Frances looked at the sick man, fearful that he might have been distressed by hearing raised voices, but he was asleep. Or, at least, his eyes were fast shut. As she looked, his eyelids quivered. She had seen children’s eyelids quiver like that when they were pretending to be asleep and knew they were being watched.
Mr John Manning said, ‘It looks all right, but ... we must consider! Hugo, this must be kept quiet until it is looked into.’
Benson was scratching his head. ‘That’s not the Major’s, is it?’ He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘What the ‘ell is going on?’
‘What, indeed!’ said Mr Manning, taking charge of the situation. ‘What exactly are you doing here, with that woman at your feet? And what is the meaning of your presence, Miss Chard?’
CHAPTER TWO
It was not often that Frances was required by Mrs Broome at the dinner table, but that night there were several guests, so Frances was required to balance the numbers. The fading hand of decay might be at work elsewhere at Furze Court, but by candlelight the dining-room still looked beautiful. Family portraits hung the walls. Over the mantelpiece was a full-length portrait of Richard Broome with two of his dogs at his feet; his brother smiled at him from the background.
Frances, seated between the vicar and Dr Kimpton’s nephew, was furthest from the warmth of the fire, but in a good position to inspect the portrait.
The newly qualified doctor, Theo Green, followed the direction of her eyes, and wondered aloud which artist Hugo Broome would choose to paint him when he succeeded to the title. ‘Although I expect Maud will want a say in the matter. It’s a pity they won’t have any money, but there’s no denying they’ll make a handsome couple.’
Theo was a shrewd young man with a brusque manner. His training had been sound, but he had yet to learn how to please influential hypochondriacs like Mrs Broome. He had met Frances several times before, when he had been called in to treat minor ailments amongst the staff. She liked him well enough, and had once or twice speculated on the warmth of his regard for her.
She smiled at him. ‘Have I been neglecting you? Forgive me. I am quite in disgrace, you know, for interfering in the sick-room.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Theo, attacking his food with the energetic movements characteristic of him. ‘Something had to be done. The way the sick-room was being run was a scandal. If my uncle had not been so unwell lately ...’ he looked across the table to where Dr Kimpton was trying to smother a cough. ‘He did mention it to Mrs Broome, you know, but it is so difficult to get trained staff to come out here, that nothing was done. Nurse Moon has departed, I assume?’
‘Oh, yes. Mr Hugo saw to that. She was packed off back to Lewes on the next train. I don’t know how they are going to manage without her; for all that Benson wants to nurse his master on his own, he is not able to watch around the clock. The other agency nurse seems to spend more of her time in the village or the servants’ hall than in the sick-room.’
‘My uncle asked me to bring the midwife from the village to sit with him tonight, so that Benson could get some rest. You have no experience of nursing, yourself?’
Frances shook her head. She was feeling subdued. The last thing she wanted was to have attention drawn to herself — or her references. For the umpteenth time she resolved to keep herself to herself, to act with decorum at all times, and never ever to become embroiled in the affairs of the family again. Nevertheless, she could not help wondering about the new Will which Hugo had picked up and which Mr Manning had taken into safe keeping. If she had understood the matter correctly, this new Will left everything to Maud. It was evident from the doctor’s remarks that he knew nothing of this. Did Maud know?
Frances looked down the table, to where Maud’s head was bent close to Hugo’s. Maud was all vivacity this evening. She sparkled, she bent her long white neck coquettishly, she flashed her fan and showed her sharp white teeth, and all this display was for Hugo. There was no doubt that Maud was as much taken with Hugo as he was with her.
Were his attentions serious? Would she indeed be the next mistress of the Court? Frances had had plenty of time to form an opinion of Maud’s character, and to observe the selfishness which was Miss Broome’s chief characteristic. Maud treated Agnes as if she were of rather less importance than a dog. Frances would have no future at the Court if Maud became Lady Broome.
Did Isabella know that she had been disinherited? It did not look as if she did. She sat between her uncle, Mr Manning, and Dr Kimpton, and she smiled dreamily to herself.
