Chapter 15

Miss Wychwood, next morning, declared herself to be so much better as to be in a capital way. Jurby did not think that she looked to be in a capital way at all, and strenuously opposed her determination to get up. “I must get up!” said Miss Wychwood, rather crossly. “How am I ever to be myself again, if you keep me in bed, which of all things I most detest? Besides, my brother is coming to see me this morning, and I will not allow him to find me languishing in my bed, looking as if I were on the point of cocking up my toes!”

“We’ll see what the doctor says, miss!” said Jurby.

But when Dr Tidmarsh came to visit his patient, just as her almost untouched breakfast had been removed, he annoyed Jurby by saying that it would do Miss Wychwood good to leave her bed for an hour or two, and lie on the sofa. “I don’t think she should dress herself, but her pulse has been normal now since yesterday, and it won’t harm her to slip on a dressing-gown, and sit up for a little while.”

“Heaven bless you, doctor!” said Miss Wychwood.

“Ah, that sounds more like yourself, ma’am!” he said laughingly.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Jurby, “Miss Wychwood is not at all like herself! And it is my duty to inform you, sir, that she swallowed only three spoonfuls of the pork jelly she had for her dinner last night, and has had nothing for her breakfast but some tea, and a few scraps of toast!”

“Well, well, we must tempt her appetite, mustn’t we? I have no objection to her having a little chicken, say, or even a slice of boiled lamb, if she should fancy it.”

“The truth is that I don’t fancy anything,” confessed Annis. “I have quite lost my appetite! But I will try to eat some chicken, I promise!”

“That’s right!” he said. “Spoken like the sensible woman I know you to be, ma’am!”

Miss Wychwood might be a sensible woman, but the attack of influenza had left her feeling much more like one of the foolish, tearful creatures whom she profoundly despised, for ever lying on sofas, with smelling-salts clutched in their feeble hands, and always dependent on some stronger character to advise and support them. She had heard that influenza often left its victims subject to deep dejection, and she now knew that this was true. Never before had she been so blue-devilled that she felt it was a pity she had ever been born, or that it was too much trouble to try to rouse herself from her listless depression. She told herself that this contemptible state really did arise from her late illness; and that to lie in bed, with nothing better to do than to think how weak and miserable she felt, was merely to encourage her blue-devils. So she refused to yield to the temptation to remain in bed, but got up presently, found that her legs had become inexplicably wayward (“as though the bones had been taken out of them!” she told Jurby, trying to laugh), and was glad to accept the support of Jurby’s strong arm on her somewhat tottery progress to her dressing-table. A glance at her reflection in the mirror did nothing to improve her spirits. “Heavens, Jurby!” she exclaimed. “What a fright I am! I have a good mind to send you out to buy a pot of rouge for me!”

“Well, I wouldn’t buy you any such thing, Miss Annis! Nor you don’t look a fright. Just a trifle hagged, which is only to be expected after such a nasty turn as you’ve had. When I’ve given your hair a good brushing, and pinned it up under the pretty lace cap you bought only last week, you won’t know yourself!”

“I don’t know myself now,” said Miss Wychwood. “Oh, well! I suppose it doesn’t signify: Sir Geoffrey never notices whether one is looking one’s best or one’s worst—but I do wish I had asked you to paper my hair last night!”

“Well, your hair don’t signify either, miss, for I shall tuck it into your cap,” replied her unsympathetic handmaid. “And it’s such a warm day there’s no reason why you shouldn’t wear that lovely dressing-gown you had made for you, and haven’t worn above two or three times—the satin one, with the blue posies embroidered all over it, and the lace fichu. That will make you feel much more like yourself, won’t it?”

“I hope so, but I doubt it,” said Miss Wychwood.

However, when she had been arrayed in the expensive dressing-gown, and had herself tied the strings of the lace cap under her chin, she admitted that she didn’t look quite such a mean bit.

Sir Geoffrey was admitted shortly after eleven o’clock, and so far from not noticing that she was not looking her best he was so much shocked by her white face, and heavy eyes that he forgot the injunctions laid upon him and ejaculated: “Good God, Annis! Dashed if I’ve ever seen you look so knocked-up! Poor old lady, what a devil of a time you’ve been having! And when I think that it was that infernal bagpipe who gave it you I could—Well, never mind!” he added, belatedly remembering his instructions. “No use working ourselves up! Now, I’ll tell you what Amabel and I wish you to do, and that is to come to Twynham as soon as you’re well enough to travel, and pay us a long visit. How would that be?”

