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DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT
_A VERY STRANGE STORY_
BY L. T. MEAD AND DR. HALIFAX
JOINT AUTHORS OF "STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR"
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHTED, 1896, BY
THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_
[Illustration: MRS L. T. MEADE.]
DR. RUMSEY'S PATIENT.
CHAPTER I.
Two young men in flannels were standing outside the door of the Red Doe
in the picturesque village of Grandcourt. The village contained one long
and straggling street. The village inn was covered with ivy, wistaria,
flowering jessamine, monthly roses, and many other creepers. The flowers
twined round old-fashioned windows, and nodded to the guests when they
awoke in the morning and breathed perfume upon them as they retired to
bed at night. In short, the Inn was an ideal one, and had from time
immemorial found favor with reading parties, fishermen, and others who
wanted to combine country air and the pursuit of health with a certain
form of easy amusement. The two men who now stood in the porch were
undergraduates from Balliol. There was nothing in the least remarkable
about their appearance--they looked like what they were, good-hearted,
keen-witted young Englishmen of the day. The time was evening, and as
the Inn faced due west the whole place was bathed in warm sunshine.
"This heat is tremendous and there is no air," said Everett, the younger
of the students. "How can you stand that sun beating on your head,
Frere? I'm for indoors."
"Right," replied Frere. "It is cool enough in the parlor."
As he spoke he took a step forward and gazed down the winding village
street. There was a look of pleased expectation in his eyes. He seemed
to be watching for some one. A girl appeared, walking slowly up the
street. Frere's eye began to dance. Everett, who was about to go into
the shady parlor, gave him a keen glance--and for some reason his eyes
also grew bright with expectation.
"There's something worth looking at," he exclaimed in a laughing voice.
"What did you say?" asked Frere gruffly.
"Nothing, old man--at least nothing special. I say, doesn't Hetty look
superb?"
"You've no right to call her Hetty."
Everett gave a low whistle.
"I rather fancy I have," he answered--"she gave me leave this morning."
"Impossible," said Frere. He turned pale under all his sunburn, and bit
his lower lip. "Don't you find the sun very hot?" he asked.
"No, it is sinking into the west--the great heat is over. Let us go and
enliven this little charmer."
"I will," said Frere suddenly. "You had better stay here where you are.
It is my right," he added. "I was about to tell you so, when she came in
view."
"Your right?" cried Everett; he looked disturbed.
Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the village street. A dozen
strides brought him up to Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a
face and figure much above her station. Her hat was covered with wild
flowers which she had picked in her walk, and coquettishly placed there.
She wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds--some wild flowers were
stuck into her belt. As Frere advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes
were raised to his face--there was a curious mixture of timidity and
audacity in their glance.
"I have a word to say to you," he accosted her in a gruff tone. "What
right had you to give Everett leave to call you Hetty?"
The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, and a slight expression
of anger took its place.
"Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. Horace."
She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, who had been standing
quite still in the porch watching the little scene, came out to meet the
pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him; she raised her dancing,
charming dark eyes to his face, then looked again at Frere, who turned
sullenly away.
"I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," said the rustic beauty, in
her demure voice.
"Excellent," replied Everett.
They had now reached the porch, which was entwined all over with
honeysuckle in full flower. A great spray of the fragrant flower nearly
touched the girl's charming face. She glanced again at Frere. He would
not meet her eyes. Her whole face sparkled with the feminine love of
teasing.
"Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to herself. "It would be fun to
punish him. I like him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him."
"Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, looking at Everett.
"If you'll be so kind," he replied.
She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her head, selected a spray
with extreme care, and handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place
it in his buttonhole; she looked again at Frere,--he would not go away,
but neither would he bring himself to glance at her. She bent her head
to search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found one, and then with
a laughing glance of her eyes into Everett's handsome face, complied
with his request.
The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he glanced at Frere, and a
feeling of compunction smote him--he strode abruptly into the house.
"Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of thing?" said Frere the moment
they were alone.
"I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own mistress."
"Great Scot! of course you are; but what do you mean by this sort of
trifling? It was only this morning that you told me you loved me. Look
here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled with; I can't and won't stand
it. I'll make you the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, I
have the devil's own temper when it is roused. For God's sake don't
provoke it. If you don't love me, say so, and let there be an end of
it."
"I wish you wouldn't speak so loudly," said Hetty, pouting her lips
and half crying. "Of course I like you; I--well, yes, I suppose I
love you. I was thinking of you all the afternoon. See what I
gathered for you--this bunch of heart's-ease. There's meaning in
heart's-ease--there's none in honeysuckle."
