Читать книгу The Year of Miracle - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

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So that difficult first step had at last been taken, and Dr. Rebelspear had obtained his first patient. Certainly, when this long-expected and much-prized individual appeared, he did not look very promising, as, judging from his looks, he was not gifted with a superfluity of this world's goods. Still he was distinctly a patient—one who had come to ask the advice of the young doctor regarding his ailments, and that was something to be grateful for; so when the servant had departed and the prize was safely caged in the consulting-room, Rebelspear took a long, long look at this shabby old man, in order to assure himself that he was flesh and blood, and not a mere phantom creation of the brain.

Not that he looked unlike a phantom either, for he was very tall and very thin, while his black clothes hung round his bony frame in a loose fluttering fashion which gave him a wavering appearance. As he stood there in the strong electric light with his long white locks flowing over his shoulders, and his long white beard streaming down to his waist, both young men were struck by his unsubstantial look, which suggested all kinds of fanciful horrors.

But his eyes—ah, those terrible eyes! the light from which streamed out from under his frowning white eyebrows like the flash of gems—these gave a fierce, repellent look to his venerable face, a face lined and marked and scored and seamed with innumerable wrinkles betokening great age. His rounded shoulders were much bent, and with his thin, hooked nose, his long, claw-like fingers clutching his hat, and those brilliant eyes, he looked like some ill-omened bird of prey waiting to pounce on his victim.

Julian stared at this grotesquely terrible figure in his usual nonchalant manner, then, shrugging his shoulders, prepared to take his departure, when Rebelspear stopped him.

"Don't go, Delicker," he said, quickly, resuming his seat; "when I have finished with this gentleman I will go with you to Sir Luke Kernshaw's."

"Sir Luke Kernshaw!"

The echo of the name did not come from Julian but from that strange old man who stood rigidly by the door with the draught fluttering his loose garments, and his fierce eyes flashing their light first on one and then on the other. Both of them looked up in surprise at the mention of the name, and again the stranger repeated it in a harsh, strident voice eminently disagreeable.

"Sir Luke Kernshaw!"

"Yes!" said Rebelspear, recovering from his astonishment. "Why do you repeat that name! Do you know Sir Luke?"

"To my cost!" Rebelspear looked at Julian, and Julian returned his gaze with a significant nod in the direction of the stranger.

"Mad!"

"No, young gentleman, I am not mad, although I have suffered enough to be so. I could tell you strange things about—but no, at present I will say nothing, the time is not yet come. I have come to see this doctor for my wound!"

"Your wound?"

"Behold!"

This extraordinary creature turned round slowly, and Rebelspear saw on the back of his head a large wound from which flowed the bright scarlet blood down his white locks. His professional instincts at once got the better of his curiosity, and without asking any more questions he attended to the wants of his patient and bound up the cut, which was a very nasty one, while Julian, smoking quietly in his armchair, watched the operation in silence. It was a very simple matter, and having bathed the wound, Rebelspear bound a white band of linen round the head of his patient, which, in conjunction with his long white hair and beard, gave him the appearance of one of those venerable prophets who delivered the decrees of Heaven to the Jewish kings. Having lost a good deal of blood, the old man was rather weak, so the young doctor made him take a glass of port wine, and seating him comfortably in a chair, prepared to ask him a few questions, being decidedly puzzled over the whole affair.

"How did you get that cut?" he asked, going back to his own desk.

"I went forth into the highways and into the byeways to deliver the message of Heaven, but the daughters of the Gentiles drove over me with the wheels of their chariots, and I was sorely wounded."

"Means he was knocked down by a cab while crossing the street," explained the practical Julian, lighting another cigarette.

The old man turned on him a look full of reproach and reproof. "You are one of those who dwell in palaces," he said, raising his harsh voice like a trumpet, "one of the many wrapt in loose pleasures to whom the warning is given, I know you, oh, scoffer! for I have beheld you in public places, consorting with the vain ones of this earth."

"And I know you," retorted Julian, with a sneer of contempt. "You are Matthew Malister, that old fanatic, who has been put in jail several times for making rows in the street."

"Malister the Socialist," exclaimed Rebelspear, who was feeling rather bewildered by the biblical phraseology of the old man. "Oh, I know, the Anarchist who addresses meetings in Hyde Park."

"Neither Anarchist nor Socialist," cried Malister with great fervour, "but a Prophet of Doom, who has come from the far East to warn this New Babylon that Heaven is wearied of her vices and of her iniquities."

