By way of contrast, my thoughts turned to Amabel – and Dixon. Surely they were both a little exaggerated? I knew Amabel to be a slightly suburban type of ‘the modern girl’. Had I not heard, that very morning, of her ‘party’ with a drunken prize-fighter? But could she make no effort to be agreeable generally, no effort to help her mother and entertain her mother’s guests? She was no fool. Even if she were entirely selfish, she must see, at least, the ugliness of her conduct. Perhaps, as far as she was capable of that emotion, she was very much in love. The fact that Dixon was a vulgar and ill-mannered boor did not make that impossible. He had a fine physique, and no doubt Amabel, in her infatuation, took her cue from him. He puzzled me a little. To what niche in society did he belong? I have called him ‘vulgar.’ I could not exactly call him ‘common’. He had clearly been about the world, knew how to wear his evening clothes and so on. His face, with its ‘aristocratic’ nose, was not a common face. Why then was he ‘letting himself go’, instead of ingratiating himself with the family, into which he hoped to marry? No doubt he thought himself less disagreeable than he was, and being, unlike Amabel, of very small intelligence, did not see how little he appealed to those who were not dazzled by his charms. At the same time, I had a feeling that his exuberance proceeded rather from desperation than conceit. Was he, perhaps, not sure how long he could maintain his hold?
Then there was Dr Green. Foreigners are always harder to ‘place’ than one’s compatriots, and I could not ‘place’ the doctor anywhere at all. I agreed with Edwins in thinking him a very remarkable man. I liked him instinctively, but he fell into no category. When considering the other members of the party, I had tried to touch upon any aspect in their actions or behaviour which was abnormal. Dr Green, being entirely abnormal, revealed no particular aspect on which to seize. He might, I felt, do anything and for any reason, nor would any knowledge of ordinary psychology be any guide to his. Apart from his kindness to me, he had shown only one human trait – his obvious resentment at Amabel’s rudeness to her mother. And there he had made an error in exasperating the girl by his reply. I did not, somehow, associate him with errors. Perhaps he too was on edge, like the rest of us. But why should he be? He was a doctor. Dr McKenzie had shown no unprofessional distress, and he was a very humdrum little practitioner compared with Dr Green.
Then Clarence – but Clarence, the last of the party to enter my thoughts, was not allowed to remain in them; for there was a knock at the door, and Edwins came in.
‘Oh, there you are, sir. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The mistress was most concerned, sir, at your having no proper room of your own, and Miss Sheila has been moved to the dressing-room next the master’s bedroom. So now, sir, I must move you into Miss Sheila’s. That’s on the drawing-room floor. A nice room overlooking the road.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘I seem to be causing a lot of trouble. What has happened to Mrs Harley’s room?’
‘It’s still as it was, sir. I understand Mr Harley will be going through his mother’s things later, when he feels more up to it. Your room, I mean the room you had last night, is being turned back to a little sitting-room, which by rights it ought to be. I think the mistress felt you might not care to sleep in it again, as it must have painful memories.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I should have minded. However, I dare say I shall enjoy Miss Sheila’s room more.’
He began once more to collect my possessions together.
‘Is everything all right now?’ I asked with deliberate vagueness.
‘As far as I can tell, sir, yes. Mrs Quisberg has been with Mr Harley for some time, and a superintendent from the police called to see him about ten minutes ago. Mrs Quisberg saw him for a moment and Mr George says he heard the superintendent say he’d call again this afternoon. I understand that the master was taken unwell in the dining-room, but Dr Green’s been looking after him, and took him upstairs. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Master Cyril has been very naughty this morning, so Nurse says. Seemed to think he was neglected like. No wonder too, if he was, with all these goings-on.’
‘Well, it shows he’s getting better, at any rate.’
‘Yes, sir. I don’t think there’s much wrong with him now.’
‘What time is luncheon? Is it luncheon or dinner, by the way?’
‘Well, sir, it was to have been dinner, and still will be, according to the food. One o’clock was to be the time. I don’t think the master will come down for it, nor Mr Harley either, but I’ve laid for the mistress.’
