The House Opposite: A Mystery

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER XII

  A PROFESSIONAL VISIT OUT OF TOWN

  BEVERLEY, L. I., Monday, August 15.

  DEAR CHARLEY:

  My leg is worse. Won't you run down here and have a look at it? I also want your advice about May Derwent.

  Aff. yours, FRED.

  When I received this note early on Tuesday morning, I at once madearrangements for a short absence. Now that duty, and not inclinationalone, called me elsewhere, I had no scruples about leaving New York;and when, a few hours later, after visiting my most urgent cases, Ifound myself on a train bound for Beverley, I blessed Fred's leg, whichhad procured me this unexpected little holiday. What a relief it was toleave the dust and the noise of the city behind, and to feast my eyesonce more on the sight of fields and trees.

  On arriving at my destination, I drove immediately to the Cowper'scottage. I found Fred in bed, with his leg a good deal swollen. Hisanxiety to go to the Derwents had tempted him to use it before it wassufficiently strong; consequently, he had strained it, and would now belaid up with it for some time longer.

  "Well, Charley," he said, when I had finished replacing the bandages, "Idon't suppose you are very sorry to be in this part of the world, eh? Myleg did you a good turn, didn't it?"

  I assented, curtly, for, although I agreed with him from the bottom ofmy heart, I didn't mean to be chaffed on a certain subject, even by him.

  In order, probably, to tease me, he made no further allusion to theother object of my visit, so that I was, at last, forced to broach thesubject myself.

  "Oh, May? She's really much better. There is no doubt of it. I think theidea of brain fever thoroughly frightened her, for now she meekly obeysorders, and takes any medicine I prescribe without a murmur."

  "Well, but then why did you write that you wished to consult me abouther?"

  "Because, Charley," he replied, laying aside his previously flippantmanner, "although her general health has greatly improved, I can'tsay as much for her nervous condition. The latter seems to me sounsatisfactory that I am beginning to believe that Mrs. Derwent wasnot far wrong when she suggested that her daughter might be slightlydemented."

  I felt myself grow cold, notwithstanding the heat of the day. Then,remembering the quiet and collected way she had behaved undercircumstances as trying as any I could imagine a girl's being placed in,I took courage again. May was not insane. I would not believe it.

  "At all events," continued Fred, "I felt that she should not be leftwithout medical care, and, as I can't get out to see her, and as shedetests the only other doctor in the place, I suggested to Mrs. Derwentthat she should consult you. Being a friend of mine, ostensibly here ona simple visit, it would be the most natural thing in the world for youto go over to their place, and you could thus see May, and judge of hercondition without her knowing that she was under observation."

  "That's well. It is always best to see a nervous patient off guard, ifpossible. Now, tell me all the particulars of the case."

  When he had done this, I could not refrain from asking whether Normanwas still there.

  "Certainly! And seems likely to remain indefinitely."

  "Really?"

  "Yes! I forgot to tell you that May begged to be allowed to see himyesterday. As she was able to get up, and lie on the sofa, I consented,for I feared a refusal would agitate her too much. I only stipulatedthat he should not remain with her over half an hour. What occurredduring this meeting, of course, I don't know. But May experienced no badeffects. On the contrary, her mother writes that she has seemed calmerand more cheerful ever since."

  "They are probably engaged. Don't you think so?" And as I put thequestion, I knew that if the answer were affirmative my chance ofhappiness was gone for ever.

  "I don't believe it," he answered, "for after his interview with May,Norman spent the rest of the day sunk in the deepest gloom. He atescarcely anything, and when forced to remain in the house (feeling, Isuppose, that politeness demanded that he should give us at any rate alittle of his society) he moved restlessly from one seat to another.Several times he tried to pull himself together and to join in theconversation, but it was no use; notwithstanding all his efforts hewould soon relapse into his former state of feverish unrest. Now, thatdoesn't look like the behaviour of a happy lover, does it?

  "Since he has been here he has spent most of his time prowling aboutthe Derwents' house, and as Alice was leaving their place yesterdayevening she caught a glimpse of him hiding behind a clump of bushes justoutside their gate. At least, she is almost sure that it was he, butwas so afraid it would embarrass him to be caught playing sentinel that,after a cursory glance in his direction, she passed discreetly by.Afterwards it occurred to her that she should have made certain of hisidentity, for the man she saw may have been some questionable character.We are not sure that May's extreme nervousness is not due to the factthat she is being persecuted by some unscrupulous person, her brother,for instance. You know I have always believed that he was in some wayconnected with her illness."

  "I know you have."

  "But to return to Norman," continued Fred. "I not only suspect him ofhaunting her door by day, but of spending a good part of the nightthere. At any rate, I used to hear him creeping in and out of the houseat all sorts of unusual hours. The first night I took him for a burglar,and showed what I consider true courage by starting out after him withan empty pistol and--a crutch!"

