The Mother-in-Law.
John Wilkie was the son of Scotch parents residing in Toronto, Ontario.
He was possessed of considerable literary ability, and when a lad had
entered Toronto University with the intention of pursuing a professional
career; but his father shrewdly reasoned that, although fame might be
acquired more readily by clergymen and lawyers, money was an important
consideration, and might be acquired with, comparative ease in a well
managed business. He accordingly placed his son in the wholesale house
of Messrs. Campbell & Castle, and in due course of time the lad secured
an interest in the business.
The young man was not long a member of the firm when he became enamoured
of a young lady named Collins, whom he had met at the house of a mutual
friend. For a longtime he paid attention to this young lady, taking her
to balls, concerts and operas, and finally he proposed for her hand and
was accepted.
Miss Collins was scarcely what one would call a beautiful girl, yet
there was an attractiveness of manner peculiar to her which caused her
to be much, sought after and admired in social circles, and many were
the sad and heavy when it became known that she was about to marry John
Wilkie.
At this juncture Wilkie the elder was carried off with an attack of
pneumonia, leaving John, his only son, heir to his house and property.
This occurrence of course caused the wedding to be deferred for a time,
and the bridegroom elect went into deep mourning; in a few months,
however, he doffed his sable garments, and, having caused the family
mansion to be refurnished and renovated, began to make preparations for
his wedding.
The affair came off with great _éclat_, the bride being driven home from
church behind four dapple-grey horses, several carriages following with
bridesmaids, groomsmen, and invited guests, among the latter being many
rejected suitors, who took a kind of melancholy pleasure in seeing the
matter through. Mrs. Wilkie was in excellent spirits, as was also the
dowager, her mother-in-law, and after the _déjeuner_ they wept together
and kissed each other at parting as if they were blood relations. Mrs.
Collins was not so much affected; she was so much entranced at the rich
prize she had secured for her daughter that grief was altogether out of
the question.
What a sweet time is that when two loving hearts, throwing commercial
and domestic cares to the winds, devote themselves to the agreeable
pursuit of entertaining each other. Shutting their eyes and ears to
the outer world they fancy that the sun, moon and stars shine for them,
alone; that nature’s smiles are specially prepared for them; that the
birds carol bridal chansonettes only for their benefit; and that the
whole world is contained in the small area which immediately surrounds
them.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilkie had a long, pleasant honeymoon. They spent a couple
of weeks at Niagara Falls; then, having visited Boston and New York,
they spent a few weeks at Saratoga, returning to Toronto about six
weeks from their wedding-day. Everything had been prepared for their
reception, and Mrs. Wilkie, senior, sat in state to welcome them to
a cosy meal which had been prepared in the dining-room. Having eaten
sparingly, Mrs. Wilkie retired to her room, for she was fatigued by
travel, and John with his mother went on a tour of inspection over the
house.
It must be hard for a mother to give up the care of her son to a
stranger; to think that he whom she has nursed so tenderly, and whose
every want was so long supplied by her gentle hand should be left to the
care of another must be fraught with pain and bitter recollections. Mrs.
Wilkie sighed deeply as she showed her son the many improvements which
had been made in the old house, and thought that her reign was at an end
and that a new Caesar had taken the reins of government. The Lord of the
Manor failed to observe the trepidation with which his mother handed
him the keys, and showed him the various details connected with the
management of the house, and with a cool “good night, mother,” he
retired to rest, at peace with his mother, himself, and the world.
For several months things went smoothly enough with the parties to
my narrative. The dowager accepted her position, though, it must be
confessed, with a bad grace, and the new mistress gave a life to the
place to which it was unaccustomed. At length Mrs. Wilkie gave birth
to a son, and great were the rejoicing and festivities. The dowager was
promoted to the title of grandmamma, John boasted the proud title of
father, and the mother’s joy knew no bounds. The child was in due time
christened with appropriate solemnity, and in a few months after his
birth he became a very important member of the Wilkie family.
