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Katherine Liddell had never spent so uneasy a night, save when her mother had been ill. Her nerves were on the stretch, her ears painfully watchful for the smallest sound. What if the desolate old man should pass away, alone and unaided, in the darkness of night! The sense of responsibility was almost too much for her. If she could have her mother at her side she would fear nothing. She was up early, thankful to see daylight, and eager for Mrs. Knapp's report of her uncle.
Generally the old man was afoot betimes, and despised the luxury of warm water. This morning Mrs. Knapp had to knock at his door, as he was not moving, and after a brief interview returned to inform Katherine that Mr. Liddell grumbled at her for being up too early, and on hearing that it was half past eight, said she had better bring him a cup of tea.
Katherine carried it to him herself. He took very little notice of her, but said he would get up presently and hear the papers read .
When she came back with some jelly, for which she had sent to the nearest confectioner, he ate it without comment, and told her she might go.
It was a miserable morning, but about noon, to her great delight, she saw Mr. Newton opening the garden gate. She flew to admit him.
"I am so thankful you have come!"
"How is Mr. Liddell?"
"He seems quite himself this morning, except that he is inclined to stay in bed."
"He must see a doctor," said Mr. Newton, speaking in a low voice and turning into the parlor. "We must try and keep him alive and in his senses for every reason. I am glad he is still in bed; it will give me an excuse for urging him to take advice, for of course I shall not mention your note."
"No pray do not. He evidently does not like to be thought ill."
"Pray how long have you been here—nearly a month? Yes, I thought so. I cannot compliment you on your looks. How do you think you have been getting on with our friend?"
"Not very well, I fear," said Katherine, shaking her head. "He rarely speaks to me, except to give some order or ask some necessary question. Yet he does not speak roughly or crossly, as he does to Mrs. Knapp; and something I cannot define in his voice, even in his cold eyes, tells me he is growing used to my presence, and that he does not dislike it."
"Well, I should think not, Miss Liddell," said the precise lawyer, politely. "I trust time may be given to him to recognize the claims of kindred and of merit. Pray ask him if he will see me, and in the mean time please send a note to Dr. Brown—a very respectable practitioner, who lives not far; ask him to come at once. I must persuade Mr. Liddell to see him, and if possible while I am present."
The old man showed no surprise at Mr. Newton's presence; it was almost time for his monthly visit, and as he brought a small sum of money with him, the result of some minor payments, he was very welcome.
Katherine, immensely relieved, sat trying to work in the front parlor, but really watching for the doctor. Would her uncle see him? and if not, ought she still to undertake the responsibility of such a charge?
At last he arrived, a staid, thoughtful-looking man; and before he had time to do more than exchange a few words with her, Mr. Newton appeared and carried him off to see the patient.
They seemed a long time gone; and when they returned the doctor wrote a prescription—a very simple tonic, he said. "What your uncle needs, Miss Liddell," he said, "is constant nourishment. He is exceedingly weak; the action of the heart is feeble, the whole system starved. You must get him to take all the food you can, and some good wine—Burgundy if possible. He had better get up. There is really no organic disease, but he is very low. He ought to have some one in his room at night."
"It will be difficult to manage that," said Mr. Newton.
"I shall look in to-morrow about this time," said the doctor, and hurried away.
"How have you contrived to make him hear reason?" asked Katherine, eagerly.
"I took the law into my own hands, for one thing, and I suggested a powerful motive for living on. I reminded him that he and another old gentleman are the only survivors in a 'Tontine,' and that he must try to outlive him. So the cost of doctor, medicine, etc., etc., ought to be considered as an investment. Do not fail to get him all possible nourishment. If he rebels, send for me."
"I will indeed. I am almost afraid to stay here alone. Might I not have my mother with me?"
"Do not think of it"—earnestly. "I was going to say that I believe you are decidedly gaining on your uncle; but the intrusion of Mrs. Frederic Liddell yesterday was very unfortunate. My rather peculiar client is impressed with the idea that you invited her."
