MISS HAMILTON'S LITTLE SCHOLAR
Miss Darrell's innuendoes were not to be borne with any degree of
patience. Mr. Hamilton's opinion might be nothing to me,--how often I
repeated that!--but all the same I owed it to my dignity to seek an
explanation with him.
The opportunity came the very next day.
He called to speak to me about a new patient, a little cripple boy who
had broken his arm; the father was a labourer, and there were ten
children, and the mother took in washing. 'Poor Robin has not much chance
of good nursing,' he went on; 'Mrs. Bell is not a bad mother, as mothers
go, but she is overworked and overburdened; she has a good bit of
difficulty in keeping her husband out of the alehouse. Good heavens! what
lives these women lead! it is to be hoped that it will be made up to them
in another world: no washing-tubs and ale-houses there, no bruised bodies
and souls, eh, Miss Garston?'
Mr. Hamilton was talking in his usual fashion; he had taken the arm-chair
I had offered him, and seemed in no hurry to leave it, although his
dinner-hour was approaching. When he had given me full directions about
Robin, and I had promised to go to him directly after my breakfast the
next morning, I said to him in quite a careless manner that I hoped Miss
Hamilton was well and had sustained no ill effects from her visit to me.
'Oh no: she is better than usual. I think you roused her and did her
good. Gladys mopes too much at home. All the same,' in a tolerant tone,
'you ought not to have kept her so late; as Etta very wisely remarked, it
was no good for her to stay in on Sundays and remain out a couple of
hours later another night; you see, Gladys takes cold so easily.'
'I hear you were very much inclined to blame the village nurse, Mr.
Hamilton.'
'Who?--I?' looking at me in a little surprise. 'I do not remember that I
said anything very dreadful. Etta was in a fuss, as usual; you managing
women like to make a fuss sometimes: she sent off Leah, and wanted me to
lecture Gladys for her imprudence; but I was not inclined to be bothered,
and said it was Gladys's affair if she chose to make herself ill, but all
the same she ought to be ashamed of such skittishness at her age. I don't
believe Gladys knew I was joking; that is the worst of her, she never
sees a joke; Etta does, though, for she burst out laughing when my lady
walked off to bed in rather a dignified manner. I hope you are not easily
offended too, Miss Garston?'
'Oh dear, no,' I returned coolly, 'only I should be sorry if you had in
any way changed your opinion of my steadiness. Miss Darrell hinted that
you were vexed with me for keeping your sister, and thought that I was
to blame.'
Mr. Hamilton looked so bewildered at this that I exonerated him from that
moment.
'What nonsense has that girl been talking?' he said, rather irritated.
'I always tell her that tongue of hers will lead her into trouble; I know
she talked plenty of rubbish that night. When she said it was a pity that
you and Gladys were always chattering secrets, I told her that though you
were not a Methuselah, you were hardly the sort of person to indulge in
that sort of sentimentality, that I could answer for your good sense in
that, and that Etta need not be so hard on a pretty young girl like
Gladys. That was not accusing you of want of steadiness.'
'No, thank you. I am so glad that I know what you really said.'
'Indeed, I was not aware that my good or bad opinion mattered to Miss
Garston: you have certainly never given me the impression that you mind
very much what I say or think.'
Was Mr. Hamilton cross? He looked quite moody all at once; his face wore
that hard disagreeable look that I so disliked. He had been so pleasant
in his manners ever since that evening at Gladwyn that I was rather sorry
that this agreeable state of things should be disturbed. He was evidently
not to blame for Miss Darrell's misrepresentations, so I hastened with
much policy to throw oil on the troubled waters.
'I do not know why you should say that. It ought not to be a matter of
indifference what people think of us.'
'Ought it not? Would you like to know my opinion of you after nearly
a month of acquaintance? Let me warn you, I have entirely changed my
opinion since our stormy interview in Cunliffe's study.'
I do not know what there was in Mr. Hamilton's look and manner that made
me say hastily,--
'Oh no, I would rather not know, and I hope you will not tell me. I am
quite sure you do not misconstrue my motives now.'
'You may be quite sure of that,' rather grimly, as though my last speech
displeased him. 'It is difficult not to think you older than you are, you
are so terribly sensible and matter-of-fact. How can Gladys get on with
you, I wonder? Do you put a moral extinguisher on all her romance?'
