Chapter Thirty.
Revitts’ Nurse Arrives.
Hallett left quite early, to see that Mrs Hallett was properly attended to, and he moreover undertook to speak to either Mr Ruddle or Mr Lister about my absence, as, joined to my desire to stay with poor Revitts, Hallett wished me to bear his sister company.
Our patient was on the whole very quiet, but at times he moved his head to and fro and talked loudly, much being unintelligible, but I saw Linny’s countenance change several times as she heard him threaten the man he looked upon as an enemy.
“Can I do anything for you?” said Linny to him on one occasion, as he tried to raise himself upon his arm and stared at her wildly.
“’Taint as if I’d got my staff out to him, you know,” he said in a whisper. “He’s a coward, that’s what he is, and I shall know him again, and if I do come acrost him—ah!”
Linny shrank away, with her eyes looking wild and strange, so that I thought she was frightened by his words, and I interposed and put my arm under the poor fellow’s head.
“Lie down, Bill,” I said. “Does your head hurt you?”
“I don’t mind about my head,” he muttered, “but such a coward; treat a little bit of a girl like that. Where’s my notebook? Here, it’s time I went. Where’s that boy?” he cried angrily; “I know what London is. I won’t have him stop out of a night.”
He sank back exhausted, and as I turned from him to speak to Linny, I saw that she was in tears.
“He frightens you,” I said; “but you needn’t be afraid.”
“Oh no! I’m not,” she cried; “it’s only because I’m low and nervous. I shall be better soon.”
The surgeon came twice that day, and said the case was serious, but that there was no cause for alarm.
“He gives no clue, I suppose, to who struck him, my boy?” he said.
“No, sir,” I replied; “he talks about some man, and says he would know him again.”
“The police are trying hard to find out how it was. If they could find the girl it would be easy.”
I was just going to say, “Here she is, sir!” when I happened to glance at Linny, who was pale as ashes, and stood holding up her hand to me to be silent.
This confused me so that I hardly understood what the surgeon said, only that he wanted a stronger and more mature person to attend to Revitts; but when I told him that the landlady came up to help he was satisfied, and left, saying that he should come in again. He was no sooner gone than Linny caught me by the arm.
“Oh, what an escape!” she cried; “Antony, you know how wilful and cruel I have been to poor Steve?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding my head.
“And you know how I have promised him that I will always do as he wishes?”
“Yes, I know that too,” I said; “and I hope you will.”
“I will—indeed I will, Antony,” she wailed; “but please promise me, pray promise me, that no one shall ever know besides us that it was I whom Mr Revitts here—a—protected.”
“But the wretch of a fellow who behaved so badly to you, and beat poor Revitts like this, ought to be punished.”
“No, no—no, no?” she cried excitedly; “let it all pass now, Antony—dear Antony, for my sake.”
“I like you, Linny,” I said; “but I like dear old Revitts, too. He has been the best of friends to me, and I don’t see why a friend of yours should escape after serving him like this.”
“He—he is not a friend of mine now,” she said, half hysterically; “but, dear Antony, I could not bear for him to be punished. It was in a fit of passion. I had made him angry first. Please, please don’t say any more—I cannot bear it!”
She sank down on the hearth-rug, covering her face with her hands and sobbing bitterly, while I felt, boy-like, powerless to say anything to comfort her, till I exclaimed:
“Well, I won’t tell or say anything I know, Linny, if you will keep your word to Stephen.”
“I will—indeed I will, dear Antony,” she cried, starting up and catching both my hands. “I was very, very foolish, but I know better now, and it—it—it is all past.”
She said those last words in such a piteous, despairing way, looking so heart-broken, that my sympathies were now all on her side, and I promised her again that I would not tell Revitts or the police that she was the girl who had been in question. I repented of my promise later on, but at my time of life it was not likely that I should know how ready a woman who loves is to forgive the lapses of him who has won her heart, and of course I could not foresee the complications that would arise.
The surgeon came again, as he had promised, and after the examination of the patient, ordered some ice to be obtained to apply to his head, and directly he had gone I started off to fetch it, thinking as I did so that Hallett would soon be with us.
I was not long in getting a lump of bright, cold, clear ice, and on hurrying back, I heard voices in the room, when, to my surprise and delight, there stood Mary, but looking anything but pleased. She had thrown a large bundle on the floor, her large Paisley shawl across the foot of the bed, her umbrella on the table, and a basket crammed full of something or another was on a chair.
