Tales and Novels Volume X Part 2

"But I should have told you more, and what n.o.body knows better than I do," cried Helen, "that Lady Davenant is a great deal more, and a great deal better than a politician. I was too young to judge, you may think, hut young as I was, I could see and feel, and children can and do often see a great deal into character, and I a.s.sure you Lady Davenant's is a sort of deep, high character, that you would admire."

Mrs. Collingwood observed with surprise, that Helen spoke of her with even more enthusiasm than of her dear Lady Cecilia. "Yes, because she is a person more likely to excite enthusiasm."

"You did not feel afraid of her, then?"

"I do not say that," replied Helen; "yet it was not fear exactly, it was more a sort of awe, but still I liked it. It is so delightful to have something to look up to. I love Lady Davenant all the better, even for that awe I felt of her."

"And I like you all the better for everything you feel, think, and say about your friends," cried Mrs. Collingwood; "but let us see what they will do; when I see whether they can write, and what they write to you, I will tell you more of my mind--if any letters come."

"If!--" Helen repeated, but would say no more--and there it rested, or at least stopped. By common consent the subject was not recurred to for several days. Every morning at post-time Helen's colour rose with expectation, and then faded with disappointment; still, with the same confiding look, she said, "I am sure it is not their fault."

"Time will show," said Mrs. Collingwood.

At length, one morning when she came down to breakfast, "Triumph, my dear Helen!" cried Mrs. Collingwood, holding up two large letters, all scribbled over with "Try this place and try that, mis-sent to Cross-keys--Over moor, and heaven knows where--and--no matter."

Helen seized the packets and tore them open; one was from Paris, written immediately after the news of Dean Stanley's death; it contained two letters, one from Lady Davenant, the other from Lady Cecilia--"written, only think!" cried she, "how kind!--the very day before her marriage; signed 'Cecilia Davenant, for the last time,'--and Lady Davenant, too--to think of me in all their happiness."

She opened the other letters, written since their arrival in England, she read eagerly on,--then stopped, and her looks changed.

"Lady Davenant is not coming to Cecilhurst. Lord Davenant is to be sent amba.s.sador to Petersburgh, and Lady Davenant will go along with him!--Oh! there is an end of everything, I shall never see her again!--Stay--she is to be first with Lady Cecilia at Clarendon Park, wherever that is, for some time--she does not know how long--she hopes to see me there--oh! how kind, how delightful!" Helen put Lady Davenant's letter proudly into Mrs. Collingwood's hand, and eagerly opened Lady Cecilia's.

"So like herself! so like Cecilia," cried she. Mrs. Collingwood read and acknowledged that nothing could be kinder, for here was an invitation, not vague or general, but particular, and pressing as heart could wish or heart could make it. "We shall be at Clarendon Park on Thursday, and shall expect you, dearest Helen, on Monday, just time, the general says, for an answer; so write and say where horses shall meet you," &c. &c.

"Upon my word, this is being in earnest, when it comes to horses meeting," cried Mr. Collingwood. "Of course you will go directly?"

Helen was in great agitation.

"Write--write--my dear, directly," said Mrs. Collingwood, "for the post-boy waits."

And before she had written many lines the Cross-post boy sent up word that he could wait no longer.

Helen wrote she scarcely knew what, but in short an acceptance, signed, sealed, delivered, and then she took breath. Off cantered the boy with the letters bagged, and scarcely was he out of sight, when Helen saw under the table the cover of the packet, in which were some lines that had not yet been read. They were in Lady Cecilia's handwriting--a postscript.

"I forgot, dear Helen, the thing that is most essential, (you remember our friend Dumont's definition of _une betise: c'est d'oublier la chose essentielle;_) I forgot to tell you that the general declares he will not hear of a mere _visit_ from you. He bids me tell you that it must be 'till death or marriage.' So, my dear friend, you must make up your mind in short to live with us till you find a General Clarendon of your own.

To this postscript no reply--silence gives consent."

"If I had seen this!" said Helen, as she laid it before Mr. and Mrs.

Collingwood, "I ought to have answered, but, indeed, I never saw it;"

she sprang forward instantly to ring the bell, exclaiming, "It is time yet--stop the boy--'silence gives consent.' I must write. I cannot leave you, my dear friends, in this way. I did not see that postscript, believe me I did not."

They believed her, they thanked her, but they would not let her ring the bell; they said she had better not bind herself in any way either to themselves or to Lady Cecilia. Accept of the present invitation she must--she must go to see her friend on her marriage; she must take leave of her dear Lady Davenant before her departure.

"They are older friends than we are," said Mr. Collingwood, "they have the first claim upon you; but let us think of it as only a visit now. As to a residence for life, that you can best judge of for yourself after you have been some time at Clarendon Park; if you do not like to remain there, you know how gladly we shall welcome you here again, my child; or, if you decide to live with those you have known so long and loved so much, we cannot be offended at your choice."

This generous kindness, this freedom from jealous susceptibility, touched Helen's heart, and increased her agitation. She could not bear the thoughts of either the reality or appearance of neglecting these kind good people, the moment she had other prospects, and frequently in all the hurry of her preparations, she repeated, "It will only be a visit at Clarendon Park. I will return to you, I shall write to you, my dear Mrs. Collingwood, at all events, constantly."

