Chapter XIV.
The Recal.
That same Evening, at Dusk, as we sat round the Fire, roasting Chestnuts and Raisins, in comes young Mr. Heavitree, buttoned to the Chin; and his Eyes and Cheeks in such a Glow with Exercise that I could not help thinking to myself, "What a nice-looking young Man you are!" He shook Hands very heartily all round, first with Mrs. Bowerbank, next with me; and, addressing me first, "Mrs. Patty," says he, "I come to repair and excuse the Negligence of my stupid Fellow, who forgot he had taken up at the Post-office two Letters for this House, and brought one addressed to you on to Roaring House."
I eagerly received it; and seeing Prue's Hand, hastily broke the Seal. At the same Instant, Mrs. Bowerbank, in a lamentable Voice, says, "Oh, Mr. Heavitree! only think of our Gatty taking the Small-Pox!"
He turned so deadly white, that I saw in a Moment how it was with him, and hastily cried, "Lady Betty, you mean, Ma'am, not Gatty!"
"But Gatty has no doubt taken it by this Time," says her Mother, "since she is constantly with Lady Betty."
Seeing Mr. Heavitree look much agitated, and supposing he might like to be alone with Mrs. Bowerbank, I rose and left the Room, to read my Letter up-Stairs, thinking she might send the Girls away if she wished. On running through Prudence's Letter, I was quite disappointed to find it contain so little, whether of News or Affection. Mr. Fenwick and Tom, she never so much as named; my Mother, she said, was pretty well, my Father the same as usual; there were sundry little Details about our Business, but not a Word I cared to hear; ending with the same comfortless Burthen, "We can get on perfectly well without you." I was so tired of the Country, that I had hoped there would have been some Wish expressed for my Company, which would have been a decent Pretext for my Return; but no! Nothing of the Sort! I remained musing over my Letter with great Mortification till I got quite numbed with Cold, and was roused by hearing the Gate shut. I saw Mr. Heavitree going away; and when I went down, Mrs. Bowerbank was not in the Room, and the Girls and their Brother were still roasting their Chestnuts.
The next Day was much like the preceding, except that a rapid Thaw set in. On the Day following that, a Post was due, and Joe was sent through Mud and Mire to see if there were any Letter from Gatty. There was not; but there was one for me; that made me think I would never wantonly desire a Pretext for a Recal again. It was from Prudence; but oh, in how different a Spirit from the other! She wrote in the utmost Hurry and Distress to tell me that my Father had fallen down Stairs and broken his Leg, and had likewise injured his Head so much, that Dr. Elwes thought there was a Concussion of the Brain. My dear Mother and Prue were incessantly in Attendance on him, and considered him in great Danger; they hoped I would return as soon as I possibly could.
With my Eyes full of Tears, I went to communicate my bad News to Mrs. Bowerbank, who was vastly distressed for me, and would say Nothing to delay my Journey, especially now that the Thaw rendered the Roads much safer. So I packed up at once, and, the next Morning, left them all with many Thanks for their Kindness. Joe, who had become quite my little Cavalier, accompanied me to the Corner, where we met the Coach, carrying for me a Basket of the large Cat's-head Apples that some call "Go-no-farther." I was the only Passenger, and was two Days on the Road instead of one; but performed the Journey in perfect Safety.
It was quite dark when I reached Home. Prudence, hearing my Voice, flew down Stairs and threw her Arms round my Neck all in Tears. I wept too, and never was there a more sisterly Meeting. She told me my dear Father was still very bad; and though my Mother kept up wonderfully, she was exerting herself so much for him that she would probably experience a dangerous Re-action. "But what can I do?" says Prue weeping, "I've hovered about him continually and done my very best; but whenever he's himself, he doesn't like my Nursing, and says, 'There, let me have your Mother till Patty comes back!'" And she cried bitterly.
I said, "Dear Prue, People when they are ill will take unaccountable Fancies; and we have a divided Duty, between the Sick-Room and the Shop. Let us each take that which suits us best; do you attend to the Business, which you understand so well, and I will help my Mother to nurse my Father."
She said, still crying, "I suppose that will be best; but I love him as well as you do, and you must let me take my Turn now and then, or my Heart will break."
