CHAPTER XI.
"YOU CAN TRUST DR. FERGUSSON."
When at about seven o'clock in the morning, Dr. Fergusson, and theservant Elizabeth, once more reached the house amongst the woods,Christina was dressed and ready to admit them by the little green gatein the wall. She had made herself ready for the day at a very earlyhour, stealing out of her beautiful charge's room whilst the latter wassleeping peacefully, and Fergusson smiled approvingly when he caughtsight of the girl's trim figure and smiling face. He alighted quicklyfrom the car, and helped Elizabeth to descend; and, whilst the servanthurried into the house, he put a quick question or two to Christina.
"Yes, she has had a quiet night on the whole," the girl answered; "shehas not slept much at a time, but she has dozed now and then, and shehas been wonderfully calm. She is asleep now, but she told me mostparticularly that she wished to be awakened when you came. I think,"the girl hesitated as she glanced into the doctor's face, "I think shehas something special to say to you."
"I am sorry to have to wake her," Fergusson answered, "but I am afraidthere is no help for it, if she wishes to speak to me. I can't waittill she wakes naturally; I have a very busy day before me, besideswhich I ought to take you back to the small girl." Whilst he spoke hewas walking up the flagged path to the house by Christina's side,glancing with pardonable curiosity at the white building, against itsbackground of dark woods.
"Curious," he said reflectively. "I do not want to be unduly prying,but it is impossible to help wondering what that exceptionallybeautiful woman is doing in this remote place, with apparently only anold servant and a homicidal maniac for company."
Christina's eyes met his, and she flushed. In the face of the promiseof secrecy she had given to the lady of the house, she could notmention to Fergusson the existence of the sick man, whose presence sheshrewdly suspected was in some way the reason for the beautiful lady'sresidence in this desolate corner of the world; and, in answer to hiswords, she only said quietly:
"I think there must be some very good reason why she does not wishpeople to know she is here; but of course I don't know what the reasonis," and, saying this, she entered the hall door, and preceded thedoctor to the room where her charge of the night still lay sleeping, alittle smile on her beautiful face. Elizabeth stood beside her, andChristina saw that the good woman's eyes were full of tears.
"It does me good to see her sleeping like that," she whispered to thetwo who stood just within the doorway; "it's seldom she gets suchrestful sleep."
"You are sure she really wants to speak to me?" Fergusson asked thegirl, speaking in low tones. "I cannot bear to disturb her, and yet Imust do it if she really wants me. I have one or two urgent cases thatshould be seen early, and I cannot stay here."
"I am afraid we must disturb her," Christina whispered back. "Beforeshe went to sleep, she told me I was on no account to let you gowithout speaking to her. I am sure she has something important shewishes to say."
"Then I'll be going to make some tea for you all," Elizabeth saidgently; "you haven't slept much yourself, miss, I can see," she added,looking kindly into Christina's face, which bore traces of her wakefulvigil.
"I have lighted the kitchen fire," the girl said gaily, ignoring theremarks about her own night, "and I think tea will be just theloveliest thing in the world," and as Elizabeth went downstairs, shecrept softly to the bedside, and laid her hand upon the white hand onthe coverlet, the hand whose only ornament was its thick wedding ring.
"Dr. Fergusson has come back," she said very gently, when at her touchthe dark eyes opened. "I am so sorry to wake you, but you wanted tospeak to him." In that moment of waking, the smile that had lain onthe sleeping face faded from it, and a long sigh escaped her.
"I was dreaming that Max and I," she began, and then, as recollectionreturned to her, she broke off her sentence, saying abruptly, "Yes, Imust speak to the doctor. I must take the risk--all the risk," sheadded under her breath, and Christina saw that a look of fear stoleinto her eyes.
"Is there something I can do for you?" Fergusson approached the bed,and his voice was as gentle as Christina's had been. Something in thefragile appearance of the woman before them, something in the anguishof the deep eyes, gave both to the man and to the girl beside him, afeeling of almost reverential awe. Instinctively, they realised thepresence of some great human tragedy; instinctively, they felt that inits presence, all voices must be hushed, and that no rough things ofevery day, should be allowed to intrude into the place of grief. Thewoman in the bed raised herself on her pillow, and looked full intoFergusson's face.
