THE UMBRELLA MAN.
Little Alwyn was laid to rest beside his mother in a beautiful summer
noontide. His father was not in a state to attend the funeral, and was
left under the care of Annaple, his own choice among those who offered
to stay and minister to him. It was his own wish that his daughter
should be to the last with her little brother. He had even said to her
that she had been a good sister, and his boy had been very fond of her,
and he would not keep her away on any account.
And, with a man's preference for a young and kindly woman, he chose
Annaple to be with him rather than Mr. Dutton, remembering likewise
that but for him the boy would have died in some workhouse, unknown and
unclaimed, or among the wretches who had caused his death. So Nuttie
had the comfort of Mr. Dutton's going down with her, as well as Mark,
and poor broken-down nurse, but not a word referring to the confession
of that happy evening had passed between them during the mournful
fortnight which had since elapsed.
May Condamine and her husband had made all as fair and consoling as
they could. There were white-robed children to bear the boy from the
churchyard gate, choristers sang hymns, the grave was lined with moss
and daisies, and white roses decked the little coffin and the mound.
There was as much of welcome and even of triumph as befitted the
innocent child, whose death had in it the element of testimony to the
truth. And Nuttie felt it, or would feel it by and by, when her spirit
felt less as if some precious thing had been torn up by the roots--to
be safe and waiting for her elsewhere, indeed, but that did not solace
the yearning longing for the merry loving child; nor the aching pity
for the crushed blighted creature whom she had watched suffering and
dying. It was far beyond her power as yet to acquiesce in her aunt's
consolation that it was happier for the child himself, than if he was
to grow up to temptation from without, and with an unsound
constitution, with dangerous hereditary proclivities. She could
believe it in faith, nay, she had already experienced the difficulties
her father had thrown in her way of dealing with him, she tried to be
resigned, but the good sense of the Canoness was too much for her.
It was a day of more haste than suited the ideal of such a time, for
Mr. Egremont could not be left for a night; so there was only time for
a luncheon, with little jerks of talk, and then for an hour spent in
short private interviews. Mrs. Egremont obtained from poor Nurse Poole
all the details, and, moreover, her opinion of Mr. Mark's baby, in
whom, it having been born under her auspices, she took a special
interest.
Nuttie meantime was pacing the shady walk with her dear old friend Miss
Nugent, feeling it strange that her heart did not leap up at the bare
presence of one she loved so much, yet conscious of the soothing of her
sympathy. And Mary, watching her all through, had been struck with the
increased sweetness and nobleness her countenance had acquired during
these years of discipline. More of her mother's expression had come
than could have been thought possible in features of such a different
mould, formed for so much more strength and energy. They had not met
since Nuttie had been summoned home to her mother's deathbed, and their
time was chiefly spent on reminiscences alike of the old sorrow and the
new; but, when the time for parting was nearly come, Mary said
affectionately, 'And you, my dear?'
'Oh, I am all right,' said Nuttie, and her eyes shone with a light Mary
did not at the moment understand; 'you need not be anxious for me
_now_.'
'I suppose that unhappy valet's death makes your task easier,' said
Mary.
'I think it will,' said Nuttie. 'Poor man! He was--I can't help
saying it--the evil genius of the house. Dear mother knew it,
struggled against him, and broke down in the struggle. It seems so
strange that what she could not do has been done in such a manner, and
at such a price! I wonder whether she knew it when she welcomed her
boy!'
'Her influence will aid you still,' said Mary, 'and you have Mr. Dutton
to help you too. I was so glad to find he was so near you.'
'Oh, Mr. Dutton!' exclaimed Ursula, in a strange tone that sent a
thrill through Mary, though she knew not why; but at that moment they
were interrupted, very inopportunely, by Mr. Bulfinch, who could not go
away without asking Miss Egremont whether she thought her father could
see him on business if he came up to town the next day. She thought
that such an interview would rouse her father and do him good, advising
him to call on the chance.
Mark's tete-a-tete had been with his sister May, to whom he had much to
tell of his wife and her gallant patience and energy, and how curious
it was that now the incubus that had weighed on his uncle's household
was removed, the prejudice had melted away, and he had grown so fond of
her that, next to Ursula, she was his best comforter.
'I hope that will lead to more,' said May.
'I don't see how,' said Mark. The more we rely only on a blessing on
our own exertions the better.'
'Even when Annaple works within an inch of her life?'
'Now that she is on a right tack about the baby, that will be easier.
Yes, May, I do feel sometimes that I have brought her down to drudgery
and narrowness and want of variety such as was never meant for her, but
she will never let me think so. She says that it is living in
realities, and that it makes her happier than toiling after society, or
rather after the world, and I do believe it is true! I'm sure it is
with me.'
'But such work as yours, Mark.'
'Nonsense, May; I enjoy it. I did not when I was in the Greenleaf
firm, with an undeveloped sense that Goodenough was not to be trusted,
and we were drifting to the bad, yet too green to understand or hinder
it; but this I thoroughly like. What does one want but honest
effective work, with some power of dealing with and helping those good
fellows, the hands, to see the right and help themselves?'
May sighed. 'And yet, now that poor child is gone, I feel all the more
how hard it is that you should be put out of the rights of your name.'
'I never had any rights. It was the bane of my life to be supposed to
have them. Nothing but this could have made a man of me.'
