Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart

by Veryan, Patricia

  "But—you just said he would be up and about in no time."

  "And so he will, I've no doubt. But just at the moment 'twould be best not to move him. It has been a shock. No denying that. You surely can understand, ma'am?"

  "Yes, well—I do, of course. But—we are not properly settled yet, and—and are simply not equipped to care for an invalid. Besides, if you feel his injuries are of a more serious nature, I don't—"

  "Pooh! No such thing," declared Sheswell. "Ah, I know what it is. You've heard he's been ailing this past month or two. Set your mind at ease, dear ma'am. It's not—ah, contagious. Rather baffling, medically, but likely only some minor disorder, causing dizziness and weak spells. Comes on poor Montclair without warning. A nuisance more than anything else, but—combined with this unhappy business… Better he should be peaceful here, than to haul him all over the countryside."

  Mrs. Starr put in gently, "I will be able to help, Mrs. Henley. And we have Bo'sun Dodman, don't forget."

  Shocked by such treachery, Susan turned to her friend and met a pleading smile that horrified her.

  "Bo'sun—er, Dodman?" echoed Sir Selby, curious.

  "The Bo'sun served on Captain Ephraim Tate's man o'war in the Navy, sir," explained Mrs. Starr, apparently unconscious of Susan's dismay. "The Captain was Mrs. Henley's grandpapa, as you may know. Such a splendid gentleman. When he left the Navy, the Bo'sun followed and was Sails Officer on his East Indiaman until the Captain retired. Bo'sun Dodman is in Mrs. Henley's service nowadays. He has a great knowledge of medicine and would easily qualify to become a full-fledged apothecary."

  "Excellent!" exclaimed the doctor. "The very man to take charge of the case! I vow, it could scarce be better, do you not agree, ma'am?"

  "I do indeed," said Lady Trent. "As if it were planned!"

  "B-but…" stammered Susan.

  "And I do promise, my very gallant lady, that you will be not one penny out of pocket," said Trent.

  "Ugh," muttered his wife, staring at the hearth.

  Welcome tucked in his chin, stretched, and emerged from the coal scuttle to investigate the visitors.

  "The dear kitty," gushed my lady, bending to the little tabby.

  Welcome crouched, stared fixedly at her, backed away, then fled.

  'Oh dear,' thought Susan. "I have no intent to sound unkind," she began, "but—"

  "Unkind! Why, I believe there is not an unkind bone in your body, dear ma'am," said the doctor heartily. "And anyone must have a heart hard as stone to insist upon us carrying that poor young man across country at this hour."

  "Ye-es. But—"

  "Give us a day or two," Sheswell went on, leading her towards the hall. "He's a high-couraged lad, and will give you no trouble, I'll vouch for that."

  And somehow it was all settled. Dr. Sheswell promised to send nurses to Highperch at the very earliest possible moment, and left several bottles of medicine with Mrs. Starr, together with firm instructions as to dosages. Sir Selby bowed low over Susan's hand and told her emotionally that he would "never forget" her heroism. Lady Trent embraced her and said that Mrs. Henley was "a good Christian woman—whatever anyone might say!" And they were gone with a clatter of hooves and rumble of wheels and a handkerchief fluttering from the window of the great carriage.

  Susan walked back into the house, closed the door, and turned on her devoted retainer. "Starry! Did you not see I wanted none of this? Whatever is my brother going to say? A fine pickle you have got me into!"

  Mrs. Starr blinked her pretty eyes and wailed, "Oh, dear Mrs. Sue, I have angered you! I am such a ninny! I could only think of that poor young man, in such pain and not a sound out of him while the doctor tugged him about—so carelessly, I thought. Indeed, I cannot like the man, and it seemed to me—" She broke off, tilting her head. "He is calling, poor soul! I must go!" With a flutter of draperies she ran.

  "Traitor!" cried Susan, who had heard no call. Mrs. Starr moaned, and ran faster.

  Sighing wearily, Susan began to climb the stairs at a slower pace, her thoughts chaotic. 'Whatever am I to say to Andrew?' She put a hand to her aching head. Perhaps he would be delayed and Montclair would be safely removed to his own bed by the time The Dainty Dancer returned. Or she might be able to convince Andy she'd allowed Montclair to remain here hoping to win him to a kindlier attitude. Perhaps he'd even be pleased…

  "Pleased!" Andrew Lyddford threw up one arm in a wild gesture of frustration and paced to the withdrawing room windows again, while Susan watched him unhappily. "I think you've run mad, is what it is," he raged. "Why in the name of all that's holy did you allow the fellow in the house?"

  It was dusk and the room was beginning to grow dark; Deemer came in and began to move quietly about, lighting candles.

  "He is very ill, love," said Susan desperately. "It will be many weeks before—"

  "Many weeks'?" he roared. "I understood you to have been told three days ago it was just for a day or two! And why are you looking so hagged, I'd like to know? Where are the nurses Trent was to send?"

