CHAPTER III.MISS DINAH PERFECT AND HER GUESTS.“Is she alone?” he asked, postponing the trying moment of seeing her.“No, the doctor’s with her still—Dr. Drake, and Miss Letty, his sister, you remember; they’re drinkin’ a cup o’ tea, and some crumpets, and they’ll all be right glad you’re come.”“They ought to go away, don’t you think?” mildly suggested William Maubray, a good deal shocked. “However, let me get to my room for two or three minutes, and I shall be ready then.”They passed the drawing-room door, and Miss Letty Drake’s deliberate tones were audible from within. When he had got to his room he asked Dobbs—“What was thewarningyou spoke of?”“Well, dear me! It was the table; she and me, she makes me sit before her, poor thing, and we—well, thereiscracks, sure, on and off! And she puts this an’ that together; and so one way or other—it puzzles my poor head, how—she does make out a deal.”William Maubray was an odd, rather solitary young man, and more given to reading and thinking than is usual at his years, and he detested these incantations to which his aunt, Miss Perfect, had addicted herself, oflate years, with her usual capricious impetuosity; and he was very uncomfortable on hearing that she was occupying her last days with these questionable divinations.When, in a few minutes, William ran down to the drawing-room, and with a chill of anticipation opened the door of that comfortable rather than imposing chamber, the tall slim figure of his aunt rose up from her armchair beside the fire, for though it was early autumn, the fire was pleasant, and the night-air was frosty, and with light and wiry tread, stepped across the carpet to meet him. Her kind, energetic face was pale, and the smile she used to greet him with was nowhere, and she was arrayed from head to foot in deep mourning, in which, particularly as she abhorred the modern embellishment of crinoline, she looked more slim and tall even than she was.The presence of her guests in nowise affected the greeting of the aunt and nephew, which was very affectionate, and even agitated, though silent.“Good Willie, to come so quickly—I knew you would.” Miss Perfect never wept, but she was very near tears at that moment, and there was a little silence, during which she held his hands, and then recollecting herself, dropt them, and continued more like herself.“You did not expect to see me up and here; everything happens oddly with me. Here I am, you see, apparently, I dare say, much as usual. By half-past twelve o’clock to-morrow night I shall be dead! There, don’t mind now—I’ll tell you allby-and-by. This is my friend, Miss Drake, you know her.”They shook hands, Miss Drake smiling as brisk a smile as in a scene so awful she could hazard.“And this, my kind friend Dr. Drake.”William had occasionally seen Dr. Drake in the streetsof Saxton, and on the surrounding high roads at a distance, but he had never before had the honour of an interview.The doctor was short and fat, a little bald, and rather dusty, and somehow, William thought, resembled a jolly old sexton a good deal more than a physician. He rose up, with his hands in his trowsers pockets, and some snuff in the wrinkles of his black cloth waistcoat, and bowed, with raised eyebrows and pursed mouth, gravely to his plate of crumpet.William Maubray looked again on his aunt, who was adjusting her black draperies in her chair, and then once more at the doctor, whose little eye he caught for a second, with a curious and even cunning expression in it; but it was averted with a sudden accession of melancholy once more—and William asked—“I hope, Sir, there is nothing very imminent?”The doctor cleared his voice, uneasily, and Aunt Dinah interposed with a nod, a little dryly—“It is not quite inhisdepartment.”And whose departmentisit in? the student thought.“I dare say Doctor Drake would tell you I’m very well—so, perhaps, in a sense, I am; but Doctor Drake has kindly come here as a friend.”Doctor Drake bowed, looking steadfastly into his cup.“As a friend, dear Willie, just as you have come—an old friend.” Miss Perfect spoke low, with a little tremor in her voice, and was, I believe, near crying, but braced her resolution. William drew near gently and sat down beside her, and placing her hand upon his, she proceeded.“My dear friend Miss Drake, there, does not agree with me, I’m aware; but Doctor Drake who has read more, and perhaps,thoughtmore, thinks otherwise—at least, so I’m led to suppose.”The doctor coughed a little; Miss Drake raised her long chin, and with raised eyebrows, looked down on her finger-tips which were drumming on the table, and my Cousin William glanced from one to the other, not quite understanding her drift.