Wheel within Wheel

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BY NOELL RADECLIFFE ACT-HOB OP "ALICE "WENTWORTH," "THE LEES OF BLENDON HALL," &c., &c. " Bat yet the cause and root of all his Ol, Inward corruption, and infected sin, Kot purged nor heard, in him remained still." Spenser's Faerie Queen. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON. HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, 6BEAT lIABIiBOBO-JGH SIBEET, 1861. The right of Translation is reserved. chapter I. "Well, Cecy," said Mrs. Tynedale, as she resumed the netting she had laid down in the eagerness of talk, " I suppose I ought not to grumble at having you only for a week, when you might have been prevented coming to me at all!" This expression of half-and-half resignation came from the lips of a very agreeable-looking elderly woman, who, though as yet apparently free from any infirmity peculiar to age, was still sufficiently advanced in life (and, it may be added, sufficiently gifted with good taste) to have adopted the kind of colours and head-dress usually considered as especially belonging to *■**■ old ladies ;" and " old Mrs. Tynedale " she was generally called, though there was certainly no other Mrs. Tynedale in the neighbourhood to render the epithet necessary for distinction's sake.

Her goddaughter, to whom her speech had been addressed, and who at present tenanted the comfortable easy VOL. I. B chair on the opposite side of the fire, was no longer a girl, for she had already numbered eight-and twenty years ; but her face and figure retained all the freshness and graceful roundness of youth ; and her countenance wore an expression of combined serenity and reflection, pleasing enough to warrant the almost universal opinion, " that if Cecilia Langton were not a beauty, she was next best thing to it " — and changeful enough, notwithstanding its generally calm aspect, to betoken that ready sympathy which invariably invites confidential openness, even from those in whom that openness is not habitual. " All ages turn to you, Cecilia," continued Mrs. Tynedale, " so it is the more kind to give the whole of your time to me, instead of dividing it with the Wyngate people, who have their claims on you, and with whom I couldn't have been surprised if you had liked to spend two or three clays.

It's a livelier house than mine," she added, after a pause, " at least it ought to be, with all those young people in it." " It is noisier, certainly," replied Miss Langton. " Used to be unbearably so in Fred's holidavs formerly ; but I don't feel so lively at Wyngate as with you, dear godmother ! I have been intimate with Mrs. Oakly ever since I went with you to Hastings, the winter I was fourteen (exactly the half of my life). I am extremely fond of Kate — take more and more interest in her each year ; I feel myself on every occasion welcome to Mr. Oakly, whose good nature and sociability never fail, and yet I cannot say that I have, latterly, either felt cheerful while in their house, or left it with a cheerful impression of the position or prospects of its inmates." " That is singular," observed Mrs. Tynedale, " considering the elements it contains ; for, though Mrs. Oaklyhas weak spirits, and few interests beyond her own immediate circle, still, with such a fine, spirited, clever girl as Kate Desborough, now grown up, and in the drawing-room, I should have thought there couldn't but be a life and liveliness reflected upon all the rest, that would make the house different to what you say it is."

Chapter II

The house at Wyngate was large and commodious ; the grounds were laid out in a style matching the unpretending elegance of the dwelling they sur rounded ; and even at this early period of the year, while the trees were still bare, and the garden only brightened by a few beds of hyacinths and anemones, with some hardy flowering shrubs, it was evident, to any tolerably observant eye, that no inconsiderable expense must be, at all seasons, lavished on it. Miss Langton turned out of the avenue leading up to the chief entrance, and took a well-known path which brought her round to a glass door on the opposite side of the mansion, opening into the sitting-room, where she expected to find Mrs. Oakly. She was not disappointed ; for, as she stood a moment without, she saw her friend seated at her writing table, where, however, she was neither exactly engaged in correspondence, nor with accounts, nor in any definite occupation whatever ; for her attention appeared divided be tween some patterns of embroidery for a baby's pelisse, and an open letter, on which she every now and then cast a glance.

Mrs. Oakly's age was seven-and-thirty ; she had been very beautiful, and was still much ad mired by those who saw her in the costume — and with the smile — she adopted when expecting actual " company," though, at other times, the general effect produced by her languid, dispirited look, complaining tone of voice, helpless manner, and somewhat negligent though expensive dress, Was that of being very considerably older than she really was, besides being broken in health as well as limited in capacity. She was not, however, by any means so weak in body or mind as those who saw her in her mental and personal dishabille were apt at first to believe ; though the lack of energy, and of strength of character to make her natural sense available, reduced her, practically, to the level of those with whom she was often classed.

