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William Bray - "Extracts from the Diary of William Bray, Esq. 1760 1800"

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The Heir of Redclyffe

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Heir of Redclyffe




A special invitation was sent to Bustle; indeed, Charles said Charlotte
could not have gone without his permission, for he reigned like a
tyrant over her, evidently believing her created for no purpose but to
wait on him, and take him to walk.

Laura was a great favourite at the cottage of Kilcoran, and felt she
ought to offer to go. Philip fully agreed, and held out home hopes of
following as soon as the session, was over, and he had been to
Redclyffe about some business that had been deferred too long.

And now it appeared that Mr. Edmonstone had a great desire to take his
wife, and she herself said, that under any other circumstances she
should have been very desirous of going. She had not been to Ireland
for fifteen years, and was sorry to have seen so little of her mother-
in-law; and now that it had been proved that Charles could exist
without her, she would not have hesitated to leave him, but for
Amabel's state of health and spirits, which made going from home out of
the question.

Charles and Amabel did not think so. It was not to be endured, that
when grandmamma wished for her, she should stay at home for them
without real necessity; besides, the fatigue, anxiety, and sorrow she
had undergone of late, had told on her, and had made her alter
perceptibly, from being remarkably fresh and youthful, to be somewhat
aged; and the change to a new scene, where she could not be distressing
herself at every failure in cheerfulness of poor Amy's, was just the
thing to do her good.

Amabel was not afraid of the sole charge of Charles or of the baby, for
she had been taught but too well to manage for herself, she understood
Charles very well, and had too much quiet good sense to be fanciful
about her very healthy baby. Though she was inexperienced, with old
nurse hard by, and Dr. Mayerne at Broadstone, there was no fear of her
not having good counsel enough. She was glad to be of some use, by
enabling her mother to leave Charles, and her only fear was of being
dull company for him; but as he was so kind as to bear it, she would do
her best, and perhaps their neighbours would come and enliven him
sometimes.

Charles threw his influence into the same scale. His affectionate
observation had shown him that it oppressed Amabel's spirits to be the
object of such constant solicitude, and be was convinced it would be
better for her, both to have some necessary occupation and to be free
from that perpetual mournful watching of her mother's that caused her
to make the efforts to be cheerful which did her more harm than
anything else.

To let her alone to look and speak as she pleased without the fear of
paining and disappointing those she loved, keep the house quiet, and
give her the employment of household cares and attending on himself,
was, he thought, the best thing for her; and he was full of eagerness
and pleasure at the very notion of being of service to her, if only by
being good for nothing but to be waited on. He thought privately that
the spring of his mother's mind had been so much injured by the grief
she had herself suffered for 'her son Guy,' her cruel disappointment in
Laura, and the way in which she threw herself into all Amy's
affliction, that there was a general depression in her way of observing
and attending Amy, which did further harm; and that to change the
current of her thoughts, and bring her home refreshed and inspirited,
would be the beginning of improvement in all. Or, as he expressed it
to Dr. Mayerne, 'We shall set off on a new tack.'

His counsel and Mr. Edmonstone's wishes at length decided mamma, on
condition that Mary Ross and Dr. Mayerne would promise to write on
alternate weeks a full report, moral and physical, as Charles called
it. So in due time the goods were packed, Mrs. Edmonstone cried
heartily over the baby, advised Amabel endlessly about her, and finally
looked back through her tears, as she drove away, to see Charles
nodding and waving his hand at the bay-window, and Amabel standing with
her parting smile and good-bye on the steps.

The reports, moral and physical, proved that Charles had judged wisely.
Amabel was less languid as she had more cause for exertion, and seemed
relieved by the absence of noise and hurry, spending more time down-
stairs, and appearing less weary in the evening. She still avoided the
garden, but she began to like short drives with her brother in the
pony-carriage, when he drove on in silence, and let her lean back and
gaze up into the sky, or into the far distance, undisturbed. Now and
then he would be rejoiced by a bright, genuine smile, perfectly
refreshing, at some of the pretty ways of the babe, a small but plump
and lively creature, beginning to grasp with her hands, laugh and gaze
about with eyes that gave promise of the peculiar colour and brilliancy
of her father's. Amabel was afraid she might be tempted into giving
Charles too much of the little lady's society; but he was very fond of
her, regarding her with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement, much
entertained with watching what he called her unaccountable manners, and
greatly flattered when he could succeed in attracting her notice.
Indeed, the first time she looked full at him with a smile on the verge
of a laugh, it completely overcame him, by the indescribably forcible
manner in which it suddenly recalled the face which had always shone on
him like a sunbeam. Above all, it was worth anything to see the looks
she awoke in her mother, for which he must have loved her, even had she
not been Guy's child.

