Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER VI.

  "I REMIND YOU OF SOMEONE?"

  "The fire in the flint Shows not till it be struck."--_Timon of Athens_.

  Although Marcus had other visits to pay, and would not be back untilquite late, Olivia sat up for him on pretence of finishing Dot's pelisse,but to her disappointment he had very little to tell her on his return.

  Mr. Gaythorne had been tired and out of spirits, and he had had noinducement to prolong his visit; he had not read Olivia's note, onlyplaced it beside him.

  "Perhaps he was a shade more civil than usual," observed Marcus, dryly,"but his manners certainly want mending. Could you not illuminate thatmotto, Livy, 'Manners makyth man?' and we would frame it, and give it himas a Christmas present." But Olivia could not be induced to see thejoke; Mr. Gaythorne was still an old dear, and the perfume of his flowerswas sweet to her.

  Marcus would have wondered if he had intercepted one of the searchingglances that were reading him so acutely; those deep-set, melancholy eyescould pierce like a gimlet; sometimes a vivid blue light seemed to dartfrom them. "When master has one of his awful looks on, I dare not facehim," Phoebe would say, and Mrs. Crampton, conscious as she was ofrectitude and the claim of long and faithful service, felt there werelimitations to her intercourse with her master.

  Once, and once only, had she ventured on a tabooed subject, and hadretired from the room with her comely face quite pale with fear.

  "I thought he would have struck me," she said to her confidante, themiddle-aged housemaid, "or that he would have had a fit; I should haveone myself if I ever tried it on again; but I never will, Rebecca, I willtake my oath of that."

  "Master has an awful temper when he is drove wrong," returned Rebecca,primly; "I don't wonder at Mr. Alwyn myself. I don't hold with keepingtoo tight a hand over a young man, it fairly throttles all the goodnessout of them. He was none so bad that he would not have done better, ifonly he had had a word of encouragement instead of all those flouts andjibes."

  "Those are exactly my sentiments, Becky," returned Mrs. Crampton, wipingher eyes with her snowy-frilled apron, "and having a boy of my own, blesshim, I am a pretty fair judge. Tom was a pickle before he went to sea,but neither his poor father nor me ever cast it at him. He ran away andtook the Queen's shilling, though it nigh broke our hearts. Well, he isa sergeant now, and Polly makes him a good wife, and all's well that endswell. But I must be looking after master's supper," and Mrs. Cramptonbustled away to her duties.

  Olivia took her flowers round to Aunt Madge as soon as her householdduties were done in the morning. Mrs. Broderick, who had had a sleeplessnight of pain, looked more worn and languid than usual, but shebrightened up at the sight of the flowers, and poked her long nose intothe heart of a rose with an air of rapt enjoyment, but the next momentshe frowned.

  "Livy," she said, severely, "I am extremely angry! how dare you beguilty of such extravagance, even if it be my birthday! Don't I knowwhat these exquisite flowers must have cost!" then Olivia's face fell alittle.

  "Oh, Aunt Madge, I had no idea it was your birthday, and I have broughtyou nothing, nothing at all. Do let me explain," and then Mrs. Brodericklistened with much interest to Olivia's recital.

  "The flowers are even sweeter than I thought them," she said, presently,and her face flushed a little. "I thought the day would be so blank, andthat I should just lie here missing Fergus. He always made such a fusson my birthdays; they were red-letter days to him, and now this friendlymessage has come to me. Give me my writing-case, Livy. I must scrawl afew lines to your old gentleman," and she refused to dictate the note toOlivia.

  "MY DEAR SIR," she wrote, "do you know what you have done? You havegiven a poor invalid a very happy day. Your beautiful flowers have cometo me like a lovely message of sympathy and goodwill from an unknownfriend.

  "If you were ever sad and lonely, if life has not always been easy toyou, it will sweeten your solitary hours to know that you have givenenjoyment to a crippled sufferer.

  "To-day is my birthday, the forty-sixth milestone on my life's journey.During a long, wakeful night of pain I have been counting up pastblessings, and the new day seemed a blank to me, and then your flowerscame, and I thanked God and took courage.

  "Dear sir, I remain, "Yours gratefully, "MARGARET BRODERICK (widow)."

  That was one of Aunt Madge's fads, one of her harmless littlepeculiarities, to sign herself in that fashion. "There is so much in theword widow," she would say; "if it were not for seeming odd or makingpeople smile, I would always sign myself 'Fergus's widow,' instead of myproper name," but nothing could induce her to send even a note withoutthat curious signature.

  Olivia could not quite get over her grievance of forgetting Aunt Madge'sbirthday.

