CHAPTER III.
THE COURTENAYS.
I determined to spend that evening at Richmond Road with open eyes.
The house was a large red-brick one, modern, gabled, and typicallysuburban. Mr. Courtenay, although a wealthy man with a large estate inDevonshire and extensive properties in Canada, where as a young man hehad amassed a large fortune, lived in that London suburb in order tobe near his old friends. Besides, his wife was young and objected tobeing buried in the country. With her husband an invalid she wasunable to entertain, therefore she had found the country dull verysoon after her marriage and gladly welcomed removal to London, eventhough they sank their individuality in becoming suburban residents.
Short, the prim manservant, who admitted me, showed me at once up tohis master's room, and I stayed for half-an-hour with him. He wassitting before the fire in a padded dressing gown, a rather thick-setfigure with grey hair, wan cheeks, and bright eyes. The hand he gaveme was chill and bony, yet I saw plainly that he was much better thanwhen I had last seen him. He was up, and that was a distinctly goodsign. I examined him, questioned him, and as far as I could make outhe was, contrary to my chief's opinion, very much improved.
Indeed, he spoke quite gaily, offered me a whisky and soda, and mademe tell him the stories I had heard an hour earlier at the Savage. Thepoor old fellow was suffering from that most malignant disease, cancerof the tongue, which had caused him to develop peripheral neuritis.His doctors had recommended an operation, but knowing it to be a veryserious one he had declined it, and as he had suffered great pain andinconvenience he had taken to drink heavily. He was a lonely man, andI often pitied him. A doctor can very quickly tell whether domesticfelicity reigns in a household, and I had long ago seen that with thedifference of age between Mrs. Courtenay and her husband--he sixty-twoand she only twenty-nine--they had but few ideas in common.
That she nursed him tenderly I was well aware, but from her manner Ihad long ago detected that her devotedness was only assumed in orderto humour him, and that she possessed little or no real affection forhim. Nor was it much wonder, after all. A smart young woman, fond ofsociety and amusement, is never the kind of wife for a snappy invalidof old Courtenay's type. She had married him, some five years before,for his money, her uncharitable enemies said. Perhaps that was so. Inany case it was difficult to believe that a pretty woman of her stampcould ever entertain any genuine affection for a man of his age, andit was most certainly true that whatever bond of sympathy had existedbetween them at the time of their marriage had now been snapped.
Instead of remaining at home of an evening and posing as a dutifulwife as she once had done, she was now in the habit of going up totown to her friends the Penn-Pagets, who lived in Brook Street, or theHennikers in Redcliffe Square, accompanying them to dances andtheatres with all the defiance of the "covenances" allowed nowadays tothe married woman. On such occasions, growing each week more frequent,her sister Ethelwynn remained at home to see that Mr. Courtenay wasproperly attended to by the nurse, and exhibited a patience that Icould not help but admire.
Yes, the more I reflected upon it the more curious seemed thatill-assorted _menage_. On her marriage Mary Mivart had declared thather new home in Devonshire was deadly dull, and had induced herindulgent husband to allow her sister to come and live with her, andEthelwynn and her maid had formed part of the household ever since.
We doctors, providing we have not a brass plate in lieu of a practice,see some queer things, and being in the confidence of our patients,know of many strange and incomprehensible families. The one atRichmond Road was a case in point. I had gradually seen how young Mrs.Courtenay had tired of her wifely duties, until, by slow degrees, shehad cast off the shackles altogether--until she now thought more ofher new frocks, smart suppers at the Carlton, first-nights and "shows"in Mayfair than she did of the poor suffering old man whom she had notso long ago vowed to "love, honour and obey." It was to be regretted,but in my position I had no necessity nor inclination to interfere.Even Ethelwynn made no remark, although this sudden breaking forth ofher sister must have pained her considerably.
When at length I shook hands with my patient, left him in the hands ofthe nurse and descended to the drawing room, I found Ethelwynnawaiting me.
She rose and came forward, both her slim white hands outstretched inglad welcome.
"Short told me you were here," she exclaimed. "What a long time youhave been upstairs. Nothing serious, I hope," she added with a touchof anxiety, I thought.
"Nothing at all," I assured her, walking with her across to the fireand seating myself in the cosy-corner, while she threw herself upon alow lounge chair and pillowed her dark head upon a big cushion ofyellow silk. "Where is Mary?" I asked.
