Saddle the Wind

by Jess Foley

  She watched until Ernest had moved out of sight beneath the window then turned and picked up her coat. When she was dressed in her coat, hat and boots she waited for the maid to come for her, but the minutes ticked by and then she saw Ernest moving away again across the yard towards the side door. ‘He’s going away again,’ she said. She frowned, puzzled.

  A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps on the landing outside and then Mr Savill was opening the door and calling to her. She went to him.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Your brother Ernest was just here,’ he said. Blanche nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I know. I saw him from the window. I thought he was here to take me home …’

  ‘No. He came to say that it would be better if you didn’t go home today – or even perhaps next Sunday.’

  ‘Oh. Why not?’

  ‘Apparently your brother Arthur is sick. Your mother’s sure it’s the ‘flu, and she thinks it best that you don’t go home yet – not until Arthur has recovered.’

  When Blanche had gone back into the nursery Savill went downstairs to the library. He had thought of going to see Mrs Farrar today. It would have to wait, though. This wasn’t the time to go to the Farrars’ cottage – not when they had sickness there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After Ernest and Agnes had gone from the cottage on Monday morning Sarah went upstairs to the boys’ room where Arthur lay in a restless sleep. Earlier she had made up the fire and replaced the brick in his bed. Now she stood beside the bed, looking down at him. At the neck of his old shirt she could see the edge of the brown-paper vest she had made for him the night before, first having rubbed his narrow chest with camphorated oil. After that she had smoothed goose grease on his chest; this she had covered with the brown paper. To combat his cough she had given him honey and vinegar and, last thing the night before, an inhalation of eucalyptus which she had sprinkled on a handkerchief and held beneath his nose. Now as she bent lower to pull the blankets more closely up to his chin the smell of the goose grease and the eucalyptus rose up to her nostrils from his warm, feverish body. He coughed, the sound dry and hacking. It had grown worse during the night and she realized that none of the remedies seemed to be having much effect. She continued to stand there for some minutes then, quietly, so as not to disturb him, she turned from the bed and made her way back downstairs.

  Galvanized by the disturbing news of the spreading epidemic, Savill took measures to prevent the admittance of the disease to Hallowford House. On Monday morning he sent a message to his manager telling him that he would not be back at the mill until the epidemic was over. After that he cancelled the few social arrangements he had made and his various business appointments. Then he arranged for certain provisions from the butcher and the grocer to be delivered at once to the house, at the same time instructing the servants not to leave the house on any account. The non-resident servants, such as the gardeners, the odd-job boy and James the groom, he told to continue with their work but not to come to the house. If there was anything he wanted them to know he would put out a note for them, he said. Likewise they could do the same. Savill had no doubt that folk would regard him as fastidious and eccentric for the measures he was taking, but he didn’t care. In a matter of hours the situation at Hallowford House was something like a state of siege.

  When Ernest got in from the farm that Monday evening he found his brother no better. At Sarah’s insistence he at once went next door, borrowed Davie Hewitt’s bicycle and rode off to fetch Dr Harmon. The Harmons’ maid answered his ring at the door. She told him that Dr Harmon was out, but that she would give him the message as soon as he returned.

  When he returned to the cottage he ate his dinner, changed, and then went out to call on Fanny. Fanny’s sister Amy answered the door to his knock. Fanny was in bed, she told him – along with her two other sisters, Lottie and Edie. It looked as if they had the ‘flu.

  As Ernest returned home a little later he found Agnes just on the point of going out to choir-practice.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ he asked as he took off his coat. ‘Up with Artie?’

  ‘Yes.’ Agnes tied the strings of her bonnet. ‘The doctor came while you were out.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, it is the ‘flu, of course. But I s’pose we already knew that.’

  She went off then, and Ernest put the kettle on the range. A little later Sarah came into the kitchen.

  ‘How is he?’ Ernest asked.

  She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. All we can do is keep him in bed and just – just hope it doesn’t – get worse. If it goes onto his chest … His cough is very bad. Doctor says he’ll call again tomorrow.’ She paused. ‘What are you doing back so soon? I thought you went out to see Fanny.’

