CHAPTER XX
A Confession
All the next week Bevis lay desperately ill, and in the gravest danger.Every morning Dr. Tremayne motored over to Grimbal's Farm to see him,and arrived back with the same unsatisfactory report. Mavis and Merle,who waited anxiously for the daily bulletin, would run in from school atlunch-time hoping for better news. When Saturday came round again theybegged to be allowed to go to Chagmouth as usual.
"We wouldn't be a scrap of bother to Mrs. Penruddock," said Mavis. "IfJessop may give us some lunch we could eat it on the cliffs or in thewoods."
"That's a great idea," declared Uncle David. "I'll do the same to-day.Jessop shall make us up a lunch basket, and we'll all have a picnic mealtogether somewhere before I go up to the Sanatorium. It will certainlysave them trouble at the farm. Mrs. Penruddock won't want to do anycooking for us, I'm sure, when she's so busy nursing."
As they motored along towards Chagmouth, the girls felt strongly, whathad sometimes struck them before, that it was good to belong to aDoctor's family, and to be taking skilled help where it was so greatlyneeded. They had the utmost confidence in Uncle David, and knew that hewould give every service that human aid could render or his longexperience could suggest. He came down that morning from his patient'sroom with no better report:
"He's still very ill. I can't get his temperature down. But I'm tryingdifferent treatment, and we must see what that will do. I'm glad I shallbe about the place to-day. They know where to find me if they want me."
Dr. Tremayne went into his surgery to attend to the string of otherpatients who were waiting for him, and Mavis and Merle sat in the littlefront garden, on the green bench under the fuchsia tree outside theFrench window. They had not the heart to go for a walk. Mrs. Penruddock,kind as usual, but overwhelmed with trouble, had greeted them, and takenthem upstairs for one brief peep at the invalid. They had not goneinside the room, but from the doorway they had seen Bevis lying in bedwith ice on his head, so thin and changed and hollow-eyed, that hescarcely looked like their old friend. As they sat in the garden,talking in undertones, the gate clicked, and Tudor Williams came up thepath to the door--such a subdued Tudor, without any of his formerjauntiness and gay flippancy of manner. When he saw the girls he crossedthe grass and shook hands with them.
"I've come to ask about the poor chap," he said quietly. "Mother sentdown a message to Dr. Tremayne to say that if there's anything we can dowe'll be very glad. We'd send Jones for ice or anything of that sort,you know. He'd take out the car directly and get what was wanted."
"Thanks very much, we'll tell Uncle David. Oh, there's Mrs. Penruddock!Perhaps you'd better speak to her and give her the message. There mightbe something wanted at once."
Mrs. Penruddock had come into the parlour, and now walked to the Frenchwindow to meet Tudor, who inquired about Bevis, and explained hiserrand. She mopped her eyes as she thanked him.
"I'm sure people have all been so kind," she gulped. "Everything thatcan be done has been done. But there he lies rolling his head on hispillow, and talking for ever about the 'curse of Cain'. He can't get itout of his mind but what he's murdered you. It seems no use telling him.He just listens, and goes on again how he knows you're lying dead on thecliff. I wonder if he saw you if it would put that right? Could I askyou to step up to his bedroom for a minute, and let him have a look atyou, and see for himself that you're alive?"
"Oh, may I?" said Tudor, passing through the French window into theparlour, and following Mrs. Penruddock upstairs.
He came down again after perhaps five minutes, and, big manly boy thoughhe was, his eyes were red, and his voice was choking.
"I'd no idea the poor chap was in such a state," he burst out to Mavisand Merle. "It's awful to see him with his hollow eyes and his whitehands. He asked me to forgive him! Forgive him! It's I who ought to askfor forgiveness. It was all my fault! Mine entirely! I was an uttervulgar brute and beast! I never thought--" But seeing somebody coming tothe gate, and boy-like not wanting to give an exhibition of hisfeelings, Tudor bolted back into the parlour, and going out by the sidedoor into the stackyard, crossed the orchard, and went home over thefields to The Warren.
Mavis and Merle were rather glad that they were not having lunch to-dayat the farm. Mrs. Penruddock was busy and upset, and though manyneighbours had come in to help her, nobody seemed to know exactly whatto do, and they sat in the kitchen talking and shaking their heads.
"Just like a set of old crows. As if that could do Bevis any good!"exclaimed Mavis rather impatiently.
"They're telling each other all sorts of tales about early deaths andfunerals. Nice cheerful kind of conversation for a sick-house," agreedMerle.
Of course as they were in a hurry to get away, Dr. Tremayne had morepatients than usual, and was detained a long time in the surgery. Theywaited for him in the garden, where the lilac bush under Bevis's windowwas already breaking into blossom, and swallows were darting past.To-morrow would be Palm Sunday, and next week was Easter week, andFather and Mother would be coming down to Durracombe for a briefholiday. It was three months since they had seen them, and to-day, inthe midst of all the sadness around them, the girls felt ratherhome-sick, and were longing for a peep at their "ain folk".
