Book: Uncle Max

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Uncle Max




I could not suppress a smile, for I knew that there had been no provision
made for my accommodation: the whole household had metaphorically washed
their hands of me.

'I shall rest very well on the couch,' I returned, unwilling to disturb
him.

'Good heavens!' he exclaimed, looking excessively displeased. 'Do you
mean that Lady Betty's room has not been got ready for you? I told Leah
myself, as Chatty was in the sick-room; and she certainly understood me.
This shall be looked into to-morrow. Leah will find I am not to be
disobeyed with impunity. I thought Lady Betty's room would do so well for
you, as there is a door of communication, and if you left it open you
could hear Gladys in a moment.'

'Never mind to-night,' I returned cheerfully. 'I am quite fresh, and
shall not need much sleep. No doubt the room will be ready for me
to-morrow.'

'Well, I suppose it is too late to disturb them now; but I feel very much
ashamed of our inhospitality.' Then, in rather an embarrassed voice, 'I
am afraid I must have seemed rather ungracious in my manner downstairs,
but I am really very grateful to you.'

This was too much for me. 'Please don't talk of being grateful to me, Mr.
Hamilton,' I returned, rather too impulsively. 'You do not know how glad
I am to do anything for you--all.' The word 'all' was added as though by
an afterthought, and came in a little awkwardly.

There was a sudden gleam in Mr. Hamilton's eyes; he seemed about to
speak; impetuous words were on his tongue, then he checked himself.

'Thank you. Good-night, Nurse Ursula,' he said, very kindly, and I went
back to Gladys, feeling happier than I had felt since that afternoon when
he had given me the roses.

Gladys was quieter that night; she slept fitfully and uneasily, and
moaned a little as though she were conscious of pain, but there was no
alarming excitement.

Early the next morning I heard them preparing Lady Betty's room, and once
when I went into the passage in search of Chatty I met Leah coming out
with a dusting-brush: she looked very sullen, and took no notice of my
greeting. Chatty helped me arrange my goods and chattels: as we worked
together she told me confidentially that master had been scolding Leah,
and had told her she ought to be ashamed of herself, and when Miss
Darrell had taken her part he had been angry with her too. 'Thornton says
Miss Darrell has been crying, and has not eaten a mouthful of breakfast,'
went on Chatty; but I silenced these imprudent communications. It was
quite evident that I was a bone of contention in the household, and that
Mr. Hamilton would have some difficulty in subduing Leah's contumacy.

I wrote to Ellen Watson that morning, and soon received a rapturous
acceptance of my invitation. She would be delighted to come to the
cottage and to look after my poor people.

'I am very much stronger,' she wrote, 'but I must not go back to the
hospital for two months: a breath of country air will be delicious, and
it is so good of you, my dear Miss Garston, to think of me. I am sure
Mrs. Barton will make me comfortable, and I will do all I can for poor
Janet Coombe and that dear little burnt child.'

I showed Mr. Hamilton the letter, and while he was reading it Chatty
brought me word that Uncle Max was waiting to speak to me.

'If you like to go down to him I will wait here until you come back,' he
said; and I was too glad to avail myself of this offer, for Gladys seemed
more suffering and restless than usual. I found Max walking up and down
the drawing-room. As he came forward to meet me his face looked quite old
and haggard.

'I am glad you have not kept me waiting, Ursula. I sent up that message
in spite of Leah's telling me that you never left the sick-room.'

'Leah is wrong,' I replied coolly. 'Mr. Hamilton insists on my going in
the garden for at least half an hour daily, while Chatty takes my place.
I cannot stay long, Max, but all the same I am glad you sent for me.'

'I felt I must see you,' he returned, rather huskily. 'Letters are so
unsatisfactory; but it was good of you to write, always so kind and
thoughtful, my dear.' He paused for a moment as though to recover
himself. 'She is very ill, Ursula?'

'Very ill.'

'How gravely you speak! Are things worse than you told me? You do not
mean to tell me there is absolute danger?'

'Oh no; certainly not; but it is very sad to see her in such a state. Her
nerves have quite broken down; all these three years have told on her,
and there seems some fresh trouble on her mind!'

'God forbid!' he returned quickly.

'Ay, God forbid, for He alone knows what is burdening the mind of this
young creature: she is too weak to throw off her nervous fancies. She
blames herself for harbouring such gloomy thoughts, and it distresses her
not to be able to control them. The night is her worst time. If we could
only conquer this sleeplessness! I have sad work with her sometimes.'