I said, "I will, I will;" and all this While I was taking off my Wraps, and making ready to go up Stairs; but Prudence would make me take a Dish of Tea first, which was ready poured out, saying, that when I was once up-Stairs I should be close Prisoner, and my Father could not bear so much as the Click of a Spoon. She added, "Dr. Elwes is not afraid of the Brain now; but my Father is of such an inflammatory Habit that his Fever runs very high, and he is not always himself."
"And Mr. Fenwick?" said I. "Is not he truly concerned about it?"
"Mr. Fenwick?" cries she, "Why, Mr. Fenwick is not here now!"
"Not here now?" I exclaimed.
"Oh no, he returned to his Parish the Day before Father's Accident, thinking himself well enough to do Duty now, and we have not heard of him since."
I was struck dumb. I looked full at Prudence, who spoke and carried herself quite composedly. Seeing me look so hard at her, however, she blushed all over; Cheek, Neck, and Brow, one hot Flush; and started up to busy herself about some Trifle.
I felt a Pang, but it was for her, not myself. Poor Prue found herself deserted! All my old Love for her resumed its Strength; but there was no Time now for Pity or Complaint—I rose up, saying, "Well, I will go up-Stairs now; keep yourself up, dear Prue; there's no knowing how much your Strength may be wanted."
"There is not, indeed," said she, bursting into Tears afresh. I could not stand this—I said, "Come, Prue, come, ..." and put my Arm about her, and she laid her Head on my Shoulder. I was obliged to gulp down my own Tears, but I said gently, "This will never do—we must not give way—Only think how much more poor Father, and dear Mother too, have to bear than we have. You must give over Crying, for indeed I cannot go up till you do."
"You may go now," says she, wiping her Eyes and smiling up at me, "for, strange as it may seem to you, I'm the better for this Cry. Go up now, go softly; and send dear Mother down to me presently, if you can, for she needs Rest and Refreshment."
I said, "I will," and went up. My Father was dozing when I entered—my Mother sitting beside him, with her Hands clasped on her Knee. As soon as she saw me, she mutely held out her Arms without rising; and the next Instant I was folded to her Heart. We spoke a little in Whispers; and for a While I thought not nor desired to persuade her to go. At length I did; and she, after a little Resistance, yielded; for she was very much exhausted. I quietly took her Place, and remained in it a long While, inactive in Body, but with a Mind how busy!
Home, at last! and to a Scene how changed! Everything as still and quiet as on Larkfield Moor! He that had been the Life of many a noisy, convivial Party, laid low—perhaps rapidly drawing nigh an unknown World. My Mother, roused from her incapable State by strong Affection; Prue, loving me again, and in Tears—Mr. Fenwick gone!
What a Dream this World seems sometimes! Besides, my Head was mazed with my Journey, and I was stiff with so much Jolting, and the Closeness and Warmth of the Chamber after the biting Cold of the outer Air made me feel drowsy. But I would not yield to it.
A Coffin flew out of the Fire. I was thankful not to be superstitious. But yet I'd as lief it had been a Purse.
I thought of Gatty's lone Watch; and how much harder her Post was than mine. I was not incurring personal Danger in the Service of an imperious, unfeeling Patient; I was not separated from a Mother and Sister whom I loved; I was watching over some one very dear to me. Thinking of her and of my Father and Mother, I framed my Thoughts to Prayer. Suddenly my Father, without opening his Eyes, murmured, "Delia! Give me your Hand!... Poor Delia, I have been very untoward to thee—"
Silently, I placed my Hand in his. Cordelia was my Mother's Name, but he was accustomed to call her Delia for short; or rather, had been accustomed, in their old Days of Love and Harmony. I took it for a good Sign, his calling her so again; it showed that his Illness and her Tenderness had melted him. I always liked his Abbreviation of her Name, myself, though Prue thought it only fit for a China Shepherdess.
"Who have I got hold of?" says he. "This isn't Delia's Hand!—Ah, I see the Shadow of Patty's Nose against the Bed-curtain. Welcome, Child! come, kiss thy poor old Dad."
Daddy, again, was a Word he never used but lovingly. I stooped over him, and kissed him two or three Times; then set him completely to rights, for his Head had slipped off the Pillow, and he was lying very uncomfortably, without the Power to right himself.
"You're a prime one!" says he. "Thy dear Mother has no Strength to handle me, though the Will's ne'er a-wanting; and I can't bear her to move me for fear of her doing herself a Hurt. As for Prue, she does nought but sit by the Fire and sigh! But thou'rt able and willing both, Patty; so keep about me all you can."
