by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XIX
THE BISHOP'S REQUEST
Whatever Dr Pendle may have thought of the Southberry murder, he kepthis opinion very much to himself. It is true that he expressed himselfhorrified at the occurrence of so barbarous a crime in his diocese, thathe spoke pityingly of the wretched victim, that he was interested inhearing the result of the inquest, but in each case he was guarded inhis remarks. At first, on hearing of the crime, his face hadbetrayed--at all events, to Cargrim's jealous scrutiny--an expression ofrelief, but shortly afterwards--on second thoughts, as one mightsay--there came into his eyes a look of apprehension. That look whichseemed to expect the drawing near of evil days never left them again,and daily his face grew thinner and whiter, his manner more restless andill at ease. He seemed as uncomfortable as was Damocles under thehair-suspended sword.
Other people besides the chaplain noticed the change, but, unlikeCargrim, they did not ascribe it to a consciousness of guilt, but to illhealth. Mrs Pendle, who was extremely fond of her husband, and was wellinformed with regard to the newest treatment and the latest fashionablemedicine, insisted that the bishop suffered from nerves brought on byoverwork, and plaintively suggested that he should take the cure forthem at some German Bad. But the bishop, sturdy old Briton that he was,insisted that so long as he could keep on his feet there was nonecessity for his women-folk to make a fuss over him, and declared thatit was merely the change in the weather which caused him--as he phrasedit--to feel a trifle out of sorts.
'It is hot one day and cold the next, my dear,' he said in answer to hiswife remonstrances, 'as if the clerk of the weather didn't know his ownmind. How can you expect the liver of a fat, lazy old man like me not torespond to these sudden changes of temperature?'
'Fat, bishop!' cried Mrs Pendle, in vexed tones. 'You are not fat; youhave a fine figure for a man of your age. And as to lazy, there is noone in the Church who works harder than you do. No one can deny that.'
'You flatter me, my love!'
'You under-rate yourself, my dear. But if it _is_ liver, why not tryWoodhall Spa? I believe the treatment there is very drastic andbeneficial. Why not go there, bishop? I'm sure a holiday would do you noharm.'
'I haven't time for a holiday, Amy. My liver must get well as best itcan while I go about my daily duties--that is if it _is_ my liver.'
'I don't believe it is,' remarked Mrs Pendle; 'it is nerves, my dear,nothing else. You hardly eat anything, you start at your own shadow, andat times you are too irritable for words. Go to Droitwich for thoseunruly nerves of yours, and try brine baths.'
'I rather think you should go to Nauheim for that weak heart of yours,my love,' replied Dr Pendle, arranging his wife's pillows; 'in fact, Iwant you and Lucy to go there next month.'
'Indeed, bishop, I shall do no such thing! You are not fit to look afteryourself.'
'Then Graham shall look after me.'
'Dr Graham!' echoed Mrs Pendle, with contempt. 'He is old-fashioned, andquite ignorant of the new medicines. No, bishop, you must go toDroitwich.'
'And you, my dear, to Nauheim!'
At this point matters came to an issue between them, for Mrs Pendle, wholike most people possessed a fund of what may be called nervousobstinacy, positively refused to leave England. On his side, the bishopinsisted more eagerly than was his custom that Mrs Pendle should undergothe Schott treatment at Nauheim. For some time the argument wasmaintained with equal determination on both sides, until Mrs Pendleconcluded it by bursting into tears and protesting that her husband didnot understand her in the least. Whereupon, as the only way to sootheher, the bishop admitted that he was in the wrong and apologised.
All the same, he was determined that his wife should go abroad, andthinking she might yield to professional persuasions, he sent for DrGraham. By Cargrim a message was brought that the doctor would be withthe bishop next morning, so Pendle, not to provoke further argument,said nothing more on the subject to his wife. But here Lucy came on thescene, and seemed equally as averse as her mother to Continental travel.She immediately entered her protest against the proposed journey.
'Mamma is better now than ever she was,' said Lucy, 'and if she goes toNauheim the treatment will only weaken her.'
'It will strengthen her in the long run, Lucy. I hear wonderful accountsof the Nauheim cures.'
'Oh, papa, every Bad says that it cures more patients than any other,just as every Bad advertises that its waters have so much per cent. moresalt or sodium or iodine, or whatever they call it, than the rest.Besides, if you really think mamma should try this cure she can have itat Bath or in London. They say it is just as good in either place as atNauheim.'
'I think not, Lucy; and I wish you and your mother to go abroad for amonth or two. My mind is made up on the subject.'
'Why, papa,' cried Lucy, playfully, 'one would think you wanted to getrid of us.'
The bishop winced and turned a shade paler. 'You are talking at random,my dear,' he said gravely; 'if it were not for your mother's good Ishould not deprive myself of your society.'
