The Gadfly Ethel Voynich (e reader manga TXT) 📖

He turned round quickly. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Good night, Mme. Reni!”

The gipsy, with a stiff bow and an angry shrug of her shoulders, took her officer’s arm again, and, gathering up the train of her dress, swept past them to the contested carriage.

“I will send it back to fetch you and the child, if you like, M. Rivarez,” she said, pausing on the doorstep.

“Very well; I will give the address.” He came out on to the pavement, gave the address to the driver, and walked back to Gemma with his burden.

Katie was waiting up for her mistress; and, on hearing what had happened, ran for warm water and other necessaries. Placing the child on a chair, the Gadfly knelt down beside him, and, deftly slipping off the ragged clothing, bathed and bandaged the wound with tender, skilful hands. He had just finished washing the boy, and was wrapping him in a warm blanket, when Gemma came in with a tray in her hands.

“Is your patient ready for his supper?” she asked, smiling at the strange little figure. “I have been cooking it for him.”

The Gadfly stood up and rolled the dirty rags together. “I’m afraid we have made a terrible mess in your room,” he said. “As for these, they had better go straight into the fire, and I will buy him some new clothes tomorrow. Have you any brandy in the house, signora? I think he ought to have a little. I will just wash my hands, if you will allow me.”

When the child had finished his supper, he immediately went to sleep in the Gadfly’s arms, with his rough head against the white shirtfront. Gemma, who had been helping Katie to set the disordered room tidy again, sat down at the table.

“Signor Rivarez, you must take something before you go home⁠—you had hardly any dinner, and it’s very late.”

“I should like a cup of tea in the English fashion, if you have it. I’m sorry to keep you up so late.”

“Oh! that doesn’t matter. Put the child down on the sofa; he will tire you. Wait a minute; I will just lay a sheet over the cushions. What are you going to do with him?”

“Tomorrow? Find out whether he has any other relations except that drunken brute; and if not, I suppose I must follow Mme. Reni’s advice, and take him to the Refuge. Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to put a stone round his neck and pitch him into the river there; but that would expose me to unpleasant consequences. Fast asleep! What an odd little lump of ill-luck you are, you mite⁠—not half as capable of defending yourself as a stray cat!”

When Katie brought in the tea-tray, the boy opened his eyes and sat up with a bewildered air. Recognizing the Gadfly, whom he already regarded as his natural protector, he wriggled off the sofa, and, much encumbered by the folds of his blanket, came up to nestle against him. He was by now sufficiently revived to be inquisitive; and, pointing to the mutilated left hand, in which the Gadfly was holding a piece of cake, asked:

“What’s that?”

“That? Cake; do you want some? I think you’ve had enough for now. Wait till tomorrow, little man.”

“No⁠—that!” He stretched out his hand and touched the stumps of the amputated fingers and the great scar on the wrist. The Gadfly put down his cake.

“Oh, that! It’s the same sort of thing as what you have on your shoulder⁠—a hit I got from someone stronger than I was.”

“Didn’t it hurt awfully?”

“Oh, I don’t know⁠—not more than other things. There, now, go to sleep again; you have no business asking questions at this time of night.”

When the carriage arrived the boy was again asleep; and the Gadfly, without awaking him, lifted him gently and carried him out on to the stairs.

“You have been a sort of ministering angel to me today,” he said to Gemma, pausing at the door. “But I suppose that need not prevent us from quarrelling to our heart’s content in future.”

“I have no desire to quarrel with anyone.”

“Ah! but I have. Life would be unendurable without quarrels. A good quarrel is the salt of the earth; it’s better than a variety show!”

And with that he went downstairs, laughing softly to himself, with the sleeping child in his arms.

One day in the first week of January Martini, who had sent round the forms of invitation to the monthly group-meeting of the literary committee, received from the Gadfly a laconic, pencil-scrawled “Very sorry: can’t come.” He was a little annoyed, as a notice of “important business” had been put into the invitation; this cavalier treatment seemed to him almost insolent. Moreover, three separate letters containing bad news arrived during the day, and the wind was in the east, so that Martini felt out of sorts and out of temper; and when, at the group meeting, Dr. Riccardo asked, “Isn’t Rivarez here?” he answered rather sulkily: “No; he seems to have got something more interesting on hand, and can’t come, or doesn’t want to.”

“Really, Martini,” said Galli irritably, “you are about the most prejudiced person in Florence. Once you object to a man, everything he does is wrong. How could Rivarez come when he’s ill?”

“Who told you he was ill?”

“Didn’t you know? He’s been laid up for the last four days.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know. He had to put off an appointment with me on Thursday on account of illness; and last night, when I went round, I heard that he was too ill to see anyone. I thought Riccardo would be looking after him.”

“I knew nothing about it. I’ll go round tonight and see if he wants anything.”

The next morning Riccardo, looking very pale and tired, came into Gemma’s little study. She was sitting at the table, reading out monotonous strings of figures to Martini, who, with a magnifying glass in one hand and a finely pointed pencil