Heartsease or Brother's Wife

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

'Ever since the summer. They went home very soon after the marriage.'

  A new light broke in on Theodora. She was tingling in every limb, but she kept her own counsel, and he proceeded. 'I saw them at Paris, and thought it did very well. She is very kind to him, keeps him in capital order, and has cured him of some of his ungainly tricks.'

  'How did it happen? I have heard no particulars.'

  'After his mother's death poor Pelham was less easily controlled: he grew restless and discontented, and both he and my uncle fell under the influence of an underbred idle youth in the neighbourhood, who contrived at last to get Sir Antony's consent to his taking Pelham abroad with him as his pupil. At Florence they met with these ladies, who made much of their cousin, and cajoled the tutor, till this marriage was effected.'

  'She must be nearly double his age.'

  'She will manage him the better for it. There was great excuse for her. The life she was obliged to lead was almost an apology for any way of escape. If only it had been done openly, and with my uncle's consent, no one could have had any right to object, and I honestly believe it is a very good thing for all parties.'

  'Would Sir Antony have consented?'

  'I have little doubt of it. He was hurt at first, but he was always fond of Jane. She is very attentive to him, and I hope makes him quite comfortable. He wrote to ask me to come and see them at Worthbourne, and I am on my way. I see it is getting late. Good- bye.'

  Theodora's heart had been bounding all this time. Her first impulse was to rush up to tell Violet; but as this could not be, she snatched up a bulky red volume, and throwing over the leaves till she came to F.--Fotheringham, Sir Antony, of Worthbourne, looked down the list of his children's names, and beheld that the only one not followed by the fatal word "died" was Antony Pelham.

  What had they all been doing not to have thought of this before? However, she recollected that it would have seemed as impossible that the half-witted youth should marry as that he should be on the Continent. The escape from the certainty that had so long weighed on her, taught her what the pain had been; and yet, when she came to analyze her gladness, it seemed to melt away.

  She dwelt on her period of madness--her wilful, repeated rejection of warning; she thought of the unhappy Derby day--of her own cold 'Very well'--her flirtation with Lord St. Erme. She recollected the passage with Annette Moss: and then, for her present person, it was changed beyond recognition, as had just been proved; nor could she wonder, as, turning to the mirror, she surveyed the figure in black silk and plain cap, beyond which the hair scarcely yet peeped out-- the clearness and delicacy of skin destroyed, the face haggard with care and sorrow, the eyelids swollen by watchful nights. She almost smiled at the contrast to the brilliant, flashing-eyed, nut-brown maid in the scarlet-wreathed coronal of raven hair, whom she had seen the last time she cared to cast a look in that glass.

  'I am glad I am altered,' said she, sternly. 'It is well that I should not remind him of her on whom he wasted his hope and affection. It is plain that I shall never marry, and this is a mask under which I can meet him with indifference like his own. Yes, it was absolute indifference--nothing but his ordinary kindliness and humanity; neither embarrassment nor confusion--just as he would have met any old woman at Brogden.

  If he remembers that time at all, it is as a past delusion, and there is nothing in me to recall what he once liked. He did not know me! Nonsense! I thought I was content only to know him safe from Jane-- still his real self. I am. That is joy! All the rest is folly and selfishness. That marriage! How disgusting--and what crooked ways! But what is that to me? Jane may marry the whole world, so that Percy is Percy!'

  The children were heard on the stairs, and Helen rushed in, shouting, in spite of the silencing finger, 'Aunt, it is the owl man!' and Johnnie himself, eager and joyous, 'It is the man who came with papa.'

  'He met us,' said Helen. 'He knew my name, and he asked Annie's, and carried her to our door.'

  'He said he had been into papa's room,' said Johnnie, 'and had seen baby. He is a very good-natured gentleman. Don't you like him, Aunt Theodora?'

  'And oh! aunt, he asked me whether we ever went to Brogden; and when he heard that we had been at the parsonage, he said he lived there when he was a little boy, and our nursery was his;' chattered on Helen. 'He asked if we were in the fire; and you know Johnnie can't bear to hear of that; so I told him how funny it was when you came and pulled me out of bed, and we went down the garden with no shoes. And he asked whether that was the way you had grown so ugly, Aunt Theodora.'