"A modern John the Baptist," scoffed Julian, looking at the fanatic. "I told you he was mad, Frank. Cracked as the great Bell of Moscow."

"So you say in your blindness, young man," returned Malister, raising his thin hand; "but know that, before the dawn of the new century, this great city will be humbled to the dust. She will call upon her children and they will reply not. She will weep for those that lie dead in the streets and will refuse to be comforted. The song and jest will be silent in her palaces, for the feet of her children go downward to the yawning, grave, and the kings of the earth, the rulers, and princes, will mourn for her desolation."

"Oh! is there going to be a universal war—a battle of Armageddon?" said Rebelspear, with a disbelieving smile. "I've heard such a lot about that sort of thing. The thousand days of Daniel, the opening of the seventh seal, the division of Europe into the ten kingdoms of the ten-horned beast! My good man, all that sort of thing is nonsense; no one believes in such rubbish. I don't wonder you've been locked up, if that's the sort of stuff you talk. Why, science—"

"Science!" interrupted Malister, in a voice of thunder, rising to his feet. "Science can do nothing in the coming trouble. All your learning, all your wealth, all your craft, will avail you nothing when the dead lie unburied in the streets, and London—this mighty city of Nineveh of which you boast—shall be one vast desert. Owls shall build their nests in the dome of St. Paul's—solitude will reign in the palaces of your kings, and—"

"And the New Zealander will sit on the ruins of London Bridge and sketch the ruins of St. Paul's," said Delicker, with scorn. "You are a plagiarist, my good fellow. Macaulay has been before you."

"Fool!" cried the fanatic, fiercely, "your days are numbered; but a short time and the jest on your lips will give place to a cry of terror. Have you not seen the sign which God has set in the heavens to warn this generation of the coming doom?"

"Oh, the comet!" observed Rebelspear, quickly, "yes, we have all seen the comet, and a very decent one it is, but what of that? There have been plenty of comets before now, and plenty of assertions about their striking the earth; but as up to the present nothing has occurred, I expect we are all safe."

Malister looked at him in a pitying manner, and crossing to him with noiseless swiftness, laid his long hand on the young doctor's shoulder.

"You have helped me in my distress," he said in a softened tone. "you have poured oil into my wounds and given me wine to drink. Therefore I will be a friend to you, and give you your heart's desire."

"I'm afraid that is beyond your powers," replied the doctor, humouring the old man's weakness; "I want patients."

"You shall have them in numbers countless as the sands of the sea."

"Oh!" cried Julian Delicker, "rising to his feet, I'm tired of all this rubbish. If you have finished with this lunatic, Frank, perhaps you'll go and dress."

"Shortly! shortly!" replied Rebelspear, struck with the earnestness of the fanatic; "but first I want to find out something from Mr. Malister."

Julian shrugged his shoulders in a resigned manner, and resumed his seat, while Malister, still standing beside the chair of the young doctor, looked steadily at him with fiery eyes, waiting for him to speak.

"You mentioned the name of Sir Luke Kernshaw," said Rebelspear, after a pause, "and said you knew him to your cost. What did you mean by that?"

"Mean!" echoed Malister, fiercely, "I meant that many years ago I had a loving wife who fled with Luke Kernshaw from my home, and, left me the wreck I am now."

"A madman," sneered Delicker, cruelly.

"No, sir," retorted Malister, quietly, "not mad. I am as sane as you, fool of fortune that you are. I am only a deceived man, betrayed by a woman, and ruined by a friend, but the way of the evil doer is hard, and after many years I have returned to punish Luke Kernshaw, and demand of him my child."

"Your child!" cried both young men, in one breath.

"Yes; my daughter. When my guilty wife fled with her lover, she took with her the child, and though I sought far and wide for them both I never recovered them. But now—now! the time is at hand."

The same thought flashed across the minds of the young men, as to whether Laura or Eva were the daughter of this strange creature, and Rebelspear, to whom the subject was of most importance, was about to speak, when Malister, whom the thought of his wrongs had worked up into a state of great excitement, burst out into a fierce denunciation of London and its inhabitants.

"Woe! woe! woe! to the evil city—the evil city—the abode of vice and the sink of iniquity. The wrath of Heaven will fall upon it, and none shall live through the days that are to come. I am an outcast, a pariah, a moral leper, yet I have been chosen by the Mighty One to sow the seeds of disease in every street of this iniquitous place. I am the weak that shall confound the strong, and when the shadow of death is over the dome of St. Paul's, then will the inhabitants think upon my warnings of the coming tempest."

