TWO HEAVY BLOWS.
During the four months that General Mathieson had remained at Holmwood
no one had been more constant in his inquiries as to his health than Mr.
Simcoe. He had seen Hilda before she started, and had begged her to let
him have a line once a week, saying how her uncle was going on.
"I will get Dr. Leeds to write," she said. "My own opinion will be worth
nothing, but his will be valuable. I am afraid that he will find time
hang heavily on his hands, and he will not mind writing. I do not like
writing letters at the best of times, but in the trouble we are in now I
am sure that I shall not be equal to it."
Dr. Leeds willingly undertook the duty of sending a short weekly
bulletin, not only to Mr. Simcoe, but to a dozen other intimate friends.
"It is not half an hour's work," he said, when Netta offered to relieve
him by addressing the envelopes or copying out his report; "very few
words will be sufficient. 'The General has made some slight progress
this week,' or 'The General remains in very much the same state,' or 'I
am glad to be able to record some slight improvement.' That, with my
signature, will be quite sufficient, and when I said that half an hour
would be enough I exaggerated: I fancy that it will be all done in five
minutes."
Mr. Simcoe occasionally wrote a few lines of thanks, but scarcely a day
passed that he did not send some little present for the invalid--a bunch
of the finest grapes, a few choice peaches, and other fruit from abroad.
Of flowers they had plenty in their own conservatories at Holmwood,
while game was abundant, for both from neighbors and from club friends
they received so large a quantity that a considerable proportion was
sent back in hampers to the London hospitals.
Some of Mr. Simcoe's presents were of a different description. Among
them was a machine that would hold a book at any angle desired, while at
the same time there was a shelf upon which a cup or tumbler, a spare
book or newspaper, could be placed.
"At any rate, Hilda, this Mr. Simcoe of yours is very thoughtful and
kind towards your uncle," Netta said.
"Yes," Hilda admitted reluctantly, "he certainly is very thoughtful, but
I would much rather he did not send things. We can get anything we want
from Warwick or Leamington, or indeed from London, merely by sending a
line or a telegram. One hates being under obligations to a man one does
not like."
"It seems to me at present that you are unjust, Hilda; and I certainly
look forward to seeing him in London and drawing my own conclusions."
"Yes, no doubt you will see him, and often enough too," Hilda said
pettishly. "Of course, if uncle means to go to his club, it will be
impossible to say that he is unfit to see his friends at home."
Netta, however, did not see Mr. Simcoe on their return, for Dr. Leeds,
on the suggestion of Hilda, stated in his last report that the General
would be going up to town in a day or two, but that he strongly
deprecated any visits until he could see how the invalid stood the
journey.
There was no doubt that he stood it badly. Just at first the excitement
seemed to inspire him with strength, but this soon died away, and he had
to be helped from the railway carriage to the brougham, and lifted out
when he arrived at home. Dr. Leeds saw to his being carried upstairs,
undressed, and put to bed.
"He is weaker than I thought," he said in reply to Hilda's anxious look
when he joined the party downstairs. "I cannot say that it is want of
physical strength, for he has walked over a mile several times without
apparent fatigue. It seems to me that it is rather failure of will
power, or brain power, if you like. I noticed that he very frequently
sat looking out of the window, and it is possible that the succession of
objects passing rapidly before the eye has had the same effect of
inducing giddiness that waltzing has to one unaccustomed to it. I trust
that to-morrow the effect will have passed off. I had, as you know,
intended to sleep at a friend's chambers to-night; but I should not
think of doing so now, but will sit up with him. I will get Roberts to
take watch and watch with me. I can lie down on the sofa, and he can
wake me should there be any change. I sent him off in a cab, as soon as
we got your uncle into bed, to fetch Dr. Pearson; if he is at home, he
will be here in a few minutes."
It was, however, half an hour before Dr. Pearson came, as he was out
when the cab arrived. He had on the way learned from Tom Roberts the
state in which the General had arrived, and he hurried upstairs at once
to his room.
"So he has broken down badly, Leeds?"
"Very badly."
"I did not expect it. When I saw him last Sunday he seemed to have made
so much progress that I thought there could be no harm in his being
brought up to London, though, as I said to you, I thought it would be
better to dissuade him from going to his club. He might see a few of his
friends and have a quiet chat with them here. His pulse is still much
fuller than I should have expected from the account his man gave of him.
There is a good deal of irregularity, but that has been the case ever
since the attack."
"I think that it is mental rather than bodily collapse," the younger man
said. "A sudden failure of brain power. He was absolutely unable to make
any effort to walk, or indeed to move his limbs at all. It was a sort of
mental paralysis."
