Victorian Short Stories, Vol. 2 | Page 6

lady as long
as she lives; and, after that, she shall either come and live with us, or, if
she likes it better, she shall have a provision for life--for your sake,
missus. No one who has been good to you or the child shall go
unrewarded. But even the little one will be better for some fresh stuff
about her. Get her a bright, sensible girl as a nurse; one who won't go
rubbing her with calf's-foot jelly as Norah does; wasting good stuff
outside that ought to go in, but will follow doctors' directions; which, as
you must see pretty clearly by this time, Norah won't; because they
give the poor little wench pain. Now, I'm not above being nesh for

other folks myself. I can stand a good blow, and never change colour;
but, set me in the operating room in the infirmary, and I turn as sick as
a girl. Yet, if need were, I would hold the little wench on my knees
while she screeched with pain, if it were to do her poor back good. Nay,
nay, wench! keep your white looks for the time when it comes--I don't
say it ever will. But this I know, Norah will spare the child and cheat
the doctor, if she can. Now, I say, give the bairn a year or two's chance,
and then, when the pack of doctors have done their best--and, maybe,
the old lady has gone--we'll have Norah back or do better for her.'
The pack of doctors could do no good to little Ailsie. She was beyond
their power. But her father (for so he insisted on being called, and also
on Alice's no longer retaining the appellation of Mamma, but becoming
henceforward Mother), by his healthy cheerfulness of manner, his clear
decision of purpose, his odd turns and quirks of humour, added to his
real strong love for the helpless little girl, infused a new element of
brightness and confidence into her life; and, though her back remained
the same, her general health was strengthened, and Alice--never going
beyond a smile herself--had the pleasure of seeing her child taught to
laugh.
As for Alice's own life, it was happier than it had ever been before. Mr
Openshaw required no demonstration, no expressions of affection from
her. Indeed, these would rather have disgusted him. Alice could love
deeply, but could not talk about it. The perpetual requirement of loving
words, looks, and caresses, and misconstruing their absence into
absence of love, had been the great trial of her former married life.
Now, all went on clear and straight, under the guidance of her
husband's strong sense, warm heart, and powerful will. Year by year
their worldly prosperity increased. At Mrs Wilson's death, Norah came
back to them as nurse to the newly-born little Edwin; into which post
she was not installed without a pretty strong oration on the part of the
proud and happy father, who declared that if he found out that Norah
ever tried to screen the boy by a falsehood, or to make him nesh either
in body or mind, she should go that very day. Norah and Mr Openshaw
were not on the most thoroughly cordial terms; neither of them fully
recognizing or appreciating the other's best qualities.
This was the previous history of the Lancashire family who had now
removed to London.

They had been there about a year, when Mr Openshaw suddenly
informed his wife that he had determined to heal long-standing feuds,
and had asked his uncle and aunt Chadwick to come and pay them a
visit and see London. Mrs Openshaw had never seen this uncle and
aunt of her husband's. Years before she had married him, there had
been a quarrel. All she knew was, that Mr Chadwick was a small
manufacturer in a country town in South Lancashire. She was
extremely pleased that the breach was to be healed, and began making
preparations to render their visit pleasant.
They arrived at last. Going to see London was such an event to them,
that Mrs Chadwick had made all new linen fresh for the occasion--from
night-caps downwards; and as for gowns, ribbons, and collars, she
might have been going into the wilds of Canada where never a shop is,
so large was her stock. A fortnight before the day of her departure for
London, she had formally called to take leave of all her acquaintance;
saying she should need every bit of the intermediate time for packing
up. It was like a second wedding in her imagination; and, to complete
the resemblance which an entirely new wardrobe made between the
two events, her husband brought her back from Manchester, on the last
market-day before they set off, a gorgeous pearl and amethyst brooch,
saying, 'Lunnon