“At Ashtead? How should that serve?”
“It is not so near to town,” she pointed out.
“Sixteen or seventeen miles only, I daresay!”
“More than twice as far away as Merton, however, But it is useless to repine over that. Sir Horace says the place is in disrepair, quite unfit to live in. He means to set it all to rights when he comes back to England — I only wish it may not be too late!”
“Why should it be too late?” asked Mr. Rivenhall, willfully misunderstanding her. “I assume Lacy Manor does not stand entirely empty! Does not my uncle leave some servants in charge?”
“Only the Claverings, and, I suppose, a man to look after the gardens and the farm. But that, you know very well, is not what I meant!”
“If you take my advice,” said Mr. Rivenhall, “you will not meddle in the Marquesa’s affairs!” He added caustically, “Or in anyone else’s! And spare yourself the trouble of telling me that you do not mean to take my advice, for that I know already!”
Sophy folded her hands in her lap and began to twiddle her thumbs, so absurd an expression of docility on her face that he was obliged to smile.
But as the season advanced he smiled less and less frequently. Since she had not yet been presented at Court, Sophy was not invited to the Regent’s grand fete at Carlton House, but there was scarcely another society event which she did not grace. In honor bound, Mr. Rivenhall accompanied his mother and her two charges to many of these functions, but as he was obliged to spend a considerable part of his time watching his sister dancing with Mr. Fawnhope and his cousin flirting outrageously with Charlbury, it was scarcely surprising that he should have been goaded into saying that he would be thankful when July saw the Ombersley household safely bestowed at Ombersley Court. He also expressed the wish that Sophy would choose between her various suitors, so that he might one day return to a house empty of visitors. Miss Wraxton said hopefully that perhaps Sir Horace would not be much longer absent from England, but as the one letter so far received from this erratic gentleman had not mentioned any prospect of a speedy return from Brazil, he was unable to set much store by this.
“If,” said Miss Wraxton, casting down her eyes in pretty bashfulness, “she should still be with dear Lady Ombersley in September, Charles, I think I must beg her to be one of my bridesmaids. It would be only civil!”
He agreed to it, but only after a moment’s pause. “I trust that by then my uncle may have returned. God knows what mischief she will find to plague me — us — with at Ombersley, but no doubt she will discover something!”
But when July came there was no question of Ombersley. Mr. Rivenhall, fulfilling an old promise, took his three younger sister to Astley’s Amphitheatre, to celebrate Gertrude’s birthday, and within a week of this dissipation Dr. Baillie had been called in to prescribe for Amabel.
She had begun to show signs of ill health almost at once, and although the doctor repeatedly assured Mr. Rivenhall later that there was no saying where she might have contracted fever, he continued obstinately to blame himself. It was evident that the little girl was very ill, her head aching continually, her feverishness increasing alarmingly at night.
The dread specter of typhus raised its head, and not all Dr. Baillie’s assurances that Amabel’s complaint was a milder form of this scourge, neither so infectious nor so dangerous, could allay Lady Ombersley’s fears. Miss Adderbury, with Selina and Gertrude, was sent off incontinent to Ombersley; and Hubert, staying for the first few weeks of the long vacation with relatives in Yorkshire, warned ,by express not to venture near Berkeley Square until all danger should be past.
Lady Ombersley would have banished Cecilia and Sophy too could she have prevailed upon either of them to have listened to her prayers, but they were adamant. Sophy said that she had had much experience of far deadlier fevers than Amabel’s and had never yet caught any worse infection than the measles; and Cecilia, hanging affectionately over her mother, told her that nothing short of force would detach her from her side. Poor Lady Ombersley could only cling to her and weep. Her constitution was not strong enough to enable her to support with fortitude the illnesses of her children. With all the wish in the world to tend Amabel with her own hands, she could not bear the sight of the child’s discomfort. Her sensibility overcame her resolution; the very sight of the hectic flush on Amabel’s cheeks brought on one of her worst spasms, so that Cecilia had to help her from the sickroom to her own bed, and to send her maid to beg Dr. Baillie to visit her before he should leave the house.
Lady Ombersley could not forget the tragic death, under similar circumstances, of the little daughter who had followed Maria into the world, and from the start of Amabel’s illness abandoned hope of her recovery. It was felt to be unfortunate that Mr. Rivenhall should also have gone to stay with his aunt in Yorkshire, for his presence always exercised a calming effect upon his mother in times of stress; and Amabel, as the fever waxed, often cried for Charles to come to her. It was hoped that a man’s voice might soothe her, so her father was introduced into her room, and tried clumsily to coax her into rationality. He was not afraid of infection, the doctor having told him that it was rare for an adult person to contract the disease, but although he was much affected by the sight of his little daughter’s condition, he had never paid much attention to his children and now failed to quiet her. Indeed, his tears flowed so freely that he was obliged to leave the room. Dr. Baillie, dubiously eyeing old Nurse, shook his head, and sent Mrs. Pebworth to Berkeley Square.
Mrs. Pebworth, a voluminous female, with a watery eye and a mountainous bonnet, smiled fondly upon the two young ladies who received her, and bade them, in a husky voice, to have no fears, since the little dear would be safe in her charge. Within twelve hours of her arrival, she was addressing, vituperative remarks to the closed door of the mansion, having been, at the orders of Miss Stanton-Lacy, shown off the premises by the redoubtable Jane Storridge. A nurse, Sophy bluntly informed Dr. Baillie, who refreshed herself continually from a square bottle and slept the night through in a chair by the fire while her patient tossed and moaned, they could well dispense with. So, when Mr. Rivenhall, posting south immediately on receipt of the tidings from London, arrived in Berkeley Square, it was to find his mother suffering from nervous palpitations, his father seeking relief at White’s or Wattier’s, his sister snatching an hour’s sleep on her bed, and his cousin in command of the sickroom.
When trouble descended upon the household, Lady Ombersley forgot all Charles’s disagreeable ways and was much inclined to think him her only support. Her joy at seeing him walk into her dressing room was only allayed by her fear that he might catch the typhus. She was reclining on the sofa but heaved herself up to cast her arms about his neck, exclaiming, “Charles! Oh, my dear son, thank God you are come! It is so terrible, and I know she will be taken from me like my poor little Clara!”
A burst of tears ended this speech, and for some minutes he was fully occupied in soothing the agitation of her spirits. When she was calmer, he ventured to question her on the nature of Amabel’s complaint. Her replies were disjointed, but she said enough to convince him that the case was desperate, and the illness contracted perhaps at Astley’s Amphitheatre. He was so much appalled that he could say nothing for several moments but got up abruptly from the chair by the sofa and strode over to stare out of the window. His mother, wiping her eyes, said, “If only I were not so wretchedly weak! You know, Charles, how I must long to be beside my child! But the sight of her, so wasted, so flushed, brings on my worst palpitations, and if she recognizes me at all she cannot help but be distressed! They will scarcely allow me to enter the room!”