Beaumaroy Home from the Wars

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER V

  A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT

  As Mary brought her car to a stand at the gate of the little frontgarden of Tower Cottage, she saw, through the mist, Beaumaroy'scorrugated face; he was standing in the doorway, and the light in thepassage revealed it. It seemed to her to wear a triumphant impish look,but this vanished as he advanced to meet her, relieved her of the neatblack handbag which she always carried with her on her visits, andsuggested gravely that she should at once go upstairs and see herpatient.

  "He's quieter now," he said. "The mere news that you were coming had asoothing effect. Let me show you the way." He led her upstairs and intoa small room on the first floor, nakedly furnished with necessities, butwith a cheery fire blazing in the grate.

  Old Mr. Saffron lay in bed, propped up by pillows. His silver hairstrayed from under a nightcap; he wore a light blue bedroom jacket; itscolour matched that of his restless eyes; his arms were under theclothes from the elbows down. He was rather flushed, but did not lookseriously ill, and greeted Doctor Mary with dignified composure.

  "I'll see Dr. Arkroyd alone, Hector." Beaumaroy gave the slightestlittle jerk of his head, and the old man added quickly, "I am sure ofmyself, quite sure."

  The phrase sounded rather an odd one to Mary, but Beaumaroy accepted theassurance with a nod. "All right, I'll wait downstairs, sir. I hopeyou'll bring me a good account of him, Doctor." So he left Mary to makeher examination; going downstairs, he shook his head once, pursed up hislips, and then smiled doubtfully, as a man may do when he has made uphis mind to take a chance.

  When Mary rejoined him, she asked for pen and paper, wrote aprescription, and requested that Beaumaroy's man should take it to thechemist's. He went out to give it to the Sergeant, and, when he cameback, found her seated in the big chair by the fire.

  "The present little attack is nothing, Mr. Beaumaroy," she said."Stomachic--with a little fever; if he takes what I've prescribed, heought to be all right in the morning. But I suppose you know that thereis valvular disease--quite definite? Didn't Dr. Irechester tell you?"

  "Yes; but he said there was no particular--no immediate danger."

  "If he's kept quiet and free from worry. Didn't he advise that?"

  "Yes," Beaumaroy admitted, "he did. That's the only thing you find wrongwith him, Doctor?"

  Beaumaroy was standing on the far side of the table, his finger-tipsresting lightly on it. He looked across at Mary with eyes candidlyinquiring.

  "I've found nothing else so far. I suppose he's got nothing to worryhim?"

  "Not really, I think. He fusses a bit about his affairs." He smiled. "Wego to London every week to fuss about his affairs; he's always changinghis investments, taking his money out of one thing and putting it inanother, you know. Old people get like that sometimes, don't they? I'm anovice at that kind of thing, never having had any money to play with;but I'm bound to say that he seems to know very well what he's about."

  "Do you know anything of his history or his people? Has he anyrelations?"

  "I know very little. I don't think he has any--any real relations, so tospeak. There are, I believe, some cousins, distant cousins, whom hehates. In fact, a lonely old bachelor, Dr. Arkroyd."

  Mary gave a little laugh and became less professional. "He's rather anold dear! He uses funny stately phrases. He said I might speak quiteopenly to you, as you were closely attached to his person!"

  "Sounds rather like a newspaper, doesn't it? He does talk like thatsometimes." Beaumaroy moved round the table, came close to the fire, andstood there, smiling down at Mary.

  "He's very fond of you, I think," she went on.

  "He reposes entire confidence in me," said Beaumaroy, with a touch ofassumed pompousness.

  "Those were his very words!" cried Mary, laughing again. "And he said itjust in that way! How clever of you to guess!"

  "Not so very. He says it to me six times a week."

  Mary had risen, about to take her leave, but to her surprise Beaumaroywent on quickly, with one of his confidential smiles, "And now I'm goingto show you that I have the utmost confidence in you. Please sit downagain, Dr. Arkroyd. The matter concerns your patient just as much asmyself, or I wouldn't trouble you with it--at any rate, I shouldn'tventure to, so early in our acquaintance. I want you to consideryourself as Mr. Saffron's medical adviser, and--also--to try to imagineyourself my friend."

  "I've every inclination to be your friend, but I hardly know you, Mr.Beaumaroy."

  "And feel a few doubts about me? From what you've heard from myself--andperhaps from others?"

  The wind swished outside; save for that, the little room seemed verystill. The professional character of the interview did not save it, forMary Arkroyd, from a sudden and rather unwelcome sense of intimacy--ofan intimacy thrust upon her, though not so much by her companion as bycircumstances. She answered rather stiffly, "Perhaps I have somedoubts."

