Джорджетт Хейер - Sprig Muslin

“Yes, he was—in fact, he said he could not imagine what I should find to do for Sir Matthew. So I said Sir Matthew had formed the intention of going into politics.”

This made her laugh so much that he lost any lingering shyness, had ventured to break to her the news that she had become, without her knowledge, Amanda’s aunt. He was a little afraid that she might be affronted, for she was much younger than Amanda had led him to suppose; but she accepted the relationship with approval, and said that perhaps she had better become his aunt too.

By the time the chaise arrived at Little Staughton, they were fast friends. Dusk was falling when it drew up before the Bull Inn, and lamplight shone through several of the windows. As Hildebrand jumped down, and turned to help Lady Hester, Amanda leaned out of one of the casements set under the eaves, and called, in a voice sharpened by anxiety: “Hildebrand? Oh, Hildebrand, have you brought her?”

He looked up. “Yes, here she is! Take care you don’t fall out of the window!”

She disappeared abruptly. The hand in Hildebrand’s trembled convulsively, but Lady Hester’s voice, when she spoke, was quite quiet. “I must leave you to settle with the post-boy, Hildebrand. I am afraid—”

She did not say what she was afraid of, but went swiftly into the inn. As she crossed the threshold, Amanda reached the foot of the steep stairs, and fairly pounced on her, dryly sobbing from mingled fright and relief. “Oh, thank God you are come at last! He is very, very ill, and I cannot make him he still, or even hear me! Oh, La—Aunt Hester, come!”

“Ah, I thought Miss would be sorry she turned off Mrs. Bardfield so hasty!” remarked Mrs. Chicklade, in the background, and speaking with a morbid satisfaction which made Amanda round on her like a tigress.

“Go away, you odious, impertinent creature! You said you washed your hands of it, and so you may, for I don’t want help from such a heathen as you are!”

Mrs. Chicklade’s colour rose alarmingly. “Oh, so I’m a heathen, am I? Me as has been a churchgoer all my life, and kept my house respectable—till this day!”

“Good-evening.”

The gentle, aloof voice acted on the incensed landlady like a charm. Cut short in mid-career, she stared at Lady Hester, her rich colour slowly fading.

“I am afraid,” said Hester, with cool courtesy, “that you are being put to a great deal of trouble. It is perhaps a pity I did not, after all, bring my maid with me. My nephew thought, however, that there would be no room for her in so small a house.”

Mrs. Chicklade felt herself impelled to abandon her martial attitude, and to drop an unwilling curtsy. “I’m sure, ma’am, I’m not one to grudge a bit of trouble. All I say is—”

“Thank you,” Hester said, turning away from her. “Take me up to your uncle’s room, Amanda!”

Amanda was only too glad to do so. Chicklade, an expression of considerable concern on his face, was bending over the bed on which Sir Gareth tossed and muttered. He looked round as the ladies entered the room, and said: “I don’t like the looks of him—not at all, I don’t! Mortal bad, he is, ma’am, but I don’t doubt hell be better now he has his good lady to tend him.”

Hester, casting off her bonnet and pelisse, hardly heard this speech, her attention being fixed on Sir Gareth. She went to the bed, and laid her hand fleetingly on his brow. It was burningly hot, and the eyes that glanced unrecognizingly at her were blurred with fever. She said: “Has the doctor seen him since this morning?”

“No!” answered Amanda, in a choked voice. “I have been waiting and waiting for him, for he promised he would come again!”

“Then I think someone should ride over to desire him to come as soon as he may. Meanwhile, if Hildebrand will bring up the smaller of my two valises, and you, landlord, will desire your wife to set a kettle on to boil, I hope we may make him more comfortable.”

“Is he going to die?” whispered Amanda, her eyes dark with dread.

“No!” Hester replied calmly. “He is not going to die, but he has a great deal of fever, and I fancy his wound is much inflamed. The arm is swollen, and these tight bandages are making it worse. Pray go down, my dear, and send Hildebrand up to me!”

Amanda sped away on this errand, and returned very speedily, followed by Hildebrand, bearing a valise. He was looking scared, and cast one shrinking glance at Sir Gareth, and then quickly averted his eyes. Lady Hester had stripped the blankets off the bed, so that Sir Gareth was now covered only by the sheet. Without seeming to notice Hildebrand’s sickly pallor, she directed him, in her quiet way, to open the valise. “You will find a roll of flannel in it, and some scissors. I am going to apply fomentations to the wound. Will you help me, if you please?”

