This dread, and the desire to efface the impression of the terrible dream, induced her, when he had obediently struggled for composure, to tell him that, on condition of perfect stillness, he might come down with her, and have a little glimpse of papa. Wrapping him up, she took him in by the open dressing-room door, to which Arthur's back was turned, trusting to escape observation. but nothing eluded those fever-lighted eyes, and they instantly fell upon the little trembling figure, the quivering face and earnest gaze.
'I hope we have not disturbed you,' apologized Violet; 'we hoped you would not hear us. Poor Johnnie woke up crying so much at your being ill, that I ventured to bring him to have one look at you, for fear he should not go to sleep again.'
She need not have feared. Even while she spoke Arthur held out his hands, with a countenance that caused Johnnie, with a stifled exclamation of 'Papa! papa!' to spring on the bed, and there he lay, folded closely to his father's breast.
It was but for a moment. Violet had to lift the child hastily away, to be carried off by Sarah, that he might not witness the terrible suffering caused by the exertion and emotion; and yet, when this was passed, she could not repent of what she had done, for one great grief had thus been spared to herself and her boy.
She knew that to discover his son's ardent affection must be a poignant reproach for his neglect and jealousy, and she grieved at once for him and with him; but she could not understand half the feelings of bitter anguish that she perceived in his countenance and gestures. She did not know of his expectation that each ring of the bell might bring the creditors' claims to heap disgrace upon him, nor how painful were the thoughts of her and of the children, totally unprovided for, without claim during his father's lifetime, even on his own scanty portion as a younger son. He could only cast them on the mercy of his father and brother; and what right had he to expect anything from them, after his abuse of their kindness and forbearance? He thought of his neglect of his patient devoted wife, whom he was leaving, with her little ones, to struggle with poverty and dependence; he thought of his children growing up to know him only as the improvident selfish father, who had doomed them to difficulties, and without one tender word or kind look to grace his memory. No wonder he turned, unable to brook the sight of his unconscious babe; and that, when with morning little steps and voices sounded above, such a look of misery came over his face, that Violet hastened to order the children down to the dining-room, out of hearing.
Ere long, however, from the other room, appropriated to the baby, a face peeped in, and Johnnie sprang to her side with earnest whispers: 'Mamma, may I not say my prayers with you! I will not wake papa, but I can't bear it without!' and the tears were in his eyes.
Violet's glance convinced her that this would be anything but disturbing, and she consented. Johnnie thought his father asleep, but she saw him watching the boy, as he stood with clasped hands, and eyes in fixed steadfast gaze, repeating the Creed, so gravely and distinctly, that not one of the whispering accents was lost. Looking upwards, as if pursuing some thought far away, Johnnie said, 'Amen'; and then knelt, breathing forth his innocent petitions, with their mention of father, mother, sisters, and little brother; and therewith a large teardrop gathered in the eyes fixed on him--but she would not seem to notice, and bent her head over the boy, who, when his daily form was finished, knelt on, and pressed her arm. 'Mamma,' he whispered, very low indeed, 'may I say something for papa?' and on her assent, 'O God! make dear, dear papa better, if it be Thy heavenly will, and let it be Thy heavenly will.'
Arthur's face was hidden; she only saw his fingers holding up the covering with a quivering grasp. Johnnie rose up quite simply, and letting him continue in the belief that his father slept, she allowed him to go noiselessly away, after she had held him fast in her arms, able to feel, even now, the comfort and blessing of her child.
Some little time had passed before Arthur looked up; then gazing round, as if seeking something, he said, 'Where is he?'
'Johnnie? He is gone, he did not know you were awake. Shall I send for him?'
'For all.'