  "I don't think that anything you have told me, however, is at allincompatible with his being Miss Derwent's accepted suitor. His distressis probably due to anxiety about her health." I said this, hoping hewould contradict me.

  Whether he would have done so or not I shall never know, for at thatpoint our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of his sister;and as it had been previously arranged that she was to drive me over tothe Derwents, we started off at once.

  At last I was to see my lady again! It seemed too good to be true.

  Having given our names to the butler, we were ushered into a largedrawing-room, redolent with flowers. So this was May's home.

  I glanced eagerly about. These chairs had held her slight form; at thatdesk she had written, and these rugs had felt the impress of her littlefeet. A book lay near me on a small table. I passed my fingers lovinglyover it. This contact with an object she must often have touched gaveme an extraordinary pleasure,--a pleasure so great as to make me forgeteverything else,--and I started guiltily, and tried to lay the book downunobserved, when a tall, grey-haired lady stepped from the veranda intothe room.

  Mrs. Derwent greeted Miss Cowper affectionately, and welcomed me withquiet grace.

  "Fred has told me so much about you, Dr. Fortescue, that I am very gladto meet you at last."

  Then, turning to Alice Cowper, she said: "May wants very much to seeyou. She is lying in a hammock on the piazza, where it is much coolerthan here. Dr. Fortescue and I will join you girls later."

  "You have been told of my daughter's condition?" she inquired, as soonas we were alone.

  "Yes. I hear, however, that there has been a marked improvement sinceSunday."

  "There was a great improvement. She seemed much less nervous yesterday,but to-day she has had another of her attacks."

  "I am sorry to hear that. Do you know what brought this one on?"

  "Yes. It was reading in the paper of the Frenchman's assault on you!"

  "But I don't understand why that should have affected her."

  "You will forgive my saying so, Doctor--neither do I, although I amextremely glad that you escaped from that madman unhurt."

  She looked at me for a moment in silence, then said: "When Fred advisedme to consult you about my daughter's health, I knew immediately that Ihad heard your name before, but could not remember in what connection Ihad heard it mentioned. In fact, it was not until I read in the _Bugle_that the man who was supposed to have committed the Rosemere murder had,last night, attempted to kill you that I realized that you were theyoung doctor whom my daughter had to
ld me about. You were present whenshe was made to give an account of herself to the coroner, were younot?"

  "Yes, but I trust that my slight association with that affair will makeno difference."

  She again interrupted me: "It makes the greatest difference, I assureyou. As you are aware of the exact nature of the shock she hassustained, I am spared the painful necessity of informing a stranger ofher escapade. We are naturally anxious that the fact of her having beenin the building at the time of the murder should be known to as fewpeople as possible. I am, therefore, very grateful to you for notmentioning the matter, even to Fred. Although I have been obliged toconfide in him myself, I think that your not having done so indicatesrare discretion on your part."

  I bowed.

  "You may rely on me," I said. "I have the greatest respect andadmiration for Miss Derwent, and would be most unwilling to say anythingwhich might lay her open to misconstruction."

  "Thank you. Now, Doctor, you know exactly what occurred. You areconsequently better able than any one else to judge whether what she hasbeen through is in itself enough to account for her present illness."

  "She is still very nervous?"

  "Incredibly so. She cannot bear to be left alone a minute."

  "And you know of no reason for this nervousness other than herexperience at the Rosemere?"

  "None."

  "May I ask how the news of the butler's attack on me affected her?" Howsweet to think that she had cared at all!

  "Very strangely," replied Mrs. Derwent. "After reading the accountof it she fainted, and it was quite an hour before she recoveredconsciousness. Since then she has expressed the greatest desire to go toNew York, but will give no reason for this absurd whim. Mr. Norman wasalso much upset by the thought of the danger you had incurred."

  "Mr. Norman! But I don't know him!"

  "So he told me. To be able to feel so keenly for a stranger shows anextraordinary sensibility, does it not?"

  She looked at me keenly.

  "It does, indeed! It is most inexplicable!"

  "I don't know whether Fred has told you that since my daughter was takenill on Sunday she cannot bear to have Mr. Norman out of her sight. Hehas been here all day, and now she insists on his leaving the Cowpersand staying with us altogether. Her behaviour is incomprehensible."

  This was pleasant news for me!

  "Surely this desire for his society can mean but one thing?"

  "Of course, you think that she must care for him, but I am quite surethat she does not."

  "Really?" I could hardly keep the note of pleasure out of my voice.

  "If she were in love with him I should consider her conduct quitenormal. But it is the fact of her indifference that makes it so verycurious."

