Chapter XX.

Otago Witness, Issue 1550, 23 July 1881, Page 23

Chapter XX.

POOR MKS GOLDIB. My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, And I am all aweary of my life. — Tennyson. Some months went by. Mrs Stevens was established in a handsome house, in a fashionable square, and various professors and mistresses were in daily attendance upon Laura ; for Mary would not part with her child to school. She was immersed in her own concerns, and rarely came near Golden Terrace — conduct which afforded her father much secret satisfaction, but poor Mrs Goldie fretted sorely over it. She had hoped that her prosperous, firm-willed daughter, seeing the state of affairs in her old home, would exert her influence — perhaps even succeed in banishing that incubus, Mrs Money, and restoring Harry to his old place in the house. Grief for her son's infidel opinions and wild life was killing her. Harry was a clerk, but as often out of a situation as in one, not considering

it necessary to work while he had his aunt's fortune to look forward to. Mrs Money sometimes shivered to think how he would scatter it, but she had some hope that wisdom would come with wealth ; and if Bhe had a soft spot in her heart it was for her reckless nephew, who had never once stooped to conciliate her. To return to Mrs Goldie. If Mary could not accomplish that, she would at least be another sympathiser, thought the poor woman, and would, of course, be more accessible and less occupied than Jane unavoidably was. Alas ! for her hopes. Mrs Stevens was absolutely indifferent to her relations and their inte-

rests. She did indeed, for her own ends, offer Mrs Money a home with her (an

offer which that lady played with long enough to send her brother into an agony, but finally declined), but for the rest Mary coldly declined to interfere in any way, and listened impatiently to her mother's sorrows. As for Harry, he should have had more sense than to let

the expectation of his aunt's fortune unsettle him ; but, since he had done so, it was much better for him not to be at home, and quite silly for her mother to

fret over not seeing him every day. For Mrs Money, if proper firmness had been ÜBed at the outset, she never would have become such a dominant power in the house ; but, having borne with her so long, it would be sheer folly to offend her now, and lose every chance of benefiting by her death. All which might be true enough, but, spoken by Mary in a coldly superior tone, it did not tend to soothe her mother's feelings. She fretted, and pined, and grew daily weaker. Mrs Cope became very anxious about her, and at much inconvenience to herself came often to Golden Terrace in those days, disregardful of the sneers of her aunt, who thought the Cope pride was at last stooping to curry favour with her. It was to Jane that Mrs Goldie confided her disappointment about Mary. She recounted their conversaHon, add-

ing: ' T'm sure I don't want to benefit by

v.m 1 innt'a dfl;^.' 1 — o 1 * »nybo.]y'a. We liavo scraping enough to make both ends meet, as it is,' continued the poor woman,

who was in complete ignorance aa to the real state of her husband's affairs ; ' but I would rather pinch and starve twice as much if only we had the house to ourselves, and if your father would be again what he once was. Poor dear ! the dread of poverty — the desire to provide for us, ©specially for Minnie — has led him to think too much of money ; and, Jane, it seems a perfectly horrible thing to say — but 1 fear — I fear he would )'ot mind his sister's death, if only he inherited hur wealth.' Mrs Cope feared so, too, and passed the remark over. She did not know' much of her father's business, but, through her husband and Mr Pelfe, she was aware that he was very far from poor, and she said so, adding : ' If papa does not take care, while he is scraping and saving for you, you will , pass beyond the need of money. You ; ought to go somewhere for a change of air, mother — you and Minnie. And you ought to take plenty of nourishing food. , Talk of starving ! Nonsense ! What did you have for dinner to-day ? ' Mrs Goldie hesitated. * There was some cold mutton,' she «aid, ' and your aunt had a curry ; but you know I detest curries.' ' And bo you went without anything 1 ' demanded Jane, shocked, as she often ■was now, at her father's growing penu- j riousness. ' No,' said Mrs Goldie ; ' I felt hungry to-day, for a wonder, and as if I could have fancied a chicken or some beef tea ; but I boiled down some bones, and made myself a cup of broth.' Jane could have cried. * Why did you make it yourself 1 ' she asked, choking back her indignation. ' Oh ! I often do the cooking now— l think it's that takes away my appetite ; but Lydia's eyes are getting so dim, she really is not to be trusted about the fire. ; ' You should have a competent servant, mother, and let Lydia rest. I will speak to papa about it.' 'It will be no use. Your aunt says a young servant would break and eat twice what she was worth, and want more wages than we give Lydia, besides. Your father is so kind-hearted, he Bays he can't bear to turn Lydia off in her old age, after she has aerved vi so long and faithfully.' It needed all Jane's Christianity to enable her to refrain from speaking her mind just then. And to have said what Bhe felt would only have been to pain and agitate her mother uselessly ; for Mrs Goldie clung to her wifely faith and love blindly — almost desperately at times, — now. She would continue to believe in and trust her husband, however appearances might be against him. It was all owing to Mrs Moneys evil influence ; once that was removed, he would be again what he used to be. It seemed to Mrs Goldie, looking back to the past of thirteen years ago, that in those days her husband was faultless. ' I wish Aunt Jane and her money had stayed in India for ever-!' exclaimed Mrs Cope, almost passionately. ' And so do I— so do I ! ' returned her mother, fervently. 'It has been a curse to us from the beginning. There is Harry, idling away his time with Tom Norris, and that set. Not even Minnie can keep the peace when he comes home now. Your father must be right ; Harry ought to keep steady, and he ought not to be an infidel. But it is miserable to hear them nagging at one another, and your aunt sets them on, she has such a knack of saying disagreeable things. And then Harry can't keep his temper, as they do ; he flies into a passion, and speaks horribly. Last time he was here he actually accused your father of being the cause of his infidelity ! ' said Mrs Goidio, crying bitterly. Jane tried to soothe her, and at last succeeded. ' And now, mother,' she said, rising to leave, ' remember, there must be no more " bone broth. " You ought to have good strong beef tea, and chicken, and wine. Does not the doctor say so, too 1 ' ' I have not had one for ever so long,' replied Mrs Goldie, her mouth involuntarily watering at the thought of those dainties ; ' doctors are so expensive, and there is really little the matter with me but weakness, and a slight pain here,' laying her hand on her left side. ' Then there is the more hope that nourishing food may set you up. I shall see papa to-morrow, and give him no peaca until he promises to get you some wine.' ' I theught you had turned teetotaller,' observed her mother. ' So we all have, to set an example in the parish ; but 1 am not a bigot, and you need the wine medicinally. Don't you Bay a word to aunt, and I will manage papa to-morrow. ' But, as it happened, Jane did not have to wait until the next day. She encountered her father at the corner of the Terrace, and seized her opportunity. She spoke quietly and respectfully, but not even Mrs Money could have put the case more forcibly. She told him her mother was dying by inches, for sheer lack of proper food ; repeated the story of the boiled bones ; declared that another servant ought to be engaged, to supplement Lydia's services ; and earnestly counselled immediate medical advice for her mother. ' With you away all day at business, and Minnie at school, she and Aunt Jano have got into the way of dining anyhow, and mamma will dio of ' . ,<4ion if you do not take care.' Mr Goldie was vet y mticli startled, for he shrank from plain speaking as an owl j