Her demeanour, too, was cold and indifferent; and though at first catching sight of Cecilia entering, she half rose, and uttered an exclamation of pleasure, the manner in which she rather pas sively received than actively returned her friend's embrace, would scarcely have led a bystander to the belief that, by comparison, her greeting was surprisingly warm. Cecilia, however, had grown accustomed to her friend's peculiarities when almos t a child herself, and when the nine years between their ages had prevented her from feeling her own superiority. She no longer viewed Mrs. Oakly, aged thirty-seven, With the enthusiastic admiration she had bestowed on the beautiful Mrs. Desborough, aged twenty-three ; but she was certainly more patient of her failings than she could have been had their acquaintance begun in later times ; and she was, therefore, the less likely to feel any lack of cordiality in the welcome given her.

Mrs. Oakly expressed, in her own way, her satisfaction at seeing Cecilia Langton a day sooner than she had been led to expect ; she lamented the impossibility of her coming to stay at Wyngate at present, and then, laying herself on a sofa, near which her friend took a chair, proceeded to <*five a detailed, but somewhat rambling account of the various in dispositions and " shocks to her nervous system," which she had undergone during the last six months. Miss Langton listened to all these particulars, with the kind attention of one whose friendly in terest enabled her to take part in everything that concerned those to whom she had once become attached ; and it was not till Mrs. Oakly had exhausted her whole chronicle of " sensations," bodily and mental, that her visitor inquired " what Kate was doing, and how she was ?"

" I don't think she is otherwise than well," replied her mother, " at least, I can't find out that she sleeps badly, or has lost her appetite ; I don't see that she grows thin, either, as poor little Julia does." "Why, is Kate complaining? I didn't know she was thought to ail anything." " Oh no, I didn't say that; she doesn't complain on the score of health ; only Mrs. Selwyn was noticing to me the other day that Kate looked so dull, as she sat beside me in the britschka, and wanted to know ' if she was as strong as usual ! ' I told her she was quite well, but she hardly seemed to believe me. I didn't like to admit it to her — it's mortifying for a mother, you know, and Mrs. Selwyn says very ill-natured things some times — but, if Kate looks dull, and feels dull, it is her own fault. I suppose we all have our trials — but indeed, Cecilia, it is a trial to me to find that Kate can't take interest in anything — isn't the least help to me, any more than when she was a child ; and, though it's a year and a half now since she has been out of the school-room, I don't find her the least of a companion, for she would always rather be reading in the library than sitting with me, and when she is here, it's never without a book in her hand, except just at tea-time."

Miss Langton was not greatly astonished at this information, but only observed " that Katherine had all her life been fond of reading, and had, perhaps, not yet learnt to vary her employments as much as she might do, now her time was at her own disposal." " You see," answered Mrs. Oakly, " it's not only her reading — though I'm convinced she only fills her head with trash in that way — but she will sit by the hour together, sometimes with a book before her, sometimes without one, looking either com pletely absent, or else as if she were moped to death. I can't tell you how annoyed I was last month, when we had my sister here, on her way to her son's living, where she had left her girls. Those ways of hers — of Katherine's, I mean — gave her quite an uncomfortable impression ; and Elizabeth said she had quite lost her spirits.

She would have thought her out of health, but that she looked so clear and well, and has grown such a fine creature. That she is, no doubt ; and with her aunt (Elizabeth is a great walker, you know) she went once or twice such long distances as quite astonished me ; but when I see her idling about, and tell her she ought to take some regular exer cise, and go out with the children — which would often be very useful, too — she invariably says that she has something particular to practise, or to write out, or to finish in some book that is going back next day to London ; and then it's ten to one but she spends best part of the morning in strolling about the garden, doing nothing at all, so no won der she gets wearied and vacant feeling — there's nothing else in it, I'm sure ! " Mrs. Oakly paused for a moment, and then went on.

" But y-ou know I might be mistaken ; and I did think it right, the other day, when Newman was here about baby, to consult him about those listless ways of hers ; and he told me it was not at all an uncommon case, and recommended a ' thorough change.' Now, how am I to give her that ? She hates being at her uncle Robert's — only* goes as a piece of duty, when she can't get off— so it's no use sending her there. We did talk, for a while, os going to town in the spring ; but — but — when we came to con sider more about it, George said it was impossible. We require such a large house ; for as to leaving the younger children — though Mrs. Selwyn does it constantly — you know it's what I couldn't think of, so I have made up my mind to stay here entirely, which, as far as my tastes go, is the pleasantest thing that can happen.

