Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (12 page)

 
          
           
"I dare not touch it. The doctor gave orders to leave it till he came in
the morning, and I shall only do harm if I try."

 
          
           
"But I tell you
it's
too tight. My arm is
swelling and the pain is intense. It can't be right to leave it so. Dr. Scott
dressed it in a hurry and did it too tight. Common sense will tell you
that," said
Coventry
impatiently.

 
          
           
"I'll call Mrs. Morris; she will understand what's best to be done."
And  Edward
moved toward the door, looking anxious.
 

 
          
           
"Not she, she'll only make a stir and torment me with her chatter. I'll
bear it as long as I can, and perhaps Dr. Scott will come tonight. He said he
would if possible. Go to your dinner, Ned. I can ring for Neal if I need
anything. I shall sleep if I'm alone, perhaps."

 
          
           
Edward reluctantly obeyed, and his brother was left to himself. Little rest did
he find, however, for the pain of the wounded arm grew unbearable, and, taking
a sudden resolution, he rang for his servant.

 
          
           
"Neal, go to Miss Coventry's study, and if Miss Muir is there, ask her to
be kind enough to come to me. I'm in great pain, and she
understand
wounds better than anyone else in the house."

 
          
           
With much surprise in his face, the man departed and a few moments after the
door noiselessly opened and Miss Muir came in. It had been a very warm day, and
for the first time she had left off her plain black dress. All in white, with
no ornament but her fair hair, and a fragrant posy of violets in her belt, she
looked a different woman from the meek, nunlike creature one usually saw about
the house. Her face was as altered as her dress, for now a soft color glowed in
her cheeks, her eyes smiled shyly, and her lips no longer wore the firm look of
one who forcibly repressed every emotion. A fresh, gentle, and charming woman
she
seemed,
and
Coventry
found the dull room suddenly brightened by
her presence. Going straight to him, she said simply, and with a happy, helpful
look very comforting to see, "I'm glad you sent for me. What can I do for
you?"

 
          
           
He told her, and before the complaint was ended, she began loosening the
bandages with the decision of one who understood what was to be done and had faith
in herself.

 
          
           
"Ah, that's relief, that's comfort!" ejaculated
Coventry
, as the last tight fold fell away.
"Ned was afraid I should bleed to death if he touched me. What will the
doctor say to us?"

 
          
           
"I neither know nor care. I shall say to him that he is a bad surgeon to
bind it so closely, and not leave orders to have it untied if necessary. Now I
shall make it easy and put you to sleep, for that is what you need. Shall I?
May I?"

 
          
           
"I wish you would, if you can."

 
          
           
And while she deftly rearranged the bandages, the young man watched her
curiously. Presently he asked, "How came you to know so much about these
things?"

 
          
           
"In the hospital where I was ill, I saw much that interested me, and when
I got better, I used to sing to the patients sometimes."

 
          
           
"Do you mean to sing to me?" he asked, in the submissive tone men
unconsciously adopt when ill and in a woman's care.

 
          
           
"If you like it better than reading aloud in a dreamy tone," she
answered, as she tied the last knot.

 
          
           
"I do, much better," he said decidedly.

 
          
           
"You are feverish. I shall wet your forehead, and then you will be quite
comfortable." She moved about the room in the quiet way which made it a
pleasure to watch her, and, having mingled a little cologne with water, bathed
his face as unconcernedly as if he had been a child. Her proceedings not only
comforted but amused
Coventry
, who mentally contrasted her with the stout, beer-drinking matron who
had ruled over him in his last illness.

 
          
           
"A clever, kindly little woman," he thought, and felt quite at his
ease, she was so perfectly easy herself.

 
          
           
"There, now you look more like yourself," she said with an approving
nod as she finished, and smoothed the dark locks off his forehead with a cool,
soft hand. Then seating herself in a large chair near by, she began to sing,
while tidily rolling up the fresh bandages which had been left for the morning.
Coventry
lay watching her by the dim light that
burned in the room, and she sang on as easily as a bird, a dreamy, low-toned
lullaby, which soothed the listener like a spell. Presently, looking up to see
the effect of her song, she found the young man wide awake, and regarding her with
a curious mixture of pleasure, interest, and admiration.

 
          
           
"Shut your eyes, Mr. Coventry," she said, with a reproving shake of
the head, and an odd little smile.

 
          
           
He laughed and obeyed, but could not resist an occasional covert glance from
under his lashes at the slender white figure in the great velvet chair. She saw
him and frowned.

 
          
           
"You are very disobedient; why won't you sleep?"

 
          
           
"I can't, I want to listen. I'm fond of nightingales."

 
          
           
"Then I shall sing no more, but try something that has never failed yet.
Give me your hand, please."  

