CHAPTER IV.
On the morning after the dance Dr Congleton summoned Dr Escott to hisroom.
"Escott," he began, "we must keep a little sharper eye on Mr Beveridge."
"Indeed, sir?" said Escott; "he seems to me harmless enough."
"Nevertheless, he must be watched. Lady Grillyer was considerably alarmedby his conduct last night, and a client who has confided so many of herrelatives to my care must be treated with the greatest regard. I receivepheasants at Christmas from no fewer than fourteen families of title, andmy reputation for discretion is too valuable to be risked. When MrBeveridge is not under your own eyes you must see that Moggridge alwayskeeps him in sight."
Accordingly Moggridge, a burly and seasoned attendant on refractorypatients, was told off to keep an unobtrusive eye on that accomplishedgentleman. His duties appeared light enough, for, as I have said, MrBeveridge's eccentricities had hitherto been merely of the most playfulnature.
After luncheon on this same day he gave Escott twelve breaks and a beatingat billiards, and then having borrowed and approved of one of his cigars,he strolled into the park. If he intended to escape observation, hecertainly showed the most skilful strategy, for he dodged deviouslythrough the largest trees, and at last, after a roundabout ramble, strucka sheltered walk that ran underneath the high, glass-decked outer wall. Itwas a sunny winter afternoon. The boughs were stripped, and the leaves laylittered on the walk or flickered and stirred through the grass. In thisspot the high trees stood so close and the bare branches were so thickthat there was still an air of quiet and seclusion where he paced andsmoked. Every now and then he stopped and listened and looked at hiswatch, and as he walked backwards and forwards an amused smile would comeand go.
All at once he heard something move on the far side of the wall: he pausedto make sure, and then he whistled, the sounds outside ceased, and in amoment something fell softly behind him. He turned quickly and snatched upa little buttonhole of flowers with a still smaller note tied to thestems.
"An uncommonly happy idea," he said to himself, looking at the missivewith the air of one versed in these matters. Then he leisurely proceededto unfold and read the note.
"To my friend," he read, "if I may call you a friend, since I have knownyou only _such a short time_--may I? This is just to express my sympathy,and although I cannot express it well, still perhaps you will forgive myfeeble effort!!"
At this point, just as he was regarding the double mark of exclamationwith reminiscent entertainment, a plaintive voice from the other side ofthe wall cried in a stage whisper, "Have you got it?"
Mr Beveridge composed his face, and heaving his shoulders to his ears inthe effort, gave vent to a prodigious sigh.
"A million thanks, my fairest and kindest of friends," he answered in thesame tone. "I read it now: I drink it in, I----"
He kissed the back of his hand loudly two or three times, sighed again,and continued his reading.
"I wish I could help you," it ran, "but I am afraid I cannot, as the worldis _so censorious_, is it not? So you must accept a friend's sympathy ifit does not seem to you too bold and forward of her!!! Perhaps we may meetagain, as I sometimes go to Clankwood. _Au revoir._--Your sympatheticwell-wisher. A. A. F."
He folded it up and put it in his waistcoat-pocket, then he exclaimed inan audible aside, his voice shaking with the most affecting thrill,"_Perhaps_ we may meet again! Only _perhaps!_ O Alicia!" And then droppingagain into a stage whisper, he asked, "Are you still there, Lady Alicia?"
A timorous voice replied, "Yes, Mr Fortescue. But I really _must_ go now!"
"Now? So soon?"
"I have stayed too long already."
"'Tis better to have stayed too long than never to wear stays at all,"replied Mr Beveridge.
There was no response for a moment. Then a low voice, a little hurt and agood deal puzzled, asked with evident hesitation, "What--what did you say,Mr Fortescue?"
"I said that Lady Alicia's stay cannot be too long," he answered, softly.
"But--but what good can I be?"
"The good you cannot help being."
There was another moment's pause, then the voice whispered, "I don't quiteunderstand you."
"My Alicia understands me not!" Mr Beveridge soliloquised in anotheraudible aside. Aloud, or rather in a little lower tone, he answered, "I amfriendless, poor, and imprisoned. What is the good in your staying? Ah,Lady Alicia! But why should I detain you? Go, fair friend! Go and forgetpoor Francis Beveridge!"
There came a soft, surprised answer, "Francis Beveridge?"
"Alas! you have guessed my secret. Yes, that is the name of the unhappiestof mortals."
