I Say No

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XII. MRS. ELLMOTHER.

  The metropolis of Great Britain is, in certain respects, like no othermetropolis on the face of the earth. In the population that throngs thestreets, the extremes of Wealth and the extremes of Poverty meet, asthey meet nowhere else. In the streets themselves, the glory and theshame of architecture--the mansion and the hovel--are neighbors insituation, as they are neighbors nowhere else. London, in its socialaspect, is the city of contrasts.

  Toward the close of evening Emily left the railway terminus for theplace of residence in which loss of fortune had compelled her auntto take refuge. As she approached her destination, the cab passed--bymerely crossing a road--from a spacious and beautiful Park, with itssurrounding houses topped by statues and cupolas, to a row of cottages,hard by a stinking ditch miscalled a canal. The city of contrasts: northand south, east and west, the city of social contrasts.

  Emily stopped the cab before the garden gate of a cottage, at thefurther end of the row. The bell was answered by the one servant now inher aunt's employ--Miss Letitia's maid.

  Personally, this good creature was one of the ill-fated women whoseappearance suggests that Nature intended to make men of them and alteredher mind at the last moment. Miss Letitia's maid was tall and gaunt andawkward. The first impression produced by her face was an impression ofbones. They rose high on her forehead; they projected on her cheeks;and they reached their boldest development in her jaws. In the cavernouseyes of this unfortunate person rigid obstinacy and rigid goodnesslooked out together, with equal severity, on all her fellow-creaturesalike. Her mistress (whom she had served for a quarter of a century andmore) called her "Bony." She accepted this cruelly appropriate nick-nameas a mark of affectionate familiarity which honored a servant. No otherperson was allowed to take liberties with her: to every one but hermistress she was known as Mrs. Ellmother.

  "How is my aunt?" Emily asked.

  "Bad."

  "Why have I not heard of her illness before?"

  "Because she's too fond of you to let you be distressed about her.'Don't tell Emily'; those were her orders, as long as she kept hersenses."

  "Kept her senses? Good heavens! what do you mean?"

  "Fever--that's what I mean."

  "I must see her directly; I am not afraid of infection."

  "There's no infection to be afraid of. But you mustn't see her, for allthat."

  "I insist on seeing her."

  "Miss Emily, I am disappointing you for your own good. Don't you know mewell enough to trust me by this time?"

  "I do trust you."

  "Then leave my mistress to me--and go and make yourself comfortable inyour own room."

  Emily's answer was a positive refusal. Mrs. Ellmother, driven to herlast resources, raised a new obstacle.

  "It's not to be done, I tell you! How can you see Miss Letitia when shecan't bear the light in her room? Do you know what color her eyes are?Red, poor soul--red as a boiled lobster."

  With every word the woman uttered, Emily's perplexity and distressincreased.

  "You told me my aunt's illness was fever," she said--"and now you speakof some complaint in her eyes. Stand out of the way, if you please, andlet me go to her."

  Mrs. Ellmother, still keeping her place, looked through the open door.

  "Here's the doctor," she announced. "It seems I can't satisfy you; askhim what's the matter. Come in, doctor." She threw open the door of theparlor, and introduced Emily. "This is the mistress's niece, sir. Pleasetry if _you_ can keep her quiet. I can't." She placed chairs with thehospitable politeness of the old school--and returned to her post atMiss Letitia's bedside.

  Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddycomplexion--thoroughly acclimatized to the atmosphere of pain and griefin which it was his destiny to live. He spoke to Emily (without anyundue familiarity) as if he had been accustomed to see her for thegreater part of her life.

  "That's a curious woman," he said, when Mrs. Ellmother closed the door;"the most headstrong person, I think, I ever met with. But devotedto her mistress, and, making allowance for her awkwardness, not a badnurse. I am afraid I can't give you an encouraging report of your aunt.The rheumatic fever (aggravated by the situation of this house--builton clay, you know, and close to stagnant water) has been latterlycomplicated by delirium."

  "Is that a bad sign, sir?"

  "The worst possible sign; it shows that the disease has affected theheart. Yes: she is suffering from inflammation of the eyes, but that isan unimportant symptom. We can keep the pain under by means of coolinglotions and a dark room. I've often heard her speak of you--especiallysince the illness assumed a serious character. What did you say? Willshe know you, when you go into her room? This is about the time when thedelirium usually sets in. I'll see if there's a quiet interval."

