The Belton Estate Part 37

"You told me, just before my cousin came here, that if I asked any question you would answer me."

"And I am to understand that you are asking such a question now?"

"Yes;--if it will not offend you."

"But what if it will offend me,--offend me greatly? Who likes to be inquired into?"

"But you courted such inquiry from me."

"No, Clara, I did not do that. I'll tell you what I did. I gave you to understand that if it was needful that you should hear about me and my antecedents,--certain matters as to which Mr. Belton had been inquiring into in a manner that I thought to be most unjustifiable,--I would tell you that story."

"And do so without being angry with me for asking."

"I meant, of course, that I would not make it a ground for quarrelling with you. If I wished to tell you I could do so without any inquiry."

"I have sometimes thought that you did wish to tell me."

"Sometimes I have,--almost."

"But you have no such wish now?"

"Can't you understand? It may well be that one so much alone as I am,--living here without a female friend, or even acquaintance, except yourself,--should often feel a longing for that comfort which full confidence between us would give me."

"Then why not--"

"Stop a moment. Can't you understand that I may feel this, and yet entertain the greatest horror against inquiry? We all like to tell our own sorrows, but who likes to be inquired into? Many a woman burns to make a full confession, who would be as mute as death before a policeman."

"I am no policeman."

"But you are determined to ask a policeman's questions?"

To this Clara made no immediate reply. She felt that she was acting almost falsely in going on with such questions, while she was in fact aware of all the circ.u.mstances which Mrs. Askerton could tell;--but she did not know how to declare her knowledge and to explain it. She sincerely wished that Mrs. Askerton should be made acquainted with the truth; but she had fallen into a line of conversation which did not make her own task easy. But the idea of her own hypocrisy was distressing to her, and she rushed at the difficulty with hurried, eager words, resolving that, at any rate, there should be no longer any doubt between them.

"Mrs. Askerton," she said, "I know it all. There is nothing for you to tell. I know what the sword is."

"What is it that you know?"

"That you were married long ago to--Mr. Berdmore."

"Then Mr. Belton did do me the honour of talking about me when he was here?" As she said this she rose from her chair, and stood before Clara with flas.h.i.+ng eyes.

"Not a word. He never mentioned your name, or the name of any one belonging to you. I have heard it from another."

"From what other?"

"I do not know that that signifies,--but I have learned it."

"Well;--and what next?"

"I do not know what next. As so much has been told me, and as you had said that I might ask you, I have come to you, yourself. I shall believe your own story more thoroughly from yourself than from any other teller."

"And suppose I refuse to answer you?"

"Then I can say nothing further."

"And what will you do?"

"Ah;--that I do not know. But you are harsh to me, while I am longing to be kind to you. Can you not see that this has been all forced upon me,--partly by yourself?"

"And the other part;--who has forced that upon you? Who is your informant? If you mean to be generous, be generous altogether. Is it a man or a woman that has taken the trouble to rip up old sorrows that my name may be blackened? But what matters? There;--I was married to Captain Berdmore. I left him, and went away with my present husband. For three years I was a man's mistress, and not his wife. When that poor creature died we were married, and then came here. Now you know it all;--all;--all,--though doubtless your informant has made a better story of it. After that, perhaps, I have been very wicked to sully the air you breathe by my presence."

"Why do you say that,--to me?"

"But no;--you do not know it all. No one can ever know it all. No one can ever know how I suffered before I was driven to escape, or how good to me has been he who--who--who--" Then she turned her back upon Clara, and, walking off to the window, stood there, hiding the tears which clouded her eyes, and concealing the sobs which choked her utterance.

For some moments,--for a s.p.a.ce which seemed long to both of them,--Clara kept her seat in silence. She hardly dared to speak, and though she longed to show her sympathy, she knew not what to say. At last she too rose and followed the other to the window. She uttered no words, however, but gently putting her arm around Mrs. Askerton's waist, stood there close to her, looking out upon the cold wintry flower-beds,--not venturing to turn her eyes upon her companion. The motion of her arm was at first very gentle, but after a while she pressed it closer, and thus by degrees drew her friend to her with an eager, warm, and enduring pressure. Mrs. Askerton made some little effort towards repelling her, some faint motion of resistance; but as the embrace became warmer the poor woman yielded herself to it, and allowed her face to fall upon Clara's shoulder. So they stood, speaking no word, making no attempt to rid themselves of the tears which were blinding their eyes, but gazing out through the moisture on the bleak wintry scene before them. Clara's mind was the more active at the moment, for she was resolving that in this episode of her life she would accept no lesson whatever from Lady Aylmer's teaching;--no, nor any lesson whatever from the teaching of any Aylmer in existence. And as for the world's rules, she would fit herself to them as best she could; but no such fitting should drive her to the unwomanly cruelty of deserting this woman whom she had known and loved,--and whom she now loved with a fervour which she had never before felt towards her.

"You have heard it all now," said Mrs. Askerton at last.

"And is it not better so?"

"Ah;--I do not know. How should I know?"

"Do you not know?" And as she spoke Clara pressed her arm still closer. "Do you not know yet?" Then, turning herself half round, she clasped the other woman full in her arms, and kissed her forehead and her lips.

"Do you not know yet?"

"But you will go away, and people will tell you that you are wrong."

"What people?" said Clara, thinking as she spoke of the whole family at Aylmer Park.

"Your husband will tell you so."

"I have no husband,--as yet,--to order me what to think or what not to think."

"No;--not quite as yet. But you will tell him all this."

"He knows it. It was he who told me."

"What!--Captain Aylmer?"

"Yes; Captain Aylmer."

"And what did he say?"

"Never mind. Captain Aylmer is not my husband,--not as yet. If he takes me, he must take me as I am, not as he might possibly have wished me to be. Lady Aylmer--"

"And does Lady Aylmer know it?"