Heartsease or Brother's Wife

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  'Boulogne--'

  'Yes, Bullying, or some such place; and bullied him they have; stripped him even of his very portmanteau, with his eight new shirts in it, that they have! Well, Missus, she says his cold would be worse, and he said it only wanted a change, and she need never fret, for he meant to get quit of the whole concern. But for that, I would have up and told him he didn't ought to go, and that he must stay at home and mind her, but then I thought, if he did get rid of them nasty horses, and that there Mr. Gardner, with his great nasturtions on his face, it would be a blessed day. But I ought to have known how it would be: he is too innocent for them; and they have never been content till they have been and got his very clothes, and given him his death, and broke the heart of the bestest and most loving- heartedest lady as ever lived. That they have!'

  Having eased her mind by this tirade, Sarah mended the fire, put every comfort in Miss Martindale's reach, advised her to lie down by her mistress, and walked off.

  Theodora felt giddy and confounded with the shocks of that day. It was not till she had stretched herself beside Violet that she could collect her perceptions of the state of affairs; and oh! what wretchedness! Her darling brother, round whom the old passionate ardour of affection now clung again, lying at death's door; his wife sinking under her exertions;--these were the least of the sorrows, though each cough seemed to rend her heart, and that sleeping mother was like a part of her life. The misery was in that mystery--nay, in the certainty, that up to the last moment of health Arthur had been engaged in his reckless, selfish courses! If he were repentant, there was neither space nor power to express it, far less for reparation. He was snatched at once from thoughtless pleasure and disregard of religion--nay, even of the common charities of home! And to fasten the guilt to herself were those few half-uttered words- -races, debts, Gardner!

  'If you once loosen the tie of home, he will go back to courses and companions that have done him harm enough already.' 'Beware of Mark Gardner!' 'Whatever comes of these races, it is your doing, not mine.' Those warnings flashed before her eyes like letters of fire, and she turned her face to the pillow as it were to hide from them, as well as to stifle the groans that could not have been wrung from her by bodily pain. 'Oh, my sin has found me out! I thought I had been punished, but these are the very dregs! His blood is on my head! My brother! my brother! whom I loved above all! He was learning to love his home and children; she was weaning him from those pursuits! What might he not have been? I led him away! When he shrank from the temptation, I dragged him to it! I gave him back to the tempter! I, who thought I loved him--I did the devil's work! Oh! this is the heavier weight! Why should it crush others with the only guilty one? Oh! have mercy, have mercy on him! Let me bear all! Take me instead! Let me not have slain his soul!'

  It was anguish beyond the power of words. She could not lie still; she knelt on the floor, and there the flood of despair fell on her more overwhelmingly; and crouching, almost cast on the ground, she poured out incoherent entreaties for mercy, for space for his repentance, for his forgiveness. That agony of distracted prayer must have lasted a long time. Some sound in her brother's room alarmed her, and in starting she shook the table. Her father came to ask if anything was the matter; told her that Arthur was quiet, and begged her to lie down. It was a relief to have something to obey, and she moved back. The light gleamed on something bright. It was the setting of Helen's cross! 'Ah! I was not worthy to save it; that was for Johnnie's innocent hand! I may not call this my cross, but my rod!' Then came one thought: 'I came not for the righteous, but to call sinners to repentance.' Therewith hot tears rose up. 'With Him there is infinite mercy and redemption.' Some power of hope revived, that Mercy might give time to repent, accept the heartfelt grief that might exist, though not manifested to man! The hope, the motive, and comfort in praying, had gleamed across her again; and not with utter despair could she beseech that the sins she had almost caused might be so repented of as to receive the pardon sufficient for all iniquity.

