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I was nervous and wakeful, and it was past two o’clock when I fancied I heard the sound of horses and carriage-wheels on the avenue.
Mary Quince was close by, and therefore I was not afraid to get up and peep from the window. My heart beat fast as I saw a post-chaise approach the court-yard. A front window was let down, and the postilion pulled up for a few seconds.
In consequence of some directions received by him, I fancied he resumed his route at a walk, and so drew up at the hall-door, on the steps of which a figure awaited his arrival. I think it was old L’Amour, but I could not be quite certain. There was a lantern on the top of the balustrade, close by the door. The chaise-lamps were lighted, for the night was rather dark.
A bag and valise, as well as I could see, were pulled from the interior by the post-boy, and a box from the top of the vehicle, and these were carried into the hall.
I was obliged to keep my cheek against the window-pane to command a view of the point of debarkation, and my breath upon the glass, which dimmed it again almost as fast as I wiped it away, helped to obscure my vision. But I saw a tall figure, in a cloak, get down and swiftly enter the house, but whether male or female I could not discern.
My heart beat fast. I jumped at once to a conclusion. My uncle was worse — was, in fact, dying; and this was the physician, too late summoned to his bedside.
I listened for the ascent of the doctor, and his entrance at my uncle’s door, which, in the stillness of the night, I thought I might easily hear, but no sound reached me. I listened so for fully five minutes, but without result. I returned to the window, but the carriage and horses had disappeared.
I was strongly tempted to wake Mary Quince, and take counsel with her, and persuade her to undertake a reconnaissance. The fact is, I was persuaded that my uncle was in extremity, and I was quite wild to know the doctor’s opinion. But, after all, it would be cruel to summon the good soul from her refreshing nap. So, as I began to feel very cold, I returned to my bed, where I continued to listen and conjecture until I fell asleep.
In the morning, as was usual, before I was dressed, in came Milly.
“How is Uncle Silas?” I eagerly enquired.
“Old L’Amour says he’s queerish still; but he’s not so dull as yesterday,” answered she.
“Was not the doctor sent for?” I asked.
“Was he? Well, that’s odd; and she said never a word o’t to me,” answered she.
“I’m asking only,” said I.
“I don’t know whether he came or no,” she replied; “but what makes you take that in your head?”
“A chaise arrived here between two and three o’clock last night.”
“Hey! and who told you?” Milly seemed all on a sudden highly interested.
“I saw it, Milly; and some one, I fancy the doctor, came from it into the house.”
“Fudge, lass! who’d send for the doctor? ‘Twasn’t he, I tell you. What was he like?” said Milly.
“I could only see clearly that he, or she, was tall, and wore a cloak,” I replied.
“Then ‘twasn’t him nor t’other I was thinking on, neither; and I’ll be hanged but I think it will be Cormoran,” cried Milly, with a thoughtful rap with her knuckle on the table.
Precisely at this juncture a tapping came to the door.
“Come in,” said I.
And old L’Amour entered the room, with a courtesy.
“I came to tell Miss Quince her breakfast’s ready,” said the old lady.
“Who came in the chase, L’Amour?” demanded Milly.
“What chaise?” spluttered the beldame tartly.
“The chaise that came last night, past two o’clock,” said Milly.
“That’s a lie, and a damn lie!” cried the beldame. “There worn’t no chaise at the door since Miss Maud there came from Knowl.”
I stared at the audacious old menial who could utter such language.
“Yes, there was a chaise, and Cormoran, as I think, be come in it,” said Milly, who seemed accustomed to L’Amour’s daring address.
“And there’s another damn lie, as big as t’other,” said the crone, her haggard and withered face flushing orange all over.
“I beg you will not use such language in my room,” I replied, very angrily. “I saw the chaise at the door; your untruth signifies very little, but your impertinence here I will not permit. Should it be repeated, I will assuredly complain to my uncle.”
The old woman flushed more fiercely as I spoke, and fixed her bleared glare on me, with a compression of her mouth that amounted to a wicked grimace. She resisted her angry impulse, however, and only chuckled a little spitefully, saying,
“No offence, miss; it be a way we has in Derbyshire o’ speaking our minds. No offence, miss, were meant, and none took, as I hopes,” and she made me another courtesy.
“And I forget to tell you, Miss Milly, the master wants you this minute.”
So Milly, in mute haste, withdrew, followed closely by L’Amour.
Chapter 37.
Doctor Bryerly Emerges
WHEN MILLY joined me at breakfast, her eyes were red and swollen. She was still sniffing with that little sobbing hiccough, which betrays, even were there no other signs, recent violent weeping. She sat down quite silent.
“Is he worse, Milly?” I enquired, anxiously.
“No, nothing’s wrong wi’ him; he’s right well,” said Milly, fiercely.
“What’s the matter then, Milly dear?”
“The poisonous old witch! ’Twas just to tell the Gov’nor how I’d said ’twas Cormoran that came by the po’shay last night.”
“And who is Cormoran?” I enquired.
“Ay, thee it is; I’d like to tell, and you want to hear — and I just daren’t, for he’ll send me off right to a French school — hang it — hang them all! — if I do.”
“And why should Uncle Silas care?” said I, a good deal surprised.
“They’re a-tellin’ lies.”
“Who?” said I.
“L’Amour — that’s who. So soon as she made her complaint of me, the Gov’nor asked her, sharp enough, did anyone come last night, or a po’shay; and she was ready to swear there was no one. Are ye quite sure, Maud, you really did see aught, or ‘appen ’twas all a dream?”
“It was not dream, Milly; so sure as you are there, I saw exactly what I told you,” I replied.
“Gov’nor won’t believe it anyhow; and he’s right mad wi’ me; and the threatens me he’ll have me off to France; I wish ’twas under the sea. I hate France — I do — like the devil. Don’t you? They’re always a-threatening me wi’ France, if I dare say a word more about the po’shay, or — or anyone.”
I really was curious about Cormoran; but Cormoran was not to be defined to me by Milly; nor did she, in reality, know more than I respecting the arrival of the night before.
One day I was surprised to see Doctor Bryerly on the stairs. I was standing in a dark gallery as he walked across the floor of the lobby to my uncle’s door, his hat on, and some papers in his hand.
He