A Houseful of Girls

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Next Mr. Pemberton wrote that Lady Mary had been so charmed with the
neighbourhood of Redcross, and had spoken so highly of it to one of her
cousins, who had a great liking for English landscape, and was just
refurnishing his town house, that he wished to commission a set of
water-colour sketches of such and such spots for his morning-room. It
was Mr. Pemberton's opinion that Miss Rose Millar could execute the
commission to Sir John Neville's satisfaction, if she cared to accept of
it.

"It is to help me," said Rose humbly, "for there are hundreds of good
artists who would take the work and be thankful, and do it far better,
though I will do my very best. Tom Robinson is at the bottom of it
directly or indirectly, but he is like an old friend. I don't know a man
to whom I would sooner be obliged."

In the third instance, a totally unforeseen application was made to
Annie. A fever, in certain respects unfamiliar in its type, broke out at
Stokeleigh, one of several suburban villages on the outskirts of
Redcross. Some authorities called the fever Russian, and declared it had
been imported--they did not pretend to say how--from that remote empire.
Others insisted it was a slow fever, of English growth, with curious
complications. It appeared doubtful whether it were infectious; but
there was one thing which was unmistakable, that, whatever kind of
malaria brooding in the summer air was at the root of the complaint,
that malaria showed a disposition to spread extensively. It passed from
Stokeleigh to the adjoining village of Woodleigh, whence it took a bend
in the direction of the town, and proceeded to squat, as malarias can
squat, and settle indefinitely on all the low-lying districts of
Redcross. Neither did the epidemic improve in character with the change
of locality. For, whereas on the higher, less encumbered ground the
fever had been rarely fatal, the mortality increased with the transfer
of the disease to the crowded, damp purlieus of the older part of the
town, built more or less on the Dewes, and liable to be invaded by the
river in flood.

A combined meeting of the Town Council and Vestry, with the Mayor, who
happened to be a public-spirited man, and the Rector heading it,
determined on taking prompt action to stop the mischief. The town had
lately built a Corn Exchange in one of the highest, best-ventilated
situations in Redcross. It was to be committed to the care of a town's
officer and his wife, who were to have the adjoining rooms rent-free for
a domicile, together with certain perquisites, in return for sweeping,
scrubbing, and looking after the hall. But the place was just finished,
and had not yet been occupied in the manner intended. It was proposed to
convert it, in the absence of other accommodation, into a temporary ward
for the sufferers from fever. The doctors consulted, pledged themselves
that there was every probability of the unwelcome visitor being thus
stamped out, while the chances of recovery for the patients would be
multiplied. It was also agreed to bring a trained nurse from some
nursing institution, to mould the raw nursing materials which Redcross
supplied on the emergency. Dr. Millar's successor had a bright idea that
it might be a graceful act on his part to mention the old Doctor's
daughter, who had gone in for nursing as a profession. She had already
served nearly a year in a great London hospital, and was no doubt
competent to undertake the duties required. It would be a compliment to
her and her father to try and get her for the occasion, and there would
be a certain _eclat_ in her coming to the help of her native town in its
need. Dr. Capes was right as to the popularity of his motion. It was
received with unanimous approval. Annie, the matron, and the directors
of St. Ebbe's, were immediately applied to in proper form. Annie burned
to go, if such a step were admissible at the present stage of her
career. The favour she had won on all sides aided in the fulfilment of
her wishes. She was promoted from the ranks of the probationers to those
of the nurses while yet her year wanted a fraction of its complete
round, and was officially sent down to represent the nurses of St.
Ebbe's at Redcross.

"Of course, Dora, you cannot be left behind to go on by yourself hunting
for a situation with three-fourths of the great world out of town. I am
afraid you would make a poor job of it at the best, Dora dear, and at
the worst it is not to be thought of; it would be a waste of
nerve-tissue and muscle, as well as of pounds, shillings, and pence. You
will come too; we'll be all together, or nearly together, again, for a
holiday, after all."

Dora, who had been waiting patiently for Annie's decision, was nothing
loth.

"Rose's expenses and mine are more than paid," calculated the practical
Annie, "so that we shall be no drag on father and mother. I don't know
if Robarts's accommodation will extend beyond the additional bedroom for
Rose and May, but that can be easily managed. Oh! I have it, Dora, you
will stay with me at the hospital--the Corn Exchange I mean--and save me
from having a housekeeper for the short time one will be wanted. I'll
take care that no infection, if there be infection, will come near you.
Oh, 'won't it be jolly,' as Rose says, for you and me to keep house by
ourselves at dear old Redcross, of all places in the world?"

