WHITEFOOT IS SADDLED
After the first day or so the strangeness and novelty of my
position wore off, and I settled down to my work in the sick-room.
Chatty waited upon us very nicely; but Miss Darrell never came near us.
Once a day a formal message was brought by Chatty asking after the
invalid. I used to think this somewhat unnecessary, as Mr. Hamilton could
report his sister's progress at breakfast-time.
When I encountered Miss Darrell on my way to the garden I always accosted
her with marked civility; her manner would be a little repelling in
return, and she would answer me very coldly. In spite of her outward
politeness, I think she was a little afraid of me at that time. I always
felt that a concealed sneer lay under her words. She made it clearly
understood that she considered that I had forced myself into the house
for my own purposes. Under these conditions I thought it better to avoid
these encounters as much as possible.
I saw Uncle Max two or three times. He had timed his visits purposely
that he might join me in my stroll in the garden. We had made the
arrangement to meet in this way daily. Max's society and sympathy would
have been a refreshment to me, but we were obliged to discontinue the
practice. Max never appeared without Miss Darrell following a few minutes
afterwards. She would come out of the house, brisk and smiling, in
_grande toilette_,--to take a turn in the shrubberies, as she said.
Max would look at me and very soon take his leave. At last he told
me dejectedly that we might as well give it up, as Miss Darrell was
determined that he should not speak to me alone: so after that I
contrived to send him daily notes by Chatty, who was always delighted
to do an errand in the village.
'I can't think what makes Miss Darrell so curious, ma'am,' the girl once
said to me. 'She asks me every day if I have been down to the vicarage.
She did it while master was by the other afternoon, and he told her quite
sharply that it was no affair of hers.'
'Never mind that, Chatty.'
'Oh, but I am afraid she means mischief, ma'am,' persisted Chatty, who
had a great dislike to Miss Darrell, which she showed by being somewhat
pert to her, 'for she said in such a queer tone to master, "There, I told
you so: now you will believe me," and master looked as though he were not
pleased.'
As I strolled round the garden in Nap's company I often saw Leah
sitting sewing at her mistress's window: she would put down her work and
watch me until I was out of sight. I felt the woman hated me, and this
surveillance was very unpleasant to me. I never felt quite free until
I reached the kitchen-garden.
Mr. Hamilton visited his sister's room regularly three times a day. He
never stayed long: he would satisfy himself about her condition, say a
few cheerful words to her, and that was all.
His manner to me was grave and professional. Now and then, when he had
given his directions, he would ask me if there were anything he could do
for me, and if I were comfortable: and yet, in spite of his reserve and
guarded looks and words, I felt an atmosphere of protection and comfort
surrounding me that I had not known since Charlie's death.
Every day I had proofs of his thought for me. The flowers and fruits that
were sent into the sick-room were for me as well as Gladys. I was often
touched to see how some taste of mine had been remembered and gratified:
sometimes Chatty would tell me that master had given orders that such a
thing should be provided for Miss Garston; and in many other ways he made
me feel that I was not forgotten.
For some days Gladys continued very ill; she slept fitfully and uneasily,
waking in terror from some dream that escaped her memory. I used to hear
her moaning, and be beside her before she opened her eyes. 'It is only a
nightmare,' I would say to her as she clung to me like a frightened
child; but it was not always easy to banish the grisly phantoms of a
diseased and overwrought imagination. The morbid condition of her mind
was aggravated and increased by physical weakness; at the least exertion
she had fainting-fits that alarmed us.
She told me more than once that a sense of sin oppressed her; she must be
more wicked than other people, or she thought Providence would not permit
her to be so unhappy. Sometimes she blamed herself with influencing Eric
wrongly: she ought not to have taken his part against his brother. '"He
that hateth his brother is a murderer." Ursula, there were times, I am
sure, when I hated Giles.' And with this thought upon her she would beg
him to forgive her when he next came into the room.
He never seemed surprised at these exaggerated expressions of penitence:
he treated it all as part of her malady.
'Very well, I will forgive you, my dear,' he would say, feeling her
pulse. 'Have you taken your medicine, Gladys?'
'Oh, but, Giles, I do feel so wretched about it all! Are you sure that
you really and truly forgive me?'
'Quite sure,' he returned, smiling at her. 'Now you must shut your eyes,
like a good child, and go to sleep.' But, though she tried to obey him, I
could see she was not satisfied: tears rolled down her cheeks from under
her closed eyelids.
'What is it, my darling?' I asked, kissing her. 'Do you feel more ill
than usual?'
'No, no; it is only this sense of sin. Oh, Ursula, how nice it would be
to die, and never do anything wrong again!' And so she went on bemoaning
herself.
