when alice first heard the news of tom durham's death, she was deeply and seriously grieved. not that she had seen much of her half-brother at any period of her life, not that there was any special bond of sympathy between them, nor that the shifty, thriftless ne'er-do-well possessed any qualities likely to find much favour with a person of alice's uprightness and rectitude of conduct. but the girl could not forget the old days when tom, as a big strong lad, just returned from his first rough introduction to the world, would take her, a little delicate mite, and carry her aloft on his shoulders round the garden, and even deprive himself of the huge pipe and the strong tobacco which he took such pride in smoking, because the smell was offensive to her. she could not forget that whenever he returned from his wanderings, short as his stay in england might be, he made a point of coming to see her, always bringing some little present, some quaint bit of foreign art-manufacture, which he knew would please her fancy; and though his purse was generally meagrely stocked, always asking her whether she was in want of money, and offering to share its contents with her. more vividly than all she recalled to mind his softness of manner and gentleness of tone, on the occasion of their last parting; she recollected how he had clasped her to his breast at the station, and how she had seen the tears falling down his cheeks as the train moved away; she remembered his very words: "i am not going to be sentimental, it isn't in my line; but i think i like you better than anybody else in the world, though i didn't take to you much at first." and again: "so i love you, and i leave you with regret." poor tom, poor dear torn! such was the theme of alice's daily reflection, invariably ending in her breaking down and comforting herself with a good cry.
but, in addition to the loss of her brother, alice claxton had great cause for anxiety and mental disturbance. john had returned from his last business tour weary, dispirited, and obviously very much out of health. the brightness had faded from his blue eyes, the lines round them and his mouth seemed to have doubled both in number and depth, his stoop was considerably increased, and instead of his frank hearty bearing, he crept about, when he thought he was unobserved, with dawdling footsteps, and with an air of lassitude pervading his every movement. he strove his best to disguise his condition from alice; he struggled hard to talk to her in his old cheerful way, to take interest in the details of her management of the house and garden, to hear little bell her lessons, and to play about with the child on days when the weather rendered it possible for him to go into the shrubbery. but even during the time when alice was talking or reading to him, or when he was romping with the child, he would suddenly subside into a kind of half-dazed state, his eyes staring blankly before him, his hands dropped listlessly by his side; he would not reply until he had been spoken to twice or thrice, and would then look up as though he had either not heard or not understood the question addressed to him. if it was painful to alice to see her husband in that state, it was far more distressing to observe his struggles to recover his consciousness, and his attempts at being more like his old self. in his endeavours to talk and laugh, to rally his young wife after his usual fashion, and to comprehend and be interested in the playful babble of the child, there was a ghastly galvanised vivacity most painful to behold.
watching her husband day by day with the greatest interest and care, studying him so closely that she was enabled to anticipate his various changes of manner, and almost to foretell the next expression of his face, alice claxton became convinced that there was something seriously the matter with him, and it was her duty, whether he wished it or not, to call in medical advice. mr. broadbent, the village apothecary, had had a great deal of experience, and was invariably spoken of as a clever, kind-hearted man. when the claxtons first established themselves at rose cottage, the old-fashioned residents in the neighbourhood duly called and left their cards; but after john had consulted with alice, telling her that he left her to do entirely as she thought fit in the matter, but that for his own part he had no desire to commence a new series of acquaintance, it was agreed between them that it would be sufficient to deliver cards in return, and all farther attempts at social intercourse were politely put aside and ignored. in such a village as hendon was a few years ago, it was, however, impossible without actual rudeness to avoid the acquaintance of the vicar and the doctor, and consequently the reverend mr. tomlinson and his wife, and mr. and mrs. broadbent, were on visiting terms at rose cottage.
visiting terms, so far as the tomlinsons were concerned, meant an interchange of dinners twice in the year; but mr. broadbent was seen, by mrs. claxton at least, far more frequently. the story of little bell's adoption had got wind throughout the neighbourhood, and the spinsters and the gushing young ladies, who thought it "so romantic," unable to effect an entrance for themselves into the enchanted bower, anxiously sought information from mr. broadbent, who was, as they knew, a privileged person. the apothecary was by no means backward in purveying gossip for the edification of his fair hearers, and his eulogies of mrs. claxton's good looks, and his detailed descriptions of little bell's infantile maladies, were received with much delight at nearly all the tea-tables in the neighbourhood. whether john claxton had heard of this, whether he had taken any personal dislike to mr. broadbent, or whether it was merely owing to his natural shyness and reserve, that he absented himself from the room on nearly every occasion of the doctor's visits, alice could not tell; but such was the case. when they did meet, they talked politely, and seemed on the best of terms; but john seemed to take care that their meetings should be as few as possible.
