CHAPTER V.

DR. LAIDLAW TAKES A HAND

As soon as he found that his master was dead, the valet, Roberto, immediately raised the alarm, and Lady Evenden was quickly upon the scene. Her grief was terrible. For some time she could not realize that the dreaded end had come so suddenly--so almost nefariously. Jill Kilby was sent for by the butler, and she tried to get her mistress to leave the death chamber; but Lady Evenden would remain there, half-kneeling, half-lying, by her husband’s bed, her arms thrown round the neck of the man who could never respond again to her caresses.

Frank and Jack were both sent for, and they came almost together. Horrified and bewildered, they stood for some time helplessly gazing at the tragic tableau formed by the living and the dead.

Jack, at last, getting a grip of himself, sent for the local doctor, who came speedily and pronounced life extinct. Sir Michael, he said, had suffered another seizure. This time the heart had been unable to resist the strain, and death had followed. He was surprised--he had not thought from his examination of Sir Michael, earlier in the evening, that the contingency was remotely possible.

Lady Evenden, after great persuasion, was induced to go to her room, and the doctor gave her a draught to insure a certain amount of sleep. Jill stayed by her side, in her room, while Jack and Frank jointly worked out the immediate arrangements to be made. Neither of them returned to bed. They were occupied sending messages to the lawyers and relatives throughout the remaining hours of the night.

In the morning, the guests were quietly informed of the tragic event, and of the impossibility of Lady Evenden’s receiving them in person. With expressions of deep sympathy, they all left the house which, so suddenly, had changed from a bright home of gladness to a place of unutterable gloom.

During the forenoon, Mr. Christopher Benson of the firm of Benson, Waugh & Musgrave, solicitors, arrived, and, after going to the room in which his distinguished client lay, and remaining there in respectful silence for some time, he sought an interview with Jack, in the library.

Mr. Benson was an old gentleman who had served the late baronet’s father in a legal capacity, and had known Jack since babyhood. He was a small man, standing about five feet four. Seventy-six years of age, he looked about sixty--ruddy of countenance, and dressed in a fashion of thirty years ago. He affected small white side-whiskers, which he brushed back to his ears. His hair, plentiful at the sides, was very thin on top. He wore tremendously high Gladstonian collars, which had the effect of framing his face completely between whisker and neck. But the most remarkable features, of Mr. Christopher Benson, were his eyes and his ears.

His ears were unusually large, and his eyes--surmounting a certain pouchiness in the cheeks--were disconcertingly bright and alert. He was immaculately dressed in his old-world style, wearing a grey morning coat and vest with perfectly creased, striped trousers, patent shoes, and a huge stock tie--black to-day in respect to the Evenden family.

He stood before the great fireplace in the library as Jack entered, his hands behind him, the flames from the fire throwing flickering shadows over his venerable face--for the windows were darkened.

As Jack entered, he switched on several lights.

“Good morning, Sir John,” the old man greeted him, and Jack started. The title sounded exceedingly strange; it was the first time it had been addressed to him.

“This is a sad morning for all of us, my boy,” went on the old man. “Yet what a mercy you are home I was afraid you might have to be sent for to your ship.”

“I arrived last night, as a matter of fact,” Jack replied. “How are you, Mr. Benson?” He shook hands cordially with the old man.

“I am very well, thank you, my boy,” Benson said. “I don’t need to ask you how you are. How is Lady Evenden taking this?”

“Terribly,” Jack replied with a shiver. “I have just left her room. It is awful to behold her grief! She does not cry, you know, but just sits in the window mumbling to herself occasionally, and sometimes she seems to be talking to--to him.” Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes at the memory. The old man patted his shoulder.

“H’m! H’m!” he growled. “I’ll have to see her before I go. These strong, capable women, like your stepmother, are the ones to watch in a crisis like this, my boy. They wrap themselves up in some single person and, when anything happens, they simply crumple up. You must be very careful of her, Jack. She’s a good woman.”

