The justice-room was a small apartment in the older portion of
Barracombe House; the low windows were heavily latticed, and faced
west.
Sir Timothy sat before his writing-table, which was heaped with
papers, directories, and maps; but he could no longer see to read or
write. He made a stiff pretence of rising to greet the doctor as he
entered, and then resumed his elbow-chair.
The rapidly failing daylight showed a large elderly, rather pompous
gentleman, with a bald head, grizzled whiskers, and heavy plebeian
features.
His face was smooth and unwrinkled, as the faces of prosperous and
self-satisfied persons sometimes are, even after sixty, which was the
age Sir Timothy had attained.
Dr. Blundell, who sat opposite his patient, was neither prosperous nor
self-satisfied.
His dark clean-shaven face was deeply lined; care or over-work had
furrowed his brow; and the rather unkempt locks of black hair which
fell over it were streaked with white. From the deep-set brown eyes
looked sadness and fatigue, as well as a great kindness for his
fellow-men.
"I came the moment I received your letter," he said. "I had no idea
you were back from London already."
"Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, pompously, "when I took the very
unusual step of leaving home the day before yesterday, I had resolved
to follow the advice you gave me. I went to fulfil an appointment I
had made with a specialist."
"With Sir James Power?"
"No, with a man named Herslett. You may have heard of him."
"Heard of him!" ejaculated Blundell. "Why, he's world-famous! A new
man. Very clever, of course. If anything, a greater authority. Only I
fancied you would perhaps prefer an older, graver man."
"No doubt I committed a breach of medical etiquette," said Sir
Timothy, in self-satisfied tones. "But I fancied you might have
written _your_ version of the case to Power. Ah, you did? Exactly. But
I was determined to have an absolutely unbiassed opinion."
"Well," said Blundell, gently.
"Well--I got it, that's all," said Sir Timothy. The triumph seemed to
die out of his voice.
"Was it--unsatisfactory?"
"Not from your point of view," said the squire, with a heavy
jocularity which did not move the doctor to mirth. "I'm bound to say
he confirmed your opinion exactly. But he took a far more serious view
of my case than you do."
"Did he?" said Blundell, turning away his head.
"The operation you suggested as a possible necessity must be
immediate. He spoke of it quite frankly as the only possible chance of
saving my life, which is further endangered by every hour of delay."
"Fortunately," said Blundell, cheerfully, "you have a fine
constitution, and you have lived a healthy abstemious life. That is
all in your favour."
"I am over sixty years of age," said Sir Timothy, coldly, "and the
ordeal before me is a very severe one, as you must be well aware. I
must take the risk of course, but the less said about the matter the
better."
Dr. Blundell had always regarded Sir Timothy Crewys as a commonplace
contradictory gentleman, beset by prejudices which belonged properly
to an earlier generation, and of singularly narrow sympathies and
interests. He believed him to be an upright man according to his
lights, which were not perhaps very brilliant lights after all; but he
knew him to be one whom few people found it possible to like, partly
on account of his arrogance, which was excessive; and partly on
account of his want of consideration for the feelings of others, which
arose from lack of perception.
People are disliked more often for a bad manner than for a bad heart.
The one is their private possession--the other they obtrude on their
acquaintance.
Sir Timothy's heart was not bad, and he cared less for being liked
than for being respected. He was the offspring of a _mésalliance_; and
greatly over-estimating the importance in which his family was held,
he imagined he would be looked down upon for this mischance, unless he
kept people at a distance and in awe of him. The idea was a foolish
one, no doubt, but then Sir Timothy was not a wise man; on the
contrary, his lifelong determination to keep himself loftily apart
from his fellow-men had resulted in an almost extraordinary ignorance
of the world he lived in--a world which Sir Timothy regarded as a wild
and misty place, peopled largely and unnecessarily with savages and
foreigners, and chiefly remarkable for containing England; as England
justified its existence by holding Devonshire, and more especially
Barracombe.
Sir Timothy had never been sent to school, and owed such education as
he possessed almost entirely to his half-sisters. These ladies
were considerably his seniors, and had in turn been brought up at
Barracombe by their grandmother; whose maxims they still quoted, and
whose ideas they had scarcely outgrown. Under the circumstances, the
narrowness of his outlook was perhaps hardly to be wondered at.
