FEVER.
The dews of an October evening were falling upon Calne, as Lord Hartledon
walked from the railway-station. Just as unexpectedly as he had arrived
the morning you first saw him, when he was only Val Elster, had he
arrived now. By the merest accident one of the Hartledon servants
happened to be at the station when the train arrived, and took charge of
his master's luggage.
"All well at home, James?"
"All quite well, my lord."
Several weeks had elapsed since his brother's death, and Lord Hartledon
had spent them in London. He went up on business the week after the
funeral, and did not return again. In one respect he had no inducement to
return; for the Ashtons, including Anne, were on a visit in Wales. They
were at home now, as he knew well; and perhaps that had brought him down.
He went in unannounced, finding his way to the inner drawing-room. A
large fire blazed in the grate, and Lady Maude sat by it so intent in
thought as not to observe his entrance. She wore a black crêpe dress,
with a little white trimming on its low body and sleeves. The firelight
played on her beautiful features; and her eyelashes glistened as if with
tears: she was thinner and paler; he saw it at once. The countess-dowager
kept to Hartledon and showed no intention of moving from it: she and her
daughter had been there alone all these weeks.
"How are you, Maude?"
She looked round and started up, backing from him with a face of alarm.
Ah, was it _instinct_ caused her so to receive him? What, or who, was she
thinking of; holding her hands before her with that face of horror?
"Maude, have I so startled you?"
"Percival! I beg your pardon. I believe I was thinking of--of your
brother, and I really did not know you in the uncertain light. We don't
have the rooms lighted early," she added, with a little laugh.
He took her hands in his. Now that she knew him, and the alarm was over,
she seemed really pleased to see him: the dark eyes were raised to his
with a frank smile.
"May I take a cousin's greeting, Maude?"
Without waiting for yes or no, he stooped and took the kiss. Maude flung
his hands away. He should have left out the "cousin," or not have taken
the kiss.
He went and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, soberly, as if he
had only kissed a sister. Maude sat down again.
"Why did you not send us word you were coming?" she asked.
"There was no necessity for it. And I only made my mind up this morning."
"What a long time you have been away! I thought you went for a week."
"I did not get my business over very quickly; and waited afterwards to
see Thomas Carr, who was out of town. The Ashtons were away, you know; so
I had no inducement to hurry back again."
"Very complimentary to _her_. Who's Thomas Carr?" asked Maude.
"A barrister; the greatest friend I possess in this world. We were at
college together, and he used to keep me straight."
"Keep you straight! Val!"
"It's quite true. I went to him in all my scrapes and troubles. He is the
most honourable, upright, straightforward man I know; and, as such,
possesses a talent for serving--"
"Hartledon! Is it _you_?"
The interruption came from the dowager. She and the butler came in
together, both looking equally astonished at the appearance of Lord
Hartledon. The former said dinner was served.
"Will you let me sit down in this coat?" asked Val.
The countess-dowager would willingly have allowed him to sit down without
any. Her welcome was demonstrative; her display of affection quite warm,
and she called him "Val," tenderly. He escaped for a minute to his room,
washed his hands, brushed his hair, and was down again, and taking the
head of his own table.
It was pleasant to have him there--a welcome change from Hartledon's
recent monotony; and even Maude, with her boasted dislike, felt prejudice
melting away. Boasted dislike, not real, it had been. None could dislike
Percival. He was not Edward, and it was him Maude had loved. Percival she
never would love, but she might learn to like him. As he sat near her, in
his plain black morning attire, courteous, genuinely sweet-tempered, his
good looks conspicuous, a smile on his delicate, refined, but vacillating
lips, and his honest dark-blue eyes bent upon her in kindness, Maude for
the first time admitted a vision of the possible future, together with a
dim consciousness that it might not be intolerable. Half the world, of
her age and sex, would have deemed it indeed a triumph to be made the
wife of that attractive man.
He had cautiously stood aside for Lady Kirton to take the head of the
table; but the dowager had positively refused, and subsided into the
chair at the foot. She did not fill it in dear Edward's time, she said;
neither should she in dear Val's; he had come home to occupy his own
place. And oh, thank goodness he was come! She and Maude had been so
lonely and miserable, growing thinner daily from sheer _ennui_. So she
faced Lord Hartledon at the end of the table, her flaxen curls surmounted
by an array of black plumes, and looking very like a substantial female
mute.
"What an awful thing that is about the Rectory!" exclaimed she, when they
were more than half through dinner.