“I will!” Amanda said. “Hildebrand faints if he sees blood.”

“He won’t see any blood, and I am quite sure he will not faint.”

“No, I—I swear I won’t!” Hildebrand said, through his clenched teeth.

“Of course not. You could not, when we depend so entirely upon you, could you? For, you know, I am not strong enough to lift Sir Gareth. It is a great comfort to know that you are here to share the nursing with me. Amanda, while I am busy with the fomentation, do you go down and try whether there is any wine to be obtained. A little hot wine will often relieve a fever.”

Amanda seemed for a moment as though she would have rebelled against what she suspected to be an attempt to exclude her from the sickroom, but after throwing a rather jealous glance at Hildebrand, she went away.

By the time she came back, carefully carrying, wrapped in a cloth, a glass of hot claret, Lady Hester had tied the last bandage, and was exchanging the very lumpy pillow on the bed for her own one of down. Hildebrand, who was supporting Sir Gareth in his arms, had not only recovered his colour, but looked to be in much better spirits. He had been able to look upon his handiwork without fainting; and Lady Hester, so far from reviling or despising him, had said that she did not know how she would go on without him.

Amanda reported that Chicklade had sent off the boy who helped him in the tap, and the small stable, to hasten the doctor, so Lady Hester said that since Sir Gareth seemed a little easier they would not try to get any of the mulled claret down his throat just at present. Hildebrand lowered him on to the pillow again, and although he was still very restless it was plain that the fomentation was already bringing him a certain measure of relief. Lady Hester sat down at the head of the bed, and began to bathe his face with lavender-water, softly directing her youthful helpers to go downstairs to await the doctor’s arrival. They tiptoed away. Left alone with Sir Gareth, Lady Hester smoothed back the tumbled curls from his brow with a loving hand. He stared up at her, and said in a hurried, fretting tone: “I must find her. I must find her.”

“Yes, Gareth, you shall,” she answered soothingly.’”Only be still, my dearest!”

For a moment she thought that there was a gleam of recognition in his eyes; then he turned his head away, and brushing the sheet, found her wrist, and grasped it strongly; he said, quite audibly: “You won’t escape me again!”

When, presently, the doctor was brought into the room by Amanda, he thought that the lady who rose to meet him had been crying a little. He was not surprised; and he said, with rough kindness: “Well, now, what is all this I am hearing about my patient? Some fever was to be expected, you know, but you may depend upon it that a man with a good constitution will recover from worse hurts than a mere hole in his shoulder. You need not tell me that he has that,ma’am I I have seldom attended a more splendid specimen than your husband, and I don’t doubt that between us we shall have him going on prosperously in a very short time.”

“But he is not my husband!” said Hester involuntarily.

“Not your husband?” he said, looking at her very hard. “I beg your pardon, but I understood from Chicklade that Mr. Ross had fetched Sir Gareth’s wife to him!”

“No,” said Hester helplessly. “Oh, no!”

“Then who may you be, ma’am?” he demanded bluntly.

“She is his sister, of course!” said Amanda, with great promptness. “I suppose that when my cousin said he would fetch our aunt, Chicklade thought she must be Uncle Gareth’s wife,but she isn’t.”

“Oh!” said the doctor. “So that’s how it is!”

“Yes, that’s how it is,” agreed Hester, accepting the situation.

Sir Gareth, opening his eyes on unfamiliar surroundings, wondered where he was. He appeared to be lying in an attic, which seemed very odd, though not of any great importance. He considered the matter idly, and next discovered that something was wrong with his left shoulder. He tried to bring his other hand to feel it, but found that the effort was too much for his strength. Also, which was strange, he was very tired. Decidedly something must be wrong, he thought, unperturbed, but puzzled. He turned his head on the pillow, and his eyes fell upon a slim youth, who was watching him intently from a chair by the window. The wreaths of sleep which were clinging to his brain began to drift away. He frowned. A boy in a coffeeroom, talking some nonsense about a blackened heart, and Amanda—Amanda? “Good God!” said Sir Gareth faintly, as memory came rushing back.

Hildebrand, uncertain whether he was himself, or still lightheaded, said tentatively: “Are you better, sir?”

“Hildebrand Ross,” stated Sir Gareth. “Where the devil am I?”