“I should really like it very much, and think the change would be serviceable to myself. If you and Mildred desire it, I will go with you.”
“I am very glad to hear it, and shall hold you to the engagement,” said Stanley. “I need scarcely tell you we shall live very quietly, and avoid all excitement, but you can do just as you like, dine at the table d’hóte, go to balls, concerts, card parties, and mix in all the dissipations of the place.”
“Possibly I may. I shall not lay down any rule, but do what seems most agreeable at the time. On one thing you may rely, I shall not expect you constantly to attend on me.”
“Had you intimated any such wish, I should have been obliged to excuse myself. Mildred will require all my care, and I mean to devote myself to her.”
“I entirely approve of your resolution, and think it does you great credit. Under such circumstances as these, I shall be enchanted to form one of the party. Lady Starkey, I suppose, is not going with you.”
“No. Her ladyship prefers staying at Beaucliffe, and will take care of the Squire.”
“Everything seems to be capitally arranged. I hope we shall be able to carry it out.”
While thus conversing, they had gradually approached the house, and now entered the drawing room through the open window.
CHAPTER XX.
MR. WARBURTON FORMALLY ANNOUNCES HIS INTENDED MARRIAGE WITH LADY STARKEY.
NEXT day, Mr. Warburton and Lady Starkey had a long tête-à-tête in the library, the result of which was a formal announcement on the part of the Squire that the engagement he had entered into with her ladyship would be speedily carried out.
This announcement did not occasion much surprise, since the probability of the marriage had been discussed by everybody, but it seemed to give general satisfaction, for her ladyship was much liked, and Mrs. Twemlow, the housekeeper, Glossop, Dominique and the two footmen, thought she would make a very good mistress.
Before coming to a decision, the Squire had argued the matter with himself pretty much in this way.
“I don’t think I can do better than marry her ladyship, who will do me credit in every respect. She is a most lady-like, charming woman, and will make Beaucliffe what it used to be in former days — a most attractive and agreeable house. I feel I am quite safe with her. That unfortunate elopement has done us great mischief. I cannot explain it to everybody, and the only way to set it right is to place an unmistakable lady at the head of the establishment. We shall all stand better when that is done. Besides, she has a clear three thousand a year, and that is not to be despised. On the whole, I think I ought to consider myself lucky; and I am chiefly fortunate in having gained a lady, who will sit so well at the head of my table. I fancy I see her there now. I am very glad poor dear Mildred is going to Nice, as it will prevent any possibility of misunderstanding between her and the new mistress of the house, and I daresay the party can be induced to set out for the South of France some two or three months earlier.”
These reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the lady herself into the library, and no sooner did she appear than the gallant Squire hastened to meet her, and leading her to a sofa, sat down beside her.
“Your ladyship has had sufficient experience of Beaucliffe and its ways to know whether you are likely to be happy here. I will do all I can to make you so, and if devoted regard will content you, you shall have it. I should certainly never have taken another spouse, not even your ladyship — if Mildred’s marriage had turned out well — because there would inevitably have been a certain rivalry between you which I could not have controlled. But now all will be pleasant, and my table will once more be graced by one who must command admiration and respect. I do not wish to flatter your ladyship, but the truth ought to be spoken. With regard to myself I will mention the sort of life I propose to lead. I shall live chiefly in the country, for the country suits me best, and I am used to it; and I shall keep a certain amount of company, and I think your ladyship won’t object.”
“Not in the least,” she replied. “I shall like it.”
“But though I shall endeavour to maintain the character I have acquired of a hearty country Squire, I shall not object to run up to town occasionally, and J should be very sorry, indeed, if your ladyship were to let your house in Berkeley Square.”
“I should never think of letting it without some special reason,” she replied. “I am very fond of that house.”
“Well, then, we quite understand each other, and as nobody will interfere with us I think we shall do very well.”
“I’m sure we shall,” she replied. “And now let me ask you a question. Do you wish our nuptials to take place here or in town?”
“I don’t care,” he replied. “But I should like them to be very quiet wherever they occur.”
“Just my own feeling,” replied her ladyship. “I could not bear a grand wedding, and I really believe all may be managed more quietly in town than here. Shall we go to St. George’s?”
“Nothing can be done quietly there,” replied the Squire, laughing. “I picture to myself half the Square full of splendid carriages, with any number of gorgeously attired lacqueys collected on the steps.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said her ladyship. “If we are married at St. George’s, the business shall be very quietly conducted. That I promise you.”
“Then I agree. But I couldn’t stand a regular Westend wedding. I’m too old for it.”
“Your taste shall be consulted,” she rejoined. “I suppose you won’t have a great déjeuner?”
“What for? — if there will be so few guests to partake of it But I leave all to you.”
“In my opinion, the first thing to be settled,” said Lady Starkey, “is the journey to Nice. As soon as they are gone, there will be no more interference, and you can make any arrangements you think proper. Get them off as soon as you can. If the journey is delayed till the winter, something will occur to interfere with it, and it may never take place at all.”
