Part 48 (2/2)
”Very well,” quietly. ”Call Aunt Amy, then, and search the room. She will sleep for a long time yet. When she wakes there must be no more of the drug within her reach. I must find out the amount to which she has been accustomed and arrange a decreasing dose. But if you are to be a nurse, you know, you must expect a bad time. It will not be easy.”
Esther's reply was to call Aunt Amy and while the doctor explained to the bewildered old lady the danger in which her niece stood and the absolute importance of keeping all ”medicine” away from her, Esther quietly and swiftly searched the room. Boxes and drawers she unlocked and opened, the dresser, the writing-table, the bureau, the long unused sewing basket, all were examined without success. But in the locked box which contained her father's portrait, she made another discovery which woke a little throb of angry pity in her heart. There, still wrapped in its carelessly torn off postal wrappings, lay the box containing the ruby ring which Jessica Bremner had returned. Mary must have got it from the post herself and had immediately hidden it, careless of the fact that all Esther's careful savings had been necessary to make the return possible. Without comment she slipped the ring into the bosom of her dress.
”Have you found anything?”
”Nothing yet.”
Aunt Amy took a fascinated step nearer the figure on the bed. If Callandar could have intercepted the look she cast upon it he might have been warned of the subtle change which had taken place in her of late, but the doctor had turned to help Esther. Aunt Amy could gaze undisturbed.
”She looks like Richard,” said Aunt Amy suddenly. ”Do you remember Richard?” She brushed her hand over her eyes in a painful effort of memory. ”He was a bad man, a very bad man.”
”She means her brother Richard,” explained Esther. ”He has been dead for ages. I believe he was not a family ornament.”
”Just like Richard,” murmured Aunt Amy again with a quickly checked chuckle. ”But you ought to be glad of that. You won't have to marry her now. You can marry Esther.”
If a sh.e.l.l had burst in the quiet room, it could scarcely have caused more consternation. The doctor's stern face quivered, Esther's searching hand dropped paralysed. Here was a danger indeed! Was their secret really so patent? Or had it been but a vagrant guess of a clouded mind?
Callandar recovered himself first. Without glancing at the girl he walked quietly over to the bed and placing his hand upon Aunt Amy's shoulder compelled wavering eyes to his.
”Aunt Amy, you must never say that again.” He spoke with the crisp incisiveness of a master, but for once his subject did not immediately respond. With a sulky look she tried to wrench herself free.
”Why?” she questioned. But Callandar knew his business too well to argue. ”You must never say it again,” he repeated.
”You--must--never--say--it--again!”
The poor, weak lips began to quiver. Her own boldness had frightened her quite as much as his vehemence. Her eyes fluttered and fell.
”Very well, Doctor,” she answered meekly.
They searched now in silence and presently Esther emerged from the closet with a pair of dainty slippers in her hand.
”I think I have found something,” she said. ”There are three pairs of party slippers and the toes of them are all stuffed with these.” She handed the doctor a package of innocent looking tablets done up in purplish blue paper.
Callandar glanced at them, shook them out and counted their number.
”You are sure you have them all?”
”I can find no trace of more.”
”Then I think we have a strong fight coming--but a good hope, too.”
CHAPTER XXIX
Miss A. Milligan stood before the door of her select dressmaking parlours, meditatively picking her teeth with a needle. We hasten to observe that her teeth were quite clean and that this was merely a harmless habit denoting intense mental concentration. Miss Milligan was tall and full of figure with an elegant waist and a bust so like a pin-cus.h.i.+on that it fulfilled the duties of that article admirably. Her small bright eyes set in a wide expanse of face suggested nothing so much as currants in an underdone bun, and just now, as she watched the graceful figure of Mrs. Coombe, bride to be, disappear around the corner, they gave the impression of having been poked too far in while the bun was soft.
The door of Miss Milligan's select parlours did not open upon the main street, it being far from her desire to attract promiscuous trade. The parlours, indeed, were situated upon one of the ”nicest” streets in Coombe and occupied a corner lot, so that a splendid view down two of the most genteel residential streets was obtainable from their windows.
The only sign of business anywhere was a board of chaste design over the doorway, bearing the simple legend, ”A. MILLIGAN.” Even the word ”Dressmaker” was considered superfluous. Also there was one window, near the door, which from time to time displayed wonderfully coloured plates of terribly twisting and elegantly elongated females purporting to be the very latest from Paris (_France_).
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