George MacDonald - "St. George and St. Michael"

Lucy Fitch Perkins - "The Eskimo Twins"

Elizabeth von Arnim - "The Solitary Summer"

Elmer U. Hoenshel - "My Three Days In Gilead"

The Young Step Mother

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Young Step Mother




Albinia's kiss was recompense beyond her dreams, and she fairly cried
for joy when she was told that she should come and help to dress the
babe in it for his christening. Mrs. Ferrars would walk out with her
at once to buy a sufficiency of cambric for the mighty skirts.

That visit was indeed nothing but pleasure, but Mrs. Ferrars had not
calculated on contingencies and family punctilios. She forgot that
it would be a mortal offence to let in any one rather than Miss Meadows;
but the rest of the family were so well aware of it, that when she
returned she heard a perfect sparrow's-nest of voices--Lucy's pert
and eager, Miss Meadows's injured and shrill, and Albinia's, alas!
thin and loud, half sarcasm, half fret.

There sat Aunt Maria fidgeting in the arm-chair; Lucy stood by the
fire; Albinia's countenance sadly different from what it had been in
the morning--weary, impatient, and excited, all that it ought not to
be!

Winifred would have cleared the room at once, but this was not easy,
and poor Albinia was so far gone as to be determined on finishing
that endless thing, an altercation, so all three began explaining and
appealing at once.

It seemed that Mrs. Osborn was requiting Mrs. Kendal's neglect in not
having inquired after her when the Admiral's sister's husband died,
by the omission of inquiries at present; whereat Albinia laughed a
feeble, overdone giggle, and observed that she believed Mrs. Osborn
knew all that passed in Willow Lawn better than the inmates; and Lucy
deposed that Sophy and Loo were together every day, though Sophy knew
mamma did not like it. Miss Meadows said if reparation were not
made, the Osborns had expressed their intention of omitting Lucy and
Sophy from their Twelfth-day party.

To this Albinia pettishly replied that the girls were to go to no
Christmas parties without her; Miss Meadows had taken it very much to
heart, and Lucy was declaiming against mamma making any condescension
to Mrs. Osborn, or herself being supposed to care for 'the Osborn's
parties,' where the boys were so rude and vulgar, the girls so
boisterous, and the dancing a mere romp. Sophy might like it, but
she never did!

Miss Meadows was hurt by her niece's defection, and had come to 'Oh,
very well,' and 'things were altered,' and 'people used to be
grateful to old friends, but there were changes.' And thereby Lucy
grew personal as to the manners of the Osborns, while Albinia
defended herself against the being grand or exclusive, but it was her
duty to do what she thought right for the children! Yes, Miss
Meadows was quite aware--only grandmamma was so nervous about poor
dear Gibbie missing his Christmas dinner for the first time--being
absent--Mrs. Ferrars would take great care, but damp stockings and
all--

Winifred endeavoured to stem the tide of words, but in vain, between
the meandering incoherency of the one, and the nervous rapidity of
the other, and they had both set off again on this fresh score, when
in despair she ran downstairs, rapped at the study door, and cried,
'Mr. Kendal, Mr. Kendal, will you not come! I can't get Miss Meadows
out of Albinia's room.'

Forth came Mr. Kendal, walked straight upstairs, and stood in full
majesty on the threshold. Holding out his hand to Maria with grave
courtesy, he thanked her for coming to see his wife, but at the same
time handed her down, saw her out safely at the hall door, and Lucy
into the drawing-room.

It was a pity that he had not returned to Albinia's room, for she was
too much excited to be composed without authority. First, she
scolded Winifred; 'it was the thing she most wished to avoid, that he
should fancy her teased by anything the Meadowses could say,' and she
laughed, and protested she never was vexed, such absurdity did not
hurt her in the least.

'It has tired you, though,' said Winifred. 'Lie quite down and
sleep.'

Of course, however, Albinia would not believe that she was tired, and
began to talk of the Osborns and their party--she was annoyed at the
being thought too fine. 'If it were not such a penance, and if you
would not be gone home, I really would ask you to take the girls,
Winifred.'

'I shall not be gone home.'

'Yes, you will. I am well, and every one wants you.'

'Did you not hear Willie's complimentary message, that he is never
naughty now, because Gilbert makes him so happy?'

'But, Winifred, the penny club! The people must have their things.'

'They can wait, or--'

'It is very well for us to talk of waiting,' cried Albinia, 'but how
should we like a frosty night without cloaks, or blankets, or fire?
I did not think it of you, Winifred. It is the first winter I have
been away from my poor old dames, and I did think you would have
cared for them.'