"I can trust you," she said. "I believe you will keep your own counselabout--whatever you see or hear in this house."
"Certainly I shall," he replied. "When Miss Moore came to meyesterday, I promised her that I would respect your confidenceabsolutely. I have entered the patient I have just taken to theasylum, as resident at the London address you gave me. I hope that wasright? I have a rooted objection to telling deliberate lies," he addeda little grimly.
"What I told you was quite true," she answered, smiling faintly. "PoorMarion was only here temporarily, her home is in London. Will you tellme about her before I ask you anything more? Is there any hope of herrecovery? It all seemed so dreadfully sudden."
"She must have had a tendency to homicidal mania for years, probablyall her life, and I should think her recovery is extremely doubtful.In any case, she will have to be under restraint for a long time, avery long time, and at present she is quite off her head."
"Poor Marion," his listener said sadly. "Poor, poor Marion. Thereneed be no difficulty about her expenses. She must have every care,everything that is necessary, and if anything is ever wanted for her,will the asylum authorities write to Mrs. Stanforth, c/o Mrs. Milton,180, Gower Street."
The doctor jotted down the address in his notebook, then looked againinto the white, troubled face on the pillow, and said slowly:--
"There was something else you wanted me to do, was there not? Will youtell me now what it is?"
A faint colour tinged the whiteness of her face, for a second herglance wavered before his, and he saw that her hand moved restlessly.
"I know he will be angry with me," she said at last, "but--I must askyou to see him. I am so afraid he is worse than he thinks, than we allthink. And you have promised secrecy? You have promised it?" she saidvehemently, putting out her hands towards him. Fergusson looked, as hefelt, profoundly puzzled.
"I have already promised to mention nothing of what I see or hear inthis house to a living soul," he said, a trace of irritation creepinginto his quiet voice. "I shall keep my promise. I cannot say morethan that. Is there someone you wish me to see?" The woman's darkeyes turned to Christina, who stood at the foot of the bed, a silentand interested spectator of the strange little scene.
"I want the doctor to see my--the sick man you helped," she said infaltering accents. "Will you take him to the room you went to lastnight? Will you explain that I--that Madge begs him to tell the doctorall about his illness? He--he may be angry," she looked intoFergusson's eyes again, "but I think--you will understand--I think youwill soothe him."
"Is he----" Fergusson was beginning, when one of those restlesslymoving hands touched his.
"Please--don't ask me to tell you--who he is," she said earnestly; "hehas been very ill; he has only come here--since he was convalescent,"again her eyes fell before the doctor's glance, "but before he camehere he was very ill, and in great trouble. Ah! be good to him," sheexclaimed, her enforced calm of manner suddenly giving way; "let himhave peace now; he has had such a troubled life." The tortured look inher eyes touched Fergusson deeply, his hand closed over her tremblingone with a strong, reassuring grasp.
"I will do my best for him," he said cheerily; "and I will ask nounnecessary questions. You need not be afraid that I shall try to findout anything beyond his physical symptoms. Trust me." And withanother kindly glance from those eminently trustworthy e
yes of his, hebade Christina lead the way to his new patient. In silence theytraversed the passage by which Christina had passed along on theprevious night, but as she knocked on the door of the sick man'sapartment, the doctor stooped towards her and whispered:--
"I don't know whether I ought to let you be mixed up in what may turnout an unpleasant mystery. Would you rather go away at once? I canexplain my own presence to this man."
Christina shook her head, and her mouth took on a little determinedlook, which Fergusson learnt to recognise later on as one of her mostmarked characteristics.
"No--I will do what she asked me to do," she said. "I am not afraid ofmysteries, and I must help my beautiful lady as much as ever I can."So saying, she turned the handle of the door, in response to animpatient "Come in!" and she and Fergusson entered together. The sickman lay propped up with pillows, his eyes turned towards the door, afretful expression on his face, an expression which turned to one ofacute fear, when he saw the doctor's form behind Christina.
