by Betty Neels
The wood was narrow at that point, and she emerged finally, oozing blood from the scratches which covered her hands and arms and legs. Her dress was torn, as were her tights, and her hair hopelessly tangled, hung in an untidy curtain down her back. She swept it out of her eyes and paused to look around her. Bobby was whining now, but there was no sign of Pauline. She shouted at the top of her voice and started down the steep slope to the river. There were willows and bushes along its banks; she found the child within inches of the water, lying white and silent with Bobby beside her. He greeted her with a joyful bark, bent to lick the little girl’s face, and made no effort to run away as she fastened his lead before kneeling beside Pauline.
There was a bruise on Pauline’s forehead and a few beads of blood. Florina, her heart thumping with fear, picked up a flaccid hand and felt for a pulse. It was steady and quite strong, so she put the hand down and began to search for other injuries. There were plenty of scratches but, as far as she could tell, no broken bones. She made Pauline as comfortable as she could, tied Bobby’s lead to a nearby tree-stump, and tried to decide what to do. She glanced at her watch; it was barely half an hour since they had started their mad race across the fields. She thought it unlikely that either man would have noticed it, for they had been far too occupied with their argument. Pauline was concussed, she thought, but even if she regained consciousness, she didn’t dare to let the child walk back to the car; it must be the best part of a mile away. She could only hope that the farm worker would tell someone when he got back to the village, better still, he might go to the police station. This hope was instantly squashed; there was no room to turn on that particular stretch of the road, and they would have to manhandle the car to one side so that the Land Rover could squeeze past. In the village the police could be informed and someone sent to take the car away; it had received by far the most damage.
She sat down by Pauline and lifted the child’s head very gently on to her lap. They might be there for hours; even if the men noticed that the Mini was standing there and no one was in it, they might have thought that they had walked back to the village.
Which was exactly what they had thought; it was almost half an hour before they had got the car on to the side of the road and the Land Rover proceeded on its way, and it was pure chance that the driver saw Nanny walking down the road to get some eggs from the farm. ‘They’ll be back now,’ he observed. ‘I didn’t pass them on the road.’
‘But they aren’t here. Did you see them get out of the car? They weren’t hurt?’
‘No, luv, but that little old dog was kicking up a fine row, ran off, he did, though lord knows where.’ He started the engine. ‘They’ll turn up, safe and sound, but I’ll tell the police—we’ll have to go to the station in Wilton, and they’ll come out here, I’ve no doubt of that.’
Nanny went on her way to the farm, collected the eggs, and marched back to Wheel House. There was no sign of Florina or Pauline, so she phoned the school; there was always the chance that they had walked the rest of the way…
They hadn’t, and when she phoned the police at Wilton they had no news of them. They would ring back, they told her, the moment they knew anything; they couldn’t have gone far…
It was a pity that an elderly woman living half a mile along the road from the accident should declare that she had heard a dog barking behind her cottage, on the opposite side of the road to where Bobby had escaped; she thought, too, that she had seen someone running. She was vague and uncertain as to exactly when she had seen them and the excitement of being the centre of interest for the moment led her to embroider her talk, so that the two policemen who had been detailed to search for Florina and Pauline set off in the opposite direction to the wood and the river.
Sir William wasn’t in when Nanny telephoned his house, but Jolly undertook to track him down and tell him. ‘He’ll be at the hospital,’ he told her, ‘but he’s not operating, he mentioned that at breakfast and he said that he had a quiet morning—just ward rounds. He will be with you in a couple of hours.’
It was less than that; Sir William spent ten precious minutes ringing the police, aware that if he warned them he would be allowed to travel at maximum speed provided they had his car number and he gave his reasons.
The Bentley made short work of the ninety miles, and he walked into his house to find Nanny on the telephone. She said ‘Thank you,’ and put the receiver down as he reached her. ‘Thank God you’ve come, Sir William, I’m that worried!’ She studied his face. He looked much as usual, but he was pale and there was a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘You’ll have a cup of coffee,’ and when he held up a hand, ‘You can drink it while I tell you all that I know.’
