St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

HONOUR'S RAVINGS

It needed not many days for Honour Tritton to be in a fever, accompanied by delirium, the symptoms of which had been plainly showing themselves. Mr. Pym pronounced it a malady of the brain, brought on by grief, horror, and remorse. It would prolong her stay at the Hall, for she could not be removed; otherwise Mrs. St. John had given her notice to quit it as soon as the funeral was over. Mrs. St. John had taken a shuddering dislike to her. The word is used advisedly. Once or twice, when she met Honour in the corridors, she was seized with a fit of shuddering that affected her whole frame. Freely she avowed that she could not bear the sight of the girl; but for her, she said, Benja would be still living. But when the girl was taken ill they could not turn her out; and Honour lay in bed, in the room that had been hers and Benja's. The pretty rosewood cot, shorn for ever of its occupant, was yet in the corner. At first she was not dangerously ill; hot and feverish, and a little excited at times; but not in danger. It was the day before the funeral that she took to her bed.

Mrs. St. John seemed more affected by the death than was apparent to ordinary observers. Not a shade of emotion had been seen on her impassive face; not a tear, so far as any one could trace, had been shed. But that she was grievously affected by it, those about her saw plainly. A species of nervousness--if the word may be applied to one so outwardly calm--seemed to have taken possession of her. She was ever brooding on the dreadful event; she was afraid to go about the house alone after dark; not all the cordage of a seventy-gun ship would have dragged her into the dressing-room, for it was next to the nursery where Benja was lying. She chiefly sat nursing George, who was ill still--remaining for an hour or two intensely calm and quiet, then starting up and pacing the room violently, as if unable to bear her own reflections--her grief for Benja. "My dear, be still, be calm," Mrs. Darling remonstrated one afternoon as she paced the room with wild steps. "All the sorrow in the world cannot bring him back: in a little time, if you can only realize it, you will gather comfort from the fact that he is better off." "Mamma, I would hang Honour Tritton if I could!" was the only answer.

What Mrs. St. John would have done without her mother at this time, it was impossible to tell; though perhaps, had necessity imposed it on her, she might have been aroused to exert herself. Mrs. Darling, forgetting her own ailments, and she was feeling really ill, took everything upon herself, and had to do it. It was she who wrote letters to apprise friends of the calamity; it was she who made arrangements for the funeral: Charlotte would take neither act nor part in it. Mrs. Darling did what she could to amuse her daughter, and divert her mind from the fatal night. She talked to her of family interests, she read letters to her from her daughter Margaret, who was in Berkshire; she enlarged upon the letters from her son Frank. There had been some trouble or escapade, or something unpleasant with Rose, during his visit to Belport in the autumn, she said, but she could not get to the bottom of it, and perhaps never should: she expected it all arose from Rose's rebellion at being kept at school. These, and similar topics, did Mrs. Darling pursue; but her daughter was as one who heard not. It might, in fact, be questioned whether she did hear; and if she answered it was only mechanically.

The day of the funeral arrived, and friends and relatives came from far and near to follow to his last resting-place the ill-fated little heir of Alnwick. As it had been in the days when George St. John died, so it was again. Mr. St. John of Castle Wafer was too ill to attend, but Frederick St. John came down from London in his place. Captain Darling also came. Neither of them stayed beyond the day, and they agreed to travel back to town together. Indeed, none of the guests were asked to remain: the Hall was not in a mood for welcoming visitors just now.

Mrs. Darling took the opportunity of asking her son what the hinted escapade of Rose's might have been; but he only laughed it off, and did not explain. He had corrected her for it, he said, and he didn't think she would attempt a second.

So the child was laid in the vault with his father and his poor young mother, whose life he had cost; and the train of mourners and attendants returned to the Hall, and then dispersed, none of them, Captain Darling excepted, having seen Alnwick's mistress. Something had been said about little Georgy--now the heir--going to the funeral; but it was decided that he was too young. And besides, he was not well.

There was estrangement still between Isaac St. John and his brother; but the aspect of affairs had changed, and Isaac, on his part, would have been all too willing to be reconciled. Lady Anne St. John was on the point of marriage with Captain Saville, who had unexpectedly come into a large inheritance. Anne confessed all to Isaac. How there had been a secret understanding between her and Captain Saville, and Frederick was keeping league with them, and to screen Anne, taking on himself the blame of refusing to marry her. Isaac St. John would then have been reconciled to his brother. He did not make any decisive move towards it, but he allowed his wishes to become known to Frederick through Mrs. St. John. Mr. Frederick, however, had a spice of obstinacy in his composition, and chose to hold on his own way. He had recently come into some money through an aunt, and this he was applying to liquidating his own debts, living meanwhile quietly in London, and spending all his time at his favourite art--painting.

The day of the funeral came to an end. Everything had passed off quietly, without undue bustle and agitation, which might perhaps have been expected under the circumstances of the case. Little George had burst into wailing sobs when the mourning carriages came back to the Hall, saying he wanted Benja. They told him Benja was gone to heaven to be happy for ever, and to play upon a golden harp. But the child still cried bitterly. Captain Darling carried him out on the slopes, and in due time brought him back soothed; having entered upon some magnificent promises touching a live pony, when the young gentleman should have grown as tall as Benja was.

On the following morning Mrs. St. John was to leave the Hall for a time. It was her own proposition, but Mrs. Darling seconded it. At first she was only going to the cottage, her mother's residence; later she would take Georgy to some watering-place, and return to the Hall for Christmas.