It was arranged so, with only a little demur from Mrs. Millar,
over-ruled by her husband.

There was another person, without right or power to enter his veto
against the existing order of things, who nevertheless decidedly
demurred at them. Tom Robinson showed that though he might be a humane
man there were bounds to his humanity. "It is all very well for Annie
Millar to come down and nurse the fever patients, it is in the way of
her business, she does as much every day, she is well acquainted with
all the precautions to take. But Dora is not a nurse, she never thinks
of herself, she will forget to take the precautions if she has ever
heard of them. She has not strong nerves, and she is used up with this
preposterous stumping of London in July in search of a situation. What
in the name of common sense and natural affection do they mean by
lugging Dora into the risk!" he grumbled and worried. "Oh! yes, of
course she would follow Annie or any of the rest of them fast enough if
she had the opportunity, though she were to die at the end of it; but
she ought never to have had the opportunity, it was preposterous to let
her. The whole thing is monstrous. I never heard of such rashness. What
can Dr. and Mrs. Millar be thinking of?"

It felt queer, to say the least of it, as well as "jolly," to be at
Redcross and not at the Old Doctor's House, over which a bride of
yesterday was presiding, for Dr. Capes's marriage had taken place
simultaneously with his purchase of Dr. Millar's practice.

Annie used to look over from the opposite side of the street, as she was
walking along, at the alterations which were being made in the garden,
and the new arrangement of the window curtains, and try to criticize
them impartially. Then she had to call and see Dr. Capes, and wait in
the familiar consulting-room till he insisted on taking her to the
drawing-room, in order to introduce her to his wife, who had come a
stranger to Redcross. Annie felt as if she were a disembodied spirit, or
a dreamer in a dream from which she could not awake, while she gazed on
the changed yet well-known aspect of everything around her. But she had
to think of Dr. and Mrs. Capes, in whose house she was, and talk civilly
to them of their improvements(!). She had to emulate the submission of
Dora, who had seen the transfer coming and taken part in it. She had to
copy the mercurial spirits of Rose and May. They were so pleased to be
with their father and mother again, and to take possession of Phyllis
Carey's every free moment, that they declared the Robarts's apartments
were the very nicest the girls had ever seen. They, the apartments, were
delightfully cosy (which meant stuffy in July). They were more cheerful
(noisier) than the Old Doctor's House. It was great fun for the pair to
stow themselves and their belongings within such narrow compass.

A serious vexation to Annie at the commencement of her enterprise was
the arrival of Dr. Harry Ironside to diagnose and make what he could of
the fever.

"What is he doing here? His coming at all is most impertinent," cried
Annie indignantly, sitting down on one of the still empty beds in the
barrack-like hall, and as it were daring Rose and May, who had brought
the news, and Dora who was listening to them, to contradict her.

"He is come in the pursuit of knowledge," said Rose, with full command
of her countenance. "He does not understand Russian fever, or whatever
it is, and he thinks he had better make its acquaintance as a wind up to
taking his degree. He is still a doctor at large; he has not fixed on
where he is to go and what he is to do next, so his sister Kate writes
to me."

"Then he and his sister Kate had better make up their minds to go away
together, somewhere else, and not trouble other people," cried Annie
quite illogically.

"Why, Annie, father thinks it is very praiseworthy of Dr. Ironside to
seek to get all the information he can before settling down as a
doctor," remonstrated May in the guilelessness of her heart. "He has
just been calling on father, who is delighted with him--so is mother;
and, for _my_ part," finished the speaker with unconscious emphasis, as
if her opinion were of the utmost consequence, "I have thought him very
nice since the first time I met him at Mrs. Jennings's. He is so big and
handsome, without being stuck up, or a swell, like what Cyril Carey used
to be--just frank and pleasant as a man should be. I cannot comprehend
why you have such a dislike to him."

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Annie, with a gasp. "But I don't care," she
added vehemently; "he shall not come and carry on his investigations
here. Dr. Capes and I, with father to appeal to, and Mr. Newton to call
in and consult, if necessary, are more than sufficient for all the
patients we are likely to get. I tell you, if he forces his way into my
hospital I'll have nothing more to do with it; I'll throw it all up and
go back to St. Ebbe's at once."

