Logic of the Heart

by Patricia Veryan

  “You never mean—all the way back to Longhills? In his condition? My dear ma’am, he’d be much better off was you to take him to Highperch.”

  Aghast, she cried, “That is not possible! I am not able to care for an invalid! Besides, I refuse to take the responsibility! He must be cared for by his doctor, and—”

  “But I understood you’d a doctor on your staff,” he countered with a sly grin.

  “Bo’sun Dodman is away with my brother. And Montclair needs competent medical help at once! No, sir. You must take him to Longhills!”

  Montclair moaned faintly.

  Sir Dennis said in a shocked tone, “You surprise me, Mrs. Henley, begad but y’do. Poor fella lying here in misery, and you refuse him house room. Cruel.”

  “Cannot blame the lady,” said Trent. “Montclair has treated her badly, and she takes her revenge.”

  “What a horrid thing to say,” Susan flared, wrapping her bandage tightly around Montclair’s heavy head. “Hold him up a little please, Deemer. What do you think, señor?”

  Angelo trod closer and looked down at Montclair with lips pursed. “Very not goodly,” he declared. “Mostly dyings is. Angelo say—”

  “Be bled white by the time we get him to Longhills,” put in Sir Dennis gloomily.

  “I am afraid that the long journey,” said Deemer, “and—” He checked, glancing at Trent. “I fear it might indeed be the end of him, Mrs. Sue.”

  Susan bit her lip. “You could use our phaeton, Mr. Trent,” she offered hopefully.

  “If you insist, ma’am.” He shrugged. “But it had as lief be a hearse.”

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ thought Susan. ‘Whatever am I to do?’

  * * *

  Dr. Sheswell was a big untidy man somewhere between forty-five and fifty, with puffy blue eyes and a squat nose that seemed too small for his face. His brown receding hair was brushed forward but had fallen into clumps which revealed his bald head. He came stamping into the withdrawing room of Highperch Cottage on this foggy evening, put down his bag, and scanned the larcenous widow. She wore a rose muslin gown that became her willowy figure. A dainty lace cap was set on the thick black hair that fell straight and shining behind her shoulders. He thought it as alluring as it was unconventional. She had risen when he entered the room and stood watching him, tiredness in her face, a scrape on her chin, but her eyes cool and unwavering before his bold stare. He thought, ‘No simpering miss, this one. Old Selby’s got a fight on his hands!’

  Susan wished Andy was at home, and wondered why she so disliked this man. “May I offer you a cup of tea, doctor?” she asked courteously.

  “You may, ma’am,” he answered in his loud voice. “But I’d as lief have something stronger.”

  She looked at him sharply, then moved to the credenza, poured sherry into one of the glasses on the tray, and carried it to him. The doctor sat on the old brown sofa and raised his glass. “Here’s to a speedy resolution of young Montclair’s problems.”

  “You think he will recover, then?” she asked, returning to her chair.

  “Not a doubt, m’dear ma’am,” he said with a firm nod. “Terrible thing, I grant you. Terrible. Young fella struck down. Nigh murdered on his own brother’s lands! Devil take me if ever I heard of such a thing! But—he’s young. Resilient. Strong-willed chap, y’know. Type who heals fast. Up and about in no time, I’d not be surprised!”

  Susan stared at him. When she’d left her bedchamber so that Sir Selby and his wife could be private with their nephew and the physician, it had seemed to her that Montclair was very ill indeed. The shock of the blow to the head was of itself enough, she’d thought, to have put a period to the poor man, and when one added the fracture of his left leg just above the ankle, and the despair he obviously felt due to his broken hand, she would have been less than surprised had the doctor warned her to prepare for the worst.

  “But—I had understood—” she began in a rather confused way.

  “Must confess I admire you, ma’am,” he boomed. “Yes, by Jove! Admire’s the only word.” He sampled his wine again. His brows rose and he held the glass up and looked at it with lips pursed. “Damme if I don’t admire this sherry as well!” He slanted a narrowed glance at her. “D’ye chance to know where y’brother buys it?”

