CHAPTER XXII
A week later Enid Crofton lay in her drawing-room on the one couch whichThe Trellis House contained. She looked very charming in her new guiseof invalid.
Several people had already called to know how she was, including JackTosswill and his father, but no visitor had yet been admitted. Now it waspast four, and she was expecting the doctor--also, she hoped, in duecourse, Godfrey Radmore. That was why she had come downstairs, afterhaving had an early cup of tea in her bedroom, and lain herself on thesofa.
The door opened, and as his burly form came through the door, Dr.O'Farrell told himself that he had seldom if ever attended such anattractive looking patient! She was still very pale, for the shock hadbeen great; but to-day, for the first time since her widowhood, she hadput on a pink silk jacket, and it supplied the touch of colour which wasneeded by her white cheeks. She had made up her mind that even a littlerouge would be injudicious, but she had just used her lip-stick. It waspleasant to know that she had every right to be an interesting invalidwith all an interesting invalid's privileges.
And yet, well acquainted as she was with the turns and twists ofmasculine human nature, Mrs. Crofton would have been surprised toknow how suddenly repelled was the genial Irishman when she exclaimedeagerly:--"I do hope that horrible cat has been killed! Didn't I hearyou say that you meant to shoot her yourself?"
It was not without a touch of sly satisfaction that Dr. O'Farrellanswered:--"That was my intention certainly, Mrs. Crofton. But I wasfrustrated. The cat and her kittens vanished--just entirely away!"
"Vanished?" she exclaimed. "Then perhaps someone else has killed her?"
"Bless you, no. I'm afraid that the brute has still got her nine livesbefore her! She was spirited away by that broth of a boy. TimmyTosswill's a good hater and a good lover, and that's the truth of it! Iwasn't a bit surprised when I got the news that my services wouldn't bewanted--that the cat wasn't any longer at Old Place."
"D'you mean you don't know what's happened to the horrible creature?" sheexclaimed vexedly.
"That's just what I do mean, Mrs. Crofton. That smart little fellow justspirited the creature away."
As he spoke, sitting with his back to the window, he was observing hispretty patient very closely. She had reddened angrily and was biting herlips. What a little vixen _she_ was, to be sure! And suddenly she sawwhat he was thinking.
"I'd like to put a question to you, Mrs. Crofton."
"Do!" she insisted, but his question, when it came, displeased her.
"Is it true that that wasn't the first time you'd had an unpleasantexperience with an animal at Old Place?"
Dr. O'Farrell had not meant to ask his patient this question to-day, buthe really felt curious to know the truth concerning something GodfreyRadmore had told him that morning.
"Yes," she answered, slowly, "the first time I was in Old Place, TimmyTosswill's dog frightened me out of my wits."
"That's very strange," said the doctor, "Flick's such a mild-mannereddog."
Enid Crofton lifted herself up from her reclining position. "Dr.O'Farrell! I wouldn't say so to anyone but you, but don't you thinkthere's something uncanny about Timmy Tosswill? My little maid told melast night that the village people think he's a kind of--well, I don'tknow what to call it!--a kind of boy-witch. She says they're awfullyafraid of him, that they think he can do a mischief to people he doesn'tlike." As he said nothing for a moment, she added rather defiantly:--"Idaresay you think it is absurd that I should listen to village gossip,but the truth is, I've a kind of horror of the child. He terrifies me!"
Dr. O'Farrell looked round the room as if he feared eavesdroppers. Heeven got up and went to see if the door was really shut. "That's verycurious," he said thoughtfully. "Very curious indeed. But no, I'm notthinking you absurd, Mrs. Crofton. The child's a very peculiar child.Have you ever heard of thought transference?"
She looked at him, astonished. "No," she answered, rather bewildered, "Ihaven't an idea what you mean by that."
"Well, you've heard of hypnotism?"
"Oh, yes, but I've never believed in it!"
To that remark he made no answer, and he went on, more as if speakingto himself than to her:--"We needn't consider what the village peoplesay. Timmy just tries to frighten them--like all boys he's fond of hispractical joke, and of course it's a temptation to him to work on theirfears. But the little lad certainly presents a curious naturalphenomenon, if I may so express myself."
