Chapter XIII.
A Journey in the Snow.
I think a dismaller Thing can scarce be cited, than a lone dismal House on a dismal lone Moor, in dismal inclement Weather, without anything passing or like to pass on Horse or Foot, without even a Cart-Track or a Row of black Footprints to the Gate across the Snow. In-Doors, small Rooms, somewhat barely furnished, either bitterly cold, or hot and close to that Degree as almost to stifle one. Nobody coming in nor going out; not so much as a Tradesman's Knock with his Knuckles at the Back-door; no Newspapers, no News, no lively Voices, no Letters to be got from the Post, nor any Possibility of getting a Letter to the Post. Nothing but to depend on one's own Resources within the House; happy for the Housekeeper if no Bread, nor Meat, nor Tea, nor Salt, nor Sugar, nor Candles, nor Coals, nor Stores of any Sort be a-wanting!
I confess a Day or two of that Life made me heartily sick of it; and yet it continued for nearly a Week. I thought what a Goose I was to leave Home to come to People I knew so little of, and who knew so little of me. I resolved within myself it should be long indeed ere I set out again, "voggetting about," as the Wiltshire People call it. Change of Scene, indeed! with Nothing to look out at but that lonely Snow-covered Moor! Nobody to speak to but a silent Woman, with a couple of unfledged Daughters, as mute as Mice, poring over their Bobbin-Work, and a Schoolboy that was bidden to hold his Peace! Nothing to do but sew, sew, sew, all Day, and think my own melancholy Thoughts, and wish for a Letter from Home, and wonder when I should be able to get back! No Exercise but to go up to my own Room under Pretence of washing my Hands, and there gaze out vacantly on the Snow, or dip into a musty old Book or two! Why, there was a hundred Times more Variety and Amusement in our Shop, any Day, in the worst of Weathers!
As for Mrs. Bowerbank, she was not near so dull, though a good deal more worried; because, though she brewed and baked at Home, and kept her Store Closet pretty well supplied, there were certain little Things that fell short during our Siege and Beleaguerment, which she had no Means of supplying. Thus, Butter ran short; and we all know there's no Substitute for that! The Salt-box happened to be nearly empty, and Eggs were scarce. Luckily, there was no Lack of Bread, because Flour was plenty, and she always knew how to keep herself supplied with Yeast, by putting away the wooden Spoon, unwashed, with which she had stirred the Yeast at her last Baking. But Butcher's Meat was scarce, which was more felt because we could not have Eggs to our Bacon: however, with one Thing and another we got on pretty well. She called me the most contented of Guests; I told her, truly, I was sorry she should treat me as a Stranger, and was quite willing to fare with the Rest.
Indeed, the Tabling troubled me least. And when I considered how kind they all were to me, a Stranger, and how great must be the Sufferings of the Poor and Needy in such a Season, I felt I was quite wicked to be secretly complaining merely because of the Infestivity. I played at Tit-tat-to with Joe, and posed him with hard Riddles, and he in return put it to me—"If a Herring and a Half cost three Halfpence, how far is it to Tyburn Turnpike?" which I told him had puzzled me before he was born; and then I puzzled him by asking, if a Herring and a Half cost three Halfpence, how many could he buy for Sixpence; which took him a good While to make out. The Girls, seeing me condescend to their younger Brother, began to think me less formidable, and to make some bashful Efforts at my Entertainment; and I then offered to tell their Fortunes, and showed them some simple Hocus-pocussing, which presently set us all laughing; and I found that the surest Way of being entertained is to entertain. Besides, we got a little Exercise by this; for some of the Conjurations led to hiding, and seeking, and turning quickly round, and playing Forfeits. So that we got on pretty well after a Time; only, all the While I was thinking when will the Frost break up, and, shall I be able to get Home?
All this While, we were in Suspense about Gatty's Safety, and unable to get any Letter from her; nor did Mrs. Bowerbank, by a single Word or Hint, enable me to guess whether Gatty had told her of Anything particular that Mr. Heavitree had said to her or not. My only Reason for thinking she had, was her Mother's sometimes falling into a Reverie as she sate by the Fire, with a quiet Smile on her Face, as though she were a thinking of Somewhat mighty pleasant; and again, by her frequently praising Gatty to us all, for her Frankness and steady Pursuit of Duty.
At length, the Snow began to yield a little; and just as Mrs. Bowerbank was beginning to consider whether she might not send Nanny into the Town for Letters and other Things much wanted, a Farm-Labourer from Roaring House came trudging through the Snow, and said he had found a Letter lying at the Post-Office for Mrs. Bowerbank, and had thought she might be glad to have it. The Man got a Cup of warm Beer for his Pains; and Mrs. Bowerbank, seeing the Direction in Gatty's Hand, came into the Parlour to read the Letter by the Fire, and communicate the best Part of it to us.
