“Aren’t you?”
“Terry demonstrated to my satisfaction that even in hospitals, where blood poisoning has been almost endemic, infection can be cut down to a fraction of its former rate. Not many years ago there used to be an eighty percent mortality rate in surgical cases; Guy’s has reduced that to twenty-five, and they expect it to be even less by the end of the year. Of that twenty-five, perhaps only half were infection cases.
“One in four still die?” Lisa was aghast.
“You have to remember that aside from infection, some die of shock, some have weak hearts, some are too badly hurt from the beginning, no matter how successful the surgery, and some are just plain butchered by incompetents. Even with infection, there are many cases where the wound is badly infected before we even see it.”
“I begin to see why the doctors in Burresford are none too anxious to operate on that boy. What about me? What if I get blood poisoning?”
“You won’t,” Jarrell asserted bluntly. “Outside a hospital, where the level of competency of doctors and nurses varies so radically, your chances of gangrene or anything else are all but nil. Wait until you see what we go through before I so much as touch you with a knife. You couldn’t be safer.” He tipped up her chin and looked her in the eyes. “Do you really think I would risk your life, Lisa?”
She had her reservations, but his confidence was infectious, and she said no more. He led the way to a large room in the wing opposite from the family bedrooms. Mrs. Lewis was directing Annie and Amy, who were scrubbing the walls and the floor with soap and water.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll scrub it again with a diluted mixture of carbolic acid. We brought a small stove to boil instruments on. This table will do for an operating table.” He pointed to an ornate piece with inlaid gilt and a high varnish. “Tonight we’ll sterilize two sheets in carbolic acid and let them dry up here. My hands are a mess from experimenting with various strengths of carbolic, but I’ve got it pretty well down now.” He held up his hands, showing her how the backs were red and inflamed. “You should have seen them several weeks ago; they looked as if I had burned them.”
“I’m not as sensitive to it as he is, thank heavens,” Mrs. Lewis remarked, holding up her hands. Hers were only pink, as if they had been lightly sunburned.
Somehow the sight of the actual operating room brought home to Lisa her plight as nothing else had. Up until now, she had been convinced deep down inside that no operation would ever take place. Now suddenly, she saw that in truth it would take place and that short of hysterics on her part, it was too late to do anything about it.
“Don’t look so frightened,” Jarrell said gently, taking her by the shoulders and looking down into her face. “I wouldn’t let anything hurt you — you know that, don’t you?”
She noticed again the gold flecks in his dark eyes, and for a moment it was as if they were alone in the room, nothing real but his eyes and the warm, reassuring feel of his hands on her shoulders. His hands tightened momentarily, then he turned away abruptly.
“How — ” His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat and began again. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready tomorrow, Mrs. Lewis?”
“I would say the better part of two hours. Best to allow for two hours anyway.”
“All right, we’ll schedule the cleanup for eight and the operation for ten. Lisa, I want you to eat a light supper before eight tonight, and then nothing except water or tea until the operation.”
“I don’t really think I’ll be very hungry anyway,” Lisa said faintly. She turned and left the room, walking in a trance, her heart tripping unpleasantly. She put on her riding skirt and went down to the stables, where she asked Toby to saddle Dancer. He sensed her unhappiness and looked worried.
“I’m all right, Toby, I just want to go out alone for a while. Tell Priddy I probably won’t be back for dinner this afternoon.”
She galloped Dancer up the valley and along the ridge, gradually relaxing inside as she snatched him out of shying at a gnarled stump and put him over a low wall. She rode for hours in a great circle that took her beyond even where she and Toby had run.
The moorland, devoid of color except for an occasional pink bilberry bush, stretched bleakly across a great high plateau. Occasionally grouse flew up before Dancer’s hoofs, and she saw several grey and — orange emperor moths, and in a sandy place the tracks of deer and foxes. In spite of herself, she thought of that ornate varnished table, and suddenly there flickered into her mind the vision of another table, this one of rough wood and stained with old blood. Even as she gasped at the image, it vanished. Was this a part of the haunting, like Henry’s bloated face at the window? Was the bloody table a portent? She put Dancer at the familiar stile this time, not the higher wall, and he was happy enough to cool out walking home.