Mr. Wilkie wanted the boy called William after his late father, but
Mrs. Wilkie would not have what she was pleased to term a plebeian
designation, and insisted on calling him Alexander. The dowager opposed
this with all her might, but “her usefulness was gone,” and her feeble
remonstrances were of little or no avail. This slight sank deep into
her heart, and she waited, calmly and patiently, for an opportunity of
retaliating on her daughter-in-law.
In due time the opportunity presented itself. Mrs. Wilkie was in
the habit of going to the skating-rink accompanied by some of her
fashionable acquaintances; her husband did not care for skating, but was
proud to hear his wife’s graceful performances eulogized. The dowager,
however, had no heart for “the grape-vine” and other foolish devices;
she thought it high time for her daughter-in-law to take on herself the
serious duties of matrimonial life, and deprecated the fondness of the
lady in question for rinks, balls, and festivities.
One night Mrs. Wilkie was invited to a skating-party. Her husband,
having some letters to write, declined to go, and she went in company
with a Mr. Smithers, an old acquaintance of hers, and one of the finest
fancy skaters in Toronto. During her daughter-in-law’s absence at the
rink, Mrs. Wilkie the elder took upon herself to lecture her son on
his wife’s giddy behaviour, and so worked upon his feelings that he
regularly gave way, and allowed his mother to remain mistress of the
position.
When the fashionable Mrs. Wilkie returned to her abode late in the
evening she found the door closed on her, repeated pulls at the
door-bell eliciting no response. With her skates the lady then hammered
violently on the door, waking the echoes of the quiet street, and
finally, in her frenzy, she smashed every window within reach, and
departed to her mother’s residence.
Mrs. Collins was very much surprised to receive a visit from her
daughter at such an unseasonable hour, and when she was made aware
of the cause she became proportionately indignant. She suggested
the propriety of taking legal proceedings for the restitution of
her daughter’s rights, but the latter would not listen to any such
suggestion, and vowed she would never live with Wilkie or his wretch of
a mother again.
Mrs. Collins expected daily to receive a message from Mr. Wilkie,
requesting his wife to return to him, but he, being completely under the
influence of his mother, failed to do anything of the kind, imagining
that his wife would come as a suppliant to him. In this he reckoned
without his host, for Mrs. Wilkie was as proud as Lucifer, and would not
bend her haughty head to be made Empress of Canada. One thing, however,
caused her great uneasiness: her child, Alexander, was all the world to
her, and she set her wits to work to devise some means of obtaining him.
Without recourse to unpleasant legal proceedings or equally unpleasant
negotiations with her mother-in-law, Mrs. Wilkie could not hit on any
plan by which she could obtain the control of her child’s nurture and
education. At length she resolved on the simple and practical plan of
taking forcible possession of the boy. Once resolved, she speedily put
her plans in execution.
The child’s nurse was in the habit of driving him in a baby carriage to
the Queen’s Park for an airing, and one afternoon the mother lay in wait
for the appearance of the infantile equipage. She was afraid to approach
the servant with a bribe, as, in the event of her refusal, the Wilkies
would be placed on their guard, and would set a strict watch over all
the child’s movements. She accordingly sat down at a distance, closely
veiled, and waited till an opportunity presented itself.
She did not have long to wait. The nurse on entering the park fell
in with a tribe of professional acquaintances, one of whom, drawing a
love-letter which she had received from her pocket, commenced to read it
for the edification of her companions. Not content with listening to the
gushing effusion, the auditors crowded around the proud recipient of the
epistle, reading with eager eyes such portions as they could see over
the shoulder of their friend. While the representative of the dowager
was busily engaged in scanning the amorous lines penned by the lovesick
swain (the child left to her care being at some distance in his
carriage, sleeping under the shade of some trees), Mrs. Wilkie
cautiously approached, and, lifting the unconscious child with the
tenderness peculiar to mothers, walked quietly and swiftly away towards
the gate, when, coolly hailing a passing cab, she drove to her mother’s
house, proudly depositing her baby in a richly adorned cradle which had
been purposely prepared for his reception.
