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WYLDER’S HAND
I can’t say whether Miss Brandon deigned to follow him with
her dark, dreamy gaze. I rather think not. And three minutes afterwards he had left the Town Hall.
The Brandon party did not stay very late. And they dropped Rachel at her little dwelling. How very silent Dorcas was, thought Rachel, as they drove from Gylingden. Perhaps others were thinking
the same of Rachel.
Next morning, at half-past seven o’clock, a dozen or so of rustics,
under command of Major Jackson, arrived at the back entrance of
Brandon Hall, bearing Stanley Lake upon a shutter, with glassy eyes,
that did not seem to see, sunken face, and a very blue tinge about
his mouth.
The major fussed into the house, and saw and talked with Larcom, who was solemn and bland upon the subject, and went out,
fi rst, to make personal inspection of the captain, who seemed to him
to be dying. He was shot somewhere in the shoulder or breast – they
could not see exactly where, nor disturb him as he lay. A good deal
of blood had fl owed from him, upon the arm and side of one of the
men who supported his head.
Lake said nothing – he only whispered rather indistinctly one
word, ‘water’ – and was not able to lift his head when it came; and
when they poured it into and over his lips, he sighed and closed his
eyes.
‘It is not a bad sign, bleeding so freely, but he looks devilish
shaky, you see. I’ve seen lots of our fellows hit, you know, and I don’t
like his looks – poor fellow. You’d better see Lord Chelford this
minute. He could not stand being brought all the way to the town.
I’ll run down and send up the doctor, and he’ll take him on if he can
bear it.’
Major Jackson did not run. Though I have seen with an astonishment that has never subsided, fellows just as old and as fat, and
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
braced up, besides, in the infl exibilities of regimentals, keeping up
at double quick, at the heads of their companies, for a good quarter
of a mile, before the colonel on horseback mercifully called a halt.
He walked at his best pace, however, and indeed was confoundedly uneasy about his own personal liabilities.
The major surprised Doctor Buddle shaving. He popped in unceremoniously. The fat little doctor received him in drawers and
a very tight web worsted shirt, standing by the window, at which
dangled a small looking-glass.
‘By George, Sir, they’ve been at mischief,’ burst forth the major;
and the doctor, razor in hand, listened with wide open eyes and half
his face lathered, to the story. Before it was over the doctor shaved
the unshorn side, and (the major still in the room) completed his
toilet in hot haste.
Honest Major Jackson was very uncomfortable. Of course, Buddle could not give any sort of opinion upon a case which he had
not seen; but it described uglily, and the major consulted in broken
hints, with an uneasy wink or two, about a fl ight to Boulogne.
‘Well, it will be no harm to be ready; but take no step till I come
back,’ said the doctor, who had stuffed a great roll of lint and plaister, and some other medicinals, into one pocket, and his leather case
of instruments, forceps, probe, scissors, and all the other steel and
silver horrors, into the other; so he strutted forth in his great coat,
unnaturally broad about the hips; and the major, ‘devilish uncomfortable,’ accompanied him at a smart pace to the great gate of Brandon. He did not care to enter, feeling a little guilty, although he explained on the way all about the matter. How devilish stiff Bracton’s
man was about it. And, by Jove, Sir! you know, what was to be said?
for Lake, like a fool, chucked a lot of grapes in his face – for nothing,
by George!’
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WYLDER’S HAND
The doctor, short and broad, was now stumping up the straight
avenue, under the noble trees that roofed it over, and Major Jackson
sauntered about in the vicinity of the gate, more interested in Lake’s
safety than he would have believed possible a day or two before.
Lord Chelford being an early man, was, notwithstanding the ball
of the preceding night, dressing, when St. Ange, his Swiss servant,
knocked at his door with a dozen pockethandkerchiefs, a bottle of
eau-de-cologne, and some other properties of his métier.
St. Ange could not wait until he had laid them down, but broke
out with –
‘Oh, mI Lor! – qu’est-il arrivé? – le pauvre capitaine! il est tué – il
se meurt – he dies – d’un coup de pistolet. He comes de se battre
from beating himself in duel – il a été atteint dans la poitrine – le
pauvre gentil-homme! of a blow of the pistol.’
And so on, the young nobleman gathering the facts as best he
might.
‘Is Larcom there?’
‘In the gallery, mI lor.’
‘Ask him to come in.’
So Monsieur Larcom entered, and bowed ominously.
‘You’ve seen him, Larcom. Is he very much hurt?’
‘He appears, my lord, to me, I regret to say, almost a-dying like.’
‘Very weak? Does he speak to you?’
‘Not a word, my lord. Since he got a little water he’s quite quiet.’
‘Poor fellow. Where have you put him?’
‘In the housekeeper’s lobby, my lord. I rather think he’s a-dying.
He looks uncommon bad, and I and Mrs. Esterbroke, the housekeeper, my lord, thought you would not like he should die out of doors.’
‘Has she got your mistress’s directions?’
