Fear For Frances Part 7

She thought how marvellous it would have been to have had a Season in Town herself, and to have danced with Lord Broome on equal terms.

He had hidden his maimed hand under the coverlet again. She thought that he ought not to hide it away, or it would become an obsession with him.

'You mustn't let them get you down,' said his lords.h.i.+p. 'Hold your head high and tell them to go to blazes if they criticise you. I'll tell Richard for you, if you like. He won't hold it against you, if I put it to him the right way. And my aunt won't be able to say anything after that, because it's Richard who pays your salary. Right?'

She pulled his left hand from under the coverlet and warmed it between her hands. 'Your aunt will not understand. I hoped she would. I thought that when I'd been here a little while, and had established myself, I could tell her. But she is too ...'

'Narrow-minded? I agree. I'll tell Richard first, and then you can "confess" to my aunt, and that way you'll be all right. I wish you'd leave my hand alone. Doesn't it revolt you?'

'Of course not.' She reached for the nail scissors and started to cut his nails. 'Don't hide it away. It only draws attention to it. If you ignore it, so will everyone else. Wear a glove on it, if you must, but don't allow a small thing like this to ruin your life.'

Theo heard the story of Benson's guilt while he was out on his rounds; like everyone else, he was at first surprised, and then chided himself for not having seen the obvious before. He visited Mrs Broome and the nurse before he went to the State Bedroom. Both had been confined to their rooms that afternoon. Mrs Broome wept as she told the doctor she was sure that Benson had sold her bracelet to cover his gambling debts, and that she would never see it again. Theo left her a soothing draught, and because he had made what was for him an enormous effort to appear interested in her palpitations, she was kind enough to say that in time he might become as good a doctor as his uncle.

This was pleasing to Theo. Moreover, when he reached the sick-room he found Lord Broome not only conscious, but happily engaged in teasing his nurse. He was bright-eyed, but he had no fever, and the remains of his supper tray showed that he had dined well. The fire burned brightly, the lamp cast a mellow light, and altogether it was a scene which ought to have delighted a doctor. But Theo, after one professional glance which a.s.sured him that all was well with his patient, had eyes for no one but Frances, and it was plain that she had eyes for no one but Lord Broome. Perhaps she did not mean her hands to caress him as she tucked him in for the night; nevertheless Theo noted that they did in fact do so. He also noted that Lord Broome was making free of Miss Chard's first name, and that she did not appear to object.

'Tomorrow I shall sit in the chair for a while,' said Lord Broome. 'Frances doesn't think I shall be well enough, but then, she doesn't know anything about nursing. And I am to teach her how to play chess. I am quite shocked to learn that she does not know how to play. How is she to teach Agnes, if she can't play herself?'

'I would have been very willing to teach her myself, if I had known,' said Theo, acid in his voice.

'And I am to have a newspaper to read. I remember they signed a truce after I left South Africa, but ...' He frowned, uncertain of his memory. 'Benson got me a paper on Lewes station, and I was reading it when ... What happened? You say two men attacked me?'

'Your memory is gradually returning. Don't try to force it.'

His lords.h.i.+p put his hand to his head. 'Where's Benson? Sloped off to the village?'

Theo looked at Frances, who returned his glance with one of enquiry. So she did not know about Benson, either? 'He's not well,' said the doctor.

'Has he been sick, too?' cried Frances. 'It's quite an epidemic. First the nurse, and now ...'

'Sick?' repeated his lords.h.i.+p. 'Now what do I remember about that? A nurse. Not this present one, but another one. A bigger woman, who smelled of ... The devil! My head aches.'

The doctor repeated his injunction against forcing things, measured out a sleeping draught and saw that Lord Broome drank it. Polly came in to remove the supper tray, and the agency nurse appeared. She looked pale but said she would be able to manage the night watch. Frances half drew the bed curtain so that the lamp should not s.h.i.+ne on the sick man's face, and followed the doctor out into the Gallery.

Theo caught Frances by the arm, and drew her away from the sick-room door. The Gallery was deserted; the family were all in the music-room, and the servants shunned this part of the house at night. Rain beat against the windows. In a few words, Theo told Frances about Benson. At first she could not believe that he was serious. Even when she was convinced that Benson had been arrested, she still refused to believe in his guilt.

