Rochester's Wife Read online

  ROCHESTER’S

  WIFE

  D. E. Stevenson

  First published by COLLINS in 1940

  Copyright © D. E. Stevenson 1940

  This edition published in 2022 by Lume Books

  The right of D. E. Stevenson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  With the exception of Jem, all the people in this novel are imaginary and bear no relation to any real people who happen to have the same name.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE - the stone brothers

  CHAPTER TWO - the doctor’s house

  CHAPTER THREE - dr. peabody

  CHAPTER FOUR - an important discussion

  CHAPTER FIVE - practising at minfield

  CHAPTER SIX - a cheerful tea-party

  CHAPTER SEVEN - a first call

  CHAPTER EIGHT - the youthful doctor

  CHAPTER NINE - the difficult decision

  CHAPTER TEN - the new patient

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - mardie’s life

  CHAPTER TWELVE - mardie’s life

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - the unwelcome resemblance

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - the breakfast table

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - the tennis party

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - a serious conversation

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - the dinner party

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - another serious conversation

  CHAPTER NINETEEN - cross questions and crooked answers

  CHAPTER TWENTY - in the stable-yard

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - “what do you think has happened?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - an eerie vigil

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - the stone brothers again

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - “missing from his home”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - the search

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - miss peabody’s hat

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - good-bye

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - dolly’s adventures

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - more adventures at kilnocky

  CHAPTER THIRTY - life at kilnocky

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - jem and wattie

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - wattie’s story

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - the village dance

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - a perfect day

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - jem’s cousin

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - the real rochester

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - one thing at a time

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - the last straw

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - “i can trust you”

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  the stone brothers

  When Kit Stone landed at Southampton he took the boat-train to London and made a beeline for his brother’s house in Halkin Street. This was quite a natural thing to do, for his brother was his only surviving relative and they had not met for four years. It is true that Kit had not thought about Henry very often—he had had too many other things to think of—but, now that he was actually on his way to see Henry, he realised that Henry meant a good deal to him if only for the reason that they were of one blood. For four years Kit had knocked about the world and he had enjoyed it tremendously, and had prided himself upon the fact that he was free to do as he liked and had no ties of any description … but, now that he had set foot upon his native land and was once more amongst his own people, he felt an unexpected glow of happiness, of friendliness. He felt he had come home.

  It was February, but the afternoon was warm and dry and sunny, and when Kit emerged from the tube at Hyde Park Corner and looked about him a strange little thrill of pleasure and excitement stirred his heart. He felt that he had been away for a hundred years, yet London was just the same—it had not changed a whit.

  The passers-by were curiously indifferent to the fact that a young man had returned from wandering over the face of the earth and was greeting them silently as his fellow countrymen; they hurried past, bent upon their own affairs, and ignored him completely. But Kit loved them all—even the ostensibly unlovable old villain who was selling matches at the corner—his heart yearned over them.

  He stood still and looked about him, and it seemed to him that only half of him were here; only half of him had arrived here, at Hyde Park Corner, and the other half was still wandering in foreign lands. He seemed to see, transposed upon the glittering marble arch which stood at the top of Constitution Hill, the glitter of the sun upon the small blue waves of the Southern Seas; and he seemed to hear, beneath the roar of passing traffic, the rustle of palm trees bending before the wind.

  The illusion was so strong that it gave Kit quite a shock, for he was a practical young man and not used to hallucinations; but after a moment he was able to laugh at himself, and he swung round and set off down Grosvenor Place with a battered suitcase in either hand.

  Henry’s house was tall and narrow and, despite the fact that it had been painted and there were crisp white curtains in every window, it looked a little gloomy to the wanderer. As he went up the steps he thought, “But I needn’t stay long….”

  He was not expected, of course, for it had never occurred to him to let Henry know that he was coming, but he managed to convince the somewhat suspicious parlourmaid that he was her master’s brother, and leaving his suitcase in the hall, he followed her up the stairs to the drawing-room, where Henry and his wife were having tea. They were astonished to see Kit, for the last communication they had received from him was a postcard depicting a Maori Warrior with the simple words, “A Merry Christmas to you both from Kit,” written across the middle, but despite their astonishment they welcomed him cordially, and Mabel directed the parlourmaid to bring another cup.

  “… unless you’d rather have a whisky and soda or something,” said Henry, who was suddenly assailed by the feeling that tea was scarcely a suitable refreshment to offer a man arriving straight from New Zealand.

  “Tea, please,” said Kit promptly, “and I believe I see crumpets—how lovely!”

  “If you had let us know——” said Mabel as she busied herself pouring out tea for her guest.

  “I didn’t know myself, really,” Kit explained. “I just suddenly thought I’d like to come home, so I took the next boat. I came by Tahiti and Panama.”

  “I see,” said Henry—who didn’t see at all.

