by Dion Fortune
So all arrangements were made once more for walling Hugh up alive, and history was about to repeat itself, when in walked Jelkes and stood in the centre of the circle with his hands on his hips, glaring at them.
“What the hell do you think you're playing at?” he demanded of Dr Hughes, who jumped as if he had had a pin stuck in him. “What is it you propose to do that is worth twenty guineas a week till the cows come home?”
“My dear sir, my dear sir, I don't know what you are talking about, but your tone is most offensive. I must really take exception to it.”
“Have you had your ear to the keyhole?” snapped Hugh's youngest sister, her temper getting the upper hand of her mother's attempts to signal discretion and denials.
“No, not the keyhole; but the window is open and you've all got voices like peacocks.”
“Then why didn't you move out of earshot when you realised that private matters were being discussed?”
“Because Hugh Paston's got one friend, anyway.” Dr Hughes recovered his wits first.
“I do not think any disinterested person would deny that Mr Paston is not quite normal.”
“May be not. I don't dispute that,” said Jelkes, scowling at him under his bushy brows and contriving to look pretty formidable. “All the same, no disinterested person would try to get him certified, because he doesn't need it. Psycho-pathology is a thing I happen to know something about. And I'll tell you another thing too, in case you don't know it—there was a feller a little while ago who got let in for twenty thousand pounds damages for certifying a chap that didn't need certifying—but perhaps you do know that, as you put in for an indemnity. If you'll pardon my saying so, I think you're sailing damn near the wind.”
Dr Hughes looked down his nose. His twenty guineas a week was going to take some earning. It requires considerable nerve to sail near the wind in front of witnesses of the ram-you-damn-you type of Jelkes.
He turned to his female companions.
“I think, dear ladies, we might as well be going. There is nothing more we can do for the moment.”
They all filed out, giving Jelkes awful looks as they went.
Jelkes went hastily to the chapel as the dying sounds of the car assured him that they had really gone. He looked in, but it was pitch dark and dead still. All the same, he fetched a lamp from the living room and looked in again. Then, as he expected, he saw, kneeling in front of the altar that was not a Christian altar, the figure of a man, and that man, whoever he might be, was calling upon strange gods.
Jelkes groaned, withdrew quietly, and returned to the house.
He called to Mona, who had retreated to her bedroom under the irruption of Hugh's womenfolk, and told her what had happened. Ambrosius had arrived in front of witnesses—hostile witnesses, as they had expected would happen sooner or later, and had probably come to stay. Jelkes made no secret of his expectation that the morning would see the arrival of a large car, first cousin to a hearse, containing three or four of that curious variety of gentleman's gentlemen who minister to a mind diseased, and that would be the last they would see of Hugh; and if Mona succeeded in collecting from the persons who would take charge of his affairs the salary actually due to her, she would be uncommon lucky. As Hugh was at present, certification could hardly be disputed.
It was at this moment, as they were debating the gloomy prospect, that the sounds of a car on the drive were heard once more.
“My God!” said Jelkes. “What is it now?”
He went to the door, and there confronted a short, dapper, elderly man, who got out of a coupe as neat and small as himself.
“Good evening,” he said. “Is Mr Paston at home?”
“No, he isn't,” said Jelkes curtly, eyeing him with unconcealed hostility, at which the new-comer looked rather taken aback.
“That's a pity,” he said. “I thought I could have saved him a trip into town. I have just been with Miss Pumfrey, getting her signature, and I thought perhaps I could get his, and hand over the deeds and be done with it. Perhaps you would be good enough to ask him to call at my office at his convenience. My name is Watney.”
Jelkes looked at him for a moment. “Is it?” he said. “Come inside,” and held the door open.
Mr Watney entered, and passed into the living-room, where he saw Mona, obviously agitated, standing before the fire. He greeted her, and Jelkes was formally introduced to him, though without explanation, so he was none the wiser. He sensed the tenseness of the atmosphere, however, and noted the absence of Hugh. He wondered why the impersonal Miss Wilton, whose interest in Hugh Paston was purely commercial, should look so very agitated.
