CHAPTER VI.

UNDER THE CHURCH WALLS.

"I cannot buy the bonnet unless you will make the alteration at once. Now: so that I may take it home with me in the carriage."

The speaker was Mrs. Townley. Daisy was spending the day with her in Westbourne Terrace, and they had come out shopping. Mrs. Townley had fallen in love with a bonnet she saw in a milliner's window in Oxford Street; she entered the shop and offered to buy the bonnet, subject to some alteration. The proprietor of the business seemed rather unwilling to make it.

"I assure you, madam, it looks better as it is," she urged. "Were we to substitute blue flowers for the grey and carry the side higher, it would take away all its style at once."

Mrs. Townley somewhat hesitated. If there was one thing she went in for, above all else, it was "style." But she liked to have her own way also, and thought a great deal of her own taste.

"Three parts of these milliners object to any suggested alteration only to save themselves trouble," she said aside to Daisy. "Don't you think it would look better as I propose?"

"I hardly know," replied Daisy. "If we could first see the alteration, we might be able to judge."

But, to make the change, unless the bonnet was first bought, Madame François, the milliner, absolutely refused. It would ruin it, she said, for another customer. Of course she would alter it, if madam insisted after purchasing the bonnet; but she must again express her opinion that it would spoil its style.

The discussion was carried on with animation, madame's accent being decidedly English, in spite of her name. Mrs. Townley still urged her own opinion, but less strenuously; for she would not have risked losing the "style" for the world.

"I will call my head milliner," said madame at length. "Her taste is very superior. Mam'selle, go and ask Miss Bell to step here."

Mam'selle--a young person, evidently French--left her place behind the counter and went into another room. Every pulse in Daisy's body seemed to tingle to her fingers' ends when she came back with Rosaline. Quiet, self-contained, without a smile on her face to betray any gladness of heart there might be within, Rosaline gave her opinion when the case was submitted to her. She took the bonnet in her hand, and kept it there, for a minute, or so, looking at it.

"I think, madame," she said to her mistress, "that if some grey flowers of a lighter shade were substituted for these, it would be prettier. Blue flowers would spoil the bonnet. As to the side, it certainly ought not to be carried higher. It is the right height as it is."

"Then take it, and change the flowers at once, Miss Bell," said madame, upon Mrs. Townley's signifying her assent to the suggestion. "The lady will wait. Miss Bell's taste is always to be depended upon," added madame, as Rosaline went away with the bonnet.

"How extremely good-looking she is!" exclaimed Mrs. Townley: who had never seen Rosaline before, and of course knew nothing about her. "Quite beautiful."

"Yes," assented madame. "When I engaged her I intended her to be in this front-room and wait on customers; for it cannot be denied that beauty attracts. But Miss Bell refused, point-blank: she had come to be in my work-room, she said, not to serve. Had I insisted, she would have left."

"Is she respectable?"

The question came from Daisy. Swelling with all sorts of resentful and bitter feelings, she had allowed her anger to get the better of her discretion; and the next moment felt ashamed of herself. Madame François did not like it at all.

"Res-pect-able!" she echoed with unnecessary deliberation. "I do not understand the question, madam."

Daisy flushed crimson. Mrs. Townley had also turned a surprised look upon her sister.

"Miss Bell is one of the best-conducted young persons I ever knew," pursued madame. "Steady and quiet in manner at all times, as you saw her now. She is very superior indeed; quite a lady in her ways and thoughts. Before she came to me, nearly two years ago, she had a business of her own down in Cornwall. That is, her aunt had; and Miss Bell was with her."

"She looks very superior indeed, to me," said Mrs. Townley, wishing to smooth away her sister's uncalled-for remark: "her tones are good. Have you any dentelle-de-Paris?"

The bonnet soon reappeared: but it was not brought by Rosaline. Mrs. Townley chose some lace; paid the bill, and left. As Daisy followed her sister into the carriage, her mind in a very unpleasant whirl, she knew that the matter which had puzzled her--never seeing her husband abroad with Rosaline--was now explained. Rosaline was here by day; but, she supposed, went home at night.

It was so. The reader may remember that one evening when Frank went in to see Dame Bell soon after she had come to London, she had told him that Rosaline had gone to Oxford Street on some mysterious errand: mysterious in so far as that Rose had not disclosed what she went for. The fact was, that Rosaline had then gone to this very milliner's by appointment, having procured a letter of introduction to her from a house of business in Falmouth, with the view of tendering her services. For she knew that her mother's income was too small to live on comfortably, and it would be well if she could increase it. Madame François, pleased with her appearance and satisfied with the letter she brought, engaged her at once. Rosaline had been there ever since: going up in a morning and returning home at night. The milliner had wished her to be entirely in the house, but she could not leave her mother.