"But it is not your hospital, Annie," said Rose with provoking
matter-of-factness. "It is the town's, or if it is under the control of
any private person, it is under Dr. Capes's orders. For the sake of his
professional character, medical etiquette, and all that kind of thing,
he will not refuse to allow a fellow-doctor to study the fever cases
under his care. Dr. Harry was going to stay at the 'Crown,' but he met
Tom Robinson, who said he should be his guest, and carried him off to
his house."

"Just like Tom Robinson!" declared Annie with amazing asperity.

"Come along, May." Rose hurried away her sister and satellite, and then
let loose her glee. "It is too funny, May; too preposterously funny. It
is ever so much better than Dora and Tom Robinson. He was so easily
rebuffed, and she was so reluctant to rebuff him. But here is Annie
like one of the furies, and Harry Ironside is silly enough to mind her,
so that he can hardly open his mouth before her, and looks as if he had
lost his wits. Before Annie! What is our Annie, I should like to know,
that she should daunt a clever, high-spirited young fellow such as he
is? What strange glamour has she thrown over him? But he has plenty of
mettle and determination for all that, and she will no more manage by
her tirades to stop him from coming after her and laying siege to her
ladyship, than she can keep the sun from shining or the rain from
falling. For that matter, I believe the poor fellow cannot help himself;
it is the case of the moth and the candle."

"But what is it all about?" demanded May, in an utter confusion of
ideas. "She speaks as if she hated him, and I thought he had come to
Redcross to trace the course of the Russian fever."

"To trace the course of his own fortunes. I beg your pardon, my dear,
but you might have known enough of human nature to guess that there was
a private personal motive at the bottom of his philanthropy."

"Then it is the worse for him and a great pity," said May, with the
sweet seriousness into which one phase of her childishness was passing.
"I wonder you can laugh, Rose. I am always affronted when I remember
how we laughed at Tom Robinson and poor Dora, making game of what was no
joke to them. And Dora was not half so much opposed to Tom as Annie is
to this unfortunate, nice, pleasant young doctor. I could find it in my
heart to be very sorry for him."

"Oh! you are a simpleton apart from Latin and Greek. Don't you see that
Annie's wrath is neither more nor less than fright? She is frightened
out of her senses at him, because she wants to keep her independence and
share our fortunes. As I do not remember to have seen her in such a
scare before, I should say that she is paying him a high compliment."

"I think it is rather a queer compliment," objected May in much
perplexity.

"'Though you should choose to dissemble your love,
Why need you kick me down-stairs?"

quoted Rose. "Oh! but the poet did not know the world, or pretended not
to know it. I assure you there are many wise men who would much rather
be kicked in this way than be civilly spoken to. Kate Ironside thought
fit to confide to me how much interested she was in a suit which, if it
ever succeeded, would make us all brothers and sisters. She was so good
as to add that while she was aware Harry always knew best, and she had
entire faith in his choice, still she was not entirely of his mind--I
don't believe Annie has ever spoken to her, lest speech with the sister
should be taken for encouragement to the brother. It is only natural
perhaps that, as Kate ventured to admit, on the whole she would have
preferred _me_."

"And what did you say to that?" asked the deeply-interested May.

"No, thanks, though I was much obliged, or something like it. I added
with some dignity, I flatter myself, though really such dignity is
thrown away on Kate, that for the present I was wedded to my art, like
Queen Elizabeth to her kingdom, and to my sister Maisie. Besides,
nothing could, would, or should ever induce me to meddle with my sister
Annie's property, since, according to Kate's own account, it was for
love of Annie, and not of me, that Harry Ironside took up his residence
under Mrs. Jennings's roof."

But Annie had to give way to some extent. She was compelled to grant an
interview to the aggressor. Dr. Ironside arrived on a special errand to
the hospital, and he took up the position that Miss Millar was entitled
to be consulted. Tom Robinson had been attacked with every symptom of
the fever. He and Tom had agreed, in view of the public character of
"Robinson's," and with the idea that the step might do good, by serving
as an example, that the patient should come to the hospital and be laid
up there, where Dr. Harry Ironside was ready to devote himself to the
case.