“But,” she continued, “I’ve apprised them already, and I tellyouof course; it is—you’ll remember the name—an intimation from Henbane.”“Poison!” said William, under his breath, with a look of pale inquiry at Doctor Drake, who at the moment was swallowing his tea very fast, and was seized on a sudden with an explosion of coughing, sneezing, and strangling, which compelled him to jump to his feet, and stagger about the room with his face in his pocket-handkerchief and his back to the tea-table.“When Dr. Henbane,” said my aunt with severity, “I mean a—DoctorDrake—has quite done coughing, I’ll go on.”There was a little pause.“Confound it,” thought William, who was half beside himself, “it’s a very odd dying scene!”The doctor, blowing his nose, returned very red and solemn, and explained, still coughing at intervals, that it was a little tea in the trachea; it invariably occurred to him when he drank tea in the evening; hemustgive it up; “youknow, Letty.”Miss Drake did not deign to assist him.“She does not seem to know so much about it as you do,” observed Aunt Dinah with an irony.“Owing to my notthinkingso much,” replied Miss Letty, sarcastically.“Henbane?” murmured William again, in a puzzled horror.“H’m!—yes!—Henbane? you seem to have forgotten;one of those—one of the spirits who have attached themselves to me,” and Aunt Dinah shot a quick glance at the doctor, who, though looking again at his crumpet, seemed to cower awfully under it.“Oh—ay—Henbane?” exclaimed William in a tone of familiarity, which indicated anything but respect for that supernatural acquaintance. “Henbane, to besure.”And he looked on his aunt with a half amused recognition, which seemed to say, “Well—and what about that humbug?”But Aunt Dinah said decisively—“So much for the present; you shall hearmore—everything, by-and-by.”And there followed a silence.“Did you remember the snuff, dear William?” inquired the doomed lady, with rather an abrupt transition.“Certainly; shall I fetch it?” said William, half rising.Miss Perfect nodded, and away he went, somehow vastly relieved, and with his bed-room candle in his hand, mounted the oak stairs, which were broad and handsome in proportion to the other dimensions of that snug old house.
CHAPTER III.
MISS DINAH PERFECT AND HER GUESTS.
MISS DINAH PERFECT AND HER GUESTS.
MISS DINAH PERFECT AND HER GUESTS.
“Is she alone?” he asked, postponing the trying moment of seeing her.
“No, the doctor’s with her still—Dr. Drake, and Miss Letty, his sister, you remember; they’re drinkin’ a cup o’ tea, and some crumpets, and they’ll all be right glad you’re come.”
“They ought to go away, don’t you think?” mildly suggested William Maubray, a good deal shocked. “However, let me get to my room for two or three minutes, and I shall be ready then.”
They passed the drawing-room door, and Miss Letty Drake’s deliberate tones were audible from within. When he had got to his room he asked Dobbs—
“What was thewarningyou spoke of?”
“Well, dear me! It was the table; she and me, she makes me sit before her, poor thing, and we—well, thereiscracks, sure, on and off! And she puts this an’ that together; and so one way or other—it puzzles my poor head, how—she does make out a deal.”
William Maubray was an odd, rather solitary young man, and more given to reading and thinking than is usual at his years, and he detested these incantations to which his aunt, Miss Perfect, had addicted herself, oflate years, with her usual capricious impetuosity; and he was very uncomfortable on hearing that she was occupying her last days with these questionable divinations.
When, in a few minutes, William ran down to the drawing-room, and with a chill of anticipation opened the door of that comfortable rather than imposing chamber, the tall slim figure of his aunt rose up from her armchair beside the fire, for though it was early autumn, the fire was pleasant, and the night-air was frosty, and with light and wiry tread, stepped across the carpet to meet him. Her kind, energetic face was pale, and the smile she used to greet him with was nowhere, and she was arrayed from head to foot in deep mourning, in which, particularly as she abhorred the modern embellishment of crinoline, she looked more slim and tall even than she was.
The presence of her guests in nowise affected the greeting of the aunt and nephew, which was very affectionate, and even agitated, though silent.
“Good Willie, to come so quickly—I knew you would.” Miss Perfect never wept, but she was very near tears at that moment, and there was a little silence, during which she held his hands, and then recollecting herself, dropt them, and continued more like herself.
