II.

Mr. Tamlyn might be clever in medicine; he certainly was not in

diplomacy. Dr. Knox had particularly impressed upon him the desirability

of keeping their suspicion a secret for the present, even from Madame

St. Vincent; yet the first use old Tamlyn made of his liberty was to

disclose it to her.

Tossed about in the conflict of doubts and suspicions that kept arising

in his mind, Mr. Tamlyn, from the night I have just told you of,

was more uneasy than a fish out of water, his opinion constantly

vacillating. "You must be mistaken, Arnold; I feel sure there's nothing

wrong going on," he would say to his junior partner one minute; and, the

next minute, decide that it _was_ going on, and that its perpetrator

must be Lettice Lane.

The uneasiness took him abroad earlier than he would otherwise have

gone. A slight access of fever attacked him the day after the subject

had been broached--which fever he had no doubt worried himself into. In

the ordinary course of things he would have stayed at home for a week

after that: but he now went out on the third day.

"I will walk," he decided, looking up at the sunshine. "It will do me

good. What lovely weather we are having."

Betaking himself through the streets to the London Road, he reached

Jenkins House. The door stood open; and the doctor, almost as much at

home in the house as Lady Jenkins herself, walked in without knocking.

The dining-room, where they mostly sat in the morning, was empty; the

drawing-room was empty; and Mr. Tamlyn went on to a third room, that

opened to the garden at the back with glass-doors.

"Any one here? or is the house gone a-maying?" cried the surgeon as he

entered and came suddenly upon a group of three people, all upon their

knees before a pile of old music--Madame St. Vincent, Mina Knox, and

Captain Collinson. Two of them got up, laughing. Mina remained where she

was.

"We are searching for a manuscript song that is missing," explained

madame, as she gave her hand to the doctor. "Mina feels sure she left

it here; but I do not remember to have seen it."

"It was not mine," added Mina, looking round at the doctor in her

pretty, gentle way. "Caroline Parker lent it to me, and she has sent for

it twice."

"I hope you'll find it, my dear."

"I must have left it here," continued Mina, as she rapidly turned over

the sheets. "I was singing it yesterday afternoon, you remember," she

added, glancing up at the captain. "It was while you were upstairs with

Lady Jenkins, Madame St. Vincent."

She came to the end of the pile of music, but could not find the song.

Putting it all on a side-table, Mina said a general good-bye, escaped by

the glass-doors, and ran home by the little gate that divided the two

gardens.

Captain Collinson left next. Perhaps he and Mina had both a sense of

being de trop when the doctor was there. Waiting to exchange a few words

with Mr. Tamlyn, and bidding Madame St. Vincent an adieu that had more

of formality in it than friendship, the captain bowed himself out,

taking his tasselled cane with him, madame ringing for one of the

men-servants to attend him to the hall-door. Tasselled canes were the

fashion then.

"They do not make a practice of meeting here, do they?" began old

Tamlyn, when the captain was beyond hearing.

"Who? What?" asked Madame St. Vincent.

"The captain and little Mina Knox."

For a minute or two it appeared that madame could not catch his meaning.

She looked at him in perplexity.

"I fail to understand you, dear Mr. Tamlyn."

"The captain is a very attractive man, no doubt; a good match, I dare

say, and all that: but still we should not like poor little Mina to be

whirled off to India by him. I asked if they often met here."

"Whirled off to India?" repeated madame, in astonishment. "Little Mina?

By him? In what capacity?"

"As his wife."

"But--dear me!--what can have put such an idea into your head, my good

sir? Mina is a mere child."

"Old enough to take up foolish notions," quoth the doctor, quaintly;

"especially if they are put into it by a be-whiskered grenadier, such as

he. I hope he is not doing it! I hope you do not give them opportunities

of meeting here!"

Madame seemed quite taken aback at the implication. Her voice had a

sound of tears in it.

"Do you suppose I could be capable of such a thing, sir? I did think you

had a better opinion of me. Such a child as Mina! We were both on our

knees, looking for the song, when Captain Collinson came in; and he must

needs go down on his great stupid knees too. He but called to inquire

after Lady Jenkins."

"Very thoughtful of him, of course. He is often up here, I fancy; at the

next house, if not at this."

