‘Surely if anything had occurred, we should have been informed.’
He turned to Susie angrily.
‘How do you suppose we could know anything? She was quite helpless. She was imprisoned like a rat in a trap.’
‘But, my dear friend, you mustn’t give way in this fashion,’ said the doctor. ‘What would you say of a patient who came to you with such a story?’
Arthur answered the question with a shrug of the shoulders.
‘I should say he was absurdly hysterical.’
‘Well?’
‘I can’t help it, the feeling’s there. If you try all night you’ll never be able to argue me out of it. I feel it in every bone of my body. I couldn’t be more certain if I saw Margaret lying dead in front of me.’
Susie saw that it was indeed useless to reason with him. The only course was to accept his conviction and make the best of it.
‘What do you want us to do?’ she asked.
‘I want you both to come to England with me at once. If we start now we can catch the evening train.’
Susie did not answer, but she got up. She touched the doctor on the arm.
‘Please come,’ she whispered.
He nodded and untucked the napkin he had already arranged over his waistcoat.
‘I’ve got a cab at the door,’ said Arthur.
‘And what about clothes for Miss Susie?’ said the doctor.
‘Oh, we can’t wait for that,’ cried Arthur. ‘For God’s sake, come quickly.’
Susie knew that there was plenty of time to fetch a few necessary things before the train started, but Arthur’s impatience was too great to be withstood.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I can get all I want in England.’
He hurried them to the door and told the cabman to drive to the station as quickly as ever he could.
‘For Heaven’s sake, calm down a little,’ said Susie. ‘You’ll be no good to anyone in that state.’
‘I feel certain we’re too late.’
‘Nonsense! I’m convinced that you’ll find Margaret safe and sound.’
He did not answer. He gave a sigh of relief as they drove into the courtyard of the station.
14
Susie never forgot the horror of that journey to England. They arrived in London early in the morning and, without stopping, drove to Euston. For three or four days there had been unusual heat, and even at that hour the streets were sultry and airless. The train north was crowded, and it seemed impossible to get a breath of air. Her head ached, but she was obliged to keep a cheerful demeanour in the effort to allay Arthur’s increasing anxiety. Dr Porhoët sat in front of her. After the sleepless night his eyes were heavy and his face deeply lined. He was exhausted. At length, after much tiresome changing, they reached Venning. She had expected a greater coolness in that northern country; but there was a hot blight over the place, and, as they walked to the inn from the little station, they could hardly drag their limbs along.
Arthur had telegraphed from London that they must have rooms ready, and the landlady expected them. She recognized Arthur. He passionately desired to ask her whether anything had happened since he went away, but forced himself to be silent for a while. He greeted her with cheerfulness.
‘Well, Mrs Smithers, what has been going on since I left you?’ he cried.
‘Of course you wouldn’t have heard, sir,’ she answered gravely.
He began to tremble, but with an almost superhuman effort controlled his voice.
‘Has the squire hanged himself?’ he asked lightly.
‘No sir — but the poor lady’s dead.’
He did not answer. He seemed turned to stone. He stared with ghastly eyes.
‘Poor thing!’ said Susie, forcing herself to speak. ‘Was it — very sudden?’
The woman turned to Susie, glad to have someone with whom to discuss the event. She took no notice of Arthur’s agony.
‘Yes, mum; no one expected it. She died quite sudden like. She was only buried this morning.’
‘What did she die of?’ asked Susie, her eyes on Arthur.
She feared that he would faint. She wanted enormously to get him away, but did not know how to manage it.
‘They say it was heart disease,’ answered the landlady. ‘Poor thing! It’s a happy release for her.’
‘Won’t you get us some tea, Mrs Smithers? We’re very tired, and we should like something immediately.’
‘Yes, miss. I’ll get it at once.’
The good woman bustled away. Susie quickly locked the door. She seized
Arthur’s arm.
‘Arthur, Arthur.’
She expected him to break down. She looked with agony at Dr Porhoët, who stood helplessly by.
‘You couldn’t have done anything if you’d been here. You heard what the woman said. If Margaret died of heart disease, your suspicions were quite without ground.’
He shook her away, almost violently.
‘For God’s sake, speak to us,’ cried Susie.
His silence terrified her more than would have done any outburst of grief. Dr Porhoët went up to him gently.
‘Don’t try to be brave, my friend. You will not suffer as much if you allow yourself a little weakness.’
‘For Heaven’s sake leave me alone!’ said Arthur, hoarsely.
They drew back and watched him silently. Susie heard their hostess come along to the sitting-room with tea, and she unlocked the door. The landlady brought in the things. She was on the point of leaving them when Arthur stopped her.
‘How do you know that Mrs Haddo died of heart disease?’ he asked suddenly.
His voice was hard and stern. He spoke with a peculiar abruptness that made the poor woman look at him in amazement.
‘Dr Richardson told me so.’
‘Had he been attending her?’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Haddo had called him in several times to see his lady.’
‘Where does Dr Richardson live?’
‘Why, sir, he lives at the white house near the station.’
She could not make out why Arthur asked these questions.
‘Did Mr Haddo go to the funeral?’
