Forced Offer (15 page)

They waited outside the room, and Irene sighed heavily when the front door rang.

Leeks went to open the door and soon Dr. Casper was going up the stairs.

Lord Wilbur had a couple of words with Dr. Casper and then as Dr. Casper proceeded to enter the room to examine Belinda, a loud voice cut through their silence.

"What is the meaning of all this?"

All three turned to look at Flora Liston, who was striding quickly toward them, her tall frame encased in an impressive black satin dressing gown and her hair in an elaborate nightcap.

"Please, doctor," Lord Wilbur said, ignoring her and opening the bedroom door for the doctor. "Go in. I shall take care of this."

"Exactly what is going on, Lord Wilbur?" asked Flora in a voice that had become quite high.

"I think it is obvious that what is going on is Lady Berrington's extreme illness, Mrs. Liston," said Lord Wilbur calmly.

"Allow me to be the judge of what ails Lady Berrington, your lordship. I am in charge of this house in Lord Berrington's absence. Was it you who saw fit to call Dr. Casper?"

"It was," said Lord Wilbur. "Irene sought my help. It is obvious to me Lady Berrington has been dangerously neglected."

"She has not been neglected, and you had no right to meddle. Dr. Jenner has already been to see her."

"And it is obvious she has benefited thereby," said Lord Wilbur sarcastically. "That doddering old fool should be forbidden to practice medicine," and added,

"I am certain, knowing Berrington, that he will be glad I have acted in his absence. However, I have sent a special messenger to London, Mrs. Liston, and as he will make the trip with stops only to change horses, Lord Berrington will soon be apprised of the situation."

"You have seen fit to disturb Lord Berrington in London for nothing more than a chill, Lord Wilbur," said Flora stridently, "I do not think he will thank you for it."

"I beg to differ, Mrs. Liston. And now, if you will excuse me, I would like to talk to Dr. Casper." And with this, Lord Wilbur turned on his heel, opened the door to the bedroom and closed it behind him.

Flora turned her wrath on Irene, who cowered away from her.

"You deliberately disobeyed me, Irene. I hope you are happy when Richard comes galloping in here."

"I had to. She looked so terribly ill."

"You are ridiculous. I should have known better than to trust you. Now I have Lord Wilbur to contend with—that—"

"Perhaps I should tell Richard it was I who caused—"

"Of course you must, if you have already decided to have him resent you for the rest of his life. After all, would he not see it as murder if she dies?"

"If she dies? Oh, my God, please, not that. She cannot die. I could not live with myself if she did."

"You will probably not live 
here 
for long if you are stupid enough to tell Richard your part in this."

"Please…"

"Hush," said Flora, as she strained to hear sounds from the bedroom.

But soon both Dr. Casper and Lord Wilbur emerged from the bedroom, grim-faced and silent.

Flora glared at them both.

It was Dr. Casper who spoke first, his voice tinged with sadness. "Lady Berrington is gravely ill, Mrs. Liston. I cannot promise that she will pull through." Then all three turned in alarm as Irene fell in a heap to the floor.

"The poor girl has fainted," said Dr. Casper as he reached into his medicine case. "And no wonder. It is a sad state of affairs. I fear Lord Berrington might not make it back in time to see his wife alive."

For once Flora was silent, as Lord Wilbur glanced at her resentfully and then looked away. Between Lord Wilbur and the doctor they carried Irene to a settee nearby, where Dr. Casper put salts to her nose until she began to stir and turn away from the ammonia.

That was why all three looked up startled as Lord Berrington himself strode quickly up the stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time. All stared at him as if he were a ghost.

He spoke to Lord Wilbur first, after a quick glance at his sister on the couch.

"I was on the way back from London, and turning at the bend of the drive into Winterhill when your messenger intercepted me with news that Lady Berrington is ill, Willie.”

He glanced at Irene, who was slowly coming to. "What's wrong with Irene?"

"She fainted on hearing…" Lord Wilbur stopped himself.

"On hearing what?"

Dr. Casper now spoke. "Lord Berrington, if I may have a word in private with you?"

Berrington led him into a morning room nearby.

After two or three minutes they emerged, Lord Berrington's face grim and pale. He glanced at the silent group slightly and then went into Belinda's room, followed by the doctor, who closed the door behind them.

Chapter 15

In her mind Belinda was still in the Winterhill wine cellar. Her brain had not registered her removal from it in any way.

The slam of the heavy door, like the sound of a sentence of death, still reverberated in the damp cold cellar which was fifty feet in one direction then turned one hundred feet by sixty at a right angle.

Her mind numbly repeated "no…no…I cannot stay here…I'll die. Over and over she kept repeating "Please God—please God—please—" while tears streamed down her face and made it colder still.

On the bed she huddled still, her arms tightly across her chest and her legs folded against her. But in her mind she was still in the cellar.

After an hour she had mercifully fainted from the horror of mice noises, sliding down from the crate on which she sat against a damp wall and scurrying up her slippers and legs.