'We must ask Lord Broome about the money which was found on Benson. I am sure Benson said something ... or Lord Broome did ... about Benson looking after money for him. I am sure Benson is innocent.'

'We must not wake him. He must be asleep by now. If what you say is true, then we must wait till the morning, and go into the matter properly. We can't get him out of Lewes jail tonight, whatever we do. Be sensible.'

Reluctantly, she agreed to wait.

'Another thing,' said Theo. 'I don't quite know how to put this, but Gavin may possibly try to flirt with you to while away the time that he is laid up. A trained nurse would of course recognise his advances for what they were worth.'

'That idea had already occurred to me,' said Frances, her colour rising. 'I don't mind, if it will help him through a bad time. His hand - why didn't you tell me he was left-handed? Can nothing be done?'

'You think another doctor might have done better? The damage was done back in January.'

'I am sorry. Of course, you did all you could. But I feel so sorry for him. He still has to be told of his brother's death. He talks of him all the time, as if he were aware, subconsciously, that something is wrong. He watches me, when he mentions his brother, as if to catch me out ... She put up a finger to flick at the corner of her eye. 'He is a born fighter, as you said. He will come through.'

'So long as you realise he is using you.'

Frances said it was very cold in the Gallery, and that if there was nothing else, she proposed to go to bed. Theo watched her out of sight. It was only that morning that he had realised he loved her. There was so much that he would have liked to say to her, but it seemed as if the time when he might have said it was already in the past.

The fire had been allowed to go out in the schoolroom, and there was none in either of the nurseries since Agnes and Nurse had gone. Frances wondered if this was an oversight on the part of the servants, or whether it was an extension of the treatment which had first been meted out to Lord Broome. Was her welfare to be neglected because she was his nurse?

She was tired, in spite of her nap that afternoon, so she decided against ringing for someone to make up the fire. She would go straight to bed. Someone - probably Polly had left a plate of bread and b.u.t.ter and a gla.s.s of barley water on the table for her. She ate the bread and b.u.t.ter while she undressed and brushed out her hair. Then she picked up the barley water. Fatigue made her reactions slow. She had swallowed two mouthfuls before she realised that anything was wrong, and it was only after she had been hanging over her basin, retching, for what seemed like hours that her mind began to work again.

She did not know how long it was before she could force her shaking limbs to carry her to the stairs. She staggered down them, holding on to the rail. The lamps had been removed from the Gallery, and she had to feel her way along it in the dark. Everyone must be in bed. It must be very late. There was a foul taste in her mouth. A burning taste; the same taste which had been present in the food and drink which Lord Broome had refused, and which might have caused the agency nurse's inconvenient sickness that day.

Suppose that the nurse had been made ill in order to keep her away from the operating table, and thus reduce the chance of Lord Broome's survival? Suppose that she herself had been given another dose, in order to keep her quietly in her own room ... suppose that the nurse was asleep, as she might well be after having been ill all day ... and Benson out of the way ... Lord Broome unprotected ... in a room which could not be secured against intruders without Benson's a.s.sistance ...

The sick-room door was closed, but a gaping shadow further along the Gallery showed that the door to the dressing-room, which had for so long been locked, was now ajar. Frances pushed it open, and entered. The room was dimly lit by a night-light; the agency nurse lay on the cot, and to judge by her heavy breathing she was fast asleep. Frances shook her arm, but the woman did not stir.

The communicating door to the sick-room was open, and a glow showed that a lamp still burned within. As it should do. Frances listened, and heard nothing but the breathing of the nurse at her side. Perhaps she had been mistaken in thinking his lords.h.i.+p in danger. How absurd she must look, running around the house in the middle of the night, barefooted, in her night-gown, with her hair hanging down her back!

Was that a noise? A rustle? A groan?

She lunged for the communicating door, pushed it open, and screamed.

A shadow reached across the counterpane of the bed towards her; it was the cowled monk, who stood between her and the lamp. He was on the far side of the bed, holding something above the head of the sick man. He turned his head towards Frances, but his face was in shadow, so that she could not make out his features. She screamed again. The cowled figure shrank and disappeared behind the bed-curtains. By the time she had rounded the bed Lord Broome was sitting up, and the door to the Gallery was swinging shut behind the intruder. She fell over something on the floor, and was brought to her knees. It was a pillow. The pillow which had been held above Lord Broome's head, as he lay helpless on the bed. In falling, Frances struck her head against the side of the bed, and the room tilted around her.

