The Heir of Redclyffe

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

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'Then I am glad of it; I could hardly have given you a candid opinion
just at present.'

Charles was vexed; but he consoled himself by thinking that Guy did not
yet feel himself out of his leading-strings, and was still on his good
behaviour. After such a flash as this there was no fear, but there was
that in him which would create mischief and disturbance enough.
Charles was well principled at the bottom, and would have shrunk with
horror had it been set before him how dangerous might be the effect of
destroying the chance of a friendship between Guy and the only person
whose guidance was likely to be beneficial to him; but his idle,
unoccupied life, and habit of only thinking of things as they concerned
his immediate amusement, made him ready to do anything for the sake of
opposition to Philip, and enjoy the vague idea of excitement to be
derived from anxiety about his father's ward, whom at the same time he
regarded with increased liking as he became certain that what he called
the Puritan spirit was not native to him.

At dinner-time, Guy was as silent as on his first arrival, and there
would have been very little conversation had not the other gentleman
talked politics, Philip leading the discussion to bear upon the duties
and prospects of landed proprietors, and dwelling on the extent of
their opportunities for doing good. He tried to get Guy's attention,
by speaking of Redclyffe, of the large circle influenced by the head of
the Morville family, and of the hopes entertained by Lord Thorndale
that this power would prove a valuable support to the rightful cause.
He spoke in vain; the young heir of Redclyffe made answers as brief,
absent, and indifferent, as if all this concerned him no more than the
Emperor of Morocco, and Philip, mentally pronouncing him sullen, turned
to address himself to Laura.

As soon as the ladies had left the dining-room, Guy roused himself, and
began by saying to his guardian that he was afraid he was very
deficient in classical knowledge; that he found be must work hard
before going to Oxford; and asked whether there was any tutor in the
neighbourhood to whom he could apply.

Mr. Edmonstone opened his eyes, as much amazed as if Guy had asked if
there was any executioner in the neighbourhood who could cut off his
head. Philip was no less surprised, but he held his peace, thinking it
was well Guy bad sense enough to propose it voluntarily, as he would
have suggested it to his uncle as soon as there was an opportunity of
doing so in private. As soon as Mr. Edmonstone had recollected
himself, and pronounced it to be exceedingly proper, &c., they entered
into a discussion on the neighbouring curates, and came at last to a
resolution that Philip should see whether Mr. Lascelles, a curate of
Broadstone, and an old schoolfellow of his own, would read with Guy a
few hours in every week.

After this was settled, Guy looked relieved, though he was not himself
all the evening, and sat in his old corner between the plants and the
window, where he read a grave book, instead of talking, singing, or
finishing his volume of 'Ten Thousand a Year.' Charlotte was all this
time ill at ease. She looked from Guy to Philip, from Philip to Guy;
she shut her mouth as if she was forming some great resolve, then
coloured, and looked confused, rushing into the conversation with
something more mal-apropos than usual, as if on purpose to appear at
her ease. At last, just before her bed-time, when the tea was coming
in, Mrs. Edmonstone engaged with that, Laura reading, Amy clearing
Charles's little table, and Philip helping Mr. Edmonstone to unravel
the confused accounts of the late cheating bailiff, Guy suddenly found
her standing by him, perusing his face with all the power of her great
blue eyes. She started as he looked up, and put her face into Amabel's
great myrtle as if she would make it appear that she was smelling to
it.

'Well, Charlotte?' said he, and the sound of his voice made her speak,
but in a frightened, embarrassed whisper.

'Guy--Guy--Oh! I beg your pardon, but I wanted to--'

'Well, what?' said he, kindly.

'I wanted to make sure that you are not angry with Philip. You don't
mean to keep up the feud, do you?'

'Feud?--I hope not,' said Guy, too much in earnest to be diverted with
her lecture. 'I am very much obliged to him.'

'Are you really?' said Charlotte, her head a little on one side. 'I
thought he had been scolding you.'

Scolding was so very inappropriate to Philip's calm, argumentative way
of advising, that it became impossible not to laugh.

'Not scolding, then?' said Charlotte. 'You are too nearly grown up for
that, but telling you to learn, and being tiresome.'

'I was so foolish as to be provoked at first,' answered Guy; 'but I
hope I have thought better of it, and am going to act upon it.'

Charlotte opened her eyes wider than ever, but in the midst of her
amazement Mrs. Edmonstone called to Guy to quit his leafy screen and
come to tea.

