Reader, think of some lovely picture of rustic life, with tender
lights and pleasant shadows, with hard lines softened, and sharp
angles touched into gentle curves, with a background of picturesque,
satisfying appropriateness, with the magic touches that bring out the
beauty and refinement and elegance of the scene, which are really
there, and that subtly tone down all the roughness and awkwardness
and coarseness, which are also equally there. And then, imagine it,
if you can, changing under your very eyes, with glaring lights and
heavy shadows deepening and sharpening and hardening wrinkles and
angles and lines, exaggerating defects, bringing coarseness and age
and ugliness into painful prominence, and taking away at a sweep the
pretty, rural background which might have relieved and soothed the
eye, and putting a dull, common-place, incongruous one in its place.
It was something of this sort that happened to John Carter that
night, when the picture he had been painting with the sweet lights of
love and childhood's fancies, and the tender shadows of memory
throwing over it all soft tones of long ago and far away, suddenly
stood before him in unvarnished reality, with all the glamor taken
away, an every-day fact in his present London life.
I am glad to write it of him that, for the first minute, pleasure was
the uppermost feeling in his mind. First thought are often the best
and purest. He started up, saying, "Mother! why mother!" in the same
tone of glad surprise as he would have done fifteen years before if
she had come unexpectedly into the shop at Martel; he did not even
think if the door were closed, or what Mr. Hyder would think; he did
not notice that she was crumpled and dirty with travel, or that she
put her pattens down on his open book and upset the glass of violets;
he just took hold of her trembling, hard-worked hands, and kissed her
furrowed old cheek, wet with tears of unutterable joy, and repeated
"Mother! why, mother!"
I am glad to write it of him; glad that she had that great happiness,
realizing the hopes and longings of years past, consoling in days to
come when she had to turn back to the past for comfort, or forward to
the time of perfect satisfaction. There are these exquisite moments
in life, let people say what they will of the disappointments and
vanity of the world, when hope is realized, desire fulfilled; but it
is just for a moment, no more--just a fore taste of the joys that
shall be hereafter, when every moment of the long years of eternity
will be still more full and perfect, when we shall "wake up" and "be
satisfied."
She was clinging meanwhile to his arm, sobbing out, "Laddie, my boy,
Laddie!" with her eyes too dim with tears to see his face clearly, or
to notice how tall and grand and handsome her boy was grown, and what
a gentleman. Presently, when she was seated in the armchair, and had
got her breath again, and wiped her foolish old eyes, she was able to
hunt in her capacious pocket for the silver-rirnmed spectacles that
had descended from her father, old Master Pullen, in the almshouse,
and that Laddie remembered well, as being kept in the old family
Bible, and brought out with great pomp and ceremony on Sunday
evenings.
"I must have a good look at you, Laddie boy," she said.
And then I think her good angel must have spread his soft wing
between the mother and son (though to her mind it seemed only like
another tear dimming her sight, with a rainbow light on it), to keep
her from seeing the look that was marring that son's face. All the
pleasure was gone, and embarrassment and disquiet had taken its place.
"However did you come, mother?" he said, trying his best to keep a
certain hardness and irritation out of his voice.
"I come by the train, dear," the old woman answered "and it did not
terrify me more nor a bit at first, I'll not go for to deny; but,
bless you! I soon got over it, and them trains is handy sort of
things when you gets used to 'em. I was a good deal put to though
when we got to London station, there seemed such a many folks about,
and they did push and hurry a body so. I don't know whatever I
should 'a done if a gentleman hadn't come and asked me where I wanted
to get to. He were a tallish man with whiskers, a bit like Mr. Jones
over at Martel, and I dare say you knows him; but he was terrible
kind, however."
John Carter did not stop to explain that there were many tallish men
with whiskers in London.
"Why didn't you write and say you were coming?"
"Well, there! I thought as I'd give you a surprise; and I knew as
you'd be worrying about the journey and thinking as I'd not be able
to manage; but I'm not such a helpless old body, after all, Laddie."
"Whom have you left in charge of the cottage?"
