by Ellen Wood
“Why, bless my heart, if I don’t believe it is a child!” he exclaimed.
Approaching the sofa, he dived into the wrappings and flannels, and felt something warm and soft. He could not see; the obscurity was too great for that, although a distant lamp from the platform threw its rays partially in. Mr. Carlton drew some wax matches from his pocket; struck one, and held its light over the face of the child. He had rarely in his life seen so small a one, and the little thing began to cry as Mrs. Smith came in.
“So you have woke up, have you!” cried she. “It’s an odd thing to me that you could sleep through the doings of that wicked omnibus. Come along, baby; five minutes yet before we get into the train.”
“I thought magic must be at work, to hear a human cry from what looked like a packet of clothes,” said Mr. Carlton. “I lighted a match to make sure whether it was a child or a rabbit.”
“It is as much like a rabbit as a child yet, poor little thing; I never saw such a baby born.”
“It is not at its full time,” observed Mr. Carlton.
“Full time!” repeated Mrs. Smith, who had by no means recovered the equanimity that had been shaken out of her, and resented the remark as an offence. “Who are you, young man, that you should offer your opinion to me? What do you know of infants, pray?”
“At least as much as you, my good lady,” was the answer, given with unruffled equanimity. “I have brought plenty of them into the world.”
“Oh, then, you are a doctor, I suppose,” she said, somewhat mollified.
“Yes, I am a doctor; and, as a doctor, I will tell you that little specimen of humanity is not fit to travel.”
“I don’t say it is; but necessity has to do many things without reference to fitness.”
“When was it born?”
“Yesterday morning. Sir, have you any influence in this neighbourhood?”
“Why do you ask?” returned Mr. Carlton.
“Because, if you have, I hope you will use it to put down that dangerous omnibus. The way it jolts and rattles over the road is enough to kill any one who’s inside of it. I went by it to South Wennock this morning, and that was bad enough, as the other passengers could testify; but in coming back by it this evening I did really think I should have lost my life. Jolting one’s head up to the roof, taking one’s feet off the floor, jolting one’s body against the sides and seat! I shall be sore all over for a week to come; and the more I knocked and called, the faster the sinner drove. And I with this baby to protect all the while.”
“It is a shame,” replied Mr. Carlton. “What surprises me is, that South Wennock does not rise up against it. There’ll be some serious result one of these days, and then it will be altered.”
“The serious result has come,” wrathfully returned Mrs. Smith. “A young lady, hardly fit to travel in an easy carriage, went in the omnibus to South Wennock last Friday, and the consequence was the birth of this poor little infant.”
“Indeed! And what of her?”
“Well, she is going on all right, as it happens; but it might have been just the other way, you know.”
Mr. Carlton nodded. “One of the Messrs. Greys’ patients, I suppose? Was it young Mrs. Lipscome of the Rise?”
“No, it was not, sir; and who it was don’t matter. Whether it was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria or a poor peasant girl, the injury’s the same. And much that rascally omnibus cares!”
“Now then! Take seats for the up-train,” cried a man, thrusting in his head.
Mrs. Smith gathered her two bundles together, and went out. And Mr. Carlton crossed to the other door, for his ear had caught the sound of carriage wheels in the distance.
CHAPTER IV.
AN ACCIDENT.
DASHING up with the speed of the omnibus came an open carriage, driven by a servant in livery. The man was the same who had been so supercilious to Judith Ford at Mr. Carlton’s residence; the carriage, a light, elegant, vehicle, was the same spoken of by Mrs. Gould as the “cabrioily.”
Mr. Carlton stepped out of the station as it stopped, and peered at his servant, as well as the dusky night would permit him. The man had transgressed against the rules of sobriety once or twice, and his master suspected the delay might have arisen from the same cause now. But he seemed sober enough as he jumped down.
“What were the orders you received, Evan?”
“I’m very sorry to be late, sir; I can’t in the least make out how it was,” was the deprecating answer. “When I met the umnibus coming back, sir, I’m sure you might have knocked me down with a feather. I know I started in time, and—”
“No lie, Evan,” quietly interrupted Mr. Carlton. “You know you did not start in time.”
