Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (24 page)

Harbouring her own doubts, Susan had spoken to Mrs. Bentley,
who had at once dissolved into tears. "The poor gent keeps me awake all
night, marm," she whined. "I got to get
some
sleep
some
time. I mean, I can't go on working me
fingers to the bone four and twenty hours out of the twenty-four, now
can
I, marm? Only huming I is. Only huming!"

A trundle bed had been set up in Montclair's room, and Martha
and Mrs. Starr took shifts during the day so that the nurse could rest.
Martha was up there now, in fact, sitting beside the sick man.

Susan promised to keep an eye on matters while Mrs. Starr was
gone, and watched Pennywise and Pound Foolish trot away down the
drivepath. The afternoon was overcast and blustery. She glanced up at
the building clouds and wondered how Andy was faring at sea with
The
Dainty Dancer
. She was not worried, however; her brother had
been taught seamanship by Grandpapa, and knew his business.

In the kitchen, Priscilla very proudly presented the
composition on which she had been working so hard all morning. It was a
pleasant little tale about a lonely rabbit who finds a friend in a
kindly but rather domineering hen. Susan marvelled at the warmth of the
story, but was touched by the rabbit's loneliness. She praised the
work, and Priscilla went off happily with the faithful Wolfgang
prancing at her heels. 'Bless her heart,' thought Susan fondly. 'She
has a truly remarkable gift with words, but how nice it would be if
only she had some little friends to play with.'

A sniff interrupted her fond musing, and Martha wandered
disconsolately into the kitchen, carrying a tray of dirty dishes.

"Martha?"

The girl lifted her plain, pale face. There were tears in the
brown eyes and her lips trembled.

"My goodness," exclaimed Susan, alarmed. "Whatever is it?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Sue," said Martha in a sort of gulp.

"Just me. I'm silly about… things." Her attempt at a smile a
disaster, she started past.

Susan put a hand on her arm and stopped her. "You are not
silly. You may not be clever with arithmetic or writing, but lots of
people aren't. You are very good with sick people; you're a hard and
steady worker, and you have taught Miss Priscilla how to knit
beautifully. Now tell me what has happened."

It was very easy to crush Martha and her bowed head did not
lift despite the kindly words. She said with dreary resignation,
"She—she says I'm slow and stupid. And I am, I know. But… I was—just
trying for to help the poor gentleman. He was so thirsty and he tried
to reach the water glass and hurt hisself. I ran to get it for him,
but—I didn't mean to interfere, honest, Mrs. Sue! She—she was so cross…
I do everything wrong. Everything. I d-don't know why you put up with
me."

Susan was enraged, but rage terrified Martha, so she
controlled it and gave the drooping girl a little shake. "What fustian
you do talk, indeed. You're one of us and as for putting up with
you—goodness! I don't know how we could go along without you! Now you
just—" She checked, frowning at the piled plates and glasses. "Are all
these from my—I mean, Mr. Montclair's room?"

"Yes, Mrs. Sue. Mrs. Bentley was trying to feed the gentleman,
I 'spect."

Susan nodded, and went upstairs, her eyes sparking. Montclair
had taken practically no solid food this past week, little more than
the brandy and water Dr. Sheswell prescribed. From the look of the
dishes on Martha's tray, the nurse had not been stinting herself.

She went into the bedchamber without knocking, and halted.

Mrs. Bentley stood by the bed, measuring medicine into a
glass. She was humming some unidentifiable air that made up in volume
for what it lacked in melody. Smiling at the spoon, she set it aside,
and bent over the bed. "Here we goes, poor fella," she crooned and slid
her left hand under Montclair's shoulders, jerking his head up.

Susan heard his choked gasp, and exclaimed indignantly, "Oh,
do be more careful!"

The nurse uttered a small cry and straightened, allowing the
sick man's bandaged head to drop back onto the crumpled pillows. Susan
saw Montclair's mouth twist with pain and the thin left hand clutch
convulsively at the coverlet. A soaring wrath possessed her.

"Oh! '
Ow
you did's'prise me, M's Henley,"
wailed the nurse, one hand flying to her throat and the other slopping
the medicine over Montclair. "Bl-blest if ever'n'm'borndays I was more
s'prised
!
M'poor heart's beatin' like—like a
kettledrum
,
M's Henley, I'm that's'prised."

