"She is with her brother Herbert, at Mrs. Hornblower's lodgings. No, you must wait, Archie; he has barely in the last few hours, by God's great mercy, taken a turn for the better in this fever, and I don't see how she can leave him."
"But she must hear it," cried Rosamond. "I'm going to make her or Cranky get some rest; but you ought to be the one to tell her, Julius, you that have stood by her through all."
"And aren't you burning to do so, Rosey, woman? and I think you had better, rather than that I should startle Herbert by returning; but stay, mind your own rules-eat and drink before you go, and give the same to Archie. I shall send up a note to Miles. How is Cecil?"
"Very silent and broken, poor thing. She is to see your mother to-morrow. How well it was that she kept me so late over her wreath of camellias!"
Archie submitted to wait for food and fuller information,-indeed the lady of the house manifested more impatience than he did, as she flitted about making preparations, and he sat with hands locked together over his knee, gazing fixedly at Julius, scarcely speaking, though eagerly listening; and when the meal was brought in, he could not eat, only eagerly drank off a cup of scalding tea, and watched Rosamond, as if jealous of any delay over her cutlet. She did not abuse his patience.
"Now then?" she said, rising. "You shall hear something of her before long."
"Let me come to her door," entreated Archie.
And as the light shone from the window of the sick-room, Rosamond said, "Stand under that tree in the moonlight, and I will make her look out."
All was intensely quiet; Cranky fast asleep in the arm-chair in the outer-room, and Jenny sitting by the bed, watching the smooth quiet breath.
"You are to lie down on the sofa and sleep," said Rosamond, kissing her, and she shook her head, "You must. People want strength for joy as well as grief. Trust him to me, for there is some one for you to see to-morrow."
"Not papa!" said Jenny, startled. "No, nor Phil! Tell me, Rosamond. There is only one you could look at me like that for!"
"Look out at the window."
Trembling all over, Jenny went and put her face to the lattice. The figure under the tree came nearer. Archie must have been able clearly to see her face in the moonlight. He stretched up his arms to her, then folded them together on his breast, and let himself be led away by Julius, while Jenny slid down on her knees, with her face buried, and the suppressed choking sobs made Herbert look up at Rosamond, and whisper, "It is?"
"It is," repeated Rosamond, who had thought him asleep, or entirely absorbed in the trouble of living.
"Go to her," he added.
Rosamond put her arm round her, and supported her into the next room; for, after the month of hopeless watching, the long sleeplessness and the struggle of this silent day to force her spirit to the forgiveness she had promised, and then the sudden reaction, had overpowered her, and the suppression and silence were beyond endurance. She did not even know that Herbert was awake when Rosamond brought her out into Mrs. Hornblower's room, and said, "Have it out now, my dear, no one will hear. Scream comfortably. It will do you good."
But Jenny could not even scream. She was in the excited agony when the mind is far too much for the body, and joy, unrealized, is like grief. If her brother had that day passed away, and if nothing had been heard of her lover, she would have been all calmness and resignation; but the revulsion had overcome her, and at the moment she was more conscious of strangulation than of anything else. Rosamond tended her for full half an hour, and then she seemed almost asleep, though she resisted the attempt to undress her, with the words, "I must go to Herbert."
"I will take care of Herbert," and Jenny was too much spent not to acquiesce, and fell asleep almost before she was laid down on the bed their landlady had given up to the watchers.
Rosamond's task was a comfortable one, for every hour of sleep, every mouthful of food seemed to do its work of restoration on the sound, healthy frame, and a smile and word of thanks met her whenever she roused her patient with the inevitable spoon.
When he awoke towards morning, he asked what day it was, and when she told him, answered, "So I thought. Then I have not lost count of time."
"No, you have been wonderfully clear-headed."
"I can't see how there can have been time to write," he said. "It is true that he is come, is it not?"
"Quite true; but he came independently on business," and Rosamond told of Julius's chase, bringing a look of amusement on his face.
Jenny came in with the rising sun, pale indeed, but another creature after her rest and in the sight of the restful countenance that greeted her with a smile. The moaning, hoarse voice was gone too, it was a faint shadow of Herbert's own tones that said, "Is not this good, Jenny? I didn't think to have seen it."
