THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

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

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Three o'clock had struck before the last painful gasp had been drawn,
and Mrs. Kelland's sobbing cry broke forth. Dr. Macvicar told Rachel
that the child was at rest. She shivered from head to foot, her
teeth chattered, and she murmured, "Accountable for all."

Dr. Macvicar at once made her swallow some of the cordial brought for
the poor child, and then summoning the maid whom Grace had stationed
in the outer room, he desired her to put her young mistress to bed
without loss of time. The sole remaining desire of which she was
conscious was to be alone and in the dark, and she passively
submitted.

CHAPTER XX.

THE SARACEN'S HEAD.

"Alas, he thought, how changed that mien,
How changed those timid looks have been,
Since years of guilt and of disguise
Have steeled her brow and armed her eyes."
Marmion.

"Are you sleepy, Rose? What a yawn!"

"Not sleepy, Aunt Ailie; only it is such a tiresome long day when the
Colonel does not come in."

"Take care, Rosie; I don't know what we shall be good for at this
rate."

"We? O Aunt Ermine, then you think it tiresome too. I know you do--"

"What's that, Rose!"

"It is! it is! I'll open the door for him."

The next moment Rose led her Colonel in triumph into the lamp-light.
There was a bright light in his eye, and yet he looked pale, grave,
and worn; and Ermine's first observation was--

"How came Tibbie to let you out at this time of night?"

"I have not ventured to encounter Tibbie at all. I drove up to your
door."

"You have been at St. Norbert's all this time," exclaimed Alison.

"Do you think no one can carry on a campaign at St. Norbert's but
yourself and your generalissima, Miss Ailie?" he said, stroking down
Rose's brown hair.

"Then, if you have not gone home, you have had nothing to eat, and
that is the reason you look so tired," said Ermine.

"Yes; I had some luncheon at the Abbey."

"Then, at any rate, you shall have some tea. Rosie, run and fetch
the little kettle."

"And the Beauchamp cup and saucer," added Rose, proudly producing the
single relic of a well-remembered set of olden times. "And please,
please, Aunt Ermine, let me sit up to make it for him. I have not
seen him all day, you know; and it is the first time he ever drank
tea in our house, except make-believe with Violetta and Colinette."

"No, Rose. Your aunt says I spoil that child, and I am going to have
my revenge upon you. You must see the wild beast at his meals
another time; for it just happens that I have a good deal to say to
your aunts, and it is not intended for your ears."

Rose showed no signs of being spoilt, for she only entreated to be
allowed "just to put the tea-things in order," and then, winking very
hard, she said she would go.

"Here, Rose, if you please," said Ermine, clearing the space of table
before her.

"Why, Aunt Ermine, I did not know you could make tea!"

"There are such things as extraordinary occasions, Rose. Now, good
night, my sweet one."

"Good night, my Lady Discretion. We will make up for it one of these
days. Don't stay away, pray, Ailie," as Alison was following the
child. "I have nothing to say till you come back."

"I know it is good news," said Ermine; "but it has cost you
something, Colin."

Instead of answering, he received his cup from her, filled up her
tea-pot, and said--

"How long is it since you poured out tea for me, Ermine?"

"Thirteen years next June, when you and Harry used to come in from
the cricket field, so late and hot that you were ashamed to present
yourself in civilized society at the Great House."

"As if nobody from the Parsonage ever came down to look on at the
cricket."

"Yes; being summoned by all the boys to see that nothing would teach
a Scotchman cricket."

"Ah! you have got the last word, for here comes Ailie."

"Of course," said Alison, coming in; "Ermine has had the pith of the
story, so I had better ask at once what it is."

"That the Beauchamp Eleven beat Her Majesty's --th Foot on Midsummer
Day, 1846, is the pith of what I have as yet heard," said Ermine.

"And that Beauchamp ladies are every whit as full of mischief as they
used to be in those days, is the sum of what I have told," added
Colin.

"Yes," said Ermine, "he has most loyally kept his word of reserving
all for you. He has not even said whether Mauleverer is taken."

"My story is grave and sad enough," said Colin, laying aside all his
playfulness, and a serious expression coming over his features; but,
at the same time, the landlady's sandy cat, which, like all other
animals, was very fond of him, and had established herself on his
knee as soon as Rose had left it vacant, was receiving a certain
firm, hard, caressing stroking, which resulted in vehement purrs on
her part, and was evidently an outlet of suppressed exaltation.

"Is he the same?" asked Alison.