Philip was to return to Broadstone the next day, and as Mrs. Edmonstone
had some errands there that would occupy her longer than Charles liked
to wait in the carriage, it was settled that Philip should drive her
there in the pony phaeton, and Guy accompany them and drive back, thus
having an opportunity of seeing Philip's print of the 'Madonna di San
Sisto,' returning some calls, and being introduced to Mr. Lascelles,
whilst she was shopping. They appointed an hour and place of meeting,
and kept to it, after which Mrs. Edmonstone took Guy with her to call
on Mrs. Deane, the wife of the colonel.

It was currently believed among the young Edmonstones that Mamma and
Mrs. Deane never met without talking over Mr. Morville's good
qualities, and the present visit proved no exception. Mrs. Deane, a
kind, open-hearted, elderly lady was very fond of Mr. Morville, and
proud of him as a credit to the regiment; and she told several traits
of his excellent judgment, kindness of heart, and power of leading to
the right course. Mrs. Edmonstone listened, and replied with delight;
and no less pleasure and admiration were seen reflected in her young
friend's radiant face.

Mrs. Edmonstone's first question, as they set out on their homeward
drive, was, whether they had seen Mr. Lascelles?

'Yes,' said Guy, 'I am to begin to morrow, and go to him every Monday
and Thursday.'

'That is prompt.'

'Ah! I have no time to lose; besides I have been leading too smooth a
life with you. I want something unpleasant to keep me in order.
Something famously horrid,' repeated he, smacking the whip with a
relish, as if he would have applied that if he could have found nothing
else.

'You think you live too smoothly at Hollywell,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
hardly able, with all her respect for his good impulses, to help
laughing at this strange boy.

'Yes. Happy, thoughtless, vehement; that is what your kindness makes
me. Was it not a proof, that I must needs fly out at such a petty
provocation?'

'I should not have thought it such a very exciting life; certainly not
such as is usually said to lead to thoughtlessness; and we have been
even quieter than usual since you came.'

'Ah, you don't know what stuff I am made of,' said Guy, gravely, though
smiling; 'your own home party is enough to do me harm; it is so
exceedingly pleasant.'

'Pleasant things do not necessarily do harm.'

'Not to you; not to people who are not easily unsettled; but when I go
up-stairs, after a talking, merry evening, such as the night before
last, I find that I have enjoyed it too much; I am all abroad! I can
hardly fix my thoughts, and I don't know what to do, since here I must
be, and I can't either be silent, or sit up in my own room.'

'Certainly not,' said she, smiling; 'there are duties of society which
you owe even to us dangerous people.'

'No, no: don't misunderstand me. The fault is in myself. If it was
not for that, I could learn nothing but good,' said Guy, speaking very
eagerly, distressed at her answer.

'I believe I understand you,' said she, marvelling at the serious,
ascetic temper, coupled with the very high animal spirits. 'For your
comfort, I believe the unsettled feeling you complain of is chiefly the
effect of novelty. You have led so very retired a life, that a lively
family party is to you what dissipation would be to other people: and,
as you must meet with the world some time or other, it is better the
first encounter with should be in this comparatively innocent form. Go
on watching yourself, and it will do you no harm.'

Yes, but if I find it does me harm? It would be cowardly to run away,
and resistance should be from within. Yet, on the other hand, there is
the duty of giving up, wrenching oneself from all that has temptation
in it.'

'There is nothing,' said Mrs Edmonstone, 'that has no temptation in it;
but I should think the rule was plain. If a duty such as that of
living among us for the present, and making yourself moderately
agreeable, involves temptations, they must be met and battled from
within. In the same way, your position in society, with all its
duties, could not be laid aside because it is full of trial. Those who
do such things are fainthearted, and fail in trust in Him who fixed
their station, and finds room for them to deny themselves in the
trivial round and common task. It is pleasure involving no duty that
should be given up, if we find it liable to lead us astray.'

'I see,' answered Guy, musingly; 'and this reading comes naturally, and
is just what I wanted to keep the pleasant things from getting a full
hold of me. I ought to have thought of it sooner, instead of dawdling
a whole month in idleness. Then all this would not have happened. I
hope it will be very tough.'

'You have no great love for Latin and Greek?'

