MY LOVE--MY LIFE.
When Doctor May left Colonel Dacre’s room, after having given certain
orders to the comely chambermaid, he sought and obtained an interview
with the manager of the hotel. To him he represented Colonel Dacre’s
state, asking him if he could conscientiously guarantee his having the
attention and quiet upon which his life would probably depend?
Monsieur Bause answered readily that the season being over, and the
hotel comparatively empty, Colonel Dacre could have as much attention
as if he were in his own home.
“Only the maid servants now sleep on the landing to which he has been
moved,” pursued Monsieur Bause. “When we are full we use some of those
rooms for bachelors; but there is no fear of our being put to such a
necessity in August.”
“Are you quite sure? Pardon me for persisting, Monsieur Bause; but, you
see, I feel Colonel Dacre to be doubly dependent upon me, as he appears
to have no friends to share my responsibility. It would be a risk to
move him now, perhaps; but later on it would be certain death.”
“I assure you, doctor, you need not be anxious on your patient’s
account. I will watch over him myself, and see that all your orders are
strictly carried out.”
And he looked so trustworthy, and capable of so much, as if he could
have managed a dozen sick-rooms and his hotel at the same time. Doctor
May could not help saying:
“If you promise me that, I am sure it will be all right.”
“You will have a nurse for the gentleman, doctor, I presume?”
“Most certainly. I am going off at once to see about one, and will
endeavor to get her here in a few hours. Meanwhile, the young woman
who has been waiting upon Colonel Dacre will be able to do what is
necessary, and I shall be in and out several times.”
“The gentleman is very ill, I suppose, sir?”
“Very ill, indeed. I doubt if I can pull him through; and shall call in
Doctor Forbes to consult with me, unless there is a marked improvement
to-morrow morning.”
While this conversation was going on below, a stealthy figure stole
up-stairs to the room Doctor May had just quitted, and paused at
the door, listening. As all was quiet within, the woman entered
noiselessly, and went up to the sick man’s bed. He lay apparently
asleep; and who shall describe the haggard, passionate face of the
woman as she knelt beside him, and bent down until her golden hair
mingled with his tawny mustache.
“My darling!” she murmured at his ear, “I know all this is my fault;
but only get better--only get better--and we will give the world the
go-by, and be happy our own way. If only I were your wife, that I
might stay by you now! I am sure you would be well at once! and oh! my
dearest, I want you so badly, and I have only you.”
It seemed as if these tender words penetrated to the very heart of his
sleep, for he stirred slightly, and muttered a name in a yearning voice.
A light came over the woman’s face, and she smiled faintly, but
sweetly, as she bent lower still, until her lips brushed Colonel
Dacre’s feverish cheek. Then, as if scared by her own boldness, she
rose quickly to her feet, and with one backward look toward the bed,
darted to the door and disappeared, running straight into the arms of
Mary, the chambermaid.
“What were you doing in that room?” inquired Mary, in a tone of just
severity. “It’s no use me having my orders, and being responsible for
carrying them out, if you are to interfere.”
A vivid blush mounted into the other’s beautiful face, but she
answered, quite humbly:
“I wanted to see him so much. You won’t tell of me, will you?”
“Well,” answered Mary uncompromisingly, “if the doctor asks me I can’t
lie, you know.”
“He will be sure not; why should he? And I have done no harm. Have you
nobody you care for very much?”
It was Mary’s turn to blush now.
“That’s neither here nor there,” she said. “Your duty is your duty, and
the doctor told me to keep the poor gentleman perfectly quiet.”
“I assure you I haven’t disturbed him in the least. Look in, and you
will find he is still fast asleep.”
She pushed a sovereign into Mary’s hand as she spoke, and the glitter
of gold seemed to alter the girl’s views and feelings. Her eyes and
voice became charmingly sympathetic.
“Ah! I see,” she said; “you are going to be married to the poor
gentleman. I’ll let you in as often as I can manage it, but I am afraid
the nurse will be a tougher customer. However, I’ll do my best, miss.”
“Thank you,” answered the lady softly. “I should be very grateful, and
you will not repent your kindness.”
This time Mary dropped a curtsey. She began to see that the other was a
perfect lady.
“If you would tell me your room, miss, I would bring you down news of
the poor gentleman every three hours or so. As I am to wait upon the
nurse I shall know exactly how he is going on.”
“Thank you; I should be very glad. I am just below, the first room on
the right as you go down.”
