The Land of Summer (26 page)

By the time Agnes knocked on the bedroom door to tell her mistress it was time to dress for dinner, Emmaline had convinced herself that somehow Julius’s removal of the portrait, his
hiding
of it in his dressing room, must all be part and parcel of whatever it was that had happened to him before they met to cause him to act as he did, but as to what it was, she still had no idea.

‘I was wondering about what our Christmas arrangements might be?’ Emmaline said a few days later during lunch, a meal that once more she found herself taking alone with Julius. Their solitariness was becoming so irksome that she was hard put to it not to turn and ask the servants to sit down with them.

‘Our Christmas arrangements? Yes, of course!’ Julius seemed to be coming to, as if he had quite forgotten what season it was.

‘It is such a lovely time of year, and this will be our first Christmas in this house. Did you ever have Christmas here with your family, Julius?’

Julius looked up from staring at his plate with sudden interest.

‘Would you think this fish is fresh, Emma?’ he asked, as if he had not heard a word that she had said.

‘I would say yes, the fish is fresh, Julius,’ Emmaline told him, ‘but if it is not, Cook’s cat has just had kittens.’ George, the under footman, smothered a giggle as Julius continued to frown at the segment of fish on his fork. ‘Yes, Cook’s cat has just had kittens and will no doubt be most grateful. So why not leave it for Prudence?’

‘And what were you saying, Emma? What might it be that you were saying?’

‘Leave the fish for the cat.’

‘Not about the cat, about something else?’

‘Christmas. In America we spend weeks preparing for Christmas. It is a time of great celebration.’

‘As it is here, I do assure you, Emma.’

‘Is that so? In that case, since it is only three weeks until Christmas, and we haven’t discussed the matter once, perhaps we could discuss it now?’

‘What is there to discuss?’

Holding on to her patience, Emmaline took a deep breath before replying.

‘What we should perhaps discuss, Julius, is what you would like to do over Christmas.’

‘Nothing very much. We shall go to church, of course, and then Cook will produce a goose or a turkey, and we will eat it, and a plum pudding, and then we shall perhaps give each other gifts, and that will be Christmas.’

‘Not so different from any other Sunday here, from the sounds of it.’

‘It is a religious festival.’

‘Do you want to ask anyone to lunch on Christmas Day? Or perhaps for dinner on Christmas Eve, which I understand is the Continental way?’

‘No.’ Julius stopped her. ‘I don’t want to ask anybody.’

‘That is a pity, because I would quite like to invite some people to share Christmas with us, Julius.’

‘I would really rather not have guests, Emma.’

‘I am sorry about that, because in America it is a time for seeing friends and celebrating.’

Julius stared down the long table at Emmaline with a sudden look of speaking sadness in his eyes. She stood up.

‘You may leave,’ she told George and Wilkinson. ‘No removes from the table at the moment.’

She went up to where Julius was sitting as the servants hurried off, and stood in front of his chair.

‘Julius,’ she said. ‘You know we cannot possibly go on living like this.’

‘And what might you mean by that?’

Emmaline saw that it might be necessary to speak to him as if he were a child.

‘I have said this to you before. We’re meant to be man and wife, and we’re not even living together—’ she stopped, ‘we’re not even living together like brother and sister. We’re like two strangers.’

‘I hardly think so, Emmaline. You are exaggerating here. You must have become infected by reading too much, or playing too much romantic music.’

‘We are, Julius, we are like two strangers. And every time I try to make life more pleasant, suggest some sort of social activity – even as in this case at Christmas – you deny me everything, and yet you expect me to stay here with you, to go on living like this, in a nightmarish state, not knowing where you are when you go away on business; and now it seems to me I have no idea
who
you are.’

Julius stared past her as if he hadn’t heard her.

‘I shouldn’t have done this,’ he said quietly, half to himself, but loud enough for Emmaline to hear. ‘I should not have done this.’

‘Done what, Julius?’

‘I should never have done this,’ he repeated in a dazed fashion.

He rose to his feet, screwed up his linen napkin, and quickly left the room. Emmaline was about to get up and go after him when Wilkinson, George and Dolly came in. They appeared so promptly that Emmaline knew they must have heard everything, although no one actually spoke, and as Emmaline sat on, braving it out on her own through the succeeding courses, their faces reflected her own sense of despair.

