by June Wright
Michael turned his head and spoke sharply. “Rex! The door!”
The big dog got up from its corner and padded across the room. It lay down across the doorway and eyed Marsh unwinkingly.
“Call him away,” she ordered. “I must go back to my room. Whatever would your mother—”
“Whatever would my mother say if she could see her little pet alone with her own son like this?” he taunted. “Sit down.”
She hesitated, glanced at the dog and then sat down. “You talk of Dr. Waring as though she were another person—no relation at all.”
“My mother? What a wonderful woman! A remarkable woman! Am I right?”
“I consider her so,” Marsh said stiffly.
“And my father? He is a wonderful man?”
“So I am told. I have not met him yet.”
“Am I not fortunate to have two such remarkable persons as parents?”
Marsh did not speak. The note of mockery in Michael Waring’s voice became overlaid with a tone of bitterness.
“Being the son of two such remarkable persons it is to be hoped that I become as fine and wonderful as them. It is a goal worth striving for—an ambition regarded with envy by all. I have unusual opportunities to become something great. There is nothing I can’t wish to be. And I wish”—he put his head back against the chair and closed his eyes wearily—“I wish I was an imbecile like Sam. Quite happy and quite unconscious of the subtle cruelty of the world.”
He remained there with his eyes closed in silence. Presently he opened them. “You can go to bed,” he said in a tired voice. “Come here, Rex!”
Marsh got up. Pity for his youth and his wretchedness stirred beneath her disgust.
“What about you?” she asked. “You look worn out.”
He turned his head and grinned up at her impudently. “Is that an invitation? Don’t tell me you’re losing your aloofness!”
“You talk like a dirty-minded schoolboy,” she said coldly. “Your mother—”
“Oh, get out!” said Michael Waring angrily.
Chapter Two
I
Marsh awoke with an indefinable sensation of shame. Her throat felt dry and rough. There was an ache between her shoulder-blades and another incipient one behind her eyes.
It was barely daylight, although it was nearly seven. The rain had eased but the wind still blew fiercely in from the ocean. The sky was heavy with clouds. It was just the sort of morning for those who could to stay in bed, but Marsh got up and pulled back the blankets as though to withstand temptation.
She went straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water came down in a gentle spray. She surveyed it resentfully. An embryonic headache called for something stronger than tank pressure.
It was hard to conceive in that particularly hard and cold morning light that she, the reserved and unemotional Marsh Mowbray, had behaved with such indiscretion the night before. With her aching head and burning throat, she could not understand now the powerful urge that had caused her to leave her room and to go downstairs in search of drink; especially after Katherine Waring’s light admonition and her advice to ignore all strange noises.
Marsh’s eyes darkened with remorse. Dr. Kate must never know of her midnight prowlings or of her meeting with Michael Waring.
She donned the severe grey suit she had worn the previous day and picked up her trench coat. A good brisk walk before breakfast would do much towards restoring her equanimity.
The bedroom floor was still quiet, but when Marsh reached the bottom of the stairs she heard someone moving around in the kitchen. There was the cindery smell of a fuel stove burning and the pungent odour of freshly made tea.
Miss Jennet glanced up as the girl passed.
“Dr. Mowbray!” she called, looking distressed. “Does Kate know? I mean—she said I was to prepare a breakfast tray for you.”
Marsh came into the kitchen. “I am going out for a walk before breakfast. It is such a—” She stopped. What she was about to say would have been quite ridiculous, as one glance through the window would have told Miss Jennet. “May I have a cup of tea?” she asked lamely.
The cups lay on a tray, each with its triangle of bread and butter, ready to be delivered to the members of the household.
“No milk in mine,” Marsh said hurriedly. She could not bear the thought of tasting anything with a fat content. Her palate needed cosseting for a while.
“Just as well you came down, then,” Miss Jennet chatted on. “I know what all the others like; although it is so difficult, what with Kingsley and Mrs Arkwright—though she doesn’t like it to be known. But, after all, she can’t help it, can she? It isn’t as if a disease is a bad habit. But I’ll remember no milk for you.”
