At eleven o'clock the doorbell rang. Like a runner who has long awaited the sound of the start, to unleash his restrained store of energy, Brodie leaped out of his chair, strode to the front door and with a defiant, sweeping gesture threw it wide to the wall. His huge bulk filled the opening, blocking the passage into the house.
"Well! What is it?" he growled. "What do ye want?"
Doctor Renwick stood upon the doorstep, dispassionately immaculate in his well-fitting morning coat, and dignified by the background of his man, his well-groomed cob and smart gig. Secure now in the possession of his large and lucrative practice, he made not the slightest motion towards coming in, but paused appreciably before replying pleasantly:
"Ah! Mr. Brodie himself, this morning, I see!"
"Never mind me," said Brodie loweringly. "What do ye want here?"
"Really," said Renwick tranquilly, "you are the epitome of courtesy. You have not altered since our last meeting at least, not for the better."
"Your purpose, sir?" breathed Brodie heavily. "Don't flash your glib tongue at me. Answer me straight."
"Well! Since you are so blunt, I will be equally so. I came last night at the urgent request of your son, and rather against my inclination, to see your wife, and despite your pretence of ignorance I am convinced that you know I was here." He paused and negligently flicked his sleeve with his glove before continuing. "This morning I had proposed to pay a final visit" he emphasised deeply the word final "in order to confirm, by a further examination, the melancholy diagnosis which I made last night."
Brodie glowered at him. Renwick's aloof imperturbability infuriated him infinitely more than any display of furious rage would have done. That he could meet with equal violence. But his clumsy wit was as useless against this quick coolness of mind as a bludgeon against a flashing rapier; he was pricked in a dozen places before he could swing the heavy weapon of his reply.
The other had, indeed, almost disarmed him by the assertion that he proposed to make no further calls, and he had aroused Brodie's attention by the veiled implication of his reference to Mamma's condition.
"What are ye makin' out to be wrong wi' her, then?" he sneered, unconsciously changing his attitude. "She's a graund subject for the bed."
Renwick raised his eyebrows delicately, without speaking, a slight gesture which had, nevertheless, the immediate effect of making the other feel the exceeding bad taste of his remark. Raging at this unspoken contempt, Brodie rushed on to his inevitable resort when all else failed him the descent to personalities.
"Don't mock at me like that with your creashy smirk," he cried, "it doesna improve the look of your ugly face, anyway."
Renwick continued to look at him dispassionately. Most men, from their physical stature, were compelled to look upwards to James Brodie and Brodie revelled in this fact; it gave him a sense of superiority and power to stand over a man. Renwick, however, was fully as tall as he, and from the slight eminence of the outer porch, he reversed the usual order of things, and he, instead, looked down
upon Brodie.
"I shall not waste my time here further," he said at last coldly. "If you are not a busy man, I am. In your state of mind you are not amenable to reason. You have a delusion of grandeur which makes you wish every one to be in awe of you. The unfortunate members of your family are, no doubt, afraid of you but I, happily, am not! Understand that clearly if you can. And now, good morning to you!" He turned on his heel and was about to descend the steps when the other caught hold of his arm.
"Wait! Wait!" shouted Brodie. The interview was not proceeding as he had anticipated, for he had visioned himself grudgingly permitting Renwick to have access to the house after he had been scraped and bowed to, after his offended dignity had been suitably appeased. In his heart he felt he must know what the doctor thought of his wife, and though he had desired, first of all, to make Renwick feel like a paid servant who could be discharged contemptuously with his fee, he did not wish to be left completely ignorant of Mamma's condition.
"Don't go like that," he cried. "Ye havena told me what's wrong wi' my wife. What are ye paid for if ye can't tell me what you came here for last night? You'll have to justify yourself in some way."
The other showed him a coldly contemptuous profile,
"The question of fee has not arisen, so far as I am aware. As to the other matter, I have already informed you that I shall give you my definite diagnosis only after a further and internal examination;" and he shook off Brodie's detaining hand and made to resume his exit.
"Damn it all, then," cried Brodie suddenly. "Come in and do what ye want. Since ye are here, we may as well make use of ye," Renwick came back slowly, and with a maddening suavity he said:
"Since you beg of me to come back I shall do so, but understand this, it is only for your wife's sake;" then he pushed past the bulky form before him and quickly mounted the stairs.
Brodie, fuming and nonplussed, was left standing in the hall.
He bent his brows angrily, rubbed his chin indecisively, stretched out his hand to shut the front door, then refrained from shutting it, as the thought crossed his insulted mind that it would amount almost to subservience for him to close the door for Renwick.
"Let him shut the door for himself," he muttered. "Anyway, he'll not be long. He'll soon be out again and then it'll be for good."
He gazed moodily out of the open door at the doctor's spanking turnout at his gate, his dark envious eye noting the fine legs of the cob, its muscled shoulders, its supple arched neck. He estimated clearly the money which lay in the splendid animal, in the sound coach-built gig, in the man's smart livery, even in the cockaded hat which sat jauntily upon his head, and this tangible vision of the other's prosperity was like gall to him. With a jerk he withdrew his gaze, began to pace up and down the hall. "Will he never come down?" he asked himself. "What does he think he's doin' up there a' this time?"