Frere's brow cleared as if by magic.
"My little darling," he said, fixing his deep-set eyes greedily on the
girl's beautiful face. "Forgive me for being such a brute to you, Hetty.
Here--give me the flowers."
"No, not until you pay for them. You don't deserve them for being so
nasty and suspicious."
"Give me the flowers, Hetty; I promise never to doubt you again."
"Yes, you will; it is your nature to doubt."
"I have no words to say what I feel for you."
Frere's eyes emphasized this statement so emphatically, that the
empty-headed girl by his side felt her heart touched for the moment.
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Horace?" she asked, lowering her eyes.
"To give me the flowers, and to be nice to me."
"Come down to the brook after supper, perhaps I'll give them to you
then. There's aunt calling me--don't keep me, please." She rushed off.
"Hetty," said Mrs. Armitage, the innkeeper's wife, "did I hear you
talking to Mr. Horace Frere in the porch?"
"Yes, Aunt Fanny, you did," replied Hetty.
"Well, look here, your uncle and I won't have it. Just because you're
pretty--"
Hetty tossed back her wealth of black curls.
"It's all right," she said in a whisper, her eyes shining as she spoke.
"He wants me to be his wife--he asked me this morning."
"He doesn't mean that, surely," said Mrs. Armitage, incredulous and
pleased.
"Yes, he does; he'll speak to uncle to-morrow--that is, if I'll say
'Yes.' He says he has no one to consult--he'll make me a lady--he has
plenty of money."
"Do you care for him, Hetty?"
"Oh, don't ask me whether I do or not, Aunt Fanny--I'm sure I can't tell
you."
Hetty moved noisily about. She put plates and dishes on a tray
preparatory to taking them into the parlor for the young men's supper.
"Look here," said her aunt, "I'll see after the parlor lodgers
to-night." She lifted the tray as she spoke.
Hetty ran up to her bedroom. She took a little square of glass from its
place on the wall and gazed earnestly at the reflection of her own
charming face. Presently she put the glass down, locked her hands
together, went over to the open window and looked out.
"Shall I marry him?" she thought. "He has plenty of money--he loves me
right enough. If I were his wife, I'd be a lady--I needn't worry about
household work any more. I hate household work--I hate drudgery. I want
to have a fine time, with nothing to do but just to think of my dress
and how I look. He has plenty of money, and he loves me--he says he'll
make me his wife as soon as ever I say the word. Uncle and aunt would be
pleased, too, and the people in the village would say I'd made a good
match. Shall I marry him? I don't love him a bit, but what does that
matter?"
She sighed--the color slightly faded on her blooming cheeks--she poked
her head out of the little window.
"I don't love him," she said to herself. "When I see Mr. Awdrey my heart
beats. Ever since I was a little child I have thought more of Mr. Awdrey
than of any one else in all the world. I never told--no, I never told,
but I'd rather slave for Mr. Robert Awdrey than be the wife of any one
else on earth. What a fool I am! Mr. Awdrey thinks nothing of me, but he
is never out of my head, nor out of my heart. My heart aches for
him--I'm nearly mad sometimes about it all. Perhaps I'll see him
to-night if I go down to the brook. He's sure to pass the brook on his
way to the Court. Mr. Everett likes me too, I know, and he's a gentleman
as well as Mr. Frere. Oh, dear, they both worry me more than please me.
I'd give twenty men like them for one sight of the young Squire. Oh,
what folly all this is!"
She went again and stood opposite to her little looking-glass.
"The young ladies up at the Court haven't got a face like mine," she
murmured. "There isn't any one all over the place has a face like mine.
I wonder if Mr. Awdrey really thinks it pretty? Why should I worry
myself about Mr. Frere? I wonder if Mr. Awdrey would mind if I married
him--would it make him jealous? If I thought that, I'd do it fast
enough--yes, I declare I would. But of course he wouldn't mind--not one
bit; he has scarcely ever said two words to me--not since we were little
'uns together, and pelted each other with apples in uncle's orchard. Oh,
Mr. Awdrey, I'd give all the world for one smile from you, but you think
nothing at all of poor Hetty. Dear, beautiful Mr. Awdrey--won't you love
me even a little--even as you love your dog? Yes, I'll go and walk by
the brook after supper. Mr. Frere will meet me there, of course, and
perhaps Mr. Awdrey will go by--perhaps he'll be jealous. I'll take my
poetry book and sit by the brook just where the forget-me-nots grow.
Yes, yes--oh, I wonder if the Squire will go by."
