A FATAL SILENCE

BY FLORENCE MARRYAT

AUTHOR OF ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘VÉRONIQUE,’ ETC., ETC., ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOL. III.

LONDON GRIFFITH FARRAN OKEDEN & WELSH NEWBERY HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD AND SYDNEY.

[Pg iv]

D.: G. C. & CO.: 30.91. The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved.

[Pg v]

A FATAL SILENCE.

[Pg 1]

CHAPTER I. THE DOCTOR AND THE WIDOW.

But, as he hastened from the stables to the house, he was met on the threshold by the parish doctor, Charles Addison, a young fellow of six-and-twenty, who had come straight from his hospital practice to Deepdale, and was crammed to the muzzle with the latest discoveries and methods and ways. He smiled broadly as he encountered the anxious husband.

‘Come, Rushton,’ he exclaimed cheerfully, ‘there’s nothing to look alarmed about. We’ve done bravely without you, and it’s all over. [Pg 2] There’s a little daughter waiting upstairs for you, man.’

‘A daughter,’ repeated Hal vaguely. ‘But my wife. How is my wife?’

‘As well as a woman can possibly be under the circumstances, and quite ready to see you, if you will promise not to stay with her more than five minutes. How about the nurse?’

‘I am sorry to say I have been unable to hear anything about her,’ replied Hal, as the colour returned to his cheeks. ‘She is out in the country somewhere, and I could not even gain her address. This youngster having arrived somewhat before its time—’

‘Not a bit of it,’ rejoined the young doctor, decisively, ‘the child is full grown, and a very good-sized infant into the bargain.’

‘Well, let me say, before it was expected, then, for I know my wife was led to believe by Mrs Rushton—’

‘I don’t like that old woman. I beg your pardon, Rushton, I should have said old lady.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ replied Hal, with quaint [Pg 3] candour; ‘she isn’t a lady, and you cannot possibly dislike her more than I do. But to-night it was a case of Hobson’s choice. There was no one else capable of attending to Mrs Rushton, and I was compelled to call in her assistance. But, my dear boy, you are not going home without something to eat and drink. Come with me into the dining-room.’

‘Don’t disturb your servants, Rushton, on my account. I’ll take a brandy-and-soda, but I couldn’t swallow anything to save my life. Do you know that it’s close upon two o’clock? Miss Rushton is just an hour old. She was born on the stroke of one. I drink to her health,’ said Addison, as he raised the glass to his lips.

Hal joined him, but he was too much excited to attend to what his companion was saying, and in pity for his anxiety the doctor rose to go home, promising to return the first thing in the morning, and cautioning him not to let his wife talk much or excite herself. As soon as he had taken his departure, Hal flew impatiently to the sick-room. Paula was lying there alone. [Pg 4] In the next apartment, the door of which stood open, he could distinguish a murmur of voices mingled with the unmistakable wail of a new-born infant. But Hal could think of no one at that moment but his wife, given back, as it seemed to him, from the jaws of death. He went softly up to the bedside, and bending over her, placed his head on the same pillow, partly to hide the tears that had risen to his eyes.

‘My Paula,’ he whispered, ‘my own dear Paula. I am so thankful.’

She turned her face towards him, white and drawn with the suffering she had gone through, but calm as an angel’s, and radiant with gratitude.

‘Oh, Hal, dearest, so am I. It is all over, thank God, and I feel so well. I wanted nothing—but you.’

He kissed her a dozen times as he said,—

‘I have not brought Mrs Cornes, I am sorry to say, Paula, for she is away from home at present, but perhaps in a few days—’

‘Oh, never mind, dear Hal. It doesn’t signify. [Pg 5] Nothing signifies now. It is all right, Have you seen the baby—our baby, Hal?’

‘Not yet, dearest. I have been able to think of nothing but my gratitude that my love is spared to me.’

‘Were you disappointed to hear she was a girl?’

‘Not at all, darling. I love little girls, and shall spoil my white rosebud for her mother’s sake.’

Paula began to laugh feebly.

‘She isn’t much like a white rosebud at present,’ she said, and then Hal remembered the doctor’s caution not to let her talk, nor excite herself.

‘I must leave you now, Paula. Addison limited my visit to five minutes. Do you feel sleepy?’

‘Yes, very. I have only kept my eyes open till I could see your dear face.’

‘Then close them now, dear child, and I will sit by you till you are asleep.’