what was to be done? john had now been home three days, and was visibly worse than on his arrival. alice had spoken to him once or twice, seriously imploring him to tell her what was the matter with him, but had been received the first time with a half-laugh, the second time with a grave frown. he was quite well, he said, quite well, so far as his bodily health was concerned; a little worried, he allowed; business worries, which a woman could not understand, matters connected with the firm which gave him a certain amount of anxiety--nothing more. alice thought that this was not the whole truth, and that john, in his love for her, and desire to spare her any grief, had made light of what was really serious suffering. the more she thought over it, the more anxious and alarmed she became, and at length, when on the fourth morning after john's return, she had peeped into the little library and seen her husband sitting there at the window, not heeding the glorious prospect before him, not heeding the book which lay upon his lap, but lying backwards in his chair, with his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed, his complexion a dull sodden red, she determined on at once sending for mr. broadbent, without saying a word to john about it. an excuse could easily be found; little bell had a cold and was slightly feverish, and the doctor had been sent for to prescribe for her; and though he could see mr. claxton and have a talk with him, alice would take care that john should not suspect that he was the object of mr. broadbent's visit.
mr. broadbent came, pleasant and chatty at first, imagining he had been sent for to see the little girl in one of the ordinary illnesses of childhood; graver and much less voluble as, on their way up to the nursery, mrs. claxton confided to him her real object in requesting his presence. little bell duly visited, the conspiring pair came down stairs again, and alice going first, opened the door and discovered mr. claxton in the attitude in which she had last seen him, fast asleep and breathing heavily. he roused himself at the noise on their entrance, rubbed his eyes, and rose wearily to his feet, covered with confusion as soon as he made out that alice had a companion.
"well, john," cried alice, with a well-feigned liveliness, "you were asleep, i declare! see, here is mr. broadbent come to shake hands with you. he was good enough to come round and look at little bell, who has a bad cold, poor child, and a little flushing in the skin, which frightened me; but mr. broadbent says it's nothing."
"nothing at all, mr. claxton, take my word for it," said the doctor, who had by this time advanced into the room, and by a little skilful manoeuvring had got his back to the window, while he had turned john claxton, whose hand he held, with his face to the light; "nothing at all, the merest nothing; but ladies, as you know, are even frightened at that, particularly where little ones are concerned. well, mr. claxton," continued the doctor, who was a big jolly man, with a red face, a pair of black bushy whiskers, and a deep voice, "and how do you find yourself, sir?"
"i am quite well, thank you, doctor," said john claxton, plucking up and striving to do his best; "i may say quite well."
"lucky man not to find all your travelling knock you about," said the doctor. "i have known several men--commercials--who say they cannot stand the railway half so well as they used to do the old coaches--shakes them, jars them altogether. by the way, there is renewed talk about our having a railway here. have you heard anything about it?"
"not i," said john claxton, "and i fervently hope it will not come in my time. i am content with old davis's coach."
"ah," said the doctor with a laugh, "you must find old davis's coach rather a contrast to some of the railways you are in the habit of scouring the country in, both in regard to speed and comfort. however, i must be off; glad to see you looking so well. good-morning. now, mrs. claxton," added the doctor, as he shook hands with john, "if you will just come with me, i should like to look at that last prescription i wrote for the little lady upstairs."
no sooner were they in the dining-room, with the door closed behind them, than alice laid her hand upon the doctor's arm, and looked up into his face pale and eager with anxiety.
"well," she said, "how does he look? what do you think? tell me at once."
"it is impossible, my dear mrs. claxton," said the good-natured apothecary, looking at her kindly, and speaking in a softened voice; "it is impossible for me to judge of mr. claxton's state from a mere cursory glance and casual talk; but i am bound to say that, from what i could observe, i fancy he must be considerably out of health."
"so i thought," said alice; "so i feared." and her tears fell fast.
"you must not give way, my dear madam," said mr. broadbent. "what i say may be entirely unfounded. i am, recollect, only giving you my impression after a conversation with your husband, in which, at your express wish, i refrained from asking him anything about himself."
