A FATAL SILENCE
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT
AUTHOR OF
‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘VÉRONIQUE,’ ETC., ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. III.
LONDON
GRIFFITH FARRAN OKEDEN & WELSH
NEWBERY HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
AND SYDNEY.
D.: G. C. & CO.: 30.91.
_The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved._
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE DOCTOR AND THE WIDOW, 1
CHAPTER II.
THE FINAL BREACH, 30
CHAPTER III.
A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY, 62
CHAPTER IV.
THE FATE OF PAULIE, 91
CHAPTER V.
ON THE TRAIL, 115
CHAPTER VI.
THE WIFE’S DECEPTION, 139
CHAPTER VII.
AN ANONYMOUS LETTER, 168
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DÉNOÛEMENT, 197
A FATAL SILENCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE DOCTOR AND THE WIDOW.
But, as he hastened from the stables to the house, he was met on the
threshold by the parish doctor, Charles Addison, a young fellow of
six-and-twenty, who had come straight from his hospital practice to
Deepdale, and was crammed to the muzzle with the latest discoveries
and methods and ways. He smiled broadly as he encountered the anxious
husband.
‘Come, Rushton,’ he exclaimed cheerfully, ‘there’s nothing to look
alarmed about. We’ve done bravely without you, and it’s all over.
There’s a little daughter waiting upstairs for you, man.’
‘A daughter,’ repeated Hal vaguely. ‘But my wife. How is my wife?’
‘As well as a woman can possibly be under the circumstances, and quite
ready to see you, if you will promise not to stay with her more than
five minutes. How about the nurse?’
‘I am sorry to say I have been unable to hear anything about her,’
replied Hal, as the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘She is out in
the country somewhere, and I could not even gain her address. This
youngster having arrived somewhat before its time--’
‘Not a bit of it,’ rejoined the young doctor, decisively, ‘the child is
full grown, and a very good-sized infant into the bargain.’
‘Well, let me say, before it was expected, then, for I know my wife was
led to believe by Mrs Rushton--’
‘I don’t like that old woman. I beg your pardon, Rushton, I should have
said old lady.’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ replied Hal, with quaint candour; ‘she isn’t a
lady, and you cannot possibly dislike her more than I do. But to-night
it was a case of Hobson’s choice. There was no one else capable
of attending to Mrs Rushton, and I was compelled to call in her
assistance. But, my dear boy, you are not going home without something
to eat and drink. Come with me into the dining-room.’
‘Don’t disturb your servants, Rushton, on my account. I’ll take a
brandy-and-soda, but I couldn’t swallow anything to save my life. Do
you know that it’s close upon two o’clock? Miss Rushton is just an hour
old. She was born on the stroke of one. I drink to her health,’ said
Addison, as he raised the glass to his lips.
Hal joined him, but he was too much excited to attend to what his
companion was saying, and in pity for his anxiety the doctor rose
to go home, promising to return the first thing in the morning, and
cautioning him not to let his wife talk much or excite herself. As soon
as he had taken his departure, Hal flew impatiently to the sick-room.
Paula was lying there alone. In the next apartment, the door of which
stood open, he could distinguish a murmur of voices mingled with the
unmistakable wail of a new-born infant. But Hal could think of no one
at that moment but his wife, given back, as it seemed to him, from the
jaws of death. He went softly up to the bedside, and bending over her,
placed his head on the same pillow, partly to hide the tears that had
risen to his eyes.
‘_My_ Paula,’ he whispered, ‘my _own_ dear Paula. I am _so_ thankful.’
She turned her face towards him, white and drawn with the suffering she
had gone through, but calm as an angel’s, and radiant with gratitude.
‘Oh, Hal, dearest, so am I. It is all over, thank God, and I feel so
well. I wanted nothing--but _you_.’
He kissed her a dozen times as he said,--
‘I have not brought Mrs Cornes, I am sorry to say, Paula, for she is
away from home at present, but perhaps in a few days--’
‘Oh, never mind, dear Hal. It doesn’t signify. Nothing signifies now.
It is all right, Have you seen the baby--_our_ baby, Hal?’
‘Not yet, dearest. I have been able to think of nothing but my
gratitude that my love is spared to me.’
‘Were you disappointed to hear she was a girl?’
‘Not at all, darling. I love little girls, and shall spoil my white
rosebud for her mother’s sake.’
Paula began to laugh feebly.
