The Arbour—Dr. Ledlamb.

Otago Witness, Issue 1181, 18 July 1874, Page 23

The Arbour — Dr. Ledlamb.

v Wait for us," said Mr. Bain to the driver, as he and his companion alighted. "Now, Mr. Standen," he said, turning to Edmund, while they waited for the opening of the gate, " it is for you or for me to get this old man's secret out of him. That he has a secret, and one that will criminate Lady Perriam, is a fact upon which I am ready to stake every farthing I have in the world." " I am here to see to the bottom of your scheme, sir," answered Edmund, sternly. "I believe nothing you assert, I admit nothing. I am here, as Lady Perriam's husband, to see her righted." " You had better see Mordred Perriam righted first," returned Mr. Bain, with a sneer. The door wis opened after some delay ! by a slovenly maid-servant, who seemed loath to admit the visitors. It was not till Mr. Bain had told her that they were friends of Lady Perriam's that she abandoned her jealous guardianship of the threshold and let them pass into the garden. Such a garden— a waste of weeds, and mould, and rough moss-grown gravel — a patch of grass that might once have been a smiling lawn, a. damp and ancient willow weeping over a shrunken pond, on whose muddy bosom two dirty ducks disported themselves ; a wilderness of potherbs on one side, where the cheap and fertile scarlet runner ruled dominant, and the vegetable marrow sprawled its tough tendrils and flung its bloated yellow gourds upon the weedy waste. " I don't know as master will allow you to see Mr. Peeram," said the girl, " but I'll ask, if you'll be so good as to step into the drawin' room." The visitors complied with this request, and were forthwith ushered intoanapart-

ment which made some pretensions to gentility. The walls were blotched with damp, and stained with mildew. The atmosphere was earthy, but the circular | table boasted a gaily coloured cover, and was further adorned with a green glass inkstand, a papier niache blotting book, and a photograph album. An old cottage piano stood against one wall, a feeble old sofa faced it, a cheap print or two hinted at Dr. Ledlamb's taste for art. The room was in rigid order, and was evidently held sacred to the reception of visitors. Here the steward and Edmund Standen waited for about a quarter of an hour, which seemed longer to both. There were footsteps in the room abovo, and a running up and down stairs, which might indicate confusion, and preparation of some kind, but Mr. Ledlamb did not appear. "Are these people going to keep us I here all day," exclaimed Edmund, impatiently. He went over to the fireplace and rang the bell, not an easy thing to do, for the wire was loose, and his first efforts only produced a distant jangling sound. '' What a house," he exclaimed. "What desolation and decay in everything !' This aspect of misery grieved his soul. It would be harder now to forgive Sylvia's sin. That she had placed her brother-in-law under medical restraint, deprived him of actual liberty, he, Edmund Standen, might have schooled himself to pardon. But he had expected to find her victim surrounded by all temporal comforts, in the care of a medical man of position and reputation, whose name alone would be a guarantee for the patient's good treatment. To find him here — in this abode of misery —in a house on which abject poverty had set its mark ! This was indeed a blow, and the yoimg man — he who a few hours ago had been a proud and happy lover — turned his back upon Shadraoh Bain, and shed tears at the thought of that callous selfishness which had abandoned a harmless old man to such an existence as life in Dr. Lodlamb's rural retreat. No answer came to the bell. There was a window down to the ground, opening directly on the weedy patch that had once been a lawn, "I'll wait no longer," said Mr. Standen, who had brushed away the traces of his tears, and hoped his weakness had escaped the eye of Shadrach Bain. ' ' I'll explore this wretched hole for myself. You can come with me, or not, as you please, Mr. Bain." The maid servant appeared at the door just as Edmund opened the window. "Oh, if you please, sir," she said in a gasp, "I'm very sorry, but I made a mistake in allowing you to come in. Missus says Mr. Ledlamb is up in London attending to his business there, and it's against his rule for patients' friends to be admitted without an appointment, except it's the friend which placed the patient in his care. And if you'll please to write and ask for an appointment, Mr. Ledlamb will let you know when you can see Mr. Peeram, providing you has Lady Peeram's lief ; Mr. Ledlamb 'olding hisself responsible to Lady Peeram, and no one else." The girl stumbled slowly through this message, which had evidently been laboriously imprinted upon her mind, for she tried back when she had finished, and went over a good bit of it again, like a musical box. ' ' I'll ask for an appointment bye-and-by," answered Edmund, " but while I am here I'll take a look round your place. " " Oh, if you please, sir, you musn't go out into the garding," said the girl, with a frightened look. "It's against the rules." "Come, Mr. Bain," said Edmund, heedless of this remonstrance. He went out of the window, followed by the steward. "Oh, if you please, you mustn't!" gasped the girl, in much alarm, and then, finding her appeal unheeded, she rushed out of the room, and stole upstairs, crying, "Missus, missus, they've gone out in the garding, and Mr. Peeram's there with Sammy in the preamberlator."