"Certainly not often at this. He calls on Lady Jenkins occasionally, and

she likes it. _I_ don't encourage him. He may be a brave soldier, and a

man of wealth and family, and everything else that's desirable; but he

is no especial favourite of mine."

"Well, Sam Jenkins has an idea that he would like to get making love to

Mina. Sam was laughing about it in the surgery last night with Johnny

Ludlow, and I happened to overhear him. Sam thinks they meet here, as

well as next door: and you heard Mina say just now that she was singing

to him here yesterday afternoon. Stay, my dear lady, don't be put out.

I am sure _you_ have thought it no harm, have been innocent of all

suspicion of it. Mistaken, you tell me? Well, it may be I am. Mina is

but a child, as you observe, and--and perhaps Sam was only jesting. How

is our patient to-day?"

"Pretty well. Just a little drowsy."

"In bed, or up?"

"Oh, up."

"Will you tell her I am here?"

Madame St. Vincent, her plumage somewhat ruffled, betook herself to the

floor above, Mr. Tamlyn following. Lady Jenkins, in a loose gown of blue

quilted silk and a cap with yellow roses in it, sat at the window,

nodding.

"Well," said he, sitting down by her and taking her hand, "and how do

you feel to-day?"

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Better, she thought: oh yes,

certainly better.

"You are sleepy."

"Rather so. Getting up tired me."

"Are you not going for a drive to-day? It would do you good."

"I don't know. Ask Patty. Patty, are we going out to-day?"

The utter helplessness of mind and body which appeared to be upon her as

she thus appealed to another, Mr. Tamlyn had rarely seen equalled. Even

while listening to Madame St. Vincent's answer--that they would go if

she felt strong enough--her heavy eyelids closed again. In a minute

or two she was in a sound sleep. Tamlyn threw caution and Dr. Knox's

injunction to the winds, and spoke on the moment's impulse to Madame St.

Vincent.

"You see," he observed, pointing to the sleeping face.

"She is only dozing off again."

"_Only!_ My dear, good lady, this perpetual, stupid, lethargic

sleepiness is not natural. You are young, perhaps inexperienced, or you

would know it to be not so."

"I scarcely think it altogether unnatural," softly dissented madame,

with deprecation. "She has really been very poorly."

"But not sufficiently so to induce this helplessness. It has been upon

her for months, and is gaining ground."

"She is seventy years of age, remember."

"I know that. But people far older than that are not as she is without

some cause: either of natural illness, or--or--something else. Step here

a minute, my dear."

Old Tamlyn walked rapidly to the other window, and stood there talking

in low tones, his eyes fixed on Madame St. Vincent, his hand, in his

eagerness, touching her shoulder.

"Knox thinks, and has imparted his opinion to me--ay, and his doubts

also--that something is being given to her."

"That something is being given to her!" echoed Madame St. Vincent, her

face flushing with surprise. "Given to her in what way?"

"Or else that she is herself taking it. But I, who have known her longer

than Knox has, feel certain that she is not one to do anything of the

sort. Besides, you would have found it out long ago."

"I protest I do not understand you," spoke madame, earnestly. "What is

it that she _could_ take? She has taken the medicine that comes from

your surgery. She has taken nothing else."

"Knox thinks she is being drugged."

"Drugged! Lady Jenkins drugged? How, drugged? What with? What for? Who

would drug her?"

"There it is; who would do it?" said the old doctor, interrupting the

torrent of words poured forth in surprise. "I confess I think the

symptoms point to it. But I don't see how it could be accomplished and

you not detect it, considering that you are so much with her."

"Why, I hardly ever leave her, day or night," cried madame. "My bedroom,

as you know, is next to hers, and I sleep with the intervening door

open. There is no more chance, sir, that she could be drugged than that

I could be."

"When Knox first spoke of it to me I was pretty nearly startled out of

my senses," went on Tamlyn. "For I caught up a worse notion than he

meant to convey--that she was being systematically poisoned."

A dark, vivid, resentful crimson dyed madame's face. The suggestion

seemed to be a reproof on her vigilance.

"Poisoned!" she repeated in angry indignation. "How dare Dr. Knox

suggest such a thing?"

"My dear, he did not suggest it against _you_. He and I both look upon

you as her best safeguard. It is your being with her, that gives us some

sort of security: and it is your watchfulness we shall have to look to

for detection."

"Poisoned!" reiterated madame, unable to get over the ugly word. "I

think Dr. Knox ought to be made to answer for so wicked a suspicion."

