Toole, on reaching town, spurred on to the dingy residence of Mr. Luke Gamble. It must be allowed that he had no clear intention of taking any step whatsoever in consequence of what he might hear. But the little fellow was deuced curious; and Dirty Davy’s confidence gave him a sort of right to be satisfied.
So with his whip under his arm, and a good deal out of breath, for the stairs were steep, he bounced into the attorney’s sanctum.
‘Who’s that? Is that? — Why, bless my soul and body! ’tis yourself,’ cried Toole, after an astonished pause of a few seconds at the door, springing forward and grasping Nutter by both hands, and shaking them vehemently, and grinning very joyously and kindly the while.
Nutter received him cordially, but a little sheepishly. Indeed, his experiences of life, and the situations in which he had found himself since they had last met, were rather eccentric and instructive than quite pleasant to remember. And Nutter, in his way, was a proud fellow, and neither liked to be gaped at nor pitied.
But Toole was a thorough partisan of his, and had been urgent for permission to see him in gaol, and they knew how true he had been to poor Sally Nutter, and altogether felt very much at home with him.
So sitting in that twilight room, flanked with piles of expended briefs, and surrounded with neatly docketed packets of attested copies, notices, affidavits, and other engines of legal war — little Toole having expended his congratulations, and his private knowledge of Sturk’s revelations, fell upon the immediate subject of his visit.
‘That rogue, Davy O’Reegan, looked in on me not an hour ago, at the Phœnix’ (and he gave them a very spirited, but I’m afraid a somewhat fanciful description of the combat.) ‘And I’m afraid he’ll give us a deal of trouble yet. He told me that the certificate— ‘
‘Ay — here’s a copy;’ and Luke Gamble threw a paper on the table before him.
‘That’s it — Mary Duncan — 1750 — the very thing — the rascal! Well, he said, you know, but I knew better, that you had admitted the certificate formally.’
‘So I have. Sir,’ said. Mr. Gamble, drily, stuffing his hands into his breeches’ pockets, and staring straight at Toole with elevated eyebrows, and as the little doctor thought, with a very odd expression in his eyes.
‘You have, Sir?’
‘I have!’ and then followed a little pause, and Mr. Gamble said —
‘I did so, Sir, because there’s no disputing it — and — and I think, Doctor Toole, I know something of my business.’
There was another pause, during which Toole, flushed and shocked, turned his gaze from Gamble to Nutter.
‘’Tis a true bill, then?’ said Toole, scarcely above his breath, and very dismally.
A swarthy flush covered Nutter’s dark face. The man was ashamed.
‘’Tis nigh eighteen years ago, Sir,’ said Nutter embarrassed, as he well might be. ‘I was a younger man, then, and was bit, Sir, as many another has been, and that’s all.’
Toole got up, stood before the fireplace, and hung his head, with compressed lips, and there was a silence, interrupted by the hard man of the law, who was now tumbling over his papers in search of a document, and humming a tune as he did so.
‘It may be a good move for Charles Nutter, Sir, but it looks very like a checkmate for poor Sally,’ muttered Toole angrily.
Mr. Luke Gamble either did not hear him, or did not care a farthing what he said; and he hummed his tune very contentedly.
‘And I had, moreover,’ said he, ‘to make another admission for the same reason, videlicet, that Mary Matchwell, who now occupies a portion of the Mills, the promovent in this suit, and Mary Duncan mentioned in that certificate, are one and the same person. Here’s our answer to their notice, admitting the fact.’
‘I thank you,’ said Toole again, rather savagely, for a glance over his shoulder had shown him the attorney’s face grinning with malicious amusement, as it seemed to him, while he readjusted the packet of papers from which he had just taken the notice; ‘I saw it, Sir, your brother lawyer, Mr. O’Reegan, Sir, showed it me this morning.’
And Toole thought of poor little Sally Nutter, and all the wreck and ruin coming upon her and the Mills, and began to con over his own liabilities, and to reflect seriously whether, in some of his brisk altercations on her behalf with Dirty Davy and his client, he might not have committed himself rather dangerously; and especially the consequences of his morning’s collision with Davy grew in darkness and magnitude very seriously, as he reflected that his entire statement had turned out to be true, and that he and his client were on the winning side.
