A Stickit Minister
And the boy not out of him.--TENNYSON'S Queen Mary
Julius had only too well divined the cause of his summons. He found
Herbert Bowater's papers on the table before the Bishop, and there
was no denying that they showed a declension since last year, and
that though, from men without his advantages they would have been
passable, yet from him they were evidences of neglect of study and
thought. Nor could the cause be ignored by any one who had kept an
eye on the cricket reports in the county paper; but Herbert was such
a nice, hearty, innocent fellow, and his father was so much
respected, that it was with great reluctance that his rejection was
decided on and his Rector had been sent for in case there should be
any cause for extenuation.
Julius could not say there was. He was greatly grieved and
personally ashamed, but he could plead nothing but his own failure
to influence the young man enough to keep him out of a rage for
amusement, of which the quantity, not the quality, was the evil. So
poor Herbert was sent for to hear his fate, and came back looking
stunned. He hardly spoke till they were in the fly that Julius had
brought from Backsworth, and then the untamed school-boy broke
forth: "What are you doing with me? I say, I can't go back to
Compton like a dog in a string."
"Where will you go?"
"I don't care. To Jericho at once, out of the way of every one. I
tell you what, Rector, it was the most ridiculous examination I ever
went up for, and I'm not the only man that says so. There was
Rivers, of St. Mary's at Backsworth,--he says the questions were
perfectly unreasonable, and what no one could be prepared for. This
fellow Danvers is a new hand, and they are always worst, setting one
a lot of subjects of no possible use but to catch one out. I should
like to ask him now what living soul at Compton he expects to be the
better for my views on the right reading of--"
Julius interrupted the passionate tones at the lodge by saying, "If
you wish to go to Jericho, you must give directions."
Herbert gave something between a laugh and a growl.
"I left the pony at Backsworth. Will you come with me to Strawyers
and wait in the park till I send Jenny out to you?"
"No, I say. I know my father will be in a greater rage than he ever
was in his life, and I won't go sneaking about. I'd like to go to
London, to some hole where no one would ever hear of me. If I were
not in Orders already, I'd be off to the ivory-hunters in Africa,
and never be heard of more. If this was to be, I wish they had
found it out a year ago, and then I should not have been bound,"
continued the poor young fellow, in his simplicity, thinking his
thoughts aloud, and his sweet candid nature beginning to recover its
balance. "Now I'm the most wretched fellow going. I know what I've
undertaken. It's not your fault, nor poor Joanna's. You've all
been at me, but it only made me worse. What could my father be
thinking of to make a parson of a fellow like me? Well, I must face
it out sooner or later at Compton, and I had better do it there than
at home, even if my father would have me."
"I must go to Strawyers. The Bishop gave me a letter for your
father, and I think it will break it a little for your mother.
Would you wait for me at Rood House? You could go into the chapel,
and if they wish for you, I could return and fetch you."
Herbert caught at this as a relief, and orders were given
accordingly. It seemed a cruel moment to tell him of young
Hornblower's evasion and robbery, but the police wanted the
description of the articles; and, in fact, nothing would have so
brought home to him that, though Compton might not appreciate
minutiae of Greek criticism, yet the habit of diligence, of which it
was the test, might make a difference there. The lingering self-
justification was swept away by the sense of the harm his pleasure-
seeking had done to the lad whom he had once influenced. He had
been fond and proud of his trophies, but he scarcely wasted a
thought on them, so absorbed was he in the thought of how he had
lorded it over the youth with that late rebuke. The blame he had
refused to take on himself then came full upon him now, and he
reproached himself too much to be angered at the treachery and
ingratitude.
"I can't prosecute," he said, when Julius asked for the description
he had promised to procure.
"We must judge whether it would be true kindness to refrain, if he
is captured," said Julius. "I had not time to see his mother, but
Rosamond will do what she can for her, poor woman."
"How shall I meet her?" sighed Herbert; and so they arrived at the
tranquil little hospital and passed under the deep archway into the
gray quadrangle, bright with autumn flowers, and so to the chapel.
As they advanced up the solemn and beautiful aisle Herbert dropped
on his knees with his hands over his face. Julius knelt beside him
for a moment, laid his hand on the curly brown hair, whispered a
prayer and a blessing, and then left him; but ere reaching the door,
the low choked sobs of anguish of heart could be heard.
