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Charlotte M Yonge - "The Chaplet of Pearls"

Ernst Lehrs - "Man or Matter"

Anna Chapin Ray and Hamilton Brock Fuller - "On The Firing Line"

Richard F. Burton - "Supplemental Nights, Volume 5"

THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY




Mr. Grey rubbed his forehead, and looked freshly annoyed at each
revelation of the state of things. It had not been Mauleverer, but
Rachel, who had asked subscriptions for the education of the
children, he had but acted as her servant, the counterfeit of the
woodcuts, which Lady Temple suggested, could not be construed into an
offence; and it looked very much as if, thanks to his cleverness, and
Rachel's incaution, there was really no case to be made out against
him, as if the fox had carried off the bait without even leaving his
brush behind him. Sooth to say, the failure was a relief to Rachel,
she had thrown so much of her will and entire self into the upholding
him, that she could not yet detach herself or sympathize with those
gentle souls, the mother and Fanny, in keenly hunting him down.
Might he not have been as much deceived in Mrs. Rawlins as herself?
At any rate she hoped for time to face the subject, and kneeling on
the ground so as to support little Lovedy's sinking head on her
shoulder, made the briefest replies in her power when referred to.
At last, Grace recollected the morning's affair of Mrs. Rossitur's
bills. Mr. Grey looked as if he saw daylight, Grace volunteered to
fetch both the account-book and Mrs. Rossitur, and Rachel found the
statement being extracted from her of the monthly production of the
bills, with the entries in the book, and of her having given the
money for their payment. Mr. Grey began to write, and she perceived
that he was taking down her deposition. She beckoned Mary to support
her poor little companion, and rising to her feet, said, to the
horror and consternation of her mother, "Mr. Grey, pray let me speak
to you!"

He rose at once, and followed her to the hall, where he looked
prepared to be kind but firm.

"Must this be done to-day?" she said.

"Why not?" he answered.

"I want time to think about it. The woman has acted like a fiend,
and I have not a word to say for her; but I cannot feel that it is
fair, after such long and entire trust of this man, to turn on him
suddenly without notice."

"Do you mean that you will not prosecute?" said Mr. Grey, with a
dozen notes of interjection in his voice.

"I have not said so. I want time to make up my mind, and to hear
what he has to say for himself."

"You will hear that at the Bench on Wednesday."

"It will not be the same thing."

"I should hope not!"

"You see," said Rachel, perplexed and grievously wanting time to
rally her forces, "I cannot but feel that I have trusted too easily,
and perhaps been to blame myself for my implicit confidence, and
after that it revolts me to throw the whole blame on another."

"If you have been a simpleton, does that make him an honest man?"
said Mr. Grey, impatiently.

"No," said Rachel, "but--"

"What?"

"My credulity may have caused his dishonesty," she said, bringing, at
last, the words to serve the idea.

"Look you here, Rachel," said Mr. Grey, constraining himself to argue
patiently with his old friend's daughter; "it does not simply lie
between you and him--a silly girl who has let herself be taken in by
a sharper. That would be no more than giving a sixpence to a fellow
that tells me he lost his arm at Sebastopol when he has got it sewn
up in a bag. But you have been getting subscriptions from all the
world, making yourself answerable to them for having these children
educated, and then, for want of proper superintendence, or the merest
rational precaution, leaving them to this barbarous usage. I don't
want to be hard upon you, but you are accountable for all this; you
have made yourself so, and unless you wish to be regarded as a sharer
in the iniquity, the least you can do by way of compensation, is not
to make yourself an obstruction to the course of justice."

"I don't much care how I am regarded," said Rachel, with subdued tone
and sunken head; "I only want to do right, and not act spitefully and
vindictively before he has had warning to defend himself."

"Or to set off to delude as many equal foo--mistaken people as he can
find elsewhere! Eh, Rachel? Don't you see, it this friend of yours
be innocent, a summons will not hurt him, it will only give him the
opportunity of clearing himself."

"Yes, I see," owned Rachel, and overpowered, though far from
satisfied, she allowed herself to be brought back, and did what was
required of her, to the intense relief of her mother. During her
three minute conference no one in the study had ventured on speaking
or stirring, and Mrs. Curtis would not thank her biographer for
recording the wild alarms that careered through her brain, as to the
object of her daughter's tete-a-tete with the magistrate.

