Читать книгу The Man with a Secret - Fergus Hume - Страница 10

Mad?

Not what the world calls madness--he is quiet

Raves not about strange matters--curbs his tongue

With wond'rous wisdom--ponders ere he speaks,

And yet I tell you he is mad, my liege;

The moon was regnant at his birth and all

The planets bowed to her strong influence.

If Dr. Nestley had been imaginative he might have thought that he was being driven by one of the statues out of the old church, so grim and stiff was the figure beside him. Munks had a hard-featured face, and an equally hard manner, and in his suit of rough grey cloth he looked like Don Juan's Commandantore out for an airing. He devoted himself exclusively to the raw-boned animal he was driving, and replied to Dr. Nestley's questions in what might be called a chippy manner, his answers being remarkably monosyllabic.

Was the squire ill?--very! What made him ill?--Did not know! How many people lived at the Grange?--Six! What were their names?--The squire, Miss Una, Miss Cassandra, Patience Allerby, Jellicks and himself.

As Nestley did not find this style of conversation particularly exhilarating, he relapsed into silence, and the stony Munks devoted his attention once more to the raw-boned horse.

The dog-cart spun rapidly through the sleeping village with the dark-windowed houses on either side--over the narrow, vibrating bridge under which swept the sullen, grey river--across the wide common, where the gorse bushes looked fantastic and unreal in the moonlight, with only the silent sky overhead and the silent earth below--tall trees on either side, some gaudy with the yellow and red of their autumnal foliage, and others gaunt and bare, their leafless branches ready for the winter snows. So still, so silent, with every now and then the sad cry of some night bird from the lonely marshes, and the steady beat of the horse's hoofs on the hard, white road. The scenery, grey and colourless under the pale light of the moon, changed with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope. First the tangled, odorous hedges that separated the road from the closely-reaped fields, afterwards a grove of beeches, casting fantastic shadows on the ground, and then, suddenly starting out of the earth as if by magic, the thick, dark wood which surrounded Garsworth Grange, as though it were the enchanted palace of the sleeping beauty. The rusty iron gates were wide open, and they drove into the park between the tall white posts with the leopards sejant thereon--up the broad, winding avenue with the trees tossing their leafless branches in the chill wind--while here and there at intervals the cloudy white forms of statues appeared indistinctly. The wheels crunched the dead leaves that thickly carpeted the path--a wide sweep of the avenue, and then a low, broad terrace of white stone, to which a flight of shallow steps led up through urns and statues to Garsworth Grange.

Nestley had no time to take any note of the architectural beauties of the place; for, hastily alighting, he ran up the steps, while Munks, still grimly silent, drove off, presumably in the direction of the stables. So here, Nestley found himself alone in this ghostly white world, with the keen wind whistling shrilly in his ears, and before him a monstrous, many-pillared porch with a massive door scrolled grotesquely with ironwork, like the entrance to a family mausoleum. Whilst he was searching for a bell to ring or a knocker to knock with, the door slowly swung open with a surly creak, and a tall, slim figure, holding a flickering candle, appeared.

Was it one of the cold, white statues in the lonely garden that had by some miracle awoke to life?--this sudden vision of lovely, breathing womanhood standing out from the darkness amid a faint halo of tremulous light, the rose-flushed face with its perfectly-chiselled features delicately distinct under the coronet of pale, golden hair, one slender arm raised aloft, holding the faintly-glimmering candle, one eloquent finger placed warningly upon the full red lips, while the supple body, clad in a loose white dress, was bent forward in a graceful poise. Not Aphrodite, this midnight goddess, for the face was too pure and childlike for that of the divine coquette, not Hera in the imperial voluptuousness of undying beauty, but Hebe, bright, girlish Hebe, with the smile of eternal youth on her lips, and the vague innocence of maidenhood shining in her dreamy eyes.

