Focusing on a woman through his misted gaze, Charles began to thrash about in protest until Alice said, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, sir. You remember? You remember me? Agnes’ mother.’
While Robbie held the waving arms in his firm grasp, Alice slipped the nightshirt over Charles’ head; then, as if he had suddenly been drained of all strength, he slumped in Robbie’s hold, and at this the young fellow laid him back on the pillow and quickly pulled the bedclothes over him, saying, ‘The quicker he gets the doctor the better.’
‘He’ll be here shortly.’
They stood looking down on the red sweating face and chest heaving beneath the bedclothes, but when the door was thrust open with almost a defiant air and Agnes hurried to the bed, they both moved aside.
Gazing down on this man who had come to mean so much to her, she said, ‘When Father was like this you sponged him down. Do you think we should?’
‘No,’ Alice cut in abruptly. ‘Best do nothing until the doctor comes.’
‘I’ll be away now.’ Robbie was backing towards the door, and Agnes, turning quickly from the bed, said, ‘Thanks. Thanks, Robbie.’
‘If…if there’s anything I can do, you know where to find me.’ He looked from one to the other.
Again Agnes said, ‘Thanks, Robbie.’ But her mother didn’t speak: as yet she could not acknowledge the emergence of her better self and say a civil word to this despised young fellow. What she did say was, ‘He must have been lying like this f`or a day or two, if not longer, because whatever’s wrong with him, and I’ve got me own ideas about that, it’s nearing its head.’
‘What do you think’s wrong?’
‘Pneumonia.’
‘Pneumonia? Oh, dear God!’
‘Well, it looks pretty like it to me. But it’s no use getting in a state; we can’t do anything until the doctor comes…’
The doctor said, ‘How long has he been like this?’ And when Agnes explained that she didn’t know, he said, ‘He should have been seen to before.’
‘What is it, doctor? I mean, is it…?’
‘It’s pneumonia. He’s got a temperature of a hundred and four, and by the look of him he’s had it for some time. Now as you see, he’s sweating like a bull; all you can do at present is to see that he’s kept dry, sponge him down and change the sheets. By the way, is he a relative of some kind?’
Agnes looked at her mother who returned her glance; then Agnes said, ‘No, he’s a friend of mine. He…he called in to see me and collapsed.’
‘Does he live around here then?’
Again the glances were exchanged; then Agnes said, ‘His name is Mr Charles Farrier, He…he is from Brook Hall.’
‘Farrier? Oh, those Farriers.’ The doctor pouted his lips for a moment. ‘Well, I think his people should be informed.’
Agnes stared at him. He was now clipping his black leather bag shut and when she said softly, ‘Is it as serious as that?’ he turned on her almost roughly, saying, ‘Pneumonia is always serious, miss. You don’t want another death on your hands, do you?’
‘Doctor, I think that was uncalled for.’
He now looked at Alice, who was bristling; then letting out a deep breath, he picked up his bag and, facing Agnes, who had her head bowed almost to her chest, he said, ‘I’m sorry. Yes, it was uncalled for. But I’ve had a rough day. A couple of hours ago I had to sew a man together who had been caught in a winch on the quay. I’ve lost a mother and a baby and I’ve had to tell…and not twenty minutes ago, I had to tell a young woman that she’d soon be a widow. But that’s really no excuse.’ He now walked out of the room and Alice followed him.
Left alone, Agnes sank into a chair by the side of the bed. There was a swelling in her throat that was promising to choke her if she didn’t give it release; and that came as she leant over Charles, whispering, ‘Oh, my love, my love. Don’t let anything happen to you. Please. Please.’
When he opened his eyes and looked at her she said, ‘It’s…it’s me…Agnes. You’re going to be all right.’ Why did she keep saying that?
His lips moved and his head began to roll on the pillow.
‘What is it? What is it, dear?’
She put her face close to his and heard him croak, ‘Reg. Reg.’
‘Yes, my love, I’ll tell Reg. But…but I must tell your people. The doctor says I must inform your people.’