"Out. She's dining with the Hennikers to-night, I think."
"And leaves you at home to look after the invalid?" I remarked.
"Oh, I don't mind in the least," she declared, laughing.
"And the old gentleman? What does he say to her constant absence inthe evening?"
"Well, to tell the truth, Ralph, he seldom knows. He usually believesher to be at home, and I never undeceive him. Why should I?"
I grunted, for I was not at all well pleased with her connivance ather sister's deceit. The sound that escaped my lips caused her toglance across at me in quick surprise.
"You are displeased, dear," she said. "Tell me why. What have I done?"
"I'm not displeased with you," I declared. "Only, as you know, I'm notin favour of deception, and especially so in a wife."
She pursed her lips, and I thought her face went a trifle paler. Shewas silent for a moment, then said:
"I don't see why we should discuss that, Ralph. Mary's actions concernneither of us. It is not for us to prevent her amusing herself,neither is it our duty to create unpleasantness between husband andwife."
I did not reply, but sat looking at her, drinking in her beauty in along, full draught. How can I describe her? Her form was graceful inevery line; her face perfect in its contour, open, finely-moulded, andwith a marvellous complexion--a calm, sweet countenance that remindedone of Raphael's "Madonna" in Florence, indeed almost its counterpart.Her beauty had been remarked everywhere. She had sat to a well-knownR.A. for his Academy picture two years before, and the artist haddeclared her to be one of the most perfect types of English beauty.
Was it any wonder, then, that I was in love with her? Was it anywonder that those wonderful dark eyes held me beneath their spell, orthose dark locks that I sometimes stroked from off her fair white browshould be to me the most beautiful in all the world? Man is butmortal, and a beautiful woman always enchants.
As she sat before me in her evening gown of some flimsy cream stuff,all frills and furbelows, she seemed perfect in her loveliness. Thesurroundings suited her to perfection--the old Chippendale and thepalms, while the well-shaded electric lamp in its wrought-iron standshed a mellow glow upon her, softening her features and harmonisingthe tints of the objects around. From beneath the hem of her skirt aneat ankle encased in its black silk stocking was thrust coquettishlyforward, and her tiny patent leather slipper was stretched out to thewarmth of the fire. Her pose was, however, restful and natural. Sheloved luxury, and made no secret of it. The hour after dinner wasalways her hour of laziness, and she usually spent it in thatself-same chair, in that self-same position.
She was twenty-five, the youngest daughter of old Thomas Mivart, whowas squire of Neneford, in Northamptonshire, a well-known hunting-manof his day, who had died two years ago leaving a widow, a charminglady, who lived alone at the Manor. To me it had always been a mysterywhy the craving for gaiety and amusement had never seized Ethelwynn.She was by far the more beautiful of the pair, the smartest in dress,and the wittier in speech, for possessed of a keen sense of humour,she was interesting as well as handsome--the two qualities which are_par excellence_ necessary for a woman to attain social success.
She stirred slightly as she broke the silence, and then I detected inher a nerv
ousness which I had not noticed on first entering the room.
"Sir Bernard Eyton was down here yesterday and spent over an hour withthe old gentleman. They sent the nurse out of the room and talkedtogether for a long time, upon some private business, nurse thinks.When Sir Bernard came down he told me in confidence that Mr. Courtenaywas distinctly weaker."
"Yes," I said, "Sir Bernard told me that, but I must confess thatto-night I find a decided improvement in him. He's sitting up quitelively."
"Very different to a month ago," my well-beloved remarked. "Do yourecollect when Short went to London in a hansom and brought you downat three in the morning?"
"I gave up all hope when I saw him on that occasion," I said; "but hecertainly seems to have taken a new lease of life."
"Do you think he really has?" she inquired with an undisguisedeagerness which struck me as distinctly curious. "Do you believe thatSir Bernard's fears are after all ungrounded?"
I looked at her surprised. She had never before evinced such a keeninterest in her sister's husband, and I was puzzled.
"I really can't give an opinion," I responded mechanically, for wantof something or other to say.
It was curious, that question of hers--very curious.
Yet after all I was in love--and all lovers are fools in theirjealousy.
The Seven Secrets Page 4