"Are they going to take us back with them to Whinburn?" speculatedMerle.
"I don't know! I've asked Mother in almost every letter, and she's notanswered my question."
"I'm torn in two!"
"So am I. I want Dad and Mother, and yet I don't want to leave dearDevonshire."
"Or Uncle David?"
"No. I've got real right-down fond of Uncle David. He's a darling!There's nobody else in the world exactly like him."
Dr. Tremayne worked through his list of waiting patients at last, andwent round to the stackyard to fetch his car. Mavis and Merle jumpedjoyfully in, and they drove away up the hill. They went in the oppositedirection to the Sanatorium because the Doctor had a visit to pay at afarm, and he wished to combine with it a call on Mrs. Jarvis, whosecottage would be close by his destination. The manager of Trotman'sCircus had sent some few possessions which had belonged to her sonJerry, and they had brought the parcel with them in the car.
"We'll have our lunch first," decreed Uncle David, "then we'll go andsee the poor old body afterwards. I want something to eat before Iinterview any more patients."
They chose a quiet spot at the edge of a wood, and drawing up the car ona patch of grass by the roadside, they took their basket among the treesand spread forth their picnic. Jessop had provided handsomely for them,and they immensely enjoyed the meal in the open air.
"If I'd only time, I'd go skirmishing all over Devonshire. It's my idealof a holiday, to motor just where you like, and not have to think ofyour surgery," admitted Dr. Tremayne, throwing pine cones at the girls,and behaving quite boyishly in spite of his sixty-five years.
"Can't Daddy take surgery for you while he's over and give you a rest?"suggested Merle. "I'm sure he'd help if he could."
"It's rather a brain wave. Perhaps he might," said Dr. Tremaynethoughtfully. "I'm growing a little tired of being perpetually inharness. When a man gets to my age he begins to crave for some leisure.I've been trying for the last three years to write a book on 'TheTreatment of Tuberculosis', but I can't find the time to do it. DirectlyI begin somebody rings up and wants me to go and see them."
"I should smash the horrid old telephone and then they couldn't ring youup," laughed Merle.
"That's all right, little Pussie, but they'd send a messenger to fetchme instead, so it would come to just the same thing in the end."
"Why do doctors always go?"
"Because people can't do without us, I suppose. Of course we don't makeunnecessary journeys, but when a case is serious we turn out whateverthe weather or however late it is."
"I know; that's what Daddy always says," put in Mavis. "He comes intired to death, and goes out again in a snowstorm because the case isserious. I think doctors are just the best and kindest men in
all theworld."
They were quite sorry to leave the wood and go back to the car, but timewas creeping on fast. Dr. Tremayne paid his visit at Clavedon Farm, thendrove on to Mrs. Jarvis's cottage, which was close by. The girls tookthe parcel between them, and they all three walked together up thelittle garden to the open door. They found Mrs. Jarvis sitting in herkitchen with a neighbour to keep her company. Since the death of her sonthe postwoman had failed greatly, and for the last week she had notundertaken her duties in connection with the pillar-box. To-day sheseemed hysterical and excited. She sprang up at the sight of Dr.Tremayne, and began a loud complaint of pains in her head, mixed up withlamentations on the death of General Talland.
"She's been like this all the week, Doctor," explained the neighbour."She's not fit to be left alone. Ever since she heard the news aboutGeneral Talland, she's been going on with this wild talk. We take nonotice of her. He's nothing to her. It's just one of those queer fanciesshe gets sometimes. She'll perhaps calm down again."
SHE REACHED DOWN INTO SOME DARK RECEPTACLE AND DREW UP ABROWN-PAPER PARCEL _Page 275_]
"Can you bear to look at some of Jerry's things, Mrs. Jarvis?" asked theDoctor.
At the mention of her son the poor woman's excitable mood changed;instead of shouting she spoke more quietly, and her eyes filled withtears as she turned over the trifles that had been sent to her.
"Jerry! My boy Jerry!" she murmured. "I always said he'd come back. Heoughtn't to have gone and left me--ought he? And he took--I never toldanyone what he took! He was a bad son to me."
"Never mind that now he's dead and gone," put in the neighbour.
"Ay, he's dead and gone, and so is General Talland, so is GeneralTalland."
"She's off again on that point," groaned the neighbour.
But Mrs. Jarvis was looking at Dr. Tremayne with a curious craftiness inher eyes.
"General Talland's gone," she repeated. "And I hear they've to go a longway to find an heir to the property. What if there was an heir close athand--here in Chagmouth?"
"What do you mean?" asked the Doctor.
"Ay, what do I mean? I'm not so demented as some folks think me.There's something that I could tell if I liked. I wouldn't have said aword if _he'd_ a-lived, but he's dead and gone, so it makes nodifference to him now if I speak. Sit you down, Doctor, and the youngladies too! I may as well tell it to plenty of witnesses while I'm aboutit. Do you remember, Doctor, when I was village nurse over fourteen yearago? I was called in all of a sudden one day to attend Mrs. Hunter, thelady who'd been taken ill at the King's Arms."
