Castle Richmond Part 5

"Oh, I don't want to talk about rank. That's all bosh, and I don't care about it. But Hap House is a small place, and Clara wouldn't be doing well; and what's more, I am quite sure the countess will not hear of it."

"You won't approve then?"

"No, I can't say I will."

"Well, that is honest of you. I am very glad that I have told you at once. Clara will tell her mother, and at any rate there will be no secrets. Good-bye, old fellow."

"Good-bye," said the earl. Then they shook hands, and Fitzgerald rode off towards Hap House. Lord Desmond pondered over the matter some time, standing alone near the lodge; and then walked slowly back towards the mansion. He had said that rank was all bosh; and in so saying had at the moment spoken out generously the feelings of his heart. But that feeling regarded himself rather than his sister; and if properly a.n.a.lyzed would merely have signified that, though proud enough of his own rank, he did not require that his friends should be of the same standing. But as regarded his sister, he certainly would not be well pleased to see her marry a small squire with a small income.

CHAPTER IV.

THE COUNTESS.

The countess, as she walked back with her daughter towards the house, had to bethink herself for a minute or two as to how she should act, and what she would say. She knew, she felt that she knew, what had occurred. If her daughter's manner had not told her, the downcast eyes, the repressed sobs, the mingled look of shame and fear;--if she had not read the truth from these, she would have learned it from the tone of Fitzgerald's voice, and the look of triumph which sat upon his countenance.

And then she wondered that this should be so, seeing that she had still regarded Clara as being in all things a child; and as she thought further, she wondered at her own fatuity, in that she had allowed herself to be so grossly deceived.

"Clara," said she, "what is all this?"

"Oh, mamma!"

"You had better come on to the house, my dear, and speak to me there.

In the mean time, collect your thoughts, and remember this, Clara, that you have the honour of a great family to maintain."

Poor Clara! what had the great family done for her, or how had she been taught to maintain its honour? She knew that she was an earl's daughter, and that people called her Lady Clara; whereas other young ladies were only called Miss So-and-So. But she had not been taught to separate herself from the ordinary throng of young ladies by any other distinction. Her great family had done nothing special for her, nor placed before her for example any grandly n.o.ble deeds. At that old house at Desmond Court company was scarce, money was scarce, servants were scarce. She had been confided to the care of a very ordinary governess; and if there was about her anything that was great or good, it was intrinsically her own, and by no means due to intrinsic advantages derived from her grand family. Why should she not give what was so entirely her own to one whom she loved, to one by whom it so pleased her to be loved?

And then they entered the house, and Clara followed her mother to the countess's own small up-stairs sitting-room. The daughter did not ordinarily share this room with her mother, and when she entered it, she seldom did so with pleasurable emotion. At the present moment she had hardly strength to close the door after her.

"And now, Clara, what is all this?" said the countess, sitting down in her accustomed chair.

"All which, mamma?" Can any one blame her in that she so far equivocated?

"Clara, you know very well what I mean. What has there been between you and Mr. Fitzgerald?"

The guilt-stricken wretch sat silent for a while, sustaining the scrutiny of her mother's gaze; and then falling from her chair on to her knees, she hid her face in her mother's lap, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma, mamma, do not look at me like that!"

Lady Desmond's heart was somewhat softened by this appeal; nor would I have it thought that she was a cruel woman, or an unnatural mother.

It had not been her lot to make an absolute, dearest, heartiest friend of her daughter, as some mothers do; a friend between whom and herself there should be, nay could be, no secrets. She could not become young again in sharing the romance of her daughter's love, in enjoying the gaieties of her daughter's b.a.l.l.s, in planning dresses, amus.e.m.e.nts, and triumphs with her child. Some mothers can do this; and they, I think, are the mothers who enjoy most fully the delights of maternity. This was not the case with Lady Desmond; but yet she loved her child, and would have made any reasonable sacrifice for what she regarded as that child's welfare.

"But, my dear," she said, in a softened tone, "you must tell me what has occurred. Do you not know that it is my duty to ask, and yours to tell me? It cannot be right that there should be any secret understanding between yourself and Mr. Fitzgerald. You know that, Clara, do you not?"

"Yes, mamma," said Clara, remembering that her lover had bade her tell her mother everything.

"Well, my love?"

Clara's story was very simple, and did not, in fact, want any telling. It was merely the old well-worn tale, so common through all the world. "He had laughed on the la.s.s with his bonny black eye!"

and she,--she was ready to go "to the mountain to hear a love-tale!"

One may say that an occurrence so very common could not want much telling.

"Mamma; he says--"

"Well, my dear?"

"He says--. Oh, mamma! I could not help it."

"No, Clara; you certainly could not help what he might say to you.

You could not refuse to listen to him. A lady in such a case, when she is on terms of intimacy with a gentleman, as you were with Mr.

Fitzgerald, is bound to listen to him, and to give him an answer. You could not help what he might say, Clara. The question now is, what answer did you give to what he said?"

Clara, who was still kneeling, looked up piteously into her mother's face, sighed bitterly, but said nothing.

"He told you that he loved you, I suppose?"

"Yes, mamma."

"And I suppose you gave him some answer? Eh! my dear?"

The answer to this was another long sigh.

"But, Clara, you must tell me. It is absolutely necessary that I should know whether you have given him any hope, and if so, how much.

Of course the whole thing must be stopped at once. Young as you are, you cannot think that a marriage with Mr. Owen Fitzgerald would be a proper match for you to make. Of course the whole thing must cease at once--at once." Here there was another piteous sigh. "But before I take any steps, I must know what you have said to him. Surely you have not told him that you have any feeling for him warmer than ordinary regard?"

Lady Desmond knew what she was doing very well. She was perfectly sure that her daughter had pledged her troth to Owen Fitzgerald.

Indeed, if she made any mistake in the matter, it was in thinking that Clara had given a more absolute a.s.surance of love than had in truth been extracted from her. But she calculated, and calculated wisely, that the surest way of talking her daughter out of all hope, was to express herself as unable to believe that a child of hers would own to love for one so much beneath her, and to speak of such a marriage as a thing absolutely impossible. Her method of acting in this manner had the effect which she desired. The poor girl was utterly frightened, and began to fear that she had disgraced herself, though she knew that she dearly loved the man of whom her mother spoke so slightingly.

"Have you given him any promise, Clara?"

"Not a promise, mamma."

"Not a promise! What then? Have you professed any regard for him?"

But upon this Clara was again silent.

"Then I suppose I must believe that you have professed a regard for him--that you have promised to love him?"

"No, mamma; I have not promised anything. But when he asked me, I--I didn't--I didn't refuse him."

It will be observed that Lady Desmond never once asked her daughter what were her feelings. It never occurred to her to inquire, even within her own heart, as to what might be most conducive to her child's happiness. She meant to do her duty by Clara, and therefore resolved at once to put a stop to the whole affair. She now desisted from her interrogatories, and sitting silent for a while, looked out into the extent of flat ground before the house. Poor Clara the while sat silent also, awaiting her doom.

"Clara," said the mother at last, "all this must of course be made to cease. You are very young, very young indeed, and therefore I do not blame you. The fault is with him--with him entirely."

"No, mamma."

"But I say it is. He has behaved very badly, and has betrayed the trust which was placed in him when he was admitted here so intimately as Patrick's friend."