, and the two had been laughing together at her credulity. She was
in so bitter a mood just now that she was almost ready to believe this.

She had been sitting thus a long time, tormented by her own thoughts, and
hearing the commonplace chatter of those cheerful groups, now loud, now
low, without the faintest feeling of interest, when a heavy step sounded
on the floor near her, and looking up suddenly, she saw Mr. Granger
approaching her solitary retreat. The cushioned seat in the oriel, the
ample curtains falling on either side of her, had made a refuge in which
she felt herself alone, and she was not a little vexed to find her retreat
discovered.

The master of Arden Court drew a chair towards the oriel, and seated
himself deliberately, with an evident intention of remaining. Clarissa was
obliged to answer his courteous inquiries about her health, to admit her
headache as an excuse for the heaviness of her eyes, and then to go on
talking about everything he chose to speak of. He did not talk stupidly by
any means, but rather stiffly, and with the air of a man to whom friendly
converse with a young lady was quite a new thing. He spoke to her a good
deal about the Court and its surroundings--which seemed to her an error in
taste--and appeared anxious to interest her in all his improvements.

"You really must come and see the place, Miss Lovel," he said. "I shall be
deeply wounded if you refuse."

"I will come if you wish it," Clarissa answered meekly; "but you cannot
imagine how painful the sight of the dear old house will be to me."

"A little painful just for the first time, perhaps. But that sort of
feeling will soon wear off. You will come, then? That is settled. I want to
win your father's friendship if I can, and I look to you to put me in the
right way of doing so."

"You are very good, but papa is so reserved--eccentric, I suppose most
people would call him--and he lives shut up in himself, as it were. I
have never known him make a new friend. Even my uncle Oliver and he seem
scarcely more than acquaintances; and yet I know my uncle would do anything
to serve us, and I believe papa knows it too."

"We must trust to time to break down that reserve, Miss Lovel," Mr. Granger
returned cheerily; "and you will come to see us at the Court--that is
understood. I want you to inspect Sophia's schools, and sewing classes, and
cooking classes, and goodness knows what. There are plenty of people
who remember you, and will be delighted to welcome you amongst them. I have
heard them say how kind you were to them before you went abroad."

"I had so little money," said Clarissa, "I could do hardly anything."

"But, after all, money is not everything with that class of people. No
doubt they like it better than anything in the present moment; but as
soon as it is gone they forget it, and are not apt to be grateful for
substantial benefits in the past. But past kindness they do remember. Even
in my own experience, I have known men who have been ungrateful for large
pecuniary benefits, and yet have cherished the memory of some small
kindness; a mere friendly word perhaps, spoken at some peculiar moment
in their lives. No, Miss Lovel, you will not find yourself forgotten at
Arden."

He was so very earnest in this assurance, that Clarissa could not help
feeling that he meant to do her a kindness. She was ashamed of her unworthy
prejudice against him, and roused herself with a great effort from her
abstraction, in order to talk and listen to Mr. Granger with all due
courtesy. Nor had she any farther opportunity of watching those two figures
pacing backward and forward upon the terrace; for Mr. Granger contrived
to occupy her attention till the dressing-bell rang, and afforded her the
usual excuse for hurrying away.

She was one of the last to return to the drawing-room, and to her surprise
found Mr. Granger by her side, offering his arm in his stately way when the
procession began to file off to the dining-room, oblivious of the claims
which my lady's matronly guests might have upon him.

Throughout that evening Mr. Granger was more or less by Clarissa's side.
His daughter, perceiving this with a scarcely concealed astonishment,
turned a deaf ear to the designing compliments of Captain Westleigh (who
told himself that a fellow might just as well go in for a good thing as
not when he had a chance), and came across the room to take part in her
parent's conversation. She even tried to lure him away on some pretence
or other; but this was vain. He seemed rooted to his chair by Clarissa's
side--she listlessly turning over a folio volume of steel plates, he
pointing out landscapes and scenes which had been familiar to him in his
continental rambles, and remarking upon them in a somewhat disjointed
fashion--"Marathon, yes--rather flat, isn't it? But the mountains make a
fine background. We went there with guides one day, when I was a young man.
The Acropolis--hum! ha!--very fine ruins, but a most inconvenient place to
get at. Would you like to see Greece, Miss Lovel?"

Clarissa gave a little sigh--half pain, half rapture. What chance had she
of ever treading that illustrious soil, of ever emerging from the bondage
of her dull life? She glanced across the room to the distant spot where
Lady Geraldine and George Fairfax sat playing chess. _He_ had been there.
She remembered his pleasant talk of his wanderings, on the night of their
railroad journey.

"Who would not like to see Greece?" she said.

"Yes, of course," Mr. Granger answered in his most prosaic way. "It's a
country that ought to be remarkably interesting; but unless one is very
well up in its history, one is apt to look at everything in a vague
uncertain sort of manner. A mountain here, and a temple there--and then the
guides and that kind of people contrive to vulgarise everything somehow;
and then there is always an alarm about brigands, to say nothing of the
badness of the inns. I really think you would be disappointed in Greece,
Miss Lovel."

"Let me keep my dream," Clarissa answered rather sadly "I am never likely
to see the reality."

"You cannot be sure of that; at your age all the world is before you."

