'I CLAIM THAT PROMISE, URSULA'
It was soon after this that Uncle Max came home.
I met Mr. Tudor in the village one morning, and he told me with great
glee that they had just received a telegram telling them that he was on
his way, and an hour after his arrival he came down to the cottage.
Directly I heard his 'Well, little woman, how has the world treated you
in my absence?' I felt quite cheered, and told my little fib without
effort:
'Very well indeed, thank you, Max.'
It is really a psychological puzzle to me why women who are otherwise
strictly true and honourable in their dealings and abhor the very name
of falsehood are much addicted to this sort of fibbing under certain
circumstances; for instance, the number of white lies that I actually
told at that time was something fabulous, yet the sin of hypocrisy did
not lie very heavily on my soul.
When I assured Uncle Max with a smiling face that things were well with
me, his only answer was to take my chin in his hand and turn my face
quietly to the light.
'Are you quite sure you are speaking the truth? You look rather thin; and
why are your eyes so serious, little she bear?'
'It is such hot weather,' I returned, wincing under his kindly scrutiny.
'And we--that is, I have had anxious work lately. I wrote to you about
poor Janet Coombe. It is a miracle that she has pulled through this
illness.'
'Yes, indeed: I met Hamilton just now on his way to her, and he declared
her recovery was owing to your nursing; but we will take that with a
grain of salt, Ursula: we both know how devoted Hamilton is to his
patients.'
'He has saved her life,' was my reply, and for a moment my eyes grew dim
at the remembrance of the untiring patience with which he had watched
beside the poor girl. It was in the sick-room that I first learned to
know him,--when metaphorically I sat at his feet, and he taught me
lessons of patience and tenderness that I should never forget until
my life's end.
When we had talked about this a little while, Max asked me rather
abruptly when Captain Hamilton was expected. The question startled me,
for I had almost forgotten his existence.
'I do not know,' I returned uneasily, for I was afraid Max would think
I had been remiss. 'Lady Betty is away, and I have only seen Gladys twice
since my return, and each time I forgot to ask her.'
'Only twice, and you have been at home more than three weeks,' observed
Max, in a dissatisfied voice.
'I have been so engaged,' I replied quickly, 'and you know how seldom
Gladys comes to the cottage. Max, do you know you have been here a
quarter of an hour, and I have never congratulated you on your good
fortune! I was so glad to hear Mrs. Trevor left you that money.'
'I did not need it,' he returned, rather gloomily. 'I had quite
sufficient for my own wants. I do not think that I am particularly
mercenary, Ursula: the books and antiquities were more to my taste.'
Max was certainly not in the best of spirits, but I did all I could to
cheer him. I told him of Gladys's improved looks, and how much her change
had benefited her, but he listened rather silently. I saw he was bent on
learning Captain Hamilton's movements, and reproached myself that I had
not questioned Gladys. I was determined that I would speak to her about
her cousin the next time we met.
Max went away soon after this; he was rather tired with his journey, he
said; but the next morning I received a note from him asking me to dine
with him the following evening, as he had seen so little of me lately,
and he wanted to hear all about the wedding.
Of course I was too glad to accept this invitation,--I always liked to go
to the vicarage,--and this evening proved especially pleasant.
Max roused himself for my benefit, and Mr. Tudor seemed in excellent
spirits, and we joked Uncle Max a great deal about his fortune, and after
dinner we made a pilgrimage through the house, to see what new furniture
was needed.
Max accompanied us, looking very bored, and entered a mild protest to
most of our remarks. He certainly agreed to a new carpet for the study
and a more comfortable chair, but he turned a perfectly deaf ear when Mr.
Tudor proposed that the drawing-room should be refurnished.
'It is such a pretty room, Mr. Cunliffe,' he remonstrated; 'and it
will be ready by the time you want to get married. Mother Drabble's
arrangement of chairs and tables is simply hideous. I was quite ashamed
when Mrs. Maberley and her daughter called the other day.'
'Nonsense, Lawrence!' returned Max, rather sharply. 'What do two
bachelors want with a drawing-room at all? You and Ursula may talk as
much as you like, but I do not mean to throw away good money on such
nonsense. We will have a new book-case and writing-table, and fit up the
little gray room as your study--and, well, perhaps I may buy a new
carpet, but nothing more.' And we were obliged to be content with this.
Max brought out a couple of wicker chairs on the terrace presently, and
proposed that we should have our coffee out of doors. Mr. Tudor grumbled
a little, because he had a letter to write; but I was not sorry when he
left me alone with Max. I really liked Mr. Tudor, but we were neither of
us in the mood for his good-natured chatter.