It was over at last, and the hall of justice broke up. Mary Morris
was at once in her mother's arms, and in a few minutes more making up
for all past privations by a substantial meal in the kitchen. But
Mrs. Kelland had gone to Avoncester to purchase thread, and only her
daughter Susan had come up, the girl who was supposed to be a sort of
spider, with no capacities beyond her web. Nor did Rachel think
Lovedy capable of walking down to Mackarel Lane, nor well enough for
the comfortless chairs and the third part of a bed. No, Mr. Grey's
words that Rachel was accountable for the children's sufferings had
gone to her heart. Pity was there and indignation, but these had
brought such an anguish of self-accusation as she could only appease
by lavishing personal care upon the chief sufferer. She carried the
child to her own sitting-room and made a couch for her before the
fire, sending Susan away with the assurance that Lovedy should stay
at the Homestead, and be nursed and fed till she was well and strong
again. Fanny, who had accompanied her, thought the child very ill,
and was urgent that the doctor should be sent for; but between Rachel
and the faculty of Avonmouth there was a deadly feud, and the
proposal was scouted. Hunger and a bad cold were easily treated, and
maybe there was a spark of consolation in having a patient all to
herself and her homoeopathic book.

So Fanny and her two boys walked down the hill together in the dark.
Colonel Keith and Alison Williams had already taken the same road,
anxiously discussing the future. Alison asked why Colin had not
given Mauleverer's alias. "I had no proof," he said. "You were sure
of the woman, but so far it is only guess work with him; though each
time Rose spoke of seeing Maddox coincided with one of Mauleverer's
visits. Besides, Alison, on the back of that etching in Rose's book
is written, Mrs. Williams, from her humble and obliged servant, R.
Maddox.'"

"And you said nothing about it?"

"No, I wished to make myself secure, and to see my way before
speaking out."

"What shall you do? Can you trust to Rose's identifying him?"

"I shall ride in to-morrow to see what is going on, and judge if it
will be well to let her see this man, if he have not gone off, as I
should fear was only too likely. Poor little Lady Temple, her
exploit has precipitated matters."

"And you will let every one, Dr. Long and all, know what a wretch
they have believed. And then--"

"Stay, Alison, I am afraid they will not take Maddox's subsequent
guilt as a proof of Edward's innocence."

"It is a proof that his stories were not worth credit."

"To you and me it is, who do not need such proof. It is possible
that among his papers something may be found that may implicate him
and clear Edward, but we can only hold off and watch. And I greatly
fear both man and woman will have slipped through our fingers,
especially if she knew you."

"Poor Maria, who could have thought of such frightful barbarity?"
sighed Alison. "I knew she was a passionate girl, but this is worse
than one can bear to believe."

She ceased, for she had been inexpressibly shocked, and her heart
still yearned towards every Beauchamp school child.

"I suppose we must tell Ermine," she added; "indeed, I know I could
not help it."

"Nor I," he said, smiling, "though there is only too much fear that
nothing will come of it but disappointment. At least, she will tell
us how to meet that."




CHAPTER XIX.



THE BREWST SHE BREWED.



"Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given."
Timon of Athens.


Under the circumstances of the Curtis family, no greater penance
could have been devised than the solemn dinner party which had to
take place only an hour after the investigation was closed. Grace in
especial was nearly distracted between her desire to calm her mother
and to comfort her sister, and the necessity of attending to the Grey
family, who repaid themselves for their absence from the scene of
action by a torrent of condolences and questions, whence poor Grace
gathered to her horror and consternation that the neighbourhood
already believed that a tenderer sentiment than philanthropy had
begun to mingle in Rachel's relations with the secretary of the F. U.
E. E. Feeling it incumbent on the whole family to be as lively and
indifferent as possible, Grace, having shut her friends into their
rooms to perform their toilette, hurried to her sister, to find her
so entirely engrossed with her patient as absolutely to have
forgotten the dinner party. No wonder! She had had to hunt up a
housemaid to make up a bed for Lovedy in a little room within her
own, and the undressing and bathing of the poor child had revealed
injuries even in a more painful state than those which had been shown
to Mr. Grey, shocking emaciation, and most scanty garments. The
child was almost torpid, and spoke very little. She was most
unwilling to attempt to swallow; however, Rachel thought that some of
her globules had gone down, and put much faith in them, and in warmth
and sleep; but incessantly occupied, and absolutely sickened by the
sight of the child's hurts, she looked up with loathing at Grace's
entreaty that she would, dress for the dinner.

"Impossible," she said.

