DR. RENTON BREAKS SOME NEWS TO ME
The week has passed at last--in the daytime on leaden feet, on wings of
gold in the evening when, as the clock has struck six, Dimbie and
happiness have entered my room hand in hand.
"Only four more days, dear one," Dimbie has said hopefully.
"Only three more days. Nurse must begin to air your tea-gown."
"Only two more. I am putting bamboo poles through the small wicker
chair. You may not be able to walk at first, and nurse and I will
carry you. I could manage you alone, you are only a feather in weight,
but I might hurt you--such a frail Marguerite my little wife looks."
"Is it the drain-bamboo you are using?" I ask demurely. "For Amelia
might object." And Dimbie laughs like a happy boy.
"Only one more day. To-morrow you will meet me at the door. Nurse
will help you there, and then she will go away, and--we shall be
alone." His voice vibrates with happiness and my cheeks glow.
"Have you missed me, Dimbie?" I whisper. "Have you enjoyed pouring out
your own tea and finding your slippers and working in the garden alone?"
And he smiles tenderly and says he hasn't missed me one little bit, and
can't I see it in his face? And nurse who comes into the room says
"Ahem!" Her throat often seems a little troublesome.
And now to-morrow has come. Dr. Renton may walk in at any minute, and
I press my finger to my wrist to try to hush the beating.
Nurse has put me into my best blue silk jacket, and my hair has been
done--well, not in the very latest Parisian mode, but its two plaits
are tied with new blue ribbons. She has propped me up so that I may
see the lane and know the exact moment in which Dr. Renton may drive
down it.
I persuaded her to go for her walk as soon as lunch was over. I told
her Dr. Renton never came, as she herself knew, much before half-past
three, and that I felt unusually well.
And as soon as ever I heard the click of the gate and knew she had gone
I rang the tortoise--the bell which always lives on the other
pillow--for Amelia.
She appeared, very dirty.
"Why, you're not dressed," I said.
"Did you ring to tell me that, mum? Because I knewed it."
Her attitude was not that of impertinence, but of inquiry.
"Oh, no," I replied quickly. "I want you to bring me up one of the
volumes of the encyclopædia. I don't know the number, but it will have
SPI on the back."
I spoke nervously, for I felt guilty. I was about to embark upon an
act of deception. Would Amelia detect me? But, for a wonder, she left
the room without a comment.
In a minute she was back.
"There is no volume with SPI on it," she announced. "There is one with
SIB and SZO on it, mum."
"That will do," I said eagerly. "It will be in that."
She brought it with a running accompaniment of squeaks and gasps.
"Three at a time, mum."
"Three at a time! What?" I inquired.
"Stairs, mum."
"Well, then," I said, "it is very foolish of you, Amelia. Your
breathing resembles a gramophone when you wind it up. I shan't require
anything further, thank you; but please get dressed. I should like you
to be neat when Dr. Renton arrives, and he will probably have tea with
me. I don't know how it is you are so late."
"I do, mum."
"Why?"
My question was answered by another.
"Have you any idea what I do after lunch, mum? Do you think I am
skipping or playing marbles?"
"Oh, no," I said hastily, "I am sure you are not, Amelia."
"Well, then, I'll tell you what I do, so as you won't be wonderin' why
I'm not dressed by half-past two." She spoke volubly. "I washes up
the lunch things--nurse's now as well; she's too grand to so much as
put a kettle on. Then I sweeps up the kitchen, sides up the hearth,
brushes the kettle, cleans the handle----"
"What do you do that for?" I asked with interest.
"For fun, of course."
"_Amelia!_" I said rebukingly.
"Beggin' your pardon, mum, but it seemed such a foolish
question--meanin' no offence to you. I cleans the handle, which is
copper here--it was brass at Tompkinses'--to get the dirt and smoke
off. You never got your hands black in lifting _my_ kettle, did you
now?"
"I don't think I have ever lifted it," I rejoined.
"Oh, well," she said in a superior way, "of course you can't know; but
people who knows anything at all about a house knows that generals'
kettles are mostly black. Then I scrubs the table, dusts the kitchen,
feeds the canary, and waters the geranium, which is looking that
sickly-like I'm ashamed of the tradespeople seeing it. The butcher
only says to me yesterday, 'I see you are a bit of a horticulturist,
miss.'"
She stopped, breathless.
"You certainly are very busy," I said.
"Busy isn't the word. I'm like a fire-escape from morning till night."
I think she meant fire-engine, and I was not sorry when she departed,
for I was anxious to get to my encyclopædia.
