The House Of The Bears (2 page)

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Dr. Halsted asked me to meet him here for a consultation at half past five,’ said Palfrey. ‘I am Dr. Palfrey.’ He gave the man his card. ‘Are you Sir Rufus Morne?’

‘Yes. I am glad to see you, Doctor. There has been – there has been-’ His voice broke, and he turned away.

‘A serious accident,’ interjected the woman. She was tall and very thin, and her black dress was unrelieved by any touch of colour. Her hands and face seemed parchment white.

‘You must do something!’ cried Morne. ‘She’s dying – oh, God, she’s dying!’

Palfrey glanced at his wife with quick reassurance, and nodded towards an arm-chair which was drawn up close to the fire. On a table near it was a decanter, glasses, a syphon and a box of cigarettes. Morne turned towards another door and led the way, Palfrey and the woman followed. They went along a wide stone passage and then entered a room as large as the hall. It had dark panelled walls, a polished wood floor strewn with rugs, and another fireplace with leaping flames. At one side a grand piano was open, with music on the rest and more music on the floor, as if scattered by a gust of wind,

A group of three people stood a few yards from the piano, and a man knelt by the side of a girl who lay on the floor with a cushion under her head. Her face was deathly white, and her lack-lustre eyes stared upwards. Slowly, agonizingly, she turned her head from side to side, moaning with each movement. The sound floated through the big room and seemed to gather volume, and the echoes clashed with each other, making a regular sough of torment. The girl was brightly clad in green, and her auburn hair spread over the cushion like a canopy.

The man kneeling by her was trying to put his right arm beneath her shoulders.

‘Don’t move her, please,’ said Palfrey, crisply. He opened his bag as the kneeling man looked round in surprise. He took out a hypodermic syringe and a small phial, broke the top of the phial and filled the syringe. ‘Take your arm away from her,’ he ordered.

The man obeyed, and stood up’ He was short, thick-set and dark.

Morne moved as Palfrey stepped forward.

‘What is in that? What are you going to do?’

‘Send her to sleep,’ said Palfrey. ‘This is morphia.’ He shook off Morne’s detaining hand and bent down.

The girl had fallen from a great height. Her right arm was bent at an odd angle; so was her left leg. There was a dark bruise on her forehead, but none of these things worried Palfrey so much as the wooden stool near her; it looked as if she had fallen upon the stool, striking it with her back.

He stood up, still looking down at her.

‘
H
ow long has she been like this?’

‘About a quarter of an hour,’ said a youth. He was good looking in an effeminate, sallow way and his yellow hair was overlong and swept back from his forehead. ‘I was playing. Loretta was leaning over the gallery, and-’

He broke off with a catch in his voice. Palfrey glanced up. Immediately above him was the rail of a minstrel gallery. A piece about a yard long was hanging over the edge. He noticed that the woodwork was heavy and magnificently carved.

‘She just fell,’ continued the youth, whose name was Gerry. ‘It was dreadful!’

‘I wonder if one of you will fetch my wife, who is in the next room?’ asked Palfrey, and then added, abruptly: ‘No. I will. I think it would be better if everyone else left the room. Get a drink,’ he said, and reached the doorway.’ ‘Silla, will you lend me a hand? There’s been a nasty accident.’

The girl had a strong likeness to Rufus Morne. Her face, now in repose, was very beautiful.

Palfrey made a rapid examination.

There were compound fractures of the arm and leg, and he did not spend much time over them. He examined her head; there was no serious injury. He felt her back, prodding the ribs gently. His lips tightened, and he shot a quick, bleak look at the stool. She had undoubtedly fallen across it, smashing her ribs. Only an X-ray could tell the full extent of her injuries, but she could not be moved except by ambulance, and it would take three-quarters of an hour for an ambulance to come from Corbin, the nearest town he knew in that bleak Corshire county. It would take three-quarters of an hour or more to come, over an hour to get back; it would be too long; he must find a way of getting her to hospital more quickly than that. There might be one nearer.

He asked the manservant.

‘There’s the sanatorium, sir. On the other side of Wenlock Hill, about five miles off.’

‘Do you know if they have an operating theatre?’

‘I don’t know that, sir.’

‘See if one of the others can tell you,’ said Palfrey.

The man hurried off. Palfrey finished his examination and stood up. Voices came from the next room, and the short man came in with firm and heavy tread.

‘There is an operating theatre at the sanatorium, Doctor.’