  “Yes,” said Kit, “it was Christmas, you see, and it felt all wrong—Christmas in the middle of summer—and I felt—well, I suppose I was home-sick or something.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, anyhow,” said Mabel, smiling.

  “You could have wired from Southampton,” Henry pointed out.

  Kit saw that this was true, but the truth was he had never thought of it. The idea of wiring from Southampton had simply never crossed his mind. He explained this, and Henry accepted the explanation and said it didn’t matter.

  “We’re delighted to have you, of course,” Mabel added.

  “Delighted,” agreed Henry.

  Henry was looking older. He was fatter and paler, and there were little pouches under his eyes. Kit added seven years to his own age and discovered that Henry was thirty-six; he looked much more than that, but of course the life of a London business man must be very wearing. Kit decided he would rather be a tinker than a successful stockbroker chained to an office, and, catching sight of his own lean brown face in the gilt mirror which hung on the wall, he grinned at the reflection. I’d make quite a good tinker, he thought.

  “What are you smiling at?” Henry inquired.

 
“Myself,” said Kit. “Myself and you, really. Nobody would think we were brothers.

  “We’ve both got father’s nose,” said Henry seriously, and he felt his own straight, well-shaped nose with some satisfaction, for old Dr. Stone had been a very good-looking man.

  “Yes,” agreed Kit. “You’re very like father in lots of ways.”

  “You’re more like mother—except for your nose,” Henry said gravely. “You don’t remember her, of course. She had dark-blue eyes like you, and a long-shaped face. She was tall and slim, with long bones,” he added, glancing at Kit’s long fingers, which were stretching across the table for another crumpet.

  “I remember nothing about her except a pink dress,” declared Kit, “a soft pink dress—perhaps it was velvet.”

  They talked about their old home after that, and compared notes upon the various incidents which they remembered: the day when Kit had fallen into the river and Henry had fished him out, the day which they had spent together on the moors and when Kit had shot his first rabbit, a cousin’s wedding at which Kit had officiated as page. They talked about people too. “What’s become of Jack Kelston?” Kit inquired. “And where are the Bartons now?” Mabel did not know the places or the people, but she was a good wife. She sat and sewed and listened sympathetically and thought how nice it was for Henry to have his brother to talk to, and what a pity it was that Kit did not live quite near so that they might indulge more often in this harmless pleasure. Mabel had two sisters and enjoyed nothing better than a chat with them over old times.

  Presently there was a pause in the conversation and a significant glance passed between hostess and host—a glance which said, “Now is the time.”

  “What are you thinking of doing, Kit?” Henry inquired.

  “Doing?” echoed Kit in surprise.

  “Henry means,” said Mabel quickly, “Henry only means have you any plans? Of course you can stay here as long as you like. We shall love having you, Kit.”

  “We were talking about you the other day,” Henry put in. “Haven’t you had your fill of wandering? Isn’t it about time you settled down?”

  It was a new idea to Kit. Just at the moment it seemed rather pleasant to be home again, rather pleasant to be with his own people and to chat with Henry about old times, but to “settle down” had a dull sort of sound.

  Kit had always wanted to be a sailor—his mother’s people had seafaring blood in their veins—but Dr. Stone had been so grieved to find that neither of his sons was desirous of following the medical profession that Kit had not the heart to oppose him. Dr. Stone wanted Kit to become his assistant, it was the dream of his heart to have his son working beside him, to see Kit established at Garbury, where the Stones had been doctors for three generations. It seemed to Kit that he had no option in the matter, he was bound to his father by ties of gratitude and love, so he agreed to fall in with the plan and went up to Cambridge to take his degree.

  Kit worked hard and his interest in medicine quickened, but when he was in his sixth year his father died quite suddenly of heart failure. So the well-laid scheme miscarried and the practice had to be sold, and presently Kit found himself the possessor of a degree and not much else. There were several openings for him, of course, for his degree was a creditable one, but Kit refused them all. He remembered now how his very real grief at his father’s untimely death had been tempered by the realisation that he was free. He was free to go where he would, to voyage to the ends of the earth, to visit all the glamorous lands he had hankered for—and, best of all, he possessed in his head and hands the wherewithal to earn his bread and to earn it usefully and honourably wherever he should go. The price of the practice was divided equally between the two brothers, and Kit’s share was invested as an insurance against accident or old age. This done, Kit offered his services to a well-known shipping company and shook the dust of London from his feet. All this had happened four years ago and since then Kit had wandered over the world. He had wandered deliberately, obeying every impulse to stay or go, taking pleasure in the feeling that he was as free as air, working off the restlessness which years of hard work had engendered in his adventurous nature.

  Kit thought of all this, and it was a few moments before he answered Henry’s questions, and even then his answer was vague.

  “I don’t know if I want to settle down,” Kit said thoughtfully. “Why should I, anyhow?”

  “We think you should,” said Henry solemnly. “You’re getting on for thirty, aren’t you?”