“And what name, if you please?”
There was a slight hesitation, and then the answer came loud and clear.
“Miss Mordaunt. And Mary----” hesitatingly.
“Yes, miss.”
“If he should be hopelessly bad, you will call me, will you not? Even
if it should be the middle of the night, come to me all the same. I
should die of a broken heart if I were not to see him at the last.”
“I promise I will call you, miss; but let’s hope for better things,”
she added encouragingly. “He looks like a strong gentleman, and I don’t
suppose there’s any call to spare expense.”
This she said to find out Colonel Dacre’s means, and Miss Mordaunt’s
reply was very satisfactory.
“Not the least in the world! He is a rich man, and there is no reason
why he should not have everything in the world he wants.”
“I am glad of that, poor gentleman! I’m sure I would do anything for
him whether he had money or not, he is so kind and pleasant-spoken;
but, then, in an hotel, they have to be particular, and Monsieur Bause
is only manager, and is responsible to the company, you see.”
“Nobody could blame him for being particular,” answered Miss Mordaunt;
“but, in this case, he has nothing to fear.”
“Oh! no, miss, I am sure he hasn’t,” replied Mary, with confidence.
“And the poor gentleman will be done justice by, for Monsieur Bause has
already locked up all his money and rings, for fear of accidents. Not
that he is afraid of our taking them,” she added quickly; “but, you
see, in a large house like this there are so many people in and out.”
“Exactly! and it is better to be too careful than not careful enough,”
said Miss Mordaunt, casting a very wistful glance toward the door of
the sick-room, as she prepared to depart. “You will come down and tell
me what the doctor thinks about Colonel Dacre this afternoon, Mary.”
“Certainly, miss; you may quite trust me. I shall be in and out
continually, even after the nurse comes.”
Miss Mordaunt went away then, very slowly and softly, like a person who
has a great trouble at heart, and, looking after her, until only the
tip of her aristocratic nose was visible, Mary said to herself:
“I shouldn’t wonder if she is a duchess in disguise. Anyhow, she is a
real, born lady, and knows how to behave, so I can’t do better than
serve her; and if the poor gentleman ever gets well, and he’s as fond
of her as she is of him, why, I dare say there will be something coming
in from both sides.”
Mary did not mean to be mercenary, and had good feeling in the main;
but she was going to be married as soon as her young man could save up
money enough to buy furniture, and so every sixpence she could earn
became a precious acquisition.
The nurse arrived about four o’clock, and Miss Mordaunt, who had been
sitting with her door ajar all the afternoon, examined her anxiously
as she went past. She had a firm face, but a bright and sympathetic
expression; and there was something in her upright carriage that
inspired confidence irresistibly.
Miss Mordaunt shut the door when the other had passed, and sank into a
chair, letting her nerveless hands drop to her side.
“Thank Heaven!” she murmured, “at least he will have every chance.”
The next few days were days of indescribable misery and suspense to the
anxious watcher in No. 56.
Colonel Dacre lay between life and death, and the doctor came out of
the sick-room always with a terribly grave face. But for a little
compromise she had made with Mary, Miss Mordaunt would have fallen ill
herself with worry.
The nurse had four hours’ rest during the day, and directly she was
safely shut into her room, the girl ran down to fetch Miss Mordaunt,
and allowed her to take her place at Colonel Dacre’s bedside. It was
such a comfort to be doing something. Only those who have had to stand
by helpless, when those they loved were sick and suffering, will
understand the poor girl’s thankfulness for Mary’s concession.
The chambermaid would have got into sad disgrace if she had been found
out; but she was willing to run the risk, as Miss Mordaunt’s gratitude
took a substantial form, and, moreover, she was really interested in
the lovers.
On one of these occasions Miss Mordaunt had a serious fright. She had
scarcely settled herself in the sick-room, and was just measuring out
the medicine that Mary had been charged to give the sick man at this
time, when she heard Doctor May’s step and voice on the landing below.
He was evidently talking to Monsieur Bause, and must have forgotten
something, as he had paid his usual midday visit before the nurse had
gone to lie down.
The color mounted in a flood to the girl’s delicate face, and her
heart beat like a sledge-hammer against her side. A discovery of
this sort would necessitate all kinds of painful explanations and
humiliating confessions, and she did not know how far Doctor May was
to be trusted. But while she stood hesitating, panting, confused, Mary
suddenly appeared on the scene, whisked the glass out of her hand,
pushed her toward the closet, and, closing the door upon her, locked it
softly. There was not even room to stand upright, but Miss Mordaunt was
too thankful for her deliverance to take heed of such a trifle.
