Fear For Frances Part 4

His breath hissed softly between his teeth as Theo turned the mutilated arm this way and that. After a minute or two, he went on.

'When I came to myself again, I was on board ship, with my arm in splints. They said I'd got to see some quack or other in London about my arm, because it wasn't right. The bone was broken. They set it, but ...'

Theo bent the limp thumb and first finger. Any feeling or movement?'

'Not yet. Give me a chance. When the splints come off ...' His voice tailed away, as if it had only just dawned on him that the splints were already off. 'When you've taken the bullet out, it will be all right.' He seemed to dare Theo to disagree.

Theo's face gave nothing away. He began to touch his patient's elbow with the tips of his fingers. The bullet was still in the arm, they knew, but they did not know precisely where. His uncle had probed for it unsuccessfully, as had the doctor from Lewes, but this was the first time that Theo had been allowed access to the wound. There was as yet no sign of infection.

His lordship's teeth grated together. Theo stopped probing. He rebandaged the forearm, and then beckoned Frances to follow him from the room.

'No, you don't,' said his lordship, preventing Frances from leaving by the simple expedient of laying hold of her dress. 'You stay here. It's my arm, and I want to hear what you plan to do with it.'

'There's no cause for alarm,' said Theo, too hurriedly for conviction.

'I'll tell you what he's going to say,' said Lord Broome. 'Open wounds ask for trouble, and if he - or somebody else - doesn't dig that bullet out and sew up the wound, gangrene will set in, and I'll die. On the other hand, if the bullet is lodged high in the forearm, it's going to be the very devil to dig it out without doing a lot of damage, which in turn might necessitate amputation. He doesn't think I'm strong enough to stand either a long operation or an amputation, and there he's probably right.'

'I was going to suggest sending for my late chief from London. He's a fine surgeon.'

There was silence while his lordship appeared to look at and then through Theo. 'No,' he said at last. 'Let's get it over and done with. You do it, and do it now. Get the bullet out, sew it up, and I'll be on my feet again tomorrow. Leave it, and I'll be dead in a week. Give me something to bite on, and I'll not complain.'

'Impossible. I have no anaesthetic with me for a start, and ...'

'No ether or chloroform for me. What? Do you think I can't stand a little pain? Besides, if you know I'm watching you, you'll be quick. Once the bullet is out, the rest will be easy, and maybe my thumb ...' To emphasise his point, he tried to sit up, unwarily moved his bad arm and gasped with pain.

'He is not fit,' said Theo to Frances. 'I could not take the risk. I will get Mr Manning to telegraph to London for Sir Stanley Ellis, and in the meantime my patient must be kept quiet. No visitors, no excitement, no alcohol, and a plain diet. He's game enough, but he's been much weakened by what he's been through.' It seemed Theo was right, for his lordship made no further plea for an immediate operation.

Theo held the door open for Frances, but his lordship called her back.

'Where's my shawl?'

'It's on the bed. But it's not yours. It's mine. Benson can find you something else.'

'Nothing else suits me as well.'

'My wardrobe is limited; I only have two shawls, that grey one, and a black one for evening. My black one is not warm enough for this weather.'

'Benson: send to Lewes for a selection of shawls for the Colonel. Any colour except grey, which doesn't suit her.'

Now Frances invariably wore grey in the day-time. 'I protest,' she said, overriding Theo's request to know who "the Colonel" might be. 'I could not possibly accept such a gift from you.'

'Aren't I old enough to be your father?'

Before she had given herself time to think where this line of talk might lead, Frances had blurted out that she would be four-and-twenty in June.

'There, now!' said his lordship. 'And I was convinced you must be at least twenty-five.'

Out-manoeuvred, Frances left the room, and it cannot be said that her exit was noiseless. Theo gazed at the door which she had slammed in his face, and the green demon of jealousy took possession of him.

'Miss Chard is a most estimable young woman,' he said. 'You ought not to trifle with her.'

'What! You, too? Oh, Theo ... what a tangle!'

The news that Lord Broome had recovered consciousness was received by his family and the staff at the Court with consternation, quickly soothed by the rider that he required an immediate and difficult operation on his arm. After the news had been discussed in all its aspects before, during and after dinner, it was agreed that the situation had not altered materially in any way. Theo had taken his uncle home after tea, but his subdued account of the pros and cons of the operation, reinforced by his air of depression, had convinced Mr Manning and Hugo that Gavin's death was still only a matter of time.