  He opened the door--and came back again.

  "By the way," he resumed, "I ought perhaps to explain how it was that Itook the liberty of sending you that telegram. Mrs. Ellmother refusedto inform you of her mistress's serious illness. That circumstance,according to my view of it, laid the responsibility on the doctor'sshoulders. The form taken by your aunt's delirium--I mean the apparenttendency of the words that escape her in that state--seems to excitesome incomprehensible feeling in the mind of her crabbed servant. Shewouldn't even let _me_ go into the bedroom, if she could possibly helpit. Did Mrs. Ellmother give you a warm welcome when you came here?"

  "Far from it. My arrival seemed to annoy her."

  "Ah--just what I expected. These faithful old servants always end bypresuming on their fidelity. Did you ever hear what a witty poet--Iforget his name: he lived to be ninety--said of the man who had been hisvalet for more than half a century? 'For thirty years he was the bestof servants; and for thirty years he has been the hardest of masters.'Quite true--I might say the same of my housekeeper. Rather a good story,isn't it?"

  The story was completely thrown away on Emily; but one subjectinterested her now. "My poor aunt has always been fond of me," she said."Perhaps she might know me, when she recognizes nobody else."

  "Not very likely," the doctor answered. "But there's no laying down anyrule in cases of this kind. I have sometimes observed that circumstanceswhich have produced a strong impression on patients, when they are ina state of health, give a certain direction to the wandering of theirminds, when they are in a state of fever. You will say, 'I am not acircumstance; I don't see how this encourages me to hope'--and you willbe quite right. Instead of talking of my medical experience, I shall dobetter to look at Miss Letitia, and let you know the result. You havegot other relations, I suppose? No? Very distressing--very distressing."

  Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone? Arethere not moments--if we dare to confess the truth--when poor humanityloses its hold on the consolations of religion and the hope ofimmortality, and feels the cruelty of creation that bids us live, on thecondition that we die, and leads the first warm beginnings of love, withmerciless certainty, to the cold conclusion of the grave?

  "She's quiet, for the time being," Dr. Allday announced, on his return."Remember, please, that she can't see you in the inflamed state of hereyes, and don't disturb the bed-curtains. The sooner you go to herthe better, perhaps--if you have anything to say which depends on herrecognizing your voice. I'll call to-morrow morning. Very distressing,"he repeated, taking his hat and making his bow--"Very distressing."

  Emily crossed the narrow little passage which separated the tworooms, and opened the bed-chamber door. Mrs. Ellmother met her on thethreshold. "No," said the obstinate old servant, "you can't come in."

  The faint voice of Miss Letitia made itself heard, calling Mrs.Ellmother by her familiar nick-name.

  "Bony, who is it?"

  "Never mind."

  "Who is it?"

  "Miss Emily, if you must know."

  "Oh! poor dear, why does she come here? Who told her I was ill?"

  "The doctor told her."

  "Don't come in, Emi
ly. It will only distress you--and it will do me nogood. God bless you, my love. Don't come in."

  "There!" said Mrs. Ellmother. "Do you hear that? Go back to thesitting-room."

  Thus far, the hard necessity of controlling herself had kept Emilysilent. She was now able to speak without tears. "Remember the oldtimes, aunt," she pleaded, gently. "Don't keep me out of your room, whenI have come here to nurse you!"

  "I'm her nurse. Go back to the sitting-room," Mrs. Ellmother repeated.

  True love lasts while life lasts. The dying woman relented.

  "Bony! Bony! I can't be unkind to Emily. Let her in."

  Mrs. Ellmother still insisted on having her way.

  "You're contradicting your own orders," she said to her mistress. "Youdon't know how soon you may begin wandering in your mind again. Think,Miss Letitia--think."

  This remonstrance was received in silence. Mrs. Ellmother's great gauntfigure still blocked up the doorway.

  "If you force me to it," Emily said, quietly, "I must go to the doctor,and ask him to interfere."

  "Do you mean that?" Mrs. Ellmother said, quietly, on her side.

  "I do mean it," was the answer.

  The old servant suddenly submitted--with a look which took Emily bysurprise. She had expected to see anger; the face that now confrontedher was a face subdued by sorrow and fear.

  "I wash my hands of it," Mrs. Ellmother said. "Go in--and take theconsequences."