THREE MONTHS AFTER MARRIAGE.
Sir Christopher Blunt was pacing his drawing-room in a very agitated
manner; and the expression of his countenance was so ludicrous, in its
reflection of the thoughts that were stirring within his breast, that it
was impossible to say whether he was influenced by commingled hope and
suspense on the one hand, or by fear and shame on the other.
It was pretty evident that he had not been out all day; for he was
unshaven—and he wore the light blue dressing-gown, the bright red
trousers, and the scarlet silk cap, which his dear wife had devised as a
most becoming morning costume, but which gave him the appearance of a
Mussulman quack-doctor, as the golden lustre of the handsome lamp
brought forth all the flaunting effects of the garb.
Advancing towards the time-piece, Sir Christopher compared his watch
with that dial.
"A quarter to nine!" he murmured to himself, as he restored the huge
gold repeater to his fob; "and the doctors have been an hour with her
already! Well—I never heard of such a thing before—three months after
marriage—it's impossible—quite impossible! Dr. Wagtail is a very clever
man, no doubt—but he's wrong for once in his life. If it was six or
seven months, now—one might suppose that a premature birth—but three
months——"
And the worthy knight paced the apartment in a manner which showed that
"he didn't know wha the deuce to make of it."
"Well," he continued, again speaking in a murmuring tone, after a short
pause, "it may be so, after all! For really science does discover such
wonderful things now-a-days, and the world seems to undergo so many
strange changes, that upon my word I should not be at all surprised if,
on going out some morning, I was to see the people walking on their
heads along Jermyn Street. Ah! things weren't like this when I was a
boy! But then I must recollect that I live in the fashionable quarter of
the town _now_, and ladies at the West End ain't like those vulgar
citizens' wives. Thank God that I didn't get in for Portsoken! It was
quite enough to have filled the high and responsible office of Sheriff,
and to have received the distinguished honour of knighthood——But, three
months!" exclaimed Sir Christopher, interrupting himself, and flying
back with ludicrous abruptness to the idea that was uppermost in his
mind; "three months! And, after all, who knows but that it's the fashion
at the West End; and I'm sure that if it is, I shall be very glad that
it has happened so. And yet the most extraordinary part of the business
is that—when I suspected something of the kind, and just hinted at it to
Lady Blunt—she—she scratched my face to pieces for me. Very
extraordinary, indeed!"
Sir Christopher now became lost in a maze of conjecture, vague
suspicion, and bewilderment, through which he certainly could not find
his way; and heaven only knows how long he might have remained in the
labyrinth, had not Dr. Wagtail appeared to his rescue.
"Well, doctor?" exclaimed the knight, hastening to meet the physician.
"My dear Sir Christopher, I congratulate you!" said Dr. Wagtail,
considering it decent and becoming to assume a joyous and smirking
expression of countenance for the occasion, while he wrung the knight's
hand with most affectionate warmth: "for it is my duty," he continued,
now suddenly adopting the pompous and important style of the fashionable
physician to a rich family,—"for it is my duty, Sir Christopher, to
announce to you that you are the happy father of a charming boy, with
whom her ladyship has been kind enough to present you."
[Illustration]
"A boy—eh, doctor?" faltered the knight. "But of course it isn't—I
mean—it can't be—a—a—full grown child?"
"Well, my dear Sir Christopher," responded Dr. Wagtail, who perfectly
understood where the shoe pinched, "from what Mr. Snipekin, the talented
and much-sought-after accoucheur whom I deemed it prudent to call in
just now,—from what Mr. Snipekin says, Sir Christopher, I do believe
that the dear little creature has come a leetle before his time. But
pray don't make yourself uneasy on that account, my dear Sir
Christopher; for the sweet babe is in no danger, and is an uncommonly
fine child, to be sure!"
"Then it is a little before its time, doctor—eh!" said Sir Christopher.
"But—doctor—you and me are old friends, and you can speak candidly, you
know——and—the truth is——you must remember that—that—our marriage only
took place—three months ago—and it seems to me rather unusual—not that I
suspect dear Lady Blunt's virtue for a moment—on the contrary—I know her
to be a perfect paragon of morality: at the same time—three months,
doctor—and a fine boy——"
"My dear Sir Christopher," responded Dr. Wagtail, foreseeing that the
amount of his fee would depend vastly upon the state of mind in which
the Knight might be when he should give it, and acting moreover upon his
favourite principle of humouring the whims and wishes of all persons
with whom he had any professional connexion,—"my dear Sir Christopher,"
he said, looking very solemn indeed, "your avocations in the world have
not allowed you time to dive into the mysteries of science and
investigate the arcana of learning—much less to pursue with
sesquipedalian regularity the routine of that course of study which, in
the abstract, and also considered in a purely professional point of
view—and having due regard to the wonders of physiological science,—in
fact—ahem!—you understand me, Sir Christopher?"