  ‘I did. She’s got the ‘flu as well, it seems. And Edie and Lottie.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Sarah shook her head in sympathy. ‘How are they?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was only there a minute.’

  The water in the kettle was boiling and Sarah made some tea. They sat together drinking it at the kitchen table.

  ‘It’s such a terrible thing, this ‘flu,’ Sarah said. ‘Doctor said he’s had one call after another. There’s so much of it about. I mentioned Arthur’s boss having caught it, and he said, yes, Mr Grill was very poorly. And Mr Grill’s wife now, as well.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘It’s a good thing Blanche didn’t come home yesterday. There’s no sense in putting her at risk too.’

  ‘Right,’ Ernest agreed. ‘Anyway, let’s hope it all passes soon.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at him over the rim of her cup. ‘And don’t you worry about Fanny,’ she said. ‘She’ll be all right soon.’

  Ernest said nothing. Sarah continued to study him. ‘I think you’re mighty sweet on that young lady, aren’t you?’ she said.

  He grinned at her. ‘Ah, I reckon I am.’

  ‘It’s not hard to see.’

  He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘D’you like her, Mam?’

  ‘Oh – yes, I do. She’s helpful when she comes round. She’s a smart girl, too – in her dress, I mean. And very pretty, there’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘Yeh, I think so.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘I’m really lucky, I know that much.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Oh? Well, I happen to think that Fanny’s the lucky one. Having a nice, handsome, intelligent young man like you – she ought to think herself lucky, anyway. She couldn’t do better, that’s a fact.’ Her smile grew wider. ‘And there’s some typical mother’s unbiased talk for you.’

  Ernest laughed, took a swallow from his cup, and said, ‘Yeh, but like you say, she is a smart, pretty girl, ain’t she?’ Then he added, ‘And she’s a sensible girl, too, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Sensible? Well, yes, I should think she is.’

  He nodded, pleased. Sarah watched him and said, ‘You really are serious about her, aren’t you?’

  He looked at her intently. ‘Mam, what would you say if I wanted to get married?’

  A little silence, then Sarah said: ‘– When … ?’

  ‘Well – soon.’

  ‘And – does Fanny know you feel like this?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she wants it too – very much.’

  ‘More than you, d’you think?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, I …’ His words tailed off. Sarah reached across the table and briefly pressed his hand.

  ‘Ernest,’ she said. ‘I know that whenever you decide to leave it will be too soon for me. And that’s something I’ve got to be aware of, and I mustn’t let it get in the way of what is – right for you. But – oh, Ernest, you’re so young. You’re both so young.’

  ‘Well – not so young. Fanny’ll be eighteen in April.’

  ‘And how old will that make you? You’ll still be eighteen.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but –’ Giving a little groan of hopelessness he turned his head away.

  ‘Ernest, listen to me,’ Sarah said. ‘At
eighteen years old you shouldn’t be thinking about settling down. There’ll be plenty of time for that in a few years from now. Then you’ll have time to start thinking about marriage and – everything else – taking on extra responsibilities. Until then you should be having some fun – both of you. God knows, there’s little opportunity enough. Have you got any money?’

  ‘Not much, but – I can save.’

  ‘After you’re married? That’s easier said than done. Why don’t you wait – and try to save a little while you’re waiting. You won’t have much chance afterwards, believe me.’ She paused. ‘And – are you absolutely sure Fanny’s the right girl for you?’

  A look of profound disappointment crossed his face. ‘You don’t think she is?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t say that, lad. It’s what you feel that counts.’

  ‘Oh, but – I love her, Mam. I do.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Well, I don’t know what to say to that, Ernest. I reckon there’s not much I can say – except that – oh, but I do wish you’d wait.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that.’

  ‘I have to, my dear. And if your father were here he’d tell you just the same.’

  ‘But – I’m afraid if I wait I’ll lose her.’

  She gave a melancholy little smile. ‘Fear isn’t the best start, is it? And how d’you think you might lose her?’

