Beck Center English Dept. University Libraries Emory University
Emory Women Writers Resource Project Collections:
Women's Genre Fiction Project

An Adventuress, an electronic edition

by L.T. Meade [ Meade, L.T., 1854-1914]

date: 1899
source publisher: Chatto & Windus
collection: Genre Fiction

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CHAPTER XXIII

MARY did not enlighten Ethel with regard to her interview with Sir John Fenton-Douglas. Poor Ethel was devoured with curiosity, but she had to keep her feelings to herself. Mary was glum and severe; there was a malicious look in her eye, and also a certain gleam of satisfaction. Ethel considered her sister not only dull, but disagreeable.

"Whatever she has at the back of her head," thought the girl, "she certainly is nothing like as nice as she was before poor dear Kate came back from Mentone. It is all very queer, and why she won't leave the poor dear girl alone puzzles me more than I care to say."

It was a relief, however, to Ethel to hear her sister remark casually that they were to return to London and to the Grange on the following day.

"I am glad to hear it," said Ethel, "for I cannot say that I care to be in Cornwall so late in the year."

"My business being concluded, I am going back to town," said Mary.

"Oh! is it concluded, really, Mary? Then I suppose you will be your old self again. You will return to the sort of life we led before Kate came back."

"My business is concluded in Cornwall, but that does not say that it is concluded in London," said Mary; "on the contrary, I may say it has only begun."

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Ethel made no further remark. She sighed heavily.

The next morning at an early hour the girls left the little inn and took the next train back to town. They arrived in town in the evening, and there, to Ethel's amazement, Mary still proceeded to act in a very eccentric way. During the journey up Mary had absorbed herself in a book, although Ethel strongly suspected that she was not reading it.

When they got to town Ethel took out her watch.

"If we are quick, Mary," she said, "and secure a cab in a hurry, we can just catch the train at Victoria, and shall reach the Grange about ten o'clock to-night."

"But I am not going into the country to-night," said Mary.

"Oh dear me, what next?" said Ethel, gazing at her sister with round eyes.

"I mean to stay at a hotel in town."

"We two by ourselves at a hotel! Then I suppose we had better go to the Metropole. How surprised Kate and Ralph will be to see us--oh, do let us go to the Metropole, Mary."

"I think not," said Mary. "It certainly would be a temptation," she said, speaking slowly, "to see Kate and just mention casually that I have been having an interview with Sir John Fenton-Douglas, but on second thoughts it may be best not to warn her. She is too clever, and might try to circumvent us. No; we will go to the Grosvenor Hotel."

"Would father like us to stay alone at one of these big hotels?" queried Ethel.

"Oh, nonsense, Ethel, I am not a baby. As long as you are with me you need not be frightened. | | 231 Come, we will take this hansom and desire the man to drive us to the Grosvenor Hotel."

Ethel had nothing more to say, but she felt more and more uncomfortable. What did Mary really mean? What was at the back of her head? She had a queer sensation that there was trouble ahead, but could make nothing of Mary's attitude.

The girls arrived at the hotel, wire Mary acted in a very prompt and business-like way. She secured a comfortable room for herself and sister, ordered dinner to be sent to them in a private sitting-room, and was not seen downstairs again that night.

"You can trust yourself to me most comfortably," she said to her sister. "I would not do anything fast or strong-minded for the world."

Ethel had now ceased to make any remonstrance.

"I suppose," she said once, in a rather timorous voice, "you will allow us to return to our own home to-morrow?"

"It will all depend on what to-morrow brings forth," answered Mary. She opened her book again and once more hid herself behind its pages.

"Really, she is unbearable," thought Ethel. "Why should I be ordered about by her? and it is so dull to stay here doing nothing while she thinks her thoughts behind that book. I will just watch her and see how often she turns a page."

Mary's eyes were glued to the pages of her yellow-backed novel.

"She never turns one at all," thought the other girl. "She is just thinking, thinking, and she really becomes most disagreeable. I shall be glad when it is time to go to bed. I wonder if I might slip away and get into a hansom and drive off to the Métropole | | 232 and see my dear darling Kitty--really anybody is a better companion than my own sister in these days; and what is she driving at? I do wonder if her brain is going; nothing else can account for her remarkable conduct."

Mary jumped up hastily.

"I am tired and shall go to bed," she said; "you can follow me when you like."

She left the room, and Ethel was left alone.

"Worse and worse," thought the girl. "Bad as she was, she was some one to look at, and it is not ten o'clock yet. I cannot go to bed before ten, I am not a baby. Really, Mary is very queer."

Ethel passed the rest of the evening as best she could. At last, perforce, she was obliged to retire to rest.

At an early hour in the morning Mary was up and stirring.

"I am going out for a little," she said to her sister.

"Well, I suppose I may come with you, Mary?"

"I think not; I should prefer to go alone."

It suddenly occurred to Ethel that nothing now should prevent her going to the Métropole to talk to Kate and Ralph.

"I must see them," she said to herself, "and I won't submit to Mary's dictatorial ways another hour."

