The Mynns' Mystery

“Oh, I’m quite well,” said Gertrude laughingly. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“Are you? That’s right. Where’s Mr George?”

“Not come back yet. He said the dinner was to be kept back an hour.”

“Well, well, better appetites. And where is Mrs Hampton?”

“Here,” said that lady’s sharp, decisive voice, as, after making a hurried change of costume, she returned to the drawing-room.

“That the new fashion, Rachel?” said the lawyer drily.

“Eh? What do you mean?” and Mrs Hampton turned to one of the glasses, “Why, bless me?”

She ran out of the room, for, in her hurry, she had come down without her cap – a very stately edifice of lace and wire; and Mrs Hampton’s natural coiffure was —

Well, she was long past sixty.

The lawyer chuckled, Gertrude coloured, and began hurriedly to talk upon something irrelevant, which was kept up till Mrs Hampton returned, looking very severe, and ready to snub her husband at the first chance.

Then the conversation flagged, and at last Mrs Denton came in upon a secret mission to her young mistress, which was prefaced by the words: “Cook says.”

For it was long past the time arranged for the dinner.

An hour passed, and then another, during which space of time Mrs Denton appeared four times. But at the last Mrs Hampton spoke out.

“I’m quite sure, Gertrude, dear, that Mr Harrington would not wish us to wait longer. It’s nine o’clock, and Doctor Lawrence has to go back to town.”

“Yes, you lucky sojourners here – I have.”

“And I am famished,” continued Mrs Hampton. “Depend upon it, Harrington and Mr Saul have forgotten us, and are dining together somewhere else.”

“Would you have the dinner up, then?” faltered Gertrude, whose countenance plainly told of the shame and annoyance she felt.

“If you don’t, my dear, Lawrence and I are going out to have a debauch on buns,” said the lawyer merrily.

“And cook says, Miss Gertrude, that – ”

“Yes, yes, Denton; have the dinner up directly.”

Five minutes later they were in the severe-looking dining-room, partaking of burnt soup, dried fish, overdone entrées, and roast joints that were completely spoiled, while all the time the stern countenance of the old man gazed down from the canvas on the wall.

The dinner was naturally a failure, and her elders noted how Gertrude struggled to keep up appearances, but with ear attent and eyes constantly turning towards the door.

“Well,” said the doctor, in the course of conversation, “it is late, certainly, but I don’t know but what I like it. It seems going back to the pleasant old times.”

“Ah, when the day’s work was done, and one settled down to a comfortable supper.”

“Like to have been a lawyer; a doctor’s work is never done.”

“Pray don’t fidget so, my dear,” said Mrs Hampton, as they left the gentlemen to their wine.

“Do you think there is anything the matter, Mrs Hampton?”

“No, my dear, of course not,” was the quick reply, while to herself the stern-looking old lady said, “Yes, and far too much.”

In due time, after a chat over the slate of affairs, the gentlemen rose to go to the drawing-room.

“Yes, Hampton,” said the doctor, “I agree with you; she ought to leave here at once; and – By George! I did not know it was so late. I must be getting back.”

“Eleven o’clock?” exclaimed the lawyer, referring to his watch.

“And if I don’t mind I shall miss my train. Come to say good-night, my dear. Later than I thought.”

“Going, Doctor Lawrence?” said Gertrude uneasily; and she looked at him with her eyes full of trouble.

“Yes; time and trains, you see. Hullo!”

There was the stopping of some vehicle at the gate, a loud ring of the great bell, and Bruno shot from beneath one of the couches, to utter a loud bark.

“Hark!” exclaimed Gertrude, who was pale and trembling, as voices were heard shouting hurriedly, some one calling loudly as the front door was opened.

“He’s pretty late,” said the doctor jocosely. “By George! I shouldn’t wonder if he has come in the station-fly. It shall take me bark.”

“Oh, Doctor Lawrence!” said Gertrude, running to the door; “there has been some accident. I am so glad you are here.”

“Your plan won’t work, Hampton,” said the doctor to himself. “She’s fond of him, after all;” and he followed the others into the hall.

Chapter Thirteen

George Harrington’s Accident

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Saul Harrington, confronting them. “Perhaps you ladies had better go back to the drawing-room.”

“What is the matter?” said Gertrude quickly.

“Oh, nothing much. Harrington was taken ill, and I got him to lie down, but he didn’t seem to get any better, so I thought it better to order a fly and have him driven home. But, my dear Miss Bellwood, you had better retire.”

