CHAPTER V.
WORKING FOR BREAD.
'Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weant 'a nowt when 'e's dead; Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, an' addle her bread.' _Tennyson_.
'Tell, little one,' said Mr. Rugg, the doctor, as he found Geraldineon the landing-place outside her mother's room, and spoke to her ina voice that to her reluctant ears, as well as to those of SisterConstance, who followed him, sounded all the more vulgar because it waslow, wheedling, and confidential; 'you are always about the house, youknow everything--what accident has your mamma met with?'
Cherry's face grew set.
'She has, then,' said the doctor, looking at Sister Constance. 'Ithought so. Now, be a good child, and tell us all about it.'
'I cannot,' she said.
'Come, don't be silly and sulk. No one will punish you; we know it wasan accident; out with it.'
'My dear,' said Sister Constance, 'this is a pity. Much may depend onyour speaking.'
Cherry began to cry very piteously, though still silently.
'Yes, yes, we see you are sorry,' said Mr. Rugg, 'but there's nothingfor it now but to let us hear the truth.'
She shook her head violently, and brow and neck turned crimson.
Mr. Rugg grew angered, and tried a sharper tone. 'Miss Geraldine, thisis regular naughtiness. Let me hear directly.'
The flush became purple, and something like 'I won't' came from behindthe handkerchief.
'Leave her to me, if you please,' said Sister Constance gently; 'Ithink she will tell me what is right to be told.'
'As you please, Lady Somerville,' said Mr. Rugg, who, since he haddiscovered her title, was always barbarously misusing it; 'but thething must be told. It is doing Mrs. Underwood a serious injury to letchildish naughtiness conceal the truth.'
Constance put her arm round the little girl, a tiny weight for thirteenyears old, and took her into the room where she had last seen herfather. She was sobbing violently, not without passion, and the moredistressingly because she carefully stifled every sound, and the poorlittle frame seemed as if it would be rent to pieces. 'Cherry, dearchild, don't,' said Constance, sitting down and gathering her into herarms; 'do try and calm yourself, and think--'
'He--he--I won't tell him!' sobbed the child. 'He's a bad man--he tellsstories. He said he would not hurt me--when he knew he should mostterribly. Papa said it was very wrong. Papa was quite angry--he calledit deceiving, he did! I won't tell him!'
'My dear child, is there anything to tell? Don't think about him, thinkabout what is good for your mother.'
'She told me not,' sobbed Cherry, but not with the anger there had beenbefore. 'No, no, don't ask me; she told me not.'
'Your mother? My dear little girl, whatever it is, you ought to sayit. Your dear mother seems to be too ill and confused to recollecteverything herself, and if it is not known whether she has been hurt,how can anything be done for her?'
Cherry sat upon her friend's lap, and with a very heaving chest said,'If Felix says I ought--then I will. Papa said we should mind Felix--like him.'
'I will call Felix,' said Sister Constance.
Mr. Rugg looked very impatient of the delay; but Felix, who had justcome in to dinner, was summoned. He came at once, and was soon standingby Geraldine's chair.
'Yes, Geraldine, I think you ought to tell,' he said, as the loyallittle thing gazed up at her new monarch. 'What did happen?'
'It was on the day after New Year's Day,' said Geraldine, now speakingvery fast. 'You were all at church, and she came out of--this roomwith Bernard in her arms--and called to me that I might come and sitwith--him, because she was going down to the kitchen to make somebeef-tea. And just then she put her foot into a loop of whip-cord, andfell. She could not save herself at all, because of Bernard; but shewent backwards--against the steps.'
'Did she seem hurt at the time?'
'I did not think so. She pulled herself up by the baluster before Icould get up to help her, and she never let Bernard go all the time--hedid not even scream. She only said, "Now mind, Cherry, do not say oneword of this to Papa or anybody else," and she told me she wasn't hurt.Oh! was she really?' as the Sister left the room.
'I wonder whose the string was,' said Felix vindictively.
'Oh, never mind! He'll be so sorry! Oh! I hope she won't be very muchvexed at my telling!'
'She will not mind now!' said Felix; 'it was only not to frighten Papa.'
And Felix had his little sister in that one position where she felta sort of comfort--like a baby in his arms to be rocked--when SisterConstance returned with the doctor. He spoke without either the angeror the persuasive tone now, and Cherry could bear it better, though sheslipped off her brother's lap instantly, and stood up in dignity.
'So your Mamma told you to conceal this mishap. That is some excuse.Now, tell me, how far did she fall?'
'Not more than four steps, I am sure--I think three.'
'And backwards?'
'Yes.'
'Do you think she struck her head?'
'Yes, the back of it.'
'Ah! And she spoke and moved at once, not like one stunned?'
'Oh no, not at all. She got up and made the beef-tea.'
'The 2nd of January! That must have been about the time you began toobserve that change of manner--the irritability your sister remarked,'said the doctor, turning to Felix.
He nodded, angry as he had been with Alda for remarking it.
All that the doctor further said was, that he must have anotherexamination now that he knew a little more about the case; and he wentaway with Sister Constance, saying to her, 'Mrs. Underwood is a lady ofwonderful fortitude and resolution, and really they are the worst kindof patients.'
It was now more than a fortnight since that 6th of January whichsaw the birth of the twins and the death of their father, and Mrs.Underwood still lay quiet and almost torpid in her bed, seldomspeaking, hardly ever originating anything, and apparently taking nointerest whatsoever in anything outside her room; and yet there was nosymptom unfavourable to her recovery to be detected. Within the lastday or two they had tried to rouse her; papers had been brought to herto sign, and she did so obediently, but she did not follow the subject:she did not refuse, but did not second, any proposal for her beginningto sit up; and this was the more remarkable, as, being a woman of muchhealth and energy in her quiet way, she had always recovered rapidly,and filled her place in the family alarmingly soon. The nurse had begunto suspect that besides the torpor of mind there was some weakness oflimb; and with the new lights acquired, Mr. Rugg had no difficulty incoming to the conclusion that there was a slight concussion of thespine, causing excitement at first, and now more serious consequences;and though he did not apprehend present danger, he thought completerecovery very doubtful.
'So they are almost worse than orphans,' said Sister Constance, whenthe Curate went down from reading to the invalid, and she could tellhim the verdict.
'Do they know?'
'The fact? There is no need to lay the future on the shoulders of thepresent.'
'A very dark present. I feel as if a great bright sun, warming andinvigorating, had gone out of my life. Yet I knew him but two years.'
'I can understand it, though I knew him but two days.'
'I hope he may have been the making of me,' sighed Mr. Audley. 'Heought to be.'
'I think he has been,' said she, smiling. 'There is some differencebetween you and the boyish young deacon that came here two years ago.'
'Who thought life without shooting barely endurable by the help ofcroquet! I trust so! He was very patient and tolerant--made holidaysfor me that first summer which it cuts me to recollect.'
'To live and share in a great sorrow does make a great step in life,'said Constance, thoughtfully looking at the much graver and moreearnest brow of her husband's young cousin; 'and you were a comfort tothem all as no one else could be.'
'Must you go?' he said. 'I wanted to
consult you. I am thinking ofgiving up my present lodgings to this Mowbray Smith, who is coming ascurate, and coming here.'
'Here! My dear Charles!'
'I thought I had heard legends of twelve foot square?'
'Not with thirteen children. Besides, we were seasoned!'
'Stay; you don't understand. There are three rooms on this floor. PoorMrs. Underwood will hardly want to occupy these two just yet. I takethem, and put in some furniture--live to myself, but let them board andlodge me. They may as well have what is to be made by it as any oneelse.'
'But can they? And, forgive me, Charles, are you prepared for thecookery here? Really, some of those children have appetites so small,that I can't bear to see them at dinner.'
'That's the very point. They all say the invaluable Sibby is as good anurse as she is bad as a cook. Now, if they have no help, Wilmet _must_stay at home to look after her mother and the twins; and that is notfit for such a young girl. Now, my coming might enable them to get someone who knows the use of meat and fires, and would send upstairs theonly woman who would undertake such a charge as that must be.'
