“Not all the explanations in the world…”

She began to cry. “There, there, my dear lady. Cry. Nothing relieves the feelings better.”

“Poor darling. She will die of a broken heart.”

“I think not. I have never yet had to give that as a cause of death.”

“You do not know her as I do… and oh, what will Emily say? It will all be my fault.” Emily was her sister, Mrs. Freeman.

“I think she must be telegraphed at once. Allow me to see to that.”

“Oh heavens—and where shall she sleep?”

The doctor smiled, but very gently, at this non sequitur. He had had to deal with such cases before; and he knew the best prescription was an endless female fuss.

“Now, my dear Mrs. Tranter, I wish you to listen to me. For a few days you must see to it that your niece is watched day and night. If she wishes to be treated as an invalid, then treat her so. If she wishes tomorrow to get up and leave Lyme, then let her do so. Humor her, you understand. She is young, in excellent health. I guarantee that in six months she will be as gay as a linnet.”

“How can you be so cruel! She will never get over it. That wicked… but how…” A thought struck her and she reached out and touched the doctor’s sleeve. “There is another woman!”

Dr. Grogan pinched his nose. “That, I cannot say.”

“He is a monster.”

“But not so much of a monster that he has not declared himself one. And lost a party a good many monsters would have greedily devoured.”

“Yes. Yes. There is that to be thankful for.” But her mind was boxed by contradictions. “I shall never forgive him.” Another idea struck her. “He is still in the town? I shall go tell him my mind.”

He took her arm. “That I must forbid. He himself called me here. He waits now to hear that the poor girl is not in danger. I shall see him. Rest assured that I shall not mince matters. I’ll have his hide for this.”

“He should be whipped and put in the stocks. When we were young that would have been done. It ought to be done. The poor, poor angel.” She stood. “I must go to her.”

“And I must see him.”

“You will tell him from me that he has ruined the happiness of the sweetest, most trusting—”

“Yes yes yes… now calm yourself. And do find out why that serving-lass of yours is taking on so. Anyone would think her heart had been broken.”

Mrs. Tranter saw the doctor out, then drying her tears, climbed the stairs to Ernestina’s room. The curtains were drawn, but daylight filtered round the edges. Mary sat beside the victim. She rose as her mistress entered. Ernestina lay deep in sleep, on her back, but with her head turned to one side. The face was strangely calm and composed, the breathing quiet. There was even the faintest suggestion of a smile on those lips. The irony of that calm smote Mrs. Tranter again; the poor dear child, when she awoke… tears sprang again. She raised herself and dabbed her eyes, then looked at Mary for the first time. Now Mary really did look like a soul in the bottom-most pit of misery, in fact everything that Tina ought to have looked, but didn’t; and Mrs. Tranter remembered the doctor’s somewhat querulous parting words. She beckoned to the maid to follow her and they went out on the landing. With the door ajar, they spoke there in whispers.

“Now tell me what happened, child.”

“Mr. Charles ‘e called down, m’m, and Miss Tina was a-lying in faints an’ ‘e run out fer the doctor ‘n Miss Tina ‘er opens ‘er eyes on’y ‘er doan’ say no thin’ so’s I ‘elps ‘er up yere, I didden know ‘ow to do, for soon’s ‘er’s on ‘er bed, m’m, ‘er’s tooken by the istricks ‘n oh m’m I was so frighted ‘twas like ‘er was laffin’ and screamin’ and ‘er woulden stop. An’ then Doctor Grogan ‘e come ‘n ‘e calm ‘er down. Oh m’m.”

“There, there, Mary, you were a good girl. And did she say nothing?”

“On’y when us was a-comin” up the stairs, m’m, an’ ‘er asked where Mr. Charles was to, m’m. I tol’er ‘e’d agone to the doctor. ‘Twas what started the istricks, m’m.”

“Sh. Sh.”

For Mary’s voice had begun to rise and there were strong symptoms in her as well of the hysterics. Mrs. Tranter had, in any case, a strong urge to console something, so she took Mary into her arms and patted her head. Although she thereby broke all decent laws on the matter of the mistress-servant relationship, I rather think that that heavenly butler did not close his doors in her face. The girl’s body was racked with pent-up sobs, which she tried to control for the other sufferer’s sake. At last she quietened.

“Now what is it?”

“It’s Sam, m’m. ‘E’s downstairs. ‘E’s ‘ad bad words with Mr. Charles, m’m, an’ given in ‘is notice ‘n Mr. Charles woan’ giv’un no reffrums now.” She stifled a late sob. “Us doan’ know what’s to become of us.”

“Bad words? When was this, child?”

“Jus” afore ‘ee come in, m’m. On account o’ Miss Tina, m’m.”

“But how was that?”

“Sam ‘e knew ‘twas goin’ to ‘appen. That Mr. Charles—Vs a wicked wicked man, m’m. Oh m’m, us wanted to tell ‘ee but us didden dare.”

There was a low sound from the room. Mrs. Tranter went swiftly and looked in; but the face remained calm and deeply asleep. She came out again to the girl with the sunken head.

“I shall watch now, Mary. Let us talk later.” The girl bent her head even lower. “This Sam, do you truly love him?”

“Yes, m’m.”

“And does he love you?”

“’Tis why ‘e woulden go with ‘is master, m’m.”

“Tell him to wait. I should like to speak to him. And we’ll find him a post.”

Mary’s tear-stained face rose then.

“I doan’ ever want to leav’ee, m’m.”

“And you never shall, child—till your wedding day.”

Then Mrs. Tranter bent forward and kissed her forehead. She went and sat by Ernestina, while Mary went downstairs. Once in the kitchen she ran, to the cook’s disgust, outside and into the lilac shadows and Sam’s anxious but eager arms.

53

“She is… recovered?”

“I have put her to sleep.”

The doctor walked across the room and stood with his hands behind his back, staring down Broad Street to the sea.

“She… she said nothing?”

The doctor shook his head without turning; was silent a moment; then he burst round on Charles.

“I await your explanation, sir!”

And Charles gave it, baldly, without self-extenuation. Of Sarah he said very little. His sole attempt at an excuse was over his deception of Grogan himself; and that he blamed on his conviction that to have committed Sarah to any asylum would have been a gross injustice. The doctor listened with a fierce, intent silence. When Charles had finished he turned again to the window.

“I wish I could remember what particular punishments Dante prescribed for the Antinomians. Then I could prescribe them for you.”

“I think I shall have punishment enough.”

“That is not possible. Not by my tally.”

Charles left a pause.

“I did not reject your advice without much heart-searching.”

“Smithson, a gentleman remains a gentleman when he rejects advice. He does not do so when he tells lies.”

“I believed them necessary.”

“As you believed the satisfaction of your lust necessary.”

“I cannot accept that word.”

“You had better learn to. It is the one the world will attach to your conduct.”