Читать книгу The Man with a Shadow - Fenn George Manville - Страница 14

“What a morning for a run with the hounds!” said Horace North, as he stood at the door of the fine old Manor House, where he had come to cool himself, after a scene with Mrs Milt, his housekeeper, owing to a committee of ways and means.

Mrs Milt had wanted to have everything her way. The doctor had shown a desire to have everything his way, and the approach of the two forces had resulted in an explosion.

“Candlish offered me a mount, and I’ve a good mind to take the offer, just for once. A good gallop would do me a world of good. No; I’ll go and have a chat with old Moredock, see Mrs Berens, Biddy Tallis, and Brown’s baby, and then settle down to a good, quiet study. Hah!”

Horace North was dubious. A slight puff upon his vane would have sent it in either direction, and it seemed as if the decisive puff came just then in the shape of something as light as air. For there was the sound of hoofs; and directly after, looking exceedingly handsome in her tightly-fitting riding-habit and natty hat, Leo Salis passed on her pretty mare.

She caught sight of him, and returned a coquettish nod and smile to his low bow, but did not draw rein, though she must have seen his intention to hurry down to the gate; cantering gently on, as charming a specimen of early womanhood as ever rode gracefully upon a well-bred mare.

“By George! that settles it,” said the doctor. “Where’s the meet?”

He hurried in, snatched up the county paper, and found that it was at Fir Tree Hill, four miles beyond the Hall.

“The very thing,” he cried. “I’ll just get on my boots, and walk over to the Hall, get my mount, and go on. No, I won’t; I’ll drive.”

He rang the bell, and Mrs Milt – a very severe-looking, handsome, elderly lady – in the whitest of caps, bibs, and tuckers, appeared frowning, as if still charged with the remaining clouds of the late storm.

“Tell Dick to put the horse in the chaise.”

Mrs Milt tightened her lips, and made parallel lines in her forehead, but did not stir.

“Well?” said the doctor.

“Well?” said Mrs Milt.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Perfectly,” said Mrs Milt.

“Then, why don’t you do it? And for Heaven’s sake, my dear Mrs Milt, let’s have no more of this petty squabbling. Discharge cook; have a fresh house-maid; paper and clean up, and do whatever you please, but don’t bother me.”

“It is not my wish to bother you, Dr North,” said the lady austerely, and with considerable emphasis on the word, “bother.”

“Very well, then, let’s have peace. Such a scene as we had this morning interferes with my studies. Now, go and tell him to put to the horse.”

“Will you be good enough to tell me how, Dr North?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sent your man in that chaise to fetch some drugs from King’s Hampton.”

“Hah! so I did. He ought to be back by now. Yes; there are wheels.”

“The carrier,” said Mrs Milt.

“Pish! of course. Never mind, I’ll walk. There’s something else coming,” he said, listening. “Yes; that’s the chaise. Go and tell Dick not to take out the horse, but to come round here.”

“He’s coming round,” said Mrs Milt, going to the window; “and there’s a gentleman with him.”

The doctor looked up hastily, and frowned, as he caught sight of a dark, sleek-looking personage, about to descend from the chaise; while, as Mrs Milt went to open the door, Horace North exclaimed to himself:

“Now, why in the world is it that Nature will set one against one’s relations, and above all against Cousin Thompson, for – ”

“Ah! my dear Horace, this was very good and thoughtful of you,” exclaimed the object of his thoughts, entering the room with extended hands.

“Ah! Thompson, glad to see you,” said the doctor, innocently enough – for the lie was from habit, not intentional – “but you are not cyanide of potassium!”

“Sure I’m not, indeed; but I want to consult you.”

“I sent in my man for a portion of that unpleasant chemical; not to meet you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, my dear boy. I was coming down, and I saw your chaise; and I know you like me to make myself at home, so give me some breakfast.”

“Yes, of course. Run down this morning?”

“Yes, by the six-thirty from Paddington. Early bird gets the first pick, you know.”

“There goes my gallop,” groaned the doctor, as a mental vision of Leo Salis appeared before him, while he rang the bell.

“Not ill, are you? Come to consult me?”

“No, I’m not ill; but I have come to consult you, my dear Horace.”

“Did you ring, sir?”

“Yes, Mrs Milt; my cousin would like some breakfast.”

“I am getting it ready, sir; but it can’t be done in two minutes and a half.”

“No, no, of course not, Mrs Milt. Thank you. Send word when it’s ready.”

“I’ll bring word myself, sir,” said Mrs Milt austerely.

