Henry Clarendon. A novel

Chapter I

In England, in its most beautiful county — its garden, Devonshire — stood an old and stately mansion — around it a well-kept park ; showing plainly, to the passer-by, how the place was loved for many genera tions by its possessors — how, from year to year, from age to age, it had been tended, cultivated, and improved. The oaks, which had braved the storms and tempests of a thousand years, stood proudly upon the VOL. I. b velvet-cut lawn ; a clear silver river ran quietly in its winding course through green vales. Far beyond could be seen the ocean, and on its calm, clear surface, was many a sail flapping in the wind, and many a gaily painted boat. It was a fairy scene ; it was a fairy place. In the evening, in early autumn, when every leaf seemed tinted with a beauty peculiarly its own, all and everything around spoke of peace, of purity, of repose.

The deer bounded lightly and gracefully, and seemed to disturb no leaf in their fleet career; the birds sung sweetly and cheerfully, as if they knew that to them all was safety, that no harm could approach them ; and the red autumn sun, setting on the sea, threw a glare of glory upon the grey towers of the old house. Looking around on this glorious landscape, stood the owner, the Earl of Elfringham. His thoughts could not have been so tranquil and peaceful as the scene on which he gazed ; for now and then a shade of anger passed across his noble brow. He drew his figure — still handsome — more proudly erect ; he listened more keenly. — He does not come. Why does he loiter? Can it be that my son, the heir of these old halls — can it be that he is not content to dwell within them? Must he be dissatisfied and seek other lands ?

None of my fathers did so ; neither did I. Why should he ? Why not live in the bosom of his people, as we have done, and win their love and regard ?" Such were the Earl's painful rumina tions, as he waited for the appearance of his son, who promised to join him there. As he was growing very impatient, he heard hurried footsteps near, and, on look ing round, he for whom he waited — Edward, Lord Fitzgerald — was beside him, and, in merry, manly tones, said — b HENRJs CLARENDON. " I pray pardon, my father. Have I kept you long?" "Not long; at least, not so long as I might expect, from your usual thoughtless ness. But, as our conversation to-night is of importance — of much importance — to many besides ourselves, you must come to my library ; but, before you do, Edward, look around you." Edward turned and gazed upon the quiet and placid scene, and on that bright and handsome face came an unusual shade of thought ; but he shook it gaily away, and, turning to his father, said — " Yes, mon pere, I do not dispute it.

It is lovely — it is magnificent ; but I only want to leave it for a time — I want to see other lands. My thoughts are all cramped, as well as my feelings. I must go." " Come'to my library. I cannot combat your opinions — your foolish ideas, here. Come with me." The father turned, and led the way to his room, and Edward followed in silence. Well might he be called the handsomest of his race. Tall, beyond the usual height ; not losing, but gaining elegance therefrom, with a face formed in nature's most perfect mould ; a noble and fair forehead, with jetty hair, parted in the middle, and falling in short, crisp curls upon his shoulders ; eyes of that indescribable blue, which at night were dark, and in the morning startled one by the brilliancy of their hue ; well-shaped teeth, which looked whiter than they really were, owing to the dark moustache which could not conceal the arched lip ; and when a smile lighted up this most expressive face, the beholder would gaze in wonder, and felt surprised at those who could look and love it not, much less refuse a request from such lips.

Edward followed his father in silence. It seemed as if the earl chose the longest and most intricate way to reach that library. Through long, winding corridors ; through picture-gallerys, where hung the ancestors of that lordly race ; through sculpture galleries where could be seen the immortal hands of the most eminent sculptors ; through old halls, where hung armour and swords, showing that war riors were amongst their ancestry ; passed doors where could be heard the musical tones and silvery laughter of fair women ; through rooms hung with pictures by the finest painters of his own land ; the Raphaels and Carlo Dolce's of others ; through rooms lined with books by the newest and oldest authors, till they reached a door of old oak, blackened by time. The earl opened, then beckoned to his son to pass on before him.

This room was the earl's own private library, and comfort and luxury tenanted it. The walls were lined with books in gorgeous bindings, and there were niches, in different parts of the room, in which stood exquisite marble statues. A few — very few — old pictures had been brought in, but had not, as yet, been hung up. A carpet of crimson velvet pile, and curtains of the same colour ; chairs of the easiest and largest dimensions ; and the glow of the setting sun cast a softened light on all. The earl drew further back the curtains of a deep bow window, and, standing on one side, he beckoned to his son to open the window and to look out. They both looked. The father still with an expression of anger — the son with firm sorrow. Again that scene of quiet loveliness met their eyes, and through the open window came the strain of music, which seemed to impart more strange beauty to that which already lay around.