  Kit agreed that he was. “But I don’t feel it,” he added, “and I haven’t got any ties——”

  “That’s just it,” Mabel pointed out. “You ought to have ties. It’s so lonely for you wandering about by yourself.”

  “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” added Henry.

  Kit laughed. “But I don’t want moss,” he declared. “I shouldn’t know what to do with it if I had it. You gather enough moss for the whole Stone family.”

  “Henry works hard,” said Mabel quickly.

  Kit knew that this was true; and although he had no desire to emulate Henry, he admired him for his industry. Henry deserved all the money in the world—if that was what he wanted.

  “Is business doing well?” he inquired politely.

  “Moderately,” replied Henry with a complacent air. “The change is very jumpy, of course, but our firm is managing not so badly. We’ve taken another partner—but I told you that in my last letter, didn’t I?”

  “Did you?” said Kit, and then he added, “Oh, yes, of course.” He had received the letter at Auckland and it had seemed to come from a far distant planet: the fact that the firm of Godfrey and Stone had added another name to their official designation had seemed of little importance at Auckland, but now that Kit was back in London he saw the fact in its true proportions. “Oh, yes,” said Kit, trying to make up for the lack of interest he had shown. “Oh, of course. It was—it was Winchester, wasn’t it? The fellow’s name, I mean.”

  “Rochester,” said Mabel with a reproachful look. “Godfrey, Stone & Rochester—it sounds well, doesn’t it?”

  Kit agreed that it sounded very well indeed.

  “And that reminds me,” said Henry, “it was really Rochester that suggested—I mean——” And he looked at Mabel for help.

  Mabel flung herself into the breach. “It’s like this,” she explained. “We had the Rochesters to dinner one night—they live at Minfield, you see—and Mrs. Rochester happened to mention that their doctor is getting old——”

  “He’s looking for an assistant,” put in Henry, “and of course Mabel and I thought of you. We didn’t know where you were, of course, so it wasn’t much good … but still … we thought of you … and now, here you are.”

  “It seems like Fate, doesn’t it,” Mabel said thoughtfully.

  “But I——” began Kit. “But I mean——”

  “It sounded so nice,” Mabel said.

  “Why not try it for a bit?” suggested Henry.

  “But look here——” cried Kit.

  “You’ve roved about for years,” Henry pointed out. “Four years, isn’t it, since you went away? Try settling down for a change.”

  “You needn’t stay if you don’t like it,” Mabel pointed out.

  Kit listened to their persuasions, and he began to think that it might be rather nice for a change. It might be rather interesting to practice medicine seriously, to settle down in an English village. And, of course, as Mabel said, he need not stay. Nobody had the power to bind you down. You could always escape when you wanted to. Kit smiled suddenly as he thought of all the money he had forfeited by sudden whims, by the sudden urge of wanderlust, by the sudden desire to move on, to see more of the world, to visit another country.

  Mabel was watching his face. “Why not try it?” she urged.

  “Well …” said Kit doubtfully, “but he might not take me, of course.”

  It was decided that Henry should speak to his partner about it, and
the matter was shelved for the time being. They spoke of other things; they dined and went to a play. Kit enjoyed himself immensely. Henry and Mabel were very set in their ways and bound by conventions, but they were extremely kind and obviously anxious to make Kit’s visit as pleasant as possible.

  They were all somewhat surprised when Dr. Peabody’s letter came, for the doctor seemed to take it for granted that the whole thing was fixed. Kit read the letter without comment and passed it to Henry, and Henry put on his glasses and perused it with care.

  “Most unbusinesslike!” Henry said. “Really very odd—so vague and unsatisfactory.”

  “What does he say?” inquired Mabel eagerly.

  “I’m to go for a month on trial,” Kit said. “He wants me next week. I don’t see anything vague about that.”

  “I should have thought he would want to see you,” said Henry, “and you ought to see him. You don’t know what he’s like.”

  “The Rochesters like him,” Mabel pointed out. “Mrs. Rochester said he was a dear.”

  “And the letter is couched in the most unbusinesslike language,” added Henry, turning over the sheets and studying them carefully. “He says, ‘Of course, you will live here and feed with us, and we shall do our best to make you feel at home. I hope you have a car. We can settle everything later.’ That’s vague to the point of lunacy, in my opinion. You want it all settled before you go, not after.”

  “He’s a doctor, not a lawyer,” said Kit. Somehow or other, the very vagueness of the old doctor’s letter attracted Kit. He did not like things cut and dried.

  “But Kit!” cried Henry. “He doesn’t say what he intends to pay you!”

  “Perhaps he wants to see what I’m worth,” returned Kit with a grin.

  Henry sighed; this was not his way of doing business, but as he was extremely anxious to get Kit settled he held his peace and let matters take their course. A certain amount of telephoning took place and the whole thing was arranged.

  “It’s bound to be all right,” Mabel declared. “The Rochesters wouldn’t have recommended it unless they liked Dr. Peabody.”