I had thought it better to move her into Lady Betty's room. It was a
large square room opening out of the turret-room, and very light and
airy. I had a little bed put up for my use, so that I could hear her
every movement. I told Mr. Hamilton that I could not feel easy to have
her out of my sight; and he quite agreed with me.
In the daytime we carried her into the turret-room. The little recess
formed by the circular window made a charming sitting-room, and just held
Gladys's couch and an easy-chair and a little round table with a basket
of hot-house flowers on it. Mr. Hamilton declared that we looked very
cosy when he first found us there.
In the cool of the evening, when Gladys could bear the blind raised, it
was very pleasant to sit there looking down on the little oak avenue,
where the girls had set their tea-table that afternoon: we could watch
the rooks cawing and circling about the elms. Sometimes Mr. Hamilton
would pass with Nap at his heels and look up at us with a smile. Once a
great bunch of roses all wet with dew came flying through the open window
and fell on Gladys's muslin gown. 'Did Giles throw them? Will you thank
him, Ursula?' she said, raising them in her thin fingers. 'How cool and
delicious they are?' But when I looked out Mr. Hamilton was not to be
seen.
Lady Betty wrote very piteous letters begging to be recalled, which Mr.
Hamilton answered very kindly but firmly. He told her that Gladys
required perfect quiet, that if she came home she would not be allowed to
be with her; and when Lady Betty heard that I was nursing her she grew a
little more content.
Gladys was always more restless and suffering towards evening; 'her bad
thoughts,' as she called them, came out like bats in the darkness. I
tried the experiment of singing to her one evening, and I found, to my
delight, that my voice had a soothing influence: after this I always sang
to her after she was in bed: I used to take up my station by the window
and sing softly one song after another, until she was quiet and drowsy.
As I sang I always saw a dark shadow, moving slowly under the oak-trees,
pacing slowly up and down; sometimes it approached the house and stood
motionless under the window, but I never took any notice.
'Thank you, dear Ursula,' Gladys would say when I at last ceased; 'I
feel more comfortable now.' And after a time I would hear her regular
breathing and know she was asleep. I shall never forget the relief with
which I watched her first natural sleep: she had had a restless night, as
usual, but towards morning she had fallen into a quiet, refreshing sleep,
which had lasted for three hours.
I had finished my breakfast when I heard her stirring, and hurried in to
her; to my delight, she spoke to me quite naturally, without a trace of
nervousness:
'I have had such a lovely sleep, Ursula, and without any bad dreams.
I feel so refreshed.'
'I am so glad to hear it, dear,' I replied; and, overjoyed at this good
news, I went out into the passage to find Chatty, for I wanted Mr.
Hamilton to know at once of this improvement. He had been very anxious
the previous night, and had talked of consulting with an old friend of
his who knew Gladys's constitution.
On the threshold I encountered Miss Darrell.
'Were you looking for any one?' she asked coldly.
'Yes, for Chatty. I want Mr. Hamilton to know that Gladys has had three
hours' sleep, and has awakened refreshed and without any nervous
feelings. Will you be kind enough to tell him?'
'Oh, certainly: not that I attach much importance to such a transient
improvement. Gladys's case is far too serious for me to be so sanguine.
I believe you have not nursed these nervous patients before. If Giles had
taken my advice he would have had a person trained to this special work.'
'Gladys's case does not require that sort of nurse,' I replied quickly.
'Excuse me, Miss Darrell, but I am anxious that Mr. Hamilton should know
of his sister's improvement before he goes out. Chatty told me that they
had sent for him from Abbey Farm.'
'Yes, I believe so,' she replied carelessly. 'Don't trouble yourself Miss
Garston: I am quite as anxious as yourself that Giles's mind should be
put at rest. He has had worry enough, poor fellow.'
I was rather surprised and disappointed when, ten minutes afterwards, I
heard the hall door close, and, hurrying to a window, I saw Mr. Hamilton
walking very quickly in the direction of Maplehurst. A moment afterwards
Chatty brought me a message from him. He had been called off suddenly,
and might not be back for hours. If I wanted him, Atkinson was to take
one of the horses. He would probably be at Abbey Farm or at Gunter's
Cottages in the Croft.
This message rather puzzled me. After turning it over in my mind, I went
in search of Miss Darrell. I found her in the conservatory gathering some
flowers.
'Did you give my message to Mr. Hamilton?' I asked, rather abruptly. I
thought she hesitated and seemed a little confused.
'What message? Oh, I remember,--about Gladys. No, I just missed him: he
had gone out. But it is of no consequence, is it? I will tell him when he
comes home.'
I would not trust myself to reply. She must have purposely loitered on
her way downstairs, hoping to annoy me. He would spend an anxious day,
for I knew he was very uncomfortable about Gladys: perhaps he would write
to Dr. Townsend. It was no use speaking to Miss Darrell: she was only too
ready to thwart me on all occasions. I would take the matter into my own
hands. I went down to the stables and found Atkinson, and asked him to
ride over to Abbey Farm and take a note to his master.
