Art looked straight at the master for a moment before dropping his gaze and repeating, ‘Aye, sir.’
As he made his way to the kitchen he thought of the situation as a nice kettle of fish and all over a bit of a lass he had seen floating in the river. It was funny how things came about. He had been the means in the first place of saving her life and it looked as if she were now going to be the means of ending his.
It was half past two in the morning when Art returned. He was on the point of exhaustion and had to be helped up the steps by Jack Wallace and Billy Stratford. They, too, although young and healthy, were feeling the effects of the terrible night. Art got no farther than the hall, and the master came immediately and looked down on him and said, ‘Well?’
Art gazed up at him dumbly for a moment, moistened his cracked lips, then said, ‘She’s…she’s not there, master. They’re…they’re deeply affected. The men, they’re setting out.’ Then his body slumped and Konrad said to the boys, ‘Get him to bed,’ at the same time, turning to Slater, a weary-eyed drooping Slater, and ordering, ‘Tell Mrs Poulter to attend him,’ before walking towards the drawing room where Bella was standing. And when she followed him in and stood near the head of the couch, her fingers moving restlessly over the tapestry, he looked to her and said again, for the third time, ‘Tell me, why did you send her on such an errand? She was the child’s nurse; such errands are run by the men, the stable boys, or those in the kitchen, not a child’s nurse.’ He moved towards her, his voice low, beseeching, ‘Bella, I beg you, tell me, tell me why you sent her.’
Bella sank wearily down into a chair and, now gripping her hands on her knees, she beat them up and down as she said, ‘I…I can tell you no more. I’ve said it over and over again. I did it, I mean I sent her out to give her air.’ She stared at him and he at her, then turning round, he went to the fire and, gripping the mantelpiece he stood gazing down into the flames, nodding at them as he said, ‘To give her air. To give her air.’
He stood like this for some time and when he turned again, about to speak, he was surprised, even startled to find he was alone. He hadn’t heard her go, the room was empty but for himself, the door closed. He must, he thought, have been so engrossed in his worry that he hadn’t heard her leave.
He sat down and looked towards the fire. Why had he persisted in questioning her? He had felt impelled to, for she seemed to hold the only clue to the girl’s—no, not the girl’s—his Kirsten’s, his dear, dear Kirsten’s whereabouts, his love’s whereabouts.
If he had ever doubted his feelings before, that time was past. And now his feelings must be evident to the whole house. But what of it! What of it! Had they not imagined for months past that he had been using her? And why had he not? He stood up now and asked the question aloud, why had he not? There was no echo to his voice, and no reply from himself.
It was three o’clock the following afternoon and Konrad was asleep in the big leather chair to the side of the library fire when Mrs Poulter entered the room and wakened him by gently touching his shoulder, saying. ‘Master! Master!’
The house was disorganised, Slater and most of the male staff being asleep; only Bainbridge from the house was still searching, and John Hay from the stables, but most of the men from the farm had joined them and also, it was said, a number of the villagers from Bywell.
‘Master! Master!’
‘Yes? Yes?’ He was sitting bolt upright, his eyelids bleared and blinking. ‘News?’ He gulped in his dry throat.
‘Yes, master. A young lad, one of the Flynn family from across the river, he says he’s brought a message.’
‘Where is he?’ He was on his feet.
‘In the hall, master.’
‘Fetch him in.’ He straightened his cravat, smoothed back his hair, stretched his thick neck out of his shoulders and stared towards the door as if he were about to do combat with a deadly foe. Then there came into the room a small, dark, thin boy, in heavy boots, woollen stockings, breeches, and a short coat. He had a cap on his head but it was tight fixed by a long woollen scarf wound several times around his ears and neck. His small face was pinched blue with the cold and there was a rime of frost on the eyebrows, and the ends of his fingers sticking out from woollen mittens looked bloodless and dead.
Konrad’s neck sank slightly into his shoulders again, and he said quietly, ‘Come here, boy.’
