Next day Dr Rider audibly congratulated himself at breakfast upon having
once more his house to himself--audibly, as if it were really necessary
to give utterance to the thought before he could quite feel its force.
A week before, if Fred had departed, however summarily, there can be no
doubt that his brother's feelings of relief and comfort would have been
unfeigned; now, however, he began to think the matter over, and to
justify to himself his extraordinary sense of disappointment. As he
poured out his own coffee with a sober face, his eye rested upon that
easy-chair which had been brought into such prominence in the history
of the last two days. He kept looking at it as he sipped that gloomy
coffee. Fred had faded from the great chair; his big image threw no
shadow upon it. There sat a little fairy queen, tiny as Titania, but
dark as an elf of the East, putting up those two shapely tiny hands,
brown and beautiful, to push aside the flood of hair, which certainly
would have veiled her little figure all over, the doctor thought, had it
been let down. Wonderful little sprite! She, no doubt, had dragged her
plaintive sister over the seas--she it was that had forced her way into
Edward Rider's house; taken her position in it, ousted the doctor; and
she doubtless it was who swept the husband and wife out of it again,
leaving no trace behind. Waking up from a little trance of musing upon
this too interesting subject, Dr Rider suddenly raised himself into an
erect position, body and mind, with an involuntary movement, as if to
shake off the yoke of the enchantress. He reminded himself instinctively
of his brother's falsehood and ingratitude. After throwing himself a
most distasteful burden on Edward's charity for five long dreary months,
the bugbear of the doctor's dreams, and heavy ever-recurring climax of
his uncomfortable thoughts, here had Fred departed without a word of
explanation or thanks, or even without saying good-bye. The doctor
thought himself quite justified in being angry. He began to feel that
the suspicious uneasiness which possessed him was equally natural and
inevitable. Such a thankless, heartless departure was enough to put any
man out. To imagine that Fred could be capable of it, naturally went to
his brother's heart.
That day there was still no word of the party who had disappeared so
mysteriously out of the doctor's house. Dr Rider went to his hard day's
work vaguely expectant, feeling sure he must hear of them somehow, and
more interested in hearing of them than was to be expected from his
former low ebb of fraternal affection. When he returned and found still
no letter, no message, the blank disappointment of the former night
closed still more blankly upon him. When one is all by one's self, and
has nothing at best but an easy-chair to go home to, and goes home
expecting a letter, or a message, or a visitor who has not arrived, and
has no chance of arriving, the revulsion of feeling is not agreeable.
It did not improve the doctor's temper in the first place. The chill
loneliness of that trim room, with its drawn curtains and tidy pretence
of being comfortable, exasperated him beyond bearing. He felt shut up
in it, and yet would not leave it. Somebody certainly might come even
to-night. Fred himself perhaps, if he could escape from the rigid
guardianship he was under; or was that miraculous Australian Nettie a
little witch, who had spirited the whole party in a nutshell over the
seas? Never was man delivered from a burden with a worse grace than was
Dr Rider; and the matter had not mended in these twenty-four hours.
Next morning, however, this fever of fraternal suspense was assuaged.
A three-cornered note, addressed in an odd feminine hand, very thin,
small, and rapid, came among Dr Rider's letters. He signalled it out by
instinct, and opened it with an impatience wonderful to behold.
"SIR,--We are all at the Blue Boar until we can get lodgings, which I
hope to be to-day. I am utterly ashamed of Fred for not having let you
know, and indeed of myself for trusting to him. I should not wonder but
we may have been under a mistake about him and you. If you could call
about one, I should most likely be in to see you, and perhaps you could
give me your advice about the lodgings. Neither of _them_ have the
least judgment in such matters. I am sorry to trouble you; but being a
stranger, perhaps you will excuse me. I understand you are only at home
in the evening, and that is just the time I can't come out, as I have
the whole of them to look to, which is the reason I ask you to call on
me. Begging you will pardon me, I remain,
"NETTIE UNDERWOOD."
