Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 72

"Came to see how you were getting on, friend," was the light and soothing answer, as the stranger drew near the bed. "Head and arm damaged, I hear."

"Who told you where to find me?"

"Scott. At least, he----"

"Scott's a false knave then! He promised me faithfully not to tell a soul." And Bevere's inflamed face and pa.s.sionate voice presented a contrast to his usual mild countenance and gentle tones.

"There's no need to excite yourself," said the tall young man, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking the patient's hand. "d.i.c.k Scott let fall a word unawares--that Pitt was attending you. So I came up to Pitt's just now and got the address out of his surgery-boy."

"Who else heard the chance word?"

"No one else. And I'm sure you know that you may trust me. I wanted to ask if I could do anything for you. How frightened you look, old fellow!"

Bevere lay down again, painfully uneasy yet, as was plain to be seen.

"I didn't want any one to find me out here," he said. "If some--some people came, there might be the d.i.c.kens to pay. And Uncle John is up now, worse luck! He does not understand London ways, and he is the strictest old guy that ever wore silver shoe-buckles--you should see him on state occasions. Ask Johnny Ludlow there whether he is strait-laced or not; he knows. Johnny, this is Charley Lightfoot: one of us at Bart's."

Charley turned to shake hands, saying he had heard of me. He then set himself to soothe Bevere, a.s.suring him he would not tell any one where he was lying, or that he had been to see him.

"Don't mind my temper, old friend," whispered Bevere, repentantly, his blue eyes going out to the other's in sad yearning. "I am a bit tried--as you'd admit, if all were known."

Lightfoot departed. By-and-by the Squire and Mr. Brandon returned, and Mrs. Mapping gave us some lunch in her parlour. When the Squire was ready to leave, I ran up to say good-bye to Roger. He gazed at me questioningly, eyes and cheeks glistening with fever. "Is it true?" he whispered.

"Is what true?"

"That Uncle John has written for my mother?"

"Oh yes, that's true."

"Good Heavens!" murmured Bevere.

"Would you not like to see her?"

"It's not that. She's the best mother living. It is--for fear--I didn't _want_ to be found out lying here," he broke off, "and it seems that all the world is coming. If it gets to certain ears, I'm done for."

Scarlet and more scarlet grew his cheeks. His pulse must have been running up to about a hundred-and-fifty.

"As sure as you are alive, Roger, you'll bring the fever on again!"

"So much the better. I do--save for what I might say in my ravings," he retorted. "So much the better if it carries me off! There'd be an end to it all, then."

"One might think you had a desperate secret on your conscience," I said to him in my surprise. "Had set a house on fire, or something as good."

"And I have a secret; and it's something far more dreadful than setting a house on fire," he avowed, recklessly, in his distress. "And if it should get to the knowledge of Uncle John and the mother--well, I tell you, Johnny Ludlow, I'd rather die than face the shame."

Was he raving now?--as he had been on the verge of it, in the fever, a day or two ago. No, not by the wildest stretch of the fancy could I think so. That he had fallen into some desperate trouble which must be kept secret, if it could be, was all too evident. I thought of fifty things as I went home and could not fix on one of them as likely. Had he robbed the hospital till?--or forged a cheque upon its house-surgeon?

The Squire wanted to know why I was so silent.

When I next went to Gibraltar Terrace Lady Bevere was there. Such a nice little woman! Her face was mild, like Roger's, her eyes were blue and kind as his, her tones as genial. As Mary Brandon she had been very pretty, and she was pleasing still.

She had married a lieutenant in the navy, Edmund Bevere. Her people did not like it: navy lieutenants were so poor, they said. He got on better, however, than the Brandons had thought for; got up to be rear-admiral and to be knighted. Then he died; and Lady Bevere was left with a lot of children and not much to bring them up on. I expect it was her brother, Mr. Brandon, who helped to start them all in life. She lived in Hampshire, somewhere near Southsea.

In a day or two, when Roger was better and sat up in blankets in an easy-chair, Mr. Brandon and the Squire began about his shortcomings--deeming him well enough now to be tackled. Mr. Brandon demanded where his lodgings were, for their locality seemed to be a mystery; evidently with a view of calling and putting a few personal questions to the landlady; and Roger had to confess that he had had no particular lodgings lately; he had shared d.i.c.k Scott's. This took Mr.

