Читать книгу Midnight House - Ethel Lina White - Страница 7

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Still held captive by the past, the lawyer stood in the road to gaze along the fine sweep of India Crescent. The tall Regency houses of buff stucco were too spacious for wholesale private ownership. Only a few nabobs had the means to install modern improvements and provide the essential domestic labour. Many of the mansions were converted into luxury flats. There was also an expensive private hotel and a very exclusive social club.

No. 10—at one time the property of the plumber—had been bought by Captain Nigel Pewter. Recently returned from India, he converted it from an ice-box into a conservatory, besides transforming its appearance. Glancing up at the unveiled glass, the lawyer recalled the windows when they were muffled with Nottingham lace and shrouded with peacock-blue velvet.

He remembered too the spell-binding beauty of the girl who used to stand there, waiting in hope of one glimpse of her beloved. Her long hair flowed loose over her shoulders in a golden cloud—her cheeks were petal-pink—and her eyes shone deeply blue as his own love-in-a-mist.

Where was that beauty now?... He had heard nothing of the family for years. The plumber sold the house—after the General had made the first move—and left the neighbourhood. With the passage of time the tragic Marion had become misty and remote as a legendary figure.

Feeling romantic, the lawyer quoted Shelley.

"For love, and beauty, and delight

There is no death nor change—...

Damn."

He sprang on to the pavement to avoid a car which shot round the bend. As the driver stopped, the lawyer recognised Dr. Evan Evans, who had married the General's daughter—Madeline.

The doctor's figure was boyish and his fair hair thick, so that at first glance he could be mistaken for a medical student. Even at close range he looked surprisingly young for a man in the forties. He had calm blue eyes and a sensitive, intelligent face. His voice was flexibly sympathetic and his social feelers so delicate that he was as popular in a slum as in the Bishop's Palace.

Yet he was no fashionable woman's doctor in spite of a perfect bedside manner. His skill recommended him equally to men. All his patients recognised the force of character beneath his mild exterior. On occasion, his eyes could harden to disconcerting penetration and his voice cut like broken glass.

"If you slaughter me, Evans," remarked the lawyer, "how can I defend you at your trial?"

The doctor laughed as he explained.

"Sorry. Short on time. I have to operate—and once a body is laid out on the table it becomes a sacred charge. I could run over the best citizen if I were on my way to operate on a blackguard."

"If you're hinting I'm safe from injury so long as I'm your patient, it sounds suspiciously like advertising."

The doctor's bleak smile was proof that he did not appreciate other people's humour. Then interest flickered into his eyes at the sight of a woman who came out of the Crescent Hotel. She was a thin, smartly-dressed brunette of middle-age, with horn-rimmed glasses and a natural high colour.

"That's Mrs. Davis," he said in a low rapid voice. "Daughter of old Evans the draper. She's married to a Manchester chemist... Now she illustrates what I was saying just now. During a crisis in my life, I was interrupted to do a rush-operation on her, just before her marriage. I moved Heaven and Hell to save that woman. But when it was over and I realised the price I had to pay for yanking out her appendix, I could have murdered her ruthlessly."

He broke off to greet the lady with his graded professional manner.

"Back on your yearly visit, May? You're very faithful to us."

Mrs. Davis's colour grew higher with pleasure.

"I've not missed a year yet," she said. "I'm not staying with the family this time. They're crowded out with relations from Canada. So I'm at the 'Crescent.'... I'm so glad to see you, doctor." She turned to the lawyer and added, "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here now."

"I claim to be responsible for all her children," said the doctor. "Four now, isn't it, May?"

"You should know. But don't let my husband hear you. He likes some of the credit for these little jobs."

As Mrs. Davis giggled and blushed, the lawyer reflected acidly that Evans knew the brand of humour which appealed to the lady. His bow was frigid when she walked on again.

"That sort of thing rather jars," he remarked. "I was just recalling the girl who used to stand at that window. You don't see beauty like that nowadays. I suppose she's dead."

The doctor's smile was bitter as he shook his head.

"No, she's alive and back in the town. A tragic survival. She looks older than her actual age."

"Dear me. Pity. Hope I shan't meet her. It would be painful when I remember—What's brought her back after all these years?"

"I can guess. A woman naturally returns to the scene of her romance. Probably she wants to be here when No. 11 is reopened."

The lawyer tried to make another joke.

"My operation, this time, Evans. In less than a fortnight, I shall explore an interior... I suppose no recent news of the General, or his wife, has leaked through to you?"

"No," replied the doctor, shaking his head, "I only saw them once after they left. I went to San Remo to break the news of their daughter's death personally. The General blamed me, although I advised them not to go abroad while Madeline's condition was critical. At first my mother-in-law sent me an occasional post-card, but I've heard nothing from them for years. I think they must both be dead."