Chapter 2 No.2

The justice-room was a small apartment in the older portion of Barracombe House; the low windows were heavily latticed, and faced west.

Sir Timothy sat before his writing-table, which was heaped with papers, directories, and maps; but he could no longer see to read or write. He made a stiff pretence of rising to greet the doctor as he entered, and then resumed his elbow-chair.

The rapidly failing daylight showed a large elderly, rather pompous gentleman, with a bald head, grizzled whiskers, and heavy plebeian features.

His face was smooth and unwrinkled, as the faces of prosperous and self-satisfied persons sometimes are, even after sixty, which was the age Sir Timothy had attained.

Dr. Blundell, who sat opposite his patient, was neither prosperous nor self-satisfied.

His dark clean-shaven face was deeply lined; care or over-work had furrowed his brow; and the rather unkempt locks of black hair which fell over it were streaked with white. From the deep-set brown eyes looked sadness and fatigue, as well as a great kindness for his fellow-men.

"I came the moment I received your letter," he said. "I had no idea you were back from London already."

"Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, pompously, "when I took the very unusual step of leaving home the day before yesterday, I had resolved to follow the advice you gave me. I went to fulfil an appointment I had made with a specialist."

"With Sir James Power?"

"No, with a man named Herslett. You may have heard of him."

"Heard of him!" ejaculated Blundell. "Why, he's world-famous! A new man. Very clever, of course. If anything, a greater authority. Only I fancied you would perhaps prefer an older, graver man."

"No doubt I committed a breach of medical etiquette," said Sir

Timothy, in self-satisfied tones. "But I fancied you might have

written your version of the case to Power. Ah, you did? Exactly. But

I was determined to have an absolutely unbiassed opinion."

"Well," said Blundell, gently.

"Well-I got it, that's all," said Sir Timothy. The triumph seemed to die out of his voice.

"Was it-unsatisfactory?"

"Not from your point of view," said the squire, with a heavy jocularity which did not move the doctor to mirth. "I'm bound to say he confirmed your opinion exactly. But he took a far more serious view of my case than you do."

"Did he?" said Blundell, turning away his head.

"The operation you suggested as a possible necessity must be immediate. He spoke of it quite frankly as the only possible chance of saving my life, which is further endangered by every hour of delay."

"Fortunately," said Blundell, cheerfully, "you have a fine constitution, and you have lived a healthy abstemious life. That is all in your favour."

"I am over sixty years of age," said Sir Timothy, coldly, "and the ordeal before me is a very severe one, as you must be well aware. I must take the risk of course, but the less said about the matter the better."

Dr. Blundell had always regarded Sir Timothy Crewys as a commonplace contradictory gentleman, beset by prejudices which belonged properly to an earlier generation, and of singularly narrow sympathies and interests. He believed him to be an upright man according to his lights, which were not perhaps very brilliant lights after all; but he knew him to be one whom few people found it possible to like, partly on account of his arrogance, which was excessive; and partly on account of his want of consideration for the feelings of others, which arose from lack of perception.

People are disliked more often for a bad manner than for a bad heart. The one is their private possession-the other they obtrude on their acquaintance.

Sir Timothy's heart was not bad, and he cared less for being liked than for being respected. He was the offspring of a mésalliance; and greatly over-estimating the importance in which his family was held, he imagined he would be looked down upon for this mischance, unless he kept people at a distance and in awe of him. The idea was a foolish one, no doubt, but then Sir Timothy was not a wise man; on the contrary, his lifelong determination to keep himself loftily apart from his fellow-men had resulted in an almost extraordinary ignorance of the world he lived in-a world which Sir Timothy regarded as a wild and misty place, peopled largely and unnecessarily with savages and foreigners, and chiefly remarkable for containing England; as England justified its existence by holding Devonshire, and more especially Barracombe.

Sir Timothy had never been sent to school, and owed such education as he possessed almost entirely to his half-sisters. These ladies were considerably his seniors, and had in turn been brought up at Barracombe by their grandmother; whose maxims they still quoted, and whose ideas they had scarcely outgrown. Under the circumstances, the narrowness of his outlook was perhaps hardly to be wondered at.

