"Oh, Mrs. Keith, it is so dreadful. I cannot tell my poor son. I don't
know what might be the consequence."
Tears came into Rachel's eyes. "Indeed," she said, "I am very sorry for
you. I believe every one knows that I have felt what it is to be guilty
of fatal mischief, but, indeed, indeed I am sure that to realize it all
is the only way to endure it, so as to be the better for it. Believe me,
I am very sorry, but I don't think it would be any real comfort to
your son to hear that poor Bessie had never been careful, or that I was
inexperienced, or the nurse ignorant. It is better to look at it fairly.
I hear Mr. Clare coming in. Will you see him?" she added suddenly, much
relieved.
But Mrs. Carleton did not wish to see him, and departed, thinking Alick
Keith's wife as bad as had ever been reported, and preparing an account
of her mismanagement wherewith to remove her son's remorse.
She was scarcely gone, and Rachel had not had time to speak to Mr.
Clare, before another visitor was upon her, no other than Lord Keith's
daughter, Mrs. Comyn Menteith; or, as she introduced herself, "I'm
Isabel. I came down from London to-day because it was so very shocking
and deplorable, and I am dying to see my poor little brother and uncle
Colin. I must keep away from poor papa till the doctors are gone, so I
came here."
She was a little woman in the delicately featured style of sandy
prettiness, and exceedingly talkative and good-natured. The rapid
tongue, though low and modulated, jarred painfully on Rachel's feelings
in the shaded staircase, and she was glad to shut the door of the
temporary nursery, when Mrs. Menteith pounced upon the poor little baby,
pitying him with all her might, comparing him with her own children,
and asking authoritative questions, coupled with demonstrations of her
intention of carrying him off to her own nursery establishment, which
had been left in Scotland with a head nurse, whose name came in with
every fourth word--that is, if he lived at all, which she seemed to
think a hopeless matter.
She spoke of "poor dear Bessie," with such affection as was implied in
"Oh, she was such a darling! I got on with her immensely. Why didn't you
send to me, though I don't know that Donald would have let me come," and
she insisted on learning the whole history, illustrating it profusely
with personal experiences. Rachel was constantly hoping to be released
from a subject so intensely painful; but curiosity prevailed through
the chatter, and kept hold of the thread of the story. Mrs. Menteith
decidedly thought herself defrauded of a summons. "It was very odd of
them all not to telegraph for me. Those telegrams are such a dreadful
shock. There came one just as I set out from Timber End, and I made sure
little Sandie was ill at home, for you know the child is very delicate,
and there are so many things going about, and what with all this
dreadful business, I was ready to faint, and after all it was only a
stupid thing for Uncle Colin from those people at Avoncester."