"My Herbert, you have given him back! You have given me the heart to be glad!"
"You must go and see him," said Herbert.
Jenny looked wistful and undecided; but Julius entered to say that she must come at once, for Archie must go back to London by the ten o'clock train to an appointment, and could not return for two days.
Herbert smiled her away, for he was still in a state where it was not possible to bear any engrossing of his head-nurse, and the lover's absence was, even to his unselfishness, good news.
Rosamond could not refrain from the pleasure of peeping down the little dark stair as Archie and his Jenny met in the doorway, and she walked demurely in their rear, wondering whether other eyes saw as much as she did in the manner in which Jenny hung on his arm. She left them to their dewy walk in the Rectory garden to the last minute at which breakfast could be swallowed, and told Jenny that she was to drive him in the pony-carriage to Hazlett's Gate; she would take care of Herbert.
"You ought to be asleep, you know," said Jenny.
"My dear, I couldn't sleep! There's a great deal better than sleep! Is not Herbert going to get well? and aren't you jolly again and Archie back again? Sleep!-why I want to have wings and clap them- and more than all, is not Mr. Charnock off and away to-morrow? Sleep indeed!-I should like to see myself so stupid."
"Mr. Charnock?" interrogatively said Archie.
"The head of the family-the original Charnock of Dunstone," said Rosamond, who was in wild spirits, coming on a worn-out body and mind, and therefore perfectly unguarded. "Don't shake your head at me, Jenny, Archie is one of the family, and that makes you so, and I must tell you of his last performance. You know he is absolutely certain that his dear daughter is more infallible than all the Popes, even since the Council, or than anybody but himself, and that whatever goes wrong here is the consequence of Julius's faith in Dr. Easterby. So, when poor Cecil, uneasy in her mind, began asking about the illness at Wil'sbro', he enlivened her with a prose about misjudging, through well-intentioned efforts of clerical philanthropy to interfere with the sanitary condition of the town- so that wells grew tainted, &c., all from ignorant interference. Poor man he heard a little sob, and looked round, and there was Cecil in a dead faint. He set all the bells ringing, and sent an express for me."
"But wasn't he furious with Anne for mentioning drains at all?"
"My dear Joan, don't you know how many old women there are of both sorts, who won't let other people look over the wall at what they gloat on in private? However, he had his punishment, for he really thought that the subject had been too much for her delicacy, and simply upset her nerves."
"When was this?"
"Four or five days ago. She is better, but has said not a word more about it. She is nothing like strong enough, even for so short a journey as to Portishead; but they say change will be the best thing for her, and the coming down into the family would be too sad."
"Poor thing! Yes indeed," said Jenny; and feeling universally benevolent, she added, "give her my love," a thing which so sincere a person could hardly have said a few weeks ago.
Reserve was part of Cecil's nature, and besides, her father was almost always with her; but when she had been for
the first time dressed in crape up to her waist, with the tiniest of caps perched toy-like on the top of her passive head, the sight upset him completely, and muttering, "Good heavens!-a widow at twenty-two!" he hid himself from the sight over some business transactions with Mrs. Poynsett and Miles.
Rosamond seized the opportunity of bringing Julius in to pay his farewell visit, and presently Cecil said, "Julius, I should be much obliged if you would tell me the real facts about this illness."
"Do," said Rosamond. "Her half knowledge is most wearing."
He gently told her what science had pronounced.
"Then it was Pettitt's well?" she said.
"They tell us that this was the immediate cause of the outbreak; but there would probably have been quite as much fatal illness the first time any infectious disease came in. The whole place was in a shameful state, and you were the only people who tried to mitigate it."
"And did worse harm, because we would not listen to advice," said Cecil. "Julius, I have a great deal of money; can't I do anything now? My father wants me to give a donation to the church as a memorial of him, but, somehow, I don't feel as if I deserved to do that."
"I see what you mean, Cecil, but the town is being rated to set the drainage to rights, and it will thus be done in the most permanent and effectual way. There are some orphans who might be saved from the Union, about whom I thought of asking you to help."
