Читать книгу The Greatest Historical Novels & Stories of D. K. Broster - D. K. Broster - Страница 59

Still rather pale, and wrapped about in a voluminous shawl, little Keith was nevertheless to be seen next afternoon, sitting up in bed making two small round-bodied, stiff-legged animals of wood—known to him as ‘deers’—walk across the quilt.

“First one goed in front, then the other goed in front, then they comed to the loch, and one putched the other in—spash!”

“Oh, Keithie, no!” begged the now repentant and shriven Donald, who was sitting beside him. “Let’s play at something else. Let the deer have a race to the bottom of the bed; I’ll hold one, and yours shall win!”

“Can’t. Mine deer is drownded now,” returned the inexorable Keith, and, to make the fact more evident, he suddenly plopped the animal into a bowl of milk which stood on the table by him. As his mother hurriedly removed it the door opened, and her husband and Doctor Cameron came in.

“Ought he to be sitting up like this, Doctor Archibald?” she asked. “He seems so much better that I thought . . .”

Doctor Cameron came and took Donald’s place. The small invalid eyed him a trifle suspiciously, and then gave him his shy, angelic smile.

“He is much better,” pronounced his physician after a moment. “Still and on, he must have another dose of that draught.” He got up and poured out something into a glass. “Here, my bairn—no, your mother had best give it you, perhaps.” For even a fledgling seraph may revolt at a really nauseating drink of herbs, which at its last administration had, indeed, been copiously diluted with his tears. So Doctor Cameron handed the glass to Alison.

With refusals, with grimaces, and finally with an adorable sudden submission Keithie drank off the potion. But immediately after he had demolished the consolatory scrap of sugar which followed it, he pointed a minute and accusing finger at its compounder, and said, “Naughty gentleman—naughty, to make Keithie sick!” with so much conviction that Alison began anxiously—“Darling, do you really——”

It was precisely at that moment that the door was opened and “Doctor Kincaid from Maryburgh” was announced.

The three adults in the room caught their breaths. None of them had ever imagined that Doctor Kincaid would come now. “Tell the doctor that I will be with him in a moment,” said Alison to the servant visible in the doorway; and then in a hasty aside to Ewen, “Of course he must not see——” she indicated Doctor Cameron on the other side of the bed.

But there was no time to carry out that precaution, for the girl, fresh from the wilds, and ignorant of the need for dissimulation, had brought Doctor Kincaid straight up to the sick-room, and there he was, already on the threshold, a little uncompromising, hard-featured man of fifty, overworked between the claims of Maryburgh, where he dwelt, of its neighbour Fort William, and of the countryside in general. There was no hope of his not seeing Doctor Cameron; still, the chances were heavily against his knowing and recognising him. Yet who, save a doctor or a relative had a rightful place in this sick-room . . . and a doctor was the one thing which they must not admit that guest to be.

So completely were the three taken by surprise that there was scarcely time to think. But Ewen instinctively got in front of his kinsman, while Alison went forward to greet the newcomer with the embarrassment which she could not completely hide, murmuring, “Doctor Kincaid . . . how good of you . . . we did not expect . . .”

“You are surprised to see me, madam?” asked he, coming forward. “But I came on a brither o’ yours the nicht before last in a sair plight by Loch Treig side, and he begged me to come to Ardroy as soon as possible. But I couldna come before; I’m fair run off ma legs.”

“How is my brother?” asked Alison anxiously. “I heard of his mishap, but with the child so ill——”

“Ay, ye’d be thinking of yer wean first, nae doot. Aweel, the young fellow’s nane too bad, having an unco stout skull, as I jalouse your good man must hae kent when he left him all his lane there.”

“But I arranged with the farmer at Inverlair——” began Ewen.

“Ou ay, they came fra Inverlair and fetched him, and there he bides,” said Doctor Kincaid. He swept a glance round the room. “Ye’re pretty throng here. Is yon the patient, sitting up in bed?”

“Well, Doctor, he seems, thank God, so much better,” murmured Alison in extenuation of this proceeding. As she led the physician to the bedside she saw with relief that Doctor Archibald had moved quietly to the window and was looking out; and she thought, “After all, no one could know that he was a doctor!”

Doctor Kincaid examined the little boy, asked some questions, seemed surprised at the answers (from which answers it appeared that his directions had been anticipated), but said that the child was doing well. And since not even a middle-aged physician in a bad temper could resist the charm of small Keith, he gave a sort of smile when he had finished, and said kindly, “There, my wee mannie, ye’ll soon be rinning aboot again.”

The flower-like eyes were upraised to his. “Then My not have no more nasty drink like that gentleman gived Keithie?” observed their owner, and again a small finger pointed accusingly to Archibald Cameron—to his back this time.

Doctor Kincaid also looked at that back. “Ah,” he observed sharply, “so yon gentleman has already been treating the bairn—and the measures ye have taken were of his suggesting? Pray, why did ye no’ tell me that, madam?”

