CHAPTER XVIII
THE NAPOLEON OF THE MOORS
On the bear-skin rug, with his back to the fire, stood Dr. Robert
Mackenzie, known to his friends as "Dr. Rob" or "Old Robbie,"
according to their degrees of intimacy.
Jane's first impression was of a short, stout man, in a sealskin
waistcoat which had seen better days, a light box-cloth overcoat
three sizes too large for him, a Napoleonic attitude,--little
spindle legs planted far apart, arms folded on chest, shoulders
hunched up,--which led one to expect, as the eye travelled upwards,
an ivory-white complexion, a Roman nose, masterful jaw, and thin
lips folded in a line of conscious power. Instead of which one found
a red, freckled face, a nose which turned cheerfully skyward, a fat
pink chin, and drooping sandy moustache. The only striking feature
of the face was a pair of keen blue eyes, which, when turned upon
any one intently, almost disappeared beneath bushy red eyebrows and
became little points of turquoise light.
Jane had not been in his presence two minutes before she perceived
that, when his mind was working, he was entirely unconscious of his
body, which was apt to do most peculiar things automatically; so
that his friends had passed round the remark: "Robbie chews up
dozens of good pen-holders, while Dr. Mackenzie is thinking out
excellent prescriptions."
When Jane entered, his eyes were fixed upon an open letter, which
she instinctively knew to be Deryck's, and he did not look up at
once. When he did look up, she saw his unmistakable start of
surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, and Jane was irresistibly
reminded of a tame goldfish at Overdene, which used to rise to the
surface when the duchess dropped crumbs. He closed it without
uttering a word, and turned again to Deryck's letter; and Jane felt
herself to be the crumb, or rather the camel, which he was finding
it difficult to swallow.
She waited in respectful silence, and Deryck's words passed with
calming effect through the palpitating suspense of her brain. "The
Gaelic mind works slowly, though it works exceeding sure. He will be
exceeding sure that I am a verra poor judge o' women."
At last the little man on the hearth-rug lifted his eyes again to
Jane's; and, alas, how high he had to lift them!
"Nurse--er?" he said inquiringly, and Jane thought his searching
eyes looked like little bits of broken blue china in a hay-stack.
"Rosemary Gray," replied Jane meekly, with a curtsey in her voice;
feeling as if they were rehearsing amateur theatricals at Overdene,
and the next minute the duchess's cane would rap the floor and they
would be told to speak up and not be so slow.
"Ah," said Dr. Robert Mackenzie, "I see."
He stared hard at the carpet in a distant corner of the room, then
walked across and picked up a spline broken from a bass broom;
brought it back to the hearth-rug; examined it with minute
attention; then put one end between his teeth and began to chew it.
Jane wondered what was the correct thing to do at this sort of
interview, when a doctor neither sat down himself nor suggested that
the nurse should do so. She wished she had asked Deryck. But he
could not possibly have enlightened her, because the first thing he
always said to a nurse was: "My dear Nurse SO-AND-SO, pray sit down.
People who have much unavoidable standing to do should cultivate the
habit of seating themselves comfortably at every possible
opportunity."
But the stout little person on the hearth-rug was not Deryck. So
Jane stood at attention, and watched the stiff bit of bass wag up
and down, and shorten, inch by inch. When it had finally
disappeared, Dr. Robert Mackenzie spoke again.
"So you have arrived, Nurse Gray," he said.
"Truly the mind of a Scotchman works slowly," thought Jane, but she
was thankful to detect the complete acceptance of herself in his
tone. Deryck was right; and oh the relief of not having to take this
unspeakable little man into her confidence in this matter of the
deception to be practised on Garth.
"Yes, sir, I have arrived," she said.
Another period of silence. A fragment of the bass broom reappeared
and vanished once more, before Dr. Mackenzie spoke again.
"I am glad you have arrived, Nurse Gray," he said.
"I am glad TO have arrived, sir," said Jane gravely, almost
expecting to hear the duchess's delighted "Ha, ha!" from the wings.
The little comedy was progressing.
Then suddenly she became aware that during the last few minutes Dr.