When she got back, she found that although the afternoon shadows were long across the stable yard, Jarrell was still out, as were Toby and Cynthia. She wondered briefly if they had possibly all gone together, but dismissed the thought as being highly unlikely. Wearily she unsaddled Dancer, wiped him down, and watered him. In his stall he sank down with a comic groan and rolled, scratching his back in ecstasy on the straw covering the dirt floor. She grinned at him fondly and set off for the house.
As she crossed the lawn toward the dining room door, she saw Tommy stalking a bird, which she frightened off by waving her arms. He looked at her reproachfully but forgave her enough to allow himself to be scratched under the chin. He tried to follow her into the house, but she gently fended him off, reminding him that it wasn’t meal time yet. Eric was in the drawing room, engrossed in something on the table.
“Hullo,” he said, not looking up. “You’re just in time to help me with this miserable puzzle we brought from London.”
She walked over and looked at what he was doing. On the large round table were what looked like hundreds of irregular wooden pieces cunningly cut in fantastic shapes that fitted into each other and made a picture. He had managed to form most of the border, but there were pieces missing even from that. “What’s it a picture of?” she asked.
“It isn’t fair to look at the illustration,” he explained. “My memory is that it’s supposed to be a sailing ship of some kind out on the ocean.”
“Oh, is it?” She was suddenly interested. The idea of the ocean had always fascinated her, and she hoped one day to see it. “I should so like to see the ocean. You’ve seen it of course?”
He looked up at her, the puzzle forgotten for a moment. “You’ve never seen the ocean? Good heavens, we’ll have to remedy that. Mark tells me he’s going to muck about with your hand tomorrow.”
“You don’t make it sound very appealing.”
“I didn’t mean to. If it were me, I wouldn’t let him do it.” He shuddered. “The very idea of having a knife stuck in me makes me feel ill.”
“If I had my way now,” she admitted, “I’d back out. But I’ve said yes up until today, and I can’t very well say no at this late date.”
“If I don’t mind your hand, why should you or anyone else?”
“It’s not a question of minding. I take it that it won’t look all that much better afterward, but I’ll have some use of it. You know, it’s a dreadful nuisance being one-handed even if it is my left hand.”
“To each his own,” Eric said feelingly. “You’ll pardon me if I don't hold your hand while they’re putting you under. I can’t stand the smell of ether. At a party here and there people were fooling around with ether, trying to get drunk on it. I only got sick to my stomach.” He made a face.
She asked Annie to heat the bath water for her and went back to help Eric while she was waiting. “There’s one! I know that’s border, see the little bit of flat edge on it?”
“You’re right, good for you.” He fitted the missing piece in.
Each minute that went by was like a small stroke of doom, bringing her closer to ten o’clock the next morning. As she looked fo
r pieces of the puzzle and then took her bath, she was aware all along of a clock ticking off the minutes in her head. Cynthia came in, looking very chic in her green riding outfit, and soon she too was engrossed in the puzzle. Cynthia had no sooner left at Annie’s announcement that her bath was ready than Jarrell came in, looking very pleased with himself.
“Oho, Eric, so that’s why you weren’t riding this afternoon. Here, put that piece there,” and he pointed to a piece they had been looking for for the last fifteen minutes.
He had no sooner gone upstairs to bathe and change than Carrie Stephens came in from the garden with a trowel still in her hand. “That won’t go there,” she observed as Eric tried a piece. “It’s nothing like the right shape. Here,” and she handed him another that fitted neatly.
“Everybody seems better at this than I am,” Eric said ruefully. “I’m going to quit and have a drink before we eat.”
“I don’t know if I’m allowed at the table or not tonight,” Lisa said. “I hope so, because I don’t really fancy sitting up there in Cynthia’s room all alone thinking about tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Stephens said, “Mark’s going to have a go at your hand, isn’t he? I must say, you’re braver than I would be.” Apparently her earlier rage had blown itself completely out. Lisa guessed now that she must be much like Eric, quick to anger but quick to forget it as well.
