THE NAPOLEON OF THE MOORS
On the bear-skin rug, with his back to the fire, stood Dr. Robert
Mackenzie, known to his friends as "Dr. Rob" or "Old Robbie," according
to their degrees of intimacy.
Jane's first impression was of a short, stout man, in a sealskin
waistcoat which had seen better days, a light box-cloth overcoat three
sizes too large for him, a Napoleonic attitude,--little spindle legs
planted far apart, arms folded on chest, shoulders hunched up,--which
led one to expect, as the eye travelled upwards, an ivory-white
complexion, a Roman nose, masterful jaw, and thin lips folded in a line
of conscious power. Instead of which one found a red, freckled face, a
nose which turned cheerfully skyward, a fat pink chin, and drooping
sandy moustache. The only striking feature of the face was a pair of
keen blue eyes, which, when turned upon any one intently, almost
disappeared beneath bushy red eyebrows and became little points of
turquoise light.
Jane had not been in his presence two minutes before she perceived
that, when his mind was working, he was entirely unconscious of his
body, which was apt to do most peculiar things automatically; so that
his friends had passed round the remark: "Robbie chews up dozens of
good pen-holders, while Dr. Mackenzie is thinking out excellent
prescriptions."
When Jane entered, his eyes were fixed upon an open letter, which she
instinctively knew to be Deryck's, and he did not look up at once. When
he did look up, she saw his unmistakable start of surprise. He opened
his mouth to speak, and Jane was irresistibly reminded of a tame
goldfish at Overdene, which used to rise to the surface when the
duchess dropped crumbs. He closed it without uttering a word, and
turned again to Deryck's letter; and Jane felt herself to be the crumb,
or rather the camel, which he was finding it difficult to swallow.
She waited in respectful silence, and Deryck's words passed with
calming effect through the palpitating suspense of her brain. "The
Gaelic mind works slowly, though it works exceeding sure. He will be
exceeding sure that I am a verra poor judge o' women."
At last the little man on the hearth-rug lifted his eyes again to
Jane's; and, alas, how high he had to lift them!
"Nurse--er?" he said inquiringly, and Jane thought his searching eyes
looked like little bits of broken blue china in a hay-stack.
"Rosemary Gray," replied Jane meekly, with a curtsey in her voice;
feeling as if they were rehearsing amateur theatricals at Overdene, and
the next minute the duchess's cane would rap the floor and they would
be told to speak up and not be so slow.
"Ah," said Dr. Robert Mackenzie, "I see."
He stared hard at the carpet in a distant corner of the room, then
walked across and picked up a spline broken from a bass broom; brought
it back to the hearth-rug; examined it with minute attention; then put
one end between his teeth and began to chew it.
Jane wondered what was the correct thing to do at this sort of
interview, when a doctor neither sat down himself nor suggested that
the nurse should do so. She wished she had asked Deryck. But he could
not possibly have enlightened her, because the first thing he always
said to a nurse was: "My dear Nurse SO-AND-SO, pray sit down. People
who have much unavoidable standing to do should cultivate the habit of
seating themselves comfortably at every possible opportunity."
But the stout little person on the hearth-rug was not Deryck. So Jane
stood at attention, and watched the stiff bit of bass wag up and down,
and shorten, inch by inch. When it had finally disappeared, Dr. Robert
Mackenzie spoke again.
"So you have arrived, Nurse Gray," he said.
"Truly the mind of a Scotchman works slowly," thought Jane, but she was
thankful to detect the complete acceptance of herself in his tone.
Deryck was right; and oh the relief of not having to take this
unspeakable little man into her confidence in this matter of the
deception to be practised on Garth.
"Yes, sir, I have arrived," she said.
Another period of silence. A fragment of the bass broom reappeared and
vanished once more, before Dr. Mackenzie spoke again.
"I am glad you have arrived, Nurse Gray," he said.
"I am glad TO have arrived, sir," said Jane gravely, almost expecting
to hear the duchess's delighted "Ha, ha!" from the wings. The little
comedy was progressing.
Then suddenly she became aware that during the last few minutes Dr.