Mackenzie's mind had been concentrated upon something else. She had
not filled it at all. The next moment it was turned upon her and two
swift turquoise gleams from under the shaggy brows swept over her,
with the rapidity and brightness of search-lights. Dr. Mackenzie
commenced speaking quickly, with a wonderful rolling of r's.
"I understand, Miss Gray, you have come to minister to the patient's
mind rather than to his body. You need not trouble to explain. I
have it from Sir Deryck Brand, who prescribed a nurse-companion for
the patient, and engaged you. I fully agreed with his prescription;
and, allow me to say, I admire its ingredients."
Jane bowed, and realised how the duchess would be chuckling. What an
insufferable little person! Jane had time to think this, while he
walked across to the table-cloth, bent over it, and examined an
ancient spot of ink. Finding a drop of candle grease near it, he
removed it with his thumb nail; brought it carefully to the fire,
and laid it on the coals. He watched it melt, fizzle, and flare,
with an intense concentration of interest; then jumped round on
Jane, and caught her look of fury.
"And I think there remains very little for me to say to you about
the treatment, Miss Gray," he finished calmly. "You will have
received minute instructions from Sir Deryck himself. The great
thing now is to help the patient to take an interest in the outer
world. The temptation to persons who suddenly become totally blind,
is to form a habit of living entirely in a world within; a world of
recollection, retrospection, and imagination; the only world, in
fact, in which they can see."
Jane made a quick movement of appreciation and interest. After all
she might learn something useful from this eccentric little
Scotchman. Oh to keep his attention off rubbish on the carpet, and
grease spots on the table-cloth!
"Yes?" she said. "Do tell me more."
"This," continued Dr. Mackenzie, "is our present difficulty with Mr.
Dalmain. There seems to be no possibility of arousing his interest
in the outside world. He refuses to receive visitors; he declines to
hear his letters. Hours pass without a word being spoken by him.
Unless you hear him speak to me or to his valet, you will easily
suppose yourself to have a patient who has lost the power of speech
as well as the gift of sight. Should he express a wish to speak to
me alone when we are with him, do not leave the room. Walk over to
the fireplace and remain there. I desire that you should hear, that
when he chooses to rouse and make an effort, he is perfectly well
able to do so. The most important part of your duties, Nurse Gray,
will be the aiding him day by day to resume life,--the life of a
blind man, it is true; but not therefore necessarily an inactive
life. Now that all danger of inflammation from the wounds has
subsided, he may get up, move about, learn to find his way by sound
and touch. He was an artist by profession. He will never paint
again. But there are other gifts which may form reasonable outlets
to an artistic nature."
He paused suddenly, having apparently caught sight of another grease
spot, and walked over to the table; but the next instant jumped
round on Jane, quick as lightning, with a question.
"Does he play?" said Dr. Rob.
But Jane was on her guard, even against accidental surprises.
"Sir Deryck did not happen to mention to me, Dr. Mackenzie, whether
Mr. Dalmain is musical or not."
"Ah, well," said the little doctor, resuming his Napoleonic attitude
in the centre of the hearth-rug; "you must make it your business to
find out. And, by the way, Nurse, do you play yourself?"
"A little," said Jane.
"Ah," said Dr. Rob. "And I dare say you sing a little, too?"
Jane acquiesced.
"In that case, my dear lady, I leave most explicit orders that you
neither sing a little nor play a little to Mr. Dalmain. We, who have
our sight, can just endure while people who 'play a little' show us
how little they can play; because we are able to look round about us
and think of other things. But to a blind man, with an artist's
sensitive soul, the experience might culminate in madness. We must
not risk it. I regret to appear uncomplimentary, but a patient's
welfare must take precedence of all other considerations."
Jane smiled. She was beginning to like Dr. Rob.
"I will be most careful," she said, "neither to play nor to sing to
Mr. Dalmain."