I do like enjoying spring in the country, and so do the little ones ! But I'm vexed that Katherine does not feel it in the same way." "By the time she has grown as old as I am," auswered Miss Langton, smiling, " she will be as resigned as you are to a ' pastoral spring ; ' but you can't expect her — or any one — to be young, and pretty, and lively, and wise, all at once ; it would be too much." " But it's so provoking," cried Mrs. Oakly, "that she should seem to grow more foolish as she grows older! There's Annie — just twelve years old — has the sense and feeling to enjoy the notion of spending the lovely part of the year just as she did a twelve month back, and when Katherine was her age, it was the same with her. I hope Annie won't alter by-and-by. I see you are laughing, Cecilia. But what can I do?"

"Indeed, dear Mrs. Oakly, I was not thinking you could do anything," said her friend, who re strained, with difficulty, the increased inclination to smile, with which the desponding intonation of Mrs. Oakly's last question had affected her. " I am sure," continued she, "that though Kate may find things rather dull here, she would be too reasonable to feel vexed at your not moving, if she once under stood that circumstances render it impossible." "Oh! but, my dear," interrupted Mrs. Oakly, "she doesn't understand, and what is more, I don't know that I exactly wish her fully to understand, that it is impossible ; for she might ask why, and so might the Desboroughs. You will say nothing to her about impossibility-, mind, Cecilia, for there is no use in their knowing, though, in fact, there isn't the least blame attaching to any*one, still there is no use in their knowing how unlucky Mr. Oakly has been with his hunters this year, and what a sum that one cost him that he had from Sir Charles Hepburne, and that turned out so badly*, after all ; besides the expense we have been at for the conservatory (you must have noticed, as you came in, what an improvement it is to the house) ; and then that horrid lawsuit, and the thought of how it may end !

It's very dreadful, I don't know how I stand it ; but Newman always says that ' quiet is the thing for me,' and that makes me think the more of his recommending ' thorough change' for Kate. I wish I knew what was right. And then there are those Selwyn girls, who, I know, always keep wondering to her that she goes out so little." " I don't think Kate is much influenced by them or their doings," said Miss Langton. "At least she used not to be so." Wheel within Wheel. 29 "Well, I daresay she is not much," returned Mrs. Oakly, " but still I feel she is not being put in the way of — in short, Cecy, I wish that letter, lying open there, were, instead of what it is, an invitation from a different person and a different place." " Why, from whom and from whence is it then?" asked Cecilia, somewhat astonished at the oracular mysteriousness of her friend's concluding sentence.

" It's from Lady Carew," answered Mrs. Oakly, in a half solemn, half embarrassed tone. " She wants Kate to spend two months with her in Paris. Nothing can be more kindly worded," continued she, after what she seemed to consider as a suitable pause. " Only of course it's out of the question. Kate's going abroad to people that are not relations can't be thought of, supposing even there were no other objections. But if it were from a steady person, something older than Lady Carew, and for a spring in London instead of a visit to Paris, I daresay her Uncle Herbert might be persuaded to view it as I should do,, while as it is . . . ." "As it is," repeated Miss Langton, "I quite understand that you could not let Kate's first visit beyond her own family be such a very distant one." *■- Oh it's out of the question," said Mrs. Oakly, mournfully, " entirely out of the question.

I know nothing against Lady Carew ; but she was, you may remember, — no — you never saw much of her, a rather flighty, romantic girl — Bell Walpole, you know— a little fond of making herself remark able, and surprised us all exceedingly by marrying that old Sir Edward, whom she had abused and laughed at as long as his first wife lived. Well, as I have said, I know nothing against her; she may be turning out very sensible — she has got a sweet little girl, I hear. But still that's not ex actly. . . ." " What you would choose for Kate's sole guide and friend, so far away from you," said Cecfiia, by way of expressing the sense of Mrs. Oakly's un finished sentence. " Not what you would choose, at least, without more satisfactory knowledge of her as she now is." " Just so," replied Mrs. Oakly, scarce audibly ; " and I must say Kate herself has been very good — very reasonable — about it ; but it is provoking that, whenever anything occurs that would suit your convenience exactly, there is always sure to be some horrid objection attached to it."

