Nurse returned with Mary, followed by Richard.
“May I come in, mama? I wanted to see how you go on.” He caught sight of the sick girl and was alarmed to see how the already thin features were hollowed out. The hectic flush was fading; for a moment it presented almost a picture of health, then the face was pallid again, the brow bedewed, and Miss Fell’s body was seized with uncontrollable shivering.
Her eyes opened, appearing huge in the wasted face.
“Cold,” she whispered, “I’m so cold.”
“Since you are here, dearest, do you lift Miss Fell so that the bedding may be changed.”
Richard picked her up gently and Lady Annabel tucked a blanket around her while Nurse and Mary remade the bed. The burden seemed pounds lighter than when he had carried her on horseback. He gazed down into her face, then raised his eyes to his mother.
“Will she live?”
“I do not know. We must do the best we can, but now that the fever has broken there is little to be done. Do not look so despairing, Richard, there is yet hope.”
“I feel responsible for her, I suppose because I found her. She is so…helpless.”
He had felt the same, thought his mother, at the age of twelve when he had saved a puppy from drowning and nursed the feeble thing back to health.
The housekeeper came in with warm barley water. Richard propped Miss Fell up with his arm while Lady Annabel held the glass to her lips. She had scarcely strength enough for a few swallows.
“I will watch her for a while, Nurse. You had better get some rest, there may be a long night ahead. Mrs. Bedford, I will send for you when I need you. Richard, I cannot talk with you now.”
“Mama, I shall ride up to the moors and see if I can learn anything from the horse’s tracks. We were in too great a hurry to consider it before, but there may be some clue.”
“Certainly, dear. I suppose Lucy will keep Lord Denham tolerably entertained.”
Miss Fell’s gaze followed Richard as he left the room. In this nightmare into which she had woken, his dark face, constantly recurring, was a landmark to which she clung. It was the first thing she could remember seeing, the only thing that stood out in a haze of other faces, coming and going. She was too tired to think about it, too tired to try to understand what was happening, too tired to sleep, but too tired to keep her eyes open. As they closed she felt as if she were sinking into a dark whirlpool that sucked her down and down. Someone took her hand in a firm, gentle clasp; it seemed far away; she must hold on or she would drown in the blackness that grasped and pulled at her.
Lady Annabel sat by the bed in a rocking chair, the cold, still hand clasped in both hers. She had felt the feeble, desperate clutch, and though the girl’s hand was limp now, she would not let it go. The winter sun sank in the west, its ruddy rays turning the silk draperies to flame.
“Like her hair,” Lady Annabel thought drowsily.
Lucy peeked in and, seeing that all was quiet, went to warn everyone to stay away. Richard had told her that her heroine might not live, and the sight of the pale face so still on the pillow was enough to suppress her usual exuberance.
At dusk Mrs. Bedford brought the doctor. The sound of their arrival roused Lady Annabel, who had been dozing. Miss Fell lay motionless, but a slow pulse beat at the base of her throat. Dr. Grimsdale laid his hand on her forehead and took her pulse.
“Sleeping,” he grunted. “She’ll do. To tell the truth, I’m surprised. Must have an excellent constitution. Main thing now is to keep her strength up.”
He changed the dressing on her head. The cut was already showing signs of healing, though there was a dark bruise and some swelling.
“I’ll drop in in the morning,” he said as he left. “She should sleep all night, but someone should watch. Try and get her to drink some broth this evening even if you have to wake her. She’s half starved and very weak.”
The housekeeper went to fetch Nurse and Lady Annabel hurried to tell the others the good news. She found them in the music room gathered round the pianoforte, singing mournful ballads about death and forsaken lovers. The result was not entirely felicitous. Lucy’s playing style ran more to verve than to sensitivity or accuracy; and while Richard’s light baritone sounded pleasant, the fervor of Lord Denham’s tenor did not make up for his inability to carry a tune.
Richard noticed his mother’s entrance and broke off in the middle of a plea for branches of yew to be strewn on his coffin.
“Mama! You look happy! What is the news?”
“Oh, my musical children, Miss Fell is sleeping and Dr. Grimsdale considers her out of danger, though still very ill and weak.”
