A Tale of a Lonely Parish Part 38

"Because it would have been useless. If he had escaped after attacking me, I should have done so. But since I caught him, and found him to be very ill--utterly unable to move, I proposed to take charge of him myself. Mrs. G.o.ddard is a friend of mine, and of the vicar, who knows her story perfectly well. To publish the story in the village would be to do her a great injury. Mrs. Ambrose, the vicar's wife, who is also acquainted with the circ.u.mstances, is at this moment taking care of the sick man. I presume that my promise--I am a retired officer of the Navy--and the promise of Mr. Ambrose, the vicar, are sufficient guarantee--"

"Oh, there is no question of guarantee," said Mr. Booley. "I a.s.sure you, Mr. Juxon, I have no doubt whatever that you have acted for the best.

Can you tell me how long G.o.ddard has been in the neighbourhood?"

The squire told the detective what he knew, taking care not to implicate Mrs. G.o.ddard, even adding with considerable boldness, for he was not positively certain of the statement, that neither she nor any one else had known where the man was hiding. Mr. Booley being sure that G.o.ddard could not escape him, saw that he could claim the reward offered for the capture of the convict. He asked whether he might see him.

"That is doubtful," said the squire. "When I left him just now he was quite unconscious, but he has lucid moments. To frighten him at such a time might kill him outright."

"It is very easy for me to say that I am another medical man," remarked Mr. Booley. "Perhaps I might say it in any case, just to keep the servants quiet. I would like to see Mrs. G.o.ddard, too."

"That is another matter. She is very nervous. I am going to her house, now, and probably she will come back to the Hall with me. I might perhaps tell her that you are here, but I think it would be likely to shock her very much."

"Well, well, we will see about it," answered Mr. Booley. They reached the house and the squire ushered the detective into the study, begging him to wait for his return.

It was a new complication, though it had seemed possible enough. But the position was not pleasant. To feel that there was a detective in the house waiting to carry off G.o.ddard, so soon as he should be well enough to be moved, was about as disagreeable as anything well could be. The longer the squire thought of it, the more impossible and at the same time unnecessary it seemed to be to inform Mrs. G.o.ddard of Booley's arrival.

He hastened down the park, feeling that no time must be lost in bringing her to her husband's bedside.

He found her waiting for him, and was struck by the calmness she displayed. To tell the truth the violence of her emotions had been wholly expended on the previous night and the reaction had brought an intense melancholy quiet, which almost frightened Mr. Juxon. The habit of bearing great anxiety had not been wholly forgotten, for the lesson had been well learned during those terrible days of her husband's trial, and it was as though his sudden return had revived in her the custom of silent suffering. She hardly spoke, but listened quietly to Mr. Juxon's account of what had happened.

"You are not hurt?" she asked, almost incredulously. Her eyes rested on her friend's face with a wistful look.

"No, I a.s.sure you, not in the least," he said. "But your poor husband is very ill--very ill indeed."

"Tell me," said she quietly, "is he dead? Are you trying to break it to me?"

"No--no indeed. He is alive--he may even recover. But that is very uncertain. It might be best to wait until the doctor has been again. I will come back and fetch you--"

"Oh, no, I will go at once. I would like to walk. It will do me good."

So the two set out without further words upon their errand. Mr. Juxon had purposely omitted to speak of Mr. Booley's arrival. It would be easy, he thought, to prevent them from meeting in the great house.

"Do you know," said Mary G.o.ddard, as they walked together, "it is very hard to wish that he may recover--" she stopped short.

"Very hard," answered the squire. "His life must be one of misery, if he lives."

"Of course you would send him back?" she asked nervously.

"My dear friend, there is no other course open to me. Your own safety requires it."

"G.o.d knows--you would only be doing right," she said and was silent again. She knew, though the squire did not, what fate awaited Walter G.o.ddard if he were given up to justice. She knew that he had taken life and must pay the penalty. Yet she was very calm; her senses were all dulled and yet her thoughts seemed to be consecutive and rational. She realised fully that the case of life and death was ill balanced; death had it which ever course events might take, and she could not save her husband. She thought of it calmly and calmly hoped that he might die now, in his bed, with her by his side. It was a better fate.

"You say that the doctor thinks he must have been ill some time?" she asked after a time.

"Yes--he was quite sure of it," answered the squire.

"Perhaps that was why he spoke so roughly to me," she said in a low voice, as though speaking to herself.