‘It seems to me, Sir, you might have given some of poor Mrs. Nutter’s friends at Chapelizod a hint of the state of things. I, Sir, and Father Roach — we’ve meddled, Sir, more in the business — than — than — but no matter now — and all under a delusion, Sir. And poor Mistress Sally Nutter — she doesn’t seem to trouble you much, Sir.’
He observed that the attorney was chuckling to himself still more and more undisguisedly, as he slipped the notice back again into its place.
‘You gentlemen of the law think of nothing, Sir, but your clients. I suppose ’tis a good rule, but it may be pushed somewhat far. And what do you propose to do for poor Mistress Sally Nutter?’ demanded Toole, very sternly, for his blood was up.
‘She has heard from us this morning,’ said Mr. Gamble, grining on his watch, ‘and she knows all by this time, and ’tisn’t a button to her.’
And the attorney laughed in his face; and Nutter who had looked sulky and uncomfortable, could resist no longer, and broke into a queer responsive grin. It seemed to Toole like a horrid dream.
There was a tap at the door just at this moment.
‘Come in,’ cried Mr. Gamble, still exploding in comfortable little bursts of half-suppressed laughter.
‘Oh! ’tis you? Very good, Sir,’ said Mr. Gamble, sobering a little. He was the same lanky, vulgar, and slightly-squinting gentleman, pitted with the smallpox, whom Toole had seen on a former occasion. And the little doctor thought he looked even more cunning and meaner than before. Everything had grown to look repulsive, and every face was sinister now; and the world began to look like a horrible masquerade, full of half-detected murderers, traitors, and miscreants.
‘There isn’t a soul you can trust— ’tis enough to turn a man’s head; ’tis sickening, by George!’ grumbled the little doctor, fiercely.
‘Here’s a gentleman, Sir,’ said Gamble, waving his pen towards Toole, with a chuckle, ‘who believes that ladies like to recover their husbands.’
The fellow grew red, and grinned a sly uneasy grin, looking stealthily at Toole, who was rapidly growing angry.
‘Yes, Sir, and one who believes, too, that gentlemen ought to protect their wives,’ added the little doctor hotly.
‘As soon as they know who they are,’ muttered the attorney to his papers.
‘I think, gentlemen, I’m rather in your way,’ said Toole with a gloomy briskness; ‘I think ’tis better I should go. I — I’m somewhat amazed, gentlemen, and I — I wish you a good-morning.’
And Toole made them a very stern bow, and walked out at the wrong door.
‘This way, by your leave, doctor,’ said Mr. Gamble, opening the right one; and at the head of the stairs he took Toole by the cuff, and said he —
‘After all, ’tis but just the wrong Mrs. Nutter should give place to the right; and if you go down to the Mills tomorrow, you’ll find she’s by no means so bad as you think her.’
But Toole broke away from him sulkily, with —
‘I wish you a good-morning, Sir.’
It was quite true that Sally Nutter was to hear from Charles and Mr. Gamble that morning; for about the time at which Toole was in conference with those two gentlemen in Dublin, two coaches drew up at the Mills.
Mr. Gamble’s conducting gentleman was in one, and two mysterious personages sat in the other.
‘I want to see Mrs. Nutter,’ said Mr. Gamble’s
emissary.
‘Mrs. Nutter’s in the parlour, at your service,’ answered the lean maid who had opened the door, and who recognising in that gentleman an adherent of the enemy, had assumed her most impertinent leer and tone on the instant.
The ambassador looked in and drew back.
‘Oh, then, ’tisn’t the mistress you want, but the master’s old housekeeper; ask her.’
And she pointed with her thumb towards Molly, whose head was over the banister.
So, as he followed that honest handmaiden up stairs, he drew from his coatpocket a bundle of papers, and glanced at their endorsements, for he had a long exposition to make, and then some important measures to execute.
Toole had to make up for lost time; and as he rode at a smart canter into the village, he fancied he observed the signs of an unusual excitement there. There were some faces at the windows, some people on the doorsteps; and a few groups in the street; they were all looking in the Dublin direction. He had a nod or two as he passed. Toole thought forthwith of Mr. David O’Reegan — people generally refer phenomena to what most concerns themselves — and a dim horror of some unknown summary process dismayed him; but his hall-door shone peaceably in the sun, and his boy stood whistling on the steps, with his hands in his pockets. Nobody had been there since, and Pell had not yet called at Sturk’s.
