COMING HOME TO DIE.
Time went on again; nearly a fortnight. Dallory had relapsed into its
old routine; the fever was forgotten. Houses had recovered from the
aroma of soap and scrubbing: their inhabitants were back again; and
amongst them were Mrs. North and her daughter Matilda.
The principal news madam found to interest her was, that Richard North
had opened the works again. The glow of hope it raised within her was
very bright; for she considered it as an earnest that supplies would
spring up again in the future as they had in the past. That she would
find herself mistaken was exceedingly probable; Richard himself could
have said a certainty. Madam had the grace to express some calm regret
for the untimely death of Bessy Rane, in the hearing of Mr. North and
Richard; she had put herself and Matilda into deeper mourning than
they had assumed for James Bohun. It was all of the most fashionable
and costly description; and the master of Dallory Hall, poor helpless
man, had the pleasure of receiving the bills for it from the London
court-milliners and dressmakers. But madam never inquired into the
particulars of Bessy's illness and death; in her opinion the less
fevers were talked about the better.
Yes: the North works were reopened. Or, to be quite correct, they were
on the point of being reopened. Upon how small a scale he must begin
again, Richard, remembering the extent of past operations, felt almost
ashamed to contemplate. But, as he good-humouredly remarked, half a
loaf was better than no bread. He must earn a living; he had no
fortune to fly to; and he preferred doing this to seeking employment
under other firms, if indeed anything worth having could have been
found; but the trade of the country was in a most depressed state, and
hundreds of gentlemen, like himself, had been thrown on their beam
ends. It was the same thing as beginning life over again; a little
venture, that might succeed or might fail; one in which he must plod
on carefully and cautiously, even to keep it going.
The whole staff of operatives would at first number less than twenty.
The old workmen, idly airing themselves still in North Inlet, laughed
derisively when they heard this. They were pleasantly sarcastic over
it, thinking perhaps to conceal their real bitterness of heart. The
new measure did not find favour with them. How should it, when they
stood out in the light of exclusion? Some eight or ten, who had never
willingly upheld the strike, had all along been ready to return to
work, would be taken on again; the rest were foreigners that Richard
North was bringing over from abroad. And the anger of the disaffected
may be imagined.
Mrs. Gass entered cordially into Richard's plans. She would have put
unlimited money into his new undertaking; but Richard would not have
it. Some portion of her capital that had been embarked in the firm of
North and Gass, of necessity remained in it--all, in fact, that was
not lost--but this she counted as nothing, and wanted to help Richard
yet further. "It's of no good crying over spilt milk, Mr. Richard,"
she said to him, philosophically; "and I've still a great deal more
than I shall ever want." But Richard was firm: he would receive no
further help: it was a risk that he preferred to incur alone.
Perhaps there were few people living that Richard North liked better
than Mrs. Gass. He even liked her homely language; it was honest and
genuine; far more to be respected than if she had made a show of
attempting what she could not have kept up. Richard had learned to
know her worth: he recognized it more certainly day by day. In the
discomfort of his home at Dallory Hall--which had long been anything
but a home to him--he had fallen into the habit of almost making a
second home with Mrs. Gass. Never a day passed but he spent an hour or
two of it with her; and she would persuade him to remain for a meal as
often as she could.
He sat one afternoon at her well-spread tea-table. His arrangements
were very nearly organized now; and in a day the works would open. The
foreign workmen had arrived, and were lodging with their families in
the places appointed for them. Two policemen, employed by Richard, had
also taken up their position in Dallory, purposely to protect them. Of
course their mission was not known: Richard North would not be the one
to provoke hostilities; but he was quite aware of the ill-feeling
obtaining amongst his former workmen.
"Downright idiots, they be," said Mrs. Gass, confidentially, as she
handed Richard a cup of tea. "They want a lesson read to 'em, Mr.
Richard; that's what it is."
"I don't know about that," dissented Richard. "It seems to me they
could hardly receive a better lesson than these last few months must
have taught them."
"Ah, you don't know 'em as I do. I'm almost double your age, sir; and
there's nothing gives experience like years."
Richard laughed. "Not double my age yet, Mrs. Gass."
"Anyway, I might have been your mother--if you'll excuse my saying
it," she contended. "You're hard upon thirty-three, and I'm two years
turned fifty."
In this homely manner Mrs. Gass usually liked to make her propositions
undeniable. Certainly she might, in point of age, have been Richard's
mother.
"I know the men better than you do, Mr. Richard; and I say they want a
lesson read to 'em yet. And they'll get it, sir. But we'll leave the
subject for a bit, if you please. I've been tired of it for some time
past, and I'm sure you have. To watch once sensible men acting like
fools, and persisting in doing it, in spite of everybody and
everything, wearies one's patience. Is it tomorrow that you open?"