They came; but he was made to feel that he had disregarded them too long. They had never been familiarized with him; seldom saw him, and were kept under restraint in his presence; and there was no intimacy to counteract the fright inspired by his present appearance. Ghastly pale, with a hectic spot on each cheek, with eyes unnaturally bright and dilated, and a quantity of black hair and whiskers, he was indeed a formidable object to the little girls; and Violet was more grieved than surprised when Annie screamed with affright, and had to be carried away instantly; and Helen backed, with her hands behind her, resisting all entreaties and remonstrance, and unheeding his outstretched hand. The child was of so determined and wilful a nature, that Violet dreaded an outbreak if she were too much pressed, and was forced to let her go--though much grieved, both for the distress that it gave Arthur, and for the thought of how his daughter might remember it by and by.
They supposed that Johnnie had gone with his sisters, but at the end of half an hour became aware that he had ever since been standing, almost hidden by the curtain, satisfied with merely being in the room. The fair face, so delicately tinted, the dark shady eyes, lovingly and pensively fixed on his father, and the expression, half mournful, half awe-struck, were a touching sight in so young a child, and Arthur seemed so to feel it. He signed to him to come near; and with a flush, between joy and fear, the little boy was instantly at his side. One hot hand enfolded the small soft cool one, the other pressed fondly on the light silken waves of hair. After thus holding him for some moments, he tried to speak, in whispering breathless gasps of a word at a time.
'You'll comfort her!' and he looked towards his mother, 'You'll take care of the others--will you?'
'If I can. God takes care of us,' said Johnnie, wistfully, as if striving to understand, as he felt the pressure redoubled on hand and head, as if to burn in what was uttered with such difficulty and danger.
'Tell your grandfather I trust you all to him. He must forgive. Say so to him. You'll be a better son to him than I. When you know all, don't remember it against me.'
He could say no more, it had brought on a fit of coughing and breathlessness, through which he scarcely struggled. Silence was more than ever enforced; but throughout the day the oppression was on the increase, especially towards the evening, when he became excited by the expectation of his father's arrival. He sat, pillowed high up, each respiration an effort that spread a burning crimson over his face, while eye and ear were nervously alert.
'Arthur is very ill, and begs to see you,' was the telegraphic message that filled the cottage at Brogden with consternation. Lady Martindale was too unwell to leave home, but Theodora was thankful to her father for deciding that her presence was necessary for Violet's sake; indeed, as they travelled in doubt and suspense, and she was continually reminded of that hurried journey when her unchastened temper had been the torment of herself and of her brother, she felt it an undeserved privilege to be allowed to go to him at all. Instead of schemes of being important, there was a crashing sense of an impending blow; she hardly had the power to think or speculate in what form, or how heavily it might fall. She had only room for anxiety to get forward.
They arrived; she hurried up the stairs, only catching James's words, declaring his master no better.
She saw in the twilight a slight bending form, coming down, holding by the balusters. Violet was in her arms, clasping her with a trembling, almost convulsive tightness, without speaking.
'O, Violet, what is it? Is he so very ill?'
Lord Martindale hastened up at the same moment, and Violet recovering, in a few words, spoken very low, but clearly, told of his condition, adding, 'He has been watching for you all this time, he heard you come, and wants you directly, but don't let him speak.'
She hung on Theodora's arm, and guided them up, as if hardly able to stand. She opened the outer room door, and there (while the nurse had taken her place) sa
t Johnnie on the rug, with the baby lying across his lap, and his arms clasped tenderly round it. It was restless, and he looked up to his mother, who bent down and took it in her arms, while Lord Martindale passed on. Theodora stood appalled and overawed. This was beyond even her fears.
'Thank you for coming,' said Violet, who had sunk into a chair.
'O, Violet, when?--how!--'
But a look of horror came over Violet; she started up, almost threw the infant into Theodora's arms, and vanished into the other room. 'Oh! what is it! What is the matter?' exclaimed Theodora.
'The cough, the blood,' said Johnnie, in a low voice; and turning away with a suppressed sob he threw himself down, and hid his face on a chair. She was in an agony to pass that closed door, but the baby was fretting and kept her prisoner.
After some minutes had thus passed, her father appeared, and would have gone on without seeing her, but she detained him by an imploring cry and gasp, and entreated to hear what had happened.
