Heartsease or Brother's Wife

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  'I little thought it would be my Johnnie's font,' said Violet, softly. 'I shall always feel that I have a share in him beyond my fellow-sponsors.'

  'O, yes, he belongs to you,' said Violet; 'besides his other godfather will only be Colonel Harrington, and his godmother--you have written to ask your sister, have you not, Arthur?'

  'I'd as soon ask Aunt Nesbit,' exclaimed Arthur, 'I do believe one cares as much as the other.'

  'You must send for me when you are well enough to take him to church,' said John.

  'That I will. I wish you could stay for it. He will be a month old to-morrow week, but it may wait, I hope, till I can go with him. I must soon get down-stairs again!'

  'Ah! you will find the draught trap mended,' said Arthur. 'Brown set to work on it, and the doors shut as tight as a new boot.'

  'I am often amused to see Brown scent out and pursue a draught,' said John.

  'I have been avoiding Brown ever since Friday,' said Arthur; 'when he met me with a serious "Captain Martindale, sir," and threatened me with your being laid up for the year if I kept you here. I told him it was his fault for letting you come home so early, and condoled with him on your insubordination.'

  'Ah! Violet does not know what order Sarah keeps you in?' retorted John.

  'I am afraid you have both been very uncomfortable!'

  'No, not in the least, Sarah is a paragon, I assure you.'

  'She has been very kind to me, but so has every one. No one was ever so well nursed! You must know what a perfect nurse Arthur is!'

  Arthur laughed. 'John! Why he would as soon be nursed by a monkey as by me. There he lies on a perfect bank of pillows, coughs whenever you speak to him, and only wants to get rid of every one but Brown. Nothing but consideration for Brown induces him to allow my father or Percy Fotheringham now and then to sit up.'

  'A comfortable misanthropical picture,' said John, 'but rather too true. You see, Violet, what talents you have brought out.'

  Violet was stroking her husband's hand, and looking very proud and happy. 'Only I was so selfish! Does not he look very pale still?'

  'That is not your fault so much as that of some one else,' said John. 'Some one who declares smoking cigars in his den down-stairs refreshes him more than a sensible walk.'

  'Of course,' said Arthur, 'it is only ladies, and men who have nursed themselves as long as you have, who ever go out for a constitutional.'

  'He will be on duty to-morrow,' said Violet, 'and so he will be obliged to go out.'

  'And you will write to me, Violet,' said John, 'when you are ready? I wish I could expect to hear how you get on, but it is vain to hope for letters from Arthur.'

  'I know,' said Violet; 'but only think how good he has been to write to mamma for me. I was so proud when he brought me the letter to sign.'

  'Have you any message for me to take?' said John, rising.

  'No, thank you--only to thank Lord and Lady Martindale for their kind messages. And oh'--but checking herself--'No, you won't see them.'

  'Whom?'

  'Lady Elizabeth and Emma. I had such a kind letter from them. So anxious about me, and begging me to let some one write; and I am afraid they'll think it neglectful; but I turn giddy if I sit up, and when I can write, the first letter must be for mamma. So if there is any communication with Rickworth, could you let them know that I am getting better, and thank them very much!'

  'Certainly. I will not fail to let them know. Good-bye, Violet, I am glad to have seen you.'

  'Good-bye. I hope your cough will be better,' said Violet.

  He retained her hand a moment, looked at her fixedly, the sorrowful expression returned, and he hastened away in silence.

  Arthur followed, and presently coming back said, 'Poor John! You put him so much in mind of Helen.'

  'Poor Mr. Martindale!' exclaimed Violet. 'Am I like her?'

  'Not a bit,' said Arthur. 'Helen had light hair and eyes, a fat sort of face, and no pretence to be pretty--a downright sort of person, not what you would fancy John's taste. If any one else had compared you it would have been no compliment; but he told me you had reminded him of her from the first, and now your white cheeks and sick dress recalled her illness so much, that he could hardly bear it. But don't go and cry about it.'

  'No, I won't,' said Violet, submissively, 'but I am afraid it did not suit him for us to be talking nonsense. It is so very sad.'

