“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
.”
“What you arranged should happen.”
“I have no notion of what you are talking about—so what could I have arranged?”
“That I should go. You’ve been worming your way into young Edward’s confidence ever since you came.”
“But…”
“Oh you’ll deny it. You’re a liar, Nurse Loman. I know that. You want me out of the way. You don’t like me, so you think that you can brush me aside, just like a fly.”
“Do believe me when I say I don’t understand. I can’t defend myself until I know the accusation.”
She sat down on a chair—a frightened woman.
I said gently: “Please tell me.”
“I’m to go,” she said. “Lady Crediton sent for me. She said she doesn’t think I have the right methods for controlling Edward. I’m to pack and leave because she doesn’t like people being here under notice. She’s given me a month’s wages in lieu of notice.”
“Oh…no!”
“Why do you sound surprised? It’s what you wanted.”
“Miss Beddoes, I…I have never thought of anything like this.”
“Weren’t you always implying that I couldn’t look after the boy?”
“I never did.”
“He was always in here.”
“His mother is nearby.”
“It was you he came to see.”
“I liked him. He is a bright boy. It was nothing more than that.”
She stood up and came close to me. “You hid him this afternoon. You hid him in that cupboard. Yes you did. I know it.”
“Miss Beddoes, I did no such thing. Why should I?”
“Because you knew they were dissatisfied with me. You thought that would be the last straw, and it was.”
“I can only say that you are wrong. I should be angry with you, but I’m sorry, Miss Beddoes. I’m desperately sorry. Are you all right…for money…”
Her face twisted. Oh God, I thought, help lonely women. Surely those brought up in genteel poverty suffer most.
“I have my month’s wages,” she said.
I went to the table and unlocked a drawer. I took out two five-pound notes.
“Take these,” I said.
“I’d rather die,” she retorted dramatically.
“Please, I beg of you.”
“Why should you beg of me?”
“Because you suspect me of something. I’m not sure what. You think I helped to bring this about. It’s quite untrue, but because you have suspected me, you owe it to me to take this money.”
She stared from it to me, and I could see the look in her eyes; she was calculating how long it would last. As for myself, I was picturing her in some lonely lodging, writing for posts that sounded good on paper. I thought of arrogant and demanding mistresses—peevish old ladies who needed a companion; mischievous thoughtless schoolboys like Edward. I felt the tears coming to my eyes.
She saw them too and they were more effective than any words I could have uttered.
“I thought…I thought…” she said.
“That I had hidden the child? But what could I have possibly done that for? Don’t you see it’s all so far-fetched. Oh, I understand. You’re terribly upset. I daresay Lady Crediton was…beastly.”
She nodded.
“Please, will you take this money? It’s not much. I wish I could give you more.”
She sat down then, staring before her, and I put the money into the pocket of her dress.
“I’m going to make you a good cup of tea,” I said. “A nice sweet cup of tea. You’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel.”
I put the kettle on. I was by no means as calm as I appeared; my hands were shaking a little.
While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I told her that if I heard of any suitable posts, I would get in touch with her. In my profession, I went around quite a bit. I would not forget it.
She sipped the tea and when she had drunk it, she said: “I owe you an apology.”
“Forget this,” I said. “I understand. You have had a shock. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I shall leave in the morning,” she said.
“Where shall you go?”
“I know a very reasonable lodging house in the town. I shall soon find something.”
“I know you will,” I said.
And when she left, I was sure she looked upon me as a friend. As for myself, I was certainly disturbed, but I had meant it when I said that if ever I heard of a post which would be suitable for her, I should let her know.
***
July 11th. Lady Crediton sent for me today. I had forgotten how awe-inspiring she could be, for it was so rarely that I was received into the presence. She sat upright, her back as straight as that of her ornate chair, which was like a throne. Her snowy white cap might have been a crown, she wore it so regally.
“Ah, Nurse Loman, pray be seated.”
I sat.
“I sent for you because I have a proposition to put before you. I have had several talks with Dr. Elgin and he informs me that your patient’s health is not improving.”
She looked sternly at me as though this was somehow due to my incompetence, but I was no Miss Beddoes to be intimidated.
