"Rats!" he thought to himself; and he recalled how the house was said to swarm with them, and how that they had once attacked a child in bed.

Started upon that train of thought, there were plenty of anecdotes to startle him with the reputed courage of the fierce little animals when hunger-driven.

Another hour pa.s.sed in the darkness, as regularly and slow came the stertorous breathing of Octavius, interrupted at times by the fierce scratching of the rats behind the wainscot, or their scampering beneath the floor in their many galleries; and again and again the doctor shivered with fear, as he sat listening and longing for help.

But no help came--neither was it likely to come, since the lonely house might have been pa.s.sed again and again without there being a suspicion excited of anything being wrong. Besides, late in the night it was a great chance if a soul pa.s.sed. He knew, from his professional habits, that no surprise would be felt at home because of his absence, and he had not said where he was going.

Another hour pa.s.sed, and the doctor sat listening eagerly for his brother's breath, which, from being loud and stertorous, had now become so faint as to be hardly perceptible; indeed at times it appeared to have ceased, and in his then excited condition he began to dread that the overdose of laudanum, or the shock, had been too much for the old man, and that he was to pa.s.s the remainder of the night with a corpse.

He dreaded the corpse horribly, but did he dread that such was the case--that his brother was dead? He was old and useless certainly, but he was rich, and his will was destroyed; and were there no Septimus, or could he be put aside, that property would come to him. But was his brother dead? Death was nothing new to him; he had stood by hundreds of deathbeds; but under these circ.u.mstances, bound down there, with nerves unstrung, numbed, cold, and in agony, Doctor Hardon had at times a difficult matter to contain himself, and he trembled fearfully with a new horror lest he should lose control over himself.

He listened, and the breathings had ceased; the only sounds he could hear were the horrible gnawings of the vermin. At last, though, he heard a breath; but he shuddered again, for his excited fancy told him that it was the harsh, rattling expiration that he had often heard--that last effort of the lungs ere stilled for ever.

The tearing and scratching of the vermin now grew louder, and the doctor asked himself why? as, beside himself with horror, he sat listening.

His temples throbbed, the cold sweat stood upon his face, and he struggled again and again to free himself, but only to tighten the well-tied knots. At times he could hardly breathe, while at last a thrill ran through him--a thrill of indescribable terror--such a shock as would have made him yell, had he been able; for quickly, and with a sharp scratching, he felt something run up one of his bound legs, across his lap, and then he heard the soft "pat" as a rat leaped upon the carpet.

Doctor Hardon could bear no more; horrible, stifled groans burst from his breast, as, mad with dread, he leaped and bounded spasmodically in his seat, making the cords cut deeply into his flesh till, in one of his agonised convulsions, the chair went over backwards with a crash; when, stunned and helpless, the wretched man lay in a wild dream of horror, from which he only awoke to relapse again and again.

Volume One, Chapter XIII.

AT THE COUNTY ARMS.

The people of Somesham, whom Doctor Hardon regulated as to their internal economy, were of opinion that there was not such another town as theirs in the whole kingdom; and no doubt they were right. It was situated at the foot of a range of chalky wolds, and in dry weather always gave the visitors an idea that its inhabitants were a slovenly race, and had not dusted their town lately. There was a long, white, dusty road that led to it on one side, and a long, dusty road that led to or from it on the other side; there was one long, dusty street, with shops and private houses mixed up anyhow; there were a few dusty cross streets which led nowhere; a market-place where pigs squealed and b.u.t.ter was sold on Tuesdays; a town-hall, combined with a corn-exchange and an a.s.sembly-room, forming an ugly dust-coloured building, which was like the memoranda and papers in people's pocket-books when they are advertised as lost--of no value to anyone but the owners; and the sole use it would have been to them was to sell it for old building-materials. There were public-houses, and, above all, a commercial inn, kept by one Mrs Lower, a stout, elderly lady, who had formerly occupied the post of nurse in Octavius Hardon's house until such times as a nurse was no longer required, when she did needlework, and helped in the domestic concerns till her mistress died, and then acted as housekeeper up to the advent of Agnes Hardon, when one John Lower, keeper of the County Arms in Somesham market-place, persuaded her to say "Yes" to the question he had so many times asked her, and she became landlady of the goodly inn; nurse again to the failing old man her husband; and lastly, sole owner of the goods, chattels, and tenements of the said John Lower, who went to his long sleep with a blessing upon his lips for the good woman who had smoothed the last hours of his life.

