Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 81

Desirous as she was of leaving London, she would not consent to go to her brother in the end of June, until she had certified herself that Violet did not wish for her attendance.

Violet did think that it would have been a great comfort, but perceived that it would be at some inconvenience; and further divined that to be extremely useful and important was Theodora's ruling desire. She was afraid of heart-burnings, and, as usual, yielded her own wishes, begged Lady Elizabeth not to disturb her plans, made many declarations of Theodora's kindness and attention; and in return, poor thing! was judged by Emma to be in dread of lectures!

So the Brandons left London, and Violet sighed over the disappointment their stay had been, knew she had given up the chance of a renewal of intimacy, and thought Emma's estrangement all her own fault.

Arthur, likewise, had a fit of restlessness. Some of his friends were intending to go grouse shooting to Scotland, and it was evident that he was desirous of joining them if Violet could only recover in time to spare him. Theodora also wished that he should go, for she had a strong suspicion that he was gliding fast into frequent intercourse with Mr.

Gardner, and hoped that absence would put a stop to it.

Not a word, not a look, ever referred to Mr. Fotheringham. Violet thought it inexplicable, and could only suppose that Theodora had been under some delusion, and had never known the meaning of love, for there was nothing like sorrow or disappointment; she almost seemed to be glad of her release.

It was a trial when the Review was published, containing the critique upon modern poetry. For a whole day it was left unopened, because neither sister liked to touch it in the presence of the other; but when, in the morning, Violet took it to read, she found the leaves cut. Lord St. Erme had been treated with some censure, but with a fair amount of praise, and her own favourite pieces were selected for commendation; but there was sufficient satire and severity to cause the universal remark that it was hard on poor Lord St. Erme.

Often was the observation made, for the article excited much attention--it was so striking and able, keenly and drolly attacking absurdity and affectation, good-humoured and lively, and its praise so cordial and enthusiastic. Every visitor was sure to begin, 'Have you read the paper on modern poetry?' 'Do you know who wrote it?' or, 'Is it true it is by Mr. Fotheringham?'

Violet, though much confused, could not help having a sort of satisfaction in seeing that neither could Theodora defend herself from blushes, nor so preserve her equanimity as always to know what she was saying, though she made heroic efforts, and those ignorant of the state of affairs might not, perhaps, detect her embarra.s.sment. If there had been affection, surely this calmness must have given way!

One day Theodora was in a shop, and Violet waiting for her when Mr.

Fotheringham pa.s.sed, and instantly coming to the carriage door, shook hands warmly, seemed rejoiced at the meeting, spoke of his last letter from John in high approval of Mr. Fanshawe, and told her that in two days' time he was going to take a walking tour in Ireland. At that instant the signal was made for taking up Miss Martindale, and with a hasty farewell he disappeared, as Violet thought, unseen. On coming home, Theodora went at once up-stairs; Violet some little time after chanced to go to her room to ask her a question on her way to dress, found her knock unanswered, but heard sounds which caused her gently to open the door.

Theodora was kneeling by the bed; her face buried in her hands, her neck crimson, sobbing and weeping in such violent grief as Violet had never witnessed. She stood terrified, unnoticed, hardly able to bear not to offer comfort; but she understood that nature too well not to be convinced that no offence would be so great as to break into her grief and to intrude upon what she chose to hide.

Violet, therefore, retreated, hoping that now there might be an opening for sympathy, some depression that would allow her to show her fellow-feeling; but no: when they met again Theodora was as cheerful and disengaged as ever, and she could almost have persuaded herself that these tears had been a dream.

Perhaps they so appeared to Theodora. She had been surprised into them, and was angry at having been overcome--she who cared so little; but she had woman's feelings, though she had proved to be unfit for the dominion of man, and was henceforth ready to stand alone, and use her strength for the benefit of the weak. She would be the maiden aunt, the treasure of the family, and Arthur's house should be the centre of her usefulness and attachments.

Therefore, so far from struggling against Violet, she delighted in the care of one so tender and caressing; looked on her as the charm and interest of her life, and rejoiced in being valuable at present, and likely to render most important services, attaining in fact the solid practical usefulness she had always coveted.

Everything that could please or amuse Violet she did, even to the length of drawing her out about Wrangerton, and suppressing a certain jealousy of Annette that was ready to spring up on discovering how strong was the affection bestowed on that sister. Violet was especially happy in being able to talk of home just now, when she was continually hearing of Albert's marriage, and the arrangements consequent thereon, and would have felt it blank, indeed, to have no one but Sarah to share her interest.