  'Poor John! so it is,' said Arthur, looking at her, as if beginning to realize what his brother had lost. 'However, she was not his wife, though, after all, they were almost as much attached. He has not got over it in the least. This is the first time I have known him speak of it, and he could not get out her name.'

  'It is nearly two years ago.'

  'Nearly. She died in June. It was that cold late summer, and her funeral was in the middle of a hail-storm, horridly chilly.'

  'Where was she buried?'

  'At Brogden. Old Mr. Fotheringham was buried there, and she was brought there. I came home for it. What a day it was--the hailstones standing on the grass, and I shall never forget poor John's look--all shivering and shrunk up together.' He shivered at the bare remembrance. 'It put the finishing touch to the damage he had got by staying in England with her all the winter. By night he was frightfully ill--inflammation worse than ever. Poor John! That old curmudgeon of a grandfather has much to answer for, though you ought to be grateful to him, Violet; for I suppose it will end in that boy of yours being his lordship some time or other.'

  The next morning was a brisk one with Violet. She wished Arthur not to be anxious about leaving her, and having by no means ceased to think it a treat to see him in uniform, she gloried in being carried to her sofa by so grand and soldierly a figure, and uttered her choicest sentence of satisfaction--'It is like a story!' while his epaulette was scratching her cheek.

  'I don't know how to trust you to your own silly devices,' said he, laying her down, and lingering to settle her pillows and shawls.

  'Wise ones,' said she. 'I have so much to do. There's baby--and there's Mr. Harding to come, and I want to see the cook--and I should not wonder if I wrote to mamma. So you see 'tis woman's work, and you had better not bring your red coat home too soon, or you'll have to finish the letter!' she added, with saucy sweetness.

  On his return, he found her spread all over with papers, her little table by her side, with the drawer pulled out.

  'Ha! what mischief are you up to? You have not got at those abominable accounts again!'

  'I beg your pardon,' said she, humbly. 'Nurse would not let me speak to the cook, but said instead I might write to mamma; so I sent for my little table, but I found the drawer in such disorder, that I was setting it to rights. Who can have meddled with it!'

  'I can tell you that,' said Arthur. 'I ran against it, and it came to grief, and there was a spread of all your goods and chattels on the floor.'

  'Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid some of the servants had been at it.'

  'What! aren't you in a desperate fright? All your secrets displayed like a story, as you are so fond of saying--what's the name of it-- where the husband, no, it was the wife, fainted away, and broke open the desk with her head.'

  'My dear Arthur!' and Violet laughed so much that nurse in the next room foreboded that he would tire her.

  'I vow it was so! Out came a whole lot of letters from the old love, a colonel in the Peninsula, that her husband had never heard of,--an old lawyer he was.'

  'The husband? What made her marry him?'

  'They were all ruined horse and foot, and the old love was wounded, "kilt", or disposed of, till he turned up, married to her best friend.'

  'What became of her?'

  'I forget--there was a poisoning and a paralytic stroke in it.'

  'Was there! How delightful! How I should like to read it. What was its name?'

  'I don't remember. It was a green railway book. Theodora made me read it, and I should know it again if I saw it. I'll look out for it, and you'
ll find I was right about her head. But how now. Haven't you fainted away all this time?'

  'No; why should I?'

  'How do you know what I may have discovered in your papers? Are you prepared? It is no laughing matter,' added he, in a Blue Beard tone, and drawing out the paper of calculations, he pointed to the tear marks. 'Look here. What's this, I say, what's this, you naughty child?'

  'I am sorry! it was very silly,' whispered Violet, in a contrite ashamed way, shrinking back a little.

  'What business had you to break your heart over these trumpery butchers and bakers and candlestick makers?'

  'Only candles, dear Arthur,' said Violet, meekly, as if in extenuation.

  'But what on earth could you find to cry about?'

  'It was very foolish! but I was in such a dreadful puzzle. I could not make the cook's accounts and mine agree, and I wanted to be sure whether she really--'

  'Cheated!' exclaimed Arthur. 'Well, that's a blessing!'

  'What is?' asked the astonished Violet.

  'That I have cleared the house of that intolerable woman!'