When Emmaline finally left the table, she knew that what had happened would already be a source of gossip and speculation in the servants’ hall. The happy atmosphere that she had been able to engender when Julius was absent had quite disappeared. At home in America, old Mary had always said unhappy marriages made for badly run houses, and that servants did not want to stay where the atmosphere was uneasy. She had said that if the maid who opened the door to you was rude and surly then you should expect the mistress and master of the house to be the same. If the servants left, Emmaline would have no friends, and that was the truth.

Just then, though, Emmaline could think of
nothing
except that she was cold, and tired, and trapped. She went back to her little sitting room and seated herself in front of the fire, which, perhaps knowing how she must be feeling, Wilkinson had stacked up once more. She was staring into the friendly flames, wondering whether to leave Park House before or after Christmas, when she realised that she could only see half of the fire, and then less than half. She felt overcome by panic, as if an enormously heavy net had been thrown over her, weighted down at every corner, and she was struggling with it, only to realise that she was fighting for her life while someone on the outside, in the room, stood waiting with something terrible with which to kill her. She was suddenly quite certain that she was going to die.

By some good grace Wilkinson was just passing by the door of the sitting room when he heard the noise, a crash as if someone had toppled into a piece of furniture followed by a thud as whoever it was fell to the floor. He found his mistress lying in a faint by the fireside, her head resting sideways on the brass fender, a trickle of blood seeping from a wound in her temple. Post haste, he sent George for the doctor, while Agnes, Mrs Graham and he carried their unconscious mistress upstairs to the bedroom, where Agnes and Mrs Graham loosened all her clothing, and laid her under the covers to wait for the doctor.

‘Do you think we should have moved her,
Mrs
Graham?’ Agnes wanted to know as they both stood staring down at Emmaline lying on the bed. ‘I am not at all sure that we should have moved her, really. I remember when there was this accident at the works, when Mr Ralph knocked himself out, the older women said they should leave him where he was, quite still, that it was better that way.’

‘I think the most important thing is to keep Mrs Aubrey warm, Agnes,’ Mrs Graham replied, sitting herself down on one side of the bed to keep watch. ‘It isn’t as if she has broken anything, fallen downstairs or from any sort of a height. My fear is she fainted.’

‘She has been looking awful pale of late, Mrs Graham,’ Agnes chipped in, standing with her hands clasped tightly in front of her on the other side of the bed. ‘I been that worried about her ’cos she has been looking awful pale, like she’s not been sleeping or something, and she has acted awful strange since the master came home.’

‘She’s only very slight, Agnes,’ Mrs Graham stated, carefully avoiding the emotive subject of Mr Aubrey’s treatment of his wife, while keeping her eyes directed on her patient. ‘Mrs Aubrey is not the strongest of souls. And she eats very sparingly.’

‘You think it was a faint then, Mrs Graham? She fainted, like …’

‘And banged her poor head on the fender, Agnes, yes,’ Mrs Graham agreed.

‘Well, ladies can faint sometimes for all sorts of
reasons
, can’t they, Mrs Graham? For all sorts and sizes of reasons.’

‘I think we should perhaps mind our tongues until the doctor arrives, Agnes, truly I do,’ Mrs Graham said quickly, realising that any minute Agnes would be going too far.

‘Very well. It was only that I was thinking—’

‘Best not to think just now, Agnes, best to just watch and pray.’

The genial, kindly Dr Proctor duly arrived within half an hour, throwing his hat and cape at Wilkinson before climbing the stairs breathlessly, cigar in mouth and Gladstone bag in hand, his stethoscope half hanging out of it. As he was examining the wound to Emmaline’s forehead, she stirred and opened her eyes.

‘Sound,’ he said with some relief. ‘Sound. At least we’re still alive then. Least we’re still drawing breath. How long d’you say she’s been fainted, Mrs Graham?’

‘Over half an hour now, sir,’ Mrs Graham replied, up from her chair and standing at the end of the bed.

‘Long business for a faint, I would say, wouldn’t you?’ Dr Proctor asked himself. ‘I would say so,’ he replied to himself, clearing his throat. ‘We must have actually knocked ourselves out then. Must have knocked ourselves out good and cold.’

He handed his cigar, which too had now gone out, to an astonished Agnes.

‘Hold that for me, girl. Or put it down somewhere,’
he
said. ‘I need to examine this head wound. Can you hear me, Mrs Aubrey?’

