A TELEGRAM.
Having seen Tarbot out, Nurse Ives returned to her own room and sat down
in front of the gas stove. It was a warm night—warm and damp. There was
a thick fog outside, one of those fogs which are the first forerunners
of autumn. But, warm as it was, the woman felt cold. She held out her
two thin hands to the warmth of the stove, then, suppressing a shudder,
she got up and went on tiptoe into the room where little Piers Pelham
was lying fast asleep. He slept soundly, and he looked beautiful—there
was an angelic smile on his small face.
A queer, new expression came over the woman’s face.
“Why am I stirred when I look at him?” she said to herself. “Why does my
heart beat so fast? If he were my very own I do not think I could love
him better.”
Then she returned to her seat in front of the stove. She was a temperate
woman, and although she felt faint and overcome she would not have
recourse to stimulants. She prepared herself a cup of cocoa. It was hot,
and it comforted her. It took away a curious craving which she could not
quite account for.
“I am hungry, and yet not hungry,” she said to herself. “I feel terribly
excited. I have gone through much, and it is wearing me out. This day
week I shall be his wife—I shall be Mrs. Tarbot. There is a good deal to
be done in the time. I must get suitable clothes. Above all things, I
must supply myself with plenty of underlinen, fine and beautifully
embroidered. I shall get a lot of handkerchiefs, too, of the finest
lawn, and every one of them shall be embroidered, not marked in ink, but
embroidered in satin stitch with the name, ‘Clara Tarbot.’”
“To think of my name being Clara Tarbot! I the wife of Luke Tarbot, the
great brain specialist of Harley Street! Oh, I do well, I do very well
for myself. I won’t think about any future—I do well for myself for the
present. The boy’s life is safe, and I shall get my heart’s desire. This
day week he and I will be married.
“I wonder where we shall go for our honeymoon. Imagine my having him for
a fortnight all to myself! How will he bear it? If he had any love to
give me he might like it, for I have power, strength. I am in no sense a
nonentity. I can flatter, I can please, I can excite him, and I can also
soothe him. I vow that he shall come under my influence. I know a way by
which I believe I can gain a wonderful power over him. I will use it.
“That girl shall be wholly forgotten. Plain as I am, I am the woman to
whom he will come in his hour of trial. Yes, there is no doubt I have a
great future before me, but in the meantime there is much to be done. A
few pretty dresses, or, rather, handsome dresses, have to be bought,
and, above all things else, the boy has to be cared for. Now, what am I
to do with the child?”
This problem occupied Nurse Ives during the remainder of the night. She
had been up for several nights now, but she did not feel sleepy. She
thought and thought, and towards morning it seemed to her that she had
solved the difficulty.
“It is the best thing I can do, and I must do it,” she thought. “What is
a mother for but to help a daughter? Yes, I will do it.”
Having made up her mind, she went and lay down beside the boy. The soft
breath of the child, who was now fast returning to his normal state of
health, mingled with hers, and she clasped the dimpled fingers of the
little one. As she did this, once again that queer indescribable
drawing, which she did not recognize as love, began to awaken in her
heart. She crept close to the lad and took comfort in his presence.
“I am so glad I saved him,” she said to herself. “When all’s said and
done, I am not such a villain as Luke—Luke, the man I love, the man I
would die for.”
At last she fell asleep, wearied out, and awoke about ten o’clock. The
boy was sitting up in bed. He was hungry, and there was a slightly
fretful expression on his face.
“Why do you sleep so long?” he said in a peremptory tone. “I’m not
accustomed to being kept waiting for my breakfast. Why didn’t you wake
up in proper time? I’m very hungry. I want my breakfast.”
“I’ll get it for you at once, little one,” said the nurse. “Stay where
you are; I’ll dress you afterwards. I’ll bring you your breakfast in a
few minutes.”
Nurse Ives rose hastily, and without even troubling to smooth her hair
or change her blue velvet dress, went into the other room. Having set
the kettle on to boil, she came back.
“How smart you are, nurse!” said the child.
“Do you like my pretty frock?” she asked.
“I like it awfully. You won’t wear that ugly nurse’s dress any more,
will you?”
“I don’t intend to. I’m not going to be a nurse any more, little Piers.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No, my love.”
“Do get me my breakfast—I’m so hungry.”
“It’s coming, dear. I have set the egg on to boil.”
Nurse Ives returned to the other room and prepared a dainty meal. She
brought it to the boy on a tray and sat by his side while he ate it.
“You look much better,” she said.
“I’m quite well,” he answered with a laugh. “It’s wonderful how much
nicer I feel in this queer, poky little scrap of a room. I was awfully
ill when I was at home. I never felt anything like it. Nurse, did you
ever seem to be going through the floor?”
“No, dear, I can’t say that I have.”
“I have felt it, and it’s awful. The feeling began to come just when you
arrived. I used to have it about once a day at first, but lately it
seemed to be always coming. I was always going down, and down, and down,
and then jumping up again, and then at last——”
“Yes, dear; tell me what you felt.”