Gatty said she was much surprised and very thankful to find that Mr. Heavitree was going to see her safe to the End of the first Stage. He had insisted on her going inside, and said he would settle about that with Mrs. Bowerbank afterwards; and the Weather was so dreadful that she had felt herself justified in being persuaded. They were the only inside Passengers, and, with all the Windows up, were not so very cold; but the Windows were so covered with Ice that it was impossible to see through them when Day broke. They knew the Horses were being led, and that they were going very slowly, but did not much mind it, and judged they must have travelled several Miles, when all at once they found the Coach give a great Lurch, and roll over on its Side. They were quite unable to help themselves, and very uncomfortable, and rather frightened: Mr. Heavitree did not like breaking the Window, for fear of the Shivers falling on Gatty, and of the Cold to which they should subsequently be exposed. At length, with very great Difficulty, he contrived to open one of the Windows; and the Guard helped him to scramble out, and lift out Gatty. To their great Surprise and Mortification they saw just opposite to them a Finger-post, with "Three Miles to Larkfield," on it. In Fact, they had only just reached the Heath, where the Road being marked by no Boundaries, was hidden under the Snow, and they had strayed off it and got into a pretty deep Ditch, wherein the Coach was so fast set as to be immoveable. There was a Turnpike about a hundred Yards off, and the Turnpike Man came running out to see if he could give any Assistance; so then all the Men, Passengers and all, set their Shoulders to the Coach to heave it up; but in forcing it up, one of the Fore-Wheels came off. Then the three Horses, which had already broken their Traces, were sent back to Larkfield with the Postilion, Guard, and Ostler that had been leading, and the Passengers had no Help for it but to wait till Post-Chaises were sent. The Turnpike-Man invited them into his Cottage, which they were very thankful to take Shelter in; there was only one outside Passenger, whose Face was purple, almost black, with Cold; and he staggered so that Gatty at first thought he had been drinking, but it was because he was benumbed and dizzy. The Turnpike-Man's Wife received them very kindly: she was ironing, and the Room was very small and steamy, but she made them welcome to stand round her Fire, and said she had put off her Washing as long as she possibly could, because there was only Snow-water for use, now the Pond was frozen. There was a Baby crying in its Cradle all the Time, which its Mother said was because of the Cold; but Gatty thought it might be because the Mother had not Time to attend to it; so she took it up, and cherished it at the Fire, and rubbed its little blue Hands and Feet till she quieted it. Meanwhile, Mr. Heavitree produced some famous hot Gingerbread Nuts, which Mrs. Clary had given him, and the outside Passenger pulled out a Case-bottle of Brandy, and the good Woman gave them hot Water, and supplied Tumblers and Cups, and they had a very seasonable Luncheon. The Turnpike-Man said he had not taken Tolls to the Amount of Tenpence during the last two Days. His Wife, touched by Gatty's fondling the Baby, said with a kind of Remorse, that she wished she could be sure all was well with a young Woman carrying an Infant, who had, with Tears in her Eyes, begged, the Day before, to chafe its poor little Limbs at the Fire for a few Minutes before she crossed the Moor. "There was Something wild and unsettled in her Look," said the good Woman, "that I did not like, and I asked her, 'Why cross the Moor at all?' she said, she must, for her only Chance of Shelter; I asked whence she came, but she would not say. So the only Thing was to make her as comfortable as I could while she remained—there was some good strong Pease Soup on the Fire, and I gave her a Basin of it, with a Slice of Bread. I never saw a poor Soul so grateful; she said it warmed her to the Heart. I also made her take off her wet Stockings, which were fine but very old, and put on an old Pair of thick Woollen ones I had given up wearing; and I buttoned a Pair of old Gaiters over all. So then she suckled the Babe and went her Ways, praying God to bless me; and I watched her straggling across the Moor, and now and then plunging into a Snow-Drift. My Heart ached for her, it did!—and I couldn't help thinking, in the Night, that when the Thaw came, we might find her poor Corpse under the Snow."
It was Noon, Gatty said, when one Post-Chaise made its Appearance; so into this she and Mr. Heavitree and the other Passenger were packed, and her Box tied on behind; and they recommenced their Journey, Mr. Heavitree sitting between the two. Their Pace was mended, and they were congratulating themselves on their Speed, when, by Reason of the roundness of the Road, over went the Chaise. However, they soon righted again, the Chaise being so much lighter than the Coach; and they did not overturn again till just as they got to Newton Buzzard; which was the first Stage, of fourteen Miles, from Larkfield. However, the Day was now so far spent, it being about three o'Clock, at which Hour even the Stage-Coach always pulls up for the Night during Winter, that Mr. Heavitree said it would be Madness to proceed, especially as the following Stage included Splitskull Hill. He had an Aunt in the Town, at whose House he always slept when he attended the Markets; so he went to her while Gatty remained at the Inn, to fish for an Invitation. And the Invitation was not long forthcoming, so he came back almost directly, and told Gatty his Aunt would take no Denial; so they went there and had a very hospitable Reception from the old Lady, who gave them a hot Supper and well-aired Beds. The next Day, the Coach being reported still immoveable and very ruinous, they went on as before in a Chaise, and, the Roads being more beaten, got on much faster and without any more Impediment, till they safely reached London, where kind Mr. Heavitree took leave of Gatty at Lady Betty's Door.