"And to some slight extent bodily also," Dr. Pearson said, leaning over
the bed and examining the patient closely. "Do you see there is a
slight, but distinct, contortion of the face, just as there was after
that fit?"
"I see there is. He has not spoken since we lifted him from the railway
carriage, and I am afraid that to-morrow we shall find that he has
lost, partially or entirely, the power of speech. I fear that this is
the beginning of the end."
Dr. Pearson nodded.
"There can be little doubt of it, nor could we wish it to be otherwise.
Still, he may linger for weeks or even months."
Hilda read the doctor's opinion in his face when he went downstairs.
"Oh, doctor, don't say he is going to die!" she cried.
"I do not say that he is going to die at once, my dear. He may live for
some time yet, but it is of no use concealing from you that neither Dr.
Leeds nor myself have the slightest hope of his ultimate recovery. There
can be no doubt that paralysis is creeping over him, and that it is most
unlikely that he will ever leave his bed again.
"Yes, I know it is hard, dear," he said soothingly, as she burst into
tears, "but much as you will regret his loss you cannot but feel that it
is best so. He could never have been himself again, never have enjoyed
his life. There would have been an ever-present anxiety and a dread of a
recurrence of that fit. You will see in time that it is better for him
and for you that it should be as it is, although, of course, you can
hardly see that just at present. And now I must leave you to your kind
friends here."
Miss Purcell knew well enough that just at present words of consolation
would be thrown away, and that it was a time only for silent sympathy,
and her gentle words and the warm pressure of Netta's hand did more to
restore Hilda's composure than any repetition of the doctor's well-meant
assurance that all was for the best could do.
"Would you like me to write a line in your name to Colonel Bulstrode?"
she asked.
"No, no!" Hilda cried; "it would look as if we had made up your minds
that uncle was going to die. If he were conscious it would be different;
for I know that Colonel Bulstrode is his greatest friend and is named
one of his trustees, and uncle might want to talk to him. Oh, how one
wishes at a time like this that one had a brother, or that he had a son
alive, or that there was someone who would naturally step in and take
everything into his hands!"
"There are his lawyers," Miss Purcell suggested.
"Yes, I did not think of them. Mr. Pettigrew is the other trustee, and
is, I know, joint guardian with me of Walter. I am sorry now that we did
not leave the dear little fellow down at Holmwood, it will be so sad and
dull for him here, and he would have been very happy in the country. But
perhaps it is best as it is; if my uncle recovers consciousness he is
sure to ask for him. He had come to be very fond of him, and Walter has
been so much with him lately."
"Yes, his eyes always used to follow the child about in his play," Miss
Purcell said. "I think it is best that he should be here, and as the
nursery is at the top of the house he will not be in anyone's way."
There was but little change in General Mathieson's condition next
morning, although a slight movement, when Hilda spoke to him, showed
that he was dimly conscious of her presence, and when she brought the
child down and he laid his hand on that of the General, and said
"Good-morning, grandfather," according to his custom, he opened his eyes
for a moment, and there was a slight movement of the lips, as if he were
trying to speak.
"Thank you, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said; "the experiment was worth
making, and it proves that his state of unconsciousness is not
complete."
Walter always took his dinner with the others when they lunched.
"Where is the child?" Hilda asked the footman; "have you sent him up to
tell nurse that lunch is ready?"
"I have not sent up, miss, because nurse has not come back with him from
his walk."
"No doubt she will be back in a few minutes," Hilda said. "She is very
punctual; I never knew her late before."
[Illustration: THE NURSE WAS SITTING ON A CHAIR, SOBBING BITTERLY.
_--Page 117._]
Lunch was half over when Tom Roberts came in with a scared expression on
his usually somewhat stolid face.
"If you please, miss, nurse wishes to speak to you."
"What is the matter, Roberts?" Hilda exclaimed, starting up. "Has Walter
met with an accident?"
"Well, no, miss, not as I know of, but nurse has come home, and she is
just like a wild thing; somehow or other Master Walter has got lost."
Hilda, followed by Netta and Miss Purcell, ran out into the hall. The
nurse, a woman of two or three and thirty, the daughter of one of the
General's tenants, and who had been in charge of the child since he
arrived a baby from India, was sitting on a chair, sobbing bitterly. Her
bonnet hung down at the back of her head, her hair was unloosed, and she
had evidently been running wildly to and fro. Her appearance at once
disarmed Hilda, who said soothingly:
"How has it happened, nurse? Stop crying and tell us. I am sure that it
could not have been your fault, for you are always so careful with him.
There is no occasion to be so terribly upset. Of course he will soon be
found. The first policeman who sees him will be sure to take him to the
station. Now how did it happen?"
