Kitabı oku: «Jasper», sayfa 9
Chapter Twelve
Sea-Breezes
And the hopefulness grew. For the improvement continued. That night of terrible anxiety had brought the crisis and the turning-point in more ways than one!
The news at noon was still good, by the evening better still, and thankfulness beyond words filled the hearts of Aunt Margaret and her little grand-nieces. And when the next day, and the days following, saw, in spite of some ups and downs of course, less and still lessening cause for anxiety, the thankfulness grew and grew and began to bear fruit. Never, I think I may safely say, never, in the course of their short lives, had Leila and Christabel been really happier than during the weeks they had still to remain at Mrs Greenall’s, though the rooms were small and crowded; the food plain, though neatly cooked; though they had to dress themselves and put away their hats and jackets, and even, now and then, under Aunt Margaret’s supervision, sew on a button and darn holes in their stockings! There were “ups and downs” in all this too, of course, as well as in little Jasper’s recovery; bad habits are seldom to be uprooted all at once; they are terribly clinging! But so, we may gratefully allow, are good ones also – a week of steady perseverance in doing a right thing, small though it may be, is something like “compound interest,” if you have come to that rule in your sums. It is really astonishing to find what progress may be made in the time.
“I really think, Auntie, we are beginning to learn to be neater and carefuller,” said Chrissie one Sunday morning when, passing their room on the way downstairs to go to church, she begged Miss Fortescue to “peep in.”
She glanced up brightly as she said it, and her aunt’s smile in return was bright also. But then Chrissie’s face clouded.
“There’s only one thing that keeps us miserable,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Leila agreed; “it always comes over me early in the morning, but Chrissie minds it most at night.”
“When I say my prayers,” whispered Chrissie.
“So we’ve made a plan,” Leila went on, “of not talking – except just what we have to, you know, either dressing or undressing.”
“A very good plan at all times,” said Miss Fortescue, “even when there is no special reason for it. When I was a child, it was a rule among us. It keeps tempers and feelings calm and quiet in a wonderful way to begin and end the day in silence. But what is this one thing that distresses you so?”
Both children looked down. Then there came the whisper – “Can’t you guess, Auntie? It’s Mummy’s not knowing yet– Mummy and Daddy.” Miss Fortescue stooped to kiss them.
“Dears,” she said, “I can give you some comfort. They do know – only a day or two ago I wrote a long letter to your mother. She cannot write back, as it might bring infection, but she spoke to me out of the window yesterday. I was to tell you – I was only waiting for a quiet time this afternoon – to tell you that they both, Daddy and Mummy, send you their full and loving forgiveness.”
Chrissie drew a deep breath of relief.
“I think God has forgiven us by making Japs get better,” she said.
“Need he ever know?” asked Leila.
“Not about the way he caught the illness,” said Aunt Margaret. “We think it better not. But about the prayer-book, yes. From what you both told me, that was evidently on his mind, and it will make him happy to know that Chrissie has at last kept what he believed to be a promise. You must not see your mother, dears, before she takes Jasper to the seaside, as the house has to be thoroughly disinfected, but when they go – next week we hope – she is planning to pass by us on their way to the station, so that she, and perhaps little Jasper, may nod and smile to you.”
“Auntie,” said Leila, “I’m afraid it’ll all cost a lot – doing the house, and the doctor and the nurse, and going to the seaside, and even us at Mrs Greenall’s; and it needn’t have been, and we’ve so little money now.”
“Yes,” replied her aunt. By this time they were on their way to church. “Yes, that is true. Still, that is really a small trouble compared to what might have been, if – ” and though she said no more they understood.
She was not one to “pile on the agony” or to tell them how almost overwhelmingly difficult it was to meet these utterly unlooked-for expenses.
“They are so young still,” she said to herself, “but it is delightful to see real consideration and thoughtfulness beginning gradually to grow in them.”
The spring, unfortunately, was a cold and late one that year. April was fairly advanced before the doctor gave leave for Jasper to be taken away for change of air, or to do more than walk up and down for a very few minutes in the best time of the day. A sadly thin and white little creature he looked the morning that, as had been promised, the four-wheeler, with luggage on the top and his mother and himself inside, drove slowly past Mrs Greenall’s house, where Leila and Chrissie and Aunt Margaret were eagerly on the look-out. Then there were nods and smiles and kissings of hands – but when the little girls drew their heads in again and shut the window, their aunt was scarcely surprised to see that there were tears in their eyes.
