CHAPTER X.
NEWS.
By great good fortune, Mr. Stimcoe had been drinking the health ofthe returned prisoners until his own was temporarily affected.In fact, as I reached Delamere Terrace, panting and excogitating thelikeliest excuse to offer Mrs. Stimcoe, the door of No. 7 opened, andthe lady herself emerged upon the night, with a shawl swathedcarelessly over her masculine neck and shoulders.
I drew up and ducked aside to avoid recognition, but she halted underthe lamp and called to me, in no very severe voice--
"Harry!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"You are late, and I have been needing you. Mr. Stimcoe is sufferingfrom an attack."
"Indeed, ma'am?" said I. "Shall I run for Dr. Spargo?"
She stood for a moment considering. "No," she decided; "I had betterfetch Dr. Spargo myself. Being more familiar with the symptoms, Ican describe them to him."
More familiar with the symptoms, poor woman, she undoubtedly was,though I was familiar enough; and so, for the matter of that, was thedoctor, whose ledger must have registered at least a dozen similar"attacks." But I understood at once her true reason for notentrusting me with the errand. It would require all her courage, allher magnificent impudence, to browbeat Dr. Spargo into coming, for Idoubt if the Stimcoes had ever paid him a stiver.
"But you can be very useful," she went on, in a tone unusuallygentle. "You will find Mr. Stimcoe in his bedroom--at least, I hopeso, for he suffers from a hallucination that some person or personsunknown have incarcerated him in a French war-prison, such being theeffect of to-day's--er--proceedings upon his highly strung nature.The illusion being granted, one can hardly be surprised at hisresenting it."
I nodded, and promised to do my best.
"You are a very good boy, Harry," said Mrs. Stimcoe--a verdict sodifferent from that which I had arrived expecting, or with any rightto expect, that I stood for some twenty seconds gaping after her asshe pulled her shawl closer and went on her heroic way.
I found Mr. Stimcoe in _deshabille_, on the first-floor landing,under the derisive surveillance of Masters Doggy Bates, BobPilkington, and Scotty Maclean, whose graceless mirth echoed down tome from the stair-rail immediately overhead. Ignoring my preceptor'sinvitation to bide a wee and take a cup of kindness yet for auld langsyne, I ran up and knocked their heads together, kicked them into thedormitory, turned the key on their reproaches, and--thesepreliminaries over--descended to grapple with the situation.
Mr. Stimcoe, in night garments, was conducting a dialogue in which hefigured alternately as the tyrant and the victim of oppression.In the character of Napoleon Bonaparte he had filled a footbath withcold water, and was commanding the Rev. Philip Stimcoe to strip--ashe put it--to the teeth, and immerse himself forthwith. As the Rev.Philip Stimcoe, patriot and martyr, he was obstinately, and with evenmore passion, refusing to do anything of the kind, and for theequally cogent reasons that he was a Protestant of the Protestantsand that the water had cockroaches in it.
"Of course," said Mr. Stimcoe to me, "if you present yourself asAlexander of Russia, there is no more to be said, always provided"--and here he removed his nightcap and made me a profound bow--"thatyour credentials are satisfactory."
Apparently they were. At any rate, I prevailed on him to return tohis room, when he took my arm, and, seating himself on the bedside,recited to me the paradigms of the more anomalous Greek verbs withgreat volubility for twenty minutes on end--that is to say, untilMrs. Stimcoe returned with the doctor safely tucked under her wing.
At sight of me seated in charge of the patient, Dr. Spargo--a mildlittle man--lifted his eyebrows.
"Surely, madam--" he began in a scandalized tone.
"This is Harry Brooks." Mrs. Stimcoe introduced me loftily."If you wish him to retire, be kind enough to say so, and have donewith it. Our boarders, I may say, have the run of the house--it ispart of Mr. Stimcoe's system. But Harry has too much delicacy toremain where he feels himself _de trop_. Harry, you have my leave towithdraw."