Marsh felt too lethargic to start on an explanation that she usually took milk in her tea, but she just did not want it that morning. She sipped the hot liquid and watched the little woman fill the other cups.
“Four. Miss Peterson. Oh dear, I wish Kingsley wouldn’t bring her here. Five, six. Poor Michael! Where’s my bottle of aspirin? I’ll put it on his saucer. Seven. That’s the lot.”
She turned to rummage in a cupboard for the aspirin. Marsh listened dully to her chatter.
“Don’t you want to do something when you see people making everyone miserable? It’s all so foolish and so easily fixed. Kate could, you know, but she is so funny sometimes. We grew up together. She has always been like that, but I love her. She’s the sort of person you’d die for, if you know what I mean. Have you finished your tea? No milk or sugar. I’ll remember.”
“Thank you,” Marsh said, and set down her cup. “If Dr. Waring should inquire for me, tell her I went for a walk. What time is breakfast?”
“Eight-thirty. I’ll tell Kate. She never gets angry, you know. But you feel awful if you do something she doesn’t want you to do. It might rain again. Would you like to take an umbrella?”
Marsh thought it was an idiotic suggestion. You don’t take umbrellas when you go out to walk. Anyway, the wind would have it inside out in two minutes. She nodded to Miss Jennet and left.
Outside on the verandah lay the big black dog, Rex. His eyes were closed but he opened them the instant he heard the footstep. Marsh stopped and surveyed him carefully, wondering if he remembered her.
He lay there with an unmoving gaze. Marsh took courage and advanced. The dog stood up on his front legs and bared his teeth with a growl. She glanced around her in irritation. The beastly animal lay in her path. There was no other exit from the verandah, unless she was prepared to vault the railing on to a flower-bed. She considered such a move would be a sign of cowardice and indignity. It would never do to let Michael Waring’s dog know he had her bluffed.
The imbecile boy came across the courtyard, his long arms hugging a pile of logs. The sharp wind had reddened his eyes, and his nose and mouth were running freely. He was not a pretty sight but the girl watched him with relief. The wood was probably for the kitchen fire, which meant he would have to get past Rex himself.
The dog turned his head and thumped his tail as Sam approached. The boy grinned and shouted something unintelligible.
“Can you call this animal off?” Marsh asked. “He won’t let me get by.”
Sam looked at her with vacant eyes as he mounted the steps to the verandah.
“Tell him to move,” Marsh said, ashamed of her irritation at the dull expression when she remembered Katherine Waring’s superb patience the evening before.
Sam grinned again and lumbered along the verandah with his heavy load. Presently he came back with a length of plaited leather in his hand. Feeling in the thick hair about the dog’s neck he slipped on the leash and handed the other end to Marsh. She took it and at once Rex lunged down the steps, pulling her along.
“I hadn’t bargained for this,” she said aloud, bending back against the dog’s
weight. She looked back to the house. Sam was jumping up and down, shouting excitedly and throwing his arms about. The door from the kitchen opened and Miss Jennet came out. When she spoke to him the boy quietened and followed her meekly inside.
Marsh had no plan where to go. At first she was inclined to let Rex lead her where he willed. Then the thought that such laxity might lead to indiscipline caused her to shorten the leash and to force the dog’s movements to suit her own. They came out on to the road, Rex pulling to the right. By this time Marsh had made up her mind to visit the point where she had stopped the car the previous evening. She proceeded along in some discomfort, the wind against her. Presently, in the face of such obstinacy, Rex gave up his abortive attempts to follow his own inclinations and padded alongside amiably. With the change of front Marsh was stirred to a faint liking for the black beast.
The sea was still raging on the rocks below the open point. Marsh stood near the edge, Rex still and silent beside her. Somehow the clean rain-washed air and the dog’s obedience did much to dispel the jumbled emotions she had set out with. She stayed there for a few moments to test out Rex’s loyalty and then stooped to release the leash. The dog did not move from her side.
