A Girl of the Commune by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER XVI.
While in the ambulance, Mary Brander resolutely put her conversationwith Cuthbert aside, but as soon as she started for her walk home, itbecame uppermost in her thoughts. It was certainly a curious affair.From time to time friends at home with whom she corresponded, sent herlocal newspapers, and this had especially been the case during the firstfew months of her stay in Germany, as they naturally supposed she wouldbe greatly interested in the calamity of the bank failure.
She had, at the time it was issued, read the full report of thecommittee of investigation upon its affairs, and, although she hadpassed lightly over the accounts, she had noticed that the proceeds ofthe sale of the Fairclose estates were put down as subject to adeduction of fifteen thousand pounds for a previous mortgage to JeremiahBrander, Esq. The matter had made no impression upon her mind at thistime, but it now came back to her remembrance.
Of course it was perfectly natural that if Mr. Hartington wished toborrow money it was to her father, as his solicitor and friend, that hewould have gone. There could be nothing unusual in that, but whatCuthbert had told her about Mr. Hartington buying the shares but twomonths before his death was certainly singular. Surely her father couldhave prevented his taking so disastrous a step. Few men are regarded bymembers of their family in exactly the same light as they are consideredby the public, and Jeremiah Brander was certainly no exception. Whilethe suavest of men in the eyes of his fellow-townsmen, his family werewell aware that he possessed a temper. When the girls were young hisconversation was always guarded in their hearing, but as they grew up heno longer felt the same necessity for prudence of speech, and frequentlyindulged in criticisms of the colleagues, for whom he professed the mostunbounded respect and admiration in public.
Mary had often felt something like remorse at the thought that the firsttime she read Martin Chuzzlewit, many touches in the delineation of Mr.Pecksniff's character had reminded her of her father. She believed himto be a just and upright man, but she could not help admitting toherself that he was not by a long way the man the public believed him tobe. It was a subject on which she rarely permitted herself to think.They had never got on very well together, and she acknowledged toherself that this was as much her fault as his. It was not so much thefact that she had a strong will and was bent on going her own way,regardless of the opinion of others, that had been the cause of thegulf which had grown up between them, as the dissimilarity of theircharacter, the absolute difference between the view which she held ofthings in general, to that which the rest of her family entertainedregarding them, and the outspoken frankness with which she was in thehabit of expressing her contempt for things they praised highly.
Thinking over this matter of Mr. Hartington's purchase of the bankshares, she found herself wondering what motive her father could havehad in permitting him to buy them, for knowing how the Squire reliedupon his opinion in all business matters, she could not doubt that thelatter could have prevented this disastrous transaction. That he musthave had some motive she felt sure, for her experience of him was amplysufficient for her to be well aware that he never acted without a motiveof some sort. So far as she could see, no motive was apparent, but thisin no way altered her opinion.
"Cuthbert thinks it a curious affair, and no wonder," she said toherself. "I don't suppose he has a suspicion that anything has beenwrong, and I don't suppose there has; but there may have been what theycall sharp practice. I don't think Cuthbert likes my father, but he isthe very last man to suspect anyone. It was horrid, before, being atFairclose--it will be ten times as bad now. The whole thing isdisgusting. It is wicked of me to think that my father could possibly doanything that wasn't quite honorable and right--especially when there isnot the slightest reason for suspecting him. It is only, I suppose,because I know he isn't exactly what other people think him to be, thatmakes me uneasy about it. I know well enough that I should never havegone away from home as I did, if it had not been that I hated so to hearhim running down people with whom he seemed to be so friendly, andmaking fun of all the things in which he seemed so interested. It usedto make me quite hateful, and he was just as glad, when I said I shouldlike to go to Girton, to get rid of me as I was to go.
"It is all very well to say, honor your father and mother, but if youcan't honor them what are you to do? I have no doubt I am worryingmyself for nothing now, but I can't help it. It is dreadful to feellike that towards one's father, but I felt quite a chill run through mewhen Cuthbert said he should go and see that man Cumming and try to getto the bottom of things. One thing is certain, I will never live atFairclose--never. If he leaves it between us, Julia and Clara may livethere if they like, and let me have so much a year and go my own way.But I will never put foot in it after father and mother are gone. It isall very miserable, and I do think I am getting to be a most hatefulgirl. Here am I suspecting my own father of having done something wrong,although of what I have not the least idea, and that without a shadow ofreason, then I am almost hating a woman because a man I refused lovesher. I have become discouraged and have thrown up all the plans I hadlaid down for myself, because it does not seem as easy as I thought itwould be. No, that is not quite true. It is much more because Cuthberthas laughed me out of them. Anyhow I should be a nice woman to teachother women what they should do, when I am as weak as the weakest ofthem. I don't think there ever was a more objectionable sort of girl inthe world than I have become."