'I don't like to say a word against it. It seems excellent for them.'
'I would not live with them, but I should be there to help. I couldkeep Felix up in his Latin, and--'
'Only one suggestion more, Charles. If you do not stay here long?'
'Well--if not, every week I am here is so much tided over; and just atthis time the charge must be heaviest. Those boys may be disposed ofafter a time.'
'I wish we could keep those two little girls at St. Faith's, but thereis no place yet for children of their class. I am wanted there thisday week, and I cannot say but that I shall be glad to leave you here.Only, I recollect your mother's feelings.'
'Mothers must draw in the horns of their feelings when their sons areordained,' he said, laughing. 'I shall consult that notable person,Wilmet.'
Wilmet started and blushed with pleasure. It would be so much lessdreary; and, poor girl! she was feeling as if she were half rentasunder at the thought of Alda's going. So good for Felix, too. Onlyshe must ask Mamma. And she did ask Mamma, and, to her great pleasure,Mrs. Underwood listened, and said, 'It is very kind.'
'And shall it be, Mamma?'
'I shall like for you to have some one in the house. Yes, my dear, Ithink--' then she paused. 'My dear, you and Sibby and Sister Constancehad better talk it over. I do not seem able to consider it. But SisterConstance will tell you. My dear Wilmet, I am afraid you must have agreat deal laid on you.'
'Oh, never mind, Mamma; I like doing things. Besides, you are so muchbetter.'
'I'll try to help you more,' added Mrs. Underwood wistfully. 'Whichroom did you say?'
And she listened, and even made a few suggestions, as Wilmet explainedhow she thought of making a sitting-room upstairs, and giving the twodownstairs front ones to Mr. Audley, using the back room for the boysand children; she was altogether so much more open to comprehension,and ready to speak, that Wilmet was full of hope and assurance that shewas really mending.
When Sister Constance came in, the readiness to converse continued.She consulted her friend on the scheme, and its expedience for Mr.Audley, saying that she feared he would be uncomfortable; but she couldnot reject so great a help for her children. She had even thought ofthe advantage of keeping Sibby upstairs to attend on the babies andherself--work not fit to rest entirely on Wilmet, though the good girlhad fully counted on giving up her work at school.
It was evident that the examination by the doctor and Wilmet'sconsultation had thoroughly roused her, and she was as clear-headedas ever. Indeed, it seemed to Sister Constance that she was a littleexcited, and in that mood in which the most silent and reserved peoplesuddenly become the most unreserved.
She was asked at last what Mr. Rugg thought of her, and SisterConstance in reply asked whether she remembered her accident. Shethought a little. 'Why--yes--I believe I did slip on the stairs; but itdid not hurt me, and I forgot it. Does he think anything of it?'
'I think he fears you gave yourself a shock.'
'Not unlikely,' she said in an indifferent tone, and did not speakagain for some minutes; then said, 'Yes, I see! I am thankful it didnot tell on me sooner,' and her look brought the tears into Constance'seyes.
'It told more than you did,' said Constance, endeavouring at a smile.
'Not on the babies,' she said; 'and he never knew it, so there is noharm done! Thank God!'
She lay a little longer, and Constance thought her going into her usualstate of torpor; but she roused herself to say, 'Would you kindly lookinto that desk? You will find a green book.'
'Yes.'
'Please tear out the leaves, and burn it for me. I would not have oneof the children see it on any account.'
Constance began to obey, and saw that it was a diary. 'Are you sure itought to be done?' she asked. 'Might it not be better to wait till youare better?'
'I cannot tell that I shall be much less helpless. I know how thingslike this go,' she said.
Constance was still reluctant, and Mrs. Underwood added, 'I will tellyou. It is nothing good, I assure you. When we drove from the door atVale Leston, the home of all our lives, _he_ turned to me and said,"Now, Mary, that page is shut for ever. Let us never speak a word tomake the children or ourselves feel turned out of paradise." And Inever did; but, oh! I wrote it. There are pages on pages of repiningsthere--I could not let them see it!'
'Nay, but you were resigned.'
'Resigned! What of that? I held my tongue! It was all I could do! Inever knew things could be worse till I saw it was killing him, andthen all I could do was still to keep silence.'
There was an agony in her voice that Constance had never heard therebefore.
'Silence was, no doubt--as things were--an exceeding kindness to him,'said Constance, 'and one that must have cost you much.'
'Once--once, so tenderly, with tears in his eyes, he did beg me as afavour not to complain, or talk of Fulbert Underwood! I did not; butI never _could_ be the companion I was before to him. He was alwayshappy, he did believe me so; but I could often only smile. If I talked,it could only have been of his health and our cares.'
'You kept him happy by taking the weight so entirely to yourself.'
'Perhaps; if he had only known how miserable it made me, we might havemoved to a healthier place; but after that one time, I never could vexhim or trust myself. To hear him console me and grieve for me, wasworst of all.'
Constance began to see how the whole woman, brought up to affluence,had been suddenly crushed by the change; and almost the more so forher husband's high and cheerful resolution, which had forced backher feelings into herself. Her powers had barely sufficed for thecares of her household and her numerous family, and her endurance hadconsisted in 'suffering, and being still.' No murmur had escaped, butonly by force of silence. She had not weakened his energies by wordor look of repining; but while his physical life was worn out by toiland hardship, her mental life had almost been extinguished in care,drudgery, and self-control; and all his sweetness, tenderness, andcheerfulness had not been able to do more than just to enable her tohold out, without manifesting her suffering. Enid had been a verysuitable name for her; though without a Geraint in any respect to blamefor what she underwent, she had borne all in the same silent and almosthopeless spirit, and with the same unfailing calm temper: but outsideher own house, she had never loved nor taken real interest in anythingsince the day she drove from the door of Vale Leston; she had merelyforced herself to seem to do so, rather than disappoint her eagerhusband and children.
And now, how much of her torpor had been collapse, how much the effectof the accident, could not be guessed. She herself was greatly rousedfor the present, dwelt on the necessity of trying to get up the nextday, and was altogether in a state excitable enough to make the Sisteranxious.
Other troubles too there were that evening, which made all feel thateven though Mr. Audley was to live to himself, his presence
in thehouse would be no small comfort.
Fulbert, never the most manageable of the party, had procured a pieceof wood from the good-natured carpenter, and was making a sparrow-trapon an improved plan, when Wilmet, impatient to have the room clearfor Mr. Audley to come for the final decision--as he was to do in theevening--anxious to clear away the intolerable litter, and with moreanxiety for Fulbert's holiday task than for the sparrows, ordered himto bed--ten minutes too early, and in too peremptory a tone.
Fulbert did not stir.
'Fulbert, I say, clear up that litter, and go to bed.'
'Don't you hear, Fulbert?' said Felix, looking up from his book.
Fulbert gave a pull to the newspaper that was spread under his works onthe table, and sent all his chips and saw-dust on the ground.
'O Fulbert! how naughty!' broke out Alda.
'Fulbert, are you going to mind?' asked Wilmet. 'Please remember.'
'I shall go in proper time,' growled Fulbert.
'That is not the way to speak to your sister,' interposed Felix, withauthority.
Fulbert eyed him defiantly all over.
Felix rose up from his chair, full of wrath and indignation. Therewas quite difference enough in their size and strength to give himthe complete mastery, for Fulbert was only ten years old; but Wilmet,dreading nothing so much as a scuffle and outcry, sprang up, imploring,'O Felix! remember, Mamma is wide awake to-night. Let him alone--pray,let him alone.'
Felix was thoroughly angry, and kept his hands off with exceedingdifficulty. 'Little sneak,' he said; 'he chooses to take advantage.'
'He always was a sneak; his nose is the shape of it,' said Edgar.
