Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ him, and say, no need for him to come now! “Hopes his grandson will live to be a comfort to me!”’ and Arthur could not help laughing.

      ‘Well, I am not come to that yet!’

      ‘He is much pleased at its being a son,’ said John.

      ‘Poor little mortal!’ said Arthur, ‘if he means to be a comfort I wish he would stop that dismal little wail—have one good squall and have done with it. He will worry his mother and ruin all now she takes more notice. So here’s Mrs. Moss’s letter. I could not open it this morning, and I have been inventing messages to Violet from her—poor woman! I have some good news for her now. It is all about coming, but Violet says she does not want her. I can’t read it all, my eyes are so weak! Violet said they were bloodshot,’ and he began to examine them in the glass.

      ‘Yes, you are not equal to much more nursing; you are quite done for.’

      ‘I am!’ said Arthur, stretching. ‘I’m off to bed, as she begged me; but the worst is over now! We shall do very well when Theodora comes; and if she has a taste for the boy, she and Violet will make friends over him,—good night.’

      With a long yawn, Arthur very stiffly walked up-stairs, where Sarah stood at the top waiting for him. ‘Mrs. Martindale is asleep, sir; you had best not go in,’ said she. ‘I have made up a bed in your dressing-room, and you’d best not be lying down in your clothes, but take a good sleep right out, or you’ll be fit for nothing next. I’ll see and call if she wants you.’

      ‘Thank you, Sarah; I wonder how long you have been up; you will be fit for nothing next.’

      ‘It don’t hurt me,’ said Sarah, in disdain; and as Arthur shut his door, she murmured to herself, ‘I’m not that sort to be knocked up with nothing; but he is an easy kind-spoken gentleman after all. I’ll never forget what he has done for missus. There is not so much harm in him neither; he is nothing but a great big boy as ought to be ashamed of hisself.’

      The night passed off well; Violet, with a great exertion of self-command, actually composed herself on awaking in one of her nervous fits of terror; prevented his being called; and fairly deserved all the fond praise he lavished on her in the morning for having been so good a child.

      ‘You must not call me child now,’ said she, with a happy little pride. ‘I must be wiser now.’

      ‘Shall I call you the prettiest and youngest mamma in England?’

      ‘Ah! I am too young and foolish. I wish I was quite seventeen!’

      ‘Have you been awake long?’

      ‘Yes; but so comfortable. I have been thinking about baby’s name.’

      ‘Too late, Violet; they named him John: they say I desired it.’

      ‘What! was he obliged to be baptized? Is he so delicate? Oh, Arthur! tell me; I know he is tiny, but I did not think he was ill.’

      Arthur tried to soothe her with assurances of his well-doing, and the nurse corroborated them; but though she tried to believe, she was not pacified, and would not let her treasure be taken from within her arms till Mr. Harding arrived—his morning visit having been hastened by a despatch from Arthur, who feared that she would suffer for her anxiety. She asked so many questions that he, who last night had seen her too weak to look up or speak, was quite taken by surprise. By a little exceeding the truth, he did at length satisfy her mind; but after this there was an alteration in her manner with her baby; it was not only the mere caressing, there was a sort of reverence, and look of reflection as she contemplated him, such as made Arthur once ask, what she could be studying in that queer little red visage?

      ‘I was thinking how very good he is!’ was her simple answer, and Arthur’s smile by no means comprehended her meaning.

      Her anxious mind retarded her recovery, and Arthur’s unguarded voice on the stairs having revealed to her that a guest was in the house, led to inquiries, and an endless train of fears, lest Mr. Martindale should be uncomfortable and uncared for. Her elasticity of mind had been injured by her long course of care, and she could not shake off the household anxieties that revived as she became able to think.

      Indeed there were things passing that would have greatly astonished her. Sarah had taken the management of everything, including her master; and with iron composure and rigidity of demeanour, delighted in teasing him by giving him a taste of some of the cares he had left her mistress to endure. First came an outcry for keys. They were supposed to be in a box, and when that was found its key was missing. Again Arthur turned out the unfortunate drawer, and only spared the work-box on John’s testifying that it was not there, and suggesting Violet’s watch-chain, where he missed it, and Sarah found it and then, with imperturbable precision, in spite of his attempts to escape, stood over him, and made him unlock and give out everything himself. ‘If things was wrong,’ she said, ‘it was her business that he should see it was not owing to her.’

      Arthur was generally indifferent to what he ate or drank,—the reaction, perhaps, of the luxury of his home; but having had a present of some peculiar trout from Captain Fitzhugh, and being, as an angler, a connoisseur in fish, many were his exclamations at detecting that those which were served up at breakfast were not the individuals sent.

      Presently, in the silence of the house, John heard tones gradually rising on the stairs, till Arthur’s voice waxed loud and wrathful ‘You might as well say they were red herrings!’

      Something shrill ensued, cut short by, ‘Mrs. Martindale does as she pleases. Send up Captain Fitzhugh’s trout.’

      A loud reply, in a higher key.

      ‘Don’t tell me of the families where you have lived—the trout!’

      Here John’s hand was laid upon his arm, with a sign towards his wife’s room; whereupon he ran down-stairs, driving the cook before him.

      Soon he came hastily up, storming about the woman’s impertinence, and congratulating himself on having paid her wages and got rid of her.

      John asked what was to be done next? and was diverted with his crestfallen looks, when asked what was to become of Violet.

      However, when Sarah was consulted, she gravely replied, ‘She thought as how she could contrive till Mrs. Martindale was about again;’ and the corners of her mouth relaxed into a ghastly smile, as she replied, ‘Yes, sir,’ in answer to her master’s adjurations to keep the dismissal a secret from Mrs. Martindale.

      ‘Ay!’ said John, ‘I wish you joy of having to tell her what revolutions you have made.’

      ‘I’ll take care of that, if the women will only hold their tongues.’

      They were as guarded as he could wish, seeing as plainly as he did, how fretting over her household matters prolonged her state of weakness. It was a tedious recovery, and she was not able even to receive a visit from John till the morning when the cough, always brought on by London air, obliged him reluctantly to depart.

      He found her on the sofa, wrapped in shawls, her hair smoothed back under a cap; her shady, dark eyes still softer from languor, and the exquisite outline of her fair, pallid features looking as if it was cut out in ivory against the white pillows. She welcomed him with a pleased smile; but he started back, and flushed as if from pain, and his hand trembled as he pressed hers, then turned away and coughed.

      ‘Oh, I am sorry your cough is so bad,’ said she.

      ‘Nothing СКАЧАТЬ