Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I (32 page)

One might have thought, that years of reviving Kitty’s apparently lifeless form, would have resulted in her family greeting her fainting spells with rather less agitation, than the family of one who had never before lost consciousness in her life; but it was not so. Each occasion was met with as much anxious care as the last, and her re-animation rejoiced in, as if she had been the daughter of Jairus. Of course, it could not be denied, that even when under the influence of the most common, momentary swoon, Kitty did look most uncommonly dead; and in this instance, the cut on her temple was of no assistance in presenting a reassuring aspect.

Ann, effacing herself before the bustle of solicitous relations (and hardly less solicitous servants), nevertheless had time to observe, that in her care for her sister, every thought of self had apparently fled from Julia’s mind: the flash of half-incredulous joy which had briefly illumined her features, being completely extinguished by alarm. Again and again Ann reproached herself for failing to mark Kitty’s presence in the room; although she suspected that, in the excitement of her feelings, even then she would have trumpeted forth the news without giving thought to its effect upon anyone but Julia.

Kitty’s first act, once the initial confusion of recovery was past, was to reach out a feeble hand to her sister, and begin to cry, with the steady, noiseless tears, which everyone knew could continue to flow for hours, drawn from a seemingly inexhaustible source. She spoke no word; none was needed. In her eyes, fixed on her sister, was the look of a person seeing her most cherished possession about to be torn from her clasping arms. It was a moment ripe for the uttering of injudicious promises, and Ann almost covered her ears, that she might not hear her friend pledge away her happiness in the excess of her relief. But almost at once Lady Frances dispersed it, requesting that Kitty be carried to bed, that the housemaid be persuaded to stop sobbing as nobody had yet died, or was likely to, and that one of the footmen be sent for the apothecary.

Her wishes were carried out with dispatch. Mr. Forbes came, pronounced his approval on everything they would have done in any case, and left, meeting Mr. Parry on the front steps, and terrorizing that gentleman by his grave demeanor and a cryptic reference to fire screens. Unaware that Mr. Parry’s youngest sister had been lost in childhood to the negligence of a nurse and the absence of one of these screens, the apothecary may have been somewhat surprised at the effect of his words. Mr. Parry, arriving in mental disarray at the foot of Kitty’s bed, took in her pale, startled, but unseared features---and only then was able to reflect that she was after all not likely to have sought the proximity of open flames during the second week of July. Sinking into the nearest chair, he wiped his face with the handkerchief handed to him by Lady Frances, and requested a true account of how Kitty came to be lying abed. Ann was deeply impressed by the manner in which Lady Frances answered him, doing so concisely, accurately, and yet without once mentioning either of the Lenox brothers. She must soon have found a private opportunity for doing so, however; or perhaps Julia may have done, for Ann saw Mr. Parry afterward talking quietly with Julia in the hall, in a manner more than ordinarily intent.

Thus the greater part of the morning, which was to have been filled with a variety of occupations--shopping, calling to take leave of various friends and acquaintances--was instead spent by Lady Frances and Julia in attendance upon an invalid. Ann, too, kept very near the room; not from any notion that she was needed, but from roughly equal parts guilt and impatience. Her talk with Sir Warrington burned in her bosom; for, added to the inevitable interest of such a matter, was the role she herself had played, in discovering and bringing the truth to light; she, who had so often, in the past, misjudged and obscured. She yearned to share it with Julia, whom she felt tolerably sure must be in as much impatience to hear, as she was to inform. True, Julia concealed it well; there was no hint from her manner, that she longed to be elsewhere than she was; she seemed concentrated upon nothing but the improvement and comfort of her sister. But Ann still was confident. It was naturally impossible that any thing could be said on such a subject within the hearing of Kitty; nor did Ann particularly wish to render her account in the presence of a third party, interested and sympathetic as Lady Frances must be. And so Ann hovered restlessly, watching in vain for the room to clear, for Kitty to fall asleep; or for Julia perhaps even to make some excuse and slip away, that she might speak with Ann, before returning to her duties with additional, and perhaps pleasanter, matters to ponder.

