Heartsease or Brother's Wife

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  The solitary possession of her own mornings was now no boon to Theodora. She was necessary to no one, and all her occupations could not drive away the ever-gnawing thought that Violet attracted all the regard and attention that belonged to her. If the sensation went away when she was down-stairs, where Percy's presence obliged her to be amiable against her will, it came back with double force in her lonely moments.

  One day, when they had dispersed after luncheon, her father came in, inquiring for Violet. He was going to Rickworth, and thought she would like to go with him. He wished to know, as otherwise he should ride instead of driving; and, as she was up-stairs, desired Theodora to go and find out what would suit her.

  'Papa, too!' thought Theodora, as with some reluctance she for the first time knocked at her sister's door, and found her with the baby.

  'How very kind!' said she. 'I should be delighted, but I don't know whether Arthur does not want me. Is he there?'

  'I think he is in the library.'

  'If I could but go down! But I must not take baby, and Sarah is at dinner. Should you mind holding him for one minute?'

  Theodora held out her arms, but Johnnie, though usually delighted to come to her from Sarah, turned his head away, unwilling to leave his mother. He did not quite cry, but was so near it that she had to do her utmost to amuse him. She caught up something bright to hold before him, and was surprised to see it was a coral cross, which Violet, in changing her dress, had laid for a moment on the dressing- table. The coincidence was strange, thought Theodora.

  Violet was coming back, and she would have laid it down, but Johnnie had grasped it in his little fingers. As his mother appeared, his merriest smile shone out, and his whole little person was one spring of eagerness to return to her.

  'Little man! Is he glad to come back to his mamma?' Violet could not help saying, as he nestled joyously on her neck; but the cold face of Theodora made her sorry that the words had escaped her, and she began to express her thanks.

  Theodora was stooping to pick up the cross, and a concerned exclamation passed Violet's lips on observing its fall.

  'It is safe,' said Theodora. 'I beg your pardon, I took it up to amuse him.'

  'Thank you,' said Violet. 'I am sorry I seemed vexed. There's no harm done; but I was frightened, because it was Helen's.'

  'Helen's' exclaimed Theodora, extremely amazed. 'Did John give it to you?'

  'Yes, a little while ago,' said Violet, colouring. 'He--'

  But Theodora was gone, with bitterer feelings than ever. This girl was absorbing every one's love! John had never given her anything that had belonged to Helen; he had never even adverted to his engagement, when she almost adored her memory! She had never supposed him capable of speaking of his loss; and perhaps it was the hardest blow of all to find Violet, whose inquiries she had treated as mere curiosity, preferred to such confidence as this. She did not remember how she had once rejected his sympathy. She forgot whose fault it was that she had not been in the Isle of Wight; she laid it all on the proneness of men to be interested by sweetness of manner, and thought of herself as a strong-minded superior woman, who could never be loved, and who could only suffer through her woman's heart.

  Yet she could not entirely harden herself as she intended, while combats with Percy cast brightening gleams across her existence. She thought she should again settle into the winter's life of hard work and indifference, which was on the whole most comfortable to her.

  When the party should be broken up, Percy was to be the first to depart; he was going to publish The Crusaders, take a lodging in London, and there busy himself with literature while awaiting the fulfilment of a promise of further diplomatic employment. Arthur and Violet were also to return home after paying a visit at Rickworth, and John would soon after sail for Barbuda. In the meantime he was much engaged in going over accounts, and in consulting with his father and the man of business.

  One morning, towards the end of September, he came down to Violet in the drawing-room, looking much flushed and extremely annoyed.

  'Well,' he said, 'I have often declared I would never let my aunt have a discussion with me again. I have been obliged to submit to this. I hope it will be the last.'

  'About the West Indian property,' said Violet.

  'Yes. She does give me power to act for her; but it is dearly bought! I wish I had never asked her! Every subject that she knew to be most unpleasant to me has she stirred up! How a woman of her age can go on with her eyes fixed on these matters I cannot guess. I am sure it is a warning what one sets one's heart upon!'