  'No, Helen, he did not say that; for he was a gentleman,' interposed Johnnie; 'he only said he was afraid our aunt had been a sufferer, and Sarah told--'

  'And I told,' again broke in Helen, 'how Cousin Hugh said it was an honour and a glory to be burnt like you; and I told him how I got the water and should have put out the fire, if that horrid Simmonds had not carried me away, and I wish he had not. So long as I had not my curls burnt off,' said Miss Helen, pulling one of the glossy chestnut rings into her sight, like a conscious beauty as she was.

  'He asked Sarah all about it,' said Johnnie; 'and he said we had a very good aunt; and, indeed, we have!' climbing carelessly into her lap. 'Then he met grandpapa, and they are walking in the square together.'

  So Mr. Fotheringham could be in no real haste to be gone, and had only hurried away to avoid Theodora. However, there was no more musing time, the children's dinner was ready, and she was going down with the little girls, when her father entered. 'How is Arthur?'

  It was answered by Johnnie, who was flying down-stairs with joyous though noiseless bounds, his whole person radiant with good tidings. 'Papa is asleep! grandpapa. Papa is fast asleep!'

  'Have you been in the room?'

  'No; mamma came to the door and told me. Baby is gone up to our nursery, and nobody is to make the least noise, for papa is gone to sleep so comfortably!'

  The boy had caught so much gladness from his mother's look, that he almost seemed to understand the importance of that first rest. His grandfather stroked his hair, and in the same breath with Theodora, exclaimed, 'It is owing to Percy!'

  'Has he told you about it?' said Theodora.

  'So much as that there is a final break with that fellow Gardner--a comfort at least. Percy said they had got their affairs into a mess; Arthur had been trying to free himself, but Gardner had taken advantage of him, and used him shamefully, and his illness had forced him to come away, leaving things more complicated than ever. There was a feeling of revenge, it seems, at Arthur not having consented to some disgraceful scheme of his; but Percy did not give me the particulars. Meeting him in the steamer, ill and desperate--poor fellow--Percy heard the story, took care of him, and saw him home; then, finding next morning what a state he was in, and thinking there might be immediate demands--'

  'Oh! that was the terrible dread and anxiety!'

  'He did what not one man in a million would have done. He went off, and on his own responsibility adjusted the matter, and brought Gardner to consent. He said it had been a great liberty, and that he was glad to find he had not gone too far, and that Arthur approved.'

  'Do you know what it was?'

  'No; he assured me all was right, and that there was no occasion to trouble me with the detail. I asked if any advance was needed, and he said no, which is lucky, for I cannot tell how I could have raised it. For the rest, I could ask him no questions. No doubt it is the old story, and, as Arthur's friend, he could not be willing to explain it to me. I am only glad it is in such safe hands. As to its being a liberty, I told him it was one which only a brave thorough-going friend would have taken. I feel as if it might be the saving of his life.'

  Theodora bent down to help little Anna, and said, 'You know it is Sir Antony Fotheringham's son that Miss Gardner married?'

  'Ay!' said Lord Martindale, so much absorbed in his son as to forget his daughter's interest in Percival Fotheringham. 'He says Arthur's cough did not seem so painful as when he s
aw him before, and that he even spoke several times. I am frightened to think what the risk has been of letting him in.'

  'Arthur insisted,' said Theodora, between disappointment at the want of sympathy, and shame for having expected it, and she explained how the interview had been unavoidable.

  'Well, it is well over, and no harm done,' said Lord Martindale, not able to absolve the sister from imprudence. After a space, he added, 'What did you say? The deficient young Fotheringham married?'

  'Yes, to Jane Gardner.'

  'Why, surely some one said it was Percy himself!'

  'So Violet was told at Rickworth.'

  Lord Martindale here suddenly recollected all, as his daughter perceived by his beginning to reprove Helen for stirring about the salt. Presently he said, 'Have you heard that the other sister, the widow--what is her name?'

  'Mrs. Finch--'

  'Is going to be foolish enough to marry that Gardner. She was your friend, was not she?'

  'Yes, poor thing. Did you hear much about her?'