But before any such opportunity arrived to gratify Ann, she was instead summoned from her post by a servant, who came to tell her that Sir Warrington was again below, and wishing very urgently to speak with her. Unhappily, she was sitting actually within the room at the time, and Kitty could not help overhearing something of the message, and became agitated at once, trying to raise her head, and exclaiming, in a frightened tone, “Oh! I had forgotten--they are to come to dinner tonight!” Ann hurried out, dreading lest Sir Warrington take it into his head to come looking for her, as he was not used to stand on ceremony at Merrion House, and leaving the others to calm Kitty as best they might.

Ann had assumed that Sir Warrington had desired her presence only upon being told that Julia was not able to see visitors; but in this she wronged him: it was herself and no other that he had come to see, and to his mind, she only would do. He was so eager to explain himself, that he was forced to repeat each sentence three or four times, before she could at all understand him. Eventually he succeeded in communicating that he had just come from his brother, to whom he had revealed the true state of affairs, just as she had instructed him to do (Ann raised her brows at this ingenious revision of their conversation, but did not bother to demur)--and yet, here was a remarkable thing: his brother did not believe him!

A few surprised exclamations from Ann, had Sir Warrington hastening to clarify the exact area of disbelief. It was not that Mr. Lenox could not credit his brother’s selfless motive in coming to London; what he refused entirely to credit, was his brother’s assertion, that Miss Parry was in love with him, and awaiting only his proposal, to let the thing be known. As Sir Warrington had been able to give as his authority for this admittedly rather astounding intelligence, no one but that Epitome of Insight, Miss Ann Northcott, Ann felt that Mr. Lenox was scarcely to be reproached for his skepticism. Indeed, she was rather pleased at this evidence of good-judgement in him, and silently approved the reservations that had stopped him rushing over to Merrion House upon receiving the tidings, eager to claim the heart which he had been told was his for the asking. Particularly was she glad, since had he done so, he must have found that the heart in question was beating anxiously at the bedside of a sister, who was no doubt busily devising ways to prevent his ever acquiring it.

Ann was not so foolish as to share any of these reflections with Sir Warrington, but sought instead to depress the notion that she had a right to speak for Julia on any matter of such importance. She attempted, without precisely retracting her rash declaration of the morning, to persuade him that persons, not directly concerned, really had no right to meddle in a matter of such delicacy, other than was involved in seeing misconceptions removed. But she could see he was not at all satisfied with this passive plan, and soon found, that his whole purpose in coming to Merrion House was to induce her to return with him to Berkeley Square, where she was to descend on Mr. Lenox, and convince him, by many infallible proofs, that Miss Parry loved him
etc.
etc.
Or at the very least, write him a letter to this effect.

When Ann very firmly declined doing either of these things, he did not, could not, understand her reasons; and she was some time even making him understand that it did not signify how often, and in how many different ways he explained his wishes, for she was not going to alter her decision. At length, seeing no other prospect of deliverance, she was forced to use Kitty’s indisposition to excuse herself, and employing a solemn look, and purposely vague language, managed to convey to her visitor, without ever saying so, that Kitty’s requiring to be kept in bed for the rest of the day, somehow prevented Ann from leaving the house, or even sparing the time it would take to scratch out a few lines on a piece of paper. The question of how she could then have spent some thirty minutes arguing with an obtuse guest in the drawing-room seemed not to occur to him, and you may be sure Ann did not mention it.

A further quarter of an hour was then expended in satisfying him that he could do nothing to help the invalid--ten of that assuring him that it certainly was
not
possible for him to visit her--and he was at last taking a disconsolate leave, when the same thought that had struck Kitty upon his arrival, struck him at his departure, and exclaiming “that Miss Pairy cud tale him herself tonight, thin!” he took himself off with a happy countenance.

**

Returning, with a mind somewhat exasperated, to her supposedly crucial post at Kitty’s bedside, Ann was delighted to find that the maxim of the watched pot had proven true, and that as soon as she had left off waiting for them, her desires had come about. Julia was left in sole charge of the invalid, who appeared to have fallen very thoroughly asleep. Ann suspected laudanum.

