The Lovels of Arden by M. E. Braddon

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"Humph! Wait till some Yorkshire squire offers you a thousand a year
pin-money; you'll change your tone then, I should hope. Have you seen
anything of that fellow Granger, by the way?"

"I have seen a good deal of Mr. and Miss Granger, papa. They have been
staying here for a fortnight, and are here now."

"You don't say so! Then I shall be linked into an intimacy with the fellow.
Well, it is best to be neighbourly, perhaps. And how do you like Mr.
Granger?"

"He is not a particularly unpleasant person, papa; rather stiff and
matter-of-fact, but not ungentlemanly; and he has been especially polite to
me, as if he pitied me for having lost Arden."

In a general way Mr. Lovel would have been inclined to protest against
being pitied, either in his own person or that of his belongings, by such a
man as Daniel Granger. But in his present humour it was not displeasing to
him to find that the owner of Arden Court had been especially polite to
Clarissa.

"Then he is really a nice fellow, this Granger, eh, Clary?" he said airily.

"I did not say nice, papa."

"No, but civil and good-natured, and that kind of thing. Do you know, I
hear nothing but praises of him about Arden; and he is really doing
wonders for the place. Looking at his work with an unjaundiced mind, it is
impossible to deny that. And then his wealth!--something enormous, they
tell me. How do you like the daughter, by the way?"

This question Mr. Lovel asked with something of a wry face, as if the
existence of Daniel Granger's daughter was not a pleasing circumstance in
his mind.

"Not particularly, papa. She is very good, I daresay, and seems anxious to
do good among the poor; and she is clever and accomplished, but she is not
a winning person. I don't think I could ever get on with her very well."

"That's a pity, since you are such near neighbours."

"But you have always avoided any acquaintance with the Grangers, papa,"
Clarissa said wonderingly.

"Yes, yes, naturally. I have shrunk from knowing people who have turned me
out of house and home, as it were. But that sort of thing must come to an
end sooner or later. I don't want to appear prejudiced or churlish; and in
short, though I may never care to cross that threshold, there is no reason
Miss Granger and you should not be friendly. You have no one at Arden of
your own age to associate with, and a companion of that kind might be
useful. Has the girl much influence with her father, do you think?"

"She is not a girl, papa, she is a young woman. I don't suppose she is more
than two or three-and-twenty, but no one would ever think of calling Miss
Granger a girl."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I scarcely know how to answer it. Mr. Granger seems kind to his daughter,
and she talks as if she had a great deal of influence over him; but one
does not see much of people's real feelings in a great house like this. It
is 'company' all day long. I daresay Mr. and Miss Granger are very fond of
one another, but--but--they are not so much to each other as I should like
you and me to be, papa," Clarissa added with a sudden boldness.

Mr. Lovel coughed, as if something had stuck in his throat.

"My dear child, I have every wish to treat you fairly--affectionately, that
is to say," he replied, after that little nervous cough; "but I am not a
man given to sentiment, you see, and there are circumstances in my life
which go far to excuse a certain coldness. So long as you do not ask too
much of me--in the way of sentiment, I mean--we shall get on very well, as
we have done since your return from school. I have had every reason to be
satisfied."

This was not much, but Clarissa was grateful even for so little.

"Thank you, papa," she said in a low voice; "I have been very anxious to
please you."

"Yes, my dear, and I hope--nay, am sure--that your future conduct will give
me the same cause for satisfaction; that you will act wisely, and settle
the more difficult questions of life like a woman of sense and resolution.
There are difficult questions to be solved in life, you know, Clary; and
woe betide the woman who lets her heart get the better of her head!"

Clarissa did not quite understand the drift of this remark, but her father
dismissed the subject in his lightest manner before she could express her
bewilderment.

"That's quite enough serious talk, my dear," he said; "and now give me the
_carte du pays_. Who is here besides these Grangers? and what little social
comedies are being enacted? Your letters, though very nice and dutiful, are
not quite up to the Horace-Walpole standard, and have not enlightened me
much about the state of things."

Clarissa ran over the names of the Castle guests. There was one which she
felt would be difficult to pronounce, but it must needs come at last. She
wound up her list with it: "And--and there are Lady Geraldine Challoner,
and the gentleman she is going to marry--Mr. Fairfax."

To her extreme surprise, the name seemed to awaken some unwonted emotion in
her father's breast.