She offered no explanation, however, but gazed at the old man, her alleged uncle, as if wondering what his policy might be.
“Sit down,” said Jelkes curtly.
Mr Watney sat as bid.
“We're in the devil of a mess,” said Jelkes.
Mr Watney looked at him enquiringly, but with true legal caution uttered no comment.
Jelkes suddenly turned to the girl.
“You tell him, Mona, you'll put it better than I will.” The girl hesitated. “What is it you mean to do, Uncle?” she asked.
“We've got to have someone to help us, Mona, they'll shove Hugh in an asylum if we don't.”
Mr Watney raised his eyebrows.
“This is the position, sir,” said Jelkes, turning to him again. “My friend Hugh Paston, has recently been through a good deal of trouble—lost his wife in rather tragic circumstances.”
Watney nodded. He evidently knew. (” Now how did you know?” thought Jelkes.)
“The result has been to upset him a good deal, and to bring on—er—split personality. I dare say you have heard of such things?”
“Yes, I have heard of them,” said the man of law, dry and non-committal.
“There are times—” Jelkes struggled on, “when he shifts from his normal self into a—er—secondary personality.”
“And the time at the museum was one of them,” said Watney, looking at Mona.
“Yes,” said Mona.
“I knew that wasn't an ordinary faint,” said Mr Watney.
“The point is this,” said Jelkes. “In my opinion, and I know something of abnormal psychology, Hugh will soon right himself, and anyway, he's harmless. But the trouble is, his family seem to want to get him certified.”
“Why should they wish to do that, if it is not necessary?”
“Because if he were certified, they would have the control of a very large estate, and their children, that is, his sisters' children, would come in for it. Whereas, if he remains at large and—er—should marry again, he might have children, and then his children would come in for it.”
“Is he likely to marry again?”
Jelkes hesitated.
“Not that I know of,” said Mona.
Something, he could not say what, made Mr Watney look behind him, the others followed his glance, and there, in the doorway, stood Hugh, and, Jelkes thanked his stars, it was Hugh, and not Ambrosius.
“I am afraid I have been an involuntary eavesdropper for the bulk of your conversation,” said Hugh, coming slowly into the room. He never looked at Mona.
“Then,” said Jelkes, “you know the lie of the land?”
“I am beginning to grasp it. So this is the explanation of the—seizures—that alarmed Miss Wilton?” He looked at Mona for the first time.
“Yes,” said Mona miserably.
“I am not surprised,” said Hugh. “It must have been a very alarming experience.”
He turned to the solicitor. “Well, Mr Watney, it looks as if I were in for a life sentence if I don't watch my step. What about it? You are a man of law, can you suggest anything?”
“I can only suggest that you consult your lawyer and your family physician, Mr Paston.”
“That would be just walking into the lion's den. It is our family physician who is in on this thing. As for my lawyers, well, I don't know. I should
n't be surprised if I were worth more to them locked up than loose.”
“Is there no person, no friend of the family, of your late father for instance, upon whose disinterestedness you can rely?”
Hugh waved his hand towards the old book-seller.
“Jelkes, here,” he said. “I don't know of another soul. Unless, maybe—?” he looked at Mona and hesitated.
“I would do what I could,” said Mona quietly.
“I am glad to have that assurance,” said Hugh, “and I shan't—” he hesitated, seeking the word that would express what he meant, “I shan't overstep my welcome.”
There was high tension in the atmosphere, and everybody felt acutely embarrassed.
Jelkes broke it. “Do you know what I should do, if I were you, Hugh? I should take your affairs out of the hands of your solicitors, if you don't feel you can trust 'em, and get Mr Watney to look after them for you.”
“That's just what was in my mind,” said Hugh. “That is, if Mr Watney is willing?”