On this day, as usual, Rosaline sat at her work in the back-room, planning out new bonnets--that would be displayed afterwards in the window as "the latest fashion from Paris:" and directing the young women under her. That she had a wonderful and innate taste for the work was recognized by all, and Madame François had speedily made her superintendent of the room. The girl, as madame thought, always seemed to have some great care upon her: when questioned upon the point, Rosaline would answer that she was uneasy respecting the decaying health of her mother.

More thoughtful than usual, more buried in the inward life, for the appearance of Mrs. Frank Raynor, whom she knew by sight, had brought back old reminiscences of Trennach, Rosaline sat to-day at her employment until the hours of labour had passed. Generally speaking she went home by omnibus, though she sometimes walked. She walked this evening: for it was mild and pleasant, and she felt in great need of fresh air. So that it was tolerably late when she arrived home: very nearly half-past nine.

The first thing to be noticed was, that her mother's chair was empty: the room also. Rosaline passed quickly into the bedchamber, and saw that her mother had undressed and was in bed.

"Why, mother! what's this for? Are you not well?"

"Not very," sighed the dame. "Your supper is ready for you on the table, Rose."

"Never mind my supper, mother," replied Rose, snuffing the candle, and putting two or three things straight in the room generally, after taking off her bonnet. "Tell me what is the matter with you. Do you feel worse?"

"Not much worse--that I know of," was the answer. "But I grew weary, and thought I should be better in bed. For the past week, or more, I can't get your poor father out of my head, Rose: up or in bed, he is always in my mind, and it worries me."

"But you know, mother, this cannot be good for you--as I have said," cried Rosaline: for she had heard the same complaint once or twice lately.

"What troubles me is this, child--how did he come by his death? That's the question I've wanted answered all along; and now it seems never to leave me."

Rosaline drooped her head. No one but herself knew how terribly the subject tried her.

"Blase Pellet called in at dusk for a minute or two to see how I was," resumed Mrs. Bell. "When I told him how poor Bell had been haunting my mind lately, and how the prolonged mystery of his fate seemed to press upon me, he nodded his head like a bobbing image. 'I want to know how he came by his death,' I said to him. 'The want is always upon me.' 'I could tell, if I chose,' said he, speaking up quickly. 'Then why don't you tell? I insist upon your telling,' I answered. Upon that, he drew in, and declared he had meant nothing. But it's not the first time he has thrown out these hints, Rosaline."

"Blase is a dangerous man," spoke Rosaline, her voice trembling with anger. "And he could be a dangerous enemy."

"Well, I don't see why you should say that, Rose. He is neither your enemy nor mine. But I should like to know what reason he has for saying these things."

"Don't listen to him, mother; don't encourage him here," implored Rosaline. "I'm sure it will be better for our peace that he should keep away. And now--will you have some arrowroot to-night, or----"

"I won't have anything," interrupted Dame Bell. "I had a bit of supper before I undressed and a drop of ale with it. I shall get to sleep if I can: and I hope with all my heart that your poor father will not be haunting me in my dreams."

Rosaline carried away the candle, and sat down to her own supper in the next room. But she could not eat. Mr. Blase Pellet's reported words were quite sufficient supper for her, bringing before her all too vividly the horror of that dreadful night. Would this state of thraldom in which she lived ever cease, she asked herself; would she ever again, as long as the world should last for her, know an hour that was not tinged with its fatal remembrances and the fears connected with them.

In the morning her mother said she was better, and rose as usual. This was Saturday. When Rosaline reached home in the afternoon, earlier than on other days, she found her stirring about at some active housework. But on the Sunday morning she remained in bed, confessing that she felt very poorly. Rosaline wanted to call in Mr. Raynor: but her mother told her not to be silly; she was not ill enough for that.

The internal disorder which afflicted Mrs. Bell, and would eventually be her death, was making slow but sure progress. Frank Raynor--and his experience was pretty extensive now--had never known a similar case develop so lingeringly. He thought she might have a year or two's life in her yet. Still, it was impossible to say: a change might occur at any moment.

On this Sunday afternoon, when she and Rosaline were sitting together after dinner, Mr. Blase Pellet walked in. Rosaline only wished she could walk out. She would far rather have done so. But she forced herself to be civil to him.

"Look here," said Blase, taking a newspaper out of his pocket when he had sat some minutes. "This advertisement must concern those Raynors that you know of. I'll read it to you."

"'Lost. Lost. A small carved ebony desk. Was last seen at Eagles' Nest in the month of June more than two years ago. Any one giving information of where it may be found, or bringing it to Mr. Street, solicitor, of Lawyers' Row, shall receive ten guineas reward.'

"Those Raynors, you know, came into the Eagles' Nest property, and then had to turn out of it again," added Blase.

"Ten guineas reward for an ebony desk!" commented Mrs. Bell. "I wonder what was in it?"

