The Pillars of the House Part 74

Froggatt is not busy, get him to come and have some tea.'

This was always a mission to Stella's taste; and Mr. Froggatt was soon installed in the only basket-chair that would hold him, and was professing his relief and satisfaction that Mr. Underwood had been wise enough to take advice at last. He had better go any day, the sooner the better; and even his desire to take the newspaper work with him would have been overruled, but for the simple fact that there was n.o.body else capable of it, in the present state of Mr.

Froggatt's eyes.

Alda had been lying down in her own' room. Her cup of tea--an inst.i.tution that for any one else Wilmet would have deemed sinful waste--had been rung for, when she saw from the window that Mr.

Froggatt was one of the party in the garden, and whereas Sibby did not choose to hear or attend to her whims, she came down full of wrath and indignation, as soon as she saw that Cherry was left alone under her tree, and Wilmet coming out to her with the step of one who was glad her day's work was over.

'Really, Sibby's inattention was shameful! Not choosing to bring the tea upstairs when it was rung for!'

'You forget how much Sibby has to do, Alda.'

'You have quite spoilt Sibby. I would not have such a servant on any account. I'm sure I don't know why the tea was so early, either.

Cherry ordered it, I believe.'

'Yes,' said Cherry, 'because Felix came in so hot and tired.'

'He could have waited, I suppose,' began Alda; but Wilmet was asking anxiously, 'Is he so very tired? Where is he? I was afraid he would be knocked up, he looked so pale when he set off.'

'He is gone to write out his notes,' said Cherry; 'I think he is rested now. And, Mettie,' she added, knowing that he had rather not have to begin the subject again,' I am glad to say he has been to see Dr. Lee. And he says that his lungs are all safe, only he must be careful, and go away for a change.'

'Just as I say,' exclaimed Alda; 'no one can be well, living in such a hole! When are we to go?'

'My dear Alda,' said Wilmet, 'you forget. No one can possibly go but Felix; and it will be hard enough to manage for him.'

'Then I do think it is very selfish in him,' said Alda, 'when every one of us wants change! I'm as languid as possible; and look at Cherry.'

Felix selfish! Even Wilmet could not stand that, and answered with her most severely gentle manner, 'Nothing but necessity will induce Felix to do so. I beg you will say nothing of the sort again.'

Cherry was alarmed lest Wilmet might not be convinced of the necessity, and might think more of present pounds than future health; but in fact, Wilmet was as much relieved as Cherry herself by the medical opinion, for she had charged the failure of health entirely to the const.i.tution instead of the heart, and moreover never was troubled with misgivings and heart-sinkings for the future. So, as for a needful and infallible cure, she set herself to arrange, writing again to Abednego Tripp, the Vale Leston clerk, whose possession of a market boat kept him conversant with Ewmouth, and who recommended rooms in the house of a former servant at the Rectory who had married a sailor.

Felix only waited to put his business in train, and make over Theodore to the care of Clement, who had just come home from Cambridge. The quant.i.ty of work and bustle had not been beneficial, and his sisters did not feel at all happy in sending him off by himself; while Alda was inclined to think the time a particularly cruel one, just as all the most unquiet spirits of the household would be coming home for the holidays, and his authority would be most wanted.

However, Wilmet was free first of all, and she was a more efficient guardian of the peace than ever Felix could be downstairs. Lance was to come on the evening of the 26th of June, after the examination for the exhibition, which, as he had told every one, he was quite sure not to gain. And then what was to be done with him, small and boyish as he still was?

The question was sighed over on that day by the three sisters as they sat endeavouring to be cool, and looking out at the glowing street where the few pa.s.sengers seemed to be crawling like flies on a window-pane.

Presently a rather hesitating knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Mr. Froggatt, ushering in no other than Mr. Harewood.

In the moment of shaking hands, Cherry had foreboded enough to set her pulses throbbing so violently as to deafen her ears. Lance had failed, had run away in despair, to go to Fulbert rather than be a burthen; Felix would go in search of him--break a blood-vessel--and--

Nay--what was it? Lance! It really was Lance! Was not Wilmet talking of going! Mr. Harewood saying something about trains? She made a great effort to clear her senses, and the first thing she really distinguished was Wilmet saying, 'Thank you, I will put a few things together.'

Then she hurried away, and Cherry found Mr. Froggatt standing over her, saying kindly, 'Dear Miss Geraldine, don't be alarmed. There is often no bad result.'

'How was it? I don't understand,' said Alda.