“He does look so ill,” they murmured, “and poor Mummy taking him away all alone, without a nurse or a maid.”
“They will be all right when they get to Seabay,” she replied; “for there they will be at your old nurse’s mother’s. You have often been there – it is so near Fareham. She has a nice little house with two rooms that she lets. It would not have done to go to a hotel, even if we could have afforded it, just for fear of any lingering infection, though your mother says Jasper has been bathed and carbolic-ed and I don’t know all what – and their clothes stoved and boiled! In a fortnight or so from now, the house will be perfectly safe, and we shall be able to go back there and make everything nice for them to return to,” she added cheerfully.
But still the children sighed.
“I’m glad they’re going to Seabay,” said Leila, “only it’ll make Mummy rather sad to be so near Fareham and for it not to be ours any more.”
“My dears,” said their aunt, “I truly do believe that nothing of that kind could make her sad just now. All her heart is filled with thankfulness – and, my little girls, hopefulness too. She is looking forward to a happier home life than you have ever yet had, and I do not think she will be disappointed?”
“We do mean to try,” murmured Chrissie, and the way in which the simple, humble words were said showed that the good seed had taken root.
And now, for a little change, we are going to leave Leila and Christabel and their aunt, and travel to Seabay with Jasper and his mother. A fine, mild day had been chosen for the journey, and if any of you who read this story have ever known what it was to be very ill and to get better again, you can picture to yourselves our little boy’s delight at being out once more and able to enjoy the open air and the bright spring sunshine. Even the drive in the four-wheeler was full of pleasure, and once he was comfortably settled in the railway carriage, in a corner by the window, you may be sure his face beamed with satisfaction.
Yet what a small white face it looked! Full of thankfulness and hopefulness as his mother was, she could scarcely keep back a little sigh as she glanced at him.
“You are sure you are quite warm, darling?” she said.
“Pairfitly, Mumsey darlin’,” was the reply: and then he added, “It’s very nice, isn’t it, in this comfable train, and mayn’t I dig on the sands when we get there?”
“Soon, dear, I hope,” said his mother, “but just at first we must be very careful, you know, for fear of your catching cold.”
“It would have been nice if Lelly or Chrissie could have come too,” he went on. “Chrissie likes digging and makin’ sand castles, doesn’t she, Mumsey?”
“Yes, I am sure she does. But you see, dear, it’s best for you not to be with your sisters just yet, for fear of their possibly catching the fever, even though it is not very likely.”
“I know,” said Jasper. “Poor Chrissie – I am so glad she told Auntie about the prayer-book. I fink she’d never have been kite happy if she hadn’t, would she, Mumsey?” and again his mother agreed with him. And after a while the excitement and the air began to make the still delicate little fellow sleepy. His head began to nod, and Mrs Fortescue put her arm round him, and it was not till they were just drawing up at the station that he fairly awoke.
There was a drive of a mile or two to Seabay, and by the time they reached their destination, Jasper was as lively as ever, pointing out the places he remembered, the grand hotel they had stayed at the year before, the donkey-boys’ stand, and other interesting objects. Nurse’s mother’s house was a very small one, standing in a row of neat modest little dwellings with tiny gardens in front. But to Jasper’s happy feelings it was all perfectly delightful, and indeed, in its humble way, the house was quite comfortable. Nurse’s mother had done her utmost – all was exquisitely clean and fresh, and she herself eager to do everything she possibly could for her guests. For she felt their coming to her a great honour – neither she nor her daughter being the sort of people to think any less highly of “the family” in these days of adversity.
So Mrs Fortescue was able to send a cheerful letter to both Aunt Margaret and to “Daddy” – poor Daddy, so busy at his office that he had not even been able to see them off at the station!
And the days passed very peacefully. For the weather on the whole was fine, and Jasper was able to be out a great deal, though principally in a bath-chair, as his poor little legs were still too weak to allow of his walking for more than a very short time.
The bath-chair man was a relation of their landlady; a good careful old fellow, and more than once, when Mrs Fortescue was very tired – walking beside a bath-chair is harder exercise than it looks! – or had many letters to write, she let Jasper go out alone in his carriage, well wrapt up and quite content in his human horse’s company. Thus it happened one day when they had been more than a week at Seabay. It was a very warm afternoon for April, and Mrs Fortescue told old Evans that he might draw up on the terrace facing the sea, for part of the time, and let Jasper watch the people walking about and the children on donkeys or digging on the sands, for already, on a very fine day like this, the regular summer customs were beginning.