'Oh!' cried Guy, eagerly, 'to be sure I delight in Homer and the
Georgics, and plenty more. What splendid things there are in these old
fellows! But, I never liked the drudgery part of the affair; and now
if I am to be set to work to be accurate, and to get up all the grammar
and the Greek roots, it will be horrid enough in all conscience.'

He groaned as deeply as if he had not been congratulating himself just
before on the difficulty.

'Who was your tutor?' asked Mrs. Edmonstone.

'Mr. Potts,' said Guy. 'He is a very clever man; he had a common
grammar-school education, but he struggled on--taught himself a great
deal--and at last thought it great promotion to be a teacher at the
Commercial Academy, as they call it, at Moorworth, where Markham's
nephews went to school. He is very clever, I assure you, and very
patient of the hard, wearing life he must have of it there; and oh! so
enjoying a new book, or an afternoon to himself. When I was about
eight or nine, I began with him, riding into Moorworth three times in a
week; and I have gone on ever since. I am sure he has done the best he
could for me; and he made the readings very pleasant by his own
enjoyment. If Philip had known the difficulties that man has struggled
through, and his beautiful temper, persevering in doing his best and
being contented, I am sure he could never have spoken contemptuously of
him.'

'I am sure he would not,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'all he meant was, that
a person without a university education cannot tell what the
requirements are to which a man must come up in these days.'

'Ah!' said Guy, laughing, 'how I wished Mr. Potts had been there to
have enjoyed listening to Philip and Mr. Lascelles discussing some new
Lexicon, digging down for roots of words, and quoting passages of
obscure Greek poets at such a rate, that if my eyes had been shut I
could have thought them two withered old students in spectacles and
snuff-coloured coats.'

'Philip was in his element.' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.

'Really,' proceeded Guy, with animation, 'the more I hear and see of
Philip, the more I wonder. What a choice collection of books he has--
so many of them school prizes, and how beautifully bound!'

'Ah! that is one of Philip's peculiar ways. With all his prudence and
his love of books, I believe he would not buy one unless he had a
reasonable prospect of being able to dress it handsomely. Did you see
the print?'

'Yes that I did. What glorious loveliness! There is nothing that does
it justice but the description in the lecture. Oh I forgot, you have
not heard it. You must let me read it to you by and by. Those two
little angels, what faces they have. Perfect innocence--one full of
reasoning, the other of unreasoning adoration!'

'I see it!' suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I see what you are
like in one of your looks, not by any means, in all--it is to the
larger of those two angels.'

'Very seldom, I should guess,' said Guy; and sinking his voice, as if
he was communicating a most painful fact, he added, 'My real likeness
is old Sir Hugh's portrait at home. But what were we saying? Oh!
about Philip. How nice those stories were of Mrs. Deane's.'

'She is very fond of him.'

'To have won so much esteem and admiration, already from strangers,
with no prejudice in his favour.--It must be entirely his own doing;
and well it may! Every time one hears of him, something comes out to
make him seem more admirable. You are laughing at me, and I own it is
presumptuous to praise; but I did not mean to praise, only to admire.'

'I like very much to hear my nephew praised; I was only smiling at your
enthusiastic way.'

'I only wonder I am not more enthusiastic,' said Guy. 'I suppose it is
his plain good sense that drives away that sort of feeling, for he is
as near heroism in the way of self-sacrifice as a man can be in these
days.'

'Poor Philip! if disappointment can make a hero, it has fallen to his
share. Ah! Guy, you are brightening and looking like one of my young
ladies in hopes of a tale of true love crossed, but it was only love of
a sister.'

'The sister for whom he gave up so much?'

'Yes, his sister Margaret. She was eight or nine years older, very
handsome, very clever, a good deal like him--a pattern elder sister;
indeed, she brought him up in great part after his mother died, and he
was devoted to her. I do believe it made the sacrifice of his
prospects quite easy to him, to know it was for her sake, that she
would live on at Stylehurst, and the change be softened to her. Then
came Fanny's illness, and that lead to the marriage with Dr. Henley.
It was just what no one could object to; he is a respectable man in
full practice, with a large income; but he is much older than she is,
not her equal in mind or cultivation, and though I hardly like to say
so, not at all a religious man. At any rate, Margaret Morville was one
of the last people one could bear to see marry for the sake of an
establishment.'

'Could her brother do nothing?'