Lord Hartledon looked up quietly. "What is the matter at the Rectory?"
"Fever has broken out."
"Is that all!" he exclaimed, some amusement on his face. "I thought it
must have taken fire."
"A fever's worse than a fire."
"Do you think so?"
"_Think so!_" echoed the dowager. "You can run away from a fire; but a
fever may take you before you are aware of it. Every soul in the Rectory
may die; it may spread to the parish; it may spread here. I have kept tar
burning outside the house the last two days."
"You are not serious, Lady Kirton!"
"I am serious. I wouldn't catch a fever for the whole world. I should die
of fright before it had time to kill me. Besides--I have Maude to guard.
You were forgetting her."
"There's no danger at all. One of the servants became ill after they
returned home, and it proved to be fever. I don't suppose it will
spread."
"How did _you_ hear about it?"
"From Miss Ashton. She mentioned it in her last letter to me."
"I didn't know you corresponded with her," cried the dowager, her tones
rather shrill.
"Not correspond with Miss Ashton!" he repeated. "Of course I do."
The old dowager had a fit of choking: something had gone the wrong way,
she said. Lord Hartledon resumed.
"It is an awful shame of those seaside lodging-house people! Did you hear
the particulars, Maude? After the Ashtons concluded their visit in Wales,
they went for a fortnight to the seaside, on their way home, taking
lodgings. Some days after they had been settled in the rooms they
discovered that some fever was in the house; a family who occupied
another set of apartments being ill with it, and had been ill before the
Ashtons went in. Dr. Ashton told the landlady what he thought of her
conduct, and then they left the house for home. But Mrs. Ashton's maid,
Matilda, had already taken it."
"Did Miss Ashton give you these particulars?" asked Maude, toying with a
late rose that lay beside her plate.
"Yes. I should feel inclined to prosecute the woman, were I Dr. Ashton,
for having been so wickedly inconsiderate. But I hope Matilda is better,
and that the alarm will end with her. It is four days since I had Anne's
letter."
"Then, Lord Hartledon, I can tell you the alarm's worse, and another has
taken it, and the parish is up in arms," said the countess-dowager,
tartly. "It has proved to be fever of a most malignant type, and not a
soul but Hillary the surgeon goes near the Rectory, You must not venture
within half-a-mile of it. Dr. Ashton was so careless as to occupy his
pulpit on Sunday; but, thank goodness, I did not venture to church,
or allow Maude to go. Your Miss Ashton will be having it next."
"Of course they have advice from Garchester?" he exclaimed.
"How should I know? My opinion is that the parson himself might be
prosecuted for bringing the fever into a healthy neighbourhood. Port,
Hedges! One has need of a double portion of tonics in a time like this."
The countess-dowager's alarms were not feigned--no, nor exaggerated. She
had an intense, selfish fear of any sort of illness; she had a worse fear
of death. In any time of public epidemic her terrors would have been
almost ludicrous in their absurdity but that they were so real. And she
"fortified" herself against infection by eating and drinking more than
ever.
Nothing else was said: she shunned allusion to it when she could: and
presently she and Maude left the dining-room. "You won't be long,
Hartledon?" she observed, sweetly, as she passed him. Val only bowed in
answer, closed the door upon them, and rang for Hedges.
"Is there much alarm regarding this fever at the Rectory?" he asked of
the butler.
"Not very much, I think, my lord. A few are timid about it; as is always
the case. One of the other servants has taken it; but Mr. Hillary told me
when he was here this morning that he hoped it would not spread beyond
the Rectory."
"Was Hillary here this morning? Nobody's ill?" asked Lord Hartledon,
quickly.
"No one at all, my lord. The countess-dowager sent for him, to ask what
her diet had better be, and how she could guard against infection more
effectually than she was doing. She did not allow him to come in, but
spoke to him from one of the upper windows, with a cloak and respirator
on."
Lord Hartledon looked at his butler; the man was suppressing a grim
smile.
"Nonsense, Hedges!"
"It's quite true, my lord. Mrs. Mirrable says she has five bowls of
disinfectant in their rooms."
Lord Hartledon broke into a laugh, not suppressed.
"And in the courtyard, looking towards the Rectory, as may be said,
there's several pitch-pots alight night and day," added Hedges. "We have
had a host of people up, wanting to know if the place is on fire."
"What a joke!" cried Val--who was not yet beyond the age to enjoy such
jokes. "Hedges," he resumed, in a more confidential tone, "no strangers
have been here inquiring for me, I suppose?"
