That Stick

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> That Stick

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Constance, who had ridden on in front with her uncle, first heard a cry
of dismay, and as both leaped off and rushed back, they saw her aunt had
fallen, and partly entangled in the chair.

'Do not touch her!' cried Frank, forgetting that he could not be
understood, and raising her in his arms, as the chair was withdrawn; but
she did not speak or move, and there was a distressing throng and
confusion of strange voices, seeming to hem them in as Constance looked
round, unable to call up a single word of German, or to understand the
exclamations. Then, as she always said, it was like an angel's voice
that said, 'What is it?' as through the crowd came a tall lady in a white
hat and black gown, and knelt down by the prostrate figure, saying, 'I
hope she is only stunned; let us carry her in. It will be better to let
her come round there.'

The lady gave vigorous aid, and, giving a few orders in German, helped
Lord Northmoor to carry the inanimate form into the hotel, a low building
of stone, with a high-pitched shingle roof. Constance followed in a
bewilderment of fright, together with Lenchen, the Swiss maid, who, as
well as could be made out, was declaring that a Swiss bearer never made a
false step.

Lady Northmoor was carried into a bedroom, and Constance was shut out
into a room that photographed itself on her memory, even in that
moment--a room like a box, with a rough table, a few folding-chairs, an
easel, water-coloured drawings hung about in all directions, a big
travelling-case, a few books, a writing-case, Mrs. Bury's sitting-room in
fact, which, as a regular sojourner, she had been able to secure and
furnish after her need. From the window, tall, narrow, latticed, with a
heavy outside shutter, she saw a village green, a little church with a
sharp steeple, and pointed-roof houses covered with shingle, groups of
people, a few in picturesque Tyrolese costume, but others in the ordinary
badly cut edition of cosmopolitan human nature. There was a priest in a
big hat and white bordered bands discussing a newspaper with a man with a
big red umbrella; a party drinking coffee under a pine tree, and beyond,
those strange wild pointed aiguilles pointing up purple and red against
the sky.

[Picture: There was a priest in a big hat . . .]

How delightful it would all have been if this quarter of an hour could be
annihilated! She could find out nothing. Lenchen and the
good-natured-looking landlady came in and out and fetched things, but
they never stayed long enough to give her any real information, the
landlady shouting for 'Hemzel,' etc., and Lenchen calling loudly in
German for the boxes, which had been slung on mules. She heard nothing
definite till her uncle came out, looking pale and anxious.

'She is better now,' he said, with a gasp of relief, throwing himself
into a chair, and holding out his hand to Constance, who could hardly
frame her question. 'Yes, quite sensible--came round quickly. The blow
on the head seems to be of no consequence; but there may be a strain, or
it may be only the being worn out and overdone. They are going to
undress her and put her to bed now. Mrs. Bury is kindness itself. I did
not look after her enough on that dreadful road.'

'Isn't there a doctor?' Constance ventured to ask.

'No such thing within I know not how many miles of these paths! But Mrs.
Bury seems to think it not likely to be needed. Over-fatigue and the
shake! What was I about? This air and all the rest were like an
intoxication, making me forget my poor Mary!'

He passed his hand over his face with a gesture as if he were very much
shocked and grieved at himself, and Constance suggested that it was all
the mule's fault, and Aunt Mary never complained.

'The more reason she should not have been neglected,' he said; and it was
well for the excluded pair that just then the boxes were reported as
arrived, and he was called on for the keys, so that wild searching for
things demanded occupied them.

After a considerable time, Mrs. Bury came and told Lord Northmoor that he
might go and look at his wife for a few moments, but that she must be
kept perfectly quiet and not talked to or agitated. Constance was not to
go in at all, but was conducted off by the good lady to her own tiny
room, to get herself ready for the much-needed meal that was imminent.

They met again in the outer room. There was a great Speise saal, a
separate building, where the bathers dived _en masse_; but since Mrs.
Bury had made the place her haunt, she had led to the erection of an
additional building where there was a little accommodation for the
travellers of the better class who had of late discovered the glories of
the Dolomites, though the baths were scarcely ever used except by
artizans and farmers. She had this sitting-room chiefly made at her own
expense with these few comforts, in the way of easy folding-chairs, a
vase of exquisite flowers on the table, a few delicate carvings, an
easel, and drawings of the mountain peaks and ravines suspended
everywhere.