As Felix and Wilmet had the sense to let this amiable observation drop,Edgar contented himself with making some physiognomical outlines ofsneaks' noses on a slate; and silence prevailed till the church clockstruck the half-hour, when Clement got up, and taking the slate, wherehe had been solacing himself with imitating Edgar's caricatures, he wasabout to make it an impromptu dust-pan, and went down on his knees tosweep up Fulbert's malicious litter, but was rewarded with a viciouskick on the cheek. It was under the table, out of sight; and Clement,like a true son of his mother, made no sign, but went off to bed like aSpartan.
'Fulbert,' said Lance, rising to follow his example, 'it is time now.'
He still sat on; and Felix, in intolerable wrath and vexation, foundhimself making such deep bites into a pencil, that he threw it from himwith shame, just as Mr. Audley's bell sounded, and he ran down to lethim in.
'Now, Ful,' said Wilmet coaxingly, 'please go--or Mr. Audley will see.'
'Let him.'
Mr. Audley was there in a moment, and the next, Alda, in all the ruffleof offended dignity, was telling him that Fulbert was in one of histempers, and would attend to nobody. Fulbert's back looked it. Itevidently intended to remain in that obstinate curve till midnight.
'I am sorry,' said Mr. Audley, 'I thought no one would have added tothe distress of the house! What is it, Fulbert?' he added, laying hishand on his shoulder, and signing to Alda to hold her peace.
'They bother,' said Fulbert, in the sulky tone; but still, as heregarded the new-comer as less of an enemy than the rest--'I'd havegone at half-past eight if they would let a fellow alone.'
'Then the fellow had better give them no right to bother,' saidMr. Audley. 'Come, Fulbert, no ship can sail unless the crew obey.No mutiny. Here's your captain ready to shake hands and wish yougood-night.'
Fulbert could not face Mr. Audley's determined look, but he was notconquered. He took up his tools and his trap, gave a final puff tospread his sawdust farther, and marched off without a single good-night.
'He has the worst temper of us all,' cried Alda.
'You should be very cautious of provoking him,' said Mr. Audley.
'I am afraid it was my fault,' sighed Wilmet.
'Nonsense,' said Felix; 'he is an obstinate little dog. I wish I waslicking him. I hope he is not pitching into Clem!'
'Clem is the biggest,' said Alda.
'Yes, but he is much the meekest,' added Wilmet.
'Tina's meek sauce is aggravation, itself,' observed Edgar. 'I shouldhope he was catching it!'
'He is certainly not slow to put in his oar,' said Mr. Audley; 'did youhear of his performance in the vestry the other day?'
'No. I hope he did not make an unusual ass of himself,' said Felix.
'He and Mowbray Smith had last Tuesday's Evensong nearly to themselves,when Master Clem not only assisted Smith in putting on his hood, butexpressed his doubts as to the correctness of it (never, of course,having seen any bachelor's but Oxford or Cambridge), and further gavehim some good advice as to his manner of intoning.'
'I hope he won't go on in that way at St. Matthew's!' exclaimed Wilmet.
'It is lucky he is going so soon,' said Mr. Audley. 'I doubt if MowbraySmith will ever get over it!'
'Regular snob that he is,' said Edgar; 'just one of my Lady's sort!What did he do? Go crying to her?'
'O Edgar!' remonstrated Wilmet.
'Well, Mettie, if even our spiritual pastors will be snobs, one musthave the relief of expressing one's opinion now and then.'
'I should say it was better to keep any such fact out of one's mind asmuch as might be,' said Mr. Audley, feeling himself unable to deny whathad been so broadly expressed.
'And we, at any rate, had better drop talking of snobs,' said Felix.
'Hollo, Felix! I am sure you for one would not be a snob if you hadturned chimney-sweeper, and let Tom Underwood nail me to his office;he'll never make one of me!'
'I trust so,' said Felix; 'but it is not the way to keep from it tothrow about the word at other folks.'
'What's that?' cried Alda. 'Really, that boy must be falling upon someof them.'
It was Lance, in great deshabille, who, opening a crack of the door,called cautiously, 'Wilmet, please come here.'
Wilmet hastily obeyed, saying anxiously, as the door was shut, 'Nevermind, dear Lance, he's in a horrid mood; but do bear it, and not makeFelix more in a rage.'
'Bosh about Ful,' said Lance unceremoniously. 'It is Cherry; she iscrying so upstairs, and Clem and I can't get a word out of her.'
Cherry, though older than the boys, had to precede them in vanishingfor the night, as her undressing was a long operation dependentupon Sibby. Wilmet ran up in haste, and did indeed find poor littleGeraldine with her face smothered under the clothes in an agony ofweeping, very serious for so frail a little creature.
'Cherry! Cherry, dear, don't! Are you feeling solitary? Are you missing_him?_ Oh, don't! Yes, dear, 'tis so sad; but we all do love you so.'
Wilmet would have kissed and fondled her, but the child almost thrusther away.
'Not that. Oh, not that! I wish it was.'
'My dear Cherry, you can't have been naughty!'
'Yes, yes! indeed I have. And now--'
'I can't think--O Cherry, if you would only tell me what you mean!'cried Wilmet, aghast.
And with agonised sobs, Cherry whispered, 'Mr. Rugg--O Mettie--suchthings as I said about him to Sister Constance--I made sure I hadforgiven--long ago--and now--now, after _that_.'
If Wilmet had not known how deeply both Geraldine and her father hadresented what Mr. Rugg had meant as a little friendly gloss to saveterror before a painful operation, she would have been utterly at aloss. And now, she found herself incapable by any argument or caress ofsoothing her sister's sense of heinous offence; for that rite, of whichshe had partaken with her father, had required charity with all men,and now she found she had been deceitful--she hated Mr. Rugg all thetime. Oh, what should she do! how could she be so wicked!
Wilmet tried to tell her that she had not known how it was at the time,but this seemed no comfort; and it was plain that that day's solemnityhad lessened the inequality between the two girls so much, that forWilmet to console her as a child was vain; and indeed, her invalidstate and constant companionship with her father had rendered herreligious feeling much mor
e excitable, and more developed, than were asyet Wilmet's; and meantime, this piteous sobbing and weeping was doinggreat bodily harm.
Wilmet at last, hearing a door open as if the nurse were taking SisterConstance's place, ran down to take counsel with that kind friend onthe way. She whispered her trouble on the stairs, and the Sister wassoon kneeling over the little bed; but her comfort was not persuadingthe child to think less of the fault, but promising that she shouldtell all to Mr. Audley to-morrow.
Nay, seeing that even this was too long hence for the 'weary soul, andburdened sore,' to look forward to--indeed, that the preparation forthe interview would be sleep-destroying--she said, 'Then you shall seehim at once, my dear.'
Wilmet opened her eyes in dismay. That little attic, bare of all butbeds, was her thought; but Sister Constance, ever an effective woman,had the little black frock, the shoes and stockings, on in no time, andthrowing a shawl over all, actually gathered the small light frame upinto her arms, and carried her down to the fire in the room now vacatedby the nurses and babies. And there she fetched Mr. Audley to her. 'Itwill not do,' she whispered on the way to Wilmet, 'to treat her as achild _now_.'
'He always made so much of her,' sighed Wilmet.
'Yes; and now she is a Communicant.'
They left her to Mr. Audley, and presently, when the door openedagain, it was he who was carrying her upstairs again; and when SisterConstance had taken possession of her, she whispered, 'Yes, thank you.He says I may come on Sunday, and I think it is forgiven. I shall saya prayer about charity always now!' And with a deep sigh, the worn-outlittle penitent lay down to her sleep.
'O Mr. Audley, it is plain we cannot do without you,' sighed Wilmet, asshe came down, not without tears in her eyes.
And then came the conference upon ways and means, rooms and attendance.Mr. Audley had parted with his horse and groom in the autumn, observingthat they ate their heads off; and the terms he now proposed forlodging, board, and attendance were what Felix and Wilmet would haveknown to be wondrously liberal but for their inexperience, especiallyas he meant to send in some, at least, of the furniture. He was to havehis meals, at his own times, in his sitting-room; and Sister Constancehad a person in her eye at Dearport, who was likely to do well in thekitchen, and not quarrel with Sibby.