Accordingly, she pretended to he quite satisfied to stay behind at the hotel, and Mary, dressed in her quietest and most severe style, went downstairs. The hall-porter called a hansom for her, and she gave the address of Dr. Agnes Stevenson in Harley Street.

"I have plenty of money in my purse, I will pose | | 233 as a patient, burst into her presence and learn the truth," thought the excited girl.

She arrived at the house. This was the hour when the great doctor was seeing patients. Mary gave her name, and asked if Dr. Stevenson were in. The footman who opened the door replied in the affirmative. He then asked the young lady if she had an appointment.

"No, I have not; but my business is urgent. I want to see Dr. Stevenson this morning. Is it possible for her to see me? I shall not keep her very long."

"I will go and inquire," said the man. He conducted Mary into a large waiting-room, which was already half-full of ladies and children who were waiting anxiously for the moment when the doctor could receive them. Mary took her place near the door, feeling somewhat forlorn; her whole heart was hot and impatient, she did not want to wait long. If she slipped a sovereign into the foot-man's hand would there be any chance of his admitting her first into his mistress's presence? She accordingly went into the hall. The servant, however, seemed to guess what she was going to say, for he put his hands impulsively behind him.

"Dr. Stevenson will see you if you like to wait after the other patients have gone," he said, "but she would rather you made an appointment. Can you come to-morrow morning instead?"

"No, I think not; I will wait now."

"You will have to wait for a couple of hours at least."

"Oh, it does not matter, I will wait. Please tell the doctor that I am waiting."

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"Yes, miss," replied the man.

Mary went back to the waiting-room. One by one the patients were shown into the doctor's presence. Mary seldom passed through a longer two hours, the minutes seemed to drag. She wondered what Ethel was doing in her absence.

"Poor Ethel! but she will thank me some day," thought the girl, "some day when wrong is made right. Oh, I am sure, I am certain, I shall soon discover the great fraud which is being played upon us. I have no longer the least doubt on the subject."

At last the time of waiting was over, and Mary Hume was admitted into Dr. Stevenson's presence. Dr. Stevenson was a very bright-eyed little woman, not so very unlike the other bright-eyed little woman who, posing in her name, had seen Kate at the Métropole a couple of days ago.

Mary entered, and Dr. Stevenson motioned her to a seat.

"What can I do for you?" she said. "What are your symptoms?"

"Oh, I am not ill at all," said Mary in a slightly defiant voice.

"Not ill at all!--then why have you come to me?"

"I have come to speak to you about one of your patients."

"Indeed, but that is rather unusual. Is the patient, may I ask, a relation of yours?"

"By way of cousin," said Mary in a blunt voice.

"And by what authority do you come to ask me questions about her?"

"Simply because I want to know. You said that her lungs were very much affected, whereas I am | | 235 persuaded that her lungs are absolutely healthy. I want you to tell me the truth."

"Do you mind telling me the name of the patient about whom you have come to make inquiries?" said Dr. Stevenson in a very icy voice.

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Henley--Kate Henley. She was staying at the Métropole--you saw her a couple of days ago."

Dr. Stevenson did not speak for a moment. She got up then, crossed the room, and opened a large book. She looked quietly in the book for a moment and then returned to her seat.

"And you want me to tell you about this patient?" she said then in a grave voice.

"Oh yes, if you only would."

"I am sorry, but I must refuse."

"Refuse? Why?"

"Because it is against my rules ever, except to the father or mother or husband of a patient, to disclose anything whatever about her condition."

"Is that rule absolute? This is a most important case; in fact, I suspect fraud," said Mary, who for the moment, with the keen eyes of the lady doctor fixed on her face, forgot her customary prudence.

"I am sorry for you, Miss Hume," said Dr. Stevenson, rising; "but if that is all you have got to say to me it is a pity you waited so long this morning."

"And you absolutely refuse--absolutely?"

"I am sorry--it is against my rules--I cannot oblige you."

"Thank you."

Mary fumbled in her purse for a fee.

"No fee," said Dr. Stevenson. "I have done nothing. Good-morning, Miss Hume."

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Mary left the house. Lunch was waiting for Dr. Stevenson, and she was tired and hungry and had earned it well, but nevertheless she did not go into her dining-room until quite ten minutes after Mary had left her. She was standing once more beside the large case-book which she had opened. There was a brief entry under the name of Kate Henley, an entry to the effect that the patient and her husband had left town unexpectedly and could not see her for the present.

"What does this mean?" she said to herself. "What can this mean? That girl who called just now, and whose unpleasant face I by no means took to, said that I had seen the patient and had reported that her lungs were very much affected; but I never saw that patient; she had left town. Miss Hume does not know of this, and she says she suspects fraud. What does it mean?"

There were few keener, shrewder women in London than the celebrated lady doctor. She thought for a minute or two, then, taking up her Swan fountain-pen, made a few remarks on the margin of her case-book. These remarks were made in cipher, and no one could read them but herself.

"When the time comes I shall be prepared," she said to herself. "But what does it mean?"

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