THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40

"Well met," she said, "I called at the Rectory to take up Rachel, but
you were flown before me."

"Yes, we went through the Park."

"I wish the Duke would come home. I can't go that way now till I
have called. I have no end of things to say to you," she added, and
her little lively ponies shot ahead of the old rectorial steed.
However, she waited at the entrance. "Who do you think is come?
Colin Keith made his appearance this morning. He has safely captured
his Ouralian bear, though not without plenty of trouble, and he could
not get him on to Avonmouth till he had been to some chemical
institution about an invention. Colin thought him safe there, and
rushed down by the train to see us. They go on to-morrow."

"What did he think of Lord Keith?" said Alick, in the more haste
because he feared something being said to remind Rachel that this was
the assize week at Avoncester.

"He has settled the matter about advice," said Bessie, seriously;
"you cannot think what a relief it is. I mean, as soon as I get
home, to write and ask Mr. Harvey to come and talk to me to-morrow,
and see if the journey to Edinburgh is practicable. I almost thought
of sending an apology, and driving over to consult him this
afternoon, but I did not like to disappoint Mrs. Huntsford, and I
thought Rachel would feel herself lost."

"Thank you," said Rachel, "but could we not go away early, and go
round by Mr. Harvey's?"

"Unluckily I have sent the ponies home, and told the close carriage
to come for me at nine. It was all settled, and I don't want to
alarm Lord Keith by coming home too soon."

Alick, who had hitherto listened with interest, here gave his arm to
Rachel, as if recollecting that it was time to make their entree.
Bessie took her uncle's, and they were soon warmly welcomed by their
kind hostess, who placed them so favourably at luncheon that Rachel
was too much entertained to feel any recurrence of the old
associations with "company." Afterwards, Bessie took her into the
cool drawing-room, where were a few ladies, who preferred the sofa to
croquet or archery, and Lady Keith accomplished a fraternization
between Rachel and a plainly dressed lady, who knew all about the
social science heroines of whom Rachel had longed to hear. After a
time, however, a little girl darted in to call "Aunt Mary" to the aid
of some playfellow, who had met with a mishap, and Rachel then
perceived herself to have been deserted by her sister-in-law. She
knew none of the other ladies, and they made no approaches to her; an
access of self-consciousness came on, and feeling forlorn and
uncomfortable, she wandered out to look for a friend.

It was not long before she saw Alick walking along the terrace above
the croquet players, evidently in quest of her. "How is it with
you?" he anxiously asked; "you know you can go home in a moment if
you have had enough of this."

"No, I want nothing, now I have found you. Where is your uncle?"

"Fallen upon one of his oldest friends, who will take care of him,
and well out of the way of the croquet traps. Where's my Lady? I
thought you were with her."

"She disappeared while I was talking to that good Miss Penwell! You
must be pleased now, Alick, you see she is really going to see about
going to Scotland."

"I should be better pleased if she had not left that poor old man
alone till nine o'clock."

"She says that when he has his man Saunders to read to him--"

"Don't tell me what she says; I have enough of that at first hand."

He broke off with a start. The terrace was prolonged into a walk
beyond the screen of evergreens that shut in the main lawn, and,
becoming a shrubbery path, led to a smooth glade, on whose turf
preparations had been made for a second field of croquet, in case
there should have been too many players for the principal arena.
This, however, had not been wanted, and no one was visible except a
lady and gentleman on a seat under a tree about half-way down on the
opposite side of the glade. The lady was in blue and white; the
gentleman would hardly have been recognised by Rachel but for the
start and thrill of her husband's arm, and the flush of colour on his
usually pale cheek, but, ere he could speak or move, the lady sprang
up, and came hastening towards them diagonally across the grass.
Rachel saw the danger, and made a warning outcry, "Bessie, the hoop!"
but it was too late, she had tripped over it, and fell prone, and
entirely unable to save herself. She was much nearer to them than to
her late companion, and was struggling to disengage herself when
Alick reached her, lifted her up, and placed her on her feet,
supporting her as she clung fast to him, while he asked if she were
hurt.

"No, no," she cried. "Don't let him come; don't let him call any
one, don't," she reiterated, as Mr. Carleton hovered near, evidently
much terrified, but not venturing to approach.

Alick helped her to another garden chair that stood near. She had
been entangled in her dress, which had been much torn by her attempt
to rise, and hung in a festoon, impeding her, and she moved with
difficulty, breathing heavily when she was first seated.