"if i could manage to persuade him to see you, would you come in this afternoon or tomorrow morning, mr. broadbent?"
"i would, of course, do anything you wished; but as mr. claxton has never hitherto done me the honour to consult me professionally, and as it seems to me to be a case the diagnosis of which should be very carefully gone into, i would recommend that he should consult some physician of eminence. possibly he knows such a one."
"no," said alice, "i have never heard him mention any physician since our marriage."
"if that be the case, i would strongly advise you to call in doctor houghton. he is a man of the greatest eminence; and, as it happens, i see him every day just now, as we have a regular consultation at the rookery--you know, the large place on the other side of the village, where poor mr. piggott is lying dangerously ill. if you like, i will mention the case to doctor haughton when i see him to-morrow."
"thank you, mr. broadbent; i am deeply obliged to you, but i must speak to john first. i should not like to do anything without his knowledge. i will speak to him this afternoon, and send a note round to you in the evening." and mr. broadbent, much graver and much less boisterous than usual, took his departure.
john claxton remained pretty much in the same dozing kind of state during the day. he came in to luncheon, and made an effort to talk cheerfully upon the contents of the newspaper and suchlike topics, and afterwards he had a romp in the hall with little bell, the weather being too raw for the child to go out of doors. but two or three turns at the battledore and shuttlecock, two or three spinnings of the big humming-top, two or three hidings behind the greatcoats, seemed to be enough for him, and he rang for the nurse to take the child to her room just as the little one was beginning to enter into the sport of the various games. alice had been in and out through the hall during the pastime, and saw the child go quietly off, bearing her disappointment bravely, and saw her husband turn listlessly into the library, his hands buried in the pockets of his shooting-jacket and his head sunk upon his breast. poor little alice! her life for the last few years had been so bright and so full of sunshine; her whole being was so bound up with that of her kind thoughtful husband, who had taken her from almost penial drudgery and made her the star and idol of his existence, that when she saw him fighting bravely against the illness which was bearing him down, and ever striving to hide it from her, she could not make head against the trouble, but retired into a corner of her pretty little drawing-room and wept bitterly.
then when the fit of weeping was over, she roused herself; her brain cleared and her determination renewed. "it is impossible that this can go on," she said to herself; "i have a part and share in john's life now; it belongs to me almost as much as to him, and it is my duty to see that it is not endangered. he will be angry, i know, but i must bear his anger. after what mr. broadbent said this morning, it is impossible that i can allow matters to remain in their present state without acting upon the advice which he gave me; and be the result what it may, i will do so."
the autumn twilight had fallen upon the garden, wrapping it in its dim grey folds, the heavy mists were beginning to rise from the damp earth, and the whole aspect outside was dreary and chilly. but when alice entered the little library she found john claxton standing at the window, with his head lying against the pane, and apparently rapt in the contemplation of the cheerless landscape.
"john," she said, creeping close to him, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, "john."
"yes, dear," he replied, passing his arm round her and drawing her closely to him. "you wondered what had become of me; you came to reproach me for leaving you so long to yourself?"
"no, john, not that," said alice; "there is noting in the wide world for which i have to reproach you; there has been nothing since you first made me mistress of your house."
"and of my heart, alice; don't forget that," said her husband, tenderly; "of my heart."
"and of your heart," she repeated. "but when you gave me that position you expected me to take with it its responsibilities as well as its happiness, did you not? you did not bring me here to be merely a toy or a plaything--no,--i don't mean that exactly; i mean not merely to be something for your petting and your amusement--you meant me to be your wife, john; to share with you your troubles and anxieties, and to have a voice of my own, a very little one, in the regulation of all things in which you were concerned?"
"certainly, alice," said her husband; "have i not shown this?"
"always before, john, always up to within the last few days. and if you are not doing so now, it is, i know, from no lack of love, but rather out of care and thoughtfulness for me."
"why, alice," said john, with a struggle to revive his old playful manner, "what is the matter with you? how grave the little woman is to-night."
"yes, john; i am grave, because i know you are ill, and that you are striving to hide it from me lest i should be alarmed. that is not the way it should be, john; you know we swore to be loyal to each other in sickness as well as in health, and it would be my pride as well as my duty to take up my place by you in sickness and be your nurse."
"i want no nurse, little woman," he said, bending tenderly over her. "as i told you this morning, i am quite well only a little--" and then his brain reeled, and his legs tottered beneath him, and had he not caught hold of the chair standing at his elbow, he would have fallen to the ground.
