Johnny Ludlow Third Series Part 93

"Did she? When are you coming to spend an evening with us? She will sing them again for you."

"I should like to come--if I may."

"If you may! There's nothing to prevent it. You are quite well enough."

"There's Patty. We shall have to ask her whether I may."

Anything Arnold Knox might have rejoined to this was stopped by the entrance of Patty herself, a light blue shawl on her shoulders. A momentary surprise crossed her face at sight of the doctor.

"Oh, Dr. Knox! I did not know you were here," she said, as she threw off the shawl. "I was running about the garden for a few minutes. What a lovely day it is!--the sun so warm."

"It is that. Lady Jenkins ought to be out in it. Should you not like to take a run in the garden?" he laughingly added to her.

"Should I, Patty?"

The utter abnegation of will, both of tone and look, as she cast an appealing glance at her companion, struck Dr. Knox forcibly. He looked at both of them from under his rather overhanging eyebrows. Did Madame St. Vincent extort this obedience?--or was it simply the old lady's imbecility? Surely it must be the latter.

"I think," said madame, "a walk in the garden will be very pleasant for you, dear Lady Jenkins. Lettice shall bring down your things. The may-tree is budding beautifully."

"Already!" said the doctor: "I should like to see it. Will you go with me, madame? I have two minutes to spare."

Madame St. Vincent, showing no surprise, though she may have felt it, put the blue shawl on her shoulders again and followed Dr. Knox. The may-tree was nearly at the end of the garden, down by the shrubbery.

"Mr. Tamlyn mentioned to you, I believe, that we suspected something improper, in the shape of opiates, was being given to Lady Jenkins,"

began Dr. Knox, never as much as lifting his eyes to the budding may-tree.

"Yes; I remember that he did," replied Madame St. Vincent. "I hardly gave it a second thought."

"Tamlyn said you had a difficulty in believing it. Nevertheless, I feel a.s.sured that it is so."

"Impossible, Dr. Knox."

"It seems impossible to you, I dare say. But that it is being done, I would stake my head upon. Lady Jenkins is being stupefied in some way: and I have brought you out here to tell you so, and to ask your co-operation in tracing the culprit."

"But--I beg your pardon, Dr. Knox--who would give her anything of the kind? You don't suspect me, I hope?"

"If I suspected you, my dear lady, I should not be talking to you as I am. The person we must suspect is Lettice Lane."

"Lettice Lane!"

"I have reason to think it. Lettice Lane's antecedents are not, I fear, quite so clear as they might be: though it is only recently I have known this. At any rate, she is the personal attendant of Lady Jenkins; the only one of them who has the opportunity of being alone with her. I must beg of you to watch Lettice Lane."

Madame St. Vincent looked a little bewildered; perhaps felt so.

Stretching up her hand, she plucked one of the budding may-blossoms.

"Mr. Tamlyn hinted at Lettice also. I have always felt confidence in Lettice. As to drugs--Dr. Knox, I don't believe a word of it."

"_Lady Jenkins is being drugged_," emphatically p.r.o.nounced Dr. Knox.

"And you must watch Lettice Lane. If Lettice is innocent, we must look elsewhere."

"Shall I tax Lettice with it?"

"Certainly not. You would make a good detective," he added, with a laugh; "showing your hand to the enemy. Surely, Madame St. Vincent, you must yourself see that Lady Jenkins is being tampered with. Look at her state this morning: though she is not quite as bad as she is sometimes."

"I have known some old people sleep almost constantly."

"So have I. But theirs is simply natural sleep, induced by exhausted nature: hers is not natural. She is stupefied."

"Stupefied with the natural decay of her powers," dissented madame.

"But--to drug her! No, I cannot believe it. And where would be the motive?"

"That I know not. But I am sure I am not mistaken," he added decisively.

"You will watch Lettice Lane?"

"I will," she answered, after a pause. "Of course it _may_ be as you say; I now see it. I will watch her to the very utmost of my ability from this hour."

III.

"DEAR JOHNNY,

"I expect your stay at Lefford is drawing towards a close; mine is, here. It might be pleasant if we travelled home together. I could take Lefford on my way--starting by an early train--and pick you up.

You need some one to take care of you, you know. Let me hear when you intend to be ready. I will arrange my departure accordingly.

"Hope you have enjoyed yourself, old fellow."

"Ever yours, "J. T."

The above letter from Tod, who was still in Leicestershire, reached me one morning at breakfast-time. Dr. Knox and Janet, old Tamlyn--all the lot of them--called out that they could not spare me yet. Even Cattledon graciously intimated that she should miss me. Janet wrote to Tod, telling him he was to take Lefford on his way, as he proposed, and to stay a week when he did come.

It was, I think, that same day that some news reached us touching Captain Collinson--that he was going to be married. At least that he had made an offer, and was accepted. Not to Mina Knox; but to an old girl (the epithet was Sam's) named Belmont. Miss Belmont lived with her father at a nice place on the London Road, half-a-mile beyond Jenkins House; he had a great deal of money, and she was his only child. She was very plain, very dowdy, and quite forty years of age; but very good, going about amongst the poor with tracts and soup. If the tidings were true, and Captain Collinson _had_ made Miss Belmont an offer, it appeared pretty evident that his object was her money: he could not well have fallen in love with her, or court a wife so much older than himself.

When taxed with the fact--and it was old Tamlyn who did it, meeting him opposite the market-house--Collinson simpered, and stroked his dark beard, and said Lefford was fond of marvels. But he did not deny it.

Half-an-hour later he and Miss Belmont were seen together in the High Street. She had her old cloth mantle on and her brown bonnet, as close as a Quaker's, and carried her flat district basket in her hand. The captain presented a contrast, with his superb dandy-cut clothes and flourishing his ebony cane.

"I think it must be quite true," Janet observed, as we watched them pa.s.s the house. "And I shall be glad if it is: Arnold has been tormenting himself with the fancy that the gallant captain was thinking of little Mina."

A day or two after this, it chanced that Dr. Knox had to visit Sir Henry Westmorland, who had managed to give a twist to his ankle. Sir Henry was one of those sociable, good-hearted men that no one can help liking; a rather elderly bachelor. He and Tamlyn were old friends, and we had all dined at Foxgrove about a week before.

"Would you like to go over with me, Johnny?" asked Dr. Knox, when he was starting.

I said I should like it very much, and got into the "conveyance," the doctor letting me drive. Thomas was not with us. We soon reached Foxgrove: a low, straggling, red-brick mansion, standing in a small park, about two miles and a half from Lefford.

Dr. Knox went in; leaving me and the conveyance on the smooth wide gravel-drive before the house. Presently a groom came up to take charge of it, saying Sir Henry was asking for me. He had seen me from the window.

Sir Henry was lying on a sofa near the window, and Knox was already beginning upon the ankle. A gentlemanly little man, nearly bald, sat on the ottoman in the middle of the room. I found it was one Major Leckie.

Some trifle--are these trifles _chance_?--turned the conversation upon India. I think Knox spoke of some snake-bite in a man's ankle that had laid him by for a month or two: it was no other than the late whilom mayor, Sir Daniel Jenkins. Upon which, Major Leckie began relating his experience of some reptile bites in India. The major had been home nearly two years upon sick leave, he said, and was now going back again.