CHAPTER XV

FULVIA'S EXPECTATIONS

"About my monies."—SHAKESPEARE.

"Occasions make not a man frail, but show what he is."—THOMAS À KEMPIS.

"I SHOULD have no objection whatever to a second opinion. It would be as well—better, perhaps. But I am afraid there can be no doubt about the matter. It is pronounced heart-complaint," said Dr. Duncan.

He had broken his tidings as gently as possible. Mrs. Browning and Fulvia, Mr. Carden-Cox and Nigel, were all present. Dr. Duncan would have preferred to see Nigel alone, but he was allowed no choice. Mrs. Browning insisted on hearing the whole that he had to say; Fulvia remained as a matter of course; and everybody knew better than to speak of banishing Mr. Carden-Cox.

Mrs. Browning listened calmly to her cousin's statement; pale, but not overcome. Fanciful worries would bring tears quickly, while in a great trouble she could be brave. Perhaps things proved to be no worse than she had long suspected.

Fulvia was the more openly distressed. It came out gradually that Mr. Browning had been very ill after she had left the study.

"A sharp attack," Dr. Duncan called it—sharp enough, they found, to mean actual peril to life. He might have passed away there and then, during his wife's absence, with no previous warning.

"I can never leave him again," Mrs. Browning said, her dark eyes full of meek resolution.

But the cause of the "attack"? It was Fulvia who pressed this question, and she insisted on being told. Could it have been simply the little agitation of being reminded about her birthday? Of hearing what she had to say about her money? Impossible. Why, he had no reason whatever to mind her speaking. Dr. Duncan evaded the question at first, and Fulvia would not permit the evasion. Was that, or was it not, the cause? She would have yea or nay from him.

And Dr. Duncan was a truthful man. He might try to avoid giving an answer; but if he gave one, it would be true. He said at length—

"There may have been more involved in the subject than you could know. Almost any agitation might be sufficient."

"Sufficient to bring on a really dangerous attack, do you mean?"

"Yes."

"But—do you mean—you don't mean that at any time he may have it?"

"Yes."

"From just a little mistake; letting him talk of what excites him?"

"Yes; or rather, forcing him to do so. He will keep clear of agitating subjects, if he is allowed. He will keep clear of them instinctively. Mind, you insist upon all this from me;" and there was a touch of reproach. "I would rather have given a general warning only."

"But we would rather know the whole—every inch of it," cried Fulvia. She was for once the excited member.

Mrs. Browning remained pale and still; Nigel as still, and even paler than his mother; Mr. Carden-Cox bewildered and fidgety, yet silent.

"We would much rather be told everything," repeated Fulvia. "Not padre, of course, he is too nervous; and not the girls—but we four. It is only right. Now we shall know how to act."

"Yes, it is far better," Mrs. Browning murmured. Her cold hand crept into Nigel's, and received comforting pressure, though he said nothing. Nigel could not easily speak under strong feeling. "But I think I am glad we did not know sooner," she went on, with almost a smile; "until my boy came home."

Dr. Duncan glanced from her to Nigel, with a look which the latter was quick to interpret.

"You have heard what Jamie has to say, and now you will go to my father," Nigel said, rising. "Fulvia too. He is better, and will be looking out for you both."

Mrs. Browning obeyed his touch, as if grateful for direction; and Fulvia did not resist, though she cast a reproachful glance at Nigel, which he disregarded.

"I was sorry to have to say so much before Mrs. Browning," Dr. Duncan was observing to Mr. Carden-Cox, when Nigel came back from the door; "but Fulvia allows one little choice."

"Fulvia is a woman of character," said Mr. Carden-Cox.

"Fulvia is a girl who likes to have her own way," responded Dr. Duncan. "That may or may not go with character."

"Fulvia was wrong," Nigel added. He stood facing Dr. Duncan, his hand on the back of a chair. "I suppose—" and there was a break; "I suppose it is—hopeless?"

