How ever great the shock of his night's adventure may have been to his
system, Dr Hardon, beyond missing his attentions to a few patients,
displayed very little of it to the world at large comprised in Somesham
and its neighbourhood. There were certainly two or three discolorations
about his face, caused by the playful taps of the burglar's
life-preserver, but they very soon disappeared. The doctor's greatest
grievance was the loss of his numerous articles of jewellery, though
even upon that subject he talked lightly and affably to his patients,
evidently having a soul above the loss of such trifles, and people
thought more of him than ever. The police had certainly been upon what
waiter Charles of the County Arms called the "tract" of the burglars,
but only discovered that they had entered the house by opening a window
and stepping in; that they had taken all the plate; that three
heavy-featured men came from London by the down-mail on the night of the
robbery, arriving at Somesham at half-past ten; and the porter thought
he gave tickets to three stoutish men who went by the up-mail at 2:30;
when the police-sergeant came to the conclusion that it was a
prearranged affair, and people talked about it for a few days, till they
had something else to take their attention.
Doctor Hardon, portly and comfortable-looking, sat reading the evening
paper just delivered from the stationer. No one to have seen him could
have imagined that care had ever sat for a moment upon his ample
forehead; and though, taking into consideration the incidents of the
past few weeks, it might have been expected that he would look anxious
and worn, on the contrary, he seemed greatly at ease within himself, and
turned and rustled his newspaper importantly, refreshing himself from
time to time with a sip of port from the glass at his elbow.
"I declare!" he exclaimed, suddenly throwing down the paper; "it's
abominable--it's disgusting."
"What is?" said Mrs Hardon, roused from the thoughtful mood into which
she seemed to have fallen.
"Why, to have the privacy of one's life dragged into publicity in this
way. The matter ought to have been hushed-up."
"But what do you mean?" said Mrs Hardon. "Is it anything about--"
"Yes, of course it is!" cried the doctor savagely. "They've got it in
the London papers, condensed from the _County Press_--a filthy penny
rag. Just look here--made into a sensation paragraph.
"`Eaten of Rats.--A shocking discovery was made at Somesham on Monday
last. A rather eccentric gentleman, named Hardon, residing entirely
alone at a short distance from the town, was found in bed with his lower
extremities horribly mutilated by the rats which infest the place. The
medical evidence at the inquest showed that death had probably taken
place some eight-and-forty hours before the body was discovered; while
the bottle of laudanum and teaspoon at the bedside pointed to an end
which the post-mortem examination proved to have been the case; an
overdose of the subtle extract having evidently been the cause of death.
The deceased was without servants; for, in consequence of a burglary
committed at the house shortly before this discovery, his housekeeper
had left him, and her place remained unsupplied. As may be supposed,
this tragic affair, following so closely upon the burglary, has caused
intense excitement throughout the neighbourhood.'
"Isn't it disgusting?" exclaimed the doctor, after a few moments' pause;
while during the reading he had not displayed the slightest emotion, but
read the paragraph from beginning to end without faltering. Receiving
no answer, he looked up to see Mrs Hardon sitting staring at him with a
horrified aspect, while her fingers were stopping her ears.
"O, Tom!" she gasped at last, "haven't we had enough of that horrid
affair lately without bringing it up again? I shall be glad when it's
all over, and we begin to look upon it as a thing of the past. I
declare I shall never like to use any of the money; I shall fancy a
curse hangs to it. But do you think Septimus is dead?"
"Of course I do," said the doctor; "and if he is not, what does it
matter?"
"Nothing at all, I suppose," replied Mrs Hardon; "but really, Tom, it
came upon me like a thunder-clap. Was that what poor Octavius sent for
you about--to tell you that? I often thought there must be some reason
for his long-continued obstinacy. What did he say to you about it?"
"Don't ask questions," said the doctor abruptly. "It is enough for you
to know that it is so, and that the money comes at a time when we want
it badly."
"Then we have no business to have been wanting it badly!" exclaimed Mrs
Hardon; "and I shall make it my business to go to Keening's one of these
days, and ask them the state of your affairs."
"Yes, you had better!" snarled the doctor, displaying a bright speck of
the gold setting of his teeth.
