With the dawn of the morning, however, and the few hours' hurried
rest which Edward Rider was able to snatch after his labours, other
sentiments arose in his mind. It was quite necessary to see how the
unlucky child was at St Roque's Cottage, and perhaps what Nettie thought
of all that had occurred during her absence. The doctor bethought himself,
too, that there might be very natural explanations of the curate's
escort. How else, to be sure, could she have got home on a dark winter
night through that lonely road? Perhaps, if he himself had been less
impatient and ill-tempered, it might have fallen to his lot to supersede
Mr Wentworth. On the whole, Dr Rider decided that it was necessary to
make one of his earliest calls this morning at St Roque's.
It was a foggy frosty day, brightened with a red sun, which threw wintry
ruddy rays across the mist. Dr Rider drew up somewhat nervously at the
little Gothic porch. He was taken up-stairs to the bedroom where little
Freddy lay moaning and feverish. A distant hum came from the other
children in the parlour, the door of which, however, was fast closed
this morning; and Nettie herself sat by the child's bedside--Nettie, all
alert and vigorous, in the little room, which, homely as its aspect was,
displayed even to the doctor's uninitiated glance a fastidious nicety of
arrangement which made it harmonious with that little figure. Nettie was
singing childish songs to solace the little invalid's retirement--the
"fox that jumped up on a moonlight night," the "frog that would a-wooing
go"--classic ditties of which the nursery never tires. The doctor, who
was not aware that music was one of Nettie's accomplishments, stopped on
the stairs to listen. And indeed she had not a great deal of voice, and
still less science, Nettie's life having been too entirely occupied to
leave much room for such studies. Yet somehow her song touched the
doctor's heart. He forgave her entirely that walk with the curate. He
went in softly, less impatient than usual with her crazy Quixotism. A
child--a sick child especially--was a bearable adjunct to the picture. A
woman could be forgiven for such necessary ministrations--actually, to
tell the truth, could be forgiven most follies she might happen to do,
when one could have her to one's self, without the intervention of such
dreary accessories as Susan and Fred.
"Thank you very much for your care of this child last night, Dr Edward,"
said the prompt Nettie, laying down the large piece of very plain
needlework in her hand. "I always said, though you don't make a fuss
about the children, that you were quite to be relied on if anything
should happen. He is feverish, but he is not ill; and so long as I tell
him stories and keep beside him, Freddy is the best child in the world."
"More people than Freddy might be willing to be ill under such
conditions," said the doctor, complimentary, but rueful. He felt his
patient's pulse, and prescribed for him with a softened voice. He
lingered and looked round the room, which was very bare, yet somehow
was not like any of the rooms in _his_ house. How was it?--there were no
ornaments about, excepting that tiny little figure with the little head
overladen with such a wealth of beautiful hair. The doctor sighed. In
this little sacred spot, where she was so clearly at her post--or at
least at a post which no other was at hand to take--he could not even
resent Nettie's self-sacrifice. He gave in to her here, with a sigh.
"Since you think he is not ill to speak of, will you drive me and the
other children into Carlingford, Dr Edward?" said the courageous Nettie.
"It will be a pleasure for them, you know, and I shall be able to do my
business without losing so much time; besides, I want to talk to you; I
can see you will in your eyes. Go down, please, and talk to Mr Smith,
who has got a headache or something, and wants to see you. You need not
trouble yourself seeing Susan, who is cross, of course. I don't wonder
at her being cross; it must be very shocking, you know, to feel one's
self of no use, whatever happens. Thank you; I shall be ready in a
minute, as soon as you have done talking to Mr Smith."
The doctor went down obediently, and in an unusual flutter of pleasure,
to see the master of the cottage--totally indifferent to the ailments
of the virtuous Smith, and thinking only of Nettie and that drive to
Carlingford, where, indeed, he should not have gone, had he considered
the merely abstract matters of business and duty, which led him entirely
in a different direction. He was somewhat rudely recalled to himself
when he went down-stairs. Smith had no headache, but only wanted
to speak to the doctor about his lodgers, whose "ways" were sadly
discomposing to himself and his wife.