When his head began almost to thrash wildly, she put her hand on his brow and stroked his wet hair back from it, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, dear.’
She wasn’t aware that her mother had come back into the room until Alice spoke saying, ‘You’ll have to get a message to them.’
‘What? Oh, yes. But a letter would take too long.’
‘Well, what about getting a cabman to go along with a note.’
Agnes turned and looked at her mother and thought for a moment before she said, ‘Yes, that would be the quickest way.’ Then closing her eyes tightly and biting hard on her lips, she again bowed her head and almost whimpered now, ‘Oh, Mother. Mother.’
‘Come on. Come on.’ Alice held her by the arms. ‘You’re the strong one and you’ve got to face up to this. I know what you’re thinking. Well, you’d have to meet them some time and I think it’s better on your own ground. And don’t forget he left them because of you. There’s no doubt about that, so he won’t weaken, and don’t you either.’
‘If…if anything should happen to him…’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to him. Now come on, pull yourself together. Be yourself, act as you’ve always done, straightforward, not messing about. Look, you write that note and I’ll get one or the other of them downstairs to send a cab out. And remember, you’ve got the advantage of them: he’s here, and they can’t move him in this state. So hang on to that.’
Six
‘What are we going to do? It’s all through that girl. I can’t possibly go there. He’ll have to be brought home.’
‘My dear, if he has what she says, pneumonia, he won’t be able to be moved, at least not yet. Now come on, my dear. He may not be as bad as this girl makes out. These kind of people always get panicky. Do you recall what it was like downstairs when that girl was suspected of having smallpox and it turned out to be only some kind of skin rash? And although you sent her packing they were jittery for weeks. No control. No control.’
‘Oh, Hugh, I simply can’t. I’d have to recognise her.’
‘Look, Grace’—the Colonel’s voice changed suddenly—‘what you must remember is that you are his mother. All right, he has been a disappointment to you in many ways, not least over Isobel, but if he is so ill then it is your duty to accompany me.’
‘How do we know he is so ill? You have just said these kind of people exaggerate. Look; if you yourself decide he is so ill, then I will come. No matter what my feelings, I will come. But please go on your own now.’
Hugh Farrier looked at his wife, it could not be said with dislike, rather irritation and disappointment. And when he swung round on his heel and marched from the room she joined her delicate white hands together and squeezed them until the pressure became painful.
The tobacconist’s was on the point of closing when the Colonel entered the shop and Arthur Peeble, noting the stance of the customer and how he was dressed, pushed back his thin shoulders and, adopting his best manner, said, ‘What can I do for you, sir?’
Hugh Farrier wetted his lips. ‘You can inform Miss Conway that Colonel Farrier is here,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir, at once. Yes, sir.’
Arthur Peeble had never scampered in his life, it was against his dignity, but he did so now; and when he burst into the kitchen he came to a halt as he saw the occupant was neither Miss Agnes nor her mother, but Miss Jessie. She was filling a stone water bottle and he spluttered at her, ‘There’s…there’s a Colonel downstairs. He wants to see Miss Agnes.’
‘All right. Somebody will be down in a minute.’ She now thrust the kettle ba
ck onto the hob, ran out of the kitchen and along the corridor into her mother’s bedroom, whispering, ‘His father’s come. He’s downstairs.’
‘I’ll go.’ Alice was turning from the bed when she was stopped by Agnes saying, ‘No. Leave this to me.’
In the kitchen she was about to take off her large bib-topped apron, but with a defiant movement she brought her hands from behind her, stroked down the front of it, then went down the stairs and into the tobacconist’s.
There she saw the tall, forbidding looking man who bore no resemblance to his son.
‘Mr Farrier?’ He acknowledged this with a slight motion of his head. ‘Will you come this way, please?’
She lifted the hatch of the counter but did not wait for him to pass her but led him out of the shop to the stairs. She did not pause on the top landing to wait for him, but continued on through the kitchen and so to the sitting room. Here she turned and faced him, saying straight away, ‘You will want to know how your son has come to be in my house.’ She used the term ‘my house’.
