The Man with a Shadow

“Oh, my dear master!” cried Mrs Milt. “Ah!” ejaculated Cousin Thompson, across whose imagination glided the fair prospect of the beautiful Manor House estate, and his eyes glistened as he said softly, “I’m afraid he is very ill.”

Volume Three – Chapter Eight.

Cousin Thompson’s Duty

“Oh, no; it’s nothing at all, sir – nothing at all,” said Mrs Milt hastily; “and I didn’t know you’d come upstairs behind me, sir.”

“It was to save you a journey, my dear Mrs Milt,” said Cousin Thompson smoothly. “Yes, I’m afraid he is very ill. A little delirious, I think.”

“Delirious, sir? Oh, nonsense! Master’s often like that.”

“Indeed!” said Cousin Thompson, in a tone of voice which made the housekeeper wish she had bitten off her tongue before she had committed herself to such a speech. “You heard him utter that laugh?”

“Well, surely to goodness, sir, that don’t signify anything. A laugh! I wish I could laugh.”

“But he gave a ‘view halloo!’ and said something about a fox.”

“Well, really, sir, what if he did? There’s nothing master likes better after a hard week’s work and a lot of anxiety than a gallop after the hounds. It does him good. Why, a doctor wants taking out of himself sometimes, specially one who works as hard as master does. A medical man’s anxiety sometimes is enough to drive him mad.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Cousin Thompson smoothly. “Hadn’t you better knock again?”

“No, sir, I hadn’t,” said Mrs Milt tartly. “I’m quite sure master don’t want to be disturbed.”

“But really, my good woman, it seems to me that he ought to have medical advice.”

“And it seems to me, sir, as he oughtn’t to. If master’s not well and can’t do himself good, nobody else can, I’m sure; and if you please, sir, will you come downstairs? He’d be very angry if we stopped here.”

“Oh, certainly, Mrs Milt. Pray forgive me. I could not help feeling a little bit anxious about my cousin.”

“I haven’t got nothing to forgive, sir,” said the old lady; “only I’d have you know that I’m as anxious about my dear master as anybody.”

“Of course, Mrs Milt. Quite natural. Dr North is a remarkable man, and will some day become very famous.”

“I dessay, sir,” said Mrs Milt drily. “I think you said you should stop all night?”

“Yes, Mrs Milt; and I’m afraid my business here will keep me another day, if it is not troubling you too much.”

“Oh, that don’t matter at all, sir. I’m sure master wishes you to be made very comfortable, and as far as in me lies, sir, I shall carry out his wishes.”

“Thank you, Mrs Milt. I’m sure you will,” said Cousin Thompson; and Mrs Milt rustled out of the room, looking very hard and determined, but as soon as she was out of sight deep lines of anxiety began to appear about her eyes, and she wrung her hands.

“Yes,” said Cousin Thompson, going at once to North’s table and sitting down to write a letter; “I shall sleep here to-night, Mrs Milt, and I shall sleep here to-morrow night, and perhaps a great many other nights. It is no use to be a legal adviser unless I legally look after my sick cousin’s affairs.”

Cousin Thompson’s anxiety about his cousin gave his countenance a very happy and contented look.

“Things are looking up,” he said, as he finished and fastened his letter. “Everything comes to the man who waits. Even pleasant-looking, plump Mrs Berens may – who knows?”

He carefully tore off a stamp from a sheet in the writing-table drawer, moistened it upon a very large, unpleasant-looking tongue, and affixed it to the envelope.

“Perhaps she is right, and he will be better without medical advice,” he said, with a pleasant smile upon his countenance. “Why should I interfere? That is where some people make such a mistake: they will dig up a plant to look at its roots. I prefer letting a well-growing plant alone. Yes, things are looking up. Now for my genial baronet.”

He walked out into the ball, and took his hat, just as there was a ring at the gate bell.

“Who’s this?” he said; and he walked into the dining-room and nearly closed the door, but not quite.

The next minute there were steps in the hall, the door was opened, and the curate’s bluff voice rang through the place in an inquiry after the doctor.

“He’s very poorly, sir,” said Mrs Milt, in a low and cautious voice. “I don’t really know what to make of him.”

“I do,” said Salis. “He wants rest and change, Mrs Milt.”

“Yes, sir; I think that’s it, sir.”

“I wish I could get him away. I will.”

“Will you?” said Cousin Thompson softly.

“Here, I’ll go up and see him. In his room, I suppose?”

“Excuse me, sir; I think you had better not. It irritates him. Old Moredock came last night about some trifling ailment, and poor master was quite angry about it. Then Mr Thompson went up to his door, and it seemed to irritate him. You know how tetchy and fretful it makes any one when he’s ill.”

“I want to see him, Mrs Milt. I want to talk to him.”

Cousin Thompson’s eyes twitched.

“But I’ll go by your advice.”

Mrs Milt said something in reply which the listener missed, and consequently exaggerated largely as to its value, and directly after Salis went away in a new character – to wit, that of Cousin Thompson’s mortal enemy; though Salis himself was in utter ignorance of the fact.

“Well, and how are we to-day?” said the lawyer on entering the old library at the Hall.

Sir Thomas Candlish was lying back in his chair, with a cigar in his mouth, a sporting paper on his lap, and a soda and brandy – or, rather, two brandies and a soda – at his elbow.

“How are we to-day!” he snarled. “Don’t come here talking like a cursed smooth humbug of a doctor about to feel one’s pulse.”

“But I am a doctor, and I have come to feel your pulse, my dear sir,” said Cousin Thompson laughingly.

“Eh? – what? Again! Why, there’s nothing due yet.”

“There, there, there! don’t trouble yourself, my dear Sir Thomas. There is a little amount to meet; but you are not, as you used to be, worried about money matters. You can pay.”

“Yes,” snarled Tom Candlish; “and you seem to know it, too.”

“Come, that’s unkind. It isn’t generous, my dear sir. Surely if a man lends money he has a right to claim repayment.”

“Oh, yes, I know all about that – the old, old jargon of the craft. I don’t want to borrow now. If I did I suppose I should hear all about your friend in the City, eh? – your client who advances the money, eh?”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Thompson. “One needn’t ask how you are. The old vein of fun is coming back flushed with health and strength.”