Part 5 (2/2)

'I must speak to you.'

'What ... now?' They were at the corner, by the turret stairs. She glanced round into the Gallery. 'You realise you must operate yourself, immediately?'

'I always meant to do so, if the surgeon did not arrive in time. You knew that?'

'I know that Lord Broome trusted you to do so.'

'And you? You know I would not have let him down?'

She preferred not to answer, but turned her head away from him.

'Miss Chard. Frances. I know that this is not the place, or the time to speak of marriage, but I have been half out of my mind since ...'

'Marriage? You talk to me of marriage?' She spoke in a rapid monotone, unlike her usual manner of speech, and her eyes went now up the stairs, and now over his shoulder into the Gallery. 'I do not think of marriage. I do not think I shall ever marry. Come, they are waiting for us. I suggested that the vicar set up a chapel in Mrs Broome's ante-room. Benson is arranging everything in the Gallery. Lord Broome is - or was - asleep, but he keeps moving his arm about. He has a slight fever, I think.'

'Why should you not marry me?'

'Hush, someone is coming.' Meakins, the ladies' maid, came down the turret stairs and pa.s.sed them with eyes down, discretion written into every line of her body. No doubt she had heard what they had been saying, Theo thought. And no doubt Mrs Broome and Maud would hear of it within the hour. Frances was impatient.

'This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion,' she said.

'But you promise me that you will think of it? You like me well enough, don't you?'

She looked him full in the eye. 'I liked you very well indeed,' she said, emphasising her use of the past tense.

'It was not I who made the mistake over the telegram.'

'Prove it by operating at once.'

Benson had improvised an operating table on one of the big chests in the Gallery, directly in the light of the windows. There were more servants in the Gallery than there should have been at that time of day. Housemaids were still busy making beds and turning out bedrooms, and there were no less than four footmen busying themselves with jobs which Frances had never seen done at that hour of the day before.

She went into the sick-room, leaving Theo to lay out the tools of his trade. Lord Broome was restless, but asleep. She touched him on the hand and he woke, but not to full consciousness.

'I couldn't find her,' he said, looking straight up at her, but not seeing her. He was breathing with difficulty, as if he had been running. 'The weeds nearly got me, that time.' He frowned, blinked and turned his head to look round the room. 'Where ...? Ah, I remember.' He looked at her, and this time he saw her. 'Did I say something stupid? I was having another of my nightmares. Is the surgeon here already?'

'We are going to carry you out into the Gallery, where the light is better. Theo will get the bullet out, and you will feel better then.'

'So soon?' Yes, he was afraid, and fighting for control. 'Give me something to hold on to. Something hard.'

She put the gla.s.s stopper into his hand. He grasped it firmly, and nodded to her to carry on. Two footmen carried the patient into the Gallery. Frances walked beside them, her eyes on Lord Broome's face. The removal from one place to another must have caused him pain, but he gave no sign of it.

Theo beckoned to her. 'They say the agency nurse is unfit, so you will have to a.s.sist me. Find yourself an ap.r.o.n, or you may soil your dress.'

'I know nothing of such things,' said Frances, eyeing the sharp blades on the table near by. When Theo tested the edge of a small saw, she gasped, guessing it was intended for use during amputations.

'You will not faint?' said Theo.

'Of course she won't,' said Lord Broome, doing his best to smile at her.

'I'll try not to,' said Frances. Polly handed her an ap.r.o.n, and she put it on. Spilkins had appeared and was dispersing his staff about their normal duties, scolding as he did so. From the ante-room she could hear the rise and fall of the vicar's voice in prayer.

Theo hovered over his patient, rolling up the sleeve of his nightgown. 'I'd like to give you an anaesthetic. Miss Chard can administer it.'

'No,' said Lord Broome. 'I can stand pain, and I like to see what's going on.'

'Take the edge off it with brandy?' suggested Theo.

'No,' said Lord Broome. 'But have some yourself, by all means.' He grinned at Theo. 'I know just what you feel like. You'll be all right once you start.'

Theo rolled up his own s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, and pulled on an ancient ap.r.o.n, discoloured and encrusted with dried blood. Frances judged his nerves to be in a worse state than Lord Broome's. Theo's hands trembled as he positioned Lord Broome's arm. Lord Broome said something to Theo which she did not catch, but whatever it was, the young doctor laughed, and this seemed to steady him.

'No sense in hoping for a miracle,' he said, setting to work. 'No anaesthetic, no qualified a.s.sistance ... badly bruised ... badly cut ... I can see where the bullet went in, but where is it now, eh?' He kneaded the arm, feeling for the bullet. Lord Broome, who had been lying with his head turned to the window and his eyes open, released his hold on the stopper. It fell off the improvised operating table and rolled between Frances' feet. She remarked in a small voice that she rather thought their patient had fainted.

