Works of Ellen Wood, page 426
“I was just telling Mrs. Pepperfly of it, when the ring came to the door, and I assure you, Judy, when I opened it and saw Mr. Carlton himself standing there, it did give me a turn. Me and Mrs. Pepperfly had been wondering whether he wasn’t killed too — for nobody seemed to know how it was with him at the Cross Keys — and there stood he! I couldn’t make bold to ask questions, for he has the character of being one of those proud men that won’t brook them. At any rate, he’s not dead. I say, Mrs. Pepperfly, don’t you think you ought to be upstairs while he’s there?”
Mrs. Pepperfly, fond of her supper at least in an equal degree with the widow, resented the suggestion, and held up her plate, in a defiant spirit, for more bacon.
“If he wants me, he can ring for me,” was her answer, curtly delivered. “How is your face to-night, Judith?”
“Well, it has been very painful all the evening. I think I shall go home and get to bed,” continued Judith. “It may become easier there.”
She did not linger, but bade them good night, and hastened away. She had suffered much from toothache or faceache the last day or two. Mrs. Pepperfly and the widow sat on at their supper, until disturbed by the departure of Mr. Carlton. He had not remained long.
“She’ll do well, sir?” said Mrs. Gould, as she opened the street-door.
“Very well indeed; quite well,” replied Mr. Carlton. “Good night.”
Of course tales never lose by carrying, especially if they are bad ones; and that you all know. The current report of the accident in South Wennock that night was precisely the one mentioned by Mrs. Gould — that Mr. Carlton’s carriage was smashed to pieces, and his horse and man were killed. On the following morning, however, things were found to be looking a little brighter; the groom, under his master’s treatment, was progressing quickly towards recovery, the horse’s sprain was going on well, and the carriage had gone to the coachmaker’s to be repaired.
Mr. Carlton had to make his visits on foot that day. Towards the middle of it, in passing through High Street, he encountered Mr. Stephen Grey. The two had never met professionally, but they knew each other sufficiently well to nod in passing. Mr. John Grey had more than once been in attendance in conjunction with Mr. Carlton, but it happened that Mr. Stephen had not. Both stopped simultaneously now.
As Mr. Stephen Grey had remarked casually to Judith the previous Friday, there was plenty of room for Mr. Carlton in South Wennock as well as for themselves. Indeed, the death of their brother Robert, combined with the increasing size of the place, had caused the practice to be more than John and Stephen Grey and their assistant could manage, therefore they felt not a shade of jealousy of the new surgeon, who had come and set up amidst them. Honourable, fair-dealing, right-minded men were the brothers Grey, altogether above rankling spite and petty meannesses.
Mr. Stephen Grey had halted to speak of Mrs. Crane. He had been happy to attend her, he said, and would now resign her into the hands of Mr. Carlton.
“She is doing quite well,” remarked Mr. Carlton.
“Quite so,” said Mr. Stephen Grey, who had taken the remark as a question. “I have not long come from her. If you will step down there with me now, I will explain matters, and — —”
“Would you oblige me by not giving up charge until to-night or to-morrow morning?” interrupted Mr. Carlton. “What with the confusion caused by last night’s accident, and the patients who have grown impatient at my absence, and are exacting double attention, I am so busy to-day that I don’t know which way to turn. Before I take Mrs. — Mrs. — What’s the name?”
“Crane.”
“Mrs. Crane. It is not a difficult name to remember, and yet it seems to slip from me. Before I take her from your hands I should wish to meet you there, just for explanation, and I have really not time for it now. When I reached home last night and read the note she had sent to me on Friday last, I called, but it was late; she seemed drowsy, and I did not undertake the case. Either to-night or to-morrow morning, Mr. Grey, I shall have the pleasure of meeting you.”
“Whichever may be most convenient to you,” returned Mr. Stephen. “It’s quite the same to me.”
“To-night, then, at seven,” said Mr. Carlton. “If I find that I cannot by any possibility get there he paused in consideration— “why then, it must be left until to-morrow morning, at ten. But I hope I shall be there this evening. She seems young, this lady.”
“Quite young. She says she’s two-and-twenty, but I should not have thought her so much. How did you manage to meet with that unpleasant accident?”