  CHAPTER 10

  Thus have I seen a temper wild In yokes of strong affection bound Unto a spirit meek and mild, Till chains of good were on him found. He, struggling in his deep distress, As in some dream of loneliness, Hath found it was an angel guest.--Thoughts in Past Years

  Five days had passed, and no material change had taken place. There was no serious recurrence of bleeding, but the inflammation did not abate, and the suffering was grievous, though Arthur was so much enfeebled that he could not struggle under it. His extreme debility made his body passive, but it was painfully evident that his mind was as anxious and ill at ease as ever. There was the same distrustful watch to see every letter, and know all that passed; the constant strain of every faculty, all in absolute silence, so that his nurses, especially Theodora, felt as if it would be a positive personal relief to them if those eyes would be closed for one minute.

  What would they have given to know what passed in that sleepless mind? But anything that could lead to speaking or agitation was forbidden; even, to the great grief of Theodora, the admission of the clergyman of the parish. Lord Martindale agreed with the doctors that it was too great a risk, and Violet allowed them to decide, whispering to Theodora that she thought he heeded Johnnie's prayers more than anything read with a direct view to himself. The cause of his anxiety remained in doubt. Lord Martindale had consulted Violet, but she knew nothing of any papers. She was aware that his accounts were mixed up with Mr. Gardner's, and believed he had gone to Boulogne to settle them; and she conjectured that he had found himself more deeply involved than he had expected. She remembered his having said something of being undone, and his words to Johnnie seemed to bear the same interpretation.

  Mr. Fotheringham's apparition was also a mystery; so strange was it that, after bringing Arthur home in such a state, he should offer no further assistance. James was desired to ask him to come in, if he should call to inquire; but he did not appear, and the father and sister began to have vague apprehensions, which they would not for the world have avowed to each other, that there must be worse than folly, for what save disgrace would have kept Percy from aiding John's brother in his distress? Each morning rose on them with dread of what the day might bring forth, not merely from the disease within, but from the world without; each postman's knock was listened to with alarm, caught from poor Arthur.

  His wife was of course spared much of this. That worst fear could not occur to her; she had no room for any thought but for him as he was in the sight of Heaven, and each hour that his life was prolonged was to her a boon and a blessing. She trusted that there was true sorrow for the past--not merely dread of the consequences, as she traced the shades upon his face, while he listened to the hymns that she encouraged Johnnie to repeat. In that clear, sweet enunciation, and simple, reverent manner, they evidently had a great effect. He listened for the first time with his heart, and the caresses, at which Johnnie glowed with pleasure as a high favour, were, she knew, given with a species of wondering veneration. It was Johnnie's presence that most soothed him; his distressing, careworn expression passed away at the first sight of the innocent, pensive face, and returned not while the child was before him, bending over a book, or watching the baby, or delighted at having some small service to perform. Johnnie, on his side, was never so well satisfied as in the room, and nothing but Violet's fears for his health prevented the chief part of his time from being spent there.

  Her own strength was just sufficient for the day. She could sit by Arthur's side, comprehend his wishes by his face, and do more to relieve and sustain him than all the rest; and, though she looked wretchedly weak and worn, her power of doing all that was needed, and looking upon him with comforting refreshing smiles, did not desert her. The night watch she was forced to leave to be divided between his father and sister, with the assistance alternately of Sarah and the regular nurse, and she was too much exhausted when she went to bed, for Theodora to venture on disturbing her by an unnecessary word.

  T
heodora's longing was to be continually with her brother, but this could only be for a few hours at night; and then the sight of his suffering, and the difficulty of understanding his restlessness of mind, made her so wretched, that it took all the force of her strong resolution to conceal her unhappiness; and she marvelled the more at the calmness with which the feeble frame of Violet endured the same scene. The day was still more trying to her, for her task was the care of the children, and little Helen was so entirely a copy of her own untamed self, as to be a burdensome charge for a desponding heart and sinking spirits.

  On the fifth morning the doctors perceived a shade of improvement; but to his attendants Arthur appeared worse, from being less passive and returning more to the struggle and manifestation of oppression and suffering. He made attempts at questions, insisting on being assured that no letter nor call had been kept from him; he even sent for the cards that had been left, and examined them, and he wanted to renew the conversation with his father; but Lord Martindale silenced him at once, and left the room. He looked so much disappointed that Violet was grieved, and thought, in spite of the doctors, that it might have been better to have run the risk of letting him speak, for the sake of setting his mind at rest.