And thereupon her overwrought spirits gave way in a flood of tears,
as she angrily averted her face from her sister, who could have cried
too, not at the injustice, but with compassion and perplexity lest
there should be an equally violent reaction either of remorse or of
mirth.

It must be confessed that Albinia was very much the creature of
health. Never having been ill before, the depression had been so new
that it broke her completely down; convalescence made her fractious.

Recovery, however, filled her with such an ecstasy of animal spirits
that her time seemed to be entirely passed in happiness or in sleep,
and cares appeared to have lost all power. It was so sudden a change
that Winifred was startled, though it was a very pleasant one, and
she did not reflect that this was as far from the calm, self-restrained,
meditative tranquillity enjoined by Maurice, as had been the previous
restless, querulous state. Both were body more than mind, but Mrs.
Ferrars was much more ready to be merry with Albinia than to moralize
about her. And it was droll that the penny club was one of the first
stages in her revival.

'Oh, mamma,' cried Lucy, flying in, 'Mr. Dusautoy is at the door.
There is such a to do. All the women have been getting gin with
their penny club tickets, and Mrs. Brock has been stealing the money,
and Mr. Dusautoy wants to know if you paid up three-and-fourpence for
the Hancock children.'

Albinia instantly invited Mr. Dusautoy to explain in person, and he
entered, hearty and pleasant as ever, but in great haste, for he had
left his Fanny keeping the peace between five angry women, while he
came out to collect evidence.

The Bayford clothing-club payments were collected by Mrs. Brock, the
sexton's wife, and distributed by tickets to be produced at the
various shops in the town. Mrs. Brock had detected some women
exchanging their tickets for gin, and the offending parties
retaliated by accusing her of embezzling the subscriptions, both
parties launching into the usual amount of personalities and
exaggerations.

Albinia's testimony cleared Mrs. Brock as to the three-and-fourpence,
but she 'snuffed the battle from afar,' and rushed into a scheme of
taking the clothing-club into her own hands, collecting the pence,
having the goods from London, and selling them herself--she would
propose it on the very first opportunity to the Dusautoys. Winifred
asked if she had not a good deal on her hands already.

'My dear, I have the work in me of a young giant.'

'And will Mr. Kendal like it?'

'He would never find it out unless I told him, and very possibly not
then. Six months hence, perhaps, he may tell me he is glad that Lucy
is inclined to useful pursuits, and that _is_ approval, Winifred,
much more than if I went and worried him about every little petty
woman's matter.'

'Every one to her taste,' thought Winifred, who had begun to regard
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in the same relation as the king and queen at
chess.

The day before the christening, Mr. Ferrars brought back Gilbert and
his own little Willie.

Through all the interchange of greetings, Gilbert would hardly let go
Albinia's hand, and the moment her attention was free, he earnestly
whispered, 'May I see my brother?'

She took him upstairs at once. 'Let me look a little while,' he
said, hanging over the child with a sort of hungry fondness and
curiosity. 'My brother! my brother!' he repeated. 'It has rung in
my ears every morning that I can say my brother once more, till I
have feared it was a dream.'

It was the sympathy Albinia cared for, come back again! 'I hope he
will be a good brother to you,' she said.

'He must be good! he can't help it! He has you!' said Gilbert.
'See, he is opening his eyes--oh! how blue! May I touch him?'

'To be sure you may. He is not sugar,' said Albinia, laughing.
'There--make an arm; you may have him if you like. Your left arm,
you awkward man. Yes, that is right. You will do quite as well as
I, who never touched a baby till Willie was born. There, sir, how do
you like your brother Gilbert?'

Gilbert held him reverently, and gave him back with a sigh when he
seemed to have satiated his gaze and touch, and convinced himself
that his new possession was substantial. 'I say,' he added
wistfully, 'did you think _that_ name would bring ill-luck?

She knew the name he meant, and answered, 'No, but your father could
not have borne it. Besides, Gibbie, we would not think him _instead_
of Edmund. No, he shall learn, to look up to his other brother as
you do, and look to meeting and knowing him some day.'

Gilbert shivered at this, and made no opposition to her carrying him
downstairs to his uncle, and then Gilbert hurried off for the basket
of snowdrops that he had gathered early, from a favourite spot at
Fairmead. That short absence seemed to have added double force to
his affection; he could hardly bear to be away from her, and every
moment when he could gain her ear, poured histories of the delights
of Fairmead, where Mr. Ferrars had devoted himself to his amusement,
and had made him happier than perhaps he had ever been in his life--
he had had a taste of shooting, of skating, of snowballing--he had
been useful and important in the village feasts, had dined twice at
Colonel Bury's, and felt himself many degrees nearer manhood.

