Chapter VIII

THERE were staid, respectable servants who had been in the service of Dr. and Mrs. Fereday, ready to receive Mrs. Crawford at Steynes-Cote. The verdict amongst these was, "The new mistress is just as homely as she is bonnie, and you only need to look in her face to know what that means."

Ida was delighted with the house, servants, furniture—in short, with everything around her.

"What charming rooms! And how spotless everything is! The order in this house is perfectly astonishing. I feel almost afraid to put my foot down," she exclaimed.

"It is just a little too orderly, darling, as rooms are apt to become when not sufficiently used. You will mend all that. There are some little matters to be supplied, but I find there are many parcels to be opened, containing marks of good-will from old friends. These and your other wedding presents will fill gaps, no doubt; and for the rest, I give you leave to please yourself. Experience has shown me that my wife will not err on the side of extravagance."

These words of praise, accompanied by a tender caress and a look of thorough trust, sounded like sweet music in the ears of the girl-wife.

Nestling for an instant on her husband's shoulder, she answered, "I like to be trusted, Andrew, and I do not think I shall tax your purse very heavily, or suggest many additions. Everything looks perfection to me. I should be positively wicked if I were not contented and happy here, and," she softly added, "with you."

Truly, such a home-coming seemed to be laden with bright promise for the future. Andrew Crawford felt it so, and with a full heart thanked God, and, taking up the words of the Psalmist, said truly, "My cup runneth over."

He uttered the thanksgiving aloud and from the very depths of his soul, but there was no response from Ida, neither was her face lighted up in sympathy. She smiled at his earnestness; she saw that he was deeply stirred by some feeling she could not fully comprehend, but this did not trouble her. She always said to herself, "Andrew is so much wiser and better than I am in everything! What a comfort it is to be able to look up to him!"

And she settled in her own mind that after say ten years of companionship, she must become more like her husband, and necessarily better in every way.

At this moment, an entirely different thought flashed across Ida's mind. Remembering the relatives she had left, she broke into a low, musical laugh, and said, "If Beatrice could look in upon us just now, I wonder if she would consider me so much to be pitied as the wife of a country doctor. Surely even she would be forced to acknowledge that I am a very lucky girl."

Perhaps few things could have better illustrated the difference between the minds of these twain who had become one flesh than the varying expressions which fell from their lips on arriving at home. The husband sent up a fervent thanksgiving to the Bestower of all good, and reverently took his happiness as coming straight from the Divine Hand.

His wife basked in the sunshine and brightness that surrounded her, amused herself by comparing the past with the present, and decided that, all things considered, she was "a lucky girl."

So far Ida had not seen Dr. Crawford's parents. There had been some thought of including a brief visit to their home in the wedding tour, but this had not been carried into effect.

"You have seen your father and mother since your return, Andrew," said Ida, "and I should like better to go about just with you for this once. Your family are strangers to me yet, and I am sure I should be shy and uncomfortable to go, so soon after our marriage, all amongst new faces. We can only have one wedding tour, you know."

So the doctor had yielded, perhaps nothing loth, and decided to have his parents to visit Steynes-Cote with as little delay as possible. The young wife was not, however, forgotten by her husband's father. Amongst the packets that lay waiting to be opened was one from the Manse. It contained a large and very beautifully bound Bible, and was accompanied by loving words, wishes, and the prayer that among the many costly gifts which would no doubt be offered to her, Ida might find in the Book of books her greatest treasure, and "love its commandments above gold, yea, above fine gold."

"See, Andrew," she said, calling her husband's attention to the gift and the letter; "this great beautiful Bible is from your father and mother. I am very glad to have it from them, and I shall write and tell them that I shall keep it with its large print to use when I am quite an old woman."

"I think my father and mother would be better pleased, darling, if you were to write and say, 'I will make a bit of this gift of yours my own every day. By degrees, I will get some of its sweetest messages laid up in the treasure-house of my memory; then, if I live to be quite an old woman, I shall possess what no one can take from me.'"

Ida looked just a little hurt. "This is not my only Bible, Andrew," she said. "By writing that I should take such care of the new one, I did not mean that I would not read any in the meanwhile."

"Of course not, dear," replied the doctor.

But he vainly strove to call to mind an occasion when he had seen Ida engaged in reading God's Word except during public or family worship.

From the time of Mrs. Crawford's arrival at Shelverton, however, she made a favourable impression. Belonging, as even The Park people acknowledged, to a higher step on the social ladder than they did, she was the only person who appeared to forget this.