The vicar cleared his throat. It was time for Frances to turn her attention to him.
‘I hear the new Lord Broome has lost the will to live,’ he said. He was a heavy-set man, humourless but conscientious. ‘A distaste for food, the doctors say. Ah, well. No doubt his crimes weigh heavily upon him. Dr Kimpton tells me he has occasional intervals of consciousness. We must see what we can do. We will wrestle with his soul and, God willing, bring him to repentance before he goes to meet his Maker.’
‘What crimes?’ said Frances. ‘Forgery? Rape? Murder?’
The vicar turned his eyes on her and frowned. ‘It is not seemly to speak of such matters with levity.’
‘No. I am sorry.’
‘A pity that the great-uncle’s fortune was left to Gavin, and not to Richard, or we might have got a new organ in the church. Gavin did not have his brother’s frank, open temperament. Even before the affair of the lodge keeper’s wife ... poor woman! ...’ He shook his head, and sighed. ‘After that, of course, he was ostracised. If it had not been for his rank, and the esteem in which his brother was held, I really believe Gavin might have had to stand his trial. I am amazed — no, astounded — that he has had the nerve to return here, but at least it will give me an opportunity of urging the value of repentance on him.’ He helped himself to some more turbot.
As soon as Frances was able to turn back to Theo, she asked him to tell her what it was that Lord Broome had done to deserve the vicar’s disapproval.
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Theo shortly. ‘A pack of lies. I wasn’t here at the time — I was in my final year up at Bartholomew’s in London — but I heard about it. I thought it would all have been forgotten by now. Perhaps it would, if Gavin hadn’t had to step into his brother’s shoes. Believe me, Gavin’s not like that. He never courted popularity, of course. He would never put up with shoddy service, and the servants didn’t like him because he was always on at Richard to retrench. Richard had no money of his own, but you wouldn’t have thought so, from the way he lived. Take it from me, Gavin’s all right. He was always kind to me. Not just carelessly kind like Richard, but putting himself out to help. Like teaching me how to tie a fly for trout-fishing, and advising me on buying my first hunter. And he taught me to box a bit, too, for I was undersized and clumsy as a schoolboy.’
‘He hardly looks strong enough.’
‘His looks are deceptive. He’s tough, and quick-witted. No one here had the brains to appreciate him. They all thought Richard was marvellous because he was big and handsome and had never read a book in his life. Gavin was bookish, and invested his money cleverly; they say he doubled the fortune he inherited. And yet he had such a droll way of expressing himself ... Sorry, I’m getting maudlin.’ He thumped the table. ‘I wish I knew what was wrong with him. It’s not like him to give up like this. Why is he starving himself to death? Surely not because of what happened last summer?’
‘He’s not eating or drinking what the nurses provide because he doesn’t like the yellow powder you doctors have ordered for him.’
‘What yellow powder? To be put on his food? There is a meat extract which my uncle recommended, but nothing else that I can think of.’
‘Something with a burning taste. Acid. It is yellowish in colour and quite horrible. I don’t blame him for refusing anything adulterated with that stuff.’
The doctor looked disquieted, but had to suspend his conversation, for Mrs Broome had given the signal for the ladie
s to rise from the table. Theo waited for the port to come his way, and thought that, if his uncle did not object, he would like to pay a visit to the sick-room later that night.
*
Mrs Moon, dismissed from her post at Furze Court, was followed home to Lewes. She did not suspect anything. She was acquainted with the man who followed her, but she was too bound up in her own miseries to notice that he boarded the compartment next to hers at Furze Halt, or that soft but heavy footstep followed her through the streets to the cottage in which she lived.
The man in the checked overcoat paused when he reached her door, and glanced up and down the street. Then he knocked with the head of his hickory stick, and was let in.
‘You muffed it,’ he said.
‘Couldn’t help it. That governess came in, and knocked me out.’
‘It was the drink that knocked you out, not her. We don’t like people making a muff of things.’
‘You should have seen I got another chance, if you’ve got such a pull at the Court.’