“I don’t know any more than you know, who were not present. I fancied the horse shied: but it all happened so swiftly I could not be sure. If he did shy, it was very slightly, and I saw nothing that could have induced it; but why he should have fallen, or over what, is inexplicable. It was on that smooth bit of road; the only smooth bit there is, half-way between here and Great Wennock. Evan is doing well, and as to the horse, he is very slightly injured.”
“The report in the town was, that you were all done for, all killed together; you, the groom, horse, phaeton, and all.”
Mr. Carlton laughed. It was difficult to resist the good-humour of Mr. Stephen Grey. And so they parted, each walking a different way.
CHAPTER VI.
WAS THE HOUSE HAUNTED.
AT seven precisely that evening Stephen Grey went to Mrs. Crane’s, to wait for Mr. Carlton. Mrs. Crane was flushed, and appeared to be a little feverish.
“There has been too much chattering going on,” he observed to Judith, who was sitting in the front room.
“She will talk, sir,” answered Judith. “Feeling well, as she does, I suppose it’s natural.”
“But not expedient,” he returned. “Where’s the nurse?”
“She was here not two minutes before you came in, sir. Perhaps she’s gone down for something.”
Mr. Stephen rang the bell, and the nurse was heard puffing up in answer. She was sure to puff when going upstairs, however slow her pace might be.
“Mrs. Pepperfly, how’s this? You have allowed your charge to talk too much.”
“Well, sir, and she will talk,” was Mrs. Pepperfly’s answer, almost the same as that given by Judith. “She’s all right, sir; a little feverish maybe to-night; but it’s nothing: she’s too young and healthy for harm to come nigh her through a bit of talking.”
“I’ll not have her talk until she is stronger,” said Mr. Stephen. “You must stop it. I must send her in a composing draught now, as I did last night.”
Mr. Stephen Grey gave Mr. Carlton more grace than most busy medical gentlemen would have given — waiting for him until a quarter past seven. Then he left. After his departure, Judith went home; her face was paining her very much; and Mrs. Pepperfly remained on guard. Scarcely had Judith gone when Mrs. Crane called to her from the next room.
“Judith. Come here, Judith. I want you.”
“Now, mum, you are not to talk,” cried Mrs. Pepperfly, hastening in. “Mr. Stephen have been a-blowing me up like anything, for suffering it. He as good as said it was my fault.”
Mrs. Crane laughed; laughed out merrily, the nurse’s tones were so resentfully serious. “Oh, well, I will be good,” she said. “But I do want to speak to Judith for a minute. Is she not there?”
“No, mum, she’s gone home — and Mr. Stephen had better have blown her up instead of me; for I’m sure it’s to her you talk. Settle yourself just for a wink or two of sleep, there’s a dear lady.”
About eight o’clock the nurse was called down to supper. It was her usual hour for taking it, and she had been exceedingly wrathful the previous evening at its having been delayed; the wrath perhaps causing the widow to get it ready punctually to-night. Almost immediately afterwards Mr. Carlton arrived in a hot heat. He had walked from the Rise, he said to Mrs. Gould, who opened the door to him, and was sorry Mr. Stephen Grey had gone. The truth was, Mr. Carlton need not have missed his appointment, but he had lingered at Captain Chesney’s. In Laura’s society time seemed to fly on wings. Mrs. Gould attended him upstairs, for he said he would see the patient, and then she went down again.
Mr. Carlton had not been talking with the invalid many minutes when a ring at the bell was heard, and some one ascended the stairs. The surgeon went into the sitting-room, thinking it might possibly be Mr. Stephen Grey. It was, however, Mrs. Pepperfly.
“It’s the draught, please, sir,” said she.
“Draught?” he repeated, taking a small bottle from her hand. “What draught? One that Mr. Stephen Grey has sent in?”
“Yes, sir, the sleeping draught. He said she was excited to-night through talking, and must take one.”
Mr. Carlton undid the paper, took out the cork, and smelt it. “How strongly it smells of oil of almonds!” he exclaimed.
“Do it, sir?”
“Do it! why, can’t you smell it yourself?” he returned. And once more taking out the cork, which he had replaced, he held the phial towards her.
