Джорджетт Хейер - Frederica

“Yes, please,” Jessamy said. “I — would like to see him.”

“Of course you would. But you mustn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know you when he wakes: he is not always himself, you see.”

Fortunately, since Jessamy was so much shocked by Felix’s appearance that he was quite unable to command his voice, and withdrew to a chair by the window to master his emotions, Felix did know him when he woke. He said fretfully: “I’m so hot! I’m so thirsty!

Frederica!”

“Well, that shall soon be mended,” said Alverstoke, sliding an arm under his shoulders, and raising him. “Here’s your lemonade, and while you’re drinking it Jessamy will shake up your pillows, so that you may be comfortable again. You didn’t know Jessamy had come to see you, did you?”

“Jessamy,” said Felix vaguely.

But when he was laid down again, he looked round, and seeing his brother, managed to smile, and to say again, with definite pleasure: “Jessamy!”

Taking his hand, Jessamy said awkwardly: “That’s the barber, old chap!”

“I wish I hadn’t done it!” Felix said unhappily. “I didn’t know it would hurt so much. Are you very angry?”

“No, no, I promise you I’m not!” Felix sighed, and, as Alverstoke began to bathe his face, closed his eyes again.

Jessamy was so much relieved that Felix should have wakened in full possession of his senses that he began to feel more cheerful, and was able, when Felix dropped off again, to give Alverstoke an account of what had been happening in Upper Wimpole Street.

On the whole, the news seemed to be good; for although Charis cried whenever she thought of poor Felix, and Miss Winsham, always put out of temper by adversity, regarded the accident as a piece of mischievous spite designed by Felix expressly to add to the cares besetting her, and said, amongst a great many other things, that she had no patience with him, or with Frederica, whose fault it was, because she had spoilt him to death, Harry had returned from Wells on the previous evening, and had at once assumed control of the household. Jessamy thought his arrival an unmixed blessing, but as his first act had apparently been to quarrel with his aunt, to such purpose that she then and there packed her trunk, and removed to Harley Street, Alverstoke doubted whether Frederica would think so. But Jessamy said confidently: “Yes, she will, sir, for she knows that my aunt and Harry always rub against each other, and I shan’t scruple to tell her that Charis will go on better without her! She — she said such things — such uncharitable things! — as wholly overset Charis! You know, sir, Charis’s spirits require support! And Harry does support them! Why, she plucked up the moment he came into the room! And if he is to remain with her — which, I promise you, he means to do! — there can be no need for my aunt to be there.” In answer to a dry enquiry, Jessamy said that however much at outs he might frequently be with his senior he had never doubted Harry’s devotion to his family. He adduced, in proof of this statement, that Harry, to his own certain knowledge, had told his friend, Peplow, that he must exclude him from all their engagements: even from the Ascot Races! Harry’s first impulse had been to post off to Hertfordshire immediately, but he had been persuaded to remain in London. “And I’m bound to own, sir,” said Jessamy handsomely, “that it does him credit! For I quite thought he would take a huff when I reminded him that he was never of the least use when any of us have been ill!”

Not only had Harry accepted this stricture meekly: he had furnished Jessamy with the money to pay for his journey; charged him with a reassuring message for Frederica; joked Charis out of the dismals; and had even promised to take care of Lufra. “And he didn’t call Luff that misbegotten mongrel, either!” said Jessamy.

“That was indeed kind of him,” responded Alverstoke gravely.

“Yes. Well, he is kind! I mean, he never tries to bullock one, or comes the ugly if one provokes him, which I daresay most elder brothers would.” He sighed, and added wistfully: “I wish I might have brought Luff here, but they wouldn’t have permitted me to do so, on the stage, would they?”

The Marquis, mentally rendering thanks to Providence for having refrained from adding the task of preserving Farmer Judbrook’s herd from Lufra’s onslaughts to his other duties, said, with as much sympathy as he could infuse into his voice: “No, I am afraid they wouldn’t. But you have the comfort of knowing that he will be well cared for while you are away.”

“Oh, yes!” said Jessamy naively. “Owen has promised me that he will feed him, and exercise him.”