‘She isn’t much like a _white_ rosebud at present,’ she said, and then
Hal remembered the doctor’s caution not to let her talk, nor excite
herself.
‘I must leave you now, Paula. Addison limited my visit to five minutes.
Do you feel sleepy?’
‘Yes, very. I have only kept my eyes open till I could see your dear
face.’
‘Then close them now, dear child, and I will sit by you till you are
asleep.’
And in a few moments the hand that lay in his relaxed its clasp, and
Paula lay back on her pillows, unconscious of everything. Hal drew the
bedclothes gently over her, and with one last look was about to creep
out of the room, when he remembered the child. Even at that moment,
when curiosity and a new sensation, which he could scarcely define,
were strong upon him, he seemed to shrink from gazing for the first
time upon his infant in the presence of Mrs Rushton. But the more
powerful feeling prevailed, and he walked on tiptoe into the next room.
There he found Louisa employed in airing linen, and making preparations
for the night, whilst the widow, looking like a Hecate, with her grey
wisps of hair tumbling over her face, was seated before a fire, with a
bundle of flannel in her lap.
‘Where is the baby?’ he inquired, as he stepped over the threshold.
‘Lor’, ’Al, ’ow you did startle me!’ exclaimed Mrs Rushton. ‘I was as
near hoff to sleep as possible. And when did you come ’ome?’
‘Oh, never mind. Half an hour ago.’
‘And you ’aven’t brought Mrs Cornes?’
‘No; she is not at home. Let me see the child.’
‘Oh, ’ere’s the child, safe enough,’ cried the widow, as she drew
back the flannel and displayed a little red, pulpy face and two weak,
blinking eyes. ‘But this is bad noos for me. Didn’t you ’ear when she’d
_be_ ’ome, ’Al, nor where she’d gone to?’
‘No, no, I could hear nothing. I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow.
Don’t speak so loud or you may wake Mrs Rushton. She is asleep. And so
that is my baby. What a funny little thing it is.’
‘Yes, she ain’t much to look at,’ replied the widow depreciatingly,
‘but I’ve seen weaker babies pull through before now. It all depends on
their constitootions.’
‘Is she weakly?’ demanded Hal, with a sudden fear.
‘Well, you could ’ardly expect ’er to be strong, with the tantrums Mrs
’Al ’as put ’erself into the last few months. But, as I says before, I
daresay, with care and proper attention, as she’ll pull through.’
‘She seems very small to me,’ observed Hal, who had never seen a
new-born baby before.
‘Oh, she _is_ small, no doubt of that. Lor’, I’ve ’andled ’em twice
this size. But the next few weeks will decide it. If they goes over the
month there’s more chance of rearing ’em.’
‘Dr Addison seems to think she’s a very healthy baby, and that my wife
has gone through it remarkably well.’
‘_Dr Haddison!_’ exclaimed Mrs Rushton, with supreme contempt. ‘What
can _’e_ know, a lad like that compared to _me_, who ’ave nussed
dozens? Why, there’d been a fine business if _I_ ’adn’t been ’ere. ’E
was as nervous as a cat. Mrs ’Al, she may thank ’er stars I was hon the
spot or this poor little creetur would never ’ave come into the world
halive. Dr Haddison, hindeed! I don’t know what Mrs Cornes will say to
’im, but ’e don’t hinterfere with _me_ while _I’m_ ’ere. A trumperious
bit of a lad like that! I was very sorry hafterwards has I sent for
’im hat all--’
‘I should have been very much annoyed if you had not,’ replied Hal.
‘But where is Mrs Measures? Has she gone home?’
‘_Mrs Measures_,’ reiterated the widow; ‘theer’s another of your fine
ladies as can do nothink but talk. Gone ’ome? I should think she ’ad.
I bundled ’er hoff as quick as I could. I said, begging your pardon
ma’am, you’re no use ’ere, but a ’indrance, and the sooner you go ’ome
the better. And so she went.’
‘Well, I cannot discuss these subjects with you to-night, an’ it is
time we were all in bed,’ said Hal. ‘Where do you sleep, Mrs Rushton?’
‘I don’t sleep nowheers, ’Al, till Mrs Cornes comes to take my place.
In course, you know nothing of sich matters or you’d be aware as the
nurse’s place is to sit up till the patient is hout of danger.’
‘But my wife is not in danger _now_, surely?’ cried Hal fearfully.