To hear of her old haunts and friends from such enthusiastic lips,
delighted Albinia, and her felicity with her baby, with Mr. Kendal,
with her brother and his little son, was one of the brightest things
in all the world--the fresh young loving bloom of her matronhood was
even sweeter and more beautiful than her girlish days.

Poor little frail, blighted Mrs. Dusautoy! Winifred could not help
wondering if the contrast pained her, when in all the glory of her
motherly thankfulness, Albinia carried her beautiful newly-christened
Maurice Ferrars Kendal to the vicarage to show him off, lying so
open-chested and dignified, in Genevieve's pretty work, with a sort
of manly serenity already dawning on his baby brow.

Winifred need not have pitied the little lady. She would not have
changed with Mrs. Kendal--no, not for that perfect health,
usefulness, value--nor even for such a baby as that. No, indeed!
She loved--she rejoiced in all her friend's sweet and precious
gifts--but Mrs. Dusautoy had one gift that she prized above all.

Even grandmamma and Aunt Maria did justice to Master Maurice's
attractions, at least in public, though it came round that Miss
Meadows did not admire fat children, and when he had once been seen
in Lucy's arms, an alarm arose that Mrs. Kendal would allow the girls
to carry him about, till his weight made them crooked, but Albinia
was too joyous to take their displeasure to heart, and it only served
her for something to laugh at.

They had a very happy christening party, chiefly juvenile, in honour
of little Willie and of Francis and Emily Nugent. Albinia was so
radiantly lively and good-natured, and her assistants, Winifred,
Maurice, and Mr. Dusautoy, so kind, so droll, so inventive, that even
Aunt Maria forgot herself in enjoyment and novelty, and was like a
different person. Mr. Kendal looked at her with a pleased sad
wonder, and told his wife it reminded him of what she had been when
she was nearly the prettiest girl at Bayford. Gilbert devoted
himself as usual to making Genevieve feel welcome; and she had
likewise Willie Ferrars and Francis Nugent at her feet. Neither
urchin would sit two inches away from her all the evening, and in all
games she was obliged to obviate jealousies by being partner to both
at once. Where there was no one to oppress her, she came out with
all her natural grace and vivacity, and people of a larger growth
than her little admirers were charmed with her.

Lucy was obliging, ready, and useful, and looked very pretty, the
only blot was the heavy dulness of poor Sophy, who seemed resolved to
take pleasure in nothing. Winifred varied in opinion whether her
moodiness arose from ill-health, or from jealousy of her little
brother. This latter Albinia would not believe, especially as she
saw that little Maurice's blue eyes were magnets that held the silent
Sophy fast, but surly denials silenced her interrogations as to
illness, and made her content to acquiesce in Lucy's explanation that
Sophy was only cross because the Osborns and Drurys were not asked.

Albinia did her duty handsomely by the two families a day or two
after, for whatever reports might come round, they were always ready
to receive her advances, and she only took notice of what she saw,
instead of what she heard. Her brother helped Mr. Kendal through the
party, and Winifred made a discovery that excited her more than
Albinia thought warranted by any fact relating to the horde of Irish
cousins.

'Only think, Albinia, I have found out that poor Ellen O'More is Mr.
Goldsmith's sister!'

'Indeed! But I am afraid I don't remember which Ellen O'More is.
You know I never undertake to recollect any but your real cousins out
of the thirty-six.'

'For shame, Albinia, I have so often told you about Ellen. I'm sure
you can't forget. Her husband is my sister's brother-in-law's
cousin.'

'Oh, Winifred, Winifred!'

'But I tell you, her husband is the third son of old Mr. O'More of
Ballymakilty, and was in the army.'

'Oh! the half-pay officer with the twelve children in the cottage on
the estate.'

'There now, I did think you would care when I told you of a soldier,
a Waterloo man too, and you only call him a half-pay officer!'

'I do remember,' said Albinia, taking a little pity, 'that you used
to be sorry for his good little English wife.'

'Of course. I knew she had married him very imprudently, but she has
struggled gallantly with ill-health, and poverty, and Irish
recklessness. I quite venerate her, and it seems these Goldsmiths
had so far cast her off that they had no notion of the extent of her
troubles.'

'Just like them,' said Albinia. 'Is that the reason you wish me to
make the most of the connexion? Let me see, my sister-in-law's
sister's wife--no, husband's brother's uncle, eh?'

