The dinner, with its pleasant surroundings of flowers and glittering
plate and glass, with the finest and whitest of linen, was delightful to
Lucy, though to her it was as if there was something wanting, in spite
of her position as principal guest. This resulted in her receiving
endless little attentions from Sir John; but more than once she felt
quite irritated with her brother, who seemed to find no more pleasure in
the carefully cooked viands than in the homely joints at The Firs. He
ate a little of what was handed to him, almost mechanically, and drank
sparingly of the baronet's choice wines; but his mind was busy upon
nothing else than the subject upon which Glynne was asking him
questions.
The major had plenty to say to Lucy, but he kept noticing the increase
of animation in Glynne. For she had been awakened from her ordinary,
placid, dreamy state to an intense interest in the subject under
discussion.
Major Day did not know why he did it, but three times as that dinner
progressed, he laid down his knife and fork, thrust his hands beneath
the table, and rubbed them softly.
"Muscles is out in the cold to-night," he muttered. "He'll have to go
in training for exercising his patience. Bring him to his senses."
Possibly it was very weak of the major, but he had fresh in his memory,
several little pieces of bitter ridicule directed at him by the captain,
respecting the botanical pursuit in which he engaged.
Now, it so happened that early in the day the major had been out for a
long walk, and had come upon a magnificent cluster of a fungus that he
had not yet tried for its edible qualities. It was the peculiar
grey-brown, scaly-topped mushroom, called by botanists _Amanita
Rubescens_, and said to be of admirable culinary value.
"We'll have a dish of these to-night," thought the major, picking a fair
quantity of the choicest specimens, which he took home and gave to the
butler, with instructions to hand them to the cook for a dish in the
second course.
Morris, the butler, put the basket down upon the hall table, and went to
see to the drawing down of a window blind; and no sooner had he gone
than Rolph, who had heard the order, came from the billiard-room into
the hall to get his hat and stick preparatory to starting for a walk.
He was passing the major's basket where it stood upon the hall table,
when an idea flashed across his brain, and he stopped, glanced round,
grinned, and then, as no one was near, took up the creel, walked swiftly
across the hall out into the garden, dived into the plantation, ran
rapidly down the long walk out of sight of the house, and turned into
the pheasant preserve. Here, throwing out the major's fungi, he looked
sharply about and soon collected an equal quantity of the first
specimens he encountered, and then turned back.
"A sarcastic old humbug," he muttered; "let him have a dish of these,
and if any of them disagree with him, it will be a lesson for the old
wretch. He experimented upon me once with his confounded _boleti_, as
he called them; now, I'll experimentalise upon him."
As a rule such an act as this could not have been performed unseen, but
fate favoured the captain upon this occasion, and he reached the hall
without being noticed, replaced the creel upon the table from which he
had taken it, and then went for a walk.
Now, it so happened that Morris, the butler, had crossed the hall since,
but the creel not being where he had placed it, he did not recall his
orders; but going to answer a bell half-an-hour afterwards, he caught
sight of the basket, remembered what he had been told, and, on his
return, took the fungi into the kitchen.
"Here, cook," he said, "you're to dress these for the second course."
In due time cook, who was a very slow-moving, thoughtful woman, found
herself by the basket which she opened, and then turned the fungi out
upon a dish.
"Well," she exclaimed, "of all the trash! Mrs Mason, do, for goodness'
sake, look at these."
Glynne's maid, who was performing some mystic kind of cooking on her own
account, to wit, stirring up a saucepan full of thin blue starch with a
tallow candle, turned and looked at the basket of fungi, and said,--
"Oh, the idea! What are they for?"
"To cook, because them star-gazing folks are coming. Morris says Miss
Glynne's always talking about finding the focus now."
"But these things are poison."
"Of course they are. I wouldn't give them to a pig;" and with all the
autocratic determination of a lady in her position, she took the dish,
and threw its contents behind her big roasting fire. "There, that's the
place for them! Mary, go and tell Jones I want him."
Jones was cook's mortal enemy; and in the capacity of supplier of fruit
and vegetables for kitchen use, he had daily skirmishes with the lady,
whom he openly accused of spoiling his choice productions, and sending
them to table unfit for use, while she retaliated by telling him often
that he could not grow a bit of garden-stuff fit to be seen--that his
potatoes were watery, his beetroot pink, his cauliflowers masses of
caterpillars and slugs.
Under these circumstances, Jones tied the string of his blue serge apron
a little more tightly, twisted the said serge into a tail, which he
tucked round his waist, and leaving the forcing-house, where he was
busy, set his teeth, pushed his hat down over his nose, and, quite
prepared for a serious quarrel, walked heavily into the kitchen. But
only to be disarmed, for there was a plate on the white table,
containing a splendid wedge of raised pie, with a piece of bread, and a
jug of ale beside a horn.