"You must, Rachel dear; indeed, you must."

"As if I could leave her."

"Nay, Rachel, but if you would only send--"

"Nonsense, Grace; if I can stay with her I can restore her far better
than could an allopathist, who would not leave nature to herself.
O Grace, why can't you leave me in peace? Is it not bad enough
without this?"

"Dear Rachel, I am very sorry; but if you did not come down to
dinner, think of the talk it would make."

"Let them talk."

"Ah, Rachel, but the mother! Think how dreadful the day's work has
been to her; and how can she ever get through the evening if she is
in a fright at your not coming down?"

"Dinner parties are one of the most barbarous institutions of past
stupidity," said Rachel, and Grace was reassured. She hovered over
Rachel while Rachel hovered over the sick child, and between her own
exertions and those of two maids, had put her sister into an evening
dress by the time the first carriage arrived. She then rushed to her
own room, made her own toilette, and returned to find Rachel in
conference with Mrs. Kelland, who had come home at last, and was to
sit with her niece during the dinner. Perhaps it was as well for all
parties that this first interview was cut very short, but Rachel's
burning cheeks did not promise much for the impression of ease and
indifference she was to make, as Grace's whispered reminders of "the
mother's" distress dragged her down stairs among the all too curious
glances of the assembled party.

All had been bustle. Not one moment for recollection had yet been
Rachel's. Mr. Grey's words, "Accountable for all," throbbed in her
ears and echoed in her brain--the purple bruises, the red stripes,
verging upon sores, were before her eyes, and the lights, the
flowers, the people and their greetings, were like a dizzy mist.
The space before dinner was happily but brief, and then, as last
lady, she came in as a supernumerary on the other arm of Grace's
cavalier, and taking the only vacant chair, found herself between a
squire and Captain Keith, who had duly been bestowed on Emily Grey.

Here there was a moment's interval of quiet, for the squire was
slightly deaf, and, moreover, regarded her as a little pert girl, not
to be encouraged, while Captain Keith was resigned to the implied
homage of the adorer of his cross; so that, though the buzz of talk
and the clatter of knives and forks roared louder than it had ever
seemed to do since she had been a child, listening from the outside,
the immediate sense of hurry and confusion, and the impossibility of
seeing or hearing anything plainly, began to diminish. She could not
think, but she began to wonder whether any one knew what had
happened; and, above all, she perfectly dreaded the quiet sting of
her neighbour's word and eye, in this consummation of his victory.
If he glanced at her, she knew she could not bear it; and if he never
spoke to her at all, it would be marked reprehension, which would be
far better than sarcasm. He was evidently conscious of her presence;
for when, in her insatiable thirst, she had drained her own supply of
water, she found the little bottle quietly exchanged for that before
him. It was far on in the dinner before Emily's attention was
claimed by the gentleman on her other hand, and then there was a
space of silence before Captain Keith almost made Rachel start, by
saying--

"This has come about far more painfully than could have been
expected."

"I thought you would have triumphed," she said.

"No, indeed. I feel accountable for the introduction that my sister
brought upon you."

"It was no fault of hers," said Rachel, sadly.

"I wish I could feel it so."

"That was a mere chance. The rest was my own doing."

"Aided and abetted by more than one looker-on."

"No. It is I who am accountable," she said, repeating Mr. Grey's
words.

"You accept the whole?"

It was his usual, cool, dry tone; but as she replied, "I must," she
involuntarily looked up, with a glance of entreaty to be spared, and
she met those dark, grey, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on her with so much
concern as almost to unnerve her.

"You cannot," he answered; "every bystander must rue the apathy that
let you be so cruelly deceived, for want of exertion on their part."

"Nay," she said; "you tried to open my eyes. I think this would have
come worse, but for this morning's stroke."

"Thank you," he said, earnestly.

"I daresay you know more than I have been able to understand," she
presently added; "it is like being in the middle of an explosion,
without knowing what stands or falls."

"And lobster salad as an aggravation!" said he, as the dish
successively persecuted them. "This dinner is hard on you."

"Very; but my mother would have been unhappy if I had stayed away.
It is the leaving the poor child that grieves me. She is in a
fearful state, between sore throat, starvation, and blows."

The picture of the effect of the blows coming before Rachel at that
moment, perilled her ability even to sit through the dinner; but her
companion saw the suddening whitening of her cheek, and by a
dexterous signal at once caused her glass to be filled. Habit was
framing her lips to say something about never drinking wine; but
somehow she felt a certain compulsion in his look, and her compliance
restored her. She returned to the subject, saying, "But it was only
the woman that was cruel."

