The Three Brides

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  "I think it was to explain poor Frank's conduct at the races. Perhaps, as the servants at Revelrig had no knowledge of you, it may have been returned, and my mother's letter have been left untouched. I will see."

  They knew they must not delay one another, and parted; Julius walking homewards by the Hall, where, alas! there was only one of the family able to move about the house, and she seldom left her patient.

  Julius did, however, find her coming down-stairs with Dr. Worth, and little as he gathered that was reassuring in the physician's words, there was a wistful moisture about her eyes, a look altogether of having a bird in her bosom, which made him say, as the doctor hurried off, "Anne, some one must be better."

  "Cecil is," she said; and he had nearly answered, "only Cecil," but her eyes brimmed over suddenly, and she said, "I am so thankful!"

  "Miles!" he exclaimed.

  She handed him a telegram. The Salamanca was at Spithead; Miles telegraphed to her to join him.

  "Miles come! Thank God! Does mother know?"

  "Hush! no one does," and with a heaving breast she added, "I answered that I could not, and why, and that he must not come."

  "No, I suppose he must not till he is free of his ship. My poor Anne!"

  "Oh no! I know he is safe. I am glad! But the knowledge would tear your mother to pieces."

  "Her soul is in Raymond now, and to be certain of Miles being at hand would be an unspeakable relief to him. Come and tell them."

  "No, no, I can't!" she cried, with a sudden gush of emotion sweeping over her features, subdued instantly, but showing what it was to her. "You do it. Only don't let them bring him here."

  And Anne flew to her fastness in Frank's attic, while Julius repaired to Raymond's room, and found him as usual lying tranquil, with his mother's chair so near that she could hand him the cool fruit or drink, or ring to summon other help. Their time together seemed to both a rest, and Julius always liked to look at their peaceful faces, after the numerous painful scenes he had to encounter. Raymond, too, was clinging to him, to his ministrations and his talk, as to nothing else save his mother. Raymond had always been upright and conscientious, but his religion had been chiefly duty and obligation, and it was only now that comfort or peace seemed to be growing out of it for him. As he looked up at his brother, he too saw the involuntary brightness that the tidings had produced, and said, "Is any one else better, Julius? I know Terry is; I am so glad for Rose."

  "I asked Anne the same question," said Julius. "Mother, you will be more glad than tantalized. The Salamanca is come in."

  Raymond made an inarticulate sound of infinite relief. His mother exclaimed, "He must not come here! But Frankie could not spare Anne to him. What will she do?"

  "She will stay bravely by Frank," said Julius. "We must all wait till the ship is paid off."

  "Of course," said Raymond. "If she can rejoice that he is out of danger, we will; I am content to know him near. It makes all much easier. And, mother, he will find all ready to own what a priceless treasure he sent before him in his wife."

  There was the old note of pain in the comparison. Julius's heart was wrung as he thought of Sirenwood, with the sense that the victim was dying, the author of the evil recovering. He could only stifle the thought by turning away, and going to the table in his mother's adjacent room, where letters had accumulated unopened. 'On Her Majesty's Service' bore the post-mark which justified him in opening it, and enclosing the letter it contained to Miss Vivian.

  He did so almost mechanically. He had gone through these weeks only by never daring to have a self. The only man of his family who could be effective; the only priest in the two infected parishes; he had steadfastly braced himself for the work. He ventured only to act and pray, never to talk, save for the consolation of others. To Wil'sbro' he daily gave two morning hours, for he never failed to be wanted either for the last rites, or for some case beyond Herbert's experience, as well as to see the Vicar, who was sinking fast, in a devout and resigned frame, which impressed while it perplexed his brother clergyman, in view of the glaring deficiencies so plain to others, but which never seemed to trouble his conscience.

  The nursing-staff still consisted of the Sisters, Herbert Bowater, Mrs. Duncombe and her man-servant. Under their care, the virulence of the disease was somewhat abating, and the doctors ventured to say that after the next few days there would be much fewer fatal cases; but Water Lane was now a strangely silent place,-windows open, blinds flapping in the wind, no children playing about, and the 'Three Pigeons' remained the only public-house not shut up. It was like having the red cross on the door.