By the time that she had arrived at this conclusion she had nearlyreached home. A sudden feeling that she could not in her present moodsubmit to be petted and fussed over by Madame Michaud struck her, andturning abruptly she walked with brisk steps to the Arc de Triomphe andthen down the Champs Elysees and along the Rue Rivoli, and then roundthe Boulevards, returning home fagged out, but the better for herexertion. One thing she determined during her walk, she would give upher work at the ambulance.
"There are plenty of nurses," she said, "and one more or less will makeno difference. I am miserably weak, but at any rate I have sense enoughto know that it will be better for me not to be going there every day,now that he is out of danger. He belongs to someone else, and I wouldrather die than that he should ever dream what a fool I am; and now Iknow it myself it will be harder and harder as he gets better to betalking to him indifferently." Accordingly the next morning, when shewent down, she told Dr. Swinburne that she felt that she must, at anyrate for a time, give up nursing.
"You are quite right, Miss Brander," he said, kindly, "you have taxedyour strength too much already, and are looking a mere shadow of whatyou were two months ago. You are quite right to take a rest. I haveplenty of assistance, and there is not likely to be such a strain againas that we have lately gone through. Paris cannot hold out many weekslonger, and after the two failures I feel sure that there will be nomore attempts at a sortie, especially as all hopes that an army may cometo our relief are now at an end."
She found it more difficult to tell Cuthbert, but it was not necessaryfor her to begin the subject, for he noticed at once that she had notthe usual nursing-dress on.
"You are going to take a holiday to-day, I suppose?" he said, as shecame up to his bedside.
"I am going to take a holiday for some little time," she said, quietly."They can do very well without me now. Almost all the patients in thisward are convalescent, and I really feel that I need a rest."
"I am sure you do," he said, earnestly, "it has been an awful time foryou to go through, and you have behaved like a heroine. A good many ofus owe our lives to you, but the work has told on you sadly. I don'tsuppose you know yourself how much. We shall all miss you at this end ofthe ward--miss you greatly, but I am sure there is not one who will notfeel as I do, glad to know that you are taking a rest after all yourwork. Of course you will look in sometimes to see how your patients areprogressing. As for myself I hope I shall be able to come up to see youat the Michauds in another ten days or so. Now that the doctor has takento feeding me up I can feel that I am gaining strength every day."<
"You must not hurry, Cuthbert," she said, gravely. "You must keep quietand patient."
"You are not in your nursing-dress now, Miss Brander, and I declinealtogether to be lectured by you. I have been very good and obedient upto now, but I only bow to lawfully constituted authority, and now Icome under the head of convalescent I intend to emancipate myself."
"I shall not come down here to see you unless I hear good accounts ofyour conduct," she said, with an attempt to speak playfully. "Well,good-bye, Cuthbert. I hope you will not try to do too much."
"Good-bye, dear, thanks for all your goodness to me," he said,earnestly, as he held her hand for a moment in his.
"He had no right to call me dear," Mary thought, almost indignantly, ashe left the hospital, "and he does not guess I know why he is longing tobe out again. I almost wonder he has never spoken to me about her. Hewould know very well that I should be interested in anything thatconcerns him, and I think he might have told me. I suppose he will bringher up some day and introduce her as his wife. Anyhow I am glad I knowabout it, and shall be able to take it as a matter of course."
Mary did not pay another visit to the ambulance. Now that she had givenup her work she felt the reaction, and although she refused to take toher bed she passed her time sitting listless and weak in an easy-chair,paying but slight attention to Madame Michaud's talk, and often passingthe greater part of the day in her own room.