"Indeed I did not!" cried Katherine.
"I did not suppose you did, but her appearance seems to have given Mr. Liddell a shock." Mr. Newton paused, and then asked in a slow tone, as if thinking hard, "What was your sister-in-law's maiden name?"
"Sandford," said Katherine.
"Sandford? That is rather a curious coincidence. The late Mrs. John Liddell was a Miss Sandford."
"Is she dead, then?"
"Yes; she died eight or nine years ago."
"Could they have been related?"
"Possibly. Some likeness seems to have struck your uncle."
There was a short silence, and Mr. Newton resumed. "I trust you do not find your stay here too trying? I consider it very important that you should persevere, though it is only right to tell you that Mr. Liddell has made a will—not a just one, in my opinion—and it is extremely unlikely he will ever change it."
"That does not really affect me. Of course I should be very glad if he chose to leave anything to my mother or myself, but I shall do my best for him under any circumstances. Besides, I have a sort of desire to make him speak to me and like me—perhaps it is vanity—quite apart from a sense of duty. He is so like a frozen man!"
"Try, try by all means, my dear young lady."
"What I do not like is the hour or half hour after market. The wolfish greed by which he clutches the change I bring back, the glare in his eyes, the fierce eagerness with which he asks the price of everything—he is not human at such times, and I almost fear him."
"It is a dreadful picture, but perhaps the details may soften in time."
"How shall I get money for all he wants?" asked Katherine, anxiously.
"I shall impress upon Mr. Liddell the necessity of his case, and even make out that the good things he requires cost more than they do. I will beg him to allow me to supply the money during his indisposition and enter it in his account. Here, I will give you five pounds while we are alone."
"Thank you so much! You see I dare not get into debt. I will keep a careful account of all expenditure, and ask him—my uncle, I mean—not to give me any money, then there will be no confusion.
"Very well. I will go back to him now. He will be almost ready to come in here. Write to me frequently. I shall try to look in to-morrow for a few minutes."
Katherine stirred the fire, and placed a threadbare footstool before the invalid's easy-chair, thanking Heaven in her heart for sending her such an ally as the friendly lawyer.
Then Mr. Liddell appeared, leaning on Newton's arm, and not looking much worse than usual, Katherine thought. He took no notice of her until she put the footstool under his feet; then, wonderful to relate, he looked down into her grave, kindly face and smiled, not bitterly or cynically, but as if, on the whole, pleased to see her. He seemed a little breathless, yet he soon began to speak to Newton as if in continuation of their previous conversation—"And is Fergusson really a year younger than I am?"
"Yes, quite a year, I should say, and he takes great care of himself. I do not think he has really so good a constitution as you have, but he takes everything that is strengthening—good wine, turtle soup, and I do not know what."
"Ah, indeed!" returned Mr. Liddell, thoughtfully.
"I have been explaining to Mr. Liddell," said the lawyer, turning to Katherine, "that it would be well to let me give you the house-keeping money for the present, so that he need not be troubled about anything except to get well; and when well, my dear sir, you really must go out. Fresh air—"
"Fresh fiddle-sticks," interrupted the old man; "I have been well for years without going out, and I'll not begin now. I'll give in to everything else; only, if I am obliged to take costly food as a medicine, I expect the rest of the household to live as carefully as ever."
"I shall do my best, uncle," said Katherine, softly.
After a little more conversation the lawyer took his leave, and then Katherine applied herself to read the papers which had been neglected.
It was not till toward evening she was able to write a few lines to her mother describing Mr. Liddell's illness, and begging she would come to see her on Saturday, as she (Katherine) could not absent herself while her uncle was so unwell.
After this things went on much as usual, only Mr. Liddell never resumed his habits of early rising; he was a shade less cold too, though at times terribly irritable.
He took the food prepared for him obediently enough, but with evident want of appetite, rarely finishing what was provided.