The widow smiled with lofty pity for his ignorance.
‘They’re _hall_ in danger till they’re hup,’ she said, ‘and Mrs ’Al,
she’s none too strong, I can tell you, and I couldn’t sleep a wink, not
if you was to put me on a bed of roses, until Mrs Cornes comes to take
my place. And so I sits ’ere, ’Al, till the morning.’
‘You are very good. I don’t know how to thank you,’ replied the poor
young husband, whose sudden happiness seemed to be all quenched,
as he walked away, and instead of going to bed as he intended to
do, went downstairs, with a sinking heart, and lay on the sofa in
the dining-room, thinking of all the terrible chances that had been
presented to his mind by Mrs Rushton’s words. He crept upstairs several
times before the dawn, and listened at the door of his wife’s bedroom
to see if he could hear anything to justify his fears, but with the
exception of Mrs Rushton’s sonorous snoring, and an occasional little
cry from the infant, no sound met his ears. With the early summer sun
came the young doctor to learn how his patient had passed the night,
and to him Hal confided the opinions which the widow had expressed
concerning both the mother and child. Charles Addison laughed her ideas
to scorn.
‘Only an old woman’s cackle, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘Don’t pay the
least attention to it. They love to make the worst of everything.
Take my word for it that Mrs Rushton is going on perfectly well, and
the baby is a fine thriving child, and don’t let the old woman do
anything against my orders for either of them. But I can see she has an
obstinate temper, and you’ll have to keep a sharp lookout over her.’
‘She is considered to be an excellent nurse, and seems to spare herself
no trouble,’ remarked Hal.
‘Oh, I daresay,’ replied the other, ‘still, I wish you could get rid of
her.’
‘I will, as soon as ever my wife can do without her, but just now her
presence is inevitable--is it not?’
‘Oh, certainly, certainly,’ replied the doctor. ‘But I don’t like her
eye. She reminds me of a vicious horse.’
Hal laughed at the simile, but he was comforted by Charles Addison’s
opinion, and resolved to follow out his directions. The issue seemed
to justify what the young doctor had said. Paula continued to progress
favourably, and the child appeared to thrive. Indeed, after the first
few hours it gave no trouble whatever, but seemed to sleep day and
night. But Hal, though delighted to see the improvement in his wife,
and to watch the colour (so long lost) returning to her face, and the
light to her eyes, could not get over his aversion to and his distrust
of his father’s widow, and watched her as a cat watches a mouse. The
first breach between them happened on this wise.
It was a very warm, still afternoon in June, about ten days after the
baby’s birth. The summer had suddenly burst upon them, and the heat was
oppressive. Everything in nature seemed to stand still, and silence
reigned throughout Highbridge Hall. Hal had come in from his usual
round of inspection of the farm, and having taken off his thick boots,
thought he would have a look at Paula before he shod himself again. So
he went upstairs in his stockinged feet, and lifted the curtain that
hung before her bedroom door--left open on account of the heat. There
she lay, like a white rose (as he had so often fondly called her),
with a bunch of flowers that he had laid that morning on her pillow in
her hand, and her baby on her arm, both slumbering peacefully in the
noonday heat. Hal gazed at them for a few moments, feeling very happy
the while, and then turned his attention to the whereabouts of Mrs
Rushton, who usually occupied an arm-chair in the same room on such
occasions. But she was not there. Hal fancied he heard a rustling in
the next apartment, which had been dedicated _pro tem._ to the baby,
and crossing the bedroom floor lightly he looked in. His stepmother
was sitting with her back towards him, profoundly occupied with, and
evidently deeply interested in, the contents of a chest of drawers
which held private property of Paula’s. There she sat with a pile of
old letters and papers in her lap, each one of which she carefully
examined before she laid it aside. Hal’s blood boiled over with
indignation at the sight. He had known something of this proclivity on
the part of the widow before, but he had not thought she would have
dared to indulge it in his house. He entered the room--closed the door
carefully behind him--and advanced steadily to Mrs Rushton’s side.
‘What are you doing there?’ he asked her sternly.
She turned, and recognising him, grew livid, and tossed the papers back
into the drawer.
‘No ’arm, ’Al. I’m trying to make some room for the baby’s things in
her ma’s drawers, and so I thought I’d pack these ’ere papers, which
don’t seem no good, in a box, and put ’em under the bed. Ain’t I
right?’ said the widow, but her voice shook with trepidation the while.
