Doctor Luttrell's First Patient, Page 3

  CHAPTER III.

  AUNT MADGE.

  "It is more delightful and more honourable to give thanreceive."--_Epicurus_.

  Most people thought it a strange thing that Mrs. Broderick spoke soconstantly of her husband. Mrs. Tolman, the Vicar's wife, who was afrequent visitor, had been scandalised more than once, and hadexpressed herself rather strongly on the subject to her husband.

  "I know you think very highly of poor Mrs. Broderick, Stephen, and sodo I," she remarked one day. "Very few women would bear things in thatquiet, uncomplaining way, and the amount of work she gets through isastonishing; but that perpetual dragging in of her husband's name seemsto me such bad taste."

  "Upon my word, Isabella, I cannot say that I agree with you." And theVicar straightened himself on the rug in his favourite attitude. Hewas a heavy, ponderous man, with an expression of shrewd good sense onhis face that won people's confidence. "I wish other women were asfaithful to their husband's memory, that flighty little Mrs. Martin,for example."

  "My dear Stephen, what an absurd idea! Fancy talking of Lydia Martin,every one knows she is making a dead set at Mr. Germaine, although poorJack Martin has hardly been dead a year. She is Mrs. Broderick's exactopposite. Please do not misunderstand me in this tiresome way," andhere Mrs. Tolman frowned slightly. "It is the manner in which Mrs.Broderick speaks of her husband that offends my tastes. In myopinion"--compressing her lips as she spoke--"our departed dear onesare sacred, and should not be mentioned in a secular manner."

  At the word "secular" there was a twinkle in the Vicar's eyes, thoughhe held his peace. And to tell the truth, Mrs. Tolman had been unableto find the expression she needed.

  "But with Mrs. Broderick it is 'Fergus here' and 'Fergus there,' justas though he were alive and in the next room, and she was expecting himin every moment. Sometimes in the twilight it makes me quite creepy tohear her speaking in that sprightly voice, just as though she weremaking believe that he heard her."

  "Poor soul!" was the Vicar's answer to this; but he was used to keepinghis thoughts to himself--he and Mrs. Broderick understood each otherperfectly. She had not a firmer friend in the world, unless it was herkind physician, Dr. Randolph. "Poor soul!" he repeated when his wifein silent dudgeon had retired from the room.

  "It is not likely that Isabella would understand her; Mrs. Broderick isthe bravest and the brightest woman I know, and yet the furnace washeated sevenfold for her. Make believe that he is alive! Why, he hasnever been dead to her! It is her vivid faith and her vividimagination that has helped her to live all these years instead oflying there a crushed wreck for people to patronise and pity."

  And here again there was a wicked little twinkle in the Vicar's eyes.Did he not know his Isabella, and how good she was to those who wouldallow her to advise and lecture them.

  "Mrs. Broderick has just laughed and put her foot down, that is whyIsabella is always complaining of her. They have not exactly hit itoff." And here the Vicar laughed softly as he sat down to consider hissermon.

  "Aunt Madge, how cosy you look!" exclaimed Olivia, as she stood on thethreshold of the warm firelit room; and then a swift transition ofthought carried her back to the dismal little dining-room at GalvastonTerrace, with its black smouldering fire, and the damp clinging to thewindow-panes, and an involuntary shiver crossed her as she knelt downbeside her aunt's couch.

  "My dear Livy, you are a perfect iceberg!" exclaimed Mrs. Broderick."No, you shall not kiss me again until you are warmer. Sit down inthat easy-chair close to the fire where I can see you, and take thathandscreen for the good of your complexion.--Now, Deb, bring thetea-things, like a good soul, for Mrs. Luttrell has made a poor dinner."

  "How could you guess that, Aunt Madge? Are you a witch or a magician?"asked Olivia, in her astonished voice. It was pure guess-work on Mrs.Broderick's part, but as usual her keen wits had grazed the truth.

  Olivia, who had a healthy girlish appetite, had risen from the middaymeal almost as hungry as when she had sat down. The dish of hashedmutton had been small, and if Olivia had eaten her share, Martha wouldhave fared badly. A convenient flower-pot, a gift from Aunt Madge, hadprevented Marcus from seeing his wife's plate. Olivia, who had dinedoff potatoes and gravy, was already faint from exhaustion. As usual,she confessed the truth.

  "It was my fault, Aunt Madge," she said, basking like a blissfulsalamander in the warm glow. "I ought to have known the meat would notgo round properly; but happily Marcus did not notice, or else therewould have been a fuss. He and Martha dined properly, and I mean toenjoy my tea."

  But Mrs. Broderick's only answer was to ring her handbell.