"I remember," nodded Dr. Tremayne.
"Well, I swore at the inquest that she died without saying a word, but Iswore false. I was left alone with her for just one minute in theparlour while Mrs. Tingcomb fetched more brandy, and Mr. Tingcomb sentBob hurrying on his bicycle to Durracombe with a message for you. Inthat minute she got her breath. She knew that she was going fast, andshe gasped out that she'd come to Chagmouth to find General Talland,that she'd been married secret to his son, and that the child was theheir. 'I've all the papers', says she, but then the faintness took heragain, and though Mrs. Tingcomb ran in and gave her brandy she nevercome round."
"But I thought at the inquest it was distinctly said there were nopapers. I remember that point of the evidence particularly," said theDoctor.
"There were none in her handbag or in her portmanteau. She had them allin a hanging pocket slung round her waist under her dress skirt. I foundthem when I was laying her out. I put them by, and said nothing about itjust then. I meant to give folks a big surprise at the inquest. I tookthem home and looked them over. There was forty pounds in notes amongstthem. My poor boy Jerry was lying in bed asleep, as I thought, but hemust have been watching me, for he up and away as soon as it was light,and took the notes and my bits of savings too out of the old tea-pot.Why didn't I tell at the inquest? They'd have issued a warrant againstJerry! I wasn't going to put my own boy in prison! No one knew about thepocket, and the safest thing was to keep my mouth shut. I wouldn't havetold now if my poor boy had been alive. Oh! he broke his mother'sheart!"
"This is a most extraordinary story," said Dr. Tremayne. "If it's truehave you anything to prove your words? Where are these papers you speakof?"
"Those that hide can find! May I trouble you to shift your chair,Doctor?"
Mrs. Jarvis moved away several pieces of furniture, and lifted first thehearthrug, and then part of the oilcloth that covered the floor. Therewas a loose board underneath; she raised it, reached down into some darkreceptacle, and drew up a brown-paper parcel. She unwrapped this andrevealed a small case made of linen, with tapes attached to it. Insidewere a number of papers which she handed to Dr. Tremayne.
"They're all as she said, Doctor. There's her wedding certificate andthe birth certificate, and letters from her husband too. You'll findthem all right. She'd everything in order, poor thing. They'd have madea stir at the inquest, wouldn't they, if I could only 'a told aboutthem?"
Dr. Tremayne was looking rapidly through the contents of the old linencase.
"These are indeed most valuable papers," he remarked. "I shall takethem to the lawyers who manage the Talland estate, and they'll no doubtprepare a statement which you will be required to sign to show how theycame into your possession. Oh, Mrs. Jarvis! how _could_ you keep themback for all these years, when you knew how much was involved?"
"Better late than never, Doctor. I was in two minds whether to burn themand have done with it. Oh, my poor boy Jerry! It's ill raking up mattersagainst them that's gone. If he'd been alive, I'd have kept my mouthshut, and never have said a word."
Mrs. Jarvis was rocking herself to and fro in a state of greatexcitement. She was sane enough where a recollection of the events atthe King's Arms was concerned, but her clouded brain revolved round thepivot of her son's death. She moaned, and twitched her mouth withnervous jerks.
"I'll make her up a bottle of bromide mixture when I get back to thesurgery," said Dr. Tremayne to the neighbour. "Can you send one of yourboys down for it about six o'clock? She oughtn't to be left alone."
"No, Doctor. I'll do what I can. She's in a bad way, poor soul. There'sa lot of trouble in the world, isn't there?"
"There is indeed! Now I must hurry off, for I'm due at the Sanatorium,and I'm very late. Give her the mixture, and I'll call and see her againnext week."
Dr. Tremayne put the linen case inside his safest inner pocket, andtook his departure. As they drove down the hill towards the ravine allthe little town and its neighbouring cliffs and woods lay stretched outbefore them.
"Uncle David," asked Mavis, "if those papers are proved does it meanthat The Warren and the whole of Chagmouth will belong to Bevis? Is hethe grandson of General Talland?"
"There seems very little doubt about it. It was evidence that ought tohave been given at the inquest fourteen years ago. Poor lad! Poor lad!If we'd only known sooner."
"But why did his mother call herself Mrs. Hunter?"
"Probably she wouldn't care to give her true name at the hotel until shehad been to see General Talland. The marriage had been kept secret, andnobody in Chagmouth knew about it. No doubt she had intended to go toThe Warren and show her child to its grandfather. But General Tallandhad started for the West Indies. It was perhaps the news of his absence,and the consequent failure of her errand, that brought on the heartattack that caused her sudden collapse."
"So Chagmouth belongs to Bevis," repeated Merle wonderingly. "The house,and the grounds, and the woods, and the shooting, and the farms, and thetown are Bevis's. It's like a fairy tale!"
But the heir to all the Talland Estate lay between life and death.