"I believe he's talking of a plague," said Delicker, quickly, upon which the fanatic turned on him with a cruel smile.

"You have spoken truly; I am talking of a plague—a plague to which that which desolated mighty London in the evil time of the Stuarts will be as naught. You, man of pleasure, cannot fly from it. You, man of science, cannot defend yourself from it. It will come! it will come and sweep to the tomb all this generation of evil doers. You laugh me to scorn. You say that I am mad—that I lie—that I speak of what cannot be. Doubt me if you like, but believe the sign which God hath set in the heavens as a warning of what is to come."

He tore aside the heavy red curtains that draped the windows, and there, in the darkly-blue sky, flashed the mighty comet which had been hanging over Europe for many weeks. Both the young men, educated in the latest sciences of the day, were sceptical of many things, and scoffed at the idea of biblical beliefs, yet, for the moment, they quailed before this new Isaiah with his terrible prophecies of coming doom, the truth of whose mission seemed to be supported by the testimony of the heavens themselves.

Even Delicker, mocker of all things as he was, felt strangely moved for the first time in his idle, egotistical life, but Rebelspear, materialist and man of science, who believed nothing without proof, dismissed the speech of Malister as the ravings of an over-excited brain, and poured him out another glass of wine.

"Come, come, my good fellow," he said, soothingly, just as if he were petting a fractious child. "You are talking sad nonsense, and if you go on like this they will lock you up as insane. Be advised by me, do not go near Sir Luke Kernshaw, and stop these incoherent ravings, or you will get into trouble. Now that I have done what I can for you, take this glass of wine and go as soon as possible."

"You do not believe my warnings," said Malister, looking sadly at the young doctor. "You think with others that I am mad."

Rebelspear shrugged his shoulders, and smiled meaningly. "My good sir, this is nearly the twentieth century, and I believe nothing without proof. You say a plague is about to devastate London. I say such a thing cannot occur—at least it is highly improbable. In the middle ages, when London was badly drained, and the inhabitants badly housed, paying no attention to the laws of health, such a thing was likely, and, of course, took place but now, when everything has been done for the public health that science can do, I'm afraid the plague you prophesy will never come off. As to the comet, we have explained away all these things."

"Have you explained away God?"

"I don't want to enter into a theological discussion," said Rebelspear, rather nettled. "I have done what I can for you; so please withdraw."

Julian nodded approvingly, but Malister still stood quietly by the window in an attitude of utter dejection.

"I have warned you to fly, and you will not fly, so when the Burning Sickness comes upon you, then you will be lost like all other dwellers in this city. Yet, young man, I see you have a kind heart to assist the weak and suffering, so I will save you in spite of yourself. Gold I have none to repay your aid, but I will give you a more valuable reward. I will bestow on you life, and when, all around you are falling under the scourge of God, you will walk unharmed through the terrors that surround you."

"Mere ravings," muttered Julian with a yawn.

"I will tell you both my story," said Malister, without taking any notice of the interruption, "and you can judge for yourself as to whether I speak truth or not."

Julian made a gesture of impatience, but Rebelspear hesitated. He was greatly puzzled by the quiet demeanour of one whom he could not but regard as a madman, and was anxious to hear the justification he proposed to make of his eccentric conduct. For some time past, this man had been a prominent figure in London police courts, owing to the crowds he attracted in the streets, while preaching his terrible warning of the coming plague, and Rebelspear, now that the fanatic was willing to confide in him, felt very desirous to discover if there was any method in his madness.

"You can go, Julian," he said at last, making up his mind. "I will follow you later on, but meanwhile I want to hear what Mr. Malister has to say for himself."

"It's only half-past ten," said Julian, looking at his watch, and comparing it with the clock, "and if we arrive at Kernshaw's at twelve, it will be time enough, so I also will wait and hear this story."

"You can if you like," observed Malister, slowly, "but you will not believe what I say."

"Very probably not; but I'm fond of romance, and your 'Thousand-and Second Night' will no doubt be amusing."

The fanatic cast a look of profound contempt on this frivolous speaker, and still standing by the window with the pale phosphorescent gleam of the comet visible behind him, told his story to those two young men, who both listened with great attention to his strange narrative, but with widely different feelings, the contempt Julian evinced for this latter-day prophet not being shared by Dr. Rebelspear.

The warning which had been given to thousands, and which had many times cost Malister his liberty, was now being given to them, but believe, or disbelieve, as they would, neither of them, occupied as they were, could help being fascinated by the bizarre story told so dramatically by one who called himself the Prophet of Doom.