AT THE STATION.
The three years of Mr. Armstrong's residence at Kilburn had produced great changes in this suburb which bid fair after a time to destroy its rural aspect. The London and North-Western Company had opened a station, and around it a town of bricks and mortar had risen with almost as much rapidity as at Bayswater. Lime Grove and Englefield Grange, however, were at least a mile from the station, and for the present, therefore, safe from the invasion of the pickaxe and the hod.
A few days after the arrival of cousin Sarah and her son at Kilburn, Mr. Armstrong proposed that they should accompany him to town to make the necessary arrangements for leaving Jack in London. Inquiries had been made, and interviews had taken place with the head of the firm, who had offered a situation to the youth, and his friends were as anxious to place him in such a respectable house as the firm were to receive him.
"Mary, my dear," said her father while at breakfast one morning, "you can drive us to the station in the pony carriage if you like."
"I should like to do so, papa;" she replied, and glancing at her mother she added, "the ponies will not be too tired for mamma's drive when they return, I suppose."
Mr. Armstrong laughed. "Certainly not," he said, "after a mile to the station and back, unless you intend to take them a twenty miles' journey."
"Twenty miles, papa! no, indeed, not more than four," she replied.
"Six miles altogether; well, the sturdy little animals will manage that I daresay without very great fatigue or inconvenience; so ring at once, and order the pony carriage to be ready in half an hour."
"I have not yet seen this pony carriage, Mary," said cousin Sarah.
"No," she replied, "you have been such business people since you arrived in London, going off in the morning by the omnibus, and returning with papa in the evening, so I have had no opportunity to offer to drive you; and even this morning you are going on matters of business."
"I shall enjoy the drive all the same," said cousin Sarah, "and so, I am sure, will Jack."
"You can come and meet us at the station by the 5.20 train this afternoon, Mary," said her father, with a smile; "another two miles wont hurt the ponies. I have not yet ventured upon the expense of an open carriage," he continued, addressing cousin Sarah, "principally because the doctor advises walking exercise for Maria. Besides, till my elder boys are out in the world I am unwilling to increase my expenses. I must have a groom for the saddle horses, and Mary can drive a pony carriage without the expense of coachman and footman."
"A very wise arrangement," replied cousin Sarah, "but," she added, rising, "I think it is time to get ready, if you will excuse us, Mrs. Armstrong." She had not yet been able to address her cousin Edward's lady-wife by her Christian name.
Mrs. John Armstrong, while dressing for a drive on that pleasant May morning, recalled a statement made by Mary that her father had bought this pony carriage as a present to herself.
"He is trying to bribe that dear girl into forgetting the superior young man we met on Sunday, but she never will," was cousin Sarah's reflection.
The spirited white ponies and pretty low carriage attracted all eyes as they trotted along the Kilburn Road lashing their tails and shaking their fat sides as if eager to perform their work to the best of their ability. After setting down her companions at the door of the station Mr. Armstrong dismissed his daughter; and, although foolishly proud of the admiring gaze cast upon her by passengers, he more than once regretted not having listened to his wife's suggestion:—"Had you not better let the groom drive you, Edward? I do not like the idea of my daughter acting the part of coachman to a railway station; it is all very well in country roads."
Mr. Armstrong laughed at his wife's scruples, but he afterwards saw the justice of her remark—at least in those days before young ladies had acquired the habits of independence which so distinguish them in the present day.
One, however, of the party had greatly enjoyed his drive; Jack would have felt no surprise at any admiration his cousin Mary excited. He watched her as she skilfully turned her ponies out of the station-yard, and then, while following his mother and Mr. Armstrong into the station, he said to himself, "I don't believe there's another girl in London so clever and so pretty as cousin Mary."
Mrs. Armstrong was ready to join her daughter in her morning excursion as she drove up to the gate, and when they were fairly off Mary said—
"Why, mamma, I believe these little animals are enjoying their work as much as we shall our ride. I have to keep a tight rein to prevent them from going too fast. No fear of fatigue on their part, I can see."
"I suppose you have perfect command over them, my dear," said Mrs. Armstrong, rather nervously.