"Fairfax!" he exclaimed; "what Fairfax is that? You didn't tell me whom
Lady Geraldine was to marry when you told me you were to officiate as
bridesmaid. Who is this Mr. Fairfax?"

"He has been in the army, papa, and has sold out. He is the heir to some
great estate called Lyvedon, which he is to inherit from an uncle."

"His son!" muttered Mr. Lovel.

"Do you know Mr. Fairfax, papa?"

"No, I do not know this young man. But I have known others--members of the
same family--and have a good reason for hating his name. He comes of a
false, unprincipled race. I am sorry for Lady Geraldine."

"He may not have inherited the faults of his family, papa."

"May not!" echoed Mr. Lovel contemptuously; "or may. I fancy these vices
run in the blood, child, and pass from father to son more surely than a
landed estate. To lie and betray came natural to the man I knew. Great
Heaven! I can see his false smile at this moment."

This was said in a low voice; not to Clarissa, but to himself; a
half-involuntary exclamation. He turned impatiently presently, and walked
hurriedly back towards the Castle.

"Let us go in," he said. "That name of Fairfax has set my teeth on edge."

"But you will not be uncivil to Mr. Fairfax, papa?" Clarissa asked
anxiously.

"Uncivil to him! No, of course not. The man is Lady Laura's guest, and a
stranger to me; why should I be uncivil to him?"

Nor would it have been possible to imagine by-and-by, when Mr. Lovel and
George Fairfax were introduced to each other, that the name of the younger
man was in any manner unpleasant to the elder. Clarissa's father had
evidently made up his mind to be agreeable, and was eminently successful
in the attempt. At the dinner-table he was really brilliant, and it was
a wonder to every one that a man who led a life of seclusion could shine
forth all at once with more than the success of a professed diner-out. But
it was to Mr. Granger that Marmaduke Lovel was most particularly gracious.
He seemed eager to atone, on this one occasion, for all former coldness
towards the purchaser of his estate. Nor was Daniel Granger slow to take
advantage of his urbane humour. For some reason or other, that gentleman
was keenly desirous of acquiring Mr. Lovel's friendship. It might be the
commoner's slavish worship of ancient race, it might be some deeper motive,
that influenced him, but about the fact itself there could be no doubt. The
master of Arden was eager to place his coverts, his park, his library, his
hot-houses, his picture-gallery--everything that he possessed--at the feet
of his ruined neighbour. Yet even in his eagerness to confer these benefits
there was some show of delicacy, and he was careful not to outrage the
fallen man's dignity.

Mr. Lovel listened, and bowed, and smiled; pledged himself to nothing;
waived off every offer with an airy grace that was all his own. A prime
minister, courted by some wealthy place-hunter, could not have had a
loftier air; and yet he contrived to make Mr. Granger feel that this was
the inauguration of a friendship between them; that he consented to the
throwing down of those barriers which had kept them apart hitherto.

"For myself, I am a hermit by profession," he said; "but I am anxious that
my daughter should have friends, and I do not think she could have a more
accomplished or agreeable companion than Miss Granger."

He glanced towards that young lady with a smile--almost a triumphant
smile--as he said this. She had been seated next him at dinner, and he had
paid her considerable attention--attention which had not been received
by her with quite that air of gratification which Mr. Level's graceful
compliments were apt to cause. He was not angry with her, however. He
contemplated her with a gentle indulgence, as an interesting study in human
nature.

"Well, Mr. Lovel," said Lady Laura in a confidential tone, when he was
wishing her good-night, "what do you think of Mr. Granger now?"

"I think he is a very excellent fellow, my dear Lady Laura; and that I am
to blame for having been so prejudiced against him."

"I am so glad to hear you say that!" cried my lady eagerly. She had drawn
him a little way apart from the rest of her visitors, out of earshot of the
animated groups of talkers clustered here and there. "And now I want to
know if you have made any great discovery?" she added, looking at him
triumphantly.

He responded to the look with a most innocent stare.

"A discovery, my dearest Lady Laura--you mystify me. What discovery is
there for me to make, except that Hale Castle is the most delightful place
to visit?--and that fact I knew beforehand, knowing its mistress."

"But is it possible that you have seen nothing--guessed nothing? And I
should have supposed you such a keen observer--such a profound judge of
human nature."