But, now,—oh! what News. Gatty on entering the House, and being fairly shut into it, learned to her Dismay that Lady Betty had not summoned her up in one of her Capricchios, but was laid up with the Small-Pox, which had caused Madam Pompon and several other Servants to desert her, and had occasioned her sending so peremptorily and laconically for Gatty.
Mrs. Bowerbank, when she got to this, laid down the Letter and began to cry. She said she knew Gatty would take the Infection and die, or else be marked for life; what a cruel Thing it was of Lady Betty to send for her, especially as her Ladyship had been so afraid of catching the Fever from Gatty. I thought so too, and quite felt for the poor Mother. She said that she would go and take Gatty away directly, without minding what Lady Betty might think, were it not now too late to save her from Danger; besides, how could she bring her Home to her other Children, who had never had the Disease?
Then she went on to finish the Letter, crying over it all the While; and Gatty proceeded to say, that finding what was required of her, she recommended herself to God, and, having laid aside her travelling Dress and taken some slight Refreshment, she went straight up to my Lady's Chamber, where she found Lady Betty in Bed, in very high Fever, attended only by one of the inferior Servants, quite a low Person, who had had the Disorder, therefore had Nothing to fear. That Lady Betty, being blinded, did not at first recognise her; but, catching the Sound of her Voice, cried peremptorily, "Is that Gatty, at last? Then send Jenny away. You are not to leave the Room again, Gatty, but make them bring Everything to you." Since which, Gatty had remained at her Bed-side, where she was now writing, while my Lady lay in a kind of Stupor, brought on perhaps by her quieting Medicine; since the Irritation was so great, she could not keep her Hands off herself, much less sleep. Indeed, once she had bidden Gatty tie her Hands up, that she might not disfigure herself in her Torment; yet she had soon been unable to keep from fighting at herself again, and when Gatty had gently tried to stay her, had fiercely cried, "Isn't my Face my own, to do with as I like?"
Oh poor Lady Betty! She that was so vain of her Beauty! and carried her Head so high! to be laid thus low, and mastered by inexorable Disease! deserted by her pampered Menials that had flattered her in Health, and beholden for the commonest Attentions, first to a poor Scullion, and now to one whom she had inhumanely neglected in her own Extremity! Was it not a Lesson to poor, purse-proud, puffed-up Humanity? And was not Gatty like an Angel, returning Good for Evil? I lay awake thinking of it at Night, for many an Hour.
Chapter XIV.
The Recal.
That same Evening, at Dusk, as we sat round the Fire, roasting Chestnuts and Raisins, in comes young Mr. Heavitree, buttoned to the Chin; and his Eyes and Cheeks in such a Glow with Exercise that I could not help thinking to myself, "What a nice-looking young Man you are!" He shook Hands very heartily all round, first with Mrs. Bowerbank, next with me; and, addressing me first, "Mrs. Patty," says he, "I come to repair and excuse the Negligence of my stupid Fellow, who forgot he had taken up at the Post-office two Letters for this House, and brought one addressed to you on to Roaring House."
I eagerly received it; and seeing Prue's Hand, hastily broke the Seal. At the same Instant, Mrs. Bowerbank, in a lamentable Voice, says, "Oh, Mr. Heavitree! only think of our Gatty taking the Small-Pox!"
He turned so deadly white, that I saw in a Moment how it was with him, and hastily cried, "Lady Betty, you mean, Ma'am, not Gatty!"
"But Gatty has no doubt taken it by this Time," says her Mother, "since she is constantly with Lady Betty."
Seeing Mr. Heavitree look much agitated, and supposing he might like to be alone with Mrs. Bowerbank, I rose and left the Room, to read my Letter up-Stairs, thinking she might send the Girls away if she wished. On running through Prudence's Letter, I was quite disappointed to find it contain so little, whether of News or Affection. Mr. Fenwick and Tom, she never so much as named; my Mother, she said, was pretty well, my Father the same as usual; there were sundry little Details about our Business, but not a Word I cared to hear; ending with the same comfortless Burthen, "We can get on perfectly well without you." I was so tired of the Country, that I had hoped there would have been some Wish expressed for my Company, which would have been a decent Pretext for my Return; but no! Nothing of the Sort! I remained musing over my Letter with great Mortification till I got quite numbed with Cold, and was roused by hearing the Gate shut. I saw Mr. Heavitree going away; and when I went down, Mrs. Bowerbank was not in the Room, and the Girls and their Brother were still roasting their Chestnuts.
