Kitabı oku: «The Disagreeable Woman», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XVII.
MY RICH PATIENT

When I was admitted to the house of Gregory Vincent, I was surprised by its magnificence. It has been said that there are few palaces in Europe that compare in comfort and luxury with a first class New York mansion. I have never been in a palace, and Mr. Vincent's house was the only aristocratic house which I had had an opportunity to view. But I am prepared to indorse the remark.

I handed my card to the liveried servant who opened the door.

"Dr. Fenwick," he repeated. "Yes, sir; you are expected."

He led me upstairs into an elegant library, or sitting-room and library combined. Here sat my acquaintance of the evening before, with his foot swathed in bandages and resting on a chair, while he was seated in a cosy arm-chair.

"Good-morning, doctor," he said. "I am glad to see you. You see that I am in the grasp of my old enemy."

"We will try to rout him," I said, cheerfully.

"That sounds well, and encourages me. Do you know, Dr. Fenwick, that without any special reason I feel great confidence in you. You are a young man, probably not more than half as old as my regular physician, but he has not been able to do me any good."

"And I hope to be able to do so."

"I suppose you have had experience in such cases?"

"Yes, I have an old aunt who had suffered untold tortures from rheumatism. She put herself under my charge, and for her sake I made an extensive study of rheumatic cases and remedies."

"Well?" he asked, eagerly.

"I finally cured her. It is now three years since she has had a twinge."

"Good! My instinct was correct. That gives me hopes of success under your charge. Don't be afraid to lose your patient by effecting a speedy cure. I will make you a promise. When you have so far cured me that I am free from rheumatic pains for three months, I will hand you a check for a thousand dollars."

"A thousand dollars!" I repeated with sparkling eyes. "That will indeed be an inducement."

"Of course I shall pay you your regular fees besides."

I could hardly credit my good fortune. I was like one who had just received intelligence that I had drawn a large sum in the lottery. I determined to win the promised check if there was any chance.

I began to question Mr. Vincent as to his trouble. I found that it was a case of rheumatic gout. A difficult case, but very similar to that of my aunt. I resolved to try the same treatment with him.

I wished to ask some questions, but he forestalled them.

"I have no wife," he said. "I was left a widower many years ago. My niece and myself constitute our whole family."

"Don't you feel lonely at times?" I asked.

"Yes. My niece has her friends, suited to one of her age, but little company for me. If I had a nephew now—like yourself—it would cheer me up and give me a new interest in life."

"I wish you were my uncle," I said to myself.

"I am an old man, but I have great interest in young company. I think it was that that drew me toward you at Patti's concert. When I learned that you were a physician I saw that I could make it worth your while to call on an old man. I hope you are not a very busy man."

"Not yet," I answered, guardedly. I felt that it would be unwise to let him know how far from a busy man I was.

"Then you will be able to call upon me every day."

"I will do so gladly, but it will not be necessary—from a medical point of view."

"No matter! I shall be glad to have you come, and of course I pay for your time. It will be an advantage, no doubt, to have your patient under constant observation."

"That is true."

"Now I won't put you to the trouble of keeping an account of your visits. I will agree to pay you twenty-five dollars a week if that will be satisfactory."

Twenty-five dollars a week! Why I scarcely made that sum in fees in a month.

"It is more than I should think of charging," I said, frankly.

"Then it is satisfactory. Your money will be paid you at the end of every week."

When I left the house I felt as if I had suddenly come into a fortune. Now I could see my way clear. The little stock of money which still remained to me would suffer no further diminution. On the contrary, I should be able to add to it.

It is said that there comes to every man once in his life a chance to succeed. Apparently mine had come to me, and this chance had come to me through the Disagreeable Woman.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PROFESSOR'S BOOK

For some weeks matters went on quietly at our boarding-house. Prof. Poppendorf, in spite of the failure of his matrimonial schemes, ate, smoked, and drank as tranquilly as ever. Ruth was grateful to him that he had accepted her refusal as final, and disturbed her no more. They still sat near each other at the table, but there was never anything in his manner to indicate that there had been any romantic passages between them.

The Disagreeable Woman remained as great a mystery as ever. Sometimes she was absent for three or four days together. Then she would suddenly reappear. No one ever asked where she had been. It would have taken rare courage to do that. Nor did she ever volunteer any explanation.

Whether she possessed large means or not no one could conjecture. She always paid her board bill, and with unfailing regularity, at the end of every week. Her dress was always plain, but oftentimes of costly material. She seldom indulged in conversation, though she was always ready with an answer when spoken to. Perhaps I may mention as exceptions to her general rule of reticence the young woman from Macy's and myself. She seemed to feel more kindly toward us than toward any of the others.