'He expostulated with all his might; but at nineteen he could do little
with a determined sister of twenty-seven; and the very truth and power
of his remonstrance must have made it leave a sting. Poor fellow, I
believe he suffered terribly--just as he had lost Fanny, too, which he
felt very deeply, for she was a very sweet creature, and he was very
fond of her. It was like losing both sisters and home at once.'

'Has he not just been staying with Mrs. Henley?'

'Yes. There was never any coolness, as people call it. He is the one
thing she loves and is proud of. They always correspond, and he often
stays with her; but he owns to disliking the Doctor, and I don't think
he has much comfort in Margaret herself, for he always comes back more
grave and stern than he went. Her house, with all her good wishes, can
be no home to him; and so we try to make Hollywell supply the place of
Stylehurst as well as we can.'

'How glad he must be to have you to comfort him!'

'Philip? Oh no. He was always reserved; open to no one but Margaret,
not even to his father, and since her marriage he has shut himself up
within himself more than ever. It has, at least I think it is this
that has given him a severity, an unwillingness to trust, which I
believe is often the consequence of a great disappointment either in
love or in friendship.'

'Thank you for telling me,' said Guy: 'I shall understand him better,
and look up to him more. Oh! it is a cruel thing to find that what one
loves is, or has not been, all one thought. What must he not have gone
through!'

Mrs. Edmonstone was well pleased to have given so much assistance to
Guy's sincere desire to become attached to his cousin, one of the most
favourable signs in the character that was winning so much upon her.

CHAPTER 5

A cloud was o'er my childhood's dream,
I sat in solitude;
I know not how--I know not why,
But round my soul all drearily
There was a silent shroud.
THOUGHTS IN PAST YEARS

Mrs. Edmonstone was anxious to hear Mr. Lascelle's opinion of his
pupil, and in time she learnt that he thought Sir Guy had very good
abilities, and a fair amount of general information; but that his
classical knowledge was far from accurate, and mathematics had been
greatly neglected. He had been encouraged to think his work done when
he had gathered the general meaning of a passage, or translated it into
English verse, spirited and flowing, but often further from the
original than he or his tutor could perceive. He had never been taught
to work, at least as other boys study, and great application would be
requisite to bring his attainments to a level with those of far less
clever boys educated at a public school.

Mr. Lascelles told him so at first; but as there were no reflections on
his grandfather, or on Mr. Potts, Guy's lip did not suffer, and he only
asked how many hours a day he ought to read. 'Three,' said Mr.
Lascelles, with a due regard to a probable want of habits of
application; but then, remembering how much was undone, he added, that
'it ought to be four or more, if possible.'

'Four it _shall_ be,' said Guy; 'five if I can.'

His whole strength of will was set to accomplish these four hours,
taking them before and after breakfast, working hard all the morning
till the last hour before luncheon, when he came to read the lectures
on poetry with Charles. Here, for the first time, it appeared that
Charles had so entirely ceased to consider him as company, as to
domineer over him like his own family.

Used as Guy had been to an active out-of-doors life, and now turned
back to authors he had read long ago, to fight his way through the
construction of their language, not excusing himself one jot of the
difficulty, nor turning aside from one mountain over which his own
efforts could carry him, he found his work as tough and tedious as he
could wish or fear, and by the end of the morning was thoroughly
fagged. Then would have been the refreshing time for recreation in
that pleasant idling-place, the Hollywell drawing-room. Any other time
of day would have suited Charles as well for the reading, but he liked
to take the hour at noon, and never perceived that this made all the
difference to his friend of a toil or a pleasure. Now and then Guy
gave tremendous yawns; and once when Charles told him he was very
stupid, proposed a different time; but as Charles objected, he yielded
as submissively as the rest of the household were accustomed to do.

To watch Guy was one of Charles's chief amusements, and he rejoiced
greatly in the prospect of hearing his history of his first dinner-
party. Mr., Mrs. and Miss Edmonstone, and Sir Guy Morville, were
invited to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow. Mr. Edmonstone was
delighted as usual with any opportunity of seeing his neighbours; Guy
looked as if he did not know whether he liked the notion or not; Laura
told him it would be very absurd and stupid, but there would be some
good music, and Charles ordered her to say no more, that he might have
the account, the next morning, from a fresh and unprejudiced mind.

The next morning's question was, of course, 'How did you like your
party?'

'O, it was great fun.' Guy's favourite answer was caught up in the
midst, as Laura replied, 'It was just what parties always are.'