I spared Max further particulars: he was harassed and anxious enough.
I would not harrow up his feelings by telling him how often that feeble,
piteous voice roused me from my light slumbers; how, hurrying to her
bedside, I would find Gladys bathed in tears, and cold and trembling in
every limb, and how she would cling to me, pouring out an incoherent
account of some vague shadowy terror that was on her.

There were other things I could have told him: how in that semi-delirium
his name, as well as Etta's, was perpetually on her lips, uttered in a
tone sometimes tender, but more often reproachful, sometimes in a very
anguish of regret. Now I understood why she dreaded Etta's presence in
her room: she feared betraying herself to those keen ears. Often after
one of these outbursts she would strive to collect her scattered
faculties.

'Have I been talking nonsense, Ursula?' she would ask, in a tremulous
voice. 'I have been dreaming, I think, and the pain in my head confuses
me so: do not let me talk so much.' But I always succeeded in soothing
her.

If I read her secret, it was safe with me. I must know more before I
could help either her or him. If she would only get well enough for me to
talk to her, I knew what to say; and I did all I could to console Max.
But I could not easily allay his anxiety or my own; it was impossible to
conceal from him that she was in a precarious state, and that unless the
power of sleep returned to her there was danger of actual brain-fever; in
her morbid condition one knew not what to fear. Perfect quiet, patience,
and tenderness were the only means to be employed. As I moved about the
cool, dark room, where no uneasy lights and shadows fretted her weakened
eyes, I could not help remembering the comfortless glare and the hot,
pungent scents that Miss Darrell had left behind her. Most likely she had
rustled over the matting in her silk gown, and her hard, metallic voice
had rasped the invalid's nerves. Doubtless there was hope for her now in
her brother's skilful treatment, and when I told Max so he went away a
little comforted.




CHAPTER XXXIX

WHITEFOOT IS SADDLED


After the first day or so the strangeness and novelty of my
position wore off, and I settled down to my work in the sick-room.

Chatty waited upon us very nicely; but Miss Darrell never came near us.
Once a day a formal message was brought by Chatty asking after the
invalid. I used to think this somewhat unnecessary, as Mr. Hamilton could
report his sister's progress at breakfast-time.

When I encountered Miss Darrell on my way to the garden I always accosted
her with marked civility; her manner would be a little repelling in
return, and she would answer me very coldly. In spite of her outward
politeness, I think she was a little afraid of me at that time. I always
felt that a concealed sneer lay under her words. She made it clearly
understood that she considered that I had forced myself into the house
for my own purposes. Under these conditions I thought it better to avoid
these encounters as much as possible.

I saw Uncle Max two or three times. He had timed his visits purposely
that he might join me in my stroll in the garden. We had made the
arrangement to meet in this way daily. Max's society and sympathy would
have been a refreshment to me, but we were obliged to discontinue the
practice. Max never appeared without Miss Darrell following a few minutes
afterwards. She would come out of the house, brisk and smiling, in
_grande toilette_,--to take a turn in the shrubberies, as she said.
Max would look at me and very soon take his leave. At last he told
me dejectedly that we might as well give it up, as Miss Darrell was
determined that he should not speak to me alone: so after that I
contrived to send him daily notes by Chatty, who was always delighted
to do an errand in the village.

'I can't think what makes Miss Darrell so curious, ma'am,' the girl once
said to me. 'She asks me every day if I have been down to the vicarage.
She did it while master was by the other afternoon, and he told her quite
sharply that it was no affair of hers.'

'Never mind that, Chatty.'

'Oh, but I am afraid she means mischief, ma'am,' persisted Chatty, who
had a great dislike to Miss Darrell, which she showed by being somewhat
pert to her, 'for she said in such a queer tone to master, "There, I told
you so: now you will believe me," and master looked as though he were not
pleased.'

As I strolled round the garden in Nap's company I often saw Leah
sitting sewing at her mistress's window: she would put down her work and
watch me until I was out of sight. I felt the woman hated me, and this
surveillance was very unpleasant to me. I never felt quite free until
I reached the kitchen-garden.

Mr. Hamilton visited his sister's room regularly three times a day. He
never stayed long: he would satisfy himself about her condition, say a
few cheerful words to her, and that was all.