In the evening, especially on Sunday, Amabel would sometimes talk to
him as she had never yet been able to do, about her last summer's
journey, and her stay at Recoara, and his way of listening and
answering had in it something that gave her great pleasure; while, on
his side, he deemed each fresh word of Guy's a sort of treasure for
which to be grateful to her. The brother and sister were a great help
and happiness to each other; Amabel found herself restored to Charles,
as Guy had liked to think of her, and Charles felt as if the old
childish fancies were fulfilled, in which he and Amy were always to
keep house together. He was not in the least dull; and though his
good-natured visitors in the morning were welcome, and received with
plenty of his gay lively talk, he did not by any means stand in need of
the compassion they felt for him, and could have done very well without
them; while the evenings alone with Amy had in them something so
pleasant that they were almost better than those when Mr. Ross and Mary
came to tea. He wrote word to his mother that she might be quite at
ease about them, and he thought Amy would get through the anniversaries
of September better while the house was quiet, so that she need not
think of trying to hurry home.

He was glad to have done so, for the letters, which scarcely missed a
day in being written by his mother and Charlotte, seemed to show that
their stay was likely to be long. Lady Mabel was more broken than they
had expected, and claimed a long visit, as she was sure it would be
their last, while the Kilcoran party had taken possession of Laura and
Charlotte, as if they never meant to let them go. Charlotte wrote her
brother very full and very droll accounts of the Iricisms around her
which she enjoyed thoroughly, and Charles, declaring he never expected
to see little Charlotte come out in the character of the facetious
correspondent, used to send Mary Ross into fits of laughing by what he
read to her. Mr. Fielder, the tutor, wrote Charlotte, was very nearly
equal to Eveleen's description of him, but very particularly agreeable,
in fact, the only man who had any conversation, whom she had seen since
she had been at Kilcoran.

'Imagine,' said Charles, 'the impertinent little puss setting up for
intellectual conversation, forsooth!'

'That's what comes of living with good company,' said Mary.

The brother and sister used sometimes to drive to Broadstone to fetch
their letters by the second post.

'Charlotte, of course,' said Charles, as he opened one. 'My Lady
Morville, what's yours?'

'Only Mr. Markham,' said Amabel, 'about the winding up of our business
together, I suppose. What does Charlotte say?'

'Charlotte is in a fit of impudence, for which she deserves
chastisement,' said Charles, unable to help laughing, as he read,--

'Our last event was a call from the fidus Achates, who, it seems, can
no longer wander up and down the Mediterranean without his pius Aeneas,
and so has left the army, and got a diplomatic appointment somewhere in
Germany. Lord Kilcoran has asked him to come and stay here, and Mabel
and I are quite sure he comes for a purpose. Of course he has chosen
this time, in order that he may be able to have his companion before
his eyes, as a model for courtship, and I wish I had you to help me
look on whenever Philip comes, as that laugh I must enjoy alone with
Bustle. However, when Philip will come we cannot think, for we have
heard nothing of him this age, not even Laura, and she is beginning to
look very anxious about him. Do tell us if you know anything about
him. The last letter was when parliament was prorogued, and he was
going to Redclyffe, at least three weeks ago.'

'I wonder if Mr. Markham mentions him,' said Amabel, hastily unfolding
her letter, which was, as she expected, about the executors' business,
but glancing on to the end, she exclaimed,--

'Ah! here it is. Listen, Charlie. "Mr. Morville has been here for the
last few weeks, and is, I fear, very unwell. He has been entirely
confined to the house, almost ever since his arrival, by violent
headache, which has completely disabled him from attending to business;
but he will not call in any advice. I make a point of going to see him
every day, though I believe my presence is anything but acceptable, as
in his present state of health and spirits, I cannot think it right
that he should be left to servants." Poor fellow! Redclyffe has been
too much for him.'

'Over-worked, I suppose,' said Charles. 'I thought he was coming it
pretty strong these last few weeks.'

