Part 9 (1/2)
When the fas.h.i.+onable Mrs. Wilkie returned to her abode late in the evening she found the door closed on her, repeated pulls at the door-bell eliciting no response. With her skates the lady then hammered violently on the door, waking the echoes of the quiet street, and finally, in her frenzy, she smashed every window within reach, and departed to her mother's residence.
Mrs. Collins was very much surprised to receive a visit from her daughter at such an unseasonable hour, and when she was made aware of the cause she became proportionately indignant. She suggested the propriety of taking legal proceedings for the rest.i.tution of her daughter's rights, but the latter would not listen to any such suggestion, and vowed she would never live with Wilkie or his wretch of a mother again.
Mrs. Collins expected daily to receive a message from Mr. Wilkie, requesting his wife to return to him, but he, being completely under the influence of his mother, failed to do anything of the kind, imagining that his wife would come as a suppliant to him. In this he reckoned without his host, for Mrs. Wilkie was as proud as Lucifer, and would not bend her haughty head to be made Empress of Canada. One thing, however, caused her great uneasiness: her child, Alexander, was all the world to her, and she set her wits to work to devise some means of obtaining him.
Without recourse to unpleasant legal proceedings or equally unpleasant negotiations with her mother-in-law, Mrs. Wilkie could not hit on any plan by which she could obtain the control of her child's nurture and education. At length she resolved on the simple and practical plan of taking forcible possession of the boy. Once resolved, she speedily put her plans in execution.
The child's nurse was in the habit of driving him in a baby carriage to the Queen's Park for an airing, and one afternoon the mother lay in wait for the appearance of the infantile equipage. She was afraid to approach the servant with a bribe, as, in the event of her refusal, the Wilkies would be placed on their guard, and would set a strict watch over all the child's movements. She accordingly sat down at a distance, closely veiled, and waited till an opportunity presented itself.
She did not have long to wait. The nurse on entering the park fell in with a tribe of professional acquaintances, one of whom, drawing a love-letter which she had received from her pocket, commenced to read it for the edification of her companions. Not content with listening to the gus.h.i.+ng effusion, the auditors crowded around the proud recipient of the epistle, reading with eager eyes such portions as they could see over the shoulder of their friend. While the representative of the dowager was busily engaged in scanning the amorous lines penned by the lovesick swain (the child left to her care being at some distance in his carriage, sleeping under the shade of some trees), Mrs. Wilkie cautiously approached, and, lifting the unconscious child with the tenderness peculiar to mothers, walked quietly and swiftly away towards the gate, when, coolly hailing a pa.s.sing cab, she drove to her mother's house, proudly depositing her baby in a richly adorned cradle which had been purposely prepared for his reception.
It was a long time before the nurse missed the boy; in fact, not till she prepared to start for home did she give him a thought, except to congratulate herself that he slept so long and gave her so little trouble. When she at length turned towards the place where she had left the carriage and learned the true state of affairs her face grew deadly-pale, and, beckoning her companions towards her, she pointed to the carriage and uttered several piercing shrieks. Many were the suggestions as to what had become of the boy. Some thought he might have got out of the carriage alone and fallen into the pond, but, as he could not yet walk, this was highly improbable, another suggested that he had been stolen by gypsies, but could not say that she had ever heard of gypsies in connection with the Queen's Park. Many other theories, some wild, a few reasonable, were advanced, but yet no clue to the whereabouts of the child could be discovered, nor could any light be thrown upon the mystery.
The poor nurse was in a terrible state of mind. She had in her fancy a picture of the baby's grandmother threatening to tear her limb from limb, while the frantic father went for the police; but return she must, and so, with a different step from that with which she entered the park, she set out for home, arriving there just as the bell rang for dinner.
The old lady was just commencing to lecture her for keeping the child out in the evening air, when she saw, from the expression of the girl's face, that something unusual had occurred, and rus.h.i.+ng out, she threw up her hands in astonishment at the empty perambulator, giving a mute look of inquiry which spoke volumes. In a moment Mr. Wilkie joined the throng, just as the frightened domestic sobbed out, as well as she could, an account of the child's disappearance. He was about to rush at once to the police office, but the old lady, shoving him aside, hastily put on her bonnet and shawl, and, ordering the girl to summon a cab, peremptorily forbade Mr. Wilkie to leave the house till she had made a reconnaissance of the quarters of her daughter-in-law.
Mrs. Collins lived at the extreme west end of King street, and, as Mr.