"As to the final outcome of the illness? I am afraid so. Not hopeless as to prolongation of life. Absolute recovery may be impossible, but these cases often last on indefinitely."

"With care—"

"Yes; that is essential."

"What kind of care?"

"I have told you already, in a measure. A quiet life, free from exertion and anxiety; if he can have this—"

"One would say he had it already."

The negative movement of Dr. Duncan's head was decided.

"My father is naturally inclined to worry himself about unimportant things, perhaps; but—"

"He must not worry himself. Every kind of worry must be kept at a distance. His own instinct will tell him often what to avoid; and that instinct must be obeyed. Fulvia did wrongly this morning, forcing upon him a subject from which he shrank. She might not know any reason for his shrinking; but he knew that he could not bear it, and we have seen the result."

"You can give us no hope that by-and-by he may be in a better state than now?"

"Yes, very possibly. He has been brought to his present state by long pressure of worry. No doubt about that," in reply to Nigel's surprised look. "Your father has gone about for months under a heavy burden."

"Since when?"

"Soon after you left England, if not before. I think I was particularly struck with it about last Christmas. He has had a look of trouble more or less for years; but not to the same extent. For months he has been like one under a heavy cloud, unable to rise above it."

"What cloud?" Nigel seemed bewildered.

"That is the question."

"One would say there was hardly a man in Newton Bury with less to worry him than Browning has," remarked Mr. Carden-Cox. "But—"

The "but" was significant. Dr. Duncan cleared his throat, and looked at Nigel, who was studying them both.

"I am not sure that you do not know more about the matter than I do," said Nigel. "I have been away for a year, you see, and before that—"

"It did not exist to the same extent before that."

"If it had, I might not have seen."

"No; you had not reached an observant age. But since you returned—"

"I have noticed worry and uneasiness—a burden or cloud, as you say. My father never seems at rest. There is a kind of unhappy looking forward, expecting trouble to come." Nigel spoke slowly, weighing his words. "Now and then I have fancied it to be connected with money. Fulvia says he is always talking of expenses, and the fact that he objects to college for me—"

"Fudge!" said Mr. Carden-Cox.

"I should have thought my father's income equal to that strain, certainly. He made no difficulty about my trip."

"I took care that he should not."

Nigel failed to catch the muttered sentence.

"Of course he has had the use of Fulvia's money, to some extent; and he may have been looking forward to losing—"

Nigel stopped short. There was an odd click of Mr. Carden-Cox's tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"The fact is, nobody knows much about that," said Mr. Carden-Cox, as if addressing himself: "Browning has been entirely irresponsible to anybody all along—everything left in his hands—absurd arrangement; putting temptation in a man's path. May be all right, or may not be. No ill intentions, of course; means to do his best; but what about business qualities? Hey? Well, well; I've kept my own counsel hitherto, and I mean to keep it—till—Fact is, everybody must know everything soon. Twenty-first of next month! Why on earth has Browning a mortal horror of that day?"

Neither of the two spoke. Nigel's face had become rigid, and a defensive glow shone in his eyes.

"I don't wish to suspect—nobody has any business to suspect. Everything may be all right and above board. But I confess there are signs which stagger one. Something queer about the way he won't have Fulvia's money alluded to in his hearing! Why shouldn't he? Mind you, I wouldn't say this to Clemence or the girls for anything you could mention. But Nigel and you—Nigel ought to be awake."

"He is my father!"

"That doesn't alter facts, my dear boy. Don't look angry, but just listen. Here is Browning, been sole trustee and guardian for nearly twenty years, with absolute control of the child's money, and—mark you, her father didn't know this, and I didn't till lately—and, with his own affairs in a state of embarrassment all along! There's the rub! If it wasn't for his present condition of mind, I wouldn't suspect him of imprudence, even now. Imprudence, mind you, no deliberate wrong. He's not capable of that. He is capable of imprudence; and he is capable of speculation. Whether with his own or Fulvia's money, I don't know. Nobody knows, except Browning himself. Done everything with the best intentions, no doubt; but if a man dabbles in that sort of thing, why, he's apt to get his fingers burnt."