She sighed deeply as she made this profound obser vation. But while Miss Langton was calmly assenting to the truth of that only too evident proposition, " the baby," the heir male of the somewhat decaying house of Oakly, and his mother's only son, by her second marriage, was brought down, rather earlier than usual, in con sequence of his having, through some cause unknown, waked from his forenoon's sleep about half-an-hour sooner than was commonly the case. This young gentleman's appearance was now greeted by the rapturous welcome generally poured forth at the entrance of little potentates of his age and size, when they will graciously condescend to be good — that is, not to scream at the sight of a new face, nor show invincible crossness for twenty minutes after their waking. Cecilia complimented his mother on his growth and improvement since she last saw him, and soon perceiving that her friend was far too much engrossed by his presence to go on with any continuous discourse, she asked, and easily obtained leave, to go in quest of Kate, whom she thought she should probably find in a small room on the ground-floor, which, for want of any other distinctive appellation, was dignified by the title of the library.

Chapter III

During her mother's conversation with Cecilia Langton, Katherine Desborough was sitting, or rather lying, carelessly back in an easy chair near the library window ; now casting a somewhat in attentive glance over the pretty home view, which formed the prospect on that side of the house, then fixing her eyes on a book of Italian poems that lay open on her lap, and again stopping in the pre tence of study she was engaged in, to inhale the fragrance of a hot-house rose, which she had just taken from a glass on the table beside her. She was — as most people admitted her to be — a " fine creature " — tall, possessed of regular features, and adorned with hair at once long, dark, thick, and glossy. But whether it were that her complexion, though clear and pure, wanted the rich glow which would at once have deepened the colour and heightened the lustre of her eyes, or whether it were, that a something too much akin to the ex pression of wearied indifference alternated in her countenance with a look of almost severe reflection, certain it is that the majority of those who beheld her, when' neither speaking nor listening with in terest, were apt to feel, even while admiring the stateliness of her figure, and allowing her general claims to beauty, that she might be — ought to be — if not actually handsomer, at least more attrac tive, more interesting, than she commonly ap peared.

" She would be so one day," said some , while others declared " that though under twenty, her time was gone by, for she was nothing now to what she had been when a slender fawn of fifteen." However that might be, it is true that her present aspect, as she finally cast away the flower she had grown tired of smelling, was precisely that which an observer might, according to his bias, have equally described as sullen or melancholy. After throwing aside her sweet-scented plaything, she half closed her eyes, extended herself into an attitude of still more complete repose, and might have put an invisible witness into some doubt as to whether she were not literally sinking into slum ber, when her instant perception of a light tread, at the farther end of the adjoining passage, proved that she was not only awake, but watching for a sound so distant that it could only be audible to an expecting ear.

She sprang from her seat, flew to open the door, and as she threw her arms round Cecilia's neck, kissing her lips and cheeks with childish warmth of welcome, her whole being seemed transformed. " So you are come ! " cried she, looking in her friend's face with a gaze of beaming joy, which vol i. r> lent her features all they had lacked while she lay given up to apathetic indolence; " you are come, though it's only for a peep— come to-day instead of to-morrow, too ! and how good of you to come and find me out so soon, though the time seemed long enough while I was waiting. " Then you knew I was here ? " " Oh yes, I did," answered Kate Desborough, looking down with a smile and a blush. " I saw you walking through the flower-garden nearly three quarters of an horn* back. But," continued she, raising her eyes with a half mischievous, half demure glance, " I thought you would find your way here at last, and I was not going to disturb your first solemn talk with mamma ; especially as I know by heart what it was all about."

" Are you sure of that, Miss Kate ? " " Yes, sure ! Mamma told you how and why she had had to part with the cook, who had lived five years with us, and what a bad one came to us from Mrs. Walters, and how she doesn't know whether she can keep the present one." " I heard nothing about cooks." " Then she told you how ill baby was six weeks ago with his teething, and how it was that Mr. Newman couldn't come over to see him, but only Mr. Miller, the assistant, who had never been be fore, except to doctor the servants. You are laughing, Cecilia, so I see it was that." " No, Kate, I am laughing at your second guess being no better than your first." "Isn't it?" cried Miss Desborough. "Then mamma must have been telling you what a pro voking girl I am ! I can't help being right this time, Cecilia."