Her memory of the next few minutes was confused. By the time the room had righted itself, she was sitting on the bed with his lords.h.i.+p's sound arm round her, being very thoroughly kissed. Instead of repulsing him as she ought to have done, she tightened her clutch on his nights.h.i.+rt. She was tired and frightened and she still felt sick, so very naturally she began to cry.

She did not know what to do, or to whom she could turn for advice. She was now sure that Benson had been right in his suspicions of Nurse Moon, and she was equally sure that she herself had just frustrated another attempt on Lord Broome's life, but he did not know this, and she did not know how to tell him or, even more important, how to keep him safe from further harm. She had a clear recollection of having screamed when she had seen the monk, and yet n.o.body had come to her aid. True, these old walls were thick, but ... who slept next door? Old Lady Amelia? Maud?

To add to her problems, it appeared that Lord Broome, instead of being frightened, was enjoying himself. Frances found herself being kissed in places and in ways that Walter had never ... she had never dreamed ... it was absurd ... she could not be so abandoned as to enjoy ...?

Some minutes later Lord Broome ordered her to stay where she was, got himself off the bed and promptly collapsed on to the floor. He was furious with himself, but his weakness brought Frances to her senses as nothing else could have done. She got him back on to the bed and then obeyed his instructions to fetch a battered wooden writing desk that stood on top of a cupboard nearby. Opening it, Lord Broome extracted a flask, and poured out a tot of whisky for her. 'One of Richard's little secrets,' he said. 'He's not much of a penman, and it amuses him to keep spirits where the ink should be. Now drink up, and calm down. That was no ghost, if that is what you were thinking. Just a man dressed up in a robe to frighten me.'

'You know who it was?' gasped Frances, who was not used to strong drink. Twice in one day ...! What would her aunt have said?

'I think it was probably Lee, although I did not see his face. No one else has that build, and a grudge against me.'

'But - who is Lee?'

'He is, or was, rather, Lilien's father. Now I know what you are going to ask. If I didn't kill her, why should he want to kill me? Well, I didn't, and he knows that I didn't, but he's not sure who was responsible for Lilien's pregnancy, and as it was that which was indirectly responsible for her death ...' He shrugged. 'Why, you are trembling!' He had his arm round her, so he ought to know. 'My darling, much as I appreciate your appearance at my bedside in your nightgown, I cannot help thinking that others might place a construction on your behaviour which ...'

'Oh!' cried Frances, and started to cry again. Weeping, she blurted out not only the story of the attempt to poison her, but also the news of Benson's arrest and removal to Lewes jail. His lords.h.i.+p heard her out in silence, renewed the whisky in her cup, and observed that it seemed to be about time he was up and about again. 'And what else are you hiding from me?'

'N-nothing. I mean, nothing much. What I mean is, were you responsible for that girl's pregnancy?'

He kissed her. 'Would you mind if I were?'

'I ought to,' confessed Frances, her moral fibre weakened by the whisky and proximity to his lords.h.i.+p. 'Only, somehow it really doesn't seem to be very important whether you were or not.'

'My dear girl!' said his lords.h.i.+p, scandalised.

'Don't let my aunt hear you!'

'It must be the whisky.' Frances giggled. 'You weren't responsible?'

'No, I wasn't.' He kissed the tip of her nose. 'I might have been, but I wasn't. Now, off to bed with you before I'm responsible for something else. Rouse the nurse and get her to understand that she's got to put a chair under the k.n.o.b of both doors as soon as you've gone. And don't wake anyone else up on your way back to your own room. I don't want my future wife falling foul of Maud's tongue.'

'I am not going to marry you,' said Frances, rising to her feet with enormous dignity.

'Come back here,' said his lords.h.i.+p, 'and we'll talk it over.'

Frances fled.