Wilmet had made up her mind that she must remain at home all day, andhad even told Miss Pearson so; but that good lady had refused to accepther resignation, and had come to Mr. Bevan about it; and now both theSister and the Curate united in telling her that she ought not, as longas it was possible, to give up this means of improving herself, as wellas lessening the family burthen. To give up her education now would beto sink into a housewifely drudge, who would hardly be able to maintainherself when the younger ones would be getting out into the world; andas Geraldine must stay at home to be a companion to her mother, therewas no need for her being also always in attendance, while Sibby wasequal to the charge. Indeed, Mrs. Underwood herself had said somethingthat showed her to contemplate Wilmet's remaining at school.
'You must,' said Felix decidedly. 'Why, you might as well turnnursery-girl at once.'
'I should like it,' said Wilmet. 'I shall be miserable atschool--always thinking something is going wrong. And Cherry can neverbear with the babies! Oh! please don't tell me I must.'
'I tell you to begin,' said Sister Constance. 'You can always give itup if you feel that the need lies at home; but I think the few hours'change every day--for duty's sake, mind--will give you vigour not to beworn down by the home cares.'
'But Cherry will have them always! She who cares for books and drawingso much more than I!'
'Yes; but if you go on learning, you can teach her,' said SisterConstance.
'Oh!' cried Wilmet; 'Cherry knows more than I do.'
'Little Cherry is the cleverest of us all,' added Felix.
'Still,' said the Sister, 'the mere going over your work with youwill give her change and interest. I do feel strongly convinced, dearWilmet, that to shut yourself up with her, without gathering anythingfrom elsewhere, would be very bad for both.'
'We must see how Mamma is, and how Cherry gets on,' was all that Wilmetwould say, but the arrangement was made, and was to take effect in tendays' time, when Mr. Mowbray Smith was coming to be second curate, andSister Constance must change places with the three absent children, andAlda would be gone to her adopted home.
Then Mr. Audley took leave; and as Felix went to the front door withhim, he said, 'Forgive me, Felix; but I am a younger brother myself,and I do hope you do not mean to assert your authority by licking.'
Felix coloured a little; and though he spoke respectfully, it was withsome little annoyance. 'There is nothing else that does with Fulbert.'
'Stay, Felix; I am not questioning that he may be the sort of boy forwhom flogging may be good from some one.'
'He is!' said Felix. 'He never will behave himself till he has felt hismaster! It has been so at school; and once, even my father made himselfquite ill for a week with having to flog Fulbert for disobedience. Itsettled him; but he is not like the others--Clem and Lance are not anytrouble; but--I know it will come to it sooner or later; Ful will nevermind me or Wilmet till I have done it once.'
'And when his strength is equal to yours?'
'Then I hope he will have more sense.'
'Yes, Felix; but what if by forcing him into dogged submission by yourbodily strength you have lost his confidence, and have no moral powerover him? Things that can be borne from a father come very differentlyfrom a brother.'
Felix was quite crimson now. 'But what shall I do, Mr. Audley, when hedefies Wilmet, and teases Cherry and the little ones?'
'Try all you can with his better sense, but don't anger him by tones ofauthority. What you think needful rule may seem to him domineering. Andif necessary, call me. My blows will not leave the after rankling thatyours will, even if they are necessary.'
Felix sighed. He was not desirous of beating his brother in the main;but being unhappily master of the house, he was unwilling not to be soentirely. He wished Mr. Audley good-night, not in his most perfectlycordial tone.
However, the next morning he had brought himself to thank Mr. Audley.
'Thank you, Felix,' said the Curate; 'it is a great relief to me. I wasafraid you thought you were going to bring a meddling fellow in uponyou.'
Felix coloured, and with an effort--for which Mr. Audley liked him thebetter--said, 'I know I shall always deserve what advice you give me,and I hope another time I may take it better than the last.'
Soon after, one train carried away four of the young Underwoods tobegin life elsewhere. The Thomas Underwoods had desired that Alda andEdgar should meet them at the station, and at Felix's entreaty hadalso undertaken to convoy Clement, who, thanks to Mr. Audley, wasto be a chorister, and live in the clergy-house at St. Matthew's,Whittingtonia. It would have been Fulbert, only unluckily he hadno ear, and so he was left at home, while Lady Price, Mrs. ThomasUnderwood, and all the ladies they could enlist in their service,canvassed desperately, and made the cards of 'Fulbert James andLancelot Oswald, sons of the Rev. Edward Fulbert Underwood, THIRTEENchildren,' a weariness to every friend of a subscriber to clergy-orphanschools. Robina was not quite old enough to stand for the likeelection; but Sister Constance had negotiated with a lady who haddevoted herself to educating children of better birth than means, andthe little girl was to be dropped at the nearest station to her schoolat Catsacre. It had all been settled in a wonderfully short time, bySister Constance and Mr. Audley, with full though helpless acquiescencefrom Mrs. Underwood. They felt it well to lessen the crowd of childrenin the house, and the responsibilities of the elder ones, and acted atonce.
As to Alda, she was too miserable at home not to be ready to followEdgar, though she had at first implored to stay and help Wilmet tilltheir mother was about again; but the Thomas Underwoods were unwillingto consent to this--and after all, Alda was more apt to cry than tobe of much real use. Sister Constance saw that she w
as only anotherweight on her sister's hands, and that, terrible as the wrench would bebetween the twins, Wilmet would be freer when it was once over. PoorWilmet! she had felt as if she could hardly have lived over these weekssave for fondling the younger twins, and waiting on her mother. She wasalmost passive, and ran up and downstairs, or prepared the wardrobesof the departing children, just as she was bidden, all in one quietmaze of grief. The tears seemed to be always in her eyes, very oftendropping, and yet they never hindered her, and she never uttered a wordof deprecation or complaint; only she could not eat, and a kiss wouldbring down a whole shower; and at night, the two sisters would holdeach other tight, and cry and kiss themselves to sleep.
So had come the last day--the last for all four. Robina, who had onlyjust come back from St. Faith's, was grave, puzzled, and awestruck,clinging chiefly to Lancelot, and exchanging confidences in cornerswith him, in which they were probably much less childish than theyshowed themselves to the outer world. Clement was very grave andunhappy; but seemed to be most distressed at parting with Harry Lamb,a favourite school-fellow of his own quiet stamp, with whom he spentall available time. Alda and Wilmet were hand in hand at every possiblemoment, and if possible cheek to cheek--each felt as if herself was cutin two.
Then Edgar, who had only come home for that farewell Sunday, hadanother of his paroxysms of sorrow at the changes at home, which hecontrived to forget when at Centry. All that was becoming in a mannerusual to the others was a shock to him, and he was so very miserablethe whole day, that he treated every attempt of the others to cheerhim as a mere token of their hardness of heart. He went in to see hismother, and was so overcome at finding her no better, that he rushedaway, and threw himself on a sofa as if he was going to faint; and whenat church he saw his father's place filled up he fell into such a fitof sobbing, that half-a-dozen smelling-bottles were handed across theseats.
However, he had recovered himself on Monday morning, and made it hisparticular request that nobody would come bothering to the station,to make them look like Fulbert's canvassing-card of the thirteenchildren--and as the mention of it always affronted Fulbert deeply, itwas plain that _he_ would be no good company. However, Felix had beenallowed an hour from his business for that very purpose, and he simplysaid, 'Nonsense, Edgar, I shall take Robin down.' Wilmet submitted,though with a great pang. She had no assurance that she should notbreak down, and a crying match at the station--oh no! It might makeBobbie roar all the way.
So Alda clung round her neck and Geraldine's in their own littleparlour, and wished her mother good-bye, scarcely knowing whether itwere with a full understanding how many were parted from the wing thatnow seemed unable to shelter them; and then Wilmet went up and quietlylay down by her mother on her bed, feeling as if there was nothing shecared for in all life, and as if youth, hope, and happiness were goneaway from her for ever, and she were as much widowed as her mother. Shewas even past crying--she could do nothing but lie still. But then hermother's hand came out and stroked her; and presently one of the babiescried, and Wilmet was walking up and down the room with it, and allactivity with her outward senses, though her heart felt dead. Meantime,the luggage went in the omnibus, the four children walked up togetheronly escorted by Felix, and were passed on their way by the prancingand thundering carriage from Centry.