Mr. Harewood owned himself not perfectly informed, but he feared the trouble had been in great part occasioned by his own poor boy William's carelessness. The two boys had strolled out the evening before, along the bank of the river, and had compared the copies of verses which were to be shown up at the examination. Afterwards they had bathed, and Will had left his verses meantime in the hollow of a tree, never remembering them till he found himself in his place in the Cathedral on the very morning of the examination. When he came out, not only did his duties as senior chorister chain him to the spot, but he had put off to the last moment the fair copying of his algebraic exercises, and his chance of the exhibition was as good as lost (the very loop-hole that Robina had predicted his carelessness would make), had not Lance, whose preparations were all made, as soon as he understood the difficulty, dashed headlong off, bare-headed as he stood at the school door, without waiting to fetch his cap, and laid the verses on his rival's desk just in time for them to be shown up. He had been absent about twenty minutes, and had scarcely been missed; but when his turn came, a few moments later, to bring his papers to the examiners, as soon as he stood up, he staggered, gazed round, cried out, and fell forward on his desk insensible. A doctor, who like Mr. Harewood himself had been present to hear a son's performance, had helped to raise him, and p.r.o.nounced it to be a case of sunstroke; nor, when, half an hour later, the librarian set off to fetch his sister, had there been any sign of consciousness.

Mr. Harewood tried to be calm, but he was evidently in great distress; and Mr. Froggatt could not restrain large tears from dropping.

As to Cherry, she could only tremble, unable to speak or cry; and Mr.

Froggatt called out to Alda to do something for her, when Alda said she would call Wilmet, which made Cherry burst out with 'Don't, don't!' and shudder the more with tearless sobs; but happily, Clement coming down, fetched her remedies, and did more by whispering a few kind words of hope and comfort.

He was going with Wilmet, who was as usual the self-possessed one; and while pa.s.sively allowing Mr. Froggatt to give her biscuits and even wine, she left her few parting directions. 'Alda, take care of them all.--Stella, try to keep Tedo happy.--Cherry, don't give way and fancy things.--Above all, don't write to Felix! He must not be hurried home without necessity. I could telegraph if there was--' and there her steady voice faltered, she drew down her veil and turned to walk to the station, Clement carrying her bag, and Mr. Froggatt accompanying them to the train.

Very little was said on the way, before they reached the town whose last a.s.sociations were so joyous. Mr. Harewood would have given Wilmet his arm, dreading the tidings that might meet her; but she was walking straight on, with head erect, as though neither needing nor seeking support.

They reached the low wicket-door of the Bailey, and as they entered the little court and pa.s.sed the window, they saw that people were still standing about the bed in the corner. Everything was open, to admit such air as might stir that sultry heat. Some one came to the door, and said, 'No change.'

Then Wilmet and Clement advanced to the narrow old dark oak bed, and Mrs. Harewood made way for them, fresh tears starting at their presence. There he lay, their bright agile boy, with eyes half closed and fixed, and circled half way down his cheeks with livid purple, like bruises, the purple lips emitting a heavy breath, his crest of sunny hair hanging dank with the melting of the ice on his head.

Clement's lips trembled, and he dropped on his knees, hiding his face and stifling his sobs in his hands. Wilmet, after looking for permission to a gentleman at the foot of the bed, whom she took for the doctor, laid her hand on the helpless fingers, and bent to kiss the brow, saying softly and steadily, 'Lance, dear Lancey!'

The eyelids moved, the hand closed, there was a struggling stifled utterance: 'Wilmet, Wilmet, bring me back! Oh, bring me back!'

She looked up, and read in the watchers' faces that they were glad.

'Yes, dear Lance,' she said, in her soft steady voice, 'I am here.

You will soon be better.'

He clung to her, as if blindly struggling with some terrible oppression, and the effort ended in violent sickness, exhausting him into unconsciousness again; but just then the real doctor came in, having been summoned by a message at the first symptom of change from the state of stupor. At the same time the Cathedral bell began to ring for evening prayer, and Lance at once was roused to endeavour to obey it, and when he was gently held back, murmured on about finding the places, and seeing Bill was not late. Mr. Harewood had to go, but whispered that he would ask the prayers of the congregation. It was comfortable to remember that Lance was thought of there, when, as the deep roll of the organ vibrated round the building, psalm, chant, anthem, and response came thronging thick and confusedly on those unconscious lips.

Dr. Manby, however, told Wilmet not to be too much alarmed at this delirium, for the most immediate danger had pa.s.sed when the lethargy had given way, and that though fever was probably setting in, there was fair hope that so healthy a boy would be able to struggle through it without permanent harm. There was a gentleness and consideration in his manner quite new to her after her dealings with Mr. Rugg, and she felt at the same time that he was not concealing the truth from her. She told how it was with her eldest brother, asking whether he ought to be sent for; and it was a great lightening of present fear to be told that there was now no need for haste, and that any change for the worse would give full time to bring him; moreover, that new faces were to be avoided. Should a nurse be sent from the hospital?