Mr. Newton generally called every week, and Katherine wrote to him besides; she was strict in insisting on the audit of her accounts, which the accurate lawyer sometimes praised. By judicious accounts of Fergusson, the other surviving member of the Tontine, he managed to keep his client in tolerable order. Katherine, though grateful to him for his friendly help, little knew how strenuously he strove to lengthen the old miser's days, hoping he would make some provision for his niece, while he dared not offer any suggestion on the subject, lest it should produce an effect contrary to what he desired.
Mrs. Fred Liddell was bitterly disappointed by the result of her visit to the rich uncle. A good deal, indeed, hung upon it. A wealthy succession was certainly a thing to be devoutly wished for in itself, but the sharp little widow felt that provision for her boys and a dowry for herself meant marriage, if she chose, with Colonel Ormonde.
And she very decidedly did wish it. Her imagination, which was vivid enough of its kind, was captivated by the Colonel's imposing "bow-wow" manner, the idea of a country place—an old family place too—by his diamond ring and florid compliments, his self-satisfied fastidiousness and his social position. In short, to her he seemed a fashionable hero; but she was quite sure he never would hamper himself with two little portionless boys. Ada Liddell was by no means unkind to her children; she was ready to pet them when they met, and give them what did not cost her too much; but she considered them a terrible disadvantage, and herself a most generous and devoted mother.
The day after she had been so ignominiously expelled from John Liddell's house she put on the prettiest thing she possessed in the way of a bonnet—a contrivance of black lace and violets—and having inspected the turn-out of the children's maid in her best go-to-meeting attire, also the putting on of the boys' newest sailor suits, the curling of their hair, and many minor details, she sallied forth across Kensington Gardens to the ride, feeling tolerably sure that, in consequence of a hint she had dropped a day or two before, when taking afternoon tea in Mrs. Burnett's drawing-room, Colonel Ormonde would probably be amongst the riders on his powerful chestnut, ready to receive her report. She was quite sure he was very much smitten, and eager to know what her chances with old Liddell might be; and as her mother-in-law had a bad habit of presiding over her own tea-table, it would be more convenient to talk with her gay Lothario in the Park.
Many admiring glances were cast upon the pretty little woman in becoming half-mourning, with the two golden-haired, sweet-looking children and their trim maid, which did not escape their object, and put her into excellent spirits. She felt she had gone forth conquering and to conquer. About half-way down the row she recognized a well-known figure on a mighty horse, who cantered up to where she stood, followed by a groom.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Liddell; I thought this piece of fine weather would tempt you out," cried Colonel Ormonde, dismounting and throwing his rein to the groom, who led away the horse as if in obedience to some previously given command. "I protest you are a most tantalizing little woman!" he exclaimed, when they had shaken hands and he had patted the children's heads. "I have been looking for you this half-hour. Where did you hide yourself?"
"I did not hide myself. I am dying to tell you about my uncle."
"Ah! was he all your prophetic soul painted him?"
"He was, and a good deal more. He is quite an ogre, and lives in a miserable hovel. How Katherine can degrade herself by grovelling there with him for the sake of what she can get passes my understanding."
"Deuced plucky, sensible girl! She is quite right to stick to the old boy. Hope she will get his cash. Gad! with her eyes and his thousands, she'd rouse up society!"
"Well, I believe she intends to have them all. She was quite vexed at my going over to see the ogre, and I think has prejudiced him against my poor darling boys, for as soon as he saw them he called out that he could not receive any one, that he was ill and nervous. But I smiled my very best smile, and said I had come to introduce myself, and I hoped he would let me have a little talk with him. The poor old ogre looked at me rather kindly and earnestly when I said that, and I really do think he would have listened to me, but my sister-in-law would make me come away, as if the sight of me was enough to frighten a horse from his oats; so somehow we got hustled upstairs, and there was an end of it."
"Ah, Mrs. Liddell, you ought not to have allowed yourself to be outmanœuvred," cried the Colonel, who greatly enjoyed irritating his pretty little friend. "Your belle-sœur (as she really is) is too many for you. Don't you give up; try again when the adorable Katherine is out of the way."