He motioned the man round to the other side, ascending himself to the driver’s seat. It was not often Mr. Carlton took the reins; perhaps he still doubted his servant’s perfect sobriety to-night.
“You have not got your lamps lighted.”
“No, sir, I thought they’d not be wanted. And they wouldn’t be, neither, but for them clouds obscuring the moon.”
Mr. Carlton drove off. Not quite with the reckless speed that characterized the omnibus, but pretty quickly. The light carriage had good springs; those of the omnibus had probably been gone long ago. There was one smooth bit of road about midway between the towns, and they had reached this, and were bowling along, when, without any warning, the horse started violently and fell. Mr. Carlton and his man were both thrown out, and the shafts of the carriage were broken.
It was the work of an instant. One moment spinning along the road; the next, lying on it. Mr. Carlton was the first to rise. He was certainly shaken, and one of his legs seemed not quite free from pain; but there was no material damage done. What had made the horse start he could not imagine; there was nothing to cause it, so far as he could see. Mr. Carlton went to its head and strove to raise it, but it was more than he could accomplish.
“Evan,” he called out.
There was no reply. Mr. Carlton turned to look for his man, and found him lying without motion on the ground. Evan appeared to be senseless.
“Well, this is a pretty state of things!” cried the surgeon aloud.
“What’s to-do? What’s up?” exclaimed a voice in the rear. It came from a peasant woman who was approaching a gate that led to a roadside field. And at that moment the moon came out from behind the clouds, and threw its light upon the scene.
“Are there any men about?” asked Mr. Carlton. “I must have help.”
She shook her head. “There’s nobody about but me: my husband” — pointing to a hut just within the gate— “is down with fever. Did the horse fall? Why — goodness save us! There’s a man lying there!”
“I must have help,” repeated Mr. Carlton. “Neither man nor horse can lie here.”
The woman stooped over the horse. “I don’t think he’s much hurt,” she said. “Some of those horses are as obstinate as mules after a fall, and won’t get up till it suits ’em to do it. Maybe one of his legs is sprained. What caused it, sir?”
“That’s more than I know,” was the surgeon’s answer. “He was always sure-footed until to-night. His falling is to me perfectly inexplicable.”
The woman seemed to muse. She had left the horse, and was now regarding Evan. The man lay quite still, and she raised herself again.
“I don’t like these unaccountable accidents,” she observed in a dreamy tone: “these accidents that come, and nobody can tell why. They bode ill luck.”
“They bring ill luck, enough, without boding it,” returned Mr. Carlton.
“They bode it too,” said the woman, with a nod of the head. “Take care, sir, that no ill happens to you in the next few hours or few days.”
“What ill should happen to me?” asked Mr. Carlton, smiling at the woman’s superstition.
“We can none of us tell beforehand, sir, what the ill hanging over us may be, or from what quarter it will come,” was the answer. “Perhaps you were
going a journey? — I don’t know, sir, of course, or who you may be; — but if you were, I should say halt, and turn aside from the road you were bound for.”
“My good woman, I do think you must be out of your mind!” exclaimed Mr. Carlton.
“No, I am not, sir; but perhaps I have observed more, and keener, than most folks. I’m certain — I’m convinced by experience, that many of these accidents, these hindrances, are only warnings — if we were but wise enough to take them as such. You, now, sir, were on your road to some place—”
“To South Wennock, a mile off,” interrupted Mr. Carlton, some satire in his tone.
“South Wennock; so be it, sir. Then what I would say is, was I you I wouldn’t go on to South Wennock: I’d rather turn and go back whence I came. This may be sent as a warning to stop your journey there.”
But for the untoward and vexatious circumstances around him, the surgeon would have laughed outright. “Why, I live at South Wennock,” he exclaimed, raising his head from his man-servant, over whom it had been again bent. “But the question now is, not what luck, good or ill, may be in store for me,” he added, turning to the horse, “but where and how I can get assistance. Here’s a helpless horse, and there’s a helpless man. First of all, can you bring me a little water?”