She was upset, but very sensible too—time enough to give way to tears when they were safe and sound. Sir William listened and drank his coffee and observed, ‘The police have drawn a blank so far in Wilton and the direction of Broad Chalke; I’ll try the other side, it’s open country, isn’t it? Where exactly did the accident happen?’
‘The Land Rover driver said on the sharp bend about two miles along the road, almost parallel with that road you can see on the left…’
Florina, with Pauline’s head heavy on her lap, glanced at the sky; the clouds were piling up and although it was barely one o’clock, there was a faint chill heralding the still distant evening. Pauline had stirred a little, but she hadn’t dared to move. Bobby, quite quiet now, sat beside her, aware that something was wrong, fidgeting a little. She had shouted for a time, but there had been no answer and the trees in the wood deadened the sound of any traffic on the distant road. She had racked her brains to find a way to get them out of the fix, but she could think of nothing. It was unlikely that anyone would come that way, for there was no reason to do so, and who would take a country walk through brambles, anyway, but it surprised her a little that no one had searched for them; they weren’t all that far away from the scene of the accident.
Pauline stirred again and this time she opened her eyes. ‘Florina?’ she stared up in a puzzled way. ‘I’ve got such a fearful headache.’
‘Yes, darling, I expect you have. You fell over and you bumped your head. Don’t move or it will hurt still more. As soon as someone comes, we’ll have you home and tucked up in bed.’
‘Bobby—where is Bobby?’
‘Right here, beside me. Now close your eyes, my love, and have a nap; I’ll wake you when someone comes…’
‘Daddy will find us.’
Florina said stoutly, ‘Of course he will,’ and blinked away a tear. She was thoroughly scared by now, as much by her inability to think of a way of getting back through the wood, as by the fact that no one had come within shouting distance.
It was at that precise moment that someone did shout, and for a few seconds she was too surprised to answer. But Bobby set up a joyful barking and began to tug at his lead. Florina shouted, then set him free and watched him tear up the bank and into the wood, to emerge a few moments later with Sir William hard on his heels.
She was beyond words, she could only stare at him as he came to a halt beside her and squatted down on his heels. He let out a great sigh and said, ‘Oh, my dears…’ and his arm drew her close for a moment before he bent to examine Pauline.
She stirred under his gentle hand and opened her eyes. ‘Daddy—oh, I knew you’d come, Florina said you would. Can we go home now?’
‘Yes, darling, but just me take a look and see where you’re hurt.’
Florina found her voice. ‘She was unconscious when I found her, that was half-past nine. I didn’t move her, she came round about eleven o’clock.’
He nodded without looking at her. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much wrong except concussion. We’ll get you both home and put her to bed—she had better be X-rayed, but I think it’s safe to leave that until the morning.’ He looked at her then. ‘And you, Florina, are you hurt?’
‘Only a few scratches. Will you carry her through the wood?’
&nb
sp; ‘The pub landlord and Dick from the farm came with me—they are searching at either end of the wood.’ He put his fingers between his teeth and whistled and presently she heard their answering whistles.
‘Shall I wait for them here? I’ll bring Bobby with me, then you can go ahead with Pauline.
For the first time he smiled. ‘Having found you, Florina, I have no intention of leaving you again.’ He watched the look of puzzlement on her face, and added, ‘They will be here very soon.’
Going back was easier. The two men went ahead, beating back the brambles with their sticks, with Sir William carrying Pauline behind them and, behind him, protected by his vast size, came Florina, leading a sober Bobby on his lead.
At the roadside she made to get into the Mini, but Sir William said no. ‘You will come with us, Florina. Dick had a lift here; he can drive the Mini back, if he will.’ He grinned at the two men. ‘We’ll have a pint together later.’
He laid Pauline on the back seat, swept Florina on to the seat beside him and drove back to Wheel House.
Nanny was waiting. ‘Bed for Pauline, Nanny. I’ll leave her to you for a moment; she’s been concussed so you know what to do. Florina, get out of those clothes, have a hot bath and come downstairs to me. I must phone the police and Pauline’s school.’