A few steps more, and in the broad walk along the quadrangle, Julius
met the frail bowed figure with his saintly face, that seemed to
have come out of some sacred bygone age.
Julius told his errand. "If you could have seen him just now," he
said, "you would see how much more hope there is of him than of many
who never technically fail, but have not the same tender, generous
heart, and free humility."
"Yes, many a priest might now be thankful if some check had come on
him."
"And if he had met it with this freedom from bitterness. And it
would be a great kindness to keep him here a day or two. Apart from
being with you, the showing himself at Compton or at Strawyers on
Sunday would be hard on him."
"I will ask him. I will gladly have him here as long as the quiet
may be good for him. My nephew, William, will be here till the end
of the Long Vacation, but I must go to St. Faith's on Monday to
conduct the retreat."
"I leave him in your hands then, and will call as I return to see
what is settled, and report what his family wish. I grieve more for
them than for himself."
Julius first encountered Jenny Bowater in the village making
farewell calls. He stopped the carriage and joined her, and not a
word was needed to tell her that something was amiss. "You have
come to tell us something," she said. "Herbert has failed?"
"Prayers are sometimes answered as we do not expect," said Julius.
"I believe it will be the making of him."
"Oh, but how will mamma ever bear it!" cried Jenny.
"We must remind her that it is only a matter of delay, not
rejection," said Julius.
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes, the Bishop sent for me, and asked me to see your father. It
was partly from slips in critical knowledge, which betrayed the want
of study, and the general want of thought and progress, and all the
rest of it, in his papers--"
"Just the fact--"
"Yes, which a man of less reality and more superficial quickness
might have concealed by mere intellectual answers, though it might
have been much worse for him in the end."
"Where is he?"
"At Rood House. Unless your mother wishes for him here, he had
better stay there till he can bear to come among us again."
"Much better, indeed," said Jenny. "I only hope papa and mamma will
see how good it is for him to be there. O, Julius, if he is taking
it in such a spirit, I can think it all right for him; but for them--
for them, it is very hard to bear. Nothing ever went wrong with
the boys before, and Herbert--mamma's darling!" Her eyes were full
of tears.
"I wish he had had a better Rector," said Julius.
"No, don't say that. It was not your fault."
"I cannot tell. An older man, or more truly a holier man, might
have had more influence. We were all in a sort of laissez-aller
state this autumn, and now comes the reckoning."
"There's papa," said Jenny. "Had you rather go to him alone, or can
I do any good?"
"I think I will go alone," said Julius.
Mr. Bowater, who had grown up in a day when examinations were much
less earnest matters, never guessed what brought Julius over, but
simply thought he had come to wish them good-bye; then believed in
any accident rather than in failure, and finally was exceedingly
angry, and stormed hotly, first at examinations and modern Bishops,
then at cricket and fine ladies, then at Julius, for not having
looked after the lad better, and when this was meekly accepted,
indignation took a juster direction, and Herbert's folly and
idleness were severely lashed more severely than Julius thought they
quite deserved, but a word of pleading only made it worse. Have him
home to take leave? No, indeed, Mr. Bowater hoped he knew his duty
better as father of a family, when a young man had publicly
disgraced himself. "I'll tell you what, Julius Charnock, if you
wish him to forget all the little impression it may have made, and
be ready to run after any amount of folly, you'd make me have him
home to be petted and cried over by his mother and sisters. He has
been their spoilt pet too long, and I won't have him spoilt now.
I'll not see him till he has worked enough to show whether there's
any real stuff in him."
Mr. Bowater never even asked where his son was, probably taking it
for granted that he was gone back to Compton; nor did Julius see
Jenny again, as she was trying to comfort her mother under the
dreadful certainty that poor dear Herbert was most cruelly treated,
and that the examining chaplain came of a bad stock, and always had
had a dislike to the family. It was to be hoped that Mr. Bowater
would keep to his wise resolution, and not send for Herbert, for
nothing could be worse for him than the sympathy he would have met
with from her.
What with looking in to report at Rood House and finding Herbert
most grateful for leave to remain there for a few days, Julius did
not reach home till long after dark. Pleasantly did the light greet
him from the open doorway where his Rosamond was standing. She
sprang at once into his arms, as if he had been absent a month, and
cried, "Here you are, safe at last!" Then, as she pulled off his
wraps, "How tired you must be! Have you had any food? No--it's all
ready;" and he could see 'high tea' spread, and lighted by the first
fire of the season. "Come and begin!"
