The Complete Five Towns Collections. Bennett ArnoldЧитать онлайн книгу.
once.
"She's getting on fine," Richard said soothingly. "Would you like a sip?"
He put his grey lips clumsily round the lip of the cup, drank, and then pushed the vessel away with a gesture of irritation.
The windows were open, but the air was perfectly still, and the gas burnt without a tremor between the windows and the door.
"I'm stifled," the patient gasped. "Are they—doing—all they can—for me?"—Richard tried to reassure him.
"It's all over—with me—Larch—I can't—keep it up long—I'm going—going—they'll have to try—something else."
His lustrous eyes were fastened on Richard with an appealing gaze. Richard turned away.
"I'm frightened—I thought I shouldn't be—but I am. Doctor suggested parson—it's not that—I said no.... Do you think—I'm dying?"
"Not a bit," said Richard.
"That's a lie—I'm off.... It's a big thing,—death—everyone's afraid—of it—at last.... Instinct!... Shows there's something—awful behind it."
If Richard had been murdering the man, he could not have had a sharper sense of guilt than at that moment oppressed him.
Mr. Aked continued to talk, but with a growing incoherence which gradually passed into delirium. Richard looked at his watch. Only thirty minutes had slipped by, and yet he felt as if his shoulder had suffered the clutch of that hot hand since before the beginning of time! Again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of emotional horizons suddenly widened.
People were walking down the street; they talked and laughed. How incongruously mirthful and careless their voices sounded! Perhaps they had never watched by a sick-bed, never listened to the agonised breathing of a pneumonia patient. That incessant frantic intake of air! It exasperated him. If it did not stop soon, he should go mad. He stared at the gas-flame, and the gas-flame grew larger, larger, till he could see nothing else.... Then, after a long while, surely the breathing was more difficult! There was a reverberating turmoil in the man's chest which shook the bed. Could Richard have been asleep, or what? He started up; but Mr. Aked clung desperately to him, raising his shoulders higher and higher in the struggle to inhale, and leaning forward till he was bent almost double. Richard hesitated, and then struck the bell. It seemed as if the nurse would never come. The door opened softly.
"I'm afraid he is much worse," Richard said to the nurse, striving to cover his agitation. She looked at Mr. Aked.
"Perhaps you had better fetch the doctor."
When he returned, Mr. Aked was lying back unconscious.
"Of course the doctor can do nothing now," said the nurse, calmly answering the question in his eyes. "He'll never speak any more."
"But Miss Aked?"
"It can't be helped. I shall say nothing to her till morning."
"Then she won't see him?"
"Certainly not. It would be madness for her to leave her bed."
The doctor arrived, and the three talked quietly together about the alarming prevalence of influenza at that time of the year, and the fatal results of carelessness.
"I tell you honestly," the doctor said, "I'm so overworked that I should be quite satisfied to step into my coffin and not wake again. I've had three 3 A. M. midwifery cases this week—forceps, chloroform, and the whole bag of tricks—on the top of all this influenza, and I'm about sick of it. That's the worst of our trade; it comes in lumps. What do you say, nurse?"
Chapter XVII
The nurse suggested that Richard should remain at Carteret Street for the rest of the night, using the sofa in the sitting-room. Contrary to his expectation, he slept well and dreamlessly for several hours, and woke up refreshed and energetic. The summer sun was dispersing a light mist. One thought occupied his mind,—Adeline's isolation and need of succour. Mentally he enveloped her with tender solicitude; and the prospect of giving her instant aid, and so earning her gratitude, contributed to a mood of vigorous cheerfulness to which his sorrow for Mr. Aked's death formed but a vague and distant background.
No one seemed to be stirring. He washed luxuriously in the little scullery, and then, silently unbolting the front door, went out for a walk. It was just six o'clock, and above the weazen trees which line either side of Carteret Street the sparrows were noisily hilarious. As he strode along in the fresh, sunny air, his fancy pictured scene after scene between himself and Adeline in which he rendered a man's help and she offered a woman's gratitude. He determined to take upon himself all the arrangements for the funeral, and looked forward pleasurably to activities from which under different circumstances he would have shrunk with dismay. He thought of Adeline's aunt or cousin, distant in the north, and wondered whether she or any other relatives, if such existed, would present themselves; he hoped that Adeline might be forced to rely solely on him. A milkboy who passed with his rattling cans observed Richard talking rapidly to no visible person, and turned round to stare.
When he got back to the house, he noticed that the blinds had been drawn in the sitting-room. Lottie, the chubby-armed servant, was cleaning the step; her eyes were red with crying.
"Is nurse up yet?" he asked her.
"Yes, sir, she's in the kitchen," the girl whimpered.
He sprang over the wet step into the passage. As his glance fell on the stairs leading up to the room where lay the body of Mr. Aked, separated from the unconscious Adeline only by a gimcrack wall of lath and plaster, an uncomfortable feeling of awe took hold of him. Death was very incurable, and he had been assisting at a tragedy. How unreal and distorted seemed the events of a few hours before! He had a curious sense of partnership in shame, as if he and the nurse and the doctor had last night done Adeline an injury and were conspiring to hide their sin. What would she say when she knew that her uncle was dead? What would be her plans? It occurred to him now that she would of course act quite independently of himself; it was ridiculous to suppose that he, comparatively a stranger, could stand to her in the place of kith and kin; he had been dreaming. He was miserably disheartened.
He made his way to the kitchen, and, pushing the door open quietly, found the nurse engaged in cooking a meal.
"May I come in, nurse?"
"Yes, Mr. Larch."
"You seem to have taken charge of the house," he said, admiring her quick, neat movements; she was as much at home as if the kitchen had been her own.
"We often find it necessary," she smiled. "Nurses have to be ready for most things. Do you prefer tea or coffee for breakfast?"
"Surely you aren't getting breakfast for me? I could have had something in town."
"Surely I am," she said. "If you aren't fastidious, I'll make tea. Miss Aked has had a moderately good night ... I've told her.... She took it very well, said she expected it. Of course there's a lot to be done, but I can't bother her yet. We ought to have a telegram from Mrs. Hopkins, her aunt, this morning."
"I wish you would give Miss Aked a message from me," Richard broke in. "Tell her I shall be very glad to see after things—the funeral, you know, and so on—if she cares. I can easily arrange to take a holiday from the office."
"I am sure that would relieve her from a lot of anxiety," the nurse said appreciatively. To hide a certain confusion Richard suggested that he should be allowed to lay the cloth in the sitting-room, and she told him he would find it in a drawer in the sideboard. He wandered off, speculating upon Adeline's probable answer to his proposal. Soon he heard the rattling of cups and saucers, and the nurse's footstep on the stair. He laid the cloth, putting the cruet in the middle and the salt-cellars at opposite corners, and then sat down in front of the case of French books to scan their titles, but he saw nothing save a blur of yellow. After