  "You detect--very acutely--that I have a great influence over Mr.Saffron. You ask--very properly--whether he has relations. I think youthrew out a feeler about his money affairs--whether he had anything toworry about was your phrase, wasn't it? Am I misinterpreting what was inyour mind?"

  As he spoke, he offered her a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece.She took one and lit it at the top of the lamp-chimney; then she satdown again in the big chair; she had not accepted his earlier invitationto resume her seat.

  "It was proper for me to put those questions, Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr.Saffron is not a sound man, and he's old. In normal conditions hisrelations should at least be warned of the position."

  "Exactly," Beaumaroy assented, with an appearance of eagerness. "But hehates them. Any suggestion that they have any sort of claim on himraises strong resentment in him. I've known old men--old moniedmen--like that before, and no doubt you have. Well now, you'll begin tosee the difficulty of my position. I'll put the case to you quitebluntly. Suppose Mr. Saffron, having this liking for me, this confidencein me, living here with me alone--except for servants; being, as onemight say, exposed to my influence; suppose he took it into his head tomake a will in my favour, to leave me all his money. It's quite aconsiderable sum, so far as our Wednesday doings enable me to judge.Suppose that happened, how should I stand in your opinion, Dr. Arkroyd?But wait a moment still. Suppose that my career has not been very--well,resplendent; that my army record is only so-so; that I've devoted myselfto him with remarkable assiduity, as in fact I have; that I might becalled, quite plausibly, an adventurer. Well, propounding that will, howshould I stand before the world and, if necessary" (he shrugged hisshoulders), "the Court?"

  Mary sat silent for a moment or two. Beaumaroy knelt down by the fire,rearranged the logs of wood which were smouldering there, and put on acouple more. From that position, looking into the grate, he added, "Andthe change of doctors? It was he, of course, who insisted on it, but Ican see a clever lawyer using that against me too. Can't you, Dr.Arkroyd?"

  "I'm sure I wish you hadn't had to make the change!" exclaimed Mary.

  "So do I; though, mind you, I'm not pretending that Irechester is afavourite of mine, any more than he is of my old friend's. Still--thereit is. I've no right, perhaps, to press my question, but your opinionwould be of real value to me."

  "I see no reason to think that he's not quite competent to make a will,"said Doctor Mary. "And no real reason why he shouldn't prefer you todistant relations whom he dislikes."

  "Ah, no real reason; that's what you say! You mean that people wouldimpute----?"

  Mary Arkroyd had her limitations--of experience, of knowledge, ofintuition. But she did not lack courage.

  "I have given you my professional opinion. It is that, so far as I see,Mr. Saffron is of perfectly sound understanding, and capable of making avalid will. You did me the honour----"

  "No, no!" he interrupted in a low but rather strangely vehementprotest. "I begged the favour----"

  "As you like! The favour, then, of my opinion as your friend, as well asmy view as Mr. Saffron's doctor."<
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  Beaumaroy did not rise from his knees, but turned his face towards her;the logs had blazed up, and his eyes looked curiously bright in theglare--themselves, as it were, afire.

  "In my opinion a man of sensitive honour would prefer that that willshould not be made, Mr. Beaumaroy," said Mary steadily.

  Beaumaroy appeared to consider. "I'm a bit posed by that point of view,Dr. Arkroyd," he said at last. "Either the old man's sane--_composmentis_, don't you call it?--or he isn't. If he is----"

  "I know. But I feel that way about it."

  "You'd have to give evidence for me!" He raised his brows and smiled ather.

  "There can be undue influence without actual want of mental competence,I think."

  "I don't know whether my influence is undue. I believe I'm the onlycreature alive who cares twopence for the poor old gentleman."

  "I know! I know! Mr. Beaumaroy, your position is very difficult. I seethat. It really is. But--would you take the money for yourself? Aren'tyou--well, rather in the position of a trustee?"

  "Who for? The hated cousins? What's the reason in that?"

  "They may be very good people really. Old men take fancies, as you saidyourself. And they may have built on----"

  "Stepping into a dead man's shoes? I dare say. Why mayn't I build on ittoo? Why not my hand against the other fellow's?"

  "That's what you learnt from the war! You said so--at Old Place. CaptainNaylor said something different."

  "Suppose Alec Naylor and I--a hero and a damaged article----" he smiledat Mary, and she smiled back with a sudden enjoyment of the humorous yetbitter tang in his voice--"loved the same woman--and I had a chance ofher. Am I to give it up?"

  "Really we're getting a long way from medicine, Mr. Beaumaroy!"