"Who are you?" he exclaimed, shrinking back and trembling violently."Why have you come here? I tell you I am all right in this place; youcan't do me any harm now; I am safe--safe--why----"
"I have not come to do you any harm," the doctor answered soothingly,hiding the surprise he undoubtedly felt. "I am only a doctor who wantsto make you well. You have been ill, haven't you?"
"Well, what of that?" the other answered sullenly, his eyes furtivelywatching Fergusson's face, his weak mouth quivering. "I don't want adoctor, even if I have been ill. I can do very well without a doctor.Why did you come?"
Christina stepped softly to the bedside, and her voice was very gently."You remember me?" she said. "I came to help you last night; and I wastold to tell you now as a special message, that Madge sent the doctor,that she begs you to tell him all about your illness. You can trustDr. Fergusson," the girl went on earnestly. "He will not tell anybodythat he has seen you. You can safely trust him."
"We are trusting too many people," came the querulous retort. "FirstElizabeth was busy, and you came to me last night, and you are a totalstranger. Though you were so kind to me, it is no use to pretend youare not a stranger. Yet I had to trust you, and now I have to trustthe doctor. There are too many people in it now."
"This young lady, Miss Moore, and I, know absolutely nothing about you,or about the lady of this house," Fergusson said firmly, butsoothingly. "We do not even know your relationship to one another.Your secrets are quite safe with us, because we have no idea what thosesecrets are. Therefore, you can safely trust us. And, in any case, Ican answer for Miss Moore, as for myself--in any case, we shall keepsilence about everything we have seen in this house." The sick manmuttered one or two more feeble remonstrances, after which, with thesudden abandonment of his position, so characteristic of a weak nature,he said resignedly:
"Well, well, it is no use talking--it is never of any use for me totalk--and if Madge wishes me to be overhauled, so be it. I will putmyself into your hands, but, understand, I do it under protest."
Denis Fergusson only nodded and smiled in response, saying toChristina--
"Now, if you will go and have that cup of tea, I will do my best forthe patient here, and come to fetch you in a few minutes"; and thegirl, taking the hint, left the two men together, and returned to theother room, where she found the beautiful lady lying with eyeswistfully turned towards the door, whilst Elizabeth vainly implored herto drink the tea she had made.
"I couldn't think of tea, or of anything else till you came back," thebeautiful woman exclaimed, stretching out her hands to the girl, withfeverish eagerness. "Was he vexed--my poor Max--was he dreadfullyvexed when you took the doctor to his room?" Christina was consciousof a sudden wonder. Why, she speculated, did this woman's voice dropinto accents of such divine tenderness when she spoke of the sick man?What attraction could that weak, querulous invalid possess for thisstately, beautiful creature, who, to the girl's admiring eyes, seemedas far above him as a star is far from the earth. Why did she lovehim, as she most obviously did, with that intense, overmastering lovewhich in a woman of this calibre almost approaches to the divine?
"Just at first he was rather vexed," she answered, "but Dr. Fergussonis very tactful; he inspires confidence. I think it will be all rightnow. And I have come back here to have some tea with you," she addedbrightly, seeing and understanding the old servant's anxious glances."I am going to confess that I have been awake a great deal of thenight, and tea will be very refreshing." She added these words,because she saw that the other woman would be more likely to drink herown tea, if she felt that Christina was really in need of therefreshment, and her surmise was right.
"Oh! but you must have your tea at once," the woman in the bedexclaimed. "I can't bear to think I have been keeping you awake;indeed, it is dreadful to think that you have all unwittingly come intomy shadowed life," she added under her breath, whilst the girl seatedherself beside the bed; and Elizabeth served them both.
"I am glad I have been able to help you," Christina said impulsively,when the servant softly left the room; "you don't know how glad Ishould be if I could do anything--to--make things easier for you," sheended rather lamely, but the admiration in her eyes was unmistakable,and the shapely white hand with its one ring, was laid on Christina's.
"You have helped me to-night more than you suppose," she said; "thereis something very restful about your personality, little girl, do youknow that? All night you have given me a feeling of rest and peace."