Frances made arrangements for Polly and another of the housemaids to help the agency nurse and Benson in the sick-room, and retired to her own quarters. She was mentally worn out, and ill-prepared to meet the crisis which arose that evening. She was not required to dine with the family that night, and so was having supper on a tray in the schoolroom when Polly burst in with the demand that she "Come, quick!" 'The Reverend's in the sick-room, praying over Lord Broome something awful! He said the wrath of G.o.d would light on me if I interfered with him in the path of his duty, and that he's settling down for a long struggle for Lord Broome's soul; and Lord Broome's not asleep, though he's pretending he is ...'

Long before the two women reached the Gallery, they could hear the divine's sonorous voice, raised in prayer.

'Fit to wake the dead,' said Polly, with a nervous giggle. 'I thought of going for Mr Benson, but he's in Mr Arling's cottage for the evening, and you were nearer. Did I do right?'

'Absolutely. Lord Broome must be kept quiet.' Polly had left the sick-room door half-open in her flight. Frances went in, and shut it behind her. The man of G.o.d was on his knees, his eyes closed, and his knuckles white as he exhorted Lord Broome to repent.

'... in the day that you stand before the tribunal of G.o.d ...'

Frances looked at the man on the bed, and agreed with Polly that he was awake; there was an awareness in the room when he was awake which was easy to identify. She waited till the vicar paused to draw breath, and touched him on the shoulder.

'Too kind ... too good of you ... How I wish we hadn't given him so much laudanum tonight! What a pity that he cannot hear you and receive the benefit of your efforts!'

'Begone, woman! I must wrestle with this man's soul tonight, before it is too late, and he is gone from us for ever, into d.a.m.nation everlasting!'

'Should I try to wake him for you? I fear I would not succeed, but ... your prayers for his recovery are so valuable ...'

'If he should die before ...'

'Quite so. But as he is unconscious and unable to hear you, would it not be of more value to gather around you one or two members of his family and household, so that you could all pray together?'

The vicar paused. There was something very appealing in the idea of holding an impromptu service at the Court. The Great Hall, moreover, had acoustics infinitely superior to those of the sick-room. He rose to his feet.

'Too cruel to bring you out on a night such as this,' said Frances, exerting all her charm while leading him to the door.

'I cannot think of my own bodily weakness at such a time. I will come again in the morning. Perhaps the doctor can be informed that I wish to speak to him before the operation. He must be brought to repent, before ...'

'I entirely agree with you. Polly, see our guest to the hall, will you?'

She returned to the sick-room, shut the door and leaned against it. Her sigh of relief was echoed from the bed.

'A brilliant piece of strategy, Colonel; boldly conceived and well carried out. I shall see that you are mentioned in my next despatch to the Home Office.'

She busied herself about the room, making him comfortable for the night.

'Richard?' he asked. 'They have telegraphed to him? Maud is with him in London, I a.s.sume. She always wanted him to hire a house in Town for her. Is she breeding yet? Is that why he hasn't come back to see me?'

'We have telegraphed to London,' said Frances, purposely misleading him. And we hope the surgeon will arrive by the first train in the morning.'

'Charter a special train, if necessary.' He was restless. She rearranged his pillows, wondering whether Theo had thought of chartering a special. She rather thought he had not, and wondered why. She asked him how he felt, and he said that he was better, but there was a flush on his cheek that she did not like.

She held his wrist, trying to feel his pulse. He pulled his hand away, mocking her.

'I don't think you know how to take a pulse, do you?' She blushed. She did not. 'Shall I tell you how I am? My headache has gone. I can think clearly, and see clearly, and hear clearly. I feel very tired, but that is nothing. Weakness, merely. I have a slight fever, and my arm b.u.ms. However, the bandages don't feel too tight, so there is no inflammation as yet. You see, I have more experience of wounds and nursing than you.' He turned his head, listening. 'Something is wrong, here. The house doesn't feel or sound right. Perhaps my hearing is not yet ... no, it's far too quiet. There's no noise of the dogs in the courtyard, or servants laughing.'

He was very quick, she thought. She must be on her guard. He must not learn the truth about his brother before he had the operation.

'It has been snowing heavily. No one goes into the courtyard at the moment if they can help it. Now, please: no more questions. Suppose I gave you an answer which upset you ... suppose I informed you that your favourite mare was lame, or that someone you dislike is occupying the bedchamber in which you usually sleep, or some other disaster of world-shattering proportions? You would work yourself into a state, and be unable to sleep, and then what would Dr Green say to me in the morning?'

'I am not a child.'

'No, and because of that, I want you to refrain from asking questions on unimportant matters. Concentrate on getting through the operation. That's an order from the Colonel, if you want it that way. When you are feeling better, I will gossip with you to your heart's content.'

'I am feeling better, but I see what you mean. I agree to your terms, if you will promise me something in return. If the surgeon doesn't arrive tomorrow morning, will you make Theo do the operation? I ought to have insisted that he did it today.'

