"Oh, no; it's nothing at all, sir--nothing at all," said Mrs Milt
hastily; "and I didn't know you'd come upstairs behind me, sir."
"It was to save you a journey, my dear Mrs Milt," said Cousin Thompson
smoothly. "Yes, I'm afraid he is very ill. A little delirious, I
think."
"Delirious, sir? Oh, nonsense! Master's often like that."
"Indeed!" said Cousin Thompson, in a tone of voice which made the
housekeeper wish she had bitten off her tongue before she had committed
herself to such a speech. "You heard him utter that laugh?"
"Well, surely to goodness, sir, that don't signify anything. A laugh!
I wish I could laugh."
"But he gave a `view halloo!' and said something about a fox."
"Well, really, sir, what if he did? There's nothing master likes better
after a hard week's work and a lot of anxiety than a gallop after the
hounds. It does him good. Why, a doctor wants taking out of himself
sometimes, specially one who works as hard as master does. A medical
man's anxiety sometimes is enough to drive him mad."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Cousin Thompson smoothly. "Hadn't you better
knock again?"
"No, sir, I hadn't," said Mrs Milt tartly. "I'm quite sure master
don't want to be disturbed."
"But really, my good woman, it seems to me that he ought to have medical
advice."
"And it seems to me, sir, as he oughtn't to. If master's not well and
can't do himself good, nobody else can, I'm sure; and if you please,
sir, will you come downstairs? He'd be very angry if we stopped here."
"Oh, certainly, Mrs Milt. Pray forgive me. I could not help feeling a
little bit anxious about my cousin."
"I haven't got nothing to forgive, sir," said the old lady; "only I'd
have you know that I'm as anxious about my dear master as anybody."
"Of course, Mrs Milt. Quite natural. Dr North is a remarkable man,
and will some day become very famous."
"I dessay, sir," said Mrs Milt drily. "I think you said you should
stop all night?"
"Yes, Mrs Milt; and I'm afraid my business here will keep me another
day, if it is not troubling you too much."
"Oh, that don't matter at all, sir. I'm sure master wishes you to be
made very comfortable, and as far as in me lies, sir, I shall carry out
his wishes."
"Thank you, Mrs Milt. I'm sure you will," said Cousin Thompson; and
Mrs Milt rustled out of the room, looking very hard and determined, but
as soon as she was out of sight deep lines of anxiety began to appear
about her eyes, and she wrung her hands.
"Yes," said Cousin Thompson, going at once to North's table and sitting
down to write a letter; "I shall sleep here to-night, Mrs Milt, and I
shall sleep here to-morrow night, and perhaps a great many other nights.
It is no use to be a legal adviser unless I legally look after my sick
cousin's affairs."
Cousin Thompson's anxiety about his cousin gave his countenance a very
happy and contented look.
"Things are looking up," he said, as he finished and fastened his
letter. "Everything comes to the man who waits. Even pleasant-looking,
plump Mrs Berens may--who knows?"
He carefully tore off a stamp from a sheet in the writing-table drawer,
moistened it upon a very large, unpleasant-looking tongue, and affixed
it to the envelope.
"Perhaps she is right, and he will be better without medical advice," he
said, with a pleasant smile upon his countenance. "Why should I
interfere? That is where some people make such a mistake: they will dig
up a plant to look at its roots. I prefer letting a well-growing plant
alone. Yes, things are looking up. Now for my genial baronet."
He walked out into the ball, and took his hat, just as there was a ring
at the gate bell.
"Who's this?" he said; and he walked into the dining-room and nearly
closed the door, but not quite.
The next minute there were steps in the hall, the door was opened, and
the curate's bluff voice rang through the place in an inquiry after the
doctor.
"He's very poorly, sir," said Mrs Milt, in a low and cautious voice.
"I don't really know what to make of him."
"I do," said Salis. "He wants rest and change, Mrs Milt."
"Yes, sir; I think that's it, sir."
"I wish I could get him away. I will."
"Will you?" said Cousin Thompson softly.
"Here, I'll go up and see him. In his room, I suppose?"
"Excuse me, sir; I think you had better not. It irritates him. Old
Moredock came last night about some trifling ailment, and poor master
was quite angry about it. Then Mr Thompson went up to his door, and it
seemed to irritate him. You know how tetchy and fretful it makes any
one when he's ill."
"I want to see him, Mrs Milt. I want to talk to him."
Cousin Thompson's eyes twitched.
"But I'll go by your advice."
Mrs Milt said something in reply which the listener missed, and
consequently exaggerated largely as to its value, and directly after
Salis went away in a new character--to wit, that of Cousin Thompson's
mortal enemy; though Salis himself was in utter ignorance of the fact.
"Well, and how are we to-day?" said the lawyer on entering the old
library at the Hall.