Madame Michaud felt so uneasy about her that she went down to theambulance and brought up Dr. Swinburne, who scolded Mary for not havingsent for him before. He prescribed tonics, sent her up a dozen of winefrom the hospital, ordered her to wrap herself up and sit at an openwindow for a time each day, and to make an effort to take a turn roundthe garden as soon as she felt strong enough to do so.
On his return to the ambulance the surgeon said carelessly to Cuthbert,who had now gained sufficient strength to be of considerable use as anassistant in the ward--
"I have been up to see your late nurse, Miss Brander. There is nothingserious the matter with her, but, as I thought likely would be the case,she has collapsed now that her work is over, and will need a good dealof care and attention to build her up again. You will be out in a fewdays now and I am sure it will do her good if you will go up and have achat with her and cheer her up a bit. She is not in bed. My visit didher good; but she wants rousing, and remember if you can get her tolaugh, and joke her about her laziness, it will do more good than byexpressing your pity for her."
"I think I am well enough to be discharged now, Doctor,' Cuthbert said,eagerly.
"Yes, but you will have to be very careful for some time. You will wantgenerous food, and I don't see how you are to get it outside."
"I suppose the restaurants are still open?"
"The common ones are closed, but you can-still get a dinner at some ofthe best places, although you will have to pay very heavily for it."
"I don't mind that, Doctor; and besides I am very anxious to be at workagain. It will be no more tiring standing at an easel than it is doingwhat I can to help here."
"That is true enough, providing you do not do too much of it. Up to acertain extent it will be a good thing for you, but mind, I distinctlyforbid you to attempt any such folly as to try to walk from the QuartierLatin up to Passy. Let me see," he added, thoughtfully. "Yes, I think itcan be managed. I will send you home by the ambulance that will be hereto-morrow morning at eight o'clock. You are to keep yourself quiet allday, and I will get Madame de Millefleurs to send her carriage round foryou at eleven o'clock next day, to take you round by Passy. She has toldme many times that it is always at the disposal of any of my patients towhom it would be useful. I will see her some time to-morrow and arrangeabout it."
"Thank you, indeed, Doctor. I need not say how grateful I am to you forall the kindness I have received here."
"We have done the best we could for you," the doctor said, "and I amsure there is not one of those who have provided funds for thisambulance but feels well rewarded by the knowledge that it has been themeans of saving many lives. I think we may say that we have not lostone whom it was humanly possible to save, while in the French hospitalsthey have lost hundreds from over-crowding, want of ventilation, andproper sanitary arrangements. The mortality there has been fearful, andthe percentage of deaths after amputations positively disgraceful."
Rene came late that afternoon to pay a visit to Cuthbert, and wasdelighted to find that he was to be out next morning.
"I have kept your rooms in order," he said, "and will have a big firelighted in them before you arrive. They will give you breakfast beforeyou leave, I hope."
"They will do that, Rene, but I shall manage very well if there is stillanything left of that store of mine in the big cupboard."
"You may be sure that there is," Rene replied. "I am always mostparticular in locking up the doors when I come away, and I have not usedthe key you gave me of the cupboard. I was positively afraid to. I amvirtuous, I hope, but there are limits to one's power to resisttemptation. I know you told me to take anything I liked but if I hadonce began I could never have stopped."
"Then we will have a feast to-morrow, Rene. Ask all the others in tosupper, but you must act as cook. Tell them not to come to see me tilleight o'clock. If they kept dropping in all day it would be too much forme. I wish Dampierre could be with us, but he has not got on so fast asI have. His wounds were never so serious, but the doctor said the boneswere badly smashed and take longer to heal. He says he is not a goodpatient either, but worries and fidgets. I don't think those visits ofMinette were good for him, the doctor had to put a stop to them. Hewould talk and excite himself so. However, I hear that he is likely tobe out in another fortnight."
"By that time it will be all over," Rend said, "negotiations are goingon now, and they say that in three or four days we shall surrender."
"The best thing to do, Rene. Ever since that last sortie failed all hopehas been at an end, and there has been no point in going on suffering,for I suppose by this time the suffering has been very severe."
"Not so very severe, Cuthbert. Of course, we have been out of meat for along time, for the ration is so small it is scarcely worth calling meat,but the flour held out well and so did the wine and most other things. Afew hundred have been killed by the Prussian shells, but with thatexception the mortality has not been very greatly above the average,except that smallpox has been raging and has carried off a large number.Among young children, too, the mortality has been heavy, owing to thewant of milk and things of that sort. I should doubt if there has been asingle death from absolute starvation."
