The Rosary
Chapter XX
Jane Reports Progress
Letter from the Honourable Jane Champion to Sir Deryck Brand.
Castle Gleneesh, N. B.
My dear Deryck: My wires and post-cards have not told you much beyond the
fact of my safe arrival. Having been here a fortnight, I think it is time I sent
you a report. Only you must remember that I am a poor scribe. From infancy it
has always been difficult to me to write anything beyond that stock
commencement: "I hope you are quite well;" and I approach the task of a
descriptive letter with an effort which is colossal. And yet I wish I might, for
once, borrow the pen of a ready writer; because I cannot help knowing that I
have been passing through experiences such as do not often fall to the lot of a
woman.
Nurse Rosemary Gray is getting on capitally. She is making herself
indispensable to the patient, and he turns to her with a completeness of
confidence which causes her heart to swell with professional pride.
Poor Jane has got no further than hearing, from his own lips, that she is the
very last person in the whole world he would wish should come near him in his
blindness. When she was suggested as a possible visitor, he said: "Oh, my God,
NO!" and his face was one wild, horrified protest. So Jane is getting her
horsewhipping, Boy, and — according to the method of a careful and thoughtful
judge, who orders thirty lashes of the "cat," in three applications of ten — so
is Jane's punishment laid on at intervals; not more than she can bear at a time;
but enough to keep her heart continually sore, and her spirit in perpetual
dread. And you, dear, clever doctor, are proved perfectly right in your
diagnosis of the sentiment of the case. He says her pity would be the last straw
on his already heavy cross; and the expression is an apt one, her pity for him
being indeed a thing of straw. The only pity she feels is pity for herself, thus
hopelessly caught in the meshes of her own mistake. But how to make him realise
this, is the puzzle.
Do you remember how the Israelites were shut in, between Migdol and the sea?
I knew Migdol meant "towers," but I never understood the passage, until I stood
upon that narrow wedge of desert, with the Red Sea in front and on the left; the
rocky range of Gebel Attaka on the right, towering up against the sky, like the
weird shapes of an impregnable fortress; the sole outlet or inlet behind, being
the route they had just travelled from Egypt, and along which the chariots and
horsemen of Pharaoh were then thundering in hot pursuit. Even so, Boy, is poor
Jane now tramping her patch of desert, which narrows daily to the measure of her
despair. Migdol is HIS certainty that HER love could only be pity. The Red Sea
is the confession into which she must inevitably plunge, to avoid scaling
Migdol; in the chill waters of which, as she drags him in with her, his love is
bound to drown, as waves of doubt and mistrust sweep over its head, — doubts
which he has lost the power of removing; mistrust which he can never hope to
prove to have been false and mistaken. And behind come galloping the hosts of
Pharaoh; chance, speeding on the wheels of circumstance. At any moment some
accident may compel a revelation; and instantly HE will be scaling rocky Migdol,
with torn hands and bleeding feet; and she — poor Jane — floundering in the
depths of the Red Sea. O for a Moses, with divine commission, to stretch out the
rod of understanding love, making a safe way through; so that together they
might reach the Promised Land! Dear wise old Boy, dare you undertake the role of
Moses!
But here am I writing like a page of Baedeker, and failing to report on
actual facts.
As you may suppose, Jane grows haggard and thin in spite of old Margery's
porridge — which is "put on" every day after lunch, for the next morning's
breakfast, and anybody passing "gives it a stir." Did you know that was the
right way to make porridge, Deryck? I always thought it was made in five
minutes, as wanted. Margery says that must be the English stuff which profanely
goes by the name. (N.B. Please mark the self-control with which I repeat Scotch
remarks, without rushing into weird spelling; a senseless performance, it seems
to me. For if you know already how old Margery pronounces "porridge," you can
read her pronunciation into the sentence; and if you do not know it, no
grotesque spelling on my part could convey to your mind any but a caricatured
version of the pretty Scotch accent with which Margery says: "Stir the porridge,
Nurse Gray." In fact, I am agreeably surprised at the ease with which I
understand the natives, and the pleasure I derive from their conversation; for,
after wrestling with one or two modern novels dealing with the Highlands, I had
expected to find the language an unknown tongue. Instead of which, lo! and
behold, old Margery, Maggie the housemaid, Macdonald the gardener, and
Macalister the game-keeper, all speak a rather purer English than I do; far more
carefully pronounced, and with every R sounded and rolled. Their idioms are more
characteristic than their accent. They say "whenever" for "when," and use in
their verbs several quaint variations of tense.)
