"Never mind me! You are sure she _is_ better? Is that Dr. Nash's voice?"
Yes--it was. He had been there since eleven, and was just going.
Ruth went in to tell Granny Marrable it was her ladyship, as Dr. Nash came out. "I'm to blame, Lady Gwendolen," said he. "I'm to blame for being in too great a hurry. It was a blunder. But I can't pretend to be sorry I made it--that's the truth!"
"You mean that she isn't out of the wood?"
"That kind of thing. She _isn't_."
"Oh dear!" Gwen sank into a chair, looking white. Hope had flared up, to be damped down. How often the stokers--nurses or doctors--have to pile wet ashes on a too eager blaze! How seldom they dare to add fresh fuel!
"I will tell you," said the doctor. "She was very much better all Friday, taking some nourishment. And there is no doubt the champagne did her good--just a spoonful at a time, you know, not more. She isn't halfway through the bottle yet. I thought she was on her way to pull through, triumphantly. Then something upset her."
"Well, but--_what_?" For the doctor had paused at some obstacle, unexplained.
"That I can't tell you. You must ask Granny Marrable about that. Not her daughter--niece--whatever she is. Don't say anything to _her_. She is not to know."
Granny Marrable was audible in the passage without. "Can't you tell me what _sort_ of thing?" said Gwen, under her voice.
"It was in a letter that came to her from Snaps--Sapps Court. The Granny wouldn't tell me what was in it, and begged I would say nothing of it to Widow Thrale. But the old soul was badly upset by it, shaking all over and asking for you...."
"Was she asking for me? Then I'm so glad you sent for me. I would not have been away on any account."
"It had nothing to do with my writing. I should have written for you to come to-morrow anyhow.... Here comes Granny Marrable." They had been talking alone, as Mrs. Lamprey had gone outside to speak to Tom.
"Still asleep, Granny?" said the doctor. Yes--she was, said the old lady; nicely asleep. "Then I'll be off, as it's late." Gwen suggested that Tom might drive him home, with Mrs. Lamprey, and call back for instructions.
Said Granny Marrable then, not as one under any new stress:--"My lady, God bless you for coming, though I would have been glad it had been daylight. To think of your ladyship out in the cold and damp, for our sakes!"
"Never mind me, Granny! I'll go to bed to-morrow night. Now tell me about this letter.... Is Ruth safe in there?" Yes, she was; and would stay there by her dear mother. Gwen continued: --"Dr. Nash has just told me there was some letter. But he did not know what was in it."
"He was not to know. But _you_ were, my lady. This is it. Can you see with the candle?"
Gwen took the letter, and turned to the signature before reading it. It was from "Ralph Thornton Daverill, _alias_ Rix," which she read quite easily, for the handwriting was educated enough, and clear. "I see no date," said she. "Why did Dr. Nash say it had come from Sapps Court?"
"Because, my lady, he saw the envelope. Perhaps your ladyship knows of 'Aunt Maria.' She is little Dave's aunt, in London."
"Oh yes--I know 'Aunt M'riar.' I know her, herself. Why does she write her name on a letter from this man?"
"I do not know. There is all we know, in the letter, as you have it."
"Whom do you suppose Ralph Thornton Daverill to be, Granny?"
"I know, unhappily. He is her son."
"_The_ son.... Oh yes--I knew of him. She has told me of _him_. Besides, I knew her name was Daverill, from the letters." Granny Marrable was going on to say something, but Gwen stopped her, saying:--"First let me read this." Then the Granny was silent, while the young lady read, half aloud and half to herself, this following letter:--
"MOTHER--You will be surprised to get this letter from me. Are you sorry I am not dead? Can't say I'm glad. I have been His Majesty's guest for one long spell, and Her Majesty's for another, since you saw the last of me. I'm none so sure I wasn't better off then, but I couldn't trust H.M.'s hospitality again. It might run to a rope's end. Dodging blood-hounds is my lay now, and I lead the life of a cat in hell. But I'm proud--proud I am. You read the newspaper scrap I send along with this, and you'll be proud of your son. I'm a chip of the old block, and when my Newgate-frisk comes, I'll die game. Do you long to see your loving son? If you don't, send him a quid or two--or put it at a fiver. Just for to enable him to lead an honest life, which is my ambition. You can come to a fiver. Or would you rather have your loving son come and ask for it? How would you like it, if you were an honest man without a mag in his pocket, and screwpulls of conscience? You send on a flimsy to M'riar. She'll see I get it. I'll come for more when I want it--you be easy. So no more at present from your dutiful son:--
RALPH THORNTON DAVERILL, _alias_ RIX."