He forced himself to say, ‘That would be helpful, madam.’
‘I am miss.’
She watched his eyebrows move up and his jaw stiffen before he repeated, ‘Miss,’ then added, ‘as you wish.’
Their gaze was holding, antagonism deepening the dark hue in the eyes of both. There was somewhat of a long pause before she added, ‘Your son and I have an understanding. We have been friends for some time. I hadn’t seen him for some days and when he called he collapsed. Apparently he had been lying unattended in his room.’
She now watched the man’s lips purse as if he were about to whistle; then they were drawn in between his teeth before he said, ‘What do you mean exactly, miss, by an understanding?’
There was no hesitation before she answered him, ‘Simply that your son has asked me to marry him.’
‘And you have accepted?’
‘Yes, and no. There is a proviso.’
Her answer evidently surprised him, for again his eyebrows moved upwards. And when he said, ‘Yes?’ it was somewhat in the tone of a polite question.
‘I knew there would be strong objection from his family, and the fact that your wife has not accompanied you to see her son, who is very ill, bears out my statement.’
‘His…his mother is not at all well herself at the moment.’
‘That is the reply I would have expected from you. But now you will want to see your son. Will you come this way?’
If he had been surprised with the furnishing and the arrangement in the sitting room, he was more so when he entered the bedroom in which, in a large ornate bed, he saw the gasping form of Charles.
As he moved up the room Agnes said, ‘This is my mother, Mrs Conway.’
This introduction was acknowledged between them by a simple look. Then he was standing by the bedside, saying, ‘Charles.’ When there was no response to the name he bent forward, saying, ‘Charles. This is your father. Do you hear me?’
Charles opened his eyes, moved his lips one over the other a number of times as if attempting to wet them, then said, ‘Oh, yes…Father.’ Then, ‘I…I want—’ His head moved on the pillow before he managed to say, ‘Reg.’
Hugh Farrier straightened his back; then, turning to Agnes, he said, ‘How long has he been in this state?’
‘A matter of hours.’
‘The doctor, what does he say?’
Before Agnes could reply, her mother put in, ‘He says, sir, that your son has pneumonia and his temperature is a hundred and four. He is seriously ill. Is that not evident to you?’
‘Yes, madam, it is very evident to me, and because it is, I feel that he should be at home having proper nursing.’
‘He is receiving proper nursing, all the nursing that is necessary in his case. And I would say to you, if you want a funeral on your hands, take him home.’
Hugh Farrier looked from one to the other. But he hesitated before he said, ‘He could be taken in an ambulance.’
‘That would be your responsibility.’
‘What is the name of the doctor who attended him?’
‘Doctor Bailey; he’s only three streets away.’
‘Thank you. I will take his opinion.’
‘Do that.’
Agnes, who had taken no part in this conversation, now watched the man turn to the bed again and look down on his son before swinging round abruptly and marching from the room.
After exchanging a quick glance with her mother, she hurriedly followed him, to find him hesitating between two doors. She pushed her way in front of him, and once more they were going through the kitchen and down to the shops. But even outside the shop door he didn’t speak to her, simply turned and touched his hat before marching away…
Back in the bedroom, her mother did not turn to her, but continued to wipe Charles’ face down with a wet flannel as she remarked, ‘You’ll have your work cut out to get through that lot, if he’s a sample of them. I can see now how this one wanted to make a move. Talk about stiff-necks.’
‘Agnes.’
This was a whisper from the bed and she bent over Charles, saying, ‘Yes, dear? Yes? It’s Agnes.’
‘Thought…thought it was Father. Just…just want Reg.’
‘Yes, dear, he’ll come soon, very soon. Don’t worry.’
An hour later Hugh Farrier was saying to his wife, ‘I will telegraph Reginald and Henry.’
‘He…he cannot be as bad as that, I mean, in such a short time.’
