Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 50
CHAPTER L.
A large party, at this time, entering the Campo Santo, several of whom appeared to be English, the ladies in question separated instantly and returned to their carriages, which were placed nearly together; so that, without manifesting any particular curiosity, Miss Granard could inquire of their servant "if he knew whether the ladies were of her own country?"
"Yes, it was miladi, the sposa of le Chevalier Osmond—she live in Pisa for the health; it was native air for miladi, mais elle nee Inglis."
Mary translated this into the lady being born in Pisa, of English parents; and might have made farther inquiries of the man who had been with them in the capacity of courier ever since they arrived, and who was intelligent and faithful (though his great qualification of speaking various languages might have been construed into mixing many), but she saw that Isabella looked so ill, her only care was to reach the hotel where they resided as soon as possible. In truth, she had received a shock which had a great effect upon her health, and which was rendered the worse from her consciousness of the cause, and her fear that Glentworth would be hurt, or angry, with her. "This poor woman," said she, "is evidently shrouded in mystery, so let her remain; it is not likely we should meet again, and we had better never refer to this interview, I think."
"I don't know that we could be justifiable in silence to Glentworth, when we have seen a lady who professes herself to be his relation, and to have been his injurer, though innocently so; which, indeed, I should think, for she was very good to you, and is a most lovely, interesting creature, and do you know I cannot help thinking she has a look of Glentworth, since he has been so poorly—the kind of sharpness which has been given, either by sorrow or sickness, to both their faces, is the same in its character, and the outline of their features has great similarity."
"You are quite right, for I can now recollect it was such when she was at Brighton, long ago, and looking well—I have heard him say, how often he had wished for a sister, from his childhood; and he thought his want of that dear relation had operated in rendering him attached to us, and you know how fond he is of calling you 'sister' and 'dear Mary,' as if he had really gained the connection he had long desired; but I cannot see how this lady could, by possibility, be his sister, nor did I ever hear of any person wronging him, though he has often referred to the time when he was poor, and rejoiced exceedingly that he went into that commercial house in which he has so kindly placed Charles Penrhyn."
"I can remember the time when he was a young man, and used to come to Granard Park as a gentleman, but he was quite young, and I understood he had no mother, but a father abroad—then there came a time when papa used to pity poor Frank very much, and it strikes me that I have heard him say that 'he had been devilishly ill-used;' after that we were in London, and he came very often and seemed to be papa's only comfort, but never joined mamma's parties, though she often wished for him; for even when people called him poor, and some reflected on him the same as mamma did, yet they always considered him a gentleman, and spoke of him with a peculiar kind of pity and affection, but I never knew why. I now think this lady Osmond, or rather her relations, must have been the cause of it—depend upon it he has experienced some peculiar misfortune in early life, connected with his pecuniary affairs."
Isabella burst into tears as she said, "If his youth suffered from misfortunes of that kind, I am sure his early manhood suffered no less from another cause. Oh! may God grant that I shall have the power to render the autumn and the winter of his life happy. I ask no other power, no other pleasure than to live for him, attend upon him, nurse his ailments, bear his petulance with patience, and divert the sorrows which memory may revive by every contrivance my love and imagination may suggest—yes, yes, other people may talk of my large fortune, but I know that it is my dear, good husband, which is Heaven's best boon."
As she spoke thus, in the language of awakened sensibility, Mary became sensible that her heightened colour, her rapid utterance, and the brilliancy of her eye betokened disorder beyond what she had apprehended. She lost no time in sending for an English physician, resident in Pisa, and held a courier in readiness to fetch Parizzi from Rome, feeling all the responsibility which belonged to her situation not less than the tenderest attachment and most perfect esteem for her who was the object of solicitude.
A fever, which soon denied the nutriment required by her babe, rendered a substitute for a mother the most pressing care on poor Mary's mind; but so violently did the invalid oppose this arrangement, that the devoted sister undertook to wean the child herself; and his perfectly healthy state, and naturally good temper, enabled him to bear the trial without injury—a circumstance greatly to the relief of the mother, so far as she comprehended it; but, as temporary delirium occurred, though she was incessantly speaking of the child, she could not always be made to understand why it was withheld from her.
Happily letters arrived a fortnight after Mrs. Glentworth's seizure, announcing the speedy return of her husband, and the great improvement of his health, which he doubted not would be effected completely by his voyage to Pisa, or, at least, to the much longer one he had decided on taking, if it would not be prejudicial to their child—to herself he knew it would not. His letter was kind but short, and he added, jokingly, "If Mary wishes to appear irresistible in the eyes of my companion, I would advise her to make her coup d'œil with little Frank in her arms, for I have observed, throughout our journey, that Allerton gives all his spare cash to the mothers, leaving the girls (so much the better) to "shift as they may."
It did so happen that, on the arrival of the strangers, Mary was playing with the child (who would scarcely leave her since she had become so essential to his comfort), and had perhaps seldom looked better at any moment of her existence, though the combs in her hair, plucked out by little fingers, had left it beautifully dishevelled, to the boy's evident delight. The stranger, who entered unannounced, stood a moment entranced with pleasure, then snatched the boy, and held him in a close embrace, till a loud cry, indicating alike health and anger, compelled him to restore his prize, and the question of "where is his mother, my dear sister?" recalled poor Miss Granard a little to herself.