"I was walking along Queen's Road, miss," the woman said between her
sobs, "and Master Walter was close beside me. I know that special,
because we had just passed a crossing, and I took hold of his hand as we
went over--when a man--he looked like a respectable working-man--came up
to me and said, 'I see you are a mother, ma'am.' 'Not at all,' said I;
'how dare you say such a thing? I am a nurse; I am in charge of this
young gentleman.' 'Well,' said he, 'I can see that you have a kind
heart, anyhow; that is what made me speak to you. I am a carpenter, I
am, and I have been out of work for months, and I have a child at home
just about this one's age. He is starving, and I haven't a bit to put in
his mouth. The parish buried my wife three weeks ago, and I am well-nigh
mad. Would you give me the money to buy him a loaf of bread?' The man
was in such distress, miss, that I took out my purse and gave him a
shilling, and thankful he was; he was all but crying, and could not say
enough to thank me. Then I turned to take hold of Walter's hand, and
found that the child had gone. I could not have been more than two or
three minutes talking; though it always does take me a long time to take
my purse out of my pocket, still I know that it could not have been
three minutes altogether.
"First of all, I went back to the crossing, and looked up and down the
street, but he wasn't there; then I thought that perhaps he had walked
on, and was hiding for fun in a shop doorway. When I could not see him
up or down I got regular frighted, and ran up and down like a mad thing.
Once I came back as far as the house, but there were no signs of him,
and I knew that he could not have got as far as this, even if he had run
all the way. Then I thought of the mews, and I ran back there. Master
Walter was very fond of horses, and he generally stopped when we got to
the entrance of the mews, and stood looking for a minute or two at the
grooms cleaning the horses, and I thought that he might have gone in
there. There were two or three men about, but none had seen the child.
Still I ran on, and looked into several stables, a-calling for him all
the time. When he wasn't there, I went well-nigh stark mad, and I ran up
and down the streets asking everyone I met had they seen a child. Then I
came back here to tell you."
"We shall soon hear of him, nurse. Roberts, do you and William start out
at once. Go first to the police station and give notice that the child
is missing--he cannot have wandered far--and then do you and James go
all round the neighborhood and tell every policeman that you meet what
has happened. You can ask in all the shops in Queen's Road and the
streets near; he may have wandered into one of them, and as he was
alone, they may have kept him until someone came to inquire after him.
Now, Netta, will you put on your bonnet and come out with me?"
"Shall I come with you too, Hilda?"
"No, thank you, Miss Purcell. In the first place we shall walk too fast
for you, and in the second it would be as well for you to be here to
comfort him if he is brought back while we are out. We will come every
half-hour to hear if there is news of him. You had better go upstairs
and make yourself tidy, nurse, and then you can come out and join in the
hunt. But you look so utterly worn out and exhausted that I think
perhaps you had better sit quiet for a time; you may be sure that it
will not be long before some of us bring him back.
"I could not sit still, Miss Covington," the woman said. "I will just
run upstairs and put myself straight, and then go out again."
"Try and calm yourself, nurse, or you will be taken for a madwoman; you
certainly looked like one when you came in."
Two minutes later Hilda and her friend started.
"Let us go first into Kensington Gardens, Netta; he often went there to
play, and if he came down into the main road, he would very likely
wander in. It is probable that nurse may have been longer speaking to
that man than she thinks, and that he had time to get a good way before
she missed him."
The gardens were thoroughly searched, and the park-keepers questioned,
but there were no signs of Walter. Then they called at the house to see
whether there was any news of him. Finding that there was not, they
again went out. They had no real hopes of finding him now, for Hilda was
convinced that he was not in any of the streets near. Had he been,
either the nurse or the men would have found him.
"He has, no doubt, been either taken by some kind-hearted person who has
found him lost," she said, "and who has either given notice to the
police, or he has been taken by them to the police station. Still, it
relieves one to walk about; it would be impossible to sit quiet, doing
nothing. The others will have searched all the streets near, and we had
better go up the Edgware Road, search in that direction, and give notice
to any policemen we find."
But the afternoon went on and no news was received of the missing child.
It was a relief to them when Dr. Leeds, who had gone off watch for a few
hours at twelve o'clock, returned. He looked grave for a moment when he
heard the news, but said cheerfully, "It is very annoying, Miss
Covington, but you need not alarm yourself; Walter is bound to turn up."
"But he ought to have been sent to the police station long before this,"
Hilda said tearfully.
"Of course he ought, if all people possessed common-sense;
unfortunately, they don't. I expect that at the present moment he is
eating bread and jam, or something of that sort in the house of some
kind-hearted old lady who has taken him in, and the idea of informing
the police has never occurred to her for a moment, and, unfortunately,
may not occur for some little time. However, if you will give me the
details of his dress, I will go at once with it to the printer's and get
two or three hundred notices struck off and sent round, to be placed in
tradesmen's windows and stuck up on walls, saying that whoever will
bring the child here will be handsomely rewarded. This is sure to fetch
him before long."