He reflected impatiently on what must be taking place upstairs, writhed at the thought of what the nature of the examination might be. Although he had finished with his wife in every aspect of his sexual life and had indeed cast her from him in contumely, the thought of another man interfering, as he mentally worded it, with her made him furious. Although his wife was old, jaded and worn out, yet she was still his property, his chattel, his possession. He would never need the possession nor use the chattel, yet she must remain wholly and subserviently his. That was his mentality and, had he lived in another age, he would surely have destroyed each mistress when he had tired of her in the perverted fear that she would fall into another's hands. Ridiculous and abominable thoughts now began to torment him.
"By God!" he cried out. "If he doesna come down I'll go up myself."
But he did not go up! Something in Renwick's cold disdain had chilled his animal mind and although, of course, he feared no one, yet the temper of the other's spirit so far surpassed his that it surmounted and even subdued him. Always a superior, fearless mind aroused in him a faint, lowering distrust, the prelude to hatred, to an unbridled antipathy that weakened, to his undoing, such reason as usually controlled his motives. And so he chafed and stamped about in the hall until, when he had been made to wait a full half-hour, he did at last hc.ir Ren wick come down. Watching the doctor descend the stairs slowly, he felt, uncontrollably, that he must voice his severe displeasure.
"Did you say you were busy ?" he girned. "What a time you were!"
"Not too long surely, for a last visit," said Rcnwick impassively.
"What's wrong with her then?” shot out Brodie. 'I’ve no doubt you've been puttin' some grand, fancy ideas in her head all this time."
"Which reminds me," continued the doctor tranquilly, ignoring the interjection, "that you must arrange for your own medical man to be called in without fail to-morrow. If you wish, I will communicate with him. Your wife must have constant and unremitting attention."
Brodie stared at him incredulously, then laughed sneeringly.
"Does she
need a nurse next?" he exclaimed.
"Your good wife most assuredly does. That is," Renwick added quietly, "if you can afford it."
Brodie drew from the other's words a humiliating imputation.
"Be careful," he breathed. "I asked you what was wrong with her."
"Advanced, incurable cancer of the womb," said Renwick slowly.
Brodie's jaw dropped at the dreadful word.
"Cancer," he echoed. "Cancer!" Despite his iron control, his cheek blanched slightly; but he fought to recover himself.
"It's a lie!" he exclaimed loudly. "You're trying to get even with me. You're tryin' to frichten me with a demned lie,"
"I wish it were a lie, but I have satisfied myself, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that my diagnosis is correct," said Renwick sadly. "There is nothing to be done for the poor soul but to alleviate her pain and she will never leave the bed she now lies on."
"I don't believe you," snarled Brodie. "I don't give that for your opinion." He snapped his fingers in the other's face like the crack of a whip, caring, not so much for the dreadful affliction which might lie upon his wife, as for the humiliating position into which he imagined the doctor was trying to force him. "Ill have better advice than yours," he cried. "I'll have my own physician. He's head and shoulders above you in skill. If she's ill, he'll cure her!"
Renwick inclined his head.
"I hope sincerely that he does, and I must tell you," he added severely, "that in medicine the basis of any treatment is rest and freedom from anxiety."
"Thank ye for nothing," cried Brodie roughly. "Here! What is your fee for a' this tarradiddle? What do we pay you for tellin' her to lie in bed?" and he plunged his hand into his trousers pocket.
The doctor, on his way to the door, turned and said, with a penetrating look which revealed the fullness of his knowledge of Brodie's unhappy, financial position:
"Really, no! Not from you, in your present circumstances. I couldn't think of it." He paused and added, "Remember, I shall not call again unless I'm sent for" then he was gone.
Brodie, his fists clenched, stared impotently at the retreating figure. Only when the gig was out of sight did a suitable retort occur to him.
"Send for him again," he cried. "He'll never come into this house again! The infernal snipe! I don't believe a word of his damned lies. A pack of lies," he repeated, as if to convince himself.
As he stood in the lobby he did not know what to do, but through his indecision, despite his assumed contempt of Renwick's opinion, the word cancer kept beating into his brain with a dire significance Cancer of the womb! It seemed to him the most horrid manifestation of the dread disease. Although he had violently professed unbelief, now a seeping tide of conviction swept over him; bit by bit he began to piece evidence together which was in itself conclusive. Her ailing look had not, then, been assumed these secretive ways not an indecency, a reproach to him, but only a piteous necessity.
Suddenly a devastating thought struck him! Had the scourge been passed to him? Knowing nothing of the laws of contagion or infection, still he wondered if he himself might be contaminated, and immediately the recollection of her previous nearness to him, of past contacts, rushed over him, making him feel unclean. Involuntarily he glanced over his muscular body as if it might reveal already some sinister index of the malady. His glance reassured him, but following the thought came, inevitably, a small wave of resentment against his wife. "Could she no’ have watched herself better?" he muttered, as if she were in measure responsible for her own calamity.