‘And what’s happened — what’s the neighbours lookin’ after?’ said Toole, as his own glance followed the general direction, so soon as he had dismounted.
‘’Twas a coach that had driven through the town, at a thundering pace, with some men inside, from the Knockmaroon direction, and a lady that was screeching. She broke one of the coach windows in Martin’s-row, and the other — there, just opposite the Phœnix.’ The glass was glittering on the road. ‘She had rings on her hand, and her knuckles were bleeding, and it was said ’twas poor Mrs. Nutter going away with the keepers to a madhouse.’
Toole turned pale and ground his teeth, looking towards Dublin.
‘I passed it myself near Island-bridge; I did hear screeching, but I thought ’twas from t’other side of the wall. There was a fellow in an old blue and silver coat with the driver — eh?’
‘The same,’ said the boy; and Toole, with difficulty swallowing down his rage, hurried into the house, resolved to take Lowe’s advice on the matter, and ready to swear to poor Sally’s perfect sanity— ‘the crature! — the villains!’
But now he had only a moment to pull off his boots, to get into his grand costume, and seize his cane and his muff, too — for he sported one; and so transformed and splendid, he marched down the paved trottoir — Doctor Pell happily not yet arrived — to Sturk’s house. There was a hackney coach near the steps.
CHAPTER XCV.
IN WHICH DOCTOR PELL DECLINES A FEE, AND DOCTOR STURK A PRESCRIPTION.
In entering the front parlour from whence, in no small excitement, there issued the notes of a course diapason, which he fancied was known to him, he found Mr. Justice Lowe in somewhat tempestuous conference with the visitor.
He was, in fact, no other than Black Dillon; black enough he looked just now. He had only a moment before returned from a barren visit to the Brass Castle, and was in no mood to be trifled with.
‘’Twasn’t I, Sir, but Mr. Dangerfield, who promised you five hundred guineas,’ said Mr. Lowe, with a dry nonchalance.
‘Five hundred fiddles,’ retorted Doctor Dillon — his phrase was coarser, and Toole at that moment entering the door, and divining the situation from the doctor’s famished glare and wild gestures, exploded, I’m sorry to say in a momentary burst of laughter, into his cocked hat. ’Twas instantly stifled, however; and when Dillon turned his flaming eyes upon him, the little doctor made him a bow of superlative gravity, which the furious hero of the trepan was too full of his wrongs to notice in any way.
‘I was down at his house, bedad, the “Brass Castle,” if you plase, and not a brass farthin’ for my pains, nothing there but an ould woman, as ould and as ugly as himself, or the divil — be gannies! An’ he’s levanted, or else tuck for debt. Brass Castle! brass forehead, bedad. Brass, like Goliath, from head to heels; an’ by the heels he’s laid, I’ll take my davy, considherin’ at his laysure which is strongest — a brass castle or a stone jug. An’ where, Sir, am I to get my five hundred guineas — where, Sir?’ he thundered, staring first in Lowe’s face, then in Toole’s, and dealing the table a lusty blow at each interrogatory.
‘I think, Sir,’ said Lowe, anticipating Toole, ‘you’d do well to consider the sick man, Sir.’ The noise was certainly considerable.
‘I don’t know, Sir, that the sick man’s considherin’ me much,’ retorted Doctor Dillon. ‘Sick man — sick grandmother’s aunt! If you can’t speak like a man o’ sense, don’t spake, at any rate, like a justice o’ the pace. Sick man, indeed! why there’s not a crature livin’ barrin’ a natural eediot, or an apothecary, that doesn’t know the man’s dead; he’s dead, Sir; but ’tisn’t so with me, an’ I can’t get on without vittles, and vittles isn’t to be had without money; that’s logic, Mr. Justice; that’s a medical fact Mr. Docthor. An’ how am I to get my five hundred guineas? I say, you and you — the both o’ ye — that prevented me of going last night to his brass castle — brass snuff-box — there isn’t room to stand in it, bedad — an’ gettin’ my money. I hold you both liable to me — one an’ t’other — the both o’ ye.’
‘Why, Sir,’ said Lowe, ‘’tis a honorarium.’
‘’Tis no such thing, Sir; ’tis a contract,’ thundered Dillon, pulling Dangerfield’s note of promise from his pocket, and dealing it a mighty slap with the back of his hand.
