Prudence (17 page)

‘Yes?’ he enquired dangerously.

His manner had no apparent effect upon the nurse. Her eyes snapped with anger. ‘She ’ave take zem in ze rain!
Je me demande
, why? ’Ave she not ze room for teach zem? Yesse, she ’ave ze room. You ’ave give her ze room,
monsieur
. She ’ave use ze room, I ask myself?
Mais, non
! She ’ave not use ze room. She take zem in ze rain! Why, and again why?
Mais, qu’elle est folle
!’

Even had he wanted to, Julius was given no opportunity to interrupt this rapid speech. As it was, he found himself unable for several moments to utter a word.
Not because he had nothing to say, but because he was obliged to reject every utterance that sprang to his mind as being wholly out of context and proportion to the event.

Everything in him urged him to jump to the defence of Prudence Hursley. He wanted to berate the nurse for daring to criticise her. To tell her, in his iciest tone, that the governess was worth a dozen of the nurse; that her charges would undoubtedly give Miss Hursley the preference, was their opinion to be canvassed; and that it would be the worse for her if one further word of disparagement was to cross her lips.

His whole reaction was ridiculous, and he knew it. Worse, it argued a partiality that far exceeded the reality of his feeling towards the girl. And further, it could not be denied that there was justice in the complaint.

The nurse was waiting, a frown gathering between her black orbs. Julius pulled his wits together.

‘I shall come up and see the twins shortly. You may confine yourself to your duties, Yvette, and—er—leave the other matter in my hands.’

Surprise flickered for a moment in the nurse’s lined features. She gave a nod, and bobbed a curtsy.

‘I weel prepare ze
enfants
zat you come,
monsieur
.’

He watched the woman march out, and let his breath go as Creggan closed the door behind her. The butler caught his eye as he came across to the table.

‘More coffee, sir?’

Julius pushed away his plate. ‘Thank you, yes.’

Creggan raised an eyebrow, and the faintest note of sympathy entered his voice. ‘French, sir. Excitable nation.’

A glimmer of amusement broke through Julius’s inner tension. ‘Just so.’

He took up the refilled cup and sipped at the hot liquid. Creggan removed his half-empty plate without comment, and he was thankful for the man’s discretion. Not that he supposed the butler to have any clue to his chaotic thoughts. The irrational anger had stilled, thank God! But it had left him with some uncomfortable reflections.

By no stretch of the imagination could it be argued that Prudence Hursley was a suitable preceptress for his nieces. They clearly liked her—as who would not?—but whether they were learning anything useful was debatable.

He had seen them at battledore and shuttlecock; he had found them listening to fairy tales; and only the other day he had caught the governess making daisy chains while the twins were flying a kite. Indeed, as far as he could see, the three of them spent most of their time in idle pursuits out of doors—like yesterday! What in the world had Prudence thought to teach them on such an excursion? Botany, perhaps? If so, it was unlikely to be of the least use to their intended future. It was all of a piece, and he truly did not know if he could in conscience recommend that Trixie keep the girl on.

There was a sneaking suspicion at the back of his mind that it would suit him better if his sister let Miss Hursley go. He ought to banish it, for his needs were not in question. The trouble was that he liked the governess too much for his own good. If Trixie kept her, he would be bound to see her—and that in circumstances which would preclude his enjoying the freedom with which he was wont to address her. Which would
be unfair to her, after all that had passed between them. Her departure to another post, where he need not encounter her at all, might be the kindest solution.

Curiously, this neat disposal of the problem left Julius with a feeling of dissatisfaction. He suppressed it, and rose from the table with the intention of going to visit his nieces.

But as Creggan was about to open the door for him, a whispering commotion on the other side drew his attention. An irritated frown entered the butler’s face and he plucked open the door. Behind it, Julius spied the bulky form of his cook, with a maid at her back, peeping over her shoulder.

Creggan’s shocked disapproval was patent.

‘Mrs Wincle!’

‘Begging your pardon, Mr Creggan,’ began Wincle with a determined air, ‘but see the master I must, and see him I will!’

Another domestic complaint? It was one of those mornings, Julius decided resignedly. He intervened before the butler could gather himself to reject this unprecedented invasion.

‘Come in, Wincle.’

