The Reluctant Widow (30 page)

“Not with Bouncer in the house!” Nicky averred.

“Oh, but the naughty doggie has gone off hunting! I should never have left her, but, to be sure, I never supposed—and in broad daylight, too!”

“Are you telling me,” said Francis, in a failing voice, “that some desperate person has been able to enter this house without let or hindrance?”

“They could have done so, for the side door is unlocked,” Nicky said shortly. “I came in through it myself. But that any should have dared—” He broke off, for a bell was clanging in the distance.

“That’s the front door, that is,” Barrow said, thrusting the decanter of brandy he was holding into his wife’s hand and going off to answer it.

“Crawley,” said Francis faintly, “if Miss Beccles is not using my vinaigrette, pray bring it back

to me! Thank you—and perhaps a little of that brandy. Yes, that is enough. Now go and secure any door which you find open! I cannot understand how anyone could be so careless, for how can one tell what evil characters may be in the neighborhood only awaiting their chance to rob the house? I dare say there may be gypsies in the vicinity, and I have the greatest horror of gypsies! I cannot answer for the consequences if there is any possibility of the house’s being broken into again, for already I have the gravest fear that I may be going to have one of my spasms. Perhaps it would be as well if you, dear Nicholas, were to take the precaution of searching the grounds. I cannot be easy until I know that no one is lurking in those dreadfully overgrown bushes, as I feel might so well be the case.” “Ah, she is coming round!” Miss Beccles cried, fondly chafing Elinor’s limp hands. “There, my love! there, there!”

A quick, firm tread was heard approaching across the hall. Another instant, and Carlyon had entered the room, still wearing his caped driving cloak and his gloves. One glance took in the scene. He stripped off his gloves, saying, “What’s this? What caused her to swoon?” “We do not know!” Miss Beccles answered. “Mr. Cheviot found her lying here and called to us to come to her. But she is better! See, she is beginning to stir and to recover her complexion a little! Elinor, my love!”

“Ned, I found this window swinging wide and that cushion on the floor, as though it had been kicked off the seat! And look at this! I’ve this instant seen that the curtain is torn off two of its hooks!”

Carlyon cast a cursory glance toward the window, but strode across the room to the fireplace to drop on one knee beside Elinor and to lift her up from the floor. He rose with her in his arms and walked with her to the sofa. She gave a moan and opened her eyes, murmuring something he could not catch. He said calmly, “Do not try to talk, Mrs. Cheviot! You will be better directly. Have the goodness to. pile up those cushions a little, Miss Beccles! Nicky, fetch me some brandy for her!”

“It’s here, if Francis has not drunk it all!” Nicky said.

“Then pour some into a glass,”. Carlyon said, lowering his burden onto the sofa, but keeping one arm under Elinor’s shoulders.

Nicky hastened to place a glass into his imperatively outstretched hand. He put it to Elinor’s lips, carefully supporting her head, and said, “Try to swallow this, ma’am! You will feel very much better if you do.”

Her eyes, blurred at first, began to grow clearer. She looked lip in a dazed way into his face, and whispered, “My head! Oh, my head!”

He obliged her to drink some of the brandy. She choked over it but it revived her. She was trembling convulsively and one of her hands clutched his wrist. “Something struck me!” she said hoarsely. “Oh, I am glad you have come! Do not leave me!”

“No, certainly I shall not leave you,” he responded. “But you will do better to be quiet for a little while. There is nothing to alarm you now.” He laid her down on the cushions as he spoke and she cried out as her head came to rest on them.

“By God, someone did hit her on the head!” Nicky exclaimed. “Cousin Elinor, who was it?” She was lying with closed eyes, and a hand pressed to her brow. “I don’t know. I heard a noise. Then something struck me. I don’t know any more.”

“For heaven’s sake!” said Francis in a shrill voice, “will no one go out to make sure that somebody is not lurking in the garden? How can you be so inconsiderate, Nicholas? Have you no regard for the nerves of others less insensible than yourself? If you will not go, then Crawley must do so, but tell him to arm himself with my swordstick, for it would be a shocking thing if he were to be injured by some ruffian! I cannot bear to have strangers about me, and if he were to be incapacitated I should be obliged to do so.” “Well, I will go out to look, but you may depend upon it there is no one there,” Nicky said. “If there was ever someone he will have made off long since!”