"Yes, Edward, look," said the Earl, " since the days of our earliest king, those fair possessions have been in our family, and I never remember hearing or reading of an heir who was discontented amongst the long line. I never remember hearing of an heir of this house who wished for more enlarged ideas, as you express it ; but all our elder sons have married and intermarried with families ancient as their own." "My dear father, I only meant to go away somewhere or other, I care not where, just for a few years, perhaps only two, at most three or five, and then return." " What ! a Fitzgerald sail east and west, north and south, round and round like the man who was followed in a coach and three by some female he had picked up. My son, surely you forget the race to which you belong." " No, father, I do not forget, nor ever shall forget; think me not ungrateful.

I am now one and twenty — at least will be in a few days — and surely that is an age at which one might judge of prospect and independence." "Independence, say you — a Fitzgerald.'' " Do not misunderstand me, I pray of you. I do not mean independence in lucre, in money, — your kindness prevents that — but I mean independence in manly feelings, in thought, in action, in all and everything becoming my station and birth." " Perhaps, Edward, your father is in the way. Boy, I may not long stand between you and these princely possessions. I may not long cumber this earth." For all answer the youth turned away, and those blue eyes looked strangely dim, and the smile fled from his lips. He threw himself into a chair, and, with a deep sigh, said — " How cruelly you speak The day I possess these lordly domains, will be a miserable day for me.

I shall lose much more than I gain ; for I shall lose the kind father who has guided my boyhood — who has patiently submitted to the caprices, to the follies of my dawning manhood, when I am, what I may never be, Lord of El fringham." " But, Edward, abandon this wild scheme — oblige me in this ; be the son you have ever been ; give your mother and myself the pleasure of having you with us in our declining years. Stay with us." " Ask me not, my lord ; ask not this, and grant thy love, forgiveness, and also freedom, when I am of age, to roam where I like " "Stubbornness was never your failing, Edward, but I cannot say so longer; you are strangely altered. I had hoped that • after you had celebrated your coming to one and twenty, you would think of marry ing. Surely Helen Grey, the child of my oldest friend, has met with your love, mere boy as you are."

" Helen Grey ! I hardly know her. I remember her as a girl, romping about with my sisters, but I also remember her — pretty though she was — a selfish, disagreeable child. " She was then a mere child, and much altered since ; — very beautiful I think she is — however, in a few days you can judge for yourself, for the Greys mean to honour Elfringham, and to remain a month with us." The dressing bell now loudly resounded through the hall, and interrupted the con versation of father and son, a matter of great satisfaction to the latter, who dreaded he might irritate his father and make him use his parental authority in commanding him to remain in England, when all his thoughts and wishes were centred in other and unexplored lands ; and his heart was so kind and generous, so upright and honour able, that he dreaded hurting the feelings of those dear to him, and he felt he must go.

There were many and various reasons — the jealousy of his younger brother, the insane wish of his parents to unite him to one he neither loved nor as yet respected — and with an unusual heaviness upon his light heart, and a shade of deep thought upon his young and noble brow, he walked to the rooms which were, as heir of the house, al lotted to him in the best part of that old mansion.

Chapter II

On the same evening, in a long and hand some drawing-room, where everything spoke of female taste and elegance, where books, work, flowers, and music laid around, telling of the taste, the mental acquirements of the three highly-gifted women, who— seated at a round table near a blazing fire — were busily occupied with some piece of work, but who ever and anon raised their eyes to the face of the gentle mother, who listened quietly and kindly to the various remarks which fell from the lips of her daughters ; and when she rebuked the younger and the fairer for speaking so quickly and so glibly, still it was with a gentle sigh and with a smile of love, and with a somewhat in the look and tone which showed that the Countess of Elfringham (for she it was) was not so happy as might be expected from all the worldly comforts, from all the endless luxuries, with which she was surrounded.

