King of the Castle

“But, Doctor Asher,” said Claude at last, “I do feel so helpless – so lonely. I – ”

“Oh, come, come,” cried the doctor encouragingly; “don’t look at it so seriously. It is a heavy sleep, and may last for hours. I’ll stop for a bit, and then come in quite early in the morning. Perhaps it would be as well for somebody to sit up.”

Claude tried to speak, but she could not. She laid her hand upon the doctor’s arm, and stood, with her lip quivering, gazing down at her father till she could command her voice, and then she whispered huskily, —

“Don’t go.”

She could say no more, but stood looking appealingly in his eyes.

“You mean stay till he wakes?”

She nodded quickly.

“Oh, certainly, if you wish it; but I ought to tell you that I hardly think it necessary.”

“I do wish it,” said Claude. “Do not you. Mary?”

“Yes.”

“By all means.”

“I will sit with you. Mary, too, will keep us company.”

“No, no,” said the doctor in a whisper, “there is no need for that. If I stay, it is with the understanding that you both go to bed.”

Sarah Woodham was standing back in the shadow, but she appeared to be listening eagerly to every word.

“But we should make it less dull for you,” pleaded Claude.

“I am never dull when I sit up with a sick person,” said the doctor didactically. “These are my hours for study of my patient. No, no; if I am to stay it is as the doctor – the master of the situation. You will go to bed.”

“But you will want refreshments – somebody within call.”

“To be sure, and there will be our old friend Mrs Woodham. You will sit up?”

“Yes, sir, of course,” said the woman eagerly.

“That’s right. Now, then, ladies, if you please, we must have utter silence till Mr Gartram wakes.”

Claude sighed, but she bowed her head, and turned to leave the room with Mary; but as she reached the door, she hurried back to where her father was seated, and bent over him to kiss his forehead.

“Must I go, doctor?” she whispered.

“Certainly,” he said quietly.

“But if he seems worse, you would have me called?”

“Directly.”

The two girls left the room, Claude beckoning to Sarah Woodham, who followed them out.

“You will make coffee for Doctor Asher.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.”

“Go back and ask him when he would like it brought to him; and, Sarah, you will come and tell me how papa is. I shall not undress – only lie down.”

“You may depend on me, Miss Claude.”

“But you – is anything the matter? You look so ill.”

“I was a bit startled at master’s way of breathing, my dear. I thought he was going to be much worse.”

Claude went back into the drawing-room with Mary Dillon, neither of them noticing how wild and excited the servant grew, and a few minutes after they went slowly upstairs to Claude’s room.

Sarah Woodham softly retraced her steps to the study, tapped gently, and the door was opened by the doctor, who stood in the opening, book in hand.

“When will I have coffee? Oh, about four o’clock. I have only just had tea. Go and lie down somewhere within call – where I can find you.”

“I am not sleepy, sir.”

“No; but you may be by-and-by. Go and lie down on the sofa in the dining-room, I can easily find you there. Why, my good woman, you look ghastly.”

Sarah Woodham shrank away.

“Don’t disturb me till I ring. No: I’ll come for you. Sleep is the best thing for him.”

“Sleep is the best thing for him,” said Sarah Woodham in a hoarse whisper, as she went slowly back into the hall, and then into the servants’ quarters, from whence, after a few minutes, she returned to go about in a silent way like a dark shadow, closing and fastening doors, before listening for awhile on the study mat, and then going into the dining-room, where she seated herself on one of the chairs, resting her chin upon her hands, and gazing straight before her in the darkness. Then for a time all was still, save a low sigh, almost like a moan, which came from the suffering woman’s breast, followed by a shiver and a start, for it was as if the hand of the dead had just been laid upon her shoulder.

Volume Two – Chapter Eleven.

The Night Alarm

“Asleep!”

“You, sir? I – I suppose I must have been,” faltered Sarah.

“Well, why not? I just came to see if you were within reach, in case I wanted you.”

“Master, sir?”

“Just the same.”

The doctor went out just as silently as he had entered, and Sarah heard the study door softly close, when once more she uttered the same low, moaning sigh, and rocked herself to and fro in her chair as she seemed to see the hard, thin face of her husband gazing straight at her, as she had seen it when he was dying in their cottage, and laying upon her the terrible duty she was to fulfil.

How long she sat like that she could not tell, but hours must have passed unnoted – hours during which, with eyes unvisited by sleep, she had gone on and on through her old life, and the scenes, when her husband had returned from his work, bitterly reviling Gartram for some real or fancied wrong, and then a light seemed to flash into the room like the light she had been expecting, and the doctor stood before her with a curious, intense look in his countenance, one she recalled vividly as having been there on the day her husband died.

Meanwhile Claude and Mary had sat talking for some time about the strange ending of the evening. Claude, in spite of her anxiety on her father’s behalf, feeling half pleased, half frightened by Glyddyr’s acts.