Wherever he went, Dr. Crawford had to listen to praises of his charming wife.

"Your ears ought to tingle, Ida," said he, as he gave one of them a playful little pinch. "Your neighbours say so many kind things of you that I have several times caught myself blushing violently, as I listened to these oft-repeated compliments. What witchery have you exercised to win all hearts so quickly?"

"Indeed, Andrew, I have done nothing; only I think every one is disposed to receive me kindly for your sake," replied Ida, her face all aglow at the sight of her husband's pleasure.

"Of course not. You have been your own sweet, natural self, and, as I well know, that is quite enough to account for your triumphs."

The doctor was right. It was in his wife's unaffected manners, joined to her grace and beauty, with her ready appreciation of the kindly advances made by her neighbours, that the witchery consisted.

It is a fact worth recording that their utter inability to disagree on the subject of Mrs. Crawford's merits was the means of reuniting the "two fives" of Park society into a harmonious "ten." Having found a central rallying-point in the doctor's wife, they forgot past differences, and congratulated each other on their social acquisition.

Mrs. Prattely was particularly emphatic.

"If any person in Shelverton has a right to give herself airs on the score of looks, style, and family, Mrs. Crawford is the one; yet she alone seems able to forget how very charming she is."

All this was pleasant enough, so far as it went; but it must be owned that the qualities which had taken Shelverton by storm were only superficial. There were a good many, especially amongst Dr. Crawford's poor patients, who wondered whether, on closer acquaintance, the young mistress of Steynes-Cote would manifest those Christian graces which had won for Mrs. Fereday the esteem and affection alike of rich and poor.

It was unfortunate for Ida that during the first year of her married life she was so much alone. She had not understood beforehand how absorbing are the duties of a busy professional man, or how unreasonable are the calls made upon his time. She never anticipated that when the summons came he must obey it, and she chafed a little, because their holiday ended abruptly at the close of a very short wedding tour.

Mrs. Crawford at first asked Lady Carnelly to let two of her children come to Steynes-Cote. "Let me have Donald and Rose," she pleaded. "You know how fond I am of the children. You have so many, you could well spare me a couple for three months. With the five youngest now at home, and the eldest two coming almost immediately, the house will be full. Let me have some of my pets as soon as I am settled at Steynes-Cote."

"The children have been separated for a long time, and that is why I mean to keep them all together for a while. I have engaged an efficient governess that they may be taught at home. Thank you very much, Ida, but I wish than all to begin and go on under the same teacher," replied Lady Carnelly.

Ida tried to induce her to reverse her decision, but in vain. Her sister-in-law was obdurate, the children and herself bitterly disappointed. They had been so much together in India, where Ida had been useful in relieving the mother from all anxiety about the little people, and she consequently felt this refusal the more.

Lady Carnelly's jealous temper now manifested itself in this fresh direction, and, with the prospect of a new governess to take the oversight, she determined to gratify the feeling by wholly separating the children from their aunt. The tears and disappointment of the youngsters gave her little concern. She had her way, and that was always the first aim of Beatrice Carnelly.

The colonel felt that his wife was treating Ida unkindly, and protested against her decision.

"You might gratify Ida in so small a matter," he said. "By all accounts she has a delightful home in which to receive the children. It would do them a world of good to run wild in the country for three months, and under Crawford's experienced eye. They look too pale and sickly for school-work at present."

"We shall all go to the seaside in three weeks. I told you so before, Lindsay. I shall take care they are not overtasked. Surely, whilst the children are young, a mother ought to be the best judge as to where they go and what they do. When the boys are older, of course, I shall hand them over to you."

"I think Crawford and Ida would like us to take the youngsters down to Steynes-Cote. As my only sister, it is natural she should wish me—us, I mean—to see her in her new home."

Lady Carnelly laughed ironically.

"I appreciate the correction, Lindsay. Ida may wish to see you and the children; she will have no sisterly yearnings after my society. It would be all the same to me if she had. It is long enough since I spent a season in town, so I mean to make the most of it, and stay to the close."

"And I am afraid it will be the last you will have for some years to come, unless we can live at less cost than we are doing now. I cannot afford our present expenditure; and remember, Beatrice, Ida's money has to be paid when she is twenty-one."

"That is entirely your affair, Lindsay. I leave business matters to you." By which Lady Carnelly meant the bills and asking no questions.

She was treading on dangerous ground, so she hurried away, perfectly assured in her own mind that her husband would not avail himself of the opportunity to go alone to Steynes-Cote.