  ‘Oh, you know – some other chap’ll come along. Bound to. A girl lookin’ like she does.’

  ‘No – not if she loves you.’

  A little pause, then Ernest said. ‘Are you saying no, then? That I can’t?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not saying that, son. I’m saying I’d like you both to wait. But – if you’ve made up your mind – well, then, you must do what you want. If you’re sure you love one another, then – well, I won’t stand in your way. I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Thanks, Mam.’ A slow smile touched Ernest’s mouth. ‘I’ll tell Fanny tomorrow, all right?’

  Arthur’s condition grew worse as the evening wore on and it was agreed that Sarah would sleep in Ernest’s bed that night, in order to be near Arthur if he should need anything. Ernest would sleep downstairs on the parlour sofa, or make up a bed in front of the kitchen range; whichever he wanted.

  With the little room lit faintly by the glow of the nightlight, Sarah slept only fitfully, each time she awoke her eyes going at once to Arthur in the next bed. Dr Harmon had left a sleeping draught and although Sarah had given a measure to the boy he passed a restless night, turning, muttering in his shallow sleep, mouth open, as if fighting for breath. Next morning it was clear to Sarah that he was much worse.

  Dr Harmon called during the late afternoon. An elderly man, he appeared to be tiring somewhat from the now frequent demands on his time and energy. Also he had about him a rather harassed air and his usually slightly impatient manner was more pronounced. He didn’t stay long. After examining Arthur, sounding his chest and taking his pulse he shook his head and told Sarah that there couldn’t be much doubt that Arthur’s influenza had turned to broncho-pneumonia. After giving Sarah further instructions as to the boy’s care and leaving with her bottles of linctus and chloral, he left, saying that he would call again the next day.

  That night, in spite of the sedative, Arthur remained feverishly wakeful, and Sarah was kept moving about, giving him what help she could, bathing his forehead; giving him doses of the linctus, of honey and vinegar; feeding him warm milk and murmuring softly to him when in his periods of restless sleep he cried out. At long last she saw the curtains lighten with the dawn.

  It was clear that Arthur had grown worse during the night, and Sarah remained with him while Agnes got breakfast for herself and Ernest. When Ernest was ready to leave for work he crept up the stairs and came into the bedroom. He stood above Arthur’s bed, gazing down at him as he fought for breath. Briefly Ernest laid a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Mam,’ he whispered, ‘Doctor’ll be here again soon. He’ll look after ‘im all right.’ Sarah nodded. Exhaustion lay on her like a blanket. Her eyelids felt sore and prickly from her vigil while her emotions seemed so tautly strung that she could hardly trust herself to speak. Turning to him as if only just becoming aware of his presence she said: ‘Ernest … how are you, son? Did you sleep all right?’ He had spent the night on the kitchen floor. He couldn’t have slept that well, she knew.

  ‘Oh, I’m all right. Don’t concern yourself with me.’

  A few minutes after Ernest’s departure Agnes came upstairs. She was wearing her coat. As she stood looking from her brother to Sarah her eyes glistened with tears.

  ‘D’you want me to stay, Mam?’ she said after a moment.

  ‘No, no, my dear. You go on to work. There’s nothing you can do. I’ll just wait for Dr Harmon. He’ll be here soon.’

  Reluctantly Agnes left and Sarah settled herself to waiting again.

  Most of the time that followed she spent upstairs with Arthur or in the kitchen where she warmed milk for him, made him broth, and porridge. She could get him to eat but little of it, however. And the hours dragged by, and still Dr Harmon didn’t come. When Agnes arrived home from work that afternoon there had still been no sign of the doctor. Arthur’s condition seemed to have grown worse. His breathing sounded frighteningly constricted now, and he seemed too weak to bring up any of the secretions that were filling his lungs. Then towards five o’clock the scullery door opened and Dr Kelsey was there. Agnes was sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes and she looked up as with barely a knock he came striding into the kitchen and began to take off his coat. Quickly she got to her feet. He had come to see Arthur, he told her, adding that he was taking Dr Harmon’s calls as Dr Harmon was sick. She took his coat and, going before him, directed him into the hall and up the stairs.