“No, don’t trouble, my dear Mrs Milt,” said Cousin Thompson, who looked so sleek in skin and black cloth that he shone; “a cup of coffee and a sole, cutlet – anything.”

“Sole! cutlet! My dear fellow, this isn’t London. Give him some ham and eggs, Mrs Milt,” said the doctor. “Now, old fellow,” he continued, as the door closed after the housekeeper a little more loudly than was necessary, “business: what’s the matter? Liver?”

“No, no, my dear Horace. I’m quite well. To consult you about Mrs Berens.”

The doctor pushed back his chair.

“Why, how surprised you look! You recommended her to come to me about her money affairs.”

“Oh! Ah! Yes, of course; so I did. She asked me to give her the name of a London solicitor, and so I gave her yours – my cousin’s.”

“It was very good of you, Horace, for I am a poor man,” said the visitor sleekly. “Far be it from me to quarrel with Uncle Richard’s apportionment of his money, but – ”

“There, for goodness’ sake, don’t bring that up again! You know why the old man excluded you.”

“Yes. I had the misfortune to offend him, Horace,” said the visitor with a sigh.

“And now what about Mrs Berens?”

“Ah, yes; a very simple matter. You are a great friend of hers?”

“I am her doctor.”

“Yes, yes,” said the other, with an unpleasant chuckle, which made North long to kick him; “but if report is true, you are going to marry the handsome widow.”

“Then report is not true,” said North angrily. “Now to business.”

“Well, the fact is this,” said the visitor; “in my capacity of confidential solicitor to several people, I often have to give advice, and to raise money.”

“No doubt,” said the doctor drily.

“I have a client now who wants rather a heavy sum upon the security of some leasehold houses. Mrs Berens has money lying in the Three per Cents., and I thought that you, as her friend, might advise her. She would get six per cent, instead of three, and a word from you – ”

“Will never induce a lady patient of mine to run any risks,” said the doctor shortly.

“Risks?”

“Breakfast’s ready,” said the doctor abruptly, and he led the way into the other room. Having sufficient wisdom not to recommence the attack, Cousin Thompson contented himself with breakfasting heartily, but he was not pleasant over his feeding; and, what was more, he had a way of bringing into every room he entered an odour of mouldy parchment.

After breakfast Cousin Thompson had an interview with Mrs Berens; and after that, without consulting his cousin, he walked across to the Hall to hold a meeting, not unconnected with money matters, with Tom Candlish. Had he consulted his cousin, he would have known that in all probability Tom Candlish had gone to the meet, especially as he rarely missed a run.

Consequently, Cousin Thompson returned to the doctor’s, to find him chafing over his disappointment. Not that he was a hunting man; but the whim had seized him to go, and the appearance of Leo Salis had helped to make the ride more attractive than it might have appeared at another time.

“Ah, Horace, my dear fellow,” he said, “I shall have to trespass on your hospitality for dinner, and then ask you to give me a bed.”

“All right,” said the doctor gruffly. “Give you a dose too, if you like.”

“Thanks, no, unless you mean wine.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll give you a glass of port,” said the doctor. “I hope you haven’t persuaded that poor woman to invest in anything risky.”

“Now, my dear Horace, what do you take me for?” cried Cousin Thompson.

“A lawyer.”

“But there are good lawyers and bad lawyers.”

“Well, from a legal point of view, you’re a bad lawyer. I never gave you but one case to conduct for me, and that you lost.”

“The barrister lost it, my dear Horace. Don’t be afraid. I am not a legal pickpocket. I might retaliate, and say you’re a bad doctor.”

“Well, so I am – horribly bad. The amount of ignorance that exists in my brain, sir, is truly frightful.”

“But you go on curing people.”

“Trying to cure people, sir, you mean. Wading about in deep water; groping in the darkness. Thank Heaven, sir, that you were not made a doctor. Eh, what is it – some one ill?” he cried, as Mrs Milt entered the room with a note.

“Poor somebody!” said Cousin Thompson to himself.

“Note from the Rectory, sir.”

“Oh!” ejaculated the doctor; “shan’t be able to go, as you are here. Wants me to play a game at chess. Salis, you know.”

As he spoke he leisurely unfastened the envelope, and began to read.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Mrs Milt, attend to my cousin as if I were here. Very sorry. Serious case,” he continued, turning to his guest; and the next minute he had hurried from the house, to set off almost at a run for the Rectory.

For Hartley Salis’ note was very brief, but none the less urgent, containing as it did these words:

“For Heaven’s sake, come on! Leo has had a serious fall.”