Richard felt as if he had unknowingly been holding his breath for hours and was only now able to breathe freely again. Lucy, frozen at the piano, relaxed with a small sigh, and Tony turned to inquire, “Then may I stop singing these dreadful songs?”
“Mama, that is wonderful!” cried Lucy, throwing her arms about Lady Annabel and giving her a hug. “You must know that Richard would have us indulge in music because he said I looked as though I were going into a decline. But I could not bear to play anything cheerful while Clarissa was dying upstairs.”
“Not ‘Clarissa,’” groaned Richard, and they all laughed as if he had voiced the wittiest of bon-mots.
Lady Annabel caught sight of the clock on the mantel.
“Oh dear, it is past five, and I suppose Cook will have prepared dinner for six o’clock as usual. Lucy, we must dress immediately. Richard, you shall tell me at dinner what you found on the moor. Excuse us, Lord Denham.”
The two young men were left alone for a moment, occupied in closing the pianoforte and putting away the music books.
“Tony, I really must apologize for the musical interlude. It was all I could think of to distract my sister.”
“It is for me to apologize, Richard. You are a musical family, and I cannot hold a note. Lucy plays as charmingly as she smiles.”
“Indeed, if you think so you are undoubtedly tone-deaf. She does well enough with a gig or a hornpipe, but she mangles anything requiring sensitivity of touch!”
“Oh, you are an expert. I sometimes think we should never see you in London were it not for the concerts and the opera. I insist, for us tyros who enjoy a good tune, Miss Carstairs does an excellent job.”
Laughing, Richard led the way upstairs.
Some thirty minutes later, the party assembled in the small salon. Lucy pointed out to her mother a bowl of snowdrops she had picked that afternoon.
“May I put them in Miss Fell’s chamber?” she asked. “Flowers always make me cheerful, and I am sure she needs them more than anyone.”
“I cannot promise she will notice them, Lucy, but you may take them to her this evening.”
The dinner gong rang. Lord Denham gave his arm to Lady Annabel, and Lucy followed with Richard. He offered her his arm, and she was about to refuse scornfully when she saw the twinkle in his eye and remembered what he had said earlier. Mindful of her mother’s lessons, she inclined her head regally and laid her fingers lightly on his sleeve. Then she looked up inquiringly into his face, so much like a sparrow that he laughed and patted her hand.
“Excellent,” he approved. “Almost I think you are ready for London.”
Monsieur Pierre had outdone himself in honour of the noble guest, a noted gourmet.
Caneton à l’orange
followed braised kidneys in white wine, Brussels sprouts au gratin succeeded a succulent sirloin surrounded with elaborate side dishes. Richard noted with amusement that Lucy confined herself to small helpings of a few dishes and ended her meal with an apple, which she delicately peeled and sliced instead of munching it down to the core. The child was really trying.
“Come, Lucy,” he said, “time enough to stop eating when you get to Town.” He cut her a large slice of gooseberry tart and piled it with whipped cream. Throwing him a grateful look, she demolished it rapidly.
The ladies left the gentlemen to their brandy. Lord Denham, replete, suppressed a belch and remarked, “My mother was always on at m’sisters about their appetites. Of course they did put on weight easily, especially poor Agnes. But your sister don’t seem to, mustn’t let her waste away just to be fashionable.”
“Oh, if I know Lucy, she will spend half her time pestering the cook for bread and jam. She had as lief eat that as anything.”
“No, how can you say so?” exclaimed Tony, revolted by such philistinism. “Pretty girl like Miss Carstairs should live on strawberries and cream.”
“She would if she had the chance,” said her brother cynically. “I remember when she was twelve…”
“Devil take it, Richard,” protested his lordship, “don’t ruin any more illusions! Let us join the ladies.”
Meanwhile, Lucy had carried the bowl of snowdrops up to the Blue Room. Nurse was knitting in the rocker, and Miss Fell appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
“How is she?” whispered Lucy.
“The better for your asking, dearie,” said the old woman. “Brought some flowers, have you then? Proper cheers the place up, don’t they?”
Lucy hung over the bed, examining the patient.
“She’s still awfully pale, Nurse.”
“Well, Miss Lucy, as I hear it, she’m lost a mint o’ blood. Takes a while to make it up, it do. Now, you go tell my lady as Miss Fell be doin’ fine. Me and Mrs. Bedford’ll give her some o’ that there comsonny broth in a while.”