Wilkie's residence was in the North-East, in the neighborhood of the Horticultural Garden, it was some time before the wily mother-in-law approached her base of operations; she accordingly leaned back in the carriage, and, closing her eyes, meditated on her plan of action.
Bidding the coachman pull up at the corner of Brock street, she alighted, and proceeded on foot towards the house: it was a semi-detached cottage, with a small garden in front, the dwelling being only a few feet from the street. Inside all was, apparently, quiet as usual, but Mrs. Wilkie thought she heard a soft, measured song, as if some one were singing a child to sleep. Approaching the window she caught a glimpse of her daughter-in-law pacing the room to and fro with the child pillowed in her arms; so, quickly receding into the darkness, she made her way back to the carriage, satisfied that her calculations, in one particular at least, had been correct.
Entering the cab, she bade the driver return with all speed to Mr.
Wilkie's house, setting her mind, during her transit on the frustration of the hopes of her daughter-in-law, against whom she in her heart registered a vow of vengeance. She found her son pacing the dining-room like a madman, and she at once gave him all the particulars concerning her reconnaissance, adding, at the same time, that he must take legal measures to obtain possession of his child, no matter what the cost. In spite, however, of his mother's importunity, Wilkie steadily refused to give the matter publicity by taking legal proceedings, so the old lady was obliged to content herself with concocting plans for retaking the child from the hands of the enemy.
Mrs. Wilkie watched long for an opportunity, and at last she was successful. She found out where her daughter-in-law went to church, and one Sunday having learnt from one of her emissaries that both of the ladies had gone to church together, leaving the child in charge of the maid-of-all-work, she hurriedly set out for the house, and boldly ringing the door-bell inquired for Mrs. Wilkie. On being told that the lady was at church and would not return for some time she requested permission to sit down and wait, as she was fatigued with her long journey. Entering the drawing-room, she sank on one of the lounges and appeared to faint. The poor domestic did not know what to do, but ran wildly to and fro exclaiming, ”Och, wirrasthru, what'll I do at all at all'” The invalid gradually came round, and gasped out, ”Dr. Metcalfe, go for Dr. Metcalfe!” This gentleman lived a few blocks distant, and the girl at once rushed off, without waiting even to put her bonnet on.
Quick as thought Mrs. Wilkie ascended the staircase to where her infant grand-child lay wrapped in slumber: hastily wrapping him in a shawl she descended to the door, and coolly hailing a pa.s.sing cab was soon far from the scene which had so wrought upon the feelings of poor Bridget Moriarty.
When Bridget arrived with the doctor she found that the old lady had disappeared leaving, however, a card for Mrs. Wilkie. On the latter's return Bridget told her the whole story, adding that she supposed the old lady had come to herself and got tired waiting; in time, however, the baby was missed, and that threw a new light on affairs. Mrs. Wilkie was frantic; she denounced Bridget as a good-for-nothing, refused to sit down to dinner, and set off with her mother in the direction of Mrs.
Wilkie's house.
This time, however, the dowager was on her guard. The child was carefully looked after, being under the care of a faithful ally of the old lady, whose instructions were never to leave him for a moment out of her sight. Mrs. Wilkie and her mother might walk up and down and look at the lighted windows; they might also watch at a distance the youthful hope of the house of Wilkie as he took his daily airing in the park, but the trick once tried could not be repeated, and the fond mother (for whatever her faults were she loved her child) was obliged to pine in weary loneliness.
During all these sieges and reprisals the little fellow waxed strong and healthy, in sublime unconsciousness of the importance attached to the possession of his person: he was by no means neglected, the only risk he ran was that of being hugged to death, as each party, more through joy at the success of its schemes than from love of the youth in question, caressed him lavishly if not fondly.
Some months after these occurrences Mr. Wilkie removed to Montreal, where he soon became permanently established, and, as he was always fond of politics, he was in a short time recognised as one of the leaders of the liberal party. When the reaction consequent on the famous ”Pacific Scandal” set in, Mr. Wilkie, M. P., took his seat for K----, a small town below Montreal, rising in Parliament, as he did everywhere else by his ability, far above the common level. His son was placed at the Montreal High school, and gave promise of becoming in time even more distinguished than his father.
They had not been long resident in Montreal before the poor old dowager was seized with acute rheumatism, to which she finally succ.u.mbed, and Mr. Wilkie was obliged to engage a housekeeper to look after his household affairs and his son's education. It was a sad time for poor little Aleck; his grandmother fairly doted on him, and indulged his every whim, but Mrs. Riddell, the new housekeeper, cared not whether he was happy or miserable so long as she drew her monthly pay.