There was but little sleep that night at General Mathieson's. The master
of the house still lay unconscious, and from time to time Dr. Leeds came
down to say a few cheering words to the anxious girls. Tom Roberts
walked the streets all night with the faint idea of finding the child
asleep on a doorstep, and went three times to the police station to ask
if there was any news. The first thing in the morning Hilda went with
Dr. Leeds to Scotland Yard, and the description of the child was at once
sent to every station in London; then she drove by herself to the office
of Messrs. Farmer & Pettigrew, and waited there until the latter
gentleman arrived. Mr. Pettigrew, who was a very old friend of the
family, looked very grave over the news.
"I will not conceal from you, Miss Covington," he said, when she had
finished her story, "that the affair looks to me somewhat serious; and I
am afraid that you will have to make up your mind that you may not see
the little fellow as soon as you expect. Had he been merely lost, you
should certainly have heard of him in a few hours after the various and,
I may say, judicious steps that you have taken. A child who loses
himself in the streets of London is morally certain to come into the
hands of the police in a very few hours."
"Then what can have become of him, Mr. Pettigrew?"
"It may be that, as not unfrequently happens, the child has been stolen
for the sake of his clothes. In that case he will probably be heard of
before very long. Or it may be a case of blackmail. Someone, possibly an
acquaintance of one of the servants, may have known that the child, as
the grandson and heir of General Mathieson, would be a valuable prize,
and that, if he could be carried off, his friends might finally be
forced to pay a considerable sum to recover him. I must say that it
looks to me like a planned thing. One of the confederates engages the
silly woman, his nurse, in a long rambling talk; the other picks the
child quietly up or entices him away to the next corner, where he has a
cab in waiting, and drives off with him at once. However, in neither
case need you fear that the child will come to serious harm. If he has
been stolen for the sake of his clothes the woman will very speedily
turn him adrift, and he will be brought home to you by the police in
rags. If, on the other hand, he has been taken for the purpose of
blackmail, you may be sure that he will be well cared for, for he will,
in the eyes of those who have taken him, be a most valuable possession.
In that case you may not hear from the abductors for some little time.
They will know that, as the search continues and no news is obtained,
his friends will grow more and more anxious, and more ready to pay
handsomely for his return. Of course it is a most annoying and
unfortunate business, but I really do not think that you have any
occasion to feel anxious about his safety, and it is morally certain
that in time you will have him back, safe and sound. Now how is your
uncle? I hope that he shows signs of rallying?"
"I am sorry to say there was no sign whatever of his doing so up to
eight o'clock this morning, and, indeed, Dr. Pearson told me that he has
but little hope of his doing so. He thinks that there has been a slight
shock of paralysis. Dr. Leeds speaks a little more hopefully than Dr.
Pearson, but that is his way, and I think that he too considers that the
end is not far off."
"Your friends, Miss Purcell and her niece, are still with you, I hope?"
"Yes; they will not leave me as long as I am in trouble. I don't know
what I should do without them, especially now this new blow has fallen
upon me."
"Well, my dear, if you receive any communication respecting this boy
send it straight to me. I do not know whether you are aware that you and
I have been appointed his guardians?"
"Yes; uncle told me so months ago. But I never thought then that he
would not live till Walter came of age, and I thought that it was a mere
form."
"Doubtless it seemed so at the time," Mr. Pettigrew agreed; "your
uncle's was apparently an excellent life, and he was as likely as anyone
I know to have attained a great age."
"There is nothing you can advise me to do at present?"
"Nothing whatever, besides what you have done. The police all over
London will be on the lookout for a lost child; they will probably
assume at once that he has been stolen for his clothes, and will expect
to see the child they are in search of in rags. They will know, too, the
quarter in which he is most likely to be found. If it is for this
purpose that he has been stolen you can confidently expect to have him
back by to-morrow at latest; the woman would be anxious to get rid of
him without loss of time. If the other hypothesis is correct you may not
hear for a fortnight or three weeks; the fellows in that case will be
content to bide their time."
Hilda drove back with a heavy heart. Netta herself opened the door, and
her swollen eyes at once told the truth.
"Uncle is dead?" Hilda exclaimed.
"Yes, dear; he passed away half an hour ago, a few minutes after Dr.
Leeds returned. The doctor ran down himself for a moment, almost
directly he had gone up, and said that the General was sinking fast, and
that the end might come at any moment. Ten minutes later he came down
and told us that all was over."