"She had not her Sepoy face for nothing."

"Did I hear that Miss Williams knew her?"

"Yes, it seems she was a maid who had once been very cruel to little
Rose Williams. The Colonel seems to think the discovery may have
important consequences. I hardly know how."

This conversation sent Rachel out of the dining-room more like
herself than she had entered it; but she ran upstairs at once to
Lovedy, and remained with her till disinterred by the desperate
Grace, who could not see three people talking together without
blushing with indignation at the construction they were certainly
putting on her sister's scarlet cheeks and absence from the drawing-
room. With all Grace's efforts, however, she could not bring her
truant back before the gentlemen had come in. Captain Keith had seen
their entrance, and soon came up to Rachel.

"How is your patient?" he asked.

"She is very ill; and the worst of it is, that it seems such agony to
her to attempt to swallow."

"Have you had advice for her?"

"No; I have often treated colds, and I thought this a case,
aggravated by that wicked treatment."

"Have you looked into her mouth?"

"Yes; the skin is frightfully brown and dry."

He leant towards her, and asked, in an under tone--

"Did you ever see diphtheria?"

"No!"--her brow contracting--"did you?"

"Yes; we had it through all the children of the regiment at
Woolwich."

"You think this is it?"

He asked a few more questions, and his impression was evidently
confirmed.

"I must send for Mr. Frampton," said Rachel, homeopathy succumbing to
her terror; but then, with a despairing glance, she beheld all the
male part of the establishment handing tea.

"Where does he live? I'll send him up."

"Thank you, oh! thank you. The house with the rails, under the east
cliff."

He was gone, and Rachel endured the reeling of the lights, and the
surges of talk, and the musical performances that seemed to burst the
drum of her ear; and, after all, people went away, saying to each
other that there was something very much amiss, and that poor dear
Mrs. Curtis was very much to blame for not having controlled her
daughters.

They departed at last, and Grace, without uttering the terrible word,
was explaining to the worn-out mother that little Lovedy was more
unwell, and that Captain Keith had kindly offered to fetch the
doctor, when the Captain himself returned.

"I am sorry to say that Mr. Frampton is out, not likely to be at home
till morning, and his partner is with a bad accident at Avonford.
The best plan will be for me to ride back to Avoncester, and send out
Macvicar, our doctor. He is a kind-hearted man, of much experience
in this kind of thing."

"But you are not going back," said polite Mrs. Curtis, far from
taking in the urgency of the case. "You were to sleep at Colonel
Keith's. I could not think of your taking the trouble."

"I have settled that with the Colonel, thank you. My dog-cart will
be here directly."

"I can only say, thank you," said Rachel, earnestly. "But is there
nothing to be done in the meantime? Do you know the treatment?"

He knew enough to give a few directions, which revealed to poor Mrs.
Curtis the character of the disease.

"That horrible new sore throat! Oh, Rachel, and you have been
hanging over her all this time!"

"Indeed," said Alick Keith, coming to her. "I think you need not be
alarmed. The complaint seems to me to depend on the air and
locality. I have been often with people who had it."

"And not caught it?"

"No; though one poor little fellow, our piper's son, would not try to
take food from any one else, and died at last on my knee. I do not
believe it is infectious in that way."

And hearing his carriage at the door, he shook hands, and hurried
off, Mrs. Curtis observing--

"He really is a very good young man. But oh, Rachel, my dear, how
could you bring her here?"

"I did not know, mother. Any way it is better than her being in Mrs.
Kelland's hive of children."

"You are not going back to her, Rachel, I entreat!"

"Mother, I must. You heard what Captain Keith said. Let that
comfort you. It would be brutal cruelty and cowardice to stay away
from her to night. Good night, Grace, make mother see that it must
be so."

She went, for poor Mrs. Curtis could not withstand her; and only
turned with tearful eyes to her elder daughter to say, "You do not go
into the room again, Grace, I insist."

Grace could not bear to leave Rachel to the misery of such a vigil,
and greatly reproached herself for the hurry that had prevented her
from paying any heed to the condition of the child in her anxiety to
make her sister presentable; but Mrs. Curtis was in a state of
agitation that demanded all the care and tenderness of this "mother's
child," and the sharing her room and bed made it impossible to elude
the watchfulness that nervously guarded the remaining daughter.