When the boy moved stiffly towards him he said, ‘What is your name?’ and the small voice came like a thin icicle from the stiff lips, ‘Barney Flynn, sir.’
‘You have come with a message?’
‘Yes, sir, Col…me da he says to tell you they’ve found her…Kirsten.’
He stared down at the small boy, into the dark round eyes, and his breathing was checked as he waited for him to go on. And when he didn’t he forced himself to ask. ‘Is she…is she all right?’
‘Not all right, sir, she is very bad, poorly.’
‘But…but she is alive?’
‘Me da says just.’
He wetted his lips, then asked, ‘When did they find her?’
‘Around eleven o’clock.’
‘Where?’
‘Yon side of our wall.’
There was a pause before Konrad said, ‘On…on your side of the river?’
‘No, sir.’
‘No?’
‘’Twas on this side. Doug Fathers, him who breeds the whippets an’ lives in the charcoal hut, his dogs found her, an’ he took her to the hut. Then sightin’ me da ’cross the river he told him. And our Colum an’ me da an’ Doug Fathers brought her home on a wattle hurdle. She had been hit on the head.’
‘She had been what?’
‘Hit on the head, sir, side of her head’s open.’
‘Side of her…’ Konrad peered at the boy as if he were seeing him through a mist; then said impatiently, ‘Well, go on.’
‘That’s all sir, ’cept Doug Fathers says whoever did it likely thought she had money on her, an’ they come out of the bushes at her. But…but he says he can’t fathom why she should’ve been dragged down to the end of our wall and pushed in the ditch unless they knew that when the thaw come it would take her down the river.’
After a long moment, and still peering at the boy, he said, ‘If she is so ill she will need a doctor.’
‘Me da’s seen to that, he went for Doctor Percy hissel, him that lives a mile or so beyond Bywell.’
The weakness Konrad felt in his legs made him turn to the chair and sit down again, at the same time he also became aware that the boy’s face was running with water, dripping from his forelock and his eyebrows, and he said kindly, ‘You have come a long way, you must be tired. Did you come by way of the bridge?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How long has it taken you?’
‘I’m not sure, sir; I left half-eleven.’
Konrad looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and said, ‘Three and a half hours! You must rest and have something to eat.’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘But you must, you have another three-and-a-half hours’ journey before you.’
‘No thank ya, sir.’ The head was shaking now.
‘Well, if you won’t rest then you must eat something before you set out again. See to it, Mrs Poulter.’ He was looking towards the housekeeper whose soft glance was on the boy and he noticed that the boy hesitated now, only to shake his head again as he said, ‘No, I’ve got to get back.’
Konrad rose from the chair. ‘Well, if you must, you must,’ he said and thrust his hand into his back pocket and, drawing out a purse, extracted from it a golden sovereign which he held out towards Barney.
Barney knew it was a sovereign all right, it was the same kind as had come out of the top of the shaft. He stared at it. A whole sovereign for himself. Then he looked up at the donor and said, ‘No thank ya, sir.’
Konrad stared hard at the boy and, his voice stern now, he asked, ‘Why? Why do you refuse my food and money? Come…co
me, speak up.’ He watched the boy droop his head and listened to the soft reply, ‘Our Colum says I’ve to take nothin’ from you or your house.’ And on this Barney turned around and walked slowly from the room, followed by a startled Mrs Poulter, leaving Konrad feeling that indeed he had been confronted by an enemy, or the minute shadow of one, and the shadow had left him defeated.
She was alive, so what matter about the boldness of a small boy. But she was in that boy’s house across the river. An anger, sponsored by relief and weariness, flooded him and he had the desire to mount his horse and gallop over there and take his whip to that upstart who had ordered his brother not to take any kindness from his hands after which he saw himself grabbing up Kirsten and bringing her home.
How stupid; how stupid and infantile such thinking! The days of such chivalry were past and not even the knowledge that she could die from her wound would get him across the river and into that pigsty on the top of the hill.