"She remains Nettie Underwood," said the doctor, unawares. He laughed to
himself at that conclusion. Then an odd gleam came across his face. It
was probably the first time he had laughed in a natural fashion for some
months back, and the unusual exertion made his cheeks tingle. His temper
was improved that morning. He went off to his patients almost in a good
humour. When he passed the great house where Bessie Christian now reigned,
he recalled her image with a positive effort. Astonishing what an effect
of distance had floated over the apparition of that bride. Was it a year
since he saw her and gnashed his teeth at the thought of his own folly,
or was it only last Sunday? The doctor could not tell. He put Nettie's
note in his pocket-book, and was at the hotel door punctually at one
o'clock. It was in the principal street of Carlingford, George Street,
where all the best shops, and indeed some of the best houses, were.
From the corner window of the hotel you could see down into the bowery
seclusion of Grange Lane, and Mr Wodehouse's famous apple-trees holding
tempting clusters over the high wall. The prospect was very different
from that which extended before Dr Rider's window. Instinctively he
marvelled within himself whether, if Dr Marjoribanks were to die--people
cannot live for ever even in Carlingford--whether it might not be a
disadvantage to a man to live so far out of the world. No doubt it
was a temptation of the Evil One. Happily the young man did not take
sufficient time to answer himself, but walked forward briskly through
the mazy old passages of the old inn, to a room from which sundry noises
issued. Dr Rider walked in with the natural confidence of a man who
has an appointment. The room was in undisturbed possession of three
children--three children making noise enough for six--all very small, very
precocious, with staring round eyes and the most complete independence of
speech and manners. The doctor confronted the little rabble thunderstruck;
they were his brother's children, unrecognisable little savages as they
were. One little fellow, in a linen pinafore, was mounted on the arm of a
sofa, spurring vigorously; another was pursuing his sister about the
room, trying to catch her feet with the tongs, and filling the air
with repeated loud snaps of disappointment. They intermitted their
occupations to stare at him. "Look here--here's a man," said the youngest,
meditatively, beholding his dismayed uncle with a philosophic eye.
"Can't some one go and tell Nettie?" said the little girl, gazing also
with calm equanimity. "If he wants Nettie he'll have to wait," said the
elder boy. A pause followed; the unhappy doctor stood transfixed by the
steady stare of their three pair of eyes. Suddenly the little girl burst
out of the room, and ran screaming along the passage. "Mamma, mamma,
here's a man come," cried the wonderful colonial child. A few minutes
afterwards their mother appeared, languid and faded as before. Perhaps
she had been even prettier than Nettie in her bright days, if any days
had ever been bright for Fred Rider's wife. She was fairer, larger,
smoother than her sister; but these advantages had lapsed in a general
fade, which transformed her colour into washy pinkness, made her figure
stoop, and her footsteps drag. She came remonstrating all the way in
feeble accents. It was not for her, certainly, that the doctor had taken
the trouble to come to the Blue Boar.
"Please to sit down," said Mrs Fred, and stood leaning on the table,
looking at her brother-in-law with a calm curiosity, not unlike that
of her children. "Nettie and my husband have gone out together; but now
that we are all so happy and united," she continued, with a sort of
feeble spitefulness, "I am sure it is quite a pity to trouble you. You
could not take us in, you know. You said that very plain, Mr Edward."
"It was perfectly true, madam," said the doctor. "I have not ventured on
the step my brother has taken, and have naturally no accommodation for a
family. But I am not here for my own pleasure. Your sister, I presume it
is, wrote to me. I was requested to call here to-day."
"Oh, yes; Nettie is very self-willed--very; though, of course, we could
not get on without her. She attacked Fred like a wild-cat for not writing
you: but I daresay, if the truth were known, you did not expect to hear
from my husband," said the wife, recovering her voice, and fixing a
vindictive gaze upon her visitor, who felt himself betrayed.
"I came by Miss Underwood's instructions and at her request," said the
unfortunate man. "We need not enter into any question between Fred and
myself."