'I don't want you to do anything,' said Winifred, a little hurt,
'only if you had seen Ellen's patient face you would be interested in
her.'

'Well, I am interested, you know I am, Winifred. I hope you
interested our respected banker, which would be more to the purpose.'

'I think I did,' said Winifred; 'at least he said "poor Ellen" once
or twice. I don't want him to do anything for the captain, you might
give him a thousand pounds and he would never be the better for it:
but that fourth, boy, Ulick, is without exception the nicest fellow I
ever saw in my life--so devoted to his mother, so much more
considerate and self-denying than any of the others, and very clever.
Maurice examined him and was quite astonished. We did get him sent
to St. Columba for the present, but whether they will keep him there
no one can guess, and it is the greatest pity he should run to waste.
I told Mr. Goldsmith all this, and I really think he seemed to
attend. I wonder if it will work.'

Albinia was by this time anxious that it should take effect, and they
agreed that an old bachelor banker and his sister, both past sixty,
were the very people to adopt a promising nephew.

What had become of the multitude of things which Albinia had to
discuss with her brother? The floodtide of bliss had floated her
over all the stumbling-blocks and shoals that the ebb had disclosed,
and she had absolutely forgotten all the perplexities that had seemed
so trying. Even when she sought a private interview to talk to him
about Gilbert, it was in full security of hearing the praises of her
darling.

'A nice boy, a very nice boy,' returned Maurice; 'most amiable and
intelligent, and particularly engaging, from his feeling being so
much on the surface.'

'Nothing can be more sincere and genuine,' she cried, as if this fell
a little flat.

'Certainly not, at the time.'

'Always!' exclaimed Albinia. 'You must not distrust him because he
is not like you or Fred, and has never been hardened and taught
reserve by rude boys. Nothing was ever more real than his affection,
poor dear boy,' and the tears thrilled to her eyes.

'No, and it is much to his credit. His love and gratitude to you are
quite touching, poor fellow; but the worst of it is that I am afraid
he is very timid, both physically and morally.'

Often as she had experienced this truth, the soldier's daughter could
not bear to avow it, and she answered hastily, 'He has never been
braced or trained; he was always ill till within the last few years--
coddling at first, neglect afterwards, he has it all to learn, and it
is too late for school.'

'Yes, he is too old to be laughed at or bullied out of cowardice.
Indeed, I doubt whether there ever would have been substance enough
for much wear and tear.'

'I know you have a turn for riotous, obstinate boys! You want Willie
to be another Fred,' said Albinia, like an old hen, ruffling up her
feathers. 'You think a boy can't be good for anything unless he is a
universal plague!'

'I wonder what you will do with your own son,' said Maurice, amused,
'since you take Gilbert's part so fiercely.'

'I trust my boy will never be as much to be pitied as his brother,'
said Albinia, with tenderness that accused her petulance. 'At least
he can never be a lonely twin with that sore spot in his heart. Oh,
Maurice, how can any one help dealing gently with my poor Gibbie?'

'Gentle dealing is the very thing he wants,' said Mr. Ferrars; 'and I
am thinking how to find it for him. How did his going to Traversham
fail?'

'I don't know; Edmund did not like to send him without having seen
Traversham, and I could not go. But I don't think there is any need
for his going away. His father has been quite enough tormented about
it, and I can manage him very well now. He is always good and happy
with me. I mean to try to ride with him, and I have promised to
teach him music, and we shall garden. Never fear, I will employ him
and keep him out of mischief--it is all pleasure to me.'

'And pray what are your daughters and baby to do, while you are
galloping after Gilbert?'

'Oh! I'll manage. We can all do things together. Come, Maurice, I
wont have Edmund teased, and I can't bear parting with any of them,
or think that any strange man can treat Gibbie as I should.'

Maurice was edified by his sister's warm-hearted weakness, but not at
all inclined to let 'Edmund' escape a 'teasing.'

Mr. Kendal's first impulse always was to find a sufficient plea for
doing nothing. If Gilbert was to go to India, it was not worth while
to give him a classical education.

'Is he to go to India? Albinia had not told me so.'

'I thought she was aware of it; but possibly I may not have mentioned
it. It has been an understood thing ever since I came home. He will
have a good deal of the property in this place, but he had better
have seen something of the world. Bayford is no place for a man to
settle down in too young.'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Ferrars, repressing a smile. 'Then are you
thinking of sending him to Haileybury?'

He was pronounced too young, besides, it was explained that his
destination in India was unfixed. On going home it had been a kind
of promise that one of the twin brothers should have an appointment
in the civil service, the other should enter the bank of Kendal and
Kendal, and the survivor was unconsciously suspended between these
alternatives, while the doubt served as a convenient protection to
his father from making up his mind to prepare him for either of these
or for anything else.