"But such a saint as poor Lavinia always seemed!" said Mrs Hardon. "I
should never have thought it of her; and if it was not that the poor
thing is dead and gone, I should have called it quite disgraceful. But
there, we can't afford to talk about such matters, I'm sure;" and she
began to rock herself to and fro in her chair and to sob: "O, Tom! you
drove that poor girl away,--you did. She would never have left if--"
"Hold your tongue!" cried the doctor fiercely.
"But you did, Tom; and I shall never forget her look that day I met her
in the street--it went like a knife to my heart."
Mrs Hardon sat crying silently for some time, while the doctor savagely
rustled his paper, but all the while reading not a word, for his lips
moved, and he talked fiercely to himself.
"There!" cried Mrs Hardon at last, "I won't take on, for it seems of no
use, and whether she or I live or die, don't seem to matter to you, Tom.
And now I want to know about Octavius's property. How much is it? and
are you certain that there was no will?"
"I've told you there was none ten times over," said the doctor; "and now
wait till the funeral's over, for I won't be bothered."
"But, Tom," said Mrs Hardon, "I want to know what is the extent--what
it is really worth, and how much you owe."
"Never mind," said the doctor.
"But I have a right to know," cried Mrs Hardon.
"There! I don't know myself," said the doctor.
"Then perhaps your solicitors do," said Mrs Hardon; "and I shall, as I
have often threatened, ask them."
"And much good it will do you," muttered the doctor; but, not liking to
run the risk of any exposure of his present differences with his wife,
he compromised. "Well," he said, "what is it that you wish to know?"
"Why, I told you," said Mrs Hardon; "what Octavius's property is worth,
and whether you are quite sure that Septimus--"
"You are wanted, sir, if you please," said the maid, appearing at the
door.
"Who is it?" said the doctor testily, for this was an hour when he
objected to being disturbed.
"Wouldn't give any name, sir," replied the girl.
"Send him round to the surgery," said the doctor.
"Please, sir, he's in the front passage, and he said he didn't want the
sudgery."
"What sort of a man is it?" said the doctor.
"Look's like a poor man, sir," said the girl.
"How many times have you been told not to leave strangers in the
passage!" exclaimed Mrs Hardon angrily. "There'll be another coat gone
directly; go and stay with him till your master comes."
The maid disappeared, giving the door so loud a shut that it sounded
almost like a bang, when the doctor began to complain of fatigue, and
being worn out, and Mrs Hardon, who wished to propitiate, offered to
go.
"Do, please, my love," murmured the doctor, in the most gentle of
tones--the professional.
Mrs Hardon slightly drew down the corners of her mouth in a
contemptuous grimace as she left the room, but returned in a few minutes
looking pale and scared; and then she carefully closed the door after
her.
"It's quite taken my breath away!" exclaimed Mrs Hardon. "He
frightened me: what made you tell me that Septimus was dead?"
"Well, isn't he?" said the doctor, shuffling hastily round in his chair.
"Dead?" exclaimed Mrs Hardon. "If he is, it's his ghost that has come
down: that's all."
"Come down?" cried the doctor, turning of a dirty pallid hue.
"And he's walked all the way from London. And you never saw such a
poor, deplorable-looking object in your life. He looks twenty years
older, that he does."
"What does he want?" cried the doctor, panting in spite of his efforts
to keep down his emotion.
"Says he's come down to see his father, and to attend to his affairs."
"Well, tell him to go to Keening's. I won't see him--I won't see him.
My nerves won't bear it; they have not recovered from the last shock
yet, let alone that horrible night of the robbery."
"But you'd better see him," said Mrs Hardon, whose woman's heart was
touched by her visitor's aspect.
"No, no; I can't--I can't bear it, and it's better that I should not;"
and as he spoke there was no dissimulation in the doctor's words or
mien: he was undoubtedly very much moved.
"But you must see him; and besides, it will seem so strange if it's
known in the town that you sent him away like that."
"Well--er--well--perhaps I had better," said the doctor; "where is he?
I'll go to him, or--no, let him come in here; but put away the wine
first."
Mrs Hardon took no notice of the last remark, but went out, and
returned directly with Septimus Hardon, footsore, dusty, and
travel-stained.