"Ah, yes, that is very safe and wise for you," laughed Fred's wife.
The doctor was deeply exasperated, as was only natural: he eyed the
feeble helpless creature for a moment angrily, provoked to answer her;
but his gaze became one of wonder and dismay ere he withdrew it. Surely
of all incomprehensible entities, the most amazing is a fool--a creature
insensate, unreasoning, whom neither argument nor fact can make any
impression upon. Appalled and impressed, the doctor's gaze left that
pretty faded face to turn upon the children. Dreadful imps! If Fred had
only taken to evil ways after he became possessed of such a family, his
brother could have forgiven him. While these thoughts passed through Dr
Rider's mind, however, deliverance approached. He heard Nettie's voice
in the passage, long before she reached the door. Not that it was loud
like the voices of this dreadful household; but the tone was sufficiently
peculiar to be recognised anywhere. With a most penetrating clearness,
it came through the long passages, words inaudible, only the sound of a
voice, rapid, breathless, decided--with the distant sound of Fred's long,
shambling, uncertain footsteps coming in as the strange accompaniment.
Then they entered the room--the one tiny, bright, dauntless, an intrepid,
undiscourageable little soul; the other with his heavy large limbs, his
bemused face, his air of hopeless failure, idleness, content. Edward
Rider gazed involuntarily from one to another of this two. He saw the
sprite place herself between the husband and wife, a vain little Quixote,
balancing these extremes of helplessness and ruin. He could not help
looking at her with a certain unconscious admiration and amazement, as
he might have looked at a forlorn hope. Thousands of miles away from her
friends, wherever and whatever they might be, with Fred and his wife and
children on her hands, a household of incapables--what was that little
creature to do?
"Good morning, Dr Edward," said Nettie. "I thought I should have been
back sooner; but Fred is so slow, I cannot manage to get him along at
all. We have found some lodgings a little way out of Carlingford, near
that chapel, you know, or church, or something, that stands a little
off the road: where it's open, and there's morning service, and such a
handsome young clergyman. Who is he? We went into the chapel, and it's
so fine, you would not believe it. Well, just a hundred yards from there
is the house. Four rooms, exactly what I wanted, with a garden for the
children to play in--quite quiet, and fresh and pleasant. Tell me who
the people are--their name is Smith. If they're respectable, I'll go
back and take it. I can afford the rent."
"Near St Roque's? They belong to the church there. I daresay they are
all right," said the doctor, "but it is a long way off, and inconvenient,
and----"
"That is just why I want it," said Nettie. "We never were used to
conveniences, and none of us want to be much in the town, so far as I
know. It is the very thing. Why has not lunch come up?--what do these
people mean, Susan, by not attending to their orders? Ring the bell,
Freddy--ring loud; and after lunch, as your drag is at the door, Dr
Edward, you'll drive me down to this place again, that I may secure
it, won't you? I want to have a talk with you besides.--Lunch, please,
immediately. I ordered it to be ready at one--now it is half-past. We
can't have our time wasted this way.--Dr Edward, please, you'll stay."
The doctor gazed with ever-increasing amazement at the little speaker.
Nobody else had spoken a word. Fred had nodded to him sullenly. Fred's
wife had sunk back on the sofa--everybody seemed to recognise Nettie
as supreme. He hesitated, it must be confessed, to put his grievances
so entirely aside as to sit down in perfect amity with Fred and his
household; but to refuse to drive Nettie to St Roque's was impossible.
The blood rushed to the doctor's face at the thought. What the world
of Carlingford would say to see his well-known vehicle proceeding
down Grange Lane, through Dr Marjoribanks's territories, under such
circumstances, was a question he did not choose to consider; neither did
he enter too minutely into the special moment at which his next patient
might be expecting him. The young man was under the spell, and did not
struggle against it. He yielded to the invitation, which was a command.
