by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER V.
One day, a week after the events related in the last chapter, Dr.Staunton suddenly walked into the little parlor where Effie and hermother were sitting together.
Effie sprang up at sight of him. Some needlework over which she had beenbusy fell to the floor. A rush of color came into her cheeks.
"Oh, father, father!" she exclaimed, "how delightful it is to see youagain! Oh, how glad we are! Is little Freda really better? How is Mrs.Harvey? And--have you come back to stay, father?"
"I can't answer such a lot of questions all together, child," said thedoctor, with a smile. "Yes, I have come home to stay. The fact is, I amtired out, and simply with doing nothing. Ever since that blessed angelof a woman, Dorothy Fraser, came to The Grange, there has been little ornothing for me to do. Yes, that's a fact; I am worn-out with doingnothing. I should like a cup of tea beyond anything. Make it strong forme, my dear--strong and fragrant."
"The kettle is boiling," said Effie. "I won't be a minute. Oh, it isdelightful to have you back!" She ran out of the room, shutting the doorsoftly behind her.
Dr. Staunton went over and sat on the sofa by his wife.
"At last, my darling," he said, putting his arms round her, "I am safeback again. You see that for yourself, thank God."
"Thank God, John," replied Mrs. Staunton. "I have missed you," sherepeated.
She held out both her thin hands. The doctor put his own strong, sinewyhands round them. He clasped them tightly.
"Oh, how hot you are!" she said, starting back and looking anxiously athim. "Your fingers almost burn me."
"I am simply tired, that's all," he replied,--"tired out with doingnothing. I don't believe The Grange is a wholesome place; it is big andgrand and richly furnished, but the air does not suit me. I suspectthere is something wrong with the drains. The drains are probably at theroot of all this mischief to poor little Freda, but let us forget allthat now. Let me look at you, wife. How are you? Why, you look bonnie,bonnie!"
He stretched out his hand and passed it gently over his wife's fadedcheek. "I have been thinking of you morning, noon, and night," he said."You have never been out of my thoughts for a moment, you and thechildren--that dear little Effie in particular, but the other childrentoo. I had time to pause and consider during those days of waiting atThe Grange, and I could not help remembering that, if anything happenedto me, there were five children unprovided for--five children, and you,Mary, with the strength of a mouse in you."
"That's all you know," replied Mrs. Staunton, with a little show ofspirit. "I am better; I have made wonderful progress during the last fewdays. You can't think what a good nurse Effie has been--the mostconsiderate, the most thoughtful, the most kind and clever darling youcan possibly imagine. She manages the whole house; our servants would doanything for her, and the children love her so much that it is apleasure to them to obey her. She has that wonderful and invaluableknack in a woman, she never teases or worries; she just contrives toturn people round her little finger, without their knowing anythingabout it themselves. But now don't let us talk any more about Effie andme. I want to hear your news. How is Mrs. Harvey? How has she borne thedeath of her poor little baby?"
"It lived just two hours after its birth," said the doctor, with a sadlook on his face. "The shock the poor mother underwent evidently hadsome effect upon it. Well, she is getting on splendidly--she seemed toknow from the first that her poor little baby would not live, but asFreda is doing so well, not a murmuring word has passed her lips. She isa sweet young woman, and I am thankful to say I don't believe she took ascrap of infection from poor little Freda."
"And the little one; is she continuing to get better?"
"She is doing magnificently--thanks to that fine creature, DorothyFraser. I never came across such a woman. If you only saw, Mary, thestate of hopeless confusion, of pandemonium--for it really amounted tothat--of that wretched house the morning Miss Fraser arrived; if youcould only have seen the condition of the sickroom, and then have goneinto it two hours later, why, it was like stepping from the infernalregions into paradise. The order of the sickroom seemed to affect thewhole house. The servants ceased to be in a state of panic, the mealswere properly cooked, the Squire came back to his normal condition, andMrs. Harvey became quite cheerful. In short, except for the loss of herpoor little one, she seems to have had no ill effects from the terriblestrain she has undergone. Little Freda is making rapid marches towardrecovery, and I do not at present see the slightest trace of the diseasespreading through the house."
