A Duel Part 25

She looked at Mr. Talfourd quizzically.

"I have one eye upon my daily bread."

"And it isn't too much of it you see, by the looks of you.

You're peaked, and you're thin."

"Oh, doctor! I'm sure I'm not."

"And I'm sure you are, and by virtue of my profession I ought to know. It's a pretty market to which you've brought your pigs.

You might be one of the richest women in England, instead of being half-starved--with white cheeks and tired eyes."

"Doctor, how dare you say such things! It's not true! You've not improved!"

"I'm thinking you've not improved either. You've a stubborn heart. Why, all this time, haven't you let some of us know something about you?--if it was only where a line might reach you."

"You know very well why, and I did go to see Mr. Grahame."

"You went to see Cuthbert Grahame? When?" She mentioned the date. "Girl, you're dreaming. It was the day after that he died."

"The day after that he died? I knew he was dead. I heard of it long afterwards by a side wind; but I have never heard any particulars. You none of you told me anything."

"How were we to, when you'd hidden yourself from us in this great city?"

"Of what did he die?"

"If you ask what was on the certificate I can tell you; but if you want to know how death came to him you must inquire of his wife."

"His wife?"

"When he died he was a married man, according to the law of Scotland."

"Dr. Twelves, are you jesting?"

"I'm not. On the day he died he made a will leaving her all that he had in the world--and she had it."

"Who was she?"

"Beyond saying that she was no better than she ought to be, I can tell you nothing."

"Was she some one from the neighbourhood?"

"She was not; she was from England. She dropped from the clouds.

I should say--if I may be allowed to do so in this company--on her road to h.e.l.l. What pa.s.sed between you and Cuthbert Grahame when you saw him on that day before he died?"

"I didn't see him. Nannie wouldn't let me."

"Nannie wouldn't let you?"

"She would not. She said that Mr. Grahame had forbidden her to admit me into the house."

"She's never spoken a word to me about it. What's been the matter with the woman? But there's something ails your story.

That day, and for many days afterwards, she was lying in bed with a broken leg. Was it from her bedroom that she shouted out to you?"

"From her bedroom?--nothing of the kind. She told me through the front door that Mr. Grahame had forbidden her to let me in. When I said that I would come in, and began to break the window to show that I was in earnest, she went to the window above, and poured two buckets of boiling water over me."

"Margaret Wallace! it's dreaming you must have been."

"It was a curious kind of dream. The water scalded my neck, and left a scar which was visible for weeks--wasn't it?"

She turned to Mr. Talfourd, as if for corroboration.

"It was. When I saw it I was disposed to go straight off to Scotland, and give the old harridan a taste of my quality."

"It's as queer a story as any I've heard. Seeing that Nannie was as if she had been glued to her bed, how could she walk about the house as you say, and pour buckets of boiling water on to you through a window?"

"I only know that she did."

"Did you see her?"

She considered a moment.

"No, I didn't. She took care not to show herself."

"She took care not to show herself?"

"She hadn't the courage to let me see her face, but she let me hear her voice, and plenty of it. It was not necessary for me to see her when I heard her. I've been acquainted with Nannie Foreshaw's voice for too many years to be likely to mistake it for any one else's."

"You're sure? I doubt----" The doctor seemed to be considering in his turn. "I can't put the pieces of the puzzle together so that they just fit, but I've a notion that I'm on the way.

Margaret Wallace, I've a suspicion that I've been a greater fool even than I thought. After the chances I've had to get wisdom, to get understanding, that's not a nice feeling to have. Between us--you've had a hand!--we've muddled things to a marvel. I'll communicate with Nannie with reference to that little conversation you say you had with her; when I've heard from her I'll talk to you again." He turned to Mr. Talfourd.

"And you, sir, do you make drawings?"

"No; I write stories."

The doctor looked him up and down as if he were a specimen of a species which was new to him.

"Stories? Oh! and is that a man's work? I come of a good old Scottish stock. My forebears have always held that a man should do a man's work. Is writing stories that?"

"It isn't easy, if that's what you mean."

"Not easy? I should have thought you would have found it as easy as lying. I've written them myself; I didn't find it hard. It's just a waste of time. However, I'm not judging you. Is that all you do, write stories?"

"Just at present I'm doing something else as well. I'm acting as private secretary to a lady."

"Private secretary to a lady? You've your own notions of what's a man's work, Mr. Talfourd."

Harry flushed; Margaret laughed.

"And you country Scotchmen have your own ideas of what you're ent.i.tled to say."