"What, without washing my hands?"
"You are to do that in the study; it is all ready." He did not
exactly see why he should be too tired to mount to his dressing-
room; but he obeyed, not ungratefully, and his chair was ready, his
plate heaped with partridge and his tumbler filled with ale almost
before his eyes had recovered the glare of light. The eagerness and
flutter of Rosamond's manner began to make him anxious, and he began
for the third time the inquiries she had always cut short--"Baby all
right? Terry better?"
"Baby--oh yes, a greater duck than ever. I put her to bed myself,
and she was quite delicious. Eat, I say; go on."
"Not unless you eat that other wing."
"I'll help myself then. You go on. I don't see Herbert, so I
suppose it is all right. Where's your canonry?"
"Alas! poor Herbert is plucked. I had to go round by Strawyers to
tell them."
"Plucked! I never heard of such a thing. I think it is a great
shame such a nice honest fellow should be so ill-used, and when all
his pretty things have been stolen too! Do you know, they've taken
up young Hornblower; but his friends have made off with the things,
and they say they are in the melting-pot by this time, and there's
no chance of recovering them."
"I don't think he cares much now, poor fellow. Did you see Mrs.
Hornblower?"
"No; by the time I could get my hat on she had heard it, poor thing,
and was gone to Backsworth; for he's there, in the county gaol; was
taken at the station, I believe; I don't half understand it."
Her manner was indeed strange and flighty; and though she recurred
to questions about the Ordination and the Bowaters, Julius perceived
that she was forcing her attention to the answers as if trying to
stave off his inquiries, and he came to closer quarters. "How is
Terry? Has Dr. Worth been here?"
"Yes; but not till very late. He says he never was so busy."
"Rosamond, what is it? What did he say of Terry?"
"He said"--she drew a long breath--"he says it is the Water Lane
fever."
"Terry, my dear--"
She held him down with a hand on his shoulder--
"Be quiet. Finish your dinner. Dr. Worth said the great point was
to keep strong, and not be overdone, nor to go into infected air
tired and hungry. I would not have let you come in if there had
been any help for it; and now I'll not have you go near him till
you've made a good meal."
"You must do the same then. There, eat that slice, or I won't;" and
as she allowed him to place it on her plate, "What does he call it--
not typhus?"
"He can't tell yet; he does not know whether it is infectious or
only epidemic; and when he heard how the dear boy had been for days
past at the Exhibition at the town-hall, and drinking lots of iced
water on Saturday, he seemed to think it quite accounted for. He
says there is no reason that in this good air he should not do very
well; but, oh, Julius, I wish I had kept him from that horrid place.
They left him in my charge!"
"There is no reason to distress yourself about that, my Rose. He
was innocently occupied, and there was no cause to expect harm.
There's all good hope for him, with God's blessing. Who is with him
now?"
"Cook is there now. Both the maids were so kind and hearty,
declaring they would do anything, and were not afraid; and I can
manage very well with their help. You know papa had a low fever at
Montreal, and mamma and I nursed him through it, so I know pretty
well what to do."
"But how about the baby?"
"Emma came back before the doctor came, crying piteously, poor
child, as if she had had a sufficient lesson; so I said she might
stay her month on her good behaviour, and now we could not send her
out of the house. I have brought the nursery down to the spare
room, and in the large attic, with plenty of disinfecting fluid, we
can, as the doctor said, isolate the fever. He is quiet and sleepy,
and I do not think it will be hard to manage, if you will only be
good and conformable."
"I don't promise, if that means that you are to do everything and I
nothing. When did Worth see him?"
"Not till five o'clock: and he would not have come at all, if Anne
had not sent in some one from the Hall when she saw how anxious I
was. He would not have come otherwise; he is so horribly busy, with
lots of cases at Wil'sboro'. Now, if you have done, you may come
and see my boy."
Julius did see a flushed sleeping face that did not waken at his
entrance; and as his wife settled herself for her watch, he felt as
if he could not leave her after such a day as she had had, but an
indefinable apprehension made him ask whether she would spare him to
run up to the Hall to see his mother and ask after Raymond, whose
looks had haunted him all day. She saw he would not rest otherwise,
and did not show how unwilling was her consent, for though she knew
little, her mind misgave her.
