Peter's Mother Part 20

"Well may you remind us of the fact, Isabella," said Miss Crewys, "for she has discarded the last semblance of mourning."

"Time flies so fast," said the canon, as though impelled to defend the absent. "It is--getting on for three years since poor Sir Timothy died."

"It is but two years and four months," said Miss Crewys.

"It is thirty-three years since the admiral went aloft," said Lady Belstone, who often became slightly nautical in phrase when alluding to her departed husband; "and look at me."

The pocket-handkerchief she held up was deeply bordered with ink.

Orthodox streamers floated on either side her severe countenance.

The canon looked and shook his head. He felt that the mysteries of a widow's garments had best not be discussed by one who dwelt, so to speak, outside them.

"Poor Mary can do nothing gradually," said Miss Crewys. "She leapt in a single hour out of a black dress into a white one."

"Her anguish when our poor Timothy succ.u.mbed to that fatal operation surpa.s.sed even the bounds of decorum," said Lady Belstone, "and yet--she would not wear a cap!"

She appealed to the canon with such a pathetic expression in her small, red-rimmed, grey eyes that he could not answer lightly.

They faced him with anxious looks and drooping, tremulous mouths.

They had grown curiously alike during the close a.s.sociation of nearly eighty years, though in their far-off days of girlhood no one had thought them to resemble each other.

Miss Crewys crocheted a shawl with hands so delicately cared for and preserved, that they scarce showed any sign of her great age; her sister wore gloves, as was the habit of both when unoccupied, and she grasped her handkerchief in black kid fingers that trembled slightly with emotion.

The canon realized that the old ladies were seriously troubled concerning their sister-in-law's delinquencies.

"We speak to you, of course, as our _clergyman_," said Miss Crewys; and the poor gentleman could only bow sympathetically.

"I am an old friend," he said feelingly, "and your confidences are sacred. But I think in your very natural--er--affection for Lady Mary"--the word stuck in his throat--"you are, perhaps, over-anxious.

In judging those younger than ourselves," said the canon, gallantly coupling himself with his auditors,' though acutely conscious that he was some twenty years the junior of both, "we must not forget that they recover their spirits, by a merciful dispensation of Providence, more quickly than we should ourselves in the like circ.u.mstances," said the canon, who was as light-hearted a cleric as any in England.

"They do, indeed," said Lady Belstone, emphatically; "when they can sing and play all the day and half the night, like our dear Mary and young John."

"You see the piano blocking up the hall, though Sir Timothy hated music?" said Miss Crewys.

Her own mourning was thoughtfully graduated to indicate the time which had elapsed since Sir Timothy's decease. She wore a violet silk of sombre hue, ornamented by a black silk ap.r.o.n and a black lace scarf.

The velvet bow which served so very imperfectly as a skull-cap was also violet, intimating a semi-a.s.suaged, but respectfully lengthened, grief for the departed.

"And now this maddest scheme of all," said Miss Crewys.

"Bless me! What mad scheme?"

"A house in London is to be hired as soon as Peter comes home."

"Is that all? But surely that is very natural. For my part, I have often wondered why none of you ever cared to go to London, if only for your shopping. I am very fond of a trip to town myself, now and then, for a few days."

"A few days, it seems, would not suffice our cousin John's notions. He is pleased to think Peter may require skilled medical attendance; and, since he wrote he was in rags, a new outfit. These, it seems, can only be obtained in the Metropolis nowadays. My brother's tailor still lives in Exeter; and with all his faults--and n.o.body can dislike him more than I do--I have never heard it denied that Dr. Blundell is a skilful apothecary."

"_Very_ skilful," added Miss Crewys. "You remember, Isabella, how quickly he put your poor little Fido out of his agony."

"That is nothing; all doctors understand animals' illnesses. They kill numbers of guinea-pigs before they are allowed to try their hands on human beings," said Lady Belstone. "The point is, that if my poor brother Timothy had not been mad enough to go to London, he would have been alive at this moment. I have never heard of Dr. Blundell finding it necessary--much as I detest the man--to perform an operation on anybody."

"Apart from this painful subject, my dear lady," murmured the canon, "I presume it is only a furnished house that Lady Mary contemplates?"

"During all the years of his married life Sir Timothy never hired a furnished house," said Miss Crewys. "The home of his fathers sufficed him."

"She may want a change?" suggested the canon.

Miss Crewys interpreted him literally. "No; she is in the best of health."

"Better than I have ever seen her, and--and _gayer_" said Lady Belstone, with emphasis.

"People who are gay and bright in disposition are the very ones who--who pine for a little excitement at times," said the courageous canon. "There is so much to be seen and done and heard in London. For instance, as you say--she is pa.s.sionately fond of music."

"She gets plenty. _We_ get more than enough," said Miss Crewys, grimly.

"I mean _good_ music;" then he recollected himself in alarm. "No, no; I don't mean hers is not charming, and Mr. John's playing is delightful, but--"

"There is an organ in the parish church," said Miss Crewys, crocheting more busily than ever. "I have heard no complaints of the choir. Have you?"

"No, no; but--besides music, there are so many other things," he said dismally. "She likes pictures, too."

"It does not look like it, canon," said Lady Belstone, sorrowfully.

She waved her handkerchief towards the panelled walls. "She has removed the family portraits to the lumber-room."

"At least the Vandyck has never been seen to greater advantage,"

said the canon, hopefully; "and I hear the gallery upstairs has been restored and supported, to render it safe to walk upon, which will enable you to take pleasure in the fine pictures there."

"I am sadly afraid that it is not pictures that poor Mary hankers after, but _theatres_," said Miss Crewys. "John has persuaded her, if persuasion was needed, which I take leave to doubt, that there is nothing improper in visiting such places. My dear brother thought otherwise."

"You know I do not share your opinions on that point," said the canon.

"Though not much of a theatre-goer myself, still--"

"A widow at the theatre!" said Lady Belstone. "Even in the admiral's lifetime I did not go. Being a sailor, and _not_ a clergyman," she added sternly, "he frequented such places of amus.e.m.e.nt. But he said he could not have enjoyed a ballet properly with me looking on. His feelings were singularly delicate." "I am afraid people must be talking about dear Mary a good deal, canon," said Miss Crewys, whisking a ball of wool from the floor to her knee with much dexterity.

Her keen eyes gleamed at her visitor through her spectacles, though her fingers never stopped for a moment.

"I hope not. I've heard nothing."

"My experience of men," said Lady Belstone, "is that they never _do_ hear anything. But a widow cannot be too cautious in her behaviour.

All eyes are fixed, I know not why, upon a widow," she added modestly.

"We do our best to guard dear Mary's reputation," said Miss Crewys.

The impetuous canon sprang to his feet with a half-uttered exclamation; then recollecting the age and temperament of the speaker, he checked himself and tried to laugh.

"I do not know," he said, "who has said, or ever could say, one single word against that--against our dear and sweet Lady Mary. But if there _is_ any one, I can only say that such word had better not be uttered in my presence, that's all."

"Dear me, Canon Birch, you excite yourself very unnecessarily," said Lady Belstone, with a.s.sumed surprise. "You are just confirming our suspicions."