The Semi-detached House/Chapter 18
CHAPTER XVIII.
Lady Chester, too, had her thoughts on the subject. When the dinner party had dispersed, Lord Chesterton graciously signified his approval of her guests, which was a relief to her, as she had rather dreaded that the want of refinement or rather of vapidity, which was a safe quality in the society he ordinarily frequented, might have jarred him. But no! he thought Captain Hopkinson a well-informed agreeable man, the daughters pretty, and the wife a worthy woman in her way; and Mr. Greydon struck him as particularly gentleman-like. Was he a good clergyman?
"One of the best I have ever met with," said Blanche, eagerly, "quite indefatigable in the schools and the hospital and the workhouse, and you should come here some Sunday to hear him preach, I really think that the advantage of hearing Mr. Greydon's sermons should have been considered in the rent of Pleasance."
"Is he the rector of Dulham?"
"No, only the curate; the rector has gone abroad for his health."
"Greydon always was a good fellow," said Arthur, "but just the sort of man who will be a poor curate all his life, and be satisfied. He will never push himself into a living."
"But I do not mean him to be always a poor curate," said Blanche. "Lord Chesterton, you always carry about in your pockets all sorts of interesting letters, and useful information. Are you quite sure you have not got a good living in that left hand waistcoat pocket or an advowson? whatever that may be. It sounds like something very advantageous and nice. You always give your little Blanche everything she asks for. Please give me an advowson if you have one about you."
Lord Chesterton thought it right to explain to her in the most technical language, the difference between advowsons and presentations, and threw in a little good advice on the advantage it would be to Blanche if she studied greater correctness of expression, and if she always used precisely the right word, and the right number of words, and arranged those words grammatically. And Blanche thanked him so good-humouredly, and laughed at herself so heartily, that when she wound up her apologies by saying, "To speak tersely, I want a good living for Mr. Greydon, will you give me one?" he was induced to say, "Well, I will see what can be done for you." And, as Blanche afterwards observed to Arthur, she looked upon those few words as equal to an adyowson and nearly as good as a presentation.
And so the evening ended happily; but the night that followed was not so peaceful. At five in the morning the Hopkinsons were awakened by a loud peal from their door bell.
"Ah, there they are," said Mrs. Hopkinson, jumping up in a fright. "Oh John, what shall we do? I knew they would come to us in our turn."
"Who would come, Jane?" said Captain Hopkinson, who was half asleep.
"Why, the burglars, of course! What will become of us! Where's my purse? I always keep a purse ready to give them, it makes them so good-humoured. Oh dear, what a noise they make, and they will be quite savage if they are kept waiting," she said, as another violent ringing was heard. "John, John, you must not go down to them, they will knock you down. Let me go."
"I don't see," said John, laughing, "why I am to let you go and be knocked down instead of me; but, my dear, there is no danger, burglars do not come and ring the bell and ask to be let in like morning visitors. It must be the policeman."
"Ah, poor man! I daresay, with his head knocked to pieces with a life preserver, and all over kicks and bites. But, perhaps, he is only come to tell us that the house is on fire," said Mrs. Hopkinson, with a sudden accession of cheerfulness. "I should not mind that, anything is better than robbers. Oh, John, now don't put your head out so far, those ticket-of-leave men fire in all directions. And do keep calling out, Thomas and John, and I will answer with a gruff voice," said poor Mrs. Hopkinson, who was so terrified her whisper could scarcely be heard.
"My dear," said John, withdrawing his head, "there is nothing to be alarmed at, it is Lord Chester; Lady Chester is taken ill, and he wants you to go to her."
"And so that is all," said Mrs. Hopkinson, instantly beginning to dress. "Ah, poor soul! of course I will. Well now, this is neighbourly of them; and I take it very kindly their sending for me. Why, they are two babies themselves, and they can't know what to do with a third."
And so when Lord Chester met her with the humblest apologies, he found her in a warm fit of gratitude for having been called out of her bed and frightened out of her senses, and delighted to find that her experience as a mother and a nurse were to be made available to her neighbours at a most inconvenient hour.