"All in due time; unless, like Miss Rachel, you wish to tell me my
story yourselves. By-the-bye, how is that poor girl to-day?"

"Thoroughly knocked down. There is a sort of feverish lassitude
about her that makes them very anxious. They were hoping to persuade
her to see Mr. Frampton when Lady Temple heard last."

"Poor thing! it has been a sad affair for her. Well, I told you I
should go over this morning and see Mr. Grey, and judge if anything
could be done. I got to the Abbey at about eleven o'clock, and found
the policeman had just come back after serving the summons, with the
news that Mauleverer was gone."

"Gone!"

"Clean gone! Absconded from his lodgings, and left no traces behind
him. But, as to the poor woman, the policeman reported that she had
been left in terrible distress, with the child extremely ill, and not
a penny, not a thing to eat in the house. He came back to ask Mr.
Grey what was to be done; and as the suspicion of diphtheria made
every one inclined to fight shy of the house, I thought I had better
go down and see what was to be done. I knocked a good while in vain;
but at last she looked out of window, and I told her I only wanted to
know what could be done for her child, and would send a doctor. Then
she told me how to open the door. Poor thing! I found her the
picture of desolation, in the midst of the dreary kitchen, with the
child gasping on her lap; all the pretence of widowhood gone, and her
hair hanging loose about her face, which was quite white with hunger,
and her great eyes looked wild, like the glare of a wild beast's in a
den. I spoke to her by her own name, and she started and trembled,
and said, 'Did Miss Alison tell you?' I said, 'Yes,' and explained
who I was, and she caught me up half way: 'O yes, yes, my lady's
nephew, that was engaged to Miss Ermine!' And she looked me full and
searchingly in the face, Ermine, when I answered 'Yes.' Then she
almost sobbed, 'And you are true to her;' and put her hands over her
face in an agony. It was a very strange examination on one's
constancy, and I put an end to it by asking if she had any friends at
home that I could write to for her; but she cast that notion from her
fiercely, and said she had no friend, no one. He had left her to her
fate, because the child was too ill to be moved. And indeed the poor
child was in such a state that there was no thinking of anything
else, and I went at once to find a doctor and a nurse."

"Diphtheria again?"

"Yes; and she, poor thing, was in no state to give it the resolute
care that is the only chance. Doctors could be easily found, but I
was at my wit's end for a nurse, till I remembered that Mr. Mitchell
had told me of a Sisterhood that have a Home at St. Norbert's, with a
nursing establishment attached to it. So, in despair, I went there,
and begged to see the Superior, and a most kind and sensible lady I
found her, ready to do anything helpful. She lent me a nice little
Sister, rather young, I thought; but who turned out thoroughly
efficient, nearly as good as a doctor. Still, whether the child
lives is very doubtful, though the mother was full of hope when I
went in last. She insisted that I had saved it, when both she and it
had been deserted by Maddox, for whom she had given up everything."

"Then she owned that he was Maddox?"

"She called him so, without my even putting the question to her. She
had played his game long enough; and now his desertion has evidently
put an end to all her regard for him. It was confusedly and shortly
told; the child was in a state that prevented attention being given
to anything else; but she knows that she had been made a tool of to
ruin her master and you, and the sight of you, Ailie, had evidently
stirred up much old affection, and remembrance of better days."

"Is she his wife?"

"No, or the evidence she promises could not be used against him. Do
you know this, Ermine?" as he gave her a cover, with a seal upon it.

"The Saracen! the Saracen's head, Colin; it was made with the lost
seal-ring!"

"The ring was taken from Edward's dressing-room the night when Rose
was frightened with the phosphorus. Maria declares that she did not
suspect the theft, or Maddox's purpose, till long after she had left
her place. He effected his practices under pretence of attachment to
her, and then could not shake her off. She went abroad with him
after the settlement of affairs; but he could not keep out of
gambling speculation, and lost everything. Then he seems to have
larked about, obtaining means she knew not how--as artist, lecturer,
and what not--till the notable F. U. E. E. was started. Most likely
he would have collected the subscriptions and made off with them, if
Rachel Curtis had not had just sense enough to trust him with nothing
without seeing some result, so that he was forced to set the affair
going with Maria at its head, as the only person who could co-operate
with him. They kept themselves ready for a start whenever there
should be symptoms of a discovery, but, in the meantime, he gambled
away all that he got into his hands, and never gave her enough to
feed the children. Thus she was absolutely driven to force work from
them for subsistence; and she is a passionate creature, whom jealousy
embittered more and more, so that she became more savage than she
knew. Poor thing! She has her punishment. Maddox only came home,
yesterday, too late for any train before the mail, and by that time
the child was too ill to be moved. He must have thought it all up
with him, and wished to be rid of both, for they quarrelled, and he
left her to her misery."

