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The Claverings by Anthony Trollope

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Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Making of
America Collection of the Cornell University Library. See
http://library8.library.cornell.edu/moa/





THE CLAVERINGS

by

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

1866







Contents

I. Julia Brabazon
II. Harry Clavering Chooses His Profession
III. Lord Ongar
IV. Florence Burton
V. Lady Ongar's Return
VI. The Rev. Samuel Saul
VII. Some Scenes in the Life of a Countess
VIII. The House in Onslow Crescent
IX. Too Prudent By Half
X. Florence Burton at the Rectory
XI. Sir Hugh and His Brother Archie
XII. Lady Ongar Takes Possession
XIII. A Visitor Calls At Ongar Park
XIV. Count Pateroff
XV. Madame Gordeloup
XVI. An Evening In Bolton Street
XVII. The Rivals
XVIII. "Judge Not That Ye Be Not Judged"
XIX. Let Her Know That You're There
XX. Captain Clavering Makes His First Attempt
XXI. The Blue Posts
XXII. Desolation
XXIII. Sir Hugh's Return
XXIV. Yes; Wrong--Certainly Wrong
XXV. The Day of the Funeral
XXVI. Too Many, And Too Few
XXVII. Cumberly Lane Without The Mud
XXVIII. The Russian Spy
XXIX. What Would Men Say To You?
XXX. The Man Who Dusted His Boots With His Handkerchief
XXXI. Freshwater Gate
XXXII. What Cecilia Burton Did For Her Sister-In-Law
XXXIII. How Damon Parted From Pythias
XXXIV. Vain Repentance
XXXV. Doodles In Mount Street
XXXVI. Harry Clavering's Confession
XXXVII. Florence Burton's Return
XXXVIII. Florence Burton Makes Up A Packet
XXXIX. Showing Why Harry Clavering Was Wanted At The Rectory
XL. Mr. Saul's Abode
XLI. Going To Norway
XLII. Parting
XLIII. Captain Clavering Makes His Last Attempt
XLIV. What Lady Ongar Thought About It
XLV. How To Dispose Of A Wife
XLVI. Showing How Mrs. Burton Fought Her Battle
XLVII. The Sheep Returns To The Fold
XLVIII. Lady Ongar's Revenge
XLIX. Showing What Happened Off Heligoland
L. Madam Gordeloup Retires From British Diplomacy
LI. Showing How Things Settled Themselves At The Rectory
LII. Conclusion




Chapter I

Julia Brabazon



The gardens of Clavering Park were removed some three hundred yards from
the large, square, sombre-looking stone mansion which was the
country-house of Sir Hugh Clavering, the eleventh baronet of that name;
and in these gardens, which had but little of beauty to recommend them,
I will introduce my readers to two of the personages with whom I wish to
make them acquainted in the following story. It was now the end of
August, and the parterres, beds, and bits of lawn were dry, disfigured,
and almost ugly, from the effects of a long drought. In gardens to which
care and labor are given abundantly, flower-beds will be pretty, and
grass will be green, let the weather be what it may; but care and labor
were but scantily bestowed on the Clavering Gardens, and everything was
yellow, adust, harsh, and dry. Over the burnt turf toward a gate that
led to the house, a lady was walking, and by her side there walked a
gentleman.

"You are going in, then, Miss Brabazon," said the gentleman, and it was
very manifest from his tone that he intended to convey some deep
reproach in his words.

"Of course I am going in," said the lady. "You asked me to walk with
you, and I refused. You have now waylaid me, and therefore I shall
escape--unless I am prevented by violence." As she spoke she stood still
for a moment, and looked into his face with a smile which seemed to
indicate that if such violence were used, within rational bounds, she
would not feel herself driven to great danger.

But though she might be inclined to be playful, he was by no means in
that mood. "And why did you refuse me when I asked you?" said he.

"For two reasons, partly because I thought it better to avoid any
conversation with you."

"That is civil to an old friend."

"But chiefly"--and now as she spoke she drew herself up, and dismissed
the smile from her face, and allowed her eyes to fall upon the
ground--"but chiefly because I thought that Lord Ongar would prefer that
I should not roam alone about Clavering Park with any young gentleman
while I am down here; and that he might specially object to my roaming
with you, were he to know that you and I were--old acquaintances. Now I
have been very frank, Mr. Clavering, and I think that that ought to be
enough."

"You are afraid of him already, then?"

"I am afraid of offending any one whom I love, and especially any one to
whom I owe any duty."