It was a long time before the nurse missed the boy; in fact, not till
she prepared to start for home did she give him a thought, except
to congratulate herself that he slept so long and gave her so little
trouble. When she at length turned towards the place where she had
left the carriage and learned the true state of affairs her face grew
deadly-pale, and, beckoning her companions towards her, she pointed
to the carriage and uttered several piercing shrieks. Many were the
suggestions as to what had become of the boy. Some thought he might have
got out of the carriage alone and fallen into the pond, but, as he could
not yet walk, this was highly improbable, another suggested that he had
been stolen by gypsies, but could not say that she had ever heard of
gypsies in connection with the Queen’s Park. Many other theories,
some wild, a few reasonable, were advanced, but yet no clue to the
whereabouts of the child could be discovered, nor could any light be
thrown upon the mystery.
The poor nurse was in a terrible state of mind. She had in her fancy
a picture of the baby’s grandmother threatening to tear her limb from
limb, while the frantic father went for the police; but return she must,
and so, with a different step from that with which she entered the park,
she set out for home, arriving there just as the bell rang for dinner.
The old lady was just commencing to lecture her for keeping the child
out in the evening air, when she saw, from the expression of the girl’s
face, that something unusual had occurred, and rushing out, she threw up
her hands in astonishment at the empty perambulator, giving a mute
look of inquiry which spoke volumes. In a moment Mr. Wilkie joined
the throng, just as the frightened domestic sobbed out, as well as she
could, an account of the child’s disappearance. He was about to rush at
once to the police office, but the old lady, shoving him aside, hastily
put on her bonnet and shawl, and, ordering the girl to summon a cab,
peremptorily forbade Mr. Wilkie to leave the house till she had made a
reconnaissance of the quarters of her daughter-in-law.
Mrs. Collins lived at the extreme west end of King street, and, as Mr.
Wilkie’s residence was in the North-East, in the neighborhood of the
Horticultural Garden, it was some time before the wily mother-in-law
approached her base of operations; she accordingly leaned back in
the carriage, and, closing her eyes, meditated on her plan of action.
Bidding the coachman pull up at the corner of Brock street,
she alighted, and proceeded on foot towards the house: it was a
semi-detached cottage, with a small garden in front, the dwelling being
only a few feet from the street. Inside all was, apparently, quiet as
usual, but Mrs. Wilkie thought she heard a soft, measured song, as
if some one were singing a child to sleep. Approaching the window she
caught a glimpse of her daughter-in-law pacing the room to and fro with
the child pillowed in her arms; so, quickly receding into the darkness,
she made her way back to the carriage, satisfied that her calculations,
in one particular at least, had been correct.
Entering the cab, she bade the driver return with all speed to Mr.
Wilkie’s house, setting her mind, during her transit on the frustration
of the hopes of her daughter-in-law, against whom she in her heart
registered a vow of vengeance. She found her son pacing the dining-room
like a madman, and she at once gave him all the particulars concerning
her reconnaissance, adding, at the same time, that he must take legal
measures to obtain possession of his child, no matter what the cost. In
spite, however, of his mother’s importunity, Wilkie steadily refused to
give the matter publicity by taking legal proceedings, so the old lady
was obliged to content herself with concocting plans for retaking the
child from the hands of the enemy.
Mrs. Wilkie watched long for an opportunity, and at last she was
successful. She found out where her daughter-in-law went to church, and
one Sunday having learnt from one of her emissaries that both of the
ladies had gone to church together, leaving the child in charge of
the maid-of-all-work, she hurriedly set out for the house, and boldly
ringing the door-bell inquired for Mrs. Wilkie. On being told that the
lady was at church and would not return for some time she requested
permission to sit down and wait, as she was fatigued with her long
journey. Entering the drawing-room, she sank on one of the lounges and
appeared to faint. The poor domestic did not know what to do, but ran
wildly to and fro exclaiming, “Och, wirrasthru, what’ll I do at all at
all’” The invalid gradually came round, and gasped out, “Dr. Metcalfe,
go for Dr. Metcalfe!” This gentleman lived a few blocks distant, and the
girl at once rushed off, without waiting even to put her bonnet on.
