Читать книгу Englefield Grange; or, Mary Armstrong's Troubles - Mrs. H. B. Paull - Страница 7

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The question which heads this chapter was asked by many on that memorable evening, long after it became known that the remedies and prompt measures adopted by the doctors had been successful in restoring Maria St. Clair to consciousness after hours of anxious suspense.

The same question will occur to the reader, to whom, perhaps, the answer may prove a disappointment.

In a street near the most fashionable part of the West End of London, stood a large and well-built house, the lower part of which bore the appearance of a place of business, half-shop, half-office. Above it, in large letters, appeared the words, "Edward Armstrong, Corn Factor."

The handsome, intellectual-looking man who had so courageously distinguished himself on the beach at West Cowes, could boast of no higher position than that of a London tradesman, nor of any ancestors more honourable than England's yeomen. For nearly two hundred years the Armstrongs had been known as farmers in the neighbourhood of Basingstoke. Only one direct branch of the family now remained, an aged farmer still occupying Meadow Farm, and Edward Armstrong, his only child.

The boy early gave evidence that he possessed tastes very different to those required in agricultural pursuits. On this account his mother, who, like many mothers, wished her son to be more educated than his parents, strongly encouraged the proposal that he should be sent to boarding-school. That her boy should become what the country folks call a "fine scholar," was her greatest ambition.

Whether he obtained that title or not, it is certain that at school he quickly developed intellectual tastes, and acquired a certain degree of refinement, which made him quite unfit for association, except in the corn market, with farmers who talked of their "'ay and their whoats, and whate." For a few years, however, he remained at home, and acquired sufficient knowledge of these said "whoats and whate" to be very useful to him in his present position. After awhile, his father consented to his going to London and establishing a business.

Notwithstanding Edward Armstrong's taste for reading and other literary pursuits, he was still a thorough man of business, and had succeeded so well in his London undertaking, that at the age of thirty-three he found himself master of a splendid business, a well-furnished house, known and respected on the Corn Exchange, and still unmarried.

Yet with all his literary and scientific knowledge—which was not a little—with all his industry, energy, and business habits, he had strong prejudices consequent upon early education; peculiar notions on various subjects, and a will, as well as opinions, that would brook no contradiction.

Much of all this might have been softened down and removed by an early and suitable marriage.

But one of Edward Armstrong's peculiarities was shown in his determination, when he did marry, to have a real lady for his wife—in those days not a very easy matter for a man in trade.

His appearance in the Isle of Wight was caused by having had to attend the funeral of his mother, and he had been spending a fortnight at his old home, and making arrangements for a cousin and his wife to manage the farm, under his father's guidance, when business matters brought him from Meadow Farm to the Isle of Wight. He had been detained at Cowes for nearly a week when the alarming events described in the last chapter made a hero of him, almost against his will.

On reaching his bedroom on that eventful evening, he found doctors and nurses ready to prescribe and attend to him. He was quickly stripped of his wet clothes, hurried to bed, and made to take proper remedies in spite of a great deal of self-willed opposition. Mrs. Lake had secured the attendance of her own doctor, who divided his time between her best room, occupied by Maria St. Clair, and that of her deliverer. Mrs. St. Clair's medical attendant was also present during that terrible time, in which the gentle spirit of her daughter, Maria, fluttered on the confines of eternity.

Edward Armstrong, however, could not compose himself to sleep; indeed he openly refused to take a draught which the doctor had sent to enable him to do so. Mrs. Lake, therefore, ventured to send for Dr. Freeman, hoping that he might be better able to influence the refractory patient.

"Doctor," said Edward, as the former entered the room, fully intending to exert his professional authority, "I cannot and will not sleep till I hear more favourable accounts of Miss St. Clair. Tell me at once if there is any hope."

"Hey-day, my friend, your energy gives me strong hopes for your own complete recovery at all events, but you know well that we are not the arbiters of life and death; we can only use all the means and trust to a Higher Power for the result."

"But is there any hope?" persisted Edward.

"Certainly, I cannot deny there is hope," he replied. "Dr. Anson also is very sanguine respecting the result of our efforts; but, my friend, if you will not take the sleeping draught, I must insist on your keeping yourself warm and quiet, or the consequences of your sea-bath will be more serious than you anticipate; and now I must return to Miss St. Clair, who at the present moment requires all the attention we can give her."

"Send me word directly a change for the better takes place," said the patient anxiously, as Dr. Freeman turned to go.

"I will come myself," he replied, "on condition that you keep quiet and try to sleep."

"Well," thought the doctor, as with cautious steps he proceeded to the young lady's room, "the man has not been in this place much more than a week, his landlady tells me, or I should suppose he was Miss St. Clair's lover by the way he goes on."