She went away without a word, and brought back a brown pitcher full of it, and a small cup. Mr. Carlton took them from her.
“And now can you go to the Red Lion at South Wennock, and tell them to send the necessary aid?”
“I’m willing, sir. My husband won’t take any harm at being left: though it’s mighty ill he is.”
“Who attends him?”
“I’ve had nobody to him as yet. We poor folks can’t afford a doctor till things come to the very worst with us, and life’s almost on the ebb.”
“Very unwise policy,” remarked Mr. Carlton. “Well, my good woman, you do this little service for me, and I’ll step in as soon as you bring assistance, and see what I can do for your husband.”
“Are you a doctor, sir?”
“I am. Let Mrs. Fitch send an easy carriage: and a couple of men had better come with it. But, I think as you do, that my horse is lying there in temper more than in real injury.
“Is he hurt, sir, do you think?” she asked, pointing to the man.
“I think he is only stunned. Make the best of your way for this help, there’s a good soul. Tell Mrs. Fitch it is for Mr. Carlton.” The woman, strong and sturdy, strode away with a will that Mr. Carlton himself could not have surpassed, and was back again with all requisite aid, in a short time. Mr. Carlton had his horse up then. It appeared to have sprained its leg, but to have received no other damage. Evan was still unconscious. The surgeon snatched a moment to go in and look at the woman’s husband, whom he found suffering from low fever. He told her if she would come to his house the following morning, he would give her certain medicines suited for his case. Great commotion the damaged procession caused when it made its entry into South Wennock; greater commotion still at the dwelling of Mr. Carlton. The horse was led round to the stable and a veterinary surgeon was sent for, and Mr. Carlton himself attended to his man. Evan had recovered consciousness during the journey, and his master found his injuries were only slight.
Mr. Carlton had remembered the value of appearance when he took this house, — one of more pretension than a young surgeon need have entered upon. On either side the entrance was a sitting-room: a rather fine staircase led above to a handsome drawing-room, and to large bedrooms. The drawing-room and some of the bedrooms were not furnished; but there was plenty of time for that.
Evan attended to, Mr. Carlton went down to the hall, and turned into the sitting-room on his left hand, generally called the diningroom. It had two windows — the one looking to the front; the other, a large, low, bay window, looking on the garden, at the side of the house. Both windows had the blinds drawn now, and the room was only lighted by a fire. Mr. Carlton gave it a vigorous poke to stir it into a blaze, and rang the bell.
It was answered by a maid-servant, a respectable woman of middle age. This woman, Evan the groom, and a boy, comprised the household. The boy’s work was to carry out the medicines, and to stop in the surgery and answer callers at other times.
“I want Ben, Hannah.”
“Yes, sir; I’ll send him in. You’ll take something to eat, won’t you, sir?”
“I should like something; I have had nothing since breakfast this morning. What have you in the house?”
“There’s cold beef, sir, and—”
“That will do,” interrupted Mr. Carlton; “the cold beef. Send Ben here.”
Ben made his appearance: the same young gentleman who had been insolent to Judith Ford on the Friday evening. He stood before his master the very picture of humility.
“Any messages or letters for me, Ben?”
“There haven’t been any letters, sir,” was Ben’s answer. “Two or three folks have been in to see you, but they went away again when they found you were out. And there came a message yesterday from Captain Chesney, sir, and another from him this morning. He was worse, the black man said, and in a dreadful way at your being away; and he told the man to say, that if you weren’t with him to-day, he should call in Mr. Grey.”
“He may call in the deuce if he likes,” was Mr. Carlton’s answer, spoken in momentary irritation. “Is that all, Ben?”
“It’s all, sir.”
Ben might have said with more correctness, all that he remembered. He withdrew, and Mr. Carlton stood a moment in thought. Then he went to the hall and caught up his hat, just as Hannah was coming from the kitchen with a tray in her hand. She looked surprised to see her master going out, thinking he was waiting to take the refreshment.