  "It was so horrid of me," she said, with a long face, "but, anyhow, Iwill come to tea."

  "No, dear, not to-day," returned Mrs. Broderick, quietly. "To-morrow Deband I will be delighted to welcome you. And Deb shall bake someshortbread and scones. Marcus might come too, it is long since I sawhim."

  "But why not to-day, dear Aunt Madge?" persisted Olivia, rather curiously.

  "Fergus and I always spent the day alone together, and I keep up thecustom still," returned Mrs. Broderick, in a dreamy voice. "He nevergave me his present until the evening, and it was always such a grandsurprise. His last present to me was that revolving book-table. Howsplendid I thought it, and what a comfort it has been to me all theseyears. Don't look so serious, Livy, I don't mean to be dull, I never am,but I like to fancy that on my birthday I have Fergus near me still," andnothing that Olivia could say would shake her resolution.

  Olivia hesitated to repeat her visit to Galvaston House, and when sheconsulted Marcus he advised her to wait a little.

  "We must not be too pushing. I daresay one of these days Mr. Gaythornewill send you another message. He is rather ailing and out of sorts justnow, and inclined to bristle up at a word," but, though Marcus laughed inthis way, he had not found his berth an easy one.

  Mr. Gaythorne was often irritable, and the least contradiction--even theassertion of an opinion--would ruffle him. Once, when Marcus hadproposed discontinuing his evening visits, Mr. Gaythorne had appearedquite affronted.

  "If I can afford to pay for medical advice, I suppose I may be allowed tohave it," he had returned, testily. "Of course, if your time is toovaluable----"

  But Marcus, flushing at the covert sneer, answered, in his quick,straightforward way:

  "I wish it were more valuable; but as I have no wish to pick your pocket,I thought it would be only honest to tell you that the evening visit isno longer necessary."

  "Very well, then we will regard it in the light of a luxury," returnedMr. Gaythorne, a little less grimly. "By-the-bye, Dr. Luttrell, I wantto ask you if you will kindly let me have your account at the end of themonth. Monthly payments are my rule, if it will not inconvenience you."

  Marcus assured him he was quite ready to meet his wishes.

  Olivia, who had few amusements, often thought longingly of that beautifulwinter garden, and wished to revisit it. She had described it so vividlyand graphically to Aunt Madge, that Mrs. Broderick declared she couldpicture it exactly. She was never weary of hearing her niece'sdescription.

  "I feel as though my world were enlarged, and that I had got a newfriend," she said one day, and Olivia was amused to hear that the fadedflowers had been carefully pressed.

  She was much delighted then when one raw, foggy November morning Marcusbrought her a message. Mr. Gaythorne felt himself better, and would bevery pleased if Mrs. Luttrell would give him an hour that afternoon.

  Her visit was a very pleasant one. The yellow fog outside had beenextremely depressing, but as she stepped into the hall, the whole houseseemed brightly illuminated. Mr. Gaythorne, who was on crutches, met herat the head of the staircase. He had discarded his dressing-gown, andwore a black velvet coat that became him still better.

  The conservatory, lighted up by
lamps cunningly concealed among thefoliage, looked more like fairyland than ever. And the deep easy-chairs,with their crimson cushions, were deliciously inviting.

  Her admiration seemed to gratify Mr. Gaythorne, and as he pointed out hisfavourite flowers, and descanted on their habits and peculiar beauties,Olivia listened with such intelligent interest, and asked such sensibleand pertinent questions, that he was drawn insensibly into giving her abotanical lesson.

  They were so engrossed with their subject that it was almost an effort tobreak off when coffee was brought.

  Mrs. Crampton had sent up a profusion of dainty cakes, and as Oliviadrank her coffee and feasted on the various delicacies, the one drawbackto her pleasure was that Marcus was not there to share it. At thispresent moment he was in some slum or other supplementing the labours ofthe overworked parish doctor.

  How surprised Dr. Luttrell would have been if he could have seen thetransformation in his patient's appearance--the lean, cadaverous face hadlost its fretful look, the melancholy dark eyes had grown bright andvivid, the slow precise voice had waxed animated and even eloquent as hediscoursed learnedly on his floral treasures.

  Flowers, butterflies, and birds were his great hobbies, and hismagnificent collections had been gathered from all parts of the world; hehad been a great traveller in his early manhood.

  "I have been everywhere and seen everything," he said once. Towards theend of the afternoon Olivia had been much touched by a little incident;she had asked him a question about a curious cactus. "If you will comewith me, my dear," he had answered, "I could show you a betterspecimen"--and then a dull red had risen to his forehead. "Excuse me,Mrs. Luttrell. I forgot whom I was addressing--and--and--you----" buthere he checked himself.