Ewen plunged to the rescue. He had been longing for Archie to leave the room, but supposed the latter thought that flight might arouse suspicion. “My friend, Mr. John Sinclair from Caithness, who is paying us a visit, having a certain knowledge of medicine, was good enough . . . Let me make you known to each other—Doctor Kincaid, Mr. Sinclair.”

‘Mr. Sinclair from Caithness’—Ewen had placed his domicile as far away as possible—turned and bowed; there was a twinkle in his eye. But not in Doctor Kincaid’s.

“Humph! it seems I wasna sae mickle needed, seeing ye hae gotten a leech to the bairn already! But the young man wi’ the dunt on his heid begged me sae sair to come that I listened to him, though I micht hae spared ma pains!”

Alison and Ewen hastened in chorus to express their appreciation of his coming, and Ewen, with an appealing glance at his kinsman, began to move towards the door. One or other of the rival practitioners must certainly be got out of the room. And Archie himself now seemed to be of the same opinion.

“A leech? no, sir, the merest amateur, who, now that the real physician has come, will take himself off,” he said pleasantly.

“Nay, I’m through,” said Doctor Kincaid. “Ye’ve left me nae mair tae do.” And, as he seemed to be going to leave the room in ‘Mr. Sinclair’s’ company, Alison hastily appealed for more information about a detail of treatment, so that he had to stay behind. Doctor Cameron, followed by Donald, all eyes, slipped out. Ardroy and his wife, most desirous not to invite or answer any questions about their medically skilled guest, now became remarkably voluble on other subjects; and, as they went downstairs with Doctor Kincaid, pressed him to stay to a meal, hoping fervently that he would refuse—which, luckily, the doctor did.

But outside, as he put a foot into the stirrup, he said, pretty sourly, to Ewen, “I’m glad the wean’s better, Ardroy, but I’d hae been obleeged tae ye if ye hadna garred me come all these miles when ye already had a medical man in the hoose. There was nae need o’ me, and I’m a gey busy man.”

“I am very sorry indeed, Doctor,” said Ewen, and could not but feel that the reproach was merited. “The fact is that——” He was just on the point of exonerating himself by saying that Mr. Sinclair had not yet arrived on Tuesday, nor did they know of his impending visit, but, thinking that plea possibly imprudent, said instead, “I had no knowledge that Mr. Sinclair was so skilled. We . . . have not met recently.”

“Humph,” remarked Doctor Kincaid, now astride his horse. “A peety that he doesna practise; but maybe he does—in Caithness. At ony rate, he’ll be able tae exercise his skill on your brither-in-law—if ye mean tae do ony mair for that young man. For ye’ll pardon me if I say that ye havena done much as yet!”

Ewen’s colour rose. To have left Hector in that state on a lonely road at nightfall—even despite the measures he had taken for his removal—did indeed show him in a strange and unpleasant light. But it was impossible to explain what had obliged him to do it, and the more than willingness of Hector to be so left. “Can I have him brought hither from Inverlair without risk to himself?” he asked.

“Ay,” said Kincaid, “that I think ye micht do if ye send some sort of conveyance—the morn, say, then ye’ll hae him here Saturday. He’ll no’ walk this distance, naturally—nor ride it. And indeed if ye send for him he’ll be better off here under the care of yer friend Sinclair, than lying in a farm sae mony miles fra Maryburgh; I havena been able to get to him syne. Forbye, Ardroy,” added the doctor, looking at him in a rather disturbing manner, “the callant talked a wheen gibberish yon nicht—and not Erse gibberish, neither!”

French, of course; Ewen had already witnessed that propensity! And he groaned inwardly, for what had Hector been saying in that tongue when lightheaded? It was to be hoped, if he had forsaken ‘Malbrouck’ for more dangerous themes, that Doctor Kincaid was no French scholar; from the epithet which he had just applied to the language it sounded as though he were not. However, the physician then took a curt farewell, and he and his steed jogged away down the avenue, Ewen standing looking after him in perplexity. He did not like to leave Hector at Inverlair; yet if he fetched him here he might be drawing down pursuit upon Archie—supposing that suspicion were to fall upon Hector himself by reason of his abstracted papers.

However, by the time he came in again Ewen had arrived at a compromise. Archie should leave the house at once, which might be more prudent in any case. (For though Doctor Kincaid would hardly go and lay information against him at Fort William . . . what indeed had he to lay information about? . . . he might easily get talking if he happened to be summoned there professionally.) So, as it wanted yet five days to Archie’s rendezvous with Lochdornie, and he must dispose himself somewhere, he should transfer himself to the cottage of Angus MacMartin, Ewen’s young piper, up at Slochd nan Eun, on the farther side of the loch, whence, if necessary, it would be an easy matter to disappear into the mountains.

Doctor Cameron raised no objections to this plan, his small patient being now out of danger; he thought the change would be wise, too, on Ewen’s own account. He stipulated only that he should not go until next morning, in case Keithie should take a turn for the worse. But the little boy passed an excellent night, so next morning early Ewen took his guest up the brae, and gave him over to the care of the little colony of MacMartins in the crofts at Slochd nan Eun, where he himself had once been a foster-child.