She looked at him puzzled. She had no idea what he meant.
"If that child wasn't the child of sensible people, he'd have becomefamous--he'd be what silly people call a medium."
"Would he?" she said. "Do you mean that he can turn tables and do thatsort of thing?"
The doctor shook his head. "What I mean is that in some way as yetunexplained by science, he can create simulacra of what people arethinking about, or of what may simply be hidden far away in the recessesof their memory. In a sort of way Timmy Tosswill can make things seem toappear which, as a matter of fact, are not there. But how he does it?Well, I can't tell you _that_."
Enid Crofton stared at Dr. O'Farrell. It was as if he were speaking toher in a foreign language, and yet his words made her feel vaguelyapprehensive. Surely Timmy could not divine the hidden thoughts of thepeople about him? She grew hot with dismay at the idea.
The doctor bent forward, and looked at her keenly: "I should like to askyou another question, Mrs. Crofton. Have you in your past life ever hadsome very painful association with a dog--I mean any very peculiarexperience with a terrier?"
The colour receded from her face. She was so surprised that she hardlyknew what to answer.
"I don't think so. My first experience of a really disagreeable kind waswhen that boy's terrier flew at me. It's true that I've always had apeculiar dislike to dogs--at least for a long time," she correctedherself hastily. She added after a moment's pause, "I expect you knowthat Colonel Crofton bred dogs?"
"Aye, and that very dog, Flick, was bred by your husband--isn't that so?"
"I believe he was."
She was wondering anxiously why he asked her this question, and her mindall at once flew off to Piper and Mrs. Piper, and she felt sick withfear.
"I ask you these questions," said the doctor very deliberately, "because,according to Mrs. Tosswill, Timmy thinks, or says he thinks, that you arealways accompanied by--well, how can I put it?--by a phantom dog."
"A phantom dog?"
She stared at him with her large dark eyes, and then, all at once, sheremembered Dandy, her husband's terrier, who, after his master's tragicdeath, had refused all food, and had howled so long and so dismally that,in a fit of temper, she had herself ordered him to be destroyed.
She lay back on her pretty, frilled pillow, and covered her face with thehand belonging to the arm that was uninjured.
"Oh," she gasped out, "I see now. What a horrible idea!"
"Then you have no painful associations with any one particular terrierapart from Flick?" persisted Dr. O'Farrell.
He really wanted to know. According to his theory, Timmy's subconsciousself could in some utterly inexplicable way build up an image of what wasin the minds of those about him.
"Perhaps I have," she confessed in a very low voice. "My husband had afavourite terrier called Dandy, Flick's father in fact. The poor brutegot into such a state after his master's death that he had to be sent toone of those lethal chambers in London. The whole thing was a greattrouble, and a great pain to me."
Dr. O'Farrell felt a thrill of exultation run through him. To find histheory thus miraculously confirmed was very gratifying.
"That's most interesting!" he exclaimed, "for Timmy, even the very firsttime he saw you walking down the avenue towards the front door of OldPlace, thought you were followed by a dog uncommonly like his terrier,Flick. His theory seemed to be that both Flick and the cat did not fly at_you_, but at your invisible companion."
"My invisible companion?"
He saw t
he colour again receding from her face. "Don't for a momentbelieve _I_ think there is any phantom dog there," he said soothingly."All I believe--and what you have told me confirmed my theory--is thatTimmy Tosswill can not only see what's in your subconscious mind, butthat he can build up a kind of image of it and produce what is called, Ibelieve, in the East, collective hypnotism. I should never be surprised,for instance, if someone else thought they saw you with a dog--that isas long as that boy was present. It's a most interesting and curiouscase."
"It's a very horrible case," said Enid faintly.
She felt as if she were moving in a terrible nightmare world,unsuspected, unrealised by her till then.
