Against her Will. A novel

Front matter

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? Oh sweet content ! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? Oh punishment ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace, llnupst lalvmr hears a lovely face, Dekker. Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. Whea nur deep plots do p .11 ; and that should teach na There's a divinity that shapes mir ends, [tough-hew them how we will. Hamlet. $, jt-fa.. BY ANNIE L. WALKER, ADTHOR OF 'A CANADIAN HEROINE,' _C. TN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. _Loution : SAMUEL TINSLEY, 10 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 1877. [AU rights reserved.']

Chapter I

For a whole minute Nora stood by the shut door of her room, her fingers still clasped round the handle, and her ears strained to listen. She heard the Vicar's step, which had always something slow and uncertain in its sound, go through the hall, and grow silent as it passed into the morning-room. She heard the door shut, and then, all at once, her pulses, which had seemed to stand still, leaped suddenly into violent, deafening speed. She pressed her hands upon her ears, and, turning towards a great chair that stood by the hearth, fell down on her knees, and hid her face in the cushions. VOL. n. B An hour before she had thought that her mind was made up. She believed that she had weighed the matter deliberately ; that she had calculated coolly and justly what she could give and receive — so much service and duty to be rendered, so much safety and comfort for her mother to be accepted, a fair, honest bargain to be arranged, rati fied, and acted upon with honour and con science.

But what had become of her judg ment now ? What was the meaning of the wild tumult that had broken in upon her calm ? Why was she trembling and shrink ing as if from some accursed thing ? No prayer rose either to her heart or to her lips in this crisis of her life ; her heart seemed to struggle and pant breathlessly, like a suicide fighting the dark waters into which she has thrown herself. A kind of dazed sense came to her that what she meant to do, if it were not the highest duty, was the deepest sin, and she could not tell now Avhich it was. To one bit of self justification she clung fast. "He cares nothing for me," she said to herself. " It is AGALxYST HER WLLL. 3 my Avork he wants — my help which he has found useful. I can give him all he cares about." But while she said the words over and over, they seemed gradually to lose all meaning.

And then a curious change came over her, and her mind seemed to slip away from the pressing question of the moment to another, which she thought over with a languid speculation as of something alto gether unconnected with herself. What had moved Mr. Piers to do this ? She had not the smallest clue to the truth ; she thought that, of course, the idea had originated with himseU, but she wondered over it, as over a thing which was not worth much wonder. She had got up from the floor, and was sitting in the great chair quite quiet, with no knowledge of what she was going to do, nor of what she ought to do, in her mind, when Mrs. Darcy softly opened the door and came in. When she raised her eyes, and saw her mother so feeble and fragile, with such lines of weakness and weariness on her dear face, a new voice seemed to cry aloud in the girl's heart.

" For her ! for her ! " it said ; and she took it for a word from heaven. She put her arms round her mother, and looked into her eyes with passionate fond ness. " Kiss me before I go," she said. After the kiss, when she would have slipped away, Mrs. Darcy held her fast. " Nora, there is time yet. Think again." "I have thought, mammy, enough, and too much." " Not enough, I am afraid. You do not speak or look like yourself." "I am not used to this kind of thing:": and she tried to laugh. " Let me go, that I may come back." Mrs. Darcy loosened her hold, and Nora passed from the room, and down the broad stairs. At the bottom she paused and looked up. Seeing her mother watchino her, she smiled, and went quickly on again, saying to herself that, right or wrong, it would soon be over uoav, and the old home l'egained.

WLLL. 5 At the door of the morning-room she again stopped for a moment to draw a deep breath ; then turned the handle, and walked into the room, looking, in the strain she put upon herself, just one degree more composed and decided than usual. Mr. Piers stood by the mantel-piece. He turned round nervously when she came in, and felt a slight shock of surprise when she shook hands with him, exactly as she had done last time they met. He almost thought, for the moment, that she could not know what he had come for. She sat down on the sofa, and, with a vague desire to stick to the common-place, took up her mother's knitting and began to work. Calm as she looked, she could not see her needles, and felt that she must laugh or cry directly. Had he nothing to say? Must she speak first ? She gave a quick glance at his face to see.