"Have you seen Freda often?" asked Mrs. Staunton.
"No; that good soul simply forbade it--I was like wax in her hands. Ofcourse her reason was a very legitimate one, or I should not havesubmitted to it, for it would not have been safe for me to have attendedto Mrs. Harvey coming straight from the child's room. All is now goingon well at The Grange, and I can come home and rest."
"I wish you did not look so dreadfully worn out," said Mrs. Staunton.
"Oh, the home air will soon pull me together. Heigh-ho! here you come,my good angel, and the tea is more than welcome."
The doctor sank back in his deep armchair.
Effie placed the fragrant tea on the table, and, pouring out a cup,brought it to her father. She had made crisp toast as well, but he didnot care to eat.
"Thank you, child," he said; "I am not hungry. The meals up at thatplace are preposterous--nothing short of preposterous. There is no doubtwhatever that far more people die from eating too much than from eatingtoo little. I wonder the Squire has a scrap of digestion left--heavymeat breakfasts, heavy meat luncheons, and then a groaning dinner at theend of the day. Such meals, and practically nothing to do for them!--forwhat has a man of that sort to occupy his time beyond what one wouldcall fiddle-faddle? Well, this tea is refreshing; I will go for a walkafterward. And now tell me, Effie, have you heard anything about mypatients?"
"Mr. Edwards called this morning, and said they were all doing well,"said Effie. "The little Beels have got whooping-cough, but I do notthink anyone else is ill. Of course poor Mrs. Watson is much as usual,but hers is a chronic case."
"Ah, yes, poor soul,"--the doctor gave an apprehensive glance toward hiswife. "I cannot call to see Mrs. Watson for a day or two," he said; "notthat there is the least scrap of infection, for I changed everythingbefore I came home, but in her state it would not do to make her feelnervous. Well, wife and daughter, it is good to see you both again; andnow I am going out for a stroll."
The doctor left the room. Effie stood by the table. She was putting backhis empty cup on the tray, and preparing to take the things into thekitchen, when her mother spoke.
"What is the matter with your father?" she said in a husky voice.
Effie slightly turned her back. "He is just tired," she answered;"that's all."
"Put down that tray, Effie, and come here," said her mother.
Effie obeyed.
"Yes, mother," she said. "Now, mother darling, you are not going to getnervous?"
"No, no, I am not nervous," said Mrs. Staunton,--her lips trembledslightly,--"I am not nervous. Nothing shall make me show nervousness orweakness of any sort in a time of real extremity. But, Effie, child, Iknow something."
"What in the world do you know, mother?" Effie tried to smile.
"Your father is ill. The unimportant people have escaped, but he hastaken this complaint. He is ill, Effie--I know it."
"Now, mother, is that likely?" said Effie. "Father comes home tired, hehas gone through a great deal of anxiety--has he not all his life beenexposed to infection of all kinds? Why should he be ill now? Besides, ifhe were ill, he would say so. Mother, darling, I cannot listen to thiskind of talk."
"All right, my dear, I will say no more. It sometimes happens so, Effie.Lives we think of no account are spared--spared on indefinitely. The onelife on which so many others hang is taken."
"Mother, I do not understand you."
"I understand myself," said Mrs. Staunton. "I know wha
t I fear. Nay, Ido not fear it--I rise up with strength to meet it. You will see, Effie,dear, that your mother is no coward in any real danger."
"You are a dear," said Effie. "You are the best and most unselfishmother in the world. I feel ashamed of myself when I see how bravely youstruggle against the weakness and the anxiety which must be yours, moreor less, always. But now, mother, dear, you will not look trouble inthe face before it comes--you will not meet it halfway. If you arereally better, come out into the garden, and we will take a turn beforedinner."