All this time Mrs. Wilkie had been living with her mother in Toronto, and, as soon as she heard of her mother-in-law's death, she persuaded her mother to remove to Montreal, so that she might secretly keep watch over her boy, whom she now loved, if possible, more than ever. a.s.suming the name of Mrs. Johnson, she took lodgings in a house nearly opposite the residence of Mr. Wilkie, and thus was enabled to observe closely all the proceedings of his household; she longed to throw herself at her husband's feet and implore his forgiveness, but her proud spirit rebelled against such an act, and she sat at her window day after day in moody silence watching her darling boy going and returning from school.
Shortly after his wife's arrival in Montreal, Mr. Wilkie was summoned to England on business of importance, a fact with which Mrs. Wilkie became easily acquainted through the _Gazette_, which heralded all his movements, the fond mother now became more anxious than ever about her boy, and indeed not without reason, for, being monarch of all she surveyed, the easy-going housekeeper laid herself out for ”a good time,”
and, although in her way she was kind enough to the child, she left him to take care of himself as well as he could, being content if she prepared a bed for him to sleep in, and ordered his three meals a day with unfailing regularity. The house Mr. Wilkie lived in was situated in one of the newest and most fas.h.i.+onable localities, having what are generally designated ”modern improvements,” and one of these latter so improved the internal arrangements of Master Aleck, that he was soon confined to bed with enteric fever. Mrs. Johnson, missing the boy from the street, called to enquire after him, and had her fears confirmed by the housekeeper, who said she did not know what to do for his father was away, and she had never in her life nursed a fevered patient. The wily mother seized the opportunity with avidity, and with unblus.h.i.+ng effrontery perpetrated the atrocious falsehood that she was a professional nurse of large experience, and that such an interest did she feel in the little fellow that she would if permitted undertake to nurse him free of charge. Mrs. Riddell was delighted, and at her neighbor's suggestion sent for Dr. Brownie, who had, she said great experience in such cases. A cablegram was despatched to Mr. Wilkie, and everything that science could devise was done for the poor little sufferer. For many days he seemed to get worse and worse and his devoted mother was nearly worn out as she sat up night after night wiping his fevered brow, or moistening his parched lips, at length the crisis came, and the doctor p.r.o.nounced him on the way to recovery, adding that the slightest neglect on the part of those who tended him would permit a relapse, which would in all probability prove fatal. In this case, however, the latter caution was altogether unnecessary, what Mrs.
Johnson lacked in experience she more than made up for in care and solicitude, and, as every direction of the physician was carried out to the letter, the little fellow began perceptibly to mend before the telegram came announcing Mr. Wilkie's arrival in Quebec. On the receipt of the missive Mrs. Johnson made preparations for her departure, saying that her services were now scarcely needed, and that she needed rest; Mrs. Riddell at first tried hard to induce her to remain, but when she looked at the pale thin face, and thought how many weary nights the lady had voluntarily sat up with the raving child, she ceased to urge the request, and at once set out for a mercenary to replace her.
What a difference there is between him who enters on a labor of love and the hireling who works for pay! In this case, then, it may easily be supposed with a mother's ardent affection on the one hand, how different was the cold professional service rendered by the nurse who replaced Mrs. Johnson: although kind and attentive, she had not the same soothing power, nor could she sing the sweet lullaby which so often in his fevered moments had calmed poor little Aleck's soul, and the little fellow became at once very low indeed. At this juncture his father arrived, and when he saw his boy he was completely overcome; he learned from the housekeeper all the particulars of the kind neighbor's attention, and resolved to go personally to her residence and implore her not to desert his boy till he was out of all danger. Waiting only to partake of a morsel of food, he set out for the house indicated by his housekeeper, and inquired for Mrs. Johnson. The girl who opened the door told him that Mrs. Johnson had been out nursing a sick child for several nights, and had just fallen into a deep sleep, the first she had had for days, and urged him to call round again in the afternoon, when her mistress would probably be able to see him. In the afternoon he returned in great haste, saying that he must see Mrs. Johnson at all hazards, that his boy was worse, and raved incessantly for her. While he was speaking the lady he inquired for suddenly came down stairs, and as their eyes met both uttered an exclamation of surprise. Forgetting everything in her anxiety for her boy's safety the poor mother's face became suffused with tears as she anxiously cried with bated breath, ”Is he dead?” ”No; thanks be to G.o.d and his mother's care he still lives, but you must not let him die now.”