  'You are quite worried and tired. Oh! it has made you cough! You had better lie down and rest.'

  'I want you to put me into good humour,' said he, half reclining on the sofa. 'I feel as if I had been under a nutmeg-grater! What do you think of her taking me to task for having Fotheringham here, for fear he should marry Theodora! I wish there was any such chance for her; but Percy has far too much sense!'

  'Why, how could Mrs. Nesbit think it? They are always disputing!'

  'I should not take that as a reason for thinking it impossible. But Percy knows her far too well. No, it is only one of my aunt's fancies. She has set her hopes on Theodora now; but it is of no use to talk of it. I don't want to dwell on it. It is too pitiable to be angry about. What are you reading?'

  Violet was as glad to talk to him of her book as he was to lose the thought of his vexatious conversation, which had been even more annoying that he had chosen to tell her.

  Mrs. Nesbit had taken occasion to speak of the reversion of an estate, which she said she wished to go to augment the property of the title; and now she should have no hesitation in bequeathing it to him, provided she could see him, on his side, make such a connection as would be for the consequence of the family.

  John tried silence, but she drove him so hard that he was obliged to reply that, since she had begun on the subject, he had only to say that he should never marry; and, with thanks for her views, the disposal of her property would make no difference to him.

  She interrupted him by reproaches on a man of his age talking romantic nonsense, and telling him that, for the sake of the family, it was his duty to marry.

  'With such health as mine,' replied John, quietly, 'I have long made up my mind that, even if I could enter on a fresh attachment, it would not be right. I am not likely to live many years, and I wish to form no new ties. You will oblige me, ma'am, by not bringing forward this subject again.'

  'Ay, I know what you are intending. You think it will come to Arthur and his wife; but I tell you what, Mr. Martindale, no attorney's daughter shall ever touch a sixpence of mine.'

  'That is as you please, ma'am. It was not to speak of these matters that I came here; and if you have told me all you wish with regard to the property, I will leave the papers for your signature.'

  She was above all provoked by his complete indifference to the wealth, her chief consideration throughout her life, and could not cease from reproaching him with absurd disregard to his own interest, at which he very nearly smiled. Then she revived old accusations, made in the earlier days of her persecution about his engagement, that he was careless of the consequence and reputation of the family, and had all his life been trying to lower it in the eyes of the world; otherwise why had he set himself to patronize that wife of Arthur's, or why bring Percy Fotheringham here, just to put his sister in the way of marrying beneath her? And when he had answered that, though he saw no probability of such an event, opinions might differ as to what was beneath Theodora, she took the last means that occurred to her for tormenting him, by predicting that Arthur's sickly little child would never live to grow up--he need not fix any hopes on him.

  He escaped at last, leaving her much irritated, as Theodora presently found her. She began to complain bitterly of the ingratitude of her great-nephews, after all her labours for the family! John treating her whole fortune as if it was not worth even thanks, when she had been ready to settle the whole on him a
t once, as she would have done, since (and she looked sharply at Theodora) he was now free from that Fotheringham engagement; for none of that family should ever have a share in her property.

  Theodora looked, if possible, more indifferent than John, as she answered,

  'John could not want it. I always thought you meant it for Arthur.'

  'Arthur! as if you did not know he had forfeited all claim upon me!'

  'His marriage is a reason for his needing it more,' said Theodora.

  'It is of no use to speak of him. No, Theodora, you alone have acted as I could wish; and if you continue to deserve my regard--'

  'Don't say that, Aunt Nesbit,' said Theodora. 'I shall act as, I hope, may deserve regard; but I don't want anybody's fortune, and if you left me yours it would be very unfair, and I certainly should give at least half of it to Arthur. I give you fair warning; but I did not come to talk of such hateful things, but to read to you.'

  That afternoon Mrs. Nesbit wrote a letter to her lawyer, and surprised Miss Piper by asking if that puny child up-stairs had any name but John.