  'The cook gone!' cried Violet, starting, so that her papers slid away, and Arthur shuffled them up in his hand in renewed confusion. 'The cook really gone? Oh! I am so glad!'

  'Capital!' cried Arthur. 'There was John declaring you would be in despair to find your precious treasure gone.'

  'Oh! I never was more glad! Do tell me! Why did she go?'

  'I had a skrimmage with her about some trout Fitzhugh sent, which I verily believe she ate herself.'

  'Changed with the fishmonger!'

  'I dare say. She sent us in some good-for-nothing wretches, all mud, and vowed these were stale--then grew impertinent.'

  'And talked about the first families?'

  'Exactly so, and when it came to telling me Mrs. Martindale was her mistress, I could stand no more. I paid her her wages, and recommended her to make herself scarce.'

  'When did it happen?'

  'Rather more than a fortnight ago.'

  Violet laughed heartily. 'O-ho! there's the reason nurse scolds if I dare to ask to speak to the cook. And oh! how gravely Sarah said "yes, ma'am," to all my messages! How very funny! But how have we been living? When I am having nice things all day long, and giving so much trouble! Oh dear! How uncomfortable you must have been, and your brother too!'

  'Am I not always telling you to the contrary? Sarah made everything look as usual, and I suspect Brown lent a helping hand. John said the coffee was made in some peculiar way Brown learnt in the East, and never practises unless John is very ill, or they are in some uncivilized place; but he told me to take no notice, lest Brown should think it infra dig.'

  'I'm afraid he thought this an uncivilized place. But what a woman Sarah is! She has all the work of the house, and yet she seems to me to be here as much as nurse!'

  'She has got the work of ten horses in her, with the face of a death's head, and the voice of a walking sepulchre!'

  'But isn't she a thorough good creature! I can't think what will become of me without her! It will be like parting with a friend.'

  'What would you part with her for? I thought she was the sheet- anchor.'

  'That she is; but she won't stay where there are children. She told me so long ago, and only stayed because I begged her for the present. She will go when I am well.'

  'Better give double wages to keep her,' said Arthur.

  'I'd do anything I could, but I'm afraid. I was quite dreading the getting about again, because I should have to lose Sarah, and to do something or other with that woman.'

  'What possessed you to keep her?'

  'I wasn't sure about her. Your aunt recommended her, and I thought you might not like--and at first I did not know what things ought to cost, nor how long they ought to last, and that was what I did sums for. Then when I did prove it, I saw only dishonesty in the kitchen, and extravagance and mismanagement of my own.'

  'So the little goose sat and cried!'

  'I could not help it. I felt I was doing wrong; that was the terrible part; and I am glad you know the worst. I have been very weak and silly, and wasted your money sadly, and I did not know how to help it; and that was what made me so miserable. And now, dear Arthur, only say you overlook my blunders, and indeed I'll try to do better.'

  'Overlook! The only thing I don't know how to forgive is your having made yourself so ill with this nonsense.'

  'I can't be sorry for that,' said Violet, smiling, though the tears came. 'That has been almost all happiness. I shall have the heart to try more than ever--and I have some experience; and now that cook is gone, I really shall get on.'

  'Promise me you'll never go bothering yourself for nothing another time. Take it easy! That's the only way to get through the world.'

  'Ah! I will never be so foolish again. I shall never be afraid to make you attend to my difficulties.'

  'Afraid! That was the silliest part of all! But here--will you have another hundred a year at once? and then there'll be no trouble.'

  'Thank you, thank you! How kind of you! But do you know, I should like to try with what I have. I see it might be made to do, and I want to conquer the difficulty; if I can't, I will ask you for more.'

  'Well, that may be best. I could hardly spare a hundred pounds without giving up one of the horses; and I want to see you riding again.'

  'Besides, this illness must have cost you a terrible quantity of money. But I dare say I shall find the outgoings nothing to what the cook made them.' And she was taking up the accounts, when he seized them, crumpling them in his hand. 'Nonsense! Let them alone, or I shall put them in the fire at once.'

  'Oh, don't do that, pray!' cried she, starting, 'or I shall be ruined. Oh, pray!'

