Fear For Frances Part 5

'I mean Miss Maud Broome.'

There was a pause. 'You mean she and my brother did not marry, after all?'

'No, the marriage never took place. Would you like to see her?'

'Good grief, no. We've never got on, you know. So Richard got out of it, did he? No wonder he's fled the place. About the wisest thing he could do. She must be in a temper to end all tempers.'

'Oh!' cried Miss Chard. 'You don't care for her, then? Nor Miss Seld?'

'Maud is a shrew, and Isabella a fool. Don't tell me you haven't come to the same conclusion, for I wouldn't believe you.'

'It is not my place to go round forming opinions of either of your cousins.'

His lordship gave a shout of laughter. 'Oh, Frances - what a mixture of discretion and imprudence! Does your heart always lead your head? Now tell me. Why were you crying? Was it for Theo?'

'Of course not.'

'Are you going to have him?'

'Marry him, you mean? No, I am not.'

'Why not? He's young, able-bodied, ambitious, and he loves you.'

'Does he? Oh, I am sure he doesn't. No, I'm not going to marry him. He's not man enough for me. No, I didn't mean that, exactly.'

'Yes, you did.' Lord Broome was grinning, and somehow had managed to catch hold of a fold of her dress. 'Well, will you have me, if I get through the operation in one piece?'

She had not been expecting it. The room went dark around her. She grasped the bed curtain to steady herself. She took two slow breaths, in and out. 'What nonsense!' she said. Her voice broke. She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose. She went over to the mirror and started to push pins in and out of her hair. She made herself laugh. 'A joke is a joke, but you must not let your family hear you say such things!'

'They'd probably applaud. They've been trying to get me married off for years. To save Richard the trouble, you know. I should warn you, before you accept, that I'm no great catch. I've a sharp tongue and a short temper. As a soldier's wife you'd be living in married quarters, wherever I may be posted.

'You may have heard that I've money of my own; well, I have, and it takes time to look after it properly. Then I've no house to take you to. I inherited a small estate belonging to my mother's uncle, but the house there was burned down some twenty years ago and never rebuilt. When I finally leave the Army, I'll have to rent a place until I can build a house of my own. You mention my family; you know what I think of Richard, and the rest of them, with the exception of Agnes, are either disagreeable or foolish. I see as little of them as I can. My Uncle Manning who lives in Town; he's well enough, and so are all his family. I think you'd like them.'

It was a long speech for a sick man. His voice failed. Frances closed her eyes. If only ... Walter ... false references. Richard ... Gavin did not know ... Her throat pained her. She put both her hands to it. She thought: "If only I could say 'yes'! If only he'd still been a younger son; if Walter had not ruined my chances of making a good marriage! I'd have made him a good wife, if things had been different!"

A door shut softly, nearby. Was it the door on to the Gallery? She had not been looking. She realised that if someone had peeped into the room, they would have thought his lordship asleep. He had not spoken for some time, and neither had she. He was lying still, watching her. She smoothed her hair and observed, in a commonplace voice, that Benson was taking his time.

'Benson approves,' said his lordship. '"There's a lady as would suit you to a T." That's what he said. Not that I needed him to point out the obvious to me. I have thought of very little except marrying you, from the moment I came to myself.'

Frances could not think of anything which she might safely say to that, so she busied herself around the room. When next Lord Broome opened his mouth to speak, she stopped him, saying that he must conserve his energy, and try to sleep. He said he was not sleepy, but she noticed that he was lying almost flat on the bed, and that he looked exhausted. Within five minutes he was fast asleep.

Frances went out on to the Gallery and sent one of the maids for Polly. She was filled with nervous excitement. It was impossible for her to sit still, watching him, or she would begin to repeat the words of his proposal to herself, and build on them, and that would never do! Polly arrived to sit in the sick-room and Frances went upstairs to see the agency nurse. The woman had been very ill. She was lying in bed, shivering, her hair hanging around her face, and her skin pallid. She tried to get up when Frances came in, but her limbs would not support her. Frances felt sorry for her and asked if there were anything she might require. No, said the nurse; only something to calm her stomach. Perhaps the doctor would give her something when he arrived. Frances asked if the nurse knew what had made her ill. She did not. Perhaps her late-night cocoa, which had tasted strange. Perhaps it was just a chill.