But what a syntactical digression! Oh, Boy, the wound at my heart is so deep
and so sore that I dread the dressings, even by your delicate touch. Where was
I? Ah, the porridge gave me my loophole of escape. Well, as I was saying, Jane
grows worn and thin, old Margery's porridge notwithstanding; but Nurse Rosemary
Gray is flourishing, and remains a pretty, dainty little thing, with the
additional charm of fluffy, fly-away floss-silk, for hair, — Dr. Rob's own
unaided contribution to the fascinating picture. By the way, I was quite
unprepared to find him such a character. I learn much from Dr. Mackenzie, and I
love Dr. Rob, excepting on those occasions when I long to pick him up by the
scruff of his fawn overcoat and drop him out of the window.
On the point of Nurse Rosemary's personal appearance, I found it best to be
perfectly frank with the household. You can have no conception how often awkward
moments arose; as, for instance, in the library, the first time Garth came
downstairs; when he ordered Simpson to bring the steps for Miss Gray, and
Simpson opened his lips to remark that Nurse Gray could reach to the top shelf
on her own tiptoes with the greatest ease, he having just seen her do it.
Mercifully, the perfect training of an English man-servant saved the situation,
and he merely said: "Yessir; certainly sir," and looked upon, me, standing
silently by, as a person who evidently delighted in giving unnecessary trouble.
Had it been dear old Margery with her Scotch tongue, which starts slowly, but
gathers momentum as it rolls, and can never be arrested until the full flood of
her thought has been poured forth, I should have been constrained to pick her up
bodily in my dainty arms and carry her out.
So I sent for Simpson and Margery to the dining-room that evening, when the
master was safely out of ear-shot, and told them that, for reasons which I could
not fully explain, a very incorrect description of my appearance had been given
him. He thought me small and slim; fair and very pretty; and it was most
important, in order to avoid long explanations and mental confusion for him,
that he should not at present be undeceived. Simpson's expression of polite
attention did not vary, and his only comment was: "Certainly, miss. Quite so."
But across old Margery's countenance, while I was speaking, passed many shades
of opinion, which, fortunately, by the time I had finished, crystallized into an
approving smile of acquiescence. She even added her own commentary: "And a very
good thing, too, I am thinking. For Master Garth, poor laddie, was always so set
upon having beauty about him. 'Master Garthie,' I would say to him, when he had
friends coming, and all his ideas in talking over the dinner concerned the
cleaning up of the old silver, and putting out of Valentine glass and Worstered
china; 'Master Garthie,' I would say, feeling the occasion called for the apt
quoting of Scripture, 'it appears to me your attention is given entirely to the
outside of the cup and platter, and you care nothing for all the good things
that lie within.' So it is just as well to keep him deceived, Miss Gray." And
then, as Simpson coughed tactfully behind his hand, and nudged her very
obviously with his elbow, she added, as a sympathetic after-thought: "For,
though a homey face may indeed be redeemed by its kindly expression, you cannot
very well explain expression to the blind." So you see, Deryck, this shrewd old
body, who has known Garth from boyhood, would have entirely agreed with the
decision of three years ago.
Well, to continue my report. The voice gave us some trouble, as you foresaw,
and the whole plan hung in the balance during a few awful moments; for, though
he easily accepted the explanation we had planned, he sent me out, and told Dr.
Mackenzie my voice in his room would madden him. Dr. Rob was equal to the
occasion, and won the day; and Garth, having once given in, never mentioned the
matter again. Only, sometimes I see him listening and remembering.
