THE FIRST-BORN.
Those Llanfawr bells which, as Freda said, certainly did ring for
everything, were sending forth their chimes to celebrate the birth of a
daughter at Plas Abertewey. But whilst they were ringing, and Freda was
abusing them, the mother of the little daughter was, apparently, about
to depart for that other country where bells shall no longer 'ring out
the old, and ring in the new,' welcome the babe, or speed the spirit of
the dead.
Good Dr Richards and the nurse stood, one on either side of Netta's bed,
pouring brandy and wine down her throat, whilst her infant was on its
grandmother's, Mrs Jenkins's lap, in the next room. The doctor was in a
state of intense anxiety. He had sent off one man and horse for another
surgeon, and a second to Swansea, to telegraph for Howel, who had not
yet returned from London, where he had been nearly three months. He felt
the great responsibility of his situation, and that if Netta did not
rally, she must die.
It was six o'clock in the evening; the baby had been born in the
morning, and Netta's continual cry had been 'Howel! Howel! When will my
husband come?' But she had not spoken for some hours, and seemed to be
sinking out of the world.
As Dr Richards leaned over her, he thought she murmured something.
Putting his ear close to her, he heard the words, 'Mother! oh, mother!'
'She shall come! you shall see her!' said Dr Richards. He went to a
writing-table, and wrote as follows:--
'Mrs Howel Jenkins is dying. The only chance to save her is her mother's
presence. Come, for God's sake.'
He went out of the room, and ordered the carriage and horses to be
prepared at once, and sent them and the coachman to Glanyravon Farm. The
man said it was as much as his place was worth to go; but Dr Richards
insisted, and he went.
In about two hours the carriage returned. Dr Richards heard the distant
sound of wheels, so did Netta. She opened her eyes, and with a painful,
eager glance, again said, 'Mother!'
Dr Richards left the room, and, to his great joy, welcomed Mrs Prothero
in the hall.
'Thank God, you are come! She is yet alive,' said he.
'I did not stop to ask David,' said Mrs Prothero, 'but came straight
away.'
She followed Dr Richards to Netta's room, and the feelings of the mother
and the daughter may well be imagined, as they thus met after such a
separation. Mrs Prothero turned away and wept--then prepared to wait
upon her child.
As the long absence of Howel, and his non-arrival day after day,
according to promises almost daily made, had caused Netta's extreme
prostration of mental as well as physical power; so the presence of her
mother appeared to revive and cheer her. Again she had some one near her
who loved her. Her mother, whom she had so grievously offended, had come
to her in trouble, and she was roused and comforted. The mother-in-law,
who had been so anxious to take her from her parents, did not fill their
places.
Whilst Mrs Prothero was tenderly nursing her daughter, and gently
assuring her of her love and forgiveness, Mrs Griffey Jenkins was
discussing her arrival with the various domestics and the nurse, who
went into an adjoining room to have her supper, where Mrs Griffey also
had hers.
Their conversation was carried on in an under voice, and between sips of
gin and water, Mrs Griffey said,--
'You do see, Mrs Gwillim, that if Mrs Howel was to die, my Howels 'ould
be seure to be marrying again. He could have anybody.'
'Of course, ma'am--of course.'
'There don't be a lady anywhere as 'ouldn't be proud to be marrying my
Howels. Up in London there's my Lady Sinclairs, and a hundred others;
and down here there's Miss Nugent, or Miss Gwynne. You do see, Mrs
Gwillim, that though Mrs Howels do be very respectable, she 'ouldn't be
Mrs Howel Jenkins, Abertewey, only my Howels was too honourable not to
be marrying her. I 'ould be sorry after her, but if she was to be taken,
why, she couldn't go at a better time. What was you thinking of her by
now?'
'Very bad, ma'am, very bad,' said Mrs Gwillim, ominously shaking her
head.
And 'very bad,' Netta undoubtedly was all that night. Dr Richards did
not leave the house, and in due course of time the other medical man
arrived; still, the half-expressed and wholly felt wishes of her
mother-in-law for her death were not realised. The dawn of morning found
her sleeping peaceably with her infant in her arms, and her mother
thanking God that she was better.
