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 II

SOON after déjeûner Dr. Fenton drove over from Mentone. He was the best English doctor in the place, and had a very large practice. He left his trap at the gate and walked up through the little flowering garden and entered the balcony where the two girls were seated. The invalid was lying back in a deep wicker chair, and the other girl was reading aloud to her. She was reading some of Rudyard Kipling's poems; she had a fine spirited voice, and she gave the true swing of the rhythm as her lips sounded the telling words.

The doctor paused for an instant before he disclosed himself, he thought what a fine voice Kate Mildmay had; then he came forward.

Kate Bouverie uttered an exclamation when she saw him. She was painfully nervous about herself, and, although she liked the doctor to visit her, she always had a fit of trembling when he appeared. He now sat down by her and made a careful examination, sounding her lungs with his stethoscope and listening to her heart. He asked her several questions, and then he wrote a prescription, turning to Kate Mildmay as he did so and desiring her to send a messenger to Mentone for the necessary medicines. Soon afterwards he stood up and took his leave. He shook hands with Kate Bouverie, but he only bowed to Kate Mildmay. He walked down the | | 9 little path and mounted his trap, and turned back again towards Mentone. He had just done so when Kate Mildmay, catching up his prescription, said to Kate Bouverie--

"I'll be back very soon, Kate. I am going to get the doctor to take this into Mentone, and a note also to my mother which I have written to her; she can bring up the medicines to-night, for I won't leave you." Kate flew down the garden, reached the road, and called out to the doctor, who pulled up his trap in some astonishment.

"I want to speak to you," she said eagerly. "I have something important to say. Can you give me a moment or two?"

The doctor looked at her, dismounted from his trap, gave the reins to his groom, and went back a few steps until he found himself by her side.

"I don't want any one to hear us," said Kate, retreating a little as she spoke.

He moved a few steps farther from the trap and then stood still.

"We shall be quite solitary here," he said. "What is the matter?"

"I want your true opinion with regard to Miss Bouverie."

Dr. Fenton had clear, small, deep-set, and very penetrating eyes. They were fixed now on the agitated, blooming face of the girl who looked full up at him.

"Why do you ask?" he said.

"Because she is placed for the present in my care, and I don't like her condition," said Kate Mildmay.

Dr. Fenton uttered a short sigh.

"I meant to speak to you before I left home," | | 10 he said. " I did not do so to-night because I am in a hurry, but if you really insist--"

"I want to know," said Kate. "She is in my care, and I ought to know the truth. Do you think well or ill of her?"

"Can you stand a shock, Miss--"

"Mildmay," said Kate, supplying the name.

"Can you stand a shock, Miss Mildmay?"

"As well as another," said Kate, pulling herself up somewhat stiffly as she said the words.

"Then your young friend is dying. It is an absolutely hopeless case; there is tuberculosis of both lungs. It is a question perhaps of weeks, perhaps only of days; death will probably come with hemorrhage, and will be sudden when it does come."

"Thank you," said Kate, trembling a little. "How long did you say she might live?"

"With care, and if this fine weather continues, and if she does not exert herself in any way, she may hold out for a month; but the slightest contretemps, the smallest chill, would precipitate matters. As I said before, her days are numbered; she may go at any moment, she may live for a month."

"Thank you."

"By the way," said the doctor, "I have seen Miss Bouverie two or three times, and have never yet made any inquiries about her. Has she relations anywhere?"

"She has an uncle in England--a Mr. Hume, a lawyer. She has not seen him since she was a child."

"How is it she has come here?"

"She is her own mistress. Her father died in India, and she was on her way home. She wished to spend the winter at Mentone. She was quite well | | 11 at the beginning of the winter. Mr. Hume does not even know of her illness."

"It is one of those cases which develop very quickly--inherited doubtless," said the doctor under his breath. "Yes, poor girl, you ought to write to Mr. Hume, Miss Mildmay; there is not a moment to lose if he would see her alive."

"I will do so," said Kate.

"And now there is one thing more. I am called suddenly to England, and, now that you know the truth, shall in all probability not see my patient again. I will put the case into Dr. Duncan's hands. Dr. Duncan is the other English doctor here, and he will do all that is necessary. I will ask him to call in a day or two; but really nothing can be done. It is simply that she ought to have some one to see her now and then; but we can only alleviate, we cannot save."

The doctor took off his hat to Miss Mildmay, and a moment later was bowling down the road towards Mentone.

Kate thought for a moment after he had left her, then she walked briskly back to the house.

"Well?" said the girl who was lying back in her chair on the veranda; there was a hectic flush on each cheek, her eyes shone very brightly. "Well, Kate, did you give him the prescription, and will your mother bring it to-night?"

"I forgot all about it," said Kate, clasping her hands.

"Then what were you talking about ?"

"About you, dear."

"Oh what, what? Does he really think I am very ill?"

"He does; you are ill, Kate."

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"Ah! I see that he thinks badly of me; I see it in your face. I am not going to die, Kate. Kate! Kate! I am not dying."

"Poor Kitty!" said Kate Mildmay. She fell on her knees, wrapped the slender girl in her arms, and made the soft brown head rest against her shoulder.