" Well, I can't say that you are exactly wrong, Kate ; though Mrs. Oakly expressed more regret than blame in speaking of — of — one or two little things in which . . . ." JS " I daresay I do behave very much as I ought not," interrupted Katherine, vehemently. " So don't spare me, Cecilia — say out what I am sure is in your mind ! Say that I don't try as much as I ought to please mamma ! " " If you like, I will, my dear ; but I don't see any particular use in my lecturing you, when you know your faults so well y*ouself." -- Yes, I do know them," rejoined Katherine, in a tone that was grave even to sadness, " and therefore, I suppose I am the more inexcusable for not curing myself of them ; but you don't know, Cecilia, how terribly difficult it is." " Not know how difficult it is to get rid of faults !

My dear Kate ! what are you thinking of?" " Oh, I see, what I said sounded very nonsen sical — didn't at all express what I meant. I wished to make you understand, if I could — with out seeming to want to excuse myself for not trying — that there really is a difficulty in the way of my pleasing mamma, beyond that which there always must be in striving to do right. For I D don't think I annoy mamma by doing or not doing any particular thing that I might leave off, or begin setting about ; but she is not pleased generally — if you can feel what I mean — because I don't seem always interested in what's going on in the house ; and yet how can I, when it is all so uninteresting? " " The fact is, my dear Kate, you find it difficult to be sympathizing ; but you like to be sympathized with, don't you ?

" " Oh, yes ! That's why your visits are such a delight to me. And I daresay I could sympathize more with mamma (except just about the cooks) if she ever seemed to think or know the least in the world what really interests me. But though I am aware she wishes, altogether, that I should be happy and comfortable, I don't think that if I tried for ever so long, I could give her a notion of what might make me so. Now, would not you, Cecilia, have found it very difficult, when y-ou were my age, to change, all at once, not only your employments, but your tastes ? To give up, in a moment, every liking and interest that you had been inspired with in the course of your education, and, as it were, to forget the very things you had been made fond of, and been praised, while in the school-room, for being fond of?

It's hard even to believe that one oityht to do so for the sake of what is to be put in their place, when one is not so situated that counting up the linen for the wash, or going to play with the children in the nursery, should be of use to one's parents. You will tell me it is not only such things as those, that I am wished to do rather than read Schiller or Dante ; and you have often urged me to make my self more mamma's companion ; but what have I to say to her ? that she cares to hear, I mean ; for I really have tried, now and then, but it never seemed to give the least satisfaction." " Well, Kate," returned Miss Langton, " I can tell you of one thing which has given your mother satisfaction ; and that is, your bearing your dis appointment about Lady Carew so well." " You see it was not exactly a disappointment, Cecy," said Miss Desborough, somewhat disdainfully ; " for, of course, I was sensible, as I read Isabella Carew's letter, that I might just as well receive an invitation from the man in the moon to go and stay with him.

If I am not to visit you at Shadworth, how should I be allowed to visit her in Paris ? I just took it to mamma, because I wished her to know I had had such a thing, without a notion of any answer but a refusal, which is onlynot gone for the reason that, as Isabella kindly tells me not to decide against her in a hurry, I don't like to seem as if I had, though the decision is far enough from being in my hands. I shall have to com pose my reply to-morrow, I conclude ; but it is rather a comfort not to be obliged to set to that work to-day." " Well, if I am not to call it a disappointment, Kate, I may say you bear the vexation very re signedly." " I don't know that there is much resignation in the matter," returned Kate, rather bluntly ; " at least I don't think there would be, if I entirely and unqualifiedly wished to be allowed to accept ; but the fact is, that although I should like excessively to see Paris, I am not sure if the sight of that horrid old Sir Edward Carew as Isabella's husband, and the thought of all I used to feel for her before she so completely disenchanted and disappointed me, would not spoil the taste of every pleasure, procured me by part of the price for which she sold herself!

I can tell you, Cecy, I am much more vexed at your not being able to come and stay here now, as we had all expected, than by the loss of two months in Paris with the Carews." " You are a dear, affectionate creature, Kate ! And I would give anything to be able to satisfy myself and you by remaining here ; or, if that could only be permitted, by taking you home to Shadworth with me." " Oh, I should like it so much ! " exclaimed Miss Desborough. " It does provoke me to be debarred that pleasure ; and all," proceeded she, with a half angry, half amused countenance, " because poor innocent Lewis Markham lives near. Oh, I know it's that, though it has not been exactly said to me. He would be a good deal surprised, I have a notion, if he knew what treason he is suspected of! It would be difficult to tell you how I have come to the certainty* of it ; but a hundred little things have convinced me that he will never be seen in this house again, while I am in it, and that's a loss to me, I assure you ; though not in the sense they would suppose, if they heard me say so much.