I smiled. I knew quite well that he was no friend of hers. Once or twice of late he had said in that peevish snappy voice of his:
"I wonder what that woman, Mrs. Courtenay"s sister, is doing? I hear nothing of her."
I did not enlighten him, for I had no desire to hear her maligned. I knew the truth myself sufficiently well.
But turning to her I looked straight into her dark luminous eyes, those eyes that held me always as beneath their spell, saying:
"He has proved himself my best friend, up to the present. I have no reason to doubt him."
"But you will have. I warn you."
"In what manner, then, is he my enemy?"
She hesitated, as though half-fearing to respond to my question.
Presently she said:
"He is my enemy--and therefore yours."
"Why is he your enemy?" I asked, eager to clear up a point which had so long puzzled me.
"I cannot tell," she responded. "One sometimes gives offence and makes enemies without being aware of it."
The evasion was a clever one. Another ill.u.s.tration of tactful ingenuity.
By dint of careful cross-examination I endeavoured to worm from her the secret of my chief"s antagonism, but she was dumb to every inquiry, fencing with me in a manner that would have done credit to a police-court solicitor. Though sweet, innocent, and intensely charming, yet there was a reverse side of her character, strong, firm-minded, almost stern in its austerity.
I must here say that our love, once so pa.s.sionate and displayed by fond kisses and hand-pressing, in the usual manner of lovers, had gradually slackened. A kiss on arrival and another on departure was all the demonstration of affection that now pa.s.sed between us. I doubted her; and though I strove hard to conceal my true feelings, I fear that my coldness was apparent, not only to her but to the Hennikers also. She had complained of it when she called at my rooms, and certainly she had full reason for doing so. I am not one of those who can feign love. Some men can; I cannot.
Thus it will be seen that although a certain coolness had arisen between us, in a manner that seemed almost mutual, we were nevertheless the best of friends. Once or twice she dined with me at a restaurant, and went to a play afterwards, on such occasions remarking that it seemed like "old times," in the early days of our blissful love. And sometimes she would recall those sweet halcyon hours, until I felt a pang of regret that my trust in her had been shaken by that letter found among the dead man"s effects and that tiny piece of chenille. But I steeled my heart, because I felt a.s.sured that the truth must out some day.
Mine was a strange position for any man. I loved this woman, remember; loved her with all my heart and with all my soul. Yet that letter penned by her had shown me that she had once angled for larger spoils, and was not the sweet unsophisticated woman I had always supposed her to be. It showed me, too, that in her heart had rankled a fierce, undying hatred.
Because of this I did not seek her society frequently, but occupied myself diligently with my patients--seeking solace in my work, as many another professional man does where love or domestic happiness is concerned. There are few men in my profession who have not had their affairs of the heart, many of them serious ones. The world never knows how difficult it is for a doctor to remain heart-whole. Sometimes his lady patients deliberately set themselves to capture him, and will speak ill-naturedly of him if he refuses to fall into their net. At others, sympathy with a sufferer leads to a flirtation during convalescence, and often a word spoken in jest in order to cheer is taken seriously by romantic girls who believe that to marry a doctor is to attain social status and distinction.
Heigho! When I think of all my own little love episodes, and of the ingenious diplomacy to which I have been compelled to resort in order to avoid tumbling into pitfalls set by certain designing Daughters of Eve, I cannot but sympathise with every other medical man who is on the right side of forty and sound of wind and limb. There is not a doctor in all the long list in the medical register who could not relate strange stories of his own love episodes--romances which have sometimes narrowly escaped developing into tragedies, and plots concocted by women to inveigle and to allure. It is so easy for a woman to feign illness and call in the doctor to chat to her and amuse her. Lots of women in London do that regularly. They will play with a doctor"s heart as a sort of pastime, while the unfortunate medico often cannot afford to hold aloof for fear of offending. If he does, then evil gossip will spread among his patients and his practice may suffer considerably; for in no profession does a man rely so entirely upon his good name and a reputation for care and integrity as in that of medicine.
I do not wish it for a moment to be taken that I am antagonistic to women, or that I would ever speak ill of them. I merely refer to the mean method of some of the idling cla.s.s, who deliberately call in the doctor for the purpose of flirtation and then boast of it to their intimates. To such, a man"s heart or a man"s future are of no consequence. The doctor is easily visible, and is therefore the easiest prey to all and sundry.
In my own practice I had had a good deal of experience of it. And I am not alone. Every other medical man, if not a grey-headed fossil or a wizened woman-hater, has had similar episodes; many strange--some even startling.
Reader, in this narrative of curious events and remarkable happenings, I am taking you entirely and completely into my confidence. I seek to conceal nothing, nor to exaggerate in any particular, but to present the truth as a plain matter-of-fact statement of what actually occurred. I was a unit among a hundred thousand others engaged in the practice of medicine, not more skilled than the majority, even though Sir Bernard"s influence and friendship had placed me in a position of prominence. But in this brief life of ours it is woman who makes us dance as puppets on our miniature stage, who leads us to brilliant success or to black ruin, who exalts us above our fellows or hurls us into oblivion. Woman--always woman.
Since that awful suspicion had fallen upon me that the hand that had struck old Mr. Courtenay was that soft delicate one that I had so often carried to my lips, a blank had opened in my life. Consumed by conflicting thoughts, I recollected how sweet and true had been our affection; with what an intense pa.s.sionate love-look she had gazed upon me with those wonderful eyes of hers; with what wild fierce pa.s.sion her lips would meet mine in fond caress.
