Elster's Folly Part 87

"And now I want you to tell me one thing--How was it that Edward could not be saved?"

For a moment Lady Hartledon did not understand, and turned her eyes on the boy.

"I mean my brother, Anne. When news came out to India that he had died in that shocking manner, following upon poor George--I don't care now to recall how I felt. Was there _no_ one at hand to save him?"

"No one. A sad fatality seemed to attend it altogether. Val regrets his brother bitterly to this day."

"And that poor w.i.l.l.y Gum was killed at sea, after all!"

"Yes," said Anne, shortly. "When you spoke of Edward," returning to the other subject, "I thought you meant the boy."

Lady Laura shook her head. "He will never get well, Anne. Death is written on his face."

"You would say so, if you saw him some days. He is excitable, and your coming has roused him. I never saw any one fluctuate so; one day dying, the next better again. For myself I have very little hope, and Mr.

Hillary has none; but I dare not say so to Margaret and the dowager."

"Why not?"

"It makes them angry. They cannot bear to hear there's a possibility of his death. Margaret may see the danger, but I don't believe the dowager does."

"Their wishes must blind them," observed Lady Laura. "The dowager seems all fury and folly. She scarcely gave herself time to welcome me this morning, or to inquire how I was after my long voyage; but began descanting on a host of evils, the chief being that her grandson should have had fever."

"She would like him to bear a charmed life. Not for love of him, Laura."

"What then?"

"I do not believe she has a particle of love for him. Don't think me uncharitable; it is the truth; Val will tell you the same. She is not capable of experiencing common affection for any one; every feeling of her nature is merged in self-interest. Had her daughter left another boy she would not be dismayed at the prospect of this one's death; whether he lived or died, it would be all one to her. The grievance is that Reginald should have the chance of succeeding."

"Because he is your son. I understand. A vain, puffed-up old thing! the idea of her still painting her face and wearing false curls! I wonder you tolerate her in your house, Anne! She's always here."

"How can I help myself? She considers, I believe, that she has more right in this house than I have."

"Does she make things uncomfortable?"

"More so than I have ever confessed, even to my husband. From the hour of my marriage she set the two children against me, and against my children when they came; and she never ceases to do so still."

"Why do you submit to it?"

"She is their grandmother, and I cannot well deny her the house. Val might do so, but he does not. Perhaps I should have had courage to attempt it, for the children's own sake, it is so shocking to train them to ill-nature, but that he appears to think as she does. The petty disputes between the children are frequent--for my two elder ones are getting of an age to turn again when put upon--but their father never corrects Edward and Maude, or allows them to be corrected; let them do what wrong they will, he takes their part. I believe that if Edward _killed_ one of my children, he would only caress him."

Lady Laura turned her eyes on the speaker's face, on its flush of pain and mortification.

"And Val loved you: and did _not_ love Maude! What does it mean, Anne?"

"I cannot tell you. Things altogether are growing more than I can bear."

"Margaret has been with you some time; has she not interfered, or tried to put things upon a right footing?"

Anne shook her head. "She espouses the dowager's side; upholds the two children in their petty tyranny. No one in the house takes my part, or my children's."

"That is just like Margaret. Do you remember how you and I used to dread her domineering spirit when we were girls? It's time I came, I think, to set things right."

"Laura, neither you nor any one else can set things right. They have been wrong too long. The worst is, I cannot see what the evil is, as regards Val. If I ask him he repels me, or laughs at me, and tells me I am fanciful. That he has some secret trouble I have long known: his days are unhappy, his nights restless; often when he thinks me asleep I am listening to his sighs. I am glad you have come home; I have wanted a true friend to confide these troubles to, and I could only speak of them to one of the family."

"It sounds like a romance," cried Laura. "Some secret grief! What can it be?"

They were interrupted by a commotion. Maude had been threading a splendid ring all the colours of the rainbow, and now exhibited it for the benefit of admiring beholders.

"Papa--Aunt Margaret--look at my ring."

Lord Hartledon nodded pleasantly at the child from his distant seat; Lady Margaret appeared not to have heard; and Maude caught up a soft ball and threw it at her aunt.

Unfortunately, it took a wrong direction, and struck the nodding dowager on the nose. She rose up in a fury and some commotion ensued.

"Make me a ring, Maude," little Anne lisped when the dowager had subsided into her chair again. Maude took no notice; her finger was still lifted with the precious ornament.

"Can you see it from your sofa, Edward?"

The boy rose and stretched himself. "Pretty well. You have put it on the wrong finger, Maude. Ladies don't wear rings on the little finger."

"But it won't go on the others," said Maude dolefully: "it's too small."

"Make a larger one."

"Make one for me, Maude," again broke in Anne's little voice.

"No, I won't!" returned Maude. "You are big enough to thread beads for yourself."

"No, she's not," said Reginald. "Make her one, Maude."

"No, don't, Maude," said Edward. "Let them do things for themselves."

"You hear!" whispered Lady Hartledon.

"I do hear. And Val sits there and never reproves them; and the old dowager's head and eyes are nodding and twinkling approval."

Lady Laura was an energetic little woman, thin, and pale, and excessively active, with a propensity for setting the world straight, and a tongue as unceremoniously free as the dowager's. In the cause of justice she would have stood up to battle with a giant. Lady Hartledon was about to make some response, but she bade her wait; her attention was absorbed by the children. Perhaps the truth was that she was burning to have a say in the matter herself.

"Maude," she called out, "if that ring is too small for you, it would do for Anne, and be kind of you to give it her."

Maude looked dubious. Left to herself, the child would have been generous enough. She glanced at the dowager.

"May I give it her, grand'ma?"

Grand'ma was conveniently deaf. She would rather have cut the ring in two than it should be given to the hated child: but, on the other hand, she did not care to offend Laura Level, who possessed inconveniently independent opinions, and did not shrink from proclaiming them. Seizing the poker, she stirred the fire, and created a divertiss.e.m.e.nt.

In the midst of it, Edward left his sofa and walked up to the group and their beads. He was very weak, and tottered unintentionally against Anne.

The touch destroyed her equilibrium, and she fell into Maude's lap. There was no damage done, but the box of beads was upset on to the carpet.