He shook himself and braced out his barrel chest to rid himself of all the oppressive, conflicting ideas within him. Without realising it, he wandered into the cold, unused parlour and sat down in the inhospitable room where he again set himself to decide what he must do. Although he must, of course, justify his threat to Renwick and call in Doctor Lawrie, already he knew it to be useless. This had been merely the spiteful taunt of his inferior mind and, in his inmost heart, he knew Lawrie's skill to be far below the other's. He realised, too, that he must go up to his wife, but he had no heart for his duty, for under the stigma of this awful distemper she had become to him even more unwelcome and repugnant than before. He shrank equally from her and from his onerous duty to visit her. Shifting his mind quickly from her, he began to consider the domestic
situation. What a mess, he thought; and not unlike the state of his business! A look that was almost piteous in its perplexity slowly invaded the hard, massive face, softening its harshness, driving out the bitterness, lifting the frown from the brow. But that compassionate expression was for himself! He was thinking, not of his wife but of himself, sympathising with himself, pitying James Brodie for the troubles that beset him.
"Ay," he muttered gently, "it's a good job you're a man amongst a' this injustice. Ye have a wee thing or two to thole." With these words he rose and ascended the stairs as slowly and heavily as if clambering up a ladder; outside Mamma's room he paused, drew himself up, and went in. She had heard him coming up and already was turned to greet him with a pleading, ingratiating smile.
"I'm sorry, father," she immediately murmured. "I tried hard to get up but it was just beyond me. I'm real sorry ye've been so upset. Did ye get a decent breakfast?"
He seemed to be seeing her with new eyes, observing now that her face looked ghastly, with hollowed temples and jaws, that her form appeared to have become suddenly wasted. He did not know what to say. It was so long since he had addressed a kind word to her that his tongue refused to utter one, and in his hesitation he felt uncomfortable, incongruous, absurd. His motive in life was to drive, to demand, to chastise, to flagellate; he could not sympathise. He stared
at her desperately.
"You're not angry, I hope, Father," she said timidly, misconstruing his look. "I'll be up in a day or two. He says a bit rest is what I need. I'll see that you're not put about more than need be."
"I'm not angry, woman," he said hoarsely. Then after a pause, with an effort, he added, "Ye maun lie still till we see what Doctor Lawrie can do for ye."
Immediately she flinched.
"Oh! No! No! Father," she cried, "It's not him I want. I like Doctor Renwick so much I feel he'll make me well. He's so kind and so clever. His medicine made me feel better at once."
He gritted his teeth impotently as her protests rang on endlessly. Previously he would have rammed his intention in her teeth and left her to swallow it as best she liked, but now, in the novelty of her condition, and indeed, of his, he knew not what to say. He resolved that she would have Lawrie, that he would send him in, but modifying his retort with an effort, he exclaimed:
"Well see then! Well see how ye get on."
Mrs. Brodie gazed at him doubtfully, feeling that if he took Renwick from her she would surely die. She had loved this doctor's serene assurance, had expanded under his unusual gentleness. Unconsciously she was drawn to him as the one who had attended her daughter, and he had already spoken to her of Mary in terms that paid tribute to the patience and fortitude of her child under the trials of an almost mortal illness. Now she sensed at once that her husband was antagonistic to her desire, but she knew better than to argue; hastily she sought to propitiate him.
"What are we goin' to do about you, James?" she ventured. "Ye must be looked after properly. You must have your comforts."
"Ill be all right," he managed to say. "The old lady will do her best."
"No! No!" she urged. "IVe been thinkin' out plans all morning. I must get up as soon as I'm able, but in the meantime, could we not get a girl in, some one who would get your meals as ye like them. I could tell her tell her just what to do how to make the broth as ye like it, and how to season your porridge, and the airin' o' your flannels and "
He interrupted her by a definite, intolerant shake of his head. Could she not realise that it cost money to keep a servant ? Did she think he was rolling in wealth? He wanted to say something crushing that would shut off her silly twaddle. "Does she think I'm a he
lpless wean, the way she's going on?" he asked himself. "Does she think the house couldna go on without her?" Yet he knew that if he opened his mouth to speak he would blunder into some blunt rejoinder the niceties of expression were beyond him so he closed his lips and maintained a chafing silence.
She looked at him closely, encouraged by his silence, wondering fearfully if she dared to venture the subject nearest her heart. His unaccustomed placidity made her brave and, with a sudden gasp, she exclaimed:
"James! To mind the house now could we not could we not have Mary back?"
He recoiled from her. His assumed serenity was not proof against this, and losing control of himself, he shouted:
"No! We will not. I warned ye not even to lift her name. She'll not come back here till she crawls on her bended knees. Me as’ her to come back! Never! Not even if ye lay on your deathbed."
The last word rang through the room like a trumpet call and slowly a frightened look came into Mamma's eyes.
"As you say, James," she trembled. "But please dinna mention that awfu' word. I'm not wantin' to die yet. I'm goin' to get better, ye ken. I'll be up soon."
Her optimism exasperated him. He did not realise that the habits of half a lifetime had ingrained in her the feeling that she must always exhibit in his presence this spurious cheerfulness, nor did he understand that the desire to get up arose from an ever pricking urge to fulfill the innumerable demands that harassed her.
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