  Lord Martindale, however, saw so much peril in permitting a word to be uttered, that he deemed it safer to absent himself, and went out to try to trace out Mr. Fotheringham, and ask whether he could throw any light on Arthur's trouble.

  The children were out of doors, and Theodora was profiting by the interval of quiet to write to her mother, when she heard James announce, 'Mr. Fotheringham.'

  She looked up, then down. Her first thought was of her brother; the next brought the whole flood of remembrances, and she could not meet his eye.

  He advanced, but there was no friendly greeting. As to a stranger, he said, 'I hope Colonel Martindale is better?'

  Could it be himself? She gave a hasty glance. It was; he chose to disown her; to meet her without even a hand held out! Rallying her fortitude, she made answer, 'Thank you; we hope--'

  She got no further--her hand was grasped. 'Theodora! I did not know you.'

  She had forgotten her altered looks! Relieved, she smiled, and said, 'Yes, I am a strange figure. They think Arthur a little better to- day, thank you.'

  'How has it been?'

  He listened to the details with eagerness, that dismissed from her mind the sickening apprehension of his knowing of any hidden evil; then, saying he was pressed for time, begged her to ask Mrs. Martindale to let him speak to her on a matter of such importance that he must venture on disturbing her.

  Theodora beckoned to Violet at the door, hoping to elude Arthur's notice; but any attempt at secrecy made him more distrustful, and the name had hardly been whispered before she was startled by hearing-- 'Bring him here.'

  Much frightened, the wife and sister expostulated, thus making him more determined; he almost rose on his elbow to enforce his wishes, and at last said, 'You do me more harm by preventing it.'

  Violet felt the same; and in fear and trembling begged Theodora to call Percy. She knew herself to be responsible for the danger, but saw the impossibility of preventing the interview without still greater risk. Indeed, while Theodora delayed Percy with cautions, impatience, and the fear of being disappointed, were colouring each sunken cheek with a spot of burning red, the hands were shaking uncontrollably, and the breath was shorter than ever, so that she was on the point of going to hasten the visitor, when he knocked at the door.

  She signed to him at once to turn to Arthur, who held out his hand, and met his greeting with an anxious, imploring gaze, as if to ask whether, after all, he brought him hope.

  'Well,' said Percy, cheerfully, 'I think it is settled.'

  Arthur relaxed that painful tension of feature, and lay back on his pillows, with a relieved though inquiring look.

  'Begging your pardon for being meddlesome,' continued Percy, 'I thought I saw a way of being even with that scoundrel. Your papers had got into my pocket, and, as I had nothing else to do, I looked them over after parting with you, and saw a way out of the difficulty. I was coming in the morning to return them and propound my plan, but finding that you could not be seen, I ventured to take it on myself at once, for fear he should get out of reach.'

  He paused, but Arthur's eyes asked on.

  'I had reason to think him gone to Paris. I followed him thither, and found he was making up to Mrs. Finch. I let him know that I was aware of this villainy, and of a good deal more of the same kind, and threatened that, unless he came in to my terms, I would expose the whole to his cousin, and let her know that he is at this moment engaged to Miss Brandon. She is ready to swallow a good deal, but that would have been too much, and he knew it. He yielded, and gave me his authority to break up the affair.'

  As Arthur was still attentive and anxious, Percy went on to explain that he had next gone to the man who kept the horses, and by offers of ready money and careful inspection of his bills, had reduced his charge to a less immoderate amount. The money had been advanced for a portion of Arthur's share of the debts, and a purchaser was ready for the horses, whose price would clear off the rest; so that nothing more was wanted but Arthur's authority for the completion of the sale, which would free him from all present danger of pressure upon that score.

  'Supposing you do not disavow me, said Percy, 'I must ask pardon for going such lengths without permission.'