shrinks from the sunlight, but he was still more annoyed. What business had Jane to interfere in this manner? As usual, however, he hid his real feelings, and pretended to agree with every word she spoke. He thanked her for ' opening his eyes,' and readily promised compliance with all her suggestions. Nor did he dare to so much as hint at ' the expense.' Love of approbation was as strong as ever in Mr Goldie. What if Jane should talk to others as she had just spoken to him ! That must not happen, and to prevent it Jane must be thrown off her guard. Therefore did he appear shocked and surprised at her communication, yet grateful for it, and set immediately about fulfilling his promise by turning round with her to order some wine. And just then he meant to do it ; but, unfortunately, Mrs Cope's road branched off before they reached the wine-merchant's. Yet Mr Goldie kept on his way, but presently he ventured a stealthy backward glance. Jane was walking quickly homewards, never thinking of watching her father— thinking indeed, with some remorse, that she had judged him hardly. Mr Goldie slackened his pace, and looked back again. Jane was just vanishing round a corner; he came to a standstill. After all, there was no hurry ; a few hours would make no difference ; he would order the wine tomorrow—yes, certainly to-morrow. Yet he could not feel easy to return home empty-handed ; so, having happened to pause in front of a butcher's shop, he entered, and haggled for a neck of mutton, carrying off his bargain in triumph. He met his wife in the hall, and handed it to her with a few of those Buave, honeyed words that had gone far to make her the slave she was.

Mrs Money being out, and Minnie over at the Pelfes, they had tea alone together— a rare thing in those days. And Mrs Goldie was so happy that she grew quite bright, and her husband declared to himself that Jane had wilfully exaggerated her mother's ailments on purpoße to frighten, the money out of his pocket. Mrs Goldie mentioned her visit, and aßked if he had happened to meet her. He longed to say ' No,' and retain the credit of spontaneity as regarded that mutton ; but he was afraid his wife would find it out next time she saw Jane, so he confessed, adding :

' She quite startled me about you, Lucy. Business has been so pressing and anxious lately^ that I have not been able to look after you as I ought, and I had no idea you were so bad as Jane makes out. You should have spoken, Lucy, and not have complained to others, and left them to speak— and to blame me ! ' added Mr Goldie, in an injured tone.

' Oh no, Henry, I did not think of blaming you. I meant to speak, but was afraid of worrying you.'

' Men have to bear anxiety and worry. Hea^< -i knows I have enough of both ! ' sighul the stockbroker. ' But now my eyes are opened, I am determined to leave no means untried to restore your health. We will have Dr Doris in, and you must take complete rest, Lucy. With Jane, and Minnie, and Lydia (not to speak of myself) to wait on you, that will be easy. And you must eat more. Have that mutton made into broth for your dinner to-morrow, and first thing in the morning I intend to order you some wine. That will set you up in no time — with the blessing of Providence,' added Mr Goldie, piously. And then, by way of keeping up his wife's spirits, he fell to talking of business, and drew such a gloomy picture of the state of trade in general, and his own in particular, that poor Mrs Goldie felt sure they were on the verge of ruin, and was miserable to think of the extra expense her illness would cause. Next morning he would not let her rise to breakfast. Minnie brought her in a tray, and came back to him, just as he was leaving the house, with a little twisted pencilled note :—: — ' Dear Henry, — ' Don't call on the doctor to-day ; and never mind the wine. With reßt and J care I shall do very well without it, and I fancy it might not agree with me. — Your loving ' Lucr.' Mr Goldie well knew that this was the result of last night's conversation, but he did not choose to confess it. ' I offered to get her the advice, and the wine,' argued he, hurrying with eager steps to his daily hunting-ground — the Exchange. ' I offered to get them, and she refuses ! Well, I can't force things down her throat. After all, she may not need them ; but if she does, it is not my fault ; I have done my duty.' With which consoling reflection he plunged into the vortex of speculation, and very soon forgot his wife's existence. She, poor soul ! brooded over his gloomy ; words all that day, and for many succeeding' ceeding days, Mr Goldie was, or seemed to be, far too busy for any more private conversations ; but his abstracted air and harassed look made his wife fear the worst. She could not know that that air and loot were assumed purposely, to deepen the impression his words had made.