And in a few moments the hand that lay in [Pg 6] his relaxed its clasp, and Paula lay back on her pillows, unconscious of everything. Hal drew the bedclothes gently over her, and with one last look was about to creep out of the room, when he remembered the child. Even at that moment, when curiosity and a new sensation, which he could scarcely define, were strong upon him, he seemed to shrink from gazing for the first time upon his infant in the presence of Mrs Rushton. But the more powerful feeling prevailed, and he walked on tiptoe into the next room. There he found Louisa employed in airing linen, and making preparations for the night, whilst the widow, looking like a Hecate, with her grey wisps of hair tumbling over her face, was seated before a fire, with a bundle of flannel in her lap.

‘Where is the baby?’ he inquired, as he stepped over the threshold.

‘Lor’, ’Al, ’ow you did startle me!’ exclaimed Mrs Rushton. ‘I was as near hoff to sleep as possible. And when did you come ’ome?’

‘Oh, never mind. Half an hour ago.’

[Pg 7]

‘And you ’aven’t brought Mrs Cornes?’

‘No; she is not at home. Let me see the child.’

‘Oh, ’ere’s the child, safe enough,’ cried the widow, as she drew back the flannel and displayed a little red, pulpy face and two weak, blinking eyes. ‘But this is bad noos for me. Didn’t you ’ear when she’d be ’ome, ’Al, nor where she’d gone to?’

‘No, no, I could hear nothing. I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow. Don’t speak so loud or you may wake Mrs Rushton. She is asleep. And so that is my baby. What a funny little thing it is.’

‘Yes, she ain’t much to look at,’ replied the widow depreciatingly, ‘but I’ve seen weaker babies pull through before now. It all depends on their constitootions.’

‘Is she weakly?’ demanded Hal, with a sudden fear.

‘Well, you could ’ardly expect ’er to be strong, with the tantrums Mrs ’Al ’as put ’erself into the last few months. But, as I says before, I [Pg 8] daresay, with care and proper attention, as she’ll pull through.’

‘She seems very small to me,’ observed Hal, who had never seen a new-born baby before.

‘Oh, she is small, no doubt of that. Lor’, I’ve ’andled ’em twice this size. But the next few weeks will decide it. If they goes over the month there’s more chance of rearing ’em.’

‘Dr Addison seems to think she’s a very healthy baby, and that my wife has gone through it remarkably well.’

‘Dr Haddison!’ exclaimed Mrs Rushton, with supreme contempt. ‘What can ’e know, a lad like that compared to me, who ’ave nussed dozens? Why, there’d been a fine business if I ’adn’t been ’ere. ’E was as nervous as a cat. Mrs ’Al, she may thank ’er stars I was hon the spot or this poor little creetur would never ’ave come into the world halive. Dr Haddison, hindeed! I don’t know what Mrs Cornes will say to ’im, but ’e don’t hinterfere with me while I’m ’ere. A trumperious bit of a lad like that! I [Pg 9] was very sorry hafterwards has I sent for ’im hat all—’

‘I should have been very much annoyed if you had not,’ replied Hal. ‘But where is Mrs Measures? Has she gone home?’

‘Mrs Measures,’ reiterated the widow; ‘theer’s another of your fine ladies as can do nothink but talk. Gone ’ome? I should think she ’ad. I bundled ’er hoff as quick as I could. I said, begging your pardon ma’am, you’re no use ’ere, but a ’indrance, and the sooner you go ’ome the better. And so she went.’

‘Well, I cannot discuss these subjects with you to-night, an’ it is time we were all in bed,’ said Hal. ‘Where do you sleep, Mrs Rushton?’

‘I don’t sleep nowheers, ’Al, till Mrs Cornes comes to take my place. In course, you know nothing of sich matters or you’d be aware as the nurse’s place is to sit up till the patient is hout of danger.’

‘But my wife is not in danger now, surely?’ cried Hal fearfully.

[Pg 10]

The widow smiled with lofty pity for his ignorance.

‘They’re hall in danger till they’re hup,’ she said, ‘and Mrs ’Al, she’s none too strong, I can tell you, and I couldn’t sleep a wink, not if you was to put me on a bed of roses, until Mrs Cornes comes to take my place. And so I sits ’ere, ’Al, till the morning.’

‘You are very good. I don’t know how to thank you,’ replied the poor young husband, whose sudden happiness seemed to be all quenched, as he walked away, and instead of going to bed as he intended to do, went downstairs, with a sinking heart, and lay on the sofa in the dining-room, thinking of all the terrible chances that had been presented to his mind by Mrs Rushton’s words. He crept upstairs several times before the dawn, and listened at the door of his wife’s bedroom to see if he could hear anything to justify his fears, but with the exception of Mrs Rushton’s sonorous snoring, and an occasional little cry from the infant, no sound met his ears. With the early [Pg 11] summer sun came the young doctor to learn how his patient had passed the night, and to him Hal confided the opinions which the widow had expressed concerning both the mother and child. Charles Addison laughed her ideas to scorn.

