Story of the vanishing patient. There had always been strange stories about the house,
but it was a sensible, comfortable sort of a neighborhood, and people
took pains to say to one another that there was nothing in these tales,
of course, not absolutely nothing. How could there be. It was a
matter of common remark, however, that considering the amount of money the Nethertons
had spent on the place, it was curious they lived there so little.
They were nearly always away up north in the summer and down south in the
winter, and over to Paris or London now and then, and when they
did come home it was only to entertain a number of guests from the city.
The place was either plunged in gloom or gayety. The old gardener,
who kept house by himself in the cottage at the back of the yard,
had things much his own way. By far the greater part of the time.
Doctor Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he
and his wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each
other's company, had the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked their mornings
when the leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily
pond and listened for the whipper will. The doctor's wife moved her room over
to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, and
thus made the honeysuckles and law and clematis, and all the masses of tossing
greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she speculated
about the mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the house. It happened one
night when she and her husband had gone to their room and were congratulating themselves
on the fact that he had no very sick patience and was likely to enjoy
a good night's rest, that a rain came at the door. If it's
anyone wanting you to leave home, warned his wife. You must tell them
you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this week, and
it's too much. The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a
man whom he had never seen before. My wife is lying very ill next
door, said the stranger, so ill that I fear she will not live
till morning. Will you please come to her at once? Next door,
cried the physician. I didn't know the nether tons were home, Please,
hasten, begged the man. I must go back to her. Follow as
quickly as you can. The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilette.
How absurd, protested his wife when she heard the story. There is no
one at the nethertons. I sit where I can see the front door,
and no one can enter without my knowing it. And I have been sewing
by the window all day. If there were any one in the house,
the gardener would have the porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Someone
has designs on you. You must not go, but he went. As
he left the room, his wife placed a revolver in his pocket. The
great porch of the mansion was dark, but the physician made out that the
door was open, and he entered. A feeble light came from the bronze
lamp at the turn of the stairs, and by it he found his way
his feet. Seeing king noiselessly in the rich carpets. At the head of
the stairs, the man met him. The doctor thought himself a tall man,
but the stranger topped him by half a head. He motioned the physician
to follow him, and the two went down the hall to the front room.
The place was flushed with a rose colored glow from several lamps. On
a silken couch in the midst of pillows lay a woman dying with consumption.
She was like a lily white, shapely, graceful, with feeble yet charming
movements. She looked at the doctor, pealingly, then seen in his eyes
the involuntary verdict that her hour was at hand. She turned toward her companion
with a glance of anguish. Doctor Block asked a few questions, The man
answered them, the woman remaining silent. The physician administered something stimulating and then
wrote a prescription, which he placed on the mantel shelf the drug stores.
Close to night, he said, and I fear the druggist has gone home.
You can have the prescription filled the first thing in the morning, and
I will be over before breakfast. After that, there was no reason why
he should not have gone home, yet oddly enough he preferred to stay.
Nor was it profession or anxiety that prompted this delay. He longed to watch
those mysterious persons, who, almost oblivious of his presence, were speaking their
mortal farewells in their glances, which were impassioned and of unutterable sadness. He
sat as if fascinated. He watched the glitter of rings on the woman's long
white hands. He noted the waving of light hair about her temples. He
observed the details of her gown of soft white silk, which fell about her
in voluminous folds. Now and then the man gave her of the stimulant which
the doctor had provided. Sometimes he bathed her face with water. Once he
paced the floor for a moment, till a motion of her hand quieted him.
After a time, feeling that it would be more sensible and considerate of
him to leave, the doctor made his way home. His wife awake,
impatient to hear of his experiences. She listened to his tail in silence,
and when he had finished, she turned her face to the wall and made
no comment. You seem to be ill, my dear, he said,
you have a chill. You are shivering. I have no chill, she
replied sharply, but I well. You may leave the light burning. The
next morning, before breakfast, the doctor crossed the dewy sward to the Netherton
house. The front door was locked, and no one answered to his repeated
ringings. The old gardener chanced to be cutting the grass near at hand,
and he came running up. What's your ringin that door bell for? Doctor,
said he. The folks ain't come home yet. There ain't nobody there.
Yes, there's Jim. I was called here last night a man came
for me to attend his wife. They must both have fallen asleep that the
bell is not answered. I wouldn't be surprised to find her dead. As
a matter of fact, she was a desperately sick woman. Perhaps she is
dead and something has happened to him. You have the key to the door,
Jim, let me in. But the the old man was shaking in
every limb and refused to do as he was bid. Don't you never go
in there, doctor, whispered he with chattering teeth. Don't you go for
to tend no one? You just come tell me when you sent for that
way. No, I ain't goin in, doctor, Nohow, it ain't
part of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by mister Netherton.
It's my business to look after the garden. Argument was useless. Doctor Block
took the bunch of keys from the old man's pocket and himself unlocked the front
door and entered. He mounted the steps and made his way to the upper
room. There was no evidence of occupancy. The place was silent, and
so far as living creature went, vacant. The dust lay over everything.
It covered the delicate damask of the sofa where he had seen the dying woman.
It rested on the pillows. The place smelled musty and evil, as
if it had not been used for a long time. The lamps of the
room held not a drop of oil. But on the mantel shelf was the
prescription which the doctor had written the night before. He read it, folded
it, and put it in his pocket. As he locked the outside door.
The old gardener came running to him. Don't you never go up there
again? Will Yer, he pleaded, Not unless you see all the Netherlands
home, and I come for you myself. You won't, doctor, No,
said the doctor. When he told his wife, she kissed him and
said, next time, when I told you to stay at home, you
must stay. End of Story of the Vanishing Patient by Elia Wilkinson Peaty