"I don't know if I have not twisted myself a little," she said, in
answer to their anxious questions, "but it will go off. Rachel, how
scared you look!"

"Don't laugh," exclaimed Rachel, in dread of hysterics, and she
plunged her hand into Alick's pocket for a scent-bottle, which he had
put there by way of precaution for her, and, while applying it, said,
in her full, sedate voice, keeping it as steady as she could, "Shall
I drive you home? Alick can walk home with his uncle when he is
ready."

"Home! Thank you, Rachel, pray do. Not that I am hurt," she added
in her natural voice, "only these rags would tell tales, and there
would be an intolerable fuss."

"Then I will bring the carriage round to the road there," said Alick.
"I told Joe to be in readiness, and you need not go back to the
house."

"Thank you. But, oh, send him away!" she added, with a gasping
shudder. "Only don't let him tell any one. Tell him I desire he
will not."

After a few words with Mr. Carleton, Alick strode off to the stables,
and Rachel asked anxiously after the twist.

"I don't feel it; I don't believe in it. My dear, your strong mind
is all humbug, or you would not look so frightened," and again she
was on the verge of hysterical laughing; "it is only that I can't
stand a chorus of old ladies in commotion. How happy Alick must be
to have his prediction verified by some one tumbling over a hoop!"
Just then, however, seeing Mr. Carleton still lingering near, she
caught hold of Rachel with a little cry, "Don't let him come, dear
Rachel; go to him, tell him I am well, but keep him away, and mind he
tells no one!"

Rachel's cold, repellent manner was in full force, and she went
towards the poor little man, whose girlish face was blanched with
fright.

She told him that Lady Keith did not seem to be hurt, and only wished
to be alone, and to go home without attracting notice. He stammered
out something about quite understanding, and retreated, while Rachel
returned to find Bessie sitting upright, anxiously watching, and she
was at once drawn down to sit beside her on the bench, to listen to
the excited whisper. "The miserable simpleton! Rachel, Alick was
right. I thought, I little thought he would forget how things stand
now, but he got back to the old strain, as if--I shall make Lord
Keith go to Scotland any way now. I was so thankful to see you and
Alick." She proceeded with the agitated vehemence of one who, under
a great shock, was saying more than she would have betrayed in a
cooler and more guarded mood, "What could possess him? For years he
had followed me about like a little dog, and never said more than I
let him; and now what folly was in his head, just because I could not
walk as far as the ruin with the others. When I said I was going to
Scotland, what business had he to-- Oh! the others will be coming
back, Rachel, could we not go to meet the carriage?"

The attempt to move, however, brought back the feeling of the strain
of which she had complained, but she would not give way, and by the
help of Rachel's arm, proceeded across the grass to the carriage-
drive, where Alick was to meet them. It seemed very far and very
hot, and her alternately excited and shame-stricken manner, and
sobbing breath, much alarmed Rachel; but when Alick met them, all
this seemed to pass away--she controlled herself entirely, declaring
herself unhurt, and giving him cheerful messages and excuses for her
hostess. Alick put the reins into Rachel's hands, and, after
watching her drive off, returned to the party, and delivered the
apologies of the ladies; then went in search of his uncle. He did
not, however, find him quickly, and then he was so happy with his old
friend among a cluster of merry young people, that Alick would not
say a word to hasten him home, especially as Rachel would have driven
Bessie to Timber End, so that it would only be returning to an empty
house. And such was Mr. Clare's sociableness and disability of
detaching himself from pleasant conversation, that the uncle and
nephew scarcely started for their walk across the park in time for
the seven o'clock service. Mr. Clare had never been so completely
belated, and, as Alick's assistance was necessary, he could only
augur from his wife's absence that she was still at Timber End with
his sister.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE END OF CLEVERNESS.

"Where am I?
O vanity,
We are not what we deem,
The sins that hold my heart in thrall,
They are more real than all."--Rev. I. WILLIAMS.

As the uncle and nephew came out of church, and approached the yew-
tree gate, Rachel came swiftly to meet them. "Oh, Alick! oh, uncle!"
she said breathlessly. "Bessie says she is shocked to have turned
your house upside down, but we could not go any further. And her
baby is born!" Then in answer to exclamations, half-dismayed, half-
wondering, "Yes, it is all right, so Nurse Jones says. I could not
send to you, for we had to send everywhere at once. Mr. Harvey was
not at home, and we telegraphed to London, but no one has come yet,
and now I have just written a note to Lord Keith with the news of his
son and heir. And, uncle, she has set her heart on your baptizing
him directly."