'I think old Lawrence is very much improved,' observed Max, as we watched
his retreating figure. 'His sermons have more ballast, and he is
altogether grown. I begin to have hopes of him now.'
'He is older, of course,' I remarked oracularly, wondering what Max would
say if he knew the truth. 'Well, Max, did you go up to Gladwyn last
night?'
'Yes,' he returned, with a quick sigh, 'and Hamilton made me stay to
dinner. I have found out about Captain Hamilton. He cannot get leave just
yet, and they do not expect him until the end of November.'
'I am sorry to hear that. Do you not wish that you had taken my advice
now, and gone down to Bournemouth?' But a most emphatic 'No' on Max's
part was my answer to this.
'I am very thankful I did nothing of the kind,' he returned, a little
irritably. 'You meant well, Ursula, but it would have been a mistake.'
'Hamilton told me about his cousin,' he went on; 'but his sister was in
the room. She coloured very much and looked embarrassed directly Claude's
name was mentioned.'
'That was because Miss Darrell was there.' But I should have been wiser
and, held my tongue.
'You are wrong again,' he returned calmly. 'Miss Darrell was dining at
the Maberleys', and never came in until I was going.'
'How very strange!' was my comment to this.
'Not stranger than Miss Hamilton's manner the whole evening, I never felt
more puzzled. When I came in she was alone. Hamilton did not follow me
for five minutes. She came across the room to meet me, with one of her
old smiles, and I thought she really seemed glad to see me; but
afterwards she was quite different. Her manner changed and grew listless.
She did not try to entertain me; she left me to talk to her brother. I
don't think she looks well, Ursula. Hamilton asked her once if her head
ached, and if she felt tired, and she answered that her head was rather
bad. I thought she looked extremely delicate.'
'Oh, Gladys is never a robust woman. She is almost always pale.'
'It is not that,' he returned decidedly. 'I consider she looked very
ill. I don't believe the change has done her the least good. There is
something on her mind: no doubt she is longing for her cousin.'
I thought it well to remain silent, though Max's account made me anxious.
If only I could have spoken to him about Eric! Most likely Gladys was
fretting because there was no news from Joe Muggins. She was certainly
not fit for any fresh anxiety. I felt my banishment from Gladwyn acutely.
If Gladys were ill or dispirited, she would need me more than any one.
I think both Max and I were sorry when Mr. Tudor came back and
interrupted our conversation. He carried me off presently to show me
some improvements in the kitchen-garden; but Max was too lazy to join us,
and we had quite a confidential talk, walking up and down between the
apple-trees. Mr. Tudor told me that, after all, he was becoming fond of
his profession, and that the old women did not bore him quite so much.
When we returned, Max was not on the lawn, but a few minutes afterwards
he appeared at the study window.
'I was just speaking to Hamilton,' he said. 'He came while you were in
the kitchen-garden, but he was in a hurry and could not wait. By the bye,
he told me that I was not to let you sit out there any longer, as the
dews are so heavy. So come in, my dear.'
I obeyed Max without a word. He had been here, and I had missed him!
Everything was flat after that.
I took my leave early, feeling as though all my merriment had suddenly
dried up. How would he have met me? I wondered. Would Max have noticed
anything different? 'How long will this state of things go on?' I
thought, as I bade Max good-bye in the porch.
I waited for some days for Gladys to come to me, and then I wrote to
her just a few lines, begging her to have tea with me the following
afternoon; but two or three hours afterwards Chatty brought me a note.
'Do not think me unkind, Ursula,' she wrote, 'if I say that it is better
for us not to meet just now. I have twice been on my way to you, and Etta
has prevented my coming each time. My life just now is unendurable. Giles
notices nothing. I sometimes think Etta must be possessed, to treat me as
she does: I can see no reason for it. I hope I am not getting ill, but I
do not seem as though I could rouse myself to contend with her. I do not
sleep well, and my head pains me. If I get worse, I must speak to Giles:
I cannot be ill in this place.'
Gladys's letter made me very anxious. There was a tone about it that
seemed as though her nerves were giving way. The heat was intense, and
most likely anxiety about Eric was disturbing her night's rest. Want of
sleep would be serious to Gladys's highly-strung organisation. I was
determined to speak to Mr. Hamilton, or go myself to Gladwyn.
My fears were still further aroused when Sunday came and Gladys was not
in her usual place. After service Miss Darrell was speaking to some
friends in the porch. As I passed Mr. Hamilton I paused for a moment, to
question him: 'Why was Gladys not at church? Why did she never come to
see me now?'