'Not even writing to Laura! How very bad he must be! I will write at
once to ask Mr. Markham for more particulars.'

She did so, and on the third day they drove again to fetch the answer.
It was a much worse account. Mr. Morville was, said Markham, suffering
dreadfully from headache, and lay on the sofa all day, almost unable to
speak or move, but resolved against having medical advice, though his
own treatment of himself did not at all succeed in relieving him.
There was extreme depression of spirits, and an unwillingness to see
any one. He had positively refused to admit either Lord Thorndale or
Mr. Ashford, and would hardly bear to see Markham himself, who, indeed,
only forced his presence on him from thinking it unfit to leave him
entirely to the servants, and would be much relieved if some of Mr.
Morville's friends were present to free him from the responsibility.

'Hem!' said Charles. 'I can't say it sounds comfortable.'

'It is just as I feared!' said Amy. 'Great excitability of brain and
nerve, Dr. Mayerne said. All the danger of a brain fever again! Poor
Laura! What is to be done?'

Charles was silent.

'It is for want of some one to talk to him,' said Amabel. 'I know how
he broods over his sad recollections, and Redclyffe must make it so
much worse. If mamma and Laura were but at home to go to him, it might
save him, and it would be fearful for him to have another illness,
reduced as he is. How I wish he was here!'

'He cannot come, I suppose,' said Charles, 'or he would be in Ireland.'

'Yes. How well Guy knew when he said it would be worse for him than
for me! How I wish I could do something now to make up for running
away from him in Italy. If I was but at Redclyffe!'

'Do you really wish it?' said Charles, surprised.

'Yes, if I could do him any good.'

'Would you go there?'

'If I had but papa or mamma to go with me.'

'Do you think I should do as well?'

'Charlie!'

'If you think there would be any use in it, and choose to take the
trouble of lugging me about the country, I don't see why you should
not.'

'Oh! Charlie, how very, kind! How thankful poor Laura will be to you!
I do believe it will save him!' cried Amabel, eagerly.

'But, Amy,'--he paused--'shall you like to see Redclyffe?'

'Oh! that is no matter,' said she, quickly. 'I had rather see after
Philip than anything. I told you how he was made my charge, you know.
And Laura! Only will it not be too tiring for you?'

'I can't see how it should hurt me. But I forget, what is to be done
about your daughter?'

'I don't know what harm it could do her,' said Amy, considering. 'Mrs.
Gresham brought a baby of only three months old from Scotland the other
day, and she is six. It surely cannot hurt her, but we will ask Dr.
Mayerne.'

'Mamma will never forgive us if we don't take the doctor into our
councils.'

'Arnaud can manage for us. We would sleep in London, and go on by an
early train, and we can take our--I mean my--carriage, for the journey
after the railroad. It would not be too much for you. How soon could
we go?'

'The sooner the better,' said Charles. 'If we are to do him any good,
it must be speedily, or it will be a case of shutting the stable-door.
Why not to-morrow?'

The project was thoroughly discussed that evening, but still with the
feeling as if it could not be real, and when they parted at night they
said,--'We will see how the scheme looks in the morning.'

Charles was still wondering whether it was a dream, when the first
thing he heard in the court below his window was--

'Here, William, here's a note from my lady for you to take to Dr.
Mayerne.'

'They be none of them ill?' answered William's voice.

'0 no; my lady has been up this hour, and Mr. Charles has rung his
bell. Stop, William, my lady said you were to call at Harris's and
bring home a "Bradshaw".'

Reality, indeed, thought Charles, marvelling at his sister, and his
elastic spirits throwing him into the project with a sort of enjoyment,
partaking of the pleasure of being of use, the spirit of enterprise,
and the 'fun' of starting independently on an expedition unknown to all
the family.

He met Amabel with a smile that showed both were determined. He
undertook to announce the plan to his mother, and she said she would
write to tell Mr. Markham that as far as could be reckoned on two such
frail people, they would be at Redclyffe the next evening, and he must
use his own discretion about giving Mr. Morville the note which she
enclosed.

Dr. Mayerne came in time for breakfast, and the letter from Markham was
at once given to him.

'A baddish state of things, eh, doctor!' said Charles. 'Well, what do
you think this lady proposes? To set off forthwith, both of us, to
take charge of him. What do you think of that, Dr. Mayerne?'