The goddess evidently expected to see the familiar face of the village doctor; for she started back in astonishment when she beheld a stranger, and seemed to demand an explanation of his visit. This he speedily furnished.

"Doctor Bland is ill, I understand," he said, politely, "but I am a medical man staying at the inn, and as the case seemed urgent, I came in his place."

The goddess smiled, and her frigid manner thawed rapidly.

"It's very kind of you, Doctor--Doctor----"

"Nestley," said that gentleman, "Doctor Nestley."

"It's very kind of you, Doctor Nestley," she said, in a musical voice, "and, indeed, the case is very urgent--please come in."

Nestley stepped inside, and the young lady, closing the heavy door, secured the innumerable fastenings. Catching Nestley's eye, as he looked on, rather puzzled, at the multiplicity of bolts and chains, she laughed quietly.

"My cousin is very much afraid of thieves," she remarked, as she turned round, "he wouldn't rest in his bed if he didn't think the front door was locked--by the way, I must introduce myself--Una Challoner!"

"I have heard of you, Miss Challoner," said Nestley, looking at her in admiration.

"From whom?" she asked quickly.

"Mr. Blake and Mr. Pemberton."

She flushed a little, and bowed with some hauteur.

"Will you come upstairs with me, Doctor," she said, turning away from him.

Dr. Nestley was about to follow, when his attention was arrested by the unexpected apparition of a small, stout lady, by no means young, who was, nevertheless, arrayed in a juvenile-looking gown of pink with the remarkable addition of a tea-cosy perched on her head which gave her the appearance of being half extinguished. She also held a candle and stood in front of the doctor, smirking and smiling coquettishly.

"Introduce me, Una, dearest," she cried, in a thin, piping voice which seemed ridiculous, coming from such a stout person. "I'm so fond of doctors. Most people aren't--but then I'm odd."

She certainly was, both in appearance and manner; but, Una being used to her eccentricities, evinced no surprise, but, looking down on the grotesque figure from her tall height, smiled gravely.

"Doctor Nestley, this is my aunt, Miss Cassandra Challoner," she said, in a soft voice.

Miss Cassandra shook her girlish head and made an odd little bow, to which the doctor politely responded, then suddenly recollecting the tea-cosy, snatched it off with an apologetic giggle, thereby displaying a head of frizzy yellow hair.

"Draughty house," she said, in explanation of her peculiar head-dress. "I get neuralgia pains down the side of my nose and in my left eye. I'm sure it's the left, doctor. Very odd, isn't it? I wear the tea-cosy to keep the heat in my head. Heat is good for the nerves, but you know all about that, being a doctor. How very odd. I mean, it isn't odd, is it?"

How long she would have rambled on in this aimless fashion it is impossible to say, but, fortunately, a third woman, bearing a candle, appeared descending the stairs, which put an end to Miss Cassandra's chatter.

"It's Jellicks," said Miss Challoner quickly, "the squire must be worse."

Jellicks was an ugly old woman of about sixty, with a withered, wrinkled face, rough, greyish hair, and a peculiar kind of wriggling movement, something like that of a dog who has done wrong and wants to curry favour with his angry master. She wriggled down the stairs, writhed up to Una, and, with a final wriggle, delivered her message in one word and a whisper.

"Wuss!" she hissed out in a low, sibillant manner.

Dr. Nestley was beginning to feel bewildered with the strangeness of his position. This cold, vault-like hall with its high roof, tesselated black and white diamond pavement, massive figures in suits of armour on either side, seemed to chill his blood, and the three candles held by the three women danced before his eyes like will-o'-the-wisps. A musty odour permeated the atmosphere, and the flickering lights, which only served to show the darkness, assumed to his distorted imagination the semblance of corpse candles. Shaking off this feeling with an effort, he turned to Miss Challoner.

"I think I had better go up at once," he said in a loud, cheerful voice. "Every moment is precious."

Miss Challoner bowed in silence, and preceded him up the stairs, followed by the wriggling Jellicks and the girlish Miss Cassandra, who declined to be left behind.