But the dull immovability and sense of importance which characterized
him now seemed to the doctor to be almost tragically charged with the
typical matter-of-fact courage of the Englishman; who displays neither
fear nor emotion; and who would regard with horror the suspicion that
such repression might be heroic.
"When is it to be?" said Blundell.
"To-morrow."
"To-morrow!"
"And here," said Sir Timothy; "Dr. Herslett objected, but I insisted.
I won't be ill in a strange house. I shall recover far more
rapidly--if I am to recover--among my people, in my native air. London
stifles me. I dislike crowds and noise. I hate novelty. If I am to
die, I will die at home."
"Herslett himself performs the operation, of course?"
"Yes. He is to arrive at Brawnton to-night, and sleep there. I shall
send the carriage over for him and his assistants early to-morrow
morning. You, of course, will meet him here, and the operation is to
take place at eleven o'clock."
In his alarm lest the doctor might be moved to express sympathy, Sir
Timothy spoke with unusual severity.
Dr. Blundell understood, and was silent.
"I sent for you, of course, to let you know all this," said Sir
Timothy, "but I wished, also, to introduce you to my cousin, John
Crewys, who came down with me."
"The Q.C.?"
"Exactly. I have made him my executor and trustee, and guardian of my
son."
"Jointly with Lady Mary, I presume?" said the doctor, unguardedly.
"Certainly not," said Sir Timothy, stiffly. "Lady Mary has never been
troubled with business matters. That is why I urged John to come down
with me. In case--anything--happens to-morrow, his support will be
invaluable to her. I have a high opinion of him. He has succeeded in
life through his own energy, and he is the only member of my family
who has never applied to me for assistance. I inquired the reason on
the journey down, for I know that at one time he was in very poor
circumstances; and he replied that he would rather have starved than
have asked me for sixpence. I call that a very proper spirit."
The doctor made no comment on the anecdote. "May I ask how Lady Mary
is bearing this suspense?" he asked.
"Lady Mary knows nothing of the matter," said the squire, rather
peevishly.
"You have not prepared her?"
"No; and I particularly desire she and my sisters should hear nothing
of it. If this is to be my last evening on earth, I should not wish it
to be clouded by tears and lamentations, which might make it difficult
for me to maintain my own self-command. Herslett said I was not to
be agitated. I shall bid them all good night just as usual. In
the morning I beg you will be good enough to make the necessary
explanations. Lady Mary need hear nothing of it till it is over, for
you know she never leaves her room before twelve--a habit I have often
deplored, but which is highly convenient on this occasion."
Dr. Blundell reflected for a moment. "May I venture to remonstrate
with you, Sir Timothy?" he said. "I fear Lady Mary may be deeply
shocked and hurt at being thus excluded from your confidence in so
serious a case. Should anything go wrong," he added bluntly, "it would
be difficult to account to her even for my own reticence."
Sir Timothy rose majestic from his chair. "You will say that _I_
forbade you to make the communication," he said, with rather a
displeased air.
"I beg your pardon," said Dr. Blundell, "but--"
"I am not offended," interrupted Sir Timothy, mistaking remonstrance
for apology. He was quite honestly incapable of supposing that his
physician would presume to argue with him.
"You do not, very naturally, understand Lady Mary's disposition as
well as I do," he said, almost graciously. "She has been sheltered
from anxiety, from trouble of every kind, since her childhood. To me,
more than a quarter of a century her senior, she seems, indeed, still
almost a child."
Dr. Blundell coloured. "Yet she is the mother of a grown-up son," he
said.
"Peter grown-up! Nonsense! A schoolboy."
"Eighteen," said the doctor, shortly. "You don't wish him sent for?"
"Most certainly not. The Christmas holidays are only just over. Rest
assured, Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, with grim emphasis, "that I
shall give Peter no excuse for leaving his work, if I can help it."
There was a tap at the door. The squire lowered his voice and spoke
hurriedly.