Blase did not receive an invitation to stay tea this afternoon, though he probably expected it. However, he was not one to intrude unwished for, and took his departure.

"I had a great mind to ask him what he meant by the remark he made the other evening about your poor father," said Mrs. Bell to Rosaline as he went out.

"Oh, mother, let it be!" exclaimed Rosaline in piteous tones, her pale face turning hectic. "He cannot know anything that would bring peace to you or me."

"Well, I should like my tea now," said Dame Bell. "And I should have asked him to stay, Rose, but for your ungracious looks."

Rosaline busied herself with the tea, which they took almost in silence. While putting the things away afterwards, Rosaline made some remark: which was not answered. Supposing her mother did not hear, she spoke again. Still there came no reply, and Rose looked round. Mrs. Bell was lying back on the sofa, apparently insensible.

"It was the pain, child," she breathed, when Rosaline had revived her; but she had not quite fainted; "the sharp, sudden pain here. I never had it, I think, as badly as that."

Like a ghost she was still, with a pinched look in her face. Rosaline was frightened. Without saying anything to her mother, she wrote a hasty line to Frank, to ask if he would come round, twisted it up three-cornered fashion, and despatched it by the landlady's daughter.

The note arrived just as Frank Raynor and his wife were beginning to think of setting out for evening service. Frank chanced to have gone into a small back-room near the kitchen, where he kept his store of drugs, and Daisy was alone when Sam came in, the note held between his fingers.

"For master, please, ma'am; and it is to be given to him directly."

With an impatient word--for Daisy knew what these hastily-written, unsealed missives meant, and she did not care to go to church at night alone--she untwisted it, and read the contents.

"Dear Mr. Raynor,

"If you could possibly come round this evening, I should be very much obliged to you. My mother has been taken suddenly worse, and I do not like her looks at all.

"Very truly yours,

"R. B."

"The shameless thing!" broke forth Mrs. Frank Raynor in her rising anger. "She writes to him exactly as if she were his equal!"

Folding the note again, she threw it on the table, and went upstairs to put on her bonnet. It did not take her long. Frank was only returning to the parlour as she went down.

"Oh," said he, opening the note and reading it, "then I can't go with you to-night, Daisy. I am called out."

No answer.

"I will take you to the church-door and leave you there," he added, tossing the note into the fire.

"Of course you could not stay the service with me and attend to your patient afterwards!" cried Daisy, not attempting to suppress the sarcasm in her tone.

"No, I cannot do that. It is Mrs. Bell I am called to."

"Oh! Of all people _she_ must not be neglected."

"Right, Daisy. I would neglect the whole list of patients rather than Mrs. Bell."

He spoke impulsively, pained by her look and tone. But had he taken time to think, he would not have avowed so much. The avowal meant nothing--at least, as Daisy interpreted it. But for him, Francis Raynor, Mrs. Bell's husband might have been living now. This lay on his conscience, and rendered him doubly solicitous for the poor widow. To Frank it had always seemed that, in a degree, she had belonged to him since that fatal night.

But Daisy knew nothing of this; and the impression the words made upon her was unfortunate, for she could only see matters from her own distorted point of view. It was for Rosaline's sake he was anxious for the mother, reasoned her mind, and it had now come to the shameful pass that he did not hesitate to declare it--even to her, his wife! Perhaps the woman was not even ill--the girl had resorted to this ruse that they might spend an evening together!

She kept her face turned to the fire lest he should see her agitation: she pressed her hands upon her chest, to still its laboured breathing. Frank was putting on his overcoat, for it was a cool night, and noticed nothing. Thus they started: Daisy refusing to take his arm, on the plea of holding up her dress: refusing to let him carry her Prayer-book; giving no reply to the few remarks he made. The church bells were chiming, the stars were bright in the frosty sky.

Under the silence and gloom of the church walls, away from the lights inside and out, Frank stopped, and laid his hand upon his wife's.

"You are vexed, Daisy, because I cannot go to church; but when my patients really need me I must not and will not neglect them. For a long time now you have seemed to live in a state of constant discontent and resentment against me. What the cause is, I know not. I do not give you any, as far as I am aware. If it is that you are dissatisfied with our present position--and I am not surprised that you should be--I can only say how much for your sake I regret that I cannot alter it. But that is what I am not yet able to do; and to find your vexation constantly turned upon me is hard to bear. Let us, rather, look forward to better days, and cheer on one another with the hope."

He wrung her hand and turned away. His voice had been so loving and tender, and yet so full of pain, that Daisy found her eyes wet with sudden tears. She went into church. What with resentment against her husband, her own strong sense of misery, and this softened mood, life seemed very sad to her that night.