Marsh regarded him with a certain misgiving. Such blind unreasoning homage might prove embarrassing. She plucked a branch from a nearby ti-tree, stripped it and flung it along the road with a word of encouragement. Rex went off at a bound. She followed slowly, a smile of grudging amusement on her lips. Amazing what one could do with animals. She must get a dog when she came back from England.
Rex came back to drop the stick at her feet. As she stooped to pick it up, the hair rose on the animal’s neck and a low growl sounded in his throat. Marsh watched him uncertainly. Then she heard footsteps coming along the track that wound round the inlet. She slipped her hand through his collar as he barked and made a jerk forward. Out of the tangled ti-trees came the stranger who had ridden his horse along the cliffs the evening before.
He lifted his eyes and saw Marsh standing in the road. His gaze passed over her impersonally as though she was one of a crowd. The girl tugged at Rex’s collar, but the dog would not budge.
“In trouble again?” asked the stranger.
“I don’t think so,” Marsh replied, annoyed at the man’s impatient tone. He passed on without another word. She clipped the leash back and tried to pull Rex into movement.
“Of all the ridiculous creatures!” she told him. “What’s the matter with you?”
At the bend in the road the stranger stopped and turned. He came back.
“I’ll try,” he offered, putting one hand on Rex’s head. His fingers caressed the dog firmly before he jerked the leash. Rex arose.
“And I was just thinking I understood dogs,” Marsh said laughingly.
The man ignored her remark. He did not even look at her as he handed her the leash, but strode on ahead, this time without a backward glance.
II
Vexed at the stranger’s surliness and not wishing to repeat the performance, she permitted Rex to pull her where he willed. They went off the road into the scrub. The thickly growing ti-trees made it very quiet, but as they climbed out of a gully the sound of the sea became clearer. At the top of the rise it turned abruptly into a roar, and Marsh stood on the edge of the cliffs again with the surf lapping angrily around the rocks far below.
The cliffs sloped away towards the left almost to sea level, forming a small cleared plain. At first she thought this clearing was a freak of nature until she noticed the red and white flags standing in patches of vivid green grass, and the white sand-boxes standing in the protection of windbreaks made of dried ti-tree branches lashed together with wire.
She stood for a long while surveying this strange man-made playground. It extended to the narrow rugged headland which separated the bay from the ocean. Then the dog lifted his head to the wind. He gave one short bark and jerked away the leash lying slackly in her hand. He went off at a long loping stride, his head now bent to the ground. The big black body diminished in size as he made straight for the headland.
Another bark was borne on the wind. It was a strange sound, almost a howl; as though the dog were in pain. With a vague thought of rabbit-traps, Marsh broke into a run.
She found him standing just outside a windbreak where the ground rose up to a hillock, and nosing unhappily at a pair of feet clad in rubber-stopped golfing brogues which extended from the entrance of the shelter.
Marsh was accustomed to bodies wrapped cleanly in white hospital gowns, lying in beds equally immaculate. Even her term on duty in the casualty ward, borne by her with some distaste, was not as bad as finding an untidy body needing urgent medical attention lying exposed to the weather in complete isolation.
The owner of the rubber-stopped brogues was a man a little past middle age. He lay on his face with his arms flung above his head. She turned him over with difficulty, bending her ear to the damp shirt. There were still signs of life, although his condition was poor. She could detect a faint heart-beat in spite of the noise of the wind whistling through the branches of the break. Kneeling on one knee she scanned the face anxiously. It was a handsome one, topped by a growth of thick silvery hair. In health it would be a rugged face, but just now the jowl hung loosely above the open shirt.
She stripped off her raincoat and the jacket of her suit to tuck around the unconscious man. She did not waste time trying to find out the trouble as there was no sign of visible injury, but she knew she must get help at once. The patient must get warm if there was to be any chance of strengthening the weak pulse.