The next Day was much like the preceding, except that a rapid Thaw set in. On the Day following that, a Post was due, and Joe was sent through Mud and Mire to see if there were any Letter from Gatty. There was not; but there was one for me; that made me think I would never wantonly desire a Pretext for a Recal again. It was from Prudence; but oh, in how different a Spirit from the other! She wrote in the utmost Hurry and Distress to tell me that my Father had fallen down Stairs and broken his Leg, and had likewise injured his Head so much, that Dr. Elwes thought there was a Concussion of the Brain. My dear Mother and Prue were incessantly in Attendance on him, and considered him in great Danger; they hoped I would return as soon as I possibly could.
With my Eyes full of Tears, I went to communicate my bad News to Mrs. Bowerbank, who was vastly distressed for me, and would say Nothing to delay my Journey, especially now that the Thaw rendered the Roads much safer. So I packed up at once, and, the next Morning, left them all with many Thanks for their Kindness. Joe, who had become quite my little Cavalier, accompanied me to the Corner, where we met the Coach, carrying for me a Basket of the large Cat's-head Apples that some call "Go-no-farther." I was the only Passenger, and was two Days on the Road instead of one; but performed the Journey in perfect Safety.
It was quite dark when I reached Home. Prudence, hearing my Voice, flew down Stairs and threw her Arms round my Neck all in Tears. I wept too, and never was there a more sisterly Meeting. She told me my dear Father was still very bad; and though my Mother kept up wonderfully, she was exerting herself so much for him that she would probably experience a dangerous Re-action. "But what can I do?" says Prue weeping, "I've hovered about him continually and done my very best; but whenever he's himself, he doesn't like my Nursing, and says, 'There, let me have your Mother till Patty comes back!'" And she cried bitterly.
I said, "Dear Prue, People when they are ill will take unaccountable Fancies; and we have a divided Duty, between the Sick-Room and the Shop. Let us each take that which suits us best; do you attend to the Business, which you understand so well, and I will help my Mother to nurse my Father."
She said, still crying, "I suppose that will be best; but I love him as well as you do, and you must let me take my Turn now and then, or my Heart will break."
I said, "I will, I will;" and all this While I was taking off my Wraps, and making ready to go up Stairs; but Prudence would make me take a Dish of Tea first, which was ready poured out, saying, that when I was once up-Stairs I should be close Prisoner, and my Father could not bear so much as the Click of a Spoon. She added, "Dr. Elwes is not afraid of the Brain now; but my Father is of such an inflammatory Habit that his Fever runs very high, and he is not always himself."
"And Mr. Fenwick?" said I. "Is not he truly concerned about it?"
"Mr. Fenwick?" cries she, "Why, Mr. Fenwick is not here now!"
"Not here now?" I exclaimed.
"Oh no, he returned to his Parish the Day before Father's Accident, thinking himself well enough to do Duty now, and we have not heard of him since."
I was struck dumb. I looked full at Prudence, who spoke and carried herself quite composedly. Seeing me look so hard at her, however, she blushed all over; Cheek, Neck, and Brow, one hot Flush; and started up to busy herself about some Trifle.
I felt a Pang, but it was for her, not myself. Poor Prue found herself deserted! All my old Love for her resumed its Strength; but there was no Time now for Pity or Complaint—I rose up, saying, "Well, I will go up-Stairs now; keep yourself up, dear Prue; there's no knowing how much your Strength may be wanted."
"There is not, indeed," said she, bursting into Tears afresh. I could not stand this—I said, "Come, Prue, come, ..." and put my Arm about her, and she laid her Head on my Shoulder. I was obliged to gulp down my own Tears, but I said gently, "This will never do—we must not give way—Only think how much more poor Father, and dear Mother too, have to bear than we have. You must give over Crying, for indeed I cannot go up till you do."
"You may go now," says she, wiping her Eyes and smiling up at me, "for, strange as it may seem to you, I'm the better for this Cry. Go up now, go softly; and send dear Mother down to me presently, if you can, for she needs Rest and Refreshment."
I said, "I will," and went up. My Father was dozing when I entered—my Mother sitting beside him, with her Hands clasped on her Knee. As soon as she saw me, she mutely held out her Arms without rising; and the next Instant I was folded to her Heart. We spoke a little in Whispers; and for a While I thought not nor desired to persuade her to go. At length I did; and she, after a little Resistance, yielded; for she was very much exhausted. I quietly took her Place, and remained in it a long While, inactive in Body, but with a Mind how busy!
Home, at last! and to a Scene how changed! Everything as still and quiet as on Larkfield Moor! He that had been the Life of many a noisy, convivial Party, laid low—perhaps rapidly drawing nigh an unknown World. My Mother, roused from her incapable State by strong Affection; Prue, loving me again, and in Tears—Mr. Fenwick gone!