  "Oh, do finish your sentence!" she said, in her bright persuasive voice."You were going to say that I remind you of someone?"--and as he met herkind friendly glance, his shy stiffness relaxed.

  "Yes," he said, simply, and a great sadness came into his eyes, "youremind me of my daughter. That first evening when you spoke to me youreminded me of her then."

  "And you have lost her! Oh, I am so sorry! Does it pain you to speak ofher? I should so like to know her name!"

  "Her name was Olivia," he returned, slowly, "but we always called herOlive. She was born at Beyrout, under the Syrian sun, and in the land ofgrey olive-trees."

  "How strange! What a curious coincidence!" returned young Mrs. Luttrell,softly. "That is my name too, and Marcus often calls me Olive; and Iremind you of her?"

  "Yes, Olive spoke in just that brisk, cheerful manner. She was so fullof life and energy. She died of fever at Rome--we were staying there.She was only two-and-twenty, and she was to have been married thatsummer. Her poor mother never got over the shock; before the autumn shehad followed her."

  "Oh, how sad--how dreadfully sad!" observed Olivia, with tears in hereyes. "What a tragedy to live through. And her poor lover too!"

  "Oh, yes, Arbuthnot; he was bitterly cut up. He is a judge now, and hasa good wife, but I doubt if he has ever forgotten Olive. She was nobeauty, but she had a way with her. Stay--I will show you her picture."

  "Poor man! No wonder he looks melancholy," thought Olivia, as he slowlyhobbled away on his crutches. "How strange that I should remind him ofher, and that she should be Olive too!" but when Mr. Gaythorne returnedand placed a beautiful miniature before her, she could see no resemblanceto herself in the dark sweet face of Olive Gaythorne.

  No, she was not beautiful, but there was something wonderfully attractiveand winning in her expression; the eyes, deep-set like her father's, hada frank soft look.

  "Your only child--and you lost her," murmured Olivia, sympathetically.

  "My only daughter," corrected Mr. Gaythorne, in a tone so peculiar, thatOlivia raised her eyes, and then she felt a little frightened. There wasa curious pallor on Mr. Gaythorne's face, which made it look like oldivory, and his bushy eyebrows were drawn closely together.

  "It is a sweet face--a dear face," returned Olivia, hurriedly. She was alittle nervous over her mistake. "It is kind of you to show me this, andI like to think her name was Olive." And then she closed the casereverently and put it back in his hands. "I must go now," she said; "ithas been such a lovely time, and you have taught me so much. Will yousend for me again when you want to see me? I think that is best; itwould be such a pity for me to disturb you when you felt tired ordisinclined for visitors."

  "You are my only visitor," returned Mr. Gaythorne, in his old grimmanner. "The Vicar's wife--what is the woman's name?--forced her way inone day, but I do not think her reception pleased her. The Vicar himselfis an honest man. I have given him a hint that he will be welcome if hecomes alone, but no bustling prying vicaress for me."

  "Oh, poor Mrs. Tolman; well, she is a little officious, as Marcus callsher, and I know she often sets Aunt Madge's nerves on edge."

  "Oh, by the way, I intend to send Mrs. Broderick some more flowers; willit be a trouble to you to take them, or shall one of the lasses carrythem straight to her house?"

  "Oh, no; please let me have the pleasure of taking them. If you had onlyseen Aunt Madge's delight----"

  "She wrote me a pretty sort of note," returned Mr. Gaythorne; "but tellher not to do that again, gratitude is for favours to come; you mayremind her of that. Does she always sign her name in thatfashion--Margaret Broderick, widow----?"

  "Yes, always; it is one of Aunt Madge's whimsies; but you will never gether to alter."

  "It does not sound badly, but it is certainly unique. How would itanswer if one were to follow her example. John Alwyn Gaythorne,widower," and here Mr. Gaythorne gave a short sardonic laugh.

  "Marcus! oh, Marcus!" exclaimed Olivia, coming into the room in herbreezy fashion. "I have so much to tell you. Mr. Gaythorne is awidower--and he has lost his only daughter, and her name was Olivia, andthat is why he has taken to me, because I remind him of her;but"--checking herself as she caught sight of her husband's face--"youhave something to tell me too."

  "Only that they sent for me from Fairfax Lodge, that is that ivy-coveredhouse next to Galvaston House. A child taken suddenly with croup. Ihave been there most of the afternoon."

  Then Olivia clapped her hands with a little exclamation of delight.Marcus's tone had been quite cool and matter-of-fact, but there was aglint of satisfaction in his eyes. The tide had turned at last.