CHAPTER I.
WAS it an Englishman or a Frenchman who first remarked that every familyhad a skeleton in its cupboard? I am not learned enough to know, but Ireverence the observation, whoever made it. It speaks a startling truththrough an appropriately grim metaphor--a truth which I have discoveredby practical experience. Our family had a skeleton in the cupboard, andthe name of it was Uncle George.
I arrived at the knowledge that this skeleton existed, and I traced itto the particular cupboard in which it was hidden, by slow degrees. Iwas a child when I first began to suspect that there was such a thing,and a grown man when I at last discovered that my suspicions were true.
My father was a doctor, having an excellent practice in a large countrytown. I have heard that he married against the wishes of his family.They could not object to my mother on the score of birth, breeding, orcharacter--they only disliked her heartily. My grandfather, grandmother,uncles, and aunts all declared that she was a heartless, deceitfulwoman; all disliked her manners, her opinions, and even the expressionof her face--all, with the exception of my father's youngest brother,George.
George was the unlucky member of our family. The rest were all clever;he was slow in capacity. The rest were all remarkably handsome; he wasthe sort of man that no woman ever looks at twice. The rest succeededin life; he failed. His profession was the same as my father's, but henever got on when he started in practice for himself. The sick poor,who could not choose, employed him, and liked him. The sick rich, whocould--especially the ladies--declined to call him in when they couldget anybody else. In experience he gained greatly by his profession; inmoney and reputation he gained nothing.
There are very few of us, however dull and unattractive we may be tooutward appearance, who have not some strong passion, some germ of whatis called romance, hidden more or less deeply in our natures. All thepassion and romance in the nature of my Uncle George lay in his love andadmiration for my father.
He sincerely worshipped his eldest brother as one of the noblest ofhuman beings. When my father was engaged to be married, and when therest of the family, as I have already mentioned, did not hesitate toexpress their unfavorable opinion of the disposition of his chosen wife,Uncle George, who had never ventured on differing with anyone before,to the amazement of everybody, undertook the defense of his futuresister-in-law in the most vehement and positive manner. In hisestimation, his brother's choice was something sacred and indisputable.The lady might, and did, treat him with unconcealed contempt, laugh athis awkwardness, grow impatient at his stammering--it made no differenceto Uncle George. She was to be his brother's wife, and, in virtue ofthat one great fact, she became, in the estimation of the poor surgeon,a very queen, who, by the laws of the domestic constitution, could do nowrong.
When my father had been married a little while, he took his youngestbrother to live with him as his assistant.
If Uncle George had been made president of the College of Surgeons, hecould not have been prouder and happier than he was in his new position.I am afraid my father never understood the depth of his brother'saffection for him. All the hard work fell to George's share: the longjourneys at night, the physicking of wearisome poor people, the drunkencases, the revolting cases--all the drudging, dirty business of thesurgery, in short, was turned over to him; and day after day, monthafter month, he struggled through it without a murmur. When his brotherand his sister-in-law went out to dine with the county gentry, it neverentered his head to feel disappointed at being left unnoticed at home.When the return dinners were given, and he was asked to come in attea-time, and left to sit unregarded in a corner, it never occurred tohim to imagine that he was treated with any want of consideration orrespect. He was part of the furniture of the house, and it was thebusiness as well as the pleasure of his life to turn himself to any useto which his brother might please to put him.
So much for what I have heard from others on the subject of my UncleGeorge. My own personal experience of him is limited to what I rememberas a mere child. Let me say something, however, first about my parents,my sister and myself.
My sister was the eldest born and the best loved. I did not come intothe world till four years after her birth, and no other child followedme. Caroline, from her earliest days, was the perfection of beauty andhealth. I was small, weakly, and, if the truth must be told, almostas plain-featured as Uncle George himself. It would be ungracious andundutiful in me to presume to decide whether there was any foundation ornot for the dislike that my father's family always felt for my mother.All I can venture to say is, that her children never had any cause tocomplain of her.
