Steampunk Prime_ A Vintage Steampunk Reader - Mike Ashley [86]
“Say those words again,” she cried.
“My dear madam, I am sorry to startle you. Durham is very ill; quite unconscious; sinking fast.”
“I must see him,” she said eagerly; “which is his room?”
“The bedroom facing you on the first landing,” was the doctor’s reply.
She rushed upstairs, not waiting for any one. We followed her slowly. As we were about to enter the room, the child being still in my arms, Lady Faulkner came out, and confronted me.
“I have seen him,” she said. “One glance at his face was sufficient. Mr. Head, I must speak to you, and alone, at once — at once! Take me where I can see you all alone.”
I opened the door of another room on the same landing, and switched on the electric light.
“Put the child down,” she said, “or take him away. This is too horrible; it is past bearing. I never meant things to go as far as this.”
“Lady Faulkner, do you quite realize what you are saying?”
“I realize everything. Oh, Mr. Head, you were right. Madame is the most terrible woman in all the world. She told me that I might bring the boy to London in safety — that she had arranged matters so that his father should not recognize him — so that he would not recognize his father. I was to bring him straight here, and trust to her to put things right. I never knew she meant this. I have just looked at his face, and he is changed; he is horrible to look at now. Oh, my God this will kill me.”
“You must tell me all, Lady Faulkner,” I said. “You have committed yourself now — you have as good as confessed the truth. Then the child — this child — is indeed Durham’s son?”
“That child is Loftus Durham’s son. Yes, I am the most miserable woman in the universe. Do what you will with me. Oh yes, I could bring myself to steal the boy, but not, not to go to this last extreme step. This is murder, Mr. Head. If Mr. Durham dies, I am guilty of murder. Is there no chance of his life?”
“The only chance is for you to tell me everything as quickly as you can,” I answered.
“I will,” she replied. She pulled herself together, and began to speak hurriedly.
“I will tell you all in as few words as possible; but in order that you should understand why I committed this awful crime, you must know something of my early history.
“My father and mother died from shock after the death of three baby brothers in succession. Each of these children lived to be a year old, and then each succumbed to the same dreadful malady, and sank into an early grave. I was brought up by an aunt, who treated me sternly, suppressing all affection for me, and doing her utmost to get me married off her hands as quickly as possible. Sir John Faulkner fell in love with me when I was eighteen, and asked me to be his wife. I loved him, and eagerly consented. On the day when I gave my consent I met our family doctor. I told him of my engagement and of the unlooked for happiness which had suddenly dawned on my path. To my astonishment old Dr. Macpherson told me that I did wrong to marry.
“’There is a terrible disease in your family,’ he said; ‘you have no right to marry.’
“He then told me an extraordinary and terrible thing. He said that in my family on the mother’s side was a disease which is called pseudo-hypertrophic muscular paralysis. This strange disease is hereditary, but only attacks the male members of a house, all the females absolutely escaping. You have doubtless heard of it?”
I bowed. “It is one of the most terrible hereditary diseases known,” I replied.
Her eyes began to dilate.
“Dr. Macpherson told me about it that dreadful day,” she continued. “He said that my three brothers had died of it, that they had inherited it on the mother’s side — that my mother’s brothers had also died of it, and that she, although escaping herself, had communicated it to her male children. He told me that if I married, any boys who were born to me would in all probability die of this disease.
“I listened to him shocked. I went back and told