"You have read Grote, of course, Miss Lovel?" said Miss Granger, who had
read every book which a young lady ought to have read, and who rather
prided herself upon the solid nature of her studies.

"Yes, I have read a good deal of Grote," Clarissa replied meekly.

Miss Granger looked at her as if she rather doubted this assertion, and
would like to have come down upon her with some puzzling question about the
Archons or the Areopagus, but thought better of it, and asked her father if
he had been talking to Mr. Purdew.

Mr. Purdew was a landed gentleman of some standing, whose estate lay near
Arden Court, and who had come with his wife and daughters to Lady Laura's
ball.

"He in sitting over there, near the piano," added Sophia; "I expected to
find you enjoying a chat with him."

"I had my chat with Purdew after luncheon," answered Mr. Granger; and
then he went on turning the leaves for Clarissa with a solemn air, and
occasionally pointing out to her some noted feature in a landscape or
city. His daughter stared at him in supreme astonishment. She had seen
him conventionally polite to young ladies before to-night, but this was
something more than conventional politeness. He kept his place all the
evening, and all that Sophia could do was to remain on guard.

When Clarissa was lighting her candle at a table in the corridor, Mr.
Fairfax came up to her for the first time since the previous night.

"I congratulate you on your conquest, Miss Lovel," he said in a low voice.

She looked up at him with a pale startled face, for she had not known
that he was near her till his voice sounded close in her ear. "I don't
understand you," she stammered.

"O, of course not; young ladies never can understand that sort of thing.
But I understand it very well, and it throws a pretty clear light upon our
interview last night. I wasn't quite prepared for such wise counsel as you
gave me then. I can see now whence came the strength of your wisdom. It is
a victory worth achieving, Miss Lovel. It means Arden Court.--Yes, that's a
very good portrait, isn't it?" he went on in a louder key, looking up at
a somewhat dingy picture, as a little cluster of ladies came towards the
table; "a genuine Sir Joshua, I believe."

And then came the usual good-nights, and Clarissa went away to her room
with those words in her ears, "It means Arden Court."

Could he be cruel enough to think so despicably of her as this? Could he
suppose that she wanted to attract the attention of a man old enough to be
her father, only because he was rich and the master of the home she loved?
The fact is that Mr. Fairfax--not too good or high-principled a man at the
best of times, and yet accounting himself an honourable gentleman--was
angry with himself and the whole world, most especially angry with
Clarissa, because she had shown herself strong where he had thought to find
her weak. Never before had his vanity been so deeply wounded. He had half
resolved to sacrifice himself for this girl--and behold, she cared nothing
for him!

* * * * *

CHAPTER XV.

CHIEFLY PATERNAL.

The preparations for the wedding went on. Clarissa's headache did not
develop into a fever, and she had no excuse for flying from Hale Castle.
Her father, who had written Lady Laura Armstrong several courteous little
notes expressing his gratitude for her goodness to his child, surprised
Miss Lovel very much by appearing at the Castle one fine afternoon to make
a personal acknowledgment of his thankfulness. He consented to remain to
dinner, though protesting that he had not dined away from home--except at
his brother-in-law's--for a space of years.

"I am a confirmed recluse, my dear Lady Laura, a worn-out old bookworm,
with no better idea of enjoyment than a good fire and a favourite author,"
he said; "and I really feel myself quite unfitted for civilised society.
But you have a knack at commanding, and to hear is to obey; so if you
insist upon it, and will pardon my morning-dress, I remain."

Mr. Lovel's morning-dress was a suit of rather clerical-looking black from
a fashionable West-end tailor--a costume that would scarcely outrage the
proprieties of a patrician dinner-table.

"Clarissa shall show you the gardens between this and dinner-time,"
exclaimed Lady Laura. "It's an age since you've seen them, and I want to
know your opinion of my improvements. Besides, you must have so much to say
to her."

Clarissa blushed, remembering how very little her father ever had to say to
her of a confidential nature, but declared that she would be very pleased
to show him the gardens; so after a little more talk with my lady they set
out together.

"Well, Clary," Mr. Lovel began, with his kindest air, "you are making a
long stay of it."

"Too long, papa. I should be so glad to come home. Pray don't think me
ungrateful to Lady Laura, she is all goodness; but I am so tired of this
kind of life, and I do so long for the quiet of home."

"Tired of this kind of life! Did ever any one hear of such a girl! I really
think there are some people who would be tired of Paradise. Why, child,
it is the making of you to be here! If I were as rich as--as that fellow
Granger, for instance; confound Croesus!--I couldn't give you a better
chance. You must stay here as long as that good-natured Lady Laura likes
to have you; and I hope you'll have booked a rich husband before you come
home. I shall be very much disappointed if you haven't."

"I wish you would not talk in that way, papa; nothing would ever induce me
to marry for money."

"_For_ money; no, I suppose not," replied Mr. Lovel testily; "but you might
marry a man _with_ money. There's no reason that a rich man should be
inferior to the rest of his species. I don't find anything so remarkably
agreeable in poor men."

"I am not likely to marry foolishly, papa, or to offend you in that way,"
Clarissa answered with a kind of quiet firmness, which her father inwardly
execrated as "infernal obstinacy;" "but no money in the world would be the
faintest temptation to me."