THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
Katherine Liddell had never spent so uneasy a night, save when her
mother had been ill. Her nerves were on the stretch, her ears painfully
watchful for the smallest sound. What if the desolate old man should
pass away, alone and unaided, in the darkness of night! The sense of
responsibility was almost too much for her. If she could have her mother
at her side she would fear nothing. She was up early, thankful to see
daylight, and eager for Mrs. Knapp's report of her uncle.
Generally the old man was afoot betimes, and despised the luxury of warm
water. This morning Mrs. Knapp had to knock at his door, as he was not
moving, and after a brief interview returned to inform Katherine that
Mr. Liddell grumbled at her for being up too early, and on hearing that
it was half past eight, said she had better bring him a cup of tea.
Katherine carried it to him herself. He took very little notice of her,
but said he would get up presently and hear the papers read.
When she came back with some jelly, for which she had sent to the
nearest confectioner, he ate it without comment, and told her she
might go.
It was a miserable morning, but about noon, to her great delight,
she saw Mr. Newton opening the garden gate. She flew to admit
him.
"I am so thankful you have come!"
"How is Mr. Liddell?"
"He seems quite himself this morning, except that he is inclined
to stay in bed."
"He must see a doctor," said Mr. Newton, speaking in a low
voice and turning into the parlor. "We must try and keep him
alive and in his senses for every reason. I am glad he is still in bed;
it will give me an excuse for urging him to take advice, for of
course I shall not mention your note."
"No pray do not. He evidently does not like to be thought ill."
"Pray how long have you been here--nearly a month? Yes, I
thought so. I cannot compliment you on your looks. How do you
think you have been getting on with our friend?"
"Not very well, I fear," said Katherine, shaking her head. "He
rarely speaks to me, except to give some order or ask some necessary
question. Yet he does not speak roughly or crossly, as he does
to Mrs. Knapp; and something I cannot define in his voice, even in
his cold eyes, tells me he is growing used to my presence, and that
he does not dislike it."
"Well, I should think not, Miss Liddell," said the precise lawyer,
politely. "I trust time may be given to him to recognize the claims
of kindred and of merit. Pray ask him if he will see me, and in the
mean time please send a note to Dr. Brown--a very respectable
practitioner, who lives not far; ask him to come at once. I must
persuade Mr. Liddell to see him, and if possible while I am present."
The old man showed no surprise at Mr. Newton's presence; it was
almost time for his monthly visit, and as he brought a small sum of
money with him, the result of some minor payments, he was very
welcome.
Katherine, immensely relieved, sat trying to work in the front
parlor, but really watching for the doctor. Would her uncle see
him? and if not, ought she still to undertake the responsibility of
such a charge?
At last he arrived, a staid, thoughtful-looking man; and before
he had time to do more than exchange a few words with her, Mr.
Newton appeared and carried him off to see the patient.
They seemed a long time gone; and when they returned the doctor
wrote a prescription--a very simple tonic, he said. "What your
uncle needs, Miss Liddell," he said, "is constant nourishment. He
is exceedingly weak; the action of the heart is feeble, the whole
system starved. You must get him to take all the food you can, and
some good wine--Burgundy if possible. He had better get up.
There is really no organic disease, but he is very low. He ought to
have some one in his room at night."
"It will be difficult to manage that," said Mr. Newton.
"I shall look in to-morrow about this time," said the doctor, and
hurried away.
"How have you contrived to make him hear reason?" asked
Katherine, eagerly.
"I took the law into my own hands, for one thing, and I suggested
a powerful motive for living on. I reminded him that he and
another old gentleman are the only survivors in a 'Tontine,' and
that he must try to outlive him. So the cost of doctor, medicine,
etc., etc., ought to be considered as an investment. Do not fail to
get him all possible nourishment. If he rebels, send for me."
"I will indeed. I am almost afraid to stay here alone. Might I
not have my mother with me?"
"Do not think of it"--earnestly. "I was going to say that I believe
you are decidedly gaining on your uncle; but the intrusion of
Mrs. Frederic Liddell yesterday was very unfortunate. My rather
peculiar client is impressed with the idea that you invited her."