He alluded to creditors, or people acting for them. To a careless man, as
Val had been, it was a difficult matter to know whether all his debts
were paid or not. He had settled what he remembered; but there might be
others. Hedges understood; and his voice fell to the same low tone: he
had been pretty cognizant of the embarrassments of Mr. Percival Elster.
"Nobody at all, my lord. They wouldn't have got much information out of
me, if they had come."
Lord Hartledon laughed. "Things are changed now, Hedges, and they may
have as much information as they choose. Bring me coffee here; make
haste."
Coffee was brought, and he went out as soon as he had taken it, following
the road to the Rectory. It was a calm, still night, the moon tolerably
bright; not a breath of wind stirred the air, warm and oppressive for
October; not by any means the sort of night doctors covet when fever is
in the atmosphere.
He turned in at the Rectory-gates, and was crossing to the house, when a
rustling of leaves in a shrubbery path caused him to look over the dwarf
laurels, and there stood Anne. He was at her side in an instant. She had
nothing on her head, as though she had just come forth from the rooms for
a breath of air. As indeed was the case.
"My darling!"
"I heard you had come," she whispered, as he held both her hands in his,
and her heart bounded with an exquisite flutter of delight.
"How did you hear that?" he said, placing her hand within his arm, that
he might pace the walk with her.
"Papa heard it. Some one had seen you walking home from the train: I
think it was Mr. Hillary. But, Percival, ought you to have come here?"
she added in alarm. "This is infected ground, you know."
"Not for me. I have no more fear of fever than I have of moonstroke.
Anne, I hope _you_ will not take it," he gravely added.
"I hope not, either. Like you, I have no fear of it. I am so glad Arthur
is away. Was it not wrong of that landlady to let her rooms to us when
she had fever in them?"
"Infamously wrong," said Lord Hartledon warmly.
"She excused herself afterwards by saying, that as the people who had the
fever were in quite a different part of the house from ours, she thought
there could be no danger. Papa was so angry. He told her he was sorry the
law did not take cognizance of such an offence. We had been a week in the
house before we knew of it."
"How did you find it out?"
"The lady who was ill with it died, and Matilda saw the coffin going up
the back stairs. She questioned the servants of the house, and one of
them told her all about it then, bit by bit. Another lady was lying ill,
and a third was recovering. The landlady, by way of excuse, said the
greatest wrong had been done to herself, for these ladies had brought the
fever into her house, and brought it deliberately. Fever had broken out
in their own home, some long way off, and they ran away from it, and took
her apartments, saying nothing; which was true, we found."
"Two wrongs don't make a right," observed Lord Hartledon. "Their bringing
the fever into her house was no justification for receiving you into it
when it was there. It's the way of the world, Anne: one wrong leading to
others. Is Matilda getting over it?"
"I hardly know. She is not out of danger; but Mr. Hillary has hopes of
her. One of the other servants has taken it, and is worse than Matilda.
Mr. Hillary has been with her three times to-day, and is coming again.
She was ill when I last wrote to you, Val; but we did not know it."
"Which of them is it?" he asked.
"The dairymaid; a stout girl, who has never had a day's illness before.
I don't suppose you know her. There was some trouble with her. She would
not take any medicine; would not do anything she ought to have done, and
the consequence is that the fever has got dangerously ahead. I am sure
she is very ill."
"I hope it will not spread beyond the Rectory."
"Oh, Val, that is our one great hope," she said, turning her earnest face
to him in the moonlight. "We are taking all possible precautions. None of
us are going beyond the grounds, except papa, and we do not receive any
one here. I don't know what papa will say to your coming."
He smiled. "But you can't keep all the world away!"
"We do--very nearly. Mr. Hillary comes, and Dr. Beamish from Garchester,
and one or two people have been here on business. If any one calls at the
gate, they are not asked in; and I don't suppose they would come in if
asked. Jabez Gum's the most obstinate. He comes in just as usual."
"Lady Kirton is in an awful fright," said Val, in an amused tone.
"Oh, I have heard of it," cried Anne, clasping her hands in laughter.
"She is burning tar outside the house; and she spoke to Mr. Hillary this
morning through the window muffled up in a cloak and respirator. What a
strange old thing she is!"
Val shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think she means badly _au fond_; and
she has no home, poor creature."
"Is that why she remains at Hartledon?"
"I suppose so. Reigning at Hartledon must be something like a glimpse of
Paradise to her. She won't quit it in a hurry."