"I am glad," Christina answered, a light flashing into her eyes; "Ibelieve I would rather be restful to people than anything else in theworld."
"A rest-bringer," was the soft answer; "you will always be that, if yougo on as you have begun. And, it is work worth doing--to bring rest totired souls, to those who go through the vale of misery, who know--whatpain means. Be a rest-bringer, little girl; you could not be anythingbetter or sweeter."
Christina flushed vividly, partly at the words of praise, partlybecause, as they were spoken, a face rose before her mental vision, aman's face, lined and rugged, with marks of pain carved upon it, with ahaunting look of pain in its grey eyes. And with that remembrance,came also a sudden impetuous wish that it might be given to her tobring rest to the man who was Lady Cicely's cousin, the man whose veryname she did not know. She was startled out of the strange train ofthought, by her companion's voice.
"I cannot imagine," she was saying, "why it is that your face and voiceare in some odd way familiar to me, and yet you assure me we have nevermet before?"
"We have never met," Christina answered decidedly. "I could not haveforgotten you if I had ever seen you--and oh!" she went on with aneager girlish gesture, "please mayn't I have some name to remember youby--not any name that--that you would rather I did not know," she addedquickly, seeing an anxious look in the other's eyes; "only justsomething to keep in my thoughts of you."
"Call me--just--Margaret in your thoughts," was the answer; "that isone of my names; call me that."
"But it seems"--Christina hesitated--"it seems like impertinence, tocall you by a Christian name. You----"
"Yes, I know. I am old enough to be your mother,"--the dark eyeslooked wistfully into the eager young face--"and the life I have livedmakes me feel more as if I was a thousand, instead of onlythirty-eight. But still, there is a young corner in my heart--quite ayoung corner, where I can feel like a girl again; and it would pleaseme if you called me Margaret."
"Margaret," Christina repeated softly; "I am glad you have such abeautiful name. It seems to belong to your beautiful face." She spokedreamily, scarcely aware of what she said, but as the sound of her ownwords fell on her ears, she flushed deeply, and a deprecating look cameinto her eyes.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," she exclaimed; "I was speaking my thoughtsaloud, and it was rude of me. But, do you know, ever since I first sawyou, I have called you in my mind 'the beautiful lady.' You see, I hadno name by which to call you."
> "It was very pretty of you," Margaret smiled, her fingers touching thegirl's dusky hair. "Once upon a time, long ago, when I was as young asyou, I was beautiful; it is not vanity to say that now. I was abeautiful girl. But life, and all that life has brought--have----"
"They have made you more beautiful," the girl interrupted eagerly;"they have put sadness into your face, but they have not taken away itsbeauty; they have only added to it." Margaret smiled again, and ananswering smile flashed over the girl's face, making the older womanlean towards her, and exclaim, with a puzzled stare--
"It certainly is most extraordinary how, when you smile, I findsomething so familiar in your face. The quick way you smile, remindsme of another face I have seen, but--I cannot remember where I saw it,or whose it is. And your voice reminds me of just such another clearvoice, with restful cadences in it. Could I ever have known anyonebelonging to your family?"
Christina shook her head, recognising dimly that the woman before her,belonged to a circle of life very different from that in which herfather and mother had moved.
"I don't think it is at all likely you ever saw any relation of mine,"she answered. "My name is Moore, and we were always very poor, andlived in an out-of-the-way Devonshire village. I never knew any of myrelations, and I don't even know my mother's maiden name. I think herpeople had treated her very badly; she never mentioned them."
"Ah, well, it must be some chance likeness, but it will worry me, untilI can remember who the person is of whom you remind me. Is that thedoctor?" she broke off to say, her lighter tone changing to one ofacute anxiety. "What is he coming to tell me?" The animation that fora few moments had lighted her features, and lessened some of thetragedy, in her eyes died away, and the face that was turned towardsDr. Fergusson, as he once more entered the room, had nothing upon itbut an agonised question.
"He has allowed you to examine him thoroughly?" she asked.
