Part 28 (1/2)
But Nancy could not hear any more. She made a little rush forward, with a kind of convulsive chuckling that was half sobbing and half laughter.
”And me here!” cried Dr Marjoribanks's famous cook, who had spent a fortune on her gravy-beef alone, and was one of the most expensive people in Carlingford--”me as has done for you all your days! me as would--if it was but a roast potato!” cried the devoted woman. She was in such a state of hysterical flutter and excitement that Lucilla had to take her almost into her arms and put the old woman into a chair and bring her to, which was an occupation quite in Miss Marjoribanks's way.
”But I shall only have two hundred a year,” said Lucilla. ”Now don't be rash; there will have to be a maid to keep things tidy, and that is every farthing I shall have. You used to spend as much in gravy-beef,”
said Miss Marjoribanks, with a sigh.
”Oh, Miss Lucilla, let bygones be bygones,” said Nancy, with tears. ”If I did, it wasn't without many a little something for them as was too poor to buy it for themselves--for I never was one as boiled the senses out of a bit of meat; and when a gentleman is well-to-do, and hasn't got no occasion to count every penny----The Doctor, I will say for him, was never one as asked too many questions. Give him a good dinner on his own table, and he wasn't the gentleman as grudged a bit of broken meat for the poor folks. He did a deal of good as you nor no one never know'd of, Miss Lucilla,” said Nancy, with a sob.
And then his daughter and his faithful old servant cried a little in company over Dr Marjoribanks's vacant place. What could a man have more?
n.o.body was made altogether desolate by his death, nor was any heart broken, but they wept for him honestly, though the old woman felt happy in her sorrow. And Lucilla, on her knees before the fire, told Nancy of that exclamation the Doctor had made in John Brown's office, and how he had put his hand on her shoulder that last night. ”All he said was, Poor Lucilla!” sobbed Miss Marjoribanks; ”he never thought of himself nor all his money that he had worked so hard for;” and once more that touch of something more exquisite than was usual to her went sharply down into Lucilla's heart and brought up tenderer and deeper tears.
She felt all the better for it after, and was even a little cheerful in the evening, and like herself; and thus it will be seen that one person in Carlingford--not, it is true, a popular oracle, but of powerful influence and first-rate importance in a practical point of view--gave the heartiest approbation to Miss Marjoribanks's scheme for her new life.
_Chapter XLVI_
Lucilla's calculations were fully justified by the result. Twenty times in a day she recognised the wisdom of her own early decision, which was made while she was still by herself, and before anybody had come in to advise her. If she had left it over until the time when, though much shaken, she was understood to be able to see her friends, it is just possible that the whirlwind of popular opinion which raged about her might have exercised a distracting influence even upon Miss Marjoribanks's clear head and steady judgment. For even now, though they saw her in her own house, in her mourning, people would not believe that it was true, and that Lucilla actually intended to make ”no change”; and all that tide of good advice which had been flowing through Carlingford ever since the Doctor's death in the form of opinion, now rushed in upon her, notwithstanding that all the world knew that she had made up her mind. ”Everybody says you are going to stay on, but we do hope it is not true, Lucilla,” her friends said, in many voices. ”It is dreadful for us to lose you, but you never _could_ bear it, dear.” And this was repeated so often that if Miss Marjoribanks had been weak-minded, she must have ended by believing not only that it was more than she was equal to, but more than she ought to be equal to--which was a more touching argument still.
”You are excited now,” Miss Brown said, who had a great deal of experience in family troubles; ”one always is at such a time; but when things have settled down in their ordinary way, then you will find it is more than you can bear. I think it is always best to make a change. If you were to travel a little, you know----”
”But, my dear, I am poor,” said Lucilla.
”It doesn't require so much money when you know how to set about it,”
said her adviser; ”and there are so many people who would be glad to have you, Lucilla! And then you might settle a little at Caen or Tours, or some of those nice places, where there is such capital English society, and everything so cheap; or, if you thought your health required it, at Pau or Nice, you know. You are looking quite pale, and I don't think you were ever very strong in the chest, Lucilla; and everything is _so_ different on the Continent--one feels it the moment one crosses the Channel; there is something different in the very air.”