What a Dream this World seems sometimes! Besides, my Head was mazed with my Journey, and I was stiff with so much Jolting, and the Closeness and Warmth of the Chamber after the biting Cold of the outer Air made me feel drowsy. But I would not yield to it.
A Coffin flew out of the Fire. I was thankful not to be superstitious. But yet I'd as lief it had been a Purse.
I thought of Gatty's lone Watch; and how much harder her Post was than mine. I was not incurring personal Danger in the Service of an imperious, unfeeling Patient; I was not separated from a Mother and Sister whom I loved; I was watching over some one very dear to me. Thinking of her and of my Father and Mother, I framed my Thoughts to Prayer. Suddenly my Father, without opening his Eyes, murmured, "Delia! Give me your Hand!... Poor Delia, I have been very untoward to thee—"
Silently, I placed my Hand in his. Cordelia was my Mother's Name, but he was accustomed to call her Delia for short; or rather, had been accustomed, in their old Days of Love and Harmony. I took it for a good Sign, his calling her so again; it showed that his Illness and her Tenderness had melted him. I always liked his Abbreviation of her Name, myself, though Prue thought it only fit for a China Shepherdess.
"Who have I got hold of?" says he. "This isn't Delia's Hand!—Ah, I see the Shadow of Patty's Nose against the Bed-curtain. Welcome, Child! come, kiss thy poor old Dad."
Daddy, again, was a Word he never used but lovingly. I stooped over him, and kissed him two or three Times; then set him completely to rights, for his Head had slipped off the Pillow, and he was lying very uncomfortably, without the Power to right himself.
"You're a prime one!" says he. "Thy dear Mother has no Strength to handle me, though the Will's ne'er a-wanting; and I can't bear her to move me for fear of her doing herself a Hurt. As for Prue, she does nought but sit by the Fire and sigh! But thou'rt able and willing both, Patty; so keep about me all you can."
I promised him I would, and he soon became again quiet. Prudence presently stole in; and in dumb Show bade me go down to sup with my Mother. As my Father seemed sleeping, I did so, and had a long Talk with dear Mother; after which, I prevailed with her to sleep with Prue, and let me keep Watch, assuring her I was quite fresh. She consented at length, from sheer Incapacity to hold out any longer; and, after a good Meal, I went up and took my Sister's Place. Shortly, the House became perfectly silent, and the distant Clocks struck Twelve.
I sate by the Fire, musing on many Things and Persons, and a good deal of Mr. Fenwick; and, before I was aware, large Tears were quietly rolling down my Face. I was not pleased with my late Conduct of my own Mind, and resolved on more Self-control and Self-discipline. While framing these seasonable Resolutions, a Strain of low, sweet, solemn Music stole through the Air. The Christmas Waits were playing beneath some distant Window, and at the End of their soft Melody, I could make out by the Rhythm, though not by the Articulation, the poor Musicians crying out:
Good-morrow to you; Masters and Mistresses all."
I dreaded their waking my Father as they drew nearer, but there was no Help for it. I rested my Head against the high Back of the Nursing-chair, in a Kind of dreamy, lazy Luxury, listening to the lovely Sounds; and called to Mind the old Text, "Ye shall have a Song in the Night; as when some holy Solemnity is kept."
Ah, thought I, we are apt to fancy ourselves in the Blackness of Darkness, when any Sorrow or Bereavement comes over us, and yet our good God sends us a Song in the Night!—The poor Shepherds in the Fields of Bethlehem lay watching their Flocks by Night, when all seemed dark and dreary, but suddenly a Light shone upon them, and they heard sweet Music in the Air, even sweeter than that which I hear now.
Then I thought of the Manger, and the holy Child, and the Mother; and the wise Men following the Star. The Folds of the Window-curtains were a little apart, and I could see the Stars glimmering.
All at once, my Father, in a hurried Voice, exclaims, "They're moving now!"
"What, dear Father?" said I softly, looking in on him.
"Cover them up! cover them up!" cries he rapidly; "tie their Legs, or they'll set my Head spinning—Hey, diddle diddle! the Cat plays the Fiddle; and the Shepherdess is gavotting with the Turnspit! Lock 'em up, I say! Dash them in Pieces! Break them!"
"Hush, dear Father, hush—" said I gently; but he was quite unconscious of my Presence, or of anything about him, and grew more and more light-headed. Had I not previously nursed Gatty in her Deliration, I should have been even more terrified than I was: at all Events, it was awful Work; it was more fearful to hear a strong Man raving than the lunatic Ramblings of a gentle Girl. But what Help was there for it? I must e'en do the best I could. He tossed his Arms about wildly; and once or twice made as though he would start up; but the Splint on his Leg prevented that. Then he groaned heavily, gnashed his Teeth, called for Drink, rolled his Eyes, shuddered, and finally subsided into fitful Mutterings. Gradually these yielded to Stupor; I looked in on him from Time to Time, hoping to find him asleep, but there were his half-open, unwinking Eyes, glaring at me, without any Token of Recognition. I do not know that my Strength was ever more sorely tried.