  CHAPTER 10

  Unschooled affections, strong and wild, Have been my playmates from a child, And strengthening in the breast unseen, Poisoned the fount within.--Thoughts in Past Years

  The morning of the next day had been fine, and was spent in shooting by Arthur and Mr. Fotheringham; but the latter came home in time to ride with John, to make a call on some old friends, far beyond what had long been John's distance.

  The afternoon closed in a violent storm of wind and rain, which drove Arthur indoors, and compelled Violet to resort for exercise to the gallery, where she paced up and down with Johnnie in her arms, watching for the return of the others, as each turn brought her to the end window. As Lord Martindale came up-stairs, he paused at the sight of the slender young figure--her head bent over her little one. Perhaps he was thinking what might have been, if his own children had ever been as much to their mother; for when Violet turned towards him he sighed, as he roused himself, and asked whether she saw John coming. Then joining her, he looked at his grandson, saying, 'He is improving very fast. How like you he grows!'

  'Poor little fellow, he was not at all well yesterday, and I began to think of asking whether I should send for Mr. Legh.'

  'Whatever you do, beware of doctoring!' was Lord Martindale's rather hasty answer. 'Of doctoring and governessing!--I have seen enough of it, and I resolved my two youngest should run wholesomely wild, never be dosed, and never learn a lesson till they were six years old.'

  'But this poor little man is really delicate, and I have no experience,' pleaded Violet.

  'Depend upon it, my dear,' said Lord Martindale, with sorrowful emotion in his voice, as he saw the little fair head resting caressingly on her neck, 'you are doing more for him than all the physicians in England. You must not tease him and yourself with fretting and anxiety.'

  'I know it is my duty not to be over-anxious,' said Violet, with her heart full, as she clasped her hands close round her tiny treasure.

  'You must not,' said his grandfather. 'It was the notion that mine could never have enough teaching or doctoring-as if that was what they wanted! Some system or other was always being tried on them, and they were never left to healthy action of mind or body, till the end was that I lost my two pretty little girls! And poor John, I never saw a more wretched-looking child than he was when I took him to Dr.--.'

  'And what was his advice?'

  'His advice was this. "Throw away lessons and physic. Give him other children to play with, make him wear a brown holland pinafore, and let him grope in the dirt." I believe it saved his life! I begged Mrs. Fotheringham to let him do just like her children, little thinking what was to come of that.' Then catching himself up, as if fearing to give Violet pain, 'Not that I should have regretted that connection. She was all that could be wished, and I judged by personal merits.' He hesitated, but spoke warmly, as if applying the words to Violet. 'Their youth was my only objection from the first. Nothing would have rejoiced me more than their marriage.'

  'O, yes,' said Violet, 'he says so much of your kindness.' She feared she had said too much, but Lord Martindale caught at her words. 'Has he ever adverted to that affair!'

  'Sometimes,' said Violet, shyly.

  'What! Actually spoken of poor Helen! I am heartily glad to hear it. How is he bearing it? Does he speak calmly?'

  'Yes, calmly and cheerfully, as if he liked to dwell on the thought.'

  Lord Martindale laid his hand on her arm, and said, gratefully, 'You have done him a great deal of good.'

  Seldom had she been more gratified, but at that moment a dripping figure burst on them, and Theodora's voice impetuously exclaimed, 'Violet! you must know something of babies! What shall I do for the child at the lodge? She will die if something is not done quickly.'

  She was in an agony of breathless agitation; the motherless baby at the lodge had been taken violently ill, the parish doctor was not at home, and she feared that Mr. Legh could not arrive from Whitford in time!

  Violet shared in her distress, and gathering from her description that it might be such an attack as Johnnie's at Ventnor, longed to be on the spot, and tried to believe the rain lessening enough for her to go. Theodora seized on her proposal, but Lord Martindale interfered. 'How can you be so thoughtless?' said he, in a far more decided manner than usual.

  'The child's life depends on it!' said Theodora, vehemently.