"I wish I could unfold her from that position which is not restful for her." Dr. Casper glanced at Lord Berrington, who gazed at his wife with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"She seems to be cringing from something, doctor, even in sleep."

"I don't know if it is sleep, my lord. I am going to try to revive her so that she 
will 
sleep. I believe she has passed in and out of consciousness during the time I have observed her, but it has not been sleep."

The doctor rummaged in his medicine case, while Lord Berrington moved closer to the bed, sat on the edge, put his hand on Belinda's forehead and then took her hand in his.

"She is very hot, doctor."

"Yes," answered the doctor, "her temperature is abnormally high. I am trying to bring it down; however, it is better if the fever is allowed to run itself through, though not at such a high temperature."

"Has she spoken at all—anything?"

"Snatches…" the doctor answered reluctantly after a moment of hesitation.

"I would like to know what she has said, doctor, however nonsensical it may have sounded."

"She speaks of being trapped in a cellar."

"Ah—" Lord Berrington let out his breath audibly. "You know, of course, doctor, the circumstances of our marriage. Everyone does, I believe."

"In a general way," said the doctor. You and Lady Berrington were locked in a wine cellar at Lennington Hall?"

"Yes."

"This may be a delayed reaction to her experience in that cellar. But indeed, her horror seems unwarranted, since however unusual the circumstances she was, after all, with you. She was not alone. Alone she would have had reason to be terrified, she may have been greatly embarrassed but she could not have been afraid.

"No, my lord, this problem goes deeper—and that would also not explain the chill that seems to have affected her lungs in such a devastating way. I am sorry that I cannot give you any but the slimmest hope, and even that I do with hesitation.

"She will, I think, become delirious very soon. She is gravely ill with pneumonia. Her troubled breathing tells me both lungs are now affected. Her greatest chance of survival comes in her wish to survive, and I am afraid Lady Berrington is so deeply haunted by something we cannot reach that it will be hard to help her overcome it."

"Her sister Roselle died of pneumonia," said Lord Berrington in an almost inaudible voice.

"Yes," said the doctor, "I treated Roselle, in London. But her illness was complicated with the smallpox. It is different altogether."

"What can I do, doctor?"

"If you will help me to try to place her in a more comfortable position for she cannot rest in such a tangled way. I am going to try to make her react with these powders. I want to rouse her long enough for her to take some water.

"She must be given water very often—at ten-minute intervals. Even a few drops at a time will help her, for she is perspiring so much—you can see the dampened sheets?"

"Yes."

"Well," continued the doctor, "liquid is what she needs at this time, and nourishment. I will send a nurse as soon as possible. Meanwhile, if you could order some beef stock to be made for her we'll have her treatment underway."

Berrington immediately rang for a servant and gave orders. Soup was to be brought, as well as fresh sheets, towels, fresh water, and various other things the doctor needed.

"She needs fresh air to fill her lungs," added the doctor. "We will have to move the bed closer to the window and leave a direct slit opened so that the fresh air will reach her. But the room itself must be kept warm at all times."

"Yes."

"I will return shortly to place a poultice on her chest, my lord. I will instruct the nurse to keep the poultice warm. It must not be allowed to get cold, yet it must not be hot either."

"Yes."

The maid that had been summoned tapped at the door and the doctor let her in. With her was Bessie who was wide-eyed with fear, having been informed of her mistress' illness on her arrival from her leave. She was instructed by the doctor to stay at her mistress' bedside until the nurse arrived.

Berrington, still in riding clothes dusty from the road, went straight to the library where he poured a glass of brandy and drank it straight through. Then he rang for a servant.

"Ask Mrs. Liston to join me here," he said tersely to the footman.

When the footman had left, Lord Berrington sat at a massive desk and covered his face with his hands.

"You asked to see me Richard?"

"Flora, yes. Sit down, please," he said standing up. When Flora had sat at the desk he resumed his seat at the other side.

"Lady Berrington is gravely ill," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Have you any idea how it was she caught a chill?"

"Of course I have," Flora said quickly.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise Berrington waited for her to go on.

"She stayed in the garden talking to Lord Wilbur for a long time as the sun went down. She was wearing only a thin shawl."

"When was that?"

"It was the day before yesterday. It was a chilly afternoon and made even colder when the sun went down."

"I see."

"And that brings me to mind, Richard, Lord Wilbur's behavior during your absence."

"Oh?"

"He saw fit to give orders as though he was master here, and accused me of neglecting Lady Berrington." Flora was becoming excited now as she went on,

"I did everything possible to make her comfortable and summoned the doctor right away. "I pointed out to him that in your absence it is I who is in charge of the household."

"What kind of orders?" Lord Berrington interrupted her.

"I think you should ask him to leave, Richard. His presence here is disturbing to Lady Berrington."

"As she is unconscious, she is beyond being disturbed by Willie," said Lord Berrington dryly. "And you have not answered my question. What were the orders that he gave?"