'Poor mother!' sighed Lucy, and 'poor Harry,' she added as anafterthought.
'There need be no "poor Harry" about the matter,' said Dr Pendle, rathersharply. 'If that is what is troubling you, I daresay Harry will be gladto escort you and your mother over to Germany.'
Lucy became a rosy red with pleasure. 'Do you really think Harry willlike to come?' she asked in a fluttering voice.
'He is no true lover if he doesn't,' replied her father, with a wansmile. 'Now, run away, my love, I am busy. To-morrow we shall settle thequestion of your going.'
When to-morrow came, Cargrim, all on fire with curiosity, tried hishardest to stay in the library when Dr Graham came; but as the bishopwished his interview to be private, he intimated the fact pretty plainlyto his obsequious chaplain. In fact, he spoke so sharply that Cargrimfelt distinctly aggrieved; and but for the trained control he kept ofhis temper, might have said something to show Dr Pendle the suspicionshe entertained. However, the time was not yet ripe for him to place allhis cards on the table, for he had not yet conceived a plausible caseagainst the bishop. He was on the point of pronouncing the name 'Amaru'to see if it would startle Dr Pendle, but remembering his formerfailures when he had introduced the name of 'Jentham' to the bishop'snotice, he was wise enough to hold his tongue. It would not do to arouseDr Pendle's suspicions until he could accuse him plainly of murderingthe man, and could produce evidence to substantiate his accusation. Theevidence Cargrim wished to obtain was that of the cheque butt and thepistol, but as yet he did not see his way how to become possessed ofeither. Pending doing so, he hid himself in the grass like the snake hewas, ready to strike his unsuspecting benefactor when he could do sowith safety and effect.
In accordance with his resolution on this point, Mr Cargrim was meek andtruckling while he was with the bishop, and when Dr Graham was announcedhe sidled out of the library with a bland smile. Dr Graham gave him acurt nod in response to his gracious greeting, and closed the doorhimself before he advanced to meet the bishop. Nay, more, so violent washis dislike to good Mr Cargrim, that he made a few remarks about thatapostle before coming to the object of his visit.
'If you were a student of Lavater, bishop,' said he, rubbing his hands,'you would not tolerate that Jesuitical Rodin near you for one moment.'
'Jesuitical Rodin, doctor! I do not understand.'
'Ah, that comes of not reading French novels, my lord!'
'I do not approve of the moral tone of French fiction,' said the bishop,stiffly.
'Few of our English Pharisees do,' replied Graham, dryly; 'not that Irank you among the hypocrites, bishop, so do not take my remark in tooliteral a sense.'
'I am not so thin-skinned or self-conscious as to do so, Graham. Butyour meaning of a Jesuitical Rodin?'
'It is explained in _The Wandering Jew_ of Eugene Sue, bishop. Youshould read that novel if only to arrive by analogy at the truecharacter of your chaplain. Rodin is one of the personages in the book,an
d Rodin,' said the doctor decisively, 'is Cargrim!'
'You are severe, doctor. Michael is an estimable young man.'
'Michael and the Dragon!' said Graham, playing upon the name. 'Humph! heis more like the latter than the former. Mr Michael Cargrim is the youngserpent as Satan is the old one.'
'I always understood that you considered Satan a myth, doctor!'
'So I do; so he is; a bogey of the Middle and Classical Ages constructedout of Pluto and Pan. But he serves excellently well for an illustrationof your pet parson.'
'Cargrim is not a pet of mine,' rejoined the bishop, coldly, 'and I donot say that he is a perfect character. Still, he is not bad enough tobe compared to Satan. You speak too hurriedly, doctor, and, if you willpardon my saying so, too irreligiously.'
'I beg your pardon, I forgot that I was addressing a bishop. But as tothat young man, he is a bad and dangerous character.'
'Doctor, doctor,' protested the bishop, raising a deprecating hand.
'Yes, he is,' insisted Graham; 'his goodness and meekness are all on thesurface! I am convinced that he is a kind of human mole who worksunderground, and makes mischief in secret ways. If you have a cupboardwith a skeleton, bishop, take care Mr Cargrim doesn't steal the key.'
Graham spoke with some meaning, for since the illness of Dr Pendle afterJentham's visit, he had suspected that the bishop was worried in hismind, and that he possessed a secret which was wearing him out. Had heknown that the strange visitor was one and the same with the murderedman, he might have spoken still more to the point; but the doctor wasignorant of this and consequently conceived the bishop's secret to bemuch more harmless than it really was. However, his words touched hishost nearly, for Dr Pendle started and grew nervous, and looked sohaggard and worried that Graham continued his speech without giving himtime to make a remark.
