Too Close to the Sun (41 page)

‘Of course madam would rather you stayed with her, sir,’ she said, ‘but I have no doubt that she’s going to be all right now. The doctor has every confidence in her situation and she’s making headway every day. Anyone can see that.’

So Mr Spencer rapidly made his new arrangements and a day later was ready to go. At 1.30, with Johnson waiting on the forecourt with the carriage to take him to the station, Mr Spencer, dressed for his journey, came from the bedroom down the stairs to Grace who stood in the hall.

‘I leave her in your care, Grace.’

‘Yes, sir. And don’t worry – she’ll be all right. I’ll take good care of her.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ He half-turned and glanced up the stairs towards the first floor. ‘She’s quite calm and peaceful now. I told her I’ll be back in just over a week – by which time I shall expect her to be on her feet again.’ He gave a grave smile. ‘Though Dr Ellish says this is a little too much to hope for after such a serious illness. It’ll take a couple of weeks yet, I understand. But the important thing is that she’s improving all the time.’

He wished Grace goodbye then, and she watched as he left the house. When the front door had closed behind him, Grace turned and went upstairs.

Tapping lightly on the door, she let herself in and moved quietly to the bed.

‘Hello, ma’am.’ She came to the bedside and looked down at Mrs Spencer who lay with her upper body propped against the pillows. ‘Mr Spencer has just gone.’ As she finished speaking there came, as if on cue, the sound of the carriage moving away across the gravel of the forecourt.

Mrs Spencer, also hearing the sound, gave a little nod. ‘Yes. But he’ll be back in a week or so.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Mrs Spencer gave a wistful little smile. ‘I do so hate it when he goes away, Grace.’

‘I know that, ma’am.’

‘I’m selfish; I’d like him to stay here all the time, but of course I’ve always known that wasn’t possible.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid we can’t always have what we want, can we?’ A brief pause, then she added, ‘I think you know that as well as I do, Grace.’

Grace said after a moment: ‘How are you feeling now, ma’am? Is there something I can get you?’

‘Not right now, dear, thank you very much. I just had a little chicken broth – which I didn’t really want, but took just to please Edward. He was so insistent. That will be enough for a while.’

‘Would you like me to read to you?’

‘That would be very nice. Shall we carry on with
The Woodlanders
? Though Mr Hardy can get rather gloomy at times.’

So Grace took up the book she had been reading to her mistress, and continued at the part where they had last left off. She had only been reading for some ten or so minutes, however, when she realized from her mistress’s breathing that she was asleep. Letting her voice fade to a gentle murmur and then to cease altogether, Grace softly closed the book and put it aside.

Later that afternoon, with Mrs Spencer awake again and having eaten a little vanilla junket, Dr Ellish returned and remarked at how relieved he was that Mrs Spencer seemed now to be mending well. When he left it was with the words that he would come back in two days, though this, he seemed to imply, was merely a formality; with the right care, Mrs Spencer would have no further real need of him.

That evening Mrs Sandiston prepared a little game soup and set it on a tray with a thin slice of bread and butter. Grace took it up to Mrs Spencer’s room, tapped on the door and let herself in.

‘Cook’s sent you a little treat, ma’am,’ Grace said. ‘A little soup for you. Help you get your strength back.’ She set the tray on a small table to one side. Mrs Spencer still lay propped against the pillows, and Grace moved to help her sit up a little more. ‘Would you like a little?’

‘No, thank you, Grace,’ Mrs Spencer said, ‘I don’t think I want any.’

‘It’s Mrs Sandiston’s special recipe,’ Grace said, and added, smiling, ‘You wouldn’t want to upset her, would you?’

‘Heavens, no, I wouldn’t want to do that. I’d better have a little, I suppose.’

So with Grace’s help Mrs Spencer ate a little of the soup and a few bites of the bread. Then, moving her head from the offered spoon, she said, ‘No more, Grace, thank you. I couldn’t manage any more. I’m just not hungry.’

‘But you know you have to eat, ma’am. Just a little more – and it’ll help you get stronger. You’ve lost weight over the past days.’

Mrs Spencer leaned her head back on the pillow. ‘I just don’t want any more. I haven’t got any appetite. Maybe later I’ll have something.’

Grace set the tray back on the table and resumed her
chair at the bedside. Leaning a little closer to her mistress she said, ‘Aren’t you feeling too good, ma’am?’

‘Not too good, no. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. Perhaps I was expecting too much.’

‘Perhaps so.’