"P.S.--You can do it--or _ask a kind friend_ to help."
"What a perfectly intolerable letter!" said Gwen. "What does he mean by a newspaper scrap?... Oh, is that it?" She took from the old lady a printed cutting, and read it aloud. "Fancy his being _that_ man," said she. "It made quite a talk last winter--was in all the papers." It was the paragraph Uncle Mo had come upon in the _Star_.
"I have seen that man," said Granny Marrable. And so sharp was Gwen in linking up clues, that she exclaimed at once:--"What--the madman? Dr.
Nash told me of _him_. Didn't he come to hunt her up?"
"That was it, my lady. And he was all but caught. But I have never spoken of my meeting him, and she has barely spoken of him, till this letter came yesterday. And then we could speak of him together. But not Ruth. She was to know nothing. She was not here, by good luck, just the moment that it came."
"And my dear old Mrs. Picture? Oh, Granny--what a letter for her to get!"
"Indeed, my lady, she was very badly shaken by it. I would have been glad if I might have read it myself first, to tell her of it gently."
Granny Marrable was entirely mistaken. "Break it gently," sounds so well! What is it worth in practice?
"Could she understand the letter. _I_ couldn't, at first."
"She understood it better than I did. But it set her in a trembling, and then she got lost-like, and we thought it best to go for Dr. Nash....
No--Ruth never knew anything of the letter, not a word. And her mother said never a word to her. For he was her brother."
"I cannot understand some things in the letter now, but I see he is thoroughly vile. One thing is good, though! What he wants is money."
"Will that...?"
"Keep him quiet and out of the way? Yes--of course it will. Let me take the letter to show to my father. He will know what to do." She knew that her father's first thought might be to use the clue to catch the man, but she also knew he would not act upon it if his doing so was likely to shorten the span of life still left to old Maisie. "What was he like?"
said she to Granny Marrable.
"Some might call him good-looking," was the cautious answer.
"You think _I_ shouldn't, evidently?" Evidently.
"It is not the face itself. It is in the shape of it. A twist. I took him for mad, but he is not."
"How came you to know him for your sister's son?"
"Ah, my lady, how could I? For Maisie was still dead then, for me. I could know he was Mrs. Prichard's son, for he said so."
"I see. It was before. But you talk about him to her now?"
"She cannot talk of much else, when Ruth is away. She will talk of him to you, when she wakes.... Hush--I think Ruth is coming!" Gwen slipped the letter in her pocket, to be out of the way.
No change in her mother--that was Ruth's report. She had not stirred in her sleep. You could hardly hear her breathe. This was to show that you _could_ hear her breathe, by listening. It covered any possible alarm about the nature of so moveless a sleep, without granting discussion of the point.
Gwen had told Tom Kettering to return shortly, but only for orders. Her own mind was quite made up--not to leave the old lady until alarms had died down. If the clouds cleared, she would think about it. Tom must drive back at once to the Towers; and if anyone was still out of bed whose concern it was to know, he might explain that she was not coming back at present. Or stop a minute!--she would write a short line to her father. Ruth and Granny Marrable lodged a formal protest. But how glad they were to have her there, on any terms!
She had really come prepared to stay the night; but until she could hear how the land lay had not disclosed her valise. Tom, returning for orders, deposited it in the front-room, and departed, leaving it to be carefully examined by the dog, who could not disguise his interest in leather.
The only obstacle to an arrangement for one of the three to be always close at hand when the sleeper waked was the usual one. In such cases everyone wants to be the sentinel on the first watch, and not on any account to sleep. A dictator is needed, and Gwen assumed the office. Her will was not to be disputed. She told Granny Marrable and Ruth to go to bed or at least to go and lie down, and she would call one of them if it was necessary. They looked at each other and obeyed. She herself could lie down and sleep, if she chose, on the big bed beside the old lady, and she might choose. The end would be gained. There would then be no fear of old Maisie awakening alone in the dark, a prey to horrible memories and apprehensions, this last one worst of all--this nightmare son with his hideous gaol-bird past and his veiled threats for the future. That was more important than the meat-jelly, beef-tea, stimulants, what not? They would probably be refused. Still they were to be reckoned with, and Ruth was within call to supply them.