Part 23 (1/2)
”And you--will you miss me?”
I tried to say ”For mother's sake I will,” but I did not utter the words. Mr. Randolph gave me a quick glance.
”I have not told your mother yet that I am going,” he said.
”I wondered if you had,” I replied. ”I thought of telling her myself to-day.”
”Do not say anything until nearer the time,” was his somewhat guarded response. ”Ah! here comes the carriage.”
”So you did order the carriage after all,” I said, seeing that the same neat brougham which he had used on the last occasion stopped the way.
”You never forbade me to see you both home in the carriage,” he said with a laugh. ”Now then, Mrs. Wickham.”
Mother had been standing a little back out of the crowd. He went to her, gave her his arm, and she stepped into the carriage, just as if it belonged to her. Mother had always that way with Mr. Randolph's possessions, and sometimes her manner towards him almost annoyed me.
What could it mean. Did she know something about him which I had never heard of nor guessed?
The next day about noon Mr. Randolph entered Jane's sitting-room, where I often spent the mornings.
”I have just come from Anderson's,” he said. ”He will make an appointment with Dr. Reade to see your mother to-morrow.”
”But on what plea?” I asked. ”Mother is somewhat nervous. I am sure it would not be at all good for her to think that her indisposition was so great that two doctors must see her.”
”Anderson will arrange that,” replied Mr. Randolph. ”He has told your mother once or twice lately that he thinks her very weak, and would like her to try a new system of diet. Now Reade is a great specialist for diseases of the digestion. Both doctors will guard against any possible shock to your mother.”
”Well,” I said somewhat petulantly, ”I cannot imagine why you are nervous about her. She is quite as well as she ever was.”
He looked at me as if he meant to say something more, and I felt certain that he strangled a sigh which never came to the surface. The next moment he left the room, I looked round me in a state of bewilderment.
In Jane's room was a bookcase, and the bookcase contained a heterogeneous ma.s.s of books of all sorts. Amongst others was a medical directory. I took it up now, and scarcely knowing why I did so, turned to the name of Reade. Dr. Reade's name was entered in the following way:--
”Reade, Henry, M.D., F.R.C.P., consulting physician to the Brompton Hospital for Consumption, London, and to the Royal Hospital for Diseases of the Chest, Ventnor.”
I read these qualifications over slowly, and put the book back in its place. There was nothing whatever said of Dr. Reade's qualifications for treating that vast field of indigestion to which so many sufferers were victims. I resolved to say something to Jane.
”What is it?” said Jane, as she came into the room. ”What is fretting you now?”
”Oh, nothing,” I answered. ”Dr. Reade must be a very clever physician.”
”First-cla.s.s, of course. I am so pleased your mother is going to see him.”
”But I thought mother was suffering very much from weakness and want of appet.i.te.”
”So she is, poor dear, and I am inventing quite a new sort of soup, which is partly digested beforehand, that I think she will fancy.”
”But I have been looking up Dr. Reade's name. He seems to be a great doctor for consumption and other diseases of the chest. There is no allusion to his extraordinary powers of treating people for indigestion.”
”Well, my dear, consumptives suffer more than most folks from indigestion. Now, don't you worry your head; never meet troubles half-way. I am extremely pleased that your mother is to see Dr.
Reade.”
On the following morning mother herself told me that Dr. Reade was coming.