“Yes, sir; but I have a cold. And when I does have a cold upon me, my nose ain’t worth a rush.”
The surgeon was still occupied with the draught, smelling it. Then he tasted it, just putting his finger to the liquid, and that to his tongue.
“Extraordinary!” he remarked in an undertone. “Why should Grey be giving her this? Here, take possession of it, nurse,” he added. “It is to be given the last thing.”
He returned to the bedroom as he spoke, and Mrs. Pepperfly placed the phial on the cheffonier, where other medicine-bottles were arrayed. Then she put her head inside the bed-chamber. Mr. Carlton was standing talking to the sick lady.
“Do you want anything, please, ma’am?”
“Nothing at present,” replied Mrs. Crane. “You can go down.”
The nurse did as she was bid, and not long afterwards Mr. Carlton said good night to Mrs. Crane, and passed through the sitting-room to take his departure. As he went out on to the landing to descend, he saw what he thought was a face, leaning against the wall by the bedroom door and staring at him; a man’s face with thick black whiskers; a strange face, looking stern, white, and cold in the moonlight. Mr. Carlton was of remarkably strong nerve — a bold, fearless man; but the impression this made upon him was so great, that for once in his life he was startled.
“Who and what are you?” he whispered, his voice insensibly assuming a tone of awe, of terror: for in good truth that face did not look like any earthly one that Mr. Carlton had ever in his life seen.
There was no reply; there was neither movement nor sound. Uncertain whether the moonlight was not playing him some fantastic trick, the surgeon strode back to the sitting-room, brought out the solitary candle and threw its rays around.
Not a soul was there; neither man nor woman, neither ghost nor spirit. And yet Mr. Carlton felt certain that a face had been there. An unaccountable feeling, vague superstition mixed with absolute fear, came over him as he stood there; and yet I say he was by nature a fearless man, and perhaps this was the first time in his remembrance that such terror had assailed him. He threw the light around the landing; he threw it down the stairs; there was no upper story; but nothing was to be seen, and all was silent. Still carrying the light, he went into the bedroom by the door on the landing and cast its rays there. Mrs. Crane glanced up from the bed in surprise.
“Were you looking for anything?” she asked.
“Nothing particular. Good night.”
He went straight on to the sitting-room through the intervening door, still glancing around into every nook and corner, and put the candle back on the mantelpiece whence he had taken it — for Mrs. Crane rather liked lying in the dark. Then he wiped his hot face and descended the stairs, willing to persuade himself that he had been mistaken.
“I think I must be a fool,” he muttered. “What has come over me to-night? Is the house haunted?”
Soon, all too soon, ere ten o’clock had struck, the house was haunted. Haunted by a presence that had no business there — the presence of Death.
CHAPTER VII.
THE COMPOSING DRAUGHT.
IT was Mrs. Gould who ran to open the door for Mr. Carlton on his departure. He spoke with her a minute or two, and then went out, she returning to the kitchen and the society of Mrs. Pepperfly. It may strike the reader that all these details have been given at some length; but, as was afterwards found, the smallest event of that ill-starred night bore its own future significance.
Mrs. Gould and the nurse resumed their gossip, and were plunged full tide in it, the former leaning back in her chair at her ease before the supper-table, on which stood a suspicious-looking green bottle, its contents white, of which both ladies, if the truth may be told, had partaken. The latter rose from her seat and was bending over the fire, stirring something in a saucepan, when there came a loud, sharp rap at the kitchen window. Both started and screamed: the widow clapped her glass and teaspoon down on the table, and Mrs. Pepperfly nearly dropped the candle into the saucepan. Although they knew, had they taken a moment for reflection, that the knock came from Judith, who frequently took that way of making her visit known on coming in from the other house, it considerably startled them.
Judith it was. And she laughed at them as she stepped inside the passage from the yard, and entered the kitchen.
“What a simpleton you be, Judy, to come frightening folks in that fashion!” cried the widow irascibly. “One would think you were a child. Can’t you come into the house quiet and decent?”