'However, I did not come here to discuss Cargrim,' he said cheerfully,'but because you sent for me. It is about time,' said Graham, grimly,surveying the bishop's wasted face and embarrassed manner. 'You arelooking about as ill as a man can look. What is the matter with you?'
'Nothing is the matter with me. I am in my usual health.'
'You look it,' said the doctor, ironically. 'Good Lord, man!' withsudden wrath, 'why in the name of the Thirty-Nine Articles can't youtell me the truth?'
'The truth?' echoed the bishop, faintly.
'Yes, my lord, I said the truth, and I mean the truth. If you are notwrong in body you are in mind. A man doesn't lose flesh, and colour, andappetite, and self-control for nothing. You want me to cure you. Well, Ican't, unless you show me the root of your trouble.'
'I am worried over a private affair,' confessed Pendle, driven into acorner.
'Something wrong?' asked Graham, raising his eyebrows.
'Yes, something is very wrong.'
'Can't it be put right?'
'I fear not,' said the bishop, in hopeless tones. 'It is one of thosethings beyond the power of mortal man to put right.'
'Your trouble must be serious,' said Graham, with a grave face.
'It is very serious. You can't help me. I can't help myself. I mustendure my sorrow as best I may. After all, God strengthens the back forthe burden.'
'Oh, Lord!' groaned Graham to himself, 'that make-the-best-of-it-viewseems to be the gist of Christianity. What the deuce is the good oflaying a too weighty burden on any back, when you've got to strengthenit to bear it? Well, bishop,' he added aloud, 'I have no right to askfor a glimpse of your skeleton. But can I help you in any way?'
'Yes,' cried the bishop, eagerly. 'I sent for you to request your aid.You can help me, Graham, and very materially.'
'I'm willing to do so. What shall I do?'
'Send my wife and daughter over to Nauheim on the pretext that MrsPendle requires the baths, and keep them there for two months.'
Dr Graham looked puzzled, for he could by no means conceive the meaningof so odd a request. In common with other people, he was accustomed toconsider Bishop and Mrs Pendle a model couple, who would be as miserableas two separated love-birds if parted. Yet here was the husband askinghis aid to send away the wife on what he admitted was a transparentpretext. For the moment he was nonplussed.
'Pardon me, bishop,' he said delicately, 'but have you had words withyour wife?'
'No! no! God forbid, Graham. She is as good and tender as she always is:as dear to me as she ever was. But I wish her to go away for a time, andI desire Lucy to accompany her. Yesterday I suggested that they shouldtake a trip to Nauheim, but both of them seemed unwilling to go. Yetthey must go!' cried the bishop, vehemently; 'and you must help me in mytrouble by insisting upon their immediate departure.'
Graham was more perplexed than ever. 'Has your secret trouble anythingto do with Mrs Pendle?' he demanded, hardly knowing what to say.
'It has everything to do with her!'
'Does she know that it has?'
'No, she knows nothing--not even that I am keeping a secret from her;doctor,' said Pendle, rising, 'if I could tell you my trouble I would,but I cannot; I dare not! If you help me, you must do so with implicitconfidence in me, knowing that I am acting for the best.'
'Well, bishop, you place me rather in a cleft stick,' said the doctor,looking at the agitated face of the man with his shrewd little eyes. 'Idon't like acting in the dark. One should always look before he leaps,you know.'
'But, good heavens, man! I am not asking you to do anything wrong. Myrequest is a perfectly reasonable one. I want my wife and daughter toleave England for a time, and you can induce them to take the journey.'
'Well,' said Graham, calmly, 'I shall do so.'
'Thank you, Graham. It is good of you to accede to my request.'
'I wouldn't do it for everyone,' said Graham, sharply. 'And although Ido not like being shut out from your confidence, I know you well enoughto trust you thoroughly. A couple of months at Nauheim may do your wifegood, and--as you tell me--will relieve your mind.'
'It will certainly relieve my mind,' said the bishop, very emphatically.
'Very good, my lord. I'll do my very best to persuade Mrs Pendle andyour daughter to undertake the journey.'
'Of course,' said Pendle, anxiously, 'you won't tell them all I havetold you! I do not wish to explain myself too minutely to them.'
'I am not quite so indiscreet as you think, my lord,' replied Graham,with some dryness. 'Your wife shall leave Beorminster for Nauheimthinking that your desire for her departure is entirely on account ofher health.'
'Thank you again, doctor!' and the bishop held out his hand.
'Come,' said Graham to himself as he took it, 'this secret can't beanything very dreadful if he gives me his hand. My lord!' he addedaloud, 'I shall see Mrs Pendle at once. But before closing thisconversation I would give you a warning.'
'A warning!' stammered the bishop, starting back.
'A very necessary warning,' said the doctor, solemnly. 'If you have asecret, beware of Cargrim.'
