Wenderholme: A Story of Lancashire and Yorkshire

by Philip Gilbert Hamerton

Young Jacob's interest in Mrs. Stanburne's health proved to be so strong that he could hardly absent himself from the vicarage; yet though Mrs. Ogden must have been perfectly well aware that he passed a good deal of his time there with Miss Edith, she showed no sign of displeasure, but when she found them together, seemed to consider it perfectly natural, and spoke to Edith always affectionately, calling her "my dear," and putting an unaccustomed tenderness even into the very tones of her voice. The lord of Wenderholme and his remaining guests left for Shayton in the course of the afternoon, but Mrs. Ogden declared her intention of remaining until her patient was out of danger; and though her son had suggested that young Jacob was not absolutely necessary as a nurse, Mrs. Ogden asserted that it was "a great comfort" to her to have him near her, and that he should go back to Milend with his grandmother at such times as she might see fit to return thither. Jacob Ogden was a wilful and a mighty man; but either from habit or some genuine filial sentiment, or perhaps because no man can be really happy unless he is governed by a woman of some sort—either a wife, or a mother, or a maiden aunt—this hard and terrible master-spirit submitted to "the old woman" without question, and whatever she willed was done.

In saying that all Jacob Ogden's guests went back with him to Shayton, an exception must be made in the case of his elder brother. Captain Ogden, as he was now generally called (for the people had gradually got into the habit of giving militia officers their titles), remained at Wenderholme, for reasons of his own. He knew that Colonel Stanburne had been telegraphed for, and wished to see him. Perhaps, too, he thought it might be agreeable to John Stanburne to find a sincere friend in his old place, and that he might be able in some degree to mitigate the painfulness of an unavoidable return to scenes which could not be revisited without awakening many regretful associations.

As all the Prigley children were at school except Conny, now a young lady who was supposed to have "come out," though in fact no such ceremony had taken place, from the want of any society to come out in, the vicarage was able to accommodate a good many guests, and the Prigleys were only too happy to place it at the disposal of the family to whom they owed their recent advancement in the world. It was a pleasant and spacious, though not a very elegant, house; and there was a large garden, and an orchard, and a glebe of two or three fields, with sufficient stabling and out-houses. They had set up a small pony-carriage, or rather continued that which belonged to the late vicar, which they had purchased at the sale, with pony and harness complete, for the moderate sum of nine guineas; and Conny Prigley set off in this machine to await the train by which Lady Helena was expected to arrive. This arrangement was made without Mrs. Ogden's knowledge, and when she came to be aware of it, she exclaimed, "Well, now, I wish I'd known—I do indeed, I wish I'd known—for there's my cayridge at the 'All, which is quite at your service. Our Jacob's gone back with Miss Smethurst, and he's left me my cayridge, which you would have been quite welcome to." But the Prigleys had tact enough to know, that although her ladyship rather liked to be magnificent, she might not particularly care for it to be Mrs. Ogden's magnificence; and that the little green pony-carriage, driven by Conny Prigley, was a more suitable vehicle to bring her ladyship to the vicarage than the sumptuous chariot in which Mrs. Ogden had triumphed the day before.

Lady Helena duly arrived. It did not require much explanation from Edith to make the whole situation quite clear to her perspicuous mind. She went upstairs to see Mrs. Stanburne, who was grateful to her for coming so soon, and the first person she saw in the room was Mrs. Ogden.

There was a little stiffness at first, but it did not last long. Lady Helena and Mrs. Ogden got into conversation about the state of the patient, and then about other matters connected with what might be called the diocese of the Lady of Wenderholme. Had Mrs. Ogden been one of the examples, so numerous in these days, of amazingly refined ladyhood in the middle classes, Lady Helena might have been jealous of her; but how was it possible for her ladyship to feel jealous of a simple old woman like Mrs. Ogden, who spoke broad Lancashire, and in every movement of her body, and every utterance of her lips, proclaimed the humility of her birth? Lady Helena, moreover, had a keen sense of humor, and it was impossible not to feel interested and amused, as soon as the first anxiety about Mrs. Stanburne was at least temporarily tranquillized, by Mrs. Ogden's quaint turns of expression, and her wonderful reliance on her own wisdom and experience. Even Mrs. Stanburne, ill as she was, could not help smiling, as she lay in her bed of sickness, when Mrs. Ogden came out with some of those sayings which were peculiarly her own.

The condition of the invalid had become less distressing and less alarming, though the Doctor still held out no hopes of a recovery. Mrs. Ogden, however, had succeeded in making the patient believe that she would get better because she believed it herself, and she believed it herself because the idea of a person dying of mere weakness at the early age of seventy-two was not admissible to her patriarchal mind. It was a great thing for Mrs. Stanburne to have somebody near her who did not consider that she was used up, and she began to regard Mrs. Ogden with the partiality which human nature always feels for those who preach comfortable doctrine.

As there were so many ladies to nurse Mrs. Stanburne, and as the invalid now gave comparatively little immediate anxiety, Edith easily got Lady Helena to herself for half an hour.

The young lady was firmly resolved upon one thing—namely, that this opportunity for a reconciliation between her father and mother should not be lost through any pusillanimity of hers.

"Mamma," she said boldly, "why did you leave papa when he was ruined?"

"Because he ordered me to leave him; because he turned me out of the house."