'The blood-vessel again--I must send for Harding.'
'Shall I tell James to go?' inquired a little quiet voice, as Johnnie lifted up his flushed face.
'Do so, my dear;' and as the little boy left the room, his grandfather added, with the calmness of hopelessness, 'Poor child! it is of no use, it must soon be over now;' and he was returning, when Theodora again held him fast--'Papa! papa! I must see him, let me come!'
'Not yet,' said her father; 'the sight of a fresh person might hasten it. If there is any chance, we must do nothing hazardous. I will call you when they give up hope.'
Theodora was forced to relinquish her hold, for the baby screamed outright, and required all her efforts to hush its cries that they might not add fresh distress to the sick room. It seemed to make her own misery of suspense beyond measure unendurable, to be obliged to control herself so as to quiet the little creature by gentle movements, and to have its ever-renewed wailings filling her ears, when her whole soul hung on the sounds she could catch from the inner room. No one came to relieve her; only Johnnie returned, listened for a moment at the door, and dropped into his former position, and presently Mr. Harding passed rapidly through the room.
Long, long she waited ere the door once more opened. Her father came forth. Was it the summons? But he stopped her move towards the room. 'Not yet; the bleeding is checked.'
Then as Mr. Harding followed, they went out of the room in consultation, and almost the next moment Violet herself glided in, touched Johnnie's head, and said, 'Papa is better, darling;' then took the baby from Theodora, saying, 'Thank you, you shall see him soon; she was again gone, Johnnie creeping after, whither Theodora would have given worlds to follow.
After another interval, he returned with a message that mamma begged Aunt Theodora to be so kind as to go and make tea for grandpapa; she thought dear papa was breathing a little more easily, but he must be quite quiet now.
Obeying the sentence of banishment, she found her father sending off a hasty express to give more positive information at home. 'We must leave them to themselves a little while,' he said. 'There must be no excitement till he has had time to rally. I thought he had better not see me at first.'
'Is he worse than John has been?'
'Far worse. I never saw John in this immediate danger.'
'Did this attack begin directly after you came?'
'It was the effort of speaking. He WOULD try to say something about racing debts--Gardner, papers in his coat-pocket, and there broke down, coughed, and the bleeding came on. There is something on his mind, poor--'
Theodora made a sign to remind him of Johnnie's presence; but the child came forward. 'Grandpapa, he told me to tell you something,' and, with eyes bent on the ground, the little fellow repeated the words like a lesson by rote.
Lord Martindale was much overcome; he took his grandson on his knee, and pressed him to his breast without being able to speak, then, as if to recover composure by proceeding to business, he sent him to ask James for the coat last worn by his papa, and bring the papers in the pocket. Then with more agitation he continued, 'Yes, yes, that was what poor Arthur's eyes were saying all the time. I could only promise to settle everything and take care of her; and there was she, poor thing, with a face like a martyr, supporting his head, never giving way, speaking now and then so calmly and soothingly, when I could not have said a word. I do believe she is almost an angel!' said Lord Martindale, with a burst of strong emotion. 'Take care of her! She will not want that long! at this rate. Harding tells me he is very anxious about her: she is not by any means recovered, yet he was forced to let her sit up all last night, and she has been on her feet this whole day! What is to become of her and these poor children? It is enough to break one's heart!'
Here Johnnie came back. 'Grandpapa, we cannot find any papers. James has looked in all the clothes papa wore when he came home, and he did not bring home his portmanteau.'
'Come home! Where had he been?'
'I don't know. He was away a long time.'
Lord Martindale started, and repeated the words in amaze. Theodora better judged of a child's 'long time,' and asked whether it meant a day or a week. 'Was it since the baby was born that he went?'
'Baby was a week old. He was gone one--two Sundays, and he came back all on a sudden the day before yesterday, coughing so much that he could not speak, and the gentleman told mamma all about it.'
'What gentleman, Johnnie? Was it Mr. Gardner?'