Quick as thought Mrs. Wilkie ascended the staircase to where her infant
grand-child lay wrapped in slumber: hastily wrapping him in a shawl she
descended to the door, and coolly hailing a passing cab was soon far
from the scene which had so wrought upon the feelings of poor Bridget
Moriarty.
When Bridget arrived with the doctor she found that the old lady had
disappeared leaving, however, a card for Mrs. Wilkie. On the latter’s
return Bridget told her the whole story, adding that she supposed the
old lady had come to herself and got tired waiting; in time, however,
the baby was missed, and that threw a new light on affairs. Mrs. Wilkie
was frantic; she denounced Bridget as a good-for-nothing, refused to
sit down to dinner, and set off with her mother in the direction of Mrs.
Wilkie’s house.
This time, however, the dowager was on her guard. The child was
carefully looked after, being under the care of a faithful ally of the
old lady, whose instructions were never to leave him for a moment out of
her sight. Mrs. Wilkie and her mother might walk up and down and look
at the lighted windows; they might also watch at a distance the youthful
hope of the house of Wilkie as he took his daily airing in the park,
but the trick once tried could not be repeated, and the fond mother (for
whatever her faults were she loved her child) was obliged to pine in
weary loneliness.
During all these sieges and reprisals the little fellow waxed strong and
healthy, in sublime unconsciousness of the importance attached to the
possession of his person: he was by no means neglected, the only risk he
ran was that of being hugged to death, as each party, more through joy
at the success of its schemes than from love of the youth in question,
caressed him lavishly if not fondly.
Some months after these occurrences Mr. Wilkie removed to Montreal,
where he soon became permanently established, and, as he was always fond
of politics, he was in a short time recognised as one of the leaders of
the liberal party. When the reaction consequent on the famous “Pacific
Scandal” set in, Mr. Wilkie, M. P., took his seat for K----, a small
town below Montreal, rising in Parliament, as he did everywhere else
by his ability, far above the common level. His son was placed at the
Montreal High school, and gave promise of becoming in time even more
distinguished than his father.
They had not been long resident in Montreal before the poor old dowager
was seized with acute rheumatism, to which she finally succumbed,
and Mr. Wilkie was obliged to engage a housekeeper to look after his
household affairs and his son’s education. It was a sad time for poor
little Aleck; his grandmother fairly doted on him, and indulged his
every whim, but Mrs. Riddell, the new housekeeper, cared not whether he
was happy or miserable so long as she drew her monthly pay.
All this time Mrs. Wilkie had been living with her mother in Toronto,
and, as soon as she heard of her mother-in-law’s death, she persuaded
her mother to remove to Montreal, so that she might secretly keep watch
over her boy, whom she now loved, if possible, more than ever. Assuming
the name of Mrs. Johnson, she took lodgings in a house nearly opposite
the residence of Mr. Wilkie, and thus was enabled to observe closely
all the proceedings of his household; she longed to throw herself at
her husband’s feet and implore his forgiveness, but her proud spirit
rebelled against such an act, and she sat at her window day after day in
moody silence watching her darling boy going and returning from school.
Shortly after his wife’s arrival in Montreal, Mr. Wilkie was summoned to
England on business of importance, a fact with which Mrs. Wilkie
became easily acquainted through the _Gazette_, which heralded all his
movements, the fond mother now became more anxious than ever about
her boy, and indeed not without reason, for, being monarch of all she
surveyed, the easy-going housekeeper laid herself out for “a good time,”
and, although in her way she was kind enough to the child, she left
him to take care of himself as well as he could, being content if she
prepared a bed for him to sleep in, and ordered his three meals a day
with unfailing regularity. The house Mr. Wilkie lived in was situated
in one of the newest and most fashionable localities, having what are
generally designated “modern improvements,” and one of these latter so
improved the internal arrangements of Master Aleck, that he was soon
confined to bed with enteric fever. Mrs. Johnson, missing the boy from
the street, called to enquire after him, and had her fears confirmed by
the housekeeper, who said she did not know what to do for his father was
away, and she had never in her life nursed a fevered patient. The
wily mother seized the opportunity with avidity, and with unblushing
effrontery perpetrated the atrocious falsehood that she was a
professional nurse of large experience, and that such an interest did
she feel in the little fellow that she would if permitted undertake
to nurse him free of charge. Mrs. Riddell was delighted, and at her
neighbor’s suggestion sent for Dr. Brownie, who had, she said great
experience in such cases. A cablegram was despatched to Mr. Wilkie,
and everything that science could devise was done for the poor little
sufferer. For many days he seemed to get worse and worse and his devoted
mother was nearly worn out as she sat up night after night wiping his
fevered brow, or moistening his parched lips, at length the crisis came,
and the doctor pronounced him on the way to recovery, adding that the
slightest neglect on the part of those who tended him would permit
a relapse, which would in all probability prove fatal. In this case,
however, the latter caution was altogether unnecessary, what Mrs.
