Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife. Yonge Charlotte Mary
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I am sorry your cough is so bad,’ said she.
‘Nothing to signify,’ he replied, recovering. ‘Thank you for letting me come to see you. I hope you are not tired?’
‘Oh, no, thank you. Arthur carried me so nicely, and baby is so good this morning.’
‘Where is he? I was going to ask for him.’
‘In the next room. I want to show him to you, but he is asleep.’
‘A happy circumstance,’ said Arthur, who was leaning over the back of her sofa.
‘No one else can get in a word when that gentleman is awake.’
‘Now, Arthur, I wanted his uncle to see him, and say if he is not grown.’
‘Never mind, Violet,’ said Arthur. ‘Nurse vouches for it, that the child who was put through his mother’s wedding-ring grew up to be six feet high!’
‘Now, Arthur! you know it was only her bracelet.’
‘Well, then, our boy ought to be twelve feet high; for if you had not stuffed him out with long clothes, you might put two of him through your bracelet.’
‘If nurse would but have measured him; but she said it was unlucky.’
‘She would have no limits to her myths; however, he may make a show in the world by the time John comes to the christening.’
‘Ah!’ said Violet, with a sweet, timid expression, and a shade of red just tinting her cheek as she turned to John. ‘Arthur said I should ask you to be his godfather.’
‘My first godchild!’ said John. ‘Thank you, indeed; you could hardly have given me a greater pleasure.’
‘Thank you,’ again said Violet. ‘I like so much for you to have him,—you who,’ she hesitated, unable to say the right words, ‘who DID IT before his papa or I saw the little fellow;’ then pausing—’ Oh, Mr. Martindale, Sarah told me all about it, and I have been longing to thank you, only I can’t!’ and her eyes filling with tears, she put her hand into his, glancing at the cathedral cup, which was placed on the mantel-shelf. ‘It was so kind of you to take that.’
‘I thought you would like it,’ said John; ‘and it was the most ecclesiastical thing I could find.’
‘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.’