“Oh, I know! I know!” Jack agreed.

“Now, my boy”--the old man coughed slightly--“it is most disagreeable to think of matters of business at a time when one’s whole soul is steeped in emotion. Yet, there are certain things that must be attended to at once, and I must--I am sorry--but I must ask you to accompany me through a certain number of papers----”

“Oh, I say, Mr. Benson,” Jack broke in, protestingly, “can’t it wait? Is it really necessary to discuss anything like that yet?”

“Yes, it is,” almost snapped the old man. Then he proceeded more kindly. “You must remember that you were born a privileged person. Great privileges carry with them great responsibilities, and certain crosses, as it were, that are not always the lot of those in humbler circumstances.”

“Quite, sir.” Jack saw the old lawyer in a new light. There was tremendous personality in the little man. And, as he stood there, his fine old face set, and his clear, sharp eyes flashing, he looked an embodiment of duty, bequeathed from an older and sterner generation, for the guidance of a generation to come.

“There are certain papers for you to sign that I have prepared for such a contingency as the present,” he said, unfolding a bundle of papers tied with pink tape, and adjusting a pair of heavy old-fashioned eyeglasses to his nose. “We will just run through them.”

A quarter of an hour was so occupied, then the old man folded his papers, removed his glasses, lay back in his chair; and, with the tips of his fingers just touching from time to time, addressed Jack.

“Now there is one other point I must mention to you this morning,” he said. “There is a will, of course, which will be read after the funeral--But, did your father take you into his confidence at all about his affairs?”

“No,” Jack replied. “As a matter of fact, only last night he told me he wished to consult me about a number of things this morning, and I arranged to meet him in the gun room at seven-thirty.”

“H’m! I see.” The old man crossed his legs, glanced with his sharp eyes towards the door, then leaned forward, and, speaking more quietly, said: “The will with which we shall have to proceed to probate, the only existing will, my boy, is an absolute travesty of your late father’s wishes. The reason why he wanted to consult you this morning was to secure your co-operation and agreement in making such provision for your stepbrother and your stepmother as was just and reasonable.”

“But you don’t mean to say that he didn’t provide for us all, do you?” Jack asked in bewilderment.

“He intended to,” Mr. Benson replied. “I’ll tell you what happened. Some time ago--only a few weeks ago--your father was absolutely in the throes of financial difficulty. Things looked as black as thunder in the Russian oil markets, from which, of course, his great wealth was derived. Now he had a positive horror of this estate slipping out of the family again. I don’t blame him for that; but, when he thought he might possibly come very near to ruin, he determined that every available penny left, should be concentrated in the estate, so that the heir would not be forced to mortgage or sell. The former process invariably ends in the latter, in my long experience.

“Now, in the event of his death, there would have been sufficient to carry on with, but only just sufficient, and he relied upon you to look after your stepmother by way of pension, to what extent the estate could afford. Are you following me?”

Jack nodded.

“Well now”--the old man looked around--“get me a little whisky, will you?” Jack could scarcely repress a smile. He apologized for his lack of thought, rang, and ordered the refreshment. When it was served, and the door closed behind the retreating servant, Mr. Benson, after taking a sip, continued: “Since then the situation has entirely changed. Your father and his associates won their way through, and your father died worth probably half a million, after these iniquitous death duties are paid. Now it is for you, in honor, to meet your father’s wishes and provide an adequate sum for your stepbrother and stepmother. Do you understand?”

“Certainly, Mr. Benson. You know perfectly well I will do whatever you think right in that regard.”

“Well, that’s all I want to say now, my boy. I keep on calling you ‘my boy’ and ‘Jack.’ I must get into the habit of calling you ‘Sir John.’ That is one of the penalties of age, my boy, a vain hankering after the things that were--and garrulity.”

The old man rose, finished his whisky, then turned to Jack.

“Now take me to Lady Evenden,” he ordered.

