Valentine Williams - Dead Man Manor

In the shadow of a great boulder at the water’s edge an old man sat huddled on a bench. His hat had fallen to the ground, showing his abundant, silvered hair. He was bent nearly double, clutching at his chest and groaning feebly.

The girl dropped to her knees and put her arms tenderly about him. ‘Grandpère,’ she said in French, ‘this gentleman is a doctor. We are going to take you indoors!’

Wood had seated himself beside the old man.

‘What happened?’ he asked gently, leaning forward to scan the livid face in the twilight.

The old man groaned. ‘I walk with my granddaughter,’ he panted weakly—he spoke in English, but as a foreigner speaks it. ‘Suddenly I feel like a blow in the chest and this terrible pain begin—here!’ He drew a thin hand across his breast. Then his bluish lips were contracted in a sudden spasm. ‘Ah, mon Dieu, que je souffre!’ he gasped.

Alert and professional, the doctor spoke across him to the girl.

‘Did you know he suffered from his heart?’ he asked in an undertone.

She nodded, grave-eyed.

‘What has he been taking for it, do you know?’

‘A German drug—metaphylin, it’s called!’

‘Metaphylin, eh?’ He pursed his lips. ‘Just as I thought!’ He stood up, gazing down at the sufferer who had closed his eyes and was rocking himself silently to and fro. ‘We’ll have to get him to bed. Have you any coffee?’

‘There’s some on the kitchen stove. I don’t know if it’s still warm!’

‘Go on ahead and heat it. And wait, fill a hot-water bag—two, if you have ’em. I can manage him alone!’

With an understanding nod the girl hurried away. Stooping, the doctor gathered up the old man in his stalwart arms—fragile and small of build, he was no great weight.

As the American lifted him, he opened his eyes. They were shadowed with fear.

‘This sensation of approaching death,’ he whispered, ‘it makes me so afraid!’

‘You’ve got a dicky heart, my friend,’ said the young man composedly. ‘But don’t worry—you’re not going to die this time!’

At the sound of his tread on the back porch, the girl appeared at the door. Beyond her was a big kitchen where a candle burned on the table. Without speaking she took the candle and led the way through a narrow passage to a little bare lobby or hall, with doors opening off it. One of these was ajar; they entered, and in the light of the candle the American saw what appeared to be an office, with a desk in the centre of the floor and empty shelves all round. There was an open fireplace where some logs glowed and of furniture little else save a narrow truckle-bed against the wall. While he laid the old man down, the girl lit an oil lamp that stood on the desk, then whispering, ‘I’ll fetch the coffee,’ silently vanished.

By the time she returned, bearing a tray in one hand and two hot-water bags in the other, her grandfather, robed in his white nightshirt, was already in bed. He was still moaning with pain. The doctor had set the lamp on a packing-case that stood beside the bed. Now he put the hot-water bags to the patient’s feet and, turning, showed the girl a small bottle.

‘Did you know he had these tablets? This bottle fell out of his waistcoat when I was undressing him.’

She shook her head blankly. ‘No. What are they?’

‘Morphine. We’ll give him a couple to ease him. Pour out some of that coffee, like a good girl, will you?’

Submissively the old man let the doctor administer the tablets and drank some coffee, then lay back, with eyes closed, upon the pillow. Wood drew up a chair to the bed and sat down to observe the patient. He looked very distinguished with his snowy hair and strongly marked, jet-black eyebrows jutting out above a high-bridged, patrician nose. With a puzzled air the American glanced surreptitiously round the bare chamber. What were these two doing, living in these improvised quarters in that deserted house?

From time to time, as he waited for the drug to do its work, he stole a glance at the girl. She had withdrawn from the circle of lamplight and her black frock melted into the shadows, leaving only her face discernible. Now that he had leisure to scan her more closely, he was aware of her beauty. It was a beauty rather of expression than of features, for she had her grandfather’s proud, aquiline air and a mouth too wide and full, a chin a thought too firm, for mere prettiness. With her rather broad shoulders and lean hips and clean-cut, vital face she might have been a handsome boy. But, as she stared down with a sort of tremulous compassion at the motionless figure in the bed, there was a softness in her eyes that hinted at unplumbed depths of tenderness. She looked so brave and lonely standing there that the young American felt a quick stirring of sympathy for her in her predicament. How serious this predicament was, none realized so well as he.

At length the old man dozed and the doctor stood up. ‘I’d like a word with you,’ he said, and added, with a glance at the bed, ‘but not here!’

The girl nodded and picked up the candle. ‘Come with me!’

She brought him through the lobby into a room lined with cupboards. In the middle was a table set for meals and a few books and fashion magazines were scattered about—the place seemed to be a linen-room or something of the sort which the old man and his granddaughter were using as a sitting-room. The air was fresher here and he noticed that a window was partly open.

Wood closed the door behind them and looked at his companion gravely.

‘You may as well know it,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather’s a very sick man. How long has he had this heart trouble?’

Her eyes had clouded over. ‘For about a year. He went to a doctor in Paris, where we live. I didn’t know it was serious. Please be frank with me. Is it?’

‘Coronary thrombosis is always serious. That’s the medical name. Angina pectoris, people mostly call it!’

She pressed her hands together. ‘You mean—you mean, he’s going to die?’

The American gazed at her compassionately—he had frank and honest eyes.

‘I mustn’t give you any false hopes. A sudden shock might carry him off. After an attack like tonight’s, his only chance lies in absolute rest and quiet. He’ll have to stay in bed for at least three weeks!’

She did not speak, staring at him in consternation.

‘Obviously,’ the doctor went on, looking about him, ‘he can’t stay here. He should be moved to a hospital. Not at once, but in a day or two!’

She shook her head blankly. ‘It’s impossible!’ she murmured.

‘Why?’ And when she remained silent, ‘If you’re living in this big house, at least you can shift him to more comfortable quarters in it, can’t you?’ His voice had an irritable edge.

‘You don’t understand,’ she said huskily. ‘The rest of the house is dismantled. Only these two rooms and another off the lobby where I sleep are furnished.’

There was a heavy step outside, and a man’s voice called softly, ‘Mademoiselle!’

‘It’s my grandfather’s servant,’ she said. ‘I must tell him what has happened!’ She tiptoed out.

On the far side of the room a door broke the line of presses. It seemed to lead to the front of the house. Waiting until the girl was out of earshot, the doctor picked up the candle and tried this door. It was not locked and beyond the threshold he saw another small vestibule with a door in the corner and beside it what looked like a back staircase mounting to the upper floor. Two white doors, massive and tall, with elaborate bronze handles and finger-plates, faced him across the uncarpeted space. They yielded to his touch and he found himself peering into a wide dark chamber, empty and desolate.