“When I come back,” he said to her. “You can have it ready for me.”
He took his way to the Rise, intending to pay a visit to the gentleman who had sent the irritable messages, Captain Chesney. Some doctors might not have been so ready to go off at an inconvenience to a patient whom they knew perfectly well to be in no sort of danger: Mr. Carlton himself would certainly not, for his disposition was more haughty than complaisant; but he was swayed by a different motive from any connected with his profession.
About three months previously, Captain Chesney, a post-captain on half-pay, had settled at South Wennock, removing to it from the neighbourhood of Plymouth. The house he took was called Cedar Lodge, a small white villa, standing back from the high-road amidst a wilderness of a garden. Not that it deserved the name, “wilderness,” from being badly kept, but because of the thick shrubs and trees that crowded it. It was excellently kept; for the old naval captain was a precise man, and would insist on having things neat and nice about him, however short the money might run that kept them so. Like many another naval captain, his means were at all times terribly low.
The captain had three daughters, Jane, Laura, and Lucy. There was a wide difference in their ages: as is frequently the case when the father of a family serves his country, whether by sea or by land, and his absences from home are of long duration. But there is no time to notice these young ladies at present; their turn will come by-and-by.
Labouring under frequent attacks of gout, Captain Chesney’s naturally hot temper had grown irritable and more irritable. Gout perhaps was the chief cause: certainly the irritability was much more marked when the gout was upon him. Accident had led to his calling in Mr. Carlton. When the captain first arrived at South Wennock, he was suffering, and he sent out his black servant, Pompey, a devoted man who had been with him for years, to “bring back a doctor.” Pompey, a stranger to the place, made his inquiries and arrived at the house of Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey and Mr. Stephen were both out; but their assistant promised Pompey that one of them should attend before the day closed; and it was then late in the afternoon. Pompey went back with the message, and it put the captain into one of his fits of irritation. A doctor he wanted at once, and a doctor he’d have: and Pompey was ordered
out again to find another. He went direct to Mr. Carlton’s, having noticed the plate upon the door in returning from Mr. Grey’s: “Mr. Lewis Carlton, Consulting Surgeon.” Mr. Carlton was at home, and from that hour to this had attended Captain Chesney. The captain during the winter had had attack after attack, and Mr. Carlton had been in the house most days; had become, so to say, intimate with the family.
Mr. Carlton proceeded up the Rise. Captain Chesney’s house was on the right, about half-way up the hill. Opening the gate, a winding path between the thick trees took him to the house door; and it was only through that path that a glimpse of the road could be caught from the lower windows. Before those windows was a sloping green lawn, to which they opened; and a flower garden lay on the side of the house. It was a pretty place, though small; in every way, excepting size, fitted for the abode of a gentleman.
Mr. Carlton glanced at the sitting-room windows, and saw a faint glimmer of fire. But a bright light burnt in the room above, the chamber of Captain Chesney.
“Not home from church yet,” murmured Mr. Carlton to himself, as he rang the bell. “Miss Chesney generally goes to that late one at the other end of the town. I wonder if — all — are gone?”
The honest blackface of Pompey shone with delight when he saw who was the visitor. “Massa had been talking, only then, of sending him off for the other doctor, Mr. Grey,” he whispered; and Mr. Carlton, with a haughty throw-back of his own head as he heard it, — for, somewhat curious to say, this irritation on the part of his patient tended to render him irritable, — stepped upstairs to the captain’s room.
The captain was in bed. Mr. Carlton had just brought him through one of his worst attacks of gout, and he was really progressing towards convalescence as fast as he possibly could. There was no need whatever for Mr. Carlton or any other doctor to visit him; but it was always during the period of recovery that Captain Chesney was most impatient and irritable. He was a short man, as are most sailors, with a pair of brilliant brown eyes, overhanging grey eyebrows, and grey hair. The daughter who was sitting with him, Laura Chesney, and whom he despatched from the room when he heard the surgeon’s step, had just such eyes, as brilliant and as beautiful.