"Why, I've give it up altogether. Farmer Harris, he wanted it for
his shepherd, and he give me notice. That's why I come all on a
sudden like. I says to myself, says I, Laddie's got a home and a
welcome for his old mother, and it's only because he thought as I was
pretty nearly growed to the old place, and couldn't abear to leave
it, that he ain't said as I must come and keep house for him long
ago. But, bless you! I've been thinking so of the pleasure of
seeing you again that I've pretty nearly forgot as I was leaving my
master's grave and all."
"And when must you go back?"
"Not till you gets tired of me, Laddie, or till you takes me to lay
me by the old master; for I'd like to lay there, if so be as you can
manage it, for I've heard tell as it cost a mort of money buryin'
folks out of the parish as they dies in, and maybe it mightn't be
just convenient to you."
John Carter busied himself with making the fire burn up into a blaze,
while his mother rambled on, telling him little bits of village
gossip about people he had long since forgotten or never heard of; of
describing her journey, which was a far greater exploit in the old
woman's eyes than Lieutenant Cameron's walk across Africa; or
dwelling on the delight of seeing him again. He paid little heed to
what she said, pretending to be intent on placing a refractory piece
of coal in a certain position, or coaxing an uncertain little flame
into steadiness; but his head was busy trying to form some plan for
getting himself out of his difficult position. He did not want to
hurt her, or to be unkind in any way; but it was altogether out of
the question having her there to live with him. It would ruin all
his prospects in life, his position in his profession and in society;
as to his engagement, he did not venture to allow himself even to
think of Violet just then. He knew some doctors whose mothers lived
with them, and kept house for them, received their guests, and sat at
the head of their table, but they were ladies, very different. The
very idea of his mother with three or four servants under her was an
absurdity. And this thought brought Hyder's grin before his mind.
What had happened when his mother arrived? Had she committed herself
and him frightfully by her behavior? No doubt that impudent rascal
was giving a highly facetious account of it all to the maids in the
kitchen. Chattering magpies! And how they would pass it on! How
Mary Jane would describe it through the area gate to the milk woman
next morning, and cook add a pointed word or two from the front steps
as she cleaned them! He could almost smell the wet hearthstone and
hear the clinking of the tin milk pails as Biddy hooked them to the
yoke and passed on with the story of his degradation. And he could
fancy what a choice morsel it would make for Hyder to tell Sir John
Meredith's solemn, red-nosed butler, behind his hand, in a hoarse
whisper, with winks to emphasize strong points, and an occasional
jerk of the thumb over the shoulder and a careful avoidance of names.
This thought was too much for his feelings, and the tongs went down
with an ominous clatter into the fender, making the old woman jump
nearly off her chair, and cutting short a story about the distemper
among Squire Wellow's pigs.
"There; it brought my heart into my mouth, pretty near, and set me
all of a tremble. I reckon as I'm a little bit tired, and it have
shook up my nerves like, and a little do terrify one so."
The sight of her white, trembling old face touched his son's and
doctor's heart under the fine, closely woven, well-cut coat of fine
gentlemanliness and worldly wisdom which he was buttoning so closely
round him.
"You are quite tired out, mother," he said; "you shall have some tea
and go to bed. I can't have you laid up, you know."
"There now! if I wasn't thinking as a dish of tea would be the nicest
thing in the world! and for you to think of it! Ah! you remembers
what your mother likes, bless you!"
In that moment he had quickly made up his mind that at any rate it
was too late for that night to do anything but just make her
comfortable; to-morrow something must be done without delay; but
there was ten striking, and she was evidently quite worn out. He
must say something to silence those jays of servants and get her off
to bed, and then he could sit down and arrange his plans quietly; for
the suddenness of the emergency had confused and muddled him.
"I'll tell them to get some tea," he said, "you sit still and rest."
And then he rang the bell decidedly and went out into the hall,
closing the doors behind him. He had never felt so self-conscious
and uncomfortable as when the man-servant came up the kitchen stairs
and stood as deferentially as ever before him. He felt as if he had
not got entire control of voice, eyes, or hands. His eyes seemed to
avoid looking at the man's face in spite of him, and his voice tried
hard to be apologetic and entreating of its own accord. That would
never do. He thrust his obtrusive hands into his pockets, and drew
up his head, and looked sharply at the man straight in the eyes with
a "fight you for 2d." expression, or "every bit as if I owed him a
quarter's rent," as Hyder said afterwards; and he spoke in a
commanding, bullying tone, very unlike his usual courteous behavior
to servants, imagining that by this he conveyed to the man's mind
that he was quite at his ease, and that nothing unusual had happened.