Besides this there were only the bedrooms, as small as they well could
be.

They were summoned down to the evening meal, and the maid Lenchen was
left with Lady Northmoor. There was only one other guest, a spectacled
and rather silent German, and Constance presently gathered that Mrs. Bury
was trying to encourage and inspirit Lord Northmoor, but seemed to think
there might be some delay before a move would be possible.

They sent her to bed, for she was really very tired after the long walk
and ride, and she could not help sleeping soundly; but the first thing
she heard in the morning was that the guide had been desired to send a
doctor from Botzen, and the poor child spent a dreary morning of anxiety
with nothing to do but to watch the odd figures disporting themselves or
resting in the shade after their baths, to try a little sketching and a
little letter-writing, but she was too restless and anxious to get on
with either.

All the comfort she got was now and then Mrs. Bury telling her that she
need not be frightened, and giving her a book to read; and after the
midday meal her uncle was desired by Mrs. Bury, who had evidently assumed
the management of him, to take the child out walking, for the doctor
could not come for hours, and Lady Northmoor had better be left to sleep.

So they wandered out into the pinewoods, preoccupied and silent, gazing
along the path, as if that would hasten the doctor. Constance had
perceived that questions were discouraged, and did her best to keep from
being troublesome by trying to busy herself with a bouquet of mountain
flowers.

The little German doctor came so late that he had to remain all night,
but his coming, as well as that of a brisk American brother and sister,
seemed to have cheered things up a good deal. Mrs. Bury talked to the
German, and the Americans asked so many questions that answering them
made things quite lively. Indeed, Constance was allowed to wish her aunt
good-night, and seeing her look just like herself on her pillows, much
relieved her mind.

CHAPTER XX
RATZES

Things began to fall into their regular course at Ratzes, Lady Northmoor
was in a day or two able to come into Mrs. Bury's sitting-room for a few
hours every day; but there she lay on a folding chaise-longue that had
been arranged for her, languid but bright, reading, working, looking at
Mrs. Bury's drawings, and keeping the diary of the adventures of the
others.

Her husband would fain never have left her, but he had to take his baths.
These were in the lower story of the larger chalet. They were taken in
rows of pinewood boxes in the vault. He muttered that it felt very like
going alive into his coffin, when, like others, he laid himself down in
the rust-coloured liquid, 'each in his narrow cell' in iron 'laid,' with
his head on a shelf, and a lid closing up to his chin, and he was
uncheered by conversation, as all the other patients were Austrians of
the lower middle class, and their Tyrolean dialect would have been hard
to understand even by German scholars. However, the treatment certainly
did him good, and entirely drove away his neuralgia, he walked, rode, and
climbed a good deal with Constance and a lad attached to the
establishment, whose German Constance could just understand. And while
he stayed with his wife, Mrs. Bury took Constance out, showed her many
delights, helped her crude notions of drawing, and being a good botanist
herself, taught the whole party fresh pleasures in the wonderful flora of
the Dolomites.

Now and then an English traveller appeared, and Lord Northmoor was
persuaded to join in expeditions for his niece's sake, that took them
away for a night or two. Thus they saw Caprile Cadore, St. Ulrich, that
town of toys, full of dolls of every tone, spotted wooden horses, carts,
and the like. They beheld the tall points of Monte Serrata, and the
wonderful 'Horse Teeth,' with many more such marvels; and many were the
curiosities they brought back, and the stories they had to tell, with
regrets that Aunt Mary had not been there to enjoy and add to their
enjoyment.

So the days went on, and the end of Constance's holidays was in view, the
limit that had been intended for the Kur at Ratzes; but Aunt Mary had not
been out of doors since their arrival, and seemed fit for nothing save
lying by the window.

Constance had begun to wonder what would be done, when she was told that
a good-natured pair of English travellers, like herself bound to school
terms, would escort her safely to London and see her into the train for
Colbeam, just in time for the High School term.

'This will be the best way,' said her aunt, kissing her. 'You have been
a dear good girl, Conny, and a great pleasure and comfort to us both.'

'Oh, auntie, I have not done anything, Mrs. Bury has done it all.'