"Oh yes, mamma, I hope what I said in joke has not alarmed you; they are the most docile little creatures in the world." And to prove her words and calm her mother's fears she checked the rapid trot, and for some distance allowed them to go at an easy pace.
When Mrs. Armstrong regained confidence in her daughter, Mary loosened her hold on the reins, to the great satisfaction of the spirited ponies, and when the groom took charge of them on their return to the Limes, they showed no signs of fatigue.
It wanted a very few minutes to five when cousin Sarah and her son met Mr. Armstrong at the Euston terminus. They were walking up and down the platform waiting for the train, which was being shunted from a siding, when they saw a lady and gentleman come hastily from the booking office.
"You have hurried me for nothing, Arthur," said the lady, almost gasping for breath, and yet angrily; "you see we are in plenty of time."
"My watch must be fast," he replied, "and I knew how important it was for us to catch this train in order to meet Mr. Norton at the appointed time."
"You might have waited till to-morrow," she said; "I cannot understand the motive for all this haste. But see, the passengers are taking their places; let us get into a carriage at once, for running so quickly has exhausted me."
Arthur Franklyn—for it was he—hastily assisted his wife into a first-class carriage, already occupied by Mr. Armstrong, cousin Sarah, and her son. Arthur placed his wife in the centre seat, and seated himself next her, near the window, and opposite Jack. The other corner, facing Mr. Armstrong, was the only vacant seat, the two centre divisions being now occupied by Mrs. Franklyn and cousin Sarah.
Kilburn was the first station at which this train usually stopped, and for some minutes after it started, no one spoke. Arthur almost turned his back on his wife, and looked out of the window with a very gloomy face. He was, in fact, brooding over her remark. "She thinks I have some motive for all this haste," he said to himself; "of course I have; does she suppose I should have chosen a woman so utterly selfish and proud, so unfit to be a mother to the children of my dear lost Fanny, if it had not been for her money? Of course I have a motive. I cannot tell her of my difficulties. And if I don't get a thousand pounds very quickly I shall be a ruined man."
Mrs. Franklyn on entering the carriage had thrown herself into the seat and leaned back with closed eyes. Cousin Sarah was attracted to watch her. The evident want of cordiality in the manner of husband and wife towards each other, the pain the latter appeared to suffer from the effects of hurrying to the station, and her husband's apparent indifference, aroused the pity of the warm-hearted countrywoman. She was about to ask her if she felt ill, when a sudden pallor spread over her face, she stretched out her arms and exclaimed convulsively, "Arthur, Arthur, save me!"
There was a sudden rush forward of both gentlemen, but cousin Sarah, had already caught the drooping figure in her arms as she exclaimed, "Open the windows, stop the train, she is dying!"
In the confined space of a first-class carriage little could be done; Arthur, pale as death, offered to relieve Mrs. John Armstrong of the insensible form which she supported on her bosom, but she refused to do so.
"Unfasten her dress," she exclaimed, "untie her bonnet." And while Arthur obeyed with trembling, almost useless fingers, he called upon his wife by name, lavishing upon her the most endearing terms in tones of the bitterest woe—how bitter none but himself knew. Was she dying? would she really die? Ah yes, Arthur Franklyn, less than five minutes have elapsed since you were disturbed from your gloomy reverie, and the woman whom you flattered into marriage for the sake of her money lies a lifeless corpse in the arms of a stranger!
Mr. Armstrong, who has been in vain endeavouring to attract the notice of the guard, looks once more from the window, and exclaims, "Thank God we are slackening speed, we are nearing the station;" but even as he utters the comforting words to the apparently heart-stricken husband he knows it is too late.
Presently the train enters the station. Again he looks out. A porter approaches running with the train. "A doctor! a medical man, quick!" he exclaimed; "a lady is ill, dying."
The train has come almost to a standstill. Mr. Armstrong jumps out even at the risk of his life. There is a running to and fro of porters. A crowding of passengers to the carriage door, and a general commotion as the eager inquiries for a doctor are passed from lip to lip.
"Go for Dr. White." "No, Dr. Harris is the nearest." But Mr. Armstrong had been already successful. Within a few steps of the carriage he left so hastily he came upon a gentleman alighting from the train, and looking with eager inquiry at the confusion on the platform.