He drew near the table at which Nettie, without hesitation, took the
presiding place. A dull amount of conversation, often interrupted by
that lively little woman, rose in the uncongenial party. Nettie cut up
the meat for those staring imps of children--did them all up in snowy
napkins--kept them silent and in order. She regulated what Susan was to
have, and which things were best for Fred. She appealed to Dr Edward
perpetually, taking him into her confidence in a way which could not
fail to be flattering to that young man, and actually reduced to
the calmness of an ordinary friendly party this circle so full of
smouldering elements of commotion. Through all she was so dainty, so
pretty, her rapid fingers so shapely, her eager talk so sweet-toned,
that it was beyond the power of mortal man to remain uninterested. It
was a development of womankind unknown to Dr Rider. Bessie Christian had
exhausted the race for him until now; but Nettie was a thousand times
more piquant than Bessie Christian. He gazed and wondered, and moralised
secretly in his own mind, what was to become of the girl?--what could
she do?
"You have left some of your things at my house, Fred," said the doctor,
making an attempt to approach his sullen brother, who evidently expected
no overtures of friendship.
"Yes. Mrs Rider, you see, arrived unexpectedly," said Fred, with
confusion--"in fact, I knew nothing about it, or--or I should have told
you--Nettie----"
"Nettie thought it best to come off at once, without writing," explained
Fred's wife.
"What was the use of writing?" cried that little person. "You had
written to Fred for six months without ever getting an answer. You made
everybody unhappy round you with your fears and troubles about him. I
knew perfectly he was quite well and enjoying himself; but, of course,
Susan would not be convinced. So what was there for it but bringing her
away? What else could I do, Dr Edward? And to leave the children would
have been preposterous. In the first place, I should have been miserable
about them; and so, as soon as she found Fred was all right, would
Susan: and something would certainly have happened--scarlet fever or
something--and at the end of all I should have had to go out again to
fetch them. So the shortest way was to bring them at once. Don't you
think so? And to see us all here so comfortable, I am sure is enough to
repay any one for the trouble. Fred, don't drink any more beer."
Nettie put out her tiny hand as she spoke to arrest the bottle. Fred
stared at her with a dull red flush on his face; but he gave in, in the
most inexplicable way; it seemed a matter of course to yield to Nettie.
The doctor's amazement began to be mingled with amusement. To see how she
managed them all was worth the sacrifice of a little time--unconsciously
he became more fraternal in his thoughts. He spoke to foolish faded Mrs
Fred with a total forgiveness and forgetfulness of her spiteful speech.
He hoped she would like Carlingford; he said something to the children.
But it was not easy to talk in presence of that amazing family party,
the existence of which he had not dreamed of a few days ago. To see
his brother at the head of such a group had, in spite of himself, a
wonderful effect upon Dr Rider. Their children, of course, must be
supported somehow. Who was to do it? Was their father, grown incapable
and useless in the middle of his days, to be forced into the current of
life again? Was it a vague faith in Providence which had brought the
helpless household here; or was it a more distinct, if not so elevated,
confidence in Nettie? The doctor's heart sank once more within him as he
looked round the table. Three helpless by nature--two equally helpless
who ought in nature to have been the support of the whole--nothing but
one bright ready little spirit between them all and destitution; and
what could Nettie do to stave that wolf from the door? Once more Dr
Rider's countenance fell. If the household broke down in its attempt at
independence, who had they to turn to but himself?--such a prospect was
not comfortable. When a man works himself to death for his own family,
he takes the pleasure with the pain; but when another's family threatens
to fall upon his hands, the prospect is naturally appalling--and
even if Fred could do anything, what was Fred's life, undermined by
evil habit, to depend upon? Silence once more fell over the little
company--silence from all but Nettie and the children, who referred to
her naturally instead of to their mother. Fred was sullen, and his wife
took her cue from him. Edward was uneasy and dismayed. Family parties
suddenly assembled without due warning are seldom greatly successful;
and even Nettie could not make immediate reconciliation and fraternal
kindness out of this.