Perhaps because of the whisky, Frances slept well, and the only reminder of her night's ordeal was a slight shakiness in her limbs as she dressed next morning. As she went down the stairs she resolved to ask for an interview with Mrs Broome as soon as possible. Of course, she must confess her past history to Mrs Broome, but more important than that, she must also tell her about the attempts on Lord Broome's life. It was not sensible to keep such matters secret. The police must be informed; it would not be necessary to mention the fact that she had been dressed only in a night-gown when she went into the sick-room last night.

And then there was the matter of Benson; she was sure he was innocent, but she was not so sure that Mrs Broome would be capable of getting him out of Lewes jail. It might perhaps be advisable to ask for an interview with Mr Manning on the subject. Mr Manning struck Frances as being a sensible, honest man, and if she could only convince him of Benson's innocence, he would be a valuable ally and perfectly capable of dealing with the police. It was significant that she never once thought of applying to Hugo for aid.

And then she must break the news to Lord Broome of his brother's death. This she planned to do gently; perhaps on the following day. Lord Broome thought he would be fit to get out of bed that day. She thought he wanted to do too much too quickly. He did not realise how ill he had been.

All her plans went awry. When she reached the sick-room, Lord Broome was already sitting up in bed, her shawl over his dressing-gown, and Abel was shaving him. Lord Broome had a sling round his neck, but his hand was more often out of it than in, and by the look of his breakfast tray he had eaten more than Frances. He greeted her with the information that the agency nurse was a fool, and that he'd packed her off out of the way.

'If you please, Major!' cried Abel, brandis.h.i.+ng his razor. All the servants had been warned to address Lord Broome as "Major".

'Hurry!' said Lord Broome. 'I've got to get Benson out of jail, and I suppose I'll have to see the family, too. My aunt and G.o.dmother will cry, and my cousins stay the minimum amount of time and wish themselves elsewhere. Frances, fetch me some clothes. Not one of my uniforms; they'll be no use to me in the future.' He was in high spirits.

The door opened to reveal Meakins, the ladies' maid.

'If you please, Miss,' she said, addressing Frances, 'The Reverend has arrived and is wishful to see his lords.h.i.+p. Also Mrs Broome wants to know when the doctor is coming up to see his lords.h.i.+p. She's had another of her bad turns.'

For a moment no one either moved or spoke. The smile on Frances' face froze. Everyone, but every single person at the Court knew that Gavin Broome was unaware of his brother's death, and that he must be guarded from such knowledge until he was better. How dared this woman break the embargo?

'Later,' said Frances. 'I will see you later.' She seized Meakins by the elbow and whirled her out into the Gallery. And shut the door on her. One look at his lords.h.i.+p's face taught her that the damage was done. A man less quick-witted might not have noticed anything, but Gavin Broome had.

'What was that she said?' he asked. He signed Abel to complete his task. The footman's face ... Frances firmed her shoulders against the wood of the door and took a deep breath.

'Thank goodness the rain has stopped,' she said. 'The daffodils in the park must have been beaten flat these last few days, and heaven only knows if there will be enough left to decorate the altar in church this Sunday. Easter, you know.'

Abel finished shaving his master, gathered his things together, and left.

'Did she think Richard was here?' he asked. 'No, how could she?'

'How could she, indeed!' cried Frances. She thought: It's no good trying to hide it, now.

Lord Broome rubbed his forehead. He looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. 'If it's about Richard, I don't think I want to know.'

'You already know. Or at least you have guessed it already.'

He took a gulp of air. She wondered if he were going to faint. There was no colour in his face. He looked worse now than he had looked during the operation. She thought: Let him get used to the idea slowly. She said nothing, nor did she move from the door.

He tried to smile and frown at the same time. 'You said Richard was ill. That he'd gone to London to get out of Maud's way.'

'It was you who invented that as an excuse for his absence. I would spare you if I could, but it is too late, now. You already know.'

'I know nothing!' he cried out. He was breathing heavily. She thought: I must get help. But she did not move. 'The dogs,' he said. 'No one would have dared to get rid of the dogs unless ... No, it can't be. Why, he's only a couple of years older than myself. Tell me it is not true, and we will send for the chess set and a newspaper and have a nice quiet morning together.'

'It is true, my lord.'

'Don't call me that. He is not dead. He can't be. Not Richard! Did they get him after all? Was it all for nothing? Why didn't I tell the truth at the inquest!'