"Dr. West! thank God you are here; come quickly, a lady is dying or dead in our carriage."
With hasty steps and a serious face the doctor followed Mr. Armstrong. Scarcely two minutes had elapsed, yet the porters were preparing to remove the lifeless burden from the arms of cousin Sarah, who still held her tenderly, for the train could no longer be delayed.
Roused from the shock which had at first stunned him, Arthur Franklyn hastened to relieve Mrs. John Armstrong of his wife, and gently setting aside the porters, he and Mr. Armstrong lifted her from the carriage to the ladies' waiting-room, and laid her on one of the couches.
The door was closed to all but the doctor and those who had been in the carriage with Arthur Franklyn and his wife, and then Dr. West prepared to examine the patient before uttering the so often dreaded words, "It is all over."
He saw the agonised look in the husband's countenance as he covered the face and straightened the limbs of his dead wife, and placing his hand on his arm he said—
"You are the husband of this lady, I presume?"
Arthur could only silently assent.
"My friend," he said gently, "nothing that I or any one else can do would avail now, your wife's sufferings are over in this world."
"Sufferings!" exclaimed Arthur, "in what way, doctor?"
"Has not this lady been afflicted for some time with disease of the heart?" asked Dr. West.
"I don't know; she has never complained to me. I have only been married six months."
"I fear there must be an inquest, then," replied the doctor; "where does your own medical man reside?"
"In Melbourne," replied Arthur, in agitated tones; "we only arrived in England last week. Doctor, will you do all that is necessary for me in this terrible matter? here is my card; we were on our way to visit a relative in Kilburn; you will find me at Englefield Grange tomorrow."
"Englefield Grange!" exclaimed Dr. West, "are you related to our good old friend Dr. Halford?"
"He is the father of my first wife, and my children are with him now."
"My dear sir," cried the doctor, "I will do my best for you in this sad affair, but we must secure the help of my friend Armstrong and this lady also," he added, turning to cousin Sarah, on whose cheeks tears of pity and sympathy were quietly stealing.
At this moment Mr. Armstrong, who had been called from the room by the station-master, entered quickly, and advancing to Arthur he said gently—"I am sorry to pain you, but it will be necessary to remove the poor lady to the hotel before the arrival of the next train."
"I must submit to whatever is necessary," he replied as the porters entered the room; "I feel too bewildered to act for myself."
Meanwhile Mary Armstrong, in obedience to her father's request, had driven to the station, and drew up to the entrance three or four minutes before the train was due. She heard it arrive, and looked for her father and his companions among the numbers who passed out of the station much too anxiously to notice the glances of admiration cast upon herself; and yet the passengers seemed to linger, and some were conversing with great seriousness, to judge by their faces.
At length two gentlemen paused at a little distance from the pony carriage, and Mary heard her mother's name mentioned, and then the ominous words, "Death in a railway carriage."
Too startled at first to decide what to do, Mary allowed the speakers to move forward, so that the opportunity for questioning them was lost. Then she checked her fears; she had only heard detached sentences which might mean nothing; yet as the train moved out of the station, and a few straggling passengers made their appearance, a dread of she knew not what fell upon her.
What could she do? To leave the ponies was impossible, and yet she must ascertain what had happened. So painful had the suspense become that she was about to send a boy for a railway porter, when she saw a gentleman enter the station yard and advance towards her.
He started and flushed as he recognised Miss Armstrong, and was about to pass with the usual formal recognition, when, to his utter amazement, she exclaimed—
"Oh, Mr. Halford, I am so glad to see you! there has been an accident or something; I heard the passengers speak of a death in one of the carriages. Papa and my cousins were to arrive by this train, and I have been waiting here for them more than twenty minutes."
"What do you wish me to do, Miss Armstrong?" asked Henry Halford, who with the most intense pleasure at the prospect of doing anything for the girl still so truly loved, yet shrunk from encountering Mr. Armstrong.
Mary understood his hesitation. "If you would kindly make inquiries for me, and if papa has arrived by this train, please tell him I am waiting. I should feel so much obliged if you will do this, Mr. Halford."
The earnest, anxious tones and the pleading voice were too much for Henry Halford. Without another word he entered the station.