"Stand aside," demanded Susan, and not waiting to be obeyed,
pushed the woman from her path and bent over Montclair. The bedclothes
were untidy, the pillowslip creased and damp with perspiration, and he
looked desperately ill. She felt his forehead and turned, saying
angrily, "He is very hot and uncomfortable. Have you bathed him yet?"

Mrs. Bentley drew herself up. "Doct' Sheswell don't hold wi'
bathing when there's fever presh—"

Montclair whispered pleadingly, "If I… might have—water…"

"Of course."

"That's f'me't'do, ma'am." Mrs. Bentley made a belated snatch
for the glass Susan had already taken up. "Now y'mustn't int'fere w'me
patient," she added, attempting to force her way between Susan and the
bed.

"Nonsense." Susan circumvented this manoeuvre with a jab of
one elbow. With great care she raised the dark head very slightly and
held the glass to Montclair's cracked dry lips. He took a sip, choked,
groaned, and his left hand lifted in a weak gesture of repugnance.

"I'll take—" began Mrs. Bentley with another abortive grab at
the glass.

"I think not!" Susan lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed.
Her eyes flashing, she stepped closer to Mrs. Bentley's aggressive but
slightly swaying figure. "Be so good as to explain why there is gin in
this glass, ma'am."

"Med'cine," declared the nurse fiercely, but losing her
balance for a second. "Y'got no b'sness, M's—"

Raging but keeping her voice low, Susan declared, "You—are—
intoxicated
!"

"Ooooh! Wotta
awful
thing t'say!" The
nurse darted for the glass.

Susan fended her off, marched to the window, and emptied the
contents onto the lawn below. She was greatly relieved to see masts
bobbing beside their dock, and the Bo'sun carrying a crate up the back
steps.

"M'
med'cine
!" wailed Mrs. Bentley,
peering tragically after it. She turned on Susan in a flame. "Oh,
you're a wicked woman, you are! Jesslike they said! I was warned, I
was, and—"

"Out!" commanded Susan, flinging one arm majestically in the
direction of the door.

Mrs. Bentley stared at her, and began to look frightened. "You
can't do that," she blustered. "Doc't Sh-Sheshwell says—"

Susan tugged on the bellpull. "You may inform Dr. Sheswell
that you were discharged for laziness, drunkenness, ineptitude—"

"
Oooh
! Now she's a'swearin''t me! A good
woman
I
is, not like th'likes of
her
an' she swears—"

"And—" Susan finished, wrinkling her nose in distaste,
"dirtiness!"

"Well, I
never
!"

"Your hands are filthy, and your garments little better! As a
nurse, madam, you would make a good dustman!"

"If
ever
I—!" Defiantly at bay the nurse
threatened,

"I'll have th'law onya, see if I don't, fer inf'mation
o'character, an'—"

"Ah—Bo'sun," interrupted Susan loftily. "Mrs. Bentley is
leaving us. Be so good as to drive her to Dr. Sheswell's house in
Bredon, and inform him we were obliged to dismiss her."

Mrs. Bentley folded her arms across her chest, and with
narrowed hate-filled eyes and flushed cheeks declared, "Well, I won' go
an' y'can't—"

"I can require the Bo'sun to forcibly eject you," said Susan,
paying no heed to Dodman's horror-stricken and paling countenance. "But
I warn you that unless you leave quietly and at once, Mrs. Bentley, I
mean to instruct the constable to bring charges against you for
impersonating a qualified nurse! I fancy your credentials would bear
some investigation!"

For a moment longer Mrs. Bentley glared at the haughty young
face and elevated chin of the notorious Widow Henley. Then she suddenly
took refuge in noisy weeping, and with a relieved grin Dodman conducted
her from the room.

Susan flew to the water pitcher, took up another glass and
filled it, then bent again over Montclair. His eyes were full of pain,
but there was a gleam of amusement also.

"She is gone," said Susan, contriving gently to lift his head
a little. "From now on,
my
people will tend to
your needs, Mr. Montclair. I am only sorry that you were subjected to
such a disgraceful scene."

He drank gratefully, then whispered, "Wouldn't… have missed
it!"