'We might ask you that same question, I think,' he returned, rather
pointedly. 'Gladys is not well: she spoke to me yesterday about herself,
and I was obliged to give her a sleeping-draught. She was not awake when
we left the house.'
'I will come and see her,' I replied quickly, for Miss Darrell was
bearing down upon us, and I am sure she heard my last words; and as I
walked home I determined to go up to Gladwyn that very evening while the
family were at church.
I thought I had timed my visit well, and was much exasperated when Miss
Darrell opened the door to me.
'I saw you coming,' she said, in her smooth voice, 'and so I thought I
would save Leah the trouble. She is the only servant at home, and I sent
her upstairs to see if Gladys wanted anything. I hope you do not expect
to see Gladys to-night, Miss Garston?'
'I most certainly expect it,' was my reply. 'I have given up the evening
service, hearing that she was ill.'
'It is too kind of you; but I am sorry that I could not allow it for a
moment. Giles was telling me an hour ago that he could not think what
ailed Gladys: he was afraid of some nervous illness for her unless she
were kept quiet. I could not take the responsibility of disobeying
Giles.'
'I will take the responsibility on myself,' I returned coolly. 'You
forget that I am a nurse, Miss Darrell. I shall do Gladys no harm.'
'Excuse me if I must be the judge of that,' she returned, and her thin
lips closed in an inflexible curve: 'in my cousin's absence I could not
allow any one to go near Gladys. Leah is with her now trying to induce
her to take her sleeping-draught.'
I looked at Miss Darrell, and wondered if I could defy her to her face,
or whether I had better wait until I could speak to Mr. Hamilton. If
Gladys were really taking her sleeping-draught, my presence in her room
might excite her. If I could only know if she were telling me the truth!
My doubts were answered by Leah's entrance. Miss Darrell addressed her
eagerly:
'Have you given Miss Gladys the draught, Leah?'
'Yes, ma'am, and she seems nicely inclined to sleep. She heard Miss
Garston's voice, and sent me down with her love, and she is sorry not
to be able to see her to-night.'
I thought it better to take my leave after this, hoping for better
success next time. I watched anxiously for Mr. Hamilton the next day, but
unfortunately I missed him. When I arrived at Janet's he had just left
the house, and I did not meet him in the village. I was growing desperate
at hearing no news of Gladys, and had determined to go up boldly to
Gladwyn that very evening, when I saw Chatty coming in the direction of
the cottage. She looked very nicely dressed, and her round face broke
into dimples as she told me that Miss Darrell had sent her to the
station, and that she meant to call in and have a chat with Mrs. Hathaway
on her way, as she need not hurry back.
Jem Hathaway was pretty Chatty's sweetheart. I knew him well. He was
a blacksmith, and lived with his mother in the little stone-coloured
cottage that faced the green. He was an honest, steady young fellow,
a great friend of Nathaniel, and Mrs. Barton often told me that she
considered Chatty a lucky girl to have Jem for a sweetheart.
'And if you please, ma'am,' went on Chatty, looking round-eyed and
serious, 'my mistress said that I was to give you this.' And she produced
a slip of paper with a pencilled message. I knew Chatty always called
Gladys her mistress: so I opened the paper eagerly:
'Why did you go away on Sunday evening without seeing me? I implored Leah
to bring you up when I heard your voice talking to Etta, and when the
door closed I turned quite sick with disappointment. Ursula, I must see
you; they shall not keep you from me. Come up this evening at half-past
seven, while they are at dinner. Chatty will let you in.'
'Very well: tell your mistress I will come,' I observed; and Chatty
dropped a rustic courtesy, and said, 'Thank you, ma'am; that will do my
mistress good,' and tripped on her way.
I went back into my parlour, feeling worried and excited. Gladys had sent
for me, and I must go; but the idea of slipping into the house in this
surreptitious way was singularly repugnant to me. I would rather have
chosen a time when I knew Mr. Hamilton would be absent; but in that case
I might find it impossible to obtain admittance to Gladys's room. No,
I must put my own feelings aside, and follow her directions. But, in
spite of this resolve, I found it impossible to settle to anything until
the time came for keeping my appointment.
I arrived at Gladwyn just as the half-hour was chiming from the church
clock. As I walked quickly through the shrubbery I glanced nervously up
at the windows. Happily, the dining-room was at the back of the house,
but Leah might be sewing in her mistress's room and see me. As this
alarming thought occurred to my mind, I walked still more rapidly, but
before I could raise my hand to the bell the door opened noiselessly, and
Chatty's smiling face welcomed me.