As for Mary herself, she was standing, very red in the face, her arms akimbo, her bonnet awry, and a fierce angry look in her eyes, before poor Linny, who was shrinking away from her, evidently in no little alarm.
“Oh, Antony?” she cried, “I’m so glad you’ve come! Who is this woman?”
“Who’s this woman, indeed!” cried Mary, now boiling over in her wrath; “‘this woman’ indeed! Perhaps you’ll tell her that I’m a poor deceived, foolish, trusting creature, who left her place at a moment’s notice to come and nuss him, and then find as I ain’t wanted, and that he’s already got his fine doll of a madam to wait on him.”
“Oh, Mary!” I cried; “you dear foolish old thing!”
“Yes, of course, that’s what I said I was, Master Antony, and even you turn agen me. But I might have known that such a fellow as William Revitts would have half-a-dozen fine madams ready to marry him.”
This was accompanied by pantings, and snorts, and little stamps of the foot, and a general look about poor Mary as if she were going to pull off her bonnet, jump upon it, and tear down her hair.
“Oh, you foolish old thing!” I cried, flying at her and literally hugging her in my delight at seeing her so soon, in the midst of my trouble.
“Be quiet, Master Antony,” she cried wrathfully, but throwing one arm round me as she spoke, in reply to my embrace. “But I won’t stand it, that I won’t.”
“But, my good woman,” faltered Linny.
“Don’t you ‘good woman’ me, slut!” cried Mary furiously. “I was going to give up and let you nurse him and till him, for aught I cared, but I won’t now. He’s engaged to me these four years, and he’s mine, and this is my place and room, and out you go, and the sooner the better; and—as for B—B—B—Bill—do take your hand from before my mouth, Master Antony! You’re a boy and don’t understand things. Now, then, madam, you pack!”
“Mary, be quiet!” I cried; “this is Mr Hallett’s sister, who kindly came to help nurse poor Bill till you could come. Bill does not know her; he never saw her before, but once.”
“Only once?” said Mary suspiciously.
“No, and then only for a minute. How could you be so foolish?”
“Because—because—because—” said Mary, bursting out into a passion of sobbing, “because my heart was half broke about my boy, and I only stopped to pack up a bundle and came—and then—when I found that pretty darling here, I—I—oh, my dear—my dear—my dear!” she cried, flinging herself on her knees at Linny’s feet, clutching her dress, and burying her wet face in the folds; “please—please—please forgive me, and don’t take no notice of my mad, foolish words. I’ve—I’ve—I’ve got such a temper! It’s a curse to me—and I was nearly distracted. Some day, p’r’aps, you’ll feel as bad and jealous as I did. Please—please forgive me!”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” cried Linny, whose tears now began to flow, and who, kneeling down in turn, drew poor Mary’s face to her breast, and the two remained thus, while I went and looked out of the window.
“Please—pray—forgive me!” sobbed Mary.
“Oh yes, yes, I do, indeed!” whispered Linny. “Antony is right; I never saw Mr Revitts but once, and I believe he is a very good man, and loves you dearly.”
“That he is, and that he does,” cried Mary, raising her red face, and throwing back her hair. “Though I don’t know why he should care for such a crooked-tempered, rough-tongued thing as I am.”
I thought I could understand why, as I saw Mary’s lit-up face, with her bonnet fallen back, and in spite of her distress looking quite as handsome as she was warm-hearted.
“But you do forgive me, dear?” she faltered, kissing Linny’s hands again and again.
“Forgive you?” cried Linny, kissing her ruddy cheek, “of course I do; you couldn’t help making the mistake.”
And, as if feeling that she was the cause of the trouble, Linny gave her such a look of tender sympathy that poor Mary was obliged to crouch down quite low on the floor again, and hug herself tight, and rock to and fro.
Immediately after, though, she was hastily wiping her eyes on the silken strings of her bonnet, which she tore off and sent flying to the other end of the room before dashing at me and giving me a hug, and then going down on her knees by Revitts’ pillow, and laying her cheek against his bandaged forehead.
“My poor old boy,” she whispered softly, “as if I could stay a minute from him!”
The next moment she was up, and giving a great gulp, as if to swallow down the emotion caused by Revitts’ appearance, she forced a smile upon her face, completely transforming it, and quickly but quietly dashed at her basket.