It was eleven o'clock when Alexander Keith drove from the door. It
was a moonlight night, and he was sure to spare no speed, but he
could hardly be at Avoncester within an hour and a half, and the
doctor would take at least two in coming out. Mrs. Kelland was the
companion of Rachel's watch. The woman was a good deal subdued. The
strangeness of the great house tamed her, and she was shocked and
frightened by the little girl's state as well as by the young lady's
grave, awe-struck, and silent manner.

They tried all that Captain Keith had suggested, but the child was
too weak and spent to inhale the steam of vinegar, and the attempts
to make her swallow produced fruitless anguish. They could not
discover how long it was since she had taken any nourishment, and
they already knew what a miserable pittance hers had been at the
best. Mrs. Kelland gave her up at once, and protested that she was
following her mother, and that there was death in her face. Rachel
made an imperious gesture of silence, and was obeyed so far as voice
went, but long-drawn sighs and shakes of the head continued to
impress on her the aunt's hopelessness, throughout the endeavours to
change the position, the moistening of the lips, the attempts at
relief in answer to the choked effort to cough, the weary, faint
moan, the increasing faintness and exhaustion.

One o'clock struck, and Mrs. Kelland said, in a low, ominous voice,
"It is the turn of the night, Miss Rachel. You bad best leave her to
me."

"I will never leave her," said Rachel impatiently.

"You are a young lady, Miss Rachel, you ain't used to the like of
this."

"Hark!" Rachel held up her finger.

Wheels were crashing up the hill. The horrible responsibility was
over, the immediate terror gone, help seemed to be coming at the
utmost speed, and tears of relief rushed into Rachel's eyes, tears
that Lovedy must have perceived, for she spoke the first articulate
words she had uttered since the night-watch had begun, "Please,
ma'am, don't fret, I'm going to poor mother."

"You will be better now, Lovedy, here is the doctor," said Rachel,
though conscious that this was not the right thing, and then she
hastened out on the stairs to meet the gaunt old Scotsman and bring
him in. He made Mrs. Kelland raise the child, examined her mouth,
felt her feet and hands, which were fast becoming chill, and desired
the warm flannels still to be applied to them.

"Cannot her throat be operated on?" said Rachel, a tremor within her
heart. "I think we could both be depended on if you wanted us."

"She is too far gone, poor lassie," was the answer; "it would be mere
cruelty to torment her. You had better go and lie down, Miss Curtis;
her mother and I can do all she is like to need."

"Is she dying?"

"I doubt if she can last an hour longer. The disease is in an
advanced state, and she was in too reduced a state to have battled
with it, even had it been met earlier."

"As it should have been! Twice her destroyer!" sighed Rachel, with a
bursting heart, and again the kind doctor would have persuaded her to
leave the room, but she turned from him and came back to Lovedy, who
had been roused by what had been passing, and had been murmuring
something which had set her aunt off into sobs.

"She's saying she've been a bad girl to me, poor lamb, and I tell her
not to think of it! She knows it was for her good, if she had not
been set against her work."

Dr. Macvicar authoritatively hushed the woman, but Lovedy looked up
with flushed cheeks, and the blue eyes that had been so often noticed
for their beauty. The last flush of fever had come to finish the
work.

"Don't fret," she said, "there's no one to beat me up there! Please,
the verse about the tears."

Dr. Macvicar and the child both looked towards Rachel, but her whole
memory seemed scared away, and it was the old Scotch army surgeon
that repeated--

"'The Lord God shall wipe off tears from all eyes.' Ah! poor little
one, you are going from a world that has been full of woe to you."

"Oh, forgive me, forgive me, my poor child," said Rachel, kneeling by
her, the tears streaming down silently.

"Please, ma'am, don't cry," said the little girl feebly; "you were
very good to me. Please tell me of my Saviour," she added to Rachel.
It sounded like set phraseology, and she knew not how to begin; but
Dr. Macvicar's answer made the lightened look come back, and the
child was again heard to whisper--"Ah! I knew they scourged Him--for
me."

This was the last they did hear, except the sobbing breaths, ever
more convulsive. Rachel had never before been present with death,
and awe and dismay seemed to paralyse her whole frame. Even the
words of hope and prayer for which the child's eyes craved from both
her fellow-watchers seemed to her a strange tongue, inefficient to
reach the misery of this untimely mortal agony, this work of neglect
and cruelty--and she the cause.

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