"Indeed I did not!" cried Katherine.
"I did not suppose you did, but her appearance seems to have
given Mr. Liddell a shock." Mr. Newton paused, and then asked
in a slow tone, as if thinking hard, "What was your sister-in-law's
maiden name?"
"Sandford," said Katherine.
"Sandford? That is rather a curious coincidence. The late Mrs.
John Liddell was a Miss Sandford."
"Is she dead, then?"
"Yes; she died eight or nine years ago."
"Could they have been related?"
"Possibly. Some likeness seems to have struck your uncle."
There was a short silence, and Mr. Newton resumed. "I trust
you do not find your stay here too trying? I consider it very important
that you should persevere, though it is only right to tell you
that Mr. Liddell has made a will--not a just one, in my opinion--and
it is extremely unlikely he will ever change it."
"That does not really affect me. Of course I should be very glad
if he chose to leave anything to my mother or myself, but I shall do
my best for him under any circumstances. Besides, I have a sort
of desire to make him speak to me and like me--perhaps it is vanity--quite
apart from a sense of duty. He is so like a frozen man!"
"Try, try by all means, my dear young lady."
"What I do not like is the hour or half hour after market. The
wolfish greed by which he clutches the change I bring back, the
glare in his eyes, the fierce eagerness with which he asks the price
of everything--he is not human at such times, and I almost fear
him."
"It is a dreadful picture, but perhaps the details may soften in
time."
"How shall I get money for all he wants?" asked Katherine,
anxiously.
"I shall impress upon Mr. Liddell the necessity of his case, and
even make out that the good things he requires cost more than they
do. I will beg him to allow me to supply the money during his indisposition
and enter it in his account. Here, I will give you five
pounds while we are alone."
"Thank you so much! You see I dare not get into debt. I will keep a
careful account of all expenditure, and ask him--my uncle, I mean--not
to give me any money, then there will be no confusion.
"Very well. I will go back to him now. He will be almost ready to come
in here. Write to me frequently. I shall try to look in to-morrow for a
few minutes."
Katherine stirred the fire, and placed a threadbare footstool before the
invalid's easy-chair, thanking Heaven in her heart for sending her such
an ally as the friendly lawyer.
Then Mr. Liddell appeared, leaning on Newton's arm, and not looking much
worse than usual, Katherine thought. He took no notice of her until she
put the footstool under his feet; then, wonderful to relate, he looked
down into her grave, kindly face and smiled, not bitterly or cynically,
but as if, on the whole, pleased to see her. He seemed a little
breathless, yet he soon began to speak to Newton as if in continuation
of their previous conversation--"And is Fergusson really a year younger
than I am?"
"Yes, quite a year, I should say, and he takes great care of himself. I
do not think he has really so good a constitution as you have, but he
takes everything that is strengthening--good wine, turtle soup, and I do
not know what."
"Ah, indeed!" returned Mr. Liddell, thoughtfully.
"I have been explaining to Mr. Liddell," said the lawyer, turning to
Katherine, "that it would be well to let me give you the house-keeping
money for the present, so that he need not be troubled about anything
except to get well; and when well, my dear sir, you really must go out.
Fresh air--"
"Fresh fiddle-sticks," interrupted the old man; "I have been well for
years without going out, and I'll not begin now. I'll give in to
everything else; only, if _I_ am obliged to take costly food as a
medicine, I expect the rest of the household to live as carefully as
ever."
"I shall do my best, uncle," said Katherine, softly.
After a little more conversation the lawyer took his leave, and then
Katherine applied herself to read the papers which had been neglected.
It was not till toward evening she was able to write a few lines to her
mother describing Mr. Liddell's illness, and begging she would come to
see her on Saturday, as she (Katherine) could not absent herself while
her uncle was so unwell.
After this things went on much as usual, only Mr. Liddell never resumed
his habits of early rising; he was a shade less cold too, though at
times terribly irritable.
He took the food prepared for him obediently enough, but with evident
want of appetite, rarely finishing what was provided.