Mackenzie's mind had been concentrated upon something else. She had not
filled it at all. The next moment it was turned upon her and two swift
turquoise gleams from under the shaggy brows swept over her, with the
rapidity and brightness of search-lights. Dr. Mackenzie commenced
speaking quickly, with a wonderful rolling of r's.
"I understand, Miss Gray, you have come to minister to the patient's
mind rather than to his body. You need not trouble to explain. I have
it from Sir Deryck Brand, who prescribed a nurse-companion for the
patient, and engaged you. I fully agreed with his prescription; and,
allow me to say, I admire its ingredients."
Jane bowed, and realised how the duchess would be chuckling. What an
insufferable little person! Jane had time to think this, while he
walked across to the table-cloth, bent over it, and examined an ancient
spot of ink. Finding a drop of candle grease near it, he removed it
with his thumb nail; brought it carefully to the fire, and laid it on
the coals. He watched it melt, fizzle, and flare, with an intense
concentration of interest; then jumped round on Jane, and caught her
look of fury.
"And I think there remains very little for me to say to you about the
treatment, Miss Gray," he finished calmly. "You will have received
minute instructions from Sir Deryck himself. The great thing now is to
help the patient to take an interest in the outer world. The temptation
to persons who suddenly become totally blind, is to form a habit of
living entirely in a world within; a world of recollection,
retrospection, and imagination; the only world, in fact, in which they
can see."
Jane made a quick movement of appreciation and interest. After all she
might learn something useful from this eccentric little Scotchman. Oh
to keep his attention off rubbish on the carpet, and grease spots on
the table-cloth!
"Yes?" she said. "Do tell me more."
"This," continued Dr. Mackenzie, "is our present difficulty with Mr.
Dalmain. There seems to be no possibility of arousing his interest in
the outside world. He refuses to receive visitors; he declines to hear
his letters. Hours pass without a word being spoken by him. Unless you
hear him speak to me or to his valet, you will easily suppose yourself
to have a patient who has lost the power of speech as well as the gift
of sight. Should he express a wish to speak to me alone when we are
with him, do not leave the room. Walk over to the fireplace and remain
there. I desire that you should hear, that when he chooses to rouse and
make an effort, he is perfectly well able to do so. The most important
part of your duties, Nurse Gray, will be the aiding him day by day to
resume life,--the life of a blind man, it is true; but not therefore
necessarily an inactive life. Now that all danger of inflammation from
the wounds has subsided, he may get up, move about, learn to find his
way by sound and touch. He was an artist by profession. He will never
paint again. But there are other gifts which may form reasonable
outlets to an artistic nature."
He paused suddenly, having apparently caught sight of another grease
spot, and walked over to the table; but the next instant jumped round
on Jane, quick as lightning, with a question.
"Does he play?" said Dr. Rob.
But Jane was on her guard, even against accidental surprises.
"Sir Deryck did not happen to mention to me, Dr. Mackenzie, whether Mr.
Dalmain is musical or not."
"Ah, well," said the little doctor, resuming his Napoleonic attitude in
the centre of the hearth-rug; "you must make it your business to find
out. And, by the way, Nurse, do you play yourself?"
"A little," said Jane.
"Ah," said Dr. Rob. "And I dare say you sing a little, too?"
Jane acquiesced.
"In that case, my dear lady, I leave most explicit orders that you
neither sing a little nor play a little to Mr. Dalmain. We, who have
our sight, can just endure while people who 'play a little' show us how
little they can play; because we are able to look round about us and
think of other things. But to a blind man, with an artist's sensitive
soul, the experience might culminate in madness. We must not risk it. I
regret to appear uncomplimentary, but a patient's welfare must take
precedence of all other considerations."
Jane smiled. She was beginning to like Dr. Rob.
"I will be most careful," she said, "neither to play nor to sing to Mr.
Dalmain."
"Good," said Dr. Mackenzie. "But now let me tell you what you most
certainly may do, by-and-by. Lead him to the piano. Place him there
upon a seat where he will feel secure; none of your twirly, rickety
stools. Make a little notch on the key-board by which he can easily
find middle C. Then let him relieve his pent-up soul by the painting of
sound-pictures. You will find this will soon keep him happy for hours.
