The Knave of Diamonds Part 14

"I can't sleep," she said, with a shudder. "I am afraid of falling."

"No, you're not. See! I am holding your hands. You can't fall. Look at me! Keep looking at me and you will see how safe you are!"

His voice had sunk almost to a whisper. His eyes dusky, compelling, yet strangely impersonal, held hers by some magic that was too utterly intangible to frighten her. With a sigh she yielded to the mastery she scarcely felt.

And as she floated away into a peace indescribable, unlike anything she had ever known before, she heard a woman's voice, hushed to a sibilant whisper, remark, "My, Nap! You're too smart to be human. I always said so."

When she opened her eyes again it was many hours later, and she was lying in the broad suns.h.i.+ne with the doctor, whom she knew, stooping over her.

"Ah, you are awake at last!" he said. "And I find a marvellous improvement. No, I shouldn't try to move at present. But I don't suppose you can for a moment. You have had a wonderful escape, my dear lady, a most wonderful escape. But for all that I shall keep you where you are for the next fortnight or so. A badly jarred spine is not a thing to play with."

"Is that all?" Anne asked.

He became cautious on the instant. "I don't say that is all. In any case we will run no risks. Let me congratulate you upon having fallen into such good hands."

He glanced over Anne's head at someone on the other side of the bed, and Anne turned slightly to see the person thus indicated. And so she had her first sight of the woman who ruled Lucas Errol's house.

She had heard of her more than once. People smiled, not unkindly, when they mentioned Mrs. Errol, a good sort, they said; but, like many another woman of inelegant exterior, how good a sort only her Maker knew. She was large in every way. It was the only word that described her; large-boned, large-featured, and so stout that she wheezed--a fact which in no way limited her activity. Her voice was as deep as a man's, and it went even deeper when she laughed.

But she was not laughing now. Her face was full of the most kindly concern. "Lord bless the child!" she said. "She don't know me yet.

I'm Mrs. Errol, dear, Mrs. Lucas Blenheim Errol. And if there's anything you want--well, you've only got to mention it to me and it's as good as done."

She spoke with a strong American accent. A Yankee of the Yankees was Mrs.

Errol, and she saw no reason to disguise the fact. She knew that people smiled at her, but it made no difference to her. She was content to let them smile. She even smiled at herself.

"You are very good," Anne murmured.

"Not a bit," said Mrs. Errol cheerfully. "I'm real pleased to have you, dear. And don't you think you're giving any trouble to anybody, for there isn't anything that pleases me so much as to have a girl to look after.

It's the biggest treat the Lord could send."

Anne smiled a little, conscious of a glow at the heart that she had not known for many a day. She tried weakly to give her hand to her new friend, but the pain of moving was so intense that she uttered a quick gasp and abandoned the attempt.

But in an instant Mrs. Errol's fingers were wound closely about her own, the large face, wonderfully smooth, save for a few kindly wrinkles about the eyes, was bent to hers.

"There, dearie, there!" said the motherly voice, tender for all its gruffness. "You're stiff in every limb, and no wonder. It's just natural.

Just you lie still and leave everything to me."

She was, in fact, determined to take the whole burden of nursing upon herself, and when the doctor had gone she began to show Anne how capable she was of fulfilling the responsibility she had thus undertaken. No trained nurse could have given her more dexterous attention.

"I've spent a great part of my life in sickrooms," she told Anne. "First my husband, and then poor Lucas, that's my eldest boy. But Lucas won't have me to wait on him now. He doesn't like his mother to see him in his bad hours, and they are mighty bad now and then. So my nursing talents would run to seed if it weren't for a casual patient like yourself."

It was so evident that she enjoyed her self-appointed task that Anne could only smile and thank her. She was helpless as an infant and could not have refused her hostess's ministrations even had she desired to do so. She suffered a good deal of pain also, and this kept her from taking much note of her surroundings during that first day at Baronmead.

She refrained from asking further about her husband for some time, avoiding all mention of him, but she was possessed by a nervous dread that increased steadily as the hours wore on. At last, as Mrs. Errol seemed equally determined to volunteer no information, she summoned her resolution and compelled herself to speak.

"My husband has not come yet?" she asked.

"No, dear." Mrs. Errol smiled upon her with much kindness, but her tone did not encourage further inquiries.

Anne lay silent for a little. It was a difficult matter to handle.

"Did he send no message?" she asked at last, with knitted brows. "I thought--or did I dream it?--that your son said he was coming."

"To be sure he did," said Mrs. Errol. "You would like to speak to Nap about it, wouldn't you?"

Anne hesitated. Mrs. Errol was already on her way to the door. It was plain that here was a responsibility she was unprepared to shoulder. But Anne called her back.

"No, please!" she said, a slight flush on her face. "Don't call him in again! Really, it is of no consequence."

But in spite of this a.s.sertion her uneasiness regarding her husband grew rapidly from that moment--an uneasiness that she was powerless to control or hide. Could it be--was it possible?--that he meant to leave her thus abandoned to the pitying kindness of strangers? She could hardly believe it. And yet--and yet--he had done un-heard-of things before. There were times, times that had become more and more frequent of late, when she doubted his sanity. Those devilish moods of his, whither were they tending? Was he in the grip of one of them now? And if so--if so--what would happen to her? What could she do?

As the hours pa.s.sed, the torture of suspense so worked upon her that she began to grow feverish. The afternoon was waning and still no word had come.

She tried to rea.s.sure herself again and again, but each failure added to her distress.

"You mustn't fret, child," said Mrs. Errol gently, when she brought her tea. "It's the worst thing possible. Come, come! What is it?"

Anne tried to tell her, but could not. The very utterance of her fears was more than she could accomplish in her present state. Words failed her.

Mrs. Errol said no more, but presently she went quietly away, leaving her alone in the firelight, chafing but impotent.

She was soon back again, however, and a m.u.f.fled word on the threshold told Anne that she was not alone. She turned her head sharply on the pillow regardless of wrenched muscles, hoping against hope. But she looked in vain for her husband's tall figure, and a sigh that was almost a groan escaped her. It was Nap, slim, upright, and noiseless, who stepped from behind Mrs. Errol and came to her bedside.

He stooped a little and took her quivering hand, holding it in both his own so that his fingers pressed upon her pulse.

"The mater thought you would like to speak to me," he said.

She looked up at him with eyes of piteous entreaty. She was long past any thought of expediency so far as he was concerned. It seemed only natural in her trouble to turn to him for help. Had he not helped her before?

Besides, she knew that he understood things that she could not utter.

"Oh, Nap," she said admitting him unconsciously in her extremity to an intimacy she would never have dreamed of according him in any less urgent circ.u.mstances, "I am greatly troubled about my husband. You said he would come to me, but--he hasn't come!"

"I know he hasn't," Nap said. He spoke quietly, but she was aware of a certain grimness in his speech. "I shouldn't worry if I were you. It won't help you any. Is there anyone else you would like sent for?"

"I have--no one else," she said, her voice quivering beyond her control.

"How can I lie here and not worry?"

"Lord bless the child!" said Mrs. Errol vigorously. "What is there to worry about, anyway?"

But Nap was silent. His fingers were still closed firmly upon her wrist.

"Mrs. Errol is very good," Anne said earnestly. "You mustn't think me ungrateful or unappreciative. But I cannot go on like this. I cannot!"

"I am afraid you have no choice," Nap said.

She scarcely heard him. At least she paid no heed. "Will you tell me exactly what has pa.s.sed? Has he definitely refused to come to me?

Because, if so--"

"If so--" said Nap gently.