I turned the pages rapidly--Sphygmograph, Spice Islands, Spider,
Spikenard, Spinach, Spinal Cord. "Ah, here we are!" I said
delightedly. In a moment my spirits drooped. "See Physiology, vol.
xix. p. 34. For diseases affecting the Spinal Cord, see Ataxy
(Locomotor), Paralysis, Pathology, and Surgery."
I gave a deep sigh. I always have disliked the _Encyclopædia
Britannica_. From the moment Dimbie introduced it to our happy home I
have had a feeling of unrest. It appears to think you have nothing to
do with your time beyond playing "hunt the slipper" with it. You wish
to look up a subject like dog. With a certain amount of faith and hope
you approach your encyclopædia. Dog refers you to Canine. You check
your impatience. Canine refers you to Faithfulness. A bad word, if
you were a man, would then be used; but you are not a man, so you only
stamp your foot. Faithfulness refers you to Gelert, and you hurt
yourself rather badly as you replace the volume. You give up dog. You
would prefer your pet dying before your very eyes to searching any more
heavy volumes.
When Dimbie first saw the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ advertised in the
Daily Mail he became very enthusiastic, and after talking about it for
some time commented upon my lack of interest in the subject.
"Why, Marg, they are giving it away!" he cried.
"Oh," I said, rousing myself, "that is quite a different thing. I like
people who give books away. When will they arrive?"
"When I said, 'Giving it away,'" Dimbie explained, hedging, "I meant
that the payments would be by such easy instalments that we couldn't
possibly miss them. And a fumed oak bookcase will be thrown in free."
I became interested in the bookcase, and when it arrived I wasn't, for
it was black and varnishy and sticky, and very far removed from fumed
oak as I knew it. I gave it to Amelia for her pans, and we ordered
another from the joiner, who charged us £4 for it, money down, as we
were strangers.
We don't find the payment of the instalment each month in the least
easy. In fact, we almost go without fire and food to meet it.
I rang the tortoise sharply. The encyclopædia should be made to
divulge that which I wished to know. I would not be hoodwinked.
"Please bring me volumes PHY, LOC, PAR, PAT, and SUR," I said to
Amelia, who was buttoning her black bodice all wrong. "And where's
your cap?"
"In my pocket, mum." She produced it, fastening it on wrong end
foremost with two hair-pins which once might have been black.
"It is an unsuitable place to keep it," I pronounced. "And where are
your cuffs?"
Amelia smiled.
"They've melted, mum. I forgot they was india-rubber, and I put them
into the oven after washing them, and when I went for them they was
just drippin'."
I sighed deeply.
"Well, bring me the volumes. Do you remember which I mentioned?"
"No, mum."
"I will write them down for you."
"Why not have the whole forty, mum?" she said, as she took the slip of
paper.
"Those five will be sufficient, thank you," I said coldly.
Her panting was naturally excessive as she laid the volumes on the bed.
"They are rather heavy for me to lift, Amelia," I said. "Please open
PHY for me and turn over the leaves till you come to Physiology, and
then go and see about some tea. I don't feel I can wait till four
o'clock to-day."
"Would you like some drippin' toast, mum? I've got some lovely beef
drippin' from the last sirloin which master carved all wrong. He cut
it just like ribs--I mean the under-cut--instead of across. He'd have
catched it if he'd been Mrs. Tompkins' husband."
"But he isn't, you see." My manner was extinguishing.
"You're a bit cross, mum?" she suggested.
"No, Amelia, I'm not, only tired--tired of waiting for Dr.
Renton--tired, sick to death of lying here. Do you know how long I
have lain here?"
"Seven weeks come Wednesday," she replied promptly.
"No, Amelia. You have miscalculated. You have minimised the period of
time. I have lain here," and I stretched my arms wide, "a thousand
days and nights, a million days and nights; and each day and night has
stretched away to eternity."
"Lawks, mum!" Her corsets cracked.
"Lawks! doesn't express it, Amelia. Go now and put on the kettle with
the clean copper handle. No dripping toast, thank you. I am sure
nurse would disapprove. She has a tiresome habit of disapproving of
most things. Besides, I don't feel like common fare. I want something
to take me out of myself and to uplift me. Something delicate, subtle,
ambrosial. Do you know what ambrosial means? No? Ambrosia means food
for the gods. I want food for the gods--iced rose leaves, a decoction
of potpourri to assuage my thirst. Go, Amelia, and make speed to do my
bidding."