"Enough! Indeed it is not. From what you know of me, do you think it
likely that that will be enough?" He was now standing in front of her,
between her and the gate, and she made no effort to leave him.

"And what is it you want? I suppose you do not mean to fight Lord Ongar,
and that if you did you would not come to me."

"Fight him! No; I have no quarrel with him. Fighting him would do no
good."

"None in the least; and he would not fight if you were to ask him; and
you could not ask without being false to me."

"I should have had an example for that, at any rate."

"That's nonsense, Mr. Clavering. My falsehood, if you should choose to
call me false, is of a very different nature, and is pardonable by all
laws known to the world."

"You are a jilt! that is all."

"Come, Harry, don't use hard words."--and she put her hand kindly upon
his arm. "Look at me, such as I am, and at yourself, and then say
whether anything but misery could come of a match between you and me.
Our ages by the register are the same, but I am ten years older than you
by the world. I have two hundred a year, and I owe at this moment six
hundred pounds. You have, perhaps, double as much, and would lose half
of that if you married. You are an usher at school."

"No, madam, I am not an usher at a school."

"Well, well, you know I don't mean to make you angry."

"At the present moment, I am a schoolmaster, and if I remain so, I might
fairly look forward to a liberal income. But I am going to give that
up."

"You will not be more fit for matrimony because you are going to give up
your profession. Now, Lord Ongar has--heaven knows what--perhaps sixty
thousand a year."

"In all my life I never heard such effrontery--such baldfaced, shameless
worldliness!"

"Why should I not love a man with a large income?"

"He is old enough to be your father."

"He is thirty-six, and I am twenty-four."

"Thirty-six!"

"There is the Peerage for you to look at. But, my dear Harry, do you not
know that you are perplexing me and yourself too, for nothing? I was
fool enough when I came here from Nice, after papa's death to let you
talk nonsense to me for a month or two."

"Did you or did you not swear that you loved me?"

"Oh, Mr. Clavering, I did not imagine that your strength would have
condescended to take such advantage over the weakness of a woman. I
remember no oaths of any kind, and what foolish assertions I may have
made, I am not going to repeat. It must have become manifest to you
during these two years that all that was a romance. If it be a pleasure
to you to look back to it, of that pleasure I cannot deprive you.
Perhaps I also may sometimes look back. But I shall never speak of that
time again; and you, if you are as noble as I take you to be, will not
speak of it either. I know you would not wish to injure me."

"I would wish to save you from the misery you are bringing on yourself."

"In that you must allow me to look after myself. Lord Ongar certainly
wants a wife, and I intend to be true to him, and useful."

"How about love?"

"And to love him, sir. Do you think that no man can win a woman's love,
unless he is filled to the brim with poetry, and has a neck like Lord
Byron, and is handsome like your worship? You are very handsome, Harry,
and you, too, should go into the market and make the best of yourself.
Why should you not learn to love some nice girl that has money to assist
you?"

"Julia."

"No, sir; I will not be called Julia. If you do, I will be insulted, and
leave you instantly. I may call you Harry, as being so much
younger--though we were born in the same month--and as a sort of cousin.
But I shall never do that after to-day."

"You have courage enough, then, to tell me that you have not ill-used
me?"

"Certainly I have. Why, what a fool you would have me be! Look at me,
and tell me whether I am fit to be the wife of such a one as you. By the
time you are entering the world, I shall be an old woman, and shall have
lived my life. Even if I were fit to be your mate when we were living
here together, am I fit, after what I have done and seen during the last
two years? Do you think it would really do any good to any one if I were
to jilt, as you call it, Lord Ongar, and tell them all--your cousin, Sir
Hugh, and my sister, and your father--that I was going to keep myself
up, and marry you when you were ready for me?"

"You mean to say that the evil is done."

"No, indeed. At the present moment I owe six hundred pounds, and I don't
know where to turn for it, so that my husband may not be dunned for my
debts as soon as he has married me. What a wife I should have been for
you--should I not?"

"I could pay the six hundred pounds for you with money that I have
earned myself--though you do call me an usher--and perhaps would ask
fewer questions about it than Lord Ongar will do with all his
thousands."

"Dear Harry, I beg your pardon about the usher. Of course, I know that
you are a fellow of your college, and that St. Cuthbert's, where you
teach the boys, is one of the grandest schools in England; and I hope
you'll be a bishop; nay--I think you will, if you make up your mind to
try for it."

"I have given up all idea of going into the church."