‘Miss Brandon is not called up, my lord, and Mrs. Esterbroke is
unwillin’ to halarm her; so she thought it better I should come for
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
orders to your lordship; which she thinks also the poor young gentleman is certainly a-dying.’
‘Is there any vacant bed-room near where you have placed him?
What does Mrs. – the housekeeper, say?’
‘She thinks, my lord, the room hopposit, where Mr. Sledd, the
architeck, slep, when ‘ere, would answer very nice. It is roomy and
hairy, and no steps. Major Jackson, who is gone to the town to fetch
the doctor, my lord, says Mr. Lake won’t a-bear carriage; and so the
room on the level, my lord, would, perhaps, be more convenient.’
‘Certainly; tell her so. I will speak to Miss Brandon when she
comes down. How soon will the doctor be here?’
‘From a quarter to half an hour, my lord.’
‘Then tell the housekeeper to arrange as she proposes, and don’t
remove his clothes until the doctor comes. Everyone must assist.
I know, St. Ange, you’ll like to assist.’
So Larcom withdrew ceremoniously, and Lord Chelford hastened his toilet, and was down stairs, and in the room assigned by
the housekeeper to the ill-starred Captain Lake, before Doctor Buddle had arrived.
It had already the dismal character of a sick chamber. Its light
was darkened; its talk was in whispers; and its to-ings and fro-ings
on tip-toe. An obsolete chambermaid had been already installed as
nurse. Little Mrs. Esterbroke, the housekeeper, was fussing hither
and thither about the room noiselessly.
So this gay, astute man of fashion had fallen into the dungeon of
sudden darkness, and the custody of old women; and lay helpless in
the stocks, awaiting the judgment of Buddle. Ridiculous little pudgy
Buddle – how awful on a sudden are you grown – the interpreter of
death in this very case. ‘My case,’ thought that seemingly listless fi gure on the bed; ‘my case – I suppose it is fatal – I am to go out of this
room in a long cloth-covered box. I am going to try, alone and for
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WYLDER’S HAND
ever, the value of those theories of futurity and the unseen which
I have quietly scouted all my days. Oh, that the prophet Buddle were
here, to end my tremendous suspense, and to announce a reprieve
from Heaven.’
While the wounded captain lay on the bed, with his clothes
on, and the coverlet over him, and that clay-coloured apathetic
face, with closed eyes, upon the pillow, without sigh or motion, not
a whispered word escaped him; but his brain was appalled, and his
heart died within him in the unspeakable horror of death.
Lord Chelford, too, having looked on Lake with silent, but awful misgivings, longed for the arrival of the doctor; and was listening and silent when Buddle’s short step and short respiration were
heard in the passage. So Larcom came to the door to announce the
doctor in a whisper, and Buddle fussed into the room, and made his
bow to Lord Chelford, and his brief compliments and condolences.
‘Not asleep?’ he enquired, standing by the bed.
The captain’s lips moved a disclaimer, I suppose, but no sound
came.
So the doctor threw open the window-shutters, and clipped
Stanley Lake’s exquisite coat ruthlessly through with his scissors,
and having cleared the room of all useless hands, he made his examination.
It was a long visit. Buddle in the hall afterwards declined breakfast – he had a board to attend. He told Lord Chelford that the case
was ‘a very nasty one.’
In fact, the chances were against the captain, and he, Buddle,
would wish a consultation with a London surgeon – whoever Lord
Chelford lead most confi dence in – Sir Francis Seddley, he thought,
would be very desirable – but, of course, it was for the family to
decide. If the messenger caught the quarter to eleven up train at
Dollington, he would be in London at six, and could return with
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
the doctor by the down mail train, and so reach Dollington at ten
minutes past four next morning, which would answer, as he would
not operate sooner.
As the doctor toddled towards Gylingden, with sympathetic
Major Tackson by his side, before they entered the town they were
passed by one of the Brandon men riding at a hard canter for Dollington.
‘London?’ shouted the doctor, as the man touched his hat in
passing.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Glad o’ that,’ said the major, looking after him.
‘So am I,’ said the learned Buddle. ‘I don’t see how we’re to get
the bullet out of him, without mischief. Poor devil, I’m afraid he’ll
do no good.’
The ladies that morning had tea in their rooms. It was near
twelve o’clock when Lord Chelford saw Miss Brandon. She was in
the conservatory amongst her fl owers, and on seeing him stepped
into the drawing-room.
‘I hope, Dorcas, you are not angry with me. I’ve been, I’m afraid,
very impertinent; but I was called on to decide for you, in your absence, and they all thought poor Lake could not be moved on to
Gylingden without danger.’
‘You did quite rightly, Chelford, and I thank you,’ said Miss
Brandon, coldly; and she seated herself, and continued –
‘Pray, what does the doctor really say?’
‘He speaks very seriously.’
‘Does he think there is danger?’
‘Very great danger.’
Miss Brandon looked down, and then, with a pale gaze suddenly in
Chelford’s face –
‘He thinks he may die?’ said she.