"The day after."
"Well, now, Mr. Richard, I should like to say another word upon a
matter that you and me don't agree on--and it's not often our opinions
differ, is it, sir? It's touching your capital. I know you'll want
more than you can command: it would give me a real pleasure if you'll
let me find it."
Richard smiled, and shook his head, "I cannot say more than I have
said before," was his reply. "You know all I have urged."
"Promise me this, then," returned Mrs. Gass. "If ever you find
yourself at a pinch as things go on, you'll come to me. I don't ask
this, should the concern turn out a losing one, for in that case I
know cords wouldn't draw you to me for help. But when you are getting
on, and money would be useful, and its investment safe and sure, I
shall expect you to come to me. Now, that's enough. I want to put a
question, Mr. Richard, that delicacy has kept me from worrying you
about before. What about the expenses at Dallory Hall? You can't
pretend to keep 'em up yourself."
"Ah," said Richard, "that has been my nightmare. But I think I see a
way through it at last. First of all, I have given notice to Miss
Dallory that we shall not renew the lease: it will expire, you know,
next March."
"Good," observed Mrs. Gass.
"My father knows nothing about it--it is of no use troubling him
earlier than is necessary; and of course madam knows nothing. _She_
imagines that the lease will be renewed as a matter of course. Miss
Dallory will, at my request, keep counsel--or, rather, her brother
Francis for her, for it is he who transacts her business."
"They know then that you are the real lessee of Dallory Hall? Lawk a
mercy, what a simpleton I am!" broke off Mrs. Gass. "Of course they
must have known it when the transfer was made."
Richard nodded. "As soon as Christmas is turned I shall look out for a
moderate house in lieu of the Hall; one that I shall hope to be able
to keep up. It shall have a good garden for my father's sake. There
will be rebellion on the part of madam and Matilda, but I can't help
that. I cannot do more than my means will allow me."
"See here, Mr. Richard; don't worry yourself about not being able to
keep up a house for Mr. North. I'll do my part in that: do it all, if
need be. He and my husband were partners and friends, and grew rich
together. Mr. North has lost his savings, but I have kept mine; and I
will never see him wanting comfort while he lives. We'll look out for
a pretty villa with a lovely garden; and he'll be happier in it than
he has ever been in that grand Hall. If madam doesn't like to bring
her pride down to it, let her go off elsewhere--and a good riddance of
bad rubbish.--Mr. Richard, have you heard the news about Mary
Dallory?"
"What news?" he asked.
"That she's going to be married to Captain Bohun."
Richard North drank his tea to the dregs. His face had flushed a
little.
"I hear that madam wishes it, and is working for it," he answered.
"Miss Dallory was staying with them when they were at Sir Nash
Bohun's."
"I know madam has given it out that they're going to marry," rejoined
Mrs. Gass. "By the way, Mr. Richard, how is Captain Bohun getting on,
after his illness?"
"He is better. Almost well."
Mrs. Gass helped herself to some buttered toast. "I shall believe in
that marriage when it has taken place, Mr. Richard; not before. Unless
I am uncommonly out, Captain Bohun cares for another young lady too
well to think of Mary Dallory. Folks mayn't suspect it; and I believe
don't. But I have had my eyes about me."
Richard knew that she alluded to Ellen Adair.
"They are both as sweet and good girls as ever lived, and a gentleman
may think himself lucky to get either of 'em. Mr. Richard, your
coat-sleeve is coming into contact with the potted-ham."
Richard smiled a little as he attended to his cuff. Mourning was
always bad wearing, he remarked, and showed every little stain. And
then he said a few words about her for whom it was worn. He had rarely
alluded to the subject since she died.
"I cannot grow reconciled to her loss," he said in low tones. "At
times can scarcely believe in it. To have been carried off after only
a day's fever seems to me incredible."
And Mrs. Gass felt that the words startled her to pallor. She turned
away lest he should see the change in her countenance.
Bad news arrived from Mrs. Cumberland. Only a morning or two later, a
loud knock at the front-door disturbed Jelly and Dinah at their
breakfast. Upon its being opened by the latter, Dr. Rane walked
straight into the kitchen without ceremony, an open letter in his
hand. Jelly rose and curtsied. She had been markedly respectful to the
doctor of late, perhaps in very fear lest he should suspect the
curious things that were troubling her mind.
"My mother will be home to-night, Jelly."
"To-night, sir!" exclaimed Jelly in her surprise.
"She is much worse. Very ill indeed. She says she is coming home to
die."
Jelly was startled out of her equanimity.
"It is only three lines, and she writes herself," continued Dr. Rane,
just showing the letter in his hand, as if in confirmation. "They were
to go to London yesterday, remain there the night, and will come home
to-day. Of course you will have everything in readiness."