‘You had plenty of chances.’
‘I did everything you said. I put that yellow stuff on everything he had to eat and drink, and I saw that no one else fed him or went too close to him, except for Benson, and he was too stupid to see what was going on. You only had to wait, and he’d have starved himself to death.’
‘Where’s the bottle of the yellow stuff?’
She handed it over. ‘Now for me money,’ she said. ‘Payment on delivery, you said.’
‘This is it,’ said the man, and swung his stick at her head. She cried out, but only once. The thud of the stick on a woman’s body was not an uncommon sound in that poor area of the town. Presently the man stopped. He searched her cottage in case she had written anything down, and then left. No one saw him go, except for a pale child in a doorway, who admired his checked overcoat.
*
Even in 1881 it was commonly believed that women were impractical, fanciful creatures who filled their heads with romantic nonsense. Men, having had the advantage of a better education, and having been endowed with a superior brain, were supposed to be practical, and impatient of fantasy. It is therefore remarkable that while Miss Chard, who was occasionally guilty of reading romances, dismissed Benson’s talk of murder and poison as nonsense, the level-headed London-trained doctor did not.
Dr Kimpton was still coughing by the time the port had gone round twice; when Theo suggested that he should save his uncle trouble by making the routine visit to the sick-room on his behalf, the offer was gratefully accepted.
So Theo paid his visit, and listened to everything that Benson had to say, and while laughing at himself for doing so, looked carefully around the sick-room for any sign of the yellow powder of which Benson and Miss Chard had complained. He found none. Frances’ interference might have raised eyebrows in the servants’ hall, but it had been effective in drawing the attention of Mr Manning and Hugo to the state of neglect which reigned in the sick-room. Gone were the dirty crocks, sheets and dressings. The room had been swept and dusted, a fire had been lighted in the grate, and although the sick man slept lightly, he had little or no fever. Mrs Peach, the midwife from the village, had arrived, and was all set to take the night watch. Theo came to the conclusion that Benson was over-tired, and jealous of the nurses. That his wild accusations of murder and poison were, in short, due to fatigue.
Only, as he went out of the sick-room he thought he heard footsteps scurrying away. Had someone been listening outside the door? That was something else which Benson had complained about. The Gallery was badly lit, but empty. Theo stepped to the windows. A few flakes of snow twisted past the panes. A door closed softly at the end of the Gallery, and he turned sharply, wanting to see who might be spying on him. There was no one there.
Spying on him? What nonsense! Servants ... natural curiosity ... no trace of any yellow powder ... all in the imagination!
The family always gathered in the music-room after dinner. This was a long, narrow apartment occupying the whole of the west side of the Court, which had oriel windows overlooking the park on one side, and the cloisters within. Frances was often summoned to sit with the family in the evenings because, being a proficient musician, she could accompany Maud on the piano if that lady wished to sing, or soothe Mrs Broome’s nerves by playing some of the melodies of her youth to her. No one ever suggested that Frances might entertain the company in her own right, although she had a prettier voice than Maud.
Lady Amelia sat close to the fireplace, playing patience. Mrs Broome complained gently to Dr Kimpton about her nervous spasms, while managing to ignore his appalling cough. Mr Manning and Hugo had their heads close together by the bureau, although now and then Hugo turned his head to watch Maud, who was walking up and down the room with Isabella. The vicar voiced the question in everyone’s mind when Theo appeared.
‘How is he?’
‘Asleep.’
There was an almost audible sigh of disappointment from everyone. Theo made his way to where Miss Chard was sitting over some tapestry work. He thought she looked far more of a lady than Maud, who was over-dressed and whose manners were not pleasing; or Isabella, who had nothing but a certain youthful prettiness to commend her. There was a reddish tinge to the heavy coils of Miss Chard’s hair which offset her clear skin and grey eyes to perfection ... or so the doctor thought. Her movements had a grace which Maud could only imitate. She had a warmth of personality which aroused positive feelings of admiration or dislike wherever she went. Theo was beginning to think that although her youth, beauty and forcefulness were a handicap to her as a governess, such qualities might well grace the wife of an ambitious young doctor. He sat down beside her.