  "You are sure this indifference is real and not assumed?"

  "Quite sure," replied Mrs. Derwent. "She tries to hide it, but I can seethat his attentions are most unwelcome to her. If he happens, in handingher something, to touch her accidentally, she visibly shrinks from him.Oh, Mr. Norman has noticed this as well as I have, and it hurts him."

  "And yet she cannot bear him out of her sight, you say?"

  "Exactly. As long as he is within call she is quiet and contented, andin his absence she fidgets. And yet she does not care to talk to him,and does so with an effort that is perfectly apparent to me. The poorfellow is pathetically in love, and I can see that he suffers keenlyfrom her indifference."

  "I suppose he expects his patient devotion to win the day in the end."

  "I don't think he does. I felt it my duty in the face of May'sbehaviour--which is unusual, to say the least--to tell him that I didn'tbelieve she cared for him or meant to marry him. 'I quite understandthat,' was all he answered. But why he does not expect her to do so, iswhat I should like to know. As she evidently can't live without him, Idon't see why she won't live with him.

  "But now, Dr. Fortescue," added Mrs. Derwent, rising to leave the room,"let us go to my daughter. She is prepared to see you. But your visit ispurely social, remember."

  A curtain of honeysuckle and roses protected one end of the piazzafrom the rays of an August sun, and it was in this scented nook, amidsurroundings whose peace and beauty contrasted strangely with those ofour first meeting, that I at last saw May Derwent again. She lay in ahammock, her golden head supported by a pile of be-ruffled cushions, andwith one small slipper peeping from under her voluminous skirts. At ourapproach, however, she sprang to her feet, and came forward to meet us.I had thought and dreamt of her for six long weary days and nights, andyet, now that she stood before me, dressed in a trailing, white gownof some soft material, slightly opened at the neck and revealing herstrong, white, young throat, her firm, rounded arms bare to the elbow,and with one superb rose (I devoutly hoped it was one of those I hadsent her) as her only ornament, she made a picture of such surpassingloveliness as fairly to take my breath away. I had been doubtful as tohow she would receive me, so that when she smilingly held out her hand,I felt a great weight roll off my heart. Her manner was perfectlycomposed, much more so than mine in fact. A beautiful blush alonebetrayed her embarrassment at meeting me.

  "Why, Dr. Fortescue," exclaimed Alice Cowper, "you never told me thatyou knew May."

  "Our previous acquaintance was so slight that I did not expect MissDerwent to remember me." I answered evasively, wondering, as I did so,whether May had confided to her friend where and when it was that we hadmet.

  "I want to congratulate you, Doctor," said Miss Derwent, changing theconversation abruptly, "on your recent escape."

  "From the madman, you mean? It was a close shave, I assure you. Forseveral minutes I was within nodding distance of St. Peter."

  "How dreadful! But why was the fellow not locked up long before this?"

  "I did all I could to have him put under restraint. Several days ago Itold a detective that I was sure not only that Argot was insane, butthat he had committed the Rosemere murder. But he wouldn't listento me, and I came very near having to pay with my life for hispig-headedness. Every one has now come round to my way of thinkingexcept this same detective, who still insists that the butler isinnocent."

  Now that the blush had faded from her cheek, I realised that she wasindeed looking wretchedly pale and thin, and as she leaned eagerlyforward I was shocked to see how her lips twitched and her handstrembled.

  "So it was you who first put the police on the Frenchman's tracks?" shedemanded.

  "Yes. But you must remember that the success my first attempt atdetective work has met with is largely due to the exceptionalopportunities I have had for investigating this case. You may havenoticed that no hat was found with the corpse and the police havetherefore been searching everywhere for one that could reasonably besupposed to have belonged to the murdered man. Now, I may tell you,although I must ask you not to mention it, as the police do not yet wishthat the fact become known, that it was I who found this missing hat inArgot's possession. But I can't boast much of my discovery, because theman brought it into my office himself. All I really did was to keep myeyes open, you see." I tried to speak modestly, for I was conscious of asecret pride in my achievement.

  "I really cannot see why you should have taken upon yourself to play thedetective!"

  I was so startled by May's sudden attack on me that for a moment Iremained speechless. Luckily, Mrs. Derwent saved me from the necessityof replying, by rising from her chair. Slipping her arm through MissCowper's, she said--casting a significant glance at me: "We will leavethese people to quarrel over the pros and cons of amateur work, and youand I will go and see what Mr. Norman is doing over there in that arbourall by himself."

  Fred had mentioned that at times May seemed alarmingly oblivious to whatwas going on around her, and I now noticed with profound anxiety thatshe appeared entirely unconscious of the departure of her mother andfriend.