"Good-evening, Mr Septimus," said the doctor, in the tone of voice he
had heard so often from his patients, and as he spoke he slightly bent
forward, but lay back again directly in his chair, without offering his
visitor a seat. "Good-evening, Mr Septimus. I suppose we must say
Hardon?"
"If you please, uncle," said Septimus, somewhat startled at his strange
reception--a reception more chilling even than in his diffidence he had
anticipated.
"Sit down, Septimus, you look tired," said Mrs Hardon, pouring out a
glass of wine for the visitor, who drank it with avidity, for he was
faint and agitated, feeling somewhat like the Prodigal, though this was
no prodigal's welcome.
"How do you find business, Mr Septimus?" said the doctor, perspiring
freely, but now speaking calmly and slowly.
"Bad--bad," said Septimus. "I have lost all, and been put to great
shifts, while my poor wife is a confirmed invalid."
"Dear me, dear me!" said the doctor blandly, "how sad! I might perhaps
be able to give her advice. I suppose she could not call at my surgery
any morning before ten?"
"She always was delicate," put in Mrs Hardon hastily, for she was
annoyed at her husband's behaviour; while something kept, as it were,
whispering to her, "He is from London, and may know something of my poor
girl."
There was a dead silence then for some few minutes, which the doctor
broke.
"I--er--er--I--er--I think you have hardly come on a visit of ceremony,"
he said; "you wished to see me?" and after coughing away something which
seemed to form in his throat, he spoke in his most unguental tones--in
the voice he kept for married ladies upon particular occasions.
"I came down," said Septimus, in a broken voice, "upon seeing my poor
father's death. It was shown to me--by a friend--newspaper--torn
scrap--I have walked down--weak--and ill."
Mrs Hardon uttered an exclamation, for Septimus had risen as he spoke,
and stood working his hands together, as he gazed appealingly at his
uncle; and then, as he trailed off in his speech, he reeled and clutched
at the table, sweeping off a wine-glass in his effort to save himself
from falling.
"Better now," said Septimus faintly, as he sank into the chair behind
him. "I am sorry, but I feel overcome, and weak, and giddy. I have had
much sorrow and trouble lately, and my father's death was so sudden."
The doctor winced a little, but recovered himself in a moment, for he
was used to witnessing trouble, and could bear it.
"Yes--yes--a sad thing,--very sad--mournful I may say," he observed.
"But my poor brother always was so distant and peculiar in his dealings
with his relations. Of course you know that the funeral takes place
to-morrow?"
"No," replied Septimus; "I know nothing beyond what I have told you, and
I come to my father's brother for information."
"Yes, just so," said the doctor; "but I can not refrain from blaming my
poor brother; doubtless you had given him great cause of offence, but he
ought to have made some provision for you."
"I did write to him again and again," said Septimus, "but I suppose he
felt too angry, and--let it rest now; I have struggled through all my
trouble without his help, and I do not complain."
"Just so," said the doctor; "but it would have been more just if he had
made some provision."
"You have seen his will, I suppose?" said Septimus.
"O no!" said the doctor, "there is no will."
"Then he has left no legacies?" said Septimus.
"Not one," replied the doctor; "but I am not surprised--he never was a
business man."
"I am sorry too," said Septimus softly, "for the sake of my cousins and
yourselves;" and Septimus started as he saw the wince Mrs Hardon gave
at the mention of the word "cousins."
"Yes," said the doctor blandly; "it would have been more just towards
you. For even if he had only left you a hundred or two they would have
been acceptable, no doubt."
"I don't understand you," said Septimus.
"I was alluding to your being left so unprovided for," said the doctor.
"It seems so sad."
"But you told me he left no will," said Septimus wonderingly; "and I am
his only child."
The doctor smiled compassionately upon his nephew, with the air of a man
removing a leg or an arm.
"There, for goodness' sake don't go on torturing the poor fellow in that
way!" cried downright Mrs Hardon. "Why don't you speak out? You see,
Septimus--"
"I beg that you will be silent, Mrs Hardon," exclaimed the doctor.
"I shall be nothing of the kind," cried Mrs Hardon. "The poor man has
enough to suffer as it is, without being grilled over a slow fire."