Frances went downstairs to enquire if Dr Green had arrived yet, and was told that he'd come some time ago, and was closeted with Mr Broome and Mr Manning in the gun-room. This information was imparted by Spilkins, who seemed anxious to stand and gossip. He had heard, he said, that his lordship had developed a fever. A slight one, said Miss Chard. It was a pity, Spilkins said, that his lordship had ever been taken off the quinine, for that would have prevented the fever.

'Quinine?' said Frances.

'The yellow stuff. Nurse Moon said she swore by it. It didn't taste too good, she said, but it worked a treat. A pity the bottle went astray when she left, for it might have saved his lordship's life.'

'Tasted nasty?' said Frances, beginning to suspect the truth.

'It certainly did. One of the footmen tried something his lordship had refused to eat, and he said it was enough to turn him off food for good. Young Abel, it was. A lad from a very low family. Serve him right, tasting food prepared for his betters. Well, I must get on. There's Mrs Broome fussing about her bracelet and it seems there's some money missing from the gun-room, too. I don't know what the world's coming to.' He held up a telegram form. 'I have to take this into the gun-room. Shall I tell the doctor you were enquiring for him?'

'The reply from the surgeon in London? At last!'

'From Bath. Not London. There hasn't been anything come from London, and it doesn't look as if the surgeon's coming, for it's long past time the train was due in.'

Bath. A telegram from Bath. But none from London? It was a puzzle Frances could not solve. What did it mean? And why should there have been a telegram from Bath? Her aunt lived near Bath. Did it mean ... could it mean that someone had telegraphed from the Court to her aunt? And if so, why? It could only be about Frances' references. Or was she reading too much into the situation? What ought she to do?

Unconsciously she wrung her hands. Theo ... Lord Broome ... the surgeon from London ... the operation! She had given her promise to Lord Broome to see him through the operation, and she would do so, come what might.

Theo ... what was he thinking of to delay like this? She started after Spilkins, only to be stopped by a cry from Polly, who came flying down the corridor after her.

'Oh, Miss - come quickly! It's the Reverend again, and he's brought the curate and candles and wants to set up an altar in the State Bedroom.'

'Whatever next!' cried Frances. She cast one longing glance down the corridor to the gun-room, and then hurried back along the Gallery, formulating plans to meet this unexpected attack.

To give him his due, Theo was suffering. He knew that he was neglecting his patient, and he knew why, and he was beginning to feel that though no one else would blame him for causing Gavin's death by negligence, he himself would do so for the rest of his life. He forgot to puff at the cigar Hugo had given him, and his gla.s.s remained full at his side.

'A sad thing,' sighed Hugo. 'But of course his days were numbered, anyway. You say he would never have regained the use of the thumb and first finger on his left hand, whatever happened?'

'That's so,' said Theo. 'Of course, the damage was not done by the bullet which is causing all the trouble now. It was done way back in January, when his horse lashed out at him, breaking his arm and cutting through the tendons. A horse's hoof, slashing across an arm like that ...' He shook his head. 'Very bad. He has not yet realised the truth. He thought power would return to the injured fingers when the splints were removed, and now he blames the bullet.' He lapsed into silence.

Mr Manning, sitting on the far side of the fireplace, was also miserable. He felt his presence at the Court was superfluous, because Hugo had so firmly taken over the reins of the household. He would every much have liked to return to his wife and children in London, but he could not in all decency leave while Gavin was dying.

'A hopeless case from the start,' said Hugo. 'You have handled it well, Doctor. If your uncle is no longer able to continue practising medicine, then be sure that the family will remember how well you have served them.'