Mr. Newton generally called every week, and Katherine wrote to him
besides; she was strict in insisting on the audit of her accounts, which
the accurate lawyer sometimes praised. By judicious accounts of
Fergusson, the other surviving member of the Tontine, he managed to keep
his client in tolerable order. Katherine, though grateful to him for his
friendly help, little knew how strenuously he strove to lengthen the old
miser's days, hoping he would make some provision for his niece, while
he dared not offer any suggestion on the subject, lest it should
produce an effect contrary to what he desired.
Mrs. Fred Liddell was bitterly disappointed by the result of her visit
to the rich uncle. A good deal, indeed, hung upon it. A wealthy
succession was certainly a thing to be devoutly wished for in itself,
but the sharp little widow felt that provision for her boys and a dowry
for herself meant marriage, _if_ she chose, with Colonel Ormonde.
And she very decidedly did wish it. Her imagination, which was vivid
enough of its kind, was captivated by the Colonel's imposing "bow-wow"
manner, the idea of a country place--an old family place too--by his
diamond ring and florid compliments, his self-satisfied fastidiousness
and his social position. In short, to her he seemed a fashionable hero;
but she was quite sure he never would hamper himself with two little
portionless boys. Ada Liddell was by no means unkind to her children;
she was ready to pet them when they met, and give them what did not cost
her too much; but she considered them a terrible disadvantage, and
herself a most generous and devoted mother.
The day after she had been so ignominiously expelled from John Liddell's
house she put on the prettiest thing she possessed in the way of a
bonnet--a contrivance of black lace and violets--and having inspected
the turn-out of the children's maid in her best go-to-meeting attire,
also the putting on of the boys' newest sailor suits, the curling of
their hair, and many minor details, she sallied forth across Kensington
Gardens to the ride, feeling tolerably sure that, in consequence of a
hint she had dropped a day or two before, when taking afternoon tea in
Mrs. Burnett's drawing-room, Colonel Ormonde would probably be amongst
the riders on his powerful chestnut, ready to receive her report. She
was quite sure he was very much smitten, and eager to know what her
chances with old Liddell might be; and as her mother-in-law had a bad
habit of presiding over her own tea-table, it would be more convenient
to talk with her gay Lothario in the Park.
Many admiring glances were cast upon the pretty little woman in becoming
half-mourning, with the two golden-haired, sweet-looking children and
their trim maid, which did not escape their object, and put her into
excellent spirits. She felt she had gone forth conquering and to
conquer. About half-way down the row she recognized a well-known figure
on a mighty horse, who cantered up to where she stood, followed by a
groom.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Liddell; I thought this piece of fine weather would
tempt you out," cried Colonel Ormonde, dismounting and throwing his rein
to the groom, who led away the horse as if in obedience to some
previously given command. "I protest you are a most tantalizing little
woman!" he exclaimed, when they had shaken hands and he had patted the
children's heads. "I have been looking for you this half-hour. Where did
you hide yourself?"
"I did not hide myself. I am dying to tell you about my uncle."
"Ah! was he all your prophetic soul painted him?"
"He was, and a good deal more. He is quite an ogre, and lives in a
miserable hovel. How Katherine can degrade herself by grovelling there
with him for the sake of what she can get passes my understanding."
"Deuced plucky, sensible girl! She is quite right to stick to the old
boy. Hope she will get his cash. Gad! with her eyes and _his_ thousands,
she'd rouse up society!"
"Well, I believe she intends to have them all. She was quite vexed at my
going over to see the ogre, and I think has prejudiced him against my
poor darling boys, for as soon as he saw them he called out that he
could not receive any one, that he was ill and nervous. But I smiled my
very best smile, and said I had come to introduce myself, and I hoped he
would let me have a little talk with him. The poor old ogre looked at me
rather kindly and earnestly when I said that, and I really do think he
would have listened to me, but my sister-in-law would make me come away,
as if the sight of me was enough to frighten a horse from his oats; so
somehow we got hustled upstairs, and there was an end of it."
"Ah, Mrs. Liddell, you ought not to have allowed yourself to be
outmanoeuvred," cried the Colonel, who greatly enjoyed irritating his
pretty little friend. "Your _belle-soeur_ (as she really is) is too
many for you. Don't you give up; try again when the adorable Katherine
is out of the way."