‘Good! Will you telephone for an ambulance at once? Tell them to expect the case immediately and prepare first for an X-ray and then for setting compound fractures.’ He did not want to cause too much alarm.

While he waited for the message to be sent, Palfrey stood looking up at the minstrel gallery and the hanging wood. He could picture the girl leaning over and calling down – laughing, perhaps. He pictured her as laughing freely, a gay, vivacious spirit, laughing and unaware of coming disaster.

Had age so worn the wooden post and rail that, at the pressure of her body, they had broken? The posts were thick, the rail was thicker; he could see that the carving was of bears, rampant and couchant, the bears of the House of Morne. Or, perhaps, soon more aptly, the house of mourning.

The great front door opened as Palfrey went inside for the second time that night. A footman stood aside, and Sir Rufus Morne came hurrying from the inner room.

‘How is she?’

‘You mustn’t expect too much yet,’ Palfrey told him. ‘She is comfortable, the operation gave little trouble, and there is a good chance that things will go well.’

‘Tell me the worst,’ Morne demanded, abruptly.

Palfrey said: ‘The spinal column is damaged, but the surgeon at the sanatorium does not think irretrievably. I have telephoned to Anstruthers, who is quite the best man, and he has promised to come from London early in the morning.’

‘I see,’ said Morne. ‘You have been very good.’

‘I’m glad I arrived when I did,’ said Palfrey.

‘I have remembered that Halsted told me that he was consulting someone else,’ said Morne. He ran his hand over his mane of red hair and turned towards the inner room. ‘I cannot understand why he allowed you to make the journey, but, as it happened, it was timely.’ Morne was speaking slowly, without looking at Palfrey. ‘A friend of my daughter’s was taken ill while staying here. The illness puzzled Halsted. Unnecessarily, I think. At least, the patient left this morning. Halsted was telephoned; I’m sure that he was telephoned.’ He looked at Palfrey, and glanced away. ‘He would have been here himself had he not been warned.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Palfrey.

‘I am afraid I cannot think clearly about anything except my daughter’s accident,’ Morne went on.

‘I didn’t know she was your daughter,’ said Palfrey.

‘Oh, yes.’ Morne stepped into the smaller room, where Drusilla and one of the well-dressed women and the thick-set man were sitting in front of the fire, which was now blazing. Huge logs were crackling, and brandy glasses were warming in front of the flames. ‘So much has happened so quickly, I had no time to introduce you.’ Morne was very formal as he spoke to the woman, who looked remarkably like him but was of smaller build. ‘Dinah, this is Dr. Palfrey – Dr. Palfrey, my sister, Lady Markham. My brother-in-law, Sir Claude Markham.’ He paused. ‘You must be famished, Dr. Palfrey.’

Palfrey gave a quick, diffident smile.

‘I am, rather.’

‘My sister tells me that I must try to eat,’ said Morne.

‘She is quite right.’

Morne stood for a moment with his back to the fire and studied Palfrey, who did not look an imposing figure. He was rather thin, his shoulders sloped and he had a slight stoop. His fair, silky hair was curly, and shone in the light from the chandelier. His nose was a trifle prominent and, with his full lips, created the impression of a weak chin. His large eyes looked dull.

Palfrey glanced at Drusilla.

Obviously she was puzzled by this household, probably by something which happened while he had been away with Loretta Morne. Palfrey could tell that from her manner, from the slight lift of her eyebrows. She looked warm and comfortable, however, and smiled assent when Markham suggested talking with Morne and Palfrey in the dining-room.

Little was said. Morne toyed with his food, occasionally roused himself to look after his guest, but for the most part sat brooding.

Palfrey studied him closely. The man had a magnificent forehead; his good looks were remarkable, although he was a little too fat and had a heavy jowl. His red hair waved, unruly, full of vitality. His amber eyes were shot with red. Everything about him suggested strength and perhaps an ungovernable temper.

In a different way, Markham, too, was impressive; he looked fit, and his hair was raven black; his heavy chin was shaded blue by incipient stubble. A broad nose and full lips, fine grey eyes and a broad forehead, all contrasted with Morne. He was nearly as silent as his brother-in-law. Now and again Palfrey caught Markham looking at him intently; almost, he thought, suspiciously.

‘Shall we go into the other room?’ asked Morne at last.

‘Yes,’ said Markham, getting up at once. ‘You and your wife will stay the night, Dr. Palfrey, wont you? You know what it’s like out. You probably won’t reach Corbin in the fog.’

‘Yes, it is bad,’ said Palfrey. ‘Thank you.’