He went on up the stairs with Pauline, and Florina went to her own room, undressed slowly and sank thankfully into a steaming bath. The sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror had made her gasp in horror; her hair was full of twigs and leaves, her dress was ruined and her tights were streaked with blood from scratches. She gave a slightly hysterical giggle and then fell to weeping. But the bath was soothing, and then, once more in her cotton dress and apron, her hair brushed and plaited as usual, a dusting of powder on her scratched face, she went back to the kitchen.
Sir William was there, pouring tea. ‘I don’t know about you,’ he remarked cheerfully, ‘but when I’ve been scared I’ve found that a cup of tea works wonders at restoring my nerve.’
‘You’ve never been scared…’ She gasped at him in amazement.
‘Just lately, I have, on occasion, been scared to death. Come and sit down and tell me just what happened. I’ve told the police, and Mrs Deakin kindly called at your father’s house and told him all was well.’
‘I’m sorry we’ve been such a nuisance.’ She glanced at Bobby, lying with the cats, fast asleep. ‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault, at least, it was the man who overtook us—he was going too fast, the Land Rover couldn’t do anything about it. I shouldn’t have got out of the car, only both men were shouting at each other and I had to find out if anyone was hurt and if we had a chance of getting by…’
‘Pauline got out with you…?’
‘Oh, no, of course not, but I’m sure she was afraid, and Bobby was beside himself; he’d gone in a flash and she left after him. I’m sure she thought that she would be able to catch him easily, but the poor beast was terrified.’
Sir William picked up one of her hands from the table; it was covered in scratches and he examined them, his head bent so that she couldn’t see his face. ‘My poor dear…’ His hand tightened on hers and it was as though an electric current had flooded her whole person. She sought to pull her hand away, but he merely tightened his grip as he lifted his head and looked at her, half smiling, his eyes half hidden beneath their heavy lids. She stared back at him, her eyes wide. It was a magic moment for her, shattered almost before she had realised it by Nanny’s entrance. Sir William let her hand go without haste and asked, ‘Everything all right, Nanny?’ in his calm voice.
Nanny had looked at them and away again. ‘The child wants to sit up and she says she’s hungry.’
He got up. ‘I’ll go and take a good look; I don’t think there’s much damage done, and there’s no reason why she shouldn’t have a light meal, but wait until I’ve looked at her.’
He went away and Nanny went to the Aga to see if the kettle was boiling.
‘We could all do with something,’ she observed briskly. ‘Do you feel up to getting a meal ready, Florina?’
Florina gave her a sweet bemused look. ‘Of course, Nanny. Soup and scrambled eggs with toast and mushrooms and coffee.’
She went to get the eggs, still in a dream, unwilling to give it up for reality. For his hand on hers and his look, tender and urgent, must have been a dream: a conclusion substantiated by his return presently with the prosaic suggestion that Pauline could have both the soup and the scrambled eggs, and wouldn’t it be a good idea if she and Nanny had a meal as well? As for himself, he went on, he would go to the Trout and Feathers and have a drink with the landlord and some bread and cheese.
So she shook the dreams from her head and set about getting lunch. They had finished and tidied the kitchen and Nanny had gone to sit with Pauline when Sir William returned. He came straight into the kitchen and sat down on the table. ‘I’ll feel easier in my mind if I take Pauline back with me; she can be X-rayed at my hospital and if there is anything amiss it can be put right. I’m almost certain that there’s nothing to worry about, but I must be sure. We’ll leave after breakfast; you will come with us, Florina?’
Her heart gave a great leap, so that she caught her breath.
‘Very well, Sir William. Are we to stay overnight?’
‘Yes, pack for two or three days, to be on the safe side. I’m going to Pauline’s school now. When does Mrs Deakin come?’
‘Not until tomorrow morning.’
‘Then will you go and see her and ask if she will sleep here with Nanny? If she can’t, perhaps Mrs Datchett would oblige us. They’ll be paid, of course.’
