She bent down and examined the lock, hoping to find some means of getting hold of the broken bar, but she could not even catch her fingernails on it.
A thought prompted her to find something with which to smash the lock off the door.
Walking about and peering into the grinding machinery, she looked for something she could use as a hammer, but though the place was dusty, it had been cleared of any kind of litter or debris.
It was the same on the next floor, but when she reached the top floor she saw a heavy iron bar leaning against the wall.
Picking it up, she realized that although she could carry it easily enough it would be difficult to use it as a hammer. However, there was nothing else.
Her trial blow on the top of the lock barely dented the black paint which covered it thickly. Her next, more violent swing missed the lock altogether and she came close to hitting one of her shins.
She paused, stood back and wielded the bar like a battering ram at the centre of the lock. A satisfying dent appeared in the metal plate, so, her lips firmly set, she went to work with enthusiasm.
For almost ten minutes she thumped the end of the bar against the lock, then her arms began to ache. She lowered her weapon and looked to see what damage she had done. At first sight it seemed extensive, but a closer examination showed that although the outside of the lock was very battered, no part of it had actually given way.
She gave a heavy sigh, rested for a few minutes, then began working again. The next time she stopped the palms of her hands were beginning to feel raw and she seemed to have progressed no further in her attempts to smash open the lock.
Her next effort was a shorter one and her rest period longer. Now her right shoulder ached considerably from the constant jarring, but she couldn’t stay here all day. Once the sun went down it would become terribly cold.
Later, every muscle aching and both her hands redraw, Sara put the bar down and went to the small-paned window. The shock of seeing that it was as dark outside as it was in the mill almost brought her to despair, but she pulled herself together and went to sit on one of the grinding stones to rest. That was what she needed, she told herself. The lock couldn’t hold out for ever. It was bound to give soon—and the fact that it was dark outside didn’t matter in the least, so long as the light bulb didn’t fail.
For a time she felt nothing except her aching muscles, then the chill of the stone on which she was sitting and the cold air about her made her shiver. She got up and paced about for a while, then she seized hold of the bar again, wincing as she levelled it against the pain of her muscles. Clumsily she gave a despairing ram at the lock, then suddenly let the bar crash to the floor as she heard her name called out.
Hysterically she shouted back: ‘Hugh! Oh, Hugh—I’m locked in!’
She heard him rattling the handle, then he shouted again,
‘Don’t worry, I’ll have you out within five minutes. I’m going for your axe. Keep well clear of the window.’
Relief almost overwhelmed her. It seemed no time before glass was falling inward and the axe blade was slicing cleanly through the separate members of the window frame. Then Hugh spread his coat over the sill and leaned inward towards her, his eyes filled with anxiety.
‘Are you all right?’
She gulped to keep back tears which seemed imminent.
‘Yes, I—I think so. My hands are a little sore, that’s all.’
Involuntarily, she raised one and he gave a little exclamation.
‘Good heavens, child, what on earth have you done to yourself? Link your arms about my neck while I haul you out of here.’
Sara did as she was told and his long arms reached through the aperture to lift her clear of the floor and manoeuvre her very gently through the narrow space. As he set her on her feet, she felt her senses swim. She tried to cling to him, but felt herself reeling. Then she had a feeling of floating effortlessly through the darkness while a strong wind bore her on.
Light was the next thing she became aware of. Then Hugh’s voice, very quiet but reassuring.
‘Lie still. You’ll feel better in a moment.’
Suddenly he seemed to grow very tall, but after a moment or two Sara realized he had been bending over her and had straightened up. She felt the warmth of a blanket covering her and the softness of a cushion under her head.
‘Did I pass out?’ she asked weakly.
‘Only for a few minutes. Now keep quiet while I make you a cup of tea.’
As he walked out of the sitting room, Sara became acutely aware of the pain in her hands. She winced and moved restlessly. Then she noticed the clock on the mantelpiece. A quarter to ten! It was impossible. But the second hand was ticking steadily on.
She closed her eyes again. Something must be wrong with the clock. Then she seemed to hear a faint voice in the hall, but before she could decide whether she was hearing rightly, Hugh was at her side and helping her to sit upright. He held a cup for her while she drank tea which was much too sweet for her taste. Then he settled her back on the pillow.
‘I’ve sent for a doctor,’ he told her. ‘He should be here in about half an hour.’
‘A doctor! I’ll soon be all right.’
‘Not with those hands, you won’t. And there’s the shock and strain, too. I’ve also arranged with Ted Barker for a girl to come and look after you for a few days. I don’t know the girl, but Ted assured me she’s very reliable. Now just close your eyes and rest.’
Sara obeyed and tried to ignore the stinging pain in her hands. She passed into a nightmare sort of doze and roused to find an elderly-looking man bending over her.
‘Now then, young lady, let’s have a look at those hands. My goodness, you have made a mess of them, haven’t you?’
The doctor worked gently but efficiently. Sara looked around and saw Martha hovering near, not a girl after all, while Ted Barker and Hugh were standing near the fireplace. She gave a slightly hysterical laugh.