Sir Thomas Candlish was lying back in his chair, with a cigar in his
mouth, a sporting paper on his lap, and a soda and brandy--or, rather,
two brandies and a soda--at his elbow.
"How are we to-day!" he snarled. "Don't come here talking like a cursed
smooth humbug of a doctor about to feel one's pulse."
"But I am a doctor, and I have come to feel your pulse, my dear sir,"
said Cousin Thompson laughingly.
"Eh?--what? Again! Why, there's nothing due yet."
"There, there, there! don't trouble yourself, my dear Sir Thomas. There
is a little amount to meet; but you are not, as you used to be, worried
about money matters. You can pay."
"Yes," snarled Tom Candlish; "and you seem to know it, too."
"Come, that's unkind. It isn't generous, my dear sir. Surely if a man
lends money he has a right to claim repayment."
"Oh, yes, I know all about that--the old, old jargon of the craft. I
don't want to borrow now. If I did I suppose I should hear all about
your friend in the City, eh?--your client who advances the money, eh?"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Thompson. "One needn't ask how you are. The old
vein of fun is coming back flushed with health and strength."
"Cursed slowly. Now, then, what do you want?"
"Oh, it is a mere trifling business."
"A trifle."
"It would have been serious to you once; but it is a trifle now."
"Well, let's have it."
"No, no, not yet. There, I'll take a cigar and a B. and S."
"Ah, do," said Candlish sarcastically. "Make yourself at home, pray."
"To be sure I will. I've come to doctor you and do you good."
"Damn all doctors!" sneered Candlish.
"Amen," said Cousin Thompson merrily, as he took a cigar, lit it, and
helped himself to the brandy. "Look here, sir; you sit alone and mope
too much. You want exercise."
"How the devil am I to take exercise, when, as soon as I get on a horse,
my head begins to swim?"
"And a pretty girl or two to see you."
Tom Candlish uttered a low, blackguardly, self-satisfied chuckle.
"Eh? I say. Hallo!" cried Cousin Thompson. "Oh, I see. Well, mum's
the word. But, come; you do want change; you're too much alone. Now
I've come--"
"Oh, yes, you've come, and on a deuced friendly visit too."
"Business and friendliness combined, my dear sir. Why, you used not to
snub me like this. There, I meant to chat over a little money matter
with you. Let's do it pleasantly. Come up to that capital table, and
let's do it over a friendly game of billiards."
Tom Candlish started from his seat, overturning his glass, which fell to
the floor, and was shattered to atoms.
"My dear Sir Thomas! what is the matter?"
"Nothing--nothing," he replied hoarsely. "Not well yet. A confounded
spasm."
"How unfortunate! Let me refill your glass, or shall I do it upstairs
in the billiard-room?"
"Curse the billiards! I tell you I don't play now."
"Not play?"
"The sight of the balls rolling makes me giddy," cried the wretched man,
glaring at his visitor.
"Why, my dear sir, I'm very sorry I mentioned the game. There, let me
give you a light. You're out. That's it. Really you ought to have the
advice of a doctor."
"Damn all doctors!" growled the baronet again.
"I can't afford to have you ill, my dear Sir Thomas," said Thompson,
with an unpleasant laugh.
"No, you can't afford to have me ill. Too good a cow to milk."
Cousin Thompson laughed, and felt that he had made a mistake.
"I cannot advise you to have my cousin up, because he, too, is ill."
Tom Candlish's lips parted to utter a fierce oath, but he checked it,
and swung himself round in his chair.
"Is he very ill?" he said eagerly.
"Yes; he seems to me to be very ill."
"I'm glad of it--I'm very glad of it," cried Candlish. "Come, you
needn't stare at me. I wish the beast was dead."
"I was not staring at you," said Cousin Thompson; "only listening. I
think you and he don't get on well; but he's a very clever man--my
cousin Horace; and if I could get a little advice from him on your case,
I'm sure I would."
"I want no advice. Only a little time. I'm coming round, I tell you--
fast. But about North. Is he very bad?"
"Well, ye-es; I should say he was very bad."
"What's the matter? Has he caught some fever?"
"No. Oh dear, no! It's mental. He seems a good deal unstrung. A
little off his head, perhaps."
"Why, curse it all, Thompson," cried Candlish excitedly; "you don't mean
that the blackguard is going mad?"
"My dear Sir Thomas--my dear Sir Thomas," said the lawyer, in a voice
full of protestation; "I really cannot sit here and listen to you
calling my cousin a blackguard."
"Then stand up, man, and hear it. He is a blackguard, and I hate him,
and I'd say it to his face if he were here. Now tell me, is he really
bad?"
"Only a temporary attack. He is suffering, I'm afraid, from overstudy.
But now to business."
"Stop a minute, man: let me think. Hang the business! How much is it?