Dr Proctor bent over the bed and carefully turned Emmaline’s head towards him so that the wound on her temple was visible.

‘What happened?’ Emmaline asked of no one in a dazed whisper. ‘I don’t remember anything. Why are you here? Who are you?’

‘Took a bit of a bang, Mrs Aubrey. A bang to the head – I’m just going to take a look now. Can you move your fingers and toes, that’s what I want to know now, eh? Can you feel your digits, Mrs Aubrey?’

‘Who are you, please?’ Emmaline said, closing her eyes in pain. ‘What is happening exactly?’

‘I need some warm water in a bowl, girl, and quickly,’ the doctor told Agnes. ‘Quick as you can, girl – get moving.’

Agnes did as she was told, scurrying off as fast as she could to fulfil her errand.

‘I need to know if you can hear me, Mrs Aubrey, there’s a good lady,’ Dr Proctor repeated. ‘Say if you can hear me, that’s all.’

‘I can hear you,’ Emmaline told him in a vague voice. ‘Though you seem very far away, and I feel dreadful.’

‘That’s because of this nasty bump to your head here. Fingers and toes? Move them all right, can you?’

Emmaline moved the fingers of both her hands, which were resting in front of her on the sheet.

‘That’s the thing, good girl,’ Dr Proctor said. ‘Toes as well?’

‘I think so,’ Emmaline agreed. ‘Yes. Yes, I can move my toes as well.’

‘That’s the thing. Jolly good show.’

Once Agnes had returned with the hot water, Dr Proctor set about dressing the bump and bruising to Emmaline’s temple, checked her pulse rate, looked carefully into his patient’s eyes and then pronounced that all was as well as could be expected.

‘Somebody has got word to her husband, I imagine?’ he asked Mrs Graham as they descended the stairs. ‘Nothing to be unduly alarmed about, but someone had best tip him the wink. Don’t want the poor fellow coming home and finding a wounded soldier in his bed.’

Mrs Graham gave Dr Proctor an old-fashioned look before assuring him that she would telephone Mr Aubrey’s office with the news immediately. Then she handed him over to Wilkinson, and disappeared below stairs to arrange for her mistress to have a cup of camomile tea taken up to her, a beverage that the housekeeper believed was second to none when it came to calming the nerves after shock.

‘I wonder what happened,’ Emmaline said to Agnes when her tea had been brought up to her. The maid was sitting as requested by her mistress by her bedside. ‘I really do not remember one thing about it at all.’

‘All I knows is Mr Wilkinson heard what he says was you falling, madam,’ Agnes replied. ‘So everyone thinks you must have fainted out.’

‘I don’t even remember what I was doing.’

‘P’rhaps it was your stays, madam. Mrs Graham was only saying the other day how stays have this habit of making ladies faint.’

‘I was not wearing particularly tight stays, Aggie – that is not my custom.’

‘No, madam, I was forgetting. And I should know really, seeing it’s me what dresses you. Maybe you’re sickening for something. Like we was talking about the other day, when we met that lady being ill in the street.’

‘I hope not, Aggie,’ Emmaline sighed, putting her hand on her maid’s. ‘I do not wish to spend Christmas in bed.’

She heard Julius returning later, heard his melodious voice in the hall as he talked to Wilkinson, then heard what she thought must be the drawing-room door close as she supposed Julius went to partake of a drink before changing for dinner. Except tonight he would be dining by himself, a situation that Emmaline thought he would probably prefer, only to find herself surprised by the sound of a knock on her bedroom door and the appearance of her husband on the threshold.

‘Hello,’ he said, frowning at the sight of Emmaline lying in bed with her maid sitting on a chair beside her. ‘I heard you’d had an accident or something.’

‘You can go now, Aggie,’ Emmaline said. ‘I’m much better now.’

‘Agnes doesn’t have to go on my account,’ Julius said, remaining at the doorway. ‘I just looked in to see what had happened and how you were.’

‘Aggie has matters to attend to, Julius,’ Emmaline replied. ‘Thank you, Aggie. If I need you I’ll ring.’

Agnes left the room, bobbing to Julius as she passed him, before scurrying away down the corridor as if she was being chased.

‘I do wish she wouldn’t run round the place like that,’ Julius complained. ‘I find it most unsettling.’