Instead of pleasing Theo, this statement increased his feeling of guilt. 'Ought we not to telegraph again to London? It is strange that we have not even had an acknowledgment. What time was the telegram sent?'

'Arling took it to the telegraph office yesterday evening. My copy is here.' He held up a sheet of paper. 'It was sent at six yesterday.'

Theo had good sight, and moreover at that moment he had leaned forward to relight his cigar, so that the paper was well within his range. He started up, his cigar forgotten. 'It has been sent to the wrong man! I said Sir Stanley Ellis, not "Mr Trellis"! Oh, my G.o.d what are we to do now?'

'The wrong ...?' Hugo seemed as shaken as Theo. 'Are you sure? How could I have come to make such a mistake? I was sure ... Uncle, do you remember exactly what it was that Doctor Green said?'

'I'm afraid not.' Mr Manning looked from one agitated young man to the other. 'What does it mean?'

'Such a mistake! I am mortified!' said Hugo.

'So many hours lost!' said Theo, throwing away his cigar. 'That is what it means. It reduces the chances of a successful operation to nil.'

'But you said there was no hope, anyway,' said Hugo. 'Be reasonable, Doctor. A tragic mistake has occurred, and whether I misheard you, or whether you gave me the wrong name in the heat of the moment is neither here nor there. What is done cannot be undone. Of course we wanted the best man to attend my cousin, but ... let me fill your gla.s.s again ... from what you have said the operation could only have hastened my cousin's end.'

While Theo stood irresolute, there came a knock on the door. The girl he loved and hoped to marry stood there. They were waiting for him, she said. He noticed that she was not looking as composed as usual, that her hair was not as smoothly arranged, and that her nostrils were flattened as if she were suppressing anger. He heard Hugo saying that they could not hope for a surgeon to arrive that day, and he heard her reply that she knew they had not yet received an answer from London.

'The telegram went to the wrong man,' said Theo. 'It was a mistake. I hardly know how it happened.'

She inclined her head, and he realised that she had noted his plea of not guilty, and refused to accept it. She stood aside from the door to allow him to pa.s.s before her, and sooner than lose her good opinion, he picked up his bag and went with her. She walked rapidly beside him along the corridor, her head bent and her fingers busy at the nape of her neck, smoothing her hair up into its coil. He touched her on the arm.

'I must speak to you.'

'What ... now?' They were at the corner, by the turret stairs. She glanced round into the Gallery. 'You realise you must operate yourself, immediately?'

'I always meant to do so, if the surgeon did not arrive in time. You knew that?'

'I know that Lord Broome trusted you to do so.'

'And you? You know I would not have let him down?'

She preferred not to answer, but turned her head away from him.

'Miss Chard. Frances. I know that this is not the place, or the time to speak of marriage, but I have been half out of my mind since ...'

'Marriage? You talk to me of marriage?' She spoke in a rapid monotone, unlike her usual manner of speech, and her eyes went now up the stairs, and now over his shoulder into the Gallery. 'I do not think of marriage. I do not think I shall ever marry. Come, they are waiting for us. I suggested that the vicar set up a chapel in Mrs Broome's ante-room. Benson is arranging everything in the Gallery. Lord Broome is - or was - asleep, but he keeps moving his arm about. He has a slight fever, I think.'

'Why should you not marry me?'

'Hush, someone is coming.' Meakins, the ladies' maid, came down the turret stairs and pa.s.sed them with eyes down, discretion written into every line of her body. No doubt she had heard what they had been saying, Theo thought. And no doubt Mrs Broome and Maud would hear of it within the hour. Frances was impatient.

'This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion,' she said.

'But you promise me that you will think of it? You like me well enough, don't you?'

She looked him full in the eye. 'I liked you very well indeed,' she said, emphasising her use of the past tense.

'It was not I who made the mistake over the telegram.'

'Prove it by operating at once.'