“Well--I don’t really know whether you can do any good, Mr. Benson----” Jack began doubtfully.

But the old man cut in brusquely. “Tut, tut! Take me to Lady Evenden--and leave the rest to me.”

Jack, without more ado, led the way up the great staircase to his stepmother’s room, softly opened the door, and called Jill. Mr. Benson pushed past him and crossed the room to where Margaret Evenden sat, a tragic figure indeed, in the wide window overlooking the park. Her eyes, roaming incessantly, were searching every bit of the landscape within view. It was all holy ground to her. Not an inch but her beloved husband and she had trodden in the happy years that were ended now.

Jack withdrew, and Jill Kilby, looking a little doubtfully at the lawyer as he crossed the room, advanced and touched his coat sleeve.

“Her ladyship is not herself----” Jill began.

“I knew her ladyship before you were born, girl. Leave the room,” ordered the old lawyer sternly. Jill hesitated. “Leave the room, will you?” Mr. Benson’s eyes flashed, completely intimidating. Jill flushed and left the room. Mr. Benson then approached Margaret Evenden, who had not shown the slightest interest in the duel of wills that had just taken place within three yards of her. A very different Mr. Benson it was who touched her on the shoulder.

“Lady Evenden, my poor child!” whispered the old man. “This won’t do, you know.” She looked up, and the old lawyer took her hand.

“Who told him?” Margaret Evenden whispered “John did.”

Mr. Benson looked closely at her. There was a tremor in his voice as he asked:

“Lady Evenden, my dear child, do you know me?”

She stared vacantly at him for several moments, then replied:

“Of course--you’re Mr. Benson, but nothing matters now. I kept my secret safely all these years, and then somebody told him--and he died.”

“Will you please listen to one who has sought to serve you ever since he met you, my dear?” Mr. Benson asked, and his magnetic eyes held hers.

She replied in spite of herself. “Yes--I know I can trust you. I think I can trust you. But it doesn’t matter now, anyhow.”

“You can trust me, my child, and, what’s more, you must obey me. Now listen to me. Your dear husband died because his heart was in a terrible condition, and he had been overstraining it lately. He loved you, and he expected you to remain the strong helper of the weak in this district that you have ever been. The charities that he and you inaugurated still need your presiding genius. You have work still to do.”

She was silent. He paused a moment, then proceeded.

“I am no priest, my dear, only a rather cynical old lawyer; but an overwhelming majority of civilized people firmly believe that death is not the end of existence. Now on that basis, my dear child, does it not behoove you, at this time, so to act that your dear husband will be proud of your victory over evil circumstance, when you are once more reunited?”

“I shall not fail him,” she replied. “Only he would not have left me if some one had not told him.”

“Never mind that,” counseled the old man. “Remember what I say. I will see you to-morrow. Good-day, my dear Lady Evenden.”

She bade him “good-day,” and with frowning brows Mr. Benson left the room. At the door he found Jill talking to Jack Evenden. He ignored the girl, drew Jack aside, and spoke directly and firmly.

“Listen to me, Jack. Your stepmother is on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. I know the signs. When the great crises of life come, these strong, capable women are bowled right over. They feel too deeply, my boy; they feel too deeply. Now listen to me and take my advice. Anything might happen with that unfortunate lady. You must get--and get at once--a strong, capable, experienced woman into the house, as a nurse or companion. That flibbertigibbet of a flapper that presumed to teach me my business is utterly useless--worse than useless. Now get one at once, will you?”

“Yes, certainly, if you say I must,” replied Jack, looking frightened. “Do you mean there is danger of her sanity----”

“Yes, I do,” interrupted Mr. Benson. “She’s got all sorts of ridiculous delusions now. Who’ll you get?”

“I’ll send for Lady Porter, she----”

“Capital,” agreed the lawyer. “The very woman. Send at once, and in the meantime have the housekeeper somewhere about your stepmother. Don’t leave her in the care of that flapper.”