Jones looked at cook, and she nodded and smiled; she also condescended
to put her lips first to the freshly-filled horn, and then folded her
arms and leaned against the table, while the gardener ate his "snack,"
feeling that after all, though she had her bit of temper, cook was
really what he called "a good sort."
"Ah," he said at last, with a sigh, after a little current chat, "I must
be off now. Let's see; you've got in all you want for to-night?"
"Yes, everything," said cook, smiling, "and I must get to work, too.
You haven't any mushrooms, I suppose?"
"Haven't got any mushrooms?" said Jones, reproachfully. "Why, I've a
bed just coming on."
"Then I should like to make a dish to-day, and use a few in one of my
sauces," said cook; and half-an-hour later Jones returned with a
basketful, which he deposited upon the table with a thrill of pride.
The presence of Moray Alleyne, and the way in which he was taken up, as
the captain called it, by Glynne, so filled the mind of Rolph, that
there was no room for anything else, and as the dinner went on, his
annoyance so sharpened his appetite that he ate very heartily of the two
_entrees_ and the joint. It was not until the second course was in
progress that a dish was handed round, to which, after a telegraphic
glance between the major and Lucy, that young lady helped herself.
Glynne took some mechanically, to the major's great delight, and, like
Lucy, went on eating. Then the dish was handed to Rolph, who fixed his
glass in his eye, and started slightly as he suddenly recalled the trick
he had played in the hall.
"What's this?" he said in an undertone to the butler.
"_Sham pinions ho nateral_, sir."
"Humph! no. Take the dish to Mr Alleyne."
The man took the dish round to the guest, who, talking the while to
Glynne, helped himself liberally, and went on eating.
"Won't you have some, Rolph?" said the major, helping himself in turn.
"I! No. Don't care for such dishes."
"Seems to be very good," said the major. "Smells delicious, and
everyone's eating it."
"Not the ladies?" whispered Rolph.
"Yes; they're revelling."
"Good heavens!" muttered Rolph; and he turned cold and damp, the
perspiration standing upon his brow.
"Nothing worse in this world than prejudice," said the major, taking a
mouthful of the delicate dish.
"Ah, yes: superb. Jack, old fellow, try some of these fungi."
"Get out!" said Sir John, sipping his wine.
"But, my dear boy, they are simply magnificent," cried the major.
"Here, take the dish to your master."
The mushrooms were handed, and Sir John tried a little, recalled the
dish, and had some more, while Rolph sat perfectly still, not daring to
speak, though he saw everyone at the table partaking of the stew.
"What are these?" said Sir John. "They're very good."
"_Agaricus Rubescens_, my boy. Tons of them rot every year, because
there is no one to pick them but Miss Lucy Alleyne and your humble
servant here."
"Well, don't let's have any more go rotten," cried Sir John. "They're
delicious, eh, Mr Alleyne?"
"I beg your pardon," said the visitor, looking up.
"These fungi," said the host, "uncommonly good."
"Yes, admirable," said Alleyne, who had finished his, and had not the
most remote recollection of their quality.
"I don't believe he tasted them," said Sir John to himself.
"These are the fungi, Morris, that I gave you to-day to take into the
kitchen?" said the major.
"Yes, sir," said Morris, and the major finished his with great gusto.
"Uncommonly delicious!" he said.
"Capital, Jem," cried Sir John; "but I hope they won't poison us."
"Trust me for that. They've been well tested, and are perfectly
wholesome. Splendid dish."
"They'll all be in agonies before long," thought Rolph. "I hope poor
Glynne won't be very bad. A bit of an attack would serve her right,
though, for going on like that with the star-gazer. Phew! how hot the
room is."
"I give you credit, Jem," cried the host. "What do you say, Miss
Alleyne? It's of no use to ask these people; they are off on comets or
something else."
"Oh, I'm growing a confirmed fungus-eater, Sir John," said Lucy. "I am
Major Day's disciple. I think them delicious."
"You're a very charming little lassie, and I like you immensely,"
thought Sir John, gazing at Lucy curiously and thoughtfully; "but I hope
Jem has too much common sense to be making a fool of himself over you.
He likes you, I know, but fungus-hunting is one thing and wife-hunting
another. No, I won't think it of you. You wouldn't lead him on, and
he's too full of sound sense."