He went to the door; stopped there to turn and look at her. ‘You’re all right? I’ll give you something for those scratches; you’ve had ATS injections?’
She nodded, striving to be matter of fact. ‘Oh, yes, I had a booster done about six months ago. I’ll go along to Mrs Deakin now. Does Pauline know that she is going back with you?’
‘No. I’ll tell her when I get back. I’ll have dinner here with you and Nanny—shall we say eight o’clock? That gives Nanny a chance to settle Pauline first. I’ll go up and see her now before I go out.’
He nodded casually and left her there.
Mrs Deakin would be delighted to oblige; she was saving up for a new washing machine and Sir William was a generous employer. Florina skimmed back quickly, not liking to leave Nanny alone, but Nanny was sitting in the rocking chair in Pauline’s room, knitting while Pauline slept. Florina made a cup of tea and took it upstairs to her, whispered about plans for the evening and took herself off back to the kitchen. There was plenty to do; a good thing, for she had to forget about Sir William. She bustled about assembling a suitable meal for him: spinach soup, lamb chops, courgettes in red wine, calabrese and devilled potatoes, with an apricot tart and cream to follow. She would have time to make the little dry biscuits he liked with his cheese; she rolled up her sleeves and started her preparations.
She took up Pauline’s supper tray and sat with her while Nanny had an hour to herself. The little girl was apparently none the worse for their adventure; she ate her supper without demur and now that she was safely home and in her bed was inclined to giggle a good deal about their adventure. She submitted to Florina’s sponging of her face and hands, declared herself ready to go to sleep and, when her father came quietly in, did no more than murmur sleepily at him.
He felt her head, took her pulse and pronounced himself satisfied, kissed the child and picked up the supper tray and beckoned Florina to go with him.
‘I’ve phoned the hospital,’ he told her. ‘We’ll leave just before eight o’clock. She can travel as she is, wrapped up in a blanket. Pack her some clothes, though.’
He was matter-of-fact—more than that, casual—and she strove to match him. They ate their dinner carrying on a guarded conversation about nothing much, and Nanny, sitting between them, watched their faces and thought hopefully of the next day or two in London, pray
ing that Wanda wouldn’t be there, and that they would have time together; that was all they needed. Sir William, she was sure now, had realised that he was in love with Florina, and as for Florina, there was no doubt in Nanny’s mind where her heart lay. Things would sort themselves out, she reflected comfortably.
The journey to London was uneventful. Pauline lay on the back seat with Florina beside her, and she was content to be quiet, and Florina had her own thoughts, her eyes on the back of Sir William’s handsome head.
There were people waiting for them when they reached the hospital: porters with a stretcher, Sir William’s registrar, one of his housemen and the children’s ward sister, young, pretty and cheerful. She said a friendly ‘Hi,’ to Florina, standing a little apart, not sure what was expected of her, before she accompanied the stretcher into the hospital.
It was Sir William who paused long enough to say, ‘My registrar, Jack Collins, and my house-man, Colin Weekes.’ He caught her by the arm. ‘You might as well come along, too.’
She sat when bidden, in the X-ray Department waiting-room, for what seemed a very long time. People came and went: nurses, porters, a variety of persons bustling along as though the very existence of the hospital depended upon them, and presently Sir William strolled in, looking, she had to admit, exactly like a senior consultant should look. He was trailed by a number of people, who stood back politely as he came to a halt beside her.
‘No problems,’ he told her. ‘A few days taking things quietly and Pauline will be quite well. I’ll drive you both home now, but I must come back here for the rest of the day. The Jollys will look after you. Get Pauline to bed, will you? Don’t let her read or watch television, but she can sit up a little.’ He nodded. ‘Ready?’
Jolly was waiting for them. Sir William carried his small daughter up the stairs to her room with Mrs Jolly and Florina hard on his heels, while Jolly fetched their bags. In no time at all, Pauline had been settled in her bed, her few clothes unpacked, and Sir William, with a murmured word to Jolly, had departed again.