‘_Right!_ to take my wife’s keys and open her chest of drawers and read
her private letters,’ exclaimed Hal. ‘You know you are doing one of the
meanest, dirtiest tricks of which a woman is capable. How _dare_ you do
it in _my_ house? I am not a feeble, half-witted old man like my poor
father, remember, whom you juggled and deceived, to the last day of his
life, and nearly caused to die with a sin upon his soul. I will not
stand such knavery for a moment. Give me back those keys at once, and
never presume to touch them again whilst you remain at the Hall.’
‘Well, this is a nice reward for hall I’ve done for you and yours,’
whimpered the widow, ‘a-sitting hup to nuss your wife and child, and
a-straining my back and hupsetting my nerves--demeaning myself to be a
servant, and jest because my poor dear husband, who never spoke sich
words to me as _you_ ’ave, was your father, and asked me to be kind to
you for _’is_ sake. You seem to forget as I’ve saved you a five-pound
note in coming ’ere instead of Mrs Cornes, which I wish I’d never done
it.’
Hal remembered then that she had been of use to them in the time of
need, and relented of his harsh tones.
‘To say nothink,’ continued Mrs Rushton, in an injured tone, ‘of ’aving
slaved like a blackamoor for Mrs ’Al for months past, while she lay
like a log on ’er sofa, and ’ardly gave one a “thank you” when all was
said and done for ’er.’
‘I have not forgotten it,’ returned Hal, less sternly; ‘it was against
my wishes, but my wife was not in a condition to be argued with, and
you were certainly a great help to her. I will see that you are not the
loser by it. But this act of yours almost cancels the obligation. Where
did you procure these keys?’
‘Where did I procure ’em?’ reiterated Mrs Rushton, in an insolent tone.
‘Why, hoff ’er ladyship’s mantelpiece, to be sure. You don’t suppose
I stole ’em, do you? And as for ’er rubbishy papers, as ought to be
be’ind the fire, what hinterest could _I_ ’ave in ’em except to clear
the place and make it a bit tidy--a bit more like it was when _I_ was
the missus ’ere, as I should have been to this day if my poor dear
’usband ’ad ’ad _’is_ way.’
‘We do not require your assistance in tidying-up, thank you,’ returned
Hal curtly; ‘we have servants to do that work. Be good enough to put
all those papers back into the drawers, and _I_ will take care they are
not meddled with again.’
He stood by whilst she bundled the packets of letters and scraps of
newspapers into their places, with a countenance full of hatred, malice
and revenge. When she had finished the task, he fitted the key into the
lock and turned it. As he did so he caught sight of a photograph in the
pocket of Mrs Rushton’s apron.
‘What is that you have concealed in your pocket?’ he asked. She jerked
it out.
‘Lor,’ if one of the rubbishy things ain’t dropt into my apron pocket.
You needn’t look as if you thought I was agoing to steal it, ’Al.
_That_ ain’t likely to be of much use to me, when I don’t heven know
who the people hare.’
‘And it is not necessary that you should know,’ remarked her stepson,
as he took the cardboard picture from her and locked it away with the
rest.
But the sight of it sent a sudden thrill through his heart, half pain
and half fear. It was a faded photograph, taken some time before, of
poor Mrs Sutton, with little Paulie seated on her knee. He turned it
quickly round. There were no names upon the other side. The knowledge
afforded him relief, and as he secured it from further curiosity he put
Paula’s bunch of keys into his own pocket.
‘I don’t want to say anything more about this very unpleasant business
at present, Mrs Rushton,’ he remarked before he left the room, ‘for my
wife’s sake, and because any quarrelling would certainly upset her. But
don’t let it be repeated--that’s all.’
‘Oh, _h’I_ don’t wish to repeat it,’ cried the widow insolently.
‘Heverything may go to ’ell before _I’ll_ touch ’em agen, for I don’t
get no gratitude for nothing I does, and that’s a fact.’
Hal Rushton left her without another word, but it did not smooth her
ruffled temper to perceive that before he went downstairs again he
tried the lock of every drawer and cupboard in the room to satisfy
himself that they were secure.
‘Very good, Mr ’Al,’ said the widow to herself, as he disappeared,
‘very good. It hain’t _you_ I’m thinking as will get the best of _this_
bargain. You won’t make no row because of your “dear wife’s sake,” and
because you wants my ’elp still for ’er and ’er brat, though you don’t
say it, but you forgets as they’re both in my ’ands, and I can do with
’em pretty well as I like. I wish I ’ad my Ted to consult with now.