'Mrs. Bury is most kind, unspeakably kind, but, my dear dear girl, your
companionship has been so much to your dear uncle that I have been most
thankful to you. Always recollect, dearest Conny, you can be more
comfort to your uncle than anybody else, whatever may come. You _will_
always be a good girl and keep up your tone, and make him your great
consideration--after higher things; promise me.'

'Oh yes, indeed, auntie dear,' said the girl, somewhat frightened and
bewildered as the last kisses and good-byes were exchanged. Since the
travellers were to start very early the next morning on their mules for
Botzen, whither Mrs. Bury meant to accompany them in order to make some
purchases, Lord Northmoor went with the party to the limits of his
walking powers, and on the slope of the Alp, amid the fir-woods, took his
leave, Mrs. Bury telling him cheerfully that she should return the next
day, while he said that he could not thank her enough. He bade farewell
to his niece, telling her that he hoped she would by and by be spending
her holidays at Northmoor if all went well.

Constance had begun to grow alarmed, and watched for an opportunity of
imploring Mrs. Bury to tell her whether Aunt Mary were really very ill.

Mrs. Bury laughed, and confided to her a secret, which made her at once
glad, alarmed, and important.

'Oh, and is no one to know?' said little Constance, with rosy cheeks.

'Not till leave is given,' said Mrs. Bury. 'You see there is still so
much risk of things going wrong, that they both wish nothing to be said
at present. I thought they had spoken to you.'

'Oh no. But--but--' and Constance could not go on, as her eyes filled
with tears.

'Is there special cause for anxiety, you mean, my dear? Hardly for
_her_, though it was unlucky that she was as unknowing as you, and I
don't see how she is to be taken over these roads into a more civilised
place. But I shall stay on and see them through with it, and I daresay
we shall do very well. I am used enough to looking after my own
daughters, and nobody particularly wants me at home.'

'That's what Aunt Mary meant by saying you were _so_ very good!'

'Well, it would be sheer inhumanity to leave them to themselves, and the
mercies of Ratzes, and there seems to be no one else that could come.'

'I'm glad I know!' said Constance, with a long breath. 'Only what shall
I do if any one asks me about her?'

'Say she had a nasty fall, which makes it undesirable to move her just
yet. It is the simple truth, and what you would have naturally said but
for this little communication of mine.'

'I suppose,' said Constance, in a tone Mrs. Bury did not understand, 'it
will be all known before my Christmas holidays?'

'Oh yes, my dear, long before that. I'll write to you when I have
anything to tell.'

For which Constance thanked her heartily, and thenceforth felt a great
deal older for the confidence, which delighted as well as made her
anxious, for she was too fond of her uncle and aunt, as well as too young
and simple, for it to have occurred to her how the matter might affect
her brother.

After seeing much more on her road than she had done before, and won
golden opinions from her escort for intelligence and obligingness, she
was safely deposited in the train for Colbeam, without having gone home.

She had made up her mind to pass Sunday at her boarding-house, and was
greatly surprised when Lady Adela called on Saturday to take her to
Northmoor for the Sunday.

'Now tell me about your uncle and aunt,' the good lady began, when
Constance was seated beside her. 'Yes, I have heard from Mrs. Bury, but
I want to know whether the place is tolerably comfortable.'

'Mrs. Bury has made it much better,' said Constance. 'And it is so
beautiful, no one would care for comfort who was quite well.'

'And is your uncle well? Has he got over his headaches?' she asked
solicitously.

In fact, the absence of Lord and Lady Northmoor had done more than their
presence to make Lady Adela feel their value. She was astonished to find
how much she missed the power of referring to him and leaning on his
support in all questions, small or great, that cropped up; and she had
begun to feel that the stick might be a staff; besides which, having
imbibed more than an inkling of the cause of detention, she was anxious
to gather what she could of the circumstances.

She was agreeably surprised in Constance, to whom the journey had been a
time of development from the mere school girl, and who could talk
pleasantly, showing plenty of intelligence and observation in a modest
ladylike way. Moreover, she had a game in the garden which little Amice
enjoyed extremely, and she and her little Sunday class were delighted to
see one another again. It resulted in her Sundays being spent at
Northmoor as regularly as before, and in Amice, a companionless child,
thinking Saturday brought the white afternoon of the week.