'Just as well,' grunted Theo. 'This may be a long job. I think I can feel ... yes, I'm sure I felt it just then ... but getting it out without doing any further damage ... the very devil is in it ...'

Frances could feel the eyes of the servants on her. She felt useless, standing there, doing nothing. One footman and one maid had been left at each end of the Gallery to await orders and keep visitors out. In spite of the chill of the Gallery, Theo's face soon became red with exertion. Suddenly he began to fling orders at her. 'Hand me this ... not that ... the next one along ...' Leaning over to hand Theo a knife, she caught a whiff of sweat and blood which caused vomit to rise in her throat. She fought it down, clinging to the chest. Theo shouted, 'Brandy!' She lifted her head to repeat his request, thinking that at all costs she must stay on her feet, and saw Benson heaving his guts out into a bowl nearby. Polly lifted her hand in token that she had understood, and vanished. 'Take it easy!' said Theo. Her hands trembled. She dropped a knife Theo pa.s.sed to her, and it fell to the floor. Her hands were smeared with blood. The brandy arrived. At Theo's direction, Polly poured out a generous measure, and told Frances to drink it. After that, Frances' stomach obeyed her, and her hands obeyed Theo.

It seemed a long time before Theo drew a distorted bullet from Lord Broome's arm, and began the task of repair. Frances' fingers flew at the doctor's command. He commended her. When Lord Broome stirred back into consciousness, Frances put the stopper back into his right hand and told him that they had nearly finished. His eyes were glazed with pain, but he neither moaned nor cried out. Finally Theo sounded his patient's chest with his stethoscope, and stood back, motioning the footmen to carry Lord Broome back to bed. By that time both doctor and nurse were tired to the point of dropping. Their arms, their clothes and their faces were spattered with blood. Frances thought her dress was ruined, for she had not been able to afford good material, and it would shrink in the wash. Her mind dwelled alternately on the smile which Lord Broome had given her as he was borne away, and the fact that in his half-waking state that morning he had told her something of importance, that he had indeed dived into the water to rescue the drowning woman. ”The weeds nearly got me, that time”, he had said. Whom had he thought he was speaking to, in his re-creation of the fatal moments in which Lilien Jervis had drowned? In his nightmare he had been speaking to someone, that was certain. When he had given evidence, Lord Broome had implied that he had been alone when Lilien fell into the river, but Frances was now sure that he had had company on that occasion. But if so, why had the other person not spoken up to support the story which Major Broome had told at the inquest?

'Well, I've done what I can,' said Theo, as he removed his ap.r.o.n and began to put his knives away. 'If that wound becomes infected, he's likely to die, anyway. He must be watched, night and day. He mustn't be left alone, whatever happens. His heart and lungs are sound. With luck, he may pull through, but we don't want any more interference, do we? You do understand what I'm talking about?'

The servants were already clearing away the evidence of the operation under Spilkins's direction. The butler was agitated. The young ladies wished to return to their rooms ... luncheon was going to be late ... hurry, girl! Theo took her elbow and walked her to the far end of the Gallery, where there were no servants to overhear them.

'I'll be back this evening to have another look at him. If he is going to pull through, he'll make a rapid recovery. But if the fever returns, or if ... am I imagining things, Frances?'

She thought of monkish visitors and missing keys, and shook her head.

'I promise he'll be watched round the clock. Which reminds me; you ought to see the agency nurse before you go. She really has been very ill.'

'Yes. Do you think that her sickness ...? No, it couldn't be the same, could it? Frances.' He hesitated. 'You don't object to my calling you Frances?'

'No, Theo. I don't object.'

His ugly face split in a grin. And you'll remember what we spoke of earlier? You will not forget?'

'I am not likely to forget anything that has happened this morning, but I am not likely to change my mind about marrying you, either.' She put her hand on his arm to soften her refusal, but her eyes were steady.

By the time Theo came to make his report to Hugo, he had begun to doubt his recollections of what he had actually said on the subject of sending for his old chief. Could he be absolutely sure that he had asked for the telegram to be sent to Sir Stanley Ellis? Had he perhaps mumbled the name, in his preoccupation with his own troubles?

Thus it was that the doctor answered the questions put to him by Hugo and Mr Manning somewhat at random. They put his abstraction down to worry about his patient, and a.s.sured Theo that they knew he had done his best.

After the doctor had gone, Hugo said to his uncle that he supposed the operation had been necessary, although personally he would have allowed the poor beggar to die in peace. Doctors were all alike, said Hugo. Never happy unless they were cutting you up.

'A more important question,' said Mr Manning, 'is what we are to do about Miss Chard. Her aunt's telegram made it clear that she lied to Mrs Broome about the length of time she was teaching in Bath. Shall you telegraph this woman, Mrs Palfrey, for details?'

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