"What, gone?"

"Yes, but she told us of his haunts--haunts that he thought she did
not know--a fancy shop, kept by a Mrs. Dench at Bristol, where it
seems that he plays the philanthropical lecturer, and probably has
been trying to secure a snug berth for himself unknown, as he
thought, to Maria; but she pried into his letters, and kept a keen
watch upon him. He was to be inquired for there by his Mauleverer
name, and, I have little doubt, will be captured."

"And then?"

"He will be committed for trial at the sessions; and, in the
meantime, I must see Beauchamp and Dr. Long, and arrange that he
should be prosecuted for the forgery, even though he should slip
through our fingers at the sessions."

"Oh, could that be?"

"This Clever Woman has managed matters so sweetly, that they might
just as well try her as him for obtaining money on false pretences;
and the man seems to have been wonderfully sharp in avoiding
committing himself. Mrs. Curtis's man of business has been trying
all day to get up the case, but he has made out nothing but a few
more debts such as that which turned up yesterday; and it is very
doubtful how far a case can be made out against him."

"And then we should lose him."

"That is exactly what I wish to avoid. I want to bring up my forces
at once, and have him laid hold of at once for the forgery of those
letters of Edward's. How long would it take to hear from
Ekaterinburg? I suppose Edward could travel as fast as a letter."

Alison fairly sprang to her feet.

"O, Colin, Colin! you do not think that Edward would be here by the
next sessions."

"He ought," said Colin. "I hope to induce Dr. Long and Harry to
write him such letters as to bring him home at once."

Self-restrained Alison was fairly overcome. She stretched out both
hands, pressed Colin's convulsively, then turned away her face, and,
bursting into tears, ran out of the room.

"Poor dear Ailie," said Ermine; "she has suffered terribly. Her
heart is full of Edward. Oh, I hope he will come."

"He must. He cannot be so senseless as to stay away."

"There is that unfortunate promise to his wife; and I fear that he is
become so much estranged from English ways that he will hardly care
to set himself straight here, after the pain that the universal
suspicion gave him."

"He cannot but care. For the sake of all he must care," vehemently
repeated Colin, with the punctilious honour of the nobly-born
soldier. "For his child's sake, this would be enough to bring him
from his grave. If he refused to return to the investigation, it
would be almost enough to make me doubt him."

"I am glad you said almost," said Ermine, trying to smile; but he had
absolutely brought tears into her eyes.

"Dear Ermine," he said, gently, "you need not fear my not trusting
him to the utmost. I know that he has been too much crushed to
revive easily, and that it may not be easy to make him appreciate our
hopes from such a distance; but I think such a summons as this must
bring him."

"I hope it will," said Ermine. "Otherwise we should not deserve that
you should have any more to do with us."

"Ermine, Ermine, do you not know that nothing can make any difference
between us?"

Ermine had collected herself while he spoke.

"I know," she said, "that all you are doing makes me thank and bless
you--oh! more than I can speak."

He looked wistfully at her, but, tearful as were her eyes, there was
a resolution, about her face that impressed upon him that she trusted
to his promise of recurring no more within the year to the subject so
near his heart; and he could say no more than, "You forgive me,
Ermine, you know I trust him as you do."

"I look to your setting him above being only trusted," said Ermine,
trying to smile. "Oh! if you knew what this ray of hope is in the
dreary darkness that has lasted so long!"

