The Twickenham Peerage Part 31

'Nothing! You don't mean that! You don't mean that you didn't get an answer out of him after all! Then hang me if I don't go right straight back.'

'I mean that he knows nothing. At least that's what he says.'

'And do you believe him?'

Then I was just the silly I expected. I sat down at the table and cried as if I'd nothing else to do. Presently I felt a hand upon my shoulder. It was Mr. FitzHoward.

'Now then, none of that! Do you hear? Stop it! It's only my nonsense.

I exaggerate; it's a professional habit I've got into. It's a kind of second nature; so that people who don't know me think that I mean more than I really do. I believe your husband's as sound and well at this moment as I am.'

'I don't know what to believe.'

'But I do; don't I tell you that he's as sound and well as I am?'

'First you say one thing, and then you say another.'

'That's me; that's my character; you've hit it off exactly; you've got to believe what I say last. That's where I'm truthful; at the end.

This is the end; I tell you that there's no more the matter with your husband than there is with me. As for Mr. John Smith, he gave me a touch of the needle yesterday, so I thought I'd let him have a touch of it in his turn; that's the solid fact. As for your husband--if you'll kindly give me your attention when you've finished, Mrs.

Merrett--who's the most remarkable man I ever had the pleasure of meeting, the marvel of the age--though I say it to his wife--I have an inner conviction here!'--I could hear him beating his hand against his side--'that he's as sound as a bell, in the enjoyment of perfect health, and that he's simply gone on one of those periodical little jaunts you were telling me of. Now, Mrs. Merrett, where are those kids of yours?'

'They're with Mrs. Ordish--at No. 17.'

'Then I'll go to No. 17, and fetch them from Mrs. Ordish.'

'I should be much obliged to you if you would.'

'I am now going to fetch them. There's only one remark I have to make, and that is that I do hope that you're not going to wring the feelings of those tenderhearted infants by letting them see their mother with a red nose.'

When he went, I hurried upstairs, and I took my hat and jacket off, and washed my face, and made myself stop. Luckily he didn't come back with them directly, so that I had a chance of trying to look decent.

And when they did come the children were laden with sweets, and cakes, and toys which he'd been buying them. They came rushing to me with their new belongings, looking that sweet and pretty--the darlings!

'Now, Mrs. Merrett, Miss Merrett and Master Merrett have asked me to come to tea. I don't know if you endorse their invitation, but I appeal to them in your presence. Haven't you asked me to come to tea?'

They burst out both together in a chorus of exclamations.

'Yes! yes! Oh, mother, can't he come to tea?'

So he came to tea. You would never have thought he was the same man, to listen to the jokes he made. He kept them laughing all the time.

And sometimes I had to smile. And after tea the games he played with them! I never did meet any one who knew such a number of games. And just the very ones for children.

Of course, I knew what he was doing it for; and when he was going I told him so.

'I thank you very much, Mr. FitzHoward, for being so kind to the children, and to me.'

'Kind!' he said. 'Oh, yes, there's a lot of kindness about a man of my professional experience. Hard as nails that kind of thing makes you; hard as nails. I tell you what it is, Mrs. Merrett; you've the two cleverest and sweetest and prettiest children I've ever come across, bar none. Not that I wonder at it with such a mother as they've got. I envy you; and I envy them. But there--some people have all the luck.'

What he meant I can't say; some nonsense, I've no doubt. But whatever it was it seemed to do me good. As I put the children to bed I felt more cheerful than I had done all day. Until all at once Jimmy asked me when Daddy was coming home. Before I knew it the tears were in my eyes. It's strange how close they sometimes are; and that, in a manner of speaking, without your suspecting they're within a mile. Especially when you're weak and silly. I caught him in my arms, and said:

'Jimmy, you must ask G.o.d to send him soon.'

'But, mother, I'm always asking G.o.d to send him soon.'

That finished me. I was that stupid. I dare say I should have cried myself ill if it hadn't been that I found that I was frightening the children. They tried to comfort me; and when they found they couldn't, they started crying too. So then, because I couldn't bear to see them crying, I stopped. And we all knelt down by their bedside, and prayed G.o.d send home Daddy soon.