Benson had improvised an operating table on one of the big chests in the Gallery, directly in the light of the windows. There were more servants in the Gallery than there should have been at that time of day. Housemaids were still busy making beds and turning out bedrooms, and there were no less than four footmen busying themselves with jobs which Frances had never seen done at that hour of the day before.

She went into the sick-room, leaving Theo to lay out the tools of his trade. Lord Broome was restless, but asleep. She touched him on the hand and he woke, but not to full consciousness.

'I couldn't find her,' he said, looking straight up at her, but not seeing her. He was breathing with difficulty, as if he had been running. 'The weeds nearly got me, that time.' He frowned, blinked and turned his head to look round the room. 'Where ...? Ah, I remember.' He looked at her, and this time he saw her. 'Did I say something stupid? I was having another of my nightmares. Is the surgeon here already?'

'We are going to carry you out into the Gallery, where the light is better. Theo will get the bullet out, and you will feel better then.'

'So soon?' Yes, he was afraid, and fighting for control. 'Give me something to hold on to. Something hard.'

She put the gla.s.s stopper into his hand. He grasped it firmly, and nodded to her to carry on. Two footmen carried the patient into the Gallery. Frances walked beside them, her eyes on Lord Broome's face. The removal from one place to another must have caused him pain, but he gave no sign of it.

Theo beckoned to her. 'They say the agency nurse is unfit, so you will have to a.s.sist me. Find yourself an ap.r.o.n, or you may soil your dress.'

'I know nothing of such things,' said Frances, eyeing the sharp blades on the table near by. When Theo tested the edge of a small saw, she gasped, guessing it was intended for use during amputations.

'You will not faint?' said Theo.

'Of course she won't,' said Lord Broome, doing his best to smile at her.

'I'll try not to,' said Frances. Polly handed her an ap.r.o.n, and she put it on. Spilkins had appeared and was dispersing his staff about their normal duties, scolding as he did so. From the ante-room she could hear the rise and fall of the vicar's voice in prayer.

Theo hovered over his patient, rolling up the sleeve of his nightgown. 'I'd like to give you an anaesthetic. Miss Chard can administer it.'

'No,' said Lord Broome. 'I can stand pain, and I like to see what's going on.'

'Take the edge off it with brandy?' suggested Theo.

'No,' said Lord Broome. 'But have some yourself, by all means.' He grinned at Theo. 'I know just what you feel like. You'll be all right once you start.'

Theo rolled up his own shirt-sleeves, and pulled on an ancient ap.r.o.n, discoloured and encrusted with dried blood. Frances judged his nerves to be in a worse state than Lord Broome's. Theo's hands trembled as he positioned Lord Broome's arm. Lord Broome said something to Theo which she did not catch, but whatever it was, the young doctor laughed, and this seemed to steady him.

'No sense in hoping for a miracle,' he said, setting to work. 'No anaesthetic, no qualified a.s.sistance ... badly bruised ... badly cut ... I can see where the bullet went in, but where is it now, eh?' He kneaded the arm, feeling for the bullet. Lord Broome, who had been lying with his head turned to the window and his eyes open, released his hold on the stopper. It fell off the improvised operating table and rolled between Frances' feet. She remarked in a small voice that she rather thought their patient had fainted.

'Just as well,' grunted Theo. 'This may be a long job. I think I can feel ... yes, I'm sure I felt it just then ... but getting it out without doing any further damage ... the very devil is in it ...'

Frances could feel the eyes of the servants on her. She felt useless, standing there, doing nothing. One footman and one maid had been left at each end of the Gallery to await orders and keep visitors out. In spite of the chill of the Gallery, Theo's face soon became red with exertion. Suddenly he began to fling orders at her. 'Hand me this ... not that ... the next one along ...' Leaning over to hand Theo a knife, she caught a whiff of sweat and blood which caused vomit to rise in her throat. She fought it down, clinging to the chest. Theo shouted, 'Brandy!' She lifted her head to repeat his request, thinking that at all costs she must stay on her feet, and saw Benson heaving his guts out into a bowl nearby. Polly lifted her hand in token that she had understood, and vanished. 'Take it easy!' said Theo. Her hands trembled. She dropped a knife Theo pa.s.sed to her, and it fell to the floor. Her hands were smeared with blood. The brandy arrived. At Theo's direction, Polly poured out a generous measure, and told Frances to drink it. After that, Frances' stomach obeyed her, and her hands obeyed Theo.