'I should say it was the only chance for him,' said the doctor, looking
only at the latter. 'Spirits and health reacting on each other, I see
it plain enough. Over-worked in parliament, doing nothing in
moderation, going down to that gloomy old place, dreaming away by
himself, going just the right way to work himself into another attack
on the brain, and then he is done for. I don't know that you could do
a wiser thing than go to him, for he is no more fit to tell what is
good for him than a child.' So spoke the doctor, thinking only of the
patient till looking up at the pair he was dismissing to such a charge,
the helpless, crippled Charles, unable to cross the room without
crutches, and Amabel, her delicate face and fragile figure in her
widow's mourning, looking like a thing to be pitied and nursed with the
tenderest care, with that young child, too, he broke off and said--'But
you don't mean you are in earnest?'

'Never more so in our lives,' said Charles; on which Dr. Mayerne looked
so wonderingly and inquiringly at Amabel, that she answered,--

'Yes that we are, if you think it safe for Charles and baby.'

'Is there no one else to go? What's become of his sister?'

'That would never do,' said Charles, 'that is not the question;' and he
detailed their plan.

'Well, I don't see why it should not succeed,' said the doctor, 'or how
you can any of you damage yourselves.'

'And baby?' said Amy.

'What should happen to her, do you think?' said the doctor with his
kind, reassuring roughness. 'Unless you leave her behind in the
carriage, I don't see what harm she could come to, and even then, if
you direct her properly, she will come safe to hand.'
Amabel smiled, and saying she would fetch her to be inspected, ran up-
stairs with the light nimble step of former days.

'There goes one of the smallest editions of the wonders of the world!'
said Charles, covering a sigh with a smile. 'You don't think it will
do her any harm?'

'Not if she wishes it. I have long thought a change, a break, would be
the best thing for her--poor child!--I should have sent her to the sea-
side if you had been more movable, and if I had not seen every fuss
about her made it worse.'

'That's what I call being a reasonable and valuable doctor,' said
Charles. 'If you had routed the poor little thing out to the sea, she
would have only pined the more. But suppose the captain turns out too
bad for her management, for old Markham seems in a proper taking?'

'Hem! No, I don't expect it is come to that.'

'Be that as it may, I have a head, if nothing else, and some one is
wanted. I'll write to you according as we find Philip.'

The doctor was wanted for another private interview, in which to assure
Amabel that there was no danger for Charles, and then, after promising
to come to Redclyffe if there was occasion, and engaging to write and
tell Mrs. Edmonstone they had his consent, he departed to meet them by
and by at the station, and put Charles into the carriage.

A very busy morning followed; Amabel arranged household affairs as
befitted the vice-queen; took care that Charles's comforts were
provided for; wrote many a note; herself took down Guy's picture, and
laid it in her box, before Anne commenced her packing; and lastly,
walked down to the village to take leave of Alice Lamsden.


Just as the last hues of sunset were fading, on the following evening,
Lady Morville and Charles Edmonstone were passing from the moor into
the wooded valley of Redclyffe. Since leaving Moorworth not a word had
passed. Charles sat earnestly watching his sister; though there was
too much crape in the way for him to see her face, and she was
perfectly still, so that all he could judge by was the close, rigid
clasping together of the hands, resting on the sleeping infant's white
mantle. Each spot recalled to him some description of Guy's, the
church-tower, the school with the two large new windows, the park wall,
the rising ground within. What was she feeling? He did not dare to
address her, till, at the lodge-gate, he exclaimed--'There's Markham;'
and, at the same time, was conscious of a feeling between hope and
fear, that this might after all be a fool's errand, and a wonder how
they and the master of the house would meet if it turned out that they
had taken fright without cause.

At his exclamation, Amy leant forward, and beckoned. Markham came up
to the window, and after the greeting on each side, walked along with
his hand on the door, as the carriage slowly mounted the steep hill,
answering her questions: 'How is he?'

'No better. He has been putting on leeches, and made himself so giddy,
that yesterday he could hardly stand.'

'And they have not relieved him?'

'Not in the least. I am glad you are come, for it has been an absurd
way of going on.'

'Is he up?'

'Yes; on the sofa in the library.'

'Did you give him my note? Does he expect us?'

'No, I went to see about telling him this morning, but found him so low
and silent, I thought it was better not. He has not opened a letter
this week, and he might have refused to see you, as he did Lord
Thorndale. Besides, I didn't know how he would take my writing about
him, though if you had not written, I believe I should have let Mrs.
Henley know by this time.'

