Chapter IX: Converging Threads

In the course of the same forenoon Andry Luce sought Miss Baynard with the view of making a certain private communication to her. Talking on Andry's part was, of course, done by means of his fingers, but long practice had made Nell an adept at reading the language of the dumb.

Andry, who retained no recollection of his parents, in his brooding, self-contained fashion had never really cared but for two people, to-wit, his young master, Dick Cortelyon, and Miss Baynard. One of them was dead, and to the other was now given a double measure of that love and devotion which had sprung full-grown from his heart the moment he first set eyes on her, and had burnt there with a steady, unflickering flame ever since. She was the secret goddess at whose shrine he worshipped daily. His love was unmixed with any taint of ordinary passion, and was as absolutely pure as that of a father for his child. It was the one well-spring of living water his maimed life knew. There was nothing in the wide world he would not have done, or have attempted, at Miss Baynard's bidding.

His object in seeing her this morning was to enlighten her with regard to the provisions of the Squire's new will, which Mr. Piljoy was to bring a couple of days hence for the purpose of having it signed and witnessed. He did not tell her through what channel he had obtained his information, and, naturally enough, Nell imagined that it was he and not Mr. Piljoy who had drawn up the instructions, or, at any rate, that he had been present at their specification by her uncle. But before Andry's fingers, working although they were at their quickest, had got more than half through their tale, Nell's thoughts were otherwise engaged.

She was rendered terribly indignant, as Andry knew full well she would be, by the thought of the gross and cruel injustice of which Mr. Cortelyon meditated making his innocent grandson the victim. She was made both to love strongly and to hate strongly, and there was nothing she hated more than aught that savored of cruelty or injustice. She had loved poor dead and gone Dick as a younger sister loves a handsome, generous, kind-hearted elder brother, and it made her blood boil to think that his child should be treated as an outcast from the hearth to which he ought to have been welcomed as the pride and the heir.

But what could be done? How could the purpose of this most iniquitous will be defeated? She could discern no way--none. She was as helpless in the matter as a new-born babe. Tears hot and passionate were shed by her in the privacy of her own room. But of what avail are a girl's tears? They fall, only to be dried up as quickly as a summer shower.

Now, it so happened that about this time a certain peripatetic dealer in rare books, coins, and curios of different kinds, of whom Mr. Cortelyon had made sundry purchases at various times, called at Stanbrook on purpose to submit to the Squire a choice illuminated MS. of the fifteenth century, for which he was desirous of finding a customer. The price asked was a high one, but after a little haggling--he was too weak to hold out long--the Squire agreed to pay it rather than let the treasure go.

It was not so much that he had fallen in love with it on his own account, as he believed that in it he had secured a rarity, to possess which his friend Mr. Delafosse, who was also a bibliophile and a numismatist, but more of the former than the latter, would be willing to give in exchange a certain unique stater of Epaticcus which he, Ambrose Cortelyon, had long coveted. Although he believed himself to be so near his end, it seemed to him that he should die happier with the precious stater shut up in his palm, and the knowledge that at last it was his own.

Yes, Nell should go to Dene House, taking the MS. with her and negotiate the exchange. She was already known to Mr. Delafosse, who was no stranger at Stanbrook, and, in point of fact, was a special favorite of the old collector. Dene House was some twenty-five miles away across country. She could go on horseback, accompanied by John Dyce by way of escort.

So great became his impatience that he would have her set out that very afternoon. The days were already long, and she could reach Dene House soon after sunset, stay there overnight--Mrs. Delafosse would give her a hearty welcome--and be back home before noon on the morrow.

So Nell was sent for, and the manuscript given into her charge. By this time her uncle's weakness had become so extreme that his wishes and instructions had perforce to be limited to a few whispered sentences. But Nell gave him to understand that she knew exactly what he wanted done, and he was satisfied. She would set out in the course of the afternoon, and be back by midday on the morrow.

About an hour later Dr. Banks arrived, accompanied by Dr. Mills. The Squire had expressed a wish to see the latter about once a week, and although all the doctors in the world could have done nothing for him, that was no reason why his whim should not be humored. But there was no need for a lengthened visit, and the pair had come and gone in the course of half an hour.