The cook bustled in, rubbing her hands on her apron. The maid hung back, eyeing Creggan doubtfully, but Wincle caught at her sleeve and drew her into the room. Much to Julius’s amusement, she then waved pudgy fingers in the butler’s face.

‘Private this is, Mr Creggan, if you don’t mind.’

It was plain that the butler objected mightily, but Julius was too intrigued to give this any weight. He signed to Creggan to withdraw. Wincle watched until the door shut behind him, with a meticulous care that
showed the man’s disgust, and then turned at last to her employer.

Julius moved back to the table and leaned negligently upon the back of a chair. ‘What is it, Wincle? I imagine it must be a matter of moment.’

Wincle nodded, her ruddy features suffused with concern. ‘I don’t rightly know as it is, sir, only there’s something going on as I don’t hold with, and that’s a fact.’

Her manner struck him as indignant rather than portentous. Which might explain why she had not made her approach through Polmont in the customary manner.

‘Very well, Wincle, what is it?’

‘It’s Miss Hursley, sir. Leastways, it’s her as is affected, and it ain’t nowise what you’ll like to hear.’

A sharp pang of fear sliced into Julius’s chest. He straightened up and rapped out a smart command. ‘Go on!’

Wincle hesitated, however, fiddling with her apron. ‘Seemingly, it’s Maggie here as ought to tell it to you, sir. She it is who’s been tending her.’

Julius eyed the maid, whose cheeks became a trifle flushed. ‘How is Miss Hursley this morning?’

The maid looked distressed. ‘She’s bad, sir.’

A hollow opened up inside his chest. He felt his voice go hoarse. ‘How bad?’

‘I can’t say, sir, only she’s that hot with the fever, and tossing and turning. And—well, sir—’

The maid hesitated, wriggling a little, and it was plain that she had more to add. Impatience warred with anxiety. Julius curbed his tongue with difficulty, and tried for a calm he was far from feeling.

‘Just tell me, if you please.’

‘She ain’t in her right mind!’ broke from the girl in a rush.

Julius experienced a short, but hideous feeling of dread. And then common sense reasserted itself.

‘You mean she is delirious?’

The maid looked puzzled. ‘I don’t rightly know, sir.’

He tried another tack. ‘What makes you think she is not in her right mind?’

Again the girl hesitated, but Wincle nudged her sharply.

‘Go on and say it, Maggie.’ She turned back to Julius. ‘She come and told me in my kitchen, sir, and I couldn’t reconcile it with my conscience not to come to you straight.’

Julius frowned. ‘Why didn’t you go directly to Polmont?’

The maid looked even more reluctant. ‘Well, see, that’s it, sir. Miss didn’t want me to tell Mrs Polmont. It were the same last night, when she begged me as I shouldn’t tell her. But I thought as you’d wish to know as she were ill, sir, and I said so. But Miss said as Mrs Polmont would say horrid things to her, and so I told Jacob instead so as Mr Creggan could tell you, sir.’

Julius began to feel confused. ‘I don’t understand. Is this all your reason for supposing Miss Hursley to be out of her right mind?’

‘It weren’t last night’s to-do, sir,’ butted in Wincle. ‘Only this morning, when Maggie finds Miss Hursley so bad, she tells Mrs Polmont straight, and no nonsense. And Mrs Polmont goes up to Miss Hursley’s room, with Maggie following—’

‘And that’s when the commotion started!’ finished Maggie, evidently losing her diffidence. ‘The second miss spied her, she starts off a-cryin’ and a-wavin’ of
her hands. She calls to me to save her, and I don’t know what besides!’

‘Well, what besides?’ demanded Julius, appalled.

‘I don’t know as I rightly remember, sir,’ said the maid unhappily. ‘It were all such a muddle!’

‘Well, I remember,’ stated Wincle stoutly. ‘Leastways, I remember what you told me when you first come down to my kitchen.’ She turned back to Julius, and he saw real trouble in her plump face. ‘Seemingly, she’s afeard of what Mrs Polmont might say to her. Maggie told me just what she said. “She’ll say as I done it a-purpose,” she said. “She’ll make me think the worse of him,” she said. “She’ll say as he come in the night to me for evil, and I know as he done it to be kind.” That’s what Miss Hursley said, sir.’