  At such a time the question seemed so trite and irrelevant. Impatient, Susan replied, “I could not say. And why you should admire us for taking in a badly hurt gentleman when our home was nearest to—”

  “Come, come, pretty lady,” he intervened with a jocose grin. “Everybody knows there’s a—ah, dispute ’twixt y’brother and the Montclairs. To climb down into that hell-hole as you did was passing brave! And then to bring the unfortunate fella here was a splendid thing to do, so it was.” He gave her a knowing wink. “I’m very sure Sir Selby and his lady are damned near overcome with gratitude.”

  She stiffened, resenting the implication. Besides, they had not seemed at all grateful. In fact, when they’d swept in at the door an hour ago, Lady Trent had looked through her as though she’d not even been alive, and they’d both followed Deemer upstairs without so much as one word of thanks. “We did as best we could, but—”

  “Did damned well,” he interposed, not bothering to curb his language before this scheming adventuress. “Montclair would have died before the night was out had you not found him. And you did right not to try and set his leg.”

  “Well, so I thought, but Sir Selby and his wife did not seem—”

  “Ah, you must not mind their manners.” He leaned to pat the hand on her knee and said confidingly, “Just their way. Worried, you know. Fairly dote on the boy.”

  Of course they would have worried. And she had not been very polite to Lady Trent when they’d met on the stairs at Longhills; she could hardly expect the woman to fall on her neck now, especially if they really judged her claim to Highperch to be fraudulent.

  She drew her hand away. “I quite understand,” she said, wondering if they meant to move Montclair tonight. “It must have been a great shock. And to see him in such pain—but I expect you will have given him laudanum.”

  “Don’t hold with it,” he said sternly. “Saw too many young fellas fall under its spell during the war. Drugs. Bad business.”

  Taken aback, she said, “But—surely it must have been very trying when you set his broken limbs. Anything that would give him some relief—”

  “Tush, ma’am. D’ye take the boy for a weakling? Do assure you he ain’t. Now don’t you worry your pretty head. You ain’t responsible.”

  His cunning little eyes reminded her of a bird of prey. Her bruised knees ached; indeed, she seemed to ache all over, and she was very weary. She thought, ‘You’re overtired and being silly. Dr. Sheswell takes care of most of the best families hereabouts and is a skilled physician who knows what is appropriate for his patient.’ Even so, she said, troubled, “I found him, sir. I feel responsible.”

  “Very commendable of you, Mrs. Henley!” Sir Selby was coming down the stairs, one arm about his wife who looked distraught and held a handkerchief to her eyes.

  Susan and the doctor stood and Lady Trent left her husband and flew to throw her arms about Susan and embrace her amidst a torrent of tears and thanks. Mrs. Henley was the bravest creature in the world! She had, single-handedly, saved their beloved nephew! She had risen above petty disputes and arguments, and gone like a Good Samaritan to the aid of the afflicted.

  Embarrassed, Susan drew back, only to have her hand taken, bowed over, and kissed by a much moved Sir Selby. “My very dear lady,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “There are no words! But we will find some—ah, tangible reward for your courage and generosity, I do assure you!” He turned away, and blew his nose.

  “Whatever we did,” said Susan, irritated, “was not done with an eye to reward, sir.”

  “Spoken as a true Christian,” trilled my lady, clasping her hands and regarding Susan with a misty smile. “And to have put poor dear Valentine in
to your very own bedchamber! Compassion! Self-sacrifice! Oh, you are too good—too forgiving, my dear!”

  “Yes, indeed,” affirmed her spouse, mopping at his brimming eyes. “I hope you will not hesitate to call on us, dear ma’am, should you find yourself short of beds or bedding. Meanwhile, we will make every effort to see that the least possible burden falls on your shoulders. The good doctor will arrange for nurses around the clock, and—”

  “But—but,” gasped Susan, appalled, “you will want to take Montclair home, sir.”

  “Take him—home?” Lady Trent regarded Susan as though she’d said something sacrilegious. “You cannot mean it!”

  “No, no. Not to be thought of,” interjected the doctor, his face suddenly very grave. “He is in no condition to bear the move. Not for a day or two, at least.”

  “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 eas
ier 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 other 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.