‘I’m making an awful lot of trouble for everyone.’ Ted answered quietly, ‘We think you’re worth taking some trouble over, Sara.’
‘Of course you are,’ Martha said brightly.
Sara couldn’t help noticing that Hugh said nothing. The doctor stood back and scrutinized her. ‘You’re still looking too pale. I’ll give you a sedative and once you’ve had a good night’s sleep you should be all right.’ He stood back. ‘If one of you men would help her up the stairs?’
‘I’ll manage all right,’ Sara said in a sort of panic. She tried to rise, but Hugh stepped to her side and lifted her easily.
A few minutes later, with Martha’s help, Sara was settled comfortably in bed. She heard a car moving away from the back of the house, but as the sound of it died away she felt herself drifting into space. For a moment or two she struggled against the feeling. Then it seemed to her that she was once again being held in Hugh’s arms and that he was whispering softly to her, ‘Be still. Everything will be quite all right.’
‘But it can’t be. I’m going to have to lease Fenchurch Mill for as much as I can get for it. I won’t ever see you again, and it’s going to break my heart. You see I...’
Sara struggled to get the last word out, but the sedative overpowered her.
CHAPTER VIII
Being managed as well as looked after was an entirely new experience to Sara and she was not sure that she liked it. Martha proved to be an overpowering personality. She ordered Sara about and would not allow her to come downstairs at all before lunch.
For a few hours Sara submitted to Martha’s taking charge of her, but as her natural resilience built up her worries returned and her irritation at being almost helpless grew.
She was not ill, but she would not be able to use her hands perhaps for a few days. She told herself to stop worrying and appreciate what was being done for her. What did a few days matter? True, her arms and shoulders ached and her hands were terribly sore, but they would not be so for very long. In the meantime she ought to fe
el very grateful that downstairs Martha seemed to be moving throughout the house like a tornado. She was very, very kind. So was Ted who was willingly fending for himself while his wife was away from home. The doctor, too, who had turned out late at night for what must have seemed a trivial reason.
As for Hugh, Sara wanted to weep each time she thought about him. It just didn’t seem possible that a man could be so wonderful to a woman without being in love with her. But there was Rosamond, and Sara had no need to recall the indulgent, almost doting way in which Hugh regarded her. That was the way of things, and she must accept the fact. Rosamond was a very sweet girl, no wonder he loved her.
Sara flung back the bedclothes and crossed to the window. This enforced inactivity was worse to endure than her aches and pains.
At last she heard Martha’s heavy tread on the stairs and went to open the door using only the unbandaged tips of her fingers on the door handle.
‘Can I come down now?’ she asked.
‘Yes—but mind how you go. Some of those stairs are rather worn and I wouldn’t like you to miss your footing. ‘
Sara laughed and said she was well used to the stairs by now, but Martha fussed as though Sara was an invalid, helping her all the way to a chair in the sitting room. There before the fire was set a small table and Martha served her with an excellent meal of beef soup, chicken pie and vegetables with fruit and fresh cream to follow. The remains of the meal had hardly been cleared away when Sara heard the doorbell ring and Hugh came into the room. He looked at her critically. ‘Well, you seem to have recovered somewhat.’
‘Oh yes, beyond a few aches and pains, I’m quite all right. I can’t thank you enough for all you did,’ she said, her heart beating erratically.
He placed a small bundle of newspapers and magazines on the table.
‘I’ve brought you some reading matter. I had to guess at your taste in fiction, so try not to be too hard on me if I’ve brought all the wrong stuff.’
‘It was—kind of you even to think of it. But what’s in the folder underneath the papers?’
‘Some sketches and photographs of mine. I thought they might pass away a little time for you.’
‘I’m sure they’ll do more than that.’ She paused as a thought suddenly came to her. ‘How did you know I was in the Mill? If it hadn’t been for you I might have been there all night at the very least.’
He smiled faintly. ‘As a matter of fact I was feeling annoyed that you’d left the lights on. Since you’ve had the roadway opened the light from the top is like a warning beacon to all the nightlife, but thank goodness I did happen along. How on earth did you come to get locked in?’
‘It—just happened. I left the door open as I went up the steps. Then I opened a top floor window to let in some air—I forgot all about the strength of the wind and—’
‘And the door slammed shut. I wouldn’t have thought it would have jammed it all that hard.’
‘It didn’t. The spindle going through the lock had worn so thin that it just snapped off and left me without a handle on my side.’
‘I see. It must have been a shock finding yourself locked in there. It’s a wonder you weren’t driven half crazy.’
‘I wasn’t far from it at one time. But I—I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.’
His presence was beginning to unnerve her. Against her will she found herself recalling the half-conscious memory of being held in his arms as he carried her to the house. Yet she knew the utter futility of dwelling on those moments. Martha coming into the room helped her to get a grip on her emotions.
‘I’m going to do a bit of shopping, Sara. Is there anything you need? I thought a nice bit of plaice for your tea.’
‘Thank you, Martha, that would be very nice. My purse is in my handbag on the hall table.’