Towards Day-dawn he slumbered. I am ashamed to say, I dropped asleep too; it was not for long, I believe, yet when I woke up, the Fire was nearly out; and Prue, in her Dressing-Jacket, was on her Knees before it, stealthily reviving it. She put her Finger on her Lips, then came to me and kissed me. The snapping of a very small Stick woke my restless Father, who, no longer in his Fever-fit, and excessive low and sinking, cries in a feeble Voice, "Who's there? Prue, I know, by her Sighing! Go, get me some spiced Wine and Toast, for I'm ebbing away as fast as I can."
"He always talks like that, when he comes to," whispers Prue, seeing me look frightened. "We dare not give him Wine, but Tea and Toast he shall have. I will bring it him directly; and then you shall go down and have some too, while I stay with him, for you look completely worn out."
In fact, I felt so just then; and though quite ashamed to be knocked up with one Night's Nursing, yet my two Days' Journey began to tell upon me; and I felt, that to husband my Strength for what probably lay before me, I must take common Precautions. Therefore, when Prue brought up my Father's Breakfast, I went down to mine.
Chapter XV.
Mr. Honeywood's Fancies.
Though the Sun had not yet risen, I found a bright little Fire already kindled in the Parlour, and the little oval Table drawn close to it, and spread for Breakfast, with strong Tea and hot Toast awaiting me on the Hob. I felt very grateful to Prudence for this Kindness; and had scarce seated myself when I heard the soft Tap of my Mother's Ivory-headed Walking-cane as she came down Stairs. I hastened to receive her; she kissed my Forehead, and then looked at me with anxious Affection.
"You are weary, my dear Love," said she, "and no wonder. What kind of a Night?"
"He was feverish, dear Mother."
"And wandering, doubtless—I see it was so. Were you frightened?"
"Not much—you know I had nursed Gatty."
"Ah, poor Gatty!—a very different Patient—"
"Yes, Mother; but his Ramblings gave me no Distress, except as they betokened the height of his Fever—He fancied himself playing Cards:—and seemed to think People were dancing. He spoke very kindly of you."
My Mother wiped her Eyes. "That has been the solitary Alleviation all along," said she. "His old Liking for me has returned."
After we had breakfasted, she accompanied me to his Chamber: "Ah, you're come at last," said my Father, feebly extending his Hand to her, "I was wearying of Prue's Sighs."
"Dear Father, I haven't been sighing," said Prudence, hastily.
"Oh, haven't you though, Mrs. Prue?"—She put her Hand before her Eyes, and silently quitted the Room.
"My Love, how are you?" says my Mother to him.
"I've had fine Company all Night, Mrs. Honeywood. I've been to the queerest Ball!—Ah, you think I'm wandering, but I'm not—my Head is as clear as yours. At twelve o'Clock at Night, a Flourish of Tin Trumpets announced the Commencement of the Entertainment."
My Mother looked at me in Distress.
"An old Joss in the Corner," continues he, "played the Hautboy. A Mandarin kept Time, nodding his Head. Then, down came the Five Senses—you think I've lost mine, but I haven't!—followed by the Shepherds and Shepherdesses, all in Chelsea China, and took their respective Places. A Row of Dresden Cups were the Bystanders, backed by some richly painted Plates against the Wall. Bang! went the Drum. The Ball immediately opened, and I knew not which Dancer most to admire. Such sinking! such rising! such easy Turns and Inflections; such pointing of Toes and presenting of Hands! Meantime, the Music plays faster and faster; the Joss blows himself out of Breath, the Mandarin niddle-noddles, till it makes one's Head spin to look at him. Down falls a Dragon and gets cracked; the others fall and sprawl over him; never mind, he's up again, and they're at it harder than ever. Hands across, down the Middle, turn the Corners and pousette! My Head is too weak to bear it; a small Cream-Ewer invites me into the Card-room. Gratefully I accept it, when one of the Senses assails me, insisting I shall dance the Minuet de la Cour. I put her aside, she returns, I burst from her, she pursues; I hurry into the Card-room, where four respectable Chinese are playing at Loo. They make Room for me, I sit down, we get on very comfortably together; when lo you! in burst the Five Senses again, calling me a Recreant, and I know not what all, plucking at me, nipping, pinching, grinning in my Face; the Music playing furiously all the While—They cry out the Prices at which I bought them; one of them names the wrong Sum. I exclaim, 'That's false!' and give her a Cuff that breaks her all to smash. 'Going, going, going, gone!' cries the Auctioneer in the Corner. Down goes his Hammer: the Ball is ended. Why, Mrs. Honeywood, Ma'am, you're crying!"