"Look here," he said, "I want tea at once in the dining-room, and
tell cook to send up some cold meat. I suppose it's too late for
cutlets or anything like that?"
"Is the lady going to stop the night, sir?"
The words stung Dr. Carter so, that he would have liked to have
kicked the man down the kitchen stairs, but he luckily restrained
himself.
"Yes, she is. The best bedroom must be got ready, and a fire
lighted, and everything made as comfortable as possible. Do you
hear?"
"Yes, sir." The man hesitated a second to see if there were any
further orders, and Dr. Carter half turned, looking another way, as
he added, "She is a very old friend and nurse of mine when I was a
child, and I want her to be made comfortable. She will only be here
this one night."
He felt as he turned the handle of the consulting-room door that he
had really done it rather well on the whole, and carried it off with
a high hand, and not told any falsehood after all, for was she not
his oldest friend and his most natural nurse? In reality he had
never looked less like a gentleman, and Hyder saw it too.
They say a man is never a hero to his own valet. I do not know if
this includes men-servants in general; but certain it is that, up to
this time, Dr. Carter had kept the respect of his servant. "I know
as he ain't a swell," Mr. Hyder would say to the coterie of footmen
who met in the bar of the snug little "public" round the corner; "but
for all that he ain't a bad master neither; and as far as my
experience serves, he's as good a gent as any of them, and better any
day than them dandy, half-pay captings as locks up their wine and
cigars, and sells their old clothes, and keeps their men on scraps,
and cusses and swears as if they was made of nothing else."
But as Hyder went to his pantry that night, he shook his head with a
face of supreme disgust. "That's what I call nasty!" he said, "I'm
disappointed in that man. I thought better of him than this comes
to. Well, well! blood tells after all. What's bred in the bone will
come out in the flesh sooner or later. Nurse indeed! Get along! you
don't humbug me, my gent!"
There were no signs, however, of these moralizings in the pantry, or
the fuller discussion that followed in the kitchen, when he announced
that supper was ready.
"Do ye have your victuals in the kitchen now, Laddie?" the old woman
said. "Well, there! it is the most comfortable to my thinking,
though gentle-folks do live in their best parlors constant."
Hyder discreetly drew back, and Dr. Carter whispered with a crimson
flush all over his face, "Hush, we'll have our talk when this fellow
is out of the way. Don't say anything till then."
The old woman looked much surprised, but at last concluded that there
was something mysterious against the character of "the very
civil-spoken young man as opened the door," and so she kept silence
while her son led her into the dining-room, where tea was spread,
with what appeared to the old woman royal magnificence of white
damask and shining silver.
"You can go," the doctor said. "I will ring if we want anything."
"He don't look such a baddish sort of young man," she said, when the
door closed behind the observant Hyder; "and he seems to mind what
you says pretty sharp. I thought as he was a gent hisself when he
opened the door, as he hadn't got red breeches or gaiters or nothing;
but I suppose you will put him in livery by and by?"
"Now, mother, you must have some tea. And you are not to talk till
you have eaten something. Here! I'll pour out the tea." For the
glories of the silver teapot were drawing her attention from its
reviving contents. "I hope they have made it good. Ah! I remember
well what tea you used to make in that little brown teapot at home."
It was very easy and pleasant to be kind to her, and make much of her
now, when no one else was there. He enjoyed waiting on her, and
seeing her brighten up and revive under the combined influence of
food and warmth and kindness. He liked to hear her admire and wonder
at everything, and he laughed naturally and boyishly at her odd
little innocent remarks. If they two could have been always alone
together, with no spying eyes and spiteful tongues, it would have
been all right and pleasant, but as it was, it was quite impossible,
and out of the question.