"I fully intend to do so, I assure you," cried Mrs. Frederic, her eyes
sparkling, her heart beating with vexation, but determined to keep up
the illusion of ingratiating herself with the miserly uncle. "Pray
remember this is only a first attempt."
"I am sure you have my devout wishes for your success. How this wretched
old hunk can resist such eyes, such a smile, as yours, is beyond my
comprehension. If such a niece attacked _me_, I should surrender at the
first demand."
"I don't think you would"--a little tartly. "I think you have as keen a
regard for your own interest as most men."
"I am sure you would despise me if I had not, and the idea of being
despised by you is intolerable."
"You know I do not"--very softly. "But it is time I turned and went
toward home."
"Nonsense, my dear Mrs. Liddell! or, if you will turn, let it be round
Kensington Gardens. Do you know, I am going to Scotland next week, to
Sir Ralph's moor; then I expect a party to meet Errington at my own
place early in September; so I shall not have many chances of seeing you
until I run up just before Christmas. Now I am going to ask a great
favor. It's so hard to get a word with you except under the Argus eyes
of that mother-in-law of yours."
"What can it be?" opening her eyes.
"Come with me to see this play they have been giving at the Adelphi. I
have never had a spare evening to see it. We'll leave early, and have a
snug little supper at Verey's, and I'll see you home."
"It would be delightful, but out of the question, I am afraid: Mrs.
Liddell has such severe ideas, and I dare not offend her."
"Why need she know anything about it? Say--oh, anything--that you are
going with the Burnetts: they have gone to the Italian lakes, but I
don't suppose she knows."
The temptation was great, but the little widow was no fool in some ways.
She saw her way to make something of an impression on her worldly
admirer.
"No, Colonel Ormonde," she said, shaking her head, while she permitted
the "suspicious moisture" to gather in her eyes. "It would indeed be a
treat to a poor little recluse like me, but though there is not a bit of
harm in it, or you would not ask me, I am sure, I must not offend my
mother-in-law; and though Heaven knows I am not straight-laced, I never
will tell stories or act deceitfully if I can help it; that is my only
strong point, which has to make up for a thousand weak ones."
Colonel Ormonde looked at her with amazement; her greatest charm to men
such as he was her dolliness, and this was a new departure.
"Well," he said, in his most insinuating tones, "I thought you might
have granted so much to an old friend and faithful admirer like myself.
There is no great harm in my little plan."
"Certainly not, but you see I must hold on to my mother-in-law: she is
my only real stay. While pleasant and friendly as you are, my dear
Colonel"--with a pretty little toss of her head--"you will go off
shooting, or hunting, or Heaven knows what, and it is quite possible I
may never see your face again."
"Oh, by George! you will not get rid of me so easily," cried Ormonde, a
good deal taken back.
"I shall be very glad to see you if you do turn up again," said Mrs.
Liddell, graciously. "So as this will probably be the last time I shall
see you for some months, pray tell me some amusing gossip."
But gossip did not seem to come readily to Colonel Ormonde; nevertheless
they made a tour of the gardens in desultory conversation, till Mrs.
Liddell stopped decidedly, and bade him adieu.
"At last," said the cautious ex-dragoon, "you will write and tell me how
you get on with this amiable old relative of yours."
"I shall be very pleased to report progress, if you care to write and
ask me, and tell me your whereabouts."
"Then I suppose it is to be good-by?" said Ormonde, almost
sentimentally. "You are treating me devilishly ill."
"I do not see that." Here the boys came running up, at a signal from
their mother.
"Well, my fine fellow," said Ormonde, laying his hand on Cecil's
shoulder, "so you went to see your old uncle. Did he try to eat you?"
"No; but he is a nasty cross old man. He wouldn't speak a word to mammy,
but took his stick and hobbled away."
"Yes, he is a wicked man, and I am afraid he will hurt auntie," put in
Charlie.
Colonel Ormonde laughed rather more than the mother liked. "I think you
may trust 'auntie' to take care of herself.--So you forced the old boy
to retreat? What awful stories your sister-in-law must have told of
you!" to Mrs. Liddell.