'I hope Miss Gladys is not worse, ma'am,' he said civilly, looking rather
alarmed at his errand; but when I had satisfied him on this point he
promised to find him as quickly as possible.
'There is only Whitefoot in the stable,' he said. 'Master has both the
browns out: Norris was to pick him up in the village. But he is quite
fresh, and will do the job easily.' I wrote my note while Whitefoot was
being saddled, and then went back to the house. Miss Darrell looked at me
suspiciously.
'I thought I heard voices in the stable-yard,' she said; and I at once
told her what I had done.
For the first time she seemed utterly confounded.
'You told Atkinson to saddle Whitefoot and go all these miles just to
carry that ridiculous message! I wonder what Giles will say,' she
observed indignantly. 'All these years that I have managed his house
I should never have thought of taking such a liberty.'
This was hard to bear, but I answered her with seeming coolness:
'If Mr. Hamilton thinks I am wrong, he will tell me so. In this house
I am only accountable to him.' And I walked away with much dignity.
But I knew I had been right when I saw Mr. Hamilton's face that evening,
for he did not return until seven o'clock. He came up at once, and
beckoned me into Lady Betty's room.
'Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Miss Garston,' he said gratefully.
'You have spared me a wretchedly anxious day. A bad accident case at
Abbey Farm called me off, and I had only time to get my things ready, and
I was obliged to see the colonel first. If you had not sent me that note
I should have written to Dr. Townsend. But why did not Chatty bring me a
message before I went?'
I explained that I had given the message to Miss Darrell.
'That is very strange,' he observed thoughtfully. 'Thornton was helping
me in the hall when I saw Etta watering her flower-stand. Well, never
mind; she shall have her lecture presently. Now let us go to Gladys.'
Of course his first look at her told him she was better, and he went
downstairs contentedly to eat his dinner. After this Gladys made slow but
steady progress: she gained a little more strength; the habit of sleep
returned to her; her nights were no longer seasons of terror, leaving her
dejected and exhausted. Insensibly her thoughts became more hopeful; she
spoke of other things besides her own feelings, and no longer refused to
yield to my efforts to cheer her.
I watched my opportunity, and one evening, as we were sitting by the
window looking out at a crescent moon that hung like a silver bow behind
the oak-trees, I remarked, with assumed carelessness, that Uncle Max had
called earlier that day. There was a perceptible start on Gladys's part,
and she caught her breath for an instant.
'Do you mean that Mr. Cunliffe often comes?' she asked, in a low voice,
and turning her long neck aside with a quick movement that concealed her
face.
'Oh yes, every day. I do not believe that he has missed more than once,
and then he sent Mr. Tudor. You see your friends have been anxious about
you, Gladys. I wrote to Max often to tell him exactly what progress you
were making.'
'It was very kind of him to be so anxious,' she answered slowly, and
with manifest effort. I thought it best to say no more just then, but to
leave her to digest these few words. That night was the best she had yet
passed, and in the morning I was struck by the improvement in her
appearance; she looked calmer and more cheerful.
Towards mid-day I noticed that she grew a little abstracted, and when
Uncle Max's bell rang, she looked at me, and a tinge of colour came to
her face.
'Should you not like to go down and speak to Mr. Cunliffe?' she said
timidly. 'I must not keep you such a prisoner, Ursula.' But when I
returned indifferently that another day would do as well, and that I had
nothing special to say to him, I noticed that she looked disappointed. As
I never mentioned Miss Darrell's name to her, I could not explain my real
reason for declining to go down. I was rather surprised when she
continued in an embarrassed tone, as though speech had grown difficult to
her,--she often hesitated in this fashion when anything disturbed her,--
'I am rather sorry that Etta always sees him alone: one never knows what
she may say to him. I have begun to distrust her in most things.'
'I do not think that it matters much what she says to him,' I returned
briskly; for it would never do to leave her anxious on this point. 'You
know I have provided an antidote in the shape of daily notes.'
'Surely you do not write every day,' taking her fan from the table with
a trembling hand. 'What can you have to say to Mr. Cunliffe about me?'
And I could see she waited for my answer with suppressed eagerness.
'Oh, he likes to know how you slept,' I returned carelessly, 'and if you
are quieter and more cheerful. Uncle Max has such sympathy with people
who are ill; he is very kind-hearted.'
'Oh yes; I never knew any one more so,' she replied gently; but I
detected a yearning tone in her voice, as though she was longing for his
sympathy then. We did not say any more, but I thought she was a trifle
restless that afternoon, and yet she looked happier; she spoke once or
twice, as though she were tired of remaining upstairs.