"Why should you suppose him to have speculated?"

"I don't suppose—I know. He began it ten years ago. Had success of course, now and then, and was flush of cash for a while. So much the worse; just tempting him on. Talk of economy began after that. Haven't an idea how far things went, but so much I do know. Then this last year, as Duncan says, life a burden to him; something obviously wrong."

Dr. Duncan had not said so precisely, but he let the inaccuracy pass, beginning to draw on his gloves.

"Fact is—" Mr. Carden-Cox wanted to say something more, and began to fall into a hurry. "Fact is, that has been my theory for some time—as to Fulvia! He thinks it would make up to her if—You believe I'm talking nonsense," with a nervous laugh, meeting Nigel's glance, "but I'm not. Tell you, I can see through a stone wall quicker than some folks. Eh? It's many a year since I first set my heart on something—Nigel knows what; but Browning and I don't commonly hit on the same object. Well, for once we have. Don't believe he would, if it wasn't for something he know must come out. Can't say what, of course. All guess-work. But, suppose now, suppose Fulvia's £50,000 to have been clipped a little by injudicious speculation, say, down to half the amount! Wouldn't be a bad stroke, eh? To throw in a husband for the remainder."

"Said husband valued at £25,000!" remarked Dr. Duncan dryly; nevertheless he did not like this style of talk.

And Nigel said coldly—

"I thought the amount was to be £40,000."

"Fifty, if a penny!" Mr. Carden-Cox was very positive. "Might have grown to sixty under good management. Ought to have done so, too!"

Dr. Duncan shook hands with both, and the subject dropped.

As Fulvia's birthday drew near, an indescribable cloud lay upon the house; felt by all, owned by few. Every thought of merry-making had been given up. Mr. Browning was markedly worse; indeed, it seemed as if, from the hour of admitting himself to be ill enough for medical advice, he had gone steadily down-hill.

Or it might be the approach of the birthday. Nobody dared mention the day to him. Nobody dared allude to the coming of age. "Fulvie's money" were words tabooed in his presence. All knew—even Daisy—that agitation might mean death. What could they do, but put possibilities of agitation far away? Fulvia, was foremost in this aim, never forgiving herself the mistake which she had made, in forcing upon him the subject of her own affairs.

Despite all efforts to the contrary, the burden upon Mr. Browning grew heavier, the dire apprehension in his eyes became more marked. Every day he noted the flight of time; often, on asking or hearing the day of the month, with an audible groan. It was "like somebody looking forward to his own execution—so odd!" Daisy said with girlish impatience.

There could not at this time be a doubt about his eager desire to throw Nigel and Fulvia together. Whether Mr. Carden-Cox had suggested the idea to Mr. Browning, or whether it were his own thought, either way he began from the day of his severe attack to press things forward. "Fulvia and Nigel;" "That dear girl and my boy;" "That noble girl and you, Nigel," were phrases ever on his lips.

The wish was an old wish; but it seemed to have suddenly sprung from a torpid to an active condition. Mr. Browning could not leave it alone. He was always harping on it, making nervous little allusions, talking about Nigel to Fulvia, discussing Fulvia with Nigel, weighing possibilities in the hearing of his wife. He watched the two whenever they were together, anxiously, pitifully, as if craving some sign of that which he wanted. Nobody who saw all this could doubt the private touch of Mr. Carden-Cox's finger.

Fulvia neither helped nor hindered. She was too proud to help, too deeply attached to Nigel to hinder. Her aim was to hold an even course, inclining to neither side; and she was well again in health, which perhaps made self-control easier.

Yet not all her self-control could prevent the quick blush, ready to spring on the least provocation. A meaning word or look from Mr. Browning was always enough to bring it. Nigel saw, of course—he could not help seeing—and he found himself in no easy position. Between gratitude to Fulvia for her generosity and dread of injuring his father, he had sometimes a nightmare sense of being dragged into that from which he utterly shrank.