To M. Goude's students that supper at Cuthbert Harrington's was amemorable event. The master himself was there. Two large hams, anddishes prepared from preserved meats were on the table, together with anabundance of good wine. It was the first reunion they had had since theone before the sortie, and it was only the gaps among their number, andthe fact that their host and several of their comrades were still weak,and greatly changed in appearance, that restrained their spirits frombreaking into hilarity.
The next morning Madame de Millefleurs' carriage came to the door andCuthbert was driven to the Michauds. For a moment Margot failed torecognize Cuthbert as she opened the door. As she did so she exclaimed--
"Mon Dieu, Monsieur Hartington, you look like a ghost."
"I am very far from being a ghost, Margot, though there is not muchflesh on my bones. How is Mademoiselle Brander? I hear she has not beenwell."
"She is as pale as you are, monsieur, but not so thin. She does nothingbut sit quiet all day with her eyes wide open--she who was always sobright and active and had a smile for every one. I go out and cry oftenafter going into her room. She has just gone into the parlor. You willfind her alone there," she added, for Margot had always had her ideas asto the cause of Cuthbert's visits.
Mary was sitting at the open window and did not look round as Cuthbertentered.
"Well, Mary, is it actually you, doing nothi
She turned round with a start, and a flush of color swept across herface.
"How you startled me," she said. "I am glad indeed to see you. I did notthink you would be out so soon. Surely it is very foolish of you comingso far."
"Still thinking you are a nurse, Mary," he laughed. "I can assure you Iam very prudent, and I have been brought up here in a carriage acarriage--with live horses. Dr. Swinburne told me you had not got overthe effects of your hard work, and that he had had to order you to taketonics, so you see instead of being a nurse you are a patient atpresent, while I am a free man. I came out of hospital yesterdaymorning, and we had a grand supper last night out of my hoards, which Ifound just as I had left them, which says wonders for the honesty of theParisians in general, and for the self-denial of my friend Rene Caillardin particular."
"Why, I should have thought----" and she stopped, abruptly.
"What would you have thought, Miss Brander?"
"Oh, nothing."
"No, no, I cannot be put off in that way. You were going to say that youthought I should have distributed my stores long ago, or that I ought tohave sent for them for the use of the hospital. I really ought to havedone so. It would have been only fair, but in fact the idea neveroccurred to me. Rene had the keys of my rooms and I told him to use thestores as he liked, meaning for himself and for our comrades of thestudio."
"I should have thought," she began again, and then, as before,hesitated, and then asked, abruptly, "Have you not something to tell me,Cuthbert--something that an old friend would tell to another? I havebeen expecting you to tell me all the time you were in the hospital, andhave felt hurt you did not."
Cuthbert looked at her in surprise. There was a slight flush on hercheek and it was evident that she was deeply in earnest.
"Tell you something, Mary," he repeated. "I really don't know what youmean--no, honestly, I have not a notion."
"I don't wish to pry into your secrets," she said, coldly. "I learnedthem accidentally, but as you don't wish to take me into your confidencewe will say no more about it."
"But we must say more about it," he replied. "I repeat I have no idea ofwhat you are talking about. I have no secret whatever on my mind. Byyour manner it must be something serious, and I think I have a right toknow what it is."
She was silent for a moment and then said--
"If you wish it I can have no possible objection to tell you. I willfinish the question I began twice. I should have thought that you wouldhave wished that your stores should be sent to the lady you are engagedto."
Cuthbert looked at her in silent surprise.
"My dear Mary," he said, gravely, at last, "either you are dreaming or Iam. I understood that your reply to my question, the year before last,was as definite and as absolute a refusal as a man could receive.Certainly I have not from that moment had any reason to entertain amoment's doubt that you yourself intended it as a rejection."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, rising to her feet with anenergy of which a few minutes before she would have deemed herselfaltogether incapable. "Are you pretending that I am alluding to myself,are you insulting me by suggesting that I mean that I am engaged toyou?"
"All I say is, Mary, that if you do not mean that, I have not the mostremote idea in the world what you do mean."
"You say that because you think it is impossible I should know," Maryretorted, indignantly, "but you are mistaken. I have had it from her ownlips."