“It was as good as a play to see the start you two gave,” cried Judith. “My face is bad, and I am going to bed,” she added, changing her tone; “but I thought I’d step in first and see if I could do anything more for Mrs. Crane. I suppose she’s not asleep?”
“She’s not asleep yet, for Mr. Carlton’s but just gone. You can go up and ask her.”
It was Nurse Pepperfly who spoke: the widow was still resenting her fright. Mrs. Pepperfly regarded Judith with complaisance, for she took off her hands a great deal of care and trouble, which must otherwise have fallen to the nurse’s exclusive share.
Judith proceeded upstairs. She felt very tired, for she had been up all Friday and Saturday nights, and though she had gone to bed on Sunday night, she had slept very little, owing to the pain in her face. She was subject to this pain, feeling it whenever she took the slightest cold.
“Is that you, Judith?” cried Mrs. Crane. “How is your face-ache now?”
“The pain’s getting easier, ma’am,” was Judith’s answer. “Mr. Stephen Grey said it would, now the swelling had come on. I stepped in to ask whether I can do anything more for you to-night?”
“No, thank you; there’s nothing more to be done. I suppose the nurse won’t be long before she brings up the gruel. You can tell her I am ready for it as you go down. You will be glad to get to bed, Judith.”
“Well, ma’am, I shall, and that’s the truth. To lie tossing about in pain, as I did last night, tires one more than sitting up.”
“And the two previous nights you were sitting up. I don’t forget it, Judith, if you do.”
“Oh, ma’am, that’s nothing. It’s a mercy that you have not required more sitting up than that. Many do require it.”
“I!” returned Mrs. Crane in hearty tones. “I don’t believe I required it at all. I am as well as I possibly can be. Mr. Carlton has just said so. I should like to get up to-morrow, Judith.”
Judith shook her head, and said something about the danger of being “too venturesome.”
“You’ll get about all the surer, ma’am, for being quiet for another day or two.”
At that moment, in came Mrs. Pepperfly; a flaring candle in one hand, a tray with a basin of gruel in the other. Judith, generally suspicious of Mrs. Pepperfly, went up and glanced attentively into the basin, lest that lady should have seasoned it with a few drops of tallow in the ascent. The light shone full on Judith’s swollen face, and Mrs. Crane burst into laughter.
“I can’t help it,” she said, as they turned to her in amazement. “It is your face that I am laughing at, Judith. It looks like a full moon; your cheeks are quite round.”
“Oh, ma’am, I don’t mind the look, so that I am easy. The swelling will soon go down again.”
Judith wished her good night and departed. Nurse Pepperfly arranged the basin of gruel on the bed, and stood by while it was taken. “And now for my composing draught,” said Mrs. Crane.
“I can’t give you that yet, mum,” dissented the nurse. “The idea of your taking it right upon the gruel!”
“I don’t suppose it would hurt me. It has come, hasn’t it?”
“It came while Mr. Carlton was here, mum. It was that what I brought up, and Mr. Carlton tasted of it. Just like them doctors! they are sure to taste each other’s medicines.”
“Mr. Carlton’s going to meet Mr. Stephen Grey here at ten o’clock to-morrow,” she observed. “And then I shall be under his charge exclusively.”
“I heered some’at of it, mum,” was Mrs. Pepperfly’s answer.
She turned to busy herself about the room, making arrangements for the night with Mrs. Gould, who came up to assist her. By the aid of blankets, a bed had been extemporized for herself on the sofa in the sitting-room, and there she slept, the door between the two rooms being left open that the patient might be still under her supervision. Mrs. Pepperfly had really been on her good behaviour hitherto; afraid, perhaps, to run counter to the strict orders given to her on entering by Mr. Stephen Grey.
About half-past nine or a quarter to ten, when Mrs. Crane had been made comfortable for the night, the nurse pronounced it time for the composing draught.
“Just light me to get it, will you?” she asked of Mrs. Gould, who happened to have the candle in her hand. And they went into the sitting-room.
The bottle was on the cheffonier where the nurse herself had placed it. She took it to the side of the bed.
“Ready, mum?”
“Quite,” said Mrs. Crane.
She, the nurse, poured the contents into a large wine-glass, and Mrs. Crane drank them down, but not before she had made some remark about cherry pie.