Chapter LXIV. MR. LEDLAMB'S PAIIENT. Mr. Standen's first act on getting out into the open was to take a survey of the thinking that Mr. Ledlamb's prisoner might in all probability be looking out of one of the windows. But the windows were all blank. Two of the j upper casements wore guarded by bars, doubtless with the view of preventing the espape of any desperate patient, who might be inclined to emulate Jack Sheppard's escape from Newgate. "Come round the garden," said Mr. Bain; "from thatj girl's anxiety, I'll be bound he's somewhere out here." They crossed the grass to the stagnant pond where ducks and duckweed flourished,

and where the ancient willow wept th« desolation of the scene. That willow was the one bit of shelter in all that arid waste of garden, and between the drooping branches Mr. Bain's keen eye had discerned some object that looked like a human figure. He made for this spot, therefore, followed closely by Edmund. The willow was on the opposite side of the water. They went quickly round the edge of the pool, Mr. Bain always in advance. Yes, there was some one under the tree — a child's shrill voice sounded as they approached, an old man's piping tones answering. Mr. Bain parted the willow branches and looked into the natural arbor. An old man was seated in a dilapidated wheel-chair, an infant by his side in an equally dilapidated perambulator, and both these helpless objects were under the care of a tall, lanky-looking girl of about eleven years old. Shadrach Bain, not wont to display violent emotions, drew back with a loud cry, and the ruddy tints of his sunburnt face faded to a sickly white. " Sir Aubrey Perriam !" he cried, aghast. " What do you mean V asked Edmund in a hoarse whisper, seizing the agent by the shoulder, Mr. Bain did not answer him, but crept under the willow, and bent over the old man, taking his hand, and looking into his face. ' ' Sir Aubrey, don't you know me ? I'm your old steward,! Shadrach Bain, come to fetch you out of this wretched hole, come to take you back to life." "Yes, to life," answered the man in senile tones. " They made believe I was dead. Thoy told me to my face that I was not Aubrey but Mordrod. They put me in Mordred's rooms, and kept mo shut up there, and told me it would be worse for me if I called myself Sir Aubrey Perriam. Who was it that did this ?" with a pained look and wilder tone. " Not my wife. Oh, no ! not my wife, not my pretty Sylvia. She was beautiful and good. She could never h£>ve been so cruel to me." "Nevermind who did it, Sir Aubrey. It is all over now. No one will dare to deny your name when I am by your side. Good God ! what a scheme for a woman I■>1 ■> invent — for a woman to execute. I see it all now. It was Mordred who died, and the woman mado the world believe it was her husband. I wish you joy of your plighted wife, Mr. Standen," added the agent, turning to Edmund, who leaned against the sill, white as death. The old man clung to Shadrach Bain, like a child who has been restored to the nurse he loves. "Yes, I know, I know," he muttered, "you are Bain, a good servant, a faithful servant. Take me away from this place, this dull, cold, cheerless place. They don't beat me, they're not very unkind to me, but they're poor, and everything is comfortless. Carter was always good, but she is ill now and I'm left with Sammy and Clara, and Clara calls me Mr. Perriam, tmd laughs at me when I tell her my right name is Sir Aubrey." Clara was the tall girl, who stood behind the wheelchair, knitting a baby's sock, "That's his fancy," she said, sharply, " When he first went out of his mind he took it jnto his head that he was his elder brother. The one that died. It was his brother's death that turned his brain, father says. " ' ' His brain is no more turned upon gome points than yours, my girl," answered Mr. Bain. " His intellect was weakened by a stroke of paralysis, but he's clear enough at times. He has been used very badly, and I mean to take him away from here without loss of time." "You can't do that," said the girl, promptly, " father won't let you." " I shall not ask your father's leave," replied Shadrach Bain. "You'll stand by me, won't you, Mr. Standen ?" "Yes, I will do what I can to see this poor old man righted," answered Edmund, gloomily. " What is the matter with Mrs. Carter, the nurse ?" asked Mr. Bain. " Inflammation of the lungs. She was took bad a fortnight ago, and father got her round a bit, at first, but he says the cough has settled on her chest, and she'll never get over it. She's awful bad. We wei-e afraid last night she'd hardly live till this morning." 11 If you want to know the particular* of this business, you'd better stop and question Mrs. Carter," said Mr. Bain to Edmund. ' ' She has been in it from first to last. She was Lady Perriam's prime confidante and advisor." "I'll see her," answered Edmund, "unless you want my help in getting Sir Aubrey away." He had been gazing at the old man's face with earnest scrutiny, to assure himself that this was indeed the elder and not the younger brother— that he was not being made the dupe of some juggling of , Mr. Bain's. That scrutiny left no doubt lin his mind. This was verily Sir Aubrey