‘One o’clock. That’s in ten minutes. Perhaps you’ll wash my left hand for me, will you? Thank you very much. I mustn’t keep you now.’
‘You’ll find cocktails and sherry in the terrace room, sir,’ he said as he opened the door.
‘Splendid. I feel I need one.’
*
‘And now,’ I thought, as I left my refuge and went downstairs once more, ‘the ordeal begins.’
VII. The Smiling Nurse
Christmas Day – 12.50 p.m.
In search of the promised drink I went into the terrace room. Dixon was writing a letter at the far end, and Amabel was sitting with a white face near the fire – in the chair in which Dr McKenzie had sat when he interviewed me. She looked up when I came in, and said, ‘Do help yourself. You must need one.’
I did so, and took the chair opposite to her.
‘I do hope your father’s better.’
‘I think he is, thank you. Dr Green said he was getting on very well.’
‘He won’t come down to luncheon, I suppose?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
She stretched out for an illustrated magazine and began to read it. I toyed with my drink for a moment, drank it, and rose to help myself again.
‘Can I get you one?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
Apparently I was the only drinker in the room. ‘Better one than none,’ I thought, as I poured out my second glass. For want of anything better to do, I drank the contents quickly, and was wondering if I could with decency help myself yet again, when Clarence came in, with very muddy boots. He looked tired, but strangely radiant.
‘Hello,’ he said, joining me by the drink-table. ‘How’s the wrist?’
‘Much better, thanks. Have you been for a walk?’
‘Since nine this morning. All over the byways of the Heath. It is a most exquisite morning. No, sherry, please. I often wonder why we bother to live in houses.’
He looked round the room, but if his remark was meant to provoke discussion, it failed to do so.
‘Where’s Harley?’ he went on. ‘Could I be of any use there? Oh yes, Edwins told me when he let me in just now.’
(So Clarence had no latch-key.)
‘Harley’s in his room,’ said Amabel. ‘You can go up and see him if you want to. I don’t suppose he wants to see any of us.’
‘Why?’ asked her stepbrother, but she didn’t reply.
He sighed good-humouredly.
‘And Cyril?’ he went on.
‘Cyril hit Dr McKenzie in the face with a wet sponge,’ said Sheila, who came in at that moment, followed by her mother and Dr Green. Conversation began to flow more freely.
‘I require,’ said the doctor, with something of his earlier manner, ‘a vast quantity of sherry. Letty, for this once only?’
Mrs Quisberg smiled and shook her head.
‘So you drink cocktails, Malcolm! Have another.’
‘I’m already a little unsteady,’ I replied, allowing him to refill my glass.
‘And who, pray, asked you to be steady?’ he said. ‘I abhor all steady young men. With your leave, my dear lady, I’ll send a glass of this most excellent wine upstairs to our patient – and, why not? – a glass to Harley too. We must live, we must live while we can, nor should the sorrows of others, if we cannot alleviate them, be allowed to damp excessively our own good cheer. There, that’s a sermon for you. Letty, you’re missing something good.’
<
br /> It was wonderful to me how merrily he talked, with no sign of applause. I even felt that we were being ungrateful to him for his efforts, and was racking my brains for a witticism with which to urge him on, when Christmas dinner was announced.
Mrs Quisberg took the head of the table, and Amabel sat at the other end, with her back to the French window. The vases and centrepiece contained holly and mistletoe, but there were no crackers. Dr Green talked not unamusingly about the habits of birds. Clarence replied softly and sweetly to all my remarks – his mood seemed strangely enough to be one of kind acquiescence with all the world – and Sheila, Dixon and Amabel said little or nothing. Turtle soup, roast turkey, with innumerable garnishings, plum-pudding, dessert. What with my cocktails and mulled claret, I felt sleepy even before the end of the meal, and decided to slip away as soon as I could and lie down. It had occurred to me, however, that I ought to ask my hostess whether, in view of all the turmoil in the house, it were not better that I should leave the party. I should indeed have been glad to do so, except for the fact that I had given my housekeeper a holiday till the Sunday night, and should therefore have either to fend for myself or take refuge in an hotel.