  CHAPTER XXIX. A Strange Night

  Cold, cold with death, came up the tide

  In no manner of haste, Up to her knees, and up to her side,

  And up to her wicked waist; For the hand of the dead, and the heart of the dead,

  Are strong hasps they to hold.-G. MACDONALD

  "Rector," said Herbert Bowater, "are you specially at home?"

  "Why?" asked Julius, pausing.

  "There's that man Gadley."

  "Gadley! Is he down?"

  "It seems that he has been ill this fortnight, but in the low, smouldering form; and he and that hostler of his kept it a secret, for fear of loss of gain, and hatred of doctors, parsons, Sisters, and authorities generally, until yesterday, when the hostler made off with all the money and the silver spoons. This morning early, a policeman, seeing the door open, went in, and found the poor wretch in a most frightful state, but quite sensible. I was passing as he came out to look for help, and I have been there mostly ever since. He is dying-M'Vie says there's not a doubt of that, and he has got something on his mind. He says he has been living on Moy's hush- money all this time, for not bringing to light some embezzlement of your mother's money, and letting the blame light on that poor cousin of yours, Douglas."

  Herbert was amazed at the lighting up of his Rector's worn, anxious face.

  "Douglas! Thank Heaven! Herbert, we must get a magistrate at once to take the deposition!"

  "What! Do you want to prosecute Moy?"

  "No, but to clear Archie."

  "I thought he was drowned?"

  "No; that was all a mistake. Miles saw him at Natal. Herbert, this will be life and joy to your sister. What!-you did not know about Jenny and Archie?"

  "Not I-Jenny!-poor old Joan! So that's what has stood in her way, and made her the jolliest of old sisters, is it? Poor old Joanie! What! was she engaged to him?"

  "Yes, much against your father's liking, though he had consented. I remember he forbade it to be spoken of,-and you were at school."

  "And Joan was away nursing old Aunt Joan for two years. So Archie went off with this charge on him, and was thought to be lost! Whew! How did she stand it? I say, does she know he is alive?"

  "No, he forbade Miles to speak. No one knows but Miles and I, and our wives. Anne put us on the scent. Now, Herbert, I'll go to the poor man at once, and you had better find a magistrate."

  "Whom can I find?" said Herbert. "There's my father away, and Raymond ill, and Lipscombe waved me off-wouldn't so much as speak to me for fear I should be infectious."

  "You must get a town magistrate."

  "Briggs is frantic since he lost his son, and Truelove thinks he has the fever, though Worth says it is all nonsense. There's nobody but Whitlock. Dear old Jenny! Well, there always was something different from other people in her, and I never guessed what it was. I'd go to the end of the world to make her happy and get that patient look out of her eyes."

  Herbert had nearly to fulfil this offer, for Mr. Whitlock was gone to London for the day, and magistrates were indeed scarce; but at last, after walking two miles out of the town, his vehemence and determination actually dragged in the unfortunate, timid justice of the peace who had avoided him in the road, but who could not refuse when told in strong earnest that the justification of an innocent man depended on his doing his duty.

  Poor Mr. Lipscombe! The neglected '
Three Pigeons' was just now the worst place in all Water Lane. The little that had hastily been done since the morning seemed to have had no effect on the foetid atmosphere, even to Herbert's well accustomed nostrils; and what must it have been to a stranger, in spite of the open window and all the disinfectants? And, alas! the man had sunk into a sleep. Julius, who still stood by him, had heard all he had to say to relieve his mind, all quite rationally, and had been trying to show him the need of making reparation by repeating all to a magistrate, when the drowsiness had fallen on him; and though the sound of feet roused him, it was to wander into the habitual defiance of authority, merging into terror.

  Herbert soothed him better than any one else could do, and he fell asleep again; but Mr. Lipscombe declared it was of no use to remain- nothing but madness; and they could not gainsay him. He left the two clergymen together, feeling himself to have done a very valiant and useless thing in the interests of justice, or at the importunity of a foolishly zealous young curate.