But the dull immovability and sense of importance which characterized him now seemed to the doctor to be almost tragically charged with the typical matter-of-fact courage of the Englishman; who displays neither fear nor emotion; and who would regard with horror the suspicion that such repression might be heroic.

"When is it to be?" said Blundell.

"To-morrow."

"To-morrow!"

"And here," said Sir Timothy; "Dr. Herslett objected, but I insisted. I won't be ill in a strange house. I shall recover far more rapidly-if I am to recover-among my people, in my native air. London stifles me. I dislike crowds and noise. I hate novelty. If I am to die, I will die at home."

"Herslett himself performs the operation, of course?"

"Yes. He is to arrive at Brawnton to-night, and sleep there. I shall send the carriage over for him and his assistants early to-morrow morning. You, of course, will meet him here, and the operation is to take place at eleven o'clock."

In his alarm lest the doctor might be moved to express sympathy, Sir

Timothy spoke with unusual severity.

Dr. Blundell understood, and was silent.

"I sent for you, of course, to let you know all this," said Sir

Timothy, "but I wished, also, to introduce you to my cousin, John

Crewys, who came down with me."

"The Q.C.?"

"Exactly. I have made him my executor and trustee, and guardian of my son."

"Jointly with Lady Mary, I presume?" said the doctor, unguardedly.

"Certainly not," said Sir Timothy, stiffly. "Lady Mary has never been troubled with business matters. That is why I urged John to come down with me. In case-anything-happens to-morrow, his support will be invaluable to her. I have a high opinion of him. He has succeeded in life through his own energy, and he is the only member of my family who has never applied to me for assistance. I inquired the reason on the journey down, for I know that at one time he was in very poor circumstances; and he replied that he would rather have starved than have asked me for sixpence. I call that a very proper spirit."

The doctor made no comment on the anecdote. "May I ask how Lady Mary is bearing this suspense?" he asked.

"Lady Mary knows nothing of the matter," said the squire, rather peevishly.

"You have not prepared her?"

"No; and I particularly desire she and my sisters should hear nothing of it. If this is to be my last evening on earth, I should not wish it to be clouded by tears and lamentations, which might make it difficult for me to maintain my own self-command. Herslett said I was not to be agitated. I shall bid them all good night just as usual. In the morning I beg you will be good enough to make the necessary explanations. Lady Mary need hear nothing of it till it is over, for you know she never leaves her room before twelve-a habit I have often deplored, but which is highly convenient on this occasion."

Dr. Blundell reflected for a moment. "May I venture to remonstrate with you, Sir Timothy?" he said. "I fear Lady Mary may be deeply shocked and hurt at being thus excluded from your confidence in so serious a case. Should anything go wrong," he added bluntly, "it would be difficult to account to her even for my own reticence."

Sir Timothy rose majestic from his chair. "You will say that I forbade you to make the communication," he said, with rather a displeased air.

"I beg your pardon," said Dr. Blundell, "but-"

"I am not offended," interrupted Sir Timothy, mistaking remonstrance for apology. He was quite honestly incapable of supposing that his physician would presume to argue with him.

"You do not, very naturally, understand Lady Mary's disposition as well as I do," he said, almost graciously. "She has been sheltered from anxiety, from trouble of every kind, since her childhood. To me, more than a quarter of a century her senior, she seems, indeed, still almost a child."

Dr. Blundell coloured. "Yet she is the mother of a grown-up son," he said.

"Peter grown-up! Nonsense! A schoolboy."

"Eighteen," said the doctor, shortly. "You don't wish him sent for?"

"Most certainly not. The Christmas holidays are only just over. Rest assured, Dr. Blundell," said Sir Timothy, with grim emphasis, "that I shall give Peter no excuse for leaving his work, if I can help it."

There was a tap at the door. The squire lowered his voice and spoke hurriedly.