She was greatly annoyed, but, urged by all-powerful self-interest, she
maintained a smooth face, and answered, "Oh yes, when Katherine kept
worrying about our disturbing her uncle, the poor old man got up and
left the room."
"Well, you must turn her flank, and be sure to let me know how matters
progress. I suppose you will be here all the autumn?"
"I should think so; small chance of my going out of town," she returned,
bitterly, and the words had scarce left her lips before she felt she had
made a mistake. Men hate to be bothered with the discomforts of others.
The result was that Colonel Ormonde cut short his adieux, and parted
from her with less regret than he felt five minutes before.
The young widow walked smartly back, holding her eldest boy's hand, and
administered a sharp rebuke to him for talking too much. To which Cecil
replied that he had only answered when he was spoken to. This elicited a
scolding for his impertinence, and produced further tart answers from
the fluent young gentleman, which ended by his being dismissed in a fury
to Jane, _vice_ Charles, promoted to walk beside mamma.
As may be supposed, Mrs. Liddell lost no time about answering her
daughter's note in person. In truth, toward the end of a week's
separation she generally began to hunger painfully for a sight of her
Katie's face, to feel the clasp of her soft arms, and to this was added
in the present instance serious uneasiness respecting the strain to
which her sense of responsibility as nurse as well as housekeeper must
subject so inexperienced a creature.
It was rather late in the afternoon when Mrs. Liddell reached Legrave
Crescent, and the servant showed her into the front parlor at once.
Katherine almost feared to draw her uncle's attention to the visitor. He
had had all the papers read to him, and even asked for some articles to
be read a second time; now after his dinner he seemed to doze. If he had
not noticed Mrs. Liddell's entry she had perhaps better take her away
upstairs at once, but while she thought she sprang to her and locked her
in a close, silent embrace.
Turning from her, he saw that Mr. Liddell's eyes were open and fixed
upon them, and she said, softly: "I am sorry you have been disturbed. I
shall take my mother to my room; perhaps if you want anything you will
ring for me."
"I will," he returned; and Mrs. Liddell thought his tone a little less
harsh than usual. "I said you might come and see your daughter when you
like," he added, "and I repeat it. You have brought her up more usefully
than I expected." Having spoken, he leaned his head back wearily and
closed his eyes.
"I am pleased to hear you say so," returned Mrs. Liddell, quietly, and
immediately followed her daughter out of the room.
"Oh, darling mother, I am so delighted to have you here all to myself!
It is even better than going home," cried Kate, when they were safe in
her own special chamber. "But you are looking pale and worn and
thin--_so_ much thinner!"
"That is an improvement, Katherine," returned Mrs. Liddell; "I shall
look all the younger."
"Ah! but your face looks older, dear. What has been worrying you? Has
Ada--"
"Ada has never worried me, as you know, Katie," interrupted Mrs.
Liddell. "She is not exactly the companion I should choose for every day
of my life, but she has always been kind and nice with me."
"Oh, she is not bad, and she would be clever if she managed to make
_you_ quarrel. I am quite different. Now I must get you some tea. Pray
look round while I am gone, and see how comfortable it is;" and
Katherine hurried away.
She soon returned, followed by Mrs. Knapp, who was glad to carry up the
tea-tray to the pleasant, sensible lady who had engaged her for what
proved to be not an uncomfortable situation. When, after a few civil
words, she retired, with what delight and tender care Katie waited on
her mother, putting a cushion at her back and a footstool under her
feet, remembering her taste in sugar, her little weakness for cream!
"It was very warm in the omnibus, I suppose, for you are looking better
already."
"I _am_ better; but, Katherine, your uncle is curiously changed. It is
not so much that he looks ill, but by comparison so alarmingly amiable."
"Well, he is less appalling than he was, and I have grown wonderfully
accustomed to him. But for the monotony, it is not so bad as I expected,
and it will be better now, as Mr. Newton is to give me the weekly money.
I think my uncle is trying to live."
"Poor man! he has little to live for," said Mrs. Liddell.