  "Look here," said Herbert, "Whitlock may be trusted. Leave a note for him explaining. I'll stay here; I'm the best to do so, any way. If he revives and is sensible, I'll send off at once for Whitlock, or if there is no time, I'll write it down and let him see me sign it."

  "And some one else, if possible," said Julius. "The difficulty is that I never had authority given me to use what he said to me in private. Rather the contrary, for old instinctive habits of caution awoke the instant I told him it was his duty to make it known, and that Archie was alive. I don't like leaving you here, Herbert, but Raymond was very weak this morning; besides, there's poor Joe's funeral."

  "Oh, never mind. He'll have his sleep out, and be all right when he awakes. Think of righting Jenny's young man! How jolly!"

  Julius went across to the town-hall hospital, and told the Sisters, whose darling his curate was, of the charge he had undertaken, and they promised to look after him. After which Julius made the best of his way home, where Rosamond had, as usual, a bright face for him. Her warm heart and tender tact had shown her that obtrusive attempts to take care of him would only be harassing, so she only took care to secure him food and rest in his own house whenever it was possible, and that however low her own hopes might be, she would not add to his burden; and now Terry was so much better that she could well receive him cheerily, and talk of what Terry had that day eaten, so joyously, as almost to conceal that no one was better at the Hall.

  "I will come with you," she said; "I might do something for poor Fanny," as the bell began to toll for little Joshua's funeral. Fanny Reynolds, hearing some rumour of her boy's illness, had brought Drake to her home three days before his death. The poor little fellow's utterances, both conscious and unconscious, had strangely impressed the man, and what had they not awakened in the mother? And when the words, so solemn and mysterious, fell on those unaccustomed ears in the churchyard, and Fanny, in her wild overpowering grief, threw herself about in an agony of sorrow and remorse, and sobbed with low screams, it was 'the lady' whom she viewed as an angel of mercy, who held her and hushed her; and when all was over, and she was sinking down, faint and hysterical, it was 'the lady' who-a little to the scandal of the more respectable- helped Drake to carry her to the Rectory, the man obeying like one dazed.

  "I must leave the sheep that was lost to you, Rose," said Julius. "You can do more for them than I as yet, and they have sent for me to the Hall."

  "You will stay there to-night if they want you; I don't want any one," said Rosamond at the door.

  He was wanted indeed at his home. Frank was in a wilder and more raving state than ever, and Raymond so faint and sinking, and with such a look about him, that Julius felt, more than he had ever done before, that though the fever had almost passed away, there was no spirit or strength to rally. He was very passive, and seemed to have no power to wonder, though he was evidently pleased when Julius told him both of Archie Douglas's life and the hopes of clearing his name. "Tell Jenny she was right," he said, and did not seem inclined to pursue the subject.

  They wheeled Mrs. Poynsett away at her usual hour, when he was dozing; and as Frank was still tossing and moaning incoherently, and often required to be held, Julius persuaded Anne to let him take her place with him, while she became Raymond's watcher. He dozed about half an hour, and when she next gave him some food, he said, in a very low feeble tone:

  "You have heard from Miles?"

  "Yes; he says nothing shall stop him the moment they are paid off."

  "That's right. No fear of infection-that's clear," said Raymond.

  "I think not-under God!" and Anne's two hands unseen clasped over her throbbing, yearning heart.

  "Dear old fellow!" said Raymond. "It is such pleasure to leave mother to him. If I don't see him, Anne, tell him how glad I am. I've no charge. I know he will do it all right. And mother will have you," and he held out his hand to her. Presently he said: "Anne. One thing-"

  "Yes," she said anxiously.

  "You always act on principle, I know; but don't hang back from Miles's friends and pleasures. I know the old fellow, Anne. His nature is sociable, and he wants sympathy in it."

  "I know what you mean, Raymond," said Anne; "I do mean to try to do right-"

  "I know, I know," said he, getting a little excited, and speaking eagerly; "but don't let right blind you, Anne, if you censure and keep from all he likes-if you will be a recluse and not a woman- he-don't be offended, Anne; but if you leave him to himself, then will every effort be made to turn him from you. You don't believe me."