"And yet, Kitty," she said, "I believe at this moment I would change places with you. It is not so bad to die young."

"Then you really believe I am dying?"

Kate Mildmay was silent.

"Speak, Kate."

"Will you stand it if I really tell you the truth, Kitty?"

"Oh, I will stand it; I will try to, but oh, it is not the worst--not quite the worst?"

"The doctor thinks you very ill; I must not conceal it from you."

"Then I must die?"

Kate Mildmay nodded her head very faintly. Kate Bouverie's face fell away from its position on her shoulder; it turned white to the lips. After a time she said faintly--

"Give me some of that restorative."

Kate Mildmay poured it out and held it to her lips. The sick girl drank it off.

"There," she said with a sigh, "I am better; I don't believe for a moment I am going to die."

"I tell you what it is, Kitty," said Kate Mildmay, "half the doctors are old croaks. Dr. Fenton thinks your case serious, but he may be mistaken. Half the doctors diagnose cases wrongly. I know it; my father was a doctor, and a clever one too, and he made mistakes several times. You must keep up heart. And I mean you to be well nursed. My mother is | | 13 the best nurse in the world; and she shall come and look after you. And we won't call in another doctor--not yet, because doctors are so often wrong."

"We ought to write to my uncle," said Kate Bouverie, "and to Ralph Henley. I should like to see Ralph once again. I should like to tell him myself that I am dying; I should like to kiss him. Oh, Kate, he was so handsome long ago; and he must be beautiful now, for every one says he is like a young god. And he loves me so much; he has never loved any girl but me. Oh, Kate, Kate, I must see him again."

"We will write, of course, dear; we will write to-night."

"How good you are to me, Kate! and yet I didn't know you two months ago."

"I love you very much," said Kate Mildmay. "But now I must leave you for a little. Fanchon shall come in and sit with you, and I will take the trap and drive to Mentone. I shall be back as quickly as possible, and will bring your medicine and my mother also. Cheer up, Kate; perhaps we can save you after all. There is nothing like good nursing. Doctors are not half as important to a sick person as a good nurse, and my mother is about the best nurse in the wide world."

Half-an-hour later Kate Mildmay was driving to Mentone. She went first to the chemist's, desired the prescription to be made up, said she would call for the medicine in half-an-hour, and then turned her horse's head in the direction of a cheap pension where her mother lived. It was a very cheap pension indeed, quite on the outskirts of the West Bay. Mrs. Mildmay was housekeeper there, and, in consideration for her services, had her board and a small bedroom for | | 14 nothing. It was the height of the season, and, poor as the pension was, it was full. Kate left the pony at the gate, called to a boy to hold it, and walked up the little path which led to the front door. She entered, asked at once for Mrs. Mildmay, was told that the good woman was busy, but, on announcing that her errand was urgent, was admitted into her presence.

Mrs. Mildmay was seated in the housekeeper's room, busily making up the weekly accounts. She was a good accountant, and a keen business woman. She had a sharp face, and eyes something like her daughter's, but without their innocent and vivacious expression; her mouth was fretful, and her forehead broad.

"Mother, I want to speak to you on a most important matter," said Kate. "Can you give me a quarter of an hour?"

"Oh, Kate, I am relieved to see you," said the widow. "It is of the utmost importance that I also should speak to you at once. Can't you get that rich girl, your companion, to lend you a couple of pounds, or, better still, a five-pound note? I am harassed almost past enduring; and these wretched people don't give me a halfpenny of salary. I have a great mind to throw up the whole thing."

"That is precisely what I want you to do, mother. I have a wonderful, daring scheme in my head. I cannot explain it to you at present. It is about the biggest speculation that a girl ever plunged into; and it may--what is more, it must--succeed. But you must help me. I cannot do it without you. What do you say to having a boarding-house of your own--a good one, in this place? You would manage it splendidly, and make money; you would not be a mere drudge as you are at present."

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"What do you mean, Kate? How wildly you talk! What I want is a five-pound note. Can you get it for me?"

"I have no doubt I can if you will do what I want. I can get you about anything in the future if you will only do what I want now."

"And what is that?"

"I want you to give notice to these people immediately. You need not stay an hour, for they don't pay you. I want you to come straight back with me to Beau Séjour."

"What! to Miss Bouverie's châlet?"

"Yes; I want you to come now--immediately. She ought not to be left. I want you to nurse her; she is very ill indeed. Mother, it is worth while; but you must not keep me waiting. I must get back to her, and you must come with me. Will you come?"

"But do you know what you are saying? I get my bread here, and I have a place to live in, and you share my room every night. Is it wise to throw it up? I may never get a better chance."

"If necessary, mother, I will go down on my knees to you to assure you that you will lose nothing--nothing at all by this. Will you come? Will you be quick? I must get back to Kate Bouverie; she is very ill--poor little Kitty--very ill indeed. You must nurse her. Come, don't you see at once that you will get board and lodging, and good money, too, as her nurse? Need you hesitate another moment?"

"I won't, Kate. There is something extraordinary in your expression, child. You were always most daring. Yes; I will go with you. I will give notice immediately."

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