"I fully intend to do so, I assure you," cried Mrs. Frederic, her eyes sparkling, her heart beating with vexation, but determined to keep up the illusion of ingratiating herself with the miserly uncle. "Pray remember this is only a first attempt."
"I am sure you have my devout wishes for your success. How this wretched old hunk can resist such eyes, such a smile, as yours, is beyond my comprehension. If such a niece attacked me , I should surrender at the first demand."
"I don't think you would"—a little tartly. "I think you have as keen a regard for your own interest as most men."
"I am sure you would despise me if I had not, and the idea of being despised by you is intolerable."
"You know I do not"—very softly. "But it is time I turned and went toward home."
"Nonsense, my dear Mrs. Liddell! or, if you will turn, let it be round Kensington Gardens. Do you know, I am going to Scotland next week, to Sir Ralph's moor; then I expect a party to meet Errington at my own place early in September; so I shall not have many chances of seeing you until I run up just before Christmas. Now I am going to ask a great favor. It's so hard to get a word with you except under the Argus eyes of that mother-in-law of yours."
"What can it be?" opening her eyes.
"Come with me to see this play they have been giving at the Adelphi. I have never had a spare evening to see it. We'll leave early, and have a snug little supper at Verey's, and I'll see you home."
"It would be delightful, but out of the question, I am afraid: Mrs. Liddell has such severe ideas, and I dare not offend her."
"Why need she know anything about it? Say—oh, anything —that you are going with the Burnetts: they have gone to the Italian lakes, but I don't suppose she knows."
The temptation was great, but the little widow was no fool in some ways. She saw her way to make something of an impression on her worldly admirer.
"No, Colonel Ormonde," she said, shaking her head, while she permitted the "suspicious moisture" to gather in her eyes. "It would indeed be a treat to a poor little recluse like me, but though there is not a bit of harm in it, or you would not ask me, I am sure, I must not offend my mother-in-law; and though Heaven knows I am not straight-laced, I never will tell stories or act deceitfully if I can help it; that is my only strong point, which has to make up for a thousand weak ones."
Colonel Ormonde looked at her with amazement; her greatest charm to men such as he was her dolliness, and this was a new departure.
"Well," he said, in his most insinuating tones, "I thought you might have granted so much to an old friend and faithful admirer like myself. There is no great harm in my little plan."
"Certainly not, but you see I must hold on to my mother-in-law: she is my only real stay. While pleasant and friendly as you are, my dear Colonel"—with a pretty little toss of her head—"you will go off shooting, or hunting, or Heaven knows what, and it is quite possible I may never see your face again."
"Oh, by George! you will not get rid of me so easily," cried Ormonde, a good deal taken back.
"I shall be very glad to see you if you do turn up again," said Mrs. Liddell, graciously. "So as this will probably be the last time I shall see you for some months, pray tell me some amusing gossip."
But gossip did not seem to come readily to Colonel Ormonde; nevertheless they made a tour of the gardens in desultory conversation, till Mrs. Liddell stopped decidedly, and bade him adieu.
"At last," said the cautious ex-dragoon, "you will write and tell me how you get on with this amiable old relative of yours."
"I shall be very pleased to report progress, if you care to write and ask me, and tell me your whereabouts."
"Then I suppose it is to be good-by?" said Ormonde, almost sentimentally. "You are treating me devilishly ill."
"I do not see that." Here the boys came running up, at a signal from their mother.
"Well, my fine fellow," said Ormonde, laying his hand on Cecil's shoulder, "so you went to see your old uncle. Did he try to eat you?"
"No; but he is a nasty cross old man. He wouldn't speak a word to mammy, but took his stick and hobbled away."
"Yes, he is a wicked man, and I am afraid he will hurt auntie," put in Charlie.