It seemed a long time before Theo drew a distorted bullet from Lord Broome's arm, and began the task of repair. Frances' fingers flew at the doctor's command. He commended her. When Lord Broome stirred back into consciousness, Frances put the stopper back into his right hand and told him that they had nearly finished. His eyes were glazed with pain, but he neither moaned nor cried out. Finally Theo sounded his patient's chest with his stethoscope, and stood back, motioning the footmen to carry Lord Broome back to bed. By that time both doctor and nurse were tired to the point of dropping. Their arms, their clothes and their faces were spattered with blood. Frances thought her dress was ruined, for she had not been able to afford good material, and it would shrink in the wash. Her mind dwelled alternately on the smile which Lord Broome had given her as he was borne away, and the fact that in his half-waking state that morning he had told her something of importance, that he had indeed dived into the water to rescue the drowning woman. "The weeds nearly got me, that time", he had said. Whom had he thought he was speaking to, in his re-creation of the fatal moments in which Lilien Jervis had drowned? In his nightmare he had been speaking to someone, that was certain. When he had given evidence, Lord Broome had implied that he had been alone when Lilien fell into the river, but Frances was now sure that he had had company on that occasion. But if so, why had the other person not spoken up to support the story which Major Broome had told at the inquest?

'Well, I've done what I can,' said Theo, as he removed his ap.r.o.n and began to put his knives away. 'If that wound becomes infected, he's likely to die, anyway. He must be watched, night and day. He mustn't be left alone, whatever happens. His heart and lungs are sound. With luck, he may pull through, but we don't want any more interference, do we? You do understand what I'm talking about?'

The servants were already clearing away the evidence of the operation under Spilkins's direction. The butler was agitated. The young ladies wished to return to their rooms ... luncheon was going to be late ... hurry, girl! Theo took her elbow and walked her to the far end of the Gallery, where there were no servants to overhear them.

'I'll be back this evening to have another look at him. If he is going to pull through, he'll make a rapid recovery. But if the fever returns, or if ... am I imagining things, Frances?'

She thought of monkish visitors and missing keys, and shook her head.

'I promise he'll be watched round the clock. Which reminds me; you ought to see the agency nurse before you go. She really has been very ill.'

'Yes. Do you think that her sickness ...? No, it couldn't be the same, could it? Frances.' He hesitated. 'You don't object to my calling you Frances?'

'No, Theo. I don't object.'

His ugly face split in a grin. And you'll remember what we spoke of earlier? You will not forget?'

'I am not likely to forget anything that has happened this morning, but I am not likely to change my mind about marrying you, either.' She put her hand on his arm to soften her refusal, but her eyes were steady.

By the time Theo came to make his report to Hugo, he had begun to doubt his recollections of what he had actually said on the subject of sending for his old chief. Could he be absolutely sure that he had asked for the telegram to be sent to Sir Stanley Ellis? Had he perhaps mumbled the name, in his preoccupation with his own troubles?

Thus it was that the doctor answered the questions put to him by Hugo and Mr Manning somewhat at random. They put his abstraction down to worry about his patient, and a.s.sured Theo that they knew he had done his best.

After the doctor had gone, Hugo said to his uncle that he supposed the operation had been necessary, although personally he would have allowed the poor beggar to die in peace. Doctors were all alike, said Hugo. Never happy unless they were cutting you up.

'A more important question,' said Mr Manning, 'is what we are to do about Miss Chard. Her aunt's telegram made it clear that she lied to Mrs Broome about the length of time she was teaching in Bath. Shall you telegraph this woman, Mrs Palfrey, for details?'