“Er—well, of course I—er—I—er—should be very pleased.” Who wouldn't be? But, to his credit, the little man had not fished for it. “But—er—family lawyers, Mr Paston? Things may be complicated. Did your father tie things up with them in any way?”
“Not with these lawyers. I shifted to them to please my wife. She couldn't abide the others. Had no end of a row with them. We disentangled all the legal knots then. I haven't been with these folk much over three years.”
“Then in that case, I shall be very pleased to take charge of your affairs, though I should have felt some diffidence in taking them out of the hands of family lawyers.”
“And I'd like you to have them,” said Hugh, suddenly smiling at him. The little old bachelor beamed back. Hugh had pulled off his stunt once more. Mr Watney had followed Mrs Pascoe into the cohort of those who looked after Hugh far better than he could look after himself.
“Now, Mr Paston,” said the little lawyer, suddenly losing his diffidence and becoming authoritative. “I should advise you to give me the necessary authority to take over all your papers from your present firm, and I will send a clerk up first thing tomorrow morning, before they know what is afoot, and collect 'em. Possession is nine points of the law. Secondly, if you feel sufficient confidence in us, I suggest that you give me your Power of Attorney, to come into effect in the event of your incapacity. They'll contest that, of course, if we ever have to use it, which I hope we won't. But again, possession is nine points of the law, and they will have to dislodge us from an entrenched position. A High Court job, Me Paston. Plenty of publicity. The right counsel could make 'em wish they were dead. Bargaining power, my dear sir, bargaining power is never to be despised. Say to a man, ‘If I can't, you shan't', and he often becomes reasonable. Applied psychology—a very useful thing. More useful than law sometimes. Lawyers concentrate on law and forget the psychology of litigants. That, in my opinion, is foolish. I have won quite as many cases with psychology as I have with law.”
He beamed at them all through his horn-rimmed glasses, in his element. He loved litigation for its own sake. It was never his choice to see the Sign of the Cross go onto a brief. It sealed a hard bargain on any brief of his that bore it.
“What is the point in giving you Power of Attorney?” said Mona curtly.
“It is this, Miss Wilton. Supposing they did certify Mr Paston, they would not obtain control of his affairs without a tremendous struggle. I'd fight them tooth and nail through every court in the country. They'll know that, without being told. I think you will find that as soon as they know there is a Power of Attorney in existence, they will drop the idea of certification, especially if Mr Paston places himself in the hands of a doctor. As we all know, there is no point in certifying our friend here for his own sake, and no disinterested person would try to; and with you and Mr Jelkes to look after him, I am sure it won't be long before even an interested person wouldn't be able to.”
He looked round with a beaming smile, but had a subconscious feeling that he had said the wrong thing.
“I think that's O.K.,” said Hugh wearily, as if bored to death with the whole transaction. “Who'll we get for the disinterested doctor? Mrs Macintosh's husband's cousin?”
“No,” said Mona decisively. “He's all right for a cold on the chest, no one better, but he'd be no good for this job. He'd be like Mrs Macintosh, incredulous and scared at the same time.”
Mr Watney pricked up his ears. He had sensed all along that there was much more in the whole transaction than met the eye.
“Now that I am definitely acting for you, Mr Paston,” he said, “I may as well tell you that your previous solicitors asked a great many questions in connection with the conveyancing of this place. Questions which I thought rather odd. Naturally I did not answer them. I told them that their client was their business, and my client was my business. In the usual legal terminology, of course.”
“What did they want to know?” said jelkes, looking at Hugh, who seemed to be sunk in thought and to have lost all interest in the discussion.
“They wanted to know through whose introduction Mr Paston had got in touch with Miss Pumfrey. I told 'em I didn't know. I don't, either. Then they asked me, over the phone, as a favour, to try and find out. I said: ‘He's your client not mine. I can't act for both sides. Ask him, if you want to know, and if he wants you to know, he'll tell you’. They don't know a blessed thing about conveyancing. It's they who've hung us up all this time. They're divorce and criminal lawyers. What you're doing in that galley, I don't know, Mr Paston.”