He made his way into the Hall by the back door, and found his mother
still in the drawing-room, and Raymond dozing in the large arm-chair
by the fire. Mrs. Poynsett gave a warning look as Julius bent over
her, but Raymond only opened his eyes with a dreamy gaze, without
speaking. "Why, mother, where are the rest?"
"Poor Frank--I hope it is only the shock and fatigue; but Dr. Worth
wished him to be kept as quiet as possible. He can't bear to see
any one in the room, so that good Anne said she would sit in
Charlie's room close by."
"Then he is really ill?" said Julius.
"He nearly fainted after walking over to Sirenwood in vain. I don't
understand it. There's something very wrong there, which seems
perfectly to have crushed him."
"I'll go up and see him," said Julius. "You both of you look as if
you ought to be in bed. How is Cecil, Raymond?"
"Quite knocked up," he sleepily answered. "Here's Susan, mother."
Susan must have been waiting till she heard voices to carry off her
mistress. Raymond pushed her chair into her room, bent over her
with extra tenderness, bade her good night; and when Julius had done
the same they stood by the drawing-room fire together.
"I've been trying to write that letter, Julius," said Raymond, "but
I never was so sleepy in my life, and I can't get on with it."
"What letter?"
"That letter. About the races."
"Oh! That seems long ago!"
"So it does," said Raymond, in the same dreamy manner, as if trying
to shake something off. "Some years, isn't it? I wanted it done,
somehow. I would sit down to it now, only I have fallen asleep a
dozen times over it already."
"Not very good for composition," said Julius, alarmed by something
indefinable in his brother's look, and by his manner of insisting on
what was by no means urgent. "Come, put it out of your head, and go
to bed."
"How did you find the boy Terry?" asked Raymond, again as if in his
sleep.
"I scarcely saw him. He was asleep."
"And Worth calls it--?"
"The same fever as in Water Lane."
"I thought so. We are in for it," said Raymond, now quite awake.
"He did not choose to say so to my mother, but I gathered it from
his orders."
"But Frank only came down yesterday."
"Frank was knocked down and predisposed by the treatment he met
with, poor boy. They say he drank quarts of iced things at the
dinner and ball, and ate nothing. This may be only the effect of
the shock, but his head is burning, and there is a disposition to
wander. However, he has had his coup de grace, and that may account
for it. It is Cecil."
"Cecil!"
"Cecil, poor child. She has been constantly in that pestiferous
place. All Worth would say was that she must be kept quiet and
cool, but he has sent the same draughts for all three. I saw, for
Terry's came here. I fancy Worth spoke out plainly to that maid of
Cecil's, Grindstone; but she only looks bitter at me, says she can
attend to her mistress, and has kept me out of the room all day.
But I will go in to-night before I go to bed," added Raymond,
energetically. "You are ready to laugh at me, Julius. No one has
meddled between you and Rosamond."
"Thank God, no!" cried Julius.
"Friend abroad, or you may leave out the r," said Raymond, "maid at
home. What chance have I ever had?"
"I'll tell you what I should do, Raymond," said Julius, "turn out
the maid, keep the field, nurse her myself."
"Yes," said Raymond, "that's all very well if--if you haven't got
the fever yourself. There, you need say nothing about it, nobody
would be of any use to me to-night, and it may be only that I am
dead beat."
But there was something about his eyes and his heavy breath which
confirmed his words, and Julius could only say, "My dear Raymond!"
"It serves us right, does not it?" said his brother, smiling. "I
only wish it had not fixed on the one person who tried to do good."
"If I could only stay with you; but I must tell Rosamond first."
"No, indeed. I want no one to-night, no one; after that you'll look
after my mother, that's the great thing." He spoke steadily, but
his hand trembled so that he could not light his candle, and Julius
was obliged to do it, saying wistfully, "I'll come up the first
thing in the morning and see how you are."
"Do, and if there is need, you will tell my mother. A night's rest
may set me right, but I have not felt well these three or four days--
I shall be in my own old room."
He leant heavily on the balusters, but would not take his brother's
arm. He passed into his dressing-room, and thus to the open door of
the room where he heard his wife's voice; and as Mrs. Grindstone
came forward to warn him off, he said, "She is awake."
"Yes, sir; but she must not be excited."
"Raymond!"
"How are you now?" he asked, coming up to the bed.
"Oh! it is very hot and heavy," said Cecil wearily, putting her hand
into his; "I'm aching all over."
