Caught in a Trap

by John C. Hutcheson

Putting aside the necessity which he thought existed for establishing the entente cordiale between Lizzie and the mother of her adored, the good doctor was full of sympathy—in which he forgot all her former bad temper and malevolence towards him—for the poor old woman was lying grievously ill—sick unto death nearly, at 1 The Poplars. She was so ill, so changed, so friendless and deserted, only tended by strangers and hired servants, that Doctor Jolly thought that the best thing for her in common charity was to get some one to come and see her, and minister, who would be actuated in so doing by a higher and more of a brotherly-kindness principle than that of mere wage. With this idea revolving strongly in his head, the doctor could think of no one better suited for the post than Lizzie. By employing her, he would be able to achieve two purposes at once—kill two birds with one stone. Tom’s lady-love was willing and happy enough at the thought; the only thing that remained was to gain the old dowager’s consent for the arrangement, and this Doctor Jolly found much more easily done than he had thought possible.

For a long time the old lady had remained speechless, and of course nothing could be done about it then. She was in such a state that the mere sight of a new face might have affected her fatally, much less the sight of a face which could be connected in her mind, if she could think, with former times and her quarrel with her son. But, by-and-bye, as the dowager became more sensible and was able to express her wishes by writing on a slate, and afterwards to speak when she got back her voice—what a changed voice it was!—the doctor mooted the matter.

He suggested that she should have some one to sit and read with her for company’s sake, as he told her: it was bad for her to be alone with only a servant, and it would delay her recovery if she were not roused out of herself.

She had at first given a vehement veto against the suggestion. She thought the doctor was going to prepare Miss Kingscott’s society for her, remembering Aesculapius’s old partiality in that quarter. But when he indignantly denied this, and told her he would not propose her company for any decent person—the doctor had learnt the governess’s treachery from Mr Trump—the old lady accepted very agreeably the offer of Lizzie Pringle’s society. She thought it quite a satisfactory substitute for the old lady whom she had dreaded the doctor was going to invite to wait on her.

Doctor Jolly took Mrs Hartshorne at her word, and sent Lizzie up the very same afternoon that he got permission, for fear that the dowager might withdraw the same. He did not doubt that the moment the old lady knew Lizzie she would take to her, and then the rest lay in Lizzie’s own hands.

Aesculapius was right. Within a week, the tender graces, and kindness, and soft ways of the young girl, had made way in the heart of the old woman which you would have never suspected, and she afterwards could hardly bear her out of her sight.

Lizzie and the dowager were on the most affectionate footing. She, winning, ministering like an angel of mercy: the old lady accepting all her kindness, not saying much in words, but feeling in her heart an unknown love towards this little girl, who was winding herself into her affections in spite of herself.

And Lizzie, you may be sure, was happy—happy at doing good—happy at ministering to affliction; above all, happy at helping Tom’s mother. Thus did Andromeda’s grief lessen: thus was she able to bear all the snapping and snarling of the old campaigner at home. This was her source of balm, which you might never have suspected.

It was a strange association between the two: between the dowager of former days, with her harsh voice and querulous temper, and the gentle little girl who had won Tom’s love. There never would have been, one would think, any sympathy or companionship; but the dowager was very much altered now.

“Wonders will never cease,” says the proverb; and Solomon adds, that “there is nothing new under the sun.” Consequently putting that and that together, as the old folks say, we ought not to be surprised at this unexpected rapport between Tom’s mother and Lizzie.