At her look he moved hastily, and sat down on a chair near her. Now they were no longer face to face, and, keeping his eyes fixed on his gloves, which he was twisting about awkwardly, he said, — " Mrs. Darcy tells me that — in fact, she has consented that I should ask you to — come back to the Vicarage." "Yes," said Nora, still pretending to knit. "You are willing?" he asked, more anxiously, and venturing to look at her. " If you Avish it," she answered. He had not wished it ; up to this minute he had no special wish to marry anybody — Nora or any other. He had decided that it would be well for him to have a helper, a permanent curate; and, therefore, he had yielded to the impulse Avhich, in very truth, had first come from old Betty Higgs. And he had dreaded, inexpressibly, the approach to love-making, which he had felt would be necessary and proper.

And now the helper was apparently ready to come to him Avith out any love-making, and he was not satisfied. Yet he did not knoAV why, or Avhat more he Avanted ; only someliOAV the idea stole into his mind that something was wrong — something missing — that, after all, he would rather win his wife as other men won theirs. " I am a great deal older than you," he said at last, in a troubled tone. " Perhaps too old." "But I am much older than my age," she answered. "And that, I know, is twenty-one. Mrs. Lansdowne told me." For the first time, Nora's colour changed, and a flicker of her eyelids broke the calm she had resolutely forced upon her face. She wished she might have sold herself without any one knowing of her bargain. "Yes," she said "lam twenty-one in years, and thirty-one, at least, in other things."

She wanted to escape. Why should he keep her any longer, saying useless words ? But she had not courage to move. He was silent now, and, because she could not bear the silence, she spoke again. " I will do what I can to be useful." Then, with some subtle change of tone and look — " You know I cannot be separated from my mother." " You never shall be by me," he answered, quickly; and, getting up, walked over to the window. She was startled, half frightened at this movement, never guessing that in the last two seconds she herself had made a revelation to him. He knew now what it was he had missed. In the change of her face, in the tone of her last words, he had found the key. A curate ? She must be a million times more than that to him, or nothing. She sat still; the knitting dropped, and her fingers clasped together.

" If he would only go ! " she said to her self. But suddenly he turned, and came back to her, standing behind the sofa, with one hand resting on the cushion, and speaking in a A-oice she hardly knew. "We are all wrong," he said, hurriedly; " at any rate, I am. Forgive me : I did not know what I was asking." " Why should I forgive you ? " she an swered, feeling a strange trouble pass from his mind into hers. " If you are Avrong, I must be so too." " No, no," he replied ; " you don't under stand. Take back yTour answer, and let me ask again. Forget that I want help in the parish ; forget that I am Vicar of Woodside ; think of me — myself, and tell me — " He stopped to find words, and went on still more hurriedly, — " tell me whether you think that, now or ever, you could love me as your mother loved your father."

She had been looking at him doubtfully, and struggling with an overwhelming sense of shame as he began to speak ; but, before he had said all, she had covered her face with her hands. The tears she had kept back rushed to her ey-es ; and when he waited for her decision, she had no voice at her command. "Tell me," he entreated; but she could only shake her head in answer. " I knew it," he said ; " how could you ?" And he turned again, and walked with uncertain steps through the room. Presently he stopped, and, standing near her, spoke in a low voice, which was full of pain. " I came here with no thought of this, and now I feel as if I could not go away without it. I do not know what to say. I am in your hands, but you ought to under stand — " " I think I do," she said, lifting her face, all flushed, and wet with tears.

" Oh, I am so ashamed and so sorry." She got up, and, going to him, put her hands into his. " Please to forgive me," she went on ; " you are more honest and true than I am, and will be a thousand times better off with out me." "No," he answered, keeping her hands clasped firmly in his. "I know better than that now. But you have taught me two or three lessons. You will find somebody, by-and-by, whom you can love and marry. Till then, can we be friends at least ? " " Always I hope." He raised one of her hands to his lips, and, without another word, went from the room and from the house. Nora stood for a moment where he had left her. All had turned so strangely, that she felt as if she must be dreaming. But, dreaming or not, sobs choked her. She went back to the sofa leaned her head upon the cushion where the Vicar's hand had rested while he spoke to her, and cried.

When she had cried herself into a sort of dull calm, she got up, and slowly returned to her mother. She felt so grieved, ashamed, and miserable, that it seemed as if she could never be herself again. She Avould not, for the whole world, hoav marry Mr. Piers ; yet she felt a pang in thinking that Mrs. Darcy would never return to the safe shelter of the Vicarage. " I must tell her all about it," was the only consoling thought left to her. Meantime Mrs. Darcy was sitting alone and unemployed, waiting for her child's coming. The great anxiety with which she had watched Nora's conduct since last evening, the many doubts she felt as to the honesty of that " Yes " which she knew Nora intended to say, had tried her most painfully, and she had found herself unable to attend to anything until the suspense should be over.