"All abnormality is unpleasant," said the doctor cheerfully, "I alwaysthought the boy would grow out of it, and, to a certain extent, he _has_grown out of it. You'll hardly believe me, Mrs. Crofton, when I tellyou that, as a little child, Timmy actually declared he could seefairies and gnomes, 'the little people' as we call them in my country!I think that's what first started this queer reputation of his amongthe village folk. I tell you he's anything but a welcome guest in thecottages--people with evil consciences, you know!" The doctor laughed."They're afraid of Master Timmy, that's what the bad folks in Beechfieldare--they think he can 'blight' them, bring ill-luck on them. Well, well,I mustn't stop, gossiping here with you, though it's very pleasant. Bythe way, I'll ask you to keep all I've said to you to yourself--notbut what the boy's parents know quite well what I think about him!"
Then followed a few professional questions and answers, and then thedoctor went off, well satisfied with his visit.
After Dr. O'Farrell had gone, Enid Crofton lay back and shut her eyes.Her nerves had by no means recovered from the horrible experience,and she felt a sort of utter distaste to Beechfield and to everybodythere--with the one exception of Godfrey Radmore. She promised herselffiercely that if Radmore did what she was always telling herself secretlyhe would surely end by doing, then she would make it her business to seethat they never, either of them, came back to this horrible place anymore.
Apart from anything else, Jack Tosswill was already beginning to be moreof a complication than was pleasant to one in her weak, excited state.He had left a letter when he called that morning--an eager, ardentlove-letter, entirely assuming that they were engaged to be married.
She took it out of the pretty fancy bag, which lay on her pale blue silkeiderdown, and read it through again with a mixture of amusement andirritation. It was a long letter, written on the cheap, grey Old Placenotepaper, very unlike another love-letter she had had to-day, writtenon nice, thick, highly-glazed letter-paper which had a small coronetembossed above the address. In that letter Captain Tremaine urgentlyasked to be allowed to come down for the next week-end. He pointed outthat his leave was drawing to a close, and that they had a lot of thingsto discuss. He, too, considered himself engaged to her, but somehow shedidn't mind that. She told herself pettishly that Providence has a way ofmanaging things very badly. If only Tremaine had Radmore's money, evenonly a portion of his money, how gladly she would leave England behindher, and start a new, free, delightful life in India! Tremaine knew thekind of grand, smart people she longed to know. He was staying with someof them now.
Just as this thought was drifting through her mind, the door openedand she hurriedly stuffed Jack's letter beneath her silk quilt.Radmore walked in, and his face softened as he looked down on the pale,fragile-looking girl--for she did look very much like a girl--lying onthe sofa.
"I've brought you a lot of messages from Old Place," he began. "Theyreally are most awfully miserable about you!"
"I'm glad the cat hasn't been killed after all," she said weakly.
She had at last seen the look of recoil on Dr. O'Farrell's face, and shewas now trimming her sails accordingly.
"That's very magnanimous of you." Radmore smiled. He was surprised, and alittle touched, too. "May I sit down?"
He drew up a chair, and then he touched the hand belonging to thebandaged arm. "I do hope you are fairly free from pain?" he saidsolicitously.
"It does hurt a good deal."
There was a pause; his hand was still lying protectingly over her hand.
She lay quite still--a vision of lovely Paris frocks, a Rolls-Roycerunning smoothly by a deep blue sea, a long rope of pearls, flashedbefore her inner consciousness. Then she was awakened from this dream ofbliss by Radmore's next words:--"My godson's going to write you a letterof apology," he said.
And then, to her chagrin, he took his hand away; it was as though Timmy'smalign influence had fallen between them. His very tone changed; it wasno longer tender, solicitous--only kindly.
"Mr. Radmore, I want to tell you something. I'm horribly afraid ofTimmy!"
There was an accent of absolute sincerity in her low voice. She wenton:--"Dr. O'Farrell has been talking to me about him. He seems a moststrange, unnatural child. The village people believe that he hassupernatural powers. Do you believe that?"
"I don't quite know what I think about Timmy," he answered hesitatingly.He felt acutely uncomfortable, also rather shocked that Dr. O'Farrell hadsaid anything about a child who might, after all, be regarded as hispatient. But Enid Crofton was looking at him very intently, and so hewent on:--
"I've never spoken to any of them about it, but, yes, if you ask me formy honest opinion, I do think the child has very peculiar powers."
