CHAPTER TEN.
_August 16th_.They picked her up, poor Vere! the man who loved her, and the servantswho had known her since she was a child; picked her up and laid her on aboard which did duty for a stretcher, rolled up a pillow for her head,and drew her golden hair back from her face. Mr Carstairs took off hiscoat and laid it over her as she lay. His face was as white as hers,and all drawn with pain, while hers was quite still and quiet. Sostill! I was afraid to look at her, or to ask any questions.
Will put me down in a corner, and I sat there trembling and sick atheart, watching the little procession go round the corner of the house.I thought they had forgotten me, and I didn't care. I was past caring!The pain and the shock and excitement were making me quite faint andrambly in the head, when someone spoke to me suddenly, and put an armround my neck.
"It's all over, darling! We have come to take you home. All yourtroubles are over now," said a soft voice, and I looked up and saw aface looking down at me inside a close-fitting hood. For a moment I didnot recognise her; I thought it was a nun or someone like that sprungout of a hazy dream, but when she smiled I knew it was Rachel, andsomehow I began to cry at once, not because I was sorry, but because nowthat she was there I could afford to give way. She would look afterVere.
"Yes, cry, dear, it will do you good; but you mustn't stay here anylonger. We have brought a chair, and are going to put you in it, andcarry you home to the Grange. We are your nearest neighbours, so youmust give us the pleasure of looking after you for a time. They aretaking your sister on ahead, and a man has ridden off for a doctor. Hewill look after that poor foot of yours presently. I am afraid it willbe painful for you to be moved, but we will be very careful. Theservants are preparing rooms in case they are needed. You shall getstraight to bed."
"And mother and father?"
"Your mother was taken to the Lodge. She is well, but very exhausted.They want to keep her quiet to-night. Your father knows you are safe.He is very thankful, but he will not leave his post until the servantsare safe. Now here is the chair, and here are Will and the coach-manwaiting to carry you. Are you ready to be moved?"
I set my teeth and said "Yes," and they hoisted me up and carried medown the path after that other dreadful procession. Oh, my foot! Inever knew what pain was like before that. How do people go on bearingit day after day, week after week, year after year? I couldn't! Ishould go mad. I would have shrieked then, but my pride wouldn't let mebefore Will and Rachel, when they kept praising me, and saying how braveI was.
I was carried straight to a room and put to bed. Rachel bathed andbandaged my ankle, and then hurried away, and no one came near me for anage. I knew why. They were all with Vere; my ankle was a triflecompared with her injuries. When at last the doctor did appear, hecould tell me very little about her. The great thing was to keep herquiet until the next day, when he would be able to make an examination.I summoned courage to ask if she were in danger, and he answered merather strangely--
"In danger--of death, do you mean? Certainly not, so far as I cantell."
What other danger could there be? I lay and pondered over it allthrough that hot, aching night; but I have learnt since then that thereare many things which may seem, oh, far, far harder than death to ayoung, beautiful girl. I have never had a great dread of death, I amthankful to say. Why should one fear it? If you really and truly are aChristian, and believe what you pretend, it's unreasonable to dreadgoing to a life which is a thousand times better and happier; and as fordying itself, I've talked to hospital nurses when I was ill at school,and they say that most people know nothing about it, but are only very,very tired, and fall asleep. Of course, there are exceptions. It wouldhave been dreadful to have been burnt alive!
I did sleep towards morning, and it was so odd waking up in that strangeroom, which I had hardly noticed in the pain and confusion of the nightbefore. I smiled a little even then as I looked round. It was soRacheley! Lots of nice things badly arranged, so different from my dearlittle room! Oh, my dear little room; should I ever, ever see it again?Someone was sitting behind the curtains, and as I moved he bent forwardand took hold of my hand. It was father, looking so white and old thatthe tears came to my eyes to see him; but he was alive and safe, thatwas the great thing, and able to tell me that all the servants had beensaved, and to give a good report of mother.
"Very weak and shaken, but nothing more than that, thank God! Good oldMrs Rogers is very happy helping Terese to nurse her. She sent you herlove."
"And, oh, father, the house, the dear old home? Is it quite ruined, ordid you manage to put out the fire before it went too far? Whathappened after we left?"
His face set, but he said calmly--
"The lower rooms are more or less destroyed, but the second storey islittle injured, except by smoke and, of course, water. The enginesworked well, and we had more help than we could use. The people turnedout nobly. The home itself can be saved, Babs; it will take months torepair, but it can be done, and we shall be thankful to keep the oldroof above our heads."
"But it will never look the same. The ivy that has been growing forhundreds of years will be dead, and all the beautiful creepers! I can'timagine `The Moat' with bare walls. And inside--oh, poor father, allyour treasures gone! The silver and the china, and the cases of curios,and the old family portraits! You were so proud of them. Doesn't itbreak your heart to lose them all?"
"No," he said quietly, "I cannot think of such things to-day. I am toofilled with thankfulness that out of all that big household not a lifehas been lost, and that my three darlings are with me still. Thosethings you speak of are precious in their way, but I have no room forregret for them in my heart when a still greater treasure is in danger,Vere--"
"Oh, father, tell me about Vere! Tell me the truth. I am not a child,and I ought to know. How has she hurt herself?"