Her passionate affection for my sister, her pride in the child's beauty,I remember well, as also her uniform kindness and indulgence toward me.My personal defects must have been a sore trial to her in secret,but neither she nor my father ever showed me that they perceived anydifference between Caroline and myself. When presents were made to mysister, presents were made to me. When my father and mother caught mysister up in their arms and kissed her they scrupulously gave me my turnafterward. My childish instinct told me that there was a difference intheir smiles when they looked at me and looked at her; that the kissesgiven to Caroline were warmer than the kisses given to me; that thehands which dried her tears in our childish griefs, touched her moregently than the hands which dried mine. But these, and other small signsof preference like them, were such as no parents could be expectedto control. I noticed them at the time rather with wonder than withrepining. I recall them now without a harsh thought either toward myfather or my mother. Both loved me, and both did their duty by me. If Iseem to speak constrainedly of them here, it is not on my own account. Ican honestly say that, with all my heart and soul.
Even Uncle George, fond as he was of me, was fonder of my beautifulchild-sister.
When I used mischievously to pull at his lank, scanty hair, he wouldgently and laughingly take it out of my hands, but he would let Carolinetug at it till his dim, wandering gray eyes winked and watered againwith pain. He used to plunge perilously about the garden, in awkwardimitation of the cantering of a horse, while I sat on his shoulders;but he would never proceed at any pace beyond a slow and safe walk whenCaroline had a ride in her turn. When he took us out walking, Carolinewas always on the side next the wall. When we interrupted him over hisdirty work in the surgery, he used to tell me to go and play untilhe was ready for me; but he would put down his bottles, and clean hisclumsy fingers on his coarse apron, and lead Caroline out again, as ifshe had been the greatest lady in the land. Ah! how he loved her! and,let me be honest and grateful, and add, how he loved me, too!
When I was eight years old and Caroline was twelve, I was separated fromhome for some time. I had been ailing for many months previously; hadgot benefit from being taken to the sea-side, and had shown symptoms ofrelapsing on being brought home again to the midland county in which weresided. After much consultation, it was at last resolved that I shouldbe sent to live, until my constitution got stronger, with a maidensister of my mother's, who had a house at a watering-place on the southcoast.
I left home, I remember, loaded with presents, rejoicing over theprospect of looking at the sea again, as careless of the future and ashappy in the present as any boy could be. Uncle George petitioned for aholiday to take me to the seaside, but he could not be spared fromthe surgery. He consoled himself and me by promising to make me amagnificent model of a ship.
I have that model before my eyes now while I write. It is dusty withage; the paint on it is cracked; the ropes are tangled; the sails aremoth-eaten and yellow. The hull is all out of proportion, and the righas been smiled at by every nautical friend of mine who has ever lookedat it. Yet, worn-out and faulty as it is--inferior to the cheapestminiature vessel nowadays in any toy-shop window--I hardly know apossession of mine in this world that I would not sooner part with thanUncle George's ship.
My life at the sea-side was a very happy one. I remained with my auntmore than a year. My mother often came to see ho
w I was going on, andat first always brought my sister with her; but during the last eightmonths of my stay Caroline never once appeared. I noticed also, at thesame period, a change in my mother's manner. She looked paler and moreanxious at each succeeding visit, and always had long conferences inprivate with my aunt. At last she ceased to come and see us altogether,and only wrote to know how my health was getting on. My father, too,who had at the earlier periods of my absence from home traveled tothe sea-side to watch the progress of my recovery as often as hisprofessional engagements would permit, now kept away like my mother.Even Uncle George, who had never been allowed a holiday to come and seeme, but who had hitherto often written and begged me to write to him,broke off our correspondence.
I was naturally perplexed and amazed by these changes, and persecutedmy aunt to tell me the reason of them. At first she tried to put me offwith excuses; then she admitted that there was trouble in our house; andfinally she confessed that the trouble was caused by the illness ofmy sister. When I inquired what that illness was, my aunt said it wasuseless to attempt to explain it to me. I next applied to the servants.One of them was less cautious than my aunt, and answered my question,but in terms that I could not comprehend. After much explanation, I wasmade to understand that "something was growing on my sister's neck thatwould spoil her beauty forever, and perhaps kill her, if it could not begot rid of." How well I remember the shudder of horror that ran throughme at the vague idea of this deadly "something"! A fearful, awe-struckcuriosity to see what Caroline's illness was with my own eyes troubledmy inmost heart, and I begged to be allowed to go home and help to nurseher. The request was, it is almost needless to say, refused.