"Then you'll be a judge. I know you'll be great and distinguished, and
that you'll do it all yourself. You are distinguished already. If you
could only know how infinitely I should prefer your lot to mine! Oh,
Harry, I envy you! I do envy you! You have got the ball at your feet,
and the world before you, and can win everything for yourself."

"But nothing is anything without your love."

"Pshaw! Love, indeed. What could it do for you but ruin you? You know it
as well as I do; but you are selfish enough to wish to continue a
romance which would be absolutely destructive to me, though for a while
it might afford a pleasant relaxation to your graver studies. Harry, you
can choose in the world. You have divinity, and law, and literature, and
art. And if debarred from love now by the exigencies of labor, you will
be as fit for love in ten years' time as you are at present."

"But I do love now."

"Be a man, then, and keep it to yourself. Love is not to be our master.
You can choose, as I say; but I have had no choice--no choice but to be
married well, or to go out like a snuff of a candle. I don't like the
snuff of a candle, and, therefore, I am going to be married well."

"And that suffices?"

"It must suffice. And why should it not suffice? You are very uncivil,
cousin, and very unlike the rest of the world. Everybody compliments me
on my marriage. Lord Ongar is not only rich, but he is a man of fashion,
and a man of talent."

"Are you fond of race-horses yourself?"

"Very fond of them."

"And of that kind of life?"

"Very fond of it. I mean to be fond of everything that Lord Ongar likes.
I know that I can't change him, and, therefore, I shall not try."

"You are right there, Miss Brabazon."

"You mean to be impertinent, sir; but I will not take it so. This is to
be our last meeting in private, and I won't acknowledge that I am
insulted. But it must be over now, Harry; and here I have been pacing
round and round the garden with you, in spite of my refusal just now. It
must not be repeated, or things will be said which I do not mean to have
ever said of me. Good-by, Harry."

"Good-by, Julia."

"Well, for that once let it pass. And remember this: I have told you all
my hopes, and my one trouble. I have been thus open with you because I
thought it might serve to make you look at things in a right light. I
trust to your honor as a gentleman to repeat nothing that I have said to
you."

I am not given to repeat such things as those."

"I'm sure you are not. And I hope you will not misunderstand the spirit
in which they have been spoken. I shall never regret what I have told
you now, if it tends to make you perceive that we must both regard our
past acquaintance as a romance, which must, from the stern necessity of
things, be treated as a dream which we have dreamt, or a poem which we
have read."

"You can treat it as you please."

"God bless you, Harry; and I will always hope for your welfare, and hear
of your success with joy. Will you come up and shoot with them on
Thursday?"

"What, with Hugh? No; Hugh and I do not hit it off together. If I shot
at Clavering I should have to do it as a sort of head-keeper. It's a
higher position, I know, than that of an usher, but it doesn't suit me."

"Oh, Harry! that is so cruel! But you will come up to the house. Lord
Ongar will be there on the thirty-first; the day after to-morrow, you
know."

"I must decline even that temptation. I never go into the house when
Hugh is there, except about twice a year on solemn invitation--just to
prevent there being a family quarrel."

"Good-by, then," and she offered him her hand.

"Good-by, if it must be so."

"I don't know whether you mean to grace my marriage?"

"Certainly not. I shall be away from Clavering, so that the marriage
bells may not wound my ears. For the matter of that, I shall be at the
school."

"I suppose we shall meet some day in town."

"Most probably not. My ways and Lord Ongar's will be altogether
different, even if I should succeed in getting up to London. If you ever
come to see Hermione here, I may chance to meet you in the house. But
you will not do that often, the place is so dull and unattractive."

"It is the dearest old park."

"You won't care much for old parks as Lady Ongar."

"You don't know what I may care about as Lady Ongar; but as Julia
Brabazon I will now say good-by for the last time." Then they parted,
and the lady returned to the great house, while Harry Clavering made his
way across the park toward the rectory.

Three years before this scene in the gardens at Clavering Park, Lord
Brabazon had died at Nice, leaving one unmarried daughter, the lady to
whom the reader has just been introduced. One other daughter he had, who
was then already married to Sir Hugh Clavering, and Lady Clavering was
the Hermione of whom mention has already been made. Lord Brabazon, whose
peerage had descended to him in a direct line from the time of the
Plantagenets, was one of those unfortunate nobles of whom England is
burdened with but few, who have no means equal to their rank. He had
married late in life, and had died without a male heir. The title which
had come from the Plantagenets was now lapsed; and when the last lord
died about four hundred a year was divided between his two daughters.
The elder had already made an excellent match, as regarded fortune, in
marrying Sir Hugh Clavering; and the younger was now about to make a
much more splendid match in her alliance with Lord Ongar. Of them I do
not know that it is necessary to say much more at present.