"you are ill, john; there is the proof," alice cried, after he had seated himself and thrown himself heavily back in the chair. she knelt by his side, bathing his forehead with eau-de-cologne. "you are ill, and must be attended to at once. now listen; do you understand me?"
a feeble pressure of her hand intimated assent.
"well, then, mr. broadbent mentioned quite by accident this morning that a celebrated london physician, a doctor haughton i think he called him, was in the habit of coming up here every day just now to visit mr. piggott it the rookery; and it struck me at the time that it would be a very good plan if we could send round to the rookery and ask this doctor haughton to call in as he was passing and see you."
"no!" cried john claxton in a loud voice, as he started up in his chair; "no, i forbid you distinctly to do anything of the kind. i will have no strange doctor admitted into this house. understand, alice, these are my orders, and i insist on their being obeyed."
"that is quite enough, john," said alice; "you know that your will is my law; still i hope to make you think better of it for your own sake and for mine."
they said no more about it just then. alice remained kneeling by her husband, holding his hand in hers, and softly smoothing his hair, and bathing his forehead, until the dinner was announced. the threat of calling in doctor haughton seemed to have had an inspiriting effect on the invalid. he ate and drank more than he had done on the three previous days, and talked more freely and with greater gaiety. so comparatively lively was he, that alice began to hope that he had been merely suffering, as he had said, under an accumulation of business worries, and that with a little rest and quiet he would recover his ordinary health and spirits.
quite late in the evening, as they were sitting together in the library, john began talking to his wife about tom durham. he had scarcely touched upon the subject since the news of the unfortunate man's death had arrived in england, and even now he introduced it cautiously and with becoming reverence.
"of course it was a sad blow," he said, "and just now it seems very hard for you to bear; but don't think i have failed to notice, alice, how, in your love and care for me, you have set aside your own grief lest the sight of your sorrow should distress me."
"i don't know that i deserve any gratitude for that, john; my care for you is so very much greater than any other feeling which can possibly enter into my mind, that it stands apart and alone, and i cannot measure others by it. and yet i was very fond of poor tom," she said, pensively.
"it will be a comfort for us to think, not now so much as hereafter, that we did our best to start him in an honest career, and to give him the chance of achieving a good position," said john claxton. "he had seen a great many of the ups and downs of life, had poor tom durham."
"he was a strange mixture of good and evil," said alice; "but to me he was always uniformly kind and affectionate. he had a strange regard for me, as being, i suppose, something totally different from what he was usually brought in contact with; he took care that i should see nothing but the best and brightest side of him, though of course i knew from others that he was full of faults."
"and you loved him all the same?"
"and yet, as you say, i loved him all the same."
"and nothing you could hear now would alter your opinion of him?"
"no, john, i think--i am sure not. i am a strange being, and this is one of my characteristics, that no fault known at the time or discovered afterwards, could in the slightest degree influence my feelings towards one whom i had really loved."
"you are sure of that, alice?" said john claxton, bending down and looking earnestly at her.
"quite sure," she replied.
"that is one of the sweetest traits in your sweet self," said her husband, kissing her fervently.
the next morning mr. claxton's improvement seemed to continue. he was up tolerably early, ate a good breakfast, and talked with all his accustomed spirit. alice began to think that she had been precipitate in her idea of calling in medical advice, particularly in sending for a stranger like doctor haughton, and was glad that john had overruled her in the matter. later in the morning, the air being tolerably mild, and the sun shining, he went with little bell into the garden, first walking quietly round the paths, and afterwards, in compliance with the child's request, giving himself up for a romping game at play. it was while engaged in this game that john claxton felt as though he had suddenly lost his intellect, that everything was whirling round him in wild chaotic disorder, then that he was stricken blind and deaf, then that with one great blow depriving him almost of life, he was smitten to the earth. on the earth he lay; while the child, conceiving this to be a part of the game, ran off with shrieks of delight to some new hiding-place. on the earth he lay, how long he knew not, having only the consciousness, when he came to himself; of being dazed and stunned, and sore all over, as though he had been severely beaten.
john claxton knew what this meant. he felt it would be almost impossible any longer to hide the state in which he was from the eager anxious eyes of his wife. he would make one more attempt, however; so, bracing himself together, he managed to proceed with tolerable steadiness towards the house. alice came out to meet him, beaming with happiness.