"He wishes to outlive some other old man, because then he will get a
good deal of money, according to some curious system--called a
'Tontine.'"
"Is it possible? The ruling passion, then, in his instance is strong
against death."
"What a poverty-stricken life his has been, after all!" exclaimed
Katherine. "Did Ada tell you how vexed he was at her visit?"
"She was greatly offended, but I should like your version of it."
Katherine told her, and repeated Mr. Newton's inquiry about Mrs. Fred
Liddell's family name.
"Mr. Newton is very kind. He is very formal and precise, and very
guarded in all he says, yet I feel that he likes me--us--and would like
my uncle to do something for us."
"I never hoped he would do as much as he has. If he would remember those
poor little boys in his will it would be a great help. You and I could
always manage together, Katie."
"I wish that we were together by our own selves once more," returned
Kate, nestling up to her mother on the big old-fashioned sofa, and
resting her head on her shoulder.
"I wish to God we were! I miss you so awfully, my darling!"
There was a short silence while the two clung lovingly together. Then
Katherine said, in a low tone, "Mr. Newton evidently thinks he--my
uncle--has made a very unjust will, and fears he will never change it."
"Most probably he will not; but he ought not to cut off his natural
heirs."
"Would Cecil and Charlie be his natural heirs?"
"I suppose so, and something would come to you too; but I do not
understand these matters. It is dreadful how mean and mercenary this
terrible need for money makes one."
"You want it very much, mother? There is trouble in your voice; tell me
what it is."
"There is no special pressure, dear, just now; but unless I am more
successful with my pen I greatly fear I shall get into debt before I can
liberate myself from that house. Yet if I do, what will become of Ada
and the boys?" She paused to cough.
Katherine was silent; the tone of her mother's voice told more than her
words. "But," resumed Mrs. Liddell, "all is not black. The _Dalston
Weekly_ has taken my short story, and given me ten pounds for it.
However, you must take the bad with the good; my poor three-decker has
come back on my hands."
Katherine uttered a low exclamation. "I did hope they would have taken
it! and what miserable pay for that bright, pretty story! Mother, I
cannot believe that the novel will fail. _Do, do_ try Santley & Son! I
have always heard they were such nice people. Try--promise me you will."
"Dear Katie, I will do whatever you ask me; but--but I confess I feel as
if Hope, who has always befriended me, had turned her back at last. I am
so dreadfully tired! I feel as if I was never to rest. Oh for a couple
of years of peace before I go hence, and a certainty that _you_ would
not want!"
"Do not fear for me," cried Katherine, pressing her mother to her and
covering her pale cheeks with kisses. "For myself I fear nothing, but
for _you_, I greatly fear you are unwell; you breathe shortly; your
hands are feverish. Do not let hope go. A few weeks and my uncle will be
stronger, or he may be invigorated by feeling he has killed out the
other old man, and then I will go back to you and help you, whatever
happens. I won't stay here to act compound interest. My own darling
mother, keep up your heart."
"I am ashamed of myself," said Mrs. Liddell, in an unsteady voice. "I
ought not to have grieved your young heart with my depression, for I
_have_ been depressed."
"Why not? What is the good of youth and strength if it is not to uphold
those who have already had more than their share of life's burdens?"
"I assure you this outpouring has relieved me greatly; I shall return
like a giant refreshed," said Mrs. Liddell, rallying gallantly; "and you
may depend on my trying the fortune of my poor novel once more, with
Santley & Son. Now tell me how your domestic management prospers."
A long confidential discussion ensued, and at last Mrs. Liddell was
obliged to leave.
Katherine went to tell her uncle she was going to set her mother on her
way, and to see his cup of beef tea served to him. His remark almost
startled her. "Very well," he said. "Come back soon."
This interview agitated Katherine more than Mrs. Liddell knew. Her worn
look, her cough, her unwonted depression, thrilled her daughter's warm
heart with a passion of tender longing to be with her, to help her, to
give her the rest she so sorely needed; and in the solitude of her large
dreary room she sobbed herself to sleep, her lips still quivering with
the loving epithets she had murmured to herself.