He wanted to come back at his wife quickly, saying, ‘Don’t be so silly, woman,’ but that would mean giving voice to thoughts that he had suppressed over the years, because no matter what defects there were in her character, he loved her. He had always loved her and likely always would, but at times she could come out with the most inane remarks and her attitude could be so selfish. He could hardly believe he had lived with her all these years without giving vent to his true feelings. What he said was, ‘Pneumonia can develop rapidly from a cold, and from what I saw he was delirious, not himself at all. And I think, my dear, you must go and see him.’
‘No, no.’ She got to her feet. ‘How can you ask such a thing, Hugh! From what you tell me of that girl I couldn’t bear to meet her. Confronting you in a servant’s apron, then talking, as you said, like an educated young woman, and living in that warren of back shops and stairs and odd rooms.’
‘Yes, I said all that, but I also said, dear, that the rooms were surprisingly well furnished and comfortable, especially the bedroom where Charles is.’
‘You have got to bring him home.’
‘At the moment that is impossible,’ His voice was now stiff. ‘The doctor was most emphatic. “Move him,” he said to me, “and that will be at your peril, for he could be as near death as—”’ He omitted the ‘damn it’ but finished, ‘“as would make no difference.”’
‘Well, telegraph Reginald and…and see what he thinks.’
He actually shouted now: ‘Why don’t you take my word for it, woman! Reginald will tell you the same as I have. Charles is seriously ill.’
‘Hugh!’ The tone held a deep reprimand. ‘See what this girl has done; she has caused you to speak to me in a manner that you don’t even use to the servants.’
He had swung round from her now, his hand to his forehead, but he did not apologise; and when he walked slowly and heavily from the room she dropped into a chair and placed her hand tightly across her mouth. How dreadful, dreadful, for him to treat her like that! Never, never in their long married life had he spoken to her in such a way. And all through that girl. Her life was shattered. All their lives would be shattered through that girl. Hugh, too, had been influenced by her, for hadn’t he said he was surprised at her manner and her command of English? For a moment she could see her whole life and home threatened: Charles married to that girl; Reg and Henry condoning it; and her dear, darling Hugh in a way being drawn into her web.
It was almost with a spring that she rose
from the chair and went to the side of the fireplace and pulled heavily on the bell cord.
When Patrick McCann answered her call she said to him, ‘Will you please find the Colonel and ask him to come to the drawing room? And also tell Coleman to get the carriage ready again, immediately!’ The last word was almost rapped out and McCann answered, ‘Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am,’ and departed at the double.
It was a full five minutes later when Hugh Farrier re-entered the drawing room, and as he walked towards his wife he didn’t ask why she had summoned him; and for a moment she didn’t speak either, hoping that he might apologise. When she realised that that would not be forthcoming, not at this moment, anyway, she said, ‘I’ll do as you wish, Hugh. I’ve ordered the carriage. I will visit Charles if you will accompany me.’
He stared at her, but although his expression didn’t alter, his voice was kindly as he said, ‘Yes, my dear; I’ll be pleased to do that.’
She now walked from him, saying, ‘I shall join you in a few minutes.’
She did not see him incline his head, but she knew he was watching her as she walked unhurriedly, with stately step, from the room.
After the door had closed on her he placed his hand on the top of his head and pressed it hard, as if the action would suppress or push back into his subconscious, thoughts that should remain buried for both their sakes, for life was flying towards its end and it was without savour. His days had become empty. But there was a bright light on the horizon. There could be a war, definitely there could be a war, and God speed it. No matter what his age, he would once again be of use. Oh, yes; God speed the war.
Seven
She passed through the shops as a queen might pass a dunghill.
Jessie had brought them upstairs; and having been seized with indignation at seeing the woman pull her skirts tightly away from contact with the furniture as they passed through the kitchen and now in the sitting room, she looked straight at the woman and said in a voice that would have brought an appreciative nod from Miss Travers, ‘Will you please be seated, and I will inform my sister that you have arrived.’ And on this she turned about, not hurrying but walking steadily from the room, leaving Grace Farrier looking at her husband with a question in her eyes which he did not answer in any way, but stood by her chair as she sat down and stiffly waited for…that person.
The Wingless Bird Page 24