'He is the doctor, after all. He ought to know what to do for the best. You talk as if he were not to be trusted.'

'He isn't. Not now.'

She wanted to say that she didn't know what he meant, but she rather thought that she did, and therefore said nothing.

'And if I go off my head with fever,' he said, 'you'll forgive me if I happen to use the odd swear-word or two? I would not wish to offend you by swearing, but I've lived most of my life abroad and in the company of men. I believe I have a reputation for ripe language.'

'I promise I will be deaf.'

'Cross your heart and hope to die?' He held out his good hand, and she shook it. He sank into an uneasy doze. In half an hour he was awake, looking round in a puzzled way as if unsure where he might be. She soothed him, gave him a sleeping draught, and felt her nerves tighten as his hand touched hers. She was sure he was too hot for health.

When Polly came to relieve her, Lord Broome was sound asleep, and it was ten o'clock. Frances touched his hand. He did not stir. She thought him a little less hot than he had been. He did not stir even when Polly gave Frances an account of how funny the family and household had looked, all on their knees in the Great Hall while the vicar prayed at them, and all of them dying to get to their beds.

As Frances went up the stairs to her own bed, she was thinking of Lord Broome, and of the murder that he was supposed to have committed. Suppose Lilien's death had been an accident, as Gavin Broome had maintained; what of that? What if the woman had become pregnant by someone at the Court? There were more than two dozen active, able-bodied men employed there, and why should it have been Gavin Broome who had been responsible for her condition? Why could it not have been Richard Broome, instead?

No, she reflected, it could not have been Richard. He had been engaged to Maud at the time, and, anyway, he had a reputation for being shy of women. She had heard it said that he had never looked a woman in the face until he proposed to Maud, and certainly what she had seen of him bore that out.

Well, if not Richard or Gavin Broome, why not one of the footmen? Or one of the grooms? Lilien had gone to Gavin Broome when she had been thrown out by her husband; well, why not? Who else should she have gone to for help but a member of the Broome family? She would have known that neither Mrs Broome nor Maud would be sympathetic, and that Richard was always short of money. Yes, it would have been only natural for her to approach Gavin for help.

And then the clinching argument. Lord Broome had feared to distress her by using bad language if he became delirious, but he had said nothing about fearing to betray knowledge of murder.

'Which proves,' said Frances to herself, 'that he is no murderer. Doesn't it?'

CHAPTER FOUR.

Frances had to break the ice in her water-jug next morning. She set her teeth so that they should not chatter with cold while she dressed. The fire in the schoolroom had not been lit that morning, and the nurseries were dark and silent with both Agnes and Nurse away.

Frances did not feel any the better for her night's rest; as soon as she got into bed she had begun to speculate on the relationship between Gavin Broome and his cousin Maud. Maud had been engaged to marry Richard before Gavin returned to South Africa, so why had Gavin chosen to leave all his money to Maud? Frances could understand his disinheriting Isabella, but the only reason she could think of why he should leave his money to Maud was that there had been an 'understanding' between Gavin and Maud, before Maud's engagement to Richard. At that time Richard had the t.i.tle and the estate, and would be the more eligible suitor of the two. Perhaps Gavin had then turned to Isabella on the rebound and, when Isabella proved worthless, had left all his money to his first love, Maud. Frances was unable to fault her theory. It would explain much. It would even explain why the second Will left nothing to Richard. Richard was a spendthrift; if Gavin left his money to Maud, she would be able to look after it for Richard.

Having found a solution to the puzzle of the two Wills ought to have given Frances an untroubled night's sleep, but it had not done so. In the eerie light which filtered through snow-powdered windows, Frances scolded her reflection in the mirror, as she brushed her hair.

'You are a fool! What if he does love his cousin Maud? Is she not beautiful, and accomplished, and well-born and his equal socially? When he learns of his brother's death - and he must, sooner or later - will his grief not be softened by the knowledge that Maud is still free?' Her brush caught on a tangle of hair, and Miss Chard, that responsible, calm and intelligent governess, burst into tears.

Down in the village, Theo cut himself while shaving. He, too, had had a bad night. His uncle was worse, and had agreed to stay in bed that day. 'But take care how you go on at the Court,' said old Dr Kimpton, who was wise in the ways of the gentry. 'The patronage of the Broomes is worth several hundred pounds a year to a country doctor, and you don't want to be a.s.sociated with the idea of failure at the beginning of your professional career. Let someone else take the responsibility for operating on his lordship. It's not likely that he will pull through, whatever you do, and it's better not to give them the chance to say he might have lived if you hadn't been so quick to use your knife.'

