Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife. Yonge Charlotte Mary
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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.
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!
What were her feelings when she heard Violet was out of danger? For humanity’s sake and for Arthur’s, she rejoiced; but it was the downfall of a noble edifice. ‘How that silly young mother would spoil the poor child!’
‘My brothers’ had always been mentioned in Theodora’s prayer, from infancy. It was the plural number, but the strength and fervency of petition were reserved for one; and with him she now joined the name of his child. But how pray for the son without the mother? It was positively a struggle; for Theodora had a horror of mockery and formality; but the duty was too clear, the evil which made it distasteful, too evident, not to be battled with; she remembered that she ought to pray for all mankind, even those who had injured her, and, on these terms, she added her brother’s wife. It was not much from her heart; a small beginning, but still it was a beginning, that might be blessed in time.
Lord Martindale wished the family to have gone to London immediately, but Mrs. Nesbit set herself against any alteration in their plans being made for the sake of Arthur’s wife. They were to have gone only in time for the first drawing-room, and she treated as a personal injury the proposal to leave her sooner than had been originally intended; making her niece so unhappy that Lord Martindale had to yield. John’s stay in London was a subject of much anxiety; and while Mrs. Nesbit treated it as an absurd trifling with his own health, and his father reproached himself for being obliged to leave Arthur to him, Theodora suffered from complicated jealousy. Arthur seemed to want John more than her, John risked himself in London, in order to be with Arthur and his wife.
She was very eager for his coming; and when she expected the return of the carriage which was sent to meet him at the Whitford station, she betook herself to the lodge, intending him to pick her up there, that she might skim the cream of his information.
The carriage appeared, but it seemed empty. That dignified, gentlemanly personage, Mr. Brown, alighted from the box, and advanced with affability, replying to her astonished query, ‘Mr. Martindale desired me to say he should be at home by dinner-time, ma’am. He left the train at the Enderby station, and is gone round by Rickworth Priory, with a message from Mrs. Martindale to Lady Elizabeth Brandon.’
Theodora stood transfixed; and Brown, a confidential and cultivated