This was the day fixed for the return of Mr. Piljoy with the will, and about half-past two a post-chaise drove up, from which, however, there alighted not the lawyer himself, but his managing clerk, Mr. Tew. Mr. Piljoy, he reported, was laid up with gout, and unable to come, but he, Mr. Tew, was just as competent to see to the proper signing of the will.

Mr. Tew was not sorry to be told that the Squire was asleep and must on no account be disturbed. He was both tired and hungry, and was glad to be able to put the hospitality of Stanbrook to the proof before having to attend to the business which had taken him there.

It was not till close upon five o'clock that he was summoned to the Squire's presence. The sick man was alone, propped up in bed as usual, but Andry Luce had been instructed to keep within hearing of his master's bell.

Mr. Tew, having explained the cause of his employer's absence, went on, at the Squire's request, to read the will aloud, slowly and deliberately, the testator giving a nod of approval at the end of each clause. Five or six minutes brought the reading to an end, and as he took off his spectacles Mr. Tew said: "I presume, sir, that your witnesses are in readiness?"

The Squire nodded. "Ask Andry to summon the gardener and the groom. They have been told to hold themselves in readiness," he whispered.

The two subordinates in question were not long in making their appearance, and very self-important, albeit somewhat sheepish, they looked. They did not know they had been chosen as witnesses because most of the older servants were legatees under the will, whereas they were not mentioned in it. Besides, it had been ascertained that they could actually sign their names, which, for persons of their class, was regarded in those days as a very considerable accomplishment.

Then Andry, who had charge of the proceedings, brought in the Squire's big leaden inkstand, together with a couple of quill pens, which he had cut and trimmed specially for the occasion. All being in readiness, Andry put a stalwart arm round his master, and held him in a firm support while the latter, with slow and painful elaborateness, wrote his name at the foot of the will, which Mr. Tew held for him in a convenient position. That done, the groom and the gardener in turn followed their master's example, not without many strange facial contortions as the pen travelled shakily over the parchment. Then they touched their forelocks and shuffled out of the room, glad the ceremony was over, and yet feeling themselves to be much more important persons than they had been a quarter of an hour before. As they shambled downstairs they whispered to each other that they had set eyes on "th' owd Squire" for the last time. Of the contents of the document signed by them they knew nothing. They had been told it was their employer's will, and that was enough for them.

Mr. Tew was not allowed to leave Stanbrook till after dinner, nor, indeed, had he any particular desire to do so. He could not stay overnight, as Mr. Piljoy would have done, but so long as he was back at business by nine o'clock on the morrow, that was all that would be expected of him. He was carrying back with him the signed will, in an envelope sealed with the Squire's own seal, to be retained in the custody of his employer till the time should have come for it to be made public.

Mrs. Budd and he dined alone. He was told that Miss Baynard, to whom he had been introduced earlier in the afternoon, had in the meantime left the Hall on some private business for her uncle, and was not expected back till next day.

Shortly after seven o'clock, Mr. Tew, who was beginning to be a little muddled with the quantity of old port he had imbibed, bade Mrs. Budd an almost affectionate farewell (she was a widow, and, to his thinking, still a charming woman), climbed into his chaise, and was driven off on his return to Arkrigg.

Night settled down over the old house. In those remote country parts people kept early hours, and when the hall clock chimed the half-hour past ten the only light left burning in the Hall was the one in the sick man's room. Near it sat Nurse Dinkel busily knitting--for she could not bear her fingers to be idle--but watchful and alert, as she always was. The Squire did not like to be looked at as he lay there, and from where she sat she could not see him for the heavy curtains that shrouded the head of the bed, but the slightest movement of his fingers on the counterpane drew her to his side.

She was a woman of some education, and had a low and pleasant voice, and as Mr. Cortelyon's nights were often restless and wakeful, he had got into the way of occasionally asking her to read aloud to him. Her doing so took him for a time out of the dungeon of his own thoughts and sometimes brought in its train the sleep he longed for.

So to-night, after lying awake for some time, as motionless as if he were already dead, he said, "Nurse!"

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you to read to me." His voice was still very feeble, but stronger than it had been in the afternoon; such fluctuations were frequent with him.

"Yes, sir. What would you like? Shall I go on with Mr. Pope from where we left off the night before last?"

"Aye, you can't improve on him. Draw back this curtain that I may the better hear you."

When the curtain had been drawn back Nurse Dinkel did not return to her chair, but stood there, looking at her patient, nursing an elbow in either hand.

