The Lost Heir

CHAPTER X.

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

During the four months that General Mathieson had remained at Holmwood no one had been more constant in his inquiries as to his health than Mr. Simcoe. He had seen Hilda before she started, and had begged her to let him have a line once a week, saying how her uncle was going on.

"I will get Dr. Leeds to write," she said. "My own opinion will be worth nothing, but his will be valuable. I am afraid that he will find time hang heavily on his hands, and he will not mind writing. I do not like writing letters at the best of times, but in the trouble we are in now I am sure that I shall not be equal to it."

Dr. Leeds willingly undertook the duty of sending a short weekly bulletin, not only to Mr. Simcoe, but to a dozen other intimate friends.

"It is not half an hour's work," he said, when Netta offered to relieve him by addressing the envelopes or copying out his report; "very few words will be sufficient. 'The General has made some slight progress this week,' or 'The General remains in very much the same state,' or 'I am glad to be able to record some slight improvement.' That, with my signature, will be quite sufficient, and when I said that half an hour would be enough I exaggerated: I fancy that it will be all done in five minutes."

Mr. Simcoe occasionally wrote a few lines of thanks, but scarcely a day passed that he did not send some little present for the invalid – a bunch of the finest grapes, a few choice peaches, and other fruit from abroad. Of flowers they had plenty in their own conservatories at Holmwood, while game was abundant, for both from neighbors and from club friends they received so large a quantity that a considerable proportion was sent back in hampers to the London hospitals.

Some of Mr. Simcoe's presents were of a different description. Among them was a machine that would hold a book at any angle desired, while at the same time there was a shelf upon which a cup or tumbler, a spare book or newspaper, could be placed.

"At any rate, Hilda, this Mr. Simcoe of yours is very thoughtful and kind towards your uncle," Netta said.

"Yes," Hilda admitted reluctantly, "he certainly is very thoughtful, but I would much rather he did not send things. We can get anything we want from Warwick or Leamington, or indeed from London, merely by sending a line or a telegram. One hates being under obligations to a man one does not like."

"It seems to me at present that you are unjust, Hilda; and I certainly look forward to seeing him in London and drawing my own conclusions."

"Yes, no doubt you will see him, and often enough too," Hilda said pettishly. "Of course, if uncle means to go to his club, it will be impossible to say that he is unfit to see his friends at home."

Netta, however, did not see Mr. Simcoe on their return, for Dr. Leeds, on the suggestion of Hilda, stated in his last report that the General would be going up to town in a day or two, but that he strongly deprecated any visits until he could see how the invalid stood the journey.

There was no doubt that he stood it badly. Just at first the excitement seemed to inspire him with strength, but this soon died away, and he had to be helped from the railway carriage to the brougham, and lifted out when he arrived at home. Dr. Leeds saw to his being carried upstairs, undressed, and put to bed.

"He is weaker than I thought," he said in reply to Hilda's anxious look when he joined the party downstairs. "I cannot say that it is want of physical strength, for he has walked over a mile several times without apparent fatigue. It seems to me that it is rather failure of will power, or brain power, if you like. I noticed that he very frequently sat looking out of the window, and it is possible that the succession of objects passing rapidly before the eye has had the same effect of inducing giddiness that waltzing has to one unaccustomed to it. I trust that to-morrow the effect will have passed off. I had, as you know, intended to sleep at a friend's chambers to-night; but I should not think of doing so now, but will sit up with him. I will get Roberts to take watch and watch with me. I can lie down on the sofa, and he can wake me should there be any change. I sent him off in a cab, as soon as we got your uncle into bed, to fetch Dr. Pearson; if he is at home, he will be here in a few minutes."

It was, however, half an hour before Dr. Pearson came, as he was out when the cab arrived. He had on the way learned from Tom Roberts the state in which the General had arrived, and he hurried upstairs at once to his room.

"So he has broken down badly, Leeds?"

"Very badly."

"I did not expect it. When I saw him last Sunday he seemed to have made so much progress that I thought there could be no harm in his being brought up to London, though, as I said to you, I thought it would be better to dissuade him from going to his club. He might see a few of his friends and have a quiet chat with them here. His pulse is still much fuller than I should have expected from the account his man gave of him. There is a good deal of irregularity, but that has been the case ever since the attack."

"I think that it is mental rather than bodily collapse," the younger man said. "A sudden failure of brain power. He was absolutely unable to make any effort to walk, or indeed to move his limbs at all. It was a sort of mental paralysis."

"And to some slight extent bodily also," Dr. Pearson said, leaning over the bed and examining the patient closely. "Do you see there is a slight, but distinct, contortion of the face, just as there was after that fit?"

"I see there is. He has not spoken since we lifted him from the railway carriage, and I am afraid that to-morrow we shall find that he has lost, partially or entirely, the power of speech. I fear that this is the beginning of the end."

Dr. Pearson nodded.

"There can be little doubt of it, nor could we wish it to be otherwise. Still, he may linger for weeks or even months."

Hilda read the doctor's opinion in his face when he went downstairs.

"Oh, doctor, don't say he is going to die!" she cried.

"I do not say that he is going to die at once, my dear. He may live for some time yet, but it is of no use concealing from you that neither Dr. Leeds nor myself have the slightest hope of his ultimate recovery. There can be no doubt that paralysis is creeping over him, and that it is most unlikely that he will ever leave his bed again.

"Yes, I know it is hard, dear," he said soothingly, as she burst into tears, "but much as you will regret his loss you cannot but feel that it is best so. He could never have been himself again, never have enjoyed his life. There would have been an ever-present anxiety and a dread of a recurrence of that fit. You will see in time that it is better for him and for you that it should be as it is, although, of course, you can hardly see that just at present. And now I must leave you to your kind friends here."