Julia looked up at Ann’s entrance, and it seemed to Ann, that her look asked the reason for Sir Warrington’s calling again, and so soon. Ann did not, of course, have any notion of spoiling the artistry of her account by starting at the end, and seating herself close beside her friend, with another quick glance at Kitty’s closed eyelids, she began her tale.

Julia was in many respects a model listener. She did not once interrupt the flow of the narrative with questions or objections, or grow impatient at Ann’s once or twice mistaking the order of the exchange, and having to correct herself. Nor was Ann given any cause to suppose her friend’s thoughts ever wandered from the strictest attendance on her words, though it is true that her eyes, in their turn, seldom wandered from their contemplation of her sleeping sister.

Ann had been a little anxious, as she told of her first conversation with the baronet, and of her being betrayed into telling him that Julia did, in fact, love his brother, that her friend would not thank her for the liberty; but Julia only colored slightly, and briefly looked down at her hands.

At last Ann was finished. Sir Warrington had for the second time impetuously departed the house, and there was nothing more to relate. After some moments of silence, Julia stirred, and thanked her, and suggested that she go and dress for dinner. What could Ann do but acquiesce? She rose in considerable puzzlement, to put on something--she knew not what--thinking hard the while on the inexplicability of even well-loved and bosom companions, and eventually beginning to reproach herself for spoiling, by her own impatience to tell it, a narrative that would not have been in the least harmed by a few hours’ maturation. She saw now, how much better it would have been, had she awaited Julia’s direction, instead of rushing into speech at the first opportunity, careless as to whether the other was at that time in a position to frame the correct responses. How could she ever have expected Julia to comment, to take her back over phrases, to request a repetition of any sentence of particular interest, as she had done the night they returned from Pettering House, when there, ever before her eyes, had lain the one person, beloved as she was, who could yet admit a very substantial impediment to the marriage of true minds? Quite disgusted with her own maladroitness, Ann sat before the mirror long after everything that could be done for her hair had been accomplished, in sightless contemplation of her stupidity; until by and by she recollected that Julia had mentioned waiting for her friend’s return, before going to dress herself. This effectively roused Ann from where she was sitting and staring in one chair, to go and sit and stare more usefully in another. However, she was still several yards from the door of Kitty’s room when it was opened suddenly, and Julia started out, looking as wild as Ann ever remembered seeing her. On perceiving Ann, she burst out, “Thank God! I thought no one would ever come--Ann, run fetch Mama at once!” and without waiting for any response, disappeared back within the room, from whence unmistakable sounds of disturbance could be heard. So great was Ann’s surprise, that for a second or two she did not move; then she came to herself, and starting around, set off on her mission. She had taken but a few steps when she saw Julia’s maid approaching, and hurried her quite unnecessarily with a few urgent and disconnected words, before continuing on. She had a fair notion of where Lady Frances must be, and made her way as quickly as possible to the nursery, urgently calling out, as she drew near, in a manner that would have scandalized her mother, who had instructed her from earliest years, that a lady never “called”--she rang, and sent; or if this was inappropriate to the situation, she searched from room to room in a dignified manner, until she found the object of her search, and then behaved as if she had just happened upon it.

Never had Ann deplored the spaciousness of Merrion House as she did that day; nor marveled at the mysterious manner in which servants, always present, were never to be found when one needed them most. But Lady Frances was where Ann had thought she would be, and a few seconds were all that were needed to send her flying past Ann and away to the aid of her daughters. Ann returned more slowly, from necessity, and meeting Clive on a stair, headed in the same direction (for the news of the crisis, whatever it was, had quickly spread throughout the house, so that everyone, without even knowing whom, or where, or what, was nevertheless aware that something was seriously amiss), she gained an escort, and made use of his arm as she breathlessly shared her ignorance and information. Not only Lady Frances, but Mr. Parry and perhaps three or four servants had arrived at Kitty’s room before them. Two of the latter departed almost at once, with faces full of tasks to be accomplished, and were replaced by Margaret and Gerard, who joined Ann and Clive to form an apprehensive knot to the right of the door, where little could be understood of the various commands and exchanges inside, less could be seen, but far too many things could be feared. One phrase of Julia’s they heard, and that with lamentable clarity, as, her voice shaking on a note of horror, she exclaimed, “Her hands were
blue
.”

