The Secret Woman (16 page)

She was crying quietly now, and the quietness was more alarming than her noisy outbursts.

“It would be better if I were the one lying in that coffin.”

“You'll have a coffin when the time comes like the rest of us.”

She smiled through her grief. “Oh, Nurse, you do me good.”

“The cognac will do you even more good, you see.”

“At times you're the stern nurse and at others…at others you're quite something else.”

“We all have two sides to our natures, they say. Now let's see the sensible one of yours.”

This made her laugh again, but she was soon in tears.

“Nobody wants me, Nurse. They'd be glad…all of them.”

“I won't listen to such nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense. They'd be glad, I tell you, if I was the one in that coffin.
He'd
be glad.”

“Drink up this nice milk,” I said. “The bottle will be ready in a little while. And let's think about this nice feather bed. It's more comfortable than a coffin, I do assure you.”

And she was smiling at me through her tears.

***

June
30th
. The day of the funeral. Gloom in the house. In the servants' hall they will be talking of the love affair between the dead woman and that legend which is Sir Edward. There may be some of the older servants who will remember. I wonder if there are. I would like to talk to them about her. Jane Goodwin is heartbroken. I wonder what she will do now? I expect she will stay on at the Castle. Baines will be asked to find some job for her. Poor Jane, she was closely associated with Valerie Stretton for years. Valerie must have confided in her. She must know something. The Captain is the chief mourner. Monique was too ill to go; and little Edward did not either. Rex went. He is very fond of the Captain and the Captain of Rex. The tolling bells are very depressing. Jane lies in her room engulfed in desolation; Monique cries that it should have been her because that is what
some
people
want. And I went down to draw the blinds in the death chamber and while I was there who should come down but Miss Beddoes. For some reason she dislikes me. It is mutual. She looked a little disappointed when she saw that I was merely pulling up the blinds. I wondered what she expected. In my room in the turret I can hear the bells of the nearby church tolling, telling the world that Valerie Stretton has passed away.

***

July
4th
. Edith came to my room with news.

“It's almost certain that Mr. Rex is going away,” she said.

“Going away?” I echoed, by which I really meant: Tell me more.

“He's going to Australia,” Edith smiled slyly. “Well, we know who he'll meet there.”

“The Derringhams have a branch there,” I said, “and so have we.”

“Well you see how it's working out, don't you?”

“Brilliant strategy,” I said.

“What's that?” she asked but did not wait for an explanation. She was sure that what she had to say was more interesting than anything I could. “Mr. Baines heard her ladyship talking to Mr. Rex. You must see what's happening over there,” she said. “Your father always believed in keeping in touch.”

“Keeping in touch with the Derringhams?”

“Well, this could put everything right. After all he's had the time he wanted now, hasn't he?”

“I should think so.”

“Mr. Baines thinks it is almost certain that Mr. Rex will leave for Australia fairly soon. Changes never come singly. Mrs. Stretton's passing away…and now Mr. Rex.”

I agreed that there would certainly be changes.

***

July
5th
. Dr. Elgin questioned me very closely about my patient.

“She is certainly not improving, Nurse.”

“She is always so much worse on the damp days?”

“That is natural, of course. The condition of the lungs has worsened.”

“Also the asthma, I think, Doctor.”

“I was going to suggest that you try the nitrite of amyl if there should be a bad attack. But perhaps in her case this would not be advisable. Himrod's Cure has been known to be effective. Not that I like patent medicines, but there is nothing harmful in this one. You know it, Nurse?”

“Yes,” I said. “One burns the powder and the patient inhales the fumes. It was effective with one of my patients. I also found burning paper which had been dipped into a solution of saltpeter effective.”

“H'm,” he said. “We have to remember the lung complication. I will give you a mixture of iodide of potassium and sal volatile with tincture of belladonna. We'll see how that goes. This can be given every six hours.”

“Yes, Doctor. And I shall hope that the weather stays warm and dry. So much depends on it.”

“Exactly. To tell the truth, Nurse, in my opinion they should never have brought her over here.”

“Perhaps it would be advisable for her to return.”

“There is no doubt in my mind of the wisdom of that.”

And with those words he went down to report to Lady Crediton.

***

July
8th
. In the gardens today I met Rex.

He said: “Snatching a little recreation, Nurse?”

“It is necessary now and then,” I replied.

“And walking is a good substitute for dancing?”

“I would hardly say that.”

“And you prefer your Chatelaine's robes?”

“Infinitely.”

“Well, those are equally becoming, but perhaps yours is the kind of beauty which needs no enhancing.”

“All beauty needs the right setting. I have heard that you will shortly be leaving us. Is that true?”

“It's almost a certainty.”

“And you are going to Australia. Is that so?”

“How well informed you are.”

“There is a very good news service in the Castle.”

“Ah,” he said, “servants!”

“I am sure you will enjoy your trip. When does it start?”

“Not until the end of the year.”

“So you will be going into the Australian summer and leaving us to face the rigors of winter.”

He looked at me very intently and I was rather piqued because he did not seem to be in the least regretful. I had thought he had felt some special friendship for me. But no, I thought, it is just a mild flirtation. How could it be otherwise?

“And,” I went on, “I expect Sir Henry Derringham and his daughter who, I am informed, are already there, will give you a very warm welcome.”

“I daresay.”

Then he said: “There is talk of Mrs. Stretton's returning to her parents' home.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, yes. The doctor had a talk with my mother. I think she feels that it would be wise in every way for Mrs. Stretton to go back to a climate she is used to.”

“I see,” I said.

“Your patient's future would affect yours, of course,” he said.

“Of course.”