His manner to me was grave and professional. Now and then, when he had
given his directions, he would ask me if there were anything he could do
for me, and if I were comfortable: and yet, in spite of his reserve and
guarded looks and words, I felt an atmosphere of protection and comfort
surrounding me that I had not known since Charlie's death.

Every day I had proofs of his thought for me. The flowers and fruits that
were sent into the sick-room were for me as well as Gladys. I was often
touched to see how some taste of mine had been remembered and gratified:
sometimes Chatty would tell me that master had given orders that such a
thing should be provided for Miss Garston; and in many other ways he made
me feel that I was not forgotten.

For some days Gladys continued very ill; she slept fitfully and uneasily,
waking in terror from some dream that escaped her memory. I used to hear
her moaning, and be beside her before she opened her eyes. 'It is only a
nightmare,' I would say to her as she clung to me like a frightened
child; but it was not always easy to banish the grisly phantoms of a
diseased and overwrought imagination. The morbid condition of her mind
was aggravated and increased by physical weakness; at the least exertion
she had fainting-fits that alarmed us.

She told me more than once that a sense of sin oppressed her; she must be
more wicked than other people, or she thought Providence would not permit
her to be so unhappy. Sometimes she blamed herself with influencing Eric
wrongly: she ought not to have taken his part against his brother. '"He
that hateth his brother is a murderer." Ursula, there were times, I am
sure, when I hated Giles.' And with this thought upon her she would beg
him to forgive her when he next came into the room.

He never seemed surprised at these exaggerated expressions of penitence:
he treated it all as part of her malady.

'Very well, I will forgive you, my dear,' he would say, feeling her
pulse. 'Have you taken your medicine, Gladys?'

'Oh, but, Giles, I do feel so wretched about it all! Are you sure that
you really and truly forgive me?'

'Quite sure,' he returned, smiling at her. 'Now you must shut your eyes,
like a good child, and go to sleep.' But, though she tried to obey him, I
could see she was not satisfied: tears rolled down her cheeks from under
her closed eyelids.

'What is it, my darling?' I asked, kissing her. 'Do you feel more ill
than usual?'

'No, no; it is only this sense of sin. Oh, Ursula, how nice it would be
to die, and never do anything wrong again!' And so she went on bemoaning
herself.

I had thought it better to move her into Lady Betty's room. It was a
large square room opening out of the turret-room, and very light and
airy. I had a little bed put up for my use, so that I could hear her
every movement. I told Mr. Hamilton that I could not feel easy to have
her out of my sight; and he quite agreed with me.

In the daytime we carried her into the turret-room. The little recess
formed by the circular window made a charming sitting-room, and just held
Gladys's couch and an easy-chair and a little round table with a basket
of hot-house flowers on it. Mr. Hamilton declared that we looked very
cosy when he first found us there.

In the cool of the evening, when Gladys could bear the blind raised, it
was very pleasant to sit there looking down on the little oak avenue,
where the girls had set their tea-table that afternoon: we could watch
the rooks cawing and circling about the elms. Sometimes Mr. Hamilton
would pass with Nap at his heels and look up at us with a smile. Once a
great bunch of roses all wet with dew came flying through the open window
and fell on Gladys's muslin gown. 'Did Giles throw them? Will you thank
him, Ursula?' she said, raising them in her thin fingers. 'How cool and
delicious they are?' But when I looked out Mr. Hamilton was not to be
seen.

Lady Betty wrote very piteous letters begging to be recalled, which Mr.
Hamilton answered very kindly but firmly. He told her that Gladys
required perfect quiet, that if she came home she would not be allowed to
be with her; and when Lady Betty heard that I was nursing her she grew a
little more content.

Gladys was always more restless and suffering towards evening; 'her bad
thoughts,' as she called them, came out like bats in the darkness. I
tried the experiment of singing to her one evening, and I found, to my
delight, that my voice had a soothing influence: after this I always sang
to her after she was in bed: I used to take up my station by the window
and sing softly one song after another, until she was quiet and drowsy.

As I sang I always saw a dark shadow, moving slowly under the oak-trees,
pacing slowly up and down; sometimes it approached the house and stood
motionless under the window, but I never took any notice.

'Thank you, dear Ursula,' Gladys would say when I at last ceased; 'I
feel more comfortable now.' And after a time I would hear her regular
breathing and know she was asleep. I shall never forget the relief with
which I watched her first natural sleep: she had had a restless night, as
usual, but towards morning she had fallen into a quiet, refreshing sleep,
which had lasted for three hours.