Miss Purcell knew well enough that just at present words of consolation would be thrown away, and that it was a time only for silent sympathy, and her gentle words and the warm pressure of Netta's hand did more to restore Hilda's composure than any repetition of the doctor's well-meant assurance that all was for the best could do.

"Would you like me to write a line in your name to Colonel Bulstrode?" she asked.

"No, no!" Hilda cried; "it would look as if we had made up your minds that uncle was going to die. If he were conscious it would be different; for I know that Colonel Bulstrode is his greatest friend and is named one of his trustees, and uncle might want to talk to him. Oh, how one wishes at a time like this that one had a brother, or that he had a son alive, or that there was someone who would naturally step in and take everything into his hands!"

"There are his lawyers," Miss Purcell suggested.

"Yes, I did not think of them. Mr. Pettigrew is the other trustee, and is, I know, joint guardian with me of Walter. I am sorry now that we did not leave the dear little fellow down at Holmwood, it will be so sad and dull for him here, and he would have been very happy in the country. But perhaps it is best as it is; if my uncle recovers consciousness he is sure to ask for him. He had come to be very fond of him, and Walter has been so much with him lately."

"Yes, his eyes always used to follow the child about in his play," Miss Purcell said. "I think it is best that he should be here, and as the nursery is at the top of the house he will not be in anyone's way."

There was but little change in General Mathieson's condition next morning, although a slight movement, when Hilda spoke to him, showed that he was dimly conscious of her presence, and when she brought the child down and he laid his hand on that of the General, and said "Good-morning, grandfather," according to his custom, he opened his eyes for a moment, and there was a slight movement of the lips, as if he were trying to speak.

"Thank you, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said; "the experiment was worth making, and it proves that his state of unconsciousness is not complete."

Walter always took his dinner with the others when they lunched.

"Where is the child?" Hilda asked the footman; "have you sent him up to tell nurse that lunch is ready?"

"I have not sent up, miss, because nurse has not come back with him from his walk."

"No doubt she will be back in a few minutes," Hilda said. "She is very punctual; I never knew her late before."

Lunch was half over when Tom Roberts came in with a scared expression on his usually somewhat stolid face.

"If you please, miss, nurse wishes to speak to you."

"What is the matter, Roberts?" Hilda exclaimed, starting up. "Has Walter met with an accident?"

"Well, no, miss, not as I know of, but nurse has come home, and she is just like a wild thing; somehow or other Master Walter has got lost."

Hilda, followed by Netta and Miss Purcell, ran out into the hall. The nurse, a woman of two or three and thirty, the daughter of one of the General's tenants, and who had been in charge of the child since he arrived a baby from India, was sitting on a chair, sobbing bitterly. Her bonnet hung down at the back of her head, her hair was unloosed, and she had evidently been running wildly to and fro. Her appearance at once disarmed Hilda, who said soothingly:

"How has it happened, nurse? Stop crying and tell us. I am sure that it could not have been your fault, for you are always so careful with him. There is no occasion to be so terribly upset. Of course he will soon be found. The first policeman who sees him will be sure to take him to the station. Now how did it happen?"

"I was walking along Queen's Road, miss," the woman said between her sobs, "and Master Walter was close beside me. I know that special, because we had just passed a crossing, and I took hold of his hand as we went over – when a man – he looked like a respectable working-man – came up to me and said, 'I see you are a mother, ma'am.' 'Not at all,' said I; 'how dare you say such a thing? I am a nurse; I am in charge of this young gentleman.' 'Well,' said he, 'I can see that you have a kind heart, anyhow; that is what made me speak to you. I am a carpenter, I am, and I have been out of work for months, and I have a child at home just about this one's age. He is starving, and I haven't a bit to put in his mouth. The parish buried my wife three weeks ago, and I am well-nigh mad. Would you give me the money to buy him a loaf of bread?' The man was in such distress, miss, that I took out my purse and gave him a shilling, and thankful he was; he was all but crying, and could not say enough to thank me. Then I turned to take hold of Walter's hand, and found that the child had gone. I could not have been more than two or three minutes talking; though it always does take me a long time to take my purse out of my pocket, still I know that it could not have been three minutes altogether.

"First of all, I went back to the crossing, and looked up and down the street, but he wasn't there; then I thought that perhaps he had walked on, and was hiding for fun in a shop doorway. When I could not see him up or down I got regular frighted, and ran up and down like a mad thing. Once I came back as far as the house, but there were no signs of him, and I knew that he could not have got as far as this, even if he had run all the way. Then I thought of the mews, and I ran back there. Master Walter was very fond of horses, and he generally stopped when we got to the entrance of the mews, and stood looking for a minute or two at the grooms cleaning the horses, and I thought that he might have gone in there. There were two or three men about, but none had seen the child. Still I ran on, and looked into several stables, a-calling for him all the time. When he wasn't there, I went well-nigh stark mad, and I ran up and down the streets asking everyone I met had they seen a child. Then I came back here to tell you."

"We shall soon hear of him, nurse. Roberts, do you and William start out at once. Go first to the police station and give notice that the child is missing – he cannot have wandered far – and then do you and James go all round the neighborhood and tell every policeman that you meet what has happened. You can ask in all the shops in Queen's Road and the streets near; he may have wandered into one of them, and as he was alone, they may have kept him until someone came to inquire after him. Now, Netta, will you put on your bonnet and come out with me?"

"Shall I come with you too, Hilda?"