‘That’s all right. We can settle up afterwards. I might be gone a couple of hours.’ She turned to Hugh. ‘See that she doesn’t try to do anything with those hands, and make her a cup of tea when she wants it.’
‘I will,’ Hugh said gravely.
She went out of the room and the next moment they heard the outer door slam behind her. For a moment Sara panicked at being left alone with Hugh, then they both started to laugh.
‘She’s what’s known as the salt of the earth,’ Hugh said. ‘You should hear her giving Ted his instructions.’
‘Does he pay any attention?’
‘Very little. He just trims his sail accordingly and carries on, on the same course.’
‘How like a man!’
‘There can only be the one pilot.’
‘And it must be a man?’ she countered.
‘Don’t let’s get on to women’s rights. Are you going to let your father know what’s happened?’
‘I don’t think it’s necessary. My hands will be perfectly all right in a few days. I’ll tell him about it some time. In any case, he may not be in London at the moment. ‘
There was a short silence. Hugh eyed her keenly, then he said in a voice so kind she felt she could not endure it,
‘Is something the matter? I mean other than the pain and discomfort from last night’s affair?’
Anything the matter. She averted her head and one bandaged hand came up to her face to hide her quivering mouth. The next moment he was at her side, pulling away her hand and tilting up her chin.
‘Tell me about it. Talking things out does help.’ Talking things out. If only he was some kind of stranger to whom she could blurt out the truth of her devastating love for him! She swallowed hard and temporized with part of the truth.
‘It’s Desmond. He’s—he’s let me down regarding our business.’
Once she had started Sara found she could not stop. Every fear and anxiety she had for the future poured out in a torrent of words which she could not seem to stem.
‘And you’ve told your father none of this?’ Hugh asked. ‘Why? Are you afraid of what he’ll say?’
‘Not really. He would come rushing to help me.’
‘Well? Wouldn’t you do the same for him if he was in the same kind of difficulty?’
‘Of course I would, but that’s not the sort of thing that could happen to my father. He’s a very good businessman.’
‘Being taken in by crooks happens to a lot of good businessmen,’ he told her. ‘But that’s not the point. Your father loves you. Don’t you think you ought to give him the chance to show it? Wouldn’t you be just a little hurt if the circumstances were reversed?’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’ll telephone this evening and see if he’s at home.’
‘Good.’ Hugh went back to his own chair. Then he said thoughtfully: ‘Tell me—did you ever design any of the clothes you sold in your shop?’
She looked at him in astonishment. ‘That’s an inspired guess. I did, as a matter of fact. But I should have spent more time studying fabrics.’
‘But when you detailed your conversation with the employment exchange official you made no mention of your art studies.’
‘I didn’t think they were worth mentioning.’
He shook his head at her. ‘You’re entering into a world you’re not used to, Sara. You’ll have to learn to sell yourself.’
‘I don’t seem to have very much to sell.’
‘I suppose you still have some of your art school work at home?’
‘Oh yes, lots of it.’
‘Then send for it and let me look at it. You may have more potential than you realize. I’ll tell you what. Let me dial your home number for you and you ask Mrs. Worthing to pack your folders and send them to Norwich by passenger train. They’d be in Norwich by morning and I could bring them here for you.’
‘But—but suppose Father answers the phone and—’
‘Come on,’ Hugh urged. ‘You can’t keep it from him for ever.’
‘All right.’
Hugh dialled for her, then handed the instrument to her. Mrs. Worthing sounded puzzled.
&n
bsp; ‘I thought I heard a man’s voice.’
‘Yes, I’ve hurt my hand. I can’t manage the dial. Is Father at home?’
‘He won’t be until about ten o’clock tonight.’
‘Then I hope you won’t mind doing a little job for me. You know where my art school folders are?’
Sara went on with her request for the folders to be sent to her, then talked about things in general. Before she ended the conversation she said she would telephone again at about half-past ten.
She went back into the sitting room. Hugh was not there. But in a moment or two she heard a rattle of crockery in the kitchen. She sat down and gazed wistfully into the fire. How wonderful if it were always like this—Hugh by her side to guide and comfort when things went wrong—a lifetime of caring for each other. It was what she wanted more than anything on earth, but it could never be hers.
Impatiently, she rose to her feet and crossed to the window. The palms of her hands were stinging again and the future stretched before her uncertain and hopeless. She gazed out at the unkempt garden. The hardy perennial weeds were ready to start into rampant growth as soon as the sun took on some warmth. But all at once she noticed something else, too. Green spears of daffodils were also showing, some of them three or four inches high. For a moment or two she just stared at them, her brain a peculiar blank, then gradually her mind cleared. The daffodils were pushing up their shoots because nature dictated that they should do so. They could neither stop their growth nor put it forward at the wrong time. She, as a thinking, reasoning human being could do almost as she willed. She could at least pull up the rank weeds in her own life and encourage the flowers—or what little talents she had—to develop. She could take a hand in shaping her own destiny.
Harbinger of Spring Page 16