"Poor child!" he said softly.
She lifted her eyes to his face. "I wanted to tell you all day,"
she said. "Didn't you come to the door?"
"Many times, my dear."
"And now! oh dear! I don't recollect. Don't go, please."
He sat down by her; she held his hand and dozed again.
"You had best leave her now, sir," said the maid; "she will only go
on in this way, and I can tend her."
He would have given a great deal to have been sure that he could
hold up his head ten minutes longer and to venture to send the woman
away. Cecil muttered "Stay," and he sat on till her sleep seemed
deeper, and he felt as if a few moments more might disable him from
crossing the room, but his first movement again made her say
"Don't."
"Mr. Poynsett cannot stay, ma'am," said Grindstone, in a persuasive
tone. "He is very tired, and not well, and you would not wish to
keep him."
"Give me a kiss," she said, like a tired child. It was not like the
shy embrace with which they had sometimes met and parted, but he
knew he must not rouse her, and only said very low, "Good night, my
poor dear; God bless you, and grant us a happy meeting, whenever it
is."
Tears were flowing down his cheeks when Julius presently came to him
again, and only left him when settled for the night.
CHAPTER, XXVII
The Water Lane Fever
The Water Lane Fever. People called it so, as blinking its real
name, but it was not the less true that it was a very pestilence in
the lower parts of Wil'sbro'; and was prostrating its victims far
and wide among the gentry who had resorted to the town-hall within
the last few weeks.
Cases had long been smouldering among the poor and the workmen
employed, and several of these were terminating fatally just as the
outbreak was becoming decisive.
On Monday morning Julius returned from visits to his brothers to
find a piteous note from Mrs. Fuller entreating him to undertake two
funerals. Her husband had broken down on Sunday morning and was
very ill, and Mr. Driver had merely read the services and then
joined his pupils, whom he had sent away to the sea-side. He had
never been responsible for pastoral care, and in justice to them
could not undertake it now. "Those streets are in a dreadful
state," wrote the poor lady, "several people dying; and there is
such a panic in the neighbourhood that we know not where to turn for
help. If you could fix an hour we would let the people know. The
doctor insists on the funerals being immediate."
Julius was standing in the porch reading this letter, and thinking
what hour he could best spare from nearer claims, when he heard the
gate swing and beheld his junior curate with a very subdued and
sobered face, asking, "Is it true?"
"That the fever is here? Yes, it is."
"And very bad?"
"Poor Frank is our worst case as yet. He is constantly delirious.
The others are generally sensible, except that Terry is dreadfully
haunted with mathematics."
"Then it is all true about the Hall. Any one else ill?"
"Only the two Willses. They were carousing at the 'Three Pigeons.'
I hope that Raymond's prohibition against that place may have been
the saving of the Hall servants. See here," and he gave the note.
"I had better take those two funerals. I can at least do that,"
said Herbert. "That Driver must be a regular case of a hireling."
"He never professed that the sheep were his," said Julius.
"Then I'll go to the Vicarage and get a list of the sick, and see
after them as far as I can," said Herbert, in a grave, humble tone,
showing better than a thousand words how he felt the deprivation he
had brought on himself; and as to shame or self-consciousness, the
need had swallowed them all.
"It will be a great act of kindness, Herbert. The point of
infection does not seem clear yet, but I am afraid it will be a
serious outbreak."
"I did not believe it could all be true when the report came to Rood
House, but of course I came to hear the truth and see what I could
do. How is Mrs. Poynsett bearing up?"
"Bravely. Anne contrived our carrying her up-stairs, and it is the
greatest comfort to Raymond to lie and look at her, and Susan looks
after them both."
"Then he can't be so very ill."
"Not so acutely, but there are symptoms that make Worth anxious.
Shall I give you a note for Mrs. Fuller?"
"Do, and put me at your disposal for all you can spare for, or I can
do. Have you written to Bindon?"
"I don't know where, within some hundred miles. But, Herbert, I
think we ought to undertake the help that is wanted at Wil'sbro'.
Smith of Duddingstone is too weakly, and poor old Mr. Moulden
neither could nor would. We are the nearest, and having it here
already, do not run the risk of spreading it. As things are, I
cannot be very long away from home, but I would come in for an hour
or so every day, if you could do the rest."
"Yes, that was what I meant," said Herbert.