"If it is the canon, tell him, in confidence, what I have told you, and say that I should wish him to be present to-morrow, in his official capacity, in case of-"

It was the canon, whose rosy good-humoured countenance appeared in the doorway whilst Sir Timothy was yet speaking.

"I hope I am not interrupting," he said, "but the ladies desired me-that is, Lady Belstone and Miss Crewys desired me-to let you know that tea was ready."

The canon had an innocent surprised face like a baby; he was constitutionally timid and amiable, and his dislike of argument, or of a loud voice, almost amounted to fear.

Sir Timothy mistook his nervousness for proper respect, and maintained a distant but condescending graciousness towards him.

"I hear you came back by the afternoon train, Sir Timothy. A London outing is a rare thing for you. I hope you enjoyed yourself," said the canon, with a meaningless laugh.

"I transacted my business successfully, thank you," said Sir Timothy, gravely.

"Brought back any fresh news of the war?"

"None at all."

"I hear the call for more men has been responded to all over the country. It's a fine thing, so many young fellows ready and willing to lay down their lives for their country."

"Very few young men, I believe," said Sir Timothy, frigidly, "can resist any opportunity to be concerned in brawling and bloodshed, especially when it is legalized under the name of war. My respect is reserved for the steady workers at home."

"And how much peace would the steady workers at home enjoy without the brawlers abroad to defend them, I wonder!" cried the canon, flushing all over his rosy face, and then suddenly faltering as he met the cold surprise of the squire's grey eyes.

"I have some letters to finish before post time," said Sir Timothy, after an impressive short pause of displeasure. "I will join you presently, Dr. Blundell, at the tea-table, if you will return to the ladies with Canon Birch."

Sir Timothy rang for lights, and his visitors closed the door of the study behind them. Dr. Blundell's backward glance showed him the tall and portly form silhouetted against the window; the last gleam of daylight illuminating the iron-grey hair; the face turned towards the hilltop, where the spires of the skeleton larches were sharply outlined against a clear western sky.

"What made you harp upon the war, man, knowing what his opinions are?" the doctor asked vexedly, as he stumbled along the uneven stone passage towards the hall.

"I did not exactly intend to do so; but I declare, the moment I see Sir Timothy, every subject I wish to avoid seems to fly to the tip of my tongue," said the poor canon, apologetically; "though I had a reason for alluding to the war to-night-a good reason, as I think you will acknowledge presently. I want your advice, doctor."

"Not for yourself, I hope," said the doctor, absently.

"Come into the gun-room for one moment," said Birch. "It is very important. Do you know I've a letter from Peter?"

"From Peter! Why should you have a letter from Peter?" said the doctor, and his uninterested tone became alert.

"I'm sure I don't know why not. I was always fond of Peter," said the canon, humbly. "Will you cast your eye over it? You see, it's written from Eton, and posted two days later in London."

Dr. Blundell read the letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand, and not guiltless of mistakes in spelling.

"DEAR CANON BIRCH,

"As my father wouldn't hear of my going out to South Africa, I've taken the law into my own hands. I wrote to my mother's cousin, Lord Ferries, to ask him to include me in his yeomanry corps. Of course I let him suppose papa was willing and anxious, which perhaps was a low-down game, but I remembered that all's fair in love and war; and besides, I consider papa very nearly a pro-Boer. We've orders to sail on Friday, which is sharp work; but I should be eternally disgraced now if they stopped me. As my father never listens to reason, far less to me, you had better explain to him that if he's any regard for the honour of our name, he's no choice left. I expect my mother had better not be told till I'm gone, or she will only fret over what can't be helped. I'll write to her on board, once we're safely started. I know you're all right about the war, so you can tell papa I was ashamed to be playing football while fellows younger than me, and fellows who can't shoot or ride as I can, are going off to South Africa every day.

"Yours affectionately,

"PETER CREWYS.

"P.S.-Hope you won't mind this job. I did try to get papa's leave fair and square first."