‘Contract or no, Sir, there’s nobody liable for it but himself.’
‘We’ll try that, Sir; and in the meantime, what the divil am I to do, I’d be glad to know; for strike me crooked if I have a crown piece to pay the coachman. Trepan, indeed; I’m nately trepanned myself.’
‘If you’ll only listen, Sir, I’ll show you your case is well enough. Mr. Dangerfield, as you call him, has not left the country; and though he’s arrested, ’tisn’t for debt. If he owes you the money, ’tis your own fault if you don’t make him pay it, for I’m credibly informed he’s worth more than a hundred thousand pounds.’
‘And where is he, Sir?’ demanded Black Dillon, much more cheerfully and amicably. ‘I hope I see you well, Doctor Toole.’
That learned person acknowledged the somewhat tardy courtesy, and Lowe made answer:
‘He lies in the county gaol, Sir, on a serious criminal charge; but a line from me, Sir, will, I think, gain you admission to him forthwith.’
‘I’ll be much obliged for it, Sir,’ answered Dillon. ‘What o’clock is it?’ he asked of Toole; for though it is believed he owned a watch, it was sometimes not about him; and while Lowe scribbled a note, Toole asked in a dignified way —
‘Have you seen our patient, Sir?’
‘Not I. Didn’t I see him last night? The man’s dead. He’s in the last stage of exhaustion with an inflammatory pulse. If you feed him up he’ll die of inflammation; and if you don’t he’ll die of wakeness. So he lies on the fatal horns of a dilemma, you see; an’ not all the men in Derry’ll take him off them alive. He’s gone, Sir. Pell’s coming, I hear. I’d wait if I could; but I must look afther business; and there’s no good to be done here. I thank you, Mr. Lowe — Sir — your most obedient servant, Doctor Toole.’ And with Lowe’s note in his breeches’ pocket, he strode out to the steps, and whistled for his coachman, who drove his respectable employer tipsily to his destination.
I dare say the interview was characteristic; but I can find no account of it. I am pretty sure, however, that he did not get a shilling. So at least he stated in his declaration, in the action against Lowe, in which he, or rather his attorney, was nonsuited, with grievous loss of costs. And judging by the sort of esteem in which Mr. Dangerfield held Black Dillon, I fancy that few things would have pleased him better in his unfortunate situation tha
n hitting that able practitioner as hard as might be.
Just as he drove away, poor little Mrs. Sturk looked in.
‘Is there anything, Ma’am?’ asked Toole, a little uneasily.
‘Only — only, I think he’s just a little frightened — he’s so nervous you know — by that Dublin doctor’s loud talking — and he’s got a kind of trembling — a shivering.’
‘Eh — a shivering, Ma’am?’ said Toole. ‘Like a man that’s taken a cold, eh?’
‘Oh, he hasn’t got cold — I’m sure — there’s no danger of that. It’s only nervous; so I covered him up with another pair of blankets, and gave him a hot drink.’
‘Very good, Ma’am; I’ll follow you up in a minute.’
‘And even if it was, you know he shakes off cold in no time, he has such a fine constitution.’
‘Yes, Ma’am — that’s true — very good, Ma’am. I’ll be after you.’
So up stairs went Mrs. Sturk in a fuss.
‘That’s it,’ said Toole so soon as they were alone, nodding two or three times dejectedly, and looking very glum. ‘It’s set in — the inflammation — it’s set in, Sir. He’s gone. That’s the rigor.’
‘Poor gentleman,’ said Lowe, after a short pause, ‘I’m much concerned for him, and for his family.’
‘’Tis a bad business,’ said Toole, gloomily, like a man that’s frightened. And he followed Mrs. Sturk, leaving Lowe adjusting his papers in the parlour.
Toole found his patient laden with blankets, and shivering like a man in an ague, with blue sunken face. And he slipped his hand under the clothes, and took his pulse, and said nothing but— ‘Ay — ay — ay’ — quietly to himself, from time to time, as he did so; and Sturk — signing, as well as he could, that he wanted a word in his ear — whispered, as well as his chattering teeth would let him,
‘You know what this is.’
‘Well — well — there now, there; drink some of this,’ said Toole, a little flurried, and trying to seem cool.
‘I think he’s a little bit better, doctor,’ whispered poor little Mrs. Sturk, in Toole’s ear.
Delphi Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu Page 155