I obeyed, aware that the doctor--who had pushed his spectacles highupon his forehead--was following my retreat with bewildered gaze.As I expected, no sooner had I regained the dormitory than myfellow-boarders--forgetting their sore heads, or, at any rate,forgiving--began to pester me with a hundred questions. I had torepeat the punishment on Doggy Bates before they suffered me to liedown in quiet.
But the interlude, in itself discomposing, had composed my nerves forthe while. I expected no sleep; had, indeed, an hour ago, deemed itimpossible I should sleep that night. Yet, in fact, my head wasscarcely on the pillow before I slept, and slept like a top.
The town clock awoke me, striking four. To the far louder sound ofScotty Maclean's snoring, in the bed next to mine, I wascase-hardened. I lay for a second or two counting the strokes, thensprang out of bed, and, running to the window, drew wide the curtain.The world was awake, the sun already clear above the hills over St.Just pool, and all the harbour twinkling with its rays. My eyessearched the stretch of water between me and St. Mawes, as though forflotsam--anything to give me news, or a hint of news. For manyminutes I stood staring--needless to say, in vain--and so, themorning being chilly, crept back to bed with the shivers on me.
Two hours later, in the midst of my dressing, I looked out of thewindow again, and I saw the St. Mawes packet reaching across towardsFalmouth merrily, quite as if nothing had happened. Yet something--I told myself--_must_ have happened.
The Copenhagen Academy enjoyed a holiday that day, for CaptainBranscome failed to present himself, and Mr. Stimcoe lay under theinfluence of sedatives. At eleven in the morning he awoke, and beganto discuss the character of Talleyrand at the pitch of his voice.Its echoes reached me where I sat disconsolate in the desertedschoolroom, and I went upstairs to the bedroom door to offer myservices. Doggy Bates, Pilkington, and Scotty Maclean had hied themimmediately after breakfast to the harbour, to beg, borrow, or steala boat and fish for mackerel; and Mrs. Stimcoe, worn out withwatching, set down my faithful presence to motives of which I wasshamefully innocent. In point of fact, I had lurked at home becauseI could not bear company. I preferred the deserted schoolroom,though Heaven knows what I would not have given for the dulldistraction of work--an hour of Rule of Three with Captain Branscome,or Caesar's Commentaries with Mr. Stimcoe. But Mr. Stimcoe layupstairs chattering, and Captain Branscome appeared to be taking aprotracted holiday. It hardly occurred to me to wonder why.
It was borne in upon me later that during this interval of anarchy inthe Stimcoe establishment--it lasted two days, and may have lastedlonger for aught I know--I wasted little wonder on the continuedabsence of Captain Branscome. I was indeed kept anxious by my ownfears, which did not decrease as the hours dragged by. From thewindow of Mr. Stimcoe's sickroom I watched the St. Mawes packetplying to and fro. I had a mind to steal down to the Market Strandand interrogate her skipper. I had a mind--and laid more than oneplan for it--to follow up my first impulse of bolting for home, todiscover if Captain Coffin had arrived there. But Mrs. Stimcoe,misinterpreting my eagerness to be employed, had by this timeenlisted me into full service in the sick-room. After the first hintof surprised gratitude, she betrayed no feeling at all, but bound meseverely to my task. We took the watching turn and turn about, inspells of three hours' duration. I was held committed, and could notdesert without a brand on my conscience. The disgusting feature ofthis is that I was almost glad of it, at the same time longing torun, and feeling that this, in a way, exonerated me.
At about seven o'clock on the evening of the second day, while I satby Mr. Stimcoe's bedside, there came a knock at the front door, and,looking out of the window--for Mrs. Stimcoe had gone to bully anothersedative out of the doctor, and there was no one in the house toadmit a visitor--I saw Captain Branscome below me on the doorstep.
"Hallo!" said I, as cheerfully as I might, for Mr. Stimcoe was awakeand listening.
