Chapter XVIII
Jean Briggerland waited until she heard the sound of the departing carsink to a faint hum, then she went up to her room, opened the bureau andtook out a long and tightly fitting dust-coat that she wore when she wasmotoring. She had seen a large bottle of peroxide in Mrs.Cole-Mortimer's room. It probably contributed to the dazzling glories ofMrs. Cole-Mortimer's hair, but it was also a powerful germicide. Shesoaked a big silk handkerchief in a basin of water, to which she added agenerous quantity of the drug, and squeezing the handkerchief nearlydry, she knotted it loosely about her neck. A rubber bathing cap shepulled down over her head, and smiled at her queer reflection in theglass. Then she found a pair of kid gloves and drew them on.
She turned out the light and went softly down the carpeted stairs. Theservants were at their dinner, and she opened the front door and crossedthe lawn into a belt of trees, beyond which she knew, for she had beenin the house two days, was the gardener's cottage.
A dim light burnt in one of the two rooms and the window wasuncurtained. She saw the bed and its tiny occupant, but nobody else wasin the room. The maid had said that the mother had deserted the littlesufferer, but this was not quite true. The doctor had ordered the motherinto isolation, and had sent a nurse from the infection hospital to takeher place. That lady, at the moment, was waiting at the end of theavenue for the ambulance to arrive.
Jean opened the door and stepped in, pulling up the saturatedhandkerchief until it covered nose and mouth. The place was deserted,and, without a moment's hesitation, she lifted the child, wrapped ablanket about it and crossed the lawn again. She went quietly up thestairs straight to Lydia's room. There was enough light from thedressing-room to see the bed, and unwrapping the blanket she pulled backthe covers and laid him gently in the bed. The child was unconscious.The hideous marks of the disease had developed with remarkable rapidityand he made no sound.
She sat down in a chair, waiting. Her almost inhuman calm was notruffled by so much as a second's apprehension. She had provided forevery contingency and was ready with a complete explanation, whateverhappened.
Half an hour passed, and then rising, she wrapped the child in theblanket and carried him back to the cottage. She heard the purr of themotor and footsteps as she flitted back through the trees.
First she went to Lydia's room and straightened the bed, spraying theroom with the faint perfume which she found on the dressing table; thenshe went back again into the garden, stripped off the dust coat, cap andhandkerchief, rolling them into a bundle, which she thrust through thebars of an open window which she knew ventilated a cellar. Last of allshe stripped her gloves and sent them after the bundle.
She heard the voices of the nurse and attendant as they carried thechild to the ambulance.
"Poor little kid," she murmured, "I hope he gets better."
And, strangely enough, she meant it.
* * * * *
It had been a thrilling evening for Lydia, and she returned to the houseat Cap Martin very tired, but very happy. She was seeing a new world, aworld the like of which had never been revealed to her, and though shecould have slept, and her head did nod in the car, she roused herself totalk it all over again with the sympathetic Jean.
Mrs. Cole-Mortimer retired early. Mr. Briggerland had gone up to bed themoment he returned, and Lydia would have been glad to have ended herconversation; since her head reeled with weariness, but Jean was verytalkative, until----
"My dear, if I don't go to bed I shall sleep on the table," smiledLydia, rising and suppressing a yawn.
"I'm so sorry," said the penitent Jean.
She accompanied the girl upstairs, her arm about her waist, and left herat the door of her dressing-room.
A maid had laid out her night things on a big settee (a little toLydia's surprise) and she undressed quickly.
She opened the door of her bedroom, her hand was on a switch, when shewas conscious of a faint and not unpleasant odour. It was a clean,pungent smell. "Disinfectant," said her brain mechanically. She turnedon the light, wondering where it came from. And then as she crossed theroom she came in sight of her bed and stopped, for it was saturated withwater--water that dropped from the hanging coverlet, and made littlepools on the floor. From the head of the bed to the foot there was notone dry place. Whosoever had done the work was thorough. Blankets,sheets, pillows were soddened, and from the soaked mass came a faintacrid aroma which she recognised, even before she saw on the floor anempty bottle labelled "Peroxide of Hydrogen."
She could only stand and stare. It was too late to arouse the household,and she remembered that there was a very comfortable settee in thedressing-room with a rug and a pillow, and she went back.
A few minutes later she was fast asleep. Not so Miss Briggerland, whowas sitting up in bed, a cigarette between her lips, a heavy volume onher knees, reading:
"Such malignant cases are almost without exception rapidly fatal,sometimes so early that no sign of the characteristic symptoms appear atall," she read and, dropping the book on the floor, extinguished hercigarette on an alabaster tray, and settled herself to sleep. She wasdozing when she remembered that she had forgotten to say her prayers.
"Oh, damn!" said Jean, getting out reluctantly to kneel on the coldfloor by the side of the bed.