Perriam, Sylvia's husband. Strong as had been the resemblance between the brothers thoru was sufficient individuality in the face to make Edmund Standen very sure upon this point. "I only want you to go as far as the carriage with us,'" said Mr. Bain, " and then you can return and see Mrs. Carter. But don't commit yourself by any promise to condone her share in this conspiracy." "If she is dying, it can matter little whether her crime is condoned. " " If— but it is just possible she may be no nearer death than lam. Wo can get Sir Aubrey to the gate in this chair. He used to be able to walk a little, but perhaps he's weaker now. It will be easy to lift him into the carriage between us. I shall take him to an hotel at Hatfield, and keep him there till he can be moved comfortably back to Porriam." ' "But you mustn't take him away! shrieked Miss Ledlamb. "I'll run and tell mother." She sped off on this somewhat futile errand, leaving the baby squalling in the perambulator, appalled by the sudden solitude. When she came back, followed by Mrs. Ledlamb, a timid looking matron, who had been all this time trying to make herself presentable to the eyes of strangers, Sir Aubrey and Mr. Bain had just driven off in the ily, and Edmund Standen was quietly approaching the house. "He's gone, Mar," screamed Clara, "they've took him clean away." Mrs. Ledlamb began to cry. "Your father will say it's my fault," she screamed, piteously, "but what could Ido ? I wasn't fit to be seen when they came, and was just getting myself a little bit tidy when you :ran in to say they were going. And there's all our income gone at one swoop, for he was your Pa's only patient, and goodness knows when we'll get another. I'm sure I tremble when I think what he'll say to me." "It wasn't your fault, Mar. You couldn't have stopped them if you'd been dressed ever so. They'd have taken him away by main force. There's one of the gentlemen, you'd better ask him what they mean by it." " Mr. Standen, being timorously interrogated upon this point, would give no definite answer. " There has been a great wrong done," he said, gravely. " i cannot tell what knowledge your husband may have had of that wrong, but I know that the first stop towards setting it right was to got that poor old man out of this house. " " I'm sure lie's been treated kindly," whimpered Mrs. Ledlamb, "and if he says he isn't, he's a deceiving old thing. He's had every indulgence. Sago puddings that I've made for him with my own hands, and mutton broth, and all kinds of delicacies. I'm sure he's been treated like the family, and we've all of us borne with his worrying nonsense, •when ho said he was not himself, but his brother. Clara has had the patience of an angel with him." Mr. Standen asked to see the nurse, Mrs. Carter, and after some difficulty, by means of a good deal of persuasion and the gift of a five pound note to Mrs. Ledlamb, as consolation under the sudden loss of income, he obtained permission to go up to the attic where the sick woman was lying. "She's very bad," said Mrs. Ledlamb. " I sat up with her half last nignt, thinking she was going, but it's a harassing, deceiving complaint, and I daresay she'll go on lingering ever so long, a burden to herself and others. Mrs. Carter, otherwise Mrs. Carford, lay on her narrow bed facing the casement, through which the westering sun streamed with soft, yellow light. She was the very shadow — the pale ghost — of that Mrs. Carter who had been seen at Perriam a month ago. The bright brown eyes looked larger than of old, larger than they had seemed even in her days of semistarvation, when she came a suppliant to Hedingham schoolhouse. • Yet, even now, with that deadly brightness, they were like Sylvia's eyes. Edmund perceived the resemblance at once. He sat quietly down by the bedside, and took her hand. She looked at him at first with a dull indifference, thinking he was some strange doctor who had been brought to see her. Then a gleam of recognition flashed into her eyes. She remembered a face she had seen in a photograph Sylvia had shown her — the face of her daughter's first lover. " Is— Sylvia— is Lady Perriam here 1 ?" Bhe asked. ' ' No, but if there is anything on your mmd — anything you wish to tell before you are called away — you need not fear to tell me. Whatever wrong you have done is now past atonement upon earth. Try to secure God's pity by a late repentance. Do not carry the secret of your sin to the grave." "The wrong I did was not done for my own sake, but for another's. If I tell the truth, it is she who will suffer." " If you are speaking of Lady Perriam, be assured that nothing you can tell me