"Worth says the best protection is never to go among the sick hungry
or exhausted. He says he keeps a biscuit in his pocket to eat
before going into a sick house. I shall make Rosamond keep you
supplied, and you must promise to use them."
"Oh yes, I promise."
"And never drink anything there. There is to be a public meeting
to-morrow, to see whether the cause of this outbreak is not
traceable to the water down there."
"Mrs. Duncombe's meddling?"
"Don't judge without evidence. But it does seem as if the water at
the well at Pettitt's houses had done much of the harm. Terry was
drinking it all that hot day, and to-day we hear that Lady Tyrrell
and two of the servants are ill, besides poor little Joe Reynolds."
"It is very terrible," said Herbert. "Lady Tyrrell, did you say?"
"Yes. She was there constantly, like Raymond's wife. Happily there
is not much fear for your people, Herbert. Your father was at the
dinner, but he is not a water drinker, and Jenny only just came to
the bazaar, that was all. Edith happily gave up the ball."
"I know," said Herbert, colouring. "Jenny persuaded her to give it
up because of--me. Oh, how I have served them all!"
"I told Jenny that perhaps her Ember prayers had been met in the
true way."
"Yes," said Herbert. "I can't understand now how I could have been
such an audacious fool as to present myself so coolly after the year
I had spent. God forgive me for it! Rector, thank you for leaving
me at Rood House. It was like having one's eyes opened to a new
life. I say, do you know anything about Harry Hornblower? Is he
come home?"
"Yes. You wouldn't prosecute?"
"Happily I couldn't. The things were gone and could not be
identified, and there was nothing about him. So, though they had me
over to Backsworth, they could not fall foul of me for refusing to
prosecute. Have you seen him?"
"No, I tried, but he had got out of my way. You've not been there?"
seeing that Herbert had brought back his bag.
"No; I will not till I come back;" and as he took the note he added,
"Rector, I do beg your pardon with all my might." Then, after a
strong clasp of the hand, he sped away with a long, manful,
energetic stride, which made Julius contrast his volunteer courage
with the flight of the man who, if not pledged to pastoral care at
Wil'sbro', still had priestly vows upon him.
Julius had no scruples about risking this favourite home child. If
he thought about it at all, it was to rejoice that Mrs. Bowater was
safely gone, for he had passed unscathed through scenes at St.
Awdry's that would have made his mother tremble, and he had little
fear of contagion, with reasonable care. Of course the doctors had
the usual debate whether the fever were infectious or epidemic, but
it made little difference. The local ones, as well as an authority
from London, had an inspection previous to the meeting, which took
place in the school, whose scholars were dispersed in the panic. No
ladies were admitted. "We have had enough of them," quoted
Worshipful Mayor Truelove. Mr. Briggs, the ex-mayor, was at the
bedside of his son, and there were hardly enough present to make
decisions.
The focus of the disease was in Pettitt's well. The water, though
cold, clear, and sparkling, was affected by noxious gases from the
drains, and had become little better than poison; the air was not
much better, and as several neighbouring houses, some swarming with
lodgers, used this water, the evil was accounted for. The 'Three
Pigeons' had been an attraction to the servants waiting with their
ladies' carriages during the entertainments, and though they had not
meddled much with the simple element, spirits had not neutralized
the mischief. Thence too had come water for the tea and iced
beverages used at the bazaar and ball. Odours there had been in
plenty from the untouched drainage of the other houses, and these,
no doubt, enhanced the evil; but every one agreed that the bad
management of the drains on Mr. Pettitt's property had been the main
agency in the present outbreak.
The poor little perfumer had tears of grief and indignation in his
eyes, but he defended his cause and shielded the ladies with
chivalry worthy of his French ancestry. He said he had striven to
do his duty as a proprietor, and if other gentlemen had done the
same, and the channels could have had a free outlet, this misfortune
would never have occurred. He found himself backed up by Mr. Julius
Charnock, who rose to declare that what Mr. Pettitt had said was
just what his brother, Mr. Charnock Poynsett, had desired should be
stated as his own opinion, namely, that the responsibility rested,
not with those who had done all within their power or knowledge for
the welfare of their tenants, but with those whose indifference on
the score of health had led them to neglect all sanitary measures.
"He desires me to say," added Julius, "that being concerned both in
the neglect and in the unfortunate consequences, he is desirous to
impress his opinion on all concerned."