And of Harry Clavering it perhaps may not be necessary to say much in
the way of description. The attentive reader will have already gathered
nearly all that should be known of him before he makes himself known by
his own deeds. He was the only son of the Reverend Henry Clavering,
rector of Clavering, uncle of the present Sir Hugh Clavering, and
brother of the last Sir Hugh. The Reverend Henry Clavering and Mrs.
Clavering his wife, and his two daughters, Mary and Fanny Clavering,
lived always at Clavering Rectory, on the outskirts of Clavering Park,
at a full mile's distance from the house. The church stood in the park,
about midway between the two residences. When I have named one more
Clavering, Captain Clavering, Captain Archibald Clavering, Sir Hugh's
brother, all when I shall have said also that both Sir Hugh and Captain
Clavering were men fond of pleasure and fond of money, I shall have said
all that I need now say about the Clavering family at large.

Julia Brabazon had indulged in some reminiscence of the romance of her
past poetic life when she talked of cousinship between her and Harry
Clavering. Her sister was the wife of Harry Clavering's first cousin,
but between her and Harry there was no relationship whatever. When old
Lord Brabazon had died at Nice she had come to Clavering Park, and had
created some astonishment among those who knew Sir Hugh by making good
her footing in his establishment. He was not the man to take up a wife's
sister, and make his house her home, out of charity or from domestic
love. Lady Clavering, who had been a handsome woman and fashionable
withal, no doubt may have had some influence; but Sir Hugh was a man
much prone to follow his own courses. It must be presumed that Julia
Brabazon had made herself agreeable in the house, and also probably
useful. She had been taken to London through two seasons, and had there
held up her head among the bravest. And she had been taken abroad--for
Sir Hugh did not love Clavering Park, except during six weeks of
partridge shooting; and she had been at Newmarket with them, and at the
house of a certain fast hunting duke with whom Sir Hugh was intimate;
and at Brighton with her sister, when it suited Sir Hugh to remain alone
at the duke's; and then again up in London, where she finally arranged
matters with Lord Ongar. It was acknowledged by all the friends of the
two families, and indeed I may say of the three families now--among the
Brabazon people, and the Clavering people, and the Courton people--Lord
Ongar's family name was Courton--that Julia Brabazon had been very
clever. Of her and Harry Clavering together no one had ever said a word.
If any words had been spoken between her and Hermione on the subject,
the two sisters had been discreet enough to manage that they should go
no further.

In those short months of Julia's romance Sir Hugh had been away from
Clavering, and Hermione had been much occupied in giving birth to an
heir. Julia had now lived past her one short spell of poetry, had
written her one sonnet, and was prepared for the business of the world.




Chapter II

Harry Clavering Chooses His Profession



Harry Clavering might not be an usher, but, nevertheless, he was home
for the holidays. And who can say where the usher ends and the
school-master begins? He, perhaps, may properly be called an usher, who
is hired by a private schoolmaster to assist himself in his private
occupation, whereas Harry Clavering had been selected by a public body
out of a hundred candidates, with much real or pretended reference to
certificates of qualification. He was certainly not an usher, as he was
paid three hundred a year for his work--which is quite beyond the mark
of ushers. So much was certain; but yet the word stuck in his throat and
made him uncomfortable. He did not like to reflect that he was home for
the holidays.

But he had determined that he would never come home for the holidays
again. At Christmas he would leave the school at which he had won his
appointment with so much trouble, and go into an open profession. Indeed
he had chosen his profession, and his mode of entering it. He would
become a civil engineer, and perhaps a land surveyor, and with this view
he would enter himself as a pupil in the great house of Beilby & Burton.
The terms even had been settled. He was to pay a premium of five hundred
pounds and join Mr. Burton, who was settled in the town of Stratton, for
twelve months before he placed himself in Mr. Beilby's office in London.
Stratton was less than twenty miles from Clavering. It was a comfort to
him to think that he could pay this five hundred pounds out of his own
earnings, without troubling his father. It was a comfort, even though he
had earned that money by "ushering" for the last two years.