“You did not expect to see me up and here; everything happens oddly with me. Here I am, you see, apparently, I dare say, much as usual. By half-past twelve o’clock to-morrow night I shall be dead! There, don’t mind now—I’ll tell you allby-and-by. This is my friend, Miss Drake, you know her.”
They shook hands, Miss Drake smiling as brisk a smile as in a scene so awful she could hazard.
“And this, my kind friend Dr. Drake.”
William had occasionally seen Dr. Drake in the streetsof Saxton, and on the surrounding high roads at a distance, but he had never before had the honour of an interview.
The doctor was short and fat, a little bald, and rather dusty, and somehow, William thought, resembled a jolly old sexton a good deal more than a physician. He rose up, with his hands in his trowsers pockets, and some snuff in the wrinkles of his black cloth waistcoat, and bowed, with raised eyebrows and pursed mouth, gravely to his plate of crumpet.
William Maubray looked again on his aunt, who was adjusting her black draperies in her chair, and then once more at the doctor, whose little eye he caught for a second, with a curious and even cunning expression in it; but it was averted with a sudden accession of melancholy once more—and William asked—
“I hope, Sir, there is nothing very imminent?”
The doctor cleared his voice, uneasily, and Aunt Dinah interposed with a nod, a little dryly—
“It is not quite inhisdepartment.”
And whose departmentisit in? the student thought.
“I dare say Doctor Drake would tell you I’m very well—so, perhaps, in a sense, I am; but Doctor Drake has kindly come here as a friend.”
Doctor Drake bowed, looking steadfastly into his cup.
“As a friend, dear Willie, just as you have come—an old friend.” Miss Perfect spoke low, with a little tremor in her voice, and was, I believe, near crying, but braced her resolution. William drew near gently and sat down beside her, and placing her hand upon his, she proceeded.
“My dear friend Miss Drake, there, does not agree with me, I’m aware; but Doctor Drake who has read more, and perhaps,thoughtmore, thinks otherwise—at least, so I’m led to suppose.”
The doctor coughed a little; Miss Drake raised her long chin, and with raised eyebrows, looked down on her finger-tips which were drumming on the table, and my Cousin William glanced from one to the other, not quite understanding her drift.
“But,” she continued, “I’ve apprised them already, and I tellyouof course; it is—you’ll remember the name—an intimation from Henbane.”
“Poison!” said William, under his breath, with a look of pale inquiry at Doctor Drake, who at the moment was swallowing his tea very fast, and was seized on a sudden with an explosion of coughing, sneezing, and strangling, which compelled him to jump to his feet, and stagger about the room with his face in his pocket-handkerchief and his back to the tea-table.
“When Dr. Henbane,” said my aunt with severity, “I mean a—DoctorDrake—has quite done coughing, I’ll go on.”
There was a little pause.
“Confound it,” thought William, who was half beside himself, “it’s a very odd dying scene!”
The doctor, blowing his nose, returned very red and solemn, and explained, still coughing at intervals, that it was a little tea in the trachea; it invariably occurred to him when he drank tea in the evening; hemustgive it up; “youknow, Letty.”
Miss Drake did not deign to assist him.
“She does not seem to know so much about it as you do,” observed Aunt Dinah with an irony.
“Owing to my notthinkingso much,” replied Miss Letty, sarcastically.
“Henbane?” murmured William again, in a puzzled horror.
“H’m!—yes!—Henbane? you seem to have forgotten;one of those—one of the spirits who have attached themselves to me,” and Aunt Dinah shot a quick glance at the doctor, who, though looking again at his crumpet, seemed to cower awfully under it.
“Oh—ay—Henbane?” exclaimed William in a tone of familiarity, which indicated anything but respect for that supernatural acquaintance. “Henbane, to besure.”
And he looked on his aunt with a half amused recognition, which seemed to say, “Well—and what about that humbug?”
But Aunt Dinah said decisively—
“So much for the present; you shall hearmore—everything, by-and-by.”
And there followed a silence.
“Did you remember the snuff, dear William?” inquired the doomed lady, with rather an abrupt transition.
“Certainly; shall I fetch it?” said William, half rising.
Miss Perfect nodded, and away he went, somehow vastly relieved, and with his bed-room candle in his hand, mounted the oak stairs, which were broad and handsome in proportion to the other dimensions of that snug old house.