_‘E’d_ set things right pretty sharp. But it won’t do for me to leave
my post, for that doctor don’t like me--I can see that plainly--and
would be glad of hany hexcuse to give me the sack. Lor’, there’s Mrs
’Al a-calling. It won’t do to let ’er see as there’s been a row. Well,
my dear,’ the old hypocrite was saying the next minute, ‘and what do
you want? Will you ’ave a cup of tea and a bit of bread and butter. It
ain’t quite the time, but you’d better take it if you’ve a mind to.’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Rushton. I would rather wait till Hal comes up to
take it with me. But will you take baby now? She has made my arm ache.
Fancy her being still asleep. What a little sleepyhead she is. She
seems never awake.’
‘Babies generally sleep ’alf their time,’ remarked the widow, as she
lifted up the infant preparatory to carrying it away. ‘Sometimes it’s
a sign of ’ealth, and sometimes of weakness. I ’opes this little missy
will get more wakeful as she grows stronger.’
‘Do you think she is weaker than she ought to be?’ inquired Paula, with
a mother’s quick alarm.
‘Well, she might be stronger, of course. She ain’t so lively as some,
nor she don’t take her food so reg’lar, but, as you nusses ’er
yourself, I daresay she’ll get on all right by-and-by.’
These words sunk deep into Paula’s heart, and that evening, as she was
again lying with her baby on her arm, and Hal was sitting by her side,
she asked him if she didn’t think the little one looked rather pale.
Hal laughed at the idea.
‘_Pale_, my darling. She generally looks the colour of a beet to me,
particularly when she first wakes up and doubles her fists into her
face.’
‘But, Hal, she is so seldom awake, and when she is asleep, the colour
seems all to fade away. Look at her now. Her face is quite white, and
it seems puffy to me. I--I--feel afraid sometimes that she is not very
strong.’
‘I think it must be your fancy, darling. Addison assured me she was a
very healthy child.’
‘But he has not seen her since she was born, and Mrs Rushton has such a
peculiar way of talking of her that frightens me. Oh, Hal, suppose I
was to lose her too,’ she whispered, with her face close to his.
‘But I can’t have you even suppose such a thing, Paula. There is no
reason for it. We will show the baby to Addison the next time he comes,
and he will tell you that you are frightening yourself for nothing.
Why, she is as plump as a little partridge.’
‘She is not so plump as she was when she was born,’ replied Paula,
with a sad smile, ‘and I am sure your stepmother does not consider her
strong.’
This conversation made Hal despatch a message at once to young Addison,
who was with them in half an hour.
‘What’s the matter now?’ he asked as he entered the room, where Mrs
Rushton immediately joined them. ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’
‘_I’m_ the person you should put _that_ question to, young man!’
interposed the widow loftily. ‘When you’ve been a few years hin the
perfession, you will know hit’s the nuss has is halways happealed to
for the ’ealth of the patients.’
‘Thank you for teaching me my business,’ replied the doctor coolly.
‘But I was addressing this lady. Don’t you feel so well, Mrs Rushton?’
‘Oh, yes, doctor. I am getting on beautifully, thank you. But my baby
seems so very sleepy. We can hardly rouse her, even to take her food;
and this evening she appears pale and puffy to me (though, perhaps, it
is only the fading light), so I felt a little anxious that you should
see her.’
At this announcement Mrs Rushton became unnecessarily indignant. She
seized the child up in her arms almost roughly, and was about to carry
it away into the next room.
‘Here’s a fuss about nothing,’ she exclaimed rudely. ‘I should think
you might find something better to trouble the doctor about than that,
Mrs ’Al. And you might trust _my_ words a little more hinto the bargin.
’Aven’t I told you hover and hover again has the child is hall right.
And this is the nuss’s business hand _not_ the doctor’s, as can’t
possibly know ’alf so much of hinfants has I do.’ And she turned her
back on the party as she spoke.
‘Mrs Rushton,’ said Dr Addison in a determined voice, ‘bring that child
here.’
‘But there ain’t nothink the matter with it. It’s has well has it can
be, and I won’t ’ave _my_ business interfered with by no doctors, nor
ladies either.’
‘Bring that child here,’ he repeated sternly.