  'Percy says that she was kind and attentive to the old man, as long as he lived, though she went out a great deal while they lived abroad, and got into a very disreputable style of society there. Old Finch has left everything in her power; and from some words overheard on the quay at Boulogne, Percy understood that Gardner was on his way to pay his court to her at Paris. There was a former attachment it seems, and she is actually engaged to him. One can hardly pity her. She must do it with her eyes open.'

  Theodora felt much pity. She had grieved at the entire cessation of intercourse, even by letter, which had ensued when the Finches went to the Continent; and she thought Georgina deserved credit for not having again seen Mark, when, as it now appeared, there had lurked in her heart affection sufficient to induce her to bestow herself, and all her wealth, upon him, spendthrift and profligate as she must know him to be. Miserable must be her future life; and Theodora's heart ached as she thought of wretchedness unaided by that which can alone give support through the trials of life, and bring light out of darkness. She could only pray that the once gay companion of her girlhood, whose thoughtlessness she had encouraged, might yet, even by affliction, be led into the thorny path which Theodora was learning to feel was the way of peace.

  Arthur was wakened by the recurring cough, and the look of distress and anxiety returned; but the first word, by which Violet reminded him of Percy's call, brought back the air of relief and tranquillity. Mr. Harding, at his evening visit, was amazed at the amendment; and Johnnie amused his grandfather by asking if the owl man was really a doctor, or whether Sarah was right when she said he had rescued papa and his portmanteau out of a den of thieves.

  When Violet left the room at night, the patient resignation of her face was brightening into thankfulness; and while preparing for rest, she could ask questions about the little girls. Theodora knew that she might tell her tale; and sitting in her favourite place on Violet's footstool, with her head bent down, she explained the error between the two cousins.

  'How glad I am!' said the soft voice, ever ready to rejoice with her. 'Somehow, I had never recollected it, he is so like what he used to be. I am very glad.'

  'Don't treat it as if it was to concern me,' said Theodora. 'I care only as he remains the noblest of men.'

  'That he is.'

  'Don't wish any more, nor think I do,' said Theodora. 'I never liked stories of young ladies who reform on having the small-pox. It is time nonsense should be out of my head when a man does not know me again.'

  'Oh! surely--did he not?'

  'Not till I spoke. No wonder, and it is better it should be so. I am unworthy any way. O, Violet, now will you not let me ask your forgiveness?'

  'What do you mean, dearest?'

  'Those races.'

  Violet did not shrink from the mention; she kissed Theodora's brow, while the tears, reserved for the time of respite, dropped fast and bright.

  'Poor dear,' she said; 'how much you have suffered!'

  There was silence for some moments. Theodora striving to keep her tears as quiet as her sister's.

  'I think,' said Violet, low and simply, 'that we shall be happy now.'

  Then, after another silence, 'Come, if we go on in this way, we shall not be fit for to-morrow, and you have only half a night. Dearest, I wish I could save you the sitting up! If he is better to-morrow, Johnnie shall take you for a walk.'

  He was better, though the doctors, dismayed at yesterday's imprudence, preached strenuously on his highly precarious state, and enforced silence and absence of excitement. Indeed, his condition was still such that the improvement could only be seen in occasional gleams; and as the relief from mental anxiety left him more attention to bestow on the suffering from the disorder, he was extremely depressed and desponding, never believing himself at all better.

  The experiment of a visit from the little girls was renewed, but without better success; for the last week had increased the horrors of his appearance; and Theodora reported that Johnnie had confided to her, as a shocking secret, that the reason why Helen could not bear to go near papa was, that he looked exactly like Red Ridinghood's wolf.

  Violet was grateful for the saying, for it was the first thing that drew a smile from Arthur, and to court the child became a sort of interest and occupation that distracted his thoughts from himself. It was touching to see him watching her, as she ran in and out, trying to catch her eye, stretching out his hand invitingly, holding up fruit to allure her, and looking with fond, proud, yet mournful eyes, on her fresh healthful beauty. She used to try not to see him, and would race past at full speed, and speak to her mamma with her back to him; but gradually some mysterious attraction in that silent figure won sidelong glances from her, and she began to pause, each time with a longer and fuller tip-toe gaze, both hands pressed down on the top of her head, and a look like a wild fawn, till all at once, the wehr-wolf feeling would seize her, and she would turn and dash off as if for her life, while his eager, pleased face relaxed into disappointment, and her mother still said that time would bring her round.

