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. 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 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. 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. 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 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.’

‘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 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 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.

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 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?’

‘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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 food so reg’lar, but, as you nusses ’er yourself, I daresay she’ll get on all right by-and-by.’

These words sunk deep into Paula’s heart, and that evening, as she was again lying with her baby on her arm, and Hal was sitting by her side, she asked him if she didn’t think the little one looked rather pale.

Hal laughed at the idea.

‘_Pale_, my darling. She generally looks the colour of a beet to me, particularly when she first wakes up and doubles her fists into her face.’

‘But, Hal, she is so seldom awake, and when she is asleep, the colour seems all to fade away. Look at her now. Her face is quite white, and it seems puffy to me. I--I--feel afraid sometimes that she is not very strong.’

‘I think it must be your fancy, darling. Addison assured me she was a very healthy child.’

‘But he has not seen her since she was born, and Mrs Rushton has such a peculiar way of talking of her that frightens me. Oh, Hal, suppose I was to lose her too,’ she whispered, with her face close to his.

‘But I can’t have you even suppose such a thing, Paula. There is no reason for it. We will show the baby to Addison the next time he comes, and he will tell you that you are frightening yourself for nothing. Why, she is as plump as a little partridge.’

‘She is not so plump as she was when she was born,’ replied Paula, with a sad smile, ‘and I am sure your stepmother does not consider her strong.’

This conversation made Hal despatch a message at once to young Addison, who was with them in half an hour.

‘What’s the matter now?’ he asked as he entered the room, where Mrs Rushton immediately joined them. ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’

‘_I’m_ the person you should put _that_ question to, young man!’ interposed the widow loftily. ‘When you’ve been a few years hin the perfession, you will know hit’s the nuss has is halways happealed to for the ’ealth of the patients.’

‘Thank you for teaching me my business,’ replied the doctor coolly. ‘But I was addressing this lady. Don’t you feel so well, Mrs Rushton?’

‘Oh, yes, doctor. I am getting on beautifully, thank you. But my baby seems so very sleepy. We can hardly rouse her, even to take her food; and this evening she appears pale and puffy to me (though, perhaps, it is only the fading light), so I felt a little anxious that you should see her.’

At this announcement Mrs Rushton became unnecessarily indignant. She seized the child up in her arms almost roughly, and was about to carry it away into the next room.

‘Here’s a fuss about nothing,’ she exclaimed rudely. ‘I should think you might find something better to trouble the doctor about than that, Mrs ’Al. And you might trust _my_ words a little more hinto the bargin. ’Aven’t I told you hover and hover again has the child is hall right. And this is the nuss’s business hand _not_ the doctor’s, as can’t possibly know ’alf so much of hinfants has I do.’ And she turned her back on the party as she spoke.

‘Mrs Rushton,’ said Dr Addison in a determined voice, ‘bring that child here.’

‘But there ain’t nothink the matter with it. It’s has well has it can be, and I won’t ’ave _my_ business interfered with by no doctors, nor ladies either.’

‘Bring that child here,’ he repeated sternly.

She returned to the bedside then, and held the baby out for his inspection. Dr Addison examined its eyes and skin and mouth, whilst Hal and Paula watched him narrowly.

‘Nothing the matter here,’ he exclaimed cheerfully, as he finished his examination. ‘Mrs Rushton is quite right, and the baby will do very well by-and-by.’

‘Didn’t I say so?’ observed the widow, as she bore the child away. ‘But there, hevery lad has as got a diploma must know more than a woman has as nussed and monthlied for twenty years.’

‘I am afraid I am not a favourite with that old lady,’ remarked Addison gaily, when she had disappeared. ‘Her allusions to my youth are too cruel. However, I must bear it with what fortitude I can.’

‘She is excessively rude,’ replied Paula. ‘But do you _really_ think my baby is all right?’

‘I really think, my dear lady, that there is no need for disquietude, and the calmer you keep yourself the better she will thrive.’ And then he talked with the husband and wife on indifferent topics, until it was time for him to go away. ‘I will just say a word to the nurse before I take my leave,’ he observed, as he walked into the next room. But it was empty.

The widow, to avoid a second catechism, had taken the baby downstairs with her. Addison took advantage of the occasion to open the toilet-table and washing-stand drawers, and to generally pry round the premises. At length, behind a clock on the mantelpiece, he seemed to come upon what he was searching for, and he put it, without demur, into his pocket.

‘The nurse has vanished. I suppose we shall find her downstairs,’ he said as he returned to Paula’s room.

‘You’ve been a long time looking for her,’ replied Hal, laughing.

‘Yes. I was taking a survey of the apartment. It’s a nice airy one. Good evening, Mrs Rushton. You have not the slightest cause for fear. Please lie there in peace, and get well.’ But he secretly telegraphed to Hal to follow him out of the room. ‘I wish to speak to you alone,’ he said, as they went downstairs and entered the dining-room together.

‘Now, Rushton,’ commenced the doctor, as soon as they were alone, ‘you must get rid of that old woman at once. What her object is I cannot say, but she is dosing your child, and I won’t answer for the consequences if it is left in her charge.’

‘_Dosing it!_’ exclaimed Hal, starting; ‘but what with?’

‘Laudanum, or a preparation of it. I saw that at once from the child’s appearance, and when I searched the room I found the bottle. Here it is,’ said Addison, holding it up.

‘The old fiend! How I wish I had never let her come here. She wants to murder it,’ cried the excited young father.

‘Hush, my dear fellow. That is going too far. It is probably only ignorance. These old women have terrible methods sometimes with regard to new-born infants, and they will not be interfered with. You saw how indignant she was at my presuming to pass an opinion upon it. But it must be stopped, and at once. And the only way to do it is by giving the child to another nurse. Mrs Rushton is both obstinate and vindictive, and would probably increase the doses if remonstrated with.’

‘What can she do it for, Addison?’

‘To make the baby sleep, and save herself trouble.’

‘My poor little child! You are sure she has not injured it?’

‘I am quite sure that, out of her hands, it will be as well as ever in a day or two. Your wife is quite right. That sleep was an unnatural one, but, of course, I would not tell her so.’

‘But who will take this woman’s place? There is no other nurse in the neighbourhood.’

‘Perhaps not. But I know a very respectable woman--a farmer’s wife--who will be quite competent to take charge of the baby until you get a regular nurse for it, and will carry out my directions faithfully. She is a Mrs Roberts. Shall I go and fetch her? I would not leave that child another hour in Mrs Rushton’s hands if I were you.’

‘I will _not_,’ replied Hal determinately, as he rang the bell. Louisa answered it.

‘Where is Mrs Rushton?’ he asked.

‘In the drawing-room, sir, with the baby.’

‘Tell her to come here to me.’

‘Excuse me,’ interrupted the doctor, ‘but she would probably refuse. Let us go to her, and Louisa you must come also. We shall want you to hold the baby until we get another nurse for it.’

Stern as officers of justice, the two young men, accompanied by the housemaid, entered the drawing-room. The widow was pacing up and down it, with the infant in her arms. Hal walked straight up to her and took it in his own.

‘And what’s that for?’ she demanded shrilly.

‘We have a question to put to you, Mrs Rushton, which requires your whole attention,’ said the doctor. ‘_What_ have you been giving to that child?’