At ten o'clock in the morning, carriage wheels were again heard, and Mrs
Prothero trembled as Howel entered the house, and there was a
consultation of doctors as to the propriety of his seeing his wife at
once.
Mrs Griffey anticipated every one else by going direct to Howel.
'How is she, mother?' were his first words.
'Better they do say.'
'Then why on earth did they telegraph for me. It may be the loss of
thousands.'
'Mrs Prothero is with Netta, Howel, bach.'
'Who dared to bring her into my house?'
'Netta, I 'spose. They was turning _me_ out of Glanyravon.'
'And I'll turn her out of Abertewey, the canting old humbug.'
Here Dr Richards came in.
'She is out of danger, I hope, Mr Jenkins; anxiety about you reduced her
so low; and I took upon myself to send for her mother, who has roused
her, and, I believe, saved her life. She knows you are come, and perhaps
the sight of you for a moment may not injure her, as she is very anxious
to see you; but we must not excite her.'
Howel looked paler and darker than usual, and Dr Richards attributed it,
and his silence, to his emotion. They went together upstairs, and Howel
stood by the bed where lay his young wife and his first-born child. As
he looked upon the pale face of Netta, and saw her large black eyes
gleam with joy, and her lips purse themselves up like a double cherry,
to kiss him, he was touched. He bent over her, and kissed her warmly.
When she uncovered a small portion of the bed-clothes, and displayed the
infant that lay in her arms, a smile passed over his countenance, and he
kissed his wife and child together.
'Dear Howel,' murmured Netta, as the nurse covered up the mother and her
babe, and the doctor touched Howel, and told him to come away. He caught
sight of the trembling Mrs Prothero as he was leaving the room, and a
terrible frown passed over his face. She followed him downstairs, and
anticipated his abuse of her, by saying at once, gently, but firmly,--
'Howel, I came here at Dr Richards' summons to my dying child. My
husband did not even know I was coming, but neither he nor you could
have prevented me at such a time. You cannot turn me from your doors
whilst she is still in danger. When she is out of danger I will go.'
'You turned my mother from yours.'
'Not I, Howel; and I have never injured you. Leave me till to-morrow,
and I will go.'
One of the few people in the world for whom Howel had a small amount of
respect and affection, was Mrs Prothero. The simply good, and
unaffectedly pious, will sometimes command the regard of the worldly and
irreligious.
'If you remain in my house, Mrs Prothero, it is because you have been
consistently kind to me, and received my mother. As to your husband, I
would--'
'Not to me, Howel, if you please I can hear nothing against him. You
must remember the provocation, and try to forgive and forget as I do.
But thank you for letting me stay with Netta. I have so longed and
prayed to see her again, and it has been brought about for me.'
Mrs Prothero remained one clear day and two nights longer at Abertewey.
As Netta was quite out of danger before that time had expired, she
thought it right to go home, both on Howel's account and her own
husband's, whose anger she would have to allay. During her stay with
Netta she lost no opportunity to work gently on the mind of her child,
now opened and softened by her late trials. She found, with grief, what
she had always feared, that Howel and Netta were not happy together;
that he was frequently morose and unkind, and that she was passionate
and revengeful. This eked out in Netta's confessions to her mother, for
Howel was attentive and affectionate during her illness. Mrs Prothero
entreated her to be gentle and obedient. Earnestly did she speak to her
of religion, trying to recall the lessons of her childhood; and with
tears poor Netta promised everything. Particularly she promised to read
her Bible. Her mother was shocked that the Book was not to be found in
her bedroom. She put a little Testament, that she always carried in her
pocket, under her child's pillow. It was lined, and underlined by her
own hand, and she fondly hoped she might read it for her sake.
Netta was so loving, gentle, and teachable with her mother--blamed
herself so severely for having displeased her and her father--sent so
many messages to him, and seemed so desirous of obtaining his
forgiveness, that Mrs Prothero hoped everything.