She crouched down in the easiest position she could find, and listened
with all her ears.
“Where is nurse?” inquired Doctor May, as he entered.
“It is nurse’s time for lying down, sir,” answered Mary, in a voice
that trembled slightly as from hurry or surprise. “But if you have any
orders, sir----”
“I had forgotten to tell her that I did not wish Colonel Dacre to have
any more of the medicine I sent yesterday; I will let her have a new
bottle in half an hour, and she is to give him a dose of that directly
it arrives.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Be sure you don’t make any mistake; or, stop, I’ll take the other
bottle away with me, and then it is sure to be all right.”
He made for the cupboard, recollecting that the medicine, etc., was
kept on a shelf there, but Mary nervously interposed.
“I know which it is, sir, quite well, and will empty it directly, so
that you needn’t trouble to take it away.”
Doctor May was a man of quick penetration, and Mary’s manner seemed to
him so suspicious that, although he would have been quite satisfied
with her arrangement under ordinary circumstances, he resolved now to
investigate the matter for himself.
Moving her aside, he placed his hand on the key of the door to turn it,
when Mary, thinking she had done all that had been expected of her,
vanished from the scene, leaving Miss Mordaunt to bear the brunt of her
own imprudence, and explain things as best she could.
Miss Mordaunt knew that detection was inevitable, and would have
been equal to the position even now if she had only been on her
feet; but what was to become of her dignity while she crawled out
of the cupboard? She felt that it was impossible to overcome such a
disadvantage, so that when Doctor May threw open the door, and, looking
full into her eyes, said softly, but imperiously: “Come out,” she gave
all attention to her ankles, and left her dignity to take care of
itself.
When she had lifted herself up, and was facing him, Doctor May looked
at her with unconcealed astonishment. Although her hair and dress were
disordered, and her face crimson, it was impossible to take her for
anything but a gentlewoman, and if he had expected to find anybody it
was a slim young waiter whom he had caught once in earnest conversation
with Mary on the stairs.
A minute’s silence, and then Miss Mordaunt said quietly:
“I suppose I ought to explain, unless--unless you have already guessed.”
“I think I have,” answered Doctor May, with a smile. “But I am sorry
you did not confide in me at once, as I would have made it possible for
you to see him without hiding in the cupboard. Are you staying in this
hotel?”
“Yes,” she replied, with some reluctance.
“What is the number of your room?”
“Fifty-six.”
“And your name?”
“Is it necessary to catechize so closely, Doctor May?”
“Well, the last question was superfluous, certainly, for I knew you
directly I saw you.”
“Knew me?” she repeated, the color mounting once more into her face,
and her lips trembling. “Oh! surely not!”
“Why should you mind? As a professional man, I am nothing if I am not
discreet. What is more, I respect and admire a lady of position who
casts aside conventionalities, and dares, for once, to listen to her
heart.”
“But the world would be very cruel if it knew all.”
“Perhaps. I really don’t know anything about your world. But need it
know all? You can surely remain, Miss Mordaunt, for the present.”
“If you have recognized me, another might.”
“Then take care ‘another’ doesn’t see you. With ordinary precaution,
you need not excite attention. I presume that you have been in the
habit of taking Mary’s place from the beginning?”
“Ever since Colonel Dacre was insensible.”
“Exactly. Then the girl, being in your confidence, will help you, of
course.”
“And the nurse?”
“Oh! I can easily manage her; she is not the kind of woman to be
astonished at anything. I shall simply tell her that the lady to whom
Colonel Dacre is going to be married is staying in the hotel, and would
like to see him sometimes; and you will find you have only to present
yourself at the door to obtain ready admittance.”
“Thank you very much, Doctor May; only that if it would excite Colonel
Dacre to see me----”
“All the while he remains in his present state nothing can excite
him,” replied Doctor May. “Directly I see a change for better or worse
I will let you know.”
“You are very kind. I am glad now that you know all about it.”
And she held out her hand with pretty impulsiveness. He lifted it
respectfully to his lips, and then he let it fall with a sigh, and
found himself envying Colonel Dacre. It was worth while even to be
“sick unto death” for such a woman’s love.