Cecil asked the details of the orphans, and the consultation over them seemed to be prolonged by her because, even now, she could not resolve to go below the surface. It lasted until her father came to ask whether she were ready to go with him to Mrs. Poynsett's sitting-room. She looked very fragile and childish as she stood up, clinging to his arm to help her wavering, uncertain step, holding out her hand to Julius and saying, "I shall see you again."
He was a little disappointed to see her no older, and no warmer; having gone thus far, it seemed as if she might have gone further and opened more. Perhaps he did not understand how feelings, naturally slow, were rendered slower by the languor of illness, which made them more oppressive than acute. As Mr. Charnock and his daughter knocked, the door was opened by Miles, who merely gave his hand, and went down. Frank, who had been reading in a low easy- chair by the fire, drew it close to his mother for her, and retreated to another seat, and the mother and daughter-in-law exchanged a grave kiss. Cecil attempted some civility about the chair, to which poor Frank replied, "I'm afraid it is of no use to speak to me, Cecil, Miles can only just make me hear."
Regret for his misfortune, and inquiry as to the chance of restoration, were a possible topic. Mr. Charnock gave much advice about aurists, and examples of their success or non-success; and thence he diverged to the invalid-carriage he had secured, and his future plans for expediting his daughter's recovery. Meanwhile Mrs. Poynsett and Cecil sat grave, dry-eyed, and constrained, each feeling that in Mr. Charnock's presence the interview was a nullity, yet neither of them able to get rid of him, nor quite sure that she would have done so if she could.
He, meanwhile, perfectly satisfied with his own considerate tact, talked away the allotted half-hour, and then pronounced his daughter pale and tired. She let him help her to rise, but held Mrs. Poynsett's hand wistfully, as if she wished to say something but could not; and all Mrs. Poynsett could bring out was a hope of hearing how she bore the journey. It was as if they were both frozen up. Yet the next moment Cecil was holding Frank's hand in a convulsive clasp, and fairly pulling him down to exchange a kiss, when he found her tears upon his cheek. Were they to his misfortune, or to his much-increased resemblance to his brother?
Mr. Charnock kept guard over her, so that her other farewells were almost as much restrained as these, and though she hung on Rosamond's neck, and seemed ready to burst forth with some fervent exclamation, he hovered by, saying, "My dear child, don't, don't give way to agitation. It does you honour, but it cannot be permitted at such a moment. Lady Rosamond, I appeal to your unfailing good sense to restrain her emotion."
"I haven't any good sense, and I think it only hurts her to restrain her emotion," said Rosamond, with one of her little stamps, pressing Cecil in her arms. "There, there, my dear, cry,-never mind, if it will comfort your poor heart."
"Lady Rosamond! This is-Cecil, my dear child! Your resolution- your resignation. And the boxes are packed, and we shall be late for the train!"
Mr. Charnock was a little jealous of Lady Rosamond as a comforter preferred to himself, and he spoke in a tone which Cecil had never resisted. She withdrew herself from Rosamond, still tearless, though her chest heaved as if there were a great spasm in it; she gave her hand to Miles, and let him lead her to the carriage; and so Raymond's widowed bride left Compton Poynsett enfolded in that strange silence which some called sullenness and pride; others, more merciful, stunned grief.
Poor Cecil! there was less pity to be spared to her because of the intense relief it was to be free from her father, and to be able to stand in a knot consulting on the steps, without his coming out to find out what they were talking about, and to favour them with some Dunstone counsel.
The consultation was about Mr. Moy. It was determined that since Archie was in England, it would be better not to wait till Herbert was recovered, but that Miles and Julius should go together at once to see what effect they could produce on him.
They drove together to his office. He was a tall man, a few years over forty, and had hitherto been portly and well-preserved, with a certain serene air of complacent prosperity about him, that had always been an irritation to the county families, with whom he tried to assert an equality; but as he rose to greet the brothers, there was a bent and shrunken look about him: the hair on his temples had visibly whitened, his cheeks seemed to have sunk in, and there were deep furrows on them. Altogether he had grown full twenty years older in appearance since he had stood proposing a popular toast at the dinner at the town-hall. There was something nervous and startled in his gray eye, as he saw them enter, though he tried to assume his usual half-bland, half-easy, manner.