Future prevention was no longer in the hands of the Town Council,
for a sanitary commission would take that in hand; but in the
meantime it was a time of plague and sickness, and measures must be
taken for the general relief. Mr. Moy, to whom most of the houses
belonged, was inquired for; but it appeared that he had carried off
his wife and daughter on Saturday in terror when one of his servants
had fallen ill, and even his clerks would not know where to write to
him till he should telegraph. The man Gadley was meantime driving
an active trade at the 'Three Pigeons,' whither the poor, possessed
with the notion that spirits kept out the infection, were resorting
more than ever, and he set at defiance all the preventives which
doctors, overseer, and relieving officer were trying to enforce,
with sullen oaths against interference.
Two deaths yesterday, one to-day, three hourly apprehended; doctors
incessantly occupied, nurses, however unfit, not to be procured by
any exertion of the half-maddened relieving-officer; bread-winners
prostrated; food, wine, bedding, everything lacking. Such was the
state of things around the new town-hall of Wil'sbro', and the
gentry around were absorbed by cases of the same epidemic in their
own families.
To telegraph for nurses from a hospital, to set on foot a
subscription, appoint a committee of management, and name a
treasurer and dispenser of supplies, were the most urgent steps.
Julius suggested applying to a Nursing Sisterhood, but Mr. Truelove,
without imputing any motives to the reverend gentleman, was
unwilling to insert the thin end of the wedge; so the telegram was
sent to a London Hospital, and Mr. Whitlock, the mayor-elect,
undertook to be treasurer, and to print and circulate an appeal for
supplies of all sorts. Those present resolved themselves into a
committee, and consulted about a fever hospital, since people could
hardly be expected to recover in the present condition of Water
Lane; but nothing was at present ready, and the question was
adjourned to the next day. As Julius parted with Mr. Whitlock he
met Herbert Bowater returning from the cemetery in search of him,
with tidings of some cases where he was especially needed. As they
walked on together Mrs. Duncombe overtook them with a basket on her
arm. She held out her hand with an imploring gesture.
"Mr. Charnock, it can't be true, can it?--they only say so out of
ignorance--that it was Pettitt's well, I mean?"
In a few words Julius made it clear what the evil had been and how
it arose.
She did not dispute it, she merely grew sallower and said:
"God forgive us! We did it for the best. I planned. I never
thought of that. Oh!"
"My brother insists that the mischief came of not following the
example you set."
"And Cecil!"
"Cecil is too much stupefied to know anything about it."
"You are helping here? Make me all the use you can. Whatever has
to be done give it to me."
"Nay, you have your family to consider."
"My boys are at their grandmother's. My husband is gone abroad.
Give me work. I have brought some wine. Who needs it most?"
"Wine?" said Herbert. "Here? I was going back for some, but half
an hour may make all the difference to the poor lad in here."
Mrs. Duncombe was within the door in a moment.
"There has been an execution in her house," said Herbert, as they
went home. "That fellow went off on Saturday, and left her alone to
face it."
"I thought she had striven to keep out of debt."
"What can a woman do when a man chooses to borrow? That horse
brought them to more unexpected smash. They say that after the
ball, where she appeared in all her glory, as if nothing had
happened, she made Bob give her a schedule of his debts, packed his
portmanteau, sent him off to find some cheap hole abroad, and stayed
to pick up the pieces after the wreck."
"She is a brave woman," said Julius.
Therewith they plunged into the abodes of misery, where the only
other helper at present was good old Miss Slater, who was going from
one to another, trying to show helpless women how to nurse, but able
only to contribute infinitesimal grains of aid or comfort at immense
cost to herself. Julius insisted on taking home with him his
curate, who had been at work from ten o'clock that morning till six,
when as Julius resigned the pony's reins to him, he begged that they
might go round and inquire at Sirenwood, to which consent was the
more willingly given because poor Frank's few gleams of
consciousness were spent in sending his indefatigable nurse Anne to
ask whether his mother had 'had that letter,' and in his delirium he
was always feeling his watch-chain for that unhappy pebble, and
moaning when he missed it. Mrs. Poynsett's letter had gone on
Friday, and still there was no answer, and this was a vexation,
adding to the fear that the poor fellow's rejection had been final.
Yet she might have missed the letter by being summoned home. Close
to the lodge, they overtook Sir Harry, riding dejectedly homewards,
and, glad to be saved going up to the house, they stopped and
inquired for Lady Tyrrell.
