CHAPTER XI.

A TELEGRAM.

Having seen Tarbot out, Nurse Ives returned to her own room and sat down in front of the gas stove. It was a warm night—warm and damp. There was a thick fog outside, one of those fogs which are the first forerunners of autumn. But, warm as it was, the woman felt cold. She held out her two thin hands to the warmth of the stove, then, suppressing a shudder, she got up and went on tiptoe into the room where little Piers Pelham was lying fast asleep. He slept soundly, and he looked beautiful—there was an angelic smile on his small face.

A queer, new expression came over the woman’s face.

“Why am I stirred when I look at him?” she said to herself. “Why does my heart beat so fast? If he were my very own I do not think I could love him better.”

Then she returned to her seat in front of the stove. She was a temperate woman, and although she felt faint and overcome she would not have recourse to stimulants. She prepared herself a cup of cocoa. It was hot, and it comforted her. It took away a curious craving which she could not quite account for.

“I am hungry, and yet not hungry,” she said to herself. “I feel terribly excited. I have gone through much, and it is wearing me out. This day week I shall be his wife—I shall be Mrs. Tarbot. There is a good deal to be done in the time. I must get suitable clothes. Above all things, I must supply myself with plenty of underlinen, fine and beautifully embroidered. I shall get a lot of handkerchiefs, too, of the finest lawn, and every one of them shall be embroidered, not marked in ink, but embroidered in satin stitch with the name, ‘Clara Tarbot.’”

“To think of my name being Clara Tarbot! I the wife of Luke Tarbot, the great brain specialist of Harley Street! Oh, I do well, I do very well for myself. I won’t think about any future—I do well for myself for the present. The boy’s life is safe, and I shall get my heart’s desire. This day week he and I will be married.

“I wonder where we shall go for our honeymoon. Imagine my having him for a fortnight all to myself! How will he bear it? If he had any love to give me he might like it, for I have power, strength. I am in no sense a nonentity. I can flatter, I can please, I can excite him, and I can also soothe him. I vow that he shall come under my influence. I know a way by which I believe I can gain a wonderful power over him. I will use it.

“That girl shall be wholly forgotten. Plain as I am, I am the woman to whom he will come in his hour of trial. Yes, there is no doubt I have a great future before me, but in the meantime there is much to be done. A few pretty dresses, or, rather, handsome dresses, have to be bought, and, above all things else, the boy has to be cared for. Now, what am I to do with the child?”

This problem occupied Nurse Ives during the remainder of the night. She had been up for several nights now, but she did not feel sleepy. She thought and thought, and towards morning it seemed to her that she had solved the difficulty.

“It is the best thing I can do, and I must do it,” she thought. “What is a mother for but to help a daughter? Yes, I will do it.”

Having made up her mind, she went and lay down beside the boy. The soft breath of the child, who was now fast returning to his normal state of health, mingled with hers, and she clasped the dimpled fingers of the little one. As she did this, once again that queer indescribable drawing, which she did not recognize as love, began to awaken in her heart. She crept close to the lad and took comfort in his presence.

“I am so glad I saved him,” she said to herself. “When all’s said and done, I am not such a villain as Luke—Luke, the man I love, the man I would die for.”

At last she fell asleep, wearied out, and awoke about ten o’clock. The boy was sitting up in bed. He was hungry, and there was a slightly fretful expression on his face.

“Why do you sleep so long?” he said in a peremptory tone. “I’m not accustomed to being kept waiting for my breakfast. Why didn’t you wake up in proper time? I’m very hungry. I want my breakfast.”

“I’ll get it for you at once, little one,” said the nurse. “Stay where you are; I’ll dress you afterwards. I’ll bring you your breakfast in a few minutes.”

Nurse Ives rose hastily, and without even troubling to smooth her hair or change her blue velvet dress, went into the other room. Having set the kettle on to boil, she came back.

“How smart you are, nurse!” said the child.

“Do you like my pretty frock?” she asked.

“I like it awfully. You won’t wear that ugly nurse’s dress any more, will you?”

“I don’t intend to. I’m not going to be a nurse any more, little Piers.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, my love.”

“Do get me my breakfast—I’m so hungry.”

“It’s coming, dear. I have set the egg on to boil.”

Nurse Ives returned to the other room and prepared a dainty meal. She brought it to the boy on a tray and sat by his side while he ate it.

“You look much better,” she said.

“I’m quite well,” he answered with a laugh. “It’s wonderful how much nicer I feel in this queer, poky little scrap of a room. I was awfully ill when I was at home. I never felt anything like it. Nurse, did you ever seem to be going through the floor?”

“No, dear, I can’t say that I have.”

“I have felt it, and it’s awful. The feeling began to come just when you arrived. I used to have it about once a day at first, but lately it seemed to be always coming. I was always going down, and down, and down, and then jumping up again, and then at last——”

“Yes, dear; tell me what you felt.”

