THE STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF DR. SCOTT.
The appearance of the individual who admitted them into what may be
called the prison of Mr. Edermont was sufficiently odd to merit a
description. Lambert Joad, the friend, factotum, and parasite of
Dora's guardian, was a short, stout man verging on sixty years. He had
a large bland face, clean-shaven, and bluish-red in hue; his mouth was
loose, his chin double, his jowl pendulous; and his insignificant nose
was scarcely redeemed by two watery eyes of a pale blue. A few tufts
of white hair covered sparsely the baldness of his skull; and his
ears, hands, and feet were all large and ill-shaped. He dressed in
rusty black, wore carpet slippers, and a wisp of white ribbon did duty
as a collar. This last adornment hinted at a clerical vocation, and
hinted rightly, for Lambert Joad was an unsuccessful parson of the
Anglican Church.
Some forty years previously he had been a college friend of
Edermont's, and in due course had taken orders, but either from lack
of brains, or of eloquence, or perhaps from his Quilpish looks, he had
failed to gain as much as a curacy. In lieu thereof he had earned a
bare subsistence by making notes in the British Museum for various
employers, and it was while thus engaged that Edermont had chanced
upon him again; out of sheer pity the owner of the Red House had taken
the unlucky Joad to Kent, and there permitted him to potter about
library and garden--a vegetable existence which completely satisfied
the unambitious brain of the creature. He was devoted to the god who
had given him this ease.
But the odd part of the arrangement was that Edermont would not permit
his hanger-on to remain in the house at night. Punctually at nine Mr.
Joad betook himself to the small cottage fronting the gates, and there
ate and slept until nine the next morning, when he presented himself
again in the library, to read, and dust, and arrange, and catalogue
the many books. For twenty years this contract had been faithfully
carried out by the pair of college friends. From nine to nine daylight
Joad haunted the house; from nine to nine darkness he remained in his
tumbledown cottage.
Being now on duty, he admitted Dora and her lover, and after closing
the gates, stood staring at them; with a book hugged to his breast,
and a cunning look in his eyes. His swollen and red nose suggested
snuff; his trembling hands and bloodshot eyes, drink; so that on the
whole he was by no means a pleasant spectacle to behold. Dora threw a
look of disgust on this disreputable, dirty Silenus, whom she
particularly disliked, and addressed him sharply, according to custom.
"Where is Mr. Edermont?" said she, stepping back from his immediate
neighbourhood; "I have brought Dr. Scott to see him."
"Julian is still in his bedroom," replied this Silenus in a voice of
surprising beauty and volume; "but he does not wish to see anyone,
least of all a doctor."
"Oh, never mind that, Mr. Joad," said Allen good-humouredly. "I come
as a friend to inquire after the health of Mr. Edermont."
"I quite understand," grunted the other; "you will make medical
suggestions in the guise of friendly remarks. So like your father,
that is."
"My father, Mr. Joad? Did you know him?" asked Scott, considerably
astonished.
"Yes; I do not think," added Joad, with a spice of maliciousness,
"that you had that advantage."
"He died when I was five years old," replied Allen sadly, "so I
remember him very slightly. But it is strange that I should have known
you all these months without becoming aware of the fact that you were
acquainted with my father."
"All this is beside the point," broke in Dora severely. "I want you to
see Mr. Edermont. Afterwards you can talk to Mr. Joad."
"I shall be glad to do so. There are many things I wish to know about
my father."
"Then, why ask me, Dr. Scott, when Julian is at hand?"
"Mr. Edermont refuses to answer my inquiries."
"In that case," said Joad, with great deliberation, "I should ask Lady
Burville."
The young man was so startled by this speech that for the moment he
could say nothing. By the time he had recovered his tongue Joad was
already halfway across the lawn. Scott would have followed him, but
that Dora laid a detaining hand upon his arm.
"Later on, Allen," she said firmly; "in the meantime, see my
guardian."
"But, Dora, Lady Burville's name again hints----"
"It hints at all manner of strange things, Allen. I know that as well
as you do. I tell you what, my dear: the coming of this woman is about
to cause a change in our lives."
"Dora! On what grounds do you base such a supposition?"
"On the grounds that you know," she returned distinctly. "I can give
you no others. But I have a belief, a premonition--call it what you
will--that Lady Burville's coming is the herald of change. If you
would know more, ask Mr. Edermont who she is, and why he fainted at
the sight of her."
By this time they were standing on the steps of the porch, whence the
wings of mellow red brick spread to right and left, facing the sunlit
lawn. Square-framed windows extended along this front above and below,
and an upper one of these over the porch was wide open. As Allen and
Dora stood by the steps, a wild white face peered out and saw them in
the sunlight. Had they looked up they would have seen Mr. Edermont,
and have refrained from further conversation. But Fate so willed it
that they talked on, unconscious of a listener. It was Allen who
reopened the subject of his new patient, who had been referred to both
by Edermont and Joad in so mysterious a way.
"After all," said Allen meditatively, "I do not see why you should
have a premonition of change. That Lady Burville should know Mr.
Edermont is nothing to you."
"Quite so; but that Lady Burville should know something about your
late father is something to you. Did she mention anything about it
this morning?"
"Not a word," he replied; "it was strange that she should not have
done so."
"Not stranger than that you should have been called in to attend her."
"That was purely an accident."
"I don't think so," said Dora deliberately; "at least, not in the face
of Mr. Joad's remark."
Dr. Scott looked puzzled.
"What do you make out of this Lady Burville?" he asked.
Before Dora could answer the question, a voice spoke to them from
above.