Septimus gazed from uncle to aunt in a strange bewildered way, prepared
for some new shock, but unable to comprehend what blow Fate meant to
deal him now.
"You see, Septimus," continued Mrs Hardon, without heeding her
husband's uplifted hands,--"you see the property comes to my husband as
next of kin."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Septimus, as if relieved that his aunt's
communication was of no more weight. "I am the only child, and besides,
_I_ have a son."
"Now just see what a painful scene you have brought about," whined the
doctor, reproachfully eyeing his wife.
"Indeed," interrupted Septimus, "I am sorry that the matter should be
discussed, for it appears unseemly at such a time: before my poor
father's remains are beneath the earth."
"If you would only have been silent," continued the doctor, not heeding
the interruption.--"Now pray, my good sir," he said, turning to
Septimus, "go to Messrs. Keening and Keening, my solicitors, and--"
"Tell me what it all means, aunt, or I shall go mad!" cried Septimus,
catching Mrs Hardon's hand in both of his, and gazing imploringly in
her face.
"Well, the plain truth of the matter is this," said Mrs Hardon--
"Pray be silent, Mrs Hardon," said the doctor. "My solicitors--"
"You were not born in wedlock," said Mrs Hardon.
"Who dares say that is true?" shouted Septimus, with eyes flashing; "who
dares speak in that way of my poor mother?" he exclaimed. "It's a lie--
a base lie!" and in spite of Septimus Hardon's plainness, his years, the
dust and shabby clothing, there was in him a nobleness of aspect that
made the doctor look mean by comparison, as he stood there furiously
eyeing both in turn, and thinking then no more of his father's money
than if it had been so much dirt beneath his feet. That such an
aspersion should be cast upon the fame of the mother whose memory he
tenderly loved seemed to him monstrous; and it was well for Doctor
Hardon that he did not think it necessary to answer the sternly-put
question; for most assuredly, had he replied, Septimus would have taken
him by the throat.
"I'm sure _I_ don't know," said Mrs Hardon. "All I know is, that it's
very sad, and I'm very, very sorry for you."
But Doctor Hardon, taken aback at first by the fierce mien of Septimus,
had now somewhat recovered his confidence, while the anger of the nephew
was as short-lived, so utterly bewildering was the news he now heard;
the insult to his mother's memory, the snatching away of the competence
that seemed in his hands, the cool self-possession of his uncle,--all
completely staggered him, and he knew not what to say or do.
"Sir," said the doctor, rising and placing a hand within his waistcoat
as he spoke with great dignity,--"sir, I must beg that this scene, this
unseemly brawling, may not be continued in my house. You can find my
solicitors, who will give you all the information you may require. The
funeral takes place to-morrow, and, under the circumstances, I have
taken upon myself the duty of seeing that proper respect is paid to the
departed. You are folly aware that your presence would not have been
even tolerated for an instant in my brother's house during his lifetime,
and you presume on my forbearance by treating me as you do. Under the
circumstances, I decline to hold any further communication with you.
Had you come in humbleness and treated me with respect, I will not say
what I might not have been tempted to do for you out of pity. As to
your assumption of ignorance of your illegitimacy, it is simply absurd,
for it is a matter of which you must have been fully aware. You know
well, that when my brother declined to hold any further communication
with you, it was not merely on account of your opposition to his wishes,
but because it was painful to his feelings to be constantly reminded in
daily life of the sins of his youth. I think too, now, that if you have
any right feeling left, you will have the decency to end this most
unseemly meeting by leaving at once, for it is to me, after my late
sufferings, most painful. My poor brother!"
Doctor Hardon paused to bury his face in his handkerchief, and
congratulate himself upon the very effective way in which he had acted
his part. He then made a show of wiping away a tear, and Mrs Hardon
did likewise; but in the one case the tear was genuine, in the other
counterfeit coin.
As for Septimus Hardon he had never made but one enemy in his life--
himself; but had he owned a score, and they had stood around him at that
minute, not a man of them could have struck a blow at the abject,
crushed, spiritless, broken man, as, without word, almost without
thought, he mechanically glanced round the room, turned, and then slowly
walked out, closely followed by Mrs Hardon, who passed something into
his hand as she closed the door upon his retreating form.
Volume One, Chapter XVI.