“I quite agree with your ladyship that it will be best for them to start as soon as they can, and I think this desirable object may be accomplished without any great difficulty. Let us see whether any of them are on the lawn.”
On walking forth they found the whole party assembled there. To their great satisfaction Mildred and Sister Aline had expressed a strong desire to proceed to the shores of the Mediterranean without delay.
“If I go there immediately I may derive some benefit,” said Mildred to Stanley, “but if I wait till the winter I believe it will be too late.”
“At all events you can prolong your visit if you find the climate suits you,” said Stanley. “It is quite clear you derive no real benefit from your stay here.”
“I cannot perceive any improvement, I confess,” said Sister Aline. “But the shores of the Mediterranean may really benefit her, and therefore ought to be tried.”
“I am confident the climate will cure her,” said Rose.
“I don’t like to offer an opinion,” said Lady Starkey, “but I should think the late summer must be the best season for an invalid.”
“Let there be no delay whatever,” said the Squire. “Since everybody fancies Nice, try it. If it suits you, remain there. If you don’t improve after a fair trial — say two or three months — come back.”
“Our preparations for early departure must immediately be made,” said Stanley. “I should think you can all be ready in a week.”
“In half that time,” Rose replied.
While this conversation was going on the Squire had looked anxiously at Mildred, and became apprehensive that her life would not be long, whatever benefit she might derive from a milder climate.
Greatly moved, he took her hand, and led her to some distance from the others.
“Tell me frankly, my dear child,” he said. “You are certain that you desire this proposed journey to the south of France?”
“I like the notion of it exceedingly, dearest papa, and feel almo
st certain that I shall benefit by it. My chief fear is that my strength may not last.”
Looking at her with indescribable tenderness, the Squire said, “If, instead of regaining strength, you become more feeble, do not remain there till it may be too late to move, but return — promise me that!”
“I promise it,” she replied. “I would fain breathe my last at Beaucliffe, and I will not put off my return here till it may be impossible.”
Overcome by his feelings, Mr. Warburton remained silent for a few minutes, and then asked in broken accents, “Is there anything you would have done during your absence?”
“I only wish you to see that my horses are cared for,” she replied. “Never again shall I mount one of my favourite hunters — but I still love them as much as ever.”
“Don’t despair, my darling!” said the Squire. “I scarcely dare hold out hopes, but I trust your strength may return, and that you may be able to ride as boldly as in former days.”
“Never, dear papa, I do not expect it But I do not wish my stables to be broken up.”
“Rest easy about that. Not a single horse shall be sold or given away, without your permission. But I ought to prepare you. When you come back, you will find Beaucliffe changed in some respects.”
“There will be a new mistress of the house — ha!” she rejoined. “It cost me a pang at first. But I am now reconciled to it. You could not have chosen better.”
“You really think so?”
“I do,” she replied. “I fully believe Lady Starkey will make you happy, and I shall be happy to see you so.”
“I believe the house will be more comfortable than it has been of late, for I need scarcely tell you it has been very unsettled.”
“I know it — I know it — and I also know how valuable to you will be Lady Starkey’s experience and management.”
“Just my feeling,” replied the Squire. “But now to come back to your proposed journey to the South of France. I shall feel better satisfied if I have a good, sound, medical opinion as to the benefit to be derived from the change, and I shall, therefore, send a telegraphic message to Dr. Baguley, of Chester, begging him to come over here to-morrow to meet Mr. Newton, our old surgeon, so that they may hold a consultation together on your case. What say you, darling?”
“You know the great dislike I have to be governed by medical opinions, papa.”
“Yes, you have shown it by constantly refusing to see Mr. Newton, but you must submit now, or I may be blamed.”
“Very well, send for the doctors, and I will see them; but I must state beforehand, that whatever they may say, I won’t give up my proposed journey to Nice.”
“Then you are bent upon going?”
“Quite determined, and I really think I shall be best out of the way for a few months, till you get certain affairs settled.”
“Well, come back to the others,” said the Squire, “and I will go and send off my telegram to Chester, and a mounted messenger to Mr. Newton.”
CHAPTER XXI.
A MEDICAL CONSULTATION AND ITS RESULT; NEXT morning, at eleven o’clock, Dr. Baguley and Mr. Newton answered the summons they had received and were ushered by Glossop into the library, where they found Mr. Warburton.
Both had a large country practice, and were men of considerable ability. Neither had seen Mrs. Stanley Brereton since her return to Beaucliffe, and there was something mysterious in her conduct that perplexed them.
“I wish to consult you, gentlemen, about my daughter, Mrs. Stanley Brereton,” said the Squire. “As you will see presently, she is in a very delicate state of health — consumption, I fear — and believes she would be much benefitted by passing a couple of months at Nice.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Dr. Baguley. “But the proper season for Nice is the winter.”
“I should recommend that her departure be delayed for two or three months,” said Mr. Newton. “She will gain nothing. Our own climate just now is as good as the other.”
“But she persuades herself that her only hope of recovery is in an immediate change,” said the Squire. “She believes she will not live till the winter if she remains.”