As it turned out, Lisa did eat with the rest of them, but she was limited to bread and cheese and a small piece of meat. She made a face. “It reminds me of Cynthia’s diet,” she observed, though she really wasn’t all that hungry. The minutes were still ticking by inexorably, and she made few contributions to the conversation at the table.
“When you’re ready for bed, Mrs. Lewis will take a good look at you, make sure you’re not running a temperature or anything like that. I’d hate to get all set up for this and have to cancel out at the last moment.”
Lisa drew a laugh when she said in a faint voice, “I shouldn’t mind a bit.”
She had expected to find it difficult to sleep, but the long ride that afternoon did its work, and she never even had time to be aware of Cynthia’s snoring. As she drifted off, she thought briefly that Cynthia had gone around all day looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, rather surprising in view of the fact that Jarrell had hardly spoken to her and Eric had been breezily casual.
The next morning inevitably arrived, and she woke early absolutely stricken with hunger. How was she going to stand three and a half hours without any food? Never mind, if Cynthia could do it, she could, too. She soon discovered that her stomach was feeling hollow with more than hunger, and she was sure that her heart was racing as well. She went downstairs to the kitchen, where Priddy was firing up the stove and making preparations for the large breakfast they always had when the men were home. This morning it was to be eggs and ham and sausage and kippers and steak and broiled tomatoes. Lisa’s mouth watered as the savory smells permeated the kitchen. She nursed her tea and chatted with Priddy about the herb garden they were planning.
“’Er don’t want nowt but flowers in ’er garden,” Priddy reminded Lisa. “’Ow’re we going ter ’ave an ’erb patch, tell me that?”
“We’ll manage. If necessary we’ll make it over by the cemetery, but I don’t think it’ll come to that. I’d like to talk the doctor into letting us make this plot on the side out here for edibles.”
“Ay no be knowing about that. ‘Er Nibs is terrible fussy about them flowers.”
Mrs. Lewis interrupted the discussion. “So there you are. I thought perhaps you’d run away. Enjoy that tea because it’s the last you’ll get.” She put her hand on Lisa’s forehead, then took her pulse. “Some day they’ll figure out an easy way to measure temperatures accurately. You’ll do, my girl. Now where am I going to find you when we want you?”
Lisa thought a moment. “I’ll be in the drawing room with the puzzle. Will that do?”
Mrs. Lewis nodded and left the kitchen with a large metal basin and pitcher.
“Cheer up, lass,” Priddy said. “In no time it’ll all be past.”
Lisa was listlessly trying pieces on the puzzle several hours later when Mrs. Lewis stuck her head in. “The water’s hot, so take your bath and go along up to Cynthia’s room. I’ll be giving you a drop of something to calm you down.”
It all seemed to go on and on, to drag out until her nerves shrieked with tension. The bath relaxed her a bit and gave her something to do, but then she sat for what seemed like hours in Cynthia’s room. There was no sign of Cynthia, but at the sound of hoofs she looked out the window and saw Eric going off on Christian. Eric might at least have stopped by this morning to wish her well.
Mrs. Lewis entered with a glass and some medicine. “It’s all set up, Lisa. In half an hour you won’t have to worry anymore. From then on it’s the doctor and I who will be doing the worrying. I’m going to clean up, and I’ll send Annie for you when we’re ready.”
Lisa looked about the room as if she had never seen it before. She became aware of every detail, the one drooping yellow flower among all the rest in the vase, a spot of Vermillion on the back of one of the books, and Cynthia’s pink slippers lying every which way on the floor. She wandered dreamily to the window and saw Toby shoeing Dancer, who mischievously butted him with his head as he nailed on a shoe. Huge clouds like sailing ships, like the one in the puzzle, marched slowly across the blue sky. Somewhere a bird sang. Lisa drifted back from the window and lay down on the bed. She didn’t care anymore what was going to happen. She smiled to herself. If this was what being drunk was like, no wonder Eric was so fond of it. Let’s see, Mrs. Lewis’s father drank, too — did her own father? Did women ever drink, or did they just eat like Cynthia when they were unhappy?