"Do not talk any more of that woman," cried Mr. Edermont with a tremor
in his tones. "Come upstairs, Allen; I have something for your private
ear."
And then they heard the window hastily closed, as though Mr. Edermont
were determined that the forthcoming conversation should be as private
as possible.
"Go up at once, Allen," whispered Dora, pushing him towards the door.
"You speak to my guardian, and I shall question Mr. Joad about Lady
Burville. Mind, you must tell me all that Mr. Edermont says to you."
"There may not be anything to tell," said Allen doubtfully.
Dora looked at him seriously.
"I am sure that what is told will change your life and mine," she
said.
"Dora! you know something?"
"Allen, I know nothing; I am going simply by my premonition."
"I am not superstitious," said Scott, and entered the house.
He was not superstitious, as he stated; yet at that moment he might
well have been so, for in the mere act of ascending the stairs he was
entering on a dark and tortuous path, at the end of which loomed the
shadow of death.
When his gray tweeds vanished up the stairs, Dora turned her eyes in
the direction of Mr. Joad. He was seated in a straw chair under a
cedar-tree, and looked a blot on the loveliness of the view. All else
was blue sky and stretches of emerald green, golden sunshine, and
multicoloured flowers; this untidy, disreputable creature, a huddled
up mass of dingy black, seemed out of place. But, for all that, Dora
was glad he was within speaking distance, and alone. So to speak, he
was the key to the problem which was then perplexing her--the problem
of her premonition.
That a healthy, breezy young woman should possess so morbid a fancy
seems unreasonable; and Dora took this view of the matter herself. She
was troubled rarely by forebodings, by premonitions, or vague fears;
nevertheless, there was a superstitious side to her character.
Hitherto, in her tranquil and physically healthy existence, there had
been no chance for the development of this particular side; but now,
from various causes, it betrayed itself in a feeling of depression.
Mr. Edermont's fainting and mention of Lady Burville; that lady's
fainting and anxiety concerning the recluse; and finally, Mr. Joad's
assertion that Lady Burville had known Allen's father--all these facts
hinted that something was about to happen. Dora did not know what the
something could possibly be, but she felt vaguely that it would affect
the lives of herself and her lover. Therefore she was anxious to know
the worst at once, and accordingly, going out to meet her troubles,
she walked forward to the Silenus on the lawn.
Joad saw her coming, and looked up with what was meant to be a
fascinating smile. This disreputable old creature had the passions of
youth in spite of his age, and in his senile way he greatly admired
the ward of his patron. His admiration took the annoying form of
constantly forestalling her wishes. If Dora wanted a book, a paper, a
chair, a bunch of flowers, Joad was always at hand to supply her
wants. At first she accepted these attentions carelessly enough,
deeming them little but the kindly pertinacities of an amiable old
man; but of late she had found Joad and his attentions rather
troublesome. Moreover, his obsequious demeanour, his leers, his oily
courtesies, made her feel uneasy. Nevertheless, she did not dream that
the old creature was in love with her beauty. So absurd an idea never
entered her head. But Joad was in love, for all that, and cherished
ardently his hopeless passion.
"Mr. Joad," said Dora abruptly, coming to the point at once, "who is
Lady Burville?"
"Dear Miss Carew," cried the old man, ignoring the question, and
rising to his feet, "pray be seated in this chair. The sun is hot, but
here you will be out of the glare."
"Never mind about the glare and the chair," said Dora, making an
unconscious rhyme; "I asked you a question. Who is Lady Burville?"
"Lady Burville?" repeated Joad, seeing he could no longer escape
answering; "let me see. Mr. Pride said something about her. Oh yes:
she is the wife of Sir John Burville, the celebrated African
millionaire, and I believe she is the guest of Sir Harry Hernwood at
the Hall."
"Go on," said Dora, seeing that he paused; "what else do you know?"
"Nothing. What I repeated was only Pride's gossip. I am ignorant of
the lady's history. And if you come to that, Miss Dora," added Joad
with a grotesque smile, "why should I not be ignorant?"
"But you hinted that Lady Burville knew Allen's father," persisted
Dora, annoyed by his evasion of her question.
"Did I?" said Joad, suddenly conveying a vacant expression into his
eyes. "I do not remember, Miss Dora. If I did, I was not thinking of
what I was saying."
"You are wilfully deceiving me, Mr. Joad."
"Why should I, Miss Dora? If I knew anything about this lady I would
tell you willingly; but it so happens that I know nothing."
"You spoke as though you knew a good deal, retorted Dora angrily.
"I spoke at random, young lady. And if you--why, what's the matter
with Julian?"
It was little wonder that he asked the question, for Edermont had
opened his window again, and was hanging out of it crying and
gesticulating like some terrible Punch.
"Lambert! Lambert!" he shrieked. "Come and help me! He will kill
me--kill me!"
Joad shuffled towards the house as quickly as his old legs could take
him. He was followed by the astonished Dora, and they were about to
step into the entrance-hall, when Allen Scott came flying down the
stairs. He was wild-eyed, breathless, and as gray in hue as the
clothes he wore.
"Allen!" cried Dora, recoiling at his mad looks, "what is the matter?"
"Don't stop me, for God's sake!" said the doctor hoarsely, and
avoiding her outstretched hand, he fled hastily down the garden-path.
A click of the gate, which had not been locked by Joad, and he
vanished from their sight.
Dora stared at Joad; he looked back at her with a malicious grin at
the flight of her lover, and overhead, at the open window, they heard
the hysterical sobbing of Julian Edermont.