"It ain't the teapot, Laddie, as does it. It's just to let it stand
till it's drawed thorough and no longer. Put it on the hob for ten
minutes, say I, but that's enough. I don't like stewed tea, and
moreover it ain't wholesome neither. This is a fine room, Laddie,
and no mistake. Why, the parson ain't got one to hold a candle to
it. I'd just like some of the Sunnybrook folk to have a look at it.
It would make them open their eyes wide, I warrant!--to see me
a-setting here like a lady, with this here carpet as soft as
anything, and them curtains, and pictures, and all! I wonder
whatever they would say if they could see? I suppose now, as there's
a washus or a place out behind somewheres for them servants?"
Dr. Carter laughed at the idea of Mrs. Treasure the cook, and the two
smart housemaids, let alone Mr. Hyder, being consigned to a
wash-house at the back; and he explained the basement arrangements.
"Underground. Well! I never did! But I think I've heard tell of
underground kitchens before, but I never would believe it. It must
be terrible dark for the poor things, and damp moreover; and how
poor, silly gals is always worriting to get places in London, passes
me!"
Presently, when they had done tea, and gone back into the
consulting-room, when the old woman was seated in the arm-chair, with
her feet on the fender, and her gown turned up over her knees, Dr.
Carter drew his chair up near hers, and prepared for his difficult
task.
"Mother," he said, laying one of his hands caressingly on her arm (he
was proud of his hands,--it was one of his weaknesses that they were
gentleman's hands, white and well shaped, and there was a plain gold
strap-ring on the little finger, which hit exactly the right medium
between severity and display, as a gentleman's ring
should),--"Mother, I wish you had written to tell me you were coming."
She took his hands between both her own, hard and horny, with the
veins standing up like cord on the backs, rough and misshapen with
years of hard work, but with a world of tender mother's love in every
touch, that made his words stick in his throat and nearly choke him.
"I knew as you'd be pleased to see me, Laddie, come when I might or
how I might."
"Of course I'm glad to see you, mother, very glad; and I was thinking
just before you came in that I would run down to Sunnybrook to see
you just before Christmas."
And then he went on to explain how different London life was to that
at Sunnybrook, and how she would never get used to it or feel happy
there, talking quickly and wrapping up his meaning in so many words
and elaborations that at the end of half an hour the old woman had no
more idea of what he meant that she had at the beginning, and was
fairly mystified. She had a strange way, too, of upsetting all his
skilful arguments with a simple word or two.
"Different from Sunnybrook? Yes, sure; but she'd get used to it like
other folks. Not happy? Why she'd be happy anywheres with her
Laddie. There, don't you fret yourself about me; as long as you're
comfortable I don't mind nothing."
How could he make her understand and see the gulf that lay between
them,--her life and his? It needed much plainer speaking; a spade
must be called a spade; and, somehow, it looked a very much more ugly
spade when it was so called. How soon did she catch his meaning? He
hardly knew, for he could not bear to look into her face, and see the
smile fade from her lips and the brightness from her eyes. He only
felt her hand suddenly clasp his more tightly, as if he had tried to
draw it away from her; and she grew silent, while he talked on
quickly and nervously, telling her they would go together to-morrow
and find a little snug cottage not far from London, with everything
pretty and comfortable that heart could wish for, and a little maid
to do the work, so that she need never lay her hand to anything; and
how he would come to see her often, very often, perhaps once a week.
Still never a word for or against, of pleasure or of pain, till he
said,--
"You would like it, mother, wouldn't you?"
And then she answered slowly and faintly,
"I'm aweary, Laddie, too tired like for new plans; and maybe, dearie,
too old."
"You must go to bed," he said, with a burst of overwhelming
compunction. "I ought not to have let you stop up like this. I
should have kept what I had to say till to-morrow when you were
rested. Come, think no more of it to-night, everything will look
brighter to-morrow. I'll show you your bedroom."
And so he took her up-stairs, such a lot of stairs to the old country
legs; but her curiosity overcame her fatigue sufficiently to make her
peep into the double drawing-room where the gas lamp in the street
threw weird lights and shadows on the ceiling, and touched
unexpectedly on parts of mirrors or gilded cornices, giving a
mysterious effect to the groups of furniture and the chandelier
hanging in its holland covering.