  "Just suppose for a moment that this man Argot," she went on, as if ourconversation had not been interrupted, "is innocent, and yet owing to anunfortunate comb
ination of circumstances, is unable to prove himself so.Who should be held responsible for his death but you, Dr. Fortescue! Hadyou not meddled with what did not concern you, no one would have thoughtof suspecting this wretched Frenchman! You acknowledge that yourself?"

  "But, my dear Miss Derwent, why do you take for granted that the fellowis innocent?--although, in his present state of health, it really doesnot make much difference whether he is or not. In this country we do notpunish maniacs, even homicidal ones. We only shut them up till they arewell again. I think, however, that you take a morbid view of the wholequestion. Of course, justice sometimes miscarries, but not often, and toone person who is unjustly convicted, there are hundreds of criminalswho escape punishment. As with everything else--medicine, for instance;you do your best, take every precaution, and then, if you make amistake, the only thing to do is not to blame yourself too severely forthe consequences."

  "I quite agree with you," she said, "when to take a risk is part of yourbusiness. But is it not foolhardy to do so when there is no call forit?--when your inexperience renders you much more likely to commit somefatal error? What would you say if I tried to perform an operation, forinstance?"

  She was working herself into such a state of excitement that I becamealarmed; so, abruptly changing the subject, I inquired after her health.She professed to feel perfectly well (which I doubted). Still I did nottake as serious a view of her case as Fred had done; for I knew--whatboth he and Mrs. Derwent ignored--that while in town the poor girl hadbeen through various trying experiences. During that time she had notonly been forced to break with Greywood, to whom I was sure she had beenengaged, but an entanglement, the nature of which I did not know, hadinduced her to give shelter secretly, and at night, to two people ofundoubtedly questionable character. The shock of the murder was but aclimax to all this. No wonder that my poor darling--her heart bleedingfrom the uprooting of an affection which, however unworthy the objectof it had proved, must still have been difficult to eradicate; her mindharassed by the fear of impending disgrace to some person whom I mustbelieve her to be very intimately concerned with; her nerves shaken bythe horror of a murder under her very roof--should return to the havenof her home in a state bordering on brain fever. That she had notsuccumbed argued well for her constitution, I thought.

  "Fred is quite worried about you, and asked me to beg you to take greatcare of yourself," I ventured to say.

  "What nonsense! What I need is a little change. I should be all right ifI could get away from here."

  "This part of the world _is_ pretty hot, I acknowledge. A trip to Maineor Canada would, no doubt, do you a lot of good."

  "But I don't want to go to Maine or Canada--I want to go to New York."

  "To New York?"

  "Yes, why not? I find the country dull, and am longing for a glimpse ofthe city."

  "But the heat in town is insufferable, and there is nothing going onthere," I reminded her.

  "Roof gardens are always amusing, and when the heat gets to a certainpoint, it is equally unbearable everywhere."

  I begged to differ.

  "At all events, I want to go there, and my wishing to do so should beenough for you. O Doctor, make Fred persuade Mamma to take me. As theyboth insist that I am ill, I don't see why they won't let me indulgethis whim."

  "They think that it would be very bad for you."

  "Oh, it never does one any harm to do what one likes."

  "What a delightful theory!"

  "You will try and persuade Mamma and Fred to allow me to go to New York,won't you? You are a doctor; they would listen to you."

  I glanced down into her beseeching blue eyes, then looked hastily away.

  The temptation to allow her to do as she wished was very great. If Iwere able to see her every day, what opportunities I should have forpressing my suit! But I am glad to say that the thought of her welfarewas dearer to me than my hopes even. So I conscientiously used everyargument I could think of to induce her to remain where she was. But, asshe listened, I saw her great eyes fill slowly with tears.

  "Oh, I must go; I must go," she cried; and, burying her head in acushion, she burst into a flood of hysterical weeping.

  Her mother, hearing the commotion, flew to my assistance, but it wassome time before we succeeded in quieting her. At length, she recoveredsufficiently to be left to the care of her maid.

  I was glad to be able to assure Mrs. Derwent that, notwithstanding theseverity of the attack I had witnessed, I had detected in her daughterno symptom of insanity.

  As there was no further excuse for remaining, I allowed Miss Alice todrive me away. Young Norman, who was returning to the Cowper's to fetchhis bag, went with us; and his company did not add to my pleasure, Iconfess. I kept glancing at him, surreptitiously, anxious to discoverwhat it was that May saw in him. He appeared to me to be a very ordinaryyoung man. I had never, to my knowledge, met him before; yet, the longerI looked at him the more I became convinced that this was not the firsttime I had seen him, and, not only that, but I felt that I had somestrange association with him. But what? My memory refused to give upits secret. All that night I puzzled over it, but the following morningfound me with that riddle still unsolved.