Hearing Nora's hand upon the latch, she got up, and came forward to meet her, all her doubts written visibly on her face. " Oh, mother," Nora said, " ha\-e you been so very anxious ? " " Could I help it," Mrs. Darcy answered, " when you had to decide such a matter, and I doubted whether you were deciding rightly ? " "You will say that it is decided rightly now, I know," and the girl knelt at her mother's feet. "I shall not marry Mr. Piers." Mrs. Darcy raised her daughter's face, and looked at it attentively. " That is well," she said. " And now tell me why you meant to do so, and why you were so unlike yourself this morning ? " "I have been in great temptation," she answered, hiding her face upon her mother's shoulder ; and the story was slowly but honestly told in that most dear and sacred confessional Avhere Nora's sins and sorrows had always found relief.

" I see," Mrs. Darcy said, at last, " that we have both blundered, as people are apt to do when they keep secrets from one another. You wanted to make a sacrifice for my comfort, which you would never have thought of if you had been quite in my confidence." " What do you mean, mother ? " " That the home where I shall want nothing is almost ready for me." "The home?" Nora but half under stood, but she grasped her mother's hands tight, and the words died on her lips. " I am certain that we shall be but a little while longer together," Mrs. Darcy went on, with that calm which so often comes to those who have accustomed themselves to the thought of death. " I thought it best not to disturb you yet with anticipated evil ; but since it seems that you are capable of risking all your future life for my sake, I must tell you the truth."

"But I don't believe it," Nora cried out. " Dr. Pritchard will tell you, if you ask him. I am not going yet, — only soon." Mrs. Darcy was silent, stroking and caressing Nora's hand, which still clasped one of hers. Nora had said, "I don't believe it " ; but she did believe it, and the more entirely because of the many fears she had had herself upon the subject. She had been too often her mother's nurse not to knoAv that her chances of long life were the slenderest imaginable, and lately she had been constantly fighting with the terror of losing her. But she had come to think that, if the comforts of their home could be increased, Mrs. Darcy might be so sheltered and cared for that death could still be kept at a distance. It was this idea alone which had made her resolve to accept the Vicar's offer, and now it seemed that in marrying him she would have done a wrong, and, after all, have missed its price.

It seemed now as if there were nothing more to say or to do. Passive waiting, either for good or ill, was a thing she had never practised, nor felt tempted to practise ; but just at this moment she was exhausted by excitement, — feeling seemed to be dead in her — she wanted breathing-space, and seemed unable even to hear her mother speak of the future. Mrs. Darcy guessed her daughter's con dition. " I will go downstairs," she said. "Mrs. Lansdowne and Miss Norton will be home directly, and they will want to know what has happened. Don't you think a walk would do you good ? " Nora got up slowly. "Yes," she said; "I will have a good long walk. Good-bye." She kissed her mother, and went to get ready. A few minutes afterwards she left the house, and walked quickly away along the most solitary road she knew.

Chapter II

Nora walked fast and far, only just return ing to Dean's Hall in time for luncheon. She avoided speaking to any one on her way ; but the quick movement in the frosty air did her good, and restored her to her self. The altogether unnatural exaltation of the last twelve hours passed away, and she felt half ashamed of haA'ing been dragged by circumstances into a position something more fitted for a heroine of romance than for the matter-of-fact daughter of a country parson. Yet two bits of solid truth remained behind, when the flimsy scheme of self sacrifice melted. She knew now that the Vicar had a heart under his shy and chilly exterior, and that she, however transiently, bad touched it ; and she knew, alas ! that cares for the future were useless cares, since in the future she would have none but herself to think of.

Though a woman may be a million miles away from loving a man, she will always like him better for loving her. She feels grateful to him, and cannot help but have some respect for his discernment. If she is conscious of having done him any wrong, she will add to his virtues all she is forced to deduct from her own, and the result is comforting to her and flattering to him. Nora said to herself over and over again, during her walk, that she had behaved absurdly, shamefully, and that Mr. Piers AA-as a thousand times too good for her. It certainly neA-er occurred to her that she might have answered his second demand as she had done his first ; but, although in letting him go she had grieved him and condemned herself, she took great comfort in the thought of those qualities which she had discovered, or thought she had dis covered, in her middle-aged lover, and, vol. 11. c while she admired him, she forgave herself.

