Juggernaut Part 40

Her nephew eyed his _crepes Suzettes_ with disfavour.

"Yes, it's rather tiresome. Can't think what causes it. I've had it since last night."

Esther shot him a speculative glance. Up till now she had been too deeply absorbed in her own thoughts to observe how heavy-eyed he was, listless and unlike his usual self. He caught her eyes and laughed in protest.

"Don't _you_ begin on me. I refuse to be doctored. The last attempt to cure my headache resulted in this----" and he held up his injured hand.

"Then I'd better not suggest an aspirin for fear you'd go and break your leg?"

"No, don't. It's a gorgeous day, though, simply a crime to stay indoors. Will you chance left-handed driving and come for a spin?"

"I will not," she refused decidedly. "The man who drives me will want two hands."

"Ah--_formidable_, as these French say. Then you don't trust me?"

"No, I don't. That's a very nasty cut you've got; it will be every bit of ten days before you can take a car out. You must give the thing a chance to heal properly."

She finished her lunch in a more agreeable frame of mind than she had begun it, then, excusing herself, went up to settle her patient for his afternoon nap. Something restless and fretful in Sir Charles's manner caught her attention for a moment, but when she had sat with him a little he quieted down so that she was sure when she left him he was about to doze off. She was glad not to encounter the doctor, although the flame of her anger had died down, leaving only the cold ashes of resentment.

She could not explain why it was that after a short brisk walk through the streets of La Californie she should suddenly feel impelled to return to the house. It seemed as though she were being literally drawn back to her patient. She had never had such a thing happen before. She raced home and ran upstairs, slipping quietly into the darkened bedroom. She hoped to find the old man asleep, but his feeble voice greeted her at once.

"Is that you, nurse?"

"Yes, Sir Charles. Haven't you had your nap?"

"No--no. I feel uncomfortable. Queer..."

She drew aside the curtains and went to the bed.

"Do you?" she asked soothingly. "How's that, I wonder? Let's have a look at you."

A dingy crimson flush underlay his dried skin, his head turned restlessly from side to side. At once she suspected that his temperature was up again.

"I'm devilish hot; burning up ... fever ... I thought I'd finished with it."

"So you have; you're getting on famously."

She gave no sign of the sudden fear that darted through her. Why should his temperature go up like that? She did not like the look in his eyes.

"Well, let's see what you've been up to," she cajoled him gently and, having made the bed more comfortable, reached for the thermometer.

As she suspected, the mercury rose high into the danger zone. When she examined the little tube, her heart stood still in sickening alarm.

What had brought about this change for the worse in such a short s.p.a.ce of time? She racked her brain, but could not account for it. She glanced searchingly at the old man, who had abandoned interest in his condition, and lay absolutely still, save for the faint movements of his bony fingers upon the coverlet.

She was too disturbed even to shrink from the duty of informing Sartorius; there was no room in her mind now for personal animus. She found the doctor in his own room, a medical journal on his knee and an untidy ash-tray beside him, together with a cup of strong Indian tea.

He received her information stolidly, only his small eyes quickened to attention as, without comment, he rose and followed her.

The ill man submitted almost without noticing to the doctor's examination. There was not the slightest doubt that he had taken a serious turn for the worse. Presently, when the doctor had completed his investigation, he summoned Esther to the other end of the room with a brusque movement of the head.

"Have you any idea of what may have caused this?" asked in a low voice.

"Not the slightest, doctor: I simply can't imagine!"

"Then I can."

She looked up at him, puzzled. What did he mean?

"You know what I said to you this morning," he continued deliberately, but looking away from her, "on the subject of your unprofessional behaviour. Perhaps this will be a proof to you of how serious the matter was."

She could not believe she had heard aright.

"What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean that in shouting out the word 'accident' as you did and then dashing out of the room, you may easily have caused Sir Charles a shock which in his condition was sufficient to bring on this relapse. From your manner he may have thought some really grave catastrophe had overtaken his son. It is quite possible that you are directly responsible for his state now."

She stared at him, speechless. How could he wilfully distort facts in this barefaced way? It seemed a revelation of some incredible pettiness of character hitherto unsuspected in him. When she found her voice she spoke evenly, with perfect self-control.

"I think, doctor, you will have a hard job of it trying to pin this on _me_," she replied, and left him.

She knew that his eyes followed her, and that during the rest of the afternoon he glanced at her often, as if he did not know how to construe her momentary defiance, but she was indifferent to what he thought. She knew that at this late date he would not risk a change of nurses, and that was enough for her. Her only concern was for her patient.

Before evening everyone was aware that Sir Charles, whom they had believed to be out of danger, had suffered a severe relapse.

Depression lay like a pall on the household. Lady Clifford fidgeted about from one room to another aimlessly. Roger smoked endless cigarettes.

"Do you think the doctor could have foreseen this?" Miss Clifford inquired of Esther about night-fall. "You remember how he warned us last night against being too hopeful."

"He couldn't possibly have guessed it! No one could. The whole thing has come out of the blue. I can't think how to account for it. If he had been given anything to eat, solid food, or--but no, that is simply out of the question."

The more Esther thought of it the more utterly she was mystified. The affair was inexplicable. She scorned to consider for a moment the doctor's absurd attempt to accuse her, having seen the old man weather a storm infinitely worse.

When, tired and dispirited, she went to her room that night, she fancied, on opening the door, that a faint odour of tobacco greeted her--the doctor's strong Algerian tobacco.

"That wretched man is getting on my nerves," she murmured under her breath. "I couldn't possibly smell cigarette smoke here, the door has been closed all day."

A moment later she stood still in front of the dressing-table, her eyes running over its contents. Was everything as she had left it? The maid never touched anything after she did the room in the morning, yet somehow the various boxes and bottles, trays, and so on, had an altered appearance. Her quick eye roamed around. On the table was her first-aid case, where she had put it down that morning. She opened it and looked inside. She could not absolutely swear things were different and yet... She turned and surveyed the whole room, then one by one pulled open the drawers in the commode. Here and there she felt sure some object had been touched and disarranged. If she had not been an orderly person she might not have noticed. Last she opened her shopping bag. She found the metal cover of her lip-stick off, and a streak of red on the lining of the bag. Then she felt certain: there was nothing missing, yet she was convinced that someone had been ransacking her belongings pretty thoroughly. One of the maids, perhaps, out of idle curiosity. It didn't interest her much.

"What on earth does it matter?" She sighed indifferently, and then she remembered the tobacco smoke. Could it possibly have been...

She remained motionless for a full minute, her brow knitted in puzzled thought. Then, with a shake of the head, she slowly undressed.

CHAPTER XXIV

Within twenty-four hours Sir Charles was in a condition bordering on coma. Arrangements were hurriedly made for a consultation of physicians to be held the following day, it being Lady Clifford's wish that no stone should be left unturned in the effort to save her husband. However, everyone realised that the consultation would be a mere formality: there was scarcely any possibility of stemming the tide. Yet Therese's zeal was not without its effect on both her sister-in-law and her stepson.

"No one can say she hasn't done her best for the poor old boy," Roger confided in subdued tones to Esther. "He's had every chance. I suppose there's no hope whatever?"