"Ye-e-s, doctor," drawled forth the bewildered knight. "But I think you
were going to satisfy me—you know—about the three months—and a fine
boy—doctor——"
"I was coming to that point, my dear Sir Christopher," said Dr. Wagtail.
"In fact, I was about to observe that _physiology_, properly considered
in its etymological signification, comprehends the entire science of
Nature; but I must impress upon your mind, Sir Christopher, that the
ratiocinative propensities of modern physicians have induced them,
doubtless after much profound cogitation, to restrict the term to that
department of physical knowledge relating, referring, and belonging
exclusively to organic existence. And thus, Sir Christopher——ahem!—you
follow me?"
"Oh! quite easy—indeed!" returned the knight, wondering in his own mind
whether it were dog Latin that stunned his ears, and also how any one
individual could possibly pick up and retain such an immense amount of
knowledge. "But—the point was, doctor——"
"Precisely, my dear Sir Christopher!" exclaimed the physician, looking
as wise as all the seven sages of Greece put together: "it was to that
very point which I was coming;—but I thought that a detailed and full
explanation would prove most satisfactory to you."
"Oh! decidedly, doctor:—and I am sure I am very much obliged to you for
taking the trouble to—to——"
"Well, then, my dear Sir Christopher," interrupted the fashionable
physician; "all my premises being granted, and the arguments which I
have adduced being fully admitted, I think that the demonstration is
easy enough. Consequently, Sir Christopher, it is quite apparent that a
child _may_ be born three months after marriage; at the same time, I
think I can assure you, that in future your excellent and amiable lady
will not be quite so premature in her accouchements."
"It is not unusual, then, doctor, amongst your female patients?" said
Sir Christopher, who was not entirely satisfied yet.
"It is by no means unusual that a _first_ child should be born a few
months after marriage, my dear Sir Christopher," answered the physician.
"And perhaps—perhaps, it's rather fashionable than otherwise?" asked the
knight, in a hesitating manner.
"Well—I don't know but what it is, Sir Christopher," replied Dr.
Wagtail, taking a pinch of snuff. "And now that your mind is completely
set at rest on this point—as indeed it must and ought to be, after the
full and professional explanation which I have given you,—I will return
to the chamber of your amiable and excellent lady, and see whether you
can be permitted to visit her for a few moments."
"Do, my dear doctor. And, doctor," cried the Knight, as a sudden idea
struck him; "pray don't—I mean, it is not necessary to let Lady Blunt
know that—that—in a word—that I asked you any questions——"
"Oh! certainly not, my dear Sir Christopher," exclaimed the physician;
and he then quitted the room.
"Well," thought the knight to himself, as soon as he was again alone;
"and so I am the father—the happy father,"—and he made a slight
grimace,—"of a fine boy. A fine boy—eh! 'Pon my honour, I'm very
glad—very glad, indeed! A son and heir—a little Christopher! How very
kind of my dear wife: it is a tie which will bind us together—perhaps
soften her temper a leetle—and make her more sparing in the use of her
finger nails. Well—if it's only for that, the coming of this child will
be a great blessing—a very great blessing. But I really do wish the dear
babe had made its appearance about six months later. Not that it matters
much—seeing that I must be its father, and that the thing is rather
fashionable than otherwise. Besides—Doctor Wagtail is such a clever
man—such a very clever man—and his explanation was so completely
satisfactory—so very lucid and clear—a fool might understand it. Well, I
really ought to be a very happy fellow!"
But all the knight's attempts at self-persuasion and self-consolation
were futile: there was a weight upon his spirits that he could not throw
off—and in the depths of his secret soul there was an awful misgiving,
to the existence of which he vainly endeavoured to blind his mental
vision. He strove to be gay—he tried to establish the conviction that he
was perfectly happy and contented—he did all he could to make himself
admit _to_ himself that the doctor's reasoning was conclusive:—still he
could not shut out from his heart the ever recurring thought that the
physician's argument might be very conclusive indeed, but that he was
totally unable to understand a word of it.
Then came the fear of ridicule;—and this was the most galling sentiment
of all. But, on the other hand, there was an apprehension which was not
without its weight: namely, the anger of his wife, in case she should
discover that he had dared to doubt her virtue.
Thus, by the time the doctor came back, the silly old gentleman had
determined to take matters just as he found them: and, though half
suspecting that there was something wrong in the business, he resolved
to maintain as contented an air as possible, as the only means of
combatting ridicule should he experience it, or of quieting his wife
should she hear of any thing to excite her irritability.
"We are getting on so well, my dear Sir Christopher," said the
physician, "that we can see you for a few minutes; but we cannot bear
any loud speaking as yet, and we establish it as a condition that you do
not attempt to kiss our child more than once, for fear you should set it
crying and make our head ache."