There was a tone in his voice which seemed to say, “For goodness sake don’t,” and he hugged himself as Mrs Hampton said shortly:

“I always thought women were most useful when anyone was ill.”

“Here! Hi! Somebody! Curse you! Let go, will you!” came from down by the gate.

“He’s a little delirious, I think,” said Saul hastily. “The fly-man is holding him back on the seat. Mr Hampton, are there any men about? We want help.”

“Yes, two old men and a young man, Mr Saul. Come along, Lawrence; let’s get him in.”

Gertrude gave the doctor a piteous look.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear,” he said kindly. “I’ll soon bring him round. Leave him to us.”

He followed the lawyer down to the gate, as Saul lingered for a moment to whisper to Gertrude:

“He’s right, don’t be alarmed. It is not serious,” and he smiled to himself as he hurried after the others.

“What a kind, considerate man Mr Saul is,” said Mrs Hampton sarcastically. “Humph!”

She stopped to listen, as quite a disturbance came from the gate.

“Is – is it an accident, Mrs Hampton?” whispered Gertrude.

“Yes, my dear. I don’t think there is any doubt about that.”

“Look sharp, please,” came in a voice full of remonstrance, as the gentlemen hurried down to the gate, to find a desperate struggle going on in the fly, where the driver was seated with his head tucked down upon his chest to avoid blows, while he held his fare tightly round the waist. “Ah, that’s better. Take hold of his fisties, somebody. He’s reg’lar mad.”

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Saul, seizing one of the struggling man’s arms, while Doctor Lawrence got hold of the other, and between them they drew the sufferer out of the fly on to his knees by the gate.

“That’s better,” said the fly-man. “Lucky I’ve got my quiet old mare. He gave such a jump once, he startled even her.”

“Here, lend a hand,” said the doctor sharply, as his patient began to struggle furiously, and tried to fling them off, “all of you. We’re four. We’ll take a wrist each, Hampton. You two young men take an ankle apiece.”

“Why, that’s same as they does the sojers when they’re a bit on,” said the fly-man.

“No, no,” cried the doctor. “The other way. Not face downwards.”

The patient was in a sitting position on the gravel, laughing idiotically, and trying to troll out portions of a song, but as he felt himself seized and lifted from the ground his whole manner changed: he struggled furiously, his face became distorted, and he burst forth into a tirade of oaths and curses directed at all in turn.

“Steady, guv’nor!” said the fly-man, as he held on tightly to one leg. “Steady, you ain’t a swimming. Kicks out like a frog.”

“Don’t let go, whatever you do,” said the doctor.

“Not I, sir. I’ll hold on. My! he have had his whack. We can do a bit of a swear here in England, but these American gents could give any of us fifty out of a hundred.”

“Be silent, man!” said the lawyer sternly, as they neared the flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. Then aloud, “Rachel, take Miss Bellwood to the dining-room and stay there.”

Mrs Hampton took Gertrude’s hand, but she was quietly repulsed, and the girl stood just inside the hall, as the sick man was carried up the stone steps, and then into the study, where they placed him on a couch, from which he tried to struggle up, cursing and blaspheming all the time.

“Had you not better go, Gertrude?” whispered Saul, as he left the other three holding his companion down.

She paid no heed to his words, but stood holding Mrs Hampton’s wrist, gazing down at the struggling brute.

“Here you, Mr Saul, get something – a table cover will do, or a rope. We must tie him down. Better go, Miss Gertrude. I’ll get him calm after a bit.”

Gertrude made no reply even to this, but stood gazing as if fascinated, and shuddering slightly as she heard the coarse, ruffianly language and blasphemies directed at all in turn.

“This settles it,” said Mrs Hampton to herself, as, in obedience to a summons, Mrs Denton brought in a couple of sheets, and then stood weeping silently and wringing her hands, as she saw the doctor deftly fold the sheets, and passing one across the struggling man’s chest, give place to Saul, who knelt upon his friend, while the broad bandage was tightly secured right under the couch.

A second band was fastened across his legs, and then Mr Hampton turned to the fly-man, who stood smiling at the scene.

“Thankye, sir,” he said, touching his forehead. “Like such a job every day. Lor’,” he said to himself, as he went down the gravel path to the iron gates, “when gents does go it, they does go it and no mistake. That must be champagne, that must; beer and gin wouldn’t never make me like him.”