There had been various attempts to find out where she lived. None had succeeded. One day Mrs. Wyman asked the question directly.

"Where do you live, Miss Blagden, if you will allow me to ask?"

"I will allow you to ask," returned the Disagreeable Woman, coolly. "Do you propose to call on me?"

"If you will permit me."

"It is hardly necessary. We meet at the table every day. I am a hermit," she added after a pause, "I do not care to receive visitors."

"I once heard of a hermit who lived in one of the cottages on the rocks near Central Park," said the widow, rather impertinently.

"I don't live there!" said the Disagreeable Woman, composedly.

"Of course not. I did not suppose you did."

"Thank you. You are right as usual."

If Miss Blagden meant to be sarcastic, nothing in her tone revealed it. She had warded off the attack dictated by curiosity.

Whether Miss Blagden was rich or not, she was always ready to contribute to any public or private cause. When Prof. Poppendorf announced that he was about to publish a book, enlarged from his lecture on "The Material and The Immaterial." Miss Blagden subscribed for two copies.

"One is for you, Dr. Fenwick!" she said, in a low tone.

"Thank you, Miss Blagden. You are very kind. Am I expected to read it?"

"If you can," she responded with a grim smile.

The other boarders were asked, but each had some excuse.

"I have just bought a new hat," said Mrs. Wyman.

"I no understand English," said the Count.

"Do you think I ought to subscribe, Miss Blagden?" asked Ruth.

"No, child. Why should you? You have a use for your money. Besides, you would not understand it. If you wish, I will buy one for you?"

"No, thank you, Miss Blagden. It would be of no use to me, but I thought the Professor would think it friendly."

She could not explain that she wished to make amends for refusing his suit, for she had with rare delicacy abstained from mentioning the learned German's uncouth courtship. Perhaps Miss Blagden, who was very observing, penetrated her motive, for she said: "There is something in that. Subscribe, and I will pay for the book."

Upon this Ruth gently told the Professor that she would take a copy.

He was surprised and delighted.

"By all means Mees Ruth, but perhaps I should give you one."

"No, no, Prof. Poppendorf. I want to show my interest in you—and your book."

"You are so good. I will give you the first copy."

"Thank you," said Ruth, shyly.

"What do you want of the old fossil's book?" asked Mrs. Wyman later, when the Professor was out of hearing. "I suspect that you are in love with the Professor."

"No, you don't suspect that," said Ruth, composedly.

"At any rate he seems struck with you."

"I suppose I am either material or immaterial," returned Ruth, laughing.

"You went to walk with him one evening."

"I am afraid you are jealous, Mrs. Wyman."

The widow laughed and the conversation ended.

CHAPTER XIX.
A SPEECH FROM THE THRONE

It was some time since Mrs. Gray had made any communication to the boarders.

But one evening she seemed laboring under suppressed excitement.

"Something is up," said Mr. Blake, the young reporter who sat on my left, the Disagreeable Woman being on my right.

"We shall have it after supper," I answered.

Mrs. Gray always waited till the last boarder had finished his meal. It was one of the unwritten laws of the boarding-house.

The last boarder on this occasion was Professor Poppendorf. He was the heartiest eater, and we usually had to wait for him. When he had taken the last sip of beer, for in consideration of his national tastes he was always supplied with a schooner of that liquid which is dear to the Teutonic heart, Mrs. Gray opened her mouth.

"My friends," she said, "I have a letter to read to you."

She opened a perfumed billet, adjusted her spectacles, and read.

"It is from Mrs. Wyman," she said, "and it is at her request that I read it."

We had already noticed that neither Mrs. Wyman nor the Count was present.

Mrs. Gray began:

"My Dear Mrs. Gray:—For three years I have been an inmate of your happy home. I have come to feel an interest in it and in all whose acquaintance I have made here. I had no thought of leaving you, but circumstances make it necessary. Let me say at once that I have consented to marry Count di Penelli. You who are familiar with his fine traits and aristocratic bearing will hardly be surprised that I have been unable to resist his ardent entreaties. I had indeed intended never to marry again, but it was because I never expected to find one who could take the place of my dear departed first husband. The Count and I leave by an early train for Philadelphia where the ceremony will be performed. We may remain there for a few days. Beyond that our plans are not arranged. We would have had a public wedding and invited our friends, but as the Count's family are in Italy and cannot be present, we thought it best to have a simple private ceremony. When we go to Italy next summer there may be another ceremony at the Penelli Castle in Southern Italy.

"I cannot tell when I shall return to New York. Probably I shall never again be an inmate of your happy home. The Count and I may take a flat up-town—a whole house would be too large for us. But I shall—we shall certainly call on our old friends, and I trust that the ties that bind us together in friendship may never weaken.

