'I don't want her to trouble herself; I only want house-room.'
'And a change after a month's white niggering.'
'That's another reason. My aunt has grown so dependent on me, that this new lady will not have a fair chance if I am at home; and if I don't break the habit, I shall never call my time my own again.'
In fact, Theodora had been suffering under a fit of restlessness and dissatisfaction, which made her anxious to change the scene. The school, her great resource, was liable to be a place of awkward meetings. She was going to lose her dumb charge; and with Percy and Arthur both at a distance, there was no excitement nor relief to the tedium of home. The thorough self-sacrificing attendance on her aunt had been the sole means left her of maintaining the sense of fulfilling a duty.
The unexpected arrival of her favourite brother was as a reward. Her spirits rose, and she talked with gaiety and animation, delighted to find him claiming her company for walks and rides to be taken in his holiday week, and feeling as if now the prediction had truly come to pass, that he would be relieved to come to her from the annoyances of his home.
Every one seemed glad to see Arthur--even Mrs. Nesbit. In the course of the evening something was said about a dinner party for the ensuing Saturday, and Lady Martindale asked if he could stay for it.
'Saturday? Yes; I need not go back till Monday.'
'I wish Violet could have come,' said Lord Martindale. 'I am glad you can give us a week; but it is a long time for her to be alone. I hope she has some friend to be with her.'
'Oh, she wants no one,' said Arthur. 'She begged me to go; and I fancy she will be rather glad to have no distraction from the child. I am only in the way of her perpetual walking up and down the room with him whining in her arms.'
'Ah! it is an unlucky affair,' said Mrs. Nesbit, in her sarcastic tone of condolence; 'she will never rear it.'
She seemed, in her triumph, to have forgotten that its father was present, and his impatient speech had certainly not been such as to bring it to mind; but this was too much, and, starting, he hastily exclaimed, 'Children always do make a fuss about their teeth!'
'I do not speak without the authority of medical men,' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'I don't blame your wife, poor thing.'
What do you mean? cried Arthur, colour and voice both rising.
'I am surprised your brother kept it from you,' said she, gratified at torturing him; 'you ought to have been informed.'
'Tell me at once,' said Arthur.
'Only this, Arthur,' said his father, interposing: 'when first the doctor at Ventnor saw him he thought him very delicate, and told John that he would hardly get through the first year without great care.'
'He has all but done that!' said Arthur, breathing more freely; 'he will be a year old on the third.'
'Yes; afterwards the doctor thought much better of him, and John saw no occasion to make you and Violet more anxious.'
'Then it all goes for nothing!' said Arthur, looking full at his aunt with defiance, and moving to the furthest end of the room.
But it did not go for nothing. He could not shake off the impression. The child's illness had never been so alarming as to stir up his feelings, though his comfort had been interfered with; and there were recollections of impatience that came painfully upon him. He knew that Violet thought him more indifferent to his child than he really was; and, though she had never uttered a complaint or reproach, he was sure that he had hurt and distressed her by displeasure at the crying, and by making light of the anxieties, which he now learnt were but too well founded.
Arthur's easiness and selfishness made him slow to take alarm, but when once awakened there was no limit to his anxiety. He knew now what it would be to lose his first-born. He thought of the moment when the babe had been laid on his hand, and of the sad hours when that feeble cry had been like a charm, holding the mother to life; and his heart smote him as he thought of never hearing again the voice of which he had complained. What might not be happening at that moment? As grisly a train of chances rose before him as ever had haunted Violet herself, and he thought of a worse return home than even his last. Yet he had never desired her to let him know whether all was well!
He could not sleep, and in the morning twilight he sought out writing materials, and indited his first letter to his wife:--
'Dear Violet,--I hope you and the boy are well. I have not coughed since I left London. I come home on Monday, if all goes well, and Theodora with me. She has made the place too hot to hold her.
'Yours ever,
'A. N. MARTINDALE.
'P.S. Write and say how the boy is.'
