Under the Mendips Part 37

Piers was helped in his studies by a young physician, who was then putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder which he soon scaled to the very top, and stood in later years pre-eminently as the first consulting physician of the West of England. His patients at this time, above the level of Park Street were not very numerous, and he would laughingly a.s.sure Piers that he was very proud to attend any one in so aristocratic a locality as Down Cottage!

He lent Piers books and instruments, and gave him a microscope, of which, as a physician, he had several, and, indeed, was the bright element in the lame boy's life.

He was coming out of the house now as Joyce opened the little iron gate, his horse waiting for him at the corner.

The greeting between the doctor and Joyce was unusually warm; he admired her beautiful, beaming face, and always liked to exchange a word with her.

"It is great news," he said; "though the crucial test is yet to come."

"Yes," Joyce said; "but surely the dear old Lords will not obstruct the bill."

"The dear old Bishops will do so," the doctor said, "your friend at Wells amongst them."

"Well," Joyce said, "he is sure to do what he does because he thinks it is right, not because other people do it."

The doctor laughed again; evidently he was not so sure of the Bishop.

Then, with a pleasant smile to Charlotte, the doctor went away, just turning back for a moment to say, "I saw your old friend, Mrs. Hannah More's doctor, in consultation this morning, and he incidentally mentioned that she was failing rather visibly. Have you seen her of late?"

"I am going there this afternoon," Joyce said. "I want so much to see her."

"I would not delay," the doctor said, significantly, and then he was gone.

After the first greeting. Piers dragged Joyce off to his den, to show her a beautiful specimen of quartz, of which he had possessed himself the day before for a mere trifle.

And then he had diagrams to show her, which he had drawn, of several crystals, as seen through the microscope; and then he divulged the doctor's plan, that he should prepare a good many of such diagrams for him to use at a lecture he was to give in the Bristol Museum, some evening in the course of the coming winter.

I do not think there is any quality more attractive than that, which Joyce possessed in a remarkable degree, of throwing herself--not superficially, as Gratian did, but really and heartily--into the interests of other people.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Clifton and the Avon.]

Any one watching her face as she bent over Piers' treasures, and examined his drawings, would have scarcely believed that she was the mother of four children, to whom she was devoted.

Piers was seated at his table, and she was standing over him, with one hand upon his shoulder, while, with the other, she now and then stroked back his hair, as in old days.

It is strange to think how the quiet, happy life of home, and home interests may go on, while the storm of political strife, and religious controversy rages without. It was thus with Sir Thomas Browne, the philosopher and physician, of Norwich, who produced his great work, the "Religio Medici," when England stood on the eve of the greatest storm, which ever burst over her. It was thus with many less distinguished and simple souls, who went about their accustomed duties and pleasures, and took up their daily burden of cares and toil, and gave but little heed to the jarring elements without.

Presently Joyce said: "I must go to mother now and get ready for dinner.

How has mother been lately?"

"Oh! very well," Piers said. "She does not _care_ very much for anything, that is the worst of it. She always talks of her day being over, and that she has nothing now to live for; but she has, all the same," Piers continued, laughing. "She bustles about every morning, rubbing and dusting, and then she is knitting socks enough to last Falcon till he is twenty, and all kinds of things for your baby."

"Does she get on with the servants now?"

"Oh! pretty well. Of course, there is a good scold every day of one or the other of them, but both the maids know by this time, as we all do, that mother's bark may be sharp, but her bite is nothing."

"I hope you are not very dull, darling Piers?" Joyce asked.

"Dull! No, thank goodness! I don't know what dullness means. I see you have brought Charlotte with you; she is as languis.h.i.+ng as ever."

"Poor Charlotte!" Joyce said; "she, at any rate, knows very well what dullness means. But I must not stay; remember you and mother are to spend Christmas with us in Great George Street."

The Clifton of fifty-five year's ago might not present such an appearance of gaiety on a fine afternoon as it does now; but, nevertheless, the Downs and Observatory were sprinkled with people, well dressed, in carriages, or Bath chairs, or on foot.

It was decided that the carriage should be ordered by Joyce from the stables at the back of Sion Hill, as she went to Windsor Terrace; that Mrs. Falconer, Piers, and Charlotte should drive to the turnpike on the Down, and then come to the top of Granby Hill, and wait there for Joyce.

