Frederica (43 page)

“If you will be pleased to come with me, ma’am, I will show you the parlour,” said Miss Judbrook, who was standing in the doorway.

She spoke in frigid accents, but thawed a little when Frederica said, holding out her hand: “Thank you! I am so very much obliged to you for all you have done. I am afraid it must have meant a shocking upset for you, too.”

“Oh, well, as to that, ma’am, I was never one to grudge trouble!” responded Miss Judbrook, taking the hand, and dropping a reluctant curtsy. “I’m sure, if Judbrook had asked me, I should have told him to bring the young gentleman in straight, but nursing him I cannot undertake!”

“No, indeed!” agreed Frederica. “You must have enough to do without that!” Following her forbidding hostess to the parlour, she paused on the threshold, cast a swift look round the room, and exclaimed: “Oh, what a handsome carpet!”

The Marquis, who thought the carpet quite hideous, blinked; but realized, an instant later, that his Frederica had said exactly the right thing. Miss Judbrook, bridling with pleasure, said that it had been laid down not a month ago; and almost cordially Invited Frederica to step upstairs with her.

The Marquis, prudently remaining below, went out to confer with his henchman. He found Curry, who had driven up to the farm behind the carriage in the phaeton, assisting one of Judbrook’s farmhands to remove from the carriage a quantity of baggage; and his valet, having survived a journey on the box-seat without loss of dignity, directing these operations. The Marquis instructed his postilions to take the carriage on to the Sun, at Hemel Hempstead, which hostelry had been recommended to him by Dr Elcot; told Knapp to procure accommodation there; and Curry to wait with the phaeton until he himself should be ready to leave the farm; and went back into the house.

It was not long before Frederica joined him in the parlour. She declined the armchair, and sat down at the table, laying her clasped hands upon it. “He is still sleeping, but not restfully. I think I should go back as soon as I may, but before I do so will you tell me, if you please, cousin, what the doctor has said? I can tell that Felix is very feverish, and can guess how anxious a night you must have passed.” She read hesitation in his face; and added quietly: “Don’t be afraid to open the budget! I’m not a fool, and I’m not easily overpowered.” She smiled faintly. “Nor is this the first time one of my brothers has been ill, or has done his best to kill himself. So tell me!”

“Elcot speaks of rheumatic fever,” he said bluntly.

She nodded. “I was afraid it might be that. My mother had it once. She was never quite well after it: it affected her heart. I was only a child at the time, but I recall how very ill she was—worse, I think, than Felix is. But our doctor wasn’t skilful, and she wasn’t carefully nursed. I can remember that she dragged herself out of bed, because she heard the baby crying—that was Felix, of course. Well! Felix won’t do so! He is more robust than my mother ever was, and medical science is more advanced. I don’t mean to fall into despair, I promise you, so you needn’t look at me as if you feared you might at any moment be obliged to recover me from a swoon!”

“I certainly don’t fear that: you have too much force of mind! If I look grave, it’s because I am afraid you have an anxious, as well as an exhausting, time ahead. I only hope you may not be quite worn down.”

“Thank you! I’m not such a poor creature! I shall have Jessamy to help me, too—perhaps as soon as tomorrow, if Harry returns to London this evening, as we believe he will. Dear Jessamy! he wanted so much to come with me today, but he never said so. He understood at once how improper it would be to leave poor Charis with only the servants to bear her company, and said he should stay in Upper Wimpole Street until Harry arrived to relieve him of that duty. He means to travel to Watford on the stage, and I own I shall be glad to have him with me. I can trust him to watch over Felix when he sleeps, so that I may lie down on my bed for a while. You see how rational I am, cousin!”

“I never doubted that. May I ask what part Miss Winsham plays in this?”

“A very small one,” she confessed. “My uncle died last night, you see.”

“Accept my condolences! I should have supposed that this must have released Miss Winsham from what she conceived to be her most pressing duty, but I collect that I’m mistaken.”