'I am not quite so matter-of-fact as you make out, Mr. Hamilton.'
He shot an odd sort of glance at me. 'When you sing, one can believe
that; there is nothing prosaic in a nestful of larks. Poor Phoebe, I do
believe you are doing her good: she looks far more human already. By the
bye, when are you coming to sing to us again? I told Etta that I was
engaged on Thursday, and she declared it was our only free day until
Christmas.'
'I shall be too busy to come till after then,' I replied quietly, for I
did not wish him to think that I was ready to jump at any invitation to
Gladwyn. He seemed rather disconcerted at my coldness.
'Why, it is more than ten days to Christmas! I hope you do not mean to
be stiff and unneighbourly, Miss Garston. I am afraid,' with a decidedly
quizzical look, 'that pride is a serious defect of yours.'
'Perhaps so; but, you see, I do not wish to be different from my
neighbours,' I replied quietly; but my speech was received by Mr.
Hamilton with a hearty laugh.
'Oh yes, you are right: we are a proud lot,' he observed, as he rose to
take leave. 'Well, Miss Garston, after Christmas is over, we shall hope
to see you for an evening; but any afternoon you are free they will be
glad to see you. Etta makes excellent tea. What a craze five-o'clock tea
is with you women! I have protested against it in vain: the girls are in
majority against me.' With this speech he took himself off. I was much
relieved at this peaceable ending to our interview. Now he was gone I
could scarcely believe that I had ventured on a joke with the formidable
Mr. Hamilton, a joke which he had taken in excellent part. I began to
feel less in awe of him: he certainly knew how to shake hands heartily,
and I could recapitulate Lady Betty's criticism on myself and apply it
to him, for when Mr. Hamilton smiled he looked quite a different
man,--years younger, and much better looking. Well, I was glad that
he had such a good opinion of my common sense.
My hands were likely to be full of business until after Christmas. Mrs.
Marshall was growing gradually weaker, and Mr. Hamilton was doubtful
whether she would last to see the New Year in. Her husband would be home
on Christmas Eve; his work at Lewes would be finished by then, and he
hoped to find work nearer home. Poor Mary told me this with tears in her
eyes; her one prayer was that she might be spared to see Andrew again.
'He has been a good husband to me, and has kept out of the public-house
for the sake of his wife and the children, and I cannot die easy until I
have said good-bye to him,' finished the poor woman; but when I repeated
this to Mr. Hamilton he shook his head. 'A few hours may take her off any
day,' he said; 'it is only a wonder that she has lasted so long. I
believe she is keeping herself alive by the sheer force of her longing
to see her husband. Women are strange creatures, Miss Garston.'
My new patient was likely to give me plenty of occupation. I found the
poor little fellow, looking very forlorn and dull, lying in a dark corner
of a large chilly garret, which was evidently shared by two or three
brothers.
Mrs. Bell, who had left her washing-tub to accompany me upstairs, stood
drying her arms on her apron, and talking in a high-pitched querulous
voice. 'No one can say I have not been unfortunate this year,' she
grumbled. 'There's Bell, he gets worse and worse. I fetched him myself
out of the Man and Plough last Saturday night, where he was drinking the
money that was to buy the children bread. "Do you call yourself a man or
a brute?" I says, but in my opinions it's wronging the poor bruteses to
compare them with such as him. "Work!" says he; "why don't you work
yourself?" when I am at that wash-tub from morning till night.'
'And now poor Robin is adding to your trouble, Mrs. Bell,' I observed,
with a pitying look at the child's white face and large wistful eyes.
'Ay, he has gone and done it now,' she returned, with a touch of motherly
feeling; 'it was a slide those bad boys had made, and Robbie came down on
it with his crutch under him. He is always in trouble, is Robbie, has had
more illnesses than all the children put together; there is nothing Robin
can't take: whooping-cough,--why, he nearly whooped himself to death;
measles and scarlet fever,--why, he was as nearly gone as possible, the
doctor said. He has always been puny and weakly from a baby. But there's
Bell, now, makes more of a fuss over Rob than over the others; if there
is anything that will keep him away from the Man and Plough, it is Rob
asking him to take him out somewhere.'
'Ay, father's promised to sit with me this evening,' observed Robin, in
a faint little treble.
'Then we must make the room comfortable for father,' I said quickly.