There was a sigh quickly followed by a smile, as if she would not have her daughters think her otherwise than happy, most happy ; for it ought to be a time of happiness when her eldest born, her best beloved was on the eve of entering on his manhood, when he who had spared her all sorrow and anxiety, he who had watched her every look, was now to be launched from his boyhood, and with glory, honour, an old and honourable name before him. Still the countess sighed, still she thought deeply, she knew not why. It was to be their last evening alone on the morrow ; and for many a morrow Elfringham was to be the scene of gaiety ; Elfringham was to be full of guests — of honoured guests. No longer the quiet, peaceful Elfringham of that evening ; from far and near there would be strangers to do honour to the coming of age of the future lord, and to which all looked forward.

The old and middleaged, as such looked forward ; for did they not remember their coming of age? The young, with such wild joy, as if the plea sure, mirth, the music and dancing, would be endless ; as if no bitter envy, no paltry jealousy, would disturb them ; no — youth is youth — and the young are not always difficult to please ; in almost every breath they see poetry, joy, music, and love ; and when they have tasted at those pleasant waters, they would also drink ; but, alas ! too soon they find that the drink is very bitter — that all is not unalloyed sunshine — that all is not peace — that all is not pleasure. " Mamma, dearest, I cannot help thinking that you look grave — very grave — this evening," said the fair and pretty Lucille, as she approached nearer to her mother, and caressingly laid her hand upon hers ; " and I am so happy, dearest mother, that I feel as if I was very selfish."

" You are not selfish, far from it, my own child ; but I feel sad to-night ; it must be my last night of sadness, for my Edward's coming of age is so soon to be celebrated, that I must show a brighter face to the guests who honour us." " I think graveness is surely infectious," said the Lady Sophia Fitzgerald ; " for I never remember seeing my father so solemn, nor Edward so thoughtful; and it is a strange time to show such feelings, when we have so many charming things in pro spect." " I do not think you speak kindly, Sophia," said the countess, "for every one may not enjoy archery meetings, boating, and balls as much as you do. I allow I am very thoughtful to-night, and my thoughts will wander years and years back — for I remember such another time as this, when one dear to me came of age.

He was young and handsome, like my Edward, without his true kind heart, indeed. Alas ! where is he now ! " " May I ask of whom you speak?" said again the youngest and best beloved — and her tones were softer and more musical than usual. " Not this evening, Lucille, dearest ; and now tell me the prospects of amusement you have in store for your young guests, who arrive on the morrow." VOL. I. c The Lady Sophia brightened up, and quickly answered — " Boating, riding, and archery in the mornings ; billiards on a wet day ; music, dancing, and conversation in the evenings. We are going to be so gay and so merry." " Sophia, do you not know that our brother thinks of leaving us?" said the second sister, who was generally very quiet ; " and I fear we cannot enjoy those things now so much." "Never fear — never fear; Edward will not go.

No, I trust to Helen Grey's bright eyes to make him change his mind ! Change it he will ; and how charming to have such a sister-in-law. Such a gay house hers will be to stay at." " Sophia, you and I do not agree on that subject," said Lucille. "I do not like Helen Grey, and should be sorry, indeed, if our noble-hearted brother loved her. I would not love her as a sister ought. I fear me." " Not love Helen Grey ! What possible dislike can you have to any one so beautiful and so brilliant ? I, for one, am ready to worship her ; but what possible objection can you have to Helen Grey ? " " I can hardly state my objection. I do not like her manners in general ; indeed, I do not like her. I only hope Edward will not marry her." " Well, I hope he will," continued Lady Sophia. " I could almost think you endowed with some petty jealousy, not to like so fascinating a being.

However, she will be here to-morrow, and, as she is my bosom friend, I need not say with what intense interest I shall watch all Edward's petits soins ; and now that I think of it, we must have Tableaux private theatricals. It is in c2 those things that Helen Grey shines so much." "I can quite believe that, Sophy, quite. I allow she will shine in such things ; but place her quietly down here, in the domestic circle, and what is Helen Grey then ? Miserable, discontented, and disagreeable — unhappy herself, and making all others equally so. I would sooner let Ned go beyond the seas for ten years, than see him the husband of Helen Grey." The Lady Sophia's large dark eyes flashed ; her lips were compressed ; and those who watched her narrowly could see the deter mination that was now impressed upon her fine face — fine as to beauty and feature — but there rested no gentle expression there ; all was hard, stern, and curious enough — it was all beautiful, too — every feature was as perfect as if cut by the chisel of a sculptor ; and the finelyshaped head, with its one broad plait of black glossy hair, served to enhance the magnificence of her face and faultless figure.

