It was certified that Piers Pelham, baronet, aged seven, had come by his death owing to cardiac failure. The certificate to this effect was duly signed by the well-known Dr. Tarbot, one of the cleverest and most rising doctors in Harley Street. The great specialists who had been called in to see the child expressed no surprise when they heard of the death; only one of them remarked that he did not think the end would have come quite so soon.
In other quarters there was a certain amount of gossip. Dick Pelham was considered wonderfully lucky. Before the child’s death he had been a mere nobody—a briefless barrister with the ordinary chances of a moderate success. Now he was a man of vast importance—the baronetcy was one of the oldest in England, and the acres which belonged to the title large, fair, and widely spread.
Pelham’s engagement to Barbara Evershed had just been bruited abroad in society, and she was heartily congratulated. The whole thing was almost like a story. Nothing could have happened in a more opportune way. Of course, the death of the child was dreadful, and those who knew the little fellow were heartily sorry; but few people did know him, and Barbara had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances.
Amongst these people the general rumor was that the child had been removed at a most crucial and happy moment. Mrs. Evershed’s monetary affairs would be put straight, and she would be the mother-in-law of one of the richest men in England. The match was a splendid one for her handsome daughter. Yes, Barbara was in luck, but as she happened to be a popular girl, as the voice of society pronounced her fine-spirited, and even noble, there was not one who grudged her the happiness which was now assuredly to be hers.
As to the mother of the dead boy, the terrible shock had brought on a sharp attack of nervous fever. A nurse had to be called in to look after her. As a matter of course, Nurse Ives had been asked to undertake the case, but, much to Barbara’s surprise, she absolutely refused to nurse Mrs. Pelham.
“I cannot do it,” she said. “I will stay in the house until another nurse arrives, but I do not wish to have anything to do with the case.”
Tarbot was much annoyed at this decision, but he could not shake Nurse Ives’s resolve.
Forty-eight hours after the death of the child his coffin arrived. The undertaker’s men brought it into the room. Nurse Ives was the only one present. The men lifted the little body from the bed and laid it in the coffin. They then turned to view their work.
“He makes a pretty corpse, don’t he?” said one to the other.
In truth he did. His face was like a flower, for the color had not quite left his cheeks.