‘Oh yes, sir. I’ve never seen anyone so upset.’
‘That’ll do. You can go.’
Susie poured out the tea and handed a cup to Arthur. To her surprise, he drank the tea and ate some bread and butter. She could not understand him. The expression of strain, and the restlessness which had been so painful, were both gone from his face, and it was set now to a look of grim determination. At last he spoke to them.
‘I’m going to see this doctor. Margaret’s heart was as sound as mine.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Do?’
He turned on her with a peculiar fierceness.
‘I’m going to put a rope round that man’s neck, and if the law won’t help me, by God, I’ll kill him myself.’
‘Mais, mon ami, vous êtes fou,’ cried Dr Porhoët, springing up.
Arthur put out his hand angrily, as though to keep him back. The frown on his face grew darker.
‘You must leave me alone. Good Heavens, the time has gone by for tears and lamentation. After all I’ve gone through for months, I can’t weep because Margaret is dead. My heart is dried up. But I know that she didn’t die naturally, and I’ll never rest so long as that fellow lives.’
He stretched out his hands and with clenched jaws prayed that one day he might hold the man’s neck between them, and see his face turn livid and purple as he died.
‘I am going to this fool of a doctor, and then I shall go to Skene.’
‘You must let us come with you,’ said Susie.
‘You need not be frightened,’ he answered. ‘I shall not take any steps of my own till I find the law is powerless.’
‘I want to come with you all the same.’
‘As you like.’
Susie went out and ordered a trap to be got ready. But since Ar
thur would not wait, she arranged that it should be sent for them to the doctor’s door. They went there at once, on foot.
Dr Richardson was a little man of five-and-fifty, with a fair beard that was now nearly white, and prominent blue eyes. He spoke with a broad Staffordshire accent. There was in him something of the farmer, something of the well-to-do tradesman, and at the first glance his intelligence did not impress one.
Arthur was shewn with his two friends into the consulting-room, and after a short interval the doctor came in. He was dressed in flannels and had an old-fashioned racket in his hand.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but Mrs Richardson has got a few lady-friends to tea, and I was just in the middle of a set.’
His effusiveness jarred upon Arthur, whose manner by contrast became more than usually abrupt.
‘I have just learnt of the death of Mrs Haddo. I was her guardian and her oldest friend. I came to you in the hope that you would be able to tell me something about it.’
Dr Richardson gave him at once, the suspicious glance of a stupid man.
‘I don’t know why you come to me instead of to her husband. He will be able to tell you all that you wish to know.’
‘I came to you as a fellow-practitioner,’ answered Arthur. ‘I am at St
Luke’s Hospital.’ He pointed to his card, which Dr Richardson still held.
‘And my friend is Dr Porhoët, whose name will be familiar to you with
respect to his studies in Malta Fever.’
‘I think I read an article of yours in the B.M.J.’ said the country doctor.
His manner assumed a singular hostility. He had no sympathy with London specialists, whose attitude towards the general practitioner he resented. He was pleased to sneer at their pretensions to omniscience, and quite willing to pit himself against them.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Burdon?’
‘I should be very much obliged if you would tell me as exactly as possible how Mrs Haddo died.’
‘It was a very simple case of endocarditis.’
‘May I ask how long before death you were called in?’
The doctor hesitated. He reddened a little.
‘I’m not inclined to be cross-examined,’ he burst out, suddenly making up his mind to be angry. ‘As a surgeon I daresay your knowledge of cardiac diseases is neither extensive nor peculiar. But this was a very simple case, and everything was done that was possible. I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you.’
Arthur took no notice of the outburst.
‘How many times did you see her?’
‘Really, sir, I don’t understand your attitude. I can’t see that you have any right to question me.’
‘Did you have a post-mortem?’
‘Certainly not. In the first place there was no need, as the cause of death was perfectly clear, and secondly you must know as well as I do that the relatives are very averse to anything of the sort. You gentlemen in Harley Street don’t understand the conditions of private practice. We haven’t the time to do post-mortems to gratify a needless curiosity.’
Arthur was silent for a moment. The little man was evidently convinced that there was nothing odd about Margaret’s death, but his foolishness was as great as his obstinacy. It was clear that several motives would induce him to put every obstacle in Arthur’s way, and chief of these was the harm it would do him if it were discovered that he had given a certificate of death carelessly. He would naturally do anything to avoid social scandal. Still Arthur was obliged to speak.
‘I think I’d better tell you frankly that I’m not satisfied, Dr Richardson. I can’t persuade myself that this lady’s death was due to natural causes.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ cried the other angrily. ‘I’ve been in practice for hard upon thirty-five years, and I’m willing to stake my professional reputation on it.’
‘I have reason to think you are mistaken.’
‘And to what do you ascribe death, pray?’ asked the doctor.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Upon my soul, I think you must be out of your senses. Really, sir, your behaviour is childish. You tell me that you are a surgeon of some eminence …’
‘I surely told you nothing of the sort.’