The tears came into the squire's eyes for sheer pity. Even in this utmost extremity the unhappy woman tried to account for her husband's rude and cruel speech. Mr. Juxon did not answer but looked away. They pa.s.sed the spot where the scuffle had occurred on the previous night, but still he said nothing, fearing to disturb her by making his story seem too vividly real.

"Where is he?" she asked as they reached the Hall, looking up at the windows.

"On the other side."

They went in and mounted the stairs towards the sick man's chamber. Mr.

Juxon went in, leaving Mrs. G.o.ddard outside for a moment. She could hear that hideous rattling monotonous moan, and she trembled from head to foot. Presently Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose came out, looking very grave and pa.s.sed by her with a look of sympathy.

"Will you come in?" said the squire in a low voice.

Mrs. G.o.ddard entered the room quickly. On seeing her husband, she uttered a low cry and laid her hand upon Mr. Juxon's arm. For some seconds she stood thus, quite motionless, gazing with intense and sympathetic interest at the sick man's face. Then she went to his side and laid her hand upon his burning forehead and looked into his eyes.

"Walter! Walter!" she cried. "Don't you know me? Oh, why does he groan like that? Is he suffering?" she asked turning to Mr. Juxon.

"No--I do not think he suffers much. He is quite unconscious. He is talking all the time but cannot p.r.o.nounce the words."

The squire stood at a distance looking on, noting the womanly thoughtfulness Mrs. G.o.ddard displayed as she smoothed her husband's pillow and tried to settle his head more comfortably upon the bags of ice; and all the while she never took her eyes from G.o.ddard's face, as though she were fascinated by her own sorrow and his suffering. She moved about the bed with that instinctive understanding of sickness which belongs to delicate women, but her glance never strayed to Mr. Juxon; she seemed forced by a mysterious magnetism to look at Walter and only at him.

"Has he been long like this?" she asked.

"Ever since last night. He called you once--he said, 'Mary G.o.ddard, let me in!' And then he said something else--he said--I cannot remember what he said." Mr. Juxon checked himself, remembering the words John had heard, and of which he only half understood the import. But Mrs. G.o.ddard hardly noticed his reply.

"Will you leave me alone with him?" she said presently. "There is a bell in the room--I could ring if anything--happened," she added with mournful hesitation.

"Certainly," answered the squire. "Only, I beg of you my dear friend--do not distress yourself needlessly--"

"Needlessly!" she repeated with a sorrowful smile. "It is all I can do for him--to watch by his side. He will not live--he will not live, I am sure."

The squire inwardly prayed that she might be right, and left her alone with the sick man. Who, he thought, was better fitted, who had a stronger right to be at his bedside at such a time? If only he might die! For if he lived, how much more terrible would the separation be, when Booley the detective came to conduct him back to his prison! In truth, it would be more terrible even than Mr. Juxon imagined.

Meanwhile he must go and see to the rest of the household. He must speak to John Short; he must see Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, and he must take precautions against any of them seeing Mr. Booley. This was, he thought, very important, and he resolved to speak with the latter first. John was probably asleep, worn out with the watching of the night.

Mr. Booley sat in the squire's study where he had been left almost an hour earlier. He had installed himself in a comfortable corner by the fire and was reading the morning paper which he had found unopened upon the table. He seemed thoroughly at home as he sat there, a pair of gla.s.ses upon his nose and his feet stretched out towards the flame upon the hearth.

"Thank you, I am doing very well, Mr. Juxon," he said as the squire entered.

"Oh--I am very glad," answered Mr. Juxon politely. The information was wholly voluntary as he had not asked any question concerning the detective's comfort.

"And how is the patient?" inquired Mr. Booley. "Do you think there is any chance of removing him this afternoon?"

"This afternoon?" repeated the squire, in some astonishment. "The man is very ill. It may be weeks before he can be removed."

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the other. "I was not aware of that. I cannot possibly stay so long. To-morrow, at the latest, he will have to go."

"But, my dear sir," argued Mr. Juxon, "the thing is quite impossible. The doctor can testify to that--"

"We are apt to be our own doctors in these cases," said Mr. Booley, calmly. "At all events he can be taken as far as the county gaol."

"Upon my word, it would be murder to think of it--a man in a brain fever, in a delirium, to be taken over jolting roads--dear me! It is not to be thought of!"

Mr. Booley smiled benignly, for the first time since the squire had made his acquaintance.