EDINBURGH CRESCENT.
Dr. Wilton was too busy all the day after his return to Roxburgh to
think much about his nieces and nephews at Maplestone. The incessant
calls on a medical man in the full swing of practice in a place like
Roxburgh are urgent and cannot be put aside. He came in to dinner at
half-past seven, and the scene of his home comfort and his elder
children seated round him brought back to him forcibly the condition of
his brother's widow and his family.
When the servant had left the room, Dr. Wilton said,--
"I have advised these poor things to come here for the winter anyhow,
Anna. Can you look for lodgings for them to-morrow? I think there may be
some to be had cheap down by St. Luke's Church."
"Come here, Loftus! You surely are not going to bring Emily and the
children here, the most expensive place to decide upon."
"Well, I don't know what else to advise. You see we might show them some
attention, and help them on a little. The boys could go to the college,
and the girls get advantages which will fit them for teaching. Poor
things! it makes my heart ache when I think of them, I can tell you."
"Papa!" exclaimed Louise Wilton, "I am sure we don't want them here. I
never could get on with Salome and Ada. I am sure I hated being at
Maplestone that summer; and Aunt Emily was so grand and stuck-up."
"Nonsense, Louise!" said her father sharply. "Grand and stuck-up indeed!
Poor thing! she will only just be able to pull through with all those
children. Hans and Carl are quite little things."
"Well, I must say," said Mrs. Loftus Wilton, "I do think it is a mistake
to bring them all here; and I don't believe for an instant you will get
lodgings for them at a low price."
"I am not going to try," said Dr. Wilton. "I leave that to you; and
to-morrow morning you had better take the carriage and drive about till
you find some at thirty shillings or two pounds a week. Four bed-rooms
and two sitting-rooms will do."
Mrs. Wilton leaned back in her chair and said, "I shall send Betha; she
is a far better judge than I am of lodgings. But I feel sure you will be
disappointed. It will be utterly impossible to get lodgings in Roxburgh
for two pounds a week to accommodate a family like poor Emily's."
"I should have thought," said Dr. Wilton, "you might have troubled
yourself to help these poor people. It is not unlikely that you may find
yourself in the same position one day; and then I don't know how you
will manage. My poor brother had far less reason than I have to look
forward to leaving his wife and children unprovided for."
With these words Dr. Wilton left the dining-room; and Louise said,--
"What shall we do with all the Maplestone people, mother? it will be so
awkward to have them in lodgings here. Just the last place for people to
come to who are poor."
"Your father seems to be of a different opinion, my dear Louise, and we
must abide by his decision."
"Really," exclaimed Kate, the second sister, "Roxburgh does not belong
to us. I suppose our cousins may come here if they like."
"You have not practised to-day, Kate," Mrs. Wilton said sharply. "Go
into the school-room at once."
Dr. Wilton had a large family, of whom Louise and Kate were the eldest
girls. Then came three boys, who were at the college; and then three
more little girls. A daily governess had educated Louise and Kate, who
at seventeen and eighteen were supposed to have finished with the
school-room except for music and a little German. The trio of little
girls--Edith, Maude, and Hilda--were under Miss Browne, as their sisters
had been. And in the nursery there was a little delicate, fragile boy of
four years old, who was the especial care of the kind aunt of Mrs.
Wilton, who lived in her house as a poor relation, and performed an
unlimited number of services small and great for the whole family. Her
presence in the doctor's household obviated the necessity of an
experienced nurse, an experienced cook, or an experienced housemaid. A
staff of young girls under Aunt Betha's management got through the
onerous duties of the doctor's household, and thus Mrs. Wilton practised
economy by her help.
Like many people who love a showy outside of things and sacrifice much
to attain their object, Mrs. Wilton was very mean in small matters. An
extra quarter a pound of butter used in the house, or a shilling
expended on little Guy over and above the sum she thought right for his
beef tea and other nourishment, caused her real concern. She would fly
off to Aunt Betha to inquire into the matter, and would inveigh upon her
want of management with some asperity. But she did not grudge anything
in her drawing-room which kept it up with the fashion of the day, and
encouraged her eldest girl to dress, as she did herself, with excellent
taste and prettiness.