"One does not enlarge one's knowledge of human nature by being buried
amongst books as I have been. But seriously, Lady Laura, what is the answer
to the enigma--what ought I to have guessed, or seen?"

"Why, that Daniel Granger is desperately in love with your daughter."

"With Clarissa! Impossible! Why, the man is old enough to be her father."

"Now, my dear Mr. Lovel, you know that is _no_ reason against it. I tell
you the thing is certain--palpable to any one who has had some experience
in such matters, as I have. I wanted to bring this about; I had set my
heart upon it before Clarissa came here, but I did not think it would be
accomplished so easily. There is no doubt about his feelings, my dear
Mr. Lovel; I know the man thoroughly, and I never saw him pay any woman
attention before. Perhaps the poor fellow is scarcely conscious of his own
infatuation yet, but the fact is no less certain. He has betrayed himself
to me ever so many times by little speeches he has let fall about our dear
Clary. I think even the daughter begins to see it."

"And what then, my kind friend?" asked Mr. Lovel with an air of supreme
indifference. "Suppose this fancy of yours to be correct, do you think
Clarissa would marry the man?"

"I do not think she would be so foolish as to refuse him," Lady Laura
answered quickly; "unless there were some previous infatuation on her
side."

"You need have no apprehension of that," returned Mr. Lovel sharply.
"Clarissa has never had the opportunity for so much as a flirtation."

Lady Laura remembered that scene on the balcony with a doubtful feeling.

"I hope she would have some regard for her own interest," she said
thoughtfully. "And if such an opportunity as this were to present
itself--as I feel very sure it will--I hope your influence would be exerted
on the right side."

"My dear Lady Laura, my influence should be exercised in any manner you
desired," replied Mr. Lovel eagerly. "You have been so good to that poor
friendless girl, that you have a kind of right to dispose of her fate.
Heaven forbid that I should interfere with any plans you may have formed on
her behalf, except to promote them."

"It is so good of you to say that. I really am so fond of my dear Clary,
and it would so please me to see her make a great marriage, such as this
would be. If Mr. Granger were not a good man, if it were a mere question
of money, I would not urge it for a moment; but he really is in every
way unexceptionable, and if you will give me your permission to use my
influence with Clary----"

"My dear Lady Laura, as a woman, as a mother, you are the fittest judge
of what is best for the girl. I leave her in your hands with entire
confidence; and if you bring this marriage about, I shall say Providence
has been good to us. Yes, I confess I should like to see my daughter
mistress of Arden Court."

Almost as he spoke, there arose before him a vision of what his own
position would be if this thing should come to pass. Was it really worth
wishing for at best? Never again could he be master of the home of his
forefathers. An honoured visitor perhaps, or a tolerated inmate--that was
all. Still, it would be something to have his daughter married to a rich
man. He had a growing, almost desperate need of some wealthy friend who
should stretch out a saving hand between him and his fast-accumulating
difficulties; and who so fitted for this office as a son-in-law? Yes, upon
the whole, the thing was worth wishing for.

He bade Lady Laura good-night, declaring that this brief glimpse of the
civilised world had been strangely agreeable to him. He even promised to
stay at the Castle again before long, and so departed, after kissing his
daughter almost affectionately, in a better humour with himself and mankind
than had been common to him lately.

"So that is young Fairfax," he said to himself as he jogged slowly homeward
in the Arden fly, the single vehicle of that kind at the disposal of the
village gentility; "so that is the son of Temple Fairfax. There is a look
of his father in his eyes, but not that look of wicked power in his face
that there was in the Colonel's--not that thorough stamp of a bold bad man.
It will come, I suppose, in good time."

* * * * *

CHAPTER XVI.

LORD CALDERWOOD IS THE CAUSE OF INCONVENIENCE.