“But the shores of the Mediterranean are not without danger” remarked Dr. Baguley. “The mistral frequently prevails there at this time of year, and that wind is very dangerous to invalids.”
Just then the door was opened by the butler, and Mildred came in, accompanied by Stanley.
The two medical men, who were seated, immediately arose and advanced to meet her, both being extremely struck by her delicate appearance.
After regarding her for a few minutes, they consulted each other by a look, the result of which was not very favourable to the invalid. Dr. Baguley likewise felt her pulse, and shook his head.
“You will do better where you are than by going to Nice,” he remarked.
“Decidedly,” said Mr. Newton. “I recommend you to keep quiet.”
“But my wife believes that her life may be saved by a visit to Nice,” said Stanley.
“I do,” she said. “And I am certain I am doomed if I remain here.”
“You are mistaken,” said Dr. Baguley. “I could not advise you to go to Nice now — nor could Mr. Newton.”
“Certainly not,” replied the other.
“But I mean to go, whatever may be the consequences,” said Mildred.
“You must not permit your wife to sacrifice herself thus, sir,” said Mr. Newton.
“I really cannot help it, gentlemen,” rejoined Stanley. “She is determined to go, and I think opposition may do more harm than good.”
“Of course, a great deal will depend upon the weather,” remarked Dr. Baguley. “If it happens to be favourable, she may do very well, but my chief fear is from the dry north-west wind — or mistral — should that prevail. There are several very able physicians at Nice, so you are always sure of good advice.”
“I am very glad to hear that,” replied the Squire. “Have you any further questions to ask me, gentlemen?” said Mildred. “If not, I will retire.”
“No, there is no need to detain you, madam,” replied Mr. Newton, gravely. “We have all the information we require, and Dr. Baguley and myself will consult together before our departure, and write out a few prescriptions which we will leave with your husband.”
“We need not advise you to be very careful,” said Dr. Baguley. “Your life depends upon your care.”
Mildred then quitted the room, attended by Stanley, who returned in a few minutes, and found the two medical men seated at a writing-table, engaged in deep consultation, and looking very grave.
“I very much doubt whether you will be able to bring your wife back alive to England, Mr. Brereton,” said Dr. Baguley, giving him three or four prescriptions, which he had placed in the envelope. “Her case is a peculiar one, and I am afraid it is already too far advanced to be checked. But she may be soothed, and that is important. We will see her again before her departure.”
“Pray do so,” said Stanley. “We shall not start for a week, and you can pay her a couple more visits during that interval, so as to ascertain how she goes on.”
“We will come again on the day after to-morrow, and at the same time,” said Mr. Newton.
They then took leave, and the servants in attendance were struck by their grave expression, as they proceeded to their carriages.
When Mildred returned to her own room, she found Sister Aline and Rose waiting for her.
“What has been decided on?” said Rose, eagerly.
“They have given a very reluctant assent to my departure to Nice,” replied Mildred.
“That I fully expected. They wanted to keep you here.”
“But what do they think of your case?” asked Sister Aline.
“Very badly, I believe,” replied Mildred. “They scarcely gave me any hopes.”
“Never mind! Keep up your spirits!” cried Rose. “I believe you’ll disappoint them both.”
“I have very
poor hopes of recovery,” said Mildred. “I felt so ill just now, when I was under examination by the medical men, that I thought I should have died. They may come again, but I won’t see them.”
“Why not?” asked Rose. “I am sure they would cure you, if they could.”
“Perhaps so,” rejoined Mildred. “But they cannot.”
Just then, Stanley entered the room.
“I want you to take a short walk with me in the garden,” he said.
“It must be a very short walk,” she replied, “for I have not much strength left.”
Taking his arm, she descended the back stairs, and went with him into the garden.
Evidently he had something important to say to her, but he hesitated to say it.
“I am going to ask you a very serious question,” he said. “Forgive me if I am wrong, but it is important I should know the exact truth. Something I overheard said by the medical men just now awakened suspicions which I myself once entertained.”
She became as pale as death, and trembled in every limb.
“Let us sit down,” he rejoined. “Your strength is failing you.”
He led her to a bench as quickly as he could. As soon as she was seated she caught hold of his arm and, looking as if she would penetrate to his soul, said— “Now tell me what you suspected.”
Stanley answered in a low, but distinct voice— “Forgive me, if I was wrong. But I suspected you had taken poison — or, rather, I thought that poison had been given you — slow poison. I afterwards dismissed this opinion, but it has just been revived by the remarks of the medical men.”
“What did they say?” she asked.
“These were Dr. Baguley’s exact words,” replied Stanley: “‘I am convinced she is suffering from the effects of slow poison.’ ‘It looks like it, I own,’ replied the other. ‘But it cannot possibly be.’”
“Doctor Baguley was right,” said Mildred, in tones of the deepest remorse, “I am suffering from the effects of poison — poison self-administered — but it failed in its object, and has left me, as you see, to a miserable existence.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 817