Jack agreed, though in his heart he felt that the old man exaggerated the state of his stepmother, as he did Jill’s incompetence. Nevertheless, he knew in what esteem his father had held the old man, and he knew that Mr. Benson was considered the greatest lawyer in four counties. Besides, he personally liked the old man as well as respected him. He determined therefore to send for Lady Porter, his father’s cousin from Lincoln, immediately. He accompanied Mr. Benson to the hall, where a little man was waiting. The butler approached him.

“This gentleman says he must see Lady Evenden, sir,” he announced.

“Well, he can’t whoever he is”--Mr. Benson spoke before Jack could reply.

“No--it is impossible for anyone to see Lady Evenden, at present.” Jack agreed, with a glance at the little man.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said the little man coming forward, “but I am a very old friend of Lady Evenden, and at this moment it is very important that I should see her--even imperative.”

“What is your name?” asked Jack.

“Laidlaw--Dr. Laidlaw,” replied the little man with a quick glance at the lawyer, who was observing him keenly.

“Well, then, you must write, Dr. Laidlaw,” said Mr. Benson. “You certainly cannot see her. She is not fit to receive anybody.”

“I am sure if she knew----” commenced Dr. Laidlaw.

“You cannot see her. You cannot see her!” thundered Mr. Benson. “Can you not take an order, man?”

“It is very important----” Again the doctor was interrupted.

“Will you please go, sir?” The lawyer looked like a judge and an executioner in one.

Dr. Laidlaw, coloring, and with an evil glint in his eye, left without another word.

“I don’t know who that man is, but he’s a nasty little fellow,” observed Mr. Benson to Jack, and Jack agreed that the doctor’s appearance was certainly not prepossessing. The lawyer took his leave and Jack returned to the library.

Late that afternoon, when Jack paid a call at his stepmother’s room, he was astonished to meet Dr. Laidlaw leaving it, just as he was about to enter. He halted a moment to question him. But, Laidlaw rushed past him and was on the staircase before Jack could think of anything to say.

“Lady Evenden is trying to sleep, and wishes you to excuse her,” Jill announced, as Jack was about to enter the room.

“Well, I think I’d better see her for a moment,” Jack hesitated.

“Forgive me,” Jill said. “You can, of course, if you like, Mr. Evenden--but she seems so upset just now that I think, if I might presume to advise, I should suggest you let her have a rest for an hour or so.”

“All right,” Jack rather reluctantly agreed. “But just one moment, Miss Kilby. Who admitted that little man who has just gone?”

“Oh, his name is Dr. Laidlaw,” Jill said. “Her ladyship saw him in the grounds somewhere, and sent word down that she would receive him, so I informed the butler, and he came.”

“I see--all right,” Jack said after a pause. Then, as he moved away, he said to himself, “I wonder who the little fellow is? He seemed sure of his welcome--and he apparently _was_ welcome. Laidlaw? Laidlaw? Where have I heard the name---- Great heavens! the name of the doctor who attended her first husband at Loch Lomond! What on earth does this mean?”

Deep in meditation, Jack walked to the smoking room, then to the library, afterwards making a round of the likeliest places to find his stepbrother. Failing, he returned to the library, rang for the butler, and told him to send Mr. Frank to him in the Prior’s Room, if he should come in.

But Frank did not come in, and later in the evening Jack dined alone in the great dining room. Afterwards, obsessed by loneliness, he retired to the Prior’s Room, leaving instructions again with the butler to send Frank along if he should return before midnight.

Roberto, the valet, went to attend his new master at seven-thirty the following morning, but got no reply when he knocked. He decided therefore to wait until eight o’clock.

At eight, he was equally unsuccessful; so, he turned the handle of the door, which was not locked, and entered. The next thing that happened was that the household was startled by a piercing cry as Roberto, completely unstrung, ran along the corridors shouting:

“Master Jack, Master Jack is dead--murdered.”