When the meal was over, I waited about till I saw Mrs Quisberg go alone into the drawing-room, and followed her in. Naturally she would not hear of my leaving Beresford Lodge.
‘And what would you do, my poor Malcolm, with your wrist and no one to look after you? Of course you must stay here. It’s a comfort to have you, Malcolm. I feel somehow I can rely on you – even more than on some of my own family.’
‘I’m quite sure,’ I said boldly, ‘that Amabel didn’t mean anything this morning. She was right, too, in a way.’
‘She was. But still, I can’t help wishing—’
I approached and took her hand. (Really, the wine must have gone a little to my head!)
‘What is it?’
‘Dear Malcolm, you are always sympathetic and so kind. I can’t help wishing this engagement of hers were settled one way or the other. It seems to have upset her altogether. She never used to be . . . Of course, she’s always been full of spirit, and I’ve never tried to curb her or spoil her fun. But she used to have a very sweet nature underneath, till lately—’
‘Are they really engaged?’ I asked.
‘So they say. But we haven’t given our consent, and I won’t, till Axel agrees.’
‘Does he not care for Leonard Dixon?’
‘He feels suspicious about him. I’m afraid Axel is suspicious of strangers. He’s met so many bad lots in his life, you know. Amabel should be well off one day, and though you might say that’s all the more reason for letting her marry a poor man, we have to be careful. She’s very pretty, but if he only likes her in that way, and for what she may bring him, it can’t lead to any happiness. Can it?’
‘No – if you really think that of Leonard Dixon. Has Mr Quisberg actually refused his consent then?’
‘Oh, no. About three months ago he said he must consider it. I think he promised to say “Yes” or “No” before the end of the year.’
‘Then it must be a trying time for her,’ I said. ‘No wonder she’s on tenterhooks. Suppose they ran away and married?’
‘Axel’s quite firm about that. If they do, he says he won’t give her a penny. He wouldn’t either. You know how strong-minded he is over some things. He regards all my children as if he were their father – except Clarence, perhaps.’
‘Yes, there’s Clarence.’
‘He and Clarence used to have the most frightful rows. It broke my heart to hear them. Clarence, of course, was very difficult, like his father, I’m afraid. Perhaps the present arrangement is the best, though it hurts me to think of Clarence living away from home. It was nice of him to come here for Christmas.’
‘I thought he seemed in very good form to-day.’
‘Did you? I’m so glad. Well, Malcolm, it’s a sad household for you to spend Christmas in – all the world thinking us so prosperous and happy too. But you’ve been most good and patient, with no one doing anything to entertain you. It’s been a strain on you, I can see. You look so tired.’
‘I feel very sleepy,’ I said. ‘In fact I think I shall go and have a nap.’
‘The very thing. Come down just when you like and ring for tea to be taken up to you any time. I do hope you’re settled in your bedroom. I wish I’d thought of moving Sheila out before.’
‘You’ve been in every way most kind and thoughtful for my comfort. Now look after yourself, and try not to worry about anything. Au revoir.’
I gave her hand a little pat, went out and shut the door.
*
As I crossed the landing to go to my new bedroom I saw the nurse for the first time. She was standing at the far end of the passage by the lacquer screen in front of the green baize door, as if uncertain whether or not to go through it. She held what looked to be a letter in her hand, and was apparently absorbed in its contents; for she was quite unaware of my presence. She was indeed extremely pretty, almost too pretty to be a nurse anywhere except on the stage. Despite the half-light in which she stood, I saw the deep brown hair beneath her cap, and the long dark lashes which could not quite veil the gleam of her vivacious eyes. Her nose was delicate and sensitively tipped, while on her lips, which were perhaps too full, played a most strange and interesting smile – the smile of a nun who yields to the allurements of the world, or, if there is such a smile (and I think there is), the smile of a woman who knows herself to be desired. As I held my ground and gazed, I could not help contrasting her insidious charm with Amabel’s more boisterous sex-appeal – I am bound to say, not entirely to Amabel’s disadvantage. How strange, I thought, to find such a creature in such a house at such a time.