When Mr. Collingwood gave her his parting blessing he reminded her of his warning about her fortune. Mrs. Collingwood reminded her of her promise to write. The carriage drove from the door. Helen's heart was full of the friends she was leaving, but by degrees the agitation of the parting subsided, her tears ceased, her heart grew lighter, and the hopes of seeing her friends at Clarendon Park arose bright in her mind, and her thoughts all turned upon Cecilia, and Lady Davenant.

CHAPTER III.

Helen looked eagerly out of the carriage-window for the first view of Clarendon Park. It satisfied--it surpa.s.sed her expectations. It was a fine, aristocratic place:--ancestral trees, and a vast expanse of park; herds of deer, yellow and dark, or spotted, their heads appearing in the distance just above the fern, or grazing near, startled as the carriage pa.s.sed. Through the long approach, she caught various views of the house, partly gothic, partly of modern architecture; it seemed of great extent and magnificence.

All delightful so far; but now for her own reception. Her breath grew quick and quicker as she came near and nearer to the house. Some one was standing on the steps. Was it General Clarendon? No; only a servant. The carriage stopped, more servants appeared, and as Helen got out, a very sublime-looking personage informed her, that "Lady Cecilia and the General were out riding--only in the park--would be in immediately."

And as she crossed the great hall, the same sublime person informed her that there would be still an hour before dinner-time, and inquired whether she would be pleased to be shown to her own apartment, or to the library? Helen felt chilled and disappointed, because this was not exactly the way she had expected things would be upon her arrival. She had pictured to herself Cecilia running to meet her in the hall.

Without answering the groom of the chambers, she asked, "Is Lady Davenant out too?"

"No; her ladys.h.i.+p is in the library."

"To the library then."

And through the antechamber she pa.s.sed rapidly, impatient of a momentary stop of her conductor to open the folding-doors, while a man, with a letter-box in hand, equally impatient, begged that Lady Davenant might be told, "The General's express was waiting."

Lady Davenant was sealing letters in great haste for this express, but when the door opened, and she saw Helen, she threw wax and letter from her, and pus.h.i.+ng aside the sofa-table, came forward to receive her with open arms.

All was in an instant happy in Helen's heart; but there was the man of the letter-box; he must be attended to. "Beg your pardon, Helen, my dear--one moment. Letters of consequence--must not be delayed."

By the time the letters were finished, before they were gone, Lady Cecilia came in. The same as ever, with affectionate delight in her eyes--her beautiful eyes. The same, yes, the same Cecilia as ever; yet different: less of a girl, less lively, but more happy. The moment she had embraced her, Lady Cecilia turned quick to present General Clarendon, thinking he had followed, but he had stopped in the hall.

"Send off the letters," were the first words of his which Helen heard.

The tone commanding, the voice remarkably gentlemanlike. An instant afterwards he came in. A fine figure, a handsome man; in the prime of life; with a high-born, high-bred military air. English decidedly--proudly English. Something of the old school--composed self-possession, with voluntary deference to others--rather distant.

Helen felt that his manner of welcoming her to Clarendon Park was perfectly polite, yet she would have liked it better had it been less polite--more cordial. Lady Cecilia, whose eyes were anxiously upon her, drew her arm within hers, and hurried her out of the room. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, gathered up the folds of her riding-dress, and turning suddenly to Helen, said,--

"Helen, my dear, you must not think _that_"----

"Think what?" said Helen.

"Think _that_--for which you are now blus.h.i.+ng. Oh, you know what I mean!

Helen, your thoughts are just as legible in your face, as they always were to me. His manner is reserved--cold, may be--but not his heart.

Understand this, pray--once for all. Do you? will you, dearest Helen?"

"I do, I will," cried Helen; and every minute she felt that she better understood and was more perfectly pleased with her friend. Lady Cecilia showed her through the apartment destined for her, which she had taken the greatest pleasure in arranging; everything there was not only most comfortable, but particularly to her taste; and some little delicate proofs of affection, recollections of childhood, were there;--keepsakes, early drawings, nonsensical things, not worth preserving, but still preserved.

"Look how near we are together," said Cecilia, opening a door into her own dressing-room. "You may shut this up whenever you please, but I hope you will never please to do so. You see how I leave you your own free will, as friends usually do, with a proviso, a hope at least, that you are never to use it on any account--like the child's half guinea pocket-money, never to be changed." Her playful tone relieved, as she intended it should, Helen's too keen emotion; and this too was felt with the quickness with which every touch of kindness ever was felt by her.

Helen pressed her friend's hand, and smiled without speaking.

They were to be some time alone before the commencement of bridal visits, and an expected succession of troops of friends. This was a time of peculiar enjoyment to Helen: she had leisure to grow happy in the feeling of reviving hopes from old a.s.sociations.

She did not forget her promise to write to Mrs. Collingwood; nor afterwards (to her credit be it here marked)--even when the house was full of company, and when, by amus.e.m.e.nt or by feeling, she was most pressed for time--did she ever omit to write to those excellent friends.

Those who best know the difficulty will best appreciate this proof of the reality of her grat.i.tude.

As Lady Cecilia was a great deal with her husband riding or walking, Helen had opportunities of being much alone with Lady Davenant, who now gave her a privilege that she had enjoyed in former times at Cecilhurst, that of entering her apartment in the morning at all hours without fear of being considered an intruder.