The preparations for the wedding went on gaily, and whatever inclination to
revolt may have lurked in George Fairfax's breast, he made no sign. Since
his insolent address that night in the corridor he had scarcely spoken to
Clarissa; but he kept a furtive watch upon her notwithstanding, and she
knew it, and sickened under it as under an evil influence. He was
very angry with her--she was fully conscious of that--unjustifiably,
unreasonably angry. More than once, when Mr. Granger was especially
attentive, she had encountered a withering glance from those dark gray
eyes, and she had been weak enough, wicked enough perhaps, to try and make
him perceive that Mr. Granger's attentions were in no way pleasant to her.
She could bear anything better than that he should think her capable of
courting this man's admiration. She told herself sometimes that it would be
an unspeakable relief to her when the marriage was over, and George Fairfax
had gone away from Hale Castle, and out of her life for evermore; and then,
while she was trying to believe this, the thought would come to her of what
her life would be utterly without him, with no hope of ever seeing
him again, with the bitter necessity of remembering him only as Lady
Geraldine's husband. She loved him, and knew that she loved him. To hear
his voice, to be in the same room with him, caused her a bitter kind of
joy, a something that was sweeter than common pleasure, keener than common
pain. His presence, were he ever so silent or angry, gave colour to her
life, and to realise the dull blankness of a life without him seemed
impossible.

While this silent struggle was going on, and the date of the marriage
growing nearer and nearer, Mr. Granger's attentions became daily more
marked. It was impossible even for Clarissa, preoccupied as she was by
those other thoughts, to doubt that he admired her with something more than
common admiration. Miss Granger's evident uneasiness and anger were in
themselves sufficient to give emphasis to this fact. That young lady,
mistress of herself as she was upon most occasions, found the present state
of things too much for her endurance. For the last ten years of her life,
ever since she was a precocious damsel of twelve, brought to a premature
state of cultivation by an expensive forcing apparatus of governesses and
masters, she had been in the habit of assuring herself and her confidantes
that her father would never marry again. She had a very keen sense of the
importance of wealth, and from that tender age, of twelve or so upwards,
she had been fully aware of the diminution her own position would undergo
in the event of a second marriage, and the advent of a son to the house of
Granger. Governesses and maidservants had perhaps impressed this upon her
at some still earlier stage of her existence; but from this time upwards
she had needed nothing to remind her of the fact, and she had watched her
father with an unwearying vigilance.

More than once, strong-minded and practical as he was, she had seen him in
danger. Attractive widows and dashing spinsters had marked him for their
prey, and he had seemed not quite adamant; but the hour of peril had
passed, and the widow or the spinster had gone her way, with all her
munitions of war expended, and Daniel Granger still unscathed. This time it
was very different. Mr. Granger showed an interest in Clarissa which he had
never before exhibited in any member of her sex since he wooed and won the
first Mrs. Granger; and as his marriage had been by no means a romantic
affair, but rather a prudential arrangement made and entered upon by Daniel
Granger the elder, cloth manufacturer of Leeds and Bradford, on the one
part, and Thomas Talloway, cotton-spinner of Manchester, on the other part,
it is doubtful whether Miss Sophy Talloway had ever in her ante-nuptial
days engrossed so much of his attention.

Having no one else at Hale to whom she could venture to unbosom herself,
Miss Granger was fain to make a confidante of her maid, although she did
not, as a general rule, affect familiarity with servants. This maid, who
was a mature damsel of five-and-thirty or upwards, and a most estimable
Church-of-England person, had been with Miss Granger for a great many
years; had curled her hair for her when she wore it in a crop, and even
remembered her in her last edition of pinafores. Some degree of familiarity
therefore might be excused, and the formal Sophia would now and then expand
a little in her intercourse with Warman.

One night, a very little while before Lady Geraldine's wedding-day, the
cautious Warman, while brushing Miss Granger's hair, ventured to suggest
that her mistress looked out of spirits. Had she said that Sophia looked
excessively cross, she would scarcely have been beside the mark.

"Well, Warman," Miss Granger replied, in rather a shrewish tone, "I _am_
out of spirits. I have been very much annoyed this evening by papa's
attentions to--by the designing conduct of a young lady here."

"I think I can guess who the young lady is, miss," Warman answered
shrewdly.

"O, I suppose so," cried Sophia, giving her head an angry jerk which almost
sent the brush out of her abigail's hand; "servants know everything."

"Well, you see, miss, servants have eyes and ears, and they can't very well
help using them. People think we're inquisitive and prying if we venture to
see things going on under our very noses; and so hypocrisy gets be almost
part of a servant's education, and what people call a good servant is
a smooth-faced creature that pretends to see nothing and to understand
nothing. But my principles won't allow of my stooping to that sort of
thing, Miss Granger, and what I think I say. I know my duty as a servant,
and I know the value of my own immortal soul as a human being."

"How you do preach, Warman! Who wants you to be a hypocrite?" exclaimed
Sophia impatiently. "It's always provoking to hear that one's affairs have
been talked over by a herd of servants, but I suppose it's inevitable. And
pray, what have they been saying about papa?"