"I always said Peter was a fine fellow at bottom," said Canon Birch, anxiously scanning the doctor's frowning face.

"He's an infernal self-willed, obstinate, heartless young cub on top, then," said Blundell.

"He's a chip of the old block, no doubt," said the canon; "but still"-his admiration of Peter's boldness was perceptible in his voice-"he doesn't share his father's reprehensible opinions on the subject of the war."

"Sons generally begin life by differing from their fathers, and end by imitating them," said Blundell, sharply. "Birch, we must stop him."

"I don't see how," said the canon; and he indulged in a gentle chuckle. "The young rascal has laid his plans too well. He sails to-morrow. I telegraphed inquiries. Ferries' Horse are going by the Rosmore Castle to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."

Dr. Blundell made an involuntary movement, which the canon did not perceive.

"I don't relish the notion of breaking this news to Sir Timothy. But I thought we could consult together, you and me, how to do it," said the innocent gentleman. "There's no doubt, you know, that it must be done at once, or he can't get to Southampton in time to see the boy off and forgive him. I suppose even Sir Timothy will forgive him at such a moment. God bless the lad!"

Dr. Blundell uttered an exclamation that did not sound like a blessing.

"Look here, Birch," he said, "this is no time to mince matters. If the boy can't be stopped-and under the circumstances he's got us on toast-he can't cry off active service-as the boy can't be stopped, you must just keep this news to yourself."

"But I must tell Sir Timothy!"

"You must not tell Sir Timothy."

"Though all my sympathies are with the boy-for I'm a patriot first, and a parson afterwards-God forgive me for saying so," said Birch, in a trembling voice, "yet I can't take the responsibility of keeping Peter's father in ignorance of his action. I see exactly what you mean, of course. Sir Timothy will make unpleasantness, and very likely telegraph to his commanding officer, and disgrace the poor boy before his comrades; and shout at me, a thing I can't bear; and you kindly think to spare me-and Peter. But I can't take the responsibility of keeping it dark, for all that," said the canon, shaking his head regretfully.

"I take the responsibility," said the doctor, shortly. "As Sir Timothy's physician, I forbid you to tell him."

"Is Sir Timothy ill?" The canon's light eyes grew rounder with alarm.

"He is to undergo a dangerous operation to-morrow morning."

"God bless my soul!"

"He desires this evening-possibly his last on earth-to be a calm and unclouded one," said the doctor. "Respect his wishes, Birch, as you would respect the wishes of a dying man."

"Do you mean he won't get over it?" said the canon, in a horrified whisper.

"You always want the t's crossed and the i's dotted," said

Blundell, impatiently. "Of course there is a chance-his only chance.

He's a d--d plucky old fellow. I never thought to like Sir Timothy

half so well as I do at this moment."

"I hope I don't dislike any man," faltered the canon. "But-"

"Exactly," said the doctor, dryly.

"But what shall I do with Peter's letter?" said the unhappy recipient.

"Not one word to Sir Timothy. Agitation or distress of mind at such a moment would be the worst thing in the world for him."

"But I can't let Peter sail without a word to his people. And his mother. Good God, Blundell! Is Lady Mary to lose husband and son in one day?"

"Lady Mary," said the doctor, bitterly, "is to be treated, as usual, like a child, and told nothing of her husband's danger till it's over. As for Peter-well, devoted mother as she is, she must be pretty well accustomed by this time to the captious indifference of her spoilt boy. She won't be surprised, though she may be hurt, that he should coolly propose to set off without bidding her good-bye."

"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Peter?" said the canon, struck with a brilliant idea.

"Certainly not; she would fly to him at once, and leave Sir Timothy alone in his extremity."

"Couldn't we tell her in confidence about Sir Timothy?"

"I have allowed Sir Timothy to understand that neither you nor I will betray his secret."

"I'm no hand at keeping a secret," said the canon, unhappily.

"Nonsense, canon, nonsense," said Dr. Blundell, laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. "No man in your profession, or in mine, ought to be able to say that. Pull yourself together, hope for the best, and play your part."