  "Deb, boil two of those nice new-laid eggs that Mrs. Broughton sent me.Mrs. Luttrell has had no dinner; if the scones are ready we will havetea at once." And as Deborah nodded and vanished, she shook her head alittle sadly. "Olive dear, it won't pay; you are not the sort ofperson who can safely starve. I thought there was something wrongabout you when you came in; you had a peaky, under-fed look. Oh, Ithought so!" as the tears rose to Olivia's eyes. "Now, I am not goingto say another word until you have had your tea. Look at Zoe; shethinks you are in trouble about something, and wants to lick your face.Is not the sympathy of a dumb creature touching? They don't understandwhat is wrong, but they see plainly that their human friend is unhappy.Come to me, Zoe, and I will explain matters. It is not much of atrouble. Olive is not really miserable; she is only cold and hungryand weak, and wants petting and cosseting."

  "I think I am rather unhappy, Aunt Madge," returned Olivia, in a sadvoice. "Things are getting worse, and Marcus looks so careworn; he wastalking in his sleep last night. We have so little money left--onlyjust enough for six months' rent and the coals, and ever so little forhousekeeping, and no patients come, and now I have made up my mind totell him to-night that Martha must go."

  "My dear Olivia, we talked that over a few weeks ago, and we decidedthen that you had better keep her."

  "Yes, Aunt Madge, I know; but indeed, indeed we cannot afford herfood--these growing girls must be properly fed, and the amount of breadand butter she eats would astonish Deb----" and here Olivia heaved aharassed sigh.

  "Well, well, we will talk it over again"--and then Deb brought in thetea-things, and the scones, and the new-laid eggs, and as Mrs.Broderick sipped her tea it did her kind heart good to see how herniece enjoyed the good things before her.

  "There now, you feel ever so much better," she said, when the meal wasfinished. "Now we can talk comfortably. I have been thinking overwhat you have said, and I suppose you are right from your point ofview, and that if you cannot afford Martha's food she must go, but Ihave been thinking of Marcus. He is at the turning-point of hiscareer. Everything depends on his making a practice. When patientssend for him, and they will send for him by-and-by, do you think itwill look well for his wife to open the door to them."

  "But, Aunt Madge----"

  "Olive, you were always a good, honest little girl, and you have grownup an honest woman; you want to do your duty and slave for Marcus andDot, and you have begun nobly by starving yourself until you are on theverge of an hysterical attack, but we must think of Marcus. Marthamust not go, at least, not until the winter is over. I have beensaving a few pounds for your Christmas present I meant you to have hada new dress and jacket, and a few other little things you needed; butif you like to pay Martha's wages with it until Easter you can pleaseyourself--only take it and say no more--what, crying again! Whatnonsense, as though I may not give my own niece a little present."

  "It is the goodness and the kindness," returned Olivia, with a low sob."Aunt Madge, why are you so good to me? You have saved all this, andyou have so little to spare--as though I do not know what a smallincome you really have."

  "It is a very respectable income, and my dear Fergus worked hard tomake it. I never professed to be a rich woman, but I have everything Iwant. If people would only cut their coat by their cloth, as Fergusused to say, there would be less distr
ess in the world; well, my wantsare few; I have no milliner's bills;" here there was a gleam of fun inthe invalid's eyes. "No smart bonnets or fashionable mantles needed atthis establishment; only just a cosy tea-gown now and then when the oldone is too shabby. Come, Olive, are you not going to count yourmoney?" And then Olivia emptied the contents of the little purse onher lap.

  "Well?" as the slim fingers sorted the gold and silver; "will there beenough for Martha's wages until Easter?"

  "Yes, indeed, Aunt Madge, and there will be some over. I can buy thestuff for baby's winter pelisse without troubling Marcus, and do youknow," knitting her brows in careful calculation, "I do believe thatwith a little contrivance and management I can get some new trimmingfor my Sunday hat, and a pair of chevrette gloves; good chevrettegloves are dear, but they wear splendidly, and a pair would last memost of the winter--yes," her eyes brightening, "I am sure I could doit; it does fret Marcus so to see me shabby."

  Mrs. Broderick nodded in a sympathising way--she knew the joy of thesesmall economies and contrivances; the little purse of savings had notbeen gathered together without some self-denial; but as she saw thelovely rainbow smile on Olivia's face, she felt that she had her reward.

  "This is my red-letter day," she said, quaintly; "it is always ared-letter day when I can really help someone. I have my black-letterdays when I can do nothing special, when it is all noughts and crossesin my diary, I have had my Christmas treat beforehand, and I shall bequite happy till bed-time thinking about Dot's pelisse and the newhat-trimming; by-the-bye, what colour is the pelisse to be?"

  "Blue, baby is so fair, and blue suits her best; I think I shall getsome cotton-backed velvet just to trim it;--I must not dream of fur."