Wilmet raised her steady sensible eyes, and said she could manage, she was well used to nursing.

'I see you are,' he answered, well satisfied, since there were besides the Precentor's housekeeper, who was used to act as matron to the boarding choir-boys, and apparently an unlimited power of Harewoods.

As to the place, Lance had at first been carried to his own bed, and even if there had been a regular infirmary, he was in no state to bear being moved. The other boys' goods had been removed, and they all were going home that evening; so that it was as cool and as quiet a place as could be had, since there was no doubt that the sounds from the Cathedral would be hushed for so critical a case.

Indeed, just as Dr. Manby had said this, both the Dean and the Precentor were seen coming through the Bailey on the way out of church to ask after the patient; and the former promised Wilmet that the bells and organ should both be silenced, and that the daily service should be in the Lady Chapel.

It appeared there had been little but the instrumental music that evening, and strangers who had heard the praises of the Minsterham choir must have been disappointed; for the psalms so entirely overcame the senior chorister that he could do nothing but sob, and at last was fain to stuff half the sleeve of his surplice into his mouth to hinder a howl such as the least of the boys actually burst out with. Most of the other lads were far past singing, and even two or three of the men, and such voices as did uplift themselves were none of the best or clearest.

That poor senior chorister--he crept back after his father into the room. It was his first entrance, for he had been kept all day at the examination, with what power of attention may be guessed; and when some half-recognition of him set the sufferer off into wanderings that showed habitual vigilance over his carelessness, he was so much distressed that he rushed out, and was heard crying so piteously in the court, that his mother went out to hush and comfort him. Never strong, the shock, anxiety, and exertion had so worn her out, that her family would not let her come back; but their attention to the nurses did not relax--they were viewed as guests both by Mr. Beccles and the Harewoods; and when it was found that neither would come away to another house to dine, a little table was prepared in the court, close to the door, and the sister and brother, coaxed one by one, and made to eat and drink; while, as Clement could not bear to go home, a note was written, the delivery of which to the sisters Mr. Beccles undertook to secure. All the evening, Mr. Harewood or his eldest son, the engineer captain, the same whom Wilmet had taken for the doctor, sat at the other end of the room; while Lance lay, sometimes babbling school tasks mixed with anthems and hymns, sometimes in something between sleep and torpor, but always moaning and fevered.

This strange temporary infirmary, of which Wilmet was made free, consisted of two long narrow rooms, each with a row of quaint black oak beds and presses, between the double row of narrow lattice windows, looking into the court on one side, and the cloister on the other. There was a smaller room dividing these two chambers, and opening into both, which the under-master had vacated, and where the matron installed Miss Underwood's little bag.

Clement was a good deal impressed with the place, in the grand quiet shadow of the old Cathedral; and the room itself told much of his brother's daily life, in his own little section of it. The deep window-seat and old oak chest were loaded with piles of Punch, sheets of music, school-books, and grotesque sketches; bat, hockey- stick, and fishing-rod were in the corner; trencher cap and little black gown hung on their peg on the white-washed walls, and pinned beside them lists of the week's music, school-work, etc. In the corner by the press was a little rough deal table, covered with an old white shawl that Clement remembered as his mother's; and on it lay Lance's old brown Bible, the Prayer-book given him by the Bishop, Steps to the Altar, and Ken's Manual; over it hung the photograph of his father, and next above, an illumination of Cherry's, 'The joy of the LORD is your strength;' while above was a little print of the Good Shepherd. Nor was it a small testimony to the boy who had been senior in the room, that Clement found one or two other such little tables, evidently for private prayer. He had never believed such things could be out of St. Matthew's, nor where the books were not more of his own exclusive type than were Lance's; and perhaps there was some repentance for harsh judgment in his spirit as he knelt on by that little table long after Mr. Harewood, near midnight, had read a few prayers and gone to his house.

When Clement stood up, his sister made him lie down, as well as his long legs would permit, on one of the other beds, where he soon fell asleep; while she sat on, where she could see the spire rising aloft into the pale blue of the summer night's sky, while the perfect stillness was only broken by the quarterly chiming of the clock, re- echoed from its fellow in the town-hall. Every window and door was open, but the air was heated and oppressive till the early dewy coolness before dawn crept in, making her bend over Lance to cover him less slightly. Then she met his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, but with himself in them.

'Wilmet, is that you?' he said, in a wondering tone.

'Yes, here I am, dear Lance.'

'Is it night or morning?'

'Morning. There, it is striking three-quarters past two.'

'Oh!' a long sigh. 'I'm so thirsty!'