Chapter Thirteen.
Aunt Anne’s Resolutions.
Aunt Anne would not, she said, listen to Maria’s tattle, but the woman’s words went home.
“I suspected it,” she said to herself, “and go she shall before matters are worse. It is always the way with these quiet, artful women.”
So she took up her pen to write to Sir Denton Hayle, but she did not begin, for it occurred to her that if she did write and ask him to recall the nurse, he would immediately communicate with Neil to ask for an explanation, and whether Nurse Elisia had neglected her duties.
“And that’s the worst of it,” said Aunt Anne to herself, “she never has, but has done wonders for poor Ralph.”
Then it occurred to her also that, though Neil was only her nephew, he was fast rising into the position of an eminent surgeon, and that in such a case as this she would not have dared to interfere if he had been someone else.
“Oh, dear me!” she said pettishly, “it’s very dreadful. Women always were at the bottom of all the mischief in the world. I’ve suspected it; Neil has been so changed, and so has Alison. It seems monstrous, but as sure as I’m a living woman she has managed to attract them both, and it must be stopped or do one knows what mischief will happen. Why, those two might quarrel dreadfully, and then-Oh, dear me, I’m very glad Saxa and Dana are coming. They will be the real cure for the trouble after all.”
She took up her pen again, but only to throw it back on to the silver tray.
“No; I mustn’t write. Stop, I know; I’ll go in and sit with Ralph this afternoon, and quietly work round to the point of the nurse leaving now. Isabel and I could do everything he requires.”
“No,” she cried, with her face full of perplexity, “he would only fly in a passion and abuse me for interfering, and insist upon keeping her twice as long, and if I told him what I thought about Neil and Alison it would enrage him so that he would have some terrible relapse. Oh, dear me! I don’t know what Nature could have been about to make a nurse with a face and a soft, cooing voice like that woman’s. Bless me!” she cried aloud. “Neil, you shouldn’t make me jump like that.”
“Didn’t you hear me come in, Aunt?”
“No, my dear, and I am so nervous. It came on when your father had his accident.”
“Oh, that will soon go off. I’ve just had a message from Sir Denton.”
“To say that we need not keep the nurse any longer, and that he wants her back at the hospital?”
“No, Aunt, dear, in response to a letter of mine written days ago,” said Neil, looking at her curiously.
“What about, then?”
“To say that he is on his way down here to see my father again, and give me his opinion about the progress made.”
“But, Neil, my dear, you should not ask people like that. The Lydon girls are coming, and I cannot ask one of them to give up her room, and I’m sure Sir Denton wouldn’t like mine, looking out toward the stables, though you can’t see them.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Aunt, dear. He will not stay. He will come down by one train, spend an hour here, and go back to town at once. I want his indorsement of my ideas respecting a change of treatment.”
“Oh, if that is the case, then I need not worry.”
“Not in the least, Aunt. Only see that the lunch is kept back.”
“Of course, my dear. I am relieved. For it would have been awkward with those girls here.”
“They are coming, then?” said Neil absently. “Why, you know they are coming, dear. Really, Neil, I shall be very glad when you are married—and Alison, too, if it comes to that.”
Neil looked at her searchingly, but his aunt’s face was perfectly calm—placid to a degree—though all the while she was congratulating herself upon the subtlety and depth of her nature in introducing the subject so cleverly.
“And why, pray?” he said coldly.
“Because you want something else to think about besides cutting off people’s arms and legs. I declare you are quite growing into a dreamy, thoughtful old man. If I were Saxa Lydon I should take you to task finely about your carelessness and neglect. I declare I’ve felt quite ashamed of you.”
He looked at her sadly.
“I’m afraid I am anything but a model young man, Auntie.”
“Indeed you are, sir, and it’s quite time you mended. I don’t know what your father will say to you when he gets better. It is one of his pet projects, you know. Fortunately, Saxa is not like most girls.”
“No,” he said aloud, unintentionally. “Saxa is not like most girls.”
“Then do, pray, make haste and get your father well and the nurse out of the house.”
“Why are you in such a hurry to get the nurse out of the house, Aunt?”
“My dear! What a question! I declare, Neil, you revel in sick rooms, and in having nurses near you. This is not a hospital. Of course I want to see the nurse gone, and your father about again.”
Neil frowned, and his aunt saw it. She added hastily:
“Not that I have a word to say against Nurse Elisia. I’m sure her attention to your poor father deserves all praise.”
“God bless her! yes,” said Neil, in a low, grave tone. “She has saved his life.”
“Oh, no, my dear; I am not going so far as that,” said Aunt Anne in alarm, so earnest was her nephew’s utterance. “Nurses are not doctors.”
“But they often do far more for the patients, Aunt.”
“Do they, my dear? Oh, well, I dare say you are right.”
“Yes, I am right,” he said dreamily, and he turned and left the room, unaware of the fact that Aunt Anne was watching him intently.
“Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!” she said to herself, “what a tone of voice! He is thinking about her. There is no doubt about it, but he is sorry and repentant. I can read him like a book. Yes; he is sorry. My words brought him back to a sense of duty, and he will be as nice as can be to Saxa in future. I’m sure I could not have spoken better. It is a great advantage—experience, and a good knowledge of human nature. Now that boy—well, he always was the dearest and best of boys, and if he had been my own I couldn’t have thought more of him—that boy knows he has been doing wrong in letting himself be attracted by a pretty face, and my words have thoroughly brought him round. Maria was quite right, and I must talk to Alison too, and—yes, I will; I’ll manage to have a chat with Sir Denton and beg him as a great favour to let me finish nursing my brother. I will not say a word about the nurse. Dear me! what am I thinking about? I quite forgot to tell them we would lunch at half-past two.”
Aunt Anne got up and rang the bell.