“My mother will be speaking to you of this. When she does, it will naturally come as a complete surprise.”

“Naturally.”

We walked to the pond and stood for a while watching the ancient carp swimming to and fro.

He talked about Australia; he had been there some years ago. The harbor was magnificent, he said. He had always felt that he would like to return.

***

July
9th
. I am expecting Lady Crediton to send for me. I am wondering what she will say when she does. Will she suggest that I might accompany my patient? Or will she give me a month's notice…perhaps longer, for she will wish me to stay until Monique leaves. But Monique will need attention on the voyage. Australia. I had never thought of leaving England, but if I had been asked I should have said I always wanted to travel. Now I thought of leaving home and it was not my childhood's home that I was thinking of, but Anna at the Queen's House. While I have been writing this journal I have been thinking of Anna; and in a way I have been writing it for her, because I know how interested she is in everything that goes on at the Castle. I now share her interest. It has made me feel very close to her, and the first thing that occurs to me when I think of going away is leaving her. Of course I don't have to leave her. I could leave the Castle instead. But it has become so much a part of my life. How could I leave it?

So every time there is a tap on my door I expect one of the servants to come in and say I am summoned to her ladyship. I feel very disturbed.

***

July
10th.
There has been great consternation in the Castle today. Young Edward was lost. Miss Beddoes was quite distracted. She had lost him just after he had had his midday meal. He had left the table and had gone to the nursery. I suspect she was having a nap, and when she awoke, he was no longer there. She didn't concern herself very much but went into the gardens to look for him. When he hadn't come back at four when he usually had a glass of milk and piece of cake, she began to be worried. She ran to his mother, which was a foolish thing to do, because Monique immediately panicked. She began to scream that her little boy was lost. In a very short time we were all searching. The Captain went off with Miss Beddoes and Baines and I went with Rex, Jane, and Edith. We went into the gardens because we were sure he must have gone out, and I think we all made our way through the copse to the iron railing at the cliff edge. It was sound enough, but was there room for a small boy to squeeze between those rails? I looked fearfully at Rex. He said: “He couldn't. Someone would have seen.” I didn't think that was necessarily so. While we were standing there, I heard Monique's voice and I realized that she had come out to this spot too. Her hair was flowing round her shoulders; she wore a silk dressing gown of scarlet and gold, and her eyes were wild.

“I knew it,” she cried. “I knew he came here. He has fallen over there. I know it. I will go with him. I'm not wanted here.”

I went to her at once and said: “This is ridiculous. He is somewhere else, playing somewhere.”

“Leave me alone. You're deceiving me, all of you. You don't want me here. You'd be glad if I were the one…”

It was one of her hysterical fits and I knew how dangerous they could be.

I said: “I must get her back to the house.”

She threw me off so that I went sprawling and would have fallen had not Rex caught me. I had already been made aware of the extreme strength she seemed to have in her rages.

“Now,” she cried, “he has gone and I'll go with him. No one will stop me.”

I cried: “You will be ill. You must go back at once.”

But she was running toward the rail.

Rex got there before her. He tried to hold her back and I had a horrible fear that both of them would go hurtling over.

The Captain appeared suddenly with Miss Beddoes and Baines. He saw what was happening, ran to his wife, and catching her, he dragged her away from the rail. “You'd be glad…glad…” she cried and began to cough.

I went over to them, and the Captain gave me a wry look.

“I'll carry her back,” he said, and he lifted her as though she were a baby.

I went with them up to her room. I felt the shocked silence behind us; momentarily everyone had forgotten the lost child.

I could see the attack would soon be at height and I wanted her safely in her room where I could treat her. I told the Captain that I thought he should send for Dr. Elgin and I gave her the mixture the doctor had prescribed for her.

I thought she was going to die. It was the worst attack she had had since my arrival.

Dr. Elgin came but by that time her breathing had improved; she was limp with exhaustion but I knew that she was not going to die that time.

Just before the doctor came I was able to tell her that Edward had been found.

I was unprepared for the second scene of that day. I myself found Edward. It was just after I had given his mother her medicine and made her as comfortable as it was possible for anyone to be in her condition that I went to my room to get a handkerchief. I had given mine to Monique. There was a huge cupboard in my room—so big that it was more like a little off-room; one could walk about it, and there curled up on a cushion, building bridges with my coat hangers, was Edward.

I said: “They're searching for you. Come out and show yourself, for Heaven's sake.”

I took his hand and called to Betsy, who came running.

She gasped when she saw the child.

“He was in my cupboard all the time,” I said. “Let everyone know he is safe as quickly as possible.”

I went back to my patient to be told a few minutes later that the doctor had arrived.

It had been an exhausting day. Monique was settled for the night. Dr. Elgin had given her opium and said that she would sleep through till the morning. She needed the rest. So I went to my room and decided on an early night. I had a great deal to think about. I had slipped off my dress and put on my nightgown and was brushing my hair when the door was flung open. I was astonished to see Miss Beddoes. Her face was distorted; she had obviously been crying; her pince-nez were quivering and her skin was blotchy. I had rarely seen such hatred and it was directed against me.

“You'll say you didn't do it,” she cried, “but I know you did! I know you. You're wicked. You've always hated me.”

“Miss Beddoes,” I said, “I beg you calm yourself.”

“I am calm,” she cried.

“Forgive me but you are far from calm.”

“Don't try your nurse's tricks on me. Don't soothe me with your soft voice. I believe…”

“And I believe that your good sense has deserted you.”

“It deserted me when I first saw you or I should have been prepared for you.”

“Miss Beddoes, I beg of you, be calm. Sit down and tell me what has happened.”