‘I don’t know, I just feel so – so very weak. I have no energy whatsoever.’

‘Hardly surprising, ma’am – you’ve just come through pneumonia. You were very sick.’

‘Yes.’ Mrs Spencer nodded. ‘I find I’ve got a bit of a headache too.’

Grace reached out and took Mrs Spencer’s wrist and felt for the pulse. Checking it with the clock, she said, ‘It’s a little fast,’ and then touched the back of her hand to the woman’s forehead. ‘You have a slight fever again. Still, I’ve no doubt it’ll go down again very soon.’

Grace read to Mrs Spencer for a while then, but it was clear that after a few minutes the woman was taking nothing in. ‘I think you’ve had enough of Mr Hardy this evening,’ Grace said, and Mrs Spencer gave a little nod and forced a smile.

‘Shall I leave you now, then, ma’am?’ Grace said. ‘Thank you, Grace, I shall be all right. Another good night’s sleep, like last night – that’s all I need. I’ll be as right as rain in the morning, you’ll see.’

‘You send Jane for me if you need anything, will you?’

‘I will, don’t worry.’

‘Goodnight, ma’am.’

‘Goodnight, Grace.’

Grace turned, but was halted briefly by Mrs Spencer’s voice.

‘And Grace?’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Thank you – for everything.’

After Grace had breakfasted in her room the next morning she took her tray down to the kitchen. As she moved back along the rear passage Jane came to her to say that the mistress was not at all well. There was urgency in the girl’s voice, and Grace at once went up to the first floor, tapped on the door and entered the room. Jane followed in her steps and came in, closing the door behind her.

The change in Mrs Spencer’s appearance was startling. As Grace moved across the room to the bedside she could already see the beads of perspiration standing on the woman’s forehead, and see the pale, waxy look about her flesh.

‘Ma’am,’ Grace said, sitting on the bedside chair, ‘how are you this morning? Jane tells me you’re not so well again.’

‘I don’t understand it,’ Mrs Spencer said. ‘It doesn’t make sense. I was doing so well, the doctor said so. He said now it was only a matter of time before I was really well again.’

‘And I’m sure it will be.’

‘I have this – this nauseous feeling in me now, Grace. All the time, I feel as if I want to be sick.’

Grace turned and caught Jane’s eye and the maid moved to the washstand and brought back a basin. Grace took it from her and set it down on the bedside table. ‘We’re prepared now,’ she said. Turning back to Jane, she said, ‘I think we’ll be all right, Jane. Thank you so much. I’ll come and call you if we need anything.’

‘Yes, miss.’

When the maid had gone and closed the door behind her, Grace sat and looked at her mistress. The woman’s breathing seemed a little laboured, and once again Grace noted the perspiration standing out on her forehead. Mrs Spencer made no murmur as Grace took up her wrist and checked her pulse. It was faster than ever. She could not understand it; everything had been going so well.

And then, suddenly, Mrs Spencer was opening her eyes and sitting bolt upright in the bed, her mouth opening as she retched. Grace snatched at the bowl and held it beneath the woman’s chin, her other hand coming to the back of the woman’s head. Mrs Spencer brought up a little viscous-looking fluid and then sank down again. Grace got a piece of flannel from the washstand, dipped it in cold water, wrung it out and then gently wiped Mrs Spencer’s forehead. The woman gave a little sigh of relief and thanked her. ‘I’m sorry to give you all this trouble, Grace,’ she said. ‘I’m hardly ever ill, and here I am making up for the past, isn’t that it?’

‘Something like that,’ Grace said.

The minutes passed. Mrs Spencer’s breathing continued laboured, and still Grace sat at the bedside, her eyes upon her mistress. And after an hour Mrs Spencer was once again retching into the bowl, and Grace was mopping her brow.

‘I think I must send for Dr Ellish,’ Grace said as Mrs Spencer, exhausted, sank back onto the pillows. ‘He’ll know what to do; I confess I don’t.’

‘But he’s due to – come back tomorrow anyway,’ Mrs Spencer said. ‘The poor man is – so busy. Perhaps we should let him have his rest.’ Her speech seemed now strangely affected, Grace thought, the words a little slurred and halting.

‘Even so,’ Grace said, ‘I think we should send word to him.’

‘No, no – leave it for now. See how I am later on.’

But later on Mrs Spencer’s condition had clearly worsened still further and Grace looked down at her with growing horror and dismay. The woman had vomited several times, and now lay with a pounding head and a mounting fever.