'There is an escape for him,' murmured Charles to his sister.

'We have done the best in our power to receive you' proceeded Markham;
'I hope you will find it comfortable, Lady Morville, but--'

'Thank you, I am not afraid,' said Amy, smiling a little. Markham's
eye was on the little white bundle in her lap, but he did not speak of
it, and went on with explanations about Mrs. Drew and Bolton and the
sitting-room, and tea being ready.

Charles saw the great red pile of building rise dark, gloomy, and
haunted-looking before them. The house that should have been Amabel's!
Guy's own beloved home! How could she bear it? But she was eagerly
asking Markham how Philip should be informed of their arrival, and
Markham was looking perplexed, and saying, that to drive under the
gateway, into the paved court, would make a thundering sound, that he
dreaded for Mr. Morville. Could Mr. Charles Edmonstone cross the court
on foot? Charles was ready to do so; the carriage stopped, Amabel gave
the baby to Anne, saw Arnaud help Charles out; and turning to Markham,
said, 'I had better go to him at once. Arnaud will show my brother the
way.'

'The sitting-room, Arnaud' said Markham, and walked on fast with her,
while Charles thought how strange to see her thus pass the threshold of
her husband's house, come thither to relieve and comfort his enemy.

She entered the dark-oak hall. On one side the light shone cheerfully
from the sitting-room, the other doors were all shut. Markham
hesitated, and stood reluctant.

'Yes, you had better tell him I am here,' said she, in the voice, so
gentle, that no one perceived its resolution.

Markham knocked at one of the high heavy doors, and softly opened it.
Amabel stood behind it, and looked into the room, more than half dark,
without a fire, and very large, gloomy, and cheerless, in the gray
autumn twilight, that just enabled her to see the white pillows on the
sofa, and Philip's figure stretched out on it. Markham advanced and
stood doubtful for an instant, then in extremity, began--'Hem! Lady
Morville is come, and--'

Without further delay she came forward, saying--'How are you, Philip?'

He neither moved nor seemed surprised, he only said, 'So you are come
to heap more coals on my head.'

A thrill of terror came over her, but she did not show it, as she said,
'I am sorry to find you so poorly.'

It seemed as if before he had taken her presence for a dream; for,
entirely roused, he exclaimed, in a tone of great surprise, 'Is it you,
Amy?' Then sitting up, 'Why? When did you come here?'

'Just now. We were afraid you were ill, we heard a bad account of you,
so we have taken you by storm: Charles, your goddaughter, and I, are
come to pay you a visit.'

'Charles! Charles here?' cried Philip, starting up. 'Where is he?'

'Coming in,' said Amy; and Philip, intent only on hospitality, hastened
into the hall, and met him at the door, gave him his arm and conducted
him where the inviting light guided them to the sitting-room. The full
brightness of lamp and fire showed the ashy paleness of his face; his
hair, rumpled with lying on the sofa, had, on the temples, acquired a
noticeable tint of gray, his whole countenance bore traces of terrible
suffering; and Amabel thought that even at Recoara she had never seen
him look more wretchedly ill.

'How did you come?' he asked. 'It was very kind. I hope you will be
comfortable.'

'We have taken good care of ourselves,' said Amy. 'I wrote to Mr.
Markham, for I thought you were not well enough to be worried with
preparations. We ought to beg your pardon for breaking on you so
unceremoniously.'

'If any one should be at home here--' said Philip, earnestly;--then
interrupting himself, he shaded his eyes from the light, 'I don't know
how to make you welcome enough. When did you set off?'

'Yesterday afternoon,' said Charles; 'we slept in London, and came on
to-day.'

'Have you dined?' said Philip, looking perplexed to know where the
dinner could come from.

'Yes; at K---, thank you.'

'What will you have? I'll ring for Mrs. Drew.'

'No, thank you; don't tease yourself. Mrs. Drew will take care of us.
Never mind; but how bad your head is!' said Amabel, as he sat down on
the sofa, leaning his elbow on his knee, and pressing his hand very
hard on his forehead. 'You must lie down and keep quiet, and never
mind us. We only want a little tea. I am just going to take off my
bonnet, and see what they have done with baby, and then I'll come down.
Pray lie still till then. Mind he does, Charlie.'

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