"I make a rule of always seeing the body," I replied; "but, of course,
you were justified, as the law stands. Well, then, there is no doubt
Heathcote is really dead?"
"Really dead?" retorted Mackenzie. "Don't you understand that he
has been in his grave for six months?--That I practically saw him
die?--That I attended his funeral? By what possible chance can the man
be alive?"
"None," I replied. "He is dead, of course. I am sorry for the poor
girl. She ought to leave home immediately."
"Girls of her age often have delusions," said Mackenzie. "I doubt not
this will pass in time. I am surprised, however, that the Heathcotes
allowed the thing to go on so long. I remember now that I have never
been near the house since the funeral. I cannot understand their not
calling me in."
"That fact puzzles me also," I said. "They came to me, a total
stranger, instead of consulting their family physician, and Mrs.
Heathcote carefully concealed the most important part of her daughter's
malady. It is strange altogether; and, although I can give no
explanation whatever, I am convinced there is one if we could only get
at it. One more question before I go, Mackenzie. You spoke of Heathcote
as a solicitor: has he left his family well off?"
"They are not rich," replied Mackenzie; "but as far as I can tell,
they don't seem to want for money. I believe their house, Ivy Hall is
its name, belongs to them. They live there very quietly, with a couple
of maid-servants. I should say they belonged to the well-to-do middle
classes."
"Then money troubles cannot explain the mystery?" I replied.
"Believe me, there is no mystery," answered Mackenzie, in an annoyed
voice.
I held out my hand to wish him good-bye, when a loud peal at the front
door startled us both. If ever there was frantic haste in anything,
there was in that ringing peal.
"Someone wants you in a hurry," I said to the doctor.
He was about to reply, when the door of the consulting-room was flung
wide open, and Gabrielle Heathcote rushed into the room.
"Mother is very ill," she exclaimed. "I think she is out of her mind.
Come to her at once."
[Illustration: "GABRIELLE HEATHCOTE RUSHED INTO THE ROOM."]
She took Mackenzie's hand in hers.
"There isn't a minute to lose," she said, "she may kill herself. She
came to me with a carving-knife in her hand; I rushed away at once for
you. The two servants are with her now, and they are doing all they
can; but, oh! pray, do be quick."
At this moment Gabrielle's eyes rested on me. A look of relief and
almost ecstasy passed over her poor, thin little face.
"You are here!" she exclaimed. "You will come, too? Oh, how glad I am."
"If Dr. Mackenzie will permit me," I replied, "I shall be only too
pleased to accompany him."
"By all means come, you may be of the greatest use," he answered.
We started at once. As soon as we left the house Gabrielle rushed from
us.
"I am going to have the front door open for you both when you arrive,"
she exclaimed. She disappeared as if on the wings of the wind.
"That is a good girl," I said, turning to the other doctor.
"She has always been deeply attached to both her parents," he answered.
We did not either of us say another word until we got to Ivy Hall.
It was a rambling old house, with numerous low rooms and a big
entrance-hall. I could fancy that in the summer it was cheerful enough,
with its large, walled-in garden. The night was a dark one, but there
would be a moon presently.
Gabrielle was waiting in the hall to receive us.
"I will take you to the door of mother's room," she exclaimed.
Her words came out tremblingly, her face was like death. She was
shaking all over. She ran up the stairs before us, and then down a long
passage which led to a room a little apart from the rest of the house.
"I told you mother wished to sleep in a room as far away from me as
possible," she said, flashing a glance into my face as she spoke.
I nodded in reply. We opened the door and went in. The sight which met
our eyes was one with which most medical men are familiar.
The patient was lying on the bed in a state of violent delirium. Two
maid-servants were bending over her, and evidently much exciting her
feelings in their efforts to hold her down. I spoke at once with
authority.
"You can leave the room now," I said--"only remain within call in case
you are wanted."
They obeyed instantly, looking at me with surprised glances, and at
Mackenzie with manifest relief.
I shut the door after them and approached the bed. One glance showed
that Mrs. Heathcote was not mad in the ordinary sense, but that she
was suffering at the moment from acute delirium. I put my hand on
her forehead: it burned with fever. Her pulse was rapid and uneven.
Mackenzie took her temperature, which was very nearly a hundred and
four degrees. While we were examining her she remained quiet, but
presently, as we stood together and watched her, she began to rave
again.
"What is it, Gabrielle? No, no, he is quite dead, child. I tell you I
saw the men screw his coffin down. He's dead--quite dead. Oh, God! oh,
God! yes, dead, dead!"
She sat up in bed and stared straight before her.
"You mustn't come here so often," she said, looking past us into the
centre of the room, and addressing someone whom she seemed to see with
distinctness, "I tell you it isn't safe. Gabrielle suspects. Don't come
so often--I'll manage some other way. Trust me. Do trust me. You know I
won't let you starve. Oh, go away, go away."
She flung herself back on the bed and pressed her hands frantically to
her burning eyes.
"Your father has been dead six months now, Gabrielle," she said,
presently, in a changed voice.