When I had put them into bed--and as soon as they were between the sheets they were asleep, the dears!--down I went upon my knees again and prayed G.o.d send me James. When I was a girl and went to Sunday-school, I remember hearing teacher talk about wrestling with G.o.d in prayer. I never knew what she meant until that night. If ever a poor, ignorant, helpless woman wrestled with her Maker that He might be merciful, and send back to her her man, I was that woman then. I'd been wicked; I knew that I'd been wicked; but it wasn't for want of trying to be good, and oh! I felt if He'd only send me James I would be good.

Cry! It wore me out. I cried till I thought that there wouldn't be anything left of me. I was so tired. And yet when I got into bed it was ever so long before I could sleep. And as soon as I did I started to dream. Oh, dear, such dreams! They came crowding on me, one after another: I couldn't get away from them. And all at once I thought I heard James call to me. It was as clear as clear could be.

I woke with a start, and sat up in bed and listened. Was it in the house, or was it in the street? I was sure it was his voice. I should know it among ten thousand. It came again through the night.

'Mary! Mary!'

Where was he? What did it mean? Where could it be? It seemed to come from afar off. I got from between the sheets, and stood upon the bed, trembling so that I could hardly stand. It came again.

'Mary! Mary!'

What was I to do? I couldn't think. What did he want? I knew he wanted something, but what? I tried to collect my senses. They were all in a whirl. What did he mean by calling me, like that, in the night, from afar? The dreadful part was that I couldn't move; now that I stood there I couldn't move. What did it mean? What was there wrong?

He called again. And this time there was in his voice such fear, such pleading, and such pain, that my heart seemed to turn to ice inside me.

'Mary! Mary!'

'James! James!' I cried. 'I'm coming to you, James? Where are you? Oh, tell me where you are, that I can come.'

CHAPTER XIV

HELPING TO MAKE THE PUDDING

I was lying outside the bed, and it was broad day. I couldn't think what had happened. Then I remembered the voice. Had I heard it? Had James called to me? Or was it a dream? If so it was the strangest dream ever heard of. The door opened and the children came running in.

So soon as they were old enough James never would let them sleep in the same room with us. So long as he was there I didn't mind; but when he wasn't I wanted them for company. Yet I felt that I couldn't do what he didn't like. But every morning, as soon as they were awake, they'd come rushing in to me. And that was something. But now that the mornings were getting colder I wasn't sure that it was wise: though I hadn't the heart to stop them, for I did love to have them for a few minutes in my arms with me in bed. And they loved to come. Somehow it seemed to make the day have a better beginning.

It was that day all the strange things began to happen. Though I had no notion of anything of the kind as I listened to the children's chatter. We'd finished breakfast some time. I'd washed the things, and tidied up the place. Indeed I'd been round the corner to get the dinner. Liver and bacon we were going to have--the children are so fond of the gravy--and a baked rice pudding. I had just set Jimmy down to table and he was starting to learn his letters. There are some who say he ought to go to school: but I don't hold with children going to school so young, away from their mother, nor, I am thankful to say, does James either. I can give them all the teaching he wants. I've the time and I've the will; and I'm scholar enough for that. The way that boy picks up things is wonderful. He's a deal quicker than me--which perhaps isn't saying much. But he'll read before some of them who go to school--and so I can tell them. He knows his letters quite well, both large and small, and he can make out little words. And before long I'm going to start him writing.

As I was saying, I'd set him down to table with his book, and Pollie--little pet!--was drawing what she calls 'Injuns,' on her slate. It was Jimmy started her doing that; that boy's full of Indians; where he got them from I can't think. And I was getting out my mending, of which there always does seem plenty, when there came a knock at the door. We were in the parlour--for James never will have us in the kitchen more than can be helped. He says if a parlour's not for living in, what's it for?

'Who's that?' I wondered. 'I do hope it's none of the neighbours come gossiping just as Jimmy's starting reading'--for the neighbours round our part will gossip--'and in particular I do hope it isn't that FitzHoward.'

It wasn't either. When I saw who it was you might, as the saying is, have knocked me down with a feather.

It was the lady who'd asked me all the questions at Mr. Howarth's.

Dressed that beautiful she was like a picture. The sight of her made me forget my manners. I stared, feeling as if I could hardly believe my eyes.

'You seem surprised,' she said. Surprise wasn't the word! 'I hope I haven't arrived at an inconvenient hour. May I come in?'

'Of course, miss; and welcome.'