Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias > This page
The Weathercock: Being the Adventures of a Boy with a Bias, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 8. A Professional Visit |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER EIGHT. A PROFESSIONAL VISIT "Not going up to the rectory?" said the Doctor, next morning. "No, uncle," said Vane, looking up from a book he was reading. "Joseph came with a note, before breakfast, to say that the rector was going over to Lincoln to-day, and that he hoped I would do a little private study at home." "Then don't, my dear," said Aunt Hannah. "You read and study too much. Get the others to go out with you for some excursion." Vane looked at her in a troubled way. "He was going to excursion into the workshop. Eh, boy?" said the doctor. "Yes, uncle, I did mean to." "No, no, no, my dear; get some fresh air while it's fine. Yes, Eliza." "If you please, ma'am, cook says may she speak to you." "Yes; send her in," was the reply; and directly after Martha appeared, giving the last touches to secure the clean apron she had put on between kitchen and breakfast-room. "Cook's cross," said Vane to himself, as his aunt looked up with-- "Well, cook?" "Sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I want to know what I'm to do about my vegetables this morning." "Cook them," said Vane to himself, and then he repeated the words aloud, and added, "not like you did my poor chanterelles." "Hush, Vane, my dear," said Aunt Hannah, as the cook turned upon him fiercely. "I do not understand what you mean, Martha." "I mean, ma'am," said the cook, jerkily, but keeping her eyes fixed upon Vane, "that Bruff sent word as he's too ill to come this morning; and I can't be expected to go down gardens, digging potatoes and cutting cauliflowers for dinner. It isn't my place." "No, no, certainly not, Martha," said Aunt Hannah. "Dear me! I am sorry Bruff is so ill. He was quite well yesterday." "But I want the vegetables now, ma'am." "And you shall have them, Martha," said the doctor, rising, bowing, and opening the door for the cook to pass out, which she did, looking wondering and abashed at her master, as if not understanding what he meant. "Dear me!" continued the doctor, rubbing one ear, and apostrophising his nephew, "what a strange world this is. Now, by and by, Vane, that woman will leave here to marry and exist upon some working man's income, and never trouble herself for a moment about whether it's her place to go down the garden 'to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie,' as the poet said--or somebody else; but be only too glad to feel that there is a cabbage in the garden to cut, and a potato to dig. Vane, my boy, will you come and hold the basket?" "No, uncle; I'll soon dig a few, and cut the cauliflower," said Vane, hastily; and he hurried toward the door. "I'll go with you, my boy," said the doctor; and he went out with his nephew, who was in a state of wondering doubt, respecting the gardener's illness. For suppose that chanterelles were, after all, not good to eat, and he had poisoned the man! "Come along, Vane. We can find a basket and fork in the tool-house." The doctor took down his straw hat, and led the way down the garden, looking very happy and contented, but extremely unlike the Savile Row physician, whom patients were eager to consult only a few years before. Then the tool-house was reached, and he shouldered a four-pronged fork, and Vane took the basket; the row of red kidney potatoes was selected, and the doctor began to dig and turn up a root of fine, well-ripened tubers. "Work that is the most ancient under the sun, Vane, my boy," said the old gentleman, smiling. "Pick them up." But Vane did not stir. He stood, basket in hand, thinking; and the more he thought the more uneasy he grew. "Ready? Pick them up!" cried the doctor. "What are you thinking about, eh?" Vane gave a jump. "I beg your pardon, uncle, I was thinking." "I know that. What about?" "Bruff being ill." "Hum! Yes," said the doctor, lifting the fork to remove a potato which he had accidentally impaled. "I think I know what's the matter with Master Bruff." "So do I, uncle. Will you come on and see him, as soon as we have got enough vegetables?" "Physician's fee is rather high for visiting a patient, my boy; and Bruff only earns a pound a week. What very fine potatoes!" "You will come on, won't you, uncle? I'm sure I know what's the matter with him." "Do you?" said the doctor, turning up another fine root of potatoes. "Without seeing him?" "Yes, uncle;" and he related what he had done on the previous afternoon. "Indeed," said the doctor, growing interested. "But you