I promised him I would, and he soon became again quiet. Prudence presently stole in; and in dumb Show bade me go down to sup with my Mother. As my Father seemed sleeping, I did so, and had a long Talk with dear Mother; after which, I prevailed with her to sleep with Prue, and let me keep Watch, assuring her I was quite fresh. She consented at length, from sheer Incapacity to hold out any longer; and, after a good Meal, I went up and took my Sister's Place. Shortly, the House became perfectly silent, and the distant Clocks struck Twelve.
I sate by the Fire, musing on many Things and Persons, and a good deal of Mr. Fenwick; and, before I was aware, large Tears were quietly rolling down my Face. I was not pleased with my late Conduct of my own Mind, and resolved on more Self-control and Self-discipline. While framing these seasonable Resolutions, a Strain of low, sweet, solemn Music stole through the Air. The Christmas Waits were playing beneath some distant Window, and at the End of their soft Melody, I could make out by the Rhythm, though not by the Articulation, the poor Musicians crying out:
"The Chelsea Waits make bold to call,
Good-morrow to you; Masters and Mistresses all."
I dreaded their waking my Father as they drew nearer, but there was no Help for it. I rested my Head against the high Back of the Nursing-chair, in a Kind of dreamy, lazy Luxury, listening to the lovely Sounds; and called to Mind the old Text, "Ye shall have a Song in the Night; as when some holy Solemnity is kept."
Ah, thought I, we are apt to fancy ourselves in the Blackness of Darkness, when any Sorrow or Bereavement comes over us, and yet our good God sends us a Song in the Night!—The poor Shepherds in the Fields of Bethlehem lay watching their Flocks by Night, when all seemed dark and dreary, but suddenly a Light shone upon them, and they heard sweet Music in the Air, even sweeter than that which I hear now.
Then I thought of the Manger, and the holy Child, and the Mother; and the wise Men following the Star. The Folds of the Window-curtains were a little apart, and I could see the Stars glimmering.
All at once, my Father, in a hurried Voice, exclaims, "They're moving now!"
"What, dear Father?" said I softly, looking in on him.
"Cover them up! cover them up!" cries he rapidly; "tie their Legs, or they'll set my Head spinning—Hey, diddle diddle! the Cat plays the Fiddle; and the Shepherdess is gavotting with the Turnspit! Lock 'em up, I say! Dash them in Pieces! Break them!"
"Hush, dear Father, hush—" said I gently; but he was quite unconscious of my Presence, or of anything about him, and grew more and more light-headed. Had I not previously nursed Gatty in her Deliration, I should have been even more terrified than I was: at all Events, it was awful Work; it was more fearful to hear a strong Man raving than the lunatic Ramblings of a gentle Girl. But what Help was there for it? I must e'en do the best I could. He tossed his Arms about wildly; and once or twice made as though he would start up; but the Splint on his Leg prevented that. Then he groaned heavily, gnashed his Teeth, called for Drink, rolled his Eyes, shuddered, and finally subsided into fitful Mutterings. Gradually these yielded to Stupor; I looked in on him from Time to Time, hoping to find him asleep, but there were his half-open, unwinking Eyes, glaring at me, without any Token of Recognition. I do not know that my Strength was ever more sorely tried.
Towards Day-dawn he slumbered. I am ashamed to say, I dropped asleep too; it was not for long, I believe, yet when I woke up, the Fire was nearly out; and Prue, in her Dressing-Jacket, was on her Knees before it, stealthily reviving it. She put her Finger on her Lips, then came to me and kissed me. The snapping of a very small Stick woke my restless Father, who, no longer in his Fever-fit, and excessive low and sinking, cries in a feeble Voice, "Who's there? Prue, I know, by her Sighing! Go, get me some spiced Wine and Toast, for I'm ebbing away as fast as I can."
"He always talks like that, when he comes to," whispers Prue, seeing me look frightened. "We dare not give him Wine, but Tea and Toast he shall have. I will bring it him directly; and then you shall go down and have some too, while I stay with him, for you look completely worn out."
In fact, I felt so just then; and though quite ashamed to be knocked up with one Night's Nursing, yet my two Days' Journey began to tell upon me; and I felt, that to husband my Strength for what probably lay before me, I must take common Precautions. Therefore, when Prue brought up my Father's Breakfast, I went down to mine.