CHAPTER XXI
THE HEIR-APPARENT

'MY DEAR ADDIE,

'You have no doubt ceased from your exertions in the way of finding
nurses, since the telegram has told you that the son and heir has
considerately saved trouble and expense by making his appearance on
Michaelmas morning. It was before there was time to fetch anybody
but the ancient village Bettina. Everything is most prosperous, and
I am almost as proud as the parents--and to see them gloat over the
morsel is a caution. They look at him as if such a being had never
been known on the earth before; and he really is a very fine healthy
creature, most ridiculously like the portrait of the original old
Michael Morton Northmoor in the full-bottomed wig. He seems to be
almost equally marvellous to the Ratzes population, being the first
infant seen there unswaddled--or washed. Bettina's horror at the
idea of washing him is worth seeing. Her brown old face was almost
convulsed, and she and our Frau-wirthin concurred in assuring me that
it would be fatal to _der kleine baron_ if he were washed, except
with white wine and milk at a fortnight old; nor would they accept my
assurance that my three daughters and seven grandchildren had
survived the process. I have to do it myself, and dress him as I
can, for his wardrobe as made here is not complete, and whatever you
can send us will be highly acceptable. It is lucky that Northmoor is
a born nurse, for the women's fear of breaking the child is really
justifiable, as they never handled anything not made up into a mummy;
moreover, they wish to let all the world up into Mary's room to
behold the curiosity, I met the priest upon his way and turned him
back! So we have pretty well all the nursing on our hands, and
happily it is of the most satisfactory kind, with the one drawback
that we have to call in the services of a 'valia'; but on the other
hand we have all been so much interested in a poor little widow,
Hedwig Grantzen, whose husband was lost last spring in a snow-storm,
that it is pleasant to have some employment for her. Such a creature
as came over on chance and speculation--a great coarse handsome girl,
in exaggerated costume, all new, with lacy ribbons down her back; but
I rode over to Botzen, and interviewed her parish priest about her,
and that was enough to settle her. Every one is asleep except
myself, and Mary's face is one smile as she sleeps.

'This is going to be posted by the last of the tourists, luckily a
clergyman, whom we begged to baptize the boy, as there is a
possibility that snows may close us in before we can get away.

'So he is named Michael Kenton, partly after my own dear brother as
well as the old founder, partly in honour of the day and of Sir
Edward Kenton, who, they say, has been their very kind friend. It
really is a feast to see people so wonderingly happy and thankful.
The little creature has all the zest of novelty to them, and they coo
and marvel over it in perfect felicity. When you will be introduced
to the hero, I cannot guess, for though he has been an earlier
arrival than his mother's inexperience expected, I much doubt her
being able to get out of this place while the way to Botzen is
passable according to the prognostics of the sages. What splendid
studies of ice peaks I shall have! Your affectionate cousin,

'L. BURY.'

A telegram had preceded the letter. One soon followed by Mrs. Bury's
promised note had filled Constance's honest little heart with rapture,
another had set all the bells in Northmoor Church ringing and Best
rejoicing that 'that there Harbut's nose was put out of joint,' a feeling
wherein Lady Adela could not but participate, though, of course, she
showed no sign of it to Constance. A sharply-worded letter to the girl
soon came from her mother, demanding what she had known beforehand. Mrs.
Morton had plainly been quite unprepared for what was a severe blow to
her, and it was quite possible to understand how, in his shyness, Lord
Northmoor had put off writing of the hope and expectation from day to day
till all had been fulfilled sooner than had been expected.

It was the first thing that brought home to Constance that the event was
scarcely as delightful to her family as to herself. She wrote what she
knew and heard no more, for none of her home family were apt to favour
her with much correspondence. Miss Morton, however, had written to her
sister-in-law.

'Poor Herbert! I am sorry for him, though you won't be. He takes it
very well, he really is a very good sort at bottom, and it really is the
very best thing for him, as I have been trying to persuade him.'

Bulletins came with tolerable frequency from Ratzes, with all good
accounts of mother and child, and a particular description of little
Michael's beauties; but it was only too soon announced that snow was
falling, and this was soon followed by another letter saying that
consultation with the best authorities within reach had decided that
unless the weather were extraordinarily mild, the journey, after November
set in, was not to be ventured by Lady Northmoor or so young a child.
There would be perils for any one, even the postmen and the guides, and
if it were mild in one valley it might only render it more dangerous over
the next Alp. Still Mrs. Bury, a practised and enterprising mountaineer,
might have attempted it; but though Mary was rapidly recovering and the
language was no longer utterly impracticable, the good lady could not
bear to desert her charges, or to think what might happen to them, if
left alone, in case of illness or accident, so she devoted herself to
them and to her studies of ice and snow, and wrote word to her family
that they were to think of her as hibernating till Easter, if not
Whitsuntide.