The prompt Ferrars temper could bear it no longer, and Maurice spoke
out. 'I'll tell you what, Kendal, it is time to attend to your own
concerns. If you choose to let your son run to ruin, because you
will not exert yourself to remove him from temptation, I shall not
stand by to see my sister worn out with making efforts to save him.
She is willing and devoted, she fancies she could work day and night
to preserve him, and she does it with all her heart; but it is not
woman's work, she cannot do it, and it is not fit to leave it to her.
When Gilbert has broken her heart as well as yours, and left an evil
example to his brother, then you will feel what it is to have kept a
lad whom you know to be well disposed, but weak as water, in the very
midst of contamination, and to have left your young, inexperienced
wife to struggle alone to save him. If you are unwarned by the
experience of last autumn and winter, I could not pity you, whatever
might happen.'

Maurice, who had run on the longer because Mr. Kendal did not answer
immediately, was shocked at his own impetuosity; but a rattling peal
of thunder was not more than was requisite.

'I believe you are right,' Mr. Kendal said. 'I was to blame for
leaving him so entirely to Albinia; but she is very fond of him, and
is one who will never be induced to spare herself, and there were
considerations. However, she shall be relieved at once. What do you
recommend?'

Mr. Ferrars actually made Mr. Kendal promise to set out for
Traversham with him next morning, thirty miles by the railway, to
inspect Mr. Downton and his pupils.

Albinia had just sense enough not to object, though the discovery of
the Indian plans was such a blow to her that she could not be
consoled by all her husband's representations of the advantages
Gilbert would derive there, and of his belief that the Kendal
constitution always derived strength from a hot climate, and that to
himself going to India seemed going home. She took refuge in the
hope that between the two Indian stools Gilbert might fall upon one
of the professions which she thought alone worthy of man's attention,
the clerical or the military.

Under Maurice's escort, Mr. Kendal greatly enjoyed his expedition;
liked Traversham, was satisfied with the looks of the pupils, and
very much pleased with the tutor, whom he even begged to come to
Bayford for a conference with Mrs. Kendal, and this was received by
her as no small kindness. She was delighted with Mr. Downton, and
felt as if Gilbert could be safely trusted in his charge; nor was
Gilbert himself reluctant. He was glad to escape from his tempter,
and to begin a new life, and though he hung about Mrs. Kendal, and
implored her to write often, and always tell him about his little
brother--nay, though he cried like a child at the last, yet still he
was happy and satisfied to go, and to break the painful fetters which
had held him so long.

And though Albinia likewise shed some parting tears, she could not
but own that she was glad to have him in trustworthy hands; and as to
the additional time thus gained, it was disposed of in a million of
bright plans for every one's service--daughters, baby, parish,
school, classes, clubs, neighbours. It almost made Winifred giddy to
hear how much she had undertaken, and yet with what zest she talked
and acted.

'There's your victim, Winifred,' said Maurice, as they drove away,
and looked back at Albinia, scandalizing Bayford by standing in the
open gateway, her face all smiles of cheerful parting, the sun and
wind making merry with her chestnut curls, her baby in one arm, the
other held up to wave her farewell.

'That child will catch cold,' began Winifred, turning to sign her to
go in. 'Well,' she continued, 'after all, I believe some people like
an idol that sits quiet to be worshipped! To be sure she must want
to beat him sometimes, as the Africans do their gods. But, on the
whole, her sentiment of reverence is satisfied, and she likes the
acting for herself, and reigning absolute. Yes, she is quite
happy--why do you look doubtful? Don't you admire her?'

'From my heart.'

'Then why do you doubt? Do you expect her to do anything?'

'A little too much of everything.'




CHAPTER VIII.



Yes! Albinia was excessively happy. Her naturally high spirits were
enhanced by the enjoyment of recovery, and reaction, from her former
depression. Since the great stroke of the drainage, every one looked
better, and her pride in her babe was without a drawback. He seemed
to have inherited her vigour and superabundance of life, and 'that
first wondrous spring to all but babes unknown,' was in him unusually
rapid, so that he was a marvel of fair stateliness, size, strength,
and intelligence, so unlike the little blighted buds which had been
wont to fade at Willow Lawn, that his father watched him with silent,
wondering affection, and his eldest sister was unmerciful in her
descriptions of his progress; while even Sophia had not been proof
against his smiles, and was proud to be allowed to carry him about
and fondle him.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.