“I heard Barbara’s voice, and you wouldn’t let her in. I called out to
her, but you wouldn’t let her come. Then I cried, for I love her better
than any other woman in the world, except mother, but you sent her away;
and I felt so dreadful. I went down, and down, and down ever so far, and
it seemed to me that Barbara would save me, but you wouldn’t allow her
to come in. You were awfully cruel then. You didn’t wear your pretty
blue velvet dress then. Oh, you were terribly cruel. I thought about
your cruelty, and the feeling of going down got worse and worse. I
thought at last that I must be sinking right through the earth, and that
perhaps I’d come out on the other side, where it’s day, you know, when
it’s night with us. Oh, it was awful!”
“Don’t talk of it any more, Piers—it is over.”
“But I like to tell you. Dick came into the room—dear Dick, I was glad
to see him. You know, nurse, he is very strong, and I like to have him
with me. He put his big strong arms round me, and then I didn’t sink any
more, at least, not at first, but at last even his arms didn’t seem
strong enough, and I began sinking away from them, and then you sent him
out. Oh, why did you send him away? You could have gone for the medicine
yourself. I called after him, but my voice was too weak. Then Dick came
back, and you gave him the medicine, and he brought it to me. I was glad
to take it from Dick’s hands. I didn’t mind what I did for him, for he
was always my very greatest friend. It’s nice for a boy like me to have
a man friend, and then, of course, he’s my own cousin. If I had died
that time, he’d have been Sir Richard Pelham. I thought I was going to
die after I took that medicine. I sank down faster and faster, and I
looked up as I sank and I saw Dick far above me, and then I remembered
no more.”
“You were very ill, child,” said the nurse.
“Did you think I was going to die?”
“I thought you were bad.”
“But did you think I was going to die? I remember so well the look on
Dick’s face—all white as if he were terrified—that was the very last
thing I saw before I went right down into the earth. I didn’t see you at
all—only Dick. Did you suppose that I was dying?”
“No, Piers. I thought you would get better presently.”
“Do you think Dick was frightened?”
“Perhaps. But we will not talk of that any more.”
“Nurse, will you take me back home to-day? I want to see mother, and
Barbara, and Dick.”
“Not to-day, Piers. You are very much better since you have come to me,
and it is part of your cure to live with me for a little. If I wear my
pretty blue velvet dress and tell you fairy tales and give you nice
things to eat, you won’t mind staying with me for a time, will you?”
“No; for I quite love you. You are so changed. But when may I see Dick
and Barbara again?”
“I will tell you that by and by. If you are patient, you will see them
all the sooner.”
The boy lay back on his pillow with a sigh.
“May I get up?” he asked after a moment. “I feel quite well.”
“I will dress you myself, dear, and you shall come and sit with me in my
sitting-room. But first I must go out.”
“Where to?”
“To the post-office to send a telegram.”
“To Dick?”
“No, dear; not to Dick, but somebody else.”
“Who?” asked the child.
“To my mother.”
“Have you a mother? You look very old to have a mother.”
“I have a mother, my dear, but she lives far away from here, in
Cornwall.”
“Cornwall—that’s in the very, very south of England, not far from
Devonshire, where one of my places is. You know, nurse, I am an awfully
rich boy, don’t you?”
“Yes, little Piers.”
“Why don’t you call me Sir Piers? It doesn’t seem respectful to call me
little Piers.”
“But I’d rather call you little Piers. I want you to forget the other
name.”
“Forget that I am Sir Piers Pelham! What do you mean?”
“It is part of your cure. I hope to have you quite well before long, and
when you are quite well and quite strong you shall be Sir Piers Pelham
again, and you shall go back to Dick and Barbara and to your mother and
Dr. Tarbot.”
“Dr. Tarbot,” said the boy, his face flushing. “I hate him.”
“That is unkind. He is your good doctor.”
“He’s not good, and I hate him. Well, go and send off your telegram to
your mother if you must, only it does seem queer that you should have
one. What do you want to say to her?”
“I want her to come here on a visit.”
“Oh, I shall like that. It will be fun to see you greeting your mother.
Will you kiss her much and will you obey her? Of course, you ought to
obey your mother—it’s the fifth commandment. Well, go, nurse, now, and
be quick back.”
A few moments afterwards Nurse Ives went to the nearest telegraph office
and sent off a message. The result of her message was that early on the
following morning a little woman, with a wrinkled face and hands
slightly distorted with rheumatism, arrived on the scene.
“Well, now, Clara, what does this mean?” said the woman, “sending for me
in such a precious hurry. What’s up, my girl? You look excited.”
“I sent for you, mother, because I want you to take care of a little boy
for me.”
“A little boy! Good gracious! Not a patient?”
“Yes, mother, a patient. I want you to look after him—that’s why I sent
for you. I’ll tell you all particulars when you’ve had some breakfast.”