Christmas that year falling on Thursday, the shop was to close for four
days: Philip wrote to his uncle asking whether it would be convenient for
him to spend the holidays at the vicarage. He received an answer from Mrs. Foster, saying that Mr. Carey was not well enough to write himself, but wished to see his nephew and would be glad if he came down. She met Philip at the door, and when she shook hands with him, said:
"You'll find him changed since you was here last, sir; but you'll pretend
you don't notice anything, won't you, sir? He's that nervous about
himself."
Philip nodded, and she led him into the dining-room.
"Here's Mr. Philip, sir."
The Vicar of Blackstable was a dying man. There was no mistaking that when
you looked at the hollow cheeks and the shrunken body. He sat huddled in
the arm-chair, with his head strangely thrown back, and a shawl over his
shoulders. He could not walk now without the help of sticks, and his hands
trembled so that he could only feed himself with difficulty.
"He can't last long now," thought Philip, as he looked at him.
"How d'you think I'm looking?" asked the Vicar. "D'you think I've changed
since you were here last?"
"I think you look stronger than you did last summer."
"It was the heat. That always upsets me."
Mr. Carey's history of the last few months consisted in the number of
weeks he had spent in his bed-room and the number of weeks he had spent
downstairs. He had a hand-bell by his side and while he talked he rang it
for Mrs. Foster, who sat in the next room ready to attend to his wants, to
ask on what day of the month he had first left his room.
"On the seventh of November, sir."
Mr. Carey looked at Philip to see how he took the information.
"But I eat well still, don't I, Mrs. Foster?"
"Yes, sir, you've got a wonderful appetite."
"I don't seem to put on flesh though."
Nothing interested him now but his health. He was set upon one thing
indomitably and that was living, just living, notwithstanding the monotony
of his life and the constant pain which allowed him to sleep only when he
was under the influence of morphia.
"It's terrible, the amount of money I have to spend on doctor's bills." He
tinkled his bell again. "Mrs. Foster, show Master Philip the chemist's
bill."
Patiently she took it off the chimney-piece and handed it to Philip.
"That's only one month. I was wondering if as you're doctoring yourself
you couldn't get me the drugs cheaper. I thought of getting them down from
the stores, but then there's the postage."
Though apparently taking so little interest in him that he did not trouble
to inquire what Phil was doing, he seemed glad to have him there. He asked
how long he could stay, and when Philip told him he must leave on Tuesday
morning, expressed a wish that the visit might have been longer. He told
him minutely all his symptoms and repeated what the doctor had said of
him. He broke off to ring his bell, and when Mrs. Foster came in, said:
"Oh, I wasn't sure if you were there. I only rang to see if you were."
When she had gone he explained to Philip that it made him uneasy if he was
not certain that Mrs. Foster was within earshot; she knew exactly what to
do with him if anything happened. Philip, seeing that she was tired and
that her eyes were heavy from want of sleep, suggested that he was working
her too hard.
"Oh, nonsense," said the Vicar, "she's as strong as a horse." And when
next she came in to give him his medicine he said to her:
"Master Philip says you've got too much to do, Mrs. Foster. You like
looking after me, don't you?"
"Oh, I don't mind, sir. I want to do everything I can."
Presently the medicine took effect and Mr. Carey fell asleep. Philip went
into the kitchen and asked Mrs. Foster whether she could stand the work. He saw that for some months she had had little peace.
"Well, sir, what can I do?" she answered. "The poor old gentleman's so
dependent on me, and, although he is troublesome sometimes, you can't help
liking him, can you? I've been here so many years now, I don't know what
I shall do when he comes to go."