'I think I am stronger. Does Giles consider it necessary for me to stop
up here?' she asked, once. 'If it were not for Etta I should like to be
in the drawing-room. But no, that would be an end to our peace.' And here
she looked a little excited. 'But if Giles would let me have a drive.'
I promised to speak to him on the subject of the drive, for I was sure
that he would hail the proposition most gladly as a sign of returning
health; but I told her that in my opinion it would be better for her to
remain quietly in these two pleasant rooms until she was stronger and
more fit to endure the little daily annoyances that are so trying to a
nervous invalid.
'When that time comes you will have to part with your nurse,' I went on,
in a joking tone. But I was grieved to see that at the first hint of my
leaving her she clung to me with the old alarm visible in her manner.
'You must not say that! I cannot part with you, Ursula!' she exclaimed
vehemently. 'If you go, you must take me with you.' And it was some time
before she would let herself be laughed out of her anxious thoughts.
When I revolved all these things in my mind,--her prolonged delicacy and
painful sensitiveness, her aversion to her cousin, and her evident dread
of the future,--I felt that the time had come to seek a more complete
understanding on a point that still perplexed me: I must come to the
bottom of this singular change in her manner to Max. I must know without
doubt and reserve the real state of her feeling with regard to him and
her cousin Claude. If, as I had grown to think during these weeks of
illness, one of these two men, and not Eric, was the chief cause of her
melancholy, I must know which of these two had so agitated her young
life. But in my own mind I never doubted which it was.
This was the difficult task I had set myself, and I felt that it would
not be easy to approach the subject. Gladys was exceedingly reserved,
even with me; it had cost her an effort to speak to me of Eric, and she
had never once mentioned her cousin Captain Hamilton's name.
A woman like Gladys would be extremely reticent on the subject of lovers:
the deeper her feelings, the more she would conceal them. Unlike other
girls, I never heard her speak in the light jesting way with which others
mention a love-affair. She once told me that she considered it far too
sacred and serious to be used as a topic of general conversation. 'People
do not know what they are talking about when they say such things,' she
said, in a moved voice: 'there is no reverence, and little reticence,
nowadays. Girls talk of falling in love, or men felling in love with
them, as lightly as they would speak of going to a ball. They do not
consider the responsibility, the awfulness, of such an election, being
chosen out of a whole worldful of women to be the light and life of a
man's home. Oh, it hurts me to hear some girls talk!' she finished, with
a slight shudder.
Knowing the purity and uprightness of this girl's nature, I confess I
hesitated long in intruding myself into that inner sanctuary that she
guarded so carefully; but for Max's sake--poor Max, who grew more
tired-looking and haggard every day--I felt it would be cruel to hesitate
longer.
So one evening, when we were sitting quietly together enjoying the cool
evening air, I took Gladys's thin hand in mine and asked her if she felt
well enough for me to talk to her about something that had long troubled
me, and that I feared speaking to her about, dreading lest I should
displease her. I thought she looked a little apprehensive at my
seriousness, but she replied very sweetly, and the tears came into her
beautiful eyes as she spoke, that nothing I could say or do could
displease her; that I was so true a friend to her that it would be
impossible for her to take offence.
'I am glad of that, Gladys dear,' I returned quietly; 'for I have long
wanted courage to ask you a question. What is the real reason of your
estrangement from Max?' and then, growing bolder, I whispered in her ear,
as she shrank from me, 'I do not ask what are your feelings to him, for I
think I have guessed them,--unless, indeed, I am wrong, and you prefer
your cousin Captain Hamilton.' I almost feared that I had been too abrupt
and awkward when I saw her sudden paleness: she began to tremble like a
leaf until I mentioned Captain Hamilton's name, and then she turned to me
with a look of mingled astonishment and indignation.
'Claude? Are you out of your senses, Ursula? Who has put such an idea
into your head?'
I remembered Uncle Max's injunctions to secrecy, and felt I must be
careful.
'I thought that it could not be Captain Hamilton,' I returned, rather
lamely: 'you have never mentioned his name to me.' But she interrupted me
in a tone of poignant distress, and there was a sudden trouble in her
eyes, brought there by my mention of Claude.
'Oh, this is dreadful!' she exclaimed: 'you come to me and talk about
Claude, knowing all the time that I have never breathed his name to you.
Who has spoken it, then? How could such a thought arise in your mind? It
must be Etta, and we are undone,--undone!'
'My darling, you must not excite yourself about a mere mistake,' I
returned, anxious to soothe her. 'I cannot tell you how it came into my
head; that is my little secret, Gladys, my dear: if you agitate yourself
at a word we shall never understand each other. I want you to trust me as
you would trust a dear sister,--we are sisters in heart, Gladys,'--but
here I blushed over my words and wished them unuttered,--'and to tell me
exactly what has passed between you and Max.'