“What's their standing?” said Jelkes.
“I'd sooner not express an opinion,” said Watney.
“I told that lad he wanted an uncle:” said Jelkes with one of his sudden camel-grins. “He will call me uncle, you know, though I run a book-shop, not a pop-shop.”
The two old men exchanged smiles and looked at Hugh affectionately, who took no manner of notice of them, being sunk in thought. They looked back at each other anxiously.
“I presume you are an old friend?” said Mr Watney.
“Not a bit of it,” said Jelkes. “No older than you are. He drifted into my shop after his wife's funeral, on his beam-ends, and I took him in and looked after him, as no one else seemed disposed to.”
“Well, well, well,” said Mr Watney. “What a state of affairs.” He looked at Mona, but no further information was forthcoming.
He turned to Jelkes, and spoke in a low voice:
“With regard to the doctor, I should get him to run up to town first thing tomorrow morning if I were you, and see someone really first-class, whose opinion cannot be gainsaid.”
“No,” said Jelkes. “We'll have the local saw-bones in tonight. I'm taking no chances.”
“I know the man we want:' continued Mr Watney in a low voice. “A young chap who's just set up in the district. He'll be very pleased to have a patient from me and will do as I tell him. You leave it to me. I'll send him along on my way back.”
Having speeded the parting guest, Jelkes returned to the living-room to find that Mona had disappeared. She had evidently got no mind for a têtè a têtè with Hugh in his present state. Jelkes sat down and had a good look at him, and what he saw, he did not like. He seemed suddenly to have aged in a very curious manner. When he had first arrived at the shop, immediately after the shock of his wife's death, he had looked a good ten years older than his real age. That look had passed away as the days went by, and though he had premature lines on his face, probably of many years standing, Hugh, animated, was very boyish. Now, however, he had a curious look, as if of a man whose work is over and who is waiting for death. Jelkes had seen it on the faces of men who had been dismissed after a life-time in one job. He did not like it at all.
Neither did he like the way Hugh was sunk in thought, paying no attention to anything. He spoke to him, just to see if he would respond or not.
“Well, Hugh, what are you going to do? Are you going to p
ush on with the furnishing of this place under the circumstances?t”
Hugh roused himself with an effort.
“I am sure I don't know. Hadn't thought about it,” he replied. “Miss Wilton can get whatever's needful.” Jelkes' quick ear caught the change of name, and queried its significance.
They sat for a while in silence, and then a car was heard once more on the drive.
“That'll be Watney's saw-bones,” said Jelkes. “At least I hope to God it is.” It was.
He proved to be a young fellow, masking nervousness under over-assurance.
“Mr Watney told you about the case?” said Jelkes in a low voice as he admitted him.
He nodded.
“Want to see him alone?”
“Yes, please.”
Jelkes grunted, showed him in, and shut the door on him.
The new-comer stood looking at his patient in silence for a moment, and Hugh, sensing the presence of a stranger, suddenly looked up.
“Hullo?, I beg your pardon,” he said. “I didn't know there was anyone there.”
“Mr Watney asked me to come and see you. I am Dr Atkins.”
“Very good of you, I'm sure,” said Hugh, and conversation languished, Dr Atkins trying desperately to remember what had been taught him in his scanty instruction in the care of minds diseased. All he could recall was the law relating to certification. He knew as much about examining a mental case as he did about ballooning.
“Er, can you tell me what day of the week it is?” he said at length.
“It's been Wednesday all day long, so far as I know,” said Hugh, and silence fell again.
Dr Atkins felt himself beginning to perspire. This was his first important case in his first start in practice, and he was hashing it horribly. He felt he knew even less about psychiatry than he did about midwifery, and wished to God he had gone into partnership with an older man, instead of this ambitious start on his own. Private practice, he was discovering, was very different to walking the hospitals. A lot less science and a lot more common sense came into it.