“Delightful! Thank you: how kind of you both! But tell me, how do you find Tom?”

He never needed much encouragement to talk about his children, and spent the rest of his brief stay thus innocuously employed. When he got up to go, he kissed her cheek, gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and said: “There, no one can accuse me of having stayed too long, or talked you to death, can they?”

“Certainly not! It has done me a great deal of good to have a chat with you, and I hope you’ll give me a look in later on.”

“Ay, to be sure I will! Ah, is that you, Jurby? Come to turn me out, have you? What a dragon you are! Well, Annis, be a good girl, and see how fast you can get back into high force! I am going to take Amabel for an airing now: just a gentle walk, you know; but I’ll look in on you when we come back.”

He then went off, and Jurby removed one of the cushions which was propping her mistress up, and adjured her to close her eyes, and have a nap before her nuncheon was brought up to her.

Lady Wychwood, having reluctantly handed her daughter over to Nurse, was very well pleased to go for an ambling walk with Sir Geoffrey, and not sorry when Lucilla refused an invitation to accompany them. She set off in the direction of the London Road, leaning on her husband’s arm, and saying: “How agreeable it is to be with you again, dearest! Now we can have a comfortable cose, without poor Maria’s breaking in on us!”

“Yes, that’s what I thought, when I coaxed you to come for a walk with me,” he said. “Devilish good notion of mine, wasn’t it?”

But he would not have thought it a good notion had he known that little more than ten minutes later Mr Carleton would be seeking admittance to Miss Wychwood’s house.

Limbury, opening the door to Mr Carleton, said that Miss Wychwood was not at home to visitors. Miss Wychwood, he said, had been unwell, and had not yet left her room.

“So I have already been informed,” said Mr Carleton. “Take my card up to her, if you please!”

Limbury received the card from him, and said, with a slight bow: “I will have it conveyed to Miss’s room, sir.”

“Well, don’t keep me standing on the doorstep!” said Mr Carleton impatiently.

Limbury, an excellent butler, found himself at a loss, for he had never before encountered a morning caller of Mr Carleton’s calibre. Vulgar persons he could deal with; no other of Miss Wychwood’s friends would have demanded admittance when told that Miss Wychwood was not at home; and Sir Geoffrey, who disliked Mr Carleton, as Limbury was well aware, would certainly wish him to be excluded.

“I regret, sir, that it is not possible for you to see Miss Wychwood. Today is the first time she has been well enough to sit up for an hour or two, and her maid informs me that she had hardly enough strength to walk across the floor to the sofa. So I am persuaded you will understand that you cannot see her today.”

“No, I shan’t,” said Mr Carleton, rudely brushing past him into the hall. “Shut the door! Now take my card up to your mistress immediately, and tell her that I wish to see her!”

Limbury was affronted by Mr Carleton’s unceremonious entrance, and he by no means relished being given peremptory commands. He was about to reply with freezing dignity when a suspicion entered his head (he described it later to Mrs Wardlow as a blinding light) that he was confronting a man who was violently in love. To gentlemen in that condition much had to be forgiven, so he forgave Mr Carleton, and said in the fatherly way he spoke to Master Tom: “Now, you know I can’t do that, sir! I’ll tell Miss you called, but you can’t expect to see her when she has only just got up out of her bed!”

“I not only expect to see her, but I am going to see her!” replied Mr Carleton.

Fortunately for Limbury, he was rescued from his predicament by the appearance on the scene of Jurby, who came down the stairs, dropped the hint of a curtsy, and said: “Were you wishful to see Miss Annis, sir?”

“Not only wishful, but determined to see her! Are you her abigail?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Good! I have heard her speak of you, and I think your name is Jurby, and that you have been with Miss Wychwood for many years. Am I right?”

“I have been with her ever since she was a child, sir.”

“Good again! You must know her very well, and can tell me whether it will harm her to see me.”

“I don’t think it would harm her, sir, but I cannot take it upon myself to say whether she will be willing to receive you.”