ought to know a chanterelle if you saw one. Are you sure what you gave Mrs Bruff were right?" "Quite, uncle; I am certain." "Dear me! But they are reckoned to be perfectly wholesome food. I don't understand it. There, pick up the potatoes, and let's cut the cauliflowers. I'll go and see what's wrong." Five minutes after the basket was handed in to Martha; and then the doctor washed his hands, changed his hat, and signified to Aunt Hannah where they were going. "That's right, my dear, I thought you would," said the old lady, beaming. "Going too, Vane, my dear?" "Yes, aunt." "That's right. I hope you will find him better." Vane hoped so, too, in his heart, as he walked with his uncle to the gardener's cottage, conjuring up all kinds of suffering, and wondering whether the man had been ill all the night; and, to make matters worse, a deep groan came from the open bedroom window as they approached. Vane looked at his uncle in horror. "Good sign, my boy," said the doctor cheerfully. "Not very bad, or he would not have made that noise. Well, Mrs Bruff," he continued, as the woman appeared to meet them at the door, "so Ebenezer is unwell?" "Oh, yes, sir, dreadful. He was took badly about two o'clock, and he has been so queer ever since." "Dear me," said the doctor. "Do you know what has caused it?" "Yes, sir," said the woman, beginning to sob; "he says it's those nasty toadstools Master Vane brought, and gave me to cook for his tea. Ah, Master Vane, you shouldn't have played us such a trick." Vane looked appealingly at his uncle, who gave him a reassuring nod. "You cooked them then?" said the doctor. "Oh, yes, sir, and we had them for tea, and the nasty things were so nice that we never thought there could be anything wrong." "What time do you say your husband was taken ill?" "About two o'clock, sir." "And what time were you taken ill?" "Me, sir?" said the woman staring. "I haven't been ill." "Ah! You did not eat any of the--er--toadstools then?" "Yes, sir, I did, as many as Ebenezer." "Humph! What time did your husband come home last night?" "I don't know, sir, I was asleep. But I tell you it was about two when he woke me up, and said he was so bad." "Take me upstairs," said the doctor shortly; and he followed the woman up to her husband's room, leaving Vane alone with a sinking heart, and wishing that he had not ventured to give the chanterelles to the gardener's wife. He could not sit down but walked about, listening to the steps and murmur of voices overhead, meaning to give up all experiments in edible fungi for the future, and ready to jump as he heard the doctor's heavy step again crossing the room, and then descending the stairs, followed by Bruff's wife. "Do you think him very bad, sir?" she faltered. "Oh, yes," was the cheerful reply; "he has about as splitting a headache as a poor wretch could have." "But he will not die, sir?" "No, Mrs Bruff," said the doctor. "Not just yet; but you may tell him, by-and-by, when you get him downstairs, feeling penitent and miserable, that, if he does not leave off going to the Chequers, he'll have to leave off coming to the Little Manor." "Why, sir, you don't think that?" faltered the woman. "No, I do not think, because I am quite sure, Mrs Bruff. He was not hurt by your cookery, but by what he took afterward. You understand?" "Oh, sir!" "Come along, Vane. Good-morning, Mrs Bruff," said the doctor, loud enough for his voice to be heard upstairs. "I am only too glad to come and help when any one is ill; but I don't like coming upon a fool's errand." The doctor walked out into the road, looking very stern and leaving the gardener's wife in tears, but he turned to Vane with a smile before they had gone far. "Then you don't think it was the fungi, uncle?" said the lad, eagerly. "Yes, I do, boy, the produce of something connected with yeast fungi; not your chanterelles." Vane felt as if a load had been lifted off his conscience. "Very tiresome, too," said the doctor, "for I wanted to have a chat with Bruff to-day about that greenhouse flue. He says it is quite useless, for the smoke and sulphur get out into the house and kill the plants. Now then, sir, you are such a genius at inventing, why can't you contrive the way to heat the greenhouse without causing me so much expense in the way of fuel, eh? I mean the idea you talked about before. I told Mr Syme it was to be done." Vane was not ready with an answer to that question, and he set himself to think it out, just as they encountered the gipsy vans again, and the two lads driving the lame pony, at the sight of which the doctor frowned, and muttered something about the police, while the lads favoured Vane with a peculiar look. _ |
||