"Good," said Dr. Mackenzie. "But now let me tell you what you most
certainly may do, by-and-by. Lead him to the piano. Place him there
upon a seat where he will feel secure; none of your twirly, rickety
stools. Make a little notch on the key-board by which he can easily
find middle C. Then let him relieve his pent-up soul by the painting
of sound-pictures. You will find this will soon keep him happy for
hours. And, if he is already something of a musician,--as that huge
grand piano, with no knick-knacks on it indicates,--he may begin
that sort of thing at once, before he is ready to be worried with
the Braille system, or any other method of instructing the blind.
But contrive an easy way--a little notch in the wood-work below the
note--by means of which, without hesitation or irritation, he can
locate himself instantly at middle C. Never mind the other notes. It
is all the SEEING he will require when once he is at the piano. Ha,
ha! Not bad for a Scotchman, eh, Nurse Gray?"
But Jane could not laugh; though somewhere in her mental background
she seemed to hear laughter and applause from the duchess. This was
no comedy to Jane,--her blind Garth at the piano, his dear beautiful
head bent over the keys, his fingers feeling for that pathetic
little notch, to be made by herself, below middle C. She loathed
this individual who could make a pun on the subject of Garth's
blindness, and, in the back of her mind, Tommy seemed to join the
duchess, flapping up and down on his perch and shrieking: "Kick him
out! Stop his jaw!"
"And now," said Dr. Mackenzie unexpectedly, "the next thing to be
done, Nurse Gray, is to introduce you to the patient."
Jane felt the blood slowly leave her face and concentrate in a
terrible pounding at her heart. But she stood her ground, and waited
silently.
Dr. Mackenzie rang the bell. Simpson appeared.
"A decanter of sherry, a wine-glass, and a couple of biscuits," said
Dr. Rob.
Simpson vanished.
"Little beast!" thought Jane. "At eleven o'clock in the morning!".
Dr. Rob stood, and waited; tugging spitefully at his red moustache,
and looking intently out of the window.
Simpson reappeared, placed a small tray on the table, and went
quietly out, closing the door behind him.
Dr. Rob poured out a glass of sherry, drew up a chair to the table,
and said: "Now, Nurse, sit down and drink that, and take a biscuit
with it."
Jane protested. "But, indeed, doctor, I never--"
"I have no doubt you 'never,'" said Dr. Rob, "especially at eleven
o'clock in the morning. But you will to-day; so do not waste any
time in discussion. You have had a long night journey; you are going
upstairs to a very sad sight indeed, a strain on the nerves and
sensibilities. You have come through a trying interview with me, and
you are praising Heaven it is over. But you will praise Heaven with
more fervency when you have drunk the sherry. Also you have been
standing during twenty-three minutes and a half. I always stand to
speak myself, and I prefer folk should stand to listen. I can never
talk to people while they loll around. But you will walk upstairs
all the more steadily, Nurse Rosemary Gray, if you sit down now for
five minutes at this table."
Jane obeyed, touched and humbled. So, after all, it was a kind,
comprehending heart under that old sealskin waistcoat; and a shrewd
understanding of men and matters, in spite of the erratic, somewhat
objectionable exterior. While she drank the wine and finished the
biscuits, he found busy occupation on the other side of the room,
polishing the window with his silk pocket-handkerchief; making a
queer humming noise all the time, like a bee buzzing up the pane. He
seemed to have forgotten her presence; but, just as she put down the
empty glass, he turned and, walking straight across the room, laid
his hand upon her shoulder.
"Now, Nurse," he said, "follow me upstairs, and, just at first,
speak as little as possible. Remember, every fresh voice intruding
into the still depths of that utter blackness, causes an agony of
bewilderment and disquietude to the patient. Speak little and speak
low, and may God Almighty give you tact and wisdom."
There was a dignity of conscious knowledge and power in the small
quaint figure which preceded Jane up the staircase. As she followed,
she became aware that her spirit leaned on his and felt sustained
and strengthened. The unexpected conclusion of his sentence, old-
fashioned in its wording, yet almost a prayer, gave her fresh
courage. "May God Almighty give you tact and wisdom," he had said,
little guessing how greatly she needed them. And now another voice,
echoing through memory's arches to organ-music, took up the strain:
"Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come." And with firm though
noiseless step, Jane followed Dr. Mackenzie into the roam where
Garth was lying, helpless, sightless, and disfigured.