There was some demur, for though the child had made so sudden a rush
into the world, there seemed to be no ground for immediate alarm; and
Mr. Clare being always at hand, did not think it expedient to give
the name without knowing the father's wishes with regard to that
hereditary Alexander which had been borne by the dead son of the
first marriage. A message, however, came down to hasten him, and
when--as he had often before done in cottages--he demanded of Nurse
Jones whether private baptism were immediately necessary, she allowed
that she saw no pressing danger, but added, "that the lady was in a
way about it," and this both Rachel and her maid strongly
corroborated. Rachel's maid was an experienced person, whom Mrs.
Curtis had selected with a view to Rachel's weak state at the time of
her marriage, and she showed herself anxious for anything that might
abate Lady Keith's excitement, to which they at length yielded,
feeling that resistance might be dangerous to her. She further
insisted that the rite should be performed in her presence; nor was
she satisfied when Rachel had brought in her uncle, but insisted on
likewise calling in her brother, who vaguely anxious, and fully
conscious of the small size of the room, had remained down-stairs.

Mr. Clare always baptized his infant parishioners, and no one was
anxious about his manner of handling the little one, the touch of
whose garments might be familiar, as being no other than his own
parish baby linen. He could do no otherwise than give the child the
name reiterated by the mother, in weak but impatient accents,
"Alexander Clare," her brother's own name, and when the short service
was concluded, she called out triumphantly, "Make Alick kiss him,
Rachel, and do homage to his young chieftain."

They obeyed her, as she lay watching them, and a very pretty sight
she was with her dark hair lying round her, a rosy colour on her
cheeks, and light in her eyes; but Mr. Clare thought both her touch
and voice feverish, and entreated Rachel not to let her talk. Indeed
Alick longed to take Rachel away, but this was not at present
feasible, since her maid was occupied with the infant, and Nurse
Jones was so entirely a cottage practitioner that she was scarcely an
available attendant elsewhere. Bessie herself would by no means have
parted with her sister-in-law, nor was it possible to reduce her to
silence. "Alexander!" she said joyfully, "I always promised my child
that he should not have a stupid second son's name. I had a right to
my own father's and brother's name, and now it can't be altered,"
then catching a shade of disapproval upon Rachel's face, "not that I
would have hurried it on if I had not thought it right, poor little
fellow, but now I trust he will do nicely, and I do think we have
managed it all with less trouble than might have been expected."

Sure by this time that she was talking too much, Rachel was glad to
hear that Mr. Harvey was come. He was a friendly, elderly man, who
knew them all intimately, having attended Alick through his tedious
recovery, and his first measure was to clear the room. Rachel
thought that "at her age" he might have accepted her services, rather
than her maid's, but she suspected Alick of instigating her
exclusion, so eagerly did he pounce on her to make her eat, drink,
and lie on the sofa, and so supremely scornful was he of her views of
sitting up, a measure which might be the more needful for want of a
bed.

On the whole, however, he was satisfied about her; alarm and
excitement had restrung her powers, and she knew herself to have done
her part, so that she was ready to be both cheerful and important
over the evening meal. Mr. Clare was by no means annoyed at this
vicissitude, but rather amused at it, and specially diverted at the
thought of what would be Mr. Lifford's consternation. Lord Keith's
servant had come over, reporting his master to be a good deal worn
out by the afternoon's anxiety, and recommending that he should not
be again disturbed that night, so he was off their minds, and the
only drawback to the pleasantness of the evening was surprise at
seeing and hearing nothing from Mr. Harvey. The London doctor
arrived, he met him and took him up-stairs at once; and then ensued a
long stillness, all attempts at conversation died away, and Alick
only now and then made attempts to send his companions to bed. Mr.
Clare went out to the hall to listen, or Rachel stole up to the
extemporary nursery to consult Nurse Jones, whom she found very gruff
at having been turned out in favour of the stranger maid.