If Frederica was not wholly pleased to know that her aunt had washed her hands of her young relations, she received the news philosophically, telling Alverstoke that perhaps it was just as well that she had retired to Harley Street. “For it is not at all helpful to be scolding all the tune, just as if any of this were poor Charis’s fault! She doesn’t mean everything she says, and I don’t doubt she will keep her eyes on things, even if she has taken up residence with my Aunt Amelia. Charis will be much happier with Harry, and I know he will take good care of her. The only thing is — ”

She broke off, a worried frown in her eyes; and, after a moment, Alverstoke said: “What is the only thing, Frederica? My blockish young cousin?”

A tiny smile acknowledged that he had scored a hit, but she replied: “Whatever it is there’s nothing I can do about it, so it would be stupid to tease myself.”

He said no more, knowing that her thoughts were concentrated on Felix. Charis’s future was a matter of indifference to him, except as it affected her sister, so he was content to let the matter drop. He was much inclined to think that Endymion was indulging a fit of gallantry that would be as fleeting as it was violent; if the affair proved to be more serious than he supposed, and Frederica was troubled by it, he would intervene, and without compunction. His lordship, in fact, previously ruthless on his own behalf, was now prepared to sacrifice the entire human race to spare his Frederica one moment’s pain. Except, perhaps, the two youngest members of the family she loved so much: Jessamy, concealing his chagrin at being allowed so little share of the nursing, and humbly holding himself in readiness to fetch, carry, run errands, or to perform any task which was required of him; and Felix — little devil that he was! — who was depending on his strength, and could be quietened by his voice. No: he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice Jessamy or Felix: he had become attached to the infernal brats — though he was damned if he knew why.

During the next two days he had no leisure, much less inclination, to consider this problem. Fulfilling the doctor’s prophecy, Felix’s fever mounted; and although Alverstoke maintained his imperturbable demeanour he entertained the gravest fears. That Frederica shared them he knew, though she never spoke of them, or showed a sign of agitation. She was invincibly cheerful, and apparently tireless; but when he saw how strained her eyes were, and how drawn her face, he wondered how long it would be before she collapsed.

But in the early hours of the third day, when he entered the sickroom, he found it strangely quiet. So critical did he feel Felix’s condition to be that he had not left the farm that evening. He checked now upon the threshold, filled with foreboding. Felix was lying still, neither muttering, nor twitching; and Frederica was standing by the bed. She turned her head at the sound of the opening door; and Alverstoke, seeing that tears were rolling down her face, went quickly forward, saying involuntarily: “Oh, my poor girl —!”

Then he saw that she was smiling through her tears. She said simply: “He is asleep. The feverbroke. Suddenly I saw that he was sweating, and Iknew! Cousin,we’ve done the thing!”

With Felix out of danger, and slowly winning back to strength, life at Monk’s Farm underwent several changes. It was no longer necessary to keep a constant watch over him; and although Frederica, sleeping on the truckle-bed in his room, might be obliged to get up three or four times during the night to attend to him, she no longer needed either relief or assistance; nor, during the day, was it imperative for her to remain always within call. He slept a great deal, and was docile when awake, too weak to display any of his customary recalcitrance: a circumstance which made Jessamy, permitted at last to share the task of nursing him, so uneasy that he sought counsel of the Marquis.

“For I don’t wish to alarm Frederica, sir,” he explained. “Only it does seem to me very unlike him! I don’t mean because he does what you or Frederica bid him, because he would, of course. But he does what I say he must, and doesn’t even argue! You don’t think, do you sir, that his brain is affected?”

Preserving his countenance, the Marquis reassured him; but he was not wholly satisfied until the day when Felix had to be coaxed to swallow his medicine, and apostrophized him as the greatest beast in nature. “So now I know all’s right!” he told the Marquis radiantly. “I daresay he will soon be throwing the glass at me!”

“Well, if it will afford you pleasure I hope he may,” said his lordship. “Warn him not to throw it at me!”

Another change was provided by Knapp. After a struggle with his pride, he allowed the boredom he was suffering at the Sun, and his jealousy of Curry, who spent his days at the farm, in attendance on the Marquis, to overcome his reluctance to demean himself, and offered his services.