"You saw how it was yourself last night, sir," said the troubled
landlady. "Them hangings--you know the smoke goes through and through
them. After leaving all the windows open this frosty morning, and a
draught enough to give you your death, the place smells like I don't
know what. If it wasn't for Miss I wouldn't put up with it for a day;
and the gentleman's own room, doctor; if you was just to go in and see
it--just put your head in and say good morning--you'd believe me."
"I know all about it," said the doctor; "but Miss Underwood, Mrs
Smith--?"
"There's where it is, sir," said the landlady. "I can't find it in my
heart to say a word to Miss. To see how she do manage them all, to be
sure! but for all that, doctor, it stands to reason as one can't spoil
one's lodgings for a family as may be gone to-morrow--not except it's
considered in the rent. It's more natural-like to speak to a gentleman
like you as knows the world, than to a young lady as one hasn't a word
to say against--the handiest, liveliest, managingest! Ah, doctor, she'd
make a deal different a wife from her sister, that young lady would!
though it isn't my part to say nothink, considering all things, and that
you're relations, like; but Smith and me are both o' one mind about it,
Dr Rider--unless it's considered in the rent, or the gentleman drops
smoking, or----"
"I hear Miss Underwood coming down-stairs," cried young Rider. "Next
time I come we'll arrange it all. But not a word to _her_, remember--not
a syllable; and go up-stairs and look after that poor child, there's a
good soul--she trusts you while she is gone, and so do I. There, there!
another time. I'll take the responsibility of satisfying you, Mrs Smith,"
said the doctor, in a prodigious hurry, ready to promise anything in
this incautious moment, and bolting out of their little dark back-room,
which the local architect's mullions had converted into a kind of
condemned cell. Nettie stood at the door, all ready for her expedition
to Carlingford, with her two children, open-eyed and calmly inquisitive,
but no longer noisy. Mrs Fred was standing sulky at the parlour door.
The doctor took off his hat to her as he helped Nettie into the front
seat of the drag, but took care not to approach nearer. The children
were packed in behind, under charge of the little groom, and, with an
exhilarating sensation of lawlessness in the present pleasure, Dr Rider
turned his back upon his duty and the patient who expected him a mile on
the other side of St Roque's, and drove, not too rapidly, into
Carlingford.
"Mrs Smith was talking to you of us," said Nettie, flashing her
penetrating eyes upon the confused doctor. "I know she was--I could see
it in her face this morning, and in yours when you came out of her room.
Dreadful little dungeon, is it not? I wonder what the man meant, to
build such a place. Do they want to turn us out, Dr Edward, or do they
want more rent? I am not surprised, I am sure, after last night. Was it
not odious of Fred to go and smoke in the parlour, the only place we can
have tidy? But it is no use speaking to him, you know; nor to Susan
either, for that matter. Married people do stand up for each other so
when you say a word, however they may fight between themselves. But is
it more rent they want, Dr Edward? for I can't afford more rent."
"It is an abominable shame--you oughtn't to afford anything. It is too
dreadful to think of!" cried the angry doctor, involuntarily touching
his horse with his whip in the energy of the moment, though he was
indeed in no hurry to reach Carlingford.
"Hush," said Nettie, lifting her tiny hand as though to put it to his
incautious mouth, which, indeed, the doctor would not have objected to.
"We shall quarrel on that subject if you say anything more, so it is
better to stop at once. Nobody has a right to interfere with me; this
is my business, and no one else has anything to do with it."
"You mistake," cried the doctor, startled out of all his prudences; "it
ought to be my business quite as much as it is yours."