“I heard Barbara’s voice, and you wouldn’t let her in. I called out to her, but you wouldn’t let her come. Then I cried, for I love her better than any other woman in the world, except mother, but you sent her away; and I felt so dreadful. I went down, and down, and down ever so far, and it seemed to me that Barbara would save me, but you wouldn’t allow her to come in. You were awfully cruel then. You didn’t wear your pretty blue velvet dress then. Oh, you were terribly cruel. I thought about your cruelty, and the feeling of going down got worse and worse. I thought at last that I must be sinking right through the earth, and that perhaps I’d come out on the other side, where it’s day, you know, when it’s night with us. Oh, it was awful!”

“Don’t talk of it any more, Piers—it is over.”

“But I like to tell you. Dick came into the room—dear Dick, I was glad to see him. You know, nurse, he is very strong, and I like to have him with me. He put his big strong arms round me, and then I didn’t sink any more, at least, not at first, but at last even his arms didn’t seem strong enough, and I began sinking away from them, and then you sent him out. Oh, why did you send him away? You could have gone for the medicine yourself. I called after him, but my voice was too weak. Then Dick came back, and you gave him the medicine, and he brought it to me. I was glad to take it from Dick’s hands. I didn’t mind what I did for him, for he was always my very greatest friend. It’s nice for a boy like me to have a man friend, and then, of course, he’s my own cousin. If I had died that time, he’d have been Sir Richard Pelham. I thought I was going to die after I took that medicine. I sank down faster and faster, and I looked up as I sank and I saw Dick far above me, and then I remembered no more.”

“You were very ill, child,” said the nurse.

“Did you think I was going to die?”

“I thought you were bad.”

“But did you think I was going to die? I remember so well the look on Dick’s face—all white as if he were terrified—that was the very last thing I saw before I went right down into the earth. I didn’t see you at all—only Dick. Did you suppose that I was dying?”

“No, Piers. I thought you would get better presently.”

“Do you think Dick was frightened?”

“Perhaps. But we will not talk of that any more.”

“Nurse, will you take me back home to-day? I want to see mother, and Barbara, and Dick.”

“Not to-day, Piers. You are very much better since you have come to me, and it is part of your cure to live with me for a little. If I wear my pretty blue velvet dress and tell you fairy tales and give you nice things to eat, you won’t mind staying with me for a time, will you?”

“No; for I quite love you. You are so changed. But when may I see Dick and Barbara again?”

“I will tell you that by and by. If you are patient, you will see them all the sooner.”

The boy lay back on his pillow with a sigh.

“May I get up?” he asked after a moment. “I feel quite well.”

“I will dress you myself, dear, and you shall come and sit with me in my sitting-room. But first I must go out.”

“Where to?”

“To the post-office to send a telegram.”

“To Dick?”

“No, dear; not to Dick, but somebody else.”

“Who?” asked the child.

“To my mother.”

“Have you a mother? You look very old to have a mother.”

“I have a mother, my dear, but she lives far away from here, in Cornwall.”

“Cornwall—that’s in the very, very south of England, not far from Devonshire, where one of my places is. You know, nurse, I am an awfully rich boy, don’t you?”

“Yes, little Piers.”

“Why don’t you call me Sir Piers? It doesn’t seem respectful to call me little Piers.”

“But I’d rather call you little Piers. I want you to forget the other name.”

“Forget that I am Sir Piers Pelham! What do you mean?”

“It is part of your cure. I hope to have you quite well before long, and when you are quite well and quite strong you shall be Sir Piers Pelham again, and you shall go back to Dick and Barbara and to your mother and Dr. Tarbot.”

“Dr. Tarbot,” said the boy, his face flushing. “I hate him.”

“That is unkind. He is your good doctor.”

“He’s not good, and I hate him. Well, go and send off your telegram to your mother if you must, only it does seem queer that you should have one. What do you want to say to her?”

“I want her to come here on a visit.”

“Oh, I shall like that. It will be fun to see you greeting your mother. Will you kiss her much and will you obey her? Of course, you ought to obey your mother—it’s the fifth commandment. Well, go, nurse, now, and be quick back.”

A few moments afterwards Nurse Ives went to the nearest telegraph office and sent off a message. The result of her message was that early on the following morning a little woman, with a wrinkled face and hands slightly distorted with rheumatism, arrived on the scene.

“Well, now, Clara, what does this mean?” said the woman, “sending for me in such a precious hurry. What’s up, my girl? You look excited.”

“I sent for you, mother, because I want you to take care of a little boy for me.”

“A little boy! Good gracious! Not a patient?”

“Yes, mother, a patient. I want you to look after him—that’s why I sent for you. I’ll tell you all particulars when you’ve had some breakfast.”