”It smells different, I know,” said Lucilla meekly; and then the conversation was interrupted by that afternoon cup of tea, which Nancy could not be got to think was an extravagance, and around which, to tell the truth, the Grange Lane ladies began to resume their habit of gathering--though Miss Marjoribanks, of course, was still quite unequal to society--as in the old times.
”And unless it is for a very short time, Lucilla,” Mrs Centum said, who had joined them, ”you never can keep it up, you know. _I_ could not pretend to afford Nancy, for my part; and when a cook is extravagant she may promise as faithfully as you please, and make good resolutions, and all that; but when it is in her, Lucilla--I am sure one or two receipts she has given me have been quite ridiculous. You don't like to give in, I know, but you'll be driven to give in; and if she does not get you into debt as well, you will be very lucky. I know what it is. With my family, you know, a week of Nancy would make an end of me.”
”And the worst of all is,” said Lady Richmond, who had driven in expressly to add her mite to the treasure of precious counsel, of which Miss Marjoribanks was making so little use, ”that I am sure Lucilla is overestimating her strength. She will find after that she is not equal to it, you know; all the a.s.sociations--and the people coming at night to ask for the Doctor--and--and all that. I know it would kill _me_.”
”Dear Lady Richmond,” said Lucilla, making a desperate stand, and setting, as it were, her back against a rock, ”don't you think I can bear it best here where you are all so kind to me; and where everybody was so fond of--of _him_? You can't think what a comfort it is to me,”
said Lucilla, with a sob, ”to see all the hatbands upon the gentlemen's hats.”
And then there was a pause, for this was an argument against which n.o.body could find anything to say.
”For my part, I think the only thing she can do is to take Inmates,”
said Aunt Jemima. ”If I were obliged to leave she would be so very lonely. I have known ladies do it who were in a very good position, and it made no difference; people visited them all the same. She could say, 'In consequence of changes in the family,' or 'A lady who has a larger house than she requires'; which I am sure is quite true. It goes to one's heart to think of all these bedrooms, and only one lady to sleep in them all--when so many people are so hampered for want of room. Or she might say, 'For the sake of society'; for, I am sure, if I should have to go away----”
”But I hope you are not going away. It would be so sad for Lucilla to be left alone,” said Lady Richmond, who took a serious view of everything, ”at such a time.”
”Oh, no!” Aunt Jemima said, faltering a little; and then a pink blush, which seemed strangely uncalled for in such a mild little tea-party, came over her mature countenance; ”but then one can never tell what may happen. I might have other duties--my son might make a call upon my time. Not that I know of anything at present,” she added hurriedly, ”but I never can bind myself on account of Tom----”
And then she caught Lucilla's eye, and grew more confused than ever.
What could she have to be confused about? If Tom did make a call upon her time, whatever that might mean, there was nothing in it to call a blush upon his mother's face. And the fact was, that a letter had come from Tom a day or two before, of which, contrary to all her usual habits, Aunt Jemima had taken no notice to Lucilla. These were things which would have roused Miss Marjoribanks's curiosity if she had been able to think about anything, as she said. But her visitors were taking their cup of tea all the time, in a melancholy, half-sympathetic, half-disapproving way, and they could not be expected to see anything particularly interesting in Aunt Jemima's blush.
And then Rose Lake came in from Grove Street, who was rather an unusual visitor, and whose appearance, though they were all very kind and gracious to her, rather put the others to flight; for n.o.body had ever quite forgotten or forgiven Barbara's brief entrance into society and flirtation with Mr Cavendish, which might be said to have been the beginning of all that happened to him in Grange Lane. As for Mrs Centum, she took her leave directly, and pressed Lucilla's hand, and could not help saying in her ear that she hoped _the other_ was not coming back to Carlingford to throw herself in poor Mr Cavendish's way. ”It would do him so much harm,” Mrs Centum said anxiously; ”but oh! I forgot, Lucilla, you are on the other side.”