‘It’s no good putting it off, ma’am,’ Grace said. ‘I’m going to send for Dr Ellish.’

This time Mrs Spencer did not protest. ‘W-well, if you think so, m-my dear.’

‘Yes, I do. I shall go and see Mr Rhind or Mr Johnson this minute.’

Downstairs, Grace made enquiries and was told that Johnson had left the house on an errand, but that Rhind was in his room over the stables. She quickly made her way there and rapped on his door. He took his time about answering it seemed to her and she was raising her hand to knock again when the door opened and he stood there glowering. Beyond him she could see his room, his bed, the washstand, clothes hanging on hooks, boots side by side under a side table.

‘Yes?’ he said, making it clear through his tone that he did not care to be interrupted in whatever he was doing.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Rhind,’ Grace said, ‘but I have to ask you if you will please go and fetch Dr Ellish again.’

His expression had changed slightly at her words, his usual look of arrogance mixed with contempt being brushed aside by some other expression. Concern? Grace could not tell. ‘It’s the missis, is it?’ he said.

‘Yes, it is. Please tell him that she’s taken a turn for the worse, and that I don’t know what to do.’ She added hastily, ‘Would you like me to send a letter?’

Witheringly he said, ‘No, you don’t need to send any letter. I’m perfectly capable of conveying a message.’

‘Thank you. I’ll tell the mistress you’re on your way.’ She turned and left him, and made her way back across the yard and into the house again.

Entering the bedroom once more, she found that Mrs Spencer had pulled herself up in the bed and vomited into the bowl, though having eaten so little, there was little that she could bring up. Grace mopped her brow and set the bowl – covered with a cloth – back on the side table. ‘I saw
Mr Rhind, ma’am,’ Grace said. ‘He’s going for the doctor right now.’

‘Th-thank you.’

Grace laid the folded, damp cloth across the woman’s forehead. Mrs Spencer’s drooping eyes momentarily brightened and she gave a little smile and a sigh of pleasure. ‘Oh, Grace, that is so g-good.’

Jane knocked on the door some forty minutes later to say that Rhind was back. Dr Ellish had not been at home, but Rhind had left the message for him.

Dr Ellish arrived just on five o’clock. As he came up the stairs to the first-floor landing Grace said, ‘Oh, Doctor, thank goodness you’ve come.’

Clearly taking her relief as a comment on the lateness of his call, he said haughtily, ‘I got here as quickly as I could, miss. I do have other patients to see to.’

Embarrassed, Grace let this pass, and told him what she could of Mrs Spencer’s condition.

In the bedroom he examined Mrs Spencer. Grace, standing by, watched as he took her pulse and temperature. She could see the dismay on his face. After studying his patient for a moment or two in silence, he said, ‘You know, this won’t do at all, Mrs Spencer. You were doing so well, I thought. And we were sure the worst of your illness was behind you. You were starting to make a good recovery. Now you’ve made a nonsense of my prognosis.’

He made no comment on the cause of Mrs Spencer’s apparent relapse, but merely left instructions with Grace to see that her mistress was tended every minute, that cold compresses should be used to keep down her temperature, and that she should be kept calm. He would, he said, return first thing in the morning.

When the doctor had gone, Mrs Spencer said, ‘You’ll stay here with me, will you, Grace?’

‘Of course, ma’am,’ Grace replied. ‘I’ll get Jane to bring some blankets, so I can make up a bed on the couch.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be all right come the morning.’ Mrs Spencer sighed. ‘I wish Edward were here.’

‘We can write to him, ma’am, at his hotel in Milan.’

‘It would take so long to get there. I shall be well long before he receives it. Best not to disturb him.’

With some sheets and blankets supplied by Jane, Grace made up a bed for herself on the narrow sofa, and eventually, after seeing Mrs Spencer settled as well as she could be, she got into her little bed and tried to sleep. It was a long time before she dozed off, however, and then she did not sleep for long. She was awakened by the sound of Mrs Spencer crying out. Quickly Grace got up from the couch and moved to her mistress’s bedside. In the dull glow from the nightlight Mrs Spencer lay tossing, her mouth opening and closing.

Grace pulled on her dressing gown, turned up the wick on the lamp and brought it back to the bed. Setting it on the bedside table, she bent over the sick woman. Now, in the brighter light, she could see the perspiration running down Mrs Spencer’s face, and touching her hand felt her skin cold and clammy. Mrs Spencer reacted to the touch and, eyes still closed, turned her face vaguely in Grace’s direction.