DR. CRAWFORD'S surprise on finding that Bennett had left his house was
equalled by his anxiety to know how her departure had been brought
about. The explanation was soon given.
Eager to make friends with the little people, Grace Steyne had asked
Ida's permission to visit the nursery directly after breakfast, and,
after staying there as long as she chose, to bring Doris down-stairs
with her.
Her light tap at the nursery door had to be followed by a louder knock
before any notice was taken. Then Bennett opened the door, and, having
closed it behind her, so as to prevent Grace from looking into the
room, asked in very unpleasant tone what she wanted there.
"I am come to see the children, and in a little while to take Doris
into the morning-room to Mrs. Crawford," replied Grace, astonished at
the nurse's attitude.
"Excuse me, miss," said Bennett, "but I cannot allow strange young
ladies in my nursery all hours of a day. I send the children down at
proper times, and if their mamma wants any change made, I shall look to
her to say so. If you wish to find Miss Doris, you will have to seek
her in the grounds, where she is with Ann and the eldest little boy."
Bennett remained with her back to the door, evidently determined not to
admit the visitor. And Grace, seeing that she could do nothing else,
began to descend the stairs, in order to return to Mrs. Crawford. Then
the woman re-entered the nursery, shut the door with a bang, and burst
into a laugh, so loud that it reached Miss Steyne's ears.
"Did you not find the children in, or have they tired you already?"
asked Mrs. Crawford, on seeing her visitor back so soon.
Very quietly Grace told what had happened.
"Bennett must have taken leave of her senses," said Ida in utter
amazement. "What can be the meaning of her conduct? I will go to her
when I have found my keys and given Jessie from the storeroom."
The keys were not forthcoming. Mrs. Crawford was sure she had left them
in her bedroom, but a search there had proved fruitless. Then Jean
Graham's warning flashed across her mind, and without another word she
ran lightly to the nursery and entered.
No need to ask for an explanation of Bennett's insolence. On the table
lay the keys, and near them a half-emptied bottle of spirits, whilst
the nurse's flushed face and excited manner told the rest.
The unfortunate woman had again yielded to the temptation which had
proved the bane of her life, and repeatedly lost her place, friends,
and character.
At first she strove to put on a bold front, then tried tears and
entreaties. But finding that her young mistress, whom she had deemed a
tool in her hands, could be firm on occasion, she sat down in dogged
silence, and defied her command to prepare for leaving the house.
But when Ida rang the bell and sent to request Mr. Armstrong's
presence, the miserable woman resisted no further, and Steynes-Cote was
soon rid of her presence.
A careful examination of the nursery discovered sundry empty bottles,
which must have been abstracted when full from Dr. Crawford's cellar.
There was also a small one, at the bottom of which were only a few
drops of a thick liquid.
"This explains why Bennett wanted the laudanum," said Mr. Armstrong.
"It was to be combined with syrup to make a sleeping dose for the
children. Here is a very small quantity of the stuff in this bottle."
Well might Ida's face turn pale, when, in addition to the experience
of the day, she became acquainted with the result of her husband's
inquiries, and heard about Bennett's stealthy visits to the surgery.
"I can never be thankful enough," she said to her husband, "for the
safety of our dear little ones. They have had a very careless mother,
who was not fit to be trusted with them. I am learning new lessons very
fast, dear Andrew."
"You must not take all the blame to yourself, my Ida," replied her
husband; "the larger share ought to be laid to my account. The father
has his responsibilities as well as the mother."
"But you are always so busy, dear; I ought to have watched over the
children."
"I knew so much of which you could not be but ignorant, Ida, I ought to
have warned you. Henceforth I trust we shall work together," replied
the doctor. "I will instruct, you shall carry out my rules; will you
not, darling?"
"Will I not? But oh, Andrew, I blame myself on that poor woman's
account also. If I had not been so careless, she could not so easily
have found the means for gratifying that wretched craving. Jean
suspected her, and warned me not to leave my keys within reach of
Bennett. I feel that I have helped to put temptation in her way. Poor
thing! What will become of her?"
It was not easy to answer this question. There were so many things to
be considered beside the fault which had been the immediate cause of
the nurse's dismissal, and Ida was compelled to leave this.
"What is to be done with the children?" asked the doctor. "We must be
very careful about engaging another nurse."
"I think of trying with only Ann," replied Ida. "She is a good,
truthful girl, and really did the greater part of the nursery work.
I shall find it rather difficult to give orders at first, for I know
so little, but Grace will tell me how to manage. It seems strange,
does it not, that an unmarried girl should be the teacher to a wife of
four years' standing? But I am not ashamed to learn, because I am now
realizing my utter ignorance."