Just then, Dr. Elwes very opportunely came in, with his grave, kind Face. The Sound of his Voice seemed to re-collect my Father's scattered Faculties; he did not appear half so bad as he had done before; nevertheless, I could see the good Physician thought unfavourably of him. In short, for several Days he hung between Life and Death; after that, he wandered no more, and slowly amended; requiring incessant and vigilant Nursing.
It was one Day, when Prue and my Mother had insisted on my going down Stairs for a little Change, that, on entering the Parlour, I suddenly came on Mr. Fenwick. "Ah!"—said he, and held out his Hand. Overcome by the Surprise, I turned aside my Head, and burst into Tears. The next Moment, his Arm was round my Waist; and as quickly withdrawn.
"Dear Patty!" said he.
I drew back, and would have left the Room, but he gently detained me, and led me to a Chair next the Fire.
"I was quite unprepared to hear of this domestic Calamity," said he, "and have been greatly moved by it. Your good Mother has been telling me how admirably you have behaved. She wept about it, and said never was such a Daughter."
This set my Tears flowing again—I said there was Nothing out of the Common in a Daughter's tending of a Parent she loved. He did not dwell on it; but went on to talk as only a good, feeling, and faithful Minister, a holy, high-minded, heavenly spirited Servant of God can talk. I know not how long this delightful Conversation lasted; perhaps an Hour; and when he went away, he said he would soon come again. From that Moment, I was a new Creature: quite fresh, quite able to return anew to my Post. My Heart was full of Peace. If the Body sometimes bears down the Mind, the Mind sometimes wondrously sustains the Body.
This was, however, a joyless Christmas to us all. Not one of the Family was able to leave the House to go to Church; and though roast Beef and Plum-pudding were dressed, they were sparingly and sadly partaken of. My loved Mother forgot not, however, to send Portions to sundry poor Widows and Mothers who were habituated to come to us for our stale Pastry, Broken-meat, and Cinders.
When my Father began to recover a little, he became curious to hear me talk about my Visit to Larkfield; and he made me minutely describe Gatty's Family, and the Family at Roaring House. In a very little While he settled it to his own Satisfaction that Gatty would some Day be Mrs. Heavitree. But when he heard of her being recalled to Servitude by Lady Betty, of her perilous, protracted Journey, and of her finding my Lady in the Small-Pox, he became greatly perturbed. "What," says he, "have not one of you had so much Humanity nor even so much Curiosity, (a Quality, one would think, not often lacking in your Sex,) as to ascertain whether this poor Girl sink or swim?"
"Dear Father, we have been so busied about you...."
"Fiddlesticks' Ends! I have never had more than one of you about me at a Time; and has everything else been at a Stand-still? Have your Shop-shutters been put up, have your Customers been kept out, have you intermitted your Baking and your Milking? Pshaw! I'm nauseated with such a false Excuse. If you couldn't go, you might write; if you could not write, you might send; if you could not spare one of the Men, you might have sent a Boy for Two-pence. Let me hear by To-morrow Morning, I insist upon't, whether Mrs. Gatty be alive or dead."
He was quite in a Turmoil about it, and for my Part, I was glad enough to be commissioned to send; and as Peter knew the House, I contrived he should go that same Afternoon, and ask for Mr. James, and inquire how fared Mrs. Gatty and Lady Betty—bidding him be sure he put Lady Betty's Name first, or they would think we knew no Manners.
So he went, and brought back Word, with Mr. James' Services, that my Lady was still very ill, and still kept her Chamber, and so did Mrs. Gatty.
I said, "Did he mean Mrs. Gatty was confined to her own Chamber or to my Lady's? for that makes all the Difference."
Peter says, "Well, Ma'am, I understood him to mean she kept my Lady's Chamber; but I gave you the very Words he said."
So I gave them, just the same, to my Father.
"Blockhead! Dunderhead!" exclaimed he impatiently. "Well, if she's in her Chamber, she's not in the Churchyard at any Rate—And I shall soon be able to spare you, Patty, to go and see how she really is."
That Night Prudence and I slept together, for the first Time since my Return Home. Before that, I had lain in the little Closet close to my Father's Room, to be within Call. We undressed silently enough, and I noticed again the great Depression she had betrayed ever since my Return; but yet I was as quiet as she.
When the Candle was put out, she crept closer to me; and though she was quiet for a While, I had an Impression she was going to say Something. At length, "Patty," says she,—and I could perceive her Voice was unsteady, "did you ever know what a Burthen it was to have Something on your Mind that you longed, yet feared, to tell?"
"Well," said I, "I can form some Notion of the Pain it must give."
"I have that Pain," says she, and fell a crying.