"No; positively no," she whimpered, shaking her candle and replacing the cosy on her head. "It's like a tomb--the 'Mistletoe Bough,' you know--very odd--he might die--his spirit and all that sort of thing--nerves, doctor, nothing else--chronic; mother's side--dear, dear. I feel like a haunted person in what's-his-name's book? Dickens. Charming, isn't he? So odd."

And, indeed, there was a ghostly flavour about the whole place as they walked slowly up the wide stairs, with the darkness closing densely around them. Every footfall seemed to awake an echo, and the painted faces of the old Garsworths frowned and smiled grotesquely on them from the walls as they moved silently along.

A wide corridor, another short flight of stairs, and then a heavy door, underneath which could be seen a thin streak of light. Pausing here, Una opened it, and the four passed into Squire Garsworth's bedroom, which struck the doctor as being almost as chill and ghostly as the hall.

It was a large room with no carpet on the polished floor, hardly any furniture and no lights, save at the further end, where a candle, standing on a small round table, feebly illuminated a huge curtained bed set on a small square of carpet on which were also the round table aforesaid and two heavy chairs, the whole forming a kind of dismal oasis in the desert of bare floor.

On the bed lay the squire, an attenuated old man with a face looking as though it were carved out of old ivory, fierce black eyes and scanty white hair flowing from under a black velvet skull cap. A multiplicity of clothes were heaped on the bed to keep him warm, and his thin arms and claw-like hands were outside the blankets plucking restlessly at the counterpane. Beside him stood a woman in a slate-coloured dress, with an expressionless white face and smooth black hair, drawn back over her finely shaped head. She kept her eyes on the floor and her hands folded in front of her, but, on hearing a strange footstep, turned to look at the doctor. A strangely mournful face it was, as if the shadow of a great sorrow had fallen across it and would never more be lifted. Nestley guessed this to be Patience Allerby, so the number of the extraordinary individuals who occupied Garsworth Grange was now complete.

Hearing the doctor enter, Squire Garsworth, with the suspicious celerity of a sick man, raised himself on his elbow and peered malevolently into the darkness, looking like some evil magician of old time.

"Who is there?" he asked in a querulous voice, "someone to rob me; thieves and rogues--all--all rogues and thieves."

"It is the doctor," said Una, coming close to him.

"What does he bring? what does he bring?" asked the sick man, eagerly, "life or death? Tell me, quick."

"I cannot tell you till I ask a few questions," said Nestley, stepping into the radius of light.

"Ha!" cried Garsworth, with sudden suspicion, "not Bland. No; a stranger. What do you want? Where is Bland?"

"He is ill," said Nestley distinctly, coming close to him, "and cannot come, but I am a doctor and will do as well."

The old man looked at him anxiously, seeming to devour him with the fierce intensity of his gaze.

"Weak," he muttered, after a pause, "very weak, still there is intellect in the face."

Then he suddenly put out his hand and grasped that of Nestley in his thin, claw-like fingers.

"I will trust you," he said rapidly. "You are weak, but honest. Save my life and I will pay you well."

"I will do what I can," replied Nestley simply.

The squire, with an effort, sat up in bed, and waved his hand imperatively.

"Turn them all out," he said sharply, pointing to the women. "I must tell you what I wo'nt tell them. A physician is more of a confessor than a priest. Go away and leave me with my confessor."

Nestley was about to remonstrate, but Una placed her finger on her lips, and all three women noiselessly withdrew, bearing their candles. When the door closed after them the immense room was quite in darkness, save for the feeble glimmer of the taper by the bed, which shed its light on the pallid countenance of the old man now lying back exhausted on his pillows. It was certainly a very strange situation, and Nestley, modern physician though he was, felt little thrills of superstitious awe running through him. He was about to speak when the squire, turning on his side, looked at him earnestly and commenced to talk.