When he left Julia Brabazon in the garden, Harry Clavering did not go at
once home to the rectory, but sauntered out all alone into the park,
intending to indulge in reminiscences of his past romance. It was all
over, that idea of having Julia Brabazon for his love; and now he had to
ask himself whether he intended to be made permanently miserable by her
wordly falseness, or whether he would borrow something of her wordly
wisdom, and agree with himself to look back on what was past as a
pleasurable excitement in his boyhood. Of course we all know that really
permanent misery was in truth out of the question. Nature had not made
him physically or mentally so poor a creature as to be incapable of a
cure. But on this occasion he decided on permanent misery. There was
about his heart--about his actual anatomical heart, with its internal
arrangement of valves and blood-vessels--a heavy dragging feeling that
almost amounted to corporeal pain, and which he described to himself as
agony. Why should this rich, debauched, disreputable lord have the power
of taking the cup from his lip, the one morsel of bread which he coveted
from his mouth, his one ingot of treasure out of his coffer? Fight him!
No, he knew he could not fight Lord Ongar. The world was against such an
arrangement. And in truth Harry Clavering had so much contempt for Lord
Ongar, that he had no wish to fight so poor a creature. The man had had
delirium tremens, and was a worn-out miserable object. So at least Harry
Clavering was only too ready to believe. He did not care much for Lord
Ongar in the matter. His anger was against her; that she should have
deserted him for a miserable creature, who had nothing to back him but
wealth and rank!

There was wretchedness in every view of the matter. He loved her so
well, and yet he could do nothing! He could take no step toward saving
her or assisting himself. The marriage bells would ring within a month
from the present time, and his own father would go to the church and
marry them. Unless Lord Ongar were to die before then by God's hand,
there could be no escape--and of such escape Harry Clavering had no
thought. He felt a weary, dragging soreness at his heart, and told
himself that he must be miserable for-ever--not so miserable but what he
would work, but so wretched that the world could have for him no
satisfaction.

What could he do? What thing could he achieve so that she should know
that he did not let her go from him without more thought than his poor
words had expressed? He was perfectly aware that in their conversation
she had had the best of the argument--that he had talked almost like a
boy, while she had talked quite like a woman. She had treated him de
haut en bas with all that superiority which youth and beauty give to a
young woman over a very young man. What could he do? Before he returned
to the rectory, he had made up his mind what he would do, and on the
following morning Julia Brabazon received by the hands of her maid the
following note: "I think I understood all that you said to me yesterday.
At any rate, I understand that you have one trouble left, and that I
have the means of curing it." In the first draft of his letter he said
something about ushering, but that he omitted afterwards. "You may be
assured that the inclosed is all my own, and that it is entirely at my
own disposal. You may also be quite sure of good faith on the part of
the lender.--H. C." And in this letter he inclosed a check for six
hundred pounds. It was the money which he had saved since he took his
degree, and had been intended for Messrs. Beilby & Burton. But he would
wait another two years--continuing to do his ushering for her sake. What
did it matter to a man who must, under any circumstances, be permanently
miserable?

Sir Hugh was not yet at Clavering. He was to come with Lord Ongar on the
eve of the partridge-shooting. The two sisters, therefore, had the house
all to themselves. At about twelve they sat down to breakfast together
in a little upstairs chamber adjoining Lady Clavering's own room, Julia
Brabazon at that time having her lover's generous letter in her pocket.
She knew that it was as improper as it was generous, and that, moreover,
it was very dangerous. There was no knowing what might be the result of
such a letter should Lord Ongar even know that she had received it. She
was not absolutely angry with Harry, but had, to herself, twenty times
called him a foolish, indiscreet, dear, generous boy. But what was she
to do with the check? As to that, she had hardly as yet made up her mind
when she joined her sister on the morning in question. Even to Hermione
she did not dare to tell the fact that such a letter had been received
by her.

But in truth her debts were a great torment to her; and yet how trifling
they were when compared with the wealth of the man who was to become her
husband in six weeks! Let her marry him, and not pay them, and he
probably would never be the wiser. They would get themselves paid almost
without his knowledge, perhaps altogether without his hearing of them.
But yet she feared him, knowing him to be greedy about money; and, to
give her such merit as was due to her, she felt the meanness of going to
her husband with debts on her shoulder. She had five thousand pounds of
her own; but the very settlement which gave her a noble dower, and which
made the marriage so brilliant, made over this small sum in its entirety
to her lord. She had been wrong not to tell the lawyer of her trouble
when he had brought the paper for her to sign; but she had not told him.
If Sir Hugh Clavering had been her own brother there would have been no
difficulty, but he was only her brother-in-law, and she feared to speak
to him. Her sister, however, knew that there were debts, and on that
subject she was not afraid to speak to Hermione.

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