I said: “Dr. Elgin has no doubt told you of the reason for this.”
“He believes that our climate is not good for her, and it is because of this that I have come to this decision. Mrs. Stretton is going to pay a visit to her native shores. If this improves her health, we shall know that it was indeed the climate here which was detrimental to it.”
“I see.”
“Now, Nurse. Two alternatives present themselves. She will need a nurse in attendance. We have no doubt of that. Dr. Elgin has a good opinion of your efficiency. Therefore I am offering you a choice. You may accompany her and continue to nurse her if you wish; or if you decide that you do not wish to stay with her, you will be brought back to England at my expense. If however you do not wish to accompany her, there is nothing to be done but terminate your engagement here.”
I was silent for a while. I had been expecting this of course, but I kept thinking of Anna.
“Well?” she said.
“Your ladyship will understand that it is rather a big decision to make.”
She grudgingly conceded this.
“I admit that it would be a little inconvenient if you were to decide to leave your patient. She has become accustomed to you…and you to her.”
She waited. The use of her favorite word “inconvenient” implied that she expected me to save her from that undesirable state.
“I do agree that I understand her,” I said. “But it is still a big decision for me to make.” Then I said suddenly: “Lady Crediton, may I put a proposition to you?”
She looked startled, and before she could refuse I hurried on: “I have been wondering about the little boy, Edward. He will presumably be with his mother?”
“Y—yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “For a short time perhaps. He is young and would come back here in due course, I daresay.”
“But he would go with her?”
She looked at me with astonishment. This was not the usual manner in which she conducted interviews with her employees.
“Miss Beddoes has gone,” I said. “I could not undertake to look after the child and my patient, but I daresay your ladyship had thought of employing a governess or nurse for the child.”
She was still amazed. She did not discuss the domestic affairs of the Castle with people whom, she considered, they did not concern.
I went on quickly: “It is just possible that a friend of mine might agree to take on the post of looking after Edward. If she did…then I should be delighted to accompany Mrs. Stretton.”
A look of relief came into h
er face, and she was too taken aback to hide it. She very much wanted me to go with Monique; and she had realized that after all she would be needing a governess for Edward.
The Serene Lady
Ten
When Chantel came to see me that day I was aware of how excited she was as soon as I heard the iron gate click and, looking from a top window, saw her coming across the lawn. She looked almost breathtakingly beautiful. She was so dainty and with her cape flying out about her, her feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground, she was like an illustration from The Golden Fairy Book from which my mother used to read to me.
I ran down to the door. I did not have to wend my way now that so much of the furniture had gone. We embraced. She was laughing excitedly.
“News, news!” she cried. She came into the hall and looked round it. “Why, it’s changed. It looks like a hall.”
“It’s more how it was meant to look,” I said.
“Thank goodness some of those wicked old clocks have gone. Tick tock, tick tock. I wonder they didn’t get on your nerves.”
“They’ve gone alas, for what is called ‘a song.’”
“Never mind. They’ve gone. Now listen, Anna. Something has happened.”
“I can see that.”
“What I want you to do is to read my journal and then you’ll get the picture. While you do that I’m going into the town to shop.”
“But you’ve only just come.”
“Listen. Until you’ve read that you won’t see the picture clearly. Do be sensible, Anna. I’ll be back in an hour. Not longer. So get down and read now.”
She was off again, leaving me standing there in the depleted hall, the book in my hand.
So I sat down and read; and when I came to the rather abrupt ending of her account with her in Lady Crediton’s presence making her suggestion, I knew what this implied.
I found myself staring at the few pieces that were left, and I thought irrelevantly that no one would ever buy the truly exquisite jewel cabinet, with its pewter and ivory on an ebony ground and its carved figures representing spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Who wanted such a jewel cabinet now, however beautiful? What had possessed Aunt Charlotte to spend a large sum of money to acquire something for which there were very few buyers in the world? And upstairs was the Chinese collection. Still, in the last weeks I had begun to see the daylight of solvency. I would be able to pay the debts I had inherited. It seemed that I might have a clear start.