"Yes, sir. And what about meeting my mistress at the station?"
"I shall go myself," said Dr. Rane.
He went away with the last words. Jelly sat still for a few minutes to
digest the news, and came to the conclusion that "coming home to die"
was a mere figure of speech of Mrs. Cumberland's. Then she rose up to
begin her preparations, and overwhelmed and bewildered Dinah with a
multitude of orders.
During the day, Jelly, in pursuance of something or other she wanted,
was walking quickly towards Dallory, when in passing the Hall gates
she found herself accosted by Mrs. North. Madam was taking her usual
promenade in the grounds, and had extended it to the gates. Jelly
stood still in sheer amazement; it was the first time within her
recollection that madam had condescended to address her or any other
inhabitant of the neighbourhood.
How was Mrs. Cumberland?--and _where_ was she? madam graciously asked.
And Jelly in the moment's haste, answered that she was at Eastsea.
"To stay the winter, I believe," went on madam. "And Miss Adair--is
she with her?"
"I ought to have said _was_ at Eastsea," corrected Jelly, who did not
like madam well enough to be more than barely civil to her. "My
mistress is worse, and is coming home to-day. Miss Adair is with her
of course. I must wish you good-morning, madam; I've all my work
before me to-day." And away went Jelly, leaving madam a mental
compliment:
"Nasty proud cat! she had some sly motive for asking, I know."
And so the day went on.
The early twilight of the autumn evening was beginning to fall,
together with a heavy shower of rain, when the carriage containing
Mrs. Cumberland stopped at her door. Jelly ran out; and was met by
Ellen Adair, who spoke in a startled whisper.
"Oh, Jelly, she is so ill! too ill to speak."
The doctor stood helping his mother out. Ann was gathering up small
articles from beside the driver. Jelly caught one glimpse of her
mistress's face and fell back in alarm. Surely that look was the look
of death!
"She ought not to have come," murmured Dr. Rane in Jelly's ear. "Go
and ask Seeley to step over--whilst I get my mother upstairs."
There was bustle and confusion for the moment. Mrs. Cumberland was
placed in the easy-chair in her room, and her bonnet and travelling
wraps were removed. She refused to go to bed. In half-an-hour or so,
when she had somewhat recovered the fatigue, she looked and seemed
much better, and spoke a little, expressing a wish for some tea. The
doctors left her to take it, enjoining strict quiet. Jelly was near
her mistress, holding the cup and saucer.
"What did she die of, Jelly?" came the unexpected question.
"Who?" asked Jelly, wonderingly.
Mrs. Cumberland motioned in the direction of her son's house: and her
voice was subdued to faintness: "Bessy Rane."
Jelly gave a start that almost upset the teacup. She felt her face
grow white; but she could not move to conceal it.
"Why don't you reply? What did she die of?"
"Ma'am, don't you know? She caught the fever."
"It troubles me, Jelly; it troubles me. I've done nothing but dream
about her ever since. And what will Oliver do without her?"
The best he can, Jelly had a great mind to answer. But all she said,
was, to beg her mistress to leave these questions until the morning.
"I don't think any morning will dawn for me," was Mrs. Cumberland's
remark. "I sent you word I was coming home to die. I wanted to come
for many reasons. I knew the journey would do me harm; I had put it
off too long. But I had to come home: I could not die away from it."
Every consoling thing that Jelly could think of, she said, assuring
her mistress it was nothing but the journey that had brought her into
this state of depression.
"I want to see Mr. North," resumed Mrs. Cumberland. "You must bring
him to me."
"Not to-night," said Jelly.
"To-night. At once. There is no time to be lost. To see him was one of
the things I had to come home for."
And Mrs. Cumberland, ill though she was, was as resolute in being
obeyed as she had ever been in the days of her health. Jelly had the
sense to know that refusal would excite her more than any result from
compliance, and prepared to obey. As she passed out of the presence of
Mrs. Cumberland, she saw Ellen Adair sitting on the stairs, anxiously
listening for any sound from the sick-room that might tell how all was
going on within it.
"Oh, Miss Ellen! You should not be there."
"I cannot rest anywhere, Jelly. I want to know how she is. She is my
only friend on this side of the wide world."
"Well now, Miss Ellen, look here--you may come in and stay with her,
whilst I am away: I was going to call Ann. But mind you don't talk to
her."
Hastily throwing on a shawl, Jelly started for Dallory Hall. It was an
inclement night, pouring with rain. And Ellen Adair took up her place
in silence by the side of the dying woman--for she _was_ dying,
however ignorant they might be of the fact. Apart from Ellen's natural
grief for Mrs. Cumberland, thoughts of what her own situation would
be, if she lost her, could but intrude on her mind, bringing all sorts
of perplexity with them. It seemed to her that she would be left
without home or protector in the wide world.