  "Dr. Sheswell cannot get the ones he wants. It seems they're working on urgent cases elsewhere and he has had a horrid time trying to find suitable women. Now he is indisposed himself, and there is an outbreak of mumps among the servants at Longhills, so that the Trents are fearful of sending any of their people, and—"

  "Good God, what stuff! Is the village depopulated? Are there no willing nurses at—at Tewkesbury, or Gloucester? Indisposed, indeed! Only look at you—worn to a shade! By Jehoshaphat, Sue, you've let yourself be properly hornswoggled! Selby Trent is known for a clutchfist. He likely had no intent of sending anyone and—"

  "But he has been most generous, Andy," she interposed hurriedly. "He has sent us a carte blanche for all the village shops. Starry and Martha have driven in twice, and we have plenty of supplies, and—"

  "To Jericho with his supplies! Get this pest out of our house is what we must do! And speedily! Aye, I know you think me a regular Captain Stoneheart, but tell me this, Madam Gullible—if his doctor was so sure he would be up and about in no time, why does he still lie up there looking like a death's head?"

  "It is a good question, dear Master Andrew," said Mrs. Starr, hurrying into the withdrawing room holding a tray on which was a plate piled high with fragrant biscuits and muffins. "But do pray keep your voice down. The poor young man is in such misery."

  Instinctively reaching for one of Mrs. Starr's excellent shortbread biscuits, Lyddford's hand paused and he looked up sharply. "Is the fellow conscious?"

  "Sometimes, but not for very long, praise be. These past two days he's been out of his head off and on."

  "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, staring at her in horror.

  Susan put in hurriedly, "But Dr. Sheswell said he will soon be well and there is absolutely no fear of real danger."

  "Aye, ma'am," said Bo'sun Dodman, coming to join them. "Well, I'd be easier could Mr. Montclair get some proper rest, is all. Martha says he has little sleep. He's weak as a cat, his spirits are at low ebb, and he's worn to the bone with pain."

  "That don't surprise me," said Lyddford glumly. "His head's broke, his hand's broke, his leg's broke. He ain't likely to be feeling top o' the morning, is he? What baffles me is why my sister allowed him to be foisted off on us."

  "Simple kind-hearted compassion, sir," sighed Mrs. Starr, giving Susan a wan and sympathetic smile.

  "Simple's the word," grumbled Lyddford. "Trent has access to unlimited funds. Certainly he can provide for his kinsman better and easier than can we. Dammitall, he had no— Oh, your pardon, ladies, but d'ye realize I've work to be done, and the house swarming with invalids and visitors?"

  Susan did not at once reply. In her ears was a faint voice pleading, 'Could you… hold my hand… just for a minute?' He'd only asked it of her because he dreaded to be left alone in that awful pit… Or perhaps from the instinctive need of a person close to death to reach out to another human presence. Despite the fact that they despised each othe
r she had tried to help him. And yet… She sighed.

  Watching her tired face Mrs. Starr gave Lyddford a rare frown and said defensively, "In point of fact the Trents have not come once since they left Montclair here, Master Andy." She started out of the room, pausing to add over her shoulder, "And his affianced bride has never so much as set foot across our threshold, which is pretty behaviour if you was to ask me!"

  "Even so, you are perfectly right, Andy," said Susan. "The responsibility was mine, and I suppose I have been very silly. It's none of our bread and butter, after all."

  "You've a kind heart, Mrs. Sue," declared Dodman with a fond smile. "And Mr. Montclair's young and seems to have kept himself trim enough. It's not as if he was smashed up inside, or his back broke. Likely he'll do very well, just as his doctor says. Then the Trents will be grateful, and maybe—"

  Deemer came into the room. Lyddford glanced at him enquiringly.

  "A Mrs. Bentley is here, sir. Says she was sent by Dr. Sheswell."

  "Oh, thank heaven," murmured Susan.

  "It's past time," grunted Lyddford. "Come on, Bo'sun George. We'll get as much work done as we can this evening. I've another cargo to ship day after tomorrow."

  Mrs. Bentley, a short rather square woman, waited in the servants' hall. Susan's first impression of her was of greyness. Her hair was grey, her eyes were pale and watery, the shawl pinned over the dun-coloured coat was grey, and there was a musty air about her. But she bobbed a curtsy and said respectfully that Dr. Sheswell sent his apologies for the long delay and that she would do her best to help the "poor gent."

  There was an air of tragedy to the last two words. Susan eyed her uneasily and asked for her experience. It was broad and her references were excellent. It was silly to be prejudiced against the woman only because she seemed of a rather mournful disposition. Sheswell obviously thought highly of her, and besides, it would be a relief to be able to get a good night's sleep for a change. She summoned Martha to conduct Mrs. Bentley to the small room they'd readied for her arrival, and went up to look in on Montclair.