And as the service proceeded, and the soothing tones of the sweet chant chosen for the _Magnificat_ fell on her ear and heart, the mood grew more and more softened. Daisy cried in her lonely pew. Hiding her face when she knelt she let the tears rain down. A vision came over her of a possible happy future: of Frank's love restored to her as by some miracle; of Rosaline Bell and these wretched troubles, lost in the memory of the past; of the world being fair for them again, and she and her husband walking hand in hand, down the stream of time. Poor Daisy let her veil fall when she rose, that her swollen eyes should not be seen.

And the sermon soothed her too. The text was one that she especially loved: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Daisy thought none had ever been so heavily laden before as she was; just as the lightly chastened are apt to think.

"If I can only be a little more pleasant with him, and have patience," said she to herself, "who knows but things may work round again."

But the heart of man is rebellious, as all the world knows; especially rebellious is the heart of woman, when it is filled with jealous fancies. The trouble to which Mrs. Frank Raynor was subjected might bear precious fruit in the future, but it was not effecting much good in the present. No sooner was she out of church, and the parson's impressive voice and the sweet singing had faded on her ear, than all the old rancour came rushing up to the surface again.

"I wonder if he is there still?" she thought. "Most likely. I wish I could find out!"

Instead of turning her steps homeward, she turned them towards West Street, and paced twice before the house that contained Dame Bell and her daughter. A light shone behind the white window blind, indicating the probability that the room had inmates; but Daisy could not see who they were. She turned towards home, and had almost reached it when Frank came hastily out of the surgery, a bottle of medicine in his hand.

"Is it you, Daisy? I began to think you were late. I meant to come to the church and fetch you, but found I could not."

"Shall I walk with you?" asked Daisy, trying to commence carrying out the good resolutions she had made in church, and perhaps somewhat pacified by his words. "It is a fine night."

For answer he took her hand, and placed it within his arm. Ah, never would there have been a better husband than Frank Raynor, if she had only met him kindly.

"Who is the medicine for?" asked Daisy.

"For Dame Bell. I am walking fast, Daisy, but she ought to have it without delay."

"Have you been with her all this time?"

"Yes. I was coming away when she had a sort of fainting-fit, the second this evening; and it took more than half-an hour to get her round."

"She is really ill, then?"

"Really ill!" echoed Frank in surprise. "Why, Daisy, she is dying. I do not mean dying to-night," he added; "or likely to die immediately; but that which she is suffering from will gradually kill her. My uncle suspected from the first what it would turn out to be."

Daisy said no more, and the house was gained. As Frank rang the bell, she left his arm and went a few steps away; beyond sight of any one who might open the door, but not beyond hearing of any conversation that might take place.

Rosaline appeared. Frank put the bottle into her hand.

"I brought it round myself, Rosaline, that I might be sure it came quickly. Has there been another fainting-fit?"

"No, not another, Mr. Frank," replied Rosaline. "She is in bed now and seems tranquil."

"Well, give her a dose of this without delay."

"Very well, sir. I--I wish you would tell me the truth," she went on in a somewhat agitated voice.

"The truth as to what?"

"Whether she is much worse? Dangerously so."

"No, I assure you she is not: not materially so, if you mean that. Of course--as you know yourself, Rosaline, or I should not speak of it to you--she will grow worse and worse with time."

"I do know it, sir, unfortunately."

"But I think it will be very gradual; neither sudden nor alarming. This evening's weakness seems to me to be quite exceptional. She must have been either exerting or exciting herself: I said so upstairs."

"True. It is excitement. But I did not like to say so before her. For the past few days she has been complaining that my father worries her," continued Rosaline, dropping her voice to a whisper. "She says he seems to be in her mind night and day: asleep, she dreams of him; she dwells on him. And oh, what a dreadful thing it all is!"

"Hush, Rosaline!" whispered Frank in the same cautious tones: and as Daisy's ears could not catch the conversation now, she of course thought the more. "The fancy will subside. At times, you know, she has had it before."

"Blase Pellet excites her. I know he does. Only the other day he said something or other."

"I wish Blase Pellet was transported!" cried Frank quickly. "But it--it cannot be helped, Rosaline. Give your mother half a wine-glass of this mixture at once."

"I am so much obliged to you for all, sir," she gently said, as he shook hands with her. "Oh, and I beg your pardon for asking another question," she added as he was turning away. "I have been thinking that I ought perhaps to leave my situation and stay at home with my mother. I always meant to do so when she grew worse. Do you see any necessity for it?"

"Not yet. Later of course you must do it: and perhaps it might be as well that you should be at home to-morrow, though the people of the house are attentive to her. You may rely upon me to tell you when the necessity arrives."

"Thank you, Mr. Frank. Good-night."

"Good-night, Rose."

Frank held out his arm to his wife. She took it, and they walked home together. But this time she was very chary in answering any remark he made, and did not herself volunteer one. The interview she had just witnessed had only served to augment the sense of treason that filled the heart of Mrs. Frank Raynor.