"Very low and oppressed," he said. "M'Vie does not give us reason
to expect a change just yet. Do they tell you the same? Worth
attends you, I think?"
"He seems to think it must run on for at least three weeks," said
Julius.
"You've been to the meeting, eh? Was it that well of Pettitt's?
Really that meddling wife of Duncombe's ought to be prosecuted. I
hope she'll catch the fever and be served out."
"She tried to prevent it," said Julius.
"Pshaw! women have no business with such things, they only put their
foot in it. Nobody used to trouble themselves about drains, and one
never heard of fevers."
Instead of contesting the point, Julius asked whether Miss Vivian
were at home.
"No; that's the odd thing. I wrote, for M'Vie has no fear of
infection, and poor Camilla is always calling for her, and that
French maid has thought proper to fall ill, and we don't know what
to do. Upper housemaid cut and run in a panic, cook dead drunk last
night, not a servant in the house to be trusted. If it were not for
my man Victor I don't know where I should be. Very odd what that
child is about. Lady Susan can't be keeping it from her.
Unjustifiable!"
"She is with Lady Susan Strangeways?"
"Yes. Went with Bee and Conny. I was glad, for we can't afford to
despise a good match, though I _was_ sorry for your brother."
"Do I understand you that she is engaged to Mr. Strangeways?"
"No, no; not yet. One always hears those things before they are
true, and you see they are keeping her from us as if she belonged to
them already. I call it unfeeling! I have just been to the post to
see if there's a letter! Can't be anything wrong in the address,--
Revelrig, Cleveland, Yorkshire."
"Why don't you telegraph?"
"I shall, if I don't hear to-morrow morning."
But the morning's telegrams were baffling. None came in answer to
Sir Harry, though he had bidden his daughter to telegraph back
instantly; and two hospitals replied that they had no nurses to
spare! This was the first thing Julius heard when he came to the
committee-room. The second was that the only parish nurse had been
found asleep under the influence of the port-wine intended for her
patients, the third that there were five more deaths, one being Mrs.
Gadley, of the 'Three Pigeons,' from diphtheria, and fourteen more
cases of fever were reported. Julius had already been with the
schoolmistress, who was not expected to live through the day. He
had found that Mrs. Duncombe had been up all night with one of the
most miserable families, and only when her unpractised hands had
cared for a little corpse, had been forced home by good Miss Slater
for a little rest. He had also seen poor Mr. Fuller, who was too
weak and wretched to say anything more than 'God help us, Charnock:
you will do what you can;' and when Julius asked for his sanction to
sending for Sisters, he answered, "Anything, anything."
The few members who had come to the committee were reduced to the
same despairing consent, and Julius was allowed to despatch a
telegram to St. Faith's, which had sent Sisters in the emergency at
St. Awdry's. He likewise brought an offer, suggested by Raymond, of
a great old tithe barn, his own property, but always rented by Mrs.
Poynsett, in a solitary field, where the uninfected children might
be placed under good care, and the houses in Water Lane thus
relieved. As to a fever hospital, Raymond had sent his advice to
use the new town-hall itself. A word from him went a great way just
then with the Town Council, and the doctors were delighted with the
proposal.
Funds and contributions of bedding, clothing, food and wine were
coming in, but hands were the difficulty. The adaptations of the
town-hall and the bringing in of beds were done by one strong
carpenter and Mrs. Duncombe's man Alexander, whom she had brought
with her, and who proved an excellent orderly; and the few who would
consent, or did not resist occupying the beds there, were carried in
by Herbert Bowater and a strapping young doctor who had come down
for this fever pasture. There Mrs. Duncombe and Miss Slater
received them. No other volunteer had come to light willing to
plunge into this perilous and disgusting abyss of misery; and among
the afflicted families the power of nursing was indeed small.
However, the healthy children were carried away without much
resistance, and established in the great barn under a trustworthy
widow; and before night, two effective-looking Sisters were in
charge at the hospital.
Still, however, no telegram, no letter, came from Eleonora Vivian.
Mr. M'Vie had found a nurse for Lady Tyrrell, but old Sir Harry rode
in to meet every delivery of the post, and was half distracted at
finding nothing from her; and Frank's murmurs of her name were most
piteous to those who feared that, if he were ever clearly conscious
again, it would only be to know how heavy had been the meed of his
folly.