"Good morning, Captain Charnock Poynsett. Good morning, Mr. Charnock, I hope I see you well?" the words faltering a little, as neither sailor nor clergyman took notice of his proffered hand; but he continued his inquiries after the convalescents, though neither inquired in return after Mrs. Moy, feeling, perhaps, that they would rather not hear a very sad account of her state just before letting their inevitable Nemesis descend; also, not feeling inclined for reciprocal familiarity, and wanting to discourage the idea that Miles came for political purposes.
"It has been a terrible visitation," said Moy, when he had been reduced to replying to himself.
"It has," said Julius. "Perhaps you have heard that your tenant, Gadley, is dead?"
"Yes, I did hear it. A very melancholy thing-the whole family swept-away," said Mr. Moy, his eye again betraying some uneasiness, which Julius increased by saying-
"We thought it right that you should hear that he made a disclosure on his death-bed."
"Indeed!" Mr. Moy sat erect-the hard, keen, watchful lawyer.
"A disclosure that nearly affects the character of Mr. Archibald Douglas," proceeded Julius.
"May I ask what this may be?"
"Mr. Gadley then informed me that he had been in the outer room, behind his desk, at the time when Mr. Douglas brought in the letter from my mother, containing the missing cheque, and that after Douglas was gone, he heard Mr. Vivian propose to those within to appropriate the amount to their own debts."
"Pardon me, Mr. Charnock, this is a very serious charge to bring on the authority of a man in a raving fever. Was any deposition taken before a magistrate?"
"No," said Julius. "Mr. Lipscombe was fetched, but he was unable to speak at the time. However, on reviving, he spoke as is thus attested," and he showed Herbert Bowater's slip of paper.
"Mr. Charnock," said Mr. Moy, "without the slightest imputation on the intentions of yourself or of young Mr. Bowater, I put it to yourself a
nd Captain Charnock Poynsett, whether you could go before a jury with no fuller attestation than you have in your hand. We know what Mr. Charnock and Mr. Bowater are. To a jury they would simply appear-pardon me-a young clergyman, his still more youthful curate, and a sister of mercy, attaching importance to the words of a delirious man; and juries have become very incredulous in such cases."
"We shall see that," said Miles sharply.
"The more cautious," added Mr. Moy, "when it is the raking up of a matter eleven years old, where the witnesses are mostly dead, and where the characters of two gentlemen, also deceased, would be implicated. Believe me, sir, this firm-I speak as its present head-will be rejoiced to make any compensation to Mrs. Poynsett for what went astray while coming to their hands. It has been our desire to do so from the very first, as letters of which I have copies testify; but our advances were met in a spirit of enmity, which may perhaps be laid aside now."
"No so-called compensation can be accepted, but the clearing of Douglas's character," said Miles.
"It is a generous feeling," said Mr. Moy, speaking apparently most dispassionately, though Julius saw his hands trembling below the table; "but even if the word of this delirious man were sufficient, have you reflected, Captain Charnock Poynsett, on the unequal benefit of justifying-allowing that you could justify-a young man who has been dead and forgotten these eleven years, and has no relation living nearer than yourself, at the expense of those also gone, but who have left relations who could ill bear to suffer from such a revelation?"
"Justice is justice, whether a man be dead or alive," said Miles; "and Douglas is alive to demand his right."
"Alive!" cried Mr. Moy, starting violently. "Alive! Archie Douglas alive!"
"Alive, and in England," said Julius. "He slept in my house the night before last. He never was in the Hippolyta, at all, but has been living in Africa all these years of exile."
Mr. Moy's self-command and readiness were all gone. He sank back in his chair, with his hands over his face. The brothers looked at one another, fearing he might have a stroke; but he revived in a moment, yet with a totally different expression on his countenance. The keen, defensive look was gone, there was only something piteously worn and supplicating in the face, as he said-
The Three Brides Page 42