But the sense of usefulness that came gave strength and energy to Felixand Wilmet Underwood as the first excitement passed away, and theybetter understood their tasks.
Of the absent ones they heard good accounts. Alda was altogether onewith her cousin's family, and seemed to be completely on an equalitywith Marilda; and Edgar had been sent by Thomas Underwood to acquiremodern languages under the care of an Englishman who took privatepupils at Louvaine, whence Edgar despatched most amusing letters andclever sketches. Clement was in great favour, both musically andmorally, at St. Matthew's; and little Robina was reported to havebewailed her home with floods of nightly tears, but to have soonsettled down into the bonnie little pet of the elder girls.
Except for the separation, the cloud had hardly fallen on these, buttheir departure had made a great hole in the hitherto unbroken family;and while Felix and Wilmet, by the loss of their contemporaries, seemedplaced at a point far away from the others, Geraldine was conscious ofmuch loneliness. The twins had always consorted together, and regardedher as a mere child, and her chief companions had been her father andEdgar, so that she seemed left at an equal distance both from the elderand younger party.
Then the world around her was so busy, and she could do so little. Sheslept in a little inner room beyond the large nursery, where Wilmetkept guard over Angela and Bernard; and long before six o'clock, shealways heard the call pass between the eldest brother and sister; andknew that as soon as he was dressed, Felix--it must out--was cleaningthe family boots, including those of the lodger, who probably supposedthat nature did it, and never knew how much his young landlord had donebefore joining him in his early walk to St. Oswald's.
Meantime Wilmet conducted the toilette of the two little children, andgave the assistance that Cherry needed, as well as discharging some ofthe lighter tasks of the housemaid; leaving the heavier ones to Sibbyand Martha, a stout, willing, strong young woman, whom Sister Constancehad happily found for them, and who was disqualified, by a loutishmanner and horrible squint, from the places to which her capabilitiesmight have raised her.
Then Wilmet helped her sister downstairs, and a visit was paid to themother and the twins, who were Sibby's charge for the night. Mrs.Underwood was still in the same state. It was indeed possible torouse her, but at the expense of much suffering and excitement; andin general, she was merely tender, placid, and content, mechanicallybusied about her babies, and responding to what was said, but entirelyincapable of any exertion of body, and as inactive in mind as in limb.Wilmet attended to her while Sibby went to her breakfast, returningwith that of her mistress in time to send Wilmet down to preside atthe family meal, a genuine Irish dish of stir-about--for which all hadinherited a taste from their father's Irish mother. Only Cherry was toodelicate for such food, and was rather ashamed of her cup of tea andslice of bread.
However, this was one of the few times when she could hope she wasuseful; for when Felix was gone to the printing-office, the boys tothe grammar-school, and Wilmet, first to the kitchen, and then to MissPearson's, she remained with bowl and cloth to wash up in her ownpeculiarly slow and dainty way, never breaking but always dreaming,while Angela carried them one by one, first to her, then to the kitchen.
'Now Cherry.'
Mr. Audley's door opened, he would step forward and take the well-wornbooks in one hand, and hold the doors open with the other as Cherrytardily hopped in, and perched herself by the table. Her confirmationstudies had been left in his charge; and then followed a little Greek,some Latin, a page or two of French, the revision of an exercise, andsome help in Euclid and fractions--all studies begun with her father,and both congenial and useful to her, as the occupation that (nextto drawing) best prevented her from feeling the dreary loneliness ofher days; for though he could seldom give her more than an hour, thepreparation--after he had helped her upstairs--occupied her during thewhole period of tranquillity while the younger children slept. Angelaappeared first, and did some small lessons, cat-and-dog readings, andeasy hymns, then was generally content to sit on the floor in Mamma'sroom, admiring or amusing the twins. Then Cherry, according to hersense of duty, drew or worked. There was a horrible never-endingstill-beginning basket of mending in the family, which Wilmetreplenished every Saturday; and though Mrs. Underwood's instinct forpiecing and darning had revived as soon as she was taken out of bed,her work now always needed a certain revision to secure the boys fromthe catastrophe of which Wilmet often dreamt--appearing in public inragged shirt-sleeves! Geraldine knew that every stitch she left undonewould have to be put in by her sister in late evening or early morning,and therefore often wrenched herself from the pencil and paints thatbest beguiled her thoughts from the heart-ache for he
r father, and thecraving for Edgar, or the mere craving for light, air, liberty, andusefulness. Her only excuse to her own conscience for allowing herselfher chief pleasure was, that it was her way of helping an old womanwho kept a stall of small wares on market days, and could sometimesdispose of little pictures on domestic and Scriptural subjects, ifhighly coloured, glazed with gum, and bound with bright paper--pickingsand stealings, as Felix called them, gleaned from advertisements andpacking-boxes at Mr. Froggatt's; but these did not allow much scope forthe dreams of her fancy.
Nor had she much choice when Bernard once awoke and came down, in allthe unreasoning tyranny of two years old, when it was an even chancewhether he would peaceably look at the old scrap-book, play withAngela, or visit Mamma; or be uproarious, and either coalesce withAngela in daring mischief, fight a battle-royal with her, or be violentwith and jealous of the twins. The urchin had found out that when onceCherry's crutch was out of her reach she could not get at him; and hehad ridden off upon it so often, before committing any of his worstmisdemeanours, that Cherry always lay down on it to secure it. Afterall, he was a fine, affectionate, impetuous little fellow, but with avery high, proud, unmanageable will; and she was very fond and proud ofhim; but never more so than when he slept till dinner-time.
That was the hour which brought Felix home to help Sibby to carry hismother into the sitting-room, pay a little court to the babies, andenliven Cherry with any chance scrap of news or occupation. Best of allwere the proofs of that unfinished comment on the Epistle to Philippi,which was being printed by subscription of the congregation, and theclergy of the diocese. It always did Mrs. Underwood good to have theseread aloud to her by her little daughter, and _she_ could sometimesfind a clue to the understanding of sentences that had puzzled even Mr.Audley.
The two school-boys never appeared till dinner was imminent; andthen--one unuttered wish of poor Cherry was that Mr. Audley could havedined with them; but he kept to his own hours, and they were late.
Whereby dinners on five days of the week were apt to be something onthis fashion. Bell-ringing--Felix helping Geraldine to her seat, Angelatrotting after; a large dish of broth, with meat and rice, and anotherof mashed potato; no sign of the boys; Angela lisping Grace; Sibbywaiting with a tray.
Felix filled a soup-plate for his mother, and a basin for Bernard. 'Wemust begin, I suppose,' and he helped his sisters and himself.
'Here, Angel, push over your plate; I'll cut that.--How did you get onto-day?'
'Very well; the only mistake I made I found out before Smith saw it. Iknow all the stationery and steel pens apart now, and haven't made amistake for a week. Yesterday Bartlett junior came in, he stood likea post before Mr. Froggatt till he caught sight of me, and then heshouted out, "O Blunderbore, you know! What is it that Collis wants?"'
'And did you?'
'When he said it was a horrid sum-book all little a's and b's.--Whathave you been doing, Cherry?'
'I have begun an abstract of the first Punic--'
The door flew open with a bounce, and two hot, wild-locked boys, dusteverywhere except in their merry blue eyes, burst in, and tumbledon their chairs. 'I say--isn't it a horrid sell? we ain't to have aholiday for Squire's wedding.--Come, Fee, give us some grub.'
'You have not said Grace,' said Cherry.
Lance, abashed, stood up and bowed; Fulbert looked grim, and mumbledsomething.
'You have not washed your hands,' added Felix.
'Bosh! What's the good?' said Fulbert.
'They'll be as jolly dirty again directly,' said Lance.
'But you would be more decent company in the meantime,' said Felix.
