Part 29 (1/2)

Her mistress was not in the least angry. She smiled at the sound of the rival's name;--and, of course, in this particular department there was no rivalry between the two shops.

Yates was particular that her interesting patient should enjoy a moderate amount of fresh air, and advised that in these cases gentle carriage exercise is distinctly beneficial.

Several times therefore a brougham was procured from Mr. Young's stables, and mistress and maid went for a quiet afternoon drive. Yates would have preferred to enjoy these airings earlier in the day, but she agreed with Mrs. Marsden that a morning drive might appear ”conspicuous.” As it was, Yates made the excursion quite sufficiently remarkable--hot-water bottle for the patient's feet, rugs for her legs, three or four shawls for her shoulders.

”And don't you drive too fast,” said Yates sternly to Mr. Young's coachman. ”Take us along quiet.... And if you meet any of those great engines on the road, just turn round and go the other way.”

”I don't want you frightened,” she told Mrs. Marsden, ”if only for half a minute.”

Mr. Young's horses, at an easy jog trot, took them along very, very quietly; some air, but not too much, blew in upon them pleasantly; and throughout the drive the two women talked unceasingly of the same engrossing subject.

”Which do you hope for, yourself, ma'am?”

”Yates, I scarcely know.”

”Well, ma'am, I'll tell you candid, it's a girl _I_ am hoping for.”

”But whichever it is--boy or girl--you'll love it just the same, won't you, Yates?”

”Indeed I shall, ma'am.”

And they discussed christian names.

”If it is a boy, of course I shall wish him to have his father's name for one.”

”Yes, I suppose so, ma'am.”

”Richard for his first name; and, if Mr. Marsden approves, I shall call him Martin. I should like him to bear the name of Saint Martin--for a little romantic reason of my own. And I also like the name of Roderick--if that isn't too grand.”

”I like the plain names best,” said Yates. ”If it's a girl, I do hope and trust you'll give her your own name, ma'am. You can never get a better name than Jane. Let her be Miss Jane.”

They met no ugly traction engines to upset the horses, and disturb the patient's composure. They chose the level sheltered roads, and avoided the dangerous windy hills; and Mrs. Marsden looked through the half-shut window at the featureless landscape, and thought it almost beautiful, even at this dead time of the year. It was bare and nearly colourless,--all the hedgerows of a dull brown, the far-off woods a misty grey, and here and there, seen through the black field-gates, patches of snow faintly sparkling beneath the feeble light. The tardy spring as yet showed scarce a sign of nascent energy. But the winter had no terrors for her now. There was summer in her heart.

The date had pa.s.sed; and, pa.s.sing, had left apparent certainty.

Yates was wildly excited, irrepressibly jubilant.

”You'll tell him now, won't you, ma'am?”

”Yes, I can tell him now.”

”Everybody may know it now, ma'am--And, oh, won't they be glad to hear the news in the shop.”

But naturally Mr. Marsden must hear the news before anybody else; and unluckily Mr. Marsden was not in Mallingbridge to hear it. He had been expected home two days ago, but something was detaining him in London.

This final useless delay, after the long unavoidable delay, seemed more than Mrs. Marsden could support.

”Oh, why is he away? Oh, Yates, I want him--I want him with me. Oh, oh!”

She burst into a sobbing fit, and rung her hands piteously. ”Yates, fetch him. Bring my husband back to me. Don't let him leave me now--of all times.”

This was in the morning, before Mrs. Marsden had got up. After sobbing for a little while, she became suddenly faint and breathless, and sank back upon her pillow. Yates, scared by her faintness and whiteness, ran out of the room and despatched a hasty messenger.