"Well, I don't remember exactly, but he acted with undue impertinence considering the fact we were at sixes and sevens with Lady Berrington's illness. If he had not kept her outside in inclement weather in conversations that lasted for hours she might not be ill right now. And that was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Richard."

"Oh?" Berrington remembered the reason he had returned to Winterhill—a garbled letter from Lady Lawrence, advising him of the 'increasing intimacy between Lady Berrington and Lord Wilbur.' They ride out at all hours,' she had written, 'and seem to enjoy each other's company to the exclusion of all others. I suggest, my lord that you put a stop to something that has the whole countryside talking.'

At first Berrington had been incredulous, refusing to believe anything of such a magnitude of his dearest friend and childhood chum. Yet little by little the words had begun to take effect in his mind, as against his will he remembered Wilbur as having said Belinda had 'rare eyes' and of his intention to dance with her on one occasion.

He did not know what it was that had compelled him back from London on horseback, stopping only to change horses along the way. Was it jealousy? Or was it something else he could not put into words? Now Flora's words seemed to give credence to Lady Lawrence's gossip and to make him wince.

"I am certain these outings were innocent enough," he said after a few moments, unable still to believe that anything improper had been going on between his wife and his friend.

"Really, Richard," insisted Flora. "Why is it then they never take Irene with them? The poor child rides well enough, yet they have not asked her once to accompany them."

"I do not discuss my wife with you, Flora. Now," he added, "I am rather tired from the long journey and would like to change. That's all for now. You may leave."

"Of course." Flora stood up quickly and forced a smile to her lips though her eyes flashed in anger at being so abruptly dismissed.

Alone again, Lord Berrington went to the window. He stood there for some time looking down at the vast garden that ended at the edge of the woods. He wanted very much to be at Belinda's side, looking for a glimmer of hope that she would live in her ravaged face.

A voice within him told him what he already knew, that if she died part of him would die with her, as he realized with a jolt that he had fallen in love with his wife.

He then saw Lord Wilbur walking across the garden, and leaving the window went briskly down the stairs to talk to him.

"Willie—"

"Ah—Rick," said Lord Wilbur. "You don't know how relieved I am that you returned from London."

"Are you?" asked Berrington after a long moment of silence in which he scrutinized Lord Wilbur's face.

"I don't like the tone of your question," said Lord Wilbur after a few moments. "What exactly is in your mind?"

"Your concern for my wife is extremely touching," said Berrington in a steely voice, "I hear you have not neglected her for more than a day at a time."

"I see the gossipmongers have been busy wagging their tongues," Lord Wilbur said turning away from Berrington, "and they have had an eager listener in you."

"And they had no cause to be wagging their tongues?"

"No. But you can believe me or not, it does not signify."

"You have not ridden with her almost every day, hours at a time?"

"Penny was with us at all times."

"Even while you talked with her in the garden for several hours the day before yesterday?"

"No detail has been left out, I see," said Wilbur bitterly turning back to Berrington.

Both men stood facing each other squarely, their eyes probing each other’s. For the first time in their lives they were at odds with each other. Wilbur sighed sadly.

"There was nothing improper about that talk, Rick," said Wilbur taking a small stone from the ground and nervously tossing it at the trees.

"Then you will not mind telling me the context of the conversation?"

"It was a private conversation. I see no reason why I should divulge it when it was said to me in confidence."

"In confidence," said Berrington, a dangerous glitter in his eyes. "You see nothing improper then in the fact that you had a confidential conversation with my wife?

"Tell me, Willie, have her rare eyes become rarer still in my absence? Have you begun to regret not to have gone through that dance you once mentioned?"

Willie’s gray eyes flashed in anger. "You are too blind to see the forest for the trees."

"On the contrary," said Berrington bitterly, "I see the forest too clearly. The forest where you and Belinda have ridden for hours almost every day."

"So it's 
Belinda 
now!" Exclaimed Lord Wilbur. "What happened to 'Lady Berrington' have you finally allowed her the immense condescension of referring to her by her name, a name you avoided like the plague?"

"Take care, Willie." Berrington moved closer to him, his lips curling in anger and his eyes searing.

"Go to the devil," Lord Wilbur shot back, and turning on his heel walked back to the house and into the stables where he got his horse and rode of at a mad gallop toward his house.

* * * * *

A pall hung on Winterhill the rest of the day and into the night. Outside the lead skies held dark clouds heavy with rain and a chill wind stole through the halls.

The servants went about their duties in respectful silence while in everyone's mind was the fear that Lady Berrington would not make it through another day. They whispered to each other the latest news from the sickroom and shook their heads.

Bessie kept to her mistress' side, until exhausted she was sent to rest by Berrington who kept a constant vigil, aided by the nurse. He had not slept the night except for dosing now and then in the chair by Belinda's side. And when the nurse, tired from nine hours of nursing Belinda appeared about to collapse, he sent her to her supper and to rest, taking over her duties.

Dr. Casper had stayed until late and had returned in the early morning. He, too, went silently about his business, and it was obvious to everyone that he was certain Belinda would not live.