"Well, miss, I've heard a good deal of talk of one kind and another. You
see, your papa is looked upon as a great gentleman in the county, and
people will talk about him. There's Norris, Lady Laura's own footman, who's
a good deal in the drawing-room--really a very intelligent-well-brought-up
young man, and, I am happy to say, _not_ a dissenter. Norris takes a good
deal of notice of what's going on, and he has made a good many remarks upon
your par's attention to Miss Lovel. Looking at the position of the parties,
you see, miss, it would be such a curious thing if it was to be brought
round for that young lady to be mistress of Arden Court."

"Good gracious me, Warman!" cried Sophia aghast, "you don't suppose that
papa would marry again?"

"Well, I can't really say, miss. But when a gentleman of your par's age
pays so much attention to a lady young enough to be his daughter, it
generally do end that way."

There was evidently no consolation to be obtained from Warman, nor was that
astute handmaiden to be betrayed into any expression of opinion against
Miss Lovel. It seemed to her more than probable that Clarissa Lovel
might come before long to reign over the household at Arden, and this
all-powerful Sophia sink to a minor position. Strong language of any kind
was therefore likely to be dangerous. Hannah Warman valued her place, which
was a good one, and would perhaps be still better under a more impulsive
and generous mistress. The safest thing therefore was to close the
conversation with one of those pious platitudes which Warman had always at
her command.

"Whatever may happen, miss, we are in the hands of Providence," she said
solemnly; "and let us trust that things will be so regulated as to work for
the good of our immortal souls. No one can go through life without trials,
miss, and perhaps yours may be coming upon you now; but we know that such
chastisements are intended for our benefit."

Sophia Granger had encouraged this kind of talk from the lips of Warman,
and other humble disciples, too often too be able to object to it just
now; but her temper was by no means improved by this conversation, and she
dismissed her maid presently with a very cool good-night.

On the third day before the wedding, George Fairfax's mother arrived at
the Castle, in order to assist in this important event in her son's life.
Clarissa contemplated this lady with a peculiar interest, and was not a
little wounded by the strange coldness with which Mrs. Fairfax greeted her
upon her being introduced by Lady Laura to the new arrival. This coldness
was all the more striking on account of the perfect urbanity of Mrs.
Fairfax's manners in a general way, and a certain winning gentleness which
distinguished her on most occasions. It seemed to Clarissa as if she
recoiled with something like aversion at the sound of her name.

"Miss Lovel of Arden Court, I believe?" she said, looking at Lady Laura.

"Yes; my dear Clarissa is the only daughter of the gentleman who till
lately was owner of Arden Court. It has passed into other hands now."

"I beg your pardon. I did not know there had been any change."

And then Mrs. Fairfax continued her previous conversation with Lady Laura,
as if anxious to have done with the subject of Miss Lovel.

Nor in the three days before the wedding did she take any farther notice of
Clarissa; a neglect the girl felt keenly; all the more so because she was
interested in spite of herself in this pale faded lady of fifty, who still
bore the traces of great beauty and who carried herself with the grace of a
queen. She had that air _du faubourg_ which we hear of in the great ladies
of a departed era in Parisian society,--a serene and tranquil elegance
which never tries to be elegant, a perfect self-possession which never
degenerates into insolence.

In a party so large as that now assembled at Hale, this tacit avoidance
of one person could scarcely be called a rudeness. It might so easily be
accidental. Clarissa felt it nevertheless, and felt somehow that it was not
accidental. Though she could never be anything to George Fairfax, though
all possibility even of friendship was at an end between them, she would
have liked to gain his mother's regard. It was an idle wish perhaps, but
scarcely an unnatural one.

She watched Mrs. Fairfax and Lady Geraldine together. The affection between
those two was very evident. Never did the younger lady appear to greater
advantage than in her intercourse with her future mother-in-law. All pride
and coldness vanished in that society, and Geraldine Challoner became
genial and womanly.

"She has played her cards well," Barbara Fermor said maliciously. "It is
the mother who has brought about this marriage."

If Mrs. Fairfax showed herself coldly disposed towards Clarissa, there was
plenty of warmth on the parts of Ladies Emily and Louisa Challoner, who
arrived at the Castle about the same time, and at once took a fancy to
their sister's _protegee._