He was very careful, very watchful over himself, most desirous not to be betrayed into any rash word or act, equally anxious to avoid distressing his father and to avoid giving the least handle to the notion that he sought Fulvia. But he was young still, and naturally impulsive. He was not much given to putting his deeper feelings into words, but neither was he given to artificial concealment of them. Fulvia could be artificial at times, for a purpose; Nigel could not. Whatever else he might be, he was always natural.

It was natural to him to be kind and affectionate towards Fulvia. He and she were, and ever had been, on such easy terms, that he continually found himself saying or doing something which made the telltale blood leap to her face. This might not have meant so much with some girls; but Fulvia was not addicted to blushing, commonly; and Nigel knew it. When he caught himself in such a mistake, he pulled up instantly. But the mischief was usually done first; though how much "done," he never guessed. He was too transparent to allow for her non-transparency. If she made him uneasy by a vivid flush one minute, she made him easy by her careless indifference the next; and he did not discriminate between that which was real and that which was put on.

The question of college was still in abeyance, for Mr. Browning could endure no discussion. He alluded once or twice, in his most nervous manner, to the opening at the Bank, but shrank from any decision. There was "no hurry—an answer was not required till after Christmas; Mr. Bramble was quite willing to wait," he said. "By-and-by, when I am stronger—perhaps—anyhow, we cannot spare you yet, my dear boy!"

Nigel acquiesced with a resolute patience, which he would not once have shown. For he was eager, and longed to enter upon a career. Past ill-health had thrown him back; and the year abroad had meant further delay. Most young men of his own age were already launched on some definite line of life; and Nigel was keenly conscious of the difference. He wanted to waste no more time; to be hard at work as soon as possible, with a settled aim ahead.

Though he patiently bore the continued uncertainty as to his future, he did not the less feel it; and but for the greater trouble about Ethel, he would have felt it much more.

In that direction, hopelessness increased. He could not get hold of her, could not bear down the barrier of her changed manner. Not that she was unkind or uninterested; not that he could have defined what was wrong. Only ever since the Postscript affair, she had been different—never entirely at her ease. She seemed to be always slipping out of his reach; always too busy to give him any time; and when they were together there was an indescribable something which rose like a barrier and kept them apart.

Ethel did not mean it to be so. She had not the smallest intention of repelling Nigel. She was only startled by Mr. Carden-Cox's insinuations, dismayed at the idea that any one could suppose her capable of wishing to marry Nigel if he did not wish to marry her, bent upon setting things straight; and in her efforts she went farther than was needful. Where she meant to be only kind and pleasant, but not too warm, she was distinctly distant and cold.

Nigel then was hurt and grave; and this told upon Ethel, adding to her constraint. It was very hard to give him pain; and she knew that her changed manner did pain him sorely; yet how could it be helped? She dared not allow herself to meet him in the old style, for fear of what others might think. The pain reacted sharply upon herself: and those were sorrowful weeks to Ethel. She had often a severe struggle to keep up some appearance of cheerfulness.

Fulvia's watchful eyes noted the difference in Ethel's bearing towards Nigel, and in Nigel's towards Ethel; and her heart beat often with a wild joy. For she thought she understood. She believed that Nigel was at last awake to the fact that Ethel was not and could not be more to him than the sister of his friend. She believed that Nigel was willing to have things so; and that she—she herself—Fulvia would hide her face at this point, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of delight, so intense as to be almost unbearable. What would life be to her without Nigel? But these reasonings were never allowed to have sway except when Fulvia was alone; never, if any one were present to mark her look.

So a month went by, and the tangle grew, and Fulvia's birthday came near. There had been no more talk of the Continent for Mr. Browning. He was in no state for travelling. Neither had preparations been made for any merry-makings on the day itself; everybody seeming to be anxious only that it should be allowed to slip past as uneventfully as possible.

"But I'll have a lawyer to look into things for the girl, or my name's not Carden-Cox!" the owner of that name muttered from time to time, choosing Daisy for his confidante.