‘Only an old woman’s cackle, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘Don’t pay the least attention to it. They love to make the worst of everything. Take my word for it that Mrs Rushton is going on perfectly well, and the baby is a fine thriving child, and don’t let the old woman do anything against my orders for either of them. But I can see she has an obstinate temper, and you’ll have to keep a sharp lookout over her.’

‘She is considered to be an excellent nurse, and seems to spare herself no trouble,’ remarked Hal.

‘Oh, I daresay,’ replied the other, ‘still, I wish you could get rid of her.’

‘I will, as soon as ever my wife can do without her, but just now her presence is inevitable—is it not?’

[Pg 12]

‘Oh, certainly, certainly,’ replied the doctor. ‘But I don’t like her eye. She reminds me of a vicious horse.’

Hal laughed at the simile, but he was comforted by Charles Addison’s opinion, and resolved to follow out his directions. The issue seemed to justify what the young doctor had said. Paula continued to progress favourably, and the child appeared to thrive. Indeed, after the first few hours it gave no trouble whatever, but seemed to sleep day and night. But Hal, though delighted to see the improvement in his wife, and to watch the colour (so long lost) returning to her face, and the light to her eyes, could not get over his aversion to and his distrust of his father’s widow, and watched her as a cat watches a mouse. The first breach between them happened on this wise.

It was a very warm, still afternoon in June, about ten days after the baby’s birth. The summer had suddenly burst upon them, and the heat was oppressive. Everything in nature [Pg 13] seemed to stand still, and silence reigned throughout Highbridge Hall. Hal had come in from his usual round of inspection of the farm, and having taken off his thick boots, thought he would have a look at Paula before he shod himself again. So he went upstairs in his stockinged feet, and lifted the curtain that hung before her bedroom door—left open on account of the heat. There she lay, like a white rose (as he had so often fondly called her), with a bunch of flowers that he had laid that morning on her pillow in her hand, and her baby on her arm, both slumbering peacefully in the noonday heat. Hal gazed at them for a few moments, feeling very happy the while, and then turned his attention to the whereabouts of Mrs Rushton, who usually occupied an arm-chair in the same room on such occasions. But she was not there. Hal fancied he heard a rustling in the next apartment,

which had been dedicated pro tem. to the baby, and crossing the bedroom floor lightly he looked in. His stepmother was sitting with her [Pg 14] back towards him, profoundly occupied with, and evidently deeply interested in, the contents of a chest of drawers which held private property of Paula’s. There she sat with a pile of old letters and papers in her lap, each one of which she carefully examined before she laid it aside. Hal’s blood boiled over with indignation at the sight. He had known something of this proclivity on the part of the widow before, but he had not thought she would have dared to indulge it in his house. He entered the room—closed the door carefully behind him—and advanced steadily to Mrs Rushton’s side.

‘What are you doing there?’ he asked her sternly.

She turned, and recognising him, grew livid, and tossed the papers back into the drawer.

‘No ’arm, ’Al. I’m trying to make some room for the baby’s things in her ma’s drawers, and so I thought I’d pack these ’ere papers, which don’t seem no good, in a box, and put ’em under the bed. Ain’t I right?’ said the [Pg 15] widow, but her voice shook with trepidation the while.

‘Right! to take my wife’s keys and open her chest of drawers and read her private letters,’ exclaimed Hal. ‘You know you are doing one of the meanest, dirtiest tricks of which a woman is capable. How dare you do it in my house? I am not a feeble, half-witted old man like my poor father, remember, whom you juggled and deceived, to the last day of his life, and nearly caused to die with a sin upon his soul. I will not stand such knavery for a moment. Give me back those keys at once, and never presume to touch them again whilst you remain at the Hall.’

‘Well, this is a nice reward for hall I’ve done for you and yours,’ whimpered the widow, ‘a-sitting hup to nuss your wife and child, and a-straining my back and hupsetting my nerves—demeaning myself to be a servant, and jest because my poor dear husband, who never spoke sich words to me as you ’ave, was your father, and asked me to be kind to [Pg 16] you for ’is sake. You seem to forget as I’ve saved you a five-pound note in coming ’ere instead of Mrs Cornes, which I wish I’d never done it.’

Hal remembered then that she had been of use to them in the time of need, and relented of his harsh tones.