"'Tis mighty fine!" she said, "but an unked place to my mind; like a
churchyard somat."
Her bedroom did not look "unked," however, with a bright fire
burning, and the inviting chintz-curtained bed and the crisp
muslin-covered toilet-table, with two candles lighted. In the large
looking-glass on the toilet-table, the figure of the little old woman
was reflected among the elegant comfort of the room, looking all the
more small and shabby and old, and out of place in contrast with her
surroundings.
"Now make haste to bed, there's a good old mother; my room is next to
this if you want anything, and I shall soon come up to bed. I hope
you'll be very comfortable. Good-night."
And then he left her with a kiss; and she stood for some minutes
quite still, looking at the scene reflected in the glass before her,
peering curiously and attentively at it.
"And so Laddie is ashamed of his old mother," she said softly, with a
little sigh; "and it ain't no wonder!"
[Illustration: (Dr. Carter and his mother)]
As Dr. Carter sat down again in his consulting-room by himself, he
told himself that he had done wisely, though he had felt and
inflicted pain, and still felt very sore and ruffled. But it was
wisest, and practically kindest and best for her in the end, more
surely for her happiness and comfort; so there was no need to regret
it, or for that tiresome little feeling in one corner of his heart
that seemed almost like remorse. This is no story-book world of
chivalry, romance, and poetry; and to get on in it you must just lay
aside sentimental fancies and act by the light of reason and common
sense. And then he settled down to arrange the details of
to-morrow's plans, and jotted down on a piece of paper a few
memoranda of suitable places, times of trains, etc., and resolved
that he would spare no pains or expense in making her thoroughly
comfortable. He even wrote a note or two to put off some
appointments, and felt quite gratified with the idea that he was
sacrificing something on his mother's account. The clock struck two
as he rose to go up to bed; and he went up feeling much more composed
and satisfied with himself, having pretty successfully argued and
reasoned down his troublesome, morbid misgivings. He listened at his
mother's door, but all was quiet; and he made haste into bed himself,
feeling he had gone through a good deal that day.
He was just turning over to sleep when his door opened softly, and
his mother came in,--such a queer, funny, old figure, with a shawl
wrapped around her and a very large nightcap on--one of the
old-fashioned sort, with very broad, flapping frills. She had a
candle in her hand, and set it down on the table by his bed. He
jumped up as she came in.
"Why, mother, what's the matter? Not in bed? Are you ill?"
"There, there! lie down; there ain't nothing wrong. But I've been
listening for ye this long time. 'Tis fifteen years and more since I
tucked you up in bed, and you used to say as you never slept so sweet
when I didn't do it."
She made him lie down, and smoothed his pillow, and brushed his hair
off his forehead, and tucked the clothes round him, and kissed him as
she spoke.
"And I thought as I'd like to do it for you once more. Good-night,
Laddie, good-night."
And then she went away quickly, and did not hear him call, "Mother!
O mother!" after her; for the carefully tucked-in clothes were flung
off, and Laddie was out of bed with his hand on the handle of the
door, and then,--second thoughts being cooler, if not better,--"She
had better sleep," Dr. Carter said, and got back into bed.
But sleep did not come at his call. He tossed about feverishly and
restlessly, with his mind tossing hither and thither as much as his
body, the strong wind of his pride and will blowing against the
running tide of his love and conscience, and making a rough sea
between them, which would not allow of any repose. And which of them
was the strongest? After long and fierce debate with himself, he
came to a conclusion which at all events brought peace along with it.
"Come what may," he said, "I will keep my mother with me, let people
say or think what they will--even if it costs me Violet herself, as
most likely it will. I can't turn my mother out in her old age, so
there's an end of it." And there and then he went to sleep.
It must have been soon after this that he woke with a start, with a
sound in his ears like the shutting of the street-door. It was still
quite dark, night to Londoners, morning to country people, who were
already going to their work and labor; and Dr. Carter turned himself
over and went to sleep again, saying, "It was my fancy or a dream;"
while his old mother stood shivering in the cold November morning
outside his door, murmuring--
"I'll never be a shame to my boy, my Laddie; God bless him!"