"Very well, my dear."
"I want to show you the sweet-peas that have come up in the southborder," continued Effie. "Come, let us talk of pleasant things, and becheerful when father comes home."
"Oh, I will be perfectly cheerful," said Mrs. Staunton.
She went into the good-sized garden at the back of the little cottage,and began with nervous, energetic fingers to pick some flowers, and toarrange them in a big nosegay.
"We will put these in the center of the supper-table," she said. "Ishould like to have everything as bright and cheerful as possible foryour father to-night."
"Yes, that's capital," said Effie.
"We ought to have something particularly good for him to eat, Effie."
"But, mother, he said he wasn't hungry. You remember how he complainedof having so many meals at The Grange."
"Yes, yes, he always was a most abstemious man; but I know what he nevercan resist, and that is cold raspberry tart and cream. There are plentyof raspberries ripe in the plantation--I will gather some, and I'll makethe pastry for the tart myself."
"Very well, mother; but is it well for you to fag yourself picking thoseraspberries, and then making the tart?"
"I want to make it--I should love to make it. I used to be famed for mypastry. My mother used to say, 'You have a light hand for pastry,Mary.' I remember so well when I made my first tart. I was justfifteen--it was my fifteenth birthday. Mother showed me how to do it;and I remember how the water ran all over the pastry-board. Afterward Iwas the best hand at pastry in the house. Yes, I'll make the tartmyself. Here is sixpence, Effie; run to the dairy and get some cream.And listen, love, as you go through the house you might tell Jane to getthe pastry-board ready."
"All right, mother, I'll tell her to put it in the larder. You must notgo into the hot kitchen to make that tart."
"Very well, child, I'll remember. Now run and get the cream."
Effie left her mother standing by the raspberry plantation. She waspulling the ripe raspberries and dropping them into a large cabbage leafwhich she held. Her slender but weak figure was drawn up to its fullheight. There was a look of nervous energy about her which Effie had notobserved for many a long day. The curious phase into which her motherhad entered had an alarming effect upon the young girl. It frightenedher far more than her father's look of lassitude and the burning touchof his hands. She tried to turn her thoughts from it. After all, whyshould she become nervous herself, and meet trouble halfway?
She went across the village street, and entering the pretty dairy, askedfor the cream.
"Is it true, Miss Staunton, that the doctor has come back again?" askedthe woman of the shop, as she handed her the jug of cream across thecounter.
"Yes, Mrs. Pattens, it is quite true," replied Effie. "There's good newsnow at The Grange. Mrs. Harvey is doing splendidly, and little Freda isnearly well again."
"Well, it is a good thing the doctor can be spared," said the woman; "wewant him bad enough here, and it seemed cruel-like that he should havebeen sort of buried alive at The Grange."
"He is only able to be spared now," said Effie, "because he has securedthe services of a very wonderful nurse."
"Oh, one of the Fraser girls," said the woman, in a tone ofcontempt--"those newcomers, who have not been settled in the place abovea year. For my part, I don't hold with lady-nurses. I am told they areall stuck-up and full of airs, and that they need a sight more waitingon than the patients themselves. When you get a lady-nurse into thehouse you have to think more of the nurse than of the patient, that'swhat I am told."
"It is not true," replied Effie, her eyes flashing angrily--"at least,"she continued, "it is not true in the case of Nurse Fraser. You must getmy father to talk to you about her some day. I am afraid I haven't timeto spare now. Good-evening, Mrs. Pattens."
Effie went home with her jug of cream. Mrs. Staunton was still in thelarder making the raspberry tart. Effie went and watched her, as herlong thin fingers dabbled in the flour, manipulated the roller, spreadout the butter, and presently produced a light puff paste, which, asEffie expressed it, looked almost as if you could blow it away.
"That's the best raspberry tart I have ever made," said Mrs. Staunton."Now we will put it in the oven."