Johnson lacked in experience she more than made up for in care and
solicitude, and, as every direction of the physician was carried out
to the letter, the little fellow began perceptibly to mend before the
telegram came announcing Mr. Wilkie’s arrival in Quebec. On the receipt
of the missive Mrs. Johnson made preparations for her departure, saying
that her services were now scarcely needed, and that she needed rest;
Mrs. Riddell at first tried hard to induce her to remain, but when she
looked at the pale thin face, and thought how many weary nights the lady
had voluntarily sat up with the raving child, she ceased to urge the
request, and at once set out for a mercenary to replace her.
What a difference there is between him who enters on a labor of love
and the hireling who works for pay! In this case, then, it may easily be
supposed with a mother’s ardent affection on the one hand, how different
was the cold professional service rendered by the nurse who replaced
Mrs. Johnson: although kind and attentive, she had not the same soothing
power, nor could she sing the sweet lullaby which so often in his
fevered moments had calmed poor little Aleck’s soul, and the little
fellow became at once very low indeed. At this juncture his father
arrived, and when he saw his boy he was completely overcome; he
learned from the housekeeper all the particulars of the kind neighbor’s
attention, and resolved to go personally to her residence and implore
her not to desert his boy till he was out of all danger. Waiting only to
partake of a morsel of food, he set out for the house indicated by his
housekeeper, and inquired for Mrs. Johnson. The girl who opened the door
told him that Mrs. Johnson had been out nursing a sick child for several
nights, and had just fallen into a deep sleep, the first she had had
for days, and urged him to call round again in the afternoon, when her
mistress would probably be able to see him. In the afternoon he returned
in great haste, saying that he must see Mrs. Johnson at all hazards,
that his boy was worse, and raved incessantly for her. While he was
speaking the lady he inquired for suddenly came down stairs, and as
their eyes met both uttered an exclamation of surprise. Forgetting
everything in her anxiety for her boy’s safety the poor mother’s face
became suffused with tears as she anxiously cried with bated breath, “Is
he dead?” “No; thanks be to God and his mother’s care he still lives,
but you must not let him die now.”
The rest of the story is soon told; the pride of both husband and wife
was humbled by adversity, and in their heavy affliction each was made
to feel what a strength and comfort it was to have a companion who could
sympathize not only with the joys but with the sorrows of the other. The
boy was several weeks before he was able to leave his room, during which
time his mother told him the history of her troubles, and recounted
how miserable she felt without him and his father, all of which was
of course retailed to the latter gentleman, and effectually healed the
breach between the man and his wife. The dowager’s name was for obvious
reasons never mentioned by either Mr. or Mrs. Wilkie, and as for the
youthful hope of the house, his memory was so elastic that he never even
thought about the old lady.
Mrs. Riddell was astonished when she became acquainted with the true
relations of the nurse and her patient, but, having become quite
enamoured of the former (who by-the-by was now become both a discreet
and amiable matron), she readily fell into a subordinate position in the
household, taking her orders quite gladly, and having a special care for
little Aleck. Mrs. Wilkie has now an assortment of boys and girls, Aleck
being entered as a law student at McGill University and the others
being still at school; she seldom thinks of the past, preferring to
look forward to a bright and happy future. Still at times her mind will
revert to scenes of yore, and she shudders as she thinks of the bitter
experiences she has had, attributing most if not all of them, rightly or
wrongly, to her mother-in-law.