“I believe mama wishes to be here when Miss Fell awakes. I expect she will come up shortly. Do you wait for her.”
“Right you are, dearie.”
When Lucy returned to the drawing room, Lady Annabel was sitting at the desk, writing the letter to her sister-in-law that she had not had time for earlier in the day. Richard and Tony were setting up a game of backgammon.
“Lucy, will you come and play with Tony? I must talk with mama. Do not let her off easily, Tony, she plays excellently, much better than at the piano.”
Uncertain whether to be more pleased at the compliment than indignant at the slur, Lucy ignored him pointedly and sat down to play. Richard pulled up a chair beside Lady Annabel and said in a low voice, “The longer I consider this situation, the more difficulties I foresee. Even supposing that my aunt will come, and that Miss Fell recovers quickly, what do we do then? Of course, she may suddenly regain her memory, but Dr. Grimsdale seemed to think it unlikely.”
“I have thought about it, dearest,” said his mother. “When Miss Fell is strong enough, she shall join us in London. There will be far more chance in town of her meeting someone who recognizes her. I suppose you found no clue on the moor as to her origin?”
“No, mama. The sun had melted all the snow, and the ground was hard as a rock, so there were no tracks. You are right, of course, about the possibility of her being recognized in London, though that is only true if she is fit to go about in Society. Even if that is so, it will be most awkward to introduce to the Ton someone who has no family or background and whose name even is unknown. This is a devilish coil! Excuse me, mama.”
“I shall introduce her as the daughter of an old school friend. She is not of an age to be formally brought out, but she may perhaps be able to chaperone Lucy. I am sure there will be occasions when I had rather not accompany her, and Richard, I do not think I am partial when I say that I expect it will not be long before Lucy is sought in marriage. Of course, it is what one most wishes for one’s daughter, but I shall be sadly lonely without her. Miss Fell may yet turn out to be the perfect companion for an old woman.”
“Mama, I will not have you put yourself out so for a stranger with no claims upon you. I am sure we will be able to find a post as a governess, or something of the sort, for the young woman.”
“Indeed, dear, since I sat with her this afternoon I feel toward her as to a daughter. It is true that we cannot yet know aught of her character, but she has a sweet face.”
“She does, does she not? I wish…no matter. I cannot like it that she was riding alone on the moor, and at night. I can think of no explanation that will satisfy the requirements of respectability. Miss Fell is probably a thieving abigail or the like!”
With these harsh words, Richard rose and began pacing up and down before the fireplace. Every time he saw the girl, or pictured her face, he was conscious only of a desire to protect her. Yet as soon as he considered her situation and the problems it seemed likely to precipitate, he was certain that she could be no lady. He felt that in some subtle way she was taking advantage of him and his family; then her sea-green eyes swam before his vision, lost and frightened, and he despised himself. He resolved to put her out of his mind as much as possible. Surely further acquaintance would resolve his dilemma. He went to watch the backgammon game.
Lady Annabel had studied the play of emotions on her son’s face and interpreted them with fair accuracy. She sighed gently. It had been easier with the puppy. Since it was an obvious mongrel, there had been no question about its place in society.
She finished her letter, signed and sealed it, and rang the bell. When Bedford came, she instructed him to give it to Jem, who must leave at dawn to ride to Arnden and wait there for an answer.
“I shall go to Miss Fell now,” she said. “See that the broth is brought to her room. When I come downstairs again, you may bring in the tea.”
“Very well, my lady.” The butler bowed and left, and with a word to the players, Lady Annabel followed.
Her return, half an hour later, went unnoticed for a few moments. She paused in the doorway and saw Richard and Lucy helpless with laughter and Lord Denham considering them with the smirk of a raconteur whose story has met with unexpected success. He was the first to notice Lady Annabel’s presence and he rose from his chair.
“You must excuse us, ma’am. Had I known these two were so easily amused, I’d not have tried to cheer them up.”
Lady Annabel advanced with a smile.
“Oh, mama,” cried Lucy, gasping for breath, “he is so funny. He must tell you…”
“No, no, Miss Carstairs. It has been my experience that a story repeated so soon always falls flat. You cannot desire me to spoil my reputation.”