"What are to be the immediate arrangements?" asked the doctor.
"Grace insists on having Doris in her room, so her cot has been removed
to it. Ann will sleep in the night nursery with the others. She feels
confident that she can manage them, for the two boys sleep well, and
she has been used to babies at home. I know what that look means,
Andrew," continued Ida, who was watching her husband's countenance.
"You are wondering what is to be my share of the work. It seems very
sad to say it, but baby knows Ann so much better than she does me that
we think it may be wise to let her stay with the girl just at first.
If she were to come to me, all would be strange around her. The little
ones are certain to miss Bennett, who was so much with them. You see,
dear, I have to learn how to manage the little baby. As to Doris, she
will go back to the night nursery when Grace leaves us, and before then
I hope I shall be accustomed to the charge of our 'number four.' Only
you must not be disturbed, so if baby should be fractious, I shall
steal away with her out of hearing."
Dr. Crawford smiled as he listened, and then told Ida that he was sure
she was planning for the best, though he had not intended to begin
economizing in the nursery department. "I had thought that with so
many servants, and with every accommodation for it, the laundry work
might be done at home. However, I would much rather you should take the
advice of an accomplished housekeeper like Grace Steyne than follow any
suggestion of mine. Grace's knowledge is founded on experience, mine is
but theoretical."
"We think it will be better to go into other matters when Jean Graham
comes back," said Ida.
The doctor assented, and she added, "I know Jean's value now as I never
did before. I shall be glad to see her good, true face again."
Mrs. Crawford was to see Jean sooner than she expected. On that same
evening, just after dinner, there was a sound of wheels on the gravel,
and the doctor looked towards the door in the expectation of a summons.
But the vehicle, whatever it was, did not stop at the front entrance,
but passed round to the back door.
"Who can it be?" said the doctor, after a brief silence.
"I believe it is Jean," cried Mrs. Crawford, and without waiting to
inquire, she rushed out of the room to see for herself.
Truly it was Jean; and though she returned to Steynes-Cote in sorrow of
heart, it must have been some satisfaction to her to witness the look
of delight on Mrs. Crawford's face, and to hear her words of welcome.
"Jean, dear, good Jean, is it really you?" cried Ida. "I thought I knew
your voice, but I could not believe my ears, so brought my eyes to make
sure."
The words were accompanied with a warm clasp of the hand—indeed, of
both hands, for Ida seized Jean's between hers and held them there as
she spoke.
"Yes, mistress, I am here again," said Jean.
But though she looked lovingly at Mrs. Crawford's fair face, there
was a melancholy ring in the tone of Jean's voice, and the words were
followed by a sigh.
"Come in here, Jean," said Ida, drawing her into the morning-room,
where there was a cheerful fire, but no occupant. "You have had a long
journey, and must be both tired and hungry. Warm yourself first, for
the night is chilly; then, when you have taken off your things, Jessie
shall bring you something here, for I want to talk to you. I have so
much to tell you, Jean, about what made you anxious at the very moment
when you were starting for Scotland. You were right in suspecting
Bennett, only we have found out far more than you guessed at, and I
have sent her away."
"Thank God!" said Jean fervently. "Your words have taken one load off
me."
"One load! Well, I hope if there are other loads, we may help to remove
them also—at least, if they are connected with Steynes-Cote. Do you
know Miss Steyne is here, and we hope to keep her here for some time?
We have become friends already; and, Jean, I am going to be her pupil
and yours. But now you must go to your room, and make yourself ready
for the meal, which will be laid here by that time."
"I will go to the kitchen," replied Jean. "I am not wanting much, but a
cup of tea will make a new woman of me."
"Whatever you have, it shall be here," insisted Mrs. Crawford. "Miss
Steyne is deep in a book just now, the doctor has to go out again, but
will come to shake hands with you first, and Mr. Armstrong has some
medicine to prepare, so I shall be free to have a talk with you when
you come down."
"I will come back to ye, then, mistress," said Jean in a weary voice,
so unlike her own that Mrs. Crawford instinctively heard in it a
presage of trouble. Indeed, the first glimpse of her face had been
enough to show that Jean's holiday had been productive of no gladness.
The hopeful, bright expression was gone from it, and she stood there
a careworn, sad-looking woman, over whose head many a year might have
passed since she left Steynes-Cote.
The doctor did not notice the change, for he met Jean in the passage,
and her back was to the light as he gave her a hearty greeting.