At that moment there was a splash in his plate, a skip-jack made of thebreast-bone of a chicken had alighted there with a leap.
'There's Felix's master come after him,' cried Fulbert, and Lance wentoff into choking laughter.
'Boys, how can you?' broke out Cherry.
'Look at Blunderbore fishing out his master!' was Fulbert's answer.
'The frog is in the bog, And Felix is squeamish,'
chanted Lance.
'Bad rhyme, Lance,' said Felix, who could bear these things much betterfrom the younger than the elder. Indeed, he scarcely durst notice themin Fulbert, lest he should be betrayed into violence by letting out histemper.
'I say!' cried Lance, struck by a new idea, 'what prime stuff it isfor making a fort!' and he began to scrape the more solid parts of hisplateful to one side.
'Oh, I say, isn't it?' echoed Fulbert: 'but I've eaten up the best partof my castle;' and he grasped at the ladle.
'No, I thank you,' said Felix, putting it on the other side. 'While Iam here, you don't play tricks with that.'
Fulbert swallowed a spoonful in a passion, but a bright thought struckLance, who always cared much more for fun than for food. '_I say_,we'll empty it all into one, and eat it down.'
'You horrid boys!' plaintively exclaimed Cherry, almost crying--forthis return to savage life was perfect misery to her. 'I can't bear it.'
'I will not have Cherry tormented,' said Felix, beginning to be veryirate.
'We ain't doing anything to Cherry,' said Lance, amazed.
'Don't you know it spoils Cherry's appetite to see you so disgusting?'
'Then she'll have the more next time,' said Fulbert. 'Get along,Captain--you've splashed my face!'
'Hurrah! the red-hot shot! The rice is the cannon-balls! Where's somebread?'
'O Lance!' entreated Cherry; 'no waste--think of Wilmet and the bills.'
'We'll eat it every bit up,' asseverated Lance; but Fulbert growled,'If you bother any more, I shall crumble the whole lot out at window.'
'It is wicked to waste bread,' lisped Angela, and Martha at that momentappeared to fetch the tureen for the kitchen dinner.
'Can't you eat any more, Cherry?' asked Felix gloomily.
'Not a bit, thank you,' she said.
'We've not done!' shouted the boys, seizing on her scarcely-tasted andhalf-cold plate.
'You must finish after. Come, Cherry!' Then, as they left the room, andshe laid her head on his shoulder--'Little ruffians!' he said under hisbreath.
'Oh, never mind, Felix. I don't--at least I ought not to mind--theydon't mean it.'
'Lance does not, but I think Fulbert does. He'll make me thrash himwithin two inches of his life, before he has done. And then there's noone to take me in hand for it. It is horridly bad for them, too, tolive just like young bears.'
But he smoothed his brow as he came into the room where his mother was,and amused her till his time was up.
Mr. Froggatt had explained to his father long ago, that Felix's workwould not be that of a clerk in a great publishing house, but veritablythat belonging to the country bookseller and printer, and that he mustgo through all the details, so as to be thoroughly conversant withthem. The morning's work was at the printing-house, the afternoon'sat the shop. The mechanical drudgery and intense accuracy needed inthe first were wearisome enough; and moreover, he had to make his waywith a crusty old foreman who was incredulous of any young gentleman'scapabilities, and hard of being convinced that he would or could beuseful; but old Smith's contempt was far less disagreeable to himthan the subdued dislike he met with from Redstone, the assistant inthe shop, a sharp, half-educated young man, who had aspired to thevery post of confidence for which Felix was training--and being farless aware of his own utter unfitness for it than was Mr. Froggatt,regarded the lad as an interloper; and though he durst not treat himwith incivility, was anxious to expose any deficiency or failure onhis part. Having a good deal of quickness and dexterity, he couldact as a reporter, draw up articles of a certain description for thenewspaper, and had, since the death of Mr. Froggatt's eldest son, beenabsolutely necessary to him in carrying on the business; and now, itwas a matter of delicate discretion on the master's part to avoidhurting the feelings of the assistant, whom a little more would havemade his tyrant, and a dread of the appearance of favouritism madeit needful to keep Felix
thoroughly in a subordinate post, till realsuperiority of mind and education should assert itself over elder yearsand mere familiarity with detail. This reserved ill-will of Redstone'shad much increased the natural discomfort of appearing behind thecounter to former acquaintance, and had rendered the learning theduties there doubly troublesome and confusing; though, in recalling theday's doings, there was some amusement in contrasting the behaviour ofdifferent people, some--of whom Mr. Ryder was the type--speaking tohim freely in his own person, others leaving him as an unrecognizedshop-boy; and a third favouring him with a horrid little furtive nod,which he liked least of all. But though awkward and embarrassed atfirst, use soon hardened him, and made the customers indifferent, sothat by the spring he had begun to be useful, and to feel no particularexcitement about it.
The worst of his business was that it kept him so late, that he hadbut a very short evening, and no time for exercise. He was on his feetmost of the day, but indoors, and his recreation chiefly consistedin choir-practice twice a week. Not that he missed more positiveamusement; the cares of life and Edgar's departure seemed to have takenthe boyish element of frolic out of him; and left him gravely cheerfulindeed, but with no greater desire of entertainment than could findvent in home conversation, or playing with the little ones.
Wilmet and the two boys were at liberty full two hours before him. Thelatter generally stayed out as long as light and hunger permitted.Mr. Audley continually stumbled on them playing at marbles, racingheadlong in teams of pack-thread harness with their fellows, upsettingthe nerves of quiet folk--staring contentedly at such shows as requiredno outlay, or discontentedly at the outside of those that demanded thepennies they never had. They were thorough little street-boys; and allthat he could do for them was to enforce their coming in at reasonablehours, and, much to their sister's relief, cause their daily lessons tobe prepared in his room. Otherwise their places in their classes wouldhave been much less creditable.
Wilmet's return was always Geraldine's great relief, for the afternoonof trying to amuse her mother, and keep the peace between the children,was almost more than she was equal to; though, on fine days, Sibbyalways took out the two elder babies, with an alternate twin, for anhour's air, and Mr. Audley daily visited the invalid. Mr. Bevan did sotwice a week, with a gentle sympathising tone and manner that was morebeneficial than Lady Price's occasional endeavours to make her 'rouseherself.' Miss Pearson and a few humbler friends now and then lookedin, but Mrs. Underwood had been little known. With so large a family,and such straitened means, the part of the active clergyman's wife wasimpossible to her; she had shrunk from society, and most people knewnothing more of her than that the faded lady-like figure they used tosee among her little flock at church, was Mrs. Underwood.
Wilmet's coming home was always a comfort; and though to her it wasrunning from toil to care, the change was life to her. To have beeneither only the teacher or only the housewife might have weighed overheavily on her; but the two tasks together seemed to lighten eachother. She had a real taste and talent for teaching, and she andher little class were devoted to one another, while the elder girlsloved her much better since Alda had been away. The being with them,and sharing their recreation in the middle of the day, was no doubtthe best thing to hinder her from becoming worn by the depressingatmosphere around her mother. She always brought home spirits andvigour for whatever lay before her, brightening her mother's face,dispelling squabbles between Angela and Bernard, and taking a load ofcare from Geraldine.
There was sure to be some anecdote to enliven the home-keepers, or somequestion to ask Cherry, whose grammar and arithmetic stood on firmerfoundations than any at Miss Pearson's, and who was always pleased tohelp Wilmet. The evening hours were the happiest of the day, only theyalways ended too soon for Cherry, who was ordered up by Sibby as soonas her mother was put to bed, and had, in consequence, a weary lengthof wakeful solitude and darkness--only enlivened by the reflection fromthe gas below--while Felix and Wilmet sat downstairs, she with hermending, and he either reading, or talking to her.
On Saturday, which she always spent at home, and in very activeemployment in the capacities of nurse, housemaid, or even a slighttaste of the cook and laundress, the evening topic was always theaccounts--the two young heads anxiously casting the balance--proud andpleased if there were even a shilling below the mark, but serious andsad under such a communication as, 'There's mutton gone up anotherhalf-penny;' or, 'Wilmet, I really am afraid those boots of mine cannotbe mended again;' or again, 'See what Lance has managed to do to thisjacket. If one only could send boys to school in sacking!'