She pushed aside as far as she could the recollection of her mother's announcement. It was bad enough that the certainty of its truth should lie down deep in her heart. "Sufficient unto the clay is the evU thereof " ; and this evil was yet at such distance as made a resolute putting away possible. When she came in, the luncheon bell Avas ringing, and she hurried upstairs. Coming down again, she found the others alreadyat table, and was glad to be able to slip into her seat beside Mr. Norton without seeming to see the looks the tAvins directed towards her. How comfortable it was that Mr. Norton knew nothing of the matter ! He Avas, as usual, well prepared to talk to his favourite. Mrs. Darcy also found plenty to say ; and Mrs. Lansdowne and Miss Norton gradually got over their inclination to put Nora through an immediate cross-questioning.

They deferred it, at least; for they had both felt, when Mrs. Darcy told them briefly what had happened, that it Avas really their duty to ask Nora more about it, and this duty they were not women to neglect. Nora felt sure of her fate, and met it very meekly. Mrs. Lansdowne lectured her a little, but gently; and she only felt exas perated when Miss Norton, coming in at the end of her sister's admonitions, put her arm round her waist, and said, — "Ah, poor, dear child! To think that we should live to be sorry she could not marry Mr. Piers ! And to think of this time last year ! But I 've one comfort, at any rate ; I always said men were idiots." " Upon my word, Miss Norton," Nora answered, with a little heat, to this, " I don't in the least agree with you. And it is very hard if I am to be the means of bringing Mr. Piers into disgrace with you, just when I myself like him a great deal better than I ever did before."

The real sting in Miss Norton's speech, of course, was its reference to Bertie. The good lady had a singular knack of saying the wrong things, and people generally paid little heed to her sayings; but Nora had never been able to get quite indifferent to chance-implications that Captain LansdoAvne had only needed to throw the handkerchief for her to take it up. The greater the truth, the greater the libel. It was quite true, and therefore the saying of it still stung hei. When she had received this small wound, she got away as quickly as she could, and made herself busy about some piece of sewing which she chose to think ought to be finished in a hurry. Bertie's coming to Dean's Hall, though only for one night, was now the great subject of interest. Nora kneAv that a special invitation had been sent to Phœbe, Avho was not coming ; and she and her mother both thought that, if Bertie had con sented to stay longer, her absence Avould not have been much regretted.

Although not a Avord of blame had ever been said in refer ence to her, it was somehow eA*ident that Mrs. Herbert Lansdowne had completely failed to make herself a fa\-ourite Avith her husband's relations. AGALNST HER WILL. 21 Bertie had said that he could only leave his wife for a single night. He came down, however, early on the 31st, leaA-ing London long before it was light, and did not return till the evening of the 1st of January. In this way he had the greater part of two days at Woodside, and this was a time of much excitement and happiness at Dean's Hall. But there Avas a drawback to the pleasure of seeing Bertie which neither Mrs. Darcy nor Nora had counted upon. He Avas changed. He had grown very thin, and there was a look of restless care on his face Avhich was quite new to them.

He Avas perfectly well, he said ; and certainly h<- seemed to have lost none of his old affection for home and all that belonged to it ; but he was no longer the Bertie of past times. Every one knew that it was so ; but Mrs. Darcy and Nora would hardly have spoken on the subject, if Mrs. Lansdowne had not first said a word. The ladies were all sitting together, and Bertie had gone to his uncle's study, Avhen Mrs. Lansdowne looked up from her Avork, with a sigh, and said, — "He looks worse than last time. What can make him so changed?" The words Avere so directly addressed to Mrs. Darcy that she could not avoid giving an answer. " Did he look ill, last time he was down ?" she said. "I am afraid I was too selfishly occupied to observe it." " Ah. A-es, indeed. I should not haA*e reminded you ; but he AA-as looking — not ill — Avorried, as he does hoav."

" Perhaps it is only that people live so much faster in London than we do," Mrs. Darcvsug_restcd. "But he Avas AA*ell used to London life before ; and this is a new thing. You see a change, don't you, Nora?" " Yes, I do, certainly. He looks as if lie had some great piece of Avork in hand which required all his thoughts." " That is exactly it. Yet you Ioioav he has nothing. One reason I Avanted Phœbe to come down Avas, that I thought I mio-lit find out from her Avhether he has any Avorry." "She ought to have come," said Miss Norton ; " and if she did not choose to come to us, she might, at least, have invited you to go and see them. I don't say any thing about myself, but his mother might have been asked before uoav." Mrs. Lansdowne looked annoyed. She did not care for eA-en her most intimate friends to knoAV that she had never yet been invited to visit her son and her son's wife.