Colonel Ormonde laughed rather more than the mother liked. "I think you may trust 'auntie' to take care of herself.—So you forced the old boy to retreat? What awful stories your sister-in-law must have told of you!" to Mrs. Liddell.
She was greatly annoyed, but, urged by all-powerful self-interest, she maintained a smooth face, and answered, "Oh yes, when Katherine kept worrying about our disturbing her uncle, the poor old man got up and left the room."
"Well, you must turn her flank, and be sure to let me know how matters progress. I suppose you will be here all the autumn?"
"I should think so; small chance of my going out of town," she returned, bitterly, and the words had scarce left her lips before she felt she had made a mistake. Men hate to be bothered with the discomforts of others.
The result was that Colonel Ormonde cut short his adieux, and parted from her with less regret than he felt five minutes before.
The young widow walked smartly back, holding her eldest boy's hand, and administered a sharp rebuke to him for talking too much. To which Cecil replied that he had only answered when he was spoken to. This elicited a scolding for his impertinence, and produced further tart answers from the fluent young gentleman, which ended by his being dismissed in a fury to Jane, vice Charles, promoted to walk beside mamma.
As may be supposed, Mrs. Liddell lost no time about answering her daughter's note in person. In truth, toward the end of a week's separation she generally began to hunger painfully for a sight of her Katie's face, to feel the clasp of her soft arms, and to this was added in the present instance serious uneasiness respecting the strain to which her sense of responsibility as nurse as well as housekeeper must subject so inexperienced a creature.
It was rather late in the afternoon when Mrs. Liddell reached Legrave Crescent, and the servant showed her into the front parlor at once. Katherine almost feared to draw her uncle's attention to the visitor. He had had all the papers read to him, and even asked for some articles to be read a second time; now after his dinner he seemed to doze. If he had not noticed Mrs. Liddell's entry she had perhaps better take her away upstairs at once, but while she thought she sprang to her and locked her in a close, silent embrace.
Turning from her, he saw that Mr. Liddell's eyes were open and fixed upon them, and she said, softly: "I am sorry you have been disturbed. I shall take my mother to my room; perhaps if you want anything you will ring for me."
"I will," he returned; and Mrs. Liddell thought his tone a little less harsh than usual. "I said you might come and see your daughter when you like," he added, "and I repeat it. You have brought her up more usefully than I expected." Having spoken, he leaned his head back wearily and closed his eyes.
"I am pleased to hear you say so," returned Mrs. Liddell, quietly, and immediately followed her daughter out of the room.
"Oh, darling mother, I am so delighted to have you here all to myself! It is even better than going home," cried Kate, when they were safe in her own special chamber. "But you are looking pale and worn and thin— so much thinner!"
"That is an improvement, Katherine," returned Mrs. Liddell; "I shall look all the younger."
"Ah! but your face looks older, dear. What has been worrying you? Has Ada—"
"Ada has never worried me, as you know, Katie," interrupted Mrs. Liddell. "She is not exactly the companion I should choose for every day of my life, but she has always been kind and nice with me."
"Oh, she is not bad, and she would be clever if she managed to make you quarrel. I am quite different. Now I must get you some tea. Pray look round while I am gone, and see how comfortable it is;" and Katherine hurried away.
She soon returned, followed by Mrs. Knapp, who was glad to carry up the tea-tray to the pleasant, sensible lady who had engaged her for what proved to be not an uncomfortable situation. When, after a few civil words, she retired, with what delight and tender care Katie waited on her mother, putting a cushion at her back and a footstool under her feet, remembering her taste in sugar, her little weakness for cream!
"It was very warm in the omnibus, I suppose, for you are looking better already."
"I am better; but, Katherine, your uncle is curiously changed. It is not so much that he looks ill, but by comparison so alarmingly amiable."
"Well, he is less appalling than he was, and I have grown wonderfully accustomed to him. But for the monotony, it is not so bad as I expected, and it will be better now, as Mr. Newton is to give me the weekly money. I think my uncle is trying to live."
"Poor man! he has little to live for," said Mrs. Liddell.