'Are not there a few pence to spare for the chair for Cherry? She willcertainly get ill, if she never goes out now spring is coming on.'
'Indeed, Felix, I don't know how! If there is a penny over, it iswanted towards shoes for Bernard; and Cherry begs me, with tears in hereyes, not to let her be an expense!'
Poor Geraldine! the costing anything, and the sense of uselessness,were becoming, by the help of her nightly wakefulness, a most terribleoppression on her spirits. Her father was right. His room had been ahot-bed to a naturally sensitive and precocious character, and thechange that had come over her as time carried her farther and fartheraway from him, affected her more and more.
Her brother and sister, busy all day, and scarcely ever at home, hardlyknew what was becoming a sore perplexity to Mr. Audley.
A young tutor, not yet twenty-six, could not exactly tell what to dowith a girl not fourteen, who fell into floods of tears on the smallestexcuse.
'No, no, Cherry--that is not the nominative.'
The voice faltered, struggled to go on, and melted away behind thehandkerchief. Then--'O Mr. Audley, I am so sorry--'
'That's exactly what I don't want you to be, Cherry.'
'Oh, but it was so careless,' and there was another flood.
Or, 'Don't you see, Cherry, you should not have put the negative signto that equation. My dear Cherry, what have I said?'
'Oh, oh--nothing. Only I did think--'
'We shall have you a perfect Niobe, if you go on at this rate, Cherry.Really, we must not have these lessons, if they excite you so much.'
'Oh! that would be the worst punishment of all!' and the weepingbecame so piteously violent, that the Curate looked on in distressedhelplessness.
'I know it is very tiresome of me; I would help it, if I could--indeedI would.' And she cried the more because she _had_ cried.
Or, as he came in from the town, he would hear ominous sounds, that hiskind heart would not let him neglect, and would find Cherry sitting onthe landing-place in a paroxysm of weeping. She always crept out of hermother's room on these occasions, for the sight of tears distressedand excited Mrs. Underwood; and the poor child, quite unable, in herhysterical condition, to drag herself alone up that steep stair,had no alternative but to sit, on what Mr. Audley called her stoolof repentance, outside the door, till she had sobbed herself intoexhaustion and calm--or till either Sibby scolded her, or he heard herconfession.
She had been 'so cross' to Bernard, or to Angel--or, once or twice,even to Mamma. She had made an impatient answer when interrupted in herlessons or in a dream over a drawing; she had been reluctant to exertherself when wanted. She had scolded fretfully--or snatched things awayangrily, when the little ones were troublesome; and every offence ofthis sort was bewailed with an anguish of tears; that, by weakening herspirits and temper, really rendered the recurrence more frequent. 'Theone thing they trust to me, I fail in!'
He was very kind to her. He did not yield to the mannish loathingfor girlish tears that began to seize on him, after the first two orthree occasions. He thought and studied--tried comfort, and fancied itrelaxed her--tried rebuke, and that made it worse; tried the showingher Francois de Sales' admirable counsel to Philothee, to be '_douxenvers soi_,' and saw she appreciated and admired it; but she was notan atom more _douce envers soi_ when she had next spoken peevishly.
At last he fairly set off by the train, to lay
the case before SisterConstance.
'What is to be done, when a child never does anything but cry?'
Sister Constance listened to the symptoms, and promptly answered, 'Giveher a glass of port wine every day, before you let her out of yourroom.'
'If I can!'
'Tell her they are _my_ orders. Does she eat?'
'I imagine not. I heard Felix reproaching her with a ghoul's dinner ofa grain of rice.'
'Does she sleep?'
'She has told me a great deal of midnight meditation on her owndeficiencies.'
'She must be taken out of doors somehow or other! It is of no use toreason with her; the tears are not temper, or anything else! PoorCharlie! it is an odd capacity for you to come out in, but I suppose noone else can attend to her.'
'No, poor child, she is rather worse than motherless! Well--I will findsome excuse for taking her out for a drive now and then; I don't knowhow to speak to the others about having the chair for her, for they arebarely scraping on.'
'Poor children! Well, this year is probably the worst. Either they willget their heads above water, or there will be a crisis. But they _do_scrape?'
'Yes. At Lady-day there was great jubilation, for the rent was paid,the taxes were ready, there was not a debt; and there was seven-penceover, with which Felix wanted to give Cherry a drive; but Wilmet, whois horribly prudent, insisted that it must go to mend Fulbert's brokenwindow.'
'Well--poor Wilmet! one can't blame her. How does she treat Cherry'stears?'
'I don't think she has much pity for them. Felix does much betterwith Cherry; he rocks her and pets her; though, indeed, she hardlyever breaks down when he is there; but even his Sundays are a gooddeal taken up--and I always hunt him out for a walk on the Sundayafternoons.'
'Is he still in the choir and teaching at the Sunday school?'
'Yes--though it is not Mowbray Smith's fault.'
'What, is your colleague what you apprehended?'
'My Lady could not have found a curate more to her mind, or more imbuedwith her dislike to all that bears the name of Underwood. I own itis hard to have one's predecessor flung constantly in one's teeth,and by the very people who were the greatest thorns to dear Underwoodhimself. Then Clem, who _is_ a born prig, though a very good boy, gavesome of his little interfering bits of advice before he went away, andit has all been set down to Felix's account! One Sunday, Smith made acomplaint of Felix having the biggest boys in the school. It was theconsequence of his having taken them whenever his father could not,till it came to his having them entirely. He always took great painswith them, and there was a fellow-feeling between him and them thatcould hardly be with an older person. I said all this--too strongly,most likely--and the Rector put in a mild word, as to his goodness incoming at all. Smith thought there was nothing wonderful in liking whatministered to his conceit; and at last it came out that a baker's boyhad met Felix and Smith consecutively in the street, and only touchedhis hat to one, and that the wrong one.'
'I should have been only thankful that he touched his hat to anybody.'
'That is the very remark by which I put my foot in it; but my Lady washorrified, and the consequence was, that it fell to me to advise Felixto resign the class. I never hated a piece of work so much in my life,for he had worked the lads well, and we both knew that there would bean end of them. Moreover, Felix has some of the true Briton about him,and he stood out--would give up the class if the Rector ordered him,but would relinquish Sunday-school altogether in that case; and the twogirls were furious; but, after one Sunday, he came to me, said thathe found hostility poisoned his teaching, gave up, and accepted theyounger ones.'
'Of course the boys deserted.'
'Which has not softened Smith, though it has made him tolerate Felixin the choir. His voice is of very little use at present; but he issuch an influence, that we should be glad of him if he could not sing anote, and he clings to it with all his heart. I believe music is aboutthe only pleasure he has, and it excites his mother too much to haveany at home. We have little Lance in the choir now, with a voice like athrush in a dewy morning.'
Mr. Audley acted on the port-wine prescription, to the horror anddismay of Cherry, who only submitted with any shadow of philosophy onbeing told that the more she cried the more necessary she rendered it;but on the Saturday, Sister Constance suddenly knocked at Mr. Audley'sdoor. She had been talking the matter over with the Superior; and theresult was, that she had set off on a mission to see for herself, andif she thought it expedient, to bring Geraldine back with her. Shehad chosen Saturday as the time for seeing Wilmet, and was preparedto overlook that the stairs were a Lodore of soap, this being Sibby'scleaning day, while Wilmet kept guard over the mother and the twins.
Geraldine was in the sitting-room, writing a Latin exercise, with agreat pucker in her forehead whenever Angela looked up from her woodenbricks to speak to her. And though the sharp little pinched face wasall one beam of joy as the visitor came in, Sister Constance saw atonce that the child's health had deteriorated in these last months.She sat down, and with Angela on her lap, questioned anxiously. Cherryhad no complaints--she always was like this in the spring. How was herfoot? As usual, a falter. Was it _really?_ Well, yes, she thought so.And then, as the motherly eyes looked into hers, there came a burst ofthe ready tears; and 'Oh, _please_ don't talk about it--_please_ don'task.'