'Mrs. Bell, I must not hinder you any more; but if you could spare one
of the girls to help me tidy up a little.'
'Ay, Sally can come,' she returned; 'the place does look like a piggery.
You see, Tom and Ned and Willie sleep here along of Robin, and boys know
naught about keeping a place tidy; Sally reds it up towards evening. But
there, doctor said Robbie must have a fire, and I've clean forgotten it:
I will send up Sally with some sticks and a lump or two of coal.'
Mrs. Bell was not a bad sort of woman, certainly, but, like many of her
class, she was not a good manager; and when a woman has ten children, and
a husband rather too fond of the Man and Plough, and is obliged to stand
at her washing-tub for hours every day, one cannot expect to find the
house in perfect order.
We had soon a bright little fire burning, which gave quite a cheery
aspect to the large bare attic; the sloping roof and small window did not
seem to matter so much. With Sally's help I moved Robin's little bed to a
lighter part of the room, where the roof did not slope so much, and where
the wintry sunlight could reach him. Robin seemed much pleased with this
change of position, and when I had washed and made him comfortable he
declared that he felt 'first-rate.'
I had so much to do for my patient that I was obliged to let Sally tidy
up the room in her usual scrambling way. The child had been sadly
neglected by that time, and he was getting faint. I had to prepare some
arrow-root for his dinner, and then hurry off to the Marshalls' before I
had my own. I was obliged to omit my visit to Phoebe that day, and divide
my time between Mrs. Marshall and Robin. When I had given Robin his tea,
and had put a chair by the fire for father, I went off, feeling that I
could leave him more comfortably. The eldest boy, Tom, a big, strapping
lad of fourteen, who went to work, had promised to keep the other boys
quiet, 'that the little chap might not be disturbed,' and as Robin again
declared that he felt first-rate, if it weren't for his arm, I hoped that
he might be able to sleep.
'Father stopped with me ever so long, until the boys came to bed,' were
Robin's first words the next morning; 'and doctor came, and said we
looked quite snug, and he is going to send father some books to read, and
some papers, and father said he was more comfortable than downstairs, as
I did not mind his pipe, and Tom has hung my linnet there,' pointing to
the window, 'and if you open the cage, miss, you will see him hop all
over the bedclothes, and chirp in the beautifullest way.'
We had a great deal of cleaning to do that day. I shall never forget Lady
Betty's face when she came upstairs and saw me down on my knees at work
in my corner of the room; for Sally was little, and the room was large,
and I was obliged to go to her assistance.
'Good gracious, Miss Garston!' she said, in quite a shocked voice, 'you
do not mean to tell me that you consider it your duty to scrub floors?'
'Well, no,' I returned, laughing, for really her consternation was
ludicrous, 'I should consider it a waste of strength, generally; but
we never know what comes in a day's work. Sally is so little that I am
obliged to help her.'
'Why can't Mrs. Bell do it?' asked Lady Betty indignantly.
'Mrs. Bell has hardly time to cook the children's dinner. Please don't
look so shocked. I don't often scrub floors, and I have nearly finished
now. What have you brought in that basket, little Red Riding-Hood?' for
in her little crimson hood-like bonnet she did not look so unlike Red
Riding-Hood.
'Oh, Giles asked Gladys to send some things for poor little Robin, and
she packed them herself. There is a jar of beef-tea, and some jelly, and
some new-laid eggs, and sponge-cakes, and a roll or two; and Gladys hopes
you will let her know what Robin wants, for he used to be her little
scholar, and she is so interested in him.'
Of course I knew Lady Betty would chatter about me when she returned
home, but I was rather vexed when Mr. Hamilton took me to task the next
morning and gave me quite a lecture on the subject; he made me promise at
last that I would never do anything of the kind again. I hardly know what
made me so submissive. I think it was his threat of keeping any more
patients from me, and then he seemed so thoroughly put out.
'It is such folly wearing yourself out like this, Miss Garston,' he said
angrily. 'I wonder why women never will learn common sense. If you work
under me I will thank you to obey my directions, and I do not choose my
nurse to waste her time and strength in scrubbing floors. Yes, Robin boy,
I am very angry with nurse; but there is no occasion for you to cry about
it; and--why, good heavens! if you are not crying too, Miss Garston! Of
course; there, I told you so; you have just knocked yourself up.'