Brandon aback. No lodgings of his own!--sharing young Scott's! What was the meaning of it? What did he do with all the money allowed him, if he could not pay for rooms of his own? And to the stern questioning Roger only answered that he and Scott liked to be together. Pitt laughed a little to me when he heard of this, saying Bevere was too clever for the old mentors.

"Why! don't you believe he does live with Scott?" I asked.

"Oh, he may do that; it's likely enough," said Pitt. "But medical students, running their fast career in London, are queer subjects, let me tell you, Johnny Ludlow; they don't care to have their private affairs supervised."

"All of them are not queer--as you call it, Pitt."

"No, indeed," he answered, warmly: "or I don't know what would become of the profession. Many of them are worthy, earnest fellows always, steady as old time. Others pull up when they have had their fling, and make good men: and a few go to the bad altogether."

"In which cla.s.s do you put Roger Bevere?"

Pitt took a minute to answer. "In the second, I hope," he said. "To speak the truth, Bevere somewhat puzzles me. He seems well-intentioned, anxious, and can't have gone so far but he might pull-up if he could.

But----"

"If he could! How do you mean?"

"He has got, I take it, into the toils of a fast, bad set; and he finds their habits too strong to break through. Any way without great difficulty."

"Do you think he--drinks?" I questioned, reluctantly.

"No mistake about that," said Pitt. "Not so sharply as some of them do, but more than is good for him."

I'm sure if Roger's pulling-up depended upon his mother, it would have been done. She was so gentle and loving with him; never finding fault, or speaking a harsh word. Night and morning she sat by the bed, holding his hands in hers, and reading the Psalms to him--or a prayer--or a chapter in the Bible. I can see her now, in her soft black gown and simple little white lace cap, under which her hair was smoothly braided.

Whatever doubts some of us might be entertaining of Roger, nothing unpleasant in regard to him transpired. Dreaded enemies did not find him out, or come to besiege the house; though he never quite lost his undercurrent of uneasiness. He soon began to mend rapidly. Scott visited him every second or third day; he seemed to be fully in his confidence, and they had whisperings together. He was a good-natured, off-hand kind of young man, short and thick-set. I can't say I much cared for him.

The Squire had left London. I remained on with Miss Deveen, and went down to Gibraltar Terrace most days. Lady Bevere was now going home and Mr. Brandon with her. Some trouble had arisen about the lease of her house in Hampshire, which threatened to end in a lawsuit, and she wanted him to see into it. They fixed upon some eligible lodgings for Roger near Russell Square, into which he would move when they left. He was sufficiently well now to go about; and would keep well, Pitt said, if he took care of himself. Lady Bevere held a confidential interview with the landlady, about taking care of her son Roger.

And she gave a last charge to Bevere himself, when taking leave of him the morning of her departure. The cab was at the door to convey her and Mr. Brandon to Waterloo Station, and I was there also, having gone betimes to Gibraltar Terrace to see the last of them.

"For my sake, my dear," pleaded Lady Bevere, holding Roger to her, as the tears ran down her cheeks: "you will do your best to keep straight for my sake!"

"I will, I will, mother," he whispered back in agitation, his own eyes wet; "I will keep as straight as I can." But in his voice there lay, to my ear, a ring of hopeless despair. I don't know whether she detected it.

She turned and took my hands. She and Mr. Brandon had already exacted a promise from me that once a-week at least, so long as I remained in London, I would write to each of them to give news of Roger's welfare.

"You will be sure not to forget it, Johnny? I am very anxious about him--his health--and--and all," she added in a lowered voice. "I am always fearing lest I did not do my duty by my boys. Not but that I ever tried to do it; but somehow I feel that perhaps I might have done it better. Altogether I am full of anxiety for Roger."

"I will be sure to write to you regularly as long as I am near him, dear Lady Bevere."

It was on a Tuesday morning that Lady Bevere and Mr. Brandon left London. In the afternoon Roger was installed in his new lodgings by Mr.