  At last, she took them completely by surprise, suddenly launching herself on the bed, and plunging her face into the midst of the black bristles; then, leaping down, and rushing to the door as if expecting to be caught. So violent a proceeding was almost more than Arthur could bear, and Violet, rising to smooth the coverings, began to preach gentleness; but shaken as he was, he was too much gratified to permit the reproof, smiled, and held up a bunch of grapes to invite the little maid back. But this was an offence; she put her hands behind her, and, with a dignified gesture, announced, 'I do not give kisses for grapes. I did it because Johnnie will not let me alone, and said I was unkind.'

  'Theodora all over!' said her father, much entertained. It was a great step that he had discovered that the children could afford him diversion, especially now, when nothing else could have served to wile away the tedious hours. He could bear no reading aloud from any one but Johnnie, whom he would not refuse; and to whom he listened with pride in a performance he fancied wonderful, while the little books cost no effort of attention, and yet their simple lessons floated on his thoughts, and perchance sank into his heart. Or when he lay panting and wearied out with oppression, the babe's movements would attract his eye, and the prattlings of the little girls at their mamma's side would excite a languid curiosity that drew him out of himself. Sometimes that childish talk left food for thought. One day when the children had been sent into the next room to share some fruit from the plate by his bed-side, Helen's voice was overheard saying, 'I wish papa would never get well!'

  'Helen! Helen, how can you?' pleaded her brother's shocked voice.

  'He is so much more good-natured when he is ill,' was Helen's defence. 'I like him now; I don't like him at all when he is well, because then he is always cross. Don't you think so, Johnnie?'

  'That is not kind of you when he lies there, and it hurts him so sadly to breathe. You should wish him to be well, Helen.
'

  'If he would be kind to me.'

  'O, you don't know what it feels like to be ill,' said Johnnie. 'I do want to see him strong and able to ride, and go out to his soldiers again. I hope he will be kind still, and not go away and make mamma unhappy--'

  'If he would ever lead me by the hand, like the little girl's papa at the house with the parrot, I should like that sort of papa, if he was not a little thin short ugly man. Should not you, Johnnie?'

  'No! I never shall like anything so well as my own papa. I do love him with my whole, whole heart! I am so glad he will let us love him now! It seems to come over me in the morning, and make me so glad when I remember it.'

  Violet had been on the point of stopping this conversation, but Arthur would not permit her, and listened with his eyes filling with tears.

  'What have you done to that boy?' he murmured.

  'It is his own loving self,' said Violet.

  Arthur pressed her hand to his lips. 'My poor children! If papa ever were to get well--'

  And Violet regretted that he had heard, for his emotion threw him back for the rest of the evening.

  CHAPTER 11

  Then weep not o'er the hour of pain, As those who lose their all; Gather the fragments that remain, They'll prove nor few nor small.--M. L. DUNCAN

  In the meantime Theodora and her father had been brought into contact with visitors from the external world. One morning James brought in a card and message of inquiry from Lord St. Erme, and Lord Martindale desired that he should be admitted. Theodora had just time to think how ridiculous it was of her to consider how she should appear to another old lover, before he came in, colouring deeply, and bending his head low, not prepared to shake hands; but when hers was held out, taking it with an eager yet bashful promptitude.

  After a cordial greeting between him and her father, it was explained that he had not entirely recovered what he called his accident, and had come to London for advice; he had brought a parcel from Wrangerton for Mrs. Martindale, and had promised to carry the Moss family the latest news of the Colonel. While this was passing, and Lord Martindale was talking about Arthur, Theodora had time to observe him. The foreign dress and arrangement of hair were entirely done away with, and he looked like an Englishman, or rather an English boy, for the youthfulness of feature and figure was the same; the only difference was that there was a greater briskness of eye, and firmness of mouth, and that now that the blush on entering had faded, his complexion showed the traces of recent illness, and his cheeks and hands were very thin. When Theodora thought of the heroism he had shown, of her own usage of him, and of his remembrance of her in the midst of his worst danger, she could not see him without more emotion than she desired. He was like a witness against her, and his consciousness WOULD infect her! She longed for some of the cool manner that had come so readily with Percy, and with some difficulty brought out a composed inquiry for Lady Lucy; but he disconcerted her again by the rapid eager way in which he turned round at her voice.