Could he have been aware of Edward Armstrong's thoughts, as he lay with closed eyes, but mentally awake, he would more readily have understood the cause of his restless and wakeful anxiety.

He had tried to save the life of a girl to whom he had been strangely attracted, and after all, though he might mourn over the untimely death which could blight such a lovely flower, still he had not even a right to sympathise with her relatives, to whom he was a stranger. They might certainly appreciate his sympathy, and be grateful for his efforts to save her, but they could not know anything of the hopes which he had within the last few days encouraged and fostered.

And what were these hopes? he asked himself. Were they not founded on impossibilities? Even if Miss Maria St. Clair recovered, and owed her life to his energy, could he still hope to win her? Would the Honourable Mrs. St. Clair consider a London tradesman, who owned a shop, a suitable husband for the descendant of an Earl? for such her youngest daughter truly was. Would saving her life create a debt of gratitude sufficiently strong to break down the barriers of social prejudices and social distinctions? Would the fact of his being able to support a wife in comfort and luxury tempt the mother to give him her portionless daughter? He found himself unable to answer these mental queries, and as he turned from side to side in restless anxiety, poor Mrs. Lake longed for good news from the best bedroom, as much for the sake of her lodger as for the friends of the young lady themselves.

When Dr. Freeman entered the bedroom from which he had been called to Edward Armstrong, he saw at a glance that his colleague, Dr. Anson, was more hopeful than ever. Every remedy used in cases of drowning had been tried, but Dr. Anson evidently considered that the continued state of unconsciousness, in which Maria St. Clair lay, was attributable to another cause. To conquer the effects of this cause was now his aim; yet half an hour passed before his efforts were rewarded with even a shadow of success. Maria St. Clair lay still and nerveless on the bed. From her pale face the golden curls had been pushed back, and lay scattered in disordered profusion on the pillow.

Although the summer twilight still lingered, the gas had been lighted to assist the medical men in their efforts to restore life. Dr. Anson stood with his fingers on the delicate wrist, and as his colleague entered he made a sign for him to draw near the bed.

On the opposite side near the head sat Mrs. St. Clair, holding the hand of her daughter, Helen, in a convulsive grasp. The crisis had come, and the mother and daughter were awaiting with painful intentness the result of the doctor's efforts. Minutes passed, but they did not relax these efforts. Presently Dr. Anson looked up suddenly; his sensitive fingers had detected a slight vibration at the wrist. For a few moments there was a pause, a breathless stillness had seemed to foreshadow the approach of death. It was but the intensity of suspense—every eye rested on the fair, pale face. Was it fancy? Did the eyelids really quiver, and the lips tremble? Yes; for as the eyes languidly opened, the lips parted and a breath like a sigh gave evidence of returning life. Mrs. St. Clair rose hastily and clung to her married daughter, while the doctor quickly administered a stimulant which, to his great joy, the patient was able to swallow. Gradually the feeble breath became more regular, the eyes more intelligent, and a faint colour overspread the cheek. Again the doctor offered the stimulant, and this time it was taken more easily, and the patient made an effort to speak.

"Mamma, are you here?" were the faint, feeble words.

"Yes, darling," said Mrs. St. Clair, coming round to the other side of the bed with Mrs. Herbert, "and Helen is here too."

"Where is little Charlie?"

"Safe in bed and asleep," was the reply.

"Mamma, who saved us?" she asked, after a pause.

"You and Charlie owe your lives, under God, to a stranger who is lodging here with Mrs. Lake," replied her mother.

"Mamma, let me thank him. Where is he?"

"In bed, and I hope asleep," exclaimed Dr. Freeman; "and, my dear young lady, we must get you to sleep quickly, too, or there is no answering for the consequences. You shall see our friend to-morrow and thank him yourself."

Maria St. Clair closed her eyes in token of obedience; readily she took what the medical men prescribed, and after awhile, with many cautions to the anxious mother, the gentlemen took their leave. On the way downstairs Dr. Freeman remarked, "That poor girl was not long enough in the water to so completely deprive her of consciousness. I believe she fainted from terror when she found herself falling."

"I have no doubt of it," replied Dr. Anson. "I know that Maria has always had a natural dread of the water, and it was injudicious to persuade her to enter a boat under any but absolute necessity. Had she not recovered, her death would have been mainly attributable to the shock received by the nervous system. Are you going to remain here longer?" he asked, as Dr. Freeman stopped and held out his hand.

"Only to see my other patient."

"Is he all right?" was the next question.

"I hope he will be after the draught I am going to give him," replied Dr. Freeman; "he has had a narrow escape with life, but it is a mercy he was there at all. No one could have acted more promptly and courageously than he did."

"I shall look in again on my patient this evening," said Dr. Anson as they shook hands. "If no feverish symptoms supervene we shall soon have the young lady quite well."