Julius stared at the woman, feeling benumbed. If the suspicion burgeoning in his mind had any substance, then his housekeeper had a trifle of explaining to do. That Prudence was experiencing a species of delirium he could not doubt—and that her illness had run to this extreme was a matter demanding his urgent attention. But just at this moment he was too dismayed for action by the intelligence contained in this odd little history.

‘What Maggie thought, sir,’ pursued Wincle, ‘was that Miss Hursley was speaking of the devil. She thought as how Miss didn’t recognise Mrs Polmont.’ A grim look settled in the cook’s face. ‘Only I don’t think to put me faith in devils and such. If you ask me, the only devil in the case is very much alive, and is doing something—I don’t say as I know exactly what!—as I don’t hold with nohow. Interference, I call it. And it ain’t got nothing to do with Miss Hursley’s illness!’

Startled by his cook’s evident perception, Julius
could think of nothing to say. It was otherwise with the maid, who was staring blankly at Wincle.

‘You never said nothing to me, Mrs Wincle!’

‘No, and I wouldn’t neither, you and your devils. If ever I met such a nodcock! She’s out of her right mind—I don’t think!’

Which timely reminder jerked Julius out of his abstraction. Whatever had been going on, as his percipient cook put it, would have to wait. What he must do at once was to get Prudence urgent medical attention.

He seized the handbell from the table, and rang it fiercely. ‘I will send at once for the doctor. Thank you, Wincle. And you too—er—Maggie. You did right to warn me, and you may safely leave me to deal with the matter. Ah, and, Maggie…?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘I rely upon you to serve Miss Hursley until she is up and about again.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir. I’ve relit the fire already.’ The girl looked distressed again. ‘I only wish I’d gone in earlier, for it must have been out for hours and it’s my belief, sir, as miss were mortal cold in the night. I’m afeared she were wandering out of bed, for her limbs was like ice, sir.’

Every word threw Julius into deeper anxiety. There was now nothing in his head bar the necessity of instant succour. He dismissed the women, who bobbed curtsies and withdrew, almost colliding with Creggan in the doorway. He could not, reflected Julius wryly, have been far away.

‘Tell Beith to ride for the doctor immediately, Creggan. It is a matter of the utmost urgency! And when the fellow arrives, send him straight up to Miss Hursley, if you please.’

A few moments later, he was racing up the stairs two at a time, all thought suspended save the one all-consuming need to find out for himself exactly how Prudence fared.

The voice calling her had a familiar ring. Prue tried to answer, but it was difficult to make her tongue obey her command. She could vaguely see, as through a long tunnel in the distance, a wavering face. She had tried to keep her eyes closed, for the strange shapes that danced in her vision disturbed her.

‘Prudence! Do you hear me?’

He was a long way away. It was like drowning, she thought. Yet she must reassure him. She reached up through the murky tunnel, and felt her fingers caught in warmth.

‘She hears me, I think.’

A thought thrust at Prue’s consciousness. He ought to be warned. Only she could not grasp the meaning of what she would say to him. That it concerned him very nearly she was certain. It was a thing he must not do. She struggled to express it.

‘You must be careful.’

Stillness and silence ensued. Prue peered through the tunnel and thought she spied him there. Far away. That was safer.

‘Stay there. You must not come any closer.’

A face shot into focus above her. The wrong face. It was wide-jawed and bloated, with a fuzzy wig that stuck out at the sides. It must be got rid of at once! She waved frantic hands. Or thought she did.

‘Pray, Mr Rookham, take it away.’

The face vanished, and her hands were captured. His
voice came, soothingly. ‘There now, my poor girl, don’t thresh so.’

Prue clutched his fingers. ‘You are too close!’

She felt him disengage his fingers and her hands were laid down upon the coverlet. ‘Prudence, listen to me. The doctor is here to examine you.’

‘I don’t want him.’

She spoke from a hazy desire that he should himself stay with her. Not close, which was dangerous, but there. She would have liked to tell him so, but somehow she felt it was forbidden. She did not know why.

There was a cough above her. ‘If you will allow me, sir.’

The face reappeared. Prue turned her eyes away, and encountered a black figure standing on the other side of the bed. It was tall and thin, with a beaky nose.

‘You have a face like a parrot,’ she told it.

Laughter rang in the room. Was it laughter? She could hear a murmuring sound. It grew in volume in her head and she had to close her eyes. Vaguely she heard snatches of speech about her.

‘Is it a fever?’