Mrs Lower made a very comfortable widow--one whose hostelry was much frequented by commercial gentlemen, and those given to running down from town once or twice a week for the purpose of having a turn with the Low Wold hounds; stout, as a matter of course, for no woman could be expected to make a good landlady who was angular or pointed in her person. Mrs Lower was stout, but not uncomfortably so, and this stoutness she kept in its proper proportion by a comfortable diet, and by being a woman without one of those unpleasant parasites known as cares. Doubtless she had plenty of the little troubles of life to encounter--those little three-cornered affairs that bother everyone-- matters that to some people would be cares; but in her case, being a mild, cheerful, and amiable woman, they made but little impression, the consequence being that these acidities of life never ate into her countenance, running down it in wrinkles, and puckers, and channels; and at an age one never dare mention in her presence, or out of it either, for fear of not being believed, she was plump of face, rosy, and comfortable-looking, to an extent that made more than one well-to-do farmer, and tradesman too, make her an offer that she would not accept.

Mrs Lower sat very comfortably enjoying her breakfast in the bar of the County Arms, which bar was a pleasant-looking gla.s.s bower, with a view one way of the sawdusty pa.s.sage leading out into the market-place, and in the other direction a prospect of divers pendent articles of consumption--to wit, a turkey, joints of mutton and beef, poultry, and a couple of long-tailed pheasants. There was a cozy air about Mrs Lower's bar, for everything in it looked snug, from the big-stomached bottles to the great tom-cat blinking on the hearth-rug. No fireplace ever shone to such an extent as Mrs Lower's, for it was a very race between black-lead and flame which should glow most, the result being a warm combination, in which the fender, copper tea-kettle, and fire-irons joined, and which every bottle, gla.s.s, and object with shine in its composition laughed over and reflected. Everything in Mrs Lower's cozy bar seemed in keeping, and as if belonging to it--beginning with the princ.i.p.al object animate, Mrs Lower herself, and descending through the blind, fat spaniel and the black, blinking tom-cat, to the stout bullfinch in the cage hung in the window--a finch so fat that he very seldom hopped, while there was a general aspect about him that his feather jacket was too tight, for it never seemed smooth. There was a tradition that this bullfinch used to pipe "G.o.d save the King;" but that when William the Fourth died, he went into mourning for him, and had never opened his beak to honour the successor. True or not, Mrs Lower believed it; and at all events, if people doubted the bird's age, she could declare the part of the story to be true which related to its never opening its beak to pipe the anthem in its altered form.

Mrs Lower mostly had "a snack," as she termed it, for her breakfast; such snack being generally something very savoury and appetising, and frequently taking the form of mushrooms, devilled drumsticks, or kidneys; while Hides, the butcher in the market-place, had been known to tell fibs, his wife said, on Mrs Lower's account, and to deny that he had any sweetbreads when even aristocratic customers had wanted them, so that Mrs Lower might not be disappointed. But then Mrs Lower was no mean customer; and Hides said, with a wink to his wife, her money was always there when he wanted it, and that was more than some people's was who held their heads very high. Mrs Hardon had been heard to say that she believed Hides' calves never had any sweetbreads--a remark conveyed, per the cook, to Hides himself, at a time when that gentleman evinced very little pleasure in supplying the Hardon house, and always made a point of sending in dry beef and mean tough mutton.

But Mrs Lower could always have sweetbreads, and she was enjoying one cooked to perfection, sipping too, from time to time, a fine rich cup of tea, with an odour of a great-many-spoons-to-the-pot power, when Charles, head--and foot--waiter, made his appearance at the bar-door, with his head on one side, and a sharp c.o.c.ksparrow-look about him, from his beaky nose, prominent chest, and thin legs,--his tail-coat aiding the simile.

"Heard the news, mem?" said Charles, raising the napkin he carried over his arm, and nearly wiping his nose upon it by mistake.

"No, Charles," said Mrs Lower, peeping into the pot by raising the lid.

"The whole town, mem, 's in a--"

"Take that pot out, Charles, and put in one cupful,--not more, the tea-kettle's low, and the water's all furry."