"Truthfully, dear, no one knows. She cannot move, and there isevidently some serious injury, but what it is cannot be decided untilafter an examination. They fear some spinal trouble."
Spinal! I had a horrid vision of plaster jackets and invalid couches,and those long flat, dreadful-looking chairs which you meet beingwheeled about at Bournemouth. It seemed impossible to connect suchthings with Vere!
"It can't be so bad! It can't be really serious," I cried vehemently."It was all over in such a second, and we were there at once; everythingwas done for her! Vere is easily upset, and she feels stiff andstrained. I do myself, but she will be better soon, father--they mustmake her better! She could not bear to be ill."
He sighed so heavily, poor father, and leant his head against the wallas if he were worn out, body and mind.
"Poor Vere, poor darling! I often wondered how her discipline wouldcome. Pray God it may not be this way; but if it does come thus we musthelp her through it as bravely as may be. It will be hard for us aswell as for her; terribly hard for your mother especially. We shalllook to you, Babs, to cheer us up; you are young and lighthearted, andif our fears come true you will have a great work before you."
But I didn't feel that I could promise at all. After he had gone I laythinking it all over and feeling perfectly wretched at the idea of beingcheerful under such circumstances. I can be as lively as a grig, (whatis a grig, by the way?) when things go smoothly, and other people arecheerful, too, but to keep lively when they are in the depths of woe,and you have to keep things going all by yourself and there is noexcitement or variety, is a very different thing. I am quelled at onceby sighs, and tears, and solemn faces. It's my nature, I can't help it.I'm so sensitive. Miss Bruce once said that that word "sensitive" wasoften used when "selfish" would be much more applicable. I thought ithorrid of her at the time, but I expect, like most hard things, it istrue. Now if you didn't think of yourself at all but only and wholly ofothers, it would be your one aim through life to make them happy, and noeffort would be too difficult if it su
cceeded in doing that. Thenpeople would talk about you and say you were "the sunshine of the home,"and your parents would bless you with their latest breath, and peoplewho had misjudged you would flock round and sit at your knee, and profitby your example. I should like to be like that. It would be so lovelyand so soothing to the feelings.
The doctor came at noon and allowed me to be lifted on to the sofa andwheeled into the next room. It made a change, but it was a very longday, all the same, and I thought the afternoon would never come to anend. Rachel came in and out the room, but could never settle down, foras soon as she sat down, rat-tat came to the door, someone said, "MissRachel, please," and off she flew to do something else.
Mrs Greaves brought some sewing and sat beside me, but she can't talk,poor dear; she can only make remarks at intervals and sigh between them,and it isn't cheerful. At tea-time Mr Greaves appeared, and--well, he_is_ a curious creature! I have always been taught that it is mean toaccept hospitality, "eat salt," as the proverb has it, and then speakunkindly of your host, and, of course, I wouldn't to anyone else, but toyou, O diary, I must confess that I'm truly and devoutly thankful he isnot my father.
He has a great big face, and a great big voice, and very little manners,and I believe he enjoys, really thoroughly enjoys, bullying otherpeople, and seeing them miserable. He was quite nice to me in the wayof sympathising with my foot, and saying that he was pleased to see me;but I felt inclined to shake him when he went on to speak of "The Moat,"and of all we had done that we should not have done, and left undonethat we should have done, and of what _he_ would have done in our place;making out, if you please, that the fire was all our fault, and that wedeserved it if we _were_ burnt out of house and home!
Rachel poured tea on the troubled waters, and he snubbed her for herpains and called his wife "madam," and wished to know if she had nothingfit to eat to offer to her guest. There were about ten different thingson the table already; it was only rage which kept me from eating, but hechose to pretend that everything was bad, and we had a lively time ofit, while he ate some of the cakes on every plate in turns and took asecond helping and finished it to the last crumb, and then declared thatit wasn't fit for human consumption. All the while poor Mrs Greavessat like a mute at a funeral, hanging her head and never saying so muchas "Bo!" in self-defence; and Rachel smiled as if she were listening toa string of compliments, and said--
"Try the toast, then, father dear. It is nice and crisp, just as youlike it. If you don't like those cakes, we won't have them again.Ready for some more tea, dear? It is stronger now that it has stood alittle while."
"It might easily be that. Hot water bewitched--that's what I call yourtea, young lady. Waste of good cream and sugar--"
So it went on--grumble, grumble, grumble, grum-- And that Rachelactually put her arm round his neck and kissed his cross red face.
"It is not the tea that is bad, dear, it is your poor old foot. Cheerup! It will be better to-morrow. This new medicine is said to workwonders."
Then he exploded for another half hour about doctors and medicines,abusing them both as hard as he could, and at the end pointed to myface, which, to judge from my feelings, must have been chalky green, andwanted to know if they called themselves nurses, and if they wished tokill me outright, for if they did they had better say so at once, andlet him know what was in store. He had borne enough in the last twenty-five years, goodness knew!
I was carried back to bed and cried surreptitiously beneath the clotheswhile Rachel tidied up.
"Dear father," she said fondly; "he is a martyr to gout. It is so sadfor him to have an illness which depresses his spirits and spoils hisenjoyment. There are so few pleasures left to him in life now, but hebears it wonderfully well."
I peeped at her over the sheet, but her face was quite grave andserious. She meant it, every word!
The Heart of Una Sackville Page 10