"what has become of you, you silly john?" she cried. "i have been looking for you everywhere. bell told me she left you hiding somewhere in the garden, and i have just sent up for my cloak, determined to search for you myself."
"bell was quite right, dear," said john, slowly and with great effort. "i was hiding, as she said; but as she did not come to find me, i thought i had better make the best of my way without her."
"not before you were required, sir. i was waiting for you to give me my monthly cheque. don't you know that to-day is the twenty-fourth, when i always pay my old pensioners and garden people?"
"is to-day the twenty-fourth?" asked john claxton, his face flushing very red, as he fumbled in his pocket for his note-book.
"certainly, john. thursday the twenty-fourth, and--"
"i must go," said john claxton hoarsely, after he had found his note-book and looked into it; "i must go to london at once."
"to london, john?"
"yes, at once; particular appointment with mr. calverley for to-day. i cannot think how i have forgotten it; but i must go."
"you are not well enough to go, john; you must not."
"i tell you i must and will!" said john claxton fiercely. "i shall come back to-night; or, if i have to go off out of town, i will tell you where to send my portmanteau. don't be angry, dear. i didn't mean to be cross--i didn't indeed; but business--most important business."
he spoke thickly and hurriedly, his veins were swollen, and his eyes seemed starting out of his head.
"won't you wait for davis's coach, john?" said alice softly. "it will start in half an hour."
"no, no; let it pick me up on the road. tell davis to look out for me; a little walk will do me good. give me my hat and coat; and now, god bless you, my darling. you are not angry with me? let me hear that before i start."
"i never was angry with you, john. i never could be angry with you so long as i live."
he wound his arms around her and held her to his heart; then with rapid shambling steps he started off down the high-road. he walked on and on; he must have gone, he thought, at least two miles; would the coach never come? the excitement which sustained him at first now began to fail him; he felt his legs tottering under him; then suddenly the blindness and the deafness came on him again, the singing in his ears, the surging in his brain; and he fell by the roadside, helpless and senseless.
the delightfully-interesting case of mr. piggott of the rookery had brought together doctor haughton and mr. broadbent, after a separation of many years, and led them to renew the old friendship, which had been interrupted since their student days at st. george's. nature was not doing much for mr. piggott, and the case was likely to be pleasantly protracted; so that on this very day doctor haughton had asked mr. broadbent to come and dine and sleep at his house in saville-row, where he would meet with some old friends and several distinguished members of the profession; and the pair were rolling easily into town in doctor haughton's carriage, with the black bag, containing mr. broadbent's evening dress, carefully placed under the coachman's legs.
"what is this? a knot of people gathered by the roadside, all craning forward eagerly, and looking at something on the ground. the coachman's practised eye detects an accident instantly, and he whips up his horses and stops them just abreast of the crowd.
"what is it?" cried the coachman.
"man in a fit," cried one of the crowd.
"that be blowed," said another; "he won't have any more of such fits as them, i reckon. the man's dead; that's what he is."
hearing these words mr. broadbent opened the door and pushed his way among the crowd. instantly he returned, his face full of horror.
"good god!" he said to his companion, "who do you think it is? the man--the very man about whom i was speaking to you just now--claxton."
doctor haughton descended from the carriage in a more leisurely and professional manner, stepped among the people, who made way for him right and left, knelt by the prostrate body; lifted its arms and applied his fingers to its wrists. then he shook his head.
"the man is dead," he said; "there can be no doubt about that." and he bent forward to look at the features. instantly recognising him, he sprang back. "who did you say this man was?" he said, turning to mr. broadbent.
"claxton--mr. claxton, of rose cottage."
"nothing of the sort," said the doctor. "i knew him well; it is mr. calverley, of great walpole-street."
"my good sir," said mr. broadbent, "i knew the man well. i saw him only yesterday."
"and i knew mr. calverley well. he was one of chipchase's patients, and i attended him when chipchase was out of town. we can soon settle this--here, you lad, just stand at those horses' heads--gibson," to his coachman, "get down, and come here. did you ever see that gentleman before?" pointing to the body.
the man bent forward and took a long and solemn stare.
"certainly, sir," he replied at length, touching his hat; "mr. calverley, sir, of great walpole-street. seen him a score of times."
"what do you think of that?" said doctor haughton, turning to his companion.
"think!" said mr. broadbent, "i will tell you what i think--that mr. claxton of rose cottage and mr. calverley of great walpole-street were one and the same man!"
end of vol. i.