His tone so aggravated me that I plucked up a little spirit.
'I am not a bit knocked up,'--and, in rather a choky voice, 'I am not
crying; I never cry before people; only I am a little tired. I was up all
last night with Mrs. Marshall, and you talk so much.'
'Oh, very well,' rather huffily; but he was in a bad humour that day. 'I
won't talk any more to you. But I should like to know one thing: when are
you going home?'
'In another hour; my head aches, rather, and I think I shall lie down.'
'Of course your head aches; but there, you have given me a promise, so I
will not say any more. Try what a good nap will do. I am going round by
the Lockes', and I shall tell Phoebe not to expect you this afternoon. It
won't hurt her to miss you sometimes; it will teach her to value her
blessings more, and people cannot sing when they have a headache.' And he
walked off without waiting for me to thank him for his thoughtfulness.
What did he mean by saying that I was crying, the ridiculous man, just
because there were tears in my eyes? I certainly could not fancy myself
crying because Mr. Hamilton scolded me!
I had a refreshing nap, and kept my dinner waiting, but I must own I was
a little touched when Mrs. Barton produced a bottle of champagne which
she said Mr. Hamilton had brought in his pocket and had desired that I
was to have some directly I woke. 'And I was to tell you, with his
compliments, that his sister Gladys would sit with Robin all the
afternoon, and that Lady Betty was at the Marshalls', and he was going
again himself, and Phoebe Locke was better, and he hoped you would not
stir out again to-day.'
How very kind and thoughtful of Mr. Hamilton! He had sent his sisters
to look after my patients, that I might be able to enjoy my rest with a
quiet conscience. I was sorry that he should think that I was so easily
knocked up; but it was not over-fatigue, nor yet his scolding, that had
brought the tears to my eyes. To-day was the second anniversary of
Charlie's death, and through that long, wakeful night, as I sat beside
poor Mary's bed, I was recalling the bitter hours when my darling went
down deeper into the place of shadows,--when he fought away his young
life, while Lesbia and I wept and prayed beside him. No wonder a word
unnerved me; but I could not tell Mr. Hamilton this.
When we met the next day he asked me, rather curtly, if the headache had
gone; but when I thanked him, somewhat shyly, for the medicine he had
sent, he got rather red, and interrupted me with unusual abruptness.
'You have nothing for which to thank me,' he said, in quite a repellent
tone. 'I am glad you obeyed orders and stopped at home; I was afraid you
might be contumacious, as usual,'--which was rather ungracious of him,
after the promise he had extracted from me.
I questioned Robin about Miss Hamilton's visit; she had remained with the
boy some hours, reading to him and amusing him, and, in Robin's favourite
language, 'getting on first-rate; only, just as I was drinking my mugful
of tea, parson comes, and Miss Hamilton she says she will be late, and
gets up in a hurry, and--'
'Wait a minute, Robin: do you mean Mr. Cunliffe or Mr. Tudor?'
'Oh, the vicar, to be sure; and he seemed finely surprised to see Miss
Hamilton there. "So you've come to see your old scholar," he says,
smiling, and Miss Hamilton says, "Yes; but she must go now," and she
drops her glove, and parson looks for it, but it was too dark, and for
all his groping it could not be found. "I must just go without it," says
Miss Hamilton; "but I have got my muff, and it does not matter," and she
says good-bye, and goes away. Parson found it, though,' went on Robin
garrulously. 'When Sally lighted the candle he spies it at once, and puts
it in his pocket. "Miss Hamilton will be fine and glad when you tell her
it is found," I says to parson; but he just looks at me in an odd sort of
way, and says, "Yes, Robin, certainly."--'And you won't forget to give it
to her, to-morrow, sir?' but he did not seem to hear me. "Good-night,
my man," he said. "So Miss Hamilton did not think you were too old to be
kissed." And he kissed me just in the same place as she did. What did you
say, miss?'
'I did not say anything, Robin.'
'Didn't you, miss? I thought I heard you say "poor man," or something
like that. Is not Miss Hamilton beautiful? I think she is almost as
beautiful as my picture of the Virgin Mary. I asked parson if he did not
think so, and he said yes. Do you think she will come again soon?'
'We shall see, Robbie dear.' But, as I spoke, something told me that we
should not see Miss Hamilton there again.