Mrs Poulter re-entered the room and, having taken a few steps inside the doorway, said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, sir, the boy did not know his manners.’
He ignored her remark, but muttered as he turned towards his chair again, ‘Get word to the farm and those outside,’ and she answered, ‘Yes, sir.’
As she made to leave the room she was almost pushed onto her back by the door being thrust open as her mistress entered.
Florence, of course, did not apologise to the housekeeper but looked at her as if she had placed herself purposely in her path as an obstacle, and she continued to stare at her until she had closed the door behind her; then going swiftly towards Konrad she said, ‘You had better send someone for the doctor, Bella is in a high fever, she must have caught a chill yesterday.’
He looked at her coldly as he replied, ‘If it’s only a chill she will not need a doctor.’ Then he added in a deceptively quiet inquiring tone, ‘I hope you slept well last night,’ to which, after a moment’s hesitation, she replied, ‘I always sleep well.’
‘Yes, you always sleep well, Florence. And on this occasion sounder than usual, I suppose.’ Now his voice changing, he growled out, ‘Your concern for your son’s nurse was touching; the girl could have been dead, frozen stiff, and you would not have turned a hair.’
She raised her thin arched eyebrows, saying quietly now, ‘You said could have been dead? Have you news to the contrary?’
‘Yes, I have news to the contrary. She has been attacked and left for dead, her head split open. But then it is not your concern.’
There was a short silence before she said, ‘No, no, it isn’t, Konrad, for I think you have enough concern in this matter for us both.’
He peered at her as he had at the boy. He was amazed at her audacity; even if she were under the impression that the girl was his mistress, or had actual proof of it, he would have still been amazed at her audacity, it was out of character.
She turned from him now, saying, ‘You will send for the doctor?’ and he replied, his voice almost at shouting pitch, ‘If I think it necessary.’
He waited a moment after she had left the room, then he made his way up the stairs and to Bella’s room. Here he knocked on the door, and when he received no answer he opened it quietly and went in, and he saw instantly from the sight of her that she was ill. She was not flushed as one is with a chill for her face looked ashen, and there were beads of perspiration on her deep forehead. He bent over her and looked at her closely, and as she stared back into his eyes he saw that she was in some sort of anguish. Likely because she was blaming herself for the girl’s disappearance. Bella was a strong, tough character but under her grim exterior she was very human. Yes, he knew that, for did not the love she had for him and which she could not hide speak of the strength of her feelings. He touched her brow gently, taking strands of her hair back from her forehead with his fingers, saying softly, ‘It’s all right, Bella, there’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s all right.’ He watched her eyes widen in enquiry and he nodded and said slowly, ‘They have found her and she is alive.’ Although he did not know if Kirsten would be all right or not, he made himself emphasise it, thinking that it would ease her mind. ‘She’ll be all right.’ He nodded soothingly as he spoke.
‘No! No!’ Her hands came at him with such force that she almost knocked him backwards. Now she was sitting bolt upright in the bed, her hands tearing at the neck of her lawn nightdress as if she would strip herself naked and shouting. ‘No! No! No!’ Then quite suddenly she became still, her eyelids slowly closed, her mouth opened wide and she fell back in a dead faint.
He stood gazing down at her in amazement, but he wasn’t seeing her as she lay there almost lifeless but as he had seen her yesterday crossing the landing, her garments spattered with snow as if she had fallen into a ditch. Into a ditch. Into a ditch! The boy had said they had found Kirsten in a ditch. God almighty! No. No. Oh! Bella, Bella.
PART EIGHT
RENUNCIATION
One
They had cleared a small room off the storeroom and put in a platform bed, and on this a feather tick, Colum’s tick, and for a week they had kept her covered with blankets, one cribbed from each bed. Under her buttocks they had thrust an iron oven-shelf wrapped in a flannel petticoat, and at her feet a hot brick, wrapped in a similar garment. The renewal of these every hour had been the task allotted to Sharon and Kathie. Each member of the household, in his way, assisted in the nursing of her, but it was Colum who sat up through the night, sometimes with Elizabeth by his side, sometimes Dorry.