Pleasance did not wear its usual cheerful aspect that morning; the drawing-room had that deplorable 'last night' look, belonging to rooms that have not received the morning attentions of the housemaid. The chairs looked as it they had been dancing all night, and had rumpled their chintz covers, the books seemed to have fallen off the table in their sleep, and the music appeared to have quarrelled with the Pianoforte in an attempt to place itself on the music stand. Only one shutter had been partially unclosed, and through the crack, there came that struggling ray that ought to be light, but looks very much like dust.
Aileen came the moment she heard of Mrs. Hopkinson's arrival, looking pale and frightened, and she immediately hurried her neighbour upstairs, explaining that Blanche had been taken ill sooner than they expected, so that the nurse was not in the house. Arthur had sent for Dr. Ayscough, but in the meantime they had all become very nervous, and Blanche thought she should be happier if Mrs. Hopkinson was with her, and so they had taken the great liberty of asking her to come to them at that undue hour, &c., &c.
"My dear, don't say another word about it; what are we all sent into the world for, but to be of use to each other? and I am quite pleased that your dear little sister, bless her, fancies having me with her; and now, Miss Grenville, don't you go to her with that frightened face, there is nothing to be frightened about. There is no want of babies coming safely into the world, thank goodness, but go into her room with your usual smiles, and tell her I'm come; and I'll just take off my bonnet, and then go and stay with her till the doctor comes."
And very serviceable Mrs. Hopkinson was. She found Aileen still with tears in her eyes, Mademoiselle Justine occasionally proffering to Blanche a little tisane de fleur d'orange, and watching an opportunity to slip out and dress herself in a petite robe de percale, and a bonnet à barbes, that she had prepared for the particular occasion; and which were not only becoming in themselves, but so appropriate that even the Doctor and the nurse must, she thought, be struck by her wonderfully good taste in dress. Arthur was fidgetting up and down the room, one minute looking out of the window and wondering the doctor did not come—the next assuring Blanche that she was better, that she looked better, felt better, and requesting her to agree with him, a complete impossibility under the circumstances, so that poor Blanche became only more nervous. Mrs. Hopkinson wisely hurried them all out of the room, advised Justine to see that the basket with the doll's caps, and the absurd pin-cushion with its 'welcome little stranger' were all ready; and told Arthur and Aileen to go and have some breakfast, and to send some to her; and she gave an every day turn to the state of affairs that was soothing.
An hour after, Arthur came with a face of consternation, Dr. Ayscough had been telegraphed off to the other side of England, and the nurse could not possibly leave the place she was in till the afternoon.
"What are we to do, Mrs. Hopkinson? it is really too bad; what business had that woman in Yorkshire to telegraph for our doctor? and then that other woman detaining Mrs. Smith—so selfish! and my poor darling will have no doctor and no nurse, she will die."
"Oh no, she wont," said Mrs. Hopkinson, half laughing, "unless you go and put it into her head to do so. I hope I am as good a month nurse as any in the kingdom; and you had better send for Mr. Duckett, of course he is not to be compared to Doctor Ayscough, but he is in good practice at Dulham, and we may as well have him in the house."
Mr. Duckett had always felt that Lady Chester ought to be his property; he had occasionally attended at Pleasance, and during the last week his slumbers had been unusually light, and his attention to the sound of the night bell was unremitting. He came instantly; Lady Sarah arrived from London; and finally, the important Mrs. Smith appeared in a hack cab, that was almost concealed under her mass of trunks and cap boxes. The Duchess of St. Maur came to pay an early visit connected with Aileen's trousseau, and of course remained to hear the end of Blanche's troubles. Everybody was more or less in a fuss; it was curious, considering that the birth of a baby is not a very unusual circumstance, to see the immense interest that the expectation of a young Chester created. Lady Sarah abandoned her netting; and she, and the Duchess, and Aileen whispered and cried, and talked and laughed, and drank tea and coffee at odd hours, and put on peignoirs, and did what Shakespeare calls 'the gossips' to perfection. Arthur walked up and down stairs unceasingly; the tread-mill would have been repose to him that day, and he tried to cut little failures of jokes to Duckett on the useless fidgets of the ladies, who were models of quiescence as compared with himself. Duckett assumed a grand attitude of composure, repeated every half hour "we are going on admirably," and then tried to égayer Lord Chester by some horrible surgical anecdote, which, in the best of times would have made him shudder, and now that he was nervous and frightened, made him feel that he was actually undergoing the actual operation described. He was certain that nobody had ever had such a wife as his, and that no woman had ever endured so much with so much fortitude. He went from Lady Sarah to the Duchess to be soothed, and when their matronly experience failed to console him, he turned to Aileen, and as for the brusque word or two which Mrs. Hopkinson occasionally found time to bestow on him, he accepted it as an oracle from heaven.