“Go and see,” said Carlyon. He nodded to Mrs. Barrow who had brought in a bowl of water and some strips of old linen. “Thank you, Mrs. Barrow, that is all.” He waited until she had left

the room and then bent over Elinor again. “Where does it pain you?” She had turned her head sideways on the pillow and now moved her hand cautiously to the back of it, just above the neck. Her own touch made her wince. She opened her eyes, saying, “Oh, I have such a bruise! I can feel the bump already!”

“Will you let me raise you so that it may be attended to?” he said, slipping his arm under her shoulders again.

She bore it mutely, but her senses seemed to swim, and she was obliged to lean her brow against his arm. Miss Beccles was already soaking a cold compress and would have laid it to the back of her head had not Carlyon taken it out of her hand and gently applied it to the bruise. Elinor sighed with relief and murmured, “Thank you. You are very good.” “If someone would call Crawley to me again I will desire him to mix a glass of hartshorn and water,” said Francis. “Two glasses, for I think I should take a little myself. My hand is shaking dreadfully still, and I feel quite unwell. The thought of this horrid violence, following, as it does, the shock I have already sustained, has been too much for me. If it were not that I do trust I was able to be of some slight assistance to Mrs. Cheviot, I should be almost inclined to wish that I had not left my room. But I thought it right to make the effort, and so I did. The windows in my room fit very ill. There is a shocking draft, and no good could come of my remaining there.”

“Take a little more brandy, Mrs. Cheviot,” Carlyon said, picking up the glass again and wholly disregarding Francis’ remarks.

“Oh, I had rather not!” she begged.

“Yes, I dare say but it will do you good. Come!”

She lifted a wavering hand to take the glass and sipped a little, murmuring between sips, “I am sure my skull is cracked!”

“I am even more sure that it is not,” he replied. “You are feeling very dizzy and I dare say your head aches sadly, but it is only a bruise.”

“I might have guessed you would be odiously unfeeling.”

“Certainly you might, for you know I have not the least sensibility. Come, you are better already! You begin to talk more like yourself.”

“If my head did not swim so there is a deal I have stored up to say to you! You have used me abominably!”

“You shall tell me in what way I have done so presently,” he replied in a soothing tone. “I warned you that I should very likely be found murdered in my bed!” “Very true, but you have not been so found, and I cannot suppose it probable that you will be.”

“I am sure,” said Francis, rising and tottering to the table, “I am happy to hear you speak so confidently, Carlyon, but I cannot share your sanguine persuasions! When I reflect that this, according to what I have been told, is the second time some ruffian has broken into this house and committed a brutal act of violence, I wonder that you should remain so cool! I envy you your happy disposition, upon my word, I do!” He refilled his glass and had just raised it to his lips when Nicky came back into the room.

“What, still recruiting your strength?” Nicky said scornfully. “You may be easy! There is no one in the garden, and Bouncer is not come back. How do you do now, Cousin Elinor? Do you feel more the thing?”

“Oh, yes, thank you! I am better. There is not the least need for you to hold that pad to my head, my lord, for I can very well do it myself.”

“My love, let me wet it again, and then I will fashion a bandage to hold it in place,” said Miss Beccles, who had been hovering anxiously behind the sofa.

“Cousin Elinor, was that window open when you were struck down?” demanded Nicky. “Oh, no! That is, I have no recollection that it was. The wind was blowing in at this side of the house, and I am sure I must have noticed. Why, did you find it open?”

“Yes, wide open, and the curtain partly torn down!”

She gave a nervous start and looked fearfully toward the window. “Do not say so! Did

someone escape through it? But how did he come in? I heard nothing until a board, as I thought, creaked just behind me. Becky, you shut the door when you left me, did you not? Surely I must have heard it if anyone had opened it!”