She returned to the bedside then, and held the baby out for his
inspection. Dr Addison examined its eyes and skin and mouth, whilst Hal
and Paula watched him narrowly.
‘Nothing the matter here,’ he exclaimed cheerfully, as he finished his
examination. ‘Mrs Rushton is quite right, and the baby will do very
well by-and-by.’
‘Didn’t I say so?’ observed the widow, as she bore the child away. ‘But
there, hevery lad has as got a diploma must know more than a woman has
as nussed and monthlied for twenty years.’
‘I am afraid I am not a favourite with that old lady,’ remarked Addison
gaily, when she had disappeared. ‘Her allusions to my youth are too
cruel. However, I must bear it with what fortitude I can.’
‘She is excessively rude,’ replied Paula. ‘But do you _really_ think my
baby is all right?’
‘I really think, my dear lady, that there is no need for disquietude,
and the calmer you keep yourself the better she will thrive.’ And then
he talked with the husband and wife on indifferent topics, until it was
time for him to go away. ‘I will just say a word to the nurse before I
take my leave,’ he observed, as he walked into the next room. But it
was empty.
The widow, to avoid a second catechism, had taken the baby downstairs
with her. Addison took advantage of the occasion to open the
toilet-table and washing-stand drawers, and to generally pry round the
premises. At length, behind a clock on the mantelpiece, he seemed to
come upon what he was searching for, and he put it, without demur, into
his pocket.
‘The nurse has vanished. I suppose we shall find her downstairs,’ he
said as he returned to Paula’s room.
‘You’ve been a long time looking for her,’ replied Hal, laughing.
‘Yes. I was taking a survey of the apartment. It’s a nice airy one.
Good evening, Mrs Rushton. You have not the slightest cause for fear.
Please lie there in peace, and get well.’ But he secretly telegraphed
to Hal to follow him out of the room. ‘I wish to speak to you alone,’
he said, as they went downstairs and entered the dining-room together.
‘Now, Rushton,’ commenced the doctor, as soon as they were alone,
‘you must get rid of that old woman at once. What her object is I
cannot say, but she is dosing your child, and I won’t answer for the
consequences if it is left in her charge.’
‘_Dosing it!_’ exclaimed Hal, starting; ‘but what with?’
‘Laudanum, or a preparation of it. I saw that at once from the child’s
appearance, and when I searched the room I found the bottle. Here it
is,’ said Addison, holding it up.
‘The old fiend! How I wish I had never let her come here. She wants to
murder it,’ cried the excited young father.
‘Hush, my dear fellow. That is going too far. It is probably only
ignorance. These old women have terrible methods sometimes with regard
to new-born infants, and they will not be interfered with. You saw
how indignant she was at my presuming to pass an opinion upon it.
But it must be stopped, and at once. And the only way to do it is by
giving the child to another nurse. Mrs Rushton is both obstinate and
vindictive, and would probably increase the doses if remonstrated with.’
‘What can she do it for, Addison?’
‘To make the baby sleep, and save herself trouble.’
‘My poor little child! You are sure she has not injured it?’
‘I am quite sure that, out of her hands, it will be as well as ever in
a day or two. Your wife is quite right. That sleep was an unnatural
one, but, of course, I would not tell her so.’
‘But who will take this woman’s place? There is no other nurse in the
neighbourhood.’
‘Perhaps not. But I know a very respectable woman--a farmer’s wife--who
will be quite competent to take charge of the baby until you get a
regular nurse for it, and will carry out my directions faithfully. She
is a Mrs Roberts. Shall I go and fetch her? I would not leave that
child another hour in Mrs Rushton’s hands if I were you.’
‘I will _not_,’ replied Hal determinately, as he rang the bell. Louisa
answered it.
‘Where is Mrs Rushton?’ he asked.
‘In the drawing-room, sir, with the baby.’
‘Tell her to come here to me.’
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted the doctor, ‘but she would probably refuse.
Let us go to her, and Louisa you must come also. We shall want you to
hold the baby until we get another nurse for it.’
Stern as officers of justice, the two young men, accompanied by the
housemaid, entered the drawing-room. The widow was pacing up and down
it, with the infant in her arms. Hal walked straight up to her and took
it in his own.
‘And what’s that for?’ she demanded shrilly.
‘We have a question to put to you, Mrs Rushton, which requires your
whole attention,’ said the doctor. ‘_What_ have you been giving to that
child?’