 
          
           
Much amazed, he gave it, and, taking it in both her small ones, she sat down
behind the curtain and remained as mute and motionless as a statue.
Coventry
smiled to himself at first, and wondered
which would tire first. But soon
a subtle
warmth
seemed to steal from the soft palms that enclosed his own, his heart beat
quicker, his breath grew unequal, and a thousand fancies danced through his brain.
He sighed, and said dreamily, as he turned his face toward her, "I like
this."
And in the act of speaking, seemed to sink into a
soft cloud which encompassed him about with an atmosphere of perfect repose.
More than this he could not remember, for sleep, deep and dreamless, fell upon
him, and when he woke, daylight was shining in between the curtains, his hand
lay alone on the coverlet, and his fair-haired enchantress was gone.

 
          
           
For several days
Coventry
was confined to his room, much against his will, though everyone did
their best to lighten his irksome captivity. His mother petted him, Bella sang,
Lucia read, Edward was devoted, and
all the
household,
with one exception, were eager to serve the young master. Jean Muir never came
near him, and Jean Muir alone seemed to possess the power of amusing him. He
soon tired of the others, wanted something new; recalled the piquant character
of the girl and took a fancy into his head that she would lighten his ennui.
After some hesitation, he carelessly spoke of her to Bella, but nothing came of
it, for Bella only said Jean was well, and very busy doing something lovely to
surprise Mamma with. Edward complained that he never saw her, and Lucia ignored
her existence altogether. The only intelligence the invalid received was from
the gossip of two housemaids over their work in the next room. From them he
learned that the governess had been "scolded" by Miss Beaufort for
going to Mr. Coventry's room; that she had taken it very sweetly and kept
herself carefully out of the way of both young gentlemen, though it was plain
to see that Mr. Ned was dying for her.

 
          
           
Mr. Gerald amused himself by thinking over this gossip, and quite annoyed his
sister by his absence of mind.

 
          
           
"Gerald, do you know Ned's commission has come?"

 
          
           
"Very interesting.
Read on, Bella."

 
          
           
"You stupid boy!
You don't know a word I
say," and she put down the book to repeat her news.

 
          
           
"I'm glad of it; now we must get him off as soon as possible—that is, I
suppose he will want to be off as soon as possible." And
Coventry
woke up from his reverie.

 
          
           
"You needn't check yourself, I know all about it. I think Ned was very
foolish, and that Miss Muir has behaved beautifully. It's quite impossible, of
course, but I wish it wasn't, I do so like to watch lovers. You and Lucia are
so cold you are not a bit interesting."

 
          
           
"You'll do me a favor if you'll stop all that nonsense about Lucia and me.
We are not lovers, and never shall be, I fancy. At all events, I'm tired of the
thing, and wish you and Mamma would let it drop, for the present at
least."

 
          
           
"Oh Gerald, you know Mamma has set her heart upon it, that Papa desired
it, and poor Lucia loves you so much. How can you speak of dropping what will
make us all so happy?"

 
          
           
"It won't make me happy, and I take the liberty of thinking that this is
of some importance. I'm not bound in any way, and don't intend to be till I am
ready. Now we'll talk about Ned."

 
          
           
Much grieved and surprised, Bella obeyed, and devoted herself to Edward, who
very wisely submitted to his fate and prepared to leave home for some months.
For a week the house was in a state of excitement about his departure, and
everyone but Jean was busied for him. She was scarcely seen; every morning she
gave Bella her lessons, every afternoon drove out with Mrs. Coventry, and
nearly every evening went up to the Hall to read to Sir John, who found his
wish granted without exactly knowing how it had been done.

 
          
           
The day Edward left, he came down from bidding his mother good-bye, looking
very pale, for he had lingered in his sister's little room with Miss Muir as
long as he dared.

 
          
           
"Good-bye, dear.
Be kind to Jean," he
whispered as he kissed his sister.

 
          
           
"I will, I will," returned Bella, with tearful eyes.

 
          
           
"Take care of Mamma, and remember Lucia," he said again, as he
touched his cousin's beautiful cheek.

 
          
           
"Fear nothing. I will keep them apart," she whispered back, and
Coventry
heard it.  

 
          
           
Edward offered his hand to his brother, saying, significantly, as he looked him
in the eye, "I trust you, Gerald."

 
          
           
"You may, Ned."

 
          
           
Then he went, and
Coventry
tired himself with wondering what Lucia meant. A few days later he
understood.

 
          
           
Now Ned is gone, little Muir will appear, I fancy, he said to himself; but
"little Muir" did not appear, and seemed to shun him more carefully
than she had done her lover. If he went to the drawing room in the evening
hoping for music, Lucia alone was there. If he tapped at Bella's door, there
was always a pause before she opened it, and no sign of Jean appeared though
her voice had been audible when he knocked. If he went to the library, a hasty
rustle and the sound of flying feet betrayed that the room was deserted at his
approach. In the garden Miss Muir never failed to avoid him, and if by chance
they met in hall or breakfast room, she passed him with downcast eyes and the
briefest, coldest greeting. All this annoyed him intensely, and the more she
eluded him, the more he desired to see her—from a spirit of opposition, he
said, nothing more. It fretted and yet it entertained him, and he found a lazy
sort of pleasure in thwarting the girl's little maneuvers. His patience gave
out at last, and he resolved to know what
was the meaning of
this peculiar conduct
. Having locked and taken away the key of one door
in the library, he waited till Miss Muir went in to get a book for his uncle.
He had heard her speak to Bella of it, knew that she believed him with his
mother, and smiled to himself as he stole after her. She was standing in a
chair, reaching up, and he had time to see a slender waist, a pretty foot,
before he spoke.