"He wishes to outlive some other old man, because then he will get a good deal of money, according to some curious system—called a 'Tontine.'"
"Is it possible? The ruling passion, then, in his instance is strong against death."
"What a poverty-stricken life his has been, after all!" exclaimed Katherine. "Did Ada tell you how vexed he was at her visit?"
"She was greatly offended, but I should like your version of it."
Katherine told her, and repeated Mr. Newton's inquiry about Mrs. Fred Liddell's family name.
"Mr. Newton is very kind. He is very formal and precise, and very guarded in all he says, yet I feel that he likes me—us—and would like my uncle to do something for us."
"I never hoped he would do as much as he has. If he would remember those poor little boys in his will it would be a great help. You and I could always manage together, Katie."
"I wish that we were together by our own selves once more," returned Kate, nestling up to her mother on the big old-fashioned sofa, and resting her head on her shoulder.
"I wish to God we were! I miss you so awfully, my darling!"
There was a short silence while the two clung lovingly together. Then Katherine said, in a low tone, "Mr. Newton evidently thinks he—my uncle—has made a very unjust will, and fears he will never change it."
"Most probably he will not; but he ought not to cut off his natural heirs."
"Would Cecil and Charlie be his natural heirs?"
"I suppose so, and something would come to you too; but I do not understand these matters. It is dreadful how mean and mercenary this terrible need for money makes one."
"You want it very much, mother? There is trouble in your voice; tell me what it is."
"There is no special pressure, dear, just now; but unless I am more successful with my pen I greatly fear I shall get into debt before I can liberate myself from that house. Yet if I do, what will become of Ada and the boys?" She paused to cough.
Katherine was silent; the tone of her mother's voice told more than her words. "But," resumed Mrs. Liddell, "all is not black. The Dalston Weekly has taken my short story, and given me ten pounds for it. However, you must take the bad with the good; my poor three-decker has come back on my hands."
Katherine uttered a low exclamation. "I did hope they would have taken it! and what miserable pay for that bright, pretty story! Mother, I cannot believe that the novel will fail. Do, do try Santley & Son! I have always heard they were such nice people. Try—promise me you will."
"Dear Katie, I will do whatever you ask me; but—but I confess I feel as if Hope, who has always befriended me, had turned her back at last. I am so dreadfully tired! I feel as if I was never to rest. Oh for a couple of years of peace before I go hence, and a certainty that you would not want!"
"Do not fear for me," cried Katherine, pressing her mother to her and covering her pale cheeks with kisses. "For myself I fear nothing, but for you , I greatly fear you are unwell; you breathe shortly; your hands are feverish. Do not let hope go. A few weeks and my uncle will be stronger, or he may be invigorated by feeling he has killed out the other old man, and then I will go back to you and help you, whatever happens. I won't stay here to act compound interest. My own darling mother, keep up your heart."
"I am ashamed of myself," said Mrs. Liddell, in an unsteady voice. "I ought not to have grieved your young heart with my depression, for I have been depressed."
"Why not? What is the good of youth and strength if it is not to uphold those who have already had more than their share of life's burdens?"
"I assure you this outpouring has relieved me greatly; I shall return like a giant refreshed," said Mrs. Liddell, rallying gallantly; "and you may depend on my trying the fortune of my poor novel once more, with Santley & Son. Now tell me how your domestic management prospers."
A long confidential discussion ensued, and at last Mrs. Liddell was obliged to leave.
Katherine went to tell her uncle she was going to set her mother on her way, and to see his cup of beef tea served to him. His remark almost startled her. "Very well," he said. "Come back soon."
This interview agitated Katherine more than Mrs. Liddell knew. Her worn look, her cough, her unwonted depression, thrilled her daughter's warm heart with a passion of tender longing to be with her, to help her, to give her the rest she so sorely needed; and in the solitude of her large dreary room she sobbed herself to sleep, her lips still quivering with the loving epithets she had murmured to herself.