'I was watching for you,' she whispered. 'Leah is in the housekeeper's
room, and master and Miss Darrell are at dinner. You can go up to my
mistress at once.'
I needed no further invitation. As I passed the dining-room door I could
hear Miss Darrell's little tinkling laugh and Mr. Hamilton's deep voice
answering her. The next moment Thornton came out of the room, and I had
only time to whisk round the corner. I confess this narrow escape very
much alarmed me, and my heart beat a little quickly as I tapped at
Gladys's door; then, as I heard her weak 'Come in,' I entered.
The room was full of some pungent scent, hot and unrefreshing. Some one
had moved the dressing-table, and Gladys lay on a couch in the circular
window, within the curtained enclosure. I always thought it the prettiest
window in the house. It looked full on the oak avenue, and on the elms,
where the rooks had built their nests. There was a glimpse of the white
road, too, and the blue smoke from the chimneys of Maplehurst was plainly
visible.
The evening sunshine was streaming full on Gladys's pale face, and my
first action after kissing her was to lower the blind. I was glad of the
excuse for turning away a moment, for her appearance gave me quite a
shock.
She looked as though she had been ill for weeks. Her face looked dark and
sunken, and the blue lines were painfully visible round her temples. Her
forehead was contracted, as though with severe pain, and her eyes were
heavy and feverish. When she raised her languid eyelids and looked at me,
a sudden fear contracted my heart.
'Ursula, thank God you have come!'
'We must always thank Him, dearest, whatever happens,' I returned, as
I knelt down by her and took her burning hand in mine. 'And now you must
tell me what is wrong with you, and why I find you like this.'
'I do not know,' she whispered, almost clinging to me. And it struck me
then that she was frightened about herself. 'As I told Giles, I feel very
ill. The heat tries me, and my head always aches,--such a dull, miserable
pain; and, most of all, I cannot sleep, and all sorts of horrid thoughts
come to me. Sometimes in the night, when I am quite alone, I feel as
though I were light-headed and should lose my senses. Oh, Ursula, if
this goes on, what will become of me?'
'We will talk about that presently. Tell me, have you ever been ill in
this way before?'
'Yes, last summer, only not so bad. But I had the pain and the
sleeplessness then. Giles was so good to me. He said I wanted change, and
he took a little cottage at Westgate-on-Sea and sent me down with Lady
Betty and Chatty, and I soon got all right.'
'So I thought. And now--'
'Oh, it is different this time,' she replied nervously. 'I did not have
dreadful thoughts then, or feel frightened, as I do now. Ursula, I know
I am very ill. If you leave me to Etta and Leah, I shall get worse. I
have sent for you to-night to remind you of your promise.'
'What promise?' I faltered. But of course I knew what she meant. A sense
of wretchedness had been slowly growing on me as she talked. If it should
come to that,--that I must remain under his roof! I felt a tingling sense
of shame and humiliation at the bare idea.
'Of your solemn promise, most solemnly uttered,' she repeated, 'that if I
were ill you would come and nurse me. I claim that promise, Ursula.'
'Is it absolutely necessary that I should come?' I asked, in a distressed
voice, for all at once life seemed too difficult to me. How had I
deserved this fresh pain!
In a moment her manner grew more excited.
'Necessary! If you leave me to Etta's tender mercies I shall die. But
no--no! you could not be so cruel. They are making me take those horrid
draughts now, and I know she gives me too much. I get so confused, but it
is not sleep. My one terror is that I shall say things I do not mean,
about--well, never mind that. And then she will say that my brain is
queer. She has hinted it already, when I was excited at your going away.
There is nothing too cruel for her to say to me. She hates me, and I do
not know why.'
'Hush! I cannot have you talk so much,' for her excitement alarmed me.
'Remember, I am your nurse now,--a very strict one, too, as you will
find. Yes, I will keep my promise. I will not leave you, darling.'
'You promise that? You will not go away to-night?'
'I shall not leave you until you are well again,' I returned, with forced
cheerfulness. But if she knew how keenly I felt my cruel position, how
sick and trembling I was at heart! What would he think of me? No, I must
not go into that. Gladys had asked this sacrifice of me. She had thrown
herself on my compassion. I would not forsake her. 'God knows my
integrity and innocence of intention. I will not be afraid to do my duty
to this suffering human creature,' I said to myself. And with this my
courage revived, and I felt that strength would be given me for all that
I had to do.