“The--lady’s--a-having her breakfast in bed,” said Martha. “What did the child do, ma’am, but stretches out its little arms when me and Cook went in first thing, after she unlocked the door.”
“Why did two of you go?” said Miss Susan. “Did she ring the bell?”
“Well, ma’am,” said Martha, “you’ll say it’s one o’ my silly nervish ways. But I was frightened--I don’t deny. What with Cook saying as the child would bust itself, and what with them cries--but, Lord bless you, it’s all right,” said Martha; “and a-laughing and crowing to Cook, and all of us, as soon as it got down to the kitchen, and taking its sop as natural! I can’t think what could come over the child to be that wicked with its ma.”
“Some people never get on with children,” said Miss Susan, feeling some apology necessary; “and no doubt it misses the nurse it was used to. And it was tired with the journey--”
“That’s exactly what Cook says,” said Martha. “Some folks has no way with children--even when it’s the ma--and Cook says--”
“I hope you have taken the lady’s breakfast up to her comfortably,” said Miss Susan; “tell her, with my compliments, that I hope she will not hurry to get up; as she must have had a very bad night.”
Miss Susan knew that this question awaited her; and it was very comforting to her mind to know that Augustine would accept the facts of the story calmly without thinking of any meaning that might lie below them, or asking any explanations. She told her these facts quite simply.
“She is the daughter-in-law of the Austins of Bruges--their son’s widow--her child is Herbert’s next of kin and heir presumptive. Since dear Bertie has got better, his chances, of course, have become very much smaller; and, as I trust,” said Miss Susan fervently, with tears of pain coming to her eyes, “that my dear boy will live to have heirs of his own, this baby, poor thing, has no chance at all to speak of; but, you see, as they do not know that, and heard that Herbert was never likely to recover, and are people quite different from ourselves, and don’t understand things, they still look upon him as the heir.”
“Yes,” said Augustine, “I understand; and they think he has a right to live here.”
“It is not that, dear. The young woman has quarrelled with her husband’s parents, or she did not feel happy with them. Such things happen often, you know; perhaps there were faults on both sides. So she took it into her head to come here. She is an orphan, with no friends, and a young widow, poor thing, but I am most anxious to get her sent away.”