'O no; this was a good-natured gentleman.'
'Mr. Herries, or Captain Fitzhugh?'
'No, it was a long name, and some one I never saw before; but I think it was the man that belongs to the owl.'
'What can the child mean?' asked Lord Martindale.
Johnnie mounted a chair, and embraced his little stuffed owl.
'The man that gave me this.'
'Percy's Athenian owl!' cried Theodora.
'Was Fotheringham the name?' said Lord Martindale.
'Yes, it was the name like Aunt Helen's,' said Johnnie.
'Has he been here since?'
'He called to inquire yesterday morning. I am not sure,' said the exact little boy, 'but I think he said he met papa in the steamer.'
It seemed mystery on mystery, and James could only confirm his young master's statement. After the little boy had answered all the questions in his power he slid down from his grandfather's knee, saying that it was bed-time, and wished them good night in a grave, sorrowful, yet childlike manner, that went to their hearts. He returned, in a short time, with a message that mamma thought papa a little better and ready to see them. Theodora went up first; Johnnie led her to the door, and then went away, while Violet said, almost inaudibly,
'Here is Theodora come to see you.'
Prepared as Theodora was, she was startled by the bloodlessness of the face, and the hand that lay without movement on the coverlet, while the gaze of the great black eyes met her with an almost spectral effect; and the stillness was only broken by the painful heaving of the chest, which seemed to shake even the bed-curtains. But for Violet's looks and gesture, Theodora would not have dared to go up to him, take his hand, and, on finding it feebly return her pressure, bend over and kiss his forehead.
'His breath is certainly relieved, and there is less fever,' repeated Violet; but to Theodora this seemed to make it only more shocking. If this was better, what must it not have been? Her tongue positively refused to speak, and she only stood looking from her brother to his wife, who reclined, sunk back in her chair beside him, looking utterly spent and worn out, her cheeks perfectly white, her eyes half-closed, her whole frame as if all strength and energy were gone. That terrible hour had completely exhausted her powers; and when Theodora had recollected herself, and summoned Lord Martindale, who undertook the night watch, Violet had not voice to speak; she only hoarsely whispered a few directions, and gave a sickly submissive smile as her thanks.
For one moment she revived, as she smoothed Arthur's bed, moistened his lips, and pressed
her face to his; then she allowed Theodora almost to lift her away, and support her into the next room, where Sarah was waiting. Even thought and anxiety seemed to be gone; she sat where they placed her, and when they began to undress her, put her hand mechanically to her dress, missed the fastening, and let it drop with a vacant smile that almost overcame Theodora. They laid her in bed, and she dropped asleep, like an infant, the instant her head was on the pillow. Theodora thought it cruel to arouse her to take nourishment; but Sarah was peremptory, and vigorously administered the spoonfuls, which she swallowed in the same unconscious manner. She was only roused a little by a sound from the baby: 'Give him to me, he will be quieter so;' and Sarah held him to her, she took him in her arms, and was instantly sunk in the same dead slumber.
'My pretty lamb!' mourned the cold stern servant, as she arranged her coverings; 'this is the sorest brash we have had together yet, and I doubt whether ye'll win through with it. May He temper the blast that sends it.'
Gazing at her for a few seconds, she raised her hand to dry some large tears; and as if only now conscious of Miss Martindale's presence, curtsied, saying, in her usual manner, 'I beg your pardon, ma'am. There is the room next the nursery made ready for you.'
'I could not go, Sarah, thank you. Go to your children; I will take care of her. Pray go.'
'I will, thank you, ma'am. We will have need of all our strength before we have done.'
'How has she been before this?'
'About as well as usual at first, ma'am, till he threw her back with going off into they foreign parts, where he has been and as good as catched his death, and would have died if Mr. Fotheringham had not brought him home.'
'What! has he been abroad, Sarah?'
'Yes, ma'am. I was holding the baby when he says to Missus he was going to Bully, or Boulong--'
Heartsease or Brother's Wife Page 56