"That she was engaged to me?"
"She came to the hospital to see you the night you were brought in, andshe claimed admittance on the ground that she was affianced to you."
Cuthbert's surprise changed to alarm as it flashed across him that theheavy work and strain had been too much for the girl, and that her brainhad given way.
"I think that there must be some mistake, Mary," he said, soothingly.
"There is no mistake," she went on, still more indignantly; "she camewith your friend, Rene, and I knew her before she spoke, for I had seenher face in a score of places in your sketch-book, and you told me shewas a model in your studio. It is no business of mine, Mr. Hartington,whom you are going to marry. I can understand, perhaps, your wish thatthe matter should remain for a time a secret, but I did not think when Itold you that I knew it, you would have kept up the affectation ofignorance. I have always regarded you as being truthful and honorablebeyond all things, and I am bitterly disappointed. I was hurt that youshould not have given your confidence to me, but I did think when I toldyou that I knew your secret you would have manfully owned it, and notdescended to a pretence of ignorance."
For a moment Cuthbert's face had expressed bewilderment, but as she wenton speaking, a smile stole across his face. Mary noticed it and hervoice and manner changed.
"I think, Mr. Hartington," she said, with great dignity, "you must seethat it will be pleasanter for us both that this interview shallterminate."
He rose from his seat, took his hat off the table, and said, quietly--
"I have but one observation to make before I go. You have discovered,Miss Brander, that you made one mistake in your life. Has it neverstruck you that you might also have made a mistake this time? I thinkthat our very long acquaintance might have induced you to hesitate alittle before you assumed it as a certainty that your old acquaintancewas acting in this way, and that for the sake of old times you mighthave given him the benefit of the doubt."
The strength that Mary's indignation had given her, deserted hersuddenly. Her fingers tightened on the back of the chair by her side forsupport.
"How could there be any mistake," she asked, weakly, her vigorous attacknow turned into a defence, more by his manner than his words, "when Iheard her say so?"
"Sit down, child," he said, in his old authoritative manner. "You arenot fit to stand."
She felt it would be a step towards defeat if she did so, but he broughtup the chair in which she had before been sitting and placed it behindher, and quietly assisted her into it.
"Now," he went on, "you say you heard it from her lips. What did shesay?"
"She said she insisted on going in to see you, and that as youraffianced wife she had a right to do so."
"She said that, did she? That she was the affianced wife of CuthbertHartington?"
Mary thought for a moment.
"No, she did not use those words, at least, not that I can remember; butit was not necessary, I knew who she was. I have seen the sketches inyour book, and there were several of them on the walls of your room. Ofcourse I knew who she was speaking of, though she did not, so far as Ican remember, use your name."
"Did it never occur to you, Miss Brander, that it was a natural thingone should have many sketches of the girl who always stood as a model inthe studio, and that every student there would have his sketch-book fullof them? Did you not know that there were three or four other woundedmen of the same corps as myself in the hospital; that one at least was afellow-student of mine, and also a foreigner, and that this young womanwas just as likely to be asking to see him as to see me?"
An awful feeling of doubt and shame came with overpowering force overMary Brander.
"No," she said, desperately, "I never thought of such a thing. NaturallyI thought it was you, and there was no reason why it shouldn't be. Youwere perfectly free to please yourself, only I felt hurt that when yougot better you did not tell me."
Her voice was so weak that Cuthbert poured some water into a glass andheld it to her lips.
"Now, child," he went on in a lighter voice, "I am not going to scoldyou--you are too weak to be scolded. Some day I may scold you as youdeserve. Not only is Minette--I told you her name before--nothing to me,but I dislike her as a passionate, dangerous young woman; capable,perhaps, of good, but certainly capable of evil. However, I regret tosay that Arnold Dampierre, the man who was in the next bed to me, youknow, does not see her in the same light, and I am very much afraid hewill be fool enough to marry her. Actually, she did a few
"Don't, don't!" the girl cried. "Don't say anything more, Cuthbert. Icannot bear it."
"I am not going to say any more. Madame de Millefleurs' horses must bythis time be half-frozen, and her coachman be out of all patience, and Imust be going. I shall come again as soon as I can, and I shall be veryangry if I don't find you looking much more like yourself when I nextcome."