"Knox did not mean to go so far as that: it was my misapprehension. But

he feels perfectly convinced that she is being tampered with. In short,

drugged."

"It is not possible," reasoned madame. "It could not be done without my

knowledge. Indeed, sir, you may dismiss all idea of the kind from your

mind; you and Dr. Knox also. I assure you that such a thing would be

simply impracticable."

Mr. Tamlyn shook his head. "Any one who sets to work to commit a crime

by degrees, usually possesses a large share of innate cunning--more

than enough to deceive lookers-on," he remarked. "I can understand how

thoroughly repulsive this idea is to you, my good lady; that your mind

shrinks from admitting it; but I wish you would, just for argument's

sake, allow its possibility."

But madame was harder than adamant. Old Tamlyn saw what it was--that she

took this accusation, and would take it, as a reflection on her care.

"Who is there, amidst us all, that would attempt to injure Lady

Jenkins?" she asked. "The household consists only of myself and the

servants. _They_ would not seek to harm their mistress."

"Not so sure; not so sure. It is amidst those servants that we must look

for the culprit. Dr. Knox thinks so, and so do I."

Madame's face of astonishment was too genuine to be doubted. She feebly

lifted her hands in disbelief. To suspect the servants seemed, to her,

as ridiculous as the suspicion itself.

"Her maid, Lettice, and the housemaid, Sarah, are the only two servants

who approach her when she is ill, sir: Sarah but very little. Both of

them are kind-hearted young women."

Mr. Tamlyn coughed. Whether he would have gone on to impart his doubt of

Lettice cannot be known. During the slight silence Lettice herself

entered the room with her mistress's medicine. A quick, dark-eyed young

woman, in a light print gown.

The stir aroused Lady Jenkins. Madame St. Vincent measured out the

physic, and was handing it to the patient, when Mr. Tamlyn seized the

wine-glass.

"It's all right," he observed, after smelling and tasting, speaking

apparently to himself: and Lady Jenkins took it.

"That is the young woman you must especially watch," whispered Mr.

Tamlyn, as Lettice retired with her waiter.

"What! Lettice?" exclaimed madame, opening her eyes.

"Yes; I should advise you to do so. She is the only one who is much

about her mistress," he added, as if he would account for the advice.

"_Watch her._"

Leaving madame at the window to digest the mandate and to get over her

astonishment, he sat down by Lady Jenkins again, and began talking of

this and that: the fineness of the weather, the gossip passing in the

town.

"What do you take?" he asked abruptly.

"Take?" she repeated. "What is it that I take, Patty?" appealing to her

companion.

"Nay, but I want you to tell me yourself," hastily interposed the

doctor. "Don't trouble madame."

"But I don't know that I can recollect."

"Oh yes, you can. The effort to do so will do you good--wake you out

of this stupid sleepiness. Take yesterday: what did you have for

breakfast?"

"Yesterday? Well, I think they brought me a poached egg."

"And a very good thing, too. What did you drink with it?"

"Tea. I always take tea."

"Who makes it?"

"I do," said madame, turning her head to Mr. Tamlyn with a meaning

smile. "I take my own tea from the same tea-pot."

"Good. What did you take after that, Lady Jenkins?"

"I dare say I had some beef-tea at eleven. Did I, Patty? I generally do

have it."

"Yes, dear Lady Jenkins; and delicious beef-tea it is, and it does you

good. I should like Mr. Tamlyn to take a cup of it."

"I don't mind if I do."

Perhaps the answer was unexpected: but Madame St. Vincent rang the bell

and ordered up a cup of the beef-tea. The beef-tea proved to be "all

right," as he had observed of the medicine. Meanwhile he had continued

his questions to his patient.

She had eaten some chicken for dinner, and a little sweetbread for

supper. There had been interludes of refreshment: an egg beaten up with

milk, a cup of tea and bread-and-butter, and so on.

"You don't starve her," laughed Mr. Tamlyn.

"No, indeed," warmly replied madame. "I do what I can to nourish her."

"What do you take to drink?" continued the doctor.

"Nothing to speak of," interposed madame. "A drop of cold

brandy-and-water with her dinner."

"Patty thinks it is better for me than wine," put in Lady Jenkins.

"I don't know but it is. You don't take too much of it?"