She had a sense of petty triumph in the thought of her sister-in-law's disappointment, and said to herself, "Those people amongst whom Ida is located will be less favourably impressed by the 'Honourable' before her married name when they find that not a single titled relative crosses her threshold." It was a paltry triumph, but it was worthy of so small a mind as that of Lady Carnelly.

Thus, many things concurred to make the first year of Ida's married life a season of comparative loneliness. She had formed no intimate friendships at school, or kept up any correspondence with old companions there. She had left her more recent acquaintances behind in India, and now her brother and his family were separated from her by his wife's imperious will. If only she might have had Donald and Rosa!

Ida shed her first tears at Steynes-Cote over the cool letter in which Lady Carnelly declined the invitation for the children.

Agnes and Mary Isherwood tried to enlist Mrs. Crawford as a helper in Sunday-school and parish work; but these, she owned, were quite out of her line. She was as sweet and good-humoured as possible when the girls asked her, and told them she only wished she could be of any use.

"But," she added, with a merry laugh and amused look, "I should be worse than useless, should be in other people's way, for I have had no experience in work of the kind."

"We must all have a beginning," said Agnes. "Dear Mrs. Crawford, do come and try."

"You do not know what you ask, dear. I am so hopelessly ignorant that I should disgrace myself in the eyes of the children. Poor little things! I should be sorry for those who want to learn if they had me for a teacher."

It was difficult for the girls to suggest that Mrs. Crawford might learn. By taking a small part at first, she would gain experience to do more. However, they ventured a few words of persuasion, which Ida answered by asking, "Do you think I ought to absent myself from home at all on Sunday, when it is the day my husband is most there?"

"Certainly not; but you could do a little on other days in the way of visiting, could you not? We have heard so much about what Mrs. Fereday did, that it made my brother hope you would, just in a small way, take up her work. It would encourage other workers."

Again Ida, with equal sweetness of manner, pleaded incapacity.

"If I were to go to a cottage door, I should not know in the least what to say, unless to ask how the people were, and to kiss the baby—always provided it had a quite clean face. So many have not, you know. Then I might add that it was a fine day, and then, I am afraid, having got thus far, I should run away, for want of understanding what to say or do next."

The Isherwood girls could scarcely help laughing at the word-picture thus drawn, and yet they were almost angry at themselves for the inclination. They tried no further persuasion, but quietly took their leave. What they thought, let their own words tell.

"I felt quite indignant at Mrs. Crawford," said Agnes; "she talked as if she had not a notion of personal responsibility, either towards God or her neighbour, and she looked so lovely and winsome all the time, like a perfect picture in an exquisite frame, as she sat in the drawing-room at Steynes-Cote.

"Do you remember how angry we were on the day the Crawfords came home, that Mrs. Prattely called the bride 'poor thing'? Well, in my own heart, I called her 'poor thing' to-day, though not for the same reason. She is rich in home and the comforts which surround her, rich in the affection of a good man, and the good-will of many. But she is not rich in the only thing which gives value to the rest—in knowing the love of God in Christ Jesus."

Agnes and Mary Isherwood were both a little younger than Mrs. Crawford, but they had been trained in a different school, and looked at life and its responsibilities with different eyes from hers. Perhaps they might, at one time, have been inclined to think her an exceptionally enviable person. To-day they joined Mrs. Prattely in calling her "poor thing."

Dr. Crawford was troubled at having to leave his wife so much. Even when he was at home, there were so many calls upon his time that she merrily told him she must become his patient in order to enjoy a share of his society.

"These calls bring grist to the mill, my dear," he would say. "I did think that by engaging a second assistant, I should have more leisure. But the practice still grows, and it extends over such a wide area that we are all kept at work."

"But you need not work so hard; you are not a poor man, Andrew."

"No, Ida, but still I must work. If it were no matter of money-getting, I could not be contented to spend my time idly. It would never do to waste the training and experience of so many years, when they can be used for the relief of suffering, apart from the pecuniary advantage to myself. Then, dear, I have others to look to me for help of a substantial kind, and I can well afford to give it. My dear father and mother have had to bring up a large family on small means, and ever since I possessed any regular income, it has been my pleasure and privilege to add to theirs."

"You are good to everybody, Andrew, most of all to me, for there is nothing you would not give to or do for me," said Mrs. Crawford.

But in one of her idle moments the thought crossed her mind, "I shall not really cost Andrew anything, for Lindsay will pay him the interest of my little fortune. I wonder if he has received it for the first year. He has said nothing about it to me."