The creature moaned feebly when I looked at it and called to it, but never stirred. I moved away the seat and looked closer. The poor little dog's eyes were glazing fast, and there were spots of blood on its glossy white side. The misery of a weak, helpless, dumb creature is surely one of the saddest of all the mournful sights which this world can show. I lifted the poor dog in my arms as gently as I could, and contrived a sort of make-shift hammock for him to lie in, by gathering up the front of my dress all round him. In this way I took the creature, as Painlessly as possible, and as fast as possible, back to the house.
Finding no one in the hall I went up at once to my own sitting-room, made a bed for the dog with one of my old shawls, and rang the bell. The largest and fattest of all possible housemaids answered it, in a state of cheerful stupidity which would have provoked the patience of a saint.
The girl's fat, shapeless face actually stretched into a broad grin at the sight of the wounded creature on the floor.
‘What do you see there to laugh at?' I asked, as angrily as if she had been a servant of my own. ‘Do you know whose dog it is?'
‘No, miss, that I certainly don't.' She stooped, and looked down at the spaniel's injured side -- brightened suddenly with the irradiation of a new idea -- and pointing to the wound with a chuckle of satisfaction, said, ‘That's Baxter's doings, that is.'
I was so exasperated that I could have boxed her ears. ‘Baxter?' I said.
‘Who is the brute you call Baxter?'
The girl grinned again more cheerfully than ever. ‘Bless you, miss!
Baxter's the keeper, and when he finds strange dogs hunting about, he takes and shoots 'em. It's keeper's dooty, miss. I think that dog will die. Here's where he's been shot, ain't it? That's Baxter's doings, that is. Baxter's doings, miss, and Baxter's dooty.'
I was almost wicked enough to wish that Baxter had shot the housemaid instead of the dog. Seeing that it was quite useless to expect this densely impenetrable personage to give me any help in relieving the suffering creature at our feet, I told her to request the housekeeper's attendance with my compliments. She went out exactly as she had come in, grinning from ear to ear. As the door closed on her she said to herself softly, ‘It's Baxter's doings and Baxter's dooty -- that's what it is.'
The housekeeper, a person of some education and intelligence, thoughtfully brought upstairs with her some milk and some warm water. The instant she saw the dog on the floor she started and changed colour.
‘Why, Lord bless me,' cried the housekeeper, ‘that must be Mis Catherick's dog!'
‘Whose?' I asked, in the utmost astonishment.
‘Mis Catherick's. You seem to know Mrs Catherick, Miss Halcombe?'
‘Not personally, but I have heard of her. Does she live here? Has she had any news of her daughter?'
‘No, Miss Halcombe, she came here to ask for news.'
‘When?'
‘Only yesterday. She said someone had reported that a stranger answering to the description of her daughter had been seen in our neighbourhood.
No such report has reached us here, and no such report was known in the village, when I sent to make inquiries there on Mrs Catherick's account.
She certainly brought this poor little dog with her when she came, and I saw it trot out after her when she went away. I suppose the creature strayed into the plantations, and got shot. Where did you find it, Miss Halcombe?'
‘In the old shed that looks out on the lake.'
‘Ah, yes, that is the plantation side, and the poor thing dragged itself, I suppose, to the nearest shelter, as dogs will, to die. If you can moisten its lips with the milk, Miss Halcombe, I will wash the clotted hair from the wound. I am very much afraid it is too late to do any good. However, we can but try.'
Mrs Catherick! The name still rang in my ears, as if the housekeeper had only that moment surprised me by uttering it. While we were attending to the dog, the words of Walter Hartright's caution to me returned to my memory: ‘If ever Anne Catherick crosses your path, make better use of the opportunity, Miss Halcombe, than I made of it.' The finding of the wounded spaniel had led me already to the discovery of Mrs Catherick's visit to Blackwater Park, and that event might lead, in its turn, to something more.
I determined to make the most of the chance which was now offered to me, and to gain as much information as I could.
‘Did you say that Mrs Catherick lived anywhere in this neighbourhood?'
I asked.