‘Asleep?’ she repeated. ‘Not shamming?’
‘No, really asleep. He ate a custard tonight, Benson says. There’s a loyal fellow for you. He’s worn himself out, looking after his master. But if he goes around telling everyone that his master is in imminent danger of being murdered in his bed, he’ll get into trouble. I did think of ordering him out of the sick-room, till he’s had a good rest.’
‘No, no. That would be too cruel. You mustn’t separate them now. Besides, you could see how Benson came to think such a thing. I saw him pull Nurse Moon off Lord Broome with my own eyes. She was lying on top of him, in a drunken stupor. There was a bolster over Lord Broome’s face. I assume that she had been trying to make some adjustments to the bedclothes, but, being drunk, had fallen, and in falling had grabbed at him and pulled him off the bed with her. It is quite true that the accident could have been fatal. I think Benson has every right to be angry. But to talk of murder ... no. Except ...’
She suspended her needle. It was one of the polite fictions of life at the Court that Mrs Broome was embroidering a new set of covers for the chairs in the music-room, but in fact the work was carried out by whoever happened to be governess at the time.
‘You are thinking of Benson’s talk of mysterious midnight visitors? Of missing keys, and doors that open and shut by themselves?’
‘Good gracious, no. There’s nothing wrong in members of his family calling into the sick-room to see how he does, is there? And as for the door; well, it is true that it doesn’t shut properly, but there is nothing mysterious about a defective lock.’
‘Then why are you worried? You have been worried all evening, haven’t you?’
‘I hardly know why. Each incident can be explained away, except ...’
‘You are thinking of the yellow powder. I found no trace of it. I can assure you that my uncle has never ordered any such thing, and neither did the doctor from Lewes. I was present at their consultation, although naturally I was not allowed to open my mouth.’
‘Yet I saw it. I tasted it. It did exist. Have you asked the servants about it? If food is sent away untouched from the schoolroom, it is usually eaten by whichever of the footmen collects the tray. If you ask in the kitchens, you may be able to find someone who has tasted and rejected the dishes se
nt up to your patient.’
‘He is not my patient. He is my uncle’s. And I can’t go around upsetting the servants asking that sort of question. Nurse Moon must have had some pet preparation of her own, which she used on her own initiative. Now that she is gone, and if Gavin really has started to eat again, we should see a marked improvement in his condition. In fact, if it were not for his arm, I would be inclined to quarrel with my uncle’s diagnosis. I think Gavin might well pull through.’
‘Oh, I am so glad.’ She spoke on impulse, as always.
‘Why? What is he to you?’ Could Theo be jealous?
She bent her head over her work, blushing. ‘Nothing,’ she said, in a strained tone. ‘Only, he seems always to have treated Agnes kindly, and I think my job here might be more secure if he lived, than if his cousin inherited.’
The tea tray was brought in, and Frances had to leave Theo in order to pour out for Mrs Broome. A governess’s time was not her own. But as she passed cups and made polite responses to whatever remarks were addressed to her, she longed for the evening to be over, so that she might be alone. Her adventure in the sick-room had disturbed her for more reasons than one; she had good reason to fear scrutiny of her private life by her employers and knew she had drawn unwelcome attention to herself by stepping out of her sphere of activity in the schoolroom. That alone would have been enough to upset her, but there was more, far more than that for her to think about.
She was aware that there are some men — and women, too — who exercise a fascination for the opposite sex independent of good looks or even of good character. She herself had this gift of attraction, and had watched with mingled pleasure and alarm while certain men of her acquaintance had made fools of themselves over her. When she had in her turn made a fool of herself over a man, she had known that she was only following a path trodden by other women before her. Walter Donne had been Frances’ physical opposite; tall, dark, and swarthy of complexion. She had felt his attraction from the moment they met, but had withstood his wooing for many months because she could not believe that he was serious in his intentions towards her. The affair had ended disastrously for her. Walter had failed her in every way.
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