'I know what you are afraid of,' said Sister Constance, remembering herhorror of the Bexley medical attendant, 'but is it right to concealthis, my dear child?'
'I don't think I do,' said Cherry pitifully. 'You know Sibby _does_ itevery night, and it only aches a little more now. And if they did findit out, then they would have _him_, and there would be a doctor's bill,and, oh! that would be dreadful!'
Sister Constance saw that the question of right or wrong would beinfinitely too much for Geraldine, and drew off her mind from it totell of the good accounts of Robina from Catsacre, and Clement fromWhittingtonia; but when presently Wilmet was so far free as to come inwith _only_ the boy-baby in her arms, and take the guest up to take offher bonnet, it was the time for entering on the subject.
'Cherry? do you think her looking ill? She always is poorly in thespring, you know.'
'I do not like what I hear of her appetite, or her sleep, or herspirits.'
'Oh! but Cherry is always fanciful, you know. Please, please don't putthings in her head.'
'What kind of things do you mean?'
'Fancying herself worse, I mean, or wanting things. You know we must beso careful, and Mamma and the babies--'
'My dear, I know you have many to care for, and it is hard to strikethe balance; but somehow your voice sounds to me as if Geraldine werethe one you most willingly set aside.'
Wilmet did not like this, and said, a little bit hastily, 'I am sureGeraldine has everything we can give her. If she complains, it is verywrong of her.'
'She has not said one word of complaint. Her grief and fear is only ofbeing a burden on you. What brought me here was, that Mr. Audley wasanxious about her.'
Wilmet was silent, a little abashed.
'Did you know that her ankle is painful again?'
'Sister Constance,' said Wilmet, 'I don't think you or Mr. Audley knowhow soon Cherry fancies all sorts of things. She does get into whinystates, and is regularly tiresome; and the more you notice her, theworse she is. I know Mamma thought so.'
'My dear, a mother can venture on wholesome neglect when a sister'sneglect is not wholesome. I am not accusing you of neglect, mind; onlyyou want experience and sympathy to judge of a thing with a frame likeCherry's. Now, I will tell you what I want to do. I am come to take herback with me, and get her treated by our kind doctor for a month or so,and the sea air and rest will send her back, most likely, in a muchmore cheery state.'
'Indeed!' cried Wilmet, startled; 'it is very good, but how could we dowithout her? Mamma and the children! If she could only wait till theholidays.'
'Let her only hear you say that, Wilmet, and it will
do her more goodthan anything.'
'What--that she is of use? Poor little thing, she tries to be; but ifMarilda could have had her way, and taken her instead of Alda, it wouldhave been much better for her and all. Ah! there's Felix. May I callhim in?'
Felix, dashing up to wash his hands, smooth his hair, and dress himselffor the reading-room work instead of the printing-office, had muchrather these operations had been performed before he was called to theconsultation in the nursery; but he agreed instantly and solicitously,knowing much better than Wilmet what the dinners were to Cherry, andtalking of her much more tenderly.
'Yes, poor little dear, she always breaks down more or less in thespring; but I thought she would mend when we could get her out more,'he said. 'Do you think her really so unwell, Sister Constance?'
'Oh, no, no!' cried Wilmet, fearfully.
'Not very unwell, but only so that I long to put her under our gooddoctor, who comes to any one in our house, and who is such a fatherlyold gentleman, that she would not go through the misery the thought ofMr. Rugg seems to cause her.'
'Dr. Lee?' asked Felix. 'Tom Underwood sent him to see my father once.I remember my father liked him, but called it waste for himself, onlylonged for his opinion on Cherry. Thank you, I am sure it is thegreatest kindness.'
'But, Felix, how can she before the holidays?' cried Wilmet.
'Well, Mamma does not want her before dinner; and as to the kids, whycan't you take Angel to school with you? Oh, yes, Miss Pearson will letyou. Then Mr. Audley, or Mr. Bevan, is always up in the afternoon, andyou come home by four.'
'Perhaps I could earlier on days when the girls go out walking,' saidWilmet. 'If it is to do Cherry good, I don't like to prevent it.'
Wilmet had evidently got all her household into their niches, and thedisarrangement puzzled her. A wonderful girl she was to contrive as shedid, and carry out her rule; but Sister Constance feared that a littledryness might be growing on her in consequence, and that, like manymaidens of fifteen or sixteen, while she was devoted to the little, shewas impatient of the intermediate.
So when they went down, and Cherry heard of the scheme, and imploredagainst it in nervous fear of leaving home and dread of new faces,Wilmet, having made up her practical mind that the going was necessary,only made light of that value at home which was Cherry's one comfort,and which made herself feel it so hard to part with her, that this verywant of tact was all unselfishness.
Felix was much more comfortable to Cherry when he made playful facesat the bear-garden that the dining-room would become without her,and showed plainly that he at least would miss her dreadfully. Stillshe nourished a hope that Mamma would say she should not go; butMamma always submitted to the decrees of authority, and Wilmet andFelix were her authorities now. Sister Constance felt no misgivinglest Wilmet were hardening, when she heard the sweet discretion andcheerful tenderness with which she propounded the arrangement to thesick mother, without giving her the worry of decision, yet stilldeferentially enough to keep her in her place as the head of the family.
Yet it was with unnecessarily bracing severity that Wilmet observedto Geraldine, 'Now, don't you go crying, and asking questions, andworrying Mamma.'
'I suppose no person can be everything at once, far less a girl offifteen,' thought Sister Constance, as she drove up to the station inthe omnibus with Cherry, who was too miserable and bewildered to crynow; not that she was afraid of either the Sister or the Sisterhood,but only because she had never left home in her life, and felt exactlylike a callow nestling shoved out on the ground with a broken wing.
In two months more the omnibus was setting her down again, much nearerplumpness, with a brighter face and stronger spirits. She had been veryfull of enjoyment at St. Faith's. She had the visitor's room, withdelightful sacred prints and photographs, and a window looking out onthe sea--a sight enough to fascinate her for hours. She had been outevery fine day on the shore; she had sat in the pleasant community-roomwith the kind Sisters, who talked to her as a woman, not a baby; shehad plenty of books; one of the Sisters had given her daily drawinglessons, and another had read Tasso with her; she had been to thelovely oratory constantly, and to the beautiful church on Sunday, andhad helped to make the wreaths for the great May holidays; she had mademany new friends, and among them the doctor, who, if he had hurt her,had never deceived her, and had really made her more comfortable thanshe had ever been for the last five years, putting her in the way ofsuch self-management as might very possibly avert some of that dreadfulliability to be cross.
But with all this, and all her gratitude, Geraldine's longing had beenfor home. She was very happy, and it was doing her a great deal ofgood; but Mamma, and Felix, and Wilmet, and Sibby, and the babies, weretugging at her heart, and would not let it go out from them. She wasalways dreaming that Felix's heels were coming through his stockings,that Mamma was calling and nobody coming, or that Bernard was cuttingoff the heads of the twins with the blunt scissors. And when Dr. Lee'scourse of treatment was over, and Felix had a holiday to come and fetchher home, it is not easy to say which was happiest. For she was so gladto be at home amid the dear faces, troubling and troublous as theyoften were, and so comfortable in the old wheel-ruts of care and toil,that it really seemed as if a new epoch of joy had begun. Felix openlyprofessed how sorely he had missed her, and she clung to his arm withexulting mutual delight; but it was almost more triumphant pleasure tobe embraced by Wilmet with the words: 'Dear, dear Cherry, there you areat last. You can't think how we have all wanted you! I never knew howuseful you are.'
'I suppose,' said Felix quaintly, 'the world would rather miss itsaxis, and yet that does not move.'
'Yes, it does,' said Cherry, 'it wobbles. I suppose Wilmet saysrotates, just about as much as I am going to do now I have got backinto my own dear sphere again.'
The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2) Page 5