Be sure that Theo agreed with his uncle. Once he had been a champion of Gavin Broome's, but now he was full of doubts. Lilien had been a beauty, and Gavin no more of a saint than any other man of his cla.s.s. That he did not boast about his affairs of the heart did not prove he had had none.

Lilien had gone straight from her husband to Gavin Broome. He had given her money, and sent her to Lewes, where she had been seen living in some style right up to the day of her death. She had come back to the park to meet Gavin. It was anyone's guess how she had come to fall in the river. Gavin had sworn that he had spotted her while he was out riding in the park, that he had called out to her as she was about to step on the bridge, that she had turned sharply, startled by his voice, had caught her foot, fallen against one of the handrails, that the rotten wood had snapped and precipitated her into the river. Gavin had said that he had gone in after her without success, that she had risen to the surface further down the river, and that by the time he got her out she was dead. No one could prove that it had happened otherwise. The coroner had returned a verdict of Misadventure, and the girl had been buried in the churchyard, which was more than some thought she had deserved. If the girl had not been known to be pregnant, or if her father had not cursed the House of Broome as he threw earth on to his daughter's coffin; if Mrs Armstrong had not given a lead to the county by cutting Gavin dead; and if Isabella had only stood by her fiance ... if Miss Chard had only acted in as discreet a manner towards Lord Broome as she had done towards Theo...

There was the nub of the matter. Theo was an honest man and not practised in the act of self-deception. He told himself that he only had to abstain from operating, and his hands would be clean. If the surgeon arrived, well and good; the responsibility for Gavin's life or death would be pa.s.sed to someone else. If the surgeon did not arrive, then he, Theo Green, must not be rushed into attempting such a difficult operation himself. No one would blame him. Except - possibly - himself.

Theo cut himself while shaving.

Benson was shaving his master when Frances arrived in the sick-room. Lord Broome seemed to Frances to be very little, if any, worse than on the previous night. He had eaten some breakfast, and was sitting upright instead of leaning against his pillows as before. Benson said that the agency nurse had not yet reported for duty, and that he was hanged if he could do everything himself. Frances and Lord Broome interpreted this to mean that Benson was worried about his master. Frances sent Benson off to find the nurse and also to ascertain when the London surgeon and Dr Green were due to arrive.

'Is Richard ill?' asked Lord Broome, when they were alone. 'I wish you'd tell me what's keeping him. He may be irresponsible and selfish, but he'd not let me down like this if he could help it.'

'Your brother is well enough where he is,' said Frances, crossing her fingers within the folds of her gown. 'And he would not thank you for working yourself into a fever on his account.'

'I don't know what's the matter with everyone this morning. Benson behaves as if I can't be trusted to be left on my own for more than a minute, nurses come and go without a word of explanation, the house is as quiet as the grave, and you look as if you've been crying. Why?'

'A personal matter,' said Frances, and to avoid further conversation went through into the dressing-room and sat on Benson's cot. She could see Lord Broome in the mirror from there. He could see her, too. He lay watching her. He did not ask her to return. He looked better now that he'd been shaved, but very white and drawn. Presently he slid down on the pillows and dozed off. Frances bowed her head over her knees. She knew what ailed her: jealousy. Jealousy of Maud. She had thought once that she had loved Walter Donne; she knew now that she had never loved him, for she had never felt like this about him.

After some time she raised her head. She had come to a decision and would stick to it. If Gavin Broome loved his cousin Maud, and if Maud's presence might help him through the operation, then by hook or by crook Miss Chard was going to see to it that Maud presented herself in the sick-room without delay.

Benson returned, causing the sick man to waken. The batman shook his head at Frances. 'The nurse is being sick all over the place. Eaten something to disagree with her, she says. Dr Green hasn't appeared yet. Arling went to the station to meet the train, but there's been no word from London from the surgeon to say he's coming.'

'Theo's going to scratch,' said Lord Broome. 'Remember what you promised, Colonel.'

Frances remembered. 'Benson, go and fetch Dr Green. Don't come back without him.'

Benson went. Frances pulled the bed-covers straight. She could not look her patient in the eye, but she could still command her voice. 'Would you like to see some member of your family while we are waiting?'

'My aunt, you mean? She'd be more likely to tell me about her own symptoms than ask about mine.'

'There's Lady Amelia ...?'

'My poor G.o.dmother! This cold weather won't do her rheumatism any good. They always give her the Blue Bedroom and the chimney smokes.'

'Miss Seld?'

'You ought to know better than to ask. I'm sure that you do know better. I had a lucky escape there, didn't I?'

'Well, what about Miss Broome?'

'Agnes?' He smiled. 'She's a darling, but too energetic for me at the moment. Later.'