"Is--is that Harry Brooks?" asked Captain Branscome, stepping backand f
eeling for his gold-rimmed glasses. But by some chance he wasnot wearing them. After fumbling for a moment, he gazed up towardsthe window, blinking. Folk who habitually wear glasses lookunnatural without them. Captain Branscome's face looked unnaturalsomehow. It was pale, and for the moment it seemed to me to bealmost a face of fright; but a moment later I set down its pallor toweariness.
"Mrs. Stimcoe has gone off to the doctor," said I, "and Mr. Stimcoeis sick, and I am up here nursing him. There is no one to open, butyou can give me a message."
"I just came up to make sure you were all right."
"If you mean Stim--Mr. Stimcoe, he's better, though the doctor sayshe won't be able to leave his bed for days. How did you come to hearabout it?"
"I've heard nothing about Mr. Stimcoe," answered Captain Branscome,after a hesitating pause. "I've been away--on a holiday. Nothingwrong with you at all?" he asked.
I could not understand Captain Branscome. Why on earth should he betroubling himself about my state of health?
"Nothing happened to upset you?" he asked.
I looked down at him sharply. As a matter of fact, and as the readerknows, a great deal had happened to upset me, but that any hint of itshould have reached Captain Branscome was in the highest degreeunlikely, and in any case I could not discuss it with him from anupstairs window and in my patient's hearing. So I contented myselfwith asking him where he had spent his holiday.
The question appeared to confuse him. He averted his eyes and,gazing out over the harbour, muttered--or seemed to mutter, for Icould not catch the answer distinctly--that he had been visiting somefriends; and so for a moment or two we waited at a deadlock. Indeed,there is no knowing how long it might have lasted--for CaptainBranscome made no sign of turning again and facing me--but, happeningjust then to glance along the terrace, I caught sight of Mrs. Stimcoereturning with long, masculine strides.
She held an open letter in her hand, and was perusing it as she came.
"It's for you," she announced, coming to a standstill under thewindow and speaking up to me after a curt nod towards CaptainBranscome--"from Miss Plinlimmon; and you'd best come down and hearwhat it says, for it's serious."
I should here explain that Mr. and Mrs. Stimcoe made a practice ofreading all letters received or despatched by us. It was a part ofthe system.
"I picked it up at the post-office on my way," she explained, as Ipresented myself at the front door and put out a hand for the letter."Look here, Harry: I know you to be a brave boy. You must pullyourself together, and be as brave as ever you can. Your father--"
"What about my father?" I asked, taking the letter and staring intoher face. "Has anything happened? is he--is he dead?"
Mrs. Stimcoe lifted her hand and lowered it again, at the same momentbowing her head with a meaning I could not mistake. I gazed dizzilyat Captain Branscome, and the look on his face told me--I cannot tellyou how--that he knew what the letter had to tell, and had beenexpecting it. The handwriting was indeed Miss Plinlimmon's, althoughit ran across the paper in an agitated scrawl most unlike her usualneat Italian penmanship.
"My dearest Harry,
"You must come home to me at once, and by the first coach. I cannot tell you what has happened save this--that you must not look to see your father alive. We dwell in the midst of alarms which A. Selkirk preferred to the solitude of Juan Fernandez; but in this I differ from him totally, and so will you when you hear what we have gone through. Come at once, Harry, with the bravest heart you can summon, Such is the earnest prayer of:"
"Your sincere friend in affliction," "Amelia Plinlimmon."
"P.S.--Pray ask Mrs. Stimcoe to be kind enough to advance the fare if your pocket-money will not suffice."
"And I doubt if there's two shillings in the house!" commented Mrs.Stimcoe, candid for once, "and God knows what I can pawn!"
Captain Branscome plunged his hand into his pocket and drew out aguinea. Captain Branscome--who, to the knowledge of both of us,never had a shilling in his pocket--stood there nervously profferingme a guinea!
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