I had finished my breakfast when I heard her stirring, and hurried in to
her; to my delight, she spoke to me quite naturally, without a trace of
nervousness:

'I have had such a lovely sleep, Ursula, and without any bad dreams.
I feel so refreshed.'

'I am so glad to hear it, dear,' I replied; and, overjoyed at this good
news, I went out into the passage to find Chatty, for I wanted Mr.
Hamilton to know at once of this improvement. He had been very anxious
the previous night, and had talked of consulting with an old friend of
his who knew Gladys's constitution.

On the threshold I encountered Miss Darrell.

'Were you looking for any one?' she asked coldly.

'Yes, for Chatty. I want Mr. Hamilton to know that Gladys has had three
hours' sleep, and has awakened refreshed and without any nervous
feelings. Will you be kind enough to tell him?'

'Oh, certainly: not that I attach much importance to such a transient
improvement. Gladys's case is far too serious for me to be so sanguine.
I believe you have not nursed these nervous patients before. If Giles had
taken my advice he would have had a person trained to this special work.'

'Gladys's case does not require that sort of nurse,' I replied quickly.
'Excuse me, Miss Darrell, but I am anxious that Mr. Hamilton should know
of his sister's improvement before he goes out. Chatty told me that they
had sent for him from Abbey Farm.'

'Yes, I believe so,' she replied carelessly. 'Don't trouble yourself Miss
Garston: I am quite as anxious as yourself that Giles's mind should be
put at rest. He has had worry enough, poor fellow.'

I was rather surprised and disappointed when, ten minutes afterwards, I
heard the hall door close, and, hurrying to a window, I saw Mr. Hamilton
walking very quickly in the direction of Maplehurst. A moment afterwards
Chatty brought me a message from him. He had been called off suddenly,
and might not be back for hours. If I wanted him, Atkinson was to take
one of the horses. He would probably be at Abbey Farm or at Gunter's
Cottages in the Croft.

This message rather puzzled me. After turning it over in my mind, I went
in search of Miss Darrell. I found her in the conservatory gathering some
flowers.

'Did you give my message to Mr. Hamilton?' I asked, rather abruptly. I
thought she hesitated and seemed a little confused.

'What message? Oh, I remember,--about Gladys. No, I just missed him: he
had gone out. But it is of no consequence, is it? I will tell him when he
comes home.'

I would not trust myself to reply. She must have purposely loitered on
her way downstairs, hoping to annoy me. He would spend an anxious day,
for I knew he was very uncomfortable about Gladys: perhaps he would write
to Dr. Townsend. It was no use speaking to Miss Darrell: she was only too
ready to thwart me on all occasions. I would take the matter into my own
hands. I went down to the stables and found Atkinson, and asked him to
ride over to Abbey Farm and take a note to his master.

'I hope Miss Gladys is not worse, ma'am,' he said civilly, looking rather
alarmed at his errand; but when I had satisfied him on this point he
promised to find him as quickly as possible.

'There is only Whitefoot in the stable,' he said. 'Master has both the
browns out: Norris was to pick him up in the village. But he is quite
fresh, and will do the job easily.' I wrote my note while Whitefoot was
being saddled, and then went back to the house. Miss Darrell looked at me
suspiciously.

'I thought I heard voices in the stable-yard,' she said; and I at once
told her what I had done.

For the first time she seemed utterly confounded.

'You told Atkinson to saddle Whitefoot and go all these miles just to
carry that ridiculous message! I wonder what Giles will say,' she
observed indignantly. 'All these years that I have managed his house
I should never have thought of taking such a liberty.'

This was hard to bear, but I answered her with seeming coolness:

'If Mr. Hamilton thinks I am wrong, he will tell me so. In this house
I am only accountable to him.' And I walked away with much dignity.

But I knew I had been right when I saw Mr. Hamilton's face that evening,
for he did not return until seven o'clock. He came up at once, and
beckoned me into Lady Betty's room.

'Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Miss Garston,' he said gratefully.
'You have spared me a wretchedly anxious day. A bad accident case at
Abbey Farm called me off, and I had only time to get my things ready, and
I was obliged to see the colonel first. If you had not sent me that note
I should have written to Dr. Townsend. But why did not Chatty bring me a
message before I went?'

I explained that I had given the message to Miss Darrell.

'That is very strange,' he observed thoughtfully. 'Thornton was helping
me in the hall when I saw Etta watering her flower-stand. Well, never
mind; she shall have her lecture presently. Now let us go to Gladys.'

