“She has a nephew. I have sent for him.”
The doctor nodded. He glanced at Eve, then he said quietly -
“She will live about an hour. She wants me to come again and bring another man. I will do it, although it is useless. There are some things money cannot buy.”
With a quick mechanical smile he was gone.
Eve went upstairs again to the room where Mrs. Harrington was fighting her last fight. As she passed up the stairs, she noticed two letters on the hall table awaiting postage; one was addressed to Mrs. Ingham-Baker, the other to Luke, at Malta.
Mrs. Harrington had ordered the blinds to be pulled up, and the daylight showed her face to be little changed. It had always been grey; the shadows on it now were grey; the eyes were active and bright. It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington’s mind was bright and keen as ever.
“That doctor is a fool,” she said. “I have told him to come back and bring Sir James Harlow with him. And will you please send and tell Fitz that I should like to see him? You must arrange to stay on a few days until I am better. Captain Bontnor will have to do without you. My servants are not to be trusted alone. I shall want you to keep them in order; they require a tight reign.”
“I have sent for Fitz,” said Eve.
“Why?” snapped Mrs. Harrington. “To come and make love to you? Leave that to Agatha. She has been teaching them both to do that for the last three years. Her idea is to marry the one who gets my money. I’ve known that all along.”
Eve’s dark eyes hardened suddenly. She could not believe what the doctor had told her five minutes earlier. Five minutes - one-twelfth part of Mrs. Harrington’s life ebbed away.