"I believe Tom Robinson has taken the fever on purpose," said Annie to
the shocked Dora. "But he shall not have much of my attendance; he may
stick to his Dr. Ironside. Dr. Capes tells me he has induced a married
woman, with a family, who has a brother and a nephew lodging with her,
both of them down with fever, to send them here, so that I shall have
them to look after. Now that there is a beginning made," Annie smoothed
her ruffled plumes, and waxed cheerful, "if the hot weather does not
change, and the disease is not checked, we are likely to have plenty of
patients on our hands, with the opportunity of showing what service we
can render them and the town."

Just as Annie predicted, the rows of beds began to fill, and she had no
lack of occupation; but she changed her tale with regard to Tom Robinson
when his case, among many which yielded readily to treatment, and proved
triumphantly the gain to be got from a better locality and fresher air,
was first grave, then dangerous, and at last verged on hopeless. Now she
turned to the worst case on her list, and made it her chief care. She
became totally unmindful of the fact that she was thus brought into
constant contact with Harry Ironside, that it was he and she who were
together fighting death, inch by inch, with desperate endeavour, for the
prize which the last enemy threatened to snatch from their hands.
Indeed, so entirely did Annie, like the excellent nurse and kind-hearted
woman she was, lose sight of her own concerns in the interest of her
patient, that she was heard to contradict herself, and record her
sincere thankfulness for the strong support of Harry Ironside's presence
in the light of the valuable aid he could afford at such a time.

"He was thought very clever at St. Ebbe's. He took his degree with high
honours. He was held in much esteem by all the older doctors," she
explained to all who cared to hear. "He is in possession of all the
latest light on his profession. Now, I have heard father say, and what I
have seen confirms it, that though Dr. Capes is most painstaking, and
has had a good deal of experience as a general practitioner, he has no
great natural ability, and he was not in circumstances to pursue his
studies longer than was absolutely necessary to enable him to pass as a
medical man. After all I take back my word. I am very glad for poor Tom
Robinson's sake that Dr. Harry Ironside is here. No doubt we could have
summoned a great specialist from London, but he would only have stayed a
short time, and men like him have generally many critical cases on
their minds. Now Dr. Harry Ironside is on the spot, and he can watch
every turn of the disease which he came to master, and devote his whole
attention to this example. I consider Tom Robinson is exceedingly
fortunate in getting the chance of such scientific treatment."

But in spite of the good fortune and the devotion spent on him; it
looked as if Tom were going to slip through the hands so bent on
detaining him, and to die as quietly as he had lived.

When Redcross realized how even the balance was, and how heavily he was
swimming for his life, the whole town woke up to his good qualities as a
citizen, to what a useful life his comparatively short one had been, to
how many benefits he had conferred without the slightest assumption of
patronage or superiority of any kind.

It is unnecessary to say that "Robinson's" was figuratively in the
deepest mourning, only rousing itself from its despair to proclaim his
merits and those of his father before him, as masters. Men gravely
pointed out the old servants he had pensioned; those in middle age
whom he had kept on when their best days were past; the boys he had
already taken in, fitted out, and launched on the world by judicious,
unostentatious backing. Women tearfully reminded the listener how
carefully he had provided for their comfort and well-being throughout
his establishment, from the ample time allowed for their meals and the
seats to which they could retire when not actually serving, to the
early closing hours, which afforded them and the men who were their
associates, some leisure for out-of-doors exercise and indoors
recreation. As for mental and spiritual improvement, he was always
ready to subscribe liberally to libraries, choral unions, friendly
societies, Christian associations, missionary boxes--every conceivable
means of rational pleasure, culture, and true human elevation of which
his people would avail themselves.

Mrs. Carey called at the Corn Exchange and offered her unprofessional
services as a nurse, if further aid were wanted.

Mr. Pemberton, acquainted with the fact of Tom Robinson's illness
through communicating with Rose Millar on her commission, wrote that he
could hardly keep Lady Mary from descending on Redcross to see after
their friend, and if it would be the least good she would come down. It
would be but a poor return for the aid Robinson had lent her when her
husband lay desperately sick and she had nobody to appeal to, save the
fat and fatuous _padrone_ of a miserable little Italian inn.

May, who was at last prevented from coming to her sisters, presented
herself when they went to their father's, her eyes swollen with weeping
for her "coach."