"I shall soon be the Countess di Penelli. But once more and for the last time, I subscribe myself

"Your faithful and devoted 

"Letitia Wyman."

We listened to the reading of the letter in silent excitement. Then there was a chorus of exclamations.

"Did you ever?" ejaculated the young woman from Macy's.

"I am not surprised," said the Disagreeable woman, calmly. "Mrs. Wyman has been courting the Count ever since he came here."

"You mean that he has been paying his attentions to her," suggested Mr. Blake, the reporter.

"No, I mean what I say."

"She says she had no thought of marrying again."

"Mr. Blake, you are a young man. You don't understand women, and particularly widows. Probably there is not a gentleman at the table whom Mrs. Wyman has not thought of as a matrimonial subject, yourself not excepted."

Mr. Blake was a very young man, and he blushed.

"She would not have married me," growled the Professor.

Most of us smiled.

"Are you pledged to celibacy, Professor?" asked the landlady.

"No, madam. If a certain young lady would marry me I would marry to-morrow."

Ruth Canby blushed furiously, and was indignant with herself for doing so, especially as it drew all glances to her.

"Let us hope you may be successful in your suit, Professor," said Mrs. Gray.

"Thank you, my dear lady; time will show."

Miss Blagden turned her searching glance upon the flaming cheeks of Ruth and smiled kindly. If there was any one at the table whom she liked it was the young woman from Macy's.

"I suppose there is no doubt about his being a Count," suggested Mr. Blake.

"I should say there was a good deal of doubt," answered the Disagreeable Woman.

"Do you really think so?"

"It is my conjecture."

"Oh, I think there is no doubt about it," said the landlady, who prided herself on having had so aristocratic a boarder.

"I am a loser by this marriage," said Mrs. Gray. "I have two rooms suddenly vacated."

"A friend of mine will take one of them," said Mr. Blake, the reporter. "He has been wishing to get in here for a month."

"I shall be glad to receive him," said Mrs. Gray, graciously.

The other room was also taken within a week.

CHAPTER XX.
A STARTLING DISCOVERY

Usually I secured a morning paper, and ran over the contents at my office while waiting for patients.

It was perhaps a week later that I selected the Herald—I did not confine myself exclusively to one paper—and casually my eye fell upon the arrivals at the hotels.

I started in surprise as I read among the guests at the Brevoort House the name of Count di Penelli.

"What!" I exclaimed, "are our friends back again? Why is not the Countess mentioned? Perhaps, however, the Count has left his wife in Philadelphia, and come on here on business."

It chanced that I had occasion to pass the Brevoort an hour later.

I was prompted to call and inquire for the Count.

"Yes, he is in. Will you send up your card?"

I hastily inscribed my name on a card and sent it up to his room.

The bell-boy soon returned.

"The Count will be glad to see you, sir," he said. "Will you follow me?"

"He is getting ceremonious," I reflected. "I thought he would come down to see me."

I followed the bell-boy to a room on the second floor.

"Dr. Fenwick?" he said, as the door was opened.

I saw facing me a tall, slender, dark-complexioned man of about forty-five, a perfect stranger to me.

"I wished to see Count di Penelli," I stammered, in some confusion.

"I am the Count," he answered, courteously.

"But the Count I know is a young man."

"There is no other Count di Penelli."

"Pardon me!" I said, "but a young man calling himself by that name was for two months a fellow boarder of mine."

"Describe him, if you please," said the Count, eagerly.

I did so.

"Ah," said the Count, when I concluded, "it is doubtless my valet, who has been masquerading under my title. He ran away from me at the West, nearly three months since, carrying with him three hundred dollars. I set detectives upon his track, but they could find no clue. Is the fellow still at your boarding-house?"

"No, Count, he eloped a week since with a widow, another of our boarders. I believe they are in Philadelphia."

"Then he has deceived the poor woman. Has she got money?"

"A little. I don't think she has much."

"That is what he married her for. Doubtless he supposed her wealthy. He had probably spent all the money he took from me."

"I hope, Count, for the sake of his wife, you will not have him arrested."

Count di Penelli shrugged his shoulders.

"I will let him go at your request, poor devil," he said. "Why did she marry him?"

"For his title."

"Then the heart is not concerned?"

"I never discovered that Mrs. Wyman had a heart."

"Probably both will be heartily sick of the marriage, perhaps are so already."

"Thank you for your information, Count."

"And I thank you for yours. Good-morning!"

I said nothing at the boarding-house of the discovery I had made. Why should I? So far as the rest of the boarders knew Mrs. Wyman was a veritable Countess.