It was a strange time of suspense. Alick made Rachel lie on the
sofa, and she almost heard the beating of her own heart; he sat by
her, trying to seem to read, and his uncle stood by the open window,
where the tinkle of a sheep bell came softly in from the meadows, and
now and then the hoot of the owl round the church tower made the
watchers start. To watch that calm and earnest face was their great
help in that hour of alarm; those sightless eyes, and broad, upraised
spiritual brow seemed so replete with steadfast trust and peace, that
the very sight was soothing and supporting to the young husband and
wife, and when the long strokes of twelve resounded from the church
tower, Mr. Clare, turning towards them, began in his full, musical
voice to repeat Bishop Ken's noble midnight hymn--

"My God, now I from sleep awake,
The sole possession of me take;
From midnight terrors me secure,
And guard my soul from thoughts impure."

To Rachel, who had so often heard that hour strike amid a tumult of
midnight miseries, there was something in these words inexpressibly
gentle and soothing; the tears sprang into her eyes, as if she had
found the spell to chase the grisly phantoms, and she clasped her
husband's hand, as though to communicate her comfort.

"Oh may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in sight of Heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice."

Mr. Clare had just repeated this verse, when he paused, saying, "They
are coming down," and moved quickly to meet them in the hall. Alick
followed him to the door, but as they entered the dining-room, after
a moment's hesitation, returned to Rachel, as she sat upright and
eager. "After all, this may mean nothing," he said.

"Oh, we don't make it better by fancying it nothing," said Rachel.
"Let us try to meet it like your uncle. Oh, Alick, it seemed all
this time as if I could pray again, as I never could since those sad
times. He seemed so sure, such a rock to help and lean on."

He drew her close to him. "You are praying for her!" he murmured,
his soul so much absorbed in his sister that he could not admit other
thoughts, and still they waited and watched till other sounds were
heard. The London doctor was going away. Alick sprang to the door,
and opened it as his uncle's hand was on the lock. There was a
mournful, solemn expression on his face, as they gazed mutely up in
expectation.

"Children," he said, "it is as we feared. This great sorrow is
coming on us."

"Then there is danger," said Alick with stunned calmness.

"More than danger," said his uncle, "they have tried all that skill
can do."

"Was it the fall?" said Alick.

"It was my bad management, it always is," said Rachel, ever
affirmative.

"No, dear child," said Mr. Clare, "there was fatal injury in the
fall, and even absolute stillness for the last few hours could hardly
have saved her. You have nothing to reproach yourself with."

"And now!" asked Alick, hoarsely.

"Much more exhausted than when we were with her; sometimes faint, but
still feverish. They think it may last many hours yet, poor dear
child, she has so much youth and strength."

"Does she know?"

"Harvey thought some of their measures alarmed her, but they soothed
and encouraged her while they saw hope, and he thinks she has no real
fears."

"And how is it to be--" said Alick. "She ought--"

"Yes; Harvey thinks she ought, she is fully herself, and it can make
no difference now. He is gone to judge about coming up at once; but
Alick, my poor boy, you must speak to her. I have found that without
seeing the face I cannot judge what my words may be doing."

Rachel asked about poor Lord Keith, and was told that he was to be
left in quiet that night, unless his wife should be very anxious for
him at once. Mr. Harvey came down, bringing word that his patient
was asking urgently for Mrs. Keith.

"You had better let me go in first," said Alick, his face changed by
the firm but tender awe-struck look.

"Not if she is asking for me," said Rachel, moving on, her heart
feeling as if it would rend asunder, but her looks composed.

Bessie's face was in shade, but her voice had the old ring of coaxing
archness. "I thought you would stay to see the doctors off. They
had their revenge for our stealing a march on them, and have prowled
about me till I was quite faint; and now I don't feel a bit like
sleep, though I am so tired. Would Alick think me very wicked if I
kept you a little while? Don't I see Alick's shadow? Dear old
fellow, are you come to wish me good-night? That is good of you.
I am not going to plague you any more, Alick, I shall be so good now!
But what?" as he held back the curtain, and the light fell on his
face, "Oh! there is nothing wrong with the baby?"

"No, dear Bessie, not with the baby," said Alick, with strong
emphasis.

"What, myself?" she said quickly, turning her eyes from one face to
the other.

Alick told her the state of the case. Hers was a resolute character,
or perhaps the double nature that had perplexed and chafed her
brother was so integral that nothing could put it off. She fully
comprehended, but as if she and herself were two separate persons.
She asked how much time might be left to her, and hearing the
doctor's opinion, said, "Then I think my poor old Lord Keith had
better have his night's rest in peace. But, oh! I should like to
speak to Colin. Send for him, Alick; telegraph, Alick; he is at the
Paddington Hotel. Send directly."