Alas! it had all ended. She had acted a lie to me. That letter told the bitter truth. Hence, we were gradually drifting apart.
One Sunday morning in May, just as I had finished my breakfast and flung myself into an armchair to smoke, as was my habit on the day of rest, my man entered, saying that Lady Twickenham had sent to ask if I could go round to Park Lane at once. Not at all pleased with this call, just at a moment of laziness, I was, nevertheless, obliged to respond, because her ladyship was one of Sir Bernard"s best patients; and suffering as she was from a malignant internal complaint, I knew it was necessary to respond at once to the summons.
On arrival at her bedside I quickly saw the gravity of the situation; but, unfortunately, I knew very little of the case, because Sir Bernard himself always made a point of attending her personally.
Although elderly, she was a prominent woman in society, and had recommended many patients to my chief in earlier days, before he attained the fame he had now achieved. I remained with her a couple of hours; but finding myself utterly confused regarding her symptoms, I resolved to take the afternoon train down to Hove and consult Sir Bernard. I suggested this course to her ladyship, who was at once delighted with the suggestion. Therefore, promising to return at ten o"clock that night, I went out, swallowed a hasty luncheon, and took train down to Brighton.
The house was one of those handsome mansions facing the sea at Hove, and as I drove up to it on that bright, sunny afternoon, it seemed to me an ideal residence for a man jaded by the eternal worries of a physician"s life. The sea-breeze stirred the sun-blinds before the windows, and the flowers in the well-kept boxes were already gay with bloom. I knew the place well, for I had been down many times before; therefore, when the page opened the door he showed me at once to the study, a room which lay at the back of the big drawing-room.
"Sir Bernard is in, sir," the page said. "I"ll tell him at once you"re here," and he closed the door, leaving me alone.
I walked towards the window, which looked out upon a small flower garden, and in so doing, pa.s.sed the writing table. A sheet of foolscap lay upon it, and curiosity prompted me to glance at it.
What I saw puzzled me considerably; for beside the paper was a letter of my own that I had sent him on the previous day, while upon the foolscap were many lines of writing in excellent imitation of my own!
He had been practising the peculiarities of my own handwriting. But with what purpose was a profound mystery.
I was bending over, closely examining the words and noting how carefully they had been traced in imitation, when, of a sudden, I heard a voice in the drawing-room adjoining--a woman"s voice.
I p.r.i.c.ked my ears and listened--for the eccentric old fellow to entertain was most unusual. He always hated women, because he saw too much of their wiles and wilfulness as patients.
Nevertheless it was apparent that he had a lady visitor in the adjoining room, and a moment later it was equally apparent that they were not on the most friendly terms; for, of a sudden, the voice sounded again quite distinctly--raised in a cry of horror, as though at some sudden and terrible discovery.
"Ah! I see--I see it all now!" shrieked the unknown woman. "You have deceived me! Coward! You call yourself a man--you, who would sell a woman"s soul to the devil!"
"Hold your tongue!" cried a gruff voice which I recognised as Sir Bernard"s. "You may be overheard. Recollect that your safety can only be secured by your secrecy."
"I shall tell the truth!" the woman declared.
"Very well," laughed the man who was my chief in a tone of defiance.
"Tell it, and condemn yourself."
CHAPTER XV.
I AM CALLED FOR CONSULTATION.
The incident was certainly a puzzling one, for when, a few minutes later, my chief entered the study, his face, usually ashen grey, was flushed with excitement.
"I"ve been having trouble with a lunatic," he explained, after greeting me, and inquiring why I had come down to consult him. "The woman"s people are anxious to place her under restraint; yet, for the present, there is not quite sufficient evidence of insanity to sign the certificate. Did you overhear her in the next room?" And, seating himself at his table, he looked at me through his gla.s.ses with those keen penetrating eyes that age had not dimmed or time dulled.
"I heard voices," I admitted, "that was all." The circ.u.mstance was a strange one, and those words were so ominous that I was determined not to reveal to him the conversation I had overheard.
"Like many other women patients suffering from brain troubles, she has taken a violent dislike to me, and believes that I"m the very devil in human form," he said, smiling. "Fortunately, she had a friend with her, or she might have attacked me tooth and nail just now," and leaning back in his chair he laughed at the idea--laughed so lightly that my suspicions were almost disarmed.
But not quite. Had you been in my place you would have had your curiosity and suspicion aroused to no mean degree--not only by the words uttered by the woman and Sir Bernard"s defiant reply, but also by the fact that the female voice sounded familiar.
A man knows the voice of his love above all. The voice that I had heard in that adjoining room was, to the best of my belief, that of Ethelwynn.
With a resolution to probe this mystery slowly, and without unseemly haste, I dropped the subject, and commenced to ask his advice regarding the complicated case of Lady Twickenham. The history of it, and the directions he gave can serve no purpose if written here; therefore suffice it to say that I remained to dinner and caught the nine o"clock express back to London.
While at dinner, a meal served in that severe style which characterised the austere old man"s daily life, I commenced to talk of the antics of insane persons and their extraordinary antipathies, but quickly discerned that he had neither intention nor desire to speak of them. He replied in those snappy monosyllables which told me plainly that the subject was distasteful to him, and when I bade him good-bye and drove to the station I was more puzzled than ever by his strange behaviour. He was eccentric, it was true; but I knew all his little odd ways, the eccentricity of genius, and could plainly see that his recent indisposition, which had prevented him from attending at Harley Street, was due to nerves rather than to a chill.