Mrs. Wilton went up to the nursery after dinner, where Aunt Betha was
sitting by little Guy. He had been very feverish and ailing all day, and
his father had paid him several visits. Aunt Betha raised her head as
Mrs. Wilton rustled in.
"He has just gone off to sleep," she whispered.
His tall graceful mother went up to the little bed where Guy lay.
"Loftus does not think there is much amiss," she said. "Poor little
man!" Then she sat down by the fire and said, "I want you, auntie, to go
out lodging-hunting to-morrow for me. It is for Emily Wilton and her
children. They are almost penniless, and it is necessary that they
should leave Maplestone at once, for the creditors are in possession of
the place. Shall I wake him?" Mrs. Wilton asked, as Aunt Betha turned
her head towards Guy's bed.
"No, I think not; he is really sound now. But, oh, I am so sorry for
those poor children; I am indeed."
"It is a pitiable case, and I don't see myself the wisdom of bringing
them to Roxburgh. However, as Loftus wishes it to be done, I must look
for the lodgings, or get you to look for them. I think down by St.
Luke's Church is the most likely locality, or behind Connaught Crescent.
They want four bed-rooms and two sitting-rooms for two pounds a week."
"I fear we shall not succeed at that price; but I will go directly after
breakfast to-morrow,--if Susan can be trusted here. Guy must be kept
quiet till after his luncheon, and the children are so apt to rush in."
"_Poor_ little man!" the mother repeated. "He has but small enjoyment in
his life; but we shall see him a strong man yet. Oh, those boys!" And
Mrs. Wilton hastily left the nursery as sounds of boisterous mirth
ascended from the boys' study, a small room on the ground floor where
they got through their evening preparations. Three vociferous young
voices were raised at their highest pitch, while Edith's shrill treble
was heard.
Down went Mrs. Wilton, and at the sound of her footstep there was a
lull.
"Edith, have I not forbidden you to interrupt your brothers at their
work? Go up to bed immediately."
"Mamma," sobbed Edith,--"mamma, it is all Ralph's fault. He says--he
says that Uncle Arthur's children are all paupers, and that if
papa--if--"
"She is such a baby," Ralph exclaimed; "she says pauper is a bad word."
"Yes," laughed Cyril, "the silly baby. I believe she thinks _pauper_ is
swearing."
"No, she does not," said Digby, the eldest of the three brothers. "No,
poor little thing. It is a shame to tease her as you have done. Come on
upstairs, Edith. I will take you," and Digby took his little sister by
the hand and was leading her away when his mother interposed.
"Don't encourage her in naughtiness, Digby. She is very disobedient to
come here at all.--Now, Edith."
Poor Edith obeyed at once, sobbing out, "I only said I was glad we were
not so poor as our cousins; and they all laughed at me--at least Ralph
and Cyril did--and said if papa died--"
"That will do, Edith. You are _not_ to go down to disturb your brothers
again. The next time I find you in this room of an evening, I shall
punish you severely. Run away to bed. Aunt Betha ought to have called
you by this time; and what can Sarah be thinking of?"
Then Mrs. Wilton kissed her little girl, and returned to the
drawing-room, where Louise was reading by the bright gaslight.
"You have four burners lighted, Louise. It is quite unnecessary," and
Mrs. Wilton's height made it easy for her to turn down two of the
burners in the glass chandelier.
"What a noise the boys have been making downstairs!" Louise said. "I am
sure I hope we shall not have them here all the holidays. Are we not
going to Torquay or Ilfracombe?"
"Decidedly not _en masse_," Mrs. Wilton said. "Lodgings by the sea are
so fearfully expensive."
"Well," said Louise, "I think it is very dull staying in Roxburgh all
the summer, and the boys are so tiresome. If we had only a proper
tennis-court; playing in the square is so disagreeable."