Having hunted up a servant, and sent him with this missive to the early post, Arthur's paternal conscience was satisfied; and, going to bed again, he slept till breakfast was half over, then good- humouredly listened to exclamations on his tardiness, and loitered about the rest of the morning, to the great pleasure of his sister.
The companion, Mrs. Garth, the highly recommended widow of a marine officer, arrived in the afternoon; and Arthur, meeting her on the stairs, pronounced that she was a forbidding-looking female, and there was no fear that she would not be able to hold her own.
Rejoicing in newly-recovered freedom, Theodora had a long ride with him; and having planned another to a village near a trout-stream, where he wanted to inquire about lodgings for his indefatigable fishing friend, Captain Fitzhugh, she was working hard to dispose of her daily avocations before breakfast the next day, when Arthur knocked at her door. 'Good morning,' he said hastily. 'I must go home. My little boy is very ill.'
'Is he? What is it?'
'A bad fit of croup. He was better when the letter went. My poor Violet! She has called in further advice; but it may come back. Do you like to come with me?'
'If you like to have me.'
'Only be quick. I must be gone by the ten o'clock train. You must be ready to start by nine.'
'I'll be ready at once,' said Theodora, hastily ringing for Pauline, and rushing upon her preparations. She could not bear to part with him in his grief, and thought, in case of the child's severe illness or death, that he would be in need of her comfort when he had his wife on his hands. She would not take Pauline--she would not be dependent, and trouble their small household with another servant; but Charles Layton she could not leave, and having given orders to pack up her things, she flew off down the avenue to desire his aunt to prepare him.
Up and down, backwards and forwards, giving directions to every one, she hurried about till her father summoned her to breakfast.
'I am glad you are going with him, my dear,' he said, as he went down the steps with her. 'We shall depend on you for hearing of the little boy.'
That genuine cordial approbation was so pleasant that the thought crossed her, 'Was she going to be a blessing to her family?'
'Good-bye, Arthur,' said Lord Martindale, warmly pressing his hand. 'I hope you will find him better, and Violet not doing too much. Give my love to her.'
Arthur was moved by his father's unwonted warmth, and leaned back in the carriage in silence. Theodora watched him anxiously, and did not speak for some time.
'Had there been any tendency to croup before?' she asked at last.
'Tender throat, I believe; Violet always was anxious. I wish I had not come away; it is too much for her alone! Ha! what are we stopping for now?'
'To pick up Charles Layton.'
'You'll make us miss the train.'
'No, here he is. He shall be in nobody's way. I'll put him into the housemaid's charge in Belgrave square.'
And with her eyes and fingers she encouraged the poor child as he was lifted up to the box. 'There, I've not stopped you long.'
'What shall you do with him on the railroad!'
'Take him with us, of course.'
'I won't have him going in a first-class with me.'
'Then I shall go in a second-class with him.'
Here it occurred to her that this was a strange way of fulfillin
g her mission of comfort, and she would fain have recalled her words, but only sat silent till they came to the station, where, without any further question, they were all three lodged in the same carriage, where presently a county neighbour entered, attracted by the sight of Arthur. Theodora was provoked, feeling for Arthur, and thinking it was the stranger's presence that hindered her from resuming the task of cheering him, but she was more annoyed when Arthur plunged into a hunting discussion.
She sat working up the scene which awaited them, the child just expiring, his mother in hysterical agonies, and she herself displaying all her energy and resources, perhaps saving Johnnie's life--at any rate, being her brother's stay and support when his wife gave way.
His silence and anxious looks returned as they drove from the station, and she could think of nothing to say but the old hope that the baby was better. As they stopped, he threw open the carriage- door, and springing out, impatiently rang.
'Child better?' were his hurried words to James.
'Yes, sir.'
Before even this brief answer was spoken, Arthur was halfway upstairs. No one was in the drawing room; he dashed up to the bed- room; that, too, was empty; he climbed on where he had never been before, and opened the nursery-door.
There sat Violet on a low chair by the fire, with the little boy on her lap. With a cry of joy she rose; and in another moment was standing, almost unable to speak, as she saw Johnnie, looking much surprised, but well pleased, to find himself in those strong arms, and his soft face scrubbed by the black whiskers.