Uncle Christopher went to the wedding, and was invited to dinner in Cadogan-place the Sunday after his return. Theodora condescended to be frankly entertained with his dry humorous account of the magnificent doings that had diverted him extremely, and caused Arthur and Violet to congratulate themselves that, in their case, Matilda had not been allowed her own way.

'What a sensible, agreeable person your uncle is,' said Theodora, as Violet lay down to rest on the sofa, after dinner, and to turn over and fondle one by one the little presents sent to her from Wrangerton.

Violet smiled thanks and pleasure in the praise, and Theodora set to work to gratify her, by admiring each gift as much as her conscience would let her, and was well pleased to find that she was not at all wanted to commend a wonderful embroidered sachet from the bride, nor a pair of gorgeous screens from Matilda; but that what was dwelt upon were some sketches in Wrangerton Park, and the most prized of all was a little pair of socks, in delicate fancy knitting, for Johnnie.

'Dear, dear mamma! her own pretty rose-leaf pattern. Think of her knitting for my Johnnie! He will soon know grandmamma's socks!' and she put her fingers into one to judge of the size, and admire the st.i.tch.

Theodora could see her do such things now, and not think her foolish.

'Theodora, dear,' said she, after a long pause, 'there is something I have been wanting to say to you for a long time. If I should be as ill as I was before, if I should not live, I should like one thing--'

Theodora took her hand between both hers, for she could not answer.

'I should like to know that his grandmamma would see my Johnnie, if it was only for once. I know poor Arthur could not bear to hear me talk of this, and he is anxious enough already, but you would tell him. You will manage for mamma to see my boy, won't you?'

'I would take him to her at Wrangerton myself.'

'I am quite content that you should chiefly take care of him, you know.

I am glad you have been here so long that he has grown fond of you. It makes it much better to think of leaving him and his dear papa, to know they have you.'

'But, Violet, you must not talk so!' cried Theodora, in a half-choked voice.

'No; I must not make myself cry,' said Violet, quietly. 'I will not go on, when I have asked you one thing more, and that is, to write to John, and tell him that I thank him for all he has done for me, and that this has been a very happy year. You and John will comfort--'

Violet checked herself, for the tears could only be restrained by silence, and she had made many resolutions against agitation.

'All you wish!' exclaimed Theodora; 'but, indeed, you must not think there is any fear--'

'I will not talk about it,' said Violet, in her submissive voice.

'No; nor think about it.'

'I try not to do so more than I ought. I am glad you are here!'

It was dark enough for Theodora to allow her eyes to fill with soft tears, without a struggle to keep them back. The pleasure of being valued was very great, and the entire trust Violet reposed on her gave her as deep delight as she had ever experienced. What would it not be after having nursed her and been everything to Arthur! With Violet and Arthur depending on her, she could feel herself good for something, and filling a place in the world.

CHAPTER 19

The lowliest flowers the closest cling to earth, And they first feel the sun; so violets blue, So the soft star-like primrose drenched in dew, The happiest of spring's happy fragrant birth, To gentlest touches, sweetest tones reply; So humbleness, with her low-breathed voice, Can steal o'er man's proud heart, and win his choice.

'She is ready to see you,' said Arthur, meeting Theodora, as she came down at nine the next morning after church.

Violet's face, white as a lily, was on the pillow, and a little dark downy head was beside her.

A sense of being too late, of neglect and disappointment, rushed over Theodora, and made her looks not what the mother expected, as with smiling eyes and feeble voice she said, 'Your niece, dear Theodora.'

'I did not know--' were Theodora's first words, and their dissatisfied sound made Arthur regret his abrupt introduction; though she recovered herself enough to say something of gladness, and of hopes that Violet was comfortable.

'Yes, thank you, quite. I am so thankful! I am so glad of everything.

Now I hope Arthur will not lose the 12th of August.'

'Only don't talk now, my sweet one. Come, Theodora,' as if he only wanted to get her out of the room.

'I have not looked at the baby. What a fine one!' and she was going to take her.

'Oh, please don't!' said Violet; 'she will begin screaming again!' Then, seeing the cloud return, 'Presently, dear aunt, when she wakes. Is not she a beauty?'

Arthur, his hand on the door, hurried Theodora again.

'I will come' she said, impatiently, 'I will come and sit with you after breakfast, Violet; I only wish I had been called.'

'Indeed, I know how kind you would have been,' said Violet, holding her hand, and watching to see whether the displeasure was removed: 'but it seemed a pity to disturb you. Please don't be vexed; I'll give you plenty of trouble yet.'

She had, roused herself enough to alarm Arthur and the nurse.