Of course his first look at her told him she was better, and he went
downstairs contentedly to eat his dinner. After this Gladys made slow but
steady progress: she gained a little more strength; the habit of sleep
returned to her; her nights were no longer seasons of terror, leaving her
dejected and exhausted. Insensibly her thoughts became more hopeful; she
spoke of other things besides her own feelings, and no longer refused to
yield to my efforts to cheer her.

I watched my opportunity, and one evening, as we were sitting by the
window looking out at a crescent moon that hung like a silver bow behind
the oak-trees, I remarked, with assumed carelessness, that Uncle Max had
called earlier that day. There was a perceptible start on Gladys's part,
and she caught her breath for an instant.

'Do you mean that Mr. Cunliffe often comes?' she asked, in a low voice,
and turning her long neck aside with a quick movement that concealed her
face.

'Oh yes, every day. I do not believe that he has missed more than once,
and then he sent Mr. Tudor. You see your friends have been anxious about
you, Gladys. I wrote to Max often to tell him exactly what progress you
were making.'

'It was very kind of him to be so anxious,' she answered slowly, and
with manifest effort. I thought it best to say no more just then, but to
leave her to digest these few words. That night was the best she had yet
passed, and in the morning I was struck by the improvement in her
appearance; she looked calmer and more cheerful.

Towards mid-day I noticed that she grew a little abstracted, and when
Uncle Max's bell rang, she looked at me, and a tinge of colour came to
her face.

'Should you not like to go down and speak to Mr. Cunliffe?' she said
timidly. 'I must not keep you such a prisoner, Ursula.' But when I
returned indifferently that another day would do as well, and that I had
nothing special to say to him, I noticed that she looked disappointed. As
I never mentioned Miss Darrell's name to her, I could not explain my real
reason for declining to go down. I was rather surprised when she
continued in an embarrassed tone, as though speech had grown difficult to
her,--she often hesitated in this fashion when anything disturbed her,--

'I am rather sorry that Etta always sees him alone: one never knows what
she may say to him. I have begun to distrust her in most things.'

'I do not think that it matters much what she says to him,' I returned
briskly; for it would never do to leave her anxious on this point. 'You
know I have provided an antidote in the shape of daily notes.'

'Surely you do not write every day,' taking her fan from the table with
a trembling hand. 'What can you have to say to Mr. Cunliffe about me?'
And I could see she waited for my answer with suppressed eagerness.

'Oh, he likes to know how you slept,' I returned carelessly, 'and if you
are quieter and more cheerful. Uncle Max has such sympathy with people
who are ill; he is very kind-hearted.'

'Oh yes; I never knew any one more so,' she replied gently; but I
detected a yearning tone in her voice, as though she was longing for his
sympathy then. We did not say any more, but I thought she was a trifle
restless that afternoon, and yet she looked happier; she spoke once or
twice, as though she were tired of remaining upstairs.

'I think I am stronger. Does Giles consider it necessary for me to stop
up here?' she asked, once. 'If it were not for Etta I should like to be
in the drawing-room. But no, that would be an end to our peace.' And here
she looked a little excited. 'But if Giles would let me have a drive.'

I promised to speak to him on the subject of the drive, for I was sure
that he would hail the proposition most gladly as a sign of returning
health; but I told her that in my opinion it would be better for her to
remain quietly in these two pleasant rooms until she was stronger and
more fit to endure the little daily annoyances that are so trying to a
nervous invalid.

'When that time comes you will have to part with your nurse,' I went on,
in a joking tone. But I was grieved to see that at the first hint of my
leaving her she clung to me with the old alarm visible in her manner.

'You must not say that! I cannot part with you, Ursula!' she exclaimed
vehemently. 'If you go, you must take me with you.' And it was some time
before she would let herself be laughed out of her anxious thoughts.

When I revolved all these things in my mind,--her prolonged delicacy and
painful sensitiveness, her aversion to her cousin, and her evident dread
of the future,--I felt that the time had come to seek a more complete
understanding on a point that still perplexed me: I must come to the
bottom of this singular change in her manner to Max. I must know without
doubt and reserve the real state of her feeling with regard to him and
her cousin Claude. If, as I had grown to think during these weeks of
illness, one of these two men, and not Eric, was the chief cause of her
melancholy, I must know which of these two had so agitated her young
life. But in my own mind I never doubted which it was.

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