I said, "Come, Prue, tell me what it is. We didn't use to have any Secrets from one another."
"Nor needed to have," says she in her Tears—"All that's altered now."
"Why should it be?" said I. She made no Answer.
"Come, what is it?" I said.
"Don't you remember saying to me, 'How fine we are!' a Day or two back," says Prue, "when you noted a Ruby Ring on my Finger?"
"A Mock Ruby, you mean! It's a Glass Ring, if ever there was one! I told you, if I wore Jewels at all, they should be real."
"Yes, and I said Nothing, and I dare say you thought I was sulky, but I wasn't. People often make great Mistakes in judging others. Well, that Ring was given me by Tom."
"It wouldn't ruin him then," said I laughing. "Unless indeed, poor Fellow, as is like enough, 'twas palmed upon him for a real Stone. Well, Prue, is this what all the Sighing has been about? You needn't break your Heart, I think, at having accepted it of him."
"Don't laugh, or you'll kill me," says Prudence, "it's no laughing Matter, I can tell you. It don't matter whether the Stone be real or false; but, in fact, it's a Wedding ... no, a Guard-Ring."
"A what?" cried I. "Do say it over again!" But she was crying passionately.
"What's this about Wedding and Guard-Rings, Prue? Do you mean to say you are married?"
"Oh Patty! don't speak so unkindly—I can't bear it."
"I don't mean to be unkind,"—and I kissed her. "But you rack me with Suspense. Do speak out! Are you, can you be married to Tom?"
"Whether or no, I'm engaged to him quite as irrevocably, I assure you, Patty."
"You amaze and distress me beyond Measure," said I.
"I knew you would be very angry with me," said she.
"Angry? why should I be angry? There's no Reason why Tom and you should not marry, if you like it, except his Profession, and his being unable to keep a Wife. Two serious Exceptions, I admit."
"So serious, Patty, that I fear my Father and Mother would never overlook them—Oh! how angry my Father would be! I should never hear the Last of it."
"Well, he would be angry, I dare say, but it would not be the first Time; and you generally bear his Rebukes pretty sturdily. If I were in love with Tom, I think I could stand that."
"Do you indeed, dear Patty? Ah, but you don't know the Worst."
"What is the Worst, then?" cried I impatiently—"Say in a Word." But she could not speak it.
"I can't make Head nor Tail of it," said I—"It seems such an unaccountable Business. I thought you cared for Mr. Fenwick."
"Mr. Fenwick? Oh, Patty! how could you be such a Goose?"
"Well, Prue, I chanced to see him one Day holding you by the Hand at his Window, and talking very earnestly."
"Why, he was talking about Tom, and advising me not to go to the Play!"
"Was that it? Dear me!"
"Yes; and—and—You know, Patty, Tom paid me a good Deal of Attention from the First; and somehow I was won by it, there's Something so sincere and genuine about him. And he's very diverting too, and the Soul of Good-humour—in short, I liked him very much; all the better for his liking me, and telling me so whenever we went out together. Well, when he went Home with the Monkey, I missed him sadly; and as you were very short upon me about that Time, I thought you saw how it was and didn't like it; which made me vex a good Deal. When he came back, I was very glad; and when you were gone, he kept staying on, till it was Time to return to his Ship. The last Walk we took together, which was when he was on the very Brink of Sailing, out it all came! he made me a downright Offer, and said you knew all about it, he had spoken to you at the Old Angel, and you were favourable. Well, this encouraged me, and so I as good as said yes, only I told him I knew Father and Mother would be hurt at it, on such a short Courting, and therefore could not tell them of it till he returned from his next Voyage. Tom was quite willing; for what good would it have done him? only he begged and prayed me to keep constant to him, and not be over-persuaded, while he was away, to have any one else; which of course I promised. So we walked along together as merry as Birds, though on the Point of parting for two Years, without much noting Anything going on around us, till we were forced to pause by a Knot of People on the Pavement, seeing a fine Lady get out of a Hackney-Coach. Tom drew me closer to him; and at the same Moment a Man in a black Coat pops his Face under Tom's Hat, and says, 'Will you like to be married, Sir?' Tom bursts out laughing with Surprise, and says, 'Aye, that I should, my Lad!' and the Man taking him by the Shoulders and giving him a Push, we were under a little Gothic Doorway the next Minute. A gay bridal Party coming out, pressed us against the Wall. 'Dear Tom,' whispered I fearfully, 'what Place is this? It's no Church.' 'Not a bit of it,' replies he, smiling, 'but yet here's a Parson marrying People, many of them of Quality too; and though I don't suppose he can tie a very tight Knot, it will serve to keep you engaged to me till I come back; and then we'll have a merry Wedding, with Mr. Fenwick for our Parson.' And oh, Patty, he took me so by Surprise that I was over-persuaded!"