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WYLDER’S HAND
‘Yes,’ said Lord Chelford, in a very low tone, returning her gaze
solemnly.
‘And nobody to advise but that village doctor, Buddle – that’s
hardly credible, I think.’
‘Pardon me. At his suggestion I have sent for Sir Francis Seddley,
from town, and I hope he may arrive early to-morrow morning.’
‘Why, Stanley Lake may die to-day.’
‘He does not apprehend that. But it is necessary to remove the
bullet, and the operation will be critical, and it is for that specially
that Sir Francis is coming down.’
‘It is to take place to-morrow, and he’ll die in that operation. You
know he’ll die,’ said Dorcas, pale and fi erce.
‘I assure you, Dorcas, I have been perfectly frank. He looks upon poor
Lake as in very great danger – but that is all.’
‘What brutes you men are!’ said Dorcas, with a wild scorn in
her look and accent, and her cheeks fl ushed with passion. ‘You
knew quite well last night there was to be this wicked duel in the
morning – and you – a magistrate – a lord-lieutenant – what are
you? – you connived at this bloody conspiracy – and he – your own
cousin, Chelford – your cousin!’
Chelford looked at her, very much amazed.
‘Yes; you are worse than Sir Harry Bracton – for you’re no fool;
and worse than that wicked old man. Major Jackson – who shall
never enter these doors again – for he was employed – trusted
in their brutal plans; but you had no excuse and every opportunity – and you have allowed your Cousin Stanley to be murdered.’
‘You do me great injustice, Dorcas. I did not know, or even suspect that a hostile meeting between poor Lake and Bracton was
thought of. I merely heard that there had been some trifl ing altercation in the supper-room; and when, intending to make peace
between them, I alluded to it, just before we left, and Bracton said
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
it was really nothing – quite blown over – and that he could not
recollect what either had said. I was entirely deceived – you know
I speak truth – quite deceived. They think it fair, you know, to dupe
other people in such affairs; and I will also say,’ he continued, a little
haughtily, ‘that you might have spared your censure until at least
you had heard what I had to say.’
‘I do believe you, Chelford; you are not vexed with me. Won’t
you shake hands?’
He took her hand with a smile.
‘And now,’ said she, ‘Chelford, ought not we to send for poor
Rachel: her only brother? Is not it sad?’
‘Certainly; shall I ask my mother, or will you write?’
‘I will write,’ she said.
CHAPTER XXXIX
IN WHICH MISS RACHEL
LAKE COMES TO BRANDON,
AND DOCTOR BUDDLE
CALLS AGAIN
In about an hour afterwards, Rachel Lake arrived in the carriage
which had been despatched for her with Dorcas’s note.
She was a good deal muffl ed up, and looked very pale, and asked
whether Miss Brandon was in her room, whither she glided rapidly
up stairs. It was a sort of boudoir or dressing-room, with a few pretty
old portraits and miniatures, and a number of Louis Quatorze looking-glasses hung round, and such pretty quaint cabriole gilt and
pale green furniture.
Dorcas met her at the door, and they kissed silently.
‘How is he, Dorcas?’
‘Very ill, dear, I’m afraid – sit down, darling.’
Rachel was relieved, for in her panic she almost feared to ask if
he were living.
‘Is there immediate danger?’
‘The doctor says not, but he is very much alarmed for to-morrow.’
‘Oh! Dorcas, darling, he’ll die; I know it. Oh! merciful Heaven!
how tremendous.’
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JOSEPH SHERIDAN L E FANU
‘You will not be so frightened in a little time. You have only just
heard it, Rachel dearest, and you are startled. I was so myself.’
‘I’d like to see him, Dorcas.’
‘Sit here a little and rest, dear. The doctor will make his visit
immediately, and then we can ask him. He’s a good-natured little
creature – poor old Buddle – and I am certain if it can safely be, he
won’t prevent it.’
‘Where is he, darling – where is Stanley?’
So Dorcas described as well as she could.
‘Oh, poor Stanley. Oh, Stanley – poor Stanley,’ gasped Rachel,
with white lips. ‘You have no idea, Dorcas – no one can – how terrifi c it is. Oh, poor Stanley – poor Stanley.’
‘Drink this water, darling; you must not be so excited.’
‘Dorcas, say what the doctor may, see him I must.’
‘There is time to think of that, darling.’
‘Has he spoken to anyone?’
‘Very little, I believe. He whispers a few words now and
then – that is all.’
‘Nothing to Chelford – nothing particular, I mean?’
‘No – nothing – at least that I have heard of.’
‘Did he wish to see no one?’
‘No one, dear.’
‘Not poor William Wylder?’
‘No, dear. I don’t suppose he cares more for a clergyman than for
any other man; none of his family ever did, when they came to lie on
a bed of sickness, or of death either.’
‘No, no,’ said Rachel, wildly; ‘I did not mean to pray. I was not
thinking of that; but William Wylder was different; and he did not
mention me either?’
Dorcas shook her head.
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