As he spoke these melancholy words he threw away the stump of his cigar,took another from his case, and bit off the end.
The voice replied, "I shall remember it--among my friends."
Mr Beveridge struck a match.
"H'sh! Whatever is that?" cried the voice in alarm.
"A heart breaking," he replied, lighting his cigar.
"Don't talk like that," said the voice. "It--it distresses me." There was abreak in the voice.
"And, alas! between distress and consolation there are fifteenperpendicular feet of stone and mortar and the relics of twelve hundredbottles of Bass," he replied.
"Perhaps,"--the voice hesitated--"perhaps we may see each other some day."
"Say to-morrow at four o'clock," he suggested, pertinently. "If you couldmanage to be passing up the drive at that hour."
There was another pause.
"Perhaps----" the voice began.
At that moment he heard the sharp crack of a branch behind him, andturning instantly he spied the uncompromising countenance of Moggridgepeering round a tree about twenty paces distant. Lack of presence of mindand quick decision were not amongst Mr Beveridge's failings. He struck atheatrical attitude at once, and began in a loud voice, gazing up at thetops of the trees, "He comes! A stranger comes! Yes, my fair friend, wemay meet again. _Au revoir_, but only for a while! Ah, that a breakingheart should be lit for a moment and then the lamp be put out!"
Meanwhile Moggridge was walking towards him.
"Ha, Moggridge!" he cried. "Good day."
"Time you was goin' in, sir," said Moggridge, stolidly; and to himself hemuttered, "He's crackeder than I thought, a-shoutin' and a-ravin' tohisself. Just as well I kept a heye on 'im."
Like most clever people, Mr Beveridge generally followed the line of leastresistance. He slipped his arm through his attendant's, shouted a farewellapparently to some imaginary divinity overhead, and turned towards thehouse.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," he remarked.
"Yes, sir," replied Moggridge.
"Funny thing your turning up. Out for a walk, I suppose?"
"For a stroll, sir--that's to say----" he stopped.
"That on these chilly afternoons the dear good doctor is afraid of myhealth?"
"That's kind o' it, sir."
"But of course I'm not supposed to notice anything, eh?"
Moggridge looked a trifle uncomfortable and was discreetly silent. MrBeveridge smiled at his own perspicacity, and then began in the mostfriendly tone, "Well, I feel flattered that so stout a man has been toldoff to take care of me. What an arm you've got, man."
"Pretty fair, sir," said Moggridge, complacently.
"And I am thankful, too," continued Mr Beveridge, "that you're a man ofsome sense. There are a lot of fools in the world, Moggridge, and I'msomewhat of an epicure in the matter of heads."
"Mine 'as been considered pretty sharp," Moggridge admitted, with agratified relaxation of his wooden countenance.
"Have a cigar?" his patient asked, taking out his case.
"Thank you, sir, I don't mind if I do."
"You will find it a capital smoke. I don't throw them away on every one."
Moggridge, completely thawed, lit his cigar and slackened his pace, forsuch frank appreciation of his merits was rare in a cr
itical world.
"You can perhaps believe, Moggridge," said Mr Beveridge, reflectively,"that one doesn't often have the chance of talking confidentially to a manof sense in Clankwood."
"No, sir, I should himagine not."
"And so one has sometimes to talk to oneself."
This was said so sadly that Moggridge began to feel uncomfortablyaffected.
"Ah, Moggridge, one cannot always keep silence, even when one least wantsto be overheard. Have you ever been in love, Moggridge?"
The burly keeper changed countenance a little at this embarrassinglydirect question, and answered diffidently, "Well, sir, to be sure men ismen and woming will be woming."
"The deuce, they will!" replied Mr Beveridge, cordially; "and it's ratherhard to forget 'em, eh?"
"Hindeed it is, sir."
"I remembered this afternoon, but I should like you as a good chap toforget. You won't mention my moment of weakness, Moggridge?"
"No, sir," said Moggridge, stoutly. "I suppose I hought to report what Isees, but I won't this time."
"Thank you," said Mr Beveridge, pressing his arm. "I had, you know, atouch of the sun in India, and I sometimes talk when I shouldn't. Though,after all, that isn't a very uncommon complaint."
And so it happened that no rumour prejudicial either to his sanity or tothe progress of his friendship with the Lady Alicia reached the ears ofthe authorities.
The Lunatic at Large Page 5