I had now remained watching her for so long that I felt I could not continue on my way without speaking, in case she caught sight of me and thought that I was spying on her. Perhaps I was still emboldened by the unusual quantity of alcohol I had taken, for I advanced towards her and said, in as hearty a tone as I could assume, ‘Good afternoon, Nurse! I hear your patient’s getting on splendidly. I should like to come up and see him some time, if I may.’
She turned round with a little gasp, and then, recovering from the shock, gave me a smile. But it was not at all the smile she had worn before she saw me.
‘Oh!’ she said, ‘you must be Mr Warren. Yes, the patient is doing very well. I’m afraid he won’t need me much longer. He’s a dear little boy – except when he’s naughty. And he can be naughty, you know.’
‘I hear he threw a sponge at Dr McKenzie this morning.’
‘He did. Wasn’t it awful!’
‘Well, you must tell me when I can pay my respects.’
‘He’s asleep now, and Mrs Quisberg has given me a holiday for the rest of the day. Why not come and see us to-morrow morning, after the doctor’s been?’
‘Yes, I will,’ I said, realising that I should probably do nothing of the sort. ‘And now I’m going to have a nap – after too much Christmas dinner.’
She laughed, quietly but gaily, then with a little nod went behind the screen, and through the baize door, while I walked across the landing to my room. ‘She didn’t mention my wrist,’ I thought. I was not hurt by this omission, but it seemed to show how far her wits had strayed from her professional tasks.
So she was holiday-making that afternoon. That might account for much. What kind of a man, I wondered, had filled her with such joy?
*
A fire had been lit in my bedroom, and the bed looked most inviting. Had it not been for my injury, I should have undressed completely and put on my pyjamas, but I knew that though I could undress, I could not dress again without help, and did not wish to make too many calls on Edwins that day. Already I began to wonder how huge a tip I should have to give him when I left. I contented myself therefore with taking off my sling, my coat and waistcoat and my shoes, and lay down between the eiderdown and the blankets. In two or t
hree minutes I fell fast asleep.
*
I awoke at half past five. The fire was still flickering in the grate, and through the window I could see the cedars lit up by the lamp down the road. Christmas. Harrington Cobalts. My wrist. The death of Mrs Harley. What a pity it was that I had to get up! At least the dreary day was ending. I pressed the bell-switch by my pillow. In a few moments there was a knock at the door and George, the butler, came in with tea on a tray and turned on the light.
‘Thank God!’ I exclaimed; ‘what a happy thought!’
‘The mistress suggested that I should take up tea, sir, when your bell rang.’
‘You are all most kind.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Shall I pull down the blind?’
‘No thank you. I like seeing the trees through the window. There’s only one thing. I wonder if you’d mind helping me to put my shoes on. I can’t tie up the laces with my left hand.’
I swung my feet from the bed, while the old man knelt down heavily.
‘Thank you so much. No, I can manage my coat all right. I’ll put it on when I’ve had tea. Is Mr Quisberg all right?’
‘Yes, sir; I understand that he is much better. He will come down, I think, for supper.’
‘What time is that?’
‘Half past seven, sir. The gentlemen are not dressing.’
*
My tea revived me, and I began to feel ashamed to think that, beyond my short stroll in the garden, I had spent the whole day indoors. Should I take a walk before dinner? No, I really had not the energy. What with the heavy dinner, my potations, the reaction from my fall, the sleeping-draught which Dr Green had given me, and the nervous strain of the morning, I was strangely languid and reluctant to do anything except lounge about by myself. Instead of stirring, therefore, I sat down in an easy chair close to the window and gazed idly on to the strip of garden and the road. How delightful, I thought, to live with trees in sight of every window. My flat in London was both sunny and airy, but day after day, the same walls confronted me through the net curtains. And even if one had trees in central London, they were grimy and unnatural, except at the time of their first greenery. The Quisbergs’ house might have been a hundred miles away from all the hubbub of Piccadilly. Even the road was deserted – or nearly so; for there was one figure standing near the gate, as if he were waiting for someone. A footman, perhaps, from a neighbouring house, waiting for one of the Quisbergs’ maids. Then why didn’t he go nearer the garage entrance and the back door?
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