Therewith he was obliged to leave her, and she only saw him for a few
minutes in the morning, when he hurried in to take leave, since, if
matters went right at the magistrates' bench, he intended to proceed
at once to make such representations in person to Mr. Beauchamp and
Dr. Long, as might induce them to send an urgent recall to Edward in
time for the spring sessions, and for this no time must be lost.
Ermine remained then alone with Rose, feeling the day strangely long
and lonely, and that, perhaps, its flatness might be a preparation
for the extinction of all the brightness that had of late come into
her life. Colin had said he would trust as she did, but those words
had made her aware that she must trust as he did. If he, with his
clear sense and kindly insight into Edward's character, became
convinced that his absence proceeded from anything worse than the
mere fainthearted indifference that would not wipe off a blot, then
Ermine felt that his judgment would carry her own along with it, and
that she should lose her undoubting faith in her brother's perfect
innocence, and in that case her mind was made up; Colin might say and
do what he would, but she would never connect him through herself
with deserved disgrace. The parting, after these months of
intercourse and increased knowlege of one another, would be
infinitely more wretched than the first; but, cost her what it would
--her life perhaps--the break should be made rather than let his
untainted name be linked with one where dishonour justly rested.
But with her constant principle of abstinence from dwelling on
contingencies, she strove to turn away her mind, and to exert
herself; though this was no easy task, especially on so solitary a
day as this, while Alison was in charge at Myrtlewood in Lady
Temple's absence, and Rachel Curtis was reported far too ill to leave
her room, so that Ermine saw no one all day except her constant
little companion; nor was it till towards evening that Alison at
length made her appearance, bringing a note which Colin had sent home
by Lady Temple.

All had so far gone well. Maria Hatherton had been committed to take
her trial at the quarter sessions for the assault upon the children;
but, as her own little girl was still living, though in extreme
danger, and the Sisters promised to take charge of both for the
present, Colonel Keith had thought it only common humanity to offer
bail, and this had been accepted. Later in the day Mauleverer
himself had been brought down, having been taken up at a grand
meeting of his Bristol friends, who had all rallied round him,
expressing strong indignation at the accusation, and offering
evidence as to character. He denied any knowledge of the name of
Maddox, and declared that he was able to prove that his own account
of himself as a popular, philanthropical lecturer was perfectly
correct; and he professed to be much amazed at the charges brought
against him, which could only have arisen from some sudden alarm in
the young lady's mind, excited by her friends, whom he had always
observed to be prejudiced against him. He appealed strongly against
the hardship of being imprisoned on so slight a charge; but, as he
could find no one to take his part, he reserved his defence for the
quarter sessions, for which he was fully committed. Colin thought,
however, that it was so doubtful whether the charges against him
could be substantiated, that it was highly necessary to be fully
prepared to press the former forgery against him, and had therefore
decided upon sleeping at St. Norbert's and going on by an early train
to obtain legal advice in London, and then to see Harry Beauchamp.
Meantime, Ermine must write to her brother as urgently as possible,
backing up Colin's own representations of the necessity of his
return.

Ermine read eagerly, but Alison seemed hardly able to command her
attention to listen, and scarcely waited for the end of the letter
before her own disclosure was made. Francis was sickening with
diphtheria; he had been left behind in the morning on account of some
outbreak of peevishness, and Alison, soon becoming convinced that
temper was not solely in fault, had kept him apart from his brothers,
and at last had sent for the doctor, who had at once pronounced it to
be the same deadly complaint which had already declared itself in
Rachel Curtis. Alison had of course devoted herself to the little
boy till his mother's return from St. Norbert's, when she had been
obliged to give the first intimation of what the price of the loving
little widow's exploit might be. "I don't think she realizes the
extent of the illness," said Alison; "say what I would, she would
keep on thanking me breathlessly, and only wanting to escape to him.
I asked if we should send to let Colin know, and she answered in her
dear, unselfish way, 'By no means, it would be safer for him to be
out of the way,' and, besides, she knew how much depended on his
going."

"She is right," said Ermine; "I am thankful that he is out of reach
of trying to take a share in the nursing, it is bad enough to have
one in the midst!"

"Yes," said Alison. "Lady Temple cannot be left to bear this
grievous trouble alone, and when the Homestead cannot help her.
Yet, Ermine, what can be done? Is it safe for you and Rose?"

"Certainly not safe that you should come backwards and forwards,"
said Ermine. "Rose must not be put in danger; so, dear, dear Ailie,
you had better take your things up, and only look in on us now and
then at the window."

Alison entirely broke down. "Oh, Ermine, Ermine, since you began to
mend, not one night have we been apart!"

"Silly child," said Ermine, straining her quivering voice to be
cheerful, "I am strong, and Rose is my best little handmaid."

"I know it is right," said Alison, "I could not keep from my boys,
and, indeed, now Colin is gone, I do not think any one at Myrtlewood
will have the heart to carry out the treatment. It will almost kill
that dear young mother to see it. No, they cannot be left; but oh,
Ermine, it is like choosing between you and them."

"Not at all, it is choosing between right and wrong."

"And Ermine, if--if I should be ill, you must not think of coming
near me. Rose must not be left alone."

