“You must not talk of him in that strain. He’s one of the best doctors in London—one of the cleverest, I mean. Yes, I am his wife. I have a fine house and plenty of money, but I don’t want you to come to my house, and I don’t want the boy to come there. If either of you come to the house, or if ever you let out that I gave you the boy to take care of, mischief will come of it; black mischief mother, black mischief.”
“Yes,” said the old woman. Her voice was cowed and she felt frightened.
“Come over here to me, mother. I’ll whisper something to you.”
“You give me the creeps,” began Mrs. Ives.
The old woman was afraid to stir. Clara rose and went to her, she knelt by her side.
“There are those who want to get rid of the child,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “but with you, mother, he is safe. Now you understand.”
“Yes, I think I do,” said the old woman. She sat back in her chair. She was white and trembling.
Mrs. Pelham mourned for her boy in the deepest black. She gradually recovered her health, but her spirits were low, and she indulged in much weeping. She began to look pale and old, and her friends all pitied her sincerely.
For the first fortnight after the unexpected death of the boy Mrs. Evershed did not dare to visit the unhappy widow. She felt that under such peculiar, such wonderful circumstances, she could scarcely command her own face. The event which was a terrible blow to Mrs. Pelham was life and the resurrection of all things bright and beautiful to Mrs. Evershed. Now, indeed, Dick Pelham was a son-in-law after her own heart. She did not dare to hurry on the wedding too soon, but at the same time she was glad to tell her friends that Barbara was engaged to the dear fellow quite a fortnight before his little cousin died.
People were fond of congratulating Barbara and talking about her luck, but Barbara herself quickly put a stop to this. She felt the child’s death acutely, and was low-spirited and nervous. She was happy because she was engaged to the man of her heart, but in other ways she was not happy. Riches had come to her; her mother’s affairs were all put absolutely straight. In future she would never know the meaning of want of money. Money in full abundance was to be hers, but somehow—she could not quite tell why—a certain zest was taken out of her life.