"I wonder you like to have her there."
"I know I shall never have courage to tell her to go," was the candid and
characteristic answer. "I was afraid of her as a boy, and I'm not sure
but I'm afraid of her still."
"I don't like her--I don't like either of them," said Anne in a low tone.
"Don't you like Maude?"
"No. I am sure she is not true. To my mind there is something very false
about them both."
"I think you are wrong, Anne; certainly as regards Maude."
Miss Ashton did not press her opinion: they were his relatives. "But I
should have pitied poor Edward had he lived and married her," she said,
following out her thoughts.
"I was mistaken when I thought Maude cared for Edward," observed Lord
Hartledon. "I'm sure I did think it. I used to tell Edward so; but a day
or two after he died I found I was wrong. The dowager had been urging
Maude to like him, and she could not, and it made her miserable."
"Did Maude tell you this?" inquired Anne; her radiant eyes full of
surprise.
"Not Maude: she never said a word to me upon the subject. It was the
dowager."
"Then, Val, she must have said it with an object in view. I am sure Maude
did love him. I know she did."
He shook his head. "You are wrong, Anne, depend upon it. She did not like
him, and she and her mother were at variance upon the point. However, it
is of no moment to discuss it now: and it might never have come to an
issue had Edward lived, for he did not care for her; and I dare say never
would have cared for her."
Anne said no more. It was of no moment as he observed; but she retained
her own opinion. They strolled to the end of the short walk in silence,
and Anne said she must go in.
"Am I quite forgiven?" whispered Lord Hartledon, bending his head down to
her.
"I never thought I had very much to forgive," she rejoined, after a
pause.
"My darling! I mean by your father."
"Ah, I don't know. You must talk to him. He knows we have been writing to
each other. I think he means to trust you."
"The best plan will be for you to come soon to Hartledon, Anne. I shall
never go wrong when once you are my wife."
"Do you go so very wrong now?" she asked.
"On my honour, no! You need not doubt me, Anne; now or ever. I have paid
up what I owed, and will take very good care to keep out of trouble for
the future. I incurred debts for others, more than for myself, and have
bought experience dearly. My darling, surely you can trust me now?"
"I always did trust you," she murmured.
He took a long, fervent kiss from her lips, and then led her to the open
lawn and across to the house.
"Ought you to come in, Percival?"
"Certainly. One word, Anne; because I may be speaking to the Rector--I
don't mean to-night. You will make no objection to coming soon to
Hartledon?"
"I can't come, you know, as long as Lady Kirton is its mistress," she
said, half seriously, half jestingly.
He laughed at the notion. Lady Kirton must be going soon of her own
accord; if not, he should have to pluck up courage and give her a hint,
was his answer. At any rate, she'd surely take herself off before
Christmas. The old dowager at Hartledon after he had Anne there! Not if
he knew it, he added, as he went on with her into the presence of Dr. and
Mrs. Ashton. The Rector started from his seat, at once telling him that
he ought not to have come in. Which Val did not see at all, and decidedly
refused to go out again.
Meanwhile the countess-dowager and Maude were wondering what had become
of him. They supposed he was still sitting in the dining-room. The old
dowager fidgeted about, her fingers ominously near the bell. She was
burning to send to him, but hardly knew how he might take the message: it
might be that he would object to leading strings, and her attempt to put
them on would ruin all. But the time went on; grew late; and she was
dying for her tea, which she had chosen should wait also. Maude sat
before the fire in a large chair; her eyes, her hands, her whole air
supremely listless.
"Don't you want tea, Maude?" suddenly cried her mother, who had cast
innumerable glances at her from time to time.
"I have wanted it for hours--as it seems to me."
"It's a horrid custom for young men, this sitting long after dinner. If
he gets into it--But you must see to that, and stop it, if ever you reign
at Hartledon. I dare say he's smoking."
"If ever I reign at Hartledon--which I am not likely to do--I'll take
care not to wait tea for any one, as you have made me wait for it this
evening," was Maude's rejoinder, spoken with apathy.
"I'll send a message to him," decided Lady Kirton, ringing rather
fiercely.
A servant appeared.
"Tell Lord Hartledon we are waiting tea for him."
"His lordship's not in, my lady."
"Not in!"
"He went out directly after dinner, as soon as he had taken coffee."
"Oh," said the countess-dowager. And she began to make the tea with
vehemence--for it did not please her to have it brought in made--and
knocked down and broke one of the delicate china cups.