She fixed her eyes steadily upon her young sister, and said — "It is my father's wish, it should be my mother's. It is my dearest hope — my warmest desire — that Edward marries Helen Grey. You had better not try to thwart us — to thwart me. The Fitzgeralds are all strangely determined." " Sophia ! how serious our argument is becoming. I wonder we should have anything to say as to Edward's choice. The dear fellow has sense and discrimination enough to find out Miss Grey, and, what is more, to choose for himself, without the as sistance of our wise heads. I am no matchmaker, so Miss Grey will find out." " My dear girls," said the gentle voice of their mother, as in deep sorrow she watched the countenance of her eldest daughter — " my dear girls, enough of this ; 'tis well that neither Miss Grey nor yet your father is a listener to your conversation this eve ning — cnongh of this. Lucille, dearest, sing me that new song ; but here comes your father." At that moment, the earl, followed by his two sons, entered the room.

Chapter III

Beautiful, bright, and glorious, rose the morning on which was to be celebrated the coming of age of the young and handsome heir of Elfringham. Elfringham was in the quiet beauty of a setting sun — an autumn sun — lovely ; and now, in the brflliant morning, with a warm, bright glow on every tree — on every leaf; with the river spark ling and running in clear, silvery sounds ; the park filled with gaily-dressed peasantry ; here and there, bands of music ; here and there, marquees, with flags floating gaily in HENRY CLARENDON. the wind ; here and there triumphal arches were erected ; here and there, every where around, were loving groups, discussing the merits of their well-beloved young lord ; towards midday, carriage after carriage drove through the park, with the young and old — all gay and noble — all with smiles of congratulation and pleasure upon their lips — all with one accord seemed anxious to do honour to the young lord.

It was a pleasant sight to see the Earl of Elfringham yet in the prime of manhood ; his lady leaning on his arm, still showing traces of the loveliness that must once have been hers ; her noble looking son, on the other side, and, around, the three lovely daughters, who, with heigh tened colour, and eyes sparkling with joy, formed as charming a group as the eye had ever rested on ; and, were it not for the same expression, which, on a former occa sion detracted from the chiselled beauty of HENRY CLARENDON. the eldest, and the gloomy and morose ap pearance of the second son, one might have fancied, that love, peace, and affection, was the portion of the family group, now assem bled on the lawn, and receiving guest after guest, with grace, ease, and elegance ; as they offered their warm congratulations upon this joyful occasion, for which they had met.

At one o'clock all were assembled, and loud and long were the shouts which rent the air. The bells pealed merrily, and gun after gun could be heard, as the young lord, surrounded by parents, kinsmen, and friends, walked down to that part of the park where the tenantry were assembled. A congratulatory address was read, and Edward Fitzgerald took his hat off, and, with a glow of enthusiasm upon his hand some face, love and brilliancy beaming in his eyes, said — " My friends, to me this is a proud day. My pride does not arise from being heir to these old halls, to this princely estate — though that might be matter of pride — no ! far from it ; I am proud of your love — proud of the honour you do me this day — prouder far of the heartfelt friendship which you all have shown me, than if a kingdom were mine, and a realm my portion.

How fervently I pray — how sincerely I trust, that if, at some future day (and God grant that day may be far distant !), it may be my fate to be your master and your lord, may I remember the affection and the friendship now shown to me — may I remember, and remember too with gratitude, that whatever good may be in me is owing to the tender care, to the affectionate and patient culture, of the best of fathers, the best of mothers; and my hope is, that, through the blessing of God, I may be so directed as to do them honour, and win the affection of the people so dear to them, so dear to us all. I will not detain you, my friends ; I hope you will this day enjoy yourselves right well and merrily ; I hope that this day you will leave all cares at home, and trust, amongst us all, your thoughts may be as bright, and your happiness as perfect, as my wishes are for your future peace and comfort.

God bless you, my friends — my kind friends — and many and warm thanks for your kind con gratulations to me this day — a day long to be remembered, and the remembrance of which will never pass away except with my life. Again I pray that God may bless you all." Long and loud were the shouts that rent the air ; deep and sincere were the ' God bless you ' of the numbers who pressed round to shake hands with the darling of their hearts — the boy who had grown up amongst them, and entwined himself round all their hearts as closely and as firmly as the ivy twineth round the oak, and leaves it but in death. Proud was the smile of the earl ; peaceful and calm was the kind look of the gratified mother; bright were the eyes of the two youngest sisters, as they tried to get nearer to their loved one.