“Yes, because my Aunt Amelia is now prostrate, and falls into hysterics as soon as Aunt Seraphina leaves her side. She has spasms, vapours, and—Oh, dear, I ought not to talk so! I have so little sensibility myself that I find it very hard to sympathize with people like Aunt Seraphina.
I
should be much inclined to—
No
!”

“I know exactly what you would be much inclined to do,” he said, smiling. “I saw how you dealt with Charis, in a similar situation!”

“It was not at all similar!” she replied. “Poor Charis had suffered a severe shock! There was every excuse for her! My uncle’s death has been expected for weeks—and, in any event, I should
not
slap my aunt’s face!”

“However much you might wish to,” he agreed.

“Certainly not!” she said, with a severity belied by the laughter in her eyes. “You are quite—that is to say, if I were not so deeply indebted to you, I should say—”

“That I was quite the most detestable man alive?”

“
Abominable
was the word I had in mind!” she returned instantly. Then her eyes softened. “No, I shouldn’t! To us you have been all kindness, however abominable you may be! Now, do be serious, sir! The case is not as bad as you think! My aunt has promised to keep a watch over Charis, but she feels that her sister has the greater claim on her. Well—well, I expect I should feel that too, so I can scarcely blame her! She thinks that, since it would be most improper for Charis to attend any parties at this moment, and will have Harry to accompany her out walking, or driving, besides Mrs Hurley to take good care of her,
her
presence cannot be deemed necessary. I must tell you also that your sister—Cousin Elizabeth, I mean,—has been as kind as you are! She sent Charis a note this morning, inviting her to stay at your house, while I was away, and offering to escort her to Lady Castlereagh’s assembly tonight. Charis declined it, of course—indeed, nothing would prevail upon her to go junketing abroad under these circumstances!—and—and I know I can depend on Harry! He is very much attracted to Charis, you know, and won’t let her fall into dejection.” She rose. “I must go. Would you, when you reach London, tell Chan’s just how the matter stands here, and assure her that there is no need for undue misgiving? I should be so much obliged to you!”

“Willingly, but I am not returning to London yet awhile. Did you think that I meant to play nip-shot? I’m not as abominable as that, I hope! You goose! why did you suppose that I had sent for my valet?”

“I didn’t! I mean,—oh, was he your valet? I thought he must be some sort of a courier, and wondered that you should think it necessary to provide me with him!”

“As well you might! Foolish beyond permission, Frederica!”

“No! How should I know what freakish thing you might take it into your head to do?” she countered. “I never met anyone as extravagant as you are! But you must not stay here on my account! Indeed, there is no need!”

“You are quite mistaken. After the anxieties and exertions of the past twenty-four hours I am wholly exhausted, and must ruralize for a few days. I shall be putting up at the Sun, in Hemel Hempstead—and pray don’t argue with me! Few things are more boring than fruitless arguments!” He took her hand, and pressed it. “I’m off now, but I shall come back presently—to assure myself that you are taking good care of my ward!”

XXIII

The Marquis did not return to Monk’s Farm until shortly before six o’clock, by which time he had been refreshed by a long sleep, a complete change of raiment, and a tolerable dinner. After a brief conversation with both the Judbrooks, he went upstairs to the room in which Fells lay, and. entered it softly. The curtains had been drawn across the window, shutting out the westering sun, but he was immediately aware of a change. The room was redolent, not of the mustiness of disuse, but of lavender; and, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he saw that a truckle-bed had been set up, the heavy patchwork quilt removed from the four-poster, and a screen placed to shield from Felix the light that would later be cast by the oil-lamp which now stood upon the table. Felix was uneasily asleep, moaning a, little, and muttering; and Frederica was sitting in the armchair, which she had drawn up to the window. She rose when she saw who had entered the room, and came towards Ms lordship like a ghost, breathing: “Don’t wake him!”

She passed before him out of the room, and he drew the door to behind them both. He saw that she was looking pale, and very tired, and said: “He’s no better? I can see you’ve been having the devil of a time!”

She shook her head. “No. We can’t expect him to be better yet, you know. And at this hour a feverish person is always at his worst. But Dr Elcot has told me just what to do.”