She was only tranquillised by her brother beginning to write a
telegraphic message.

"Rachel," she said, presently, "Ermine must marry him now, and see to
Lord Keith, and the little one--tell her so, please," then with her
unfailing courtesy, "he will seem like your own child, dear Rachel,
and you should have him; but you'll have a wandering home with the
dear old Highlanders. Oh! I wonder if he will ever go into them,
there must always be a Keith there, and they say he is sure of the
Victoria Cross, though papa will not send up his name because of
being his own son." Then passing her hand over her face, she
exclaimed--"Wasn't I talking great nonsense, Rachel? I don't seem
able to say what I mean."

"It is weakness, dearest," said Rachel, "perhaps you might gain a
little strength if you were quite still and listened to my uncle."

"Presently. O Rachel! I like the sound of your voice; I am glad
Alick has got you. You suit him better than his wicked little sister
ever did. You have been so kind to me to-night, Rachel; I never
thought I should have loved you so well, when I quizzed you. I did
use you ill then, Rachel, but I think you won Alick by it just by
force of contrast,"--she was verging into the dreamy voice, and
Rachel requested her to rest and be silent.

"It can't make any difference," said Bessie, "and I'll try to be
quiet and do all right, if you'll just let me have my child again.
I do want to know who he is like. I am so glad it is not he that was
hurt. Oh! I did so want to have brought him up to be like Alick."

The infant was brought, and she insisted on being lifted to see its
face, which she declared to resemble her brother; but here her real
self seemed to gain the mastery, and calling it a poor little
motherless thing, she fell into a fit of violent convulsive weeping,
which ended in a fainting fit, and this was a fearfully perceptible
stage on her way to the dark valley.

She was, however, conscious when she revived, and sent for her uncle,
whom she begged to let her be laid in his churchyard, "near the
willow-tree; not next to my aunt, I'm not good enough," she said,
"but I could not bear that old ruined abbey, where all the Keiths go,
and Alick always wanted me to be here--Alick was right!"

The dreamy mist was coming on, nor was it ever wholly dispelled
again. She listened, or seemed to listen, to her uncle's prayers,
but whenever he ceased, she began to talk--perhaps sensibly at first,
but soon losing the thread--sometimes about her child or husband,
sometimes going back to those expressions of Charles Carleton that
had been so dire a shock to her. "He ought not! I thought he knew
better! Alick was right! Come away, Rachel, I'll never see him
again. I have done nothing that he should insult me. Alick was
right!"

Then would come the sobs, terrible in themselves, and ending in
fainting, and the whole scene was especially grievous to Alick, even
more than to either of the others, for as her perception failed her,
association carried her back to old arguments with him, and sometimes
it was, "Alick, indeed you do like to attribute motives," sometimes,
"Indeed it is not all self-deception," or the recurring wail, "Alick
is right, only don't let him be so angry!" If he told her how far he
was from anger, she would make him kiss her, or return to some
playful rejoinder, more piteous to hear than all, or in the midst
would come on the deadly swoon.

Morning light was streaming into the room when one of these swoons
had fallen on her, and no means of restoration availed to bring her
back to anything but a gasping condition, in which she lay supported
in Rachel's arms. The doctor had his hand on her pulse, the only
sounds outside were the twittering of the birds, and within, the
ticking of the clock, Alick's deep-drawn breaths, and his uncle's
prayer. Rachel felt a thrill pass through the form she was
supporting, she looked at Mr. Harvey, and understood his glance, but
neither moved till Mr. Clare's voice finished, when the doctor said,
"I feared she would have suffered much more. Thank God!"

He gently relieved Rachel from the now lifeless weight, and they
knelt on for some moments in complete stillness, except that Alick's
breath became more laboured, and his shuddering and shivering could
no longer be repressed. Rachel was excessively terrified to perceive
that his whole frame was trembling like an aspen leaf. He rose,
however, bent to kiss his sister's brow, and steadying himself by the
furniture, made for the door. The others followed him, and in a few
rapid words Rachel was assured that her fears were ungrounded, it was
only an attack of his old Indian fever, which was apt to recur on any
shock, but was by no means alarming, though for the present it must
be given way to. Indeed, his teeth were chattering too much for him
to speak intelligibly, when he tried to tell Rachel to rest and not
think of him.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40