CHAPTER SIX.

Lord Broome lay as still as if he were already dead. When spoken to, he was deaf; when touched, he did not appear to feel; when food and drink were put to his lips, he refused to partake. He lay on his back with his eyes open, and saw nothing.

Frances was distracted. Theo came and looked grave. He said that his patient had not suffered a stroke, as was Frances' first thought, but that he had simply given up hope. He told Frances that he had seen this sort of thing before and that it was always "worrying". By "worrying", he meant "fatal". Frances understood. Theo suggested that if Frances were unable to rouse Lord Broome, he should be kept warm, given laudanum and left to sleep off the shock.

She watched Theo's face to see if his judgment of his patient's condition were coloured by the feeling he had for his patient's nurse, but all she could read there was concern.

With Theo gone, Frances began to go to pieces. What should she do first? Ought she to leave his lords.h.i.+p, even for an instant, in order to speak to Mrs Broome on her own behalf? Or to Mr Manning on Benson's part? Should she send messages that she wished to speak with them, or write notes? She did not wish to leave Lord Broome, and yet it seemed as if she could do nothing to help him while she was there. She sent for hot bricks and put them in the bed, and wrapped Lord Broome up warmly in her shawl. The agency nurse had been brought back to the sick-room, of course, and punctuated every action with a sniff.

Frances would very much have liked to sit down and weep, but common sense prevented her from doing so. She must act? But in what way?

The nurse tried to get Lord Broome to take a sleeping draught. He refused. Frances tried. Again he refused. And still he stared blankly at the tester above him.

There was a knock on the door. It was Meakins again, all ingratiating smiles and apologies, since she understood that she had inadvertently "let the cat out of the bag", as the saying goes! Frances found it hard to be civil to the woman. Surely Meakins had known? Frances was certain that she had.

The vicar arrived, and said he wished to pray over Lord Broome. Frances explained what had happened. Her weariness and despair were so obvious that the man of G.o.d turned from his duty to Lord Broome to comfort Lord Broome's nurse. And Frances was comforted. The time-honoured words rolled round her head and some of them stayed there. She did not oppose the vicar this time when he said he wished to be left alone with the patient.

She was without employment. She walked a few steps down the Gallery and then went back again. In her overwrought state of mind it seemed to her that everything she undertook was fated to end badly. Like Lord Broome, she was a born fighter and her instinct now was to combat her troubles by facing them. But which problem should she tackle first? Should she go first to Mrs Broome or to Mr Manning? Benson might be able to rouse his master, if she could get him released, but that would take time. She ran a few steps towards the gun-room, and then clapped her hands in despair and stopped short. Why had she not thought of it earlier? She ought to have told Theo of the attempt to poison her last night. She ran up to the schoolroom in search of evidence. The fire had not been laid that day, or the bed made, but the tray on which the drink had stood was gone, and so was the half-empty gla.s.s from which she had drunk. It was as if she had imagined the whole thing.

She rang the bell. She would start by making enquiries about the drink. No one came. She started to write a note, advising Theo of what had happened. Her hands were so cold ... she chafed them ... she would take the paper and ink down to the sick-room where it would be warm, and write her note there. Perhaps she could even enlist the vicar's help.

Half-way down the stairs, she was met by one of the footmen. She was wanted in the gun-room, immediately.

Her mind leaped to the telegram which had come from Bath and she knew, or rather she feared, that this summons related to her past life. Why had she not gone straight to Mrs Broome that morning and confessed all?

Hugo was alone in the gun-room. He was smoking a cigar as usual, and in his hand he held not one, but several telegraph forms. He did not ask her to sit, as he would have done if the interview were to be pleasant.

'A tiresome matter,' said Hugo, looking not at her but at the point of his cigar. 'You are the same Miss Chard who was until recently employed by a Mrs Palfrey of Gloucesters.h.i.+re?' She bowed her head. 'You left your place there without a reference, under suspicious circ.u.mstances, and yet you did not see fit to tell my aunt of it?'

'Yes, I acted wrongly. I ought to have spoken of the affair to Mrs Broome, but the subject was still so painful that I shrank from doing so. May I tell you what happened?'