“Are you satisfied with Elcot? If you would wish to have another doctor’s opinion, tell me! I’ll set out for London immediately, and bring Knighton here—or any other you choose to name!”

“Thank you—but no: I think Dr Elcot knows just what he is about.”

“Very well, then go down to the parlour now, to your dinner! You will offend Miss Judbrook if you don’t: she appears to have exerted herself to prepare an elegant repast for you, which is ready, and—so she tells me—rapidly spoiling. And let me inform you, my dear, that if you mean to say that you dare not leave Felix in my care you will offend me too!”

“I shan’t say that, at least! Dr Elcot told me how well you managed Felix, and how good you have been to him. The truth is that I am not at all hungry—but I know how stupid it would be to refuse my dinner, so I will go downstairs. If Felix should wake, and complain that he is thirsty, there is lemonade in the blue jug on the table.”

“Now, why the devil didn’t I think of lemonade, when he was so thirsty last night?” he exclaimed.

She smiled. “How should you? In any event, I don’t think Miss Judbrook has any lemons. I brought some from London—which reminds me that I shall need some more. Will you procure some for me in Hemel Hempstead tomorrow, cousin?”

“Yes, and anything else you need, but go down now!” She went obediently, returning half-an-hour later to find him supporting Felix with one arm, and trying, not very successfully, to turn the pillow with his other hand. She went at once to the rescue; and he said apologetically: “I fear I’m not yet very deedy! He has been turning his head continually, trying, I think, to find a cool spot. Frederica, are you sure you don’t wish another doctor to see him? I won’t disguise from you that he seems to me more feverish now than he was last night.”

She began to bathe Felix’s face and hands with a handkerchief soaked with lavender-water. “Dr Elcot warned me that he expected him to be worse before he is better. It will soon be time for his medicine again, and that will make him easier: you’ll see! At least—do you mean to go back to the Sun immediately, or would you wait for just twenty minutes? To hold him for me, while I give him the dose? When he is like this, quite out of his senses, it is very difficult for me to manage him without assistance.”

“I am entirely at your disposal, Frederica. Did you eat your dinner?”

“Yes, and drank the glass of wine you provided for me, cousin. Miss Judbrook told me that you brought over a bottle from the Sun. Thank you! It has made me feel as fresh as a nosegay!”

“I’m happy to hear it,” he said dryly. He moved away, but after watching her struggles to control Felix, and to keep his body covered, he came back again, saying: “Let me try what I can do! No, leave him to me! I succeeded last night, and may yet be able to do so.”

She yielded her place to him, and he sat down, possessing himself of Felix’s burning hand, and speaking to him in the compelling voice which he had previously used to such good effect. It did not this time recall Felix to his senses; but it seemed to Frederica that although there was no recognition in the fevered eyes the implacable voice at last penetrated the mists. Felix grew quieter, moaning, but no longer trying to fling himself about. He fought against the medicine, but Alverstoke held him clamped against his shoulder, and Frederica was quick to tilt the mixture down his throat when he opened his mouth to utter a wild, incoherent protest. He choked, coughed, and burst into spasmodic sobs, but gradually these ceased, and he sighed wearily. Alverstoke laid him down again, and said softly over his shoulder: “Go to bed, Frederica!”

She blinked, and whispered: “I shall lie down presently on the truckle-bed. Pray don’t—”

“You will go to bed in your own room. I’ll wake you at midnight—before, if I should see any need! Oblige me by sending for Curry, and telling him to put the horses to then.”

“You cannot drive back to Hemel Hempstead at that hour!”

“I shall do precisely that—and by the light of a full moon! Don’t stand there raising bird-witted objections! Of what use will you be tomorrow if you are three parts dead of fatigue?”

She was obliged to acknowledge the truth of this. Anxiety had made it impossible for her to sleep on the previous night; she had been up almost at dawn, with packing to do, and arrangements to make; she had travelled for some twenty-five miles; and had been in attendance on her patient for eight hours; and she was indeed exhausted. She smiled waveringly upon his lordship, said simply: “Thank you!” and went out of the room.