  'Pshaw!' said Lord Martindale, 'Violet has her own life and her child's to think of.'

  'Then you won't come!'

  'I am afraid I ought not,' said Violet, mournfully.

  Theodora flung away in passionate despair and contempt, and was rushing off, when Violet pursued her, and implored her to listen one moment, and she could not let go her last hope. Violet offered some medicine that had been prepared for Johnnie--which she was sure could at least do no harm, and she could give some advice. Perhaps she mingled it with too many excuses and lamentations at being forced to stay at home; at least, Theodora thought her fanciful, rejoicing in the self-importance of imaginary ill-health.

  'Why! there's the carriage!' she exclaimed, as it drove down the avenue.

  'Yes, it is gone for John,' said Theodora, bluntly.

  'Where is he?'

  'At the Goldingsby turnpike. He took shelter there, and Percy came back to order the carriage to fetch him. Percy is gone on to Whitford for Mr. Legh.'

  'What a pity! I could have gone to the lodge in the carriage.'

  Theodora was provoked that her impatience had made her miss this chance: so, without answering, she ran down the steps, and was almost whirled along the avenue by the wild wind that roared in the branches, tearing the leaves from the trees, and whirling them round and round. She hardly felt it--her whole soul was set upon the little orphan; the misery of watching the suffering she could not relieve, joined with passionate resentment at her father and sister- in-law, who she fancied made light of it. Only Mr. Fotheringham, when stopping at the lodge on his way, had shown what she thought tolerable humanity. He had shared her concern, consoled her despair, suggested asking counsel of Mrs. Martindale, and finally rode off five miles to Whitford in quest of the doctor.

  Violet's advice proved not to be despicable; the measures she recommended relieved the little one, and by the time Percy and the apothecary made their appearance, it was asleep on Theodora's lap, and Mr. Legh pronounced that it was in a fair way to do well. She wished she could have watched it all night, but it was late, and Mr. Fotheringham stood waiting at the door. So she laid it in the cradle, gave her directions to the old woman who had charge of it, and resumed her brown cloak and hood, in which she walked about in all weathers, without umbrella, for which, as for parasols, she had a supreme aversion.

  Mr. Legh wished to prevail on her to let him drive her home, but she would not hear of it. Percy put up his umbrella, and offered to shelter her, but she held aloof.

  'No, no. Where did yo
u get that elegant cotton machine?'

  'I borrowed it at the turnpike.'

  'And rode home with it on Arthur's mare?'

  'Of course I did. I was not going to get wet through.'

  'But how did you get her to let you carry it. She objects to his taking out his handkerchief.'

  'I am not going to be beaten by a mare, and she soon found that out.'

  'What have you done with her?'

  'I took her home, and came back again. I wonder what Arthur will say to me for taking his gallant gray on to Whitford. I must get up a pathetic appeal to the feelings of a father!'

  'Well, I did not recollect you had the gray, or I would have told you to take my horse. However, there's no harm done, and it saved time.'

  'Whoo--h!' as the gust came roaring down furiously upon them, pelting fiercely with rain, flapping and tearing at Theodora's cloak, like the wind in the fable, trying to whirl her off her feet, and making vehement efforts to wrench the umbrella out of Percy's hand. A buffet with wind and weather was a frolic which she particularly enjoyed, running on before the blast, then turning round to walk backwards and recover breath to laugh at him toiling with the umbrella. Never had she looked brighter, her dark eyes, lately so sad and soft, now sparkling and dancing with mirth, her brown cheek glowing with fresh red from the rain and wind that had loosened her hair, and was sporting with a long black tress that streamed beyond her bonnet, and fluttered over her face--life, strength, and activity in every limb, and her countenance beaming with sportiveness and gaiety, the more charming because so uncommon. It was a rare chance to catch Theodora at play.

  'Ha! you'll be beat! You will have to shut up the miserable invention unknown to our forefathers.'

  'Not I. I shall not give up the distinction between man and beast in the rain.'

  'Man! Why even ants carry parasols.'