“I hadn’t time to do much, my dears,” she said to Linny and me collectively: “but I thought a pair o’ soles and a chicken must be right for the poor boy. Now, if you’ll only tell me where he keeps his pepper and salt, and the frying-pan and saucepans, I can get on. My sakes, poor boy, what a muddle he did live in, to be sure!”
We had to stop Mary in her culinary preparations by assuring her that the doctor had ordered only beef-tea.
“Then he may have chicken-broth, my dears,” she said; “I’m an old nuss, you know, though I wouldn’t attend to Mr Blakeford—eh, Master Antony?—for fear I should give him his lotion for outward application inside. But I can nuss, and not a step do I stir from this floor till I’ve made my poor old Bill well. Oh, if I only knew who done it!” she cried, with a flash of fierce rage; and as she glanced at Linny, the latter shrank away guiltily. Mary read her action wrongly, and plumped herself once more at the poor girl’s feet.
“Don’t you mind me, my dear!” she cried kissing her hands and her dress. “I’m a stupid, rough, jealous thing, and I was all on fire then, but I’m not now, and I humbly ask your pardon; as I says, God bless you, for coming to help my poor dear boy!”
There was another burst of sobbing here, and another embrace, when Mary jumped up again, all smiles, to apply a little fresh ice to the patient’s head, and gently coo over him, as if he were a baby.
After which, and having satisfied herself that the chicken-broth was progressing favourably, poor Mary felt it her duty to plump at Linny’s feet again, but she jumped up in confusion, as she heard the stairs crack as if some one were coming, and then she looked inquiringly at me, as the door softly opened and Hallett came in.
“Mr Hallett,” I said, “this is my dear old Mary, Mr Revitts’ friend, and she’s come up to nurse him. Mary, this is Miss Hallett’s brother.”
“Which I’m glad to see him,” said Mary, making a bob, and then growing redder in the face as she glanced at Linny, as if afraid that her late ebullition would be exposed.
“And I’m very glad to see you, Mary,” said Hallett, smiling and holding out his hand, which Mary took after interposing her clean pocket handkerchief, on the score that she had been cooking. “Antony often talked to me about you.”
“Have he, though?” said Mary, darting a gratified look at me.
“Often, of your great kindness to him. Your coming has helped us out of a great difficulty.”
“And your dear sister’s coming’s put my heart at rest, for I didn’t know, sir, what gin-drinking wretches might be neglecting my poor boy.”
“And how is the patient?” said Hallett, going to the bedside.
“The doctor says he is going on all right,” I replied.
“Is he a good doctor?” said Mary sharply.
“He is certain to be an eminent man,” said Hallett quietly; and his words partially pacified Mary.
“Because if he ain’t,” said Mary, “money shan’t stand in the way of his having the best in London.”
“Mary,” said Hallett, in his quiet telling way, and with a look that made poor Mary his firm friend, “a good surgeon will tell you that he can do much, but that the recovery of a patient principally depends upon the nurse. I see that Mr Revitts is safe in that respect, and I shall be only too glad to hear of his getting well.”
Mary seemed to have a ball rising in her throat, for she could not speak, and this time she forgot to place her pocket handkerchief over her hand, as she caught that of the visitor and kissed it.
“You can be quite at rest, Antony,” Hallett said then. “Mr Ruddle said he was sorry to hear about your friend, and he should leave it to your good sense to come back to work as soon as you could. Mr Lister is away—ill.”
I fancied that he knit his brows as he spoke, but it may have been fancy. Then, turning to Linny, he said:
“I am glad you are set at liberty, Linny. Our mother is very unwell, shall we go now?”
Linny nodded her assent, and put on her hat and jacket; but before they went Mary found it necessary to go down on her knees again, and in a whisper to ask Linny’s pardon; all of which Hallett took as an expression of gratitude, and shook hands warmly as he left.
I went with him down to the door to say good-night, and as we parted I asked him not to think I was neglecting him, now he was in such trouble with his model.
“I do not, my dear boy; and I never shall think ill of you for being faithful to your friends. Good-night; the model is buried for the present. When you can come again, we’ll try once more to bring it back to life.”
I stood watching them as they went together beneath the street lamps, and I was glad to see Linny clinging trustingly to her brother’s arm.
“Poor Linny!” I thought to myself. “She’s very fond of somebody who behaves badly to her. I wonder who it can be.”