"My sister has been ill, and is still delicate; the good news she is anxiously waiting for had better be told to her by me; she is nearly well, I can assure you, but is left weak and nervous, though the fever is quite gone."
Glentworth seemed astonished into silence and trouble; but Lord Allerton, attentively opening the door, followed Mary with his eyes admiringly, and, thanking her for the kind smile she had honoured him with, in his heart wondered where his eyes had been when he had forsaken her to "prey on garbage." She was soon followed by Glentworth, who stepped slowly and anxiously towards the dressing-room, and, ere he reached it, heard, with a delight the wayworn traveller and anxious husband alone can know, Isabella's cry of joy, her voice of thanksgiving to God on his behalf, and in another minute his pale but lovely wife was in his arms.
When the first joyful feelings of the moment had subsided, Isabella took an earnest survey of that which she undoubtedly considered to be her best earthly possession, and, with sincere satisfaction, perceived that her husband was blest with the general characteristics of health, though many of the finer lineaments of his countenance were obliterated, and he was decidedly looking old for his years. But what was that compared to the pleasure of gazing on him, and listening to his words of pity or of praise! to witnessing the sparkling of his eyes when he gazed on his boy, and sought, by every possible medium, to coax him to his arms, a task not to be achieved in a moment; or in listening to that praise of Lord Allerton, which was likely to propitiate Mary in his favour!
In a very short time, Isabella said "she was impatient to see and thank this kind friend of her husband's;" and, although not equal to take her seat at table, she could proceed for a few minutes into their usual sitting-room. Glentworth took her on his arm with an air in which respect blended with tenderness, and presented her, with pride not less than pleasure, to their noble visitant, who, although surprised by the youthfulness of her countenance (rendered the more striking from her late illness), thought that its gentle benignity augured well for his future hopes, which had waned considerably since he beheld her sister. When at a distance, he contemplated Mary, as she had been depicted to him, pale and shadowy, lovelorn and sallow, carrying in her face signs of that silent, eating sorrow, which writes on the brow what the tongue refuses to utter: he felt as if it were his duty and privilege to soothe that sorrow, and restore that health of which she had been deprived, and that his justice and pity would suffice for love; but he now saw her a fine and lovely woman, in the best period of her existence, her manners graceful, her mind cultivated, and her judgment so matured, it was little likely that she should suffer early recollections and impressions to warp it; he saw, or thought he saw, clearly that they would not; and he also felt, however strange it might be, that he was more in love than he had ever been in his life with either herself or any other woman. He appeared to himself as if he had stepped into the caldron which was intended to renew life and youth, and recovered, or rather acquired, more than he had ever known before of the higher influences of a soul-ennobling passion.
Nothing could be more delightful to Mr. Glentworth than to find Dr. Parizzi constituted one of his family party, save in so far as it indicated his lady's sufferings; but, his presence being still more restorative, he was not likely to be detained at Pisa much longer. He was proud of the amendment of Glentworth, feeling assured that no other mode of acting would have proved equally efficacious in a case where both body and mind were affected so entirely, and he was never weary of praising the admirable conduct of Isabella, at the same time turning round in his own mind how he might best break to him the circumstance which had in truth given the shock which occasioned her illness. He greatly feared the excitability of Glentworth's system, and dreaded that he might be induced to set out again in some long, wild journey in search of Lady Osmond, who he found, on inquiry, had left Pisa for Marseilles, where she expected to meet her husband, only two days after she had seen Isabella in the Campo Santo.
Under these circumstances, both Mary and himself were much inclined to consider that the youngest person had judged the best, and that any thing which could by possibility occasion a relapse to that state of distressing irritability and depression from which he had successfully emerged, ought not to be ventured upon. The doctor had never heard him refer to any relationship with this lady or any other; there could be no doubt that, whatever might have been the yearnings of his heart in days past, he no longer required them now, being happy in the strongest and tenderest ties. It was, therefore, after various consultations, agreed to leave for the present their peace unbroken by retrospection or acquisition, and a few days afterwards the worthy physician departed, reiterating his promise of some time visiting England, whither he advised them to journey whilst the weather continued favourable.
Isabella was somewhat relieved when her good friend had departed; for so much was she comforted by the presence of her husband, and so pleasantly did she perceive thoughts and feelings travelling on toward the haven she desired for her beloved sister, that she could scarcely bear to think of any change. In fact, "her soul had its content so absolute," whilst listening to her husband's description of what he had seen most remarkable in Sicily, or in witnessing his unwearied pains to gain the confidence of his child, and, having done so, play with him by the hour together, that, although both herself and sister had been wont to spend whole days in expatiating on the pleasures of returning to England, and again meeting those dear ones, from whom they had been so long separated, and, by some medium or other, helping mamma in those troubles which were sure to arise, that she now dreaded to speak of change, lest the happy rest which be longed to her situation should be revoked; she did not know that the delicacy of her own appearance was such as to render her husband and sister fearful of fatiguing her by removal, for she had been formerly of so very little estimation, she had no idea of the extent of her importance at present.