Sir Christopher attempted a pleasant smile, and followed Dr. Wagtail to
the chamber of the indisposed lady.
The moment the door was opened, the shrill but nevertheless apparently
half-stifled cry of a newborn child saluted the knight's ears; and,
hastening up to the bed, he bent over and kissed his wife.
"See what heaven has sent us, Sir Christopher!" said the lady, in a low
and weak voice, well suited to the solemnity of her observation; and,
slightly uncovering the bed-clothes, she exhibited a tiny object,
looking amazingly red, but which she assured him was "the sweetest
little face in the world."
"That it is—the pretty creatur!" observed a hoarse voice, which appeared
to emanate from the chimney, but which in reality came from no further
off than the fire-place, and belonged to an elderly woman of tremendous
corpulency, who was arranging some baby-linen on a clothes-horse. "I've
nussed a many ladies," continued the stout proprietress of the hoarse
voice, "but never such a patient dear as your'n, Sir Christopher: and I
never see such a angel at its birth as that babby. Why," continued the
woman, advancing towards the knight and giving him a good long stare,
while, potent odours of gin assailed his nostrils all the while, "I do
declare that the babby is as like his father as he can be."
Sir Christopher "grinned horribly a ghastly smile," and slipped
half-a-guinea into the nurse's hand, at which proof of his generosity
she dropped him a curtsey that shook the house so profoundly as nearly
to drop her through the floor.
"Yes—the babby's as like you, Sir, as two peas is like each other,"
continued the nurse, while Dr. Wagtail and the accoucheur exchanged
rapid but intelligent glances at the excellence of the idea, and Sir
Christopher grunted like a learned pig which has just put its snout upon
the right card in a show. "I'm sure, Sir, you ought to be wery much
obleeged to missus for presenting you with such a cherub. Poor dear! she
had a sad time of it—but she bore it like a saint, as she is. Won't you
let master have just one kiss at the little dear, my lady?"
The saint was just at that moment wondering whether the child, as it
grew up, would bear any resemblance to a certain tall footman in a
certain family at the West End: but why such an idea should enter her
head, we must leave to the readers to divine.
The nurse repeated her question, adding, "Do let the little dear's pa
just kiss it once; and then we must turn him out, you know, ma'am, for
the present."
"Yes, Sir Christopher—you may kiss the little cherub, if you like," said
Lady Blunt, in a tone which was meant to impress on her husband's mind a
full sense of the favour conferred upon him: "but pray don't make the
sweet child squeal out—for you're so rough."
The knight accordingly touched the babe with his lips, which he smacked
to make believe that the kiss was a hearty one in spite of his wife's
injunction; and, this ceremony being completed, he was turned out of the
room by the nurse, whose power on such occasions amounts, as all fathers
know, to an absolute despotism.
"The nurse" is a species exhibiting but little variety. Stout and in
good spirits she must always be; and bottled stout and ardent spirits
she highly esteems. She moreover has an excellent appetite, and is fond
of many meals in the course of the day. She awakes at five or six in the
morning, and makes herself strong hot coffee and a couple of rounds of
toast, putting a great deal of sugar to the former, and a vast quantity
of butter to the latter. At nine she is ready for her _breakfast_—the
first meal not being so denominated and in fact considered as nothing at
all. If her mistress be awake, the nurse will amuse her with innumerable
stories relative to her former places; and she will not fail to make
herself out the very best nurse in the world. She will describe how one
lady was inconsolable because she could not have her at the desired
time; how another lady would eat nothing unless prepared by the said
nurse's own hands; how a third would have died if it had not been for
her care and attention; and how she never slept a wink nor put her
clothes off once for a whole month while in attendance upon another
lady. Then she is sure to be well connected and to have seen better
days: and if asked for her address, she is certain to reply, "Lord bless
you, my dear: all you have to do is to send and inquire for me in
such-and-such a street, and any body will tell you where I live." In
fact she is as well known in her quarter of the town as the Queen is at
Pimlico. But—to continue the category of meals—at eleven o'clock she is
quite prepared for a mutton-chop and half a pint of stout; and she
forces a basin of gruel down her mistress's throat, accompanied with
many a "Poor dear, I'm sure you must want it!" At two o'clock she has a
good appetite for her dinner; and then she manages to get on pretty
comfortably till tea-time. The nurse is very fond of her tea, and likes
it strong. After tea, as her mistress most likely sleeps, she gets hold
of an odd volume of a romance, or a newspaper not more than a week old;
and it is ten to one that she believes every word she reads in both. If
her mistress happen to be awake, the nurse will comment upon what she
reads. The newspaper, especially, is sure to set her talking on the
"hardness of the times," and arouse all her reminiscences of "when she
was a gal." She will often express her mysterious wonder at "what the
world is coming to," and invariably speaks as if every thing had
undergone a great change for the worst. She is sure to know a poor
family whom she is mainly instrumental in saving from starvation; and
she is equally certain to descant upon the necessity of sobriety and
frugality amongst the working classes. Then she remembers that it is
time "for missus to take her medicine;" but when she goes to the shelf
or the cupboard, she stays a little longer there than is quite necessary
to pour out the medicine aforesaid; and, as she approaches the bed to
administer the same, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and
her eyes are observed to water. The invalid lady may now thank her stars
if she be not assailed with an odour of ardent spirit while she receives
her medicine from the hand of the nurse. Well, the time passes away
somehow or another until the supper hour; and it is a remarkable fact,
that the nurse never seems wearied of the monotony of her avocation.