"There is no use in talking of such things," said Ermine, resolutely,
"let us think of what must be thought of, not of what is in the only
Wise Hands. What has been done about the other children?"

"I have kept them away from the first; I am afraid for none of them
but Conrade."

"It would be the wisest way to send them, nurses and all, to
Gowanbrae."

"Wise, but cool," said Alison.

"I will settle that," returned Ermine. "Tibbie shall come and invite
them, and you must make Lady Temple consent."

The sisters durst not embrace, but gazed at one another, feeling that
it might be their last look, their hearts swelling with unspoken
prayer, but their features so restrained that neither might unnerve
the other. Then it was that Alison, for the first time, felt
absolute relief in the knowledge, once so bitter, that she had ceased
to be the whole world to her sister. And Ermine, for one moment,
felt as if it would be a way out of all troubles and perplexities if
the two sisters could die together, and leave little Rose to be
moulded by Colin to be all he wished; but she resolutely put aside
the future, and roused herself to send a few words in pencil,
requesting Tibbie to step in and speak to her.

That worthy personage had fully adopted her, and entering, tall and
stately, in her evening black silk and white apron, began by
professing her anxiety to be any assistance in her power, saying,
"she'd be won'erfu' proud to serve Miss Williams, while her sister
was sae thrang waitin' on her young scholar in his sair trouble."

Emmie thanked her, and rejoiced that the Colonel was out of harm's
way.

"Deed, aye, ma'am, he's weel awa'. He has sic a wark wi' thae
laddies an' their bit bairn o' a mither, I'll no say he'd been easy
keepit out o' the thick o' the distress, an' it's may be no
surprisin', after a' that's come and gane, that he seeks to take
siccan a lift of the concern. I've mony a time heard tell that the
auld General, Sir Stephen, was as good as a faither to him, when he
was sick an' lonesome, puir lad, in yon far awa' land o' wild beasts
an' savages."

"Would it not be what he might like, to take in the children out of
the way of infection?"

"'Deed, Miss Ermine," with a significant curtsey, "I'm thinkin' ye
ken my maister Colin amaist as weel as I do. He's the true son of
his forbears, an' Gowanbrae used to be always open in the auld lord's
time, that's his grandfather Foreby, that he owes so much kindness to
the General."

Ermine further suggested that it was a pity to wait for a letter from
the Colonel, and Tibbie quite agreed. She "liked the nurse as an
extraordinar' douce woman, not like the fine English madams that Miss
Isabel--that's Mrs. Comyn Menteith--put about her bairns; and as to
room, the sergeant and the tailor bodie did not need much, and the
masons were only busy in the front parlour."

"Masons?" asked Ermine.

"On, aye? didna ye ken it's for the new room, that is to be built out
frae the further parlour, and what they ca' the bay to the drawin'-
room, just to mak' the house more conformable like wi' his name and
forbears. I never thocht but that ye'd surely seen the plans and a',
Miss Ermine, an' if so be it was Maister Colin's pleasure the thing
suld be private, I'm real vext to hae said a word; but ye'll may be
no let on to him, ma'am, that ye ken onything about it."

"Those down-stairs rooms so silently begun," thought Ermine. "How
fixed his intention must be? Oh, how will it end? What would be
best for him? And how can I think of myseif, while all, even my
Ailie, are in distress and danger?"

Ermine had, however, a good deal to think of, for not only had she
Colin's daily letter to answer, but she had Conrade, Leoline, and
Hubert with her for several hours every day, and could not help being
amused by Rose's ways with them, little grown-up lady as she was
compared to them. Luckily girls were such uncommon beings with them
as to be rather courted than despised, and Rose, having nothing of
the tom-boy, did not forfeit the privileges of her sex. She did not
think they compensated for her Colonel's absence, and never durst
introduce Violetta to them; but she enjoyed and profited by the
contact with childhood, and was a very nice little comforter to
Conrade when he was taken with a fit of anxiety for the brother whom
he missed every moment.

Quarantine weighed, however, most heavily upon poor Grace Curtis.
Rachel had from the first insisted that she should be kept out of her
room; and the mother's piteous entreaty always implied that saddest
argument, "Why should I be deprived of you both in one day?" So
Grace found herself condemned to uselessness almost as complete as
Ermine's. She could only answer notes, respond to inquiries, without
even venturing far enough from the house to see Ermine, or take out
the Temple children for a walk. For indeed, Rachel's state was
extremely critical.

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