And, if he is already something of a musician,--as that huge grand
piano, with no knick-knacks on it indicates,--he may begin that sort of
thing at once, before he is ready to be worried with the Braille
system, or any other method of instructing the blind. But contrive an
easy way--a little notch in the wood-work below the note--by means of
which, without hesitation or irritation, he can locate himself
instantly at middle C. Never mind the other notes. It is all the SEEING
he will require when once he is at the piano. Ha, ha! Not bad for a
Scotchman, eh, Nurse Gray?"
But Jane could not laugh; though somewhere in her mental background she
seemed to hear laughter and applause from the duchess. This was no
comedy to Jane,--her blind Garth at the piano, his dear beautiful head
bent over the keys, his fingers feeling for that pathetic little notch,
to be made by herself, below middle C. She loathed this individual who
could make a pun on the subject of Garth's blindness, and, in the back
of her mind, Tommy seemed to join the duchess, flapping up and down on
his perch and shrieking: "Kick him out! Stop his jaw!"
"And now," said Dr. Mackenzie unexpectedly, "the next thing to be done,
Nurse Gray, is to introduce you to the patient."
Jane felt the blood slowly leave her face and concentrate in a terrible
pounding at her heart. But she stood her ground, and waited silently.
Dr. Mackenzie rang the bell. Simpson appeared.
"A decanter of sherry, a wine-glass, and a couple of biscuits," said
Dr. Rob.
Simpson vanished.
"Little beast!" thought Jane. "At eleven o'clock in the morning!".
Dr. Rob stood, and waited; tugging spitefully at his red moustache, and
looking intently out of the window.
Simpson reappeared, placed a small tray on the table, and went quietly
out, closing the door behind him.
Dr. Rob poured out a glass of sherry, drew up a chair to the table, and
said: "Now, Nurse, sit down and drink that, and take a biscuit with it."
Jane protested. "But, indeed, doctor, I never--"
"I have no doubt you 'never,'" said Dr. Rob, "especially at eleven
o'clock in the morning. But you will to-day; so do not waste any time
in discussion. You have had a long night journey; you are going
upstairs to a very sad sight indeed, a strain on the nerves and
sensibilities. You have come through a trying interview with me, and
you are praising Heaven it is over. But you will praise Heaven with
more fervency when you have drunk the sherry. Also you have been
standing during twenty-three minutes and a half. I always stand to
speak myself, and I prefer folk should stand to listen. I can never
talk to people while they loll around. But you will walk upstairs all
the more steadily, Nurse Rosemary Gray, if you sit down now for five
minutes at this table."
Jane obeyed, touched and humbled. So, after all, it was a kind,
comprehending heart under that old sealskin waistcoat; and a shrewd
understanding of men and matters, in spite of the erratic, somewhat
objectionable exterior. While she drank the wine and finished the
biscuits, he found busy occupation on the other side of the room,
polishing the window with his silk pocket-handkerchief; making a queer
humming noise all the time, like a bee buzzing up the pane. He seemed
to have forgotten her presence; but, just as she put down the empty
glass, he turned and, walking straight across the room, laid his hand
upon her shoulder.
"Now, Nurse," he said, "follow me upstairs, and, just at first, speak
as little as possible. Remember, every fresh voice intruding into the
still depths of that utter blackness, causes an agony of bewilderment
and disquietude to the patient. Speak little and speak low, and may God
Almighty give you tact and wisdom."
There was a dignity of conscious knowledge and power in the small
quaint figure which preceded Jane up the staircase. As she followed,
she became aware that her spirit leaned on his and felt sustained and
strengthened. The unexpected conclusion of his sentence, old-fashioned
in its wording, yet almost a prayer, gave her fresh courage. "May God
Almighty give you tact and wisdom," he had said, little guessing how
greatly she needed them. And now another voice, echoing through
memory's arches to organ-music, took up the strain: "Where Thou art
Guide, no ill can come." And with firm though noiseless step, Jane
followed Dr. Mackenzie into the roam where Garth was lying, helpless,
sightless, and disfigured.