can affect her injuriously. In the first place her secret is already known, and in the second place I should be the last to use any knowledge to her disadvantage." ""What, is it known already?" cried Mrs. Carter, agitated. " I knew that it must come to light sooner or later, that such a sinful thing could not long be hidden ; but so soon ! How did it happen '( Who came here 1" "Do not trouble yourself about details. You are too weak to bear much emotion. Sir Aubrey has been found, and he is in ! safe hands. Let that content you." " And she— Lady Perriam ?" "Are you so deeply interested in her welfare ?" " More deeply than you imagine," answered Mrs. Carter with a sigh. " You are related to her, perhaps. I saw a likeness in your face to hers the moment I entered this room." " We are related by the nearest ties that kindred owns. Lady Perriam is my daughter." " What ! You are the mother of whom she spoke to me with such affection, for whose sake she married Sir Aubrey Perriam ?" " Did she tell you that ?" "Yes, she told me th.at you were in abject poverty — almost starving — and that her only chance of helping you was by a marriage with a rich man." "It was true — I was in abject poverty — and after her marriage she relieved me with an occasional remittance. But I have every reason to believe that at that time she was ignorant of our relationship. I accepted her alms as an act of pure benevolence from one who knew not that I was more to her than a stranger." "But she did help you." " She did. And when she had the opportunity of giving me lasting employment and a home as Sir Aubrey's nurse, she sent for me." " She employed you as a servant in her house ?" "Yes, the position was one of servitude, but she did not make it degrading. I lived apart from the other servants, and I was near her. That to me was exquisite happiness, until " "Until what?" " Until she tempted me to aid her in a sinful act, a wicked act, which poisoned my life and hers. You, of all men, should be merciful in your judgment of her, for it was her fatal lovo for you that urged her to commit that sin." " God deal as mercifully with her as my thoughts," said Edmund, deeply moved. " You would think less hardly of her, perhaps, if you knew all ; but it is a Avicked story, and I hate myself for the weakness that made me help in that evil work. Since I have been in this house, with the fear of death before my eyes, I have writen an account of all that happened at Perriam Place. Dare 1 trust you as a Roman Catholic would trust his father confessor 1 ? Will you promise to make no use of that information against Sylvia?" " Against her ! You do not know how blindly, how utterly I have loved her. If h.3r lo\ c for me has bean fatal, mine has been fatal too ; and it has been thorough, which hers never was. Whatever power I have to shield her from the consequences of her guilt shall be used to the utmost. But, alas, I fear that power is of the smallest." ' ' Where is she now ?" " In London, with her father." "Lose no more time here then, but go back to her. Tell her that all is discovered." " She must know that, for she knew where we were coming when we left her this morning. But I will go back and see if 1 can be of any use, though it will be hard to see her face again." "Do not trust her father's kindness in the hour of misfortune. Take my keys, and open that desk in the chest of drawers. " The feeble hand groped under the pillow, and drew out a small bunch of keys. "The smallest belongs to the desk." Edmund obeyed. "You see a, roll of papers ?" "Yes." "Take those with you and go." " Cannot Ido anything for you ? Have you proper medical attendance and good nursing V "Yes ; these peoplo do all they can ; but my doom is sealed. Go to her, you may savo her from despair. " (To he continued.)