Morne said: ‘I can’t think clearly. Thanks, Claude.’ He looked at Palfrey with a faint smile. ‘You will accept my apologies for my absent-mindedness, I’m sure.’

‘Of course,’ said Palfrey.

Was there something else the matter besides the girl’s fall? Was the brooding silence of the red-haired man wholly caused by that? Were those quick, penetrating glances from Markham just an expression of curiosity, or was the subject of Dr. Halsted, who had sent for him and, apparently, had forgotten to cancel the appointment, deliberately neglected? Or could they think only of the girl as she had lain moaning, with her head turning from side to side?

Lady Markham was talking to Drusilla in a soft voice.

‘Yes, since she was a child she has always gone up there and looked down; she preferred to hear the piano in the gallery. She always stood in the same spot, resting-’

‘Dinah!’ exclaimed Morne.

‘Oh, Rufus, I’m so sorry.’ She looked at him rather blankly. ‘I was just telling Mrs. Palfrey.’

‘Choose a time when I’m not here, please.’

‘Of course, Rufus!’ The woman looked a little frightened, and drew her skirts closer about her legs. Morne offered cigars, pierced one, lit it and then, without speaking, turned on his heel and went out.

‘I’m so sorry,’ murmured Lady Markham, in distress.

‘We quite understand,’ Drusilla said.

‘Such a
terrible
shock.’ Lady Markham looked at Palfrey. ‘My sister has collapsed, Dr. Palfrey. She has gone to her room. And poor Gerry, he is distracted,
quite
distracted. Ever since he was a child he had played to her and she has laughed down at him. How often I have gone into the music gallery and heard her laughing; so lovely, so happy. I’m sure she would have been perfectly happy with Gerry. I feel so sorry for him. For it to happen in
such
a way.’

‘It’s been a greater shock than you realize, Dinah,’ said Markham. Palfrey saw the look he gave his wife; eyebrows drawn together, a cold glint in his eyes – an angry, exasperated glance. ‘I think you’ll be wise to follow Rachel’s example and go to bed. Don’t you think so, Dr. Palfrey?’

‘It might be wise,’ said Palfrey.

‘But, Claude, our guests-’

‘Please don’t worry about us,’ said Drusilla, quickly.

‘I will come upstairs with you,’ said Markham.

He took her arm. She said good night effusively, and then meekly went away with him, leaving the Palfreys alone in the room.

The firelight danced on Drusilla’s dark hair; she looked superb in her severely-tailored suit of wine red. Palfrey watched her as she stared at the fire, following the line of her profile and the gentle fall of her throat, the line of her shoulders.

‘It’s an odd business,’ he said.

‘I hated this place before we got here,’ said Drusilla, ‘and I hate it ten times more now!’ She was quite serious. ‘I don’t know why, Sap, but there’s something-’

‘Uncanny.’

‘Have you noticed it?’

‘Yes. It isn’t imagination. Halsted not turning up gives it a really odd touch. They expected him, you know. The woman’ who opened the door thought I was Halsted, and told Morne that I was not. Now they pretend that he wasn’t due. It’s odd. And there are other things. There were no menservants about when we first arrived. The woman, presumably the housekeeper- she is. Mrs. Bardie - opened the door, but would not have done so had a footman been available. Before we got here, those men ran out. It looks as if the menservants were set on some other task. That man we saw, in front of the car, might have been a fugitive, perhaps. He was certainly a badly frightened man. In the headlights, I thought our imagination was playing us tricks and giving him the pale face, the desperate look in his eyes. I’m not so sure now. If he were running away –’.

Drusilla interrupted. ‘Aren’t you going rather fast?’

Palfrey said restlessly: ‘I don’t know. Where’s this patient Halsted wanted me to see? A man ill enough to be kept to his room, ill enough for Halsted to want another opinion, didn’t just get up and walk out. Morne says that he left this morning, and also says that he was a friend of the girl’s.’

Drusilla did not speak. Palfrey lit a cigarette and threw the match into the fire.

‘And this atmosphere – it’s fantastic! Neither Morne nor Markham spoke more than a dozen words during dinner. The only one who’s shown any inclination to talk is Lady Markham. Morne shut her up and Markham took her away.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘She said one thing which I can’t get out of my mind. “For it to happen in
such
a way.” Morne barked at her; Markham looked at her as if he could have murdered her. I’m not exaggerating. “For it to happen in
such
a way” – as if she had expected it to happen some way or other.’