'He is pleased! He is smiling. You know papa, don't you, my Johnnie?' cried the happy Violet.
'And he is all right again?'
'So much better to-day! We trust the cold is gone. Does he not breathe softly and freely? If only there's no return to-night.'
'Was there last night?'
'Indeed there was. It was too dreadful!' said Violet, leaning against him, and lowering her voice. 'Once Sarah and Mr. Harding both thought it was all over, and I never dared to expect to see those eyes come back to their own dear look at me! O, Arthur, when I thought if I could but once have seen him in your arms! I never thought to be so happy as this!' and she caressed the child to hide the tears of thankfulness. 'I'm glad you weren't there.'
'My Violet, why!'
'You could not have borne to have seen and heard, and now you won't have it to remember. At least, I trust not! Think of their once wanting me to go away, saying it was not fit, and that I was of no use; but you knew better, Johnnie. You held mamma's finger tight, and when you came to yourself, your sweet look and smile were for her! And at last he went to sleep over my shoulder, as he likes best; and I felt each one of his breathings, but they grew soft and smooth at last, and after two good hours he woke up quite himself.'
'And you! Sitting up all night! You are not fit for such things. How did you get through it?'
'I don't know; I hardly remember,' said Violet. 'Your letter was such a pleasure! and oh! I had help.'
'What, Harding--'
'I did not mean that, though he was very kind. No, I meant thoughts- -verses in the Bible,' said Violet, hanging her head, and whispering, 'I don't mean at the worst. Then one could only pray he might not suffer so much; but things his uncle had helped me to, did come so comfortably while he was asleep. Don't you remember saying I had no troubles for Helen's cross to comfort me in!'
'And did it?' said Arthur, half smiling.
'Not itself, you know; but it helped to put me in mind to be sure that all he was going through would somehow be a blessing. I could bear it then, and not be angry, as I was last year. Dear little fellow, it is as if he would put me in mind himself, for the only thing like play he has done to-day has been holding it up, and pulling its chain.'
'There! go to your mother, Johnnie,' said Arthur, giving him back. 'She is a rare one, I tell you, and you understand each other. He does not look much amiss either. He really is a very pretty little fellow!'
No wonder Arthur made the discovery, as he for the first time remarked the large wistful dark eyes, the delicately fair skin, which the heat of the fire had tinged with soft pink, on the cheeks, the shapely little head, with its flaxen waves of curl; and the tiny, bare, rosy feet, outstretched to enjoy the warmth. Very small, tender, and fragile he looked, and his features had an almost mournful expression, but there was something peculiarly engaging in this frail little being.
Violet was charmed with the tribute of admiration: indeed, she had hardly known whether she might hope for Arthur's return, though she had felt as if her heart would break if her child should die without his coming. The winter, though cheerful, had been spent in endeavours against her want of faith and hope, and this hard trial in the spring had brought with it a comfort and beginning of resignation that proved that her efforts had not been in vain.
Very happy she was as, Sarah coming up, she prepared to go down with Arthur, who now remembered to inform her of the arrival of 'Theodora and her dummy.'
These two personages were waiting in the drawing-room, Theodora in an excited state of anticipation and energy, prepared for a summons to take care of the baby, while Arthur was supporting his wife in hysterics.
Long she waited and listened; at last there was an opening of doors, then what she fancied the first shriek, and she started, alarmed, in spite of being wound up, but it sounded nearer--much too like a bona fide laugh, the very girlish sound she had condemned--Arthur's voice- -Violet's gaily answering! They came in, full of smiles, Violet with outstretched hands, and warm unconstrained welcome. 'How kind of you to come! I'm sorry you have been so long alone, but I did not know it,' said she, kissing her sister-in-law, and giving a kind silent greeting to the dumb boy.