'Come, let us have the history. Who handed who in to dinner? I hope
Guy had Mrs. Brownlow.'

'Oh no,' said Laura; we had both the honourables.'

'Not Philip!'

'No,' said Guy; 'the fidus Achetes was without his pious Aeneas.'

'Very good, Guy,' said Charles, enjoying the laugh.

'I could not help thinking of it,' said Guy, rather apologising, 'when
I was watching Thorndale's manner; it is such an imitation of Philip;
looking droller, I think, in his absence, than in his presence. I
wonder if he is conscious of it.'

'It does not suit him at all,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; because he has no
natural dignity.'

'A man ought to be six foot one, person and mind, to suit with that
grand, sedate, gracious way of Philip's,' said Guy.

'There's Guy's measure of Philip's intellect,' said Charles, 'just six
foot one inch.'

'As much more than other people's twice his height,' said Guy.

'Who was your neighbour, Laura?' asked Amy.

'Dr. Mayerne; I was very glad of him, to keep off those hunting friends
of Mr. Brownlow, who never ask anything but if one has been to the
races, and if one likes balls.'

'And how did Mrs. Brownlow behave?' said Charles.

'She is a wonderful woman,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in her quiet way; and
Guy with an expression between drollery and simplicity, said, 'Then
there aren't many like her.'

'I hope not,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.

'Is she really a lady?'

'Philip commonly calls her "that woman,"' said Charles. 'He has never
got over her one night classing him with his "young man" and myself, as
three of the shyest monkeys she ever came across.'

'She won't say so of Maurice,' said Laura, as they recovered the laugh.

'I heard her deluding some young lady by saying he was the eldest son,'
said Mrs. Edmonstone.

'Mamma!' cried Amy, 'could she have thought so?'

'I put in a gentle hint on Lord de Courcy's existence, to which she
answered, in her quick way, 'O ay, I forgot; but then he is the second,
and that's the next thing.'

'If you could but have heard the stories she and Maurice were telling
each other!' said Guy. 'He was playing her off, I believe; for
whatever she told, he capped it with something more wonderful. Is she
really a lady?'

'By birth,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. It is only her high spirits and
small judgment that make her so absurd.'

'How loud she is, too!' said Laura. 'What was all that about horses,
Guy?'

'She was saying she drove two such spirited horses, that all the grooms
were afraid of them; and when she wanted to take out her little boy,
Mr. Brownlow said "You may do as you like my dear, but I won't have my
son's neck broken, whatever you do with your own." So Maurice answered
by declaring he knew a lady who drove not two, but four-in-hand, and
when the leaders turned round and looked her in the face, gave a little
nod, and said, 'I'm obliged for your civility.'

'Oh! I wish I had heard that,' cried Laura.

'Did you hear her saying she smoked cigars?'

Everyone cried out with horror or laughter.

'Of course, Maurice told a story of a lady who had a cigar case hanging
at her chatelaine, and always took one to refresh her after a ball.'

Guy was interrupted by the announcement of his horse, and rode off at
once to Mr. Lascelles.

On his return he went straight to the drawing-room, where Mrs.
Edmonstone was reading to Charles, and abruptly exclaimed,--

'I told you wrong. She only said she had smoked one cigar.' Then
perceiving that he was interrupting, he added, 'I beg your pardon,' and
went away.

The next evening, on coming in from a solitary skating, he found the
younger party in the drawing-room, Charles entertaining the Miss
Harpers with the story of the cigars. He hastily interposed--

'I told you it was but one.'

'Ay, tried one, and went on. She was preparing an order for Havannah.'

'I thought I told you I repeated the conversation incorrectly.'

'If it is not the letter, it is the spirit,' said Charles, vexed at the
interference with his sport of amazing the Miss Harpers with outrageous
stories of Mrs. Brownlow.

'It is just like her,' said one of them. 'I could believe anything of
Mrs. Brownlow.'

'You must not believe this,' said Guy, gently. 'I repeated incorrectly
what had better have been forgotten, and I must beg my foolish
exaggeration to go no further.'

Charles became sullenly silent; Guy stood thoughtful; and Laura and
Amabel could not easily sustain the conversation till the visitors took
their leave.

'Here's a pother!' grumbled Charles, as soon as they were gone.

'I beg your pardon for spoiling your story,' said Guy; but it was my
fault, so I was obliged to interfere.'