Part 14 (1/2)
”I cannot tell you, Andrew. I have been alone myself for the last two or three hours, but I ordered your tea to be got ready. May I give you some? Shall we come to the dining room at once? Your family were quite well three hours ago, so perhaps you and I may have a quiet meal together before we trouble about them any further. I think I may claim this little indulgence, as only properly respectful to your wife's sister, Andrew.”
”Yes, Maria, I will have tea with you,” said the Doctor. The pleased, bright look of antic.i.p.ation had altogether now left his face; it was careworn, the brow slightly puckered, and many lines of care and age showed round the lips.
”I will just go upstairs and wash my hands,” said Dr. Maybright. ”Then I will join you in the dining-room.”
He ran up the low stairs to his own room; it was not only full of Aunt Maria's possessions, but was guarded by the faithful Scorpion, who had flown there in disgust, and now again attacked the Doctor's legs.
”There is a limit,” he murmured, ”and I reach it when I am bitten by this toy terrier.”
He lifted Scorpion by his neck, and administered one or two short slaps, which sent the pampered little animal yelping under the bed; then he proceeded down the pa.s.sage in search of some other room where he might take shelter.
Alice met him; her eyes glowed, and the color in her face deepened.
”We are all so glad you are back, sir,” she said, with an affectionate tone in her voice. ”And Miss Helen has got the room over the porch ready, if you'd do with it for a night or two, sir. I've took hot water there, sir, for I saw the carriage coming up the drive.”
”Thank you, Alice; the porch room will do nicely. By the way, can you tell me where all the children are?”
But Alice had disappeared, almost flown down the pa.s.sage, and the Doctor had an uncomfortable half suspicion that he heard her sob as she went.
Dr. Maybright, however, was not a fanciful person--the children, with the exception of baby, were all probably out. It was certainly rather contrary to their usual custom to be away when his return was expected, still, he argued, consistency in children was the last thing to be expected. He went downstairs, therefore, with an excellent appet.i.te for whatever meal Mrs. Cameron might have provided for him, and once more in tolerably good spirits.
There are some people who habitually, and from a strong sense of duty, live on the shady side of life. Metaphorically speaking, the suns.h.i.+ne may almost touch the very path on which they are treading, but they shrink from and avoid it, having a strong preference for the shade, but considering themselves martyrs while they live in it. Mrs. Cameron was one of these people. The circ.u.mstances of her life had elected plenty of suns.h.i.+ne for her; she had a devoted and excellent husband, an abundant income, and admirable health. It is true she had no children, and it is also true that she had brought herself by careful cultivation to a state of chronic ill-temper. Every one now accepted the fact that Mrs. Cameron neither wished to be happy, nor was happy; and when the Doctor sat down to tea, and found himself facing her, it was with very somber and disapproving eyes that she regarded him.
”Well, Andrew, I must say you look remarkably well. Dear, dear, there is no constancy in this world, that is, amongst the male s.e.x.”
Here she handed him a cup of tea, and sighed lugubriously. The Doctor accepted the tea with a slight frown; he was a peaceable man, but as he said, when chastising Scorpion, ”there are limits.”
”If you have no objection, Maria,” he said, curtly, ”we will leave the subject of my personal appearance and the moral question which you have brought forward out of our conversation.”
Then his voice and manner changed; he put on a company smile, and continued, without any pause, ”How is your husband? Is he as great an antiquary as ever? And do you both continue to like living in Bath?”
Mrs. Cameron was a strong and determined woman, but she was no match for the Doctor when he chose to have his own way. For the remainder of the meal conversation was languid, and decidedly commonplace; once only it brightened into animation.
”I wonder where Scorpion can be?” said the good lady; ”I want to give him his cream.”
”I fear he is under punishment,” said the Doctor. ”If I judge of him aright, Scorpion is something of a coward, and is not likely to come into the same room where I am for some time.”
”What do you mean? Surely you have not been cruel to him?”
”Cruel to be kind. Once again he attempted to eat my legs, and I was obliged to administer one or two sharp slaps--nothing to hurt; you will find him under your bed. And now I really must go to look for my family.”
Dr. Maybright left the room, and Mrs. Cameron sat still, scarlet with annoyance and indignation.
”How could Helen have married such a man?” she said to herself. ”I never can get on with him--never. How cowardly it was of him to hurt the little dog. If it was not for the memory of poor dear Helen I should leave here by the first train in the morning; but as it is, I will not stir until I have established Miss Grinsted over this poor, misguided household. Ah, well! duty is ever hard, but those who know Maria Cameron are well acquainted with the fact that she never s.h.i.+rked it. Yes, I will stay; it will be very unpleasant, but I must go through it. What very abrupt manners the Doctor has! I was just preparing to tell him all about that wicked Polly when he jumped up and left the room. Now, of course, he will get a wrong impression of the whole thing, for the other children all take her part. Very bad manners to jump up from the tea table like that. And where _is_ Helen?--where are they all? Now that I come to think of it, I have seen nothing of any one of them since the early dinner. Well, well, if it were not for poor Helen I should wash my hands of the whole concern. But whoever suffers, dear little Scorpion must have his cream.”
Accordingly Mrs. Cameron slowly ascended the stairs, armed with a saucer and a little jug, and Scorpion forgot the indignities to which he had been subjected as he lapped up his dainty meal.
Meanwhile, the Doctor having explored the morning room and the schoolrooms, having peeped into the conservatory, and even peered with his rather failing sight into the darkness outside, took two or three strides upstairs, and found himself in the presence of Nurse and baby.
”Well, Pearl,” he said, taking the little pure white baby into his arms, looking into its wee face earnestly, and then giving it a kiss, which was sad, and yet partook of something of the nature of a blessing.