At last, there came the joyful whisper, "a fine boy;" perhaps the only moment of a fine boy's existence in which his presence is more agreeable than his absence, so let him make the most of it. But if in the whole course of woman's sensitive life there is one moment of happiness more keen, blissful, bright, than another, it is that in which the husband of her choice thanks her for his first born child. It was with heartfelt gratitude that Blanche whispered "I thank God, love, that he has not taken me from you," for she felt, as Arthur pressed her to his heart, as with tears he thanked her for being so patient, so good—as he blessed her, not so much that she was the mother of his child, as that she was still his own, his wife, his Blanche; yes, she felt that life was indeed to her most precious. "It would have been hard to die," she murmured, "I could not have left all these," and she kissed the hands of her aunt, her sister, and her friend; and quiet tears of gratitude fell as she listened to the short prayer of thanksgiving which Aileen read as she knelt at her sister's bedside.
But there the pathos of the scene ended, then the bustling Mrs. Smith assumed her rights. "Come, come, we must have no more of this reading and talking, and all this crying. Now, my Lord, if you'll just go quite away I'll be particularly obliged to you; and I must make bold to turn all you ladies out of the room, except this good lady," she added, turning to Mrs. Hopkinson, whose savoir faire had inspired her with confidence, "and, Miss Grenville, will you please to see that there is no noise made up those stairs, and I'll just shut the door after you, my Lord, if you will go."
"I must go to my father, who is down stairs," said Arthur, "he is so delighted with his grandson, Blanche."
"Oh! may I not see him for a moment, before I settle for the night?" said Blanche.
"Oh dear no, my Lady, not upon no account," said Mrs. Smith, colouring up as if the mere suggestion were a personal affront. "As sure as I'm alive, not another word shall be spoken here this blessed night. Tell Lady Blanche's papa, my Lord, that her Ladyship wishes him good night, and is very sorry she is not able to see him. No, no grandpapas indeed," she muttered, as she bustled about the room, and established that rustling disturbed sort of quiet, which is the peculiar result of a regular nurse's exertions, and which is—strange to say—less irritating to the nerves of an invalid than the finished quiet of a lady-like attendant.
Lord Chesterton was extremely pleased with the birth of his grandson, for Arthur was the only heir to his old title and large estates—two possessions which he valued almost equally. He was informed of it at the House of Lords, and actually left that lively assembly in order to drive down to Pleasance, before the important debate on the Trawl and Seine Herring fishing nets was brought to a close, a direliction of public duty which weighed on his conscience; but he tried to atone for it by filling his carriage with red boxes containing minutes about Hospodars, and statements of the wrongs of Dedarkham Bux in the well known cause of the Jaghire of Munnydumdum. Public men keep up to this day the farce of saying that they read these papers. However, the absorbing interest they possessed, did not prevent Lord Chesterton from entering heartily into the private rejoicings at Pleasance.
"I wish you had seen my father," Arthur afterwards said to Blanche; "he thought it right to see the baby, because he looks upon that mite as a young earl, and a sucking Secretary of State, but he was afraid of touching it, and contented himself with stroking it with the end of his gold pencil case, and assuring Mrs. Smith that it was a remarkably fine child, and that he hoped she would take the greatest care of it, as its life was of immense importance. And to judge by the number and depth of Mrs. Smith's curtesies, he must have enforced this recommendation by lucrative arguments."
"Was baby good?" asked Blanche, with as much earnestness as if it had passed its six hours of life in deep study of the whole duty of man.
"Well, it gave a curious twitch of its chin, not very becoming, but my father took it for a laugh. Blanche, he told me to tell you he thought he should have some good news for you by the time you were able to see him."
"Oh, Arthur, a living for Mr. Greydon! and then suppose he does not propose to Janet after all. That would be distressing!"