"I do not want you to diagnose my case," he said, in a low, feverish voice. "I can tell you all about it. Your task is to supply remedies. I am an old man, seventy-five years of age. It's a long life, but not long enough for what I want. The sword has worn out the scabbard--my soul is encased in a worn-out body and I want you to sustain the vital forces of the body. I can look after the soul; you mind the body."

"I understand perfectly," observed Nestley, feeling his pulse. "Nerve exhaustion."

"Aha! yes, that is it. I have been working too hard and overtaxed my nerves. You must restore them to their normal state. Tonics, electricity, rest--what you will, but give me back my vital powers in their pristine vigour."

"It is impossible to do that," said Nestley, quickly, "you are not young, remember, but I will give you some medicine that will replace the wasted tissues and afford you relief, if not health; but you will never be strong again."

"Not in this body," exclaimed Garsworth, raising himself on his elbow, "no, but in my next incarnation I shall be--ah, you look surprised, but you, no doubt, have heard of the mad squire. Mad! Poor fools, my madness is their sanity. I shall be young and vigorous in my next body, and I shall be rich. All this life I have been working for the next, but I have not gained enough money. No, not half enough. Make me well again, that I can complete my work, then I will gladly leave this worn-out body for a new one. I will pay you--oh yes--I will pay you."

He fell back exhausted on the pillows, worn out by the rapidity of his speech, and Nestley called out loudly for assistance. Patience Allerby entered the room, and, by the doctor's orders brought some wine in a glass. This Nestley held to the sick man's lips, while the housekeeper, at the other side of the bed, held the candle for him to see by. The wine infused a fictitious life into the old man, and seeing he was easier, Nestley determined to go back to Garsworth in order to get some medicine.

He put the clothes over the squire and bent down to speak.

"You must lie quiet," he said, in a slow voice, "and take some wine whenever you feel exhausted. I will send you a sedative to-night, and to-morrow morning will call and see you."

The sick man, too exhausted to speak, made a motion with his hand to show he understood, and lay back white and still, in complete contrast to his former restlessness. Nestley saw that the effort had fatigued him greatly, and was the more anxious to give him some soothing draught, as every paroxysm of excitement exhausted the nerves and rendered him weaker. But even in his anxiety, as he looked at him lying so still with the candles on either side of the bed, he could not help comparing him, in his own mind, to a corpse laid out preparatory to burial. The thought was a horrible one, but the atmosphere of the house seemed to engender horrible thoughts, so he hurried to the door, anxious to leave this nightmare castle.

Patience Allerby, soft-footed and silent, lighted him downstairs, and having seen him safe in the hall turned back without a word.

"A strange woman," thought Nestley, looking after her, "and a strange house;" then he turned to Una and Miss Cassey, who were anxiously waiting his report.

"I have given him a little wine," he said, putting on his gloves. "Keep him as quiet as possible and I'll send some opiate from Garsworth; he is in a very exhausted condition and must be kept quiet. How can I send the medicine?

"Munks will bring it when he drives you in," said Una quickly. "You will come again?"

"Yes, to-morrow morning," he replied as she opened the door, and was about to depart when Miss Cassey arrested him.

"I'll take some of the medicine myself, doctor," she said. "I'm so easily upset--nerves again--it's in the family; come and prescribe for me to-morrow--I'm so odd, I think it's the house--lonely, you know--bromide is good, isn't it? Yes, Doctor Pecks, in London, told me so. Do you know him?--No--how odd--clever on nerves--my nerves--don't forget to-morrow--good-night--charming moon--yes--so odd."

After hearing this incoherent speech, Dr. Nestley managed to get away, and saying good-night to Una, went down the steps. The dog-cart was waiting for him, and Munks, the Mute, drove him back grimly the whole way. It was quite a relief getting into the cool fresh air, and Nestley half thought the lonely house and its fantastic occupants were phantoms, so unreal did they seem.