"Yes, quite thoroughly." Fergusson's voice was gentle, but very grave,and as he came and stood beside the bed, Christina instinctivelyrealised that he hesitated to speak further, because what he had to saywas of a painful nature.
"Tell--me." Margaret spoke a little breathlessly; her eyes never leftthe kind, shrewd face looking down at her; the anguish in their depthshurt Denis's tender heart. To give pain to any woman, above all to awoman so fragile, so physically unfit to bear it as this woman seemedto be, was almost intolerable to him. Yet his honesty and strength ofnature never allowed him to evade the truth, when truth had to be told,and he did not evade it now.
"I am afraid I have not good news to bring you," he said. "The patientI have just examined, is only momentarily convalescent. I---think itis only fair to be quite honest with you: there is no real hope of hisultimate recovery." The woman in the bed uttered a little low sound,which seemed to Christina the most pitiful she had ever heard, but whenshe spoke, her voice was unnaturally quiet.
"You mean he has some incurable disease? Tell me the exact truth."
"Yes, quite incurable--and--very far advanced. I can give him acertain amount of alleviation, but--it would not be right to let youbuild any hopes on the possibility of a cure. There is no suchpossibility."
When the doctor's voice ceased, there was a strange, tense silence inthe room for many minutes; and Christina, standing by the fireplace,felt as if she could almost see and hear the woman in the bed,gathering up her forces to meet this blow. Once the girl glanced atthe white face and deep eyes, but she turned away her glance again,feeling it was not right that any other human being should gaze uponthe tortured soul, that looked out of those eyes. Margaret herselffirst broke the silence.
"Will--it--be--long?" she asked.
"I think not," Fergusson answered gravely, "but in a case like thiseverything depends upon the temperament of the patient, hissurroundings, his mental attitude. Anxiety, worry, any mental strainwould accelerate matters."
The white hands that all this time had been so still on the coverlet,clasped themselves together, and there was a new note of passion inMargaret's voice, as she said--
"And--the mental strain is exactly what I cannot help, cannot prevent,cannot save him from."
"You must remember I am only giving you one man's opinion--only myown," Fergusson replied gently. "Would you like me to bring a Londoncolleague to----"
"No--oh no!"--the look of fear he had before noticed in her eyes, leaptinto them once more--"nobody else must come here, nobody else must seehim. As it is, the risks"--she stopped suddenly, and ended hersentence in less agitated tones--"I am quite satisfied with youropinion, Dr. Fergusson," she said. "I would rather not have anotherdoctor, and--you will respect my wish for silence about everything thathas passed in this house?"
"Certainly I will respect it; you can trust me. In the patient's owninterest, I think I ought to see him again, perhaps in two or threedays; but nobody excepting Miss Moore and myself will know anythingabout the affairs of your house."
Having given her a few technical instructions as to the treatment ofthe sick man, the doctor was ready to take his departure, and he andChristina left the house together, after the girl had for a moment beendrawn into Margaret's arms, and gently kissed.
"Thank you for all you have done," the beautiful woman whispered. "Idon't think I can ever be grateful enough to you. Perhaps, we shallnot ever meet again--but--think sometimes of me--pray sometimes forme--little rest-bringer."
* * * * *
"That poor soul! that poor soul!" They were Fergusson's first wordsafter he had turned the car out of the rough lane, into the main road."I daresay it was fanciful, but the words in the Litany haunted me whenI watched her this morning: 'In all time of our tribulation--Good Lord,deliver us.' She looks as if she had been through such an infinity oftribulation."
Christina's eyes were still dim with the tears brought there byMargaret's parting words, and her voice was not quite steady, as sheanswered--
"Yes; the word seems to belong to her, but she gives me the feelingthat she is so strong, so tender, in spite of, or perhaps because of,all that she has suffered. I--wish I could do something more for her."
"Perhaps the opportunity may yet be given you," Fergusson answered. "Inever believe people come into one's life purposelessly: we meet themfor some reason, and we get chances of helping them--even if sometimesthey seem only like 'ships that pass in the night,' greeting us as theysail by."
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