  He lay as she'd left him, thin and bearded, bearing little resemblance to the man she'd struck with the dustpan brush. His right hand and left leg were splinted, his head heavily bandaged. Somewhere between sleep and waking, his eyes were closed, but his left hand plucked restlessly at the coverlet and he muttered unintelligibly, his head moving in a feeble but endless tossing.

  Mrs. Starr, seated beside the bed, took a cloth from the bowl of lavender water and bathed his face.

  Susan whispered, "Does he seem any better to you, Starry?"

  The little woman hesitated. "If you was to ask me, Mrs. Sue, he was doing better last Sunday."

  "So I thought, though I dared not tell my brother that. Well, at least a nurse has come, so the responsibility is off our hands, thank goodness."

  The thought of an uninterrupted night's sleep was luxury, and after saying her prayers, Susan snuggled down gratefully. The fog had come up again, and a profound silence enveloped the old house, blotting out even the slap of the water against the dock. The hush invited slumber, and she was so tired that she fell asleep immediately after blowing out her candle.

  She could not tell what woke her, but she was suddenly, heart-stoppingly, wide awake, and listening. The quiet was so intense it was almost a sound in itself. She sat up, holding the bedclothes around her, her eyes trying to pierce the dark. Had Montclair cried out, perhaps? But, of course, if he should, Mrs. Bentley was here now. Martha slept next to the nursery, and would go to Priscilla at once if the child suffered one of her nightmares. Perhaps, she thought, it had just been a bad dream… Another moment, and she would lie down again and—

  A horse neighed loudly.

  Susan's heart leapt into her throat. Pennywise and Pound Foolish were elderly and seldom woke at night. Priscilla's pony, Deemer's old cob, and the Bo'sun's chestnut gelding were in the paddock on the other side of the house. Andy's big grey, Ghost, was in the stables, as was her own little mare, Pewter. And the neigh had sounded as if the horse stood on the front lawn. Who could possibly be calling at this hour of the night?

  She slipped from bed and ran to peep through the window curtains. The three-quarter moon shone through a veil of mist, but there was sufficient light for her to see if anyone was outside. There was no horse on the drive. Nor had she heard the hoofbeats of a departing rider. But there was no doubting she'd heard that neigh.

  The minutes crept past. Her feet were very cold and she began to shiver and wish she'd put on her dressing gown, but she would not leave the window to get it. Perhaps it had been one of the horses in the paddock. All this worrying must have made her nerves—

  The mists on the drive swirled. She gave a gasp as a dark shape rose, seemingly from the ground. Only a glimpse she had—then he was gone, but she was sure it was a man, and equally sure that he'd been watching the house. She flew to the bed, snatched up her dressing gown, and was in the corridor in an instant. A dark figure loomed before her, and she came near to fainting from fright.

  Fully dressed, Lyddford said cheerily, "What's to do?"

  "Oh, how you… frightened me!" she gasped.

  "Who did you think I was?" he said, grinning. "Attila the—"

  "I saw someone," she panted. "On the drive. A man. He—he was watching the house, Andy!"

  "Damn," he grunted and ran to the stairs, Susan following.

  Flinging open the front door, Lyddford sprang down the steps, pistol in hand. He ran a short way, stopped in a listening attitude, then came back. "Nobody," he muttered. "You're sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  He restored the pistol to his coat pocket. "Didn't recognize him, I suppose?"

  "No. But he was tall. Oh, Andy, you don't think whoever tried to kill Montclair—"

  He put an arm about her. "Don't be a peagoose, Mrs. H. There are a dozen possibilities. Have you forgot those varmints you saw in the woods? Old Selby Trent might have set 'em to see if we're murdering his precious nephew. Or some thief might be after our boat; a gypsy might be after the horses; some bird-witted traveller might have become lost and mistaken the cottage for a tavern… Back to bed for you, my girl!"

  But Susan noticed that for all his bantering tone, he shot the bolts on the front door for the first time since they'd moved here, and as she walked up the stairs, she heard him repeat the process with the back door.

  Chapter 10

  Mrs. Starr removed Welcome from her shopping basket and adjusted her left mitten. "I shall try if I can borrow Mrs. Edgeworth's new book so that you can read it to us tonight, Mrs. Sue. I'll be back as quickly as I can," she added worriedly. "I don't like leaving you alone, with poor Mr. Montclair doing so poorly. And—That Woman… !" Her lips tightening, she threw a grim look at the stairs.

  There was no love lost between her and their new nurse. It had taken Mrs. Starr less than a day to pronounce that Mrs. Bentley was lazy. The next morning she had complained that not once had she seen the nurse do any more for her patient than to give him the medicine Dr. Sheswell had sent along with her. "There he was at nine o'clock last evening, poor gentleman, tossing and turning and so hot and uncomfortable," she'd told Susan indignantly. "And her, snoring in the chair! A fine nurse she is! I declare Señor Angelo could do better!"

  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?"