“Oh, no, my love!” said Miss Beccles, tenderly binding the pad in position again. “I wonder you should not have noticed that I had been rubbing soap on the hinges! It squeaked so horridly, you remember, but there is nothing like soap to cure a creaking door!” “Has anyone thought to see if anything of value is missing from the house?” inquired Francis. “I do not wish to appear to be putting myself too much forward, but it does seem to me—However, if it does not strike you as being of consequence, pray do not allow any suggestion of mine to weigh with you!”

As nobody was paying the least heed to him, this recommendation seemed unnecessary. Nicky was frowning portentously over thoughts of his own; Miss Beccles was busy tying a knot to her bandage; the sufferer lay with closed eyes; and Carlyon stood beside the sofa; looking down at her.

It was Nicky who broke the silence. “I do not see how it can have happened!” he announced suddenly.

“I dare say I imagined the whole,” murmured Elinor.

“Well, I mean I do not see why anyone should hit you on the head, Cousin. What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” she replied wearily. “I had been writing a letter which I laid by in the hope that Lord Carlyon might frank it for me.”

“I will certainly do so, but do not tease yourself now, Mrs. Cheviot.”

“Yes, but there’s no sense in it!” persisted Nicky. His eye alighted on the folded inventory still lying on the hearth rug. He instantly pounced on it. “What’s this? Six pairs linen sheets, monogrammed, in good order. Four ditto slightly darned—”

“It is only the inventory of all the linen which Becky had just given to me. I must have had it in my hand, but I do not precisely remember. I had gone over to the mantelpiece to try whether I could not wind up the clock, but it is locked, and I think—yes, I am sure—that I picked up the inventory again, meaning to put it safely by, when all at once something struck me such a blow!”

Nicky was about to say something, his eyes sparkling with excitement, when he caught Carlyon’s level gaze and subsided, flushing up to the roots of his hair in a very conscience-stricken way. His embarrassment was short-lived, however, for Barrow just then looked into the room to announce, with his customary lack of ceremony, that the doctor’s gig was coming up the drive.

Carlyon’s brows rose in slight surprise, but he said, “He is very welcome. Desire him to come in here, Barrow!”

“Why, yes, certainly!” said Francis. “I shall be only too glad to subordinate my claims to Mrs. Cheviot’s, but you must know that he is coming to see me, my dear Carlyon. I caught one of my putrid sore throats at poor Eustace’s funeral. I was sadly afraid I should do so for there was a dreadfully sharp wind blowing, and I should not at all wonder at it if the damp came through my boots while we stood round that depressing grave. I have scarcely closed my eyes all night, I assure you, for the least thing is so apt to bring on my tic, and you know that I have had a great deal to bear. And now this brutal shock coming hard upon the distressing news of my poor dear Louis! But I should not like to be thought selfish, and certainly the worthy doctor—I dare say an old-fashioned person, but he may at all events be able to make me up a paregoric draft that will not quite poison me—certainly he shall first come to Mrs. Cheviot.”

By the time he had reached the end of this self-sacrificing speech, the doctor was already in the room and bowing to Carlyon. Francis waved a languid hand toward the sofa, and said, “You will be so good as to attend to Mrs. Cheviot, sir, before you come up to my room. I shall leave you now, ma’am, in the fervent hope that you will soon find yourself greatly amended. Ah, Barrow, send Crawley to me, if you please! I shall need his arm to help me up the stairs.

Indeed, I cannot imagine why he is not at hand. How callous! It is beyond everything!” The doctor stared after him in blank bewilderment, and then turned his eyes toward Nicky, in a look of inquiry.

“Ay, that’s the fellow you have to hustle out of this house,” said Nicky frankly. Carlyon interposed, saying quietly, “You are come just when you are wanted, Greenlaw. Mrs. Cheviot has suffered a fall and has bruised her head painfully. Pray do what you can to render her more comfortable! I’ll leave you, ma’am, for the present.” She opened her eyes, at that. “Lord Carlyon, if you leave this house before I have had the opportunity of speaking to you, it will be the most monstrous thing ever I heard of or had thought possible—even in you!” she declared roundly.

“I have no intention of doing so, Mrs. Cheviot. I will return when Greenlaw has done what he may for you. Come, Nicky!”