"If it is the canon, tell him, in confidence, what I have told you,
and say that I should wish him to be present to-morrow, in his
official capacity, in case of--"
It was the canon, whose rosy good-humoured countenance appeared in the
doorway whilst Sir Timothy was yet speaking.
"I hope I am not interrupting," he said, "but the ladies desired
me--that is, Lady Belstone and Miss Crewys desired me--to let you know
that tea was ready."
The canon had an innocent surprised face like a baby; he was
constitutionally timid and amiable, and his dislike of argument, or of
a loud voice, almost amounted to fear.
Sir Timothy mistook his nervousness for proper respect, and maintained
a distant but condescending graciousness towards him.
"I hear you came back by the afternoon train, Sir Timothy. A London
outing is a rare thing for you. I hope you enjoyed yourself," said the
canon, with a meaningless laugh.
"I transacted my business successfully, thank you," said Sir Timothy,
gravely.
"Brought back any fresh news of the war?"
"None at all."
"I hear the call for more men has been responded to all over the
country. It's a fine thing, so many young fellows ready and willing to
lay down their lives for their country."
"Very few young men, I believe," said Sir Timothy, frigidly, "can
resist any opportunity to be concerned in brawling and bloodshed,
especially when it is legalized under the name of war. My respect is
reserved for the steady workers at home."
"And how much peace would the steady workers at home enjoy without the
brawlers abroad to defend them, I wonder!" cried the canon, flushing
all over his rosy face, and then suddenly faltering as he met the cold
surprise of the squire's grey eyes.
"I have some letters to finish before post time," said Sir Timothy,
after an impressive short pause of displeasure. "I will join you
presently, Dr. Blundell, at the tea-table, if you will return to the
ladies with Canon Birch."
Sir Timothy rang for lights, and his visitors closed the door of the
study behind them. Dr. Blundell's backward glance showed him the tall
and portly form silhouetted against the window; the last gleam of
daylight illuminating the iron-grey hair; the face turned towards
the hilltop, where the spires of the skeleton larches were sharply
outlined against a clear western sky.
"What made you harp upon the war, man, knowing what his opinions
are?" the doctor asked vexedly, as he stumbled along the uneven stone
passage towards the hall.
"I did not exactly intend to do so; but I declare, the moment I see
Sir Timothy, every subject I wish to avoid seems to fly to the tip
of my tongue," said the poor canon, apologetically; "though I had a
reason for alluding to the war to-night--a good reason, as I think you
will acknowledge presently. I want your advice, doctor."
"Not for yourself, I hope," said the doctor, absently.
"Come into the gun-room for one moment," said Birch. "It is very
important. Do you know I've a letter from Peter?"
"From Peter! Why should _you_ have a letter from Peter?" said the
doctor, and his uninterested tone became alert.
"I'm sure I don't know why not. I was always fond of Peter," said the
canon, humbly. "Will you cast your eye over it? You see, it's written
from Eton, and posted two days later in London."
Dr. Blundell read the letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand,
and not guiltless of mistakes in spelling.
"_DEAR CANON BIRCH_,
"_As my father wouldn't hear of my going out to South Africa, I've
taken the law into my own hands. I wrote to my mother's cousin, Lord
Ferries, to ask him to include me in his yeomanry corps. Of course
I let him suppose papa was willing and anxious, which perhaps was a
low-down game, but I remembered that all's fair in love and war; and
besides, I consider papa very nearly a pro-Boer. We've orders to sail
on Friday, which is sharp work; but I should be eternally disgraced
now if they stopped me. As my father never listens to reason, far less
to me, you had better explain to him that if he's any regard for the
honour of our name, he's no choice left. I expect my mother had better
not be told till I'm gone, or she will only fret over what can't be
helped. I'll write to her on board, once we're safely started. I know
you're all right about the war, so you can tell papa I was ashamed to
be playing football while fellows younger than me, and fellows who
can't shoot or ride as I can, are going off to South Africa every
day._
"_Yours affectionately_,
"_PETER CREWYS_.
"_P.S._--_Hope you won't mind this job. I did try to get papa's leave
fair and square first_."
"I always said Peter was a fine fellow at bottom," said Canon Birch,
anxiously scanning the doctor's frowning face.