"No one was ever more dead. I tell you I saw him die; he was buried,
and you went to his funeral." Here again her voice altered. She sat
upright and motioned with her hand. "Will you bring the coffin in here,
please, into this room? Yes; it seems a nice coffin--well finished. The
coffin is made of oak. That is right. Oak lasts. I can't bear coffins
that crumble away very quickly. This is a good one--you have taken
pains with it--I am pleased. Lay him in gently. "He is not very heavy,
is he? You see how worn he is. Consumption!--yes, consumption. He had
been a long time dying, but at the end it was sudden. Hemorrhage of
the lungs. We did it to save Gabrielle, and to keep away--what, what,
_what_ did we want to keep away?--Oh, yes, dishonour! The--the--" Here
she burst into a loud laugh.
"You don't suppose, you undertaker's men, that I'm going to tell you
what we did it for? Dr. Mackenzie was there--he saw him just at the
end. Now you have placed him nicely in his coffin, and you can go.
Thank you, you can go now. I don't want you to see his face. A dead
face is too sacred. You must not look on it. He is peaceful, only
pale, very pale. All dead people look pale. Is he as pale as most dead
people? Oh, I forgot--you can't see him. And as cold? Oh, yes, I think
so, quite. You want to screw the coffin down, of course, of course--I
was forgetting. Now, be quick about it. Why, do you know, I was very
nearly having him buried with the coffin open! Screw away now, screw
away. Ah, how that noise grates on my nerves. I shall go mad if you are
not quick. Do be quick--be _quick_, and leave me alone with my dead.
Oh, God, with my dead, my dead!"
[Illustration: "HAVE MERCY UPON ME AND UPON MY DEAD."]
The wretched woman's voice sank to a hoarse whisper. She struggled on
to her knees, and folding her hands, began to pray.
"God in Heaven have mercy upon me and upon my dead," she moaned. "Now,
now, now! where's the screwdriver? Oh, _heavens_, it's lost, it's lost!
We are undone! My God, what is the matter with me? My brain reels. Oh,
my God, my God!"
She moaned tearfully. We laid her back on the bed. Her mutterings
became more rapid and indistinct. Presently she slept.
"She must not be left in this condition," said Mackenzie to me. "It
would be very bad for Gabrielle to be with her mother now. And those
young servants are not to be trusted. I will go and send in a nurse as
soon as possible. Can you do me the inestimable favour of remaining
here until a nurse arrives?"
"I was going to propose that I should, in any case, spend the night
here," I replied.
"That is more than good of you," said the doctor.
"Not at all," I answered; "the case interests me extremely."
A moment or two later Mackenzie left the house. During his absence
Mrs. Heathcote slept, and I sat and watched her. The fever raged
very high--she muttered constantly in her terrible dreams, but said
nothing coherent. I felt very anxious about her. She had evidently
been subjected to a most frightful strain, and now all her nature was
giving way. I dared not think what her words implied. My mission was at
present to do what I could for her relief.
The nurse arrived about midnight. She was a sensible, middle-aged
woman, very strong too, and evidently accustomed to fever patients. I
gave her some directions, desired her to ring a certain bell if she
required my assistance, and left the room. As I went slowly downstairs
I noticed the moon had risen. The house was perfectly still--the sick
woman's moans could not be heard beyond the distant wing of the house
where she slept. As I went downstairs I remembered Gabrielle's story
about the moonlit garden and her father's figure standing there. I felt
a momentary curiosity to see what the garden was like, and, moving
aside a blind, which concealed one of the lobby windows, looked out.
I gave one hurried glance and started back. Was I, too, the victim of
illusion? Standing in the garden was the tall figure of a man with
folded arms. He was looking away from me, but the light fell on his
face: it was cadaverous and ghastly white; his hat was off; he moved
into a deep shadow. It was all done in an instant--he came and went
like a flash.
I pursued my way softly downstairs. This man's appearance seemed
exactly to coincide with Mackenzie's description of Heathcote: but was
it possible, in any of the wonderful possibilities of this earth, that
a man could rise from his coffin and walk the earth again?
Gabrielle was waiting for me in the cheerful drawing-room. A bright
fire burned in the grate, there were candles on brackets, and one or
two shaded lamps placed on small tables. On one table, a little larger
than the rest, a white cloth was spread. It also contained a tray with
glasses, some claret and sherry in decanters, and a plate of sandwiches.
"You must be tired," said Gabrielle. "Please have a glass of wine, and
please eat something. I know those sandwiches are good--I made them
myself."
She pressed me to eat and drink. In truth, I needed refreshment. The
scene in the sick room had told even on my iron nerves, and the sight
from the lobby window had almost taken my breath away.
Gabrielle attended on me as if she were my daughter. I was touched
by her solicitude, and by the really noble way in which she tried to
put self out of sight. At last she said, in a voice which shook with
emotion:--
"I know, Dr. Halifax, that you think badly of mother."
"Your mother is very ill indeed," I answered.
"It is good of you to come and help her. You are a great doctor, are
you not?"