"There is more danger of fever in this case," thought the doctor, as he stood by Edward Armstrong's bed with his fingers on his pulse a few minutes later, describing what had occurred, and telling him of Miss St. Clair's hopeful condition.

The effect, however, of this information, and the remedy which he did not now refuse, were so beneficial that in less than half an hour after the doctor left him to the care of Mrs. Lake, he was sleeping calmly.

Yet potent as the medicine might be, it was not powerful enough to keep Edward Armstrong asleep all night. More than once he awoke, and finding Mrs. Lake watching in his room on the last occasion, he anxiously inquired for Miss St. Clair.

"Sleeping sweetly, sir, thank God," was the reply. "I've just been into the room, and glad enough I am that the ladies are able to take some rest. I only came in here to see if you were all right; and now I'm going to take my place in Miss St. Clair's room, while they go and lie down. Oh, sir, they're both so thankful to you for what you did last night. But I'm not going to have you waking up and losing your rest; whatever am I about, chattering like this?" And she cautiously drew the curtains closer to shut out the early summer daylight.

But Edward was too much under the effects of his draught to keep awake long. He had understood sufficiently from Mrs. Lake's speech that Miss St. Clair was in no danger, and even before she had ceased talking he fell asleep.

The morning sun, however, roused him, as he supposed, at his usual hour, and he rose quite refreshed, and feeling very little the worse for his exploits of the preceding evening.

Dressing quickly, he descended to his sitting-room and found to his surprise that the clock had struck nine.

On the mantelpiece lay his watch, which had stopped as he plunged into the water, and the hands pointed to half-past seven. Taking it up to set it to the right time, he walked to the window and looked out across the garden to the spot which had so nearly proved fatal to himself as well as to another, and shuddered as he thought of what might have been if his efforts had proved unsuccessful.

While thus reflecting, Mrs. Lake entered with his breakfast.

"Good morning, sir," she said, as he turned to greet her; "I'm that glad to see you downstairs again, and all right, I hardly know what to say. But do you really feel quite well, sir?" she added hastily, "for you're looking pale."

"I'm all right," he replied, smiling, "or at least I shall be after breakfast, I hope, for that physic stuff has made my head ache."

"I daresay it has, sir; them sleeping draughts always do, but you'll be quite well after a cup of coffee."

Edward Armstrong seated himself, nothing loth, while his landlady continued to remain in the room by waiting upon him or dusting here and there, or rearranging different articles on the table, in hopes of being questioned. Her hopes were soon realised, for her lodger asked, "How is the young lady this morning, Mrs. Lake?"

"Oh! doing nicely, sir, and so is Master Charlie; he slept in my room last night, and he's been awake I can't tell how long, asking heaps of questions about the kind gentleman that took him and dear aunty out of the water—and the ladies, sir, they've been asking for you, and they do say Miss Maria is quite herself again this morning, and that she's going to get up presently."

Mrs. Lake was interrupted by a tap at the door, and without waiting for a reply, it was opened, and Dr. Anson, the medical attendant of Mrs. St. Clair, entered the room.

"Yes, it is my friend Edward Armstrong," he exclaimed, as the gentleman he addressed rose with surprise to receive his visitor. "I only learnt the name of our hero from Dr. Freeman this morning; I had no idea that the gentleman whose intrepidity and courage is the talk of the place was the son of my good friend, Farmer Armstrong."

Edward smiled as he shook hands with the friend whom he had known from a boy, but there was a languor in his movements, and a pallor on the cheeks, very unusual in the active man of business, which the doctor's quick eye soon detected.

"Are you feeling any ill effects from your exertions last evening?" he asked.

"No," was the reply; "unless a feeling of laziness and disinclination to move may be ranked among ill effects."

"Well, not exactly," said Dr. Anson, "although what you complain of is no doubt caused by exhaustion and excitement. At all events, you must extend your holiday and rest here for a day or two longer; such a sea-bath as yours produces effects which are not so easily got over."

At this moment the door was pushed open slightly, and through the opening appeared a rosy face, brown curls, and a pair of dark eyes which looked with curiosity at the two gentlemen.

"Ah, Charlie," said the doctor, "is that you? Come in and say how d'ye do to the gentleman that fished you out of the water yesterday."

Little Charlie Herbert boldly advanced, and standing before Mr. Armstrong held out his chubby hand and said, "Thank 'oo for saving me from being drowned."

Edward lifted the boy on his knee and kissed him, while the doctor asked—

"Who sent you here, Charlie?"

"Mrs. Lake," he replied, "and I've said what she told me to say to the gentleman."

The doctor smiled as he rose, and shaking hands with his friend he said—

"I must leave you now to pay my visit upstairs. Edward, keep the boy here for awhile; you cannot have better company."