"Mr. Cortelyon, sir," she said after a brief pause, "I have something on my mind which I wish most particularly to say to you, if you will kindly give me leave to do so."

"Surely, Mrs. Dinkel, I will listen to anything you may have to say. But don't stand there while you talk. Go back to your chair."

"Thank you, sir," she said, as she resumed her seat. "I will try not to tire you, although what I wish to say may at the beginning seem a bit tedious. You may or may not be aware, sir, that I have a son, Cornelius by name, who is now turned thirty years of age. When he was quite a boy--and a clever boy he was, though 'tis I who say it--the late Sir Willoughby Freke took a great fancy to him. In the course of time he went to London, at Sir Willoughby's expense, for he was bent on studying to become a doctor. And study he did to such good purpose that he passed all his examinations with flying colors. Hardly, however, had he obtained his diploma before a very good offer was made him to go out to Java, where he has relations on his father's side engaged in business. It was an offer he felt bound to accept. That was ten years ago, and now he has come back to England and is not going abroad any more. His home will be in London, but before settling down there he has come to spend a little time with his old mother, from whom he has been so long parted. And now, sir, I come to the reason why I have taken on myself to trouble you with all these dry particulars.

"My son has brought a wonderful discovery back with him from the East. According to his account, it will cure certain diseases after all other medicines have been tried in vain, and, in some cases, will almost bring dead people back to life. What the drug consists of I cannot tell you, because that is my son's secret, and one which he would not think of opening his lips about even to me. All I know is that the chief ingredient is the powdered bark of a certain tree, of which he has brought a considerable supply back with him. Cornelius feels as sure as it is possible for a man to be of anything that he has only to introduce his discovery to the medical world of London to find himself on the high road to a big fortune. His heart is buoyed up not merely by hope but by certainty.

"Well, sir, no longer ago than last Sunday afternoon, when you and Miss Baynard were good enough to spare me from my duties for a few hours, I had a long talk with my son, and took the liberty of telling him about your illness. And what do you think he said, sir? Why this: 'If Mr. Cortelyon could only be persuaded into trying my drug, I feel sure that it would give him a new lease of life.' Those were his very words, sir--'a new lease of life.'"

The Squire lay silent for a little while. Then he said, "And it is your opinion that I ought to allow myself to be experimented upon by this vaunted remedy of your son?"

"Most emphatically it is, sir. Cornelius is no idle boaster; he always knows what he is talking about, and he would not have said what he did without good reason. He tried the drug again and again in several desperate cases before he left Batavia, and in no instance was it a failure."

"But I am an old man, Mrs. Dinkel, and my case is not one of any particular disorder, but a gradual decay of the vital forces, which can have but one end--and that is now close at hand."

"Don't say that, sir, I beg. Who can say what wonder my son's remedy might not effect even in your case, as it has already done in those of others? It is true that neither Dr. Banks nor Dr. Mills seems able to do anything for you, but that is no reason why you should refuse the help now offered you from another source. My son knows your age within a year or two; I described to him all about your illness, and yet for all that, it is his deliberate opinion that he can give you a fresh lease of life."

Again the Squire lay for some time without speaking. "Only one quack the more," he murmured to himself with a touch of his old cynicism. "Well, why not? From the highest to the lowest they're quacks, every mother's son of 'em. As it is, I'm at death's door already, and if the fellow can do me no good, I'll defy him to do me much harm."

Then he said aloud: "D'you know, I'm half inclined to let this son of yours experiment upon me, if only to take some of the brag out of him and prove to him that in such a case as mine his wonder-working stuff is no more effectual than a dose of senna would be."

"Then you _will_ try it, sir! That is all I ask. In any case, no harm can come of it."

"My own opinion exactly"--with a dismal attempt at a chuckle. "Yes, I agree to try it. Only, the affair must be kept secret; outside this room nobody must know about it, unless it be my man, Andry Luce. And now, when can this son of yours be smuggled into the house?"

"It's only a little past eleven o'clock, sir, and if you think you can spare me, I will go at once and bring him back with me. The servants are all abed, and my son could come and go without one of them being a whit the wiser."

"That's a very good notion of yours, damme! Go at once, my dear woman; but first give me a drink of that cordial. I shall want nothing till you get back. And if I can coax that shy dog, Morpheus, to keep me company meanwhile, so much the better."