‘Anyhow, you read papers before learned bodies and have them printed. And you come with as silly a story as a Staffordshire peasant who thinks someone has been trying to poison him because he’s got a stomach-ache. You may be a very admirable surgeon, but I venture to think I am more capable than you of judging in a case which I attended and you know nothing about.’
‘I mean to take the steps necessary to get an order for exhumation, Dr Richardson, and I cannot help thinking it will be worth your while to assist me in every possible way.’
‘I shall do nothing of the kind. I think you very impertinent, sir. There is no need for exhumation, and I shall do everything in my power to prevent it. And I tell you as chairman of the board of magistrates, my opinion will have as great value as any specialist’s in Harley Street.’
He flounced to the door and held it open. Susie and Dr Porhoët walked out; and Arthur, looking down thoughtfully, followed on their heels. Dr Richardson slammed the street-door angrily.
Dr Porhoët slipped his arm in Arthur’s.
‘You must be reasonable, my friend,’ he said. ‘From his own point of view this doctor has all the rights on his side. You have nothing to justify your demands. It is monstrous to expect that for a vague suspicion you will be able to get an order for exhumation.’
Arthur did not answer. The trap was waiting for them.
‘Why do you want to see Haddo?’ insisted the doctor. ‘You will do no more good than you have with Dr Richardson.’
‘I have made up my mind to see him,’ answered Arthur shortly. ‘But there is no need that either of you should accompany me.’
‘If you go, we will come with you,’ said Susie.
Without a word Arthur jumped into the dog-cart, and Susie took a seat by his side. Dr Porhoët, with a shrug of the shoulders, mounted behind. Arthur whipped up the pony, and at a smart trot they traversed the three miles across the barren heath that lay between Venning and Skene.
When they reached the park gates, the lodgekeeper, as luck would have it, was standing just inside, and she held one of them open for her little boy to come in. He was playing in the road and showed no inclination to do so. Arthur jumped down.
‘I want to see Mr Haddo,’ he said.
‘Mr Haddo’s not in,’ she answered roughly.
She tried to close the gate, but Arthur quickly put his foot inside.
‘Nonsense! I have to see him on a matter of great importance.’
‘Mr Haddo’s orders are that no one is to be admitted.’
‘I can’t help that, I’m proposing to come in, all the same.’
Susie and Dr Porhoët came forward. They promised the small boy a shilling to hold their horse.
‘Now then, get out of here,’ cried the woman. ‘You’re not coming in, whatever you say.’
She tried to push the gate to, but Arthur’s foot prevented her. Paying no heed to her angry expostulations, he forced his way in. He walked quickly up the drive. The lodge-keeper accompanied him, with shrill abuse. The gate was left unguarded, and the others were able to follow without difficulty.
‘You can go to the door, but you won’t see Mr Haddo,’ the woman cried angrily. ‘You’ll get me sacked for letting you come.’
Susie saw the house. It was a fine old building in the Elizabethan style, but much in need of repair; and it had the desolate look of a place that has been uninhabited. The garden that surrounded it had been allowed to run wild, and the avenue up which they walked was green with rank weeds. Here and there a fallen tree, which none had troubled to remove, marked the owner’s negligence. Arthur went to the door and rang a bell. They heard it clang through the house as though not a soul lived there. A man came to the door, and as soon as he opened it, Art
hur, expecting to be refused admission, pushed in. The fellow was as angry as the virago, his wife, who explained noisily how the three strangers had got into the park.
‘You can’t see the squire, so you’d better be off. He’s up in the attics, and no one’s allowed to go to him.’
The man tried to push Arthur away.
‘Be off with you, or I’ll send for the police.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Arthur. ‘I mean to find Mr Haddo.’
The housekeeper and his wife broke out with abuse, to which Arthur listened in silence. Susie and Dr Porhoët stood by anxiously. They did not know what to do. Suddenly a voice at their elbows made them start, and the two servants were immediately silent.
‘What can I do for you?’
Oliver Haddo was standing motionless behind them. It startled Susie that he should have come upon them so suddenly, without a sound. Dr Porhoët, who had not seen him for some time, was astounded at the change which had taken place in him. The corpulence which had been his before was become now a positive disease. He was enormous. His chin was a mass of heavy folds distended with fat, and his cheeks were puffed up so that his eyes were preternaturally small. He peered at you from between the swollen lids. All his features had sunk into that hideous obesity. His ears were horribly bloated, and the lobes were large and swelled. He had apparently a difficulty in breathing, for his large mouth, with its scarlet, shining lips, was constantly open. He had grown much balder and now there was only a crescent of long hair stretching across the back of his head from ear to ear. There was something terrible about that great shining scalp. His paunch was huge; he was a very tall man and held himself erect, so that it protruded like a vast barrel. His hands were infinitely repulsive; they were red and soft and moist. He was sweating freely, and beads of perspiration stood on his forehead and on his shaven lip.
For a moment they all looked at one another in silence. Then Haddo turned to his servants.
‘Go,’ he said.
As though frightened out of their wits, they made for the door and with a bustling hurry flung themselves out. A torpid smile crossed his face as he watched them go. Then he moved a step nearer his visitors. His manner had still the insolent urbanity which was customary to him.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 152