'And don't you have regrets for your boy?'
'I don't think I have--provided we can give him an education--such as I
failed to make proper use of, or Annaple might be luxuriating at Pera
at this moment.'
'Well!' said May, pausing as she looked up the vista of trees at the
great house; 'I can't bear it to go out of the old name.'
'Names may be taken!'
'You don't mean that there's any chance of--Oh! not that horrid Mr.
Fane?'
'Certainly not.'
'Oh!' as a trim black figure appeared walking down the open space.
'That man!'
'I am not authorised to tell any one so, May.'
'Yes, I understand. The wretch, he is taking stock of the place
already!'
'For shame. May, no one has deserved so well of them.'
'I don't care, he got you into that horrid concern.'
'And got me out of it, and found my work for me. I tell you, May, it
is the best thing that could possibly happen to your parish, or the
estate, or my poor uncle either! And you will soon come to a better
mind.'
'Never, while he is to get into your place! Turn back before he comes
within hailing distance.'
Before Mark could do anything towards bringing his sister to a better
mind he was seized on by his stepmother to propound a scheme she had
hatched, namely that, as a mutual benefit, Nurse Poole should be
allowed the consolation of bringing her chief comforter, his little
daughter, down with her on the visit Mrs. Egremont had invited her to
pay at Redcastle. He was very grateful, though doubtful whether
Annaple would accept the offer, for she was missing her children's
company, though they were only at Springfield House, and she had been
with them part of every day. And, sad as this month had been, it had
been such a rest from sheer physical toil that she had gained almost as
much by it as the little one.
There was a general assembly and coffee-drinking in the verandah,--Mr.
Condamine, Blanche, and her two young sisters were all there,--and May
had to be duly civil to Mr. Dutton, though he came back with some
water-lilies that he had fished out of the lake for Nuttie, and she
thought it taking possession. Then the Londoners set forth for the
station, and there Mark, having perhaps had a hint from his wife, saw
Nuttie and Mr. Dutton safely bestowed by Broadbent in an empty
carriage, and then discovered a desire to smoke, and left them to
themselves.
They had not been alone together for more than a second since the
evening of Alwyn's return, and there was a great shyness between them,
which lasted till the first station was past without any irruption of
newcomers. Nothing had been said but a few comments on the
arrangements and the attendants, but probably both were trying to begin
to speak, and at last it was Ursula who crossed over so that her face
could not be seen, and said in an odd tone--
'Mr. Dutton--'
'Yes,' and he turned, instantly on the alert.
'Did you mean it--what I thought you meant that evening?'
'Can you doubt it?' he said earnestly. 'But even then I was surprised
into the avowal, and I would have held it back if possible, if I had
guessed what was going to happen.'
'Ah! but then I should not have had that drop of comfort through it
all,' and she laid hold of his hand, which returned the pressure
strongly, but he sedulously guarded both words and tone as he said:
'Listen, Ursula, before you speak again. How dear you must always be
to me, I cannot tell you, but when I then spoke, it was with the sense
that on every account, I should meet with strong opposition from your
father and family. And now your position is altered, so that the
unsuitability is doubled. I am not a young man, remember, and my
thoughts must be for you above all, I want you to consider whether, in
the present state of affairs, you would not do better to look on what
then passed as unsaid, or only as the ebullition of gratitude towards
your old friend. Let me go abroad, and give you full opportunity
for--for some fresh beginning likely to be fitter for you--'
'Mr. Dutton, how can you say such horrid things? As if a dukedom would
make any difference.'
'Yes,' he said, turning towards her. 'If it is only the old-friend
feeling, then it is better dropped, but if your heart is in it, child,
then we go on, come what may. It is due to you.'
She raised her face towards him now, and he gave a grave kiss to her
forehead. She drew a long breath, and said after a little pause, 'And
now I have something to say. One does think of such things even in
these sad times, and you can help me. I am so glad it is you, because
I know you will, and be rejoiced to do so. You know when Mark found us
out first, dear mother and I always felt that it was a great pity he
should not have the estate he had been brought up to expect. I believe
dear mother thought it would have been the right thing for me to marry
him, but I always did mean to give it back to him, even when I didn't
like him. Well, then, you know it all seemed settled otherwise, but
now, it is so lucky you spoke to me while that dear little fellow was
with us, because now you will help me to persuade my father that it is
the only satisfactory thing to do to let it go in the male line to Mark
and his Willy.'
'I see! I see!' said Mr. Dutton eagerly. 'It would be an infinite
relief if it could be carried out.'
'I believe my father would like it,' said Nuttie. 'He cares for the
name; and now no one prevents it; he is fond of Mark, and still more of
Annaple! And you! Oh, Mr. Dutton, if he will only take it in the
right way, I think you will make me able to do what it grieved dear
mother never to have brought about for my poor father.'
'My whole self is yours to aid you,' he said. 'You know of course that
I could not ask you to detach yourself from one to whom you are so
necessary. If he will permit us, we will watch over him together as
doing her work.'
'Thank you,' was all Nuttie's lips could utter, though her hand said
much more.
And before they reached London they had arranged something of a plan of
action for propitiating Mr. Egremont, and bringing the future prospects
to be available so as to save Annaple from being worked to death in the
meantime.