And then, all at once, Enid Crofton burst into tears. "Timmy terrifiesme," she sobbed. "I wish he never came near me! He hates me--I feel itall the time. I'm sure he made that cat fly at me!"
Radmore remained silent--he didn't know what to say, what to admit. Hewondered uncomfortably how she had come so near the truth.
"Come, come," he said, bending forward, "you mustn't feel like that. Idon't think the child hates you, but I do think that he loves tryingexperiments with that queer power of his. I'm afraid he wanted to seewhether the cat would behave as the dog had done."
"That's what I mean," she exclaimed, dabbing her eyes, "that's exactlywhat I mean! I don't want to hurt his feelings, or to make a fuss, but Ishould be so grateful if you could manage to prevent his coming here. Idon't want to make you vain," she smiled, very winningly, "but sometimesI do feel that 'two's company.' Since I've been here I've hardly everseen you alone. I used to enjoy our talks in London! I feel, I know thatyou're the only friend I've got in Beechfield."
"That's rather hard on Jack Tosswill," and though he smiled, he looked ather significantly.
Enid was so surprised that for a moment her composure gave way, and thecolour rushed into her pale face. Then she pulled herself together. "Itreally hasn't been my fault," she said plaintively.
"I'm sure it hasn't. But in a village one has to be careful. Wouldit surprise you to hear that as I came along this morning, one ofthe inhabitants of Beechfield spoke to me of you and Jack, andsuggested--forgive me for saying so--not only that the boy was very muchin love with you but that you--well--encouraged him!"
Enid Crofton sat up. "I've always heard that villages were far morewicked places than towns, and now I know it's true!"
"Steady on," he said smiling, "forgive me for having repeated a silly bitof gossip. But, after all, what you said just now is quite true--I amyour oldest friend by a long way, and so I feel I ought to give you aword of warning. I do think the poor boy _is_ very fond of you, eh?"
Enid Crofton put out her hand and took his in hers. She squeezed itconvulsively. "I feel so miserable," she sobbed, "so miserable andlonely!"
"Do you, dear--" And then they both started violently, and Radmore movedhis chair away with a quick movement, for the door behind them had swungopen, and Jack Tosswill, quite unaware of the other man's presence, camethrough it, and at once began speaking eagerly, excitedly, in a voice sounlike his usual "home" voice that Radmore hardly recognised it:--
"I'm so glad you're downstairs. I came this morning I hope you gotmy--" and then he saw the other man, and checked himself abruptly.
He had
given the beloved woman he regarded as his future wife, his mostsolemn word of honour that no one should suspect that they were more thanmere acquaintances. So, after a perceptible pause, he concluded, lamely,"my step-mother's message."
"Yes, I did; thank you very much."
He saw that she had been crying, and his heart welled up with tenderness,and with angry, impatient annoyance against Radmore's presence.
Why didn't the stupid fellow go? Surely he must realise, surely theremust be something in the atmosphere, which must tell even the blindest ofonlookers, how things were between him, Jack Tosswill, and the invalid?
But Radmore was quite impervious to the atmosphere of emotion andstrain--or so it seemed. On and on he sat, Enid Crofton languidly makingconversation with them both in turn, until at last Rosamund came in, andboth men rose to leave together.
And then something curious happened. Radmore, even while conscious thathe was a fool, felt a violent desire to see Enid Crofton again and verysoon, alone. He was trying to make up a form of words to convey this toher before the other two, when good fortune seemed to favour him, forbrother and sister began--as they were wont to do--wrangling together.
Seeing his opportunity he bent down a little over Mrs. Crofton's couch inorder to suggest to her that he should come again to-morrow. And then, ina flash, the whole expression of his face altered and stiffened. Halfunder the lace coverlet over the eiderdown a letter written on familiarlooking pale grey notepaper was sticking out, and he couldn't helpseeing the words:--"My own darling angel."
Straightening himself quickly and hardly knowing what he was saying, heexclaimed, "I do hope you'll soon feel all right again."
And then he saw that she was aware of what had happened for she becameeven whiter than she had been before. Every bit of colour fled from herface--except for the unnaturally pink lips.
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