  He was down again ten minutes later, his expression solemn. Sarah followed him into the kitchen. He washed his hands in some warm water that Sarah poured into a bowl, dried them, and then pulled on his coat again. ‘I’ll look in again tomorrow,’ he said as he moved back towards the hall. Just before he went through the door he turned back and looked at Agnes.

  ‘I heard you sing in church a few weeks back,’ he said.

  Agnes nodded, a nervous little smile touching her lips.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Keep it up.’

  Glowing, Agnes thanked him. A few moments later, with Sarah following him to the front door, he was gone.

  On the way home from the farm Ernest stopped at the Greenhams’ house to ask after Fanny. Mrs Greenham came to the door at his knock. She was a short, wiry little woman with reddish hair and small, neat features. She told Ernest that Fanny, Edie and Lottie were still in bed. She’d ask him in to see Fanny, she added, but she couldn’t, not with all three girls being in the one room. They were quite poorly, she added, but were not too bad and were bearing up. Ernest hesitated, then he took from his pocket a sealed envelope containing a letter he had hurriedly written at the farm that morning.

  ‘Would you give Fanny this for me, please?’ he said.

  Mrs Greenham put the envelope into her apron pocket. ‘I’ll see she gets it, Ernie. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you. And tell her I ‘ope she’ll be better soon.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Here you are – a letter from your young man.’

  Up in the girls’ bedroom Fanny took the letter from her mother and looked at it. Miss Fanny Greenham, Ernest had written in pencil. Fanny tore open the envelope, took out the letter and read what Ernest had written:

  Dearest Fan,

  I was so sorry to hear you’re laid low with the ‘flu, and I hope it won’t be long before you’re well again. I’m looking forward to seeing you. I miss you that much.

  I thought you might be interested to know that I talked with my mother last night, and I think I might have some good news for you when I see you next.

  As I say, I hope that will be soon. In the meantime, please think of,


  Your loving

  Ernie

  Fanny read the letter again and smiled through the pain in her head. Her sister Edie, lying in the next bed with Lottie, looked across at her and said.

  ‘What is it? What are you smiling about?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Fanny gave her a glance of mock hauteur. ‘You’ll find out in good time – perhaps.’

  Agnes served Ernest his dinner when he got indoors. Their mother was upstairs with Arthur. Agnes told Ernest about Dr Kelsey’s visit, and then, looking round at the door to make sure that she wouldn’t be heard, gave a little shake of her head and added,

  ‘I didn’t tell Mam. But I heard this afternoon that there’s a couple have died in the village. Mr Grill was one of ‘em.’

  Ernest was asleep in the kitchen that night when he suddenly heard his name being called. He sat up abruptly and saw his mother standing in the doorway.

  ‘Quick, Ernest! Quick!’ she shouted to him. ‘Quick! You must get up and go for Dr Kelsey.’ There was fear in her voice.

  Throwing back the blankets he swung his legs off the cushions and stood up. ‘Is it Arthur?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Oh, be quick. Please.’ With her words Sarah turned back into the hall and the next moment he heard the sound of her feet as she hurried back up the stairs.

  As he quickly got dressed he saw that the time was just after two o’clock. Minutes later he was letting himself out of the back door and starting off at a run along the lane.

  ‘All right, Arthur. It’s all right, my darling. Mam’s here. Mam’s got you.’

  Agnes, in her nightdress, was standing in the doorway helplessly looking on as Sarah sat on Arthur’s bed holding him in her arms. His breath was rasping through his open mouth and in the light of the candle and the nightlight she could see that his skin had a strange, cold look about it.

  Sarah had watched over him as the evening had worn on, but with the night exhaustion had taken over and she had begun to doze. Then, suddenly, she had awakened and realized that the sound of Arthur’s breathing had changed. Getting up from the chair she had moved to his side. His breathing had been bad before, but now it was so much worse; now she could also hear in it a terrifying, strange, fine crackling sound. It was then that she had run downstairs to waken Ernest.