Montclair drifted now in a strange trancelike world, sometimes
fathoms deep in a blank emptiness, sometimes dreaming distressing and
involved dreams that troubled him greatly. After a very long while, one
of his dreams was of a forest wherein he sat watching a forester saw
down a tree. But although the forester worked hour after hour, he
seemed to make no impression on the tree, which stood there as proud
and unshaken as ever. Montclair grew tired of waiting to see it fall
and he walked away, but the noise of the saw followed.

He could still hear it when he opened his eyes and discovered
an indistinct little scene that blurred into a haze around the edges. A
blue canopy billowed over him, edged by dainty lace-trimmed ruffles. He
frowned at the matching silken bed-curtains. His bed had a plain red
velvet tester with a battlement trim, and red-and-gold bed-curtains. No
ruffles. No lace. If Uncle Selby had been meddling again… ! Irked, he
shifted his gaze in search of the noise. It seemed to be coming from
his bed. He tried to raise his head, which was a horrible mistake.
After a while, the wavering images settled again, and he peered
downward and discovered a small, curled-up shape. Wolfgang snored,
evidently…

He lay there, staring at the dog, wondering how it came to be
at Longhills, and what they'd done to his bed. It was all very
perplexing, and the pain in his head prevented him from remembering
properly. He'd better get Gould in here. He tried to reach for the
bellpull, instinctively using his right hand…

After an unpleasant interval, an authoritative voice came
through the mists. "Here. Drink this, my poor fellow."

He sipped obediently.

Alain Devenish's face materialized, hovering over him. The
usually carefree blue eyes held a rather worried look.

With an amazing effort he was able to say, "Hello— Dev," and
heard a faint croak. Good God! Had that been his own voice? "What've
they done… to my bed?"

"Ain't your bed." Devenish spoke very gently. "Mrs.Henley's.
You're at Highperch, my tulip. Go back to sleep now."

He had a very vague and indistinct recollection of the widow
helping him—somehow, somewhere. And he seemed to remember her bending
over him, and speaking to someone in an imperious way that had made him
want to laugh. But why he thought, confused, should Mrs. Henley have
helped him? And what was he doing at Highperch? He whispered, "How…
long have—"

"About ten days, give or take a day."

"
Ten days
!" He started up in dismay.

His head seemed to explode. The room swung and dipped
sickeningly. From a great distance, he thought he could hear Dev
calling someone…

A slender white hand was pressing a wonderfully cold cloth to
his brow; the mellow voice that held such incredible kindliness was
with him again, repeating over and over again that it was all right;
that he was quite safe now. The shadow was gone. If he would just lie
still and stop tossing about, he would be easier… He tried to
concentrate on the voice, and gradually he was able to breathe without
panting…

His eyelids were very heavy, but he managed to open them. It
was night. He knew he'd been dreaming, but he did not want to remember
the dream and thrust it away with determined desperation. A candle was
flickering somewhere nearby. Closer at hand, two searching grey eyes in
a tired but lovely face scanned him with concern.

"Are you feeling a little better now?" Susan asked.

He smiled at her, and wondered if she always smelled of
violets. "Yes, thank you—but… I don't—understand."

"You had—an accident, and were brought here. You suffered a
slight relapse, but you are doing much better now. Is that what you
mean?"

"No. I don't know why—you are so… kind to me…" But he fell
asleep before she could answer.

It seemed a very long time before he heard her voice again,
and it was difficult to hear because she was speaking very softly,
almost in a whisper. Gradually, he realized that she was talking with
Mrs. Starr who sounded very agitated and kept moaning that they "should
never have done it! Never!" He wondered idly what "it" was, and tried
to open his eyes but was too drowsy to accomplish this.

"You know perfectly well why we did it," said Mrs. Henley with
a trace of exasperation.

"Yes. But—but the awful
risk
, dear Mrs.
Sue! If you should be found out! Oh dear, oh dear!"

"What could they prove?"

"You know what they would
say
! And the
Runners can be clever. If they should even
suspect
—
Suppose his family should put two and two together? It is such a
dreadful thing to do! I never dreamed you capable of such
ruthless
—"

Decidedly irked, Mrs. Henley interrupted, "For goodness' sake,
stop being so melodramatic, Starry! And keep your voice down, do. He
might hear us!"

The discussion continued, but the voices were now so low that
Montclair could no longer discern the words. Vaguely troubled, he sank
back to sleep once more.