"Never mind that," she said. "Their house is too small for visitors. Nora, if you can get Bertie to tell you anything of their affairs, you will do us a great kindness, my dear ; for there is something wrong, and Heaven knoAvs what it is." She put her handkerchief to her eyes at the last words, and Nora earnestly promised. " But he will not tell me anything," she said, feeling how unlikely it was that her old playfellow should trust her with troubles AA'hich he concealed from his own people who almost worshipped him. "And Avhat troubles can he have?" she said to herself, almost with a feeling of in dignation. " Has he not had everything he chose to wish for eArer since he AA'as born? " It did so happen, hoAvever, that she and Bertie had a quarter of an hour's talk to gether next morning. The eArening had not been a really cheerful one : eA*ery one had felt it to be a poor substitute for the merry Christmas-eA*es of the past.

The gaps in their party were too many — death, and parting, and change had been too recently busy among them — for anybody to feel gay : even the change of day seemed to make matters worse. Everybody had been glad to separate for the night ; but the next morning was not much more lively. HoAvever, it chanced that Nora, going into the conservatory to look what few blossoms she could find there, saw Bertie Avalking up and down the path outside, with his cigar. " Come out," he called to her, " and have a stroll." She got a cloak and hat, and joined him AGALNST HER WLLL. 25 very willingly, remembering Mrs. Lans doAvne's Avords. " You don't mind smoke out of doors, I know," he said. " Phœbe can't stand it at all." " Well, you are no great smoker, are you ? So that will not interfere much with your comfort."

" No : in fact, I haA-e almost given it up." " We were all sorry not to see Phœbe." " She does not like • travelling in winter; and, of course, London is more amusing than the country." " Very amusing, indeed," thought Nora, " if she can't leave it for one week to see her relations ! " But she only said aloud, "She is very fond of London, then ?" ' * Was there ever a pretty woman who did not like the place best where she was most admired?" Bertie said, with a certain bitter ness. " Phœbe is like other beauties in that, I suppose." Nora looked at him in astonishment. She had never before heard Bertie say an illnatured thing; he had not a spark of the wit which consists in thinking the worst of other people ; and six months before he had thought Phœbe a goddess. What ailed him ? She dared say no more ; and they walked on for a minute in silence.

Then he spoke a_rain, in his usual manner. "I have made acquaintance with a relation of yours, lately — a capital fellow." " Quite impossible," she answered, laughing. " I am sure I have not a capital felloAV among my relations." "It is true, however. It is your cousin (I don't quite know whether second, third, or fourth) — Geoffrey Darcy." "Ah? Well, you may be right, for I know nothing at all about him." " He is a barrister — briefless — and writes for the newspapers and that sort of thing. By-thc-bye, he told me he had written ser mons for half-a-guinea apiece; and I said I believed you could do that as well as he could." " Did you speak to him about me, then ?" " Yes : he asked me. You 'd like him WLLL. ■^1 very much, Nora, if you knew him ; and I mean to bring him down here next summer."

" Oh, please don't. Darcys don't get on well together. Do you know anything about the others ? I think I should like to hear something of my two cousins, Eleanor and John." " He is a member of the Junior Mega therium — the club, you knoAV — and we meet there sometimes. He is a model M.P. — a most excellent man, but not lively." " And Eleanor ? " " Never saw her, that I knoAV of. They are so awfully rich, that she is a great catch ; so I hear her talked of sometimes." " So awfully rich — yes ! " said Nora, with a sigh. " It does seem hard that things should be so very unequal." She thought of what poverty had driven her to do, and of hoAv little spared from Eleanor Darcy's abundance Avould be enough to lighten the burden on her own heart and life ; but that was a subject on Avhich she could say nothing to Bertie.

"I am not sure," he answered, gravely. " Perhaps things are not so ATery unequal, after all. There are plenty of ways in Avhich life may be made bitter, besides poA-erty." He seemed almost as if he might have gone on, but at that moment they were interrupted ; and if he had been tempted to speak to her of the skeleton in his cupboard, the time fordoing so was passed. -Yet, as they Avent into the house, she thought it must be just this — that Phœbe had had her head turned by admiration, and meant to enjoy her success with or without her husband's approA-al. And why should she not enjoy it ? Nora felt that she would like to remind Bertie that his wife was little more than a child — a beautiful child, without mother or woman friend to advise her. No one ought to be hard upon her, if she were a little frivolous and giddy.