  "My dear Raymond, don't speak so eagerly," as his cheeks flushed.

  "I must! I can't see his happiness and yours wrecked like mine. Go with him, Anne. Don't leave him to be poisoned. Mesmerism has its power over whoever has been under the spell. And he has-he has! She will try to turn him against you and mother."

  "Hush, Raymond! Indeed I will be on my guard. There's no one there. What are you looking at?"

  "Camilla!" he said, with eyes evidently seeing something. "Camilla! Is it not enough to have destroyed one peace?"

  "Raymond, indeed there is no one here."

  But he had half raised himself. "Yes, Camilla, you have had your revenge. Let it be enough. No-no; I forgive you; but I forbid you to touch her."

  He grasped Anne's arm with one hand, and stretched the other out as though to warn some one away. The same moment there was another outburst of the bleeding. Anne rang for help with one hand, and held him as best she could. It lasted long; and when it was over he was manifestly dying. "It is coming," he said; looking up to Julius. "Pray! Only first-my love to Cecil. I hope she is still young enough not to have had all her life spoilt. Is her father coming?"

  "To-morrow," said Anne.

  "That's well. Poor child! she is better free."

  How piteously sad those words of one wedded but a year! How unlike the look that met his mother's woeful yet tender eyes, as she held his hand. She would aid him through that last passage as through all before, only a word of strong and tender love, as he again looked up to Julius and Anne, as if to put her in their keeping, and once more murmured something of "Love to sweet Rose! Now, Julius, pray!"

  An ever dutiful man, there was no wandering in look or tone. He breathed 'Amen' once or twice, but never moved again, only his eyes still turned on his mother, and so in its time came the end.

  Old Susan saw at first that the long fluttering gasp had no successor, and her touch certified Julius. He rose and went towards his mother. She held out her hands and said. "Take me to my Frank."

  "We had better," whispered Anne.

  They wheeled her to the foot of the stairs. Julius took her in his arms, Anne held her feet, and thus they carried her up the stairs, and along the passage, hearing Frank's husky rapid babble all the way, and finding him struggling with the fierce strength of delirium against Jenkins, who looked as if he thought them equally senseless, when he saw his helpless mistress carried in.

  "Frank, my boy, do lie still," she sa
id, and he took no notice; but when she laid her hand on his, he turned, looked at her with his dull eyes, and muttered, "Mother!"

  It was the first recognition for many a day! and, at the smoothing motion of her hand over him, while she still entreated, "Lie still, my dear," the mutterings died away; the childish instinct of obedience stilled the struggles; and there was something more like repose than had been seen all these weary months.

  "Mother," said Julius, "you can do for us what no one else can. You will save him."

  She looked up to him, and hope took away the blank misery he had dreaded to see. "My poor Frankie," she said dreamily, "he has wanted me, I will not leave him now."

  All was soon still; Frank's face had something like rest on it, as he lay with his mother's hand on his brow, and she intent only on him.

  "You can leave them to me, I think," said Anne. "I will send if there be need; but if not, you had better not come up till you have been to Wil'sbro'-if you must go."

  "I must, I fear; I promised to come to Fuller if he be still here. I will speak to Jenkins first."

  Julius was living like a soldier in a campaign, with numbers dropping beside him, and no time to mourn, scarcely to realize the loss, and he went on, almost as if he had been a stranger; while the grief of poor old Jenkins was uncontrollable, both for his lady's sake and for the young master, who had been his pride and glory. His sobs brought out Mrs. Grindstone into the gallery, to insist, with some asperity, that there should be no noise to awaken her mistress, who was in a sweet sleep.

  "We will take care," said Julius, sadly. "I suppose she had better hear nothing till Mr. Charnock comes."

  "She must be left to me, sir, or I cannot be answerable for the consequences," was the stiff reply, wherewith Mrs. Grindstone retreated into her castle.

  Julius left the hushed and veiled house, in the frosty chill of the late autumn just before dawn, shivering between grief and cold, and he walked quickly down the avenue, feeling it strange that the windows in the face of his own house were glittering back the reflection of the setting moon.