Jim and I witnessed Ralston Murray's will, which left all he possessed to “Mrs. Rosemary Brandreth.” No reference was made in the document to the fact that Rosemary was engaged to marry him.
Next day we landed, and Murray was so buoyed up with happiness that he was able to travel to London without a rest. He stopped at a quiet hotel in St. James' Square, and we took Rosemary Brandreth with us to the Savoy. Murray applied for a special license, and the marriage was to take place in town, as soon as possible, so that the two might travel to Devonshire as husband and wife. Jim and I both pined for Courtenaye Abbey, but we wouldn't desert our new friends. Besides, their affairs had now become as exciting to us as a mystery play. There were many questions we asked ourselves and each other concerning obscure and unexplained details. But, if Murray was content not to ask them, they were no business of ours!
Jim consulted a firm considered to be the smartest solicitors in London, and, thanks to their smartness, the difficulty of the codicil was got over.
The wedding was to take place at Major Murray's hotel, in the salon of his suite, as he was not able to go through a ceremony in church. Jim and I were the only invited guests, but at the last moment a third guest invited himself: the cousin to whom the Ralston property would have gone if its owner hadn't preferred Ralston Murray for his heir.
It seemed that the distant relatives had always kept up a correspondence, letters three or four times a year, and I imagine that Murray made the disappointed man a consolation allowance, though he hinted at nothing of the kind to me. In any case, Dr. Paul Jennings—who lived and practiced at Merriton, not far from Ralston Old Manor—reported unofficially on the condition of the place, at stated intervals. Murray had wired the news of his arrival in England to Jennings, and that he would be bringing a wife to Devonshire, whereupon the doctor asked by telegram if he might attend the wedding. Neither Murray nor the bride-elect could think of any reason why he should not come, so he was politely bidden to be present.
I was rather curious about the cousin to whom Murray had referred on shipboard, and as the acquaintanceship between the two men seemed to be entirely impersonal, I thought it “cheeky” of Jennings to angle himself to the wedding. Jim agreed with me as to the cheekiness. He said, however, that the request was natural enough. This poor country doctor had heard, no doubt, that Murray was doomed to death, and had accordingly hoped great things for himself. There had seemed to be no reason why these great things shouldn't happen, yet now the dying man was about to take a wife! Jennings had been too impatient to wait until the couple turned up in Devonshire to see what the lady was like.
“Besides,” Jim went on with the shrewdness I always accused him of picking up in America, “besides, the fellow probably hopes to make a good impression on the bride, and to get taken on as family doctor.”
“He'll be disappointed about that!” I exclaimed, with a flash of naughty joy, for somehow I'd made up my mind not to like Doctor Jennings. “Major Murray has promised Rosemary and me to consult Beverley Drake about himself. It's the most marvelous thing that Sir Beverley should be in Exeter! Not to call him to the case would be tempting Providence!”
Jim doesn't know or care much about doctors, but even he knew something of Sir Beverley Drake. He is the man, of course, who did such wonders for soldiers who'd contracted obscure tropical diseases while serving in Egypt, India, Mesopotamia, Salonika, and so on.
You could bet pretty safely that a person named Drake would be of Devonshire extraction, and you would not lose your money on Beverley of that ilk.
He had spent half his life in the East, and hadn't been settled down as a Harley Street specialist for many years, when the war broke out. Between 1914 and 1919 he had worn himself to a thread in France, and had temporarily retired from active life to rest in his native town, Exeter. But he had known both my wonderful grandmother and old Mr. Ralston. He wasn't likely to refuse his services to Ralston Murray. Consequently I didn't quite see Doctor Paul Jennings getting a professional foothold in Major Murray's house, no matter what his personal charm might be.