It was a hard struggle to part again with that dear child, and to kiss
the little grandchild for the last time, perhaps, for years--she would
not believe for ever; but both she and Netta were obliged to put a brave
face upon it, in order not to displease Howel, already suspicious of
their conversations.
'You see Netta has all the grandest lady could desire,' said Howel,
before Mrs Prothero left.
'Oh yes! I hope you will be happy,' was the reply. Mrs Prothero had
never given a thought to the grandeur by which she was surrounded.
'Why not? Does Netta complain?' said Howel.
'No, no; she says you are very good, and let her have all she wants;
but, Howel, riches may not always bring happiness, and we must try to
look beyond the perishable things of life for it.'
'Pshaw!' said Howel, impatiently; 'you know, aunt, I hate that sort of
cant.'
Soon after she left Abertewey, Colonel Vaughan called Howel and he had
a long conversation, the purport of which was, that the colonel wished
to come himself to reside at Abertewey at the end of Howel's term of two
years; and Howel was quite ready and willing to give it up to him,
saying that he meant to purchase a house in town--in Belgravia, of
course--and to reside there until he could meet with a property that he
could purchase.
Howel told Netta that he was tired of the neighbourhood already, it was
so stupid; and that London, and a country house in some English county,
would be far preferable to living in such a dull part of the world. She
quite agreed with him, and had her own reasons for being glad to leave
Wales. In the first place, she was not at home with the people she met
in society, and liked the notion of living where no one would know that
she was the daughter of the Protheros of Glanyravon. In the second,
Howel would be always at home in London, and never again absent for
three months, she knew not why. Moreover, she longed to be far away from
the mother-in-law, who was a sort of spy over all she said or did; and
she thought Howel would be kinder to her when he was at a distance from
their kith and kin, whose propinquity seemed to irritate him.
Netta did not stop to consider Howel's real reasons for leaving the
country, or imagine for a moment that a man of his, to her,
inexhaustible resources, could be induced to do so because he found
those resources were not inexhaustible. Neither did she remember that in
London he would be in the midst of the gamblers, horse-racers, and
spendthrifts who had been helping him to diminish his father's
ill-gotten gains, before and since, he came into possession of them.
During the remainder of his stay in the county, his house was open to
sportsmen of every grade. His racers, hunters, hounds, and good dinners
were points of union to all the sporting men of the county; and Captain
Dancy, Mr Deep, Sir Samuel Spendall, the Simpsons, Madame Duvet, and
many others, again adorned Plas Abertewey. Races and race-balls,
steeple-chases, and steeple-chase balls, hunts, and hunt-balls, took
Howel, Netta, and his friends from place to place, and he and his horses
soon became celebrated. The latter ran at all the races. He was a good
rider, and rode himself in several steeple-chases; in short, he was
declared to be 'a capital fellow!' and one who, if he would only remain
in the county, would raise the sporting interest throughout it. As
'blessings brighten as they take their flight,' so Howel's popularity
reached its zenith just as he resigned Abertewey to Colonel Vaughan, and
went, with his wife and child, abroad for a few months.
As Freda foretold, bells rang, bonfires blazed, and cannons fired, when
the respective owners of Glanyravon and Abertewey brought home their
respective brides, which took place in due course. If anybody thought of
Miss Gwynne, it was to comment loudly on her conduct in leaving her
home, because her father chose to marry again, and lowering herself and
her position by going to reside with her former governess, the wife of a
curate in the East End of London. Some few sympathised with her, but the
greater number laughed at Mr Gwynne, admired Lady Nugent's tact, and
blamed Freda.
Those, also, who discussed Colonel Vaughan, as everybody did, thought
him a wise man to marry a woman who could at once clear his estate, and
enable him to live upon it as his fathers had never lived before him,
and welcomed him home with great ardour, and a regular volley of dinner
parties.
Thus Lady Mary Nugent and her daughter, with their various worldly and
external advantages, and Colonel Vaughan, with his _savoir faire_, had
done more for themselves than Freda or Gladys, or Owen or Rowland could
have done, with their honesty of purpose, beauty, and intelligence, in a
worldly point of view, I would be understood to mean.