I'll write you a cheque. I can now, Thompson, old chap. Times are
altered, eh?"
"Ah, and for the better, Sir Thomas."
"Here, hold your tongue. Don't talk. Let me see: not married; neither
chick nor child; no brother. Why, Thompson, if North--curse him!--died,
you'd have the Manor House!"
"Should I!" said Cousin Thompson, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully.
"Well, yes, I suppose I am next of kin. But Horace North will outlive
me."
"Is he quite off his head?"
"Hush! don't talk about it, my dear sir. Poor fellow, he is ill; but
not so very bad. I shouldn't like it to get about amongst his patients.
People chatter and exaggerate to such an extent."
Tom Candlish smoked furiously for a few moments, and then cast away the
end of his cigar, and lit another, biting the end, and frowning at his
visitor.
"Now about business," said Thompson, at last.
"Curse business!" cried the squire, as he kept on watching the lawyer
keenly. "Look here, Thompson, how was it that you two being cousins, he
has so much money, and you're as poor as Job?"
"Way of the world, my dear sir--way of the world."
Tom Candlish sat back, chewing the end of his cigar and smoking hard.
"Look here, you Thompson! Now out with it; you don't like Dr North?"
"Like him? I hate all doctors; just as you do."
"That's shuffling out of it," said Candlish scornfully; "but you needn't
be afraid of me. I'm open enough. I'm not above speaking out and
telling you I hate him. I wish you'd make a set on his pocket, and
bleed him as you are so precious fond of bleeding me."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Cousin Thompson laughingly; and then the
two men sat smoking and gazing one at the other in silence till their
cigars were finished.
"Take another," said the squire, handing the case lying upon the table.
Thompson took another, and Tom Candlish lit his third, to lie back in
his chair, smoking very placidly, and staring from time to time at
Thompson, who watched him in turn in a very matter-of-fact, amused way.
They rarely spoke, and when they did it was upon indifferent themes; but
by degrees a mutual understanding seemed to be growing up between them,
dealing in some occult way with Horace North's health and his position
in Duke's Hampton. The Manor House estate, too, seemed to have
something to do with their silent communings.
This lasted till the lawyer's second and the squire's third cigar were
finished, and a certain amount of liquid refreshment had been consumed
as well. Then Cousin Thompson suddenly threw away the stump of
tobacco-leaf he had left.
"Now suppose we finish our bit of business?"
"All right," said Candlish sulkily; and after reference to certain
memoranda laid before him, he opened a secretary, wrote a cheque, and
handed it to the lawyer.
"Thanks; that's right," said the latter, doubling the slip, and placing
it in his pocket-book.
"Going back to town to-night?" said Candlish. "No."
"To-morrow?"
"No."
"When then?"
"Depends on how matters turn out," said Thompson meaningly. "I suppose
if I wanted a friend I might depend on you?"
"Of course, of course," cried the squire eagerly.
"Thanks," said Cousin Thompson. "I shall not forget, but I don't think
I shall want any help. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Tom Candlish warmly.
A wish of a mutual character, expressed in a contraction--that God might
be with two as utter scoundrels as ever communed together over a
half-hatched plot.
"Mrs Milt," said Cousin Thompson, as he entered the Manor that night,
"I have been thinking over matters, and you need not say much to your
master, but I feel it to be my duty to stay here for the present, and
look after his affairs."
"But really, sir--"
"Have the goodness to remember who you are, Mrs Milt. Leave the room!"
"And him going about in the dark watches of the night like a madman,"
sighed Mrs Milt, as soon as she was alone. "If that wretch sees him,
what will he think?"
"That wretch," to wit, Cousin Thompson, was biting his nails in North's
library, and listening to a regular tramp upstairs.
"Strange thing," he said, "but as soon as a man's head is touched, he
grows more and more like a four-footed beast."
He smiled and listened. All was very still now, and he set to work
searching drawers and the bureau for material that might be useful to
him in the settlement of Horace North's affairs, and as he searched he
talked to himself.
"Let me see: it was Nebuchadnezzar--wasn't it?--who used to go about on
hands and knees eating grass."
He examined a document or two, but did not seem satisfied with the
result.
"Hah! poor Horace!" he said. "I'm very sorry for him, but I must do my
duty to society, and to him as well."
He started, for the door-handle had been touched, and, quick as
lightning, he dropped the papers he held, and blew down the chimney of
the lamp.
The door cracked, and as it opened slightly he could hear the church
clock chiming, and then a deep-toned _one_ boomed forth.
There was a something beside sound entered, for by the faint light which
streamed in over the top of the shutters he could see a dark blotch
moving slightly, and, as he felt chilled to the marrow, the dark patch
changed slowly to a dimly-seen face of so ghastly a kind that he stood
there gazing wildly, and fixed helplessly to the spot.
Volume 3, Chapter IX.