Gripping him under the arm-pits she pulled him right into the shelter and adjusted the wraps again. She turned her head sharply as something caught her eye near the dog, who had been sniffing around inside the shelter. It was a bundle of clothing; a raincoat, a muffler and a tweed jacket and matching cap all folded neatly into a pile.
The dog would not let her go near them. He growled and squatted menacingly as she tried to take up the leash.
“All right, damn you!” Marsh said, and went off at a run.
She was a long way from Reliance, and to make the situation more uncomfortable it had commenced to rain. The whole width of the links and the ti-tree spinney lay in front of her, so she turned in the direction of the red roof visible above the pine-trees which marked the landward boundaries of the course.
She stumbled across roughs and over smooth fairways, ploughing through sandy bunkers and leaving her heel-marks for golfers to curse. Her thin shirt was wet on her back and the wind stung her arms below the short sleeves. Presently she came to a narrow car-track, made of loose stones. This, she discovered later, ran in and out the fairways for the convenience of the green-keeper. Grateful for the guide she ran along the heavy surface. After a short distance the track was barred by a gate with a notice on it requesting that it be closed after use. Marsh went through, ignoring the polite order in her haste.
The road had widened and was now a metal surface. At once that conveyed something to her. Todd Bannister—the hotel—the only decent road in Matthews. The red roof she had seen belonged to the Tom Thumb.
She slowed her pace to long swinging strides. Although the case called for speed there was no necessity to rush like a mad woman. Her appearance was already against her, so there was all the more reason to act in a dignified manner suitable to the profession.
The hotel seemed deserted, but she finally found a woman sweeping out the bar parlour. Chairs were stacked on the tables and a smell of beeswax and turpentine overlaid the odour of beer and spirits.
“Breakfast in a quarter of an hour,” said the woman, taking up a mop and plying it with vigour. “No drinks until ten.”
Marsh stood at the threshold, shaking the rain out of her hair. “Is Mr Bannister about?” she asked. “I want to see him at once. It is most important.”
The woma
n stopped mopping and turned to give her a longer look. “I am Mr Bannister’s mother. What do you want?”
Marsh was getting cold. She had found a desperately sick man lying on the golf-links and had given up her clothing to him to run through the rain for assistance, and now some suspicious woman was detaining her with idiotic questions.
I want Mr Bannister to come with me at once,” she said curtly. “There is a man lying unconscious on the links. He must be brought to shelter immediately. I am Dr. Mowbray.”
Mrs Bannister gazed at her sceptically, trying to absorb this fantastic tale. Then she placed the mop neatly alongside the broom. “I will go and call Todd,” she agreed.
“Please hurry,” Marsh said, on a sneeze. “And could you lend me a coat or something?”
“You’ll find one in here,” Mrs Bannister replied, opening the cupboard under the stairs as she passed.
Screened by the open door the girl peeled off her sodden shirt and skirt. A pair of khaki overalls stained with paint and grease was hanging in the cupboard. She put them on and wrapped a man’s overcoat nearly twice round her slim body, pulling the collar high to hide her bare neck. She backed out of the extempore cubicle and shut the door.
Lolling against the wall of the passage was the man who was now identified in Marsh’s mind as the stranger on the horse. His eyes went over her impersonally enough, but she was ready to pass some withering remark when Todd Bannister came down the stairs.
“Hullo, Doc! Mother said you wanted help. Is it true you have a patient lying in one of the bunkers? What an odd place to put a patient.”
“This is no time for jokes,” Marsh said crisply. “Can you bring the car? And I want some blankets. Mrs Bannister, have you any hot water ready? If so, please fill any hot-water bags you can lay your hands on.”
Todd Bannister said: “Dear Doc, you know where my car is. Have you forgotten our meeting so soon?”
“Todd, get a car from the garage at once. Mr Scott won’t mind,” Mrs Bannister ordered. “Mr Shane, you go with this young lady. She will probably need more assistance than Todd can give.”