But Nurse Rosemary Gray has beautiful hours when poor anxious, yearning Jane
is shut out. For her patient turns to her, and depends on her, and talks to her,
and tries to reach her mind, and shows her his, and is a wonderful person to
live with and know. Jane, marching about in the cold, outside, and hearing them
talk, realises how little she understood the beautiful gift which was laid at
her feet; how little she had grasped the nature and mind of the man whom she
dismissed as "a mere boy." Nurse Rosemary, sitting beside him during long sweet
hours of companionship, is learning it; and Jane, ramping up and down her
narrowing strip of desert, tastes the sirocco of despair.
And now I come to the point of my letter, and, though I am a woman, I will
not put it in a postscript.
Deryck, can you come up soon, to pay him a visit, and to talk to me? I don't
think I can bear it, unaided, much longer; and he would so enjoy having you, and
showing you how he had got on, and all the things he had already learned to do.
Also you might put in a word for Jane; or at all events, get at his mind on the
subject. Oh, Boy, if you COULD spare forty-eight hours! And a breath of the
moors would be good for you. Also I have a little private plan, which depends
largely for its fulfilment on your coming. Oh, Boy — come!
Yours, needing you,
Jeanette.
From Sir Deryck Brand to Nurse Rosemary Gray, Castle Gleneesh, N. B.
Wimpole Street.
My dear Jeanette: Certainly I will come. I will leave Euston on Friday
evening. I can spend the whole of Saturday and most of Sunday at Gleneesh, but
must be home in time for Monday's work.
I will do my best, only, alas! I am not Moses, and do not possess his
wonder-working rod. Moreover, latest investigations have proved that the
Israelites could not have crossed at the place you mention, but further north at
the Bitter Lakes; a mere matter of detail, in no way affecting the extreme
appositeness of your illustration, rather, adding to it; for I fear there are
bitter waters ahead of you, my poor girl.
Still I am hopeful, nay, more than hopeful, — confident. Often of late, in
connection with you, I have thought of the promise about all things working
together for good. Any one can make GOOD things work together for good: but only
the Heavenly Father can bring good out of evil; and, taking all our mistakes and
failings and foolishnesses, cause them to work to our most perfect well-being.
The more intricate and involved this problem of human existence becomes, the
greater the need to take as our own clear rule of life: "Trust in the Lord with
all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways
acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths." Ancient marching orders, and
simple; but true, and therefore eternal.
I am glad Nurse Rosemary is proving so efficient, but I hope we may not have
to face yet another complication in our problem. Suppose our patient falls in
love with dainty little Nurse Rosemary, where will Jane be then? I fear the
desert would have to open its mouth and swallow her up. We must avert such a
catastrophe. Could not Rosemary be induced to drop an occasional H, or to
confess herself as rather "gone" on Simpson?
Oh, my poor old girl! I could not jest thus, were I not coming shortly to
your aid.
How maddening it is! And you so priceless! But most men are either fools or
blind, and one is both. Trust me to prove it to him, — to my own satisfaction
and his, — if I get the chance.
Yours always devotedly,
Deryck Brand.
From Sir Deryck Brand to Dr. Robert Mackenzie.
Dear Mackenzie: Do you consider it to be advisable that I should shortly pay
a visit to our patient at Gleneesh and give an opinion on his progress?
I find I can make it possible to come north this week-end.
I hope you are satisfied with the nurse I sent up.
Yours very faithfully,
Deryck Brand.
From Dr. Robert Mackenzie to Sir Deryck Brand.
Dear Sir Deryck: Every possible need of the patient's is being met by the
capable lady you sent to be his nurse. I am no longer needed. Nor are you — for
the patient. But I deem it exceedingly advisable that you should shortly pay a
visit to the nurse, who is losing more flesh than a lady of her proportions can
well afford.
Some secret care, besides the natural anxiety of having the responsibility of
this case, is wearing her out. She may confide in you. She cannot quite bring
herself to trust in
Your humble servant,
Robert Mackenzie.