  "How would miniver look round the cape and neck? I have two or threeyards in very good condition. Deb picked it off my wadded satin mantleyears ago. I was keeping it for some special occasion. If you buy areally good cashmere, and trim it with my old miniver, Dot will have agrand pelisse," and then Mrs. Broderick hunted in her key-basket for acertain key, and instructed her niece to unlock a drawer in herwardrobe.

  It was growing late by this time, and Olivia was obliged to take herleave. Marcus had promised to be back by seven, and it was six o'clocknow; but as she walked briskly through the quiet streets she felt aslight-hearted as a child.

  What a happy evening she and Marcus would spend! There would be noneed now to tell him about Martha, or to beg him to give her the fewshillings for Dot's pelisse; he should have a nice tea. Aunt Madge hadmade her take a couple of the new-laid eggs and a pot of Deb'sdelicious marmalade home with her, and she knew how Marcus would enjoythe little treat.

  "Dear Aunt Madge, how I love her? I think she is the very best womanin the world;" but here Olivia gave a surprised start. She had reachedthe print-shop at the corner of Harbut Street, and in the strong glareof the gas-lamp she distinctly saw the tall, bent form of hermysterious neighbour.

  He was coming out of the shop, and walking stiffly and with difficultyin the direction of his house. She had never known him out so latebefore. His afternoon walk was always timed for him to be back byfour. She glanced at the shop window, but there was no picture of "TheProdigal Son" to be seen.

  Had he bought it? Was this the reason why he was out so late? Oliviafelt a little anxious as she noticed how feebly he walked; the greasypavements were rather slippery, and Galvaston Terrace was not awell-lighted thoroughfare. Perhaps it was nonsense, but she would notenter her house until she had seen him safely across the road, andwithin the lion-guarded portals.

  It was just kindly womanly instinct, but all her life long Olivia wasglad that she had yielded to that impulse. She was still standing uponthe step, and the old man was nearly across the road, when she saw himslip. A piece of orange-peel on the curb had escaped him in thedarkness, and he had put his foot on the slippery substance. Oliviagave a quick exclamation as she saw him try to recover his balance, andthen fall forward rather heavily. No one was passing just then, andhappily the road was clear of vehicles. Olivia ran across and pickedup his stick, then she took him by the arm and helped him to rise.

  "I trust you have not hurt yourself," she said, anxiously. "Please donot be afraid of leaning on me, I am very strong. Ah," as the old manuttered a groan, "you have injured yourself in some way. The curb israther steep just here."

  "It is my ankle, but I must get home somehow. You are very good,madam; if you will allow me to take your arm, I think I can managethose few yards. I live there," pointing to the grim doorway.

  "Yes, I know: Mr. Gaythorne, of Galvaston House; we are neighbours ofyours, and I have seen you come out of the house frequently. Shall Iring the bell for you, and perhaps"--hesitating a little, as though shewere taking a liberty--"you will allow me to go as far as the hall-doorwith you."

  But to her alarm the old man suddenly stood still. It was pitchy darkunder the overhanging trees, and only a faint gleam from a large bowwindow showed her the length of the garden-path that they would have totraverse.

  "I can do no more," he said, faintly; "I believe I have broken myankle. Mrs. Crampton and the maids must find some way of getting mein. Perhaps, madam, you will be so good as to explain the matter tothem. I see the door is open," and Olivia at once left him and went upto the house.

  "Your master has met with a slight accident," she said to theastonished maid. "He has fallen and hurt his foot, and it is quiteimpossible for him to walk up to the house. He mentioned Mrs.Crampton; perhaps you will ask her what is to be done," and the girl, agood-natured, buxom country lass, at once ran off.

  Olivia stood patiently for a few minutes. The hall with its handsomerugs and blazing fire looked delightfully inviting. A lean, old hound,stretched on a tiger skin, turned its head and then rose stiffly andcame towards her. As its slender nose touched her dress, she saw thepoor thing was blind. The next moment a cheerful-looking, grey-hairedwoman hurried towards her, followed by two maids.

  "What is it that Phoebe tells me, ma'am; Mr. Gaythorne has met with anaccident? Times out of number I have begged and prayed him not to goout alone; but he was not to be persuaded."

  "He is down there by the gate, the trees hide him," returned Olivia,hastily. "I think it would be best to take an arm-chair, if you thinkwe could carry him in. He is in dreadful pain and cannot walk a stepfarther."

  "Phoebe, tell cook to light the lantern, and then you two girls bringone of the study chairs--the lantern first, mind.

  "Now, ma'am, perhaps we had better find my master, and the lasses willfollow us. There are four of us, and Mr. Gaythorne is not so veryheavy, and we will have him on the library couch in no time."