And Amelia, with bulging eyes, has gone. I could hear her muttering to
the landing furniture, "Just a bit dotty in the head like Ned Wemp, the
village softy. Poor thing, no wonder she's queer at times. She _did_
bump her head."
And I am laughing weakly. I feel, after all, unequal to tackling the
encyclopædia. I feel faint with waiting and watching for Dr. Renton.
It is half-past three. I heard nurse come in a few minutes ago. I
hear Amelia rattling the tea-cups. But the sound doesn't cheer me.
Somehow, why I cannot say, fear has gripped me at the heart. And I
cannot laugh it away. Why is Dr. Renton so long in coming?
"'He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'"
* * * * *
Dr. Renton has been here. And I have sent nurse away so that I may
fight it out alone before Dimbie comes home. I broke down a little
before Dr. Renton, but I mustn't cry before Dimbie. I must always try
to remember that. He has quite enough worries of his own. I must
never cry before Dimbie.
Dr. Renton's words keep slowly repeating themselves in my brain: "To
lie for twelve months is hard, but--supposing it had been life-long
crippledom, that would be harder."
"Supposing it had been life-long crippledom!"
I must go on saying it over and over again till I feel patient, till I
feel grateful for only being asked to bear the lighter burden. But,
oh, how long it seems! How very long! To think that I must lie quite
still. And this was to have been my first year of happiness, the first
year in which I was free to roam at my will, free to stretch my wings
away from Peter's cramping influence.
It seems a little hard.
"But supposing it had been life-long crippledom!" I must learn to be
patient.
* * * * *
I think I might have helped Dr. Renton, made it less difficult for him
to tell. But I was selfish. Instinctively I knew what was coming--his
rugged face was more rugged than usual--and yet I clasped my hands and
cried, "How long you have been. When may I get up? Oh, say to-day. I
_do_ so want to go to the door to meet Dimbie. I ache to go and meet
him. I hear the latch of the garden gate, his footstep on the gravel;
then my spirit like a bird flies to meet his, and--Amelia meets him.
Speak, Dr. Renton. Say it quickly. Say I may get up."
And all the answer he made was to pick up one of the volumes of the
encyclopædia and walk to the window.
There was silence for a moment, and that silence told me all.
"But my pulse is steady, doctor, dear," I cried with a sob in my voice.
"My temperature is normal. My eyes are clear. My colour is good. I
am _quite_ well again."
"I wish to God you were!" he said almost savagely.
"What is the matter with me?" I spoke more quietly. His evident
emotion frightened me into a momentary calmness. I might as well know
the worst or best and get it over. My heart beat thickly, and I closed
my eyes. I had known Dr. Renton long enough to feel sure that whatever
he told me would be the truth. And the truth was that I was to be on
my back for a whole year; to be lifted from my bed to a couch, and from
the couch back again to bed; that I might be wheeled from one room to
another on the ground floor, but must never walk.
Never walk! As one in a dream I heard his words. Dully and with
unseeing eyes I stared through the window. By and by I should get used
to the idea, used to being still. _What would Dimbie say_?
I turned to the doctor quickly.
"Does my husband know?"
"No," he replied.
"Why haven't you told him?"
"I wanted to make sure."
"And you are sure now? There is no other way--treatment, massage?" I
spoke breathlessly.
"There is no other way. But a year will pass quickly. You must be
brave."
"But I didn't want it to pass quickly," I cried bitterly. "Don't you
understand this was to have been my year--my wonderful year?"
"There will be other years," he began gently. "You are young,
Marguerite. All your life is before you. There will be next year----"
"But next year will not be the same as this. Go, Doctor Renton; leave
me. I am going to cry, and you will be angry. You hate tears. But I
must cry before Dimbie comes home, and the time is passing. Unless I
cry I--I shall break in two."
The tears were raining down my face as I spoke, and Dr. Renton swore
lustily, as he has always done when upset.
"Good-bye," I said, smiling through my tears. "Your language will
deprave Jumbles."
He held my hand between his.
"You know I am sorry. I am a poor hand at expressing what I feel."
"I know," I replied. "No girl ever had a kinder doctor."
"I shook you when you were a little girl with measles for running
barefoot about the passages." He was patting my hand.
"Do you mean you want to shake me now?" I asked.
"Yes, if you cry any more," he said a little grimly, but the expression
in his eyes was very kind.
"I'll try not to," I whispered tremulously.
"That's a brave girl," he said. "Good-bye, keep up your heart, and
we'll get you well." And I lay and cried for half an hour.