  'Very well;' and rising, and making a long arm, he deposited them on the top of a high wardrobe. 'There's the way to treat obstinate women. You may get them down when you can go after them--I shan't.'

  'Ah! there's baby awake!'

  'So, I shall go after that book at the library; and then I've plenty to tell you of inquiries for Mrs. Martindale. Good-bye, again.'

  Violet received her babe into her arms with a languid long-drawn sigh, as of one wearied out with happiness. 'That he should have heard my confession, and only pet me the more! Foolish, wasteful thing that I am. Oh, babe! if I could only make you grow and thrive, no one would ever be so happy as your mamma.'

  Perhaps she thought so still more some hours later, when she awoke from a long sleep, and saw Arthur reading "Emilia Wyndham", and quite ready to defend his assertion that the wife broke open the desk with her head.

  CHAPTER 3

  But there was one fairy who was offended because she was not invited to the Christening.--MOTHER BUNCH

  Theodora had spent the winter in trying not to think of her brother.

  She read, she tried experiments, she taught at the school, she instructed the dumb boy, talked to the curate, and took her share of such county gaieties as were not beneath the house of Martindale; but at every tranquil moment came the thought, 'What are Arthur and his wife doing!'

  There were rumours of the general admiration of Mrs. Martindale, whence she deduced vanity and extravagance; but she heard nothing more till Jane Gardner, a correspondent, who persevered in spite of scanty and infrequent answers, mentioned her call on poor Mrs. Martindale, who, she said, looked sadly altered, unwell, and out of spirits. Georgina had tried to persuade her to come out, but without success; she ought to have some one with her, for she seemed to be a good deal alone, and no doubt it was trying; but, of course, she would soon have her mother with her.

  He leaves her alone--he finds home dull! Poor Arthur! A moment of triumph was followed by another of compunction, since this was not a doll that he was neglecting, but a living creature, who could feel pain. But the anticipation of meeting Mrs. Moss, after all those vows against her, and the idea of seeing his house filled with vulgar relations, hardened Theodora against the wife, who had thus gained her point.<
br />
  Thus came the morning, when her father interrupted breakfast with an exclamation of dismay, and John's tidings were communicated.

  I wish I had been kind to her! shot across Theodora's mind with acute pain, and the image of Arthur in grief swallowed up everything else. 'I will go with you, papa--you will go at once!'

  'Poor young thing!' said Lord Martindale; 'she was as pretty a creature as I ever beheld, and I do believe, as good. Poor Arthur, I am glad he has John with him.'

  Lady Martindale wondered how John came there,--and remarks ensued on his imprudence in risking a spring in England. To Theodora this seemed indifference to Arthur's distress, and she impatiently urged her father to take her to him at once.

  He would not have delayed had Arthur been alone; but since John was there, he thought their sudden arrival might be more encumbering than consoling, and decided to wait for a further account, and finish affairs that he could not easily leave.

  Theodora believed no one but herself could comfort Arthur, and was exceedingly vexed. She chafed against her father for attending to his business--against her mother for thinking of John; and was in charity with no one except Miss Piper, who came out of Mrs. Nesbit's room red with swallowing down tears, and with the under lady's-maid, who could not help begging to hear if Mrs. Martindale was so ill, for Miss Standaloft said, 'My lady had been so nervous and hysterical in her own room, that she had been forced to give her camphor and sal volatile.'

  Never had Theodora been more surprised than to hear this of the mother whom she only knew as calm, majestic, and impassible. With a sudden impulse, she hastened to her room. She was with Mrs. Nesbit, and Theodora following, found her reading aloud, without a trace of emotion. No doubt it was a figment of Miss Standaloft, and there was a sidelong glance of satisfaction in her aunt's eyes, which made Theodora so indignant, that she was obliged to retreat without a word.

  Her own regret and compassion for so young a creature thus cut off were warm and keen, especially when the next post brought a new and delightful hope, the infant, of whose life John had yesterday despaired, was said to be improving. Arthur's child! Here was a possession for Theodora, an object for the affections so long yearning for something to love. She would bring it home, watch over it, educate it, be all the world to Arthur, doubly so for his son's sake. She dreamt of putting his child into his arms, and bidding him live for it, and awoke clasping the pillow!