Meanwhile after starting the train the porters had obtained a covered litter on which the lifeless form of Louisa Franklyn was carried from the waiting-room, followed by Mr. Armstrong, cousin Sarah, Jack, and Arthur Franklyn.
To avoid the stairs leading from the platform the men turned towards a side gate which opened nearer to the hotel. They had scarcely reached it when a gentleman, evidently in a state of excitement, approached the group and exclaimed—
"Pardon me, Mr. Armstrong, your daughter who is waiting for you in the pony carriage has been alarmed by the remarks of passengers, and she is becoming anxious on account of the delay in your appearance."
For a moment Mr. Armstrong had looked at the speaker with almost indignant surprise; but a flush of anxiety and shame spread over his face at the thought that he had literally forgotten his daughter, and allowed her to sit in her little carriage alone at a railway entrance.
His hasty reply was cordial and polite.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Halford; I am ashamed to say I had forgotten that my daughter was waiting for us."
"Come, Sarah," he added, "I must hasten to relieve poor Mary's fears; this gentleman will excuse us, I know."
"Oh, pray do not let me detain you," said Arthur, "but may I be allowed to call and thank you and this lady for your great help and sympathy?"
"Most certainly; here is my card," said Mr. Armstrong, hastily placing in the hands of Henry Halford's brother-in-law the cardboard invitation to visit his house, for which Henry would have given half he possessed.
He had drawn back in mute surprise during the conversation between Mr. Armstrong and Arthur, but no sooner had the movements of the former gentleman and his companions discovered Henry Halford to the stricken man than he started forward, and seizing his hand, told him what had happened, in a voice so choked with sobs and tears as to be scarcely audible.
Henry led him away to the hotel, to which the body of his dead wife had been carried, and calming down his excitement encouraged him to relate all that had occurred.
"And were Mr. Armstrong and his friends in the carriage with you?" asked Henry, in astonishment.
"Yes, we occupied all the seats but one, and the lady held my poor wife in her arms with the greatest tenderness. Is she Mrs. Armstrong?"
"No," exclaimed Henry, in a tone that savoured of indignation. "Mrs. Armstrong is a very different person. This lady to whom you refer is no doubt a relative from the country." He little thought that the relative of whom he spoke was his best friend.
After a while Arthur Franklyn became calm enough to walk with his brother-in-law to Englefield Grange, dreading the ordeal in which a detail of what had happened would involve him. Of other and more painful consequences to him which would result from his wife's death he could speak to no one, although he knew they would cause him a sleepless night.
Mr. Armstrong's first words as he and his two companions made their appearance relieved Mary of a certain dread. She could not control her fears that her father would be a little angry with her for sending a message by Mr. Henry Halford.
"My darling," he said, "I am so sorry! I forgot I had asked you to come for us; have you been waiting long?"
"Nearly half an hour; but, papa, what has happened?"
"I will tell you presently, Mary; drive home quickly, your mother will be getting anxious."
The sad story was soon told in a few words during the drive, and Mary became silent from awe and sympathy.
Presently her father asked,—"What brought Mr. Halford to the station, Mary?"
"I had not time to ask him," said Mary, gently, "neither had I any right to do so. The instant I saw him I begged him to go and find out what detained you."
"No doubt he came to meet his brother-in-law," said cousin Sarah. "I heard the gentleman whose wife has died so sadly speak of his father-in-law as Dr. Halford of Englefield Grange."
Mr. Armstrong did not notice this remark, and the silence at last became so painful to Mary, that she was about to break it by attracting notice to her ponies, who seemed by their rapid movements to look upon a journey of eight miles a day as merely an amusing pastime.
Cousin Sarah diverted her from her purpose by a sudden remark.
"Jack, my boy, you look pale; in the midst of the confusion and sorrow I almost forgot you were present."
"Oh, I'm all right, mother," he replied, "but I own I did feel queer at the time."
"Don't talk about the affair too strongly at home, Jack," said Mr. Armstrong, "at least not in the presence of Mrs. Armstrong."
At this moment Mary drew up her ponies at the gate. Mr. Armstrong and his companions entered the house, the painful event of the last hour occupying every thought, more especially from its connexion with the residents at Englefield Grange.