“Oh,” said Mary, in a tone of horror, “then it was you after all, and you heard what we said.”
“I heard you say nothing that did not do you honor. The other did not surprise me at all. It may be a little premature. Things may not be so certain.” He paused a little as if he would have said something more. He was a very neat, well-preserved model of an old gentleman, not so old as the Parkes concluded; with a good color, a good figure, a firm light footstep; active and lively notwithstanding his age. The thought of little Duke, who was to be Lord Frogmore some day, and of all his property and possessions, which were being discounted by Mrs. John as belonging to the children, made him not sad but angry. He had never been disposed to be a passive person, to be managed by those about him; and no one could be less likely to consent to being powerless or helpless now. No one thing of all the many things they calculated upon was certain. His property was still in his own hands—even his title. Many things surged up in the old gentleman’s head. Suggestions which disturbed and excited him, but not unpleasantly. What if they might be disappointed altogether, the scheming woman, the silly little boy. John—Ah! John! Lord Frogmore turned upon Mary Hill, who was walking by his side, much agitated and in a great tremor; and put his hand upon her arm. “Miss Hill,” he said, “I can’t tell you how much I am obliged to you for doing justice to my brother John.”
“Oh, Lord Frogmore, Letitia is like all mothers, she thinks only of her children. She did not mean what you think. She is not without heart. She is——”
“We’ll say nothing about Letitia,” said the old lord. “But I am thankful to you for doing justice, and making me do justice, to my brother John.”
CHAPTER XIII.
Lord Frogmore stayed for some days at Greenpark. He caught cold—quite a slight cold, not worth making any fuss about, if he had not taken such tremendous care of his health, Letitia said, scornfully. She said to her husband that she really could not pretend to coddle and take care of him for such a nothing—it would look as if she had a mercenary motive—as if she meant to wheedle him out of something for the children. John did not quite like this tone, for Frogmore was his own brother after all, and Letitia was only a Parke by marriage. But he said, “I don’t know why you should trouble when Miss Hill is here.” So this was how it ended. Mary was made over permanently to Lord Frogmore to amuse him. He did not want nursing. Rogers, his man, who knew exactly what to do in any emergency, took care of that. Rogers was so clever that he was half a doctor, having studied all his master’s ailments, and having in every possible combination of circumstances the right thing to administer. It filled Mrs. Parke with mingled consternation and awe to see all the precautions that were taken.
“Why, he will never die,” she said to Mary. “His exercise and his food and every habit he has are like a doctor’s book. Felicie tells me such stories about his clothes; he is dressed by the thermometer, if you will believe me—and things put into his bath to strengthen him and brighten him up; and all kinds of preparations of food. It is Rogers’ whole work looking after him, day and night. What a cooking up of the poor body, Mary Hill! It’s against Scripture, and every law.”
“But there’s nothing wrong in keeping one’s self well.”
“Oh, well! it is not that—it is trying to get the better of Providence, not to speak of poor John and the children. What he means is never to die.”
Mrs. Parke was really alarmed by this determination on the part of the man to whom her husband was heir. All those precautions, (which, if not positively sinful, were so little consistent with the desire to be at rest, which ought to be the prevailing sentiment of old people) were intended to keep John out of his inheritance—to prevent herself from becoming Lady Frogmore. If the old lord succeeded in his wicked plan of living on to an indefinite time, John and she might be old people before they came to their kingdom—nay, more horrible still, John (who took very little care of himself) might die first and leave Letitia only Mrs. Parke for ever, even though little Duke might come to the title. This was a contingency which filled her with horror. She felt that she would willingly have seized the old gentleman and shaken him—but then reflected again with dismay upon his trim, steady figure, his alert walk, his rosy countenance. He looked, when she came to think of it, stronger than John! He had Rogers to watch over him night and day. He had Valentine’s Meat Juice and Brand’s Essence (if these concentrated comforts were invited) administered to him whenever he felt a sinking—he had some sort of elixir of life put into his bath. What he intended was never to die. Mrs. John Parke became pale with the horror of this thought, and she felt that she could not endure the old egotist, the selfish, self-absorbed old man. “It is all I can do to be civil to him at dinner and ask after his cold in the morning. Do for goodness sake amuse him a little, Mary Hill. You don’t feel it as I do—you’ve no cares to distract your mind, and it’s far easier for you to put on a face and sympathize with people about nothing than for me. I’m too sincere for that sort of thing,” Letitia said.