“Now,” said the doctor, as soon as the fly-man had driven off, “I must have this got from the nearest chemist’s. Under the circumstances, Mr Saul, I must ask you to go and fetch it. They’ll be shut up for the night, but I must have the drugs.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Doctor Lawrence, by ‘under the circumstances.’ If you think I am to blame for my friend, George Harrington’s illness, you are sadly mistaken. It is an attack of Western or swamp fever, I presume.”

“Undoubtedly,” said the doctor drily.

“Bring the whiskey,” shouted the prisoner, in a hoarse yell.

“May I ask you to fetch this medicine, Mr Saul?” said the doctor again.

“Certainly,” replied Saul; and as he took the paper, he gave Gertrude an imploring look, that changed to one of sympathy as he passed out.

The look was lost upon Gertrude, whose eyes were fixed upon the struggling, blaspheming man bound on the couch, and who could only be kept in his place by Mr Hampton sitting upon him. She had been entreated, again and again, to leave the room, but had refused as if determined to see all.

“Nasty fit,” said the doctor coolly, as he gave the lawyer a peculiar look.

“Yes. I never saw a worse.”

“Here,” cried the patient, with a hoarse roar. “Get some whisk’. Throat’s like – like – what you call it. Hullo, old mother ’Ampton, you there! Where’s old Saul?”

He burst out into an idiotic fit of laughter, and looked from one to the other.

“Where’s Gertie?” he cried at last; “where’s little lassie? Fesh her here. Got t’headache. She’s good f’readache. Curse you, what are you doing. Let’s get up.”

There was another fierce struggle, but the bandages held firm, and he lay panting for a time.

“Man must joy self sometimes. Ah, there you are, little one. It’s all right – it’s all right.”

His eyes closed, and he lay passive for quite a quarter of an hour, the doctor watching every change, and at last joining his entreaties to those of Mrs Hampton.

“You had better go, Gertrude, my dear. You can do no good. I shall stay here by him – perhaps all night. He’ll be better in the morning.”

“Never better to me,” thought Gertrude, as she looked wistfully in the doctor’s eyes. But she shook her head and intimated that she should stay.

“But it is not a fit scene for you, my child,” whispered Mrs Hampton tenderly.

“I cannot help it, I may be of use. Doctor Lawrence,” she said aloud, piteously, as with a faint hope that she might be deceived, and that she was unjust in attributing the trouble to drink, “are such fits likely to return?”

“Eh? Hum! Well, really, my dear, it all depends upon the patient himself. Ah! here’s Mr Saul.”

“Eh? Saul?” yelled the patient. “Where’s old Saul? More whiskey. Ah, would you!”

He burst out into such a torrent of tall swearing as is said to be peculiar to the mule-drivers of the Far West, and Gertrude shuddered as the hot words came pouring forth.

“That’s right, Mr Saul. Now, Mrs Denton, a wine-glass, and a little cold water, please.”

These were obtained, and as the chink of bottle against glass was heard, the patient shouted aloud, and strained to sit up and reach the glass held out to him, and whose contents he swallowed instantly.

“What’s that?” he shouted; “not whisk – That you, Saul boy. Come here – come – ”

He stopped short, uttered a furious oath, and made a bound to set himself free, but sank back inert and lay staring in a ghastly manner at the ceiling.

The doctor laid his hand upon his patient’s heart, felt his pulse, and then bent down over him anxiously.

“Here,” he said quickly, “where is that prescription, Mr Saul?”

“The prescription, sir? Here,” was the reply; and Saul took it from his breast-pocket.

Doctor Lawrence glanced at it quickly, and seemed satisfied, but turned to his patient again, as if the effects of his dose made him uneasy.

“He’ll be better soon, Gertrude, dear,” whispered Mrs Hampton, as she drew her away to the embayed window, and stood with her half hidden by the curtains, but with Saul Harrington’s eyes watching them keenly. “Don’t be alarmed, my dear, at the violence of the attack.”

“I am not alarmed,” said Gertrude slowly, and in a deep, sad voice, “and I am not deceived, Mrs Hampton.”

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“That I never saw any one behave like that before. Mrs Hampton, dear, I am not the child you think me. Do you suppose I do not know that this is the effect of drink?”

There was a dead silence for a few moments, broken only by the stertorous breathing of the man upon the couch.

“I wished to spare you pain, my poor darling,” said Mrs Hampton affectionately, as she drew the weeping girl to her breast. “But you see now it is impossible for you to wed this man. Gertrude, my child, you must come home with me, and give up all thoughts of poor old Mr Harrington’s wishes. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“And you will not be tempted by the money to sacrifice yourself like this.”