‘To say nothink,’ continued Mrs Rushton, in an injured tone, ‘of ’aving slaved like a blackamoor for Mrs ’Al for months past, while she lay like a log on ’er sofa, and ’ardly gave one a “thank you” when all was said and done for ’er.’

‘I have not forgotten it,’ returned Hal, less sternly; ‘it was against my wishes, but my wife was not in a condition to be argued with, and you were certainly a great help to her. I will see that you are not the loser by it. But this act of yours almost cancels the obligation. Where did you procure these keys?’

‘Where did I procure ’em?’ reiterated Mrs Rushton, in an insolent tone. ‘Why, hoff ’er ladyship’s mantelpiece, to be sure. You don’t [Pg 17] suppose I stole ’em, do you? And as for ’er rubbishy papers, as ought to be be’ind the fire, what hinterest could I ’ave in ’em except to clear the place and make it a bit tidy—a bit more like it was when I was the missus ’ere, as I should have been to this day if my poor dear ’usband ’ad ’ad ’is way.’

‘We do not require your assistance in tidying-up, thank you,’ returned Hal curtly; ‘we have servants to do that work. Be good enough to put all those papers back into the drawers, and I will take care they are not meddled with again.’

He stood by whilst she bundled the packets of letters and scraps of newspapers into their places, with a countenance full of hatred, malice and revenge. When she had finished the task, he fitted the key into the lock and turned it. As he did so he caught sight of a photograph in the pocket of Mrs Rushton’s apron.

‘What is that you have concealed in your pocket?’ he asked. She jerked it out.

‘Lor,’ if one of the rubbishy things ain’t [Pg 18] dropt into my apron pocket. You needn’t look as if you thought I was agoing to steal it, ’Al. That ain’t likely to be of much use to me, when I don’t heven know who the people hare.’

‘And it is not necessary that you should know,’ remarked her stepson, as he took the cardboard picture from her and locked it away with the rest.

But the sight of it sent a sudden thrill through his heart, half pain and half fear. It was a faded photograph, taken some time before, of poor Mrs Sutton, with little Paulie seated on her knee. He turned it quickly round. There were no names upon the other side. The knowledge afforded him relief, and as he secured it from further curiosity he put Paula’s bunch of keys into his own pocket.

‘I don’t want to say anything more about this very unpleasant business at present, Mrs Rushton,’ he remarked before he left the room, ‘for my wife’s sake, and because any quarrelling would certainly upset her. But don’t let it be repeated—that’s all.’

‘Oh, h’I don’t wish to repeat it,’ cried the [Pg 19] widow insolently. ‘Heverything may go to ’ell before I’ll touch ’em agen, for I don’t get no gratitude for nothing I does, and that’s a fact.’

Hal Rushton left her without another word, but it did not smooth her ruffled temper to perceive that before he went downstairs again he tried the lock of every drawer and cupboard in the room to satisfy himself that they were secure.

‘Very good, Mr ’Al,’ said the widow to herself, as he disappeared, ‘very good. It hain’t you I’m thinking as will get the best of this bargain. You won’t make no row because of your “dear wife’s sake,” and because you wants my ’elp still for ’er and ’er brat, though you don’t say it, but you forgets as they’re both in my ’ands, and I can do with ’em pretty well as I like. I wish I ’ad my Ted to consult with now. ‘E’d set things right pretty sharp. But it won’t do for me to leave my post, for that doctor don’t like me—I can see that plainly—and would be glad of hany hexcuse to give me the sack. Lor’, there’s Mrs ’Al a-calling. It [Pg 20] won’t do to let ’er see as there’s been a row. Well, my dear,’ the old hypocrite was saying the next minute, ‘and what do you want? Will you ’ave a cup of tea and a bit of bread and butter. It ain’t quite the time, but you’d better take it if you’ve a mind to.’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Rushton. I would rather wait till Hal comes up to take it with me. But will you take baby now? She has made my arm ache. Fancy her being still asleep. What a little sleepyhead she is. She seems never awake.’

‘Babies generally sleep ’alf their time,’ remarked the widow, as she lifted up the infant preparatory to carrying it away. ‘Sometimes it’s a sign of ’ealth, and sometimes of weakness. I ’opes this little missy will get more wakeful as she grows stronger.’

‘Do you think she is weaker than she ought to be?’ inquired Paula, with a mother’s quick alarm.

‘Well, she might be stronger, of course. She ain’t so lively as some, nor she don’t take her [Pg 21] food so reg’lar, but, as you nusses ’er yourself, I daresay she’ll get on all right by-and-by.’