 
          
           
"Can I help you, Miss Muir?"

 
          
           
She started, dropped several books, and turned scarlet, as she said hurriedly,
"Thank you, no; I can get the steps."

 
          
           
"My long arm will be less trouble. I've got but
one,
and that is tired of being idle, so it is very much at your service. What will
you have?"

 
          
           
"I—I—you startled me so I've forgotten." And Jean laughed, nervously,
as she looked about her as if planning to escape.

 
          
           
"I beg your pardon, wait till you remember, and let me thank you for the
enchanted sleep you gave me ten days ago. I've had no chance yet, you've
shunned me so pertinaciously."

 
          
           
"Indeed I try not to be rude, but—" She checked herself, and turned
her face away, adding, with an accent of pain in her voice, "It is not my
fault, Mr. Coventry. I only obey orders."

 
          
           
"Whose orders?" he demanded, still standing so that she could not
escape.

 
          
           
"Don't ask; it is one who has a right to command where you are concerned.
Be sure that it is kindly meant, though it may seem folly to us. Nay, don't be
angry, laugh at it, as I do, and let me run away, please."

 
          
           
She turned, and looked down at him with tears in her eyes, a smile on her lips,
and an expression half sad, half arch, which was altogether charming. The frown
passed from his face, but he still looked grave and said decidedly, "No
one has a right to command in this house but my mother or myself. Was it she
who bade you
avoid
me as if I was a madman or a
pest?"

 
          
           
"Ah, don't ask. I promised not to tell, and you would not have me break my
word, I know." And still smiling, she regarded him with a look of merry
malice which made any other reply unnecessary. It was Lucia, he thought, and
disliked his cousin intensely just then. Miss Muir moved as if to step down; he
detained her, saying earnestly, yet with a smile, "Do you consider me the
master here?"

 
          
           
"Yes," and to the word she gave a sweet, submissive intonation which
made it expressive of the respect, regard, and confidence which men find
pleasantest when women feel and show it. Unconsciously his face softened, and
he looked up at her with a different glance from any he had ever given her
before.

 
          
           
"Well, then, will you consent to obey me if I am not tyrannical or
unreasonable in my demands?"

 
          
           
"I'll try."

 
          
           
"Good! Now frankly, I want to say that all this sort of thing is very
disagreeable to me. It annoys me to be a restraint upon anyone's liberty or
comfort, and I beg you will go and come as freely as you like, and not mind
Lucia's absurdities. She means well, but hasn't a particle of penetration or
tact. Will you promise this?"

 
          
           
"No."

 
          
           
"Why not?"

 
          
           
"It is better as it is, perhaps."

 
          
           
"But you called it folly just now."

 
          
           
"Yes, it seems so, and yet—" She paused, looking both confused and
distressed.

 
          
           
Coventry
lost patience, and said hastily, "You
women are such enigmas I never expect to understand you! Well, I've done my
best to make you comfortable, but if you prefer to lead this sort of life, I
beg you will do so."

 
          
           
"I
don't
prefer it; it is
hateful to me. I like to be myself, to have my liberty, and the confidence of
those about me. But I cannot think it kind to disturb the peace of anyone, and
so I try to obey. I've promised Bella to remain, but I will go rather than have
another scene with Miss Beaufort or with you."

 
          
           
Miss Muir had burst out impetuously, and stood there with a sudden fire in her
eyes, sudden warmth and spirit in her face and voice that amazed
Coventry
. She was angry, hurt, and haughty, and the
change only made her more attractive, for not a trace of her former meek self
remained.
Coventry
was electrified, and still more surprised
when she added, imperiously, with a gesture as if to put him aside, "Hand
me that book and move away. I wish to go."

 
          
           
He obeyed, even offered his hand, but she refused it, stepped lightly down, and
went to the door. There she turned, and with the same indignant voice, the same
kindling eyes and glowing cheeks, she said rapidly, "I know I have no
right to speak in this way. I restrain myself as long as I can, but when I can
bear no more, my true self breaks loose, and I defy everything. I am tired of
being a cold, calm machine; it is impossible with an ardent nature like mine,
and I shall try no longer. I cannot help it if people love me. I don't want
their love. I only ask to be left in peace, and why I am tormented so I cannot
see. I've
neither beauty, money, nor rank,
yet every
foolish boy mistakes my frank interest for something warmer, and makes me
miserable. It is my misfortune. Think of me what you will, but beware of me in
time, for against my will I may do you harm."