Weeks passed away, and still I heard nothing, except that my sistercontinued to be ill. One day I privately wrote a letter to Uncle George,asking him, in my childish way, to come and tell me about Caroline'sillness.
I knew where the post-office was, and slipped out in the morningunobserved and dropped my letter in the box. I stole home again by thegarden, and climbed in at the window of a back parlor on the groundfloor. The room above was my aunt's bedchamber, and the moment I wasinside the house I heard moans and loud convulsive sobs proceeding fromit. My aunt was a singularly quiet, composed woman. I could notimagine that the loud sobbing and moaning came from her, and I randown terrified into the kitchen to ask the servants who was crying soviolently in my aunt's room.
I found the housemaid and the cook talking together in whispers withserious faces. They started when they saw me as if I had been a grown-upmaster who had caught them neglecting their work.
"He's too young to feel it much," I heard one say to the other. "So faras he is concerned, it seems like a mercy that it happened no later."
In a few minutes they had told me the worst. It was indeed my aunt whohad been crying in the bedroom. Caroline was dead.
I felt the blow more severely than the servants or anyone else about mesupposed. Still I was a child in years, and I had the blessed elasticityof a child's nature. If I had been older I might have been too muchabsorbed in grief to observe my aunt so closely as I did, when she wascomposed enough to see me later in the day.
I was not surprised by the swollen state of her eyes, the paleness ofher cheeks, or the fresh burst of tears that came from her when she tookme in her arms at meeting. But I was both amazed and perplexed by thelook of terror that I detected in her face. It was natural enough thatshe should grieve and weep over my sister's death, but why should shehave that frightened look as if some other catastrophe had happened?
I asked if there was any more dreadful news from home besides the newsof Caroline's death.
My aunt, said No in a strange, stifled voice, and suddenly turned herface from me. Was my father dead? No. My mother? No. Uncle George? Myaunt trembled all over as she said No to that also, and bade me ceaseasking any more questions. She was not fit to bear them yet she said,and signed to the servant to lead me out of the room.
The next day I was told that I was to go home after the funeral, and wastaken out toward evening by the housemaid, partly for a walk, partly tobe measured for my mourning clothes. After we had left the tailor's,I persuaded the girl to extend our walk for some distance along thesea-beach, telling her, as we went, every little anecdote connected withmy lost sister that came tenderly back to my memory in those first daysof sorrow. She was so interested in hearing and I in speaking that welet the sun go down before we thought of turning back.
The evening was cloudy, and it got on from dusk to dark by the time weapproached the town again. The housemaid was rather nervous at findingherself alone with me on the beach, and once or twice looked behind herdistrustfully as we went on. Suddenly she squeezed my hand hard, andsaid:
"Let's get up on the cliff as fast as we can."
The words were hardly out of her mouth before I heard footsteps behindme--a man came round quickly to my side, snatched me away from the girl,and, catching me up in his arms without a word, covered my face withkisses. I knew he was crying, because my cheeks were instantly wet withhis tears; but it was too dark for me to see who he was, or even how hewas dressed. He did not, I should think, hold me half a minute in hisarms. The housemaid screamed for help. I was put down gently on thesand, and the strange man instantly disappeared in the darkness.
When this extraordinary adventure was related to my aunt, she seemedat first merely bewildered at hearing of it; but in a moment more therecame a change over her face, as if she had suddenly recollected orthought of something. She turned deadly pale, and said, in a hurriedway, very unusual with her:
"Never mind; don't talk about it any more. It was only a mischievoustrick to frighten you, I dare say. Forget all about it, my dear--forgetall about it."
It was easier to give this advice than to make me follow it. For manynights after, I thought of nothing but the strange man who had kissed meand cried over me.
Who could he be? Somebody who loved me very much, and who was verysorry. My childish logic carried me to that length. But when I tried tothink over all the grown-up gentlemen who loved me very much, I couldnever get on, to my own satisfaction, beyond my father and my UncleGeorge.
The Queen of Hearts Page 5