Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

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      Chapter XXVI

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      Dawn was breaking slowly, as the first rays of the rising sun filtered through the unclosed windows of the nursery. Judith, with her child in her arms looked up wildly into the doctor's face. But the doctor's expression was inscrutable, his watch was in his hand, his gaze fixed on the tiny waxen face.

      Sir Anthony stood opposite; daylight made him look haggard. There were wearied circles round his eyes. Suddenly the doctor stooped, looked more closely at the child in Judith's arms, then with an imperative gesture he pointed to the white cot. "Lay him there," he whispered. "Nay, my dear Lady Carew, you must! It is most important that he should have all the air he can possibly get."

      Judith obeyed. Then she waited, standing back, waited for the doctor's word that should bid her look for the fluttering of the wings of the Angel Azrael.

      On the other side of the cot the doctor stood, his eyes bent on his little patient. Sir Anthony crossed over to his wife, he took her ice-cold hands in his.

      "Judith," he said softly. "My poor darling."

      For the time being the dark abyss of sin and horror that lay between them was forgotten; they were not the estranged husband and wife now; they were simply Paul's father and mother, watching together by their sick child's bed.

      Judith let her hands rest in her husband's; she rested herself against him as if she were too much exhausted to stand alone. "Anthony, will he live—will my little baby Paul live?" she questioned beneath her breath. Sir Anthony put one strong arm round her and held her up. "Pray we may keep him, Judith, our dear little Paul," he whispered, his whole frame quivering, strong man though he was.

      As in a vision all that the future might hold rose before her, the torturing shame, the horrible fear and disgrace. A long shiver shook her from head to foot.

      "Perhaps it is best that he should go," she said dully. "Perhaps it is best, Anthony."

      She felt his form stiffen, then very gently he put her from him; he moved away and stood by the mantelpiece, waiting.

      Dr. Bennett was standing at the foot of the cot, his eyes fixed intently upon his little patient. He bent forward now, then beckoned to the nurse who was standing behind. She handed him the cup from which she had been trying to get Paul to take some nourishment, and with a spoon he managed to get a few drops between the parted lips. Then he set the cup down on the table and glanced round.

      Sir Anthony stepped quickly to his side. Surely the last moment had come, he thought, but the doctor looked beyond him at the mother's face.

      "It is good news, Lady Carew," he said softly. "The one chance that I had hardly dared to hope for has come to pass. Nature is righting herself, the stupor has passed into natural sleep, and little Paul is saved. Please God he will do well now!"

      "Please God!" Judith echoed the words mechanically, staring at Dr. Bennett as though her benumbed brain failed to grasp the meaning of his words, then her whole face quivered, she burst into tears. "He is going to live, our little Paul," she gasped. Sir Anthony drew her to an easy chair and made her sit down.

      Dr. Bennett eyed her benevolently. "The best thing for her," he said in answer to Sir Anthony's look of anxious inquiry. "She is worn out by anxiety and watching. Now, if you could get her to her room—I shall be here for some hours yet, and I want the patient kept as quiet as possible."

      But for some time Judith resisted both his and her husband's entreaties to rest, to leave Paul to his nurse and the doctor. At last, however, the night's vigil, coming on the top of her previous weakness, made of her compliance a thing outside her own will, and Sir Anthony half carried her from the room. She clung to him as he laid her fully dressed on the bed, and drew the quilt around her. "Anthony," she whispered, "don't leave me. Stay with me here, where I can see you." For the moment, Sir Anthony hesitated; then he laid his hand on hers as he sat down beside her.

      "Try to sleep, Judith," he urged. "Nothing will do you so much good as that. And when Paul wakes we will call you."

      Judith closed her eyes obediently, but her brain had been too thoroughly overtaxed to rest at once; one thought obsessed it now; there was something she must tell Anthony, something she had promised to tell Anthony, but she could not remember what it was.

      She turned feebly to her husband. "Anthony, there is something you ought to know, something I ought to tell you—"

      Sir Anthony's face was very sombre. His mind was revolving that sentence that had fallen from her lips in the room above. Perhaps it is best that he should go. Would it have been best, he was asking himself, that the little life should have flickered out? It might be that in the future baby Paul himself might wish that to-day had been the end of all, that he had died before he grew up to share in the horrible shame that might fall any day now on the Carews of Heron Carew.

      Judith's weak voice went on insistently. "You don't listen, and I—I want you to help me. I can't remember what it is I have to tell you."

      Sir Anthony glanced at her. She was looking very ill, he noted it dispassionately.

      "Help me, Anthony. What am I to tell you?"

      "Nothing," he spoke sternly. "Nothing, there is nothing you can tell me, Judith. You are to be still and go to sleep."

      But the great eyes that looked purple now in the shadow only gazed at him more anxiously. "But I must tell you, I promised Peggy—"

      "Promised Peggy!" Sir Anthony echoed, startled in spite of himself. "What did you promise Peggy?"

      Judith drew her brows together. "I—I don't know," she said faintly. "Peggy said I must be brave; we were coming together to tell you—something. Then they came, and said that Paul was ill, and I think a black cloud burst in my brain; everything is dark and mixed up together. I can't remember what I wanted to say to you. I—I wish I could." The tears sprang into her eyes, ran down her cheeks; she began to sob pitifully.

      Anthony felt that this was no time for further questioning. He soothed her agitation as well as he could, and Judith yielded herself to his influence and presently fell into a restful slumber.

      Sir Anthony waited until the soft regular breathing told him that she was really asleep, then he went into his dressing-room and closed the door. He felt a certain prevision that the day that he had been dreading for so long, the day that he had always known in his heart was inevitable, was close at hand.

      It was wearing towards seven when Lady Carew woke at last with her mind fully conscious of her surroundings. She got out of bed then, and walking slowly, helping herself by the balustrade like one recovering from a serious illness, she made her way to the nursery, and satisfied herself that Paul was going on well.

      The nurse cried out when she saw her mistress's face, but Judith only smiled wanly, and told her that she was going to speak to Sir Anthony, and that she would come up again presently.

      The irony of her words made her smile as she went back to her room. What would have happened before she saw her child СКАЧАТЬ