Disconcerted at her waste of preparation, Theodora stood for a moment, fancying Violet triumphant in having spoilt Arthur's holiday by what must have been an exaggerated trifle. She was almost ready to make no inquiry for Johnnie, but 'conventional instinct' prevailed, and his parents were so full of him, and of each other, that it set them off into an eager conversation, such as made her, in her present mood, believe herself neglected for the sake of Arthur's weak, tyrannical, exacting idol. She resolved to take Charles at once to her father's house. If it would not have been an insult to her brother, she would have slept there herself. She surprised the others by rising from her seat, and taking up the boy's cap.
'Oh!' exclaimed Violet, 'I had forgotten him, poor little fellow. I will take him to Susan to have some tea.'
'Thank you, I am going to take him to the maid at our house.'
'O, pray do not,' said Violet, imploringly; 'there's plenty of room here, and we can see about him so much better.'
'I had rather,' persisted Theodora.
'But see, it is getting dark. The lamps are lighted. You can't go now.'
'I shall not lose my way,' said Theodora, taking by the hand the poor boy, who seemed unwilling to leave the fire and Mrs. Martindale's kind looks.
'Now, Arthur! you wont let her go!' said Violet, distressed.
'What's the row?' said Arthur. 'Setting out on your travels again, Theodora!'
'Only to take Charlie to Belgrave-square.'
'I sha'n't come with you.'
'I can go by myself.'
'Nonsense. You have rattled the poor child about enough for one day. Stay at home like a rational woman, and Violet will see to him.'
The dumb child gazed as if he read their faces, and was begging to remain; he gladly allowed Violet to take his hand, and she led him away, inviting Theodora to come and give her own directions about him to Susan, the girl from Brogden.
So sweet was the manner, so kind the welcome, and so pretty the solicitude for her comfort, that pride and prejudice had much difficulty in maintaining themselves. But Theodora thought that she did not like blandishments, and she was angry at the sensation of being in the inferior situation of Violet's guest, at a moment of its being so signally shown that she could not permit Arthur to enjoy himsel
f without her. To get home again as fast as possible was her resolution, as she merely unpacked the articles for immediate use, and after a hasty toilette, returned to the drawing-room.
Arthur and Violet were in earnest conversation. She fancied herself an interruption, and did not second their attempts to make it general. Violet had received a letter from John, and was offering it to Arthur, who only yawned.
'Five sheets! He writes an abominably small hand! You may tell me what it is about. Niggers and humming-birds and such cattle, I suppose.'
'He has been to see the bishop. He wants a chaplain to live in the house with him to teach the negroes, and have the church when it is built.'
'No chance of his coming home, then ?'
'No, he is so well and busy. Percy Fotheringham is to send out some plans for the church--and only think! he has told Percy to come and ask me about Mr. Fanshawe--don't you remember him?'
'The curate at the chapel at Wrangerton?'
'I once told John of his wish for missionary work, so Percy is to see about it, and if it will do, send him to Lord Martindale. Percy called yesterday, but I could not see him; indeed, I had not time to read my letter; and oh, Theodora, I am so glad you are come, for he wants all manner of infant school pictures and books for the picaninnies, and it is just the commission you understand.'
The hearing of John's letter read, so far from mollifying Theodora, renewed the other grievance. At home, it was only by chance that she heard of her eldest brother's plans, even when matured and submitted to his father; and she now found that they were discussed from the first with Violet, almost requiring her approval. The confidential ease and flow made it seem unlike John's composition, used as Theodora was to hear only such letters of his as would bear unfriendly inspection, entertaining, but like a book of travels. It was a fresh injury to discover that he had a style from his heart.
Theodora was in a mood to search for subjects of disapproval, but the cheerful rooms, and even the extemporized dinner, afforded her none; the only cause of irritation she could find was Arthur's anxiety when the lamplight revealed Violet's pale exhausted looks. She had forgotten her fatigue as long as there was anything to be done, and the delight of the arrival had driven it away; but it now became evident that Arthur was uneasy. Theodora was gloomy, and not responding to her languid attempts at conversation, thinking there was affectation in her worn-out plaintive voice.
Heartsease or Brother's Wife Page 28