"I shall have to leave the table," said Rolph to himself. "I never felt
so uncomfortable in my life. Ought I to go and get a doctor here? D--n
the toadstools! I only meant the major to taste them. Who'd ever have
thought that they'd all go in for them. Phew! how hot the room is.
Champagne."
The butler filled up his glass, and Rolph, in his excitement, tossed it
off, with the result that the next time Morris went round, he filled the
captain's glass again.
"The thought of it all makes me feel ill," said Rolph to himself.
"I've got a splendid pupil in Miss Alleyne," said the major, sipping his
wine. "I've given Glynne up. She can't tell an agaric from one of the
polypori. Mr Alleyne, if you're trying to teach her star-names, you may
give it up as a bad job."
"Don't interrupt, uncle," said Glynne, shaking her finger at him,
playfully.
"How pale the poor girl looks," thought Rolph, who was now in an agony
of apprehension. "Phew! this room is warm!" and he gulped down his
glass of wine.
"Jack," said the major, "I couldn't have believed those fungi would be
so delicious; cook has won the _cordon bleu_. Here, Morris, you are
sure these are the same fungi?"
"Certain, sir," replied the butler. "I took them into the kitchen
myself."
"And were they all used?"
"I think so, sir; part for the ontries in the first course."
"What!" roared Rolph, who had been horribly guilty over that dish; and
he turned white as he clutched the seat of his chair.
"_Salmy of poulay ho sham pinions_, sir," said Morris, politely; and he
picked a _menu_ from the table and laid it before the captain, who
refixed the glass in his eye and glared at the card.
"Do you mean to say that the hashed chicken and the other dish was made
up with those con--those toadstools that were--were in that basket?"
"Yes, sir, the basket Major Day brought in, sir," said Morris.
Sir John chuckled. The major burst into a regular roar.
"Are--are you sure, Morris?" gasped Rolph, turning a sickly yellow.
"Yes, sir; quite sure."
"My dear fellow," cried the major, wiping his eyes, "what is the
matter?"
"I've--I've eaten a great many of them," panted Rolph.
"Well, so we all have, and delicious they were. Why, hang it, man, they
won't poison you."
"Don't!" gasped Rolph, with a wild look in his eyes; and, clutching at
the decanter, he poured a quantity of sherry into a tumbler and gulped
it down.
"I say, Rob, are you ill?" said Sir John, kindly.
"Yes--no--I don't know," gasped the captain, gazing wildly from one to
the other, in search of a fresh victim to the poison.
"Would you like to leave the table?" said Sir John. "Here, Morris, give
Captain Rolph a liqueur of brandy."
The butler hurriedly filled a wine glass, and the captain tossed it off
as if it had been water, gazing dizzily round at the anxious faces at
the table.
"Do you feel very bad, Robert?" said Glynne, rising and going round to
his side to speak with great sympathy, as she softly laid her hand upon
his broad shoulder.
"Horribly," whispered the captain, who was fast losing his nerve.
"Don't you?"
"I? No. I am quite well."
"It was those cursed toadstools," cried Rolph, savagely.
"Nonsense, my dear sir," said the major, firmly. "We have all eaten
them, and they were delicious."
"Give me your arm, some one," groaned Rolph, rising from his chair; and
the major caught him, and helped him from the room, Alleyne and Sir John
following, after begging Lucy and Glynne to remain seated.
"Send for a doctor--quick--I'm poisoned," said Rolph--"quick!"
"Here, send to the town," cried Sir John. "Let a groom gallop over.
No; there's Mr Oldroyd in the village. Here, you, James, run across the
park, you'll be there in ten minutes."
"Telegraph--physician," gasped Rolph.
"Poor fellow! He seems bad."
"I think," said Alleyne, quietly, "that a good deal of it is nervous
dread."
Rolph looked daggers at him, and then closed his eyes and groaned, as he
lay back on a sofa in the library.
"Have--have you telegraphed--sent a telegram?" said Rolph, after lying
back with his eyes closed for a few minutes.
"I have sent for Mr Oldroyd," said Sir John, "and we will go by his
advice. It would take a man half an hour to gallop to the station. We
shall have the doctor here long before that."
Rolph looked round, partly for help, partly to see who was to be the
next man attacked, and then closed his eyes, and lay breathing heavily.
"I wish you wouldn't bring in those confounded--eh? Who's there?" said
Sir John. "Oh, you, my dear. No, you can't do any good. Go and talk
to Miss Alleyne. Fit of indigestion coming on the top of a lot of
physical exertion--training and that sort of thing. He'll be better
soon."
Glynne, who had come to the door, closed it and went away, while Rolph
uttered a groan.
"I was saying," continued Sir John, "I wish you wouldn't bring those
confounded things into the house. You will be poisoning us some day."