  A clutch of the hand was the answer, and Percy then showed him the accounts only waiting for his signature.

  The money advanced was nearer five thousand pounds than four; and Arthur, pointing to the amount, inquired, by look and gesture, 'Where does it come from?'

  'Never mind; it was honestly come by. It is a lot that has accumulated out of publishing money, and was always bothering me with railway shares. It will do as well in your keeping.'

  'It is throwing it into a gulf.'

  'In your father's, then. I will take care of myself, and speak when I want it. Don't trouble your father about it till he sees his way.'

  'I must give you my bond.'

  'As you please, but there is no hurry.'

  Arthur, however, was bent on giving his signature at once, and, as he looked towards his wife and child, said, 'For their sakes, thank you.'

  'I did it for their sakes,' said Percy, gruffly, perhaps to check Arthur's agitation; but as if repenting of what sounded harsh, he took the infant in his arms, saying to Violet, 'You have a fine fellow here! Eyes and forehead--his father all over!'

  Arthur held out his hand eagerly. 'Let him be your godson--make him like any one but me.'

  Percy took two turns in the room before he could answer. 'My godson, by all means, and thank you; but you will have the making of him yourself. You are much better than I expected.'

  Arthur shook his head; but Violet, with a look, sufficient reward for anything, said, 'It is you that are making him better.'

  He replied by inquiries about the christening. The baby was a day less than four weeks old, and Violet was anxious to have him baptized; so that it was arranged that it should take place immediately on Percy's return from Worthbourne, whither he was to proceed that same afternoon, having hitherto been delayed by Arthur's affairs. This settled, he took leave. Arthur fervently pressed his hand, and, as Violet adjusted the pillows, sank his head among them as if courting rest, raising his eyes once more to his 'friend in need,' and saying, 'I shall sleep now.'

  Violet only hoped that Mr. Fotheringham understood what inexpressible gratitude was conveyed in those words, only to be appreciated after watching those six wakeful, straining days and nights.

  Meantime, Theodora waited in fear, too great at first to leave space for other thoughts; but as time past, other memories returned. On coming to summon Percy she had found him standing before the little stuffed owl, and she could not but wonder what thoughts it might have excited, until suddenly the recollection of Jane dissipated her visions with so violent a revulsion that s
he was shocked at herself, and perceived that there was a victory to be achieved.

  'It shall be at once,' said she. 'I WILL mention her. To be silent would show consciousness. Once done, it is over. It is easier with my altered looks. I am another woman now.'

  She heard him coming down, and almost hoped to be spared the meeting, but, after a moment's pause, he entered.

  'Well,' he said, 'I hope I have done him no harm. I think better of him now than when I came home. He looks to me as if the worst was over.'

  They were the first words of hope, and spoken in that hearty, cheery voice, they almost overset her weakened spirits, and the struggle with tears would not let her answer.

  'You have had a most trying time,' said he, in the kind way that stirred up every old association; but that other thought made her guarded, and she coldly hurried out the words--

  'Yes; this is the first time my father has been out. He went in search of you, to ask how you met poor Arthur, who has been able to give no account of himself.'

  'We met on board the steamer. He had been obliged to leave Boulogne without finishing his business there, and I went back to settle it for him.'

  'And the papers he had lost?'

  'I had them: it is all right.'

  'And his mind relieved?'

  'I hope it is.'

  'Oh! then, we may dare to hope!' cried she, breathing freely.

  'I trust so; but I must go. Perhaps I may meet Lord Martindale.'

  With a great effort, and a 'now-or-never' feeling, she abruptly said, 'I hope Jane is well.'

  He did not seem to understand; and confused, as if she had committed an over familiarity of title, she added, 'Mrs. Fotheringham.'

  She was startled and hurt at his unconstrained manner.

  'Very well, I believe. I shall see her this evening at Worthbourne.'

  'Has she been staying there long?' said Theodora, going on valiantly after the first plunge.