“No,” said Gertrude gently. “No money would tempt me, but it was my poor guardian’s great wish that I should be the wife of the boy he worshipped.”

“But, my – ”

“Hush, Mrs Hampton. He was not always like this, but generous, chivalrous, and true. Mrs Hampton, I can see my duty here. It will be no sacrifice, but a labour of love.”

“What? You will not stay here?”

“Yes, and will be his wife.”

“What? You love him, then?”

“No, I think not yet; but I shall bring him patiently back to that which he was when he used to help my poor guardian – win him back to a truer life.”

“Gertrude?”

“If I can do that, I shall fulfil the wishes of the dead.”

“Rachel, take Miss Gertrude away. Hampton, Mr Saul, I must have more help here,” said the doctor in a low, stern voice, as he bent over the man upon the couch, and then in a hoarse, excited whisper he exclaimed:

“Good God! He’s dying!”

Chapter Fourteen

Doctors Agree

The anxiety was terrible for a short time, during which the sick man seemed to be suffering from acute spasms, which made his limbs contract, and drew the muscles of his features in a way that was painful to behold.

Mr Hampton had started off at once for assistance, and Saul placed himself at Doctor Lawrence’s disposal, holding or supporting the patient as his convulsions took the form of a desire to throw himself upon the floor, or of sinking back off the couch.

“You must have given him too strong a dose, doctor,” said Saul at last, as the sufferer lay ghastly-looking, and, for the moment, still.

His eyes were closed, his teeth set, and his fingers tightly clenched, while the sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks seemed to be those of one suffering from a long and painful illness, and not of a young man but a few hours before in the full tide of health.

“No,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “it was the correct quantity. The only thing I can see is that the chemist must have made some terrible mistake. Ha!” he ejaculated at last, as he sat holding his patient’s hand, “that’s better. The paroxysms of pain have passed away, and – ”

He was speaking too soon, for the sufferer suddenly uttered a wild cry, and began to writhe and struggle upon the couch, groaning and kicking with pain, and apparently unconscious of the fact that Gertrude was kneeling at his side, holding one of his cold, damp hands.

The pain passed off, though, after a time, and, livid-looking, and with eyelids and fingers twitching, he lay once more apparently exhausted, till finally his breathing grew regular and faint in the calm sleep of exhaustion.

About this time the second doctor arrived with Mr Hampton, and the room was cleared for the two medicoes to have their consultation.

The great dining-room looked gloomy in the extreme, lit by a hand-candlestick, which had been brought in from the hall; and its occupants stood listening, Mr Hampton and Saul apart, Mrs Hampton and Gertrude together, waiting eagerly for permission to re-enter the study, where, as Gertrude walked to the dining-room door from time to time, all seemed to be terribly still.

It was when returning agitatedly from one of these visits to the open door that she happened to glance upward to where her old guardian’s portrait hung upon the wall, and it was as if the whole of the feeble light from the candle had become focussed upon the grim features of the stern old man, whose eyes met hers in a questioning manner, and to Gertrude it seemed as if they asked her to do her duty by the erring man.

At last the opening of the study door was heard, followed by hushed voices in the hall, and the local doctor took his departure.

“Well?” said Saul eagerly.

“Mr Herbert agrees with me, Mr Saul. Of course, under the circumstances, I submitted my prescription to him. He agreed that it was correct, and he joins with me in my opinion as to the cause.”

Saul looked at him inquiringly, and it fell to Gertrude’s lot to ask the question as to the cause of the terrible suffering.

“The chemist must have made some grievous mistake, my dear, through being disturbed so late at night.”

“But he will be better soon?”

“He is better now, my child; and it will, perhaps, be a lesson to him,” he added to the lawyer, as they returned to the study, where the patient had sunk into the deep sleep produced by the drug the doctor had administered; the terribly potent chemical he had also taken having exhausted its strength.

“Nothing can be better than this,” said Doctor Lawrence. “And now, if you people will all go to bed, it will be the kindest thing for my patient.”

“But he must not be left,” said Gertrude in a quiet, decided tone.

“He is not going to be left,” replied the doctor. “I shall stop with him, and if anybody is needed I will soon call some one.”

“But you must have some one to sit up with you, Mr Lawrence,” said Mrs Hampton.

“Yes; I will sit up with him,” cried Saul eagerly. “It was not my fault, but I feel a little guilty about his being so ill; and it is too late to go back to town.”