"He's an infernal self-willed, obstinate, heartless young cub on top,
then," said Blundell.
"He's a chip of the old block, no doubt," said the canon; "but
still"--his admiration of Peter's boldness was perceptible in his
voice--"he doesn't share his father's reprehensible opinions on the
subject of the war."
"Sons generally begin life by differing from their fathers, and end by
imitating them," said Blundell, sharply. "Birch, we must stop him."
"I don't see how," said the canon; and he indulged in a gentle
chuckle. "The young rascal has laid his plans too well. He sails
to-morrow. I telegraphed inquiries. Ferries' Horse are going by the
_Rosmore Castle_ to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."
Dr. Blundell made an involuntary movement, which the canon did not
perceive.
"I don't relish the notion of breaking this news to Sir Timothy. But I
thought we could consult together, you and me, how to do it," said the
innocent gentleman. "There's no doubt, you know, that it must be done
at once, or he can't get to Southampton in time to see the boy off and
forgive him. I suppose even Sir Timothy will forgive him at such a
moment. God bless the lad!"
Dr. Blundell uttered an exclamation that did not sound like a
blessing.
"Look here, Birch," he said, "this is no time to mince matters. If
the boy can't be stopped--and under the circumstances he's got us on
toast--he can't cry off active service--_as_ the boy can't be stopped,
you must just keep this news to yourself."
"But I must tell Sir Timothy!"
"You must _not_ tell Sir Timothy."
"Though all my sympathies are with the boy--for I'm a patriot first,
and a parson afterwards--God forgive me for saying so," said Birch,
in a trembling voice, "yet I can't take the responsibility of keeping
Peter's father in ignorance of his action. I see exactly what you
mean, of course. Sir Timothy will make unpleasantness, and very likely
telegraph to his commanding officer, and disgrace the poor boy before
his comrades; and shout at me, a thing I can't bear; and you kindly
think to spare me--and Peter. But I can't take the responsibility
of keeping it dark, for all that," said the canon, shaking his head
regretfully.
"_I_ take the responsibility," said the doctor, shortly. "As Sir
Timothy's physician, I forbid you to tell him."
"Is Sir Timothy ill?" The canon's light eyes grew rounder with alarm.
"He is to undergo a dangerous operation to-morrow morning."
"God bless my soul!"
"He desires this evening--possibly his last on earth--to be a calm and
unclouded one," said the doctor. "Respect his wishes, Birch, as you
would respect the wishes of a dying man."
"Do you mean he won't get over it?" said the canon, in a horrified
whisper.
"You always want the _t's_ crossed and the _i's_ dotted," said
Blundell, impatiently. "Of course there is a chance--his only chance.
He's a d----d plucky old fellow. I never thought to like Sir Timothy
half so well as I do at this moment."
"I hope I don't _dislike_ any man," faltered the canon. "But--"
"Exactly," said the doctor, dryly.
"But what shall I do with Peter's letter?" said the unhappy recipient.
"Not one word to Sir Timothy. Agitation or distress of mind at such a
moment would be the worst thing in the world for him."
"But I can't let Peter sail without a word to his people. And his
mother. Good God, Blundell! Is Lady Mary to lose husband and son in
one day?"
"Lady Mary," said the doctor, bitterly, "is to be treated, as usual,
like a child, and told nothing of her husband's danger till it's over.
As for Peter--well, devoted mother as she is, she must be pretty well
accustomed by this time to the captious indifference of her spoilt
boy. She won't be surprised, though she may be hurt, that he should
coolly propose to set off without bidding her good-bye."
"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Peter?" said the canon,
struck with a brilliant idea.
"Certainly not; she would fly to him at once, and leave Sir Timothy
alone in his extremity."
"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Sir Timothy?"
"I have allowed Sir Timothy to understand that neither you nor I will
betray his secret."
"I'm no hand at keeping a secret," said the canon, unhappily.
"Nonsense, canon, nonsense," said Dr. Blundell, laying a friendly hand
on his shoulder. "No man in your profession, or in mine, ought to be
able to say that. Pull yourself together, hope for the best, and play
your part."