"You are very discontented, Louise," said her mother. "Pray, do not
grumble any more."
Mrs. Wilton sat down to write a letter, and no more was said till Kate
came in with Digby. They were great friends, and Digby was the generally
acknowledged good-temper of the family. I am afraid it was too much the
motto of each of the doctor's children, "Every one for himself." There
could not be said to be one really unselfish person of that household.
But Digby and Kate had more thought for others than the rest of the
brothers and sisters, and were naturally better tempered and contented.
"Are you going to look for lodgings for Aunt Emily, mother?" Digby
asked.
Mrs. Wilton looked up from her writing as if the idea were a new one to
her.
"No, my dear, I shall not have time to do so. I am engaged to take
Louise and Kate to a tennis-party at Cawfield to-morrow."
"Digby, I wish you would not sit on that sofa. Look what you have done
to the cover."
Digby changed his seat from the sofa to a straw chair, one of those
half-circular ones with cushions which creak at every movement.
"O Digby, do pray be quiet," said Louise irritably. "It does fidget me
to hear that noise."
"You will be an old maid to a certainty, Louise," said her brother, "if
you are so cantankerous,--another Aunt Betha, only not half as
good.--Come on, Kate; let us have a game of backgammon."
"Not in here!" exclaimed Louise. "I hate the rattling of the dice. Pray
go into the back drawing-room."
"Yes, let us go there," said Kate, "in peace."
"Peace! There is none in this house," said Digby as he followed Kate,
who jumped up on a chair to light the gas, and came down with a thud on
the floor, when she had achieved her object, which shook the glass-drops
of both chandeliers ominously.
"I say, Kate, what a clumsy elephant you are. You'll bring down the
chandelier and a torrent of abuse from a certain person at the same
time."
"Where are Ralph and Cyril?" Kate asked.
"Downstairs. We have all been 'preparing a lesson,' doing a holiday
task. Such humbug, as if fellows of our age ought not to dine late."
"Well, the Barrington boys always have school-room tea."
"They are younger. Ned isn't fifteen, and I am sixteen."
"No, not quite; not till next week," Kate said. "You are younger than
Raymond. Are you not sorry for them at Maplestone?"
"Awfully," said Digby; "and I think every one so unfeeling. You girls
ought to be in mourning."
"Mamma said it would be too expensive," said Kate; "but then she never
expected they would all come here and see us. I believe she is going to
get up something if they do come; but they may not get lodgings. Isn't
it odd, Digby, to think of our visit to Maplestone a year and a half
ago, when we felt them so much better off than we were, and envied the
house and the gardens, and the ponies and the carriages? And Raymond
talked so much of his swell Eton friends; and Reginald was at Rugby; and
you grumbled because you could not go to school, but had to be a day boy
at the college here."
"Yes, I remember," said Digby. "And how pretty Ada looked when she went
to church on Sunday. And that quiet one, they say, is clever, with the
queer name."
"Salome! ah, yes," said Kate. "She was odd--so dreamy, and unlike other
girls. Dear me, it is very sad for them all. I wish they were not coming
here all the same, for I know they will be disappointed; and Roxburgh is
not a place to be poor in. I am sick of all the talking about who this
person is, and where they come from, and what they wear; and that
'residents' can't know 'lodgers' for fear of getting mixed up with what
is not quite the thing. I do hate it," said Kate vehemently; "and yet
what is one to do?"
"Play backgammon now," said Digby; "and go to bed and forget it. With
slow holidays like these, one had better lie there half the day."
"_Pray_ don't be late to-morrow, Digby; it does make such a fuss. Now
then--sixes as a start. What luck for me!"
So the cousins in Edinburgh Terrace talked of the cousins at Maplestone.
So small a part of the lives of others do griefs and sorrows make. That
evening, while Digby and Kate were so lightly discussing the coming of
Ada and Raymond, of Aunt Emily and Reginald, Salome was standing in the
fading light by her father's grave in the quiet churchyard of
Maplestone, with some freshly-gathered flowers in her hand, and crying
as if her heart would break!