But when she returned to the morning-room without her bonnet, it was
even more apparent to Mrs. Crawford than before.
Ida, however, said nothing at first to show that she observed any
difference, but after pressing Jean to eat, she told her all that had
happened during her absence, as well as some of her plans for household
changes.
Jean answered briefly, but listened with manifest interest, and when
Mrs. Crawford said, "You see, I am just coming to what you wished me to
do so long ago, and I am relying on you also to help me," she turned a
brighter face to her mistress than she had hitherto shown, and said,—
"You know how glad I shall be to do my best for ye and for Master
Andrew."
"I believe you will always look on the doctor as a mere boy, though he
is older than you, Jean," said Mrs. Crawford.
But Jean's face had lost its brightness again as she answered, "Not
now, mistress—not now. I have grown old all at once." And she burst
into tears.
To see Jean Graham weep was like witnessing the utter breakdown of some
strong man. She had ever been so bright, helpful, and hopeful; ever the
one to sustain the weak and cheer those who were cast down, both by
words and acts of sympathy.
Now poor Jean sorely needed comfort, and she could hardly tell how it
was, but it seemed to her sore heart that she longed to receive it from
her young mistress. She did not look in vain. In a moment, Ida's arms
were round the neck of her faithful servant, and her own beautiful eyes
were filled with sympathetic tears.
"Tell me what is the matter, Jean," she said. "You may trust me. I know
what you have been in this house and to all who have wanted the help
you could give. Let me do something for you, if there is anything in my
power to do."
Thus urged, Jean, in a voice broken by sobs, told her love-story to her
young mistress. Part of it has already been related, the rest shall be
given as Mrs. Crawford heard it from Jean's own lips.
"When Robert left me that morning, I stood in the doorway like one
without power to speak or move. I felt as if I must call him back, but
something held me from crying to him. I wanted Rab to be reasonable, to
give me the time I asked, and yet I knew that if he were beside me, I
had nothing new to say. I could only tell him that I must do the right
thing by those whose bread I had eaten during all those years; that I
could not leave them without a fitting warning, and to give it, I must
come back and tell my tale with my own lips.
"I had said all this to him, and first he had gone away in anger, and
again he had come back to make it up, but after his own fashion. I must
just give in to his will and be married off-hand, though to my dying
day my conscience would have reproached me for doing a right thing at
the wrong time, and in the wrong way.
"But I said to myself, 'Rab must have some reason in him,' though his
going right out of sight without so much as casting a look behind at
me, where I stood watching him as well as I could through my tears,
showed how hard he could be when he made up his mind to it. 'He will
come again when the fit is past, and he has had time to be sorry.'"
"And did he come?" asked Mrs. Crawford, for Jean's voice had suddenly
failed her again.
"No," sobbed Jean. "The days passed, and he never came near the farm,
and father and mother wondered, and looked at me as if they wanted to
ask what had happened. Their looks asked me many a time, and mine must
have told that I was going about carrying a sore heart, but that was
all.
"I never left the house and farm, for I was frightened of missing Rab.
I never doubted that he would come in time. On the fourth day my father
went to the market. It was on the Friday, and when he came home, there
was an angry look on his face that I had seldom seen there. He did
not tell me what had brought it, but my mother did. He had met Robert
Hamilton in the town, and, instead of the old neighbourly handshake and
talk, Rab had passed him with a cold 'Good-day t' ye.' He neither asked
after my mother nor me, and he did not give my father a second look.
"There were neighbours at market who saw Rab pass by my father without
stopping, and they wondered first and next began to talk. They had
more to talk about when Sunday came, for Robert came to the kirk with
a young lass, the prettiest and giddiest to be found in a long day's
walk. He went home with her, never looking the side I was on. And the
next day, an old gossiping wife came to our house and told my mother
that Rab Hamilton had found a lass of twenty for a sweetheart, and
there would be a short wooing, or she was mistaken. Also, that he would
get money with the girl, and more when her father had done with it.
"My mother was too proud to let the woman know what she thought, so she
said, 'Rab has been a good son and brother, and waited long for a wife,
and I hope he will get what he deserves.'
"We had it all over together afterwards, father, and mother, and me.
They were angry for my sake, and father would fain have seen Rab and
told him his mind, but I would not have it. I only said, 'Ye'll spare
me a while longer, for you did not expect me coming to stay altogether
just yet, and mother is looking better than I hoped.'
"So they saw how hard it would be for me to bide longer, and, though
my holiday was little more than half over, they prayed that God would
bless me, and bade me come to Steynes-Cote. And this is how it happens
that I am here so soon."
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