The Challenge of Love. Victorian Romance Novel
mean by the truth? Do you know that Miss Perfrement is subject to heart attacks?”
“It was not a heart attack this morning, sir. And yet her maid told me it was typical.”
“Indeed, indeed. And what do you suggest?”
“Miss Perfrement appears to be a lady who likes little scenes and has a rather foolish thirst for sympathy.”
Dr. Threadgold’s white waistcoat was like a great, round, scandalised countenance.
“Do you mean to say, Mr. Wolfe, that you told Miss Perfrement she was a fool!”
“I told her that there was no cause for alarm. And she did not appear satisfied.”
“No!”
“I suppose——Oh, well, I think you had better warn me, sir, against such cases.”
Threadgold strutted irritably across the room.
“Mr. Wolfe, sir, when shall I teach you tact! Tact is the one thing that a doctor must cultivate. It is one of the essentials.”
“I quite understand you.”
“I must insist upon your using proper discretion. And by the way, there is another matter about which I wish to speak. We are using more drugs than usual. I see that two large orders have gone out to Murchison and Company in the last three months. We have never used anything like the quantity before.”
Wolfe stood like a watchful, silent spirit that busies itself with observing petty things.
“I have given what was necessary, sir.”
“No doubt. But I see you have a liking for the more expensive preparations. Probably you are ignorant of the relative cost, and you have dispensed away gallons of tinctures. It is unnecessary extravagance. In most cases the simple preparations are just as efficacious, and I can’t afford to pour expensive medicines down the throats of paup—of half the town.”
“I have only given what I considered right. I suppose, sir, you don’t want me to withhold the proper drugs?”
Threadgold flared up.
“Mr. Wolfe, sir, you misunderstand me. I am a gentleman and a Christian. But sheer waste, the needless using of expensive preparations!”
“I will try to exert my tact, sir.”
Threadgold glanced at him, and suddenly became deflated like a child’s balloon pricked with a pin.
“We will say no more, Mr. Wolfe, we will say no more. You have a very clumsy touch, sir. You will have to lighten it in order to succeed in general practice.”
Wolfe had the curiosity to look up Miss Perfrement’s record in the day-book and account ledger. He found a great number of entries. They occurred with valuable regularity, like the entry “Dined out” in the diary of a precise old bachelor.
| Miss | Perfrement. |
| Attendance. | |
| Mist. Antispas. VIII. | |
| Miss | Perfrement’s maid. |
| Advice. | |
| Pil. Cal. Sac. Haust. Mag. Sulph. | |
| Miss | Perfrement’s dog. |
| Advice. | |
| Unguent. Sulph. | |
| Miss | Perfrement. |
| Att. | |
| Mist. Aqua Sac. VIII. |
Such were these entries, and Wolfe smiled over them—placebos, sugared waters, and sulphur for the lady’s pug. The account ledger showed that Dr. Threadgold’s exchequer profited heavily by Miss Perfrement’s “heart.” She was a valuable patient, and worth humouring. Wolfe closed the ledger with a slam.
Wolfe had many things to worry him when he made his way to George Lane on the afternoon of the day of his visit to Miss Perfrement. George Lane ran close to Turrell’s brewery, and at the back of the lane were the brewery stables, where the great, black dray horses had their quarters. Piled against the low brick wall that closed the back yards of George Lane lay the refuse from Turrell’s stables. It was allowed to accumulate there for months at a time.
As Burgess the cobbler said to Wolfe:
“It’s treating us like pigs, sir. You can’t get away from the smell—nohow. It’s in your food; it goes to bed with you, and you get up with it in the morning.”
Wolfe had suggested an appeal to Mr. Turrell.
“Speak to him! What’s the use, sir! Ain’t we his tenants?”
“Well he ought to clear it out.”
“Clear me out first, sir. Turrell won’t put up with a grumbler.”
It happened that Wolfe walked straight into Jasper Turrell at the corner of Malt Lane. The battle of Virgin’s Court had been fought a week ago, but Wolfe stopped and nailed his man.
“Mr. Turrell, may I have a word with you?”
“Twenty, sir, if you want to apologise.”
“It’s about that stable-yard of yours at the back of George Lane.”
“Oh, is it!”
“I don’t suppose, sir, you know the conditions there.”
Turrell drew in a breath, and his cheeks showed hollows.
“Look here, sir, what do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that that yard of yours——”
“Upon my word, it is absolutely preposterous—a young fellow coming into a town like this, and trying to teach all of us our business. Dr. Threadgold is the responsible person here. Remember that, sir, and take yourself a little less seriously.”
His eyes threatened Wolfe, and Wolfe looked at him curiously.
“It is to your interest, sir, as much as to anybody else’s.”
“Oh, is it? Well, you leave it at that. See?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wolfe was in a mood of deep disgust as he rode out towards Herongate to pay a last visit to the shepherd who had been ill in his cottage on Tarling Moor. Certain things that had happened in Navestock during the week had made Wolfe ask himself what was the use of attempting to better the state of such a town. Some of the people whom he had tried to help had turned and snapped at him. He had contrived to make himself more enemies because of his frankness in dealing with facts.
There was the case of Mrs. Lucy Gollop, who took in babies to nurse at twopence a day. Wolfe was called to her cottage to find five infants half-dead from overdoses of opium. Mrs. Gollop was in tears, and none the better for too much gin.
“Oh, dear, doctor, I can’t think what’s come to the poor little souls. They won’t wake up, sir, they won’t wake up.”
“What have you been dosing them with?”
“They were so fretful-like, and the neighbours be that nasty. The poor dears do scream——”
Wolfe looked grimly at the clay-faced, blue-lipped infants, each lying in a deal box stuffed with rags that served as a cradle.
“Show me the bottle.”
Mrs. Gollop, in a large, loose frenzy, brought him the gin bottle by mistake.
“Not that!”
“Oh doctor, don’t be cross wi’ me.”
The overflowing creature snivelled about the room.
“ ’Ere ’tis. Palfrey’s cordial.”
“I thought as much. Where did you get that?”
“At Mr. Hubbard’s, doctor.”
“I