But Sophia Fitzgerald and the younger son stood back from the crowd, that densely filled the spacious park. " 'Tis a fine thing, Sophy, to be an elder son. Not only does he possess all this noble place, but he must creep into the hearts of our parents, rob us of their love, and make himself the darling of the people." " True, Frank, so it is ; but I am as unfortunate as you. I feel my mother loves me not, my sisters love me not ; and why ? merely because I wish to assist my father in uniting the house of Grey with that of Fitzgerald." " I wish him no worse fate than to love Helen Grey. Beautiful as she is, neither truth nor honour dwells with her," said Frank. " She cares not for him." " I am aware of that," replied his sister; " but still, in the hope of being the future Lady Fitzgerald, she would sacrifice much."

" But, my dear Sophy, what do we gain by her marrying Edward ?" " Gain, Frank ! — gain ! Would I not triumph over Lucille and Fanny — would we not triumph over this immortal Edward? and when they were married, why, Helen Grey would none of them. Her house would be much more ours than Edward's ; and I would like to see him not always first in all things." " But how are we to manage it, So phia?" " Leave that to me — leave all that to me. It will be the first time I have failed in that which I have undertaken, and I shall not fail now. Hark to the shouts, Frank — hark to the rejoicings. I always bear in mind that Edward's interference prevented my now being the wife of young Danvers, because, indeed, he was not good enough company for him." " My sister, beware. Look, who comes here ?" and turning round, they saw Edward approaching, and in his merry jesting tone, said — " Why, my dear brother, and you, too, Sophy, you do not assist in overwhelming me with honours and congratulations."

" It is not because we do not feel as much, and, perhaps, more, my dear brother, than those who are always making professions of their affections — I hate display of affection ; and I do not like people to be too demon strative ; but our congratulations are not yet too late, are they ?" " Nor mine, either, I hope, Lord Fitz gerald," said the soft, silver tones of Helen Grey, who now joined the brothers and their sister. " I congratulate you sincerely ; and, though it is some years since we have met, I remember you well ; and if I congratulate you later in the day, I am not, believe me, the less sincere." Helen Grey was fascinating — very fasci nating. Why does the fairest exterior some times cover the blackest heart ? Why are manners, the most agreeable and charming, given to those who, already gifted with beauty, make the possession of all com bined, dangerous to the happiness of many a fellow creature.

" Thank you, Helen Grey — for I may call you Helen, may I not ? Thank you, again and again. Your kindness is very sweet to me," said Edward Fitzgerald, as he looked into her beautiful face, as a brother might look. " How nice it is to catch Edward, and have him for a few minutes all our own. Let us all go to a seat away from the peo ple, and have a chat. Come, Edward — come, Helen," — and before there was time for a reply, she had moved away, and, plac ing herself on a seat, she asked Edward to separate her and Helen ; and he, who could scarcely refuse a request, seated himself between them. " Now, Ned, dear, let us settle what we are to do on the morrow. Are we to have a riding party, or an archery party, or a re hearsal, or what is to be. What say you, Helen ? If I might choose, I would say archery, if the sun shines ; if it rains, why we may have our first rehearsal, so as to prepare for next week's theatricals ; but it is for the hero of the day to decide, not for an unimportant person, like myself; come, Edward, settle — do."

" My mother will arrange all those things better than 1 can." "No, Edward," said Sophia, "you can not surely refuse us ; come, decide, there is a good brother — decide." " I should have thought that the ball to night, would have made you unfit for any thing more tiring than a drive, my fair ladies," replied Edward ; " however, if you will have it so, archery let it be, and a re hearsal if it rains ; and now, for the ball." Who has not known the pleasures, the anxieties, the heart-burnings, attending a ball? The very word teems with joy and delight to the young — bright visions of love, of music and mirth, float before their imaginations — gay dresses, beautiful flowers, loving words, seem to be the attendants ; and if a stinging disappointment has been .the portion of many a young heart, by the next ball it is all forgotten, and often repeated and for- VOL. I. D gotten again ; — and so it has been — and so it will be — and so it was on the night of the young heir of Fitzgerald.