These thoughts no sooner came into Hetty's brain than she resolved to
act upon them. She snatched up a volume of L. E. L.'s poems--their weak
and lovelorn phrases exactly suited her style and order of mind--and ran
quickly down to a dancing rivulet which ran its merry course about a
hundred yards back of the Inn. She sat by the bank, pulled a great bunch
of forget-me-nots, laid them on the open pages of her book, and looked
musingly down at the flowers. Footsteps were heard crunching the
underwood at the opposite side. A voice presently sounded in her ears.
Hetty's heart beat loudly.
"How do you do?" said the voice.
"Good-evening, Mr. Robert," she replied.
Her tone was demure and extremely respectful. She started to her feet,
letting her flowers drop as she did so. A blush suffused her lovely
face, her dancing eyes were raised for a quick moment, then as suddenly
lowered. She made a beautiful picture. The young man who stood a few
feet away from her, with the running water dividing them, evidently
thought so. He had a boyish figure--a handsome, manly face. His eyes
were very dark, deeply set, and capable of much thought. He looked every
inch the gentleman.
"Is Armitage in?" he asked after a pause.
"I don't know, Mr. Robert, I'll go and inquire if you like."
"No, it doesn't matter. The Squire asked me to call and beg of your
uncle to come to the Court to-morrow morning. Will you give him the
message?"
"Yes, Mr. Robert."
There was a perceptible pause. Hetty looked down at the water. Awdrey
looked at her.
"Good-evening," he said then.
"Good-evening, sir," she replied.
He turned and walked slowly up the narrow path which led toward the
Court.
"His eyes told me to-night that he thought me pretty," muttered Hetty to
herself, "why doesn't he say it with his lips? I--I wish I could make
him. Oh, is that you, Mr. Frere?"
"Yes, Hetty. I promised to come, and I am here. The evening is a perfect
one, let us follow the stream a little way."
Hetty was about to say "No," when suddenly lifting her eyes, she
observed that the young Squire had paused under the shade of a great
elm-tree a little further up the bank. A quick idea darted into her vain
little soul. She would walk past the Squire without pretending to see
him, in Frere's company. Frere should make love to her in the Squire's
presence. She gave her lover a coy and affectionate glance.
"Yes, come," she said: "it is pretty by the stream; perhaps I'll give
you some forget-me-nots presently."
"I want the heart's-ease which you have already picked for me," said
Frere.
"Oh, there's time enough."
Frere advanced a step, and laid his hand on the girl's arm.
"Listen," he said: "I was never more in earnest in my life. I love you
with all my heart and soul. I love you madly. I want you for my wife. I
mean to marry you, come what may. I have plenty of money and you are the
wife of all others for me. You told me this morning that you loved me,
Hetty. Tell me again; say that you love me better than any one else in
the world."
Hetty paused, she raised her dark eyes; the Squire was almost within
earshot.
"I suppose I love you--a little," she said, in a whisper.
"Then give me a kiss--just one."
She walked on. Frere followed.
"Give me a kiss--just one," he repeated.
"Not to-night," she replied, in a demure voice.
"Yes, you must--I insist."
"Don't, Mr. Frere," she called out sharply, uttering a cry as she spoke.
He didn't mind her. Overcome by his passion he caught her suddenly in
his arms, and pressed his lips many times to hers.
"Hold, sir! What are you doing?" shouted Awdrey's voice from the
opposite side of the bank.
"By heaven, what is that to you?" called Frere back.
He let Hetty go with some violence, and retreated one or two steps in
his astonishment. His face was crimson up to the roots of his honest
brow.
Awdrey leaped across the brook. "You will please understand that you
take liberties with Miss Armitage at your peril," he said. "What right
have you to take such advantage of an undefended girl? Hetty, I will see
you home."
Hetty's eyes danced with delight. For a moment Frere felt too stunned to
speak.
"Come with me, Hetty," said Awdrey, putting a great restraint upon
himself, but speaking with irritation. "Come--you should be at home at
this hour."
"You shall answer to me for this, whoever you are," said Frere, whose
face was white with passion.
"My name is Awdrey," said the Squire; "I will answer you in a way you
don't like if you don't instantly leave this young girl alone."
"Confound your interference," said Frere. "I am not ashamed of my
actions. I can justify them. I am going to marry Miss Armitage."
"Is that true, Hetty?" said Awdrey, looking at the girl in some
astonishment.
"No, there isn't a word of it true," answered Hetty, stung by a look on
the Squire's face. "I don't want to have anything to do with him--he
shan't kiss me. I--I'll have nothing to do with him." She burst into
tears.
"I'll see you home," said Awdrey.