Charlotte was quite content with this arrangement, and watched Joyce's departure after dinner with some satisfaction. She rather liked to be alone with Mrs. Falconer, who, as she knitted, listened to her little complaints with patience, if not with expressed sympathy. Mrs. Arundel, on the contrary, thought Charlotte needed rousing, and was intolerant of perpetual headaches and low spirits.

There were many unoccupied young women like Charlotte, fifty years ago, without any particular aim in life, except a vague idea that they ought to be married. The years as they pa.s.sed, often went by on leaden wings.

Charlotte was amiable and gentle; and Miss Falconer, disappointed with the result of her training, would say: "Poor dear Charlotte has not strong health; so different from Joyce, who was a perfect rustic in that, as in other things." But Joyce was married, and Charlotte remained single, and had not even the satisfaction of recounting her many conquests, as her aunt so frequently did.

There is no more honourable and n.o.ble life than that of the single woman who bravely takes up her lot, and works her way to independence, by industry and the cultivation of the gifts G.o.d has given her, for which the opportunities in these days are so many. But there is--I had almost said _was_--no life more pitiable, than that of the woman whose youth is pa.s.sing, and who, having to accept her position as unmarried, does so with a bad grace, and pines for what, by her very melancholy views of life, she puts more and more beyond her reach, and who is perpetually thinking of her own little pains and troubles, and forgets to be at leisure from herself, to sympathise with those of others.

"Joyce did not ask _me_ to go and see Mrs. More; though we stayed at Barley Wood together," Charlotte was saying. "However, I dare say Mrs.

More would not remember me."

"Her memory is getting short now," said Mrs. Falconer; "she reaped a pretty harvest for her over-indulgence of her servants; teaching them things that were above their station in life was the beginning of it.

They cheated her through thick and thin, and some gentlemen had to interfere, and break up the household for her, poor old lady!"

"It must be a change for her to live in Windsor Terrace, after that lovely place," Charlotte said.

"Not greater than for me to change Fair Acres for Down Cottage; but my day is over, and it suits me very well, and Piers is happy, while Harry and Ralph like to come here sometimes, and I like to be near Joyce and the dear children."

"I think Falcon is rather tiresome and noisy," Charlotte said. "Joyce does not reprove him as she ought."

Mrs. Falconer was touchy about her grand-children; in her eyes Falcon was perfect, and the love that had been so unsparingly poured forth on Melville, was now given to Falcon.

"He's a n.o.ble boy," she said, in a tone that implied it was certainly not Charlotte's business to suggest that he had any imperfections. And now the knitting-needles were laid aside, for the carriage stopped at the little iron gate, and Mrs. Falconer went to call Piers, and to prepare for her drive.

Meantime Joyce had gone down the steep hill to Windsor Terrace, and, after some hesitation on the part of Miss Frowde, she was allowed to see Mrs. More.

She was seated in an easy chair, propped up with cus.h.i.+ons, enjoying the view which lay before her.

For a moment she sought Joyce's face with an inquiring glance, as if not quite sure of her ident.i.ty; but almost immediately the recognition came, and she greeted her, with one of her brightest smiles.

"Why, my dear Mrs. Arundel, you are quite a stranger. How are the dear babies, and poor Susan?"

"They are all well, dear madam, and Susan is an increasingly valuable servant."

"I am glad to hear it. I love to know that the seed sown is springing up. We are sadly impatient, my dear; we are like children pulling up the plant to see if the roots are grown. How are things going on at Fair Acres?"

"Very much as usual. My brother Ralph manages the estate."

"And the others look on! Well, well, patience is the great lesson for us all to learn, the patience that G.o.d has with us. Prayer and patient waiting will move mountains at last."

Then, after a few more inquiries, Mrs. More came to public matters.

"I thought," she said, "I was too old to take such a deep interest in the affairs of this kingdom and this city; but, my dear, we stand on the edge of a volcano, and, from all I hear, Bristol is ill-prepared. There is a growing feeling of hatred against the magistrates, and the zeal of Sir Charles Wetherall has carried him beyond the bounds of discretion.

Would you like to borrow any books? They are at your service. In that book-case there are many volumes written by me. I often sit here, and think over the writing of those books, and how little I ever expected that they would have a large sale, and bring me in, as they did, thirty thousand pounds. It often fills me with self-abas.e.m.e.nt, not self-glorification."

"I will not take a book to-day, dear madam; and here is Miss Frowde come to warn me that I have stayed long enough."