The old man did as he was told, and Jasper sat in his nest, warm and comfortable and perfectly content. Suddenly he heard a small voice beside him, and glancing round, he saw a very little girl gazing up at him with great interest, not unmingled with awe. She was a pretty little creature, charmingly dressed in white, looking about four years old, and she seemed to be quite alone. It was not in our little boy’s nature not to smile at her, and then she took courage.
“Is you hurted your foots?” she said; “can’t you walk or ’tand?”
“No,” said Jasper, “it’s not my feet. I’ve been ill and my legs gets tired if I walk much.”
“Poor ’ittle boy!” she said pityingly. “Was it werry sore to be ill? I’d like to kiss you, to make it better?” and she came close to the bath-chair, raising herself on tip-toe with the evident intention of kissing him. But a sudden remembrance flashed into Jasper’s mind.
“No, darlin’,” he said in great distress, “no, no. I were forgettin’. You mustn’t come near me. You mustn’t kiss me. Oh, I can’t explain. She wouldn’t understand. Is there nobody wif you – not your nurse or nobody?” he cried, on the point of tears by this time.
“Yeth, there’s Gran,” the baby was beginning, when another voice came from behind the chair, the new-comer having approached from that side.
“Why, what’s the matter, Lily?” it said; “you’ve not been teasing this young gentleman, I hope?” for Jasper’s distress was too plain to be unnoticed. “She is sometimes a little too friendly,” he went on, “though she means well, don’t you, my pet?”
“Oh no, no, she was sweet and kind,” said the boy; “please send her furzer away and I’ll explain,” and so he did – most clearly and sensibly – when the grey-haired stranger had called to the nursemaid, who now made her appearance with a donkey and donkey-boy whom she had been to fetch, and Lily was safely escorted off.
“I was only strolling about with her till the donkey came. She is my grand-daughter. And it is very good of you, my little fellow, to be so thoughtful, though I shouldn’t think there’s much risk now. You’ve been here some days, I suppose, and the sea-breezes blow away infection finely.”
“But he’s been pretty ill,” he added to himself, “or else he’s very delicate.”
“Do you always live in London?” he went on, and feeling interested in the child, by one or two kindly questions he drew out a good deal of the Fortescue family history.
“Fortescue,” he repeated, “and ‘Fareham.’ Why, then I’m your father’s tenant now! I must see if we haven’t some Fareham grapes for you – or I’ll tell them to send you some direct. Tell me your whole name, my boy;” and Jasper, well pleased, replied —
“Jasper’s my first name. ‘Jasper Greville Fortescue,’ that’s it all.”
The look of interest deepened on the gentleman’s face.
“Jasper,” he said musingly; “a very uncommon name, to begin with. But Jasper Greville, the two together! It’s an extraordinary coincidence, if no more.”
“Greville,” said Jasper, “Greville was Mumsey’s name ’afore she married Daddy, and I was called it after her Daddy, you see; and oh, there’s Mumsey herself,” as he caught sight of his mother coming towards them.
She looked a little surprised at seeing her boy on such friendly terms with a stranger, but a few words explained the whole, after which Mr Maynard introduced himself as the present occupier of Fareham. Then Evans was told to move on again slowly, Mrs Fortescue and Lily’s grandfather following.
“Mumsey’s” heart was soon won by Mr Maynard’s praise of Jasper.
“Such a thoughtful little fellow,” he said. “When I was his age I am sure it would never have entered my head to warn off any one when I was recovering from one of the illnesses so much commoner among children in those days. But your boy looks delicate – does London suit him? I’m afraid,” he went on, hesitating a little, “I’m afraid you must miss Fareham a great deal. We find it so healthy – Lily is twice the child she was. She and her mother live with us. My daughter’s husband was killed in the war.”
“How very sad!” said Mrs Fortescue gently. Then after a moment’s pause she went on – “Jasper has never been as strong as my other children, but I don’t think it’s the fault of London. We have always been there six or eight months of the year.”
“I know what would set him up,” Mr Maynard remarked. “A sea voyage! I am a great believer in sea voyages – had so many of them, you see, for I’ve spent most of my life in Australia.”
“Indeed,” said Mrs Fortescue with interest, for this explained the slight touch of abruptness in her new friend’s manner, as well as some small peculiarities of tone and pronunciation. “I wish we could send him – or take him, rather – a voyage, but it is now quite impossible.”