Every time Annie left the transformed hall of the Exchange and repaired
to the rooms which she and Dora occupied, she found a white face on the
watch for her, and pale lips which could hardly form the syllables, "How
is he now? Oh! Annie, must he die?" At least Dora was on the spot to
hear each hour's report, as if she had been his nearest relative, and
without asking herself the reason why, that was a little bit of comfort
to her. In the same manner Tom Robinson derived a dim satisfaction from
the fact that he was lying there under the same roof with Dora Millar,
as he would have been supposing she had listened to his suit eighteen
months ago, and he had fallen ill in the early days of their marriage.
He was afraid it was pure selfishness which made him cease to resent her
presence in close proximity to the fever ward, as he had resented it
when he did not imagine he might be one of its patients. Sometimes he
had a dim fancy that he heard her soft voice through the closed doors,
and that it soothed him, though he might be only dreaming, or it was
possible that there were tones in Annie's clear voice which under
certain emotions of pity and tenderness answered to those of her sister.

Often Annie just shook her head sorrowfully as she warned Dora off till
the nurse's dress could be changed. Occasionally she cried out
petulantly, "If he would only be impatient, and fret and grumble like
other people; if he would not take things so quietly; if he would resist
and struggle, I believe he might fight the battle and win it yet. I
think he will get over the crisis, but what of that if there is no
rallying? He is letting life go because he will not grasp it hard, I
suppose for the reason that he has no strong ties to bind him to it. He
has either such a poor opinion of his deserts, or such a trust in
Providence, that he considers whatever is is best, and does not exert
himself to alter the course of events so far as it is in his power. It
is beautiful in theory, but it does not always answer in practice. I am
not certain whether it does not proceed, after all, from constitutional
indolence, or the want of ambition, of which I used to accuse him, or
whether he is really too good to live. Anyhow, skill and nursing are
wasted upon him."

Dr. Hewett came to see Tom Robinson, and took the seat which Harry
Ironside vacated for him, leaving the old friends together.

"Hallo, Rector! It is strange for me to meet you here," said Tom's
feeble voice, while the ghost of his old shy smile passed over his
haggard face.

"It is equally strange for me to meet you, Robinson," said the Rector,
with an inconvenient lump in his throat.

"What a deal of trouble I'm giving," said Tom regretfully.

"Tut, man, nobody grudges the trouble, if you will but pick up and get
well again," said the clergyman, almost roughly.

"I can see that Ironside thinks badly of me," said Tom in his quiet way,
"and as far as feelings go, it seems to me I have reason to think badly
of myself."

"We are all in good hands, Tom," said Dr. Hewett, seeing again the boy
who used to play in the Rectory garden with Ned, and speaking to him in
the old fashion.

"I know that," answered Tom. "I have known it all along, which has been
a blessing to me," he added, a little as if he were speaking of a third
person. Then he roused himself further. "I want to tell you where my
will is. I don't like to hurt a woman's feelings by speaking of it to my
kind, indefatigable nurse. Besides, the Millars will benefit by it."

"The old man," sighed the Rector, "always thinking of others before
yourself."

"'I know that my Redeemer liveth,'" was Tom's testimony; "speak to me of
Him, Rector, while I am able to hear," said the sick man, in the tone of
one whose ears were growing dull to earthly sounds.

CHAPTER XXI.

MISS FRANKLIN'S MISTAKE.

Tom Robinson went still deeper into the shadow of the valley, possibly
as far as man ever went and returned. He grew as weak and helpless as an
infant, until at last he lost consciousness, and lay prostrate and
still, with closed eyes and sealed ears--nothing alive in him save the
subtle principle which is compared to a vapour and a breath which no man
can see or handle, yet whose presence or absence makes all the
difference between an animated body still linked to both worlds and a
mass of soulless clay hastening to corruption. All that skill and
devotion could do--and Tom Robinson had them both--was to keep on
without despairing, maintaining warmth against the growing chillness,
and administering stimulants and nourishment by spoonfuls and drops.

On the night which it was feared would be Tom Robinson's last, Miss
Franklin would no longer be denied her place among the watchers. She
had been kept away in obedience to poor Tom's express orders, that in
the attempt to minimize the fever no communication should be kept up on
his account between the Corn Exchange where he lay and either his house
or "Robinson's," notwithstanding the proofs that the disease did not
spread by contagion or infection.

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