knows—perhaps my cousin really will suffer another episode, and I will be called upon to assist him.” He sounded ghoulishly hopeful about the prospect, and when he swept dramatically out of the room, Tom noticed he was smiling.
Mr. Fitzwilliam seemed torn between amusement and disapproval. “Well,” he said, shutting his bag, “it’s up to you, Tom, so I leave you to it. He’ll be groggy when he wakes, but that’s all right. Send for me if there’s any real change; otherwise I shall stop by tomorrow morning.” And he too left Tom alone with only his thoughts for company.
It was a dull office to sit by a sleeping man, no matter how much one might enjoy his company when he was awake. Other than mulling over his triumph regarding Holland, Tom had little to do, so he lit some candles, and scanned the bookshelves for something, anything, entertaining, finally settling in with The Adventures of David Simple .
As the sun set, a storm rolled in. Tom lit a few more candles as thunder boomed, and rain spattered the window. It being late in May, the weather had been warm; even so, Tom was most grateful when a housemaid brought him a tray with some crusty bread, a bowl of soup, and a pot of tea.
Not long after he had finished his repast he heard a rustling. Mr. Bewit stirred and raised his head.
“Tom?” was his quiet call. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mr. Bewit.” Tom was at his side in an instant. “How are you, sir? The doctor said you were to have another glass of—”
“Never mind that, I’m fine,” said Mr. Bewit, scooting against the pillows to sit up. “A glass of cognac to wet my mouth is all I want. And get yourself one, if you like.”
He seemed a bit woozy, as the doctor had predicted, but well enough otherwise. Tom decanted a liberal dose for his master, and after handing it over, poured himself his first-ever taste of the stuff.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to have given you all such a start,” said Mr. Bewit, after taking a few long pulls. “I’ve made such a fool of myself.”
“Not at all, sir. You are the most even-tempered man I ever met. If you were made angry by something I’m sure it was justified.”
Mr. Bewit’s pale face reddened. “If they had been merely abusing my trust, that would be one thing. But abusing my name! To overhear your most trusted servant thinks you a fool and an imbecile… to hear yourself mocked …” Mr. Bewit’s bleary eyes momentarily focused on Tom, as he studiously kept all signs of interest from his face. “You did well to tell me what you heard, though you could not know the full extent of Holland’s betrayal. But I confess, that was not what really caused my fit,” he said, and sighed. “How silly of me, to be—” Lightning sizzled across the night sky, startling them both.
“Silly, sir?” Tom asked, looking back to his master. Ordinarily, Tom wouldn’t have pressed the man, but he got the sense that Mr. Bewit wanted to be drawn out.
“Yes, of course. You wouldn’t know.” Mr. Bewit looked around. “Did the letter I received make it up here?”
Tom had completely forgotten about the note after he’d tucked it into his pocket. He withdrew it hastily. “I retrieved it for you, sir,” he explained, as Mr. Bewit watched him, “and then in the chaos, forgot it entirely—I’m sorry, it’s quite crumpled.”
“That’s all right. I must have given you all quite a turn. Well, go on—read it.”
Tom set down his cognac and pulled the letter from its envelope. The stationery was very fine and the waxen seal a rich flame yellow.
Dear Mr. Bewit,
We are pleased to inform you that not only has your name come up for Brooks’s, our current members have agreed you would be a most suitable addition to our number.
If you are interested in becoming a member of our club, please do let us know and we will take care of everything. While the formal induction ceremony and banquet will not take place until 5 June, you should consider
Mr. Fitzwilliam seemed torn between amusement and disapproval. “Well,” he said, shutting his bag, “it’s up to you, Tom, so I leave you to it. He’ll be groggy when he wakes, but that’s all right. Send for me if there’s any real change; otherwise I shall stop by tomorrow morning.” And he too left Tom alone with only his thoughts for company.
It was a dull office to sit by a sleeping man, no matter how much one might enjoy his company when he was awake. Other than mulling over his triumph regarding Holland, Tom had little to do, so he lit some candles, and scanned the bookshelves for something, anything, entertaining, finally settling in with The Adventures of David Simple .
As the sun set, a storm rolled in. Tom lit a few more candles as thunder boomed, and rain spattered the window. It being late in May, the weather had been warm; even so, Tom was most grateful when a housemaid brought him a tray with some crusty bread, a bowl of soup, and a pot of tea.
Not long after he had finished his repast he heard a rustling. Mr. Bewit stirred and raised his head.
“Tom?” was his quiet call. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mr. Bewit.” Tom was at his side in an instant. “How are you, sir? The doctor said you were to have another glass of—”
“Never mind that, I’m fine,” said Mr. Bewit, scooting against the pillows to sit up. “A glass of cognac to wet my mouth is all I want. And get yourself one, if you like.”
He seemed a bit woozy, as the doctor had predicted, but well enough otherwise. Tom decanted a liberal dose for his master, and after handing it over, poured himself his first-ever taste of the stuff.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to have given you all such a start,” said Mr. Bewit, after taking a few long pulls. “I’ve made such a fool of myself.”
“Not at all, sir. You are the most even-tempered man I ever met. If you were made angry by something I’m sure it was justified.”
Mr. Bewit’s pale face reddened. “If they had been merely abusing my trust, that would be one thing. But abusing my name! To overhear your most trusted servant thinks you a fool and an imbecile… to hear yourself mocked …” Mr. Bewit’s bleary eyes momentarily focused on Tom, as he studiously kept all signs of interest from his face. “You did well to tell me what you heard, though you could not know the full extent of Holland’s betrayal. But I confess, that was not what really caused my fit,” he said, and sighed. “How silly of me, to be—” Lightning sizzled across the night sky, startling them both.
“Silly, sir?” Tom asked, looking back to his master. Ordinarily, Tom wouldn’t have pressed the man, but he got the sense that Mr. Bewit wanted to be drawn out.
“Yes, of course. You wouldn’t know.” Mr. Bewit looked around. “Did the letter I received make it up here?”
Tom had completely forgotten about the note after he’d tucked it into his pocket. He withdrew it hastily. “I retrieved it for you, sir,” he explained, as Mr. Bewit watched him, “and then in the chaos, forgot it entirely—I’m sorry, it’s quite crumpled.”
“That’s all right. I must have given you all quite a turn. Well, go on—read it.”
Tom set down his cognac and pulled the letter from its envelope. The stationery was very fine and the waxen seal a rich flame yellow.
Dear Mr. Bewit,
We are pleased to inform you that not only has your name come up for Brooks’s, our current members have agreed you would be a most suitable addition to our number.
If you are interested in becoming a member of our club, please do let us know and we will take care of everything. While the formal induction ceremony and banquet will not take place until 5 June, you should consider
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