Nettie looked at him with a certain careless scorn of the inferior
creature--"Ah, yes, I daresay; but then you are only a man," said
Nettie; and the girl elevated that pretty drooping head, and flashed a
whole torrent of brilliant reflections over the sombre figure beside
her. He felt himself glow under the sudden radiance of the look. To
fancy this wilful imperious creature a meek self-sacrificing heroine,
was equally absurd and impossible. Was there any virtue at all in that
dauntless enterprise of hers? or was it simple determination to have her
own way?
"But not to quarrel," said Nettie; "for indeed you are the only person
in the world I can say a word to about the way things are going on," she
added with a certain momentary softening of voice and twinkling of her
eyelid, as if some moisture had gathered there. "I think Fred is in a
bad way. I think he is muddling his brains with that dreadful life he
leads. To think of a man that could do hundreds of things living like
that! A woman, you know, can only do a thing or two here and there. If
it were not wicked to say so, one would think almost that Providence
forgot sometimes, and put the wrong spirit into a body that did not
belong to it. Don't you think so? When I look at Fred I declare sometimes
I could take hold of him and give him a good shake, and ask him what he
means; and then it all seems so useless the very idea of expecting him
to feel anything. I want to know what you said to him last night."
"Not much--not half so much as I meant to have said. To see him
polluting your room!" cried the doctor, with a flush growing on
his face, and breaking off abruptly, not quite able to conclude the
sentence. Nettie gave him a shy upward glance, and grew suddenly crimson
too.
"Did you mind?" said Nettie, with a momentary timidity, against the
unexpected charm of which the unhappy doctor fell defenceless; then
holding out her tiny hand to him with shy frankness, "Thank you for
caring so much for me," said the dauntless little girl, resolute not to
perceive anything which could not be fully spoken out.
"Caring _so_ much! I must speak to you; we can't go on like this,
Nettie," cried the doctor, holding fast the little unfaltering hand.
"Oh, here is the place I am going to. Please don't; people might not
understand,--though we _are_ brother and sister in a kind of a way,"
said the little Australian. "Please, Dr Edward, we must get out here."
For a moment Edward Rider hesitated with a wild intention of urging his
horse forward and carrying her off anywhere, out of Carlingford, out of
duty and practice and responsibility, and all those galling restraints
of life which the noonday light and everyday sounds about brought in
with so entire a discord to break up this momentary hallucination. For
half a minute only the doctor lingered on the borders of that fairyland
where time and duty are not, but only one ineffable moment always
passing, never past. Then with a long sigh, the breath of which dispersed
a whole gleaming world of visionary delights, he got down doggedly on
the commonplace pavement. Ah, what a descent it was! the moment his foot
touched these vulgar flags, he was once more the hard-worked doctor at
everybody's command, with a fretful patient waiting for him a mile
beyond St Roque's; and all these dazzling moments, which had rapt the
unfortunate young fellow into another world, were so much time lost to
the prose figure that had to help Nettie down and let her go, and betake
himself soberly about his own business. Perhaps Nettie felt it a little
disenchanting too, when she was dropped upon the bare street, and went
into the common shop, and saw the doctor's drag flash off in the red
frosty sunshine with a darting movement of exasperation and impatience
on the part of its aggravated driver. For once in her life Nettie felt
disposed to be impatient with the children, who, unceremoniously ejected
from their perch behind, were not in the most obedient frame of mind.
The two young people possibly agreed in their mutual sentiment of disgust
with other people's society just at that moment. However, there was no
help for it. Dr Rider galloped his horse to his patient's door, and took
it out of that unlucky individual, who was fortunately strong enough to
be able to bear sharp practice. Nettie, when she had made her little
purchases, walked home smartly to sing "The fox jumped up on a moonlight
night" to little Freddy in his bedroom. This kind of interlude, however,
as all young men and maidens ought to be aware, answers much better in
the evening, when a natural interval of dreams interposes between it and
the common work of existence. Nettie decided, thinking on it, that this
would never do. She made up her mind not to have any more drives with
the doctor. There was no telling what such proceedings might lead to.
They were distinctly incompatible with the more serious business of her
life.