“Ah, yes – I suppose so,” he replied, but rather absently. Then he turned to her again with a kind of eagerness.
”‘Jasper,’ your little fellow is called, he told me – ‘Jasper Greville.’ Excuse my asking if they are family names.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Fortescue, a little surprised, “they were my father’s. My name before I married was ‘Greville.’ We wanted to preserve them, for, strangely enough, my family has completely died out.”
“I have met ‘Grevilles,’” said Mr Maynard.
“Oh yes – there are plenty of Grevilles, but none with whom we can trace any connection. I was an only child, and so was my father. I was left an orphan very young and brought up by my mother’s people. ‘Jasper’ was the name for the eldest sons in our family for generations, I believe.”
“It is a very uncommon name,” Mr Maynard said. Then seeing Lily on her donkey coming towards them, he lifted his hat in farewell, just stopping for a moment to ask if he might venture to send some grapes to the little invalid – “Fareham grapes,” with a half-apologetic smile. And of course Mrs Fortescue thanked him, and gave him the address of their present modest home.
And the next day, and several other times besides, the grapes arrived – and a lovely basket of flowers with them. But of Mr Maynard and his little Lily they saw no more.
“Most likely,” said Mrs Fortescue, “they only drove over from Fareham for the day, to give the child a breath of sea-air. But I am glad to have seen them. It is pleasant to think that kind, nice people are living at dear Fareham.”
How surprised she would have been if she had known the thoughts in Mr Maynard’s mind as he walked away, after his talk with her!
“I will write at once,” he said to himself. “It is better to hear from old Greville first before speaking of the possibility to them. He may be dead – in which case he will have left everything to public object – hospitals and so forth, as he said to me. What a sweet woman she is, and that dear boy! I can write with real interest about them, and sympathy. Things must have been very hard upon them, I fear.”
A week or two more brought the visit to Seabay to a close. Jasper, by this time, was able to take a fair amount of exercise on his own little legs, which were a good deal firmer and stronger than when he first came. Mrs Fortescue, too, was feeling rested and refreshed, and she was delighted to return home and be all together again. For Aunt Margaret’s letters continued to give very cheering accounts of her two charges.
“They really are earnestly trying to overcome all the tiresome habits and thoughtless ways which made us so anxious about them,” she wrote, “and this is truly encouraging, as it shows that the impression made on them has not been a passing one. Of course there are – there must be – fallings back and disappointments sometimes, but even from these they may learn new experience and strength.”
The little house in Spenser Terrace had been thoroughly disinfected and was looking fresh and bright in the sunshine – for it was a real “May day” – the afternoon on which Jasper and his mother returned home. The boy was in a state of happy excitement, and his cheeks were flushed and rosy as the four-wheeler drew up at the door.
“It will be so nice to be wif zem all again,” he murmured, adding to himself, “and I are so glad Chrissie told about that church-book.”
Yes – there they were – all at the door to meet the travellers. Aunt Margaret, Leila and Christabel, and Roland, just back from his tutor’s.
“Darlings,” exclaimed their mother, “what a long, long time it seems since I kissed you all!” and —
“Darlin’s,” echoed Jasper, “and we’ve brought some grapes from Fareham. That kind man sent us lots! Didn’t he, Mumsey?” and he had quite a story to tell his sisters about “meetin’” the little girl on the seashore, with her grandfather, and how “frightened” he’d been of her kissing him and catching the fever, and all the rest of it.
“He’s not looking ill, I don’t think,” said Christabel when she was alone with Leila. “His face was quite nice and rosy.”
“Just at first,” replied Leila. “He was so glad to see us all. But he looked very white after tea, and his cheeks are very thin,” and she sighed.
“Well,” said Chrissie, with a touch of the sharpness she was trying to overcome, “you needn’t be so gloomy about him. I’m going to be gooder to him than I’ve ever been, and if you are too, he’ll just get fat with happiness.”
And so daily life got back into its usual round again. But with – oh, such a difference!
“Everything seems so much nicer at home now,” said Christabel one day with satisfaction. “Of course it may be partly the weather,” which was very bright and pleasant during that early summer.
“Yes,” said Aunt Margaret, “if you include the invisible ‘weather’ as well, Chrissie dear, I can quite agree with you,” and though Jasper looked rather puzzled, the little girls “understood.”