But, then, in the evening she manages to get half-an-hour's chat with
the servants down stairs; and the chat is rendered the more pleasant by
a little drop of something short out of a black bottle which the cook
mysteriously produces from the cupboard. On these occasions the nurse
exhibits all her importance. She assures the listening domestics that it
was very fortunate _she_ happened to be sent for to attend upon
"missus," as if any other nurse had been called in the results would
have been most unpleasantly different. She then expresses her opinion of
the medical attendant; and her estimation of this gentleman is
invariably regulated by the amount of his liberality towards her. If he
gave her the odd shillings which accompanied the sovereigns in the
little piece of paper containing the fee, then he is sure to be a very
clever man indeed; but if he forgot this important duty, then in the
nurse's estimation he is certain to be a most unfit doctor to call in;
and "it was quite a wonder that he didn't kill poor dear missus." Having
thus delivered her opinion, which is received as gospel by the servants,
she hastens up stairs again, and relates to her mistress her own version
of the conversation which has taken place down below. After supper she
no longer partakes of ardent spirit on the sly, and unblushingly brews
herself a potent glass. But then she is sure to have an excuse—such a
dreadful pain in the stomach, or a bad cold; and her mistress, whose
peace of mind depends on keeping her attendant in a good humour, says in
a mild, languid voice, "Do make yourself comfortable, nurse!" And the
nurse obeys the hint to the very letter. The liquor induces her to
descant upon spirits in general; and she is sure to inform her mistress
that the _Duke of Wellington_ doesn't sell near such good things as the
_Duck and Drake_; but that "the beautifullest gin is at the public round
the corner." Sometimes—and this is one of the worst features in her
character—the nurse will take it into her head to relate gloomy stories
to her mistress; and when once she gets on this subject, the devil
himself could not stop her. She tells how she knew a lady who went on
very well for ten days, and then popped off all on a sudden; or else she
was once in a house which caught on fire in the middle of the night, and
the poor lady and child were burnt to death. If the husband should
happen to be out late, the nurse, when she is in this gloomy vein, talks
mysteriously of the danger of the streets; and says how she knew a
gentleman who was run over by an omnibus during the fog. But, in justice
to the nurse, we must observe, that these horrible subjects are not very
frequently touched on by her—and only when she gets somewhat maudlin
with too much ardent spirit or bottled stout. For the first week she is
in her place, no one comes to see her; but in the course of the second,
she is visited by her married daughter and her married daughter's eldest
girl. During the third week, the nurse is constantly wanted by people
who come to see her, or inquire for her; and at the beginning of the
fourth the front door bell is rung frantically, and the nurse hears,
with a countenance so innocent that it is almost impossible to think she
has pre-arranged the whole matter, that Mrs. So-and-so, whom she has
pledged herself to attend upon, is just taken in labour, and she (the
nurse) must go to her directly. Her mistress is by this time well enough
to do without her; and the nurse receives her full month's wages for
three week's attendance.
But let us return to Sir Christopher Blunt, whom we left at that
pleasant point when, having undergone the ceremony of embracing the babe
which, according to his lady's account, heaven had sent him, he wended
his way back to the drawing-room.
At that precise moment Sir Christopher would have given just one half of
his fortune to be enabled to undo all he had done three months
previously. He had married in haste, and he now repented at leisure. But
it was too late to retract; and he found, to his infinite mortification,
that he must "grin and bear it."
The accoucheur shortly entered the room to report that "all was going on
as well as could be expected;" and, having received his fee, he took his
departure.
Soon afterwards the pompous and self-sufficient Dr. Wagtail made _his_
appearance, and received _his_ fee, which, out of sheer ostentation, the
knight rendered as liberal as the physician had anticipated.
These little matters being disposed of, Sir Christopher rang the bell,
ordered up a bottle of claret and was about to console himself with the
solitary enjoyment of the same, when an astounding double knock and
tremendous ring at the front-door startled him so fearfully that he
spilt the wine over his red trousers and nearly upset the table on which
his elbow was leaning.
"Who can this be?" he exclaimed aloud.
"Captain O'Blunderbuss!" cried the footman, throwing open the door as
wide as possible to afford ingress to the swaggering officer.