"What nonsense, Jack!" cried the major. "I tell you the fungi were
perfectly good. You ate some of them yourself. How do you feel?"
"Oh, I'm all right."
"So is Mr Alleyne; so are the girls; so am I. It is not the mushrooms,
I'm sure. More likely your wine. We are all as well as can be."
"Attack you suddenly," groaned Rolph, piteously.
"Ah, well if it does," said the major, "I won't make such a fuss over
it. Why, when we had the cholera among us at Darjeebad, the men did not
make more trouble."
Rolph squeezed his eyes together very closely, and bit his lips, wishing
mentally that a fit would seize the major, while he upbraided Fortune
for playing him such a prank as this; and then he lay tolerably still,
waiting for nearly half an hour, during which notes were compared by the
others, one and all of whom declared that they never felt better.
Glynne came twice to ask if she could be of any service, and to say that
Lucy was eager to help; and then there were steps in the hall, and,
directly after, Oldroyd was shown in, looking perfectly cool and
business-like, in spite of his hurried scamper across the park.
"Your man says that Captain Rolph has been poisoned by eating bad
mushrooms," said the young doctor. "Is this so?"
"He has had some of the same dish as all the rest," said Sir John; "and
my brother declares they were perfectly safe."
"Humph!" ejaculated Oldroyd, who had seated himself by his patient, and
was questioning and examining him.
"Better get him to bed," he said, after a pause; "and, while he is
undressing, I will run home and get him something."
He started directly, and was back just as Rolph sank upon his pillow.
"There, sir, drink that," said Oldroyd, in a quiet decisive tone; and,
after displaying a disposition to refuse, the young officer drank what
was offered to him, and soon after sank into a heavy sleep.
"I'll come back about twelve, Sir John," said the doctor. "I don't
think he will be any worse. In fact, I believe he'll be all right in
the morning."
"But what is it?" said Sir John, in a whisper. "If it is the mushrooms,
why are we not all ill?"
"Well, as far as I can make out," said Oldroyd, "there is nothing the
matter with him but a nervous fit, and an indication of too much
stimulant. It seems to me that he has frightened himself into the
belief that he has been poisoned. But I'll come in again about twelve."
"No, no; pray stay, Mr Oldroyd," cried Sir John. "Come down into the
drawing-room, and have a cup of tea and a chat. You don't think we need
telegraph for further advice?"
"Really, Sir John, I fail to see why you should," said Oldroyd. "Your
friend is certainly, as far as my knowledge goes, not seriously ill."
"Then come and sit down till you want to see him again," said Sir John.
"I'm very glad to know you, Mr Oldroyd. You do know my brother? Yes,
and Mr Alleyne? That's well. Now come and see Miss Day and her
friend.--Oh, my dears," cried the baronet, in his hearty tones, "here is
Mr Oldroyd come to cheer you with the best of news. Mr Oldroyd, my
daughter--Well, Morris, what is it?"
"If you please. Sir John, cook says, Sir John, she's very sorry that
there should be any unpleasant feeling about the mushrooms; but she had
an accident with the ones Major Day sent to be cooked, and those you had
for dinner were Jones's own growing in the pits."
"I could have sworn they had the regular mushroom flavour," cried the
major.
"Then we needn't fidget about our dinner," said Sir John, laughing.
"Doctor, you're right. Morris, that will do."
Somehow from that minute the evening brightened very pleasantly at
Brackley. Lucy thought it charming, and Glynne was an attentive
listener to every astronomical word that fell from Alleyne's lips.
Twice over Oldroyd went up to see his patient, and each time came back
with the information that he was sleeping heavily, and that there was
not the slightest cause for alarm.
After that, no one was uneasy, and Rolph was almost forgotten. Alleyne
left with his sister about eleven, the two being sent home in the
brougham. Glynne needed no persuasion to go to bed, and Oldroyd sat and
smoked a cigar with the major and Sir John in the library till twelve,
when he went and had another look at his patient.
"Well," said the baronet, on his return, "what news?"
"Sleeping like a baby," replied Oldroyd. "I think I'll go now."
"Anybody sitting up for you, Mr Oldroyd?"
"Oh, no."
"Then there's no one to be uneasy about your absence?"
"Certainly not."
"Then would you oblige me by stopping here to-night, in case you are
wanted?"
Oldroyd was perfectly willing to oblige, and he was shown to a spare
bedroom, where he slept heartily till eight, and then rose and went to
the patient, whom he found dressing for his morning walk, while his
self-issued bulletin was that he was better.
He would not believe the cook.
Volume 1, Chapter XIV.