"Yes, mem; town's in a fermin, mem, and--"

"One cupful mind, Charles," said Mrs Lower, interrupting him.

"Fermin, mem," continued Charles, "and--"

"Bless the man, go and fill the pot!" exclaimed Mrs Lower. "No--no!

not fill it--one cup, Charles;" and the waiter disappeared.

"And now what's the matter?" said Mrs Lower blandly, as, somewhat ruffled and reticent, Charles brought back the pot, having forgotten that the most important matter to Mrs Lower at meal-time was the meal itself.

"Matter, mem--why, everything's the matter--burglary and robbery, and murder almost; and all sorts, mem," said Charles, again making a dash at his napkin, but recollecting himself in time in favour of a red-silk handkerchief.

"Nonsense!" said Mrs Lower, thoroughly enjoying a piece of the very brownest sweetbread outside, rich in glorious osmazome; "nonsense, Charles!" and so far from being startled, she cut two or three dice-shaped pieces of bread, soaked them in the rich gravy, and went on enjoying her breakfast.

"Fact, mem, I a.s.sure you," said Charles. "That's what Keenings sent for our fly for, mem."

"What for? the burglars or the murderers, Charles?" said Mrs Lower composedly.

"No, mem; neither, mem; but ordered it at eight, mem, to go to the Grange, to fetch the doctor, mem."

"What, Mr Brande?" said Mrs Lower, taking a little more interest in the matter.

"No, mem; old Hardon, mem," said Charles.

"But he never goes to the Grange, Charles; it's all a mistake."

"No, mem, not a bit," exclaimed Charles. "Jem's in the yard now, mem, just come back from Hardon's, and he helped the doctor in and out, too; and Mrs Hardon coming flying down in her dressing-gownd as soon as they got him down home, and a-going on dreadful, and saying it was all a judgment for not forgiving Miss Hagniss; and the doctor taking three men to carry him, being heavy and cold, and almost dead; and Mr Brande's with him, mem, they say now." Charles paused for breath.

"But what was it all? what does it mean?" cried Mrs Lower, stirring her tea with her knife.

"Why, mem, that's what I'm a-telling you: it's a burglary, you know,"

said Charles excitedly. "The Grange attacked by robbers, and the doctor tied in a chair with the clothes-line, and laid down on his back, as Mr Keening and Doctor Brande found him, with a knife stuck in his throat."

"But not dead?" exclaimed Mrs Lower.

"O, no, mem, only stuck so as he couldn't speak."

"And where was Squire Octy?" cried Mrs Lower, quite forgetting the remains of her sweetbread.

"Why, didn't I tell you, mem? Tied down in another chair, and Mrs Berry, the housekeeper, tied down in her bed, with a blanket over her head, and she got loose at six o'clock this morning, and came over and alarmed the town. Says she'll never go back any more. Gang of ten ruffians with black faces, and the police are on their tract."

"But about Squire Octy, Charles. How's he?"

"Not hurt a mossle, mem, so they says. Jem says that he heard as Mr Keening cut the rope when he went in, and the old gentleman got up and shook hisself, and then took a spoonful of loddlum, and he was all right again directly, and stood laughing at his brother, the doctor, mem, who was strange and bad."

"And no one knew anything about it?" said Mrs Lower.

"Not a word, mem," cried Charles, "and it's a mercy as we weren't all murdered, I'm sure. And Jem says he saw old Squire Octy laugh when they lifted the doctor into the fly, while he'd got no chain, nor studs, nor rings, as you know he wears a lot of them things, mem."

Mrs Lower nodded.

"And I hear as all the plate's gone; and they've had the wine, and I don't know what, mem; but what caps all, mem, was for the squire, old Mr Octy, mem, to be quite laughing like, and Jem says he looks more like an old ghost than anything, mem, with a black-velvet cap and a dressin-gownd."

A ringing bell summoned Charles away, and, quite forgetful of the remainder of her breakfast, Mrs Lower sat thinking of her old master in his present character of the facsimile of a ghost in a black-velvet cap and a dressing-gown, thinking of the changes in the family, wondering, too, what had become of the doctor's daughter, Agnes; but above all, of the shabby-looking elderly man whom she always spoke of as "Master Sep."

Volume One, Chapter XIV.

MATT MAKES A DISCOVERY.