CHAPTER XXII
OUT OF JOINT

Constance had, of course, to spend her Christmas holidays at home, where
she had not been for nine months.

Her brother met her at the London terminus to go down with her, and
there, to her great joy, she also saw Rose Rollstone on the platform.
Herbert, whose dignity had first prompted him to seek a smoking carriage
apart from his sister, thereupon decided to lay it aside and enter with
them, looking rather scornful at the girls' mutual endearments.

'Come, Conny, Miss Rollstone has had enough of that,' he said, 'and here
are a lot going to get in. Oh my, the cads! I shall have to get into
the smoking carriage after all.'

'No, don't. Sit opposite and we shall do very well.'

Then came the exchange of news, and--'You've heard, of course, Rosie?'

'I should think I had,' then an anxious glance at Herbert, who answered--

'Oh yes, mother and Ida have been tearing their hair ever since, but it
is all rot! The governor's very welcome to the poor little beggar!'

'Oh, that's right! That's very noble of you, Herbert,' said both the
girls in a breath.

'Well, you see, old Frank is good to live these thirty or forty years
yet, and what was the good of having to wait? Better have done with it
at once, I say, and he has written me a stunning jolly letter.'

'Oh, I was sure he would!' cried Constance.

'I'm to go on just the same, and he won't cut off my allowance,' pursued
Herbert.

'It is just as my papa says,' put in Rose, 'he is always the gentleman.
And you'll be in the army still?'

'When I've got through my exams; but they are no joke, Miss Rose, I can
tell you. It is Conny there that likes to sap. What have you been doing
this time, little one?'

'I don't know yet, but Miss Astley thinks I have done well and shall get
into the upper form,' said Constance shyly. 'I got on with my German
while I was abroad, trying to teach Uncle Frank.'

At which Herbert laughed heartily, and demanded what sort of scholar he
made.

'Not very good,' owned Constance; 'he did forget so from day to day, and
he asked so many questions, and was always wanting to have things
explained. But it made me know them better, and Mrs. Bury had such nice
books, and she helped me. If you want to take up French and German,
Bertie--

He shrugged his shoulders.

'Don't spoil the passing hour, child. I should think you would be glad
enough to get away from it all.'

'I do want to get on,' said Constance. 'I must, you know, more than ever
now.'

'Oh, you mean that mad fancy of going and being a teacher?'

'It is not a bit mad, Herbert. Rose does not think it is, and I want you
to stand by me if mamma and Ida make objections.'

'Girls are always in such a hurry,' grumbled Herbert. 'You need not make
a stir about it yet. You won't be able to begin for ever so long.'

Rose agreed with him that it would be much wiser not to broach the
subject till Constance was old enough to begin the preparation, though,
with the impatience of youth to express its designs and give them form,
she did not like the delay.

'I tell you what, Con,' finally said Herbert, 'if you set mother and Ida
worrying before their time, I shall vote it all rot, and not say a word
to help you.'

Which disposed of the subject for the time, and left them to discuss
happily Constance's travels and Herbert's new tutor and companions till
their arrival at Westhaven, where Constance's welcome was quite a
secondary thing to Herbert's, as she well knew it would be, nor felt it
as a grievance, though she was somewhat amazed at seeing him fervently
embraced, and absolutely cried over, with 'Oh, my poor injured boy!'

Herbert did not like it at all, and disengaging himself rapidly, growled
out his favourite expletive of 'Rot! Have done with that!'

He was greatly admired for his utter impatience of commiseration, but
there was no doubt that the disappointment was far greater to his mother
and Ida than to himself. He cared little for what did not make any
actual difference to his present life, whereas to them the glory and
honour of his heirship and the future hopes were everything--and
Constance's manifest delight in the joy of her uncle and aunt, and her
girlish interest in the baby, were to their eyes unfeeling folly, if not
absolute unkindness to her brother.

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