“Very well,” said the doctor quietly, “you can sit up with me;” and they kept vigil by the young man’s side.

Chapter Fifteen

Friendly Advice

It was a fortnight before the sufferer was about again, and during that period Gertrude had begun to look more hopefully upon her future, for, though peevish and fretful to a degree, Mr George Harrington, so Mrs Hampton said, showed the better side of his character.

Saul came twice a week to see the invalid, and at the end of the fortnight was down at The Mynns and out in the garden with him.

“If that confounded, meddling old doctor had left me alone, Saul, old fellow, I should have been all right after a good sleep.”

“Doubtful,” said Saul, smiling.

“Well, nearly all right. I suppose I had been having a little too much.”

“Little! I should have been sorry to have taken half.”

“Ah, well, never mind that. I’m all right again now, only I feel as if I should like to prosecute that chemist for his blunder.”

“He deserves it,” said Saul; “but you couldn’t do anything. It was an accident, that’s all.”

“But, confound the man! he swears, so Lawrence says, that he made the prescription up quite correctly.”

“Perhaps your system will not bear the particular drug he prescribed.”

“My system won’t bear molten lead poured into it,” said the young man tartly. “Hang it! I felt as if I was being burned up.”

“You recollect the sensations, then?”

“Recollect! Why, it sobered me in an instant, and I felt all the time as if the end had come.”

“But it had not, my dear old fellow,” cried Saul enthusiastically. “And as soon as the doctor gives you leave, we’ll have a snug, quiet little dinner together somewhere, and forget all the past.”

“No,” said the other quietly, “I must settle down now, and drop all this fast life. I’ve got to mend and marry little Gertrude.”

Saul’s countenance changed.

“Hallo! what’s the matter? You haven’t taken a dose of the doctor’s medicine, have you?”

“I? No; absurd!”

“Why, you look as white as chalk.”

“Reflection of your sickly face, I suppose,” said Saul, with a forced laugh, “or else I turned pale at the idea of your marrying.”

“Why?”

“Such a loss to bachelors’ society.”

“Don’t be alarmed; I may break out again now and then; but if I do, don’t let old Lawrence touch me.”

“No; that was unfortunate. But look here, George, have you thought any more about that investment?”

“No, how could I – upset like this? Here, I’m faint. Ring that bell.”

Saul touched the hand-bell, and Mrs Denton came hurrying down.

“Here, old girl, bring some whiskey-and-soda.”

Mrs Denton lifted the corner of her apron, and began to pleat it.

“I beg your pardon, sir; the doctor said – ”

“Hang the doctor! He didn’t say my friends were to choke with thirst. Bring the brandy, and be quick. Strange thing one can’t do what one likes in one’s own place. What were you saying, Saul?”

“About that investment.”

“What do I want with investments?” said the convalescent shortly. “I’ve plenty of money.”

“I should have thought you were the very man who did want investments, only getting three per cent, for your money.”

“Think about yourself,” was the gruff rejoinder.

“Well, I was not thinking about myself over that, or I should have asked you to lend me the coin.”

“No, I say, don’t,” cried the other, laughing. “We are such good friends, Saul, and I should offend you if you did ask.”

“Don’t be alarmed. I’ve enough for my wants,” said Saul gruffly.

“Glad to hear it. Then on a little more generous over paying your share when we are out.”

Saul winced.

“Turn for turn, you know.”

“If I’m so mean you shouldn’t go out with me; and next time I suggest an investment to you, tell me of it.”

“There, don’t cut up rough, man. That’s right, old girl; put it down here.”

“Please don’t let master drink, Mr Saul, sir,” whispered the old housekeeper.

Saul gave her a meaning nod and look, and the old lady went back to the house satisfied, while Saul drew his chair from the shadow of the great lilac to get nearer the table.

“I suppose I may,” he said.

“May! Of course; open a bottle for me, too, and don’t be stingy with the whiskey.”

“But are you sure that it will not hurt you?”

“Hurt! No; it does me good.”

He lay back watching Saul, who poured out a very liberal quantity of whiskey into a tall glass.

“That enough?” he said.

“Well, no – little drop more.”

Saul tilted a half wine-glass more into the tumbler before proceeding to open a bottle of soda-water, and pretending to be too intent to note that the convalescent took a goodly sip of the raw spirit in the glass.

“There,” said Saul, as the cork he set free flew out with a loud and he trickled the effervescent water into the tumbler, “that ought to do you good, old fellow.”