At last, the activity of the room grew less, the voices seemed to lose some of their urgency; Mr. Forbes arrived again, bringing with him a comforting air of never expecting to meet with anything he had not met and dealt with many times before.

It was not long after this, that the door, which had never been fully shut, opened to allow Lady Frances to emerge a little way into the hall, gently urging Julia out before her. But she kept her other hand on the doorknob, as if to relinquish all claim on the room, was to do a disservice to its chief occupant. She spoke to all their anxious eyes with the words, “We think--there is no danger now, my dears,” but it was to Ann that she looked, saying, “Julia should rest. Ann, you will take care of her, will you not?” before once again disappearing behind the door.

With Clive’s silent assistance, Ann walked Julia to their room; several times she suspected that her friend was in danger of fainting, so pale was she--and once or twice she mis-stepped; but she reached her bedside by her own exertions, and there sat, as if her strength, having transported her safely, had then deserted her completely and at once. Ann rang for a glass of wine, and Clive, after a long, serious, anxious look at his sister, and another one, seeking reassurance, at Ann, upon receiving a nod, returned to his vigil.

At first Julia was too distressed even for the refuge of tears, and sat intermittently shivering, and trying to talk, even as Ann helped her to take some of the wine. Ann at first thought to discourage her friend from telling her anything--but it seemed Julia needed to speak of it--and sentences began to tumble forth. “It was a nightmare, I think--she was asleep, and suddenly began to be restless, and to breath very heavily, and then she cried out, so that I sought to wake her--but then she sat up very quickly, looking--wild--panicked--and when she saw me she began to sob, and to try to tell me how--she had dreamt that I had left for---for Ireland, and the packet--there was a storm, or an accident, she said, and I had been drowned--she saw me fighting in the water, and could do nothing--sinking--pulled up lifeless--you know how she has always been terrified of water, since--I wished very much to ring the bell, but could not reach it, from her holding on to me--I tried to calm her, but she grew more and more agitated, and then she began to gasp, and she could not seem to catch her breath at all--and--and then she let go my hand, and flung back her head--and she was holding onto her chest, and tearing at her night-dress as if it caused her pain, as if it were too heavy, a weight crushing her, and she could not breathe--I saw she could not breathe--and her hands were blue! I rang the bell again and again, but no one came, and I was afraid to leave--I did not know what to do--I could not think what to pray--but then you came--and then--and then Mama--and she seemed to know what to do, to make her quieter--When she was very young, she used to have such spells--it is thought--Dr. Pitcairn said perhaps her heart--we are never sure--we have always taken the greatest care--but it was so very bad---I thought she was going to die--I thought she was going to die--and I could do nothing but watch!”

Having said this, she could not continue, and after one or two further attempts, burst into tears; nor could Ann forbear following her example; and perhaps hers were the more painful, from having such a strong admixture of guilt: for how could she doubt that she was directly responsible, not only for Kitty’s initial collapse, but for this last frightening incident as well? Her insistence on speaking to Julia of Sir Warrington’s calls when and where she did, though in low tones, must in some fashion have contributed to the composition of Kitty’s sleeping fancies, and provoked in her such terrifying visions.

Ann was not long insensible to the fact, that no sooner had Mr. Lenox been delivered from his own difficulties, than the very same situation arose in Julia’s, and in a much stronger form. Mr. Lenox would only have had to steel himself against his brother’s disappointment; but for Julia to disregard her sister’s wishes, would, at this point, very probably endanger not only Kitty’s happiness, but her very life.

It was the sort of situation, which, had they come upon it between the covers of a novel, the Parrys would have scorned as an awkward contrivance. Ann could almost hear the mocking suggestions that would have been proffered to the absent author, and the resultant laughter; nor would she herself have been a silent figure in the scene. But now, she found she could not even smile at it.

**