Not until the morning of the third day when she had opened her eyes and spoken his name had he gone into the workroom and thrown himself down on a bundle of hessian to fall into a deep sleep of exhaustion.
Nine hours later when he awoke, Dorry had informed him joyfully that the lass had taken a wee drop soup and was sleeping natural like.
It was a week later when he asked Kirsten what she remembered and she looked back at him and gave him the answer she had told herself she must give to everyone, which was…nothing. She was walking along, she said, her head down against the blizzard, when something hit her. She remembered nothing after that.
During the day it was easy to keep her mind off what she remembered because there were always comings and goings into the little room. They had pulled the plank bed into a position where she could see through the storeroom and into the kitchen so, as Dorry said, she’d be amongst them.
And that’s what she wanted, now and for ever more, just to be amongst them, never to leave them. And so she had come to a decision that would be best for everyone, and which might, in the end, be the saving of her life, because she knew if she returned to the house that woman, that terrible woman would have another go at her.
It was true she had been walking with her head down, but when the figure sprang out from the hedgerow, a tall cloaked figure, her head had jerked round just a second before the blow descended on her, and she had seen Miss Cartwright’s face as white as the snow humping the top of the hawthorn hedge.
She had taken into account that her decision would mean forsaking the child, yet she knew that sooner or later he would forsake her; at best she would be his nurse, a faint memory in his expanding mind. But who would she miss more? This was the question she asked herself in the middle of the night, the child or the master?
In the daytime the question was kept at bay by the love and tenderness deep in the eyes of Colum. His manner towards her might be offhand when others were present, but when alone he would take her hand and stroke it, his fingers going past the wrist and up to her elbow; and once in the night when he thought she was asleep he had put his mouth into the hollow of her arm. She loved Colum. In the daytime she loved Colum.
So she was going to stay here. Never again would she go across the steppy stones. Today or tomorrow perhaps she would write a letter to the master and in it she would say she was very sorry but she didn’t feel well enough to take up her duties as nurse again, and that come midsummer she was goin
g to marry Mr Colum Flynn. She would end that she hoped he would give her liberty to say that she would always be grateful to him for the kindness that he had shown to her, and for teaching her to read good books. She would say this last because it would please him, not because she wanted to read the highfalutin stuff he recommended for she couldn’t see the use of it in her life. Yet, she was aware that some part of her took pride in the knowledge that she was able to read…highfalutin stuff; it meant that she wasn’t coming into the Flynn family ignorant.
She turned stiffly on her bed and looked through the open doorway. She could see through the storeroom and into the kitchen where Elizabeth was standing at the long table. Elizabeth lifted her head and smiled at her and held up her hand, and Dorry, coming into the picture, called out, ‘Panhackelty the day, dear; sticks to your ribs like knackers’ glue.’
She could always laugh at Dorry, but she didn’t laugh at Elizabeth, she felt quiet when she was with Elizabeth, at peace somehow. They all had their different effects on her, had the Flynns.
The door leading into the storeroom was suddenly blocked by the figure of Colum. He had to bend his head to enter. Then he pushed the door closed after him and when he came to the bed he placed his hands on his knees and looked down at her.
‘All right?’
‘Yes, yes, thanks.’
‘Ma says we’ll have you up the morrow.’
‘Oh, that’ll be good.’
‘If it’s fine I’ll carry you out an’ sit you on top of the wall.’
Her smile widened. ‘Oh, I’d like that. Oh, I’d like that. Thank you, Colum.’
His face now becoming straight, he stared at her for a moment before he said, ‘Don’t thank me for everythin’. When two people are close an’ are goin’ to be closer they don’t keep thankin’ each other.’
The Slow Awakening Page 24