  "Oh, you're a general practitioner! Wise on all subjects under heaven!Conceive yourself hesitating between him and me----"

  Mary laughed frankly. "How absurd you are! If you must go on talking,talk seriously."

  "But why am I absurd?"

  "Because, if I were a marrying woman--which I'm not--I shouldn'thesitate between you and Captain Naylor, not for a minute."

  "You'd jump at me?"

  Laughing again--his eyes had now a schoolboy merriment in them--Maryrose from the big chair. "At him, if I'm not being impolite, Mr.Beaumaroy."

  They stood face to face. For the first time for several years--Mary'sgirlhood had not been altogether empty of sentimental episodes--sheblushed under a man's glance--because it was a man's. At this event, ofwhich she was acutely conscious and at which she was intenselyirritated, she drew herself up, with an attempt to return to herstrictly professional manner.

  "I don't find you the least impolite, Dr. Arkroyd," said Beaumaroy.

  It was impudent, yet gay, dexterous, and elusive enough to avoidreproof. With no more than a little shake of her head and a light, yetembarrassed laugh, Mary moved towards the door, her way lying betweenthe table and an old oak sideboard, which stood against the wall. Someplates, knives, and other articles of the table lay strewn, none tootidily, about it. Beaumaroy followed her, smiling complacently, hishands in his pockets.

  Suddenly Mary came to a stop and pointed with her finger at thesideboard, turning her face towards her companion. At the same instantBeaumaroy's right hand shot out from his pocket towards the sideboard,as though to snatch up something from it. Then he drew the hand asswiftly back again; but his eyes watched Mary's with an alert andsuspicious gaze. That was for a second only; then his face resumed itsamused and nonchalant expression. But the movement of the hand and thelook of the eyes had not escaped Mary's attention; her voice betrayedsome surprise as she said:

  "It's only that I just happened to notice that combinationknife-and-fork lying there, and I wondered who----"

  The article in question lay among some half-dozen ordinary knives andforks. It was of a kind quite familiar to Doctor Mary from her hospitalexperience--a fork on one side, a knife-blade on the other--an implementmade for people who could command the use of only one hand.

  "Surely you've noticed my hand?" He drew his right hand again from thepocket to which he had so quickly returned it. "I used to use that inhospital, when I was bandaged up. But that's a long while ago now, and Ican't think why Hooper's left it lying there."

  The account was plausible, and entirely the same might now be said ofhis face and manner. But Mary had seen the dart of his hand and thesudden alertness in his eyes. Her own rested on him for a moment withinquiry--for the first time with a hint of distrust. "I see!" shemurmured vaguely, and, turning away from him, pursued her way to thedoor. Beaumaroy followed her with a queer smile on his lips; he shruggedhis shoulders once, very slightly.

  A constraint had fallen on Mary. She allowed herself to be escorted tothe car and helped into it in silence. Beaumaroy made no effort to forcethe talk, possibly by reason of the presence of Sergeant Hooper, who hadarrived back from the chemist's with the medicine for Mr. Saffron justas Mary and Beaumaroy came out of the hall door. He stood by hisbicycle, drawing just a little aside to let them pass, but not farenough to prevent the light from the passage showing up his ill-favouredcountenance.

  "Well, good-bye, Dr. Arkroyd. I'll see how he is to-morrow, and ask youto be kind enough to call again, if it seems advisable. And a thousandthanks."

  "Good night, Mr. Beaumaroy."

  She started the car. Beaumaroy walked back to the hall door. Maryglanced behind her once, and saw him standing by it, again framed by thelight behind him, as she had seen him on her arrival. But, this time,within the four corners of the same frame was included the forbiddingvisage of Sergeant Hooper.

  Beaumaroy returned to the fire in the parlour; Hooper, leaving hisbicycle in the passage, followed him into the room and put the medicinebottle on the table. Smiling at him, Beaumaroy pointed at thecombination knife-and-fork.

  "Is it your fault or mine that that damned thing's lying there?" heasked.

  "Yours," answered the Sergeant, without hesitation and with his habitualsurliness. "I cleaned it and put it out for you to lock away, as usual.Suppose you went and forgot it, sir!"

  Beaumaroy shook his head in self-condemnation and a humorous dismay."That's it! I went and forgot it, Sergeant. And I think--I ratherthink--that Doctor Mary smells a rat--though she is, at present, farfrom guessing the colour of the animal!"

  The words sounded scornful; they were spoken for the Sergeant as well asfor himself. He was looking amused and kindly, even rather tenderlyamused; as though liking and pity were the emotions which most activelysurvived his first private conversation with Doctor Mary--in spite ofthat mishap of the combination knife-and-fork.