She was all but in a trance when Annie took her by the hand and led her over to the room in the other wing. There was a dreadfully strong smell that she wished would go away. Jarrell, dear old hypocritical Dr. Jarrell, was wearing dark pants and a white shirt with long sleeves partly rolled up his arms. Mrs. Lewis had her head tied up in a white kerchief and was wearing a nurse’s uniform. She looked terribly businesslike. Lisa giggled.
“Thank you, Annie,” Jarrell said, turning to Lisa. “Now Lisa, I want you to lie down on this table. Do you think you can do that?”
The ornate table was now draped with a bed pad and on top of that a sheet. She sat on the table, swinging her legs over to lie down. The ceiling was pale green and still had large spots of moisture on it from the many scrubbings. Mrs. Lewis put another sheet over her, and brought a basin.
“Put your hand in the basin, Lisa. It’s warm but not hot, a dilute mixture of carbolic and boiled water.”
Mrs. Lewis dried her hand with a cloth, then laid it on a large gauze pad on a small table next to where she was lying. Jarrell picked up the hand and examined it minutely, as if he had never seen it before.
“All right, Mrs. Lewis, the ether if you please.”
Mrs. Lewis put a white gauze cone over Lisa’s face.
“The ether won’t smell very good, Lisa, but it won’t hurt you. I want you to start counting and go on counting until I tell you to stop.” Jarrell nodded at Mrs. Lewis, who started to pour something onto the cone.
At once a strange, cold, medicinal smell entered her nostrils, almost seeming to burn as it went into her lungs. “Count!” She counted but then stopped as she began to feel dizzy. “Count!” The words slurred and she was falling, falling down into a deep black pit that swallowed her and turned her into nothingness.
10
She heard a voice that had nothing to do with the images flickering across the darkness. She felt sick and tossed her head from side to side against a bloody table in a brick storeroom. She heard the soft thunk of Tatty’s heavy iron skillet and saw the man fall insensible, his knife clattering to the floor. She smelled the smoke coming under the door, saw the dark cobbles gleaming cruelly in the street far below. She ran endlessly t
hrough night streets, the hoof beats coming closer and closer. She turned, and the great hoofs loomed up over her, striking out in fury.
Now she was in a long dark corridor floating slowly along toward a greyness that lightened and lightened, led on by a reassuring voice that held hands with her mind. Back in the blackness she could still hear hoof beats fading out into an unknowable distance.
“That’s right, Lisa, open your eyes. Everything is all right, you’re safe now — you’re home, Lisa.”
She opened her eyes to find herself in a bed. Jarrell was sitting beside her holding her hand, his gold-flecked eyes intently watching her. Her eyes went to her other hand, whose bent fingers and thumb were separately bandaged. “I’m going to be sick.” Jarrell produced a basin and held her head while she retched, but there was little to come up. He had her rinse her mouth out, then wiped her face gently with a wet cloth.
“At least you’re original,” he smiled. “Most of them say, ‘Where am I?’ first, and then say they’re sick afterward.”
“How did everything go?” she asked weakly.
“The operation went very well. Do you remember what you were saying when you came out of the ether?”
“No.”
“Never mind, we’ll talk about it later. Right now you’re tired and it’s best that you sleep.”
Her eyelids did feel heavy, and she slipped off into a dreamless slumber.
When she woke again, she realized that she had been put in a room by herself, the same one where she had convalesced from the head injury. Mrs. Lewis was sitting by the window sewing in the late afternoon sunlight. A fire was going in the fireplace and a kettle steamed on the grate. Mrs. Lewis heard her move and came over to look at her.
“How do you feel, lass? Still queasy?”
Lisa thought about it. “No, I don’t feel sick, but my hand hurts.” In truth, it ached and throbbed.
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