Lady of Quality

by Джорджетт Хейер

  But it soon became plain that Miss Farlow was not going to be an easy patient. She begged Miss Wychwood not to give her a thought, but to go away and on no account to feel she must stay at her side, because she had everything she wanted, and she couldn’t bear to be giving her so much trouble; but if Miss Wychwood absented herself for more than half-an-hour she fell into sad woe, because this showed her that nobody cared what became of her, least of all her dear Annis.

  Lady Wychwood and Lucilla were both anxious to share the task of nursing Miss Farlow, but Annis would not permit either of them to go into the sickroom. Lucilla looked decidedly relieved, for she had never nursed anyone in her life, and was secretly scared that she might do the wrong things; and Lady Wychwood, when it was pointed out to her that she had her children to consider and owed it to them not to expose herself to the risk of infection, agreed reluctantly to stay away from Poor Maria. “But you must promise me to take care of yourself, Annis! You must let Jurby help you, and you mustn’t linger in the room, or approach Maria too closely! How shocking it would be if you were to become ill!”

  “Very shocking—and very surprising too!” said Annis. “You know I am never ill! You can’t have forgotten all the occasions when an epidemic cold has laid everyone at Twynham low, except Nurse and me! If you will look after Lucilla for me I shall be very much obliged to you!”

  Jurby, when asked if she would help to nurse Miss Farlow, said that Miss Annis might leave it entirely to her, and not bother her head any more; but as she apparently believed that Miss Farlow had contracted influenza on purpose to set them all by the ears Annis took care always to be at hand when she stalked into the room to measure out a dose of medicine, wash Miss Farlow’s face and hands, or shake up her pillows. Jurby disliked Miss Farlow, thought that she could be better if she wished, and in general behaved as if she had been a gaoler in charge of a troublesome prisoner. Miss Wychwood remonstrated with her in vain. “I’ve no patience with her, miss, making such a rout about nothing more than the influenza! Anyone would think she was in a confirmed consumption to hear the way she talks about her aches and ills! What’s more, Miss Annis, it puts me all on end when she says she don’t want you to be troubled with her, or to sit with her, and the next minute wonders what’s become of you, and why you haven’t been next or nigh her for hours!”

  “Oh, Jurby, pray hush!” begged Miss Wychwood. “I know she—she is being tiresome, but one must remember that influenza does make people feel very ill so that it is no wonder she should be in—in rather bad skin! But you won’t have to bear with her for much longer, I hope: Dr Tidmarsh has told me that he sees no reason why she should not get up out of her bed for a little while tomorrow, and I think it will vastly improve her spirits if she does so, because it is what she has been wanting to do from the outset.”

  Jurby gave a snort of disbelief, and said darkly: “That’s what she says,Miss Annis, but it’s my belief we shan’t see her out of her bed for a sennight!”

  But in this prophecy she wronged Miss Farlow. Permitted to sit up in an armchair for an hour or two on the following day, her spirits revived; she began to enumerate all the tasks which she had been obliged to leave undone; and announced her conviction that by the next day she would be stout enough to resume all her duties; so that Miss Wychwood had difficulty in dissuading her from setting to work immediately on the careful darning of a damaged sheet. Fortunately, she discovered herself to be so sadly weakened by her brief but severe attack that after the exertion of dressing her hair she was glad to sit quietly in her armchair, with one shawl round her shoulders and another spread over her legs, and to engage in no more strenuous occupation than that of reading the Court News in the Morning Post.

  However, she was certainly on the mend, and Miss Wychwood, in spite of feeling unaccountably exhausted, was looking forward to a period of calm when she received from Jurby, as that stern handmaid drew back the curtains from round her bed on the following morning, the sinister tidings that Nurse wished to have Dr Tidmarsh summoned to take a look at Master Tom.

  Thus rudely awakened, Miss Wychwood sat up with a jerk, and said in horrified accents: “Oh, Jurby, no! You can’t mean that he has got the influenza?”

  “There isn’t a doubt of it, miss,” said Jurby implacably. “Nurse suspicioned he was sickening for it last night, but she had the sense to take the baby’s crib into the dressing-room, so we must hope the poor little innocent won’t have caught the infection from Master Tom.”

  “Indeed we must!” said Annis, flinging back the blankets, and sliding out of bed. “Help me to dress quickly, Jurby! I must send a message to Dr Tidmarsh at once, and warn Wardlow to lay in a stock of lemons, and some more pearl barley, and chickens for broth, and—oh, I don’t know, but no doubt she will!”

  “You may be sure she will, miss; and as for the doctor, her ladyship sent down a message to him the instant Nurse told her Master Tom was taken ill. Of course,” she added gloomily, as she handed her stockings to Miss Wychwood, “the next thing we shall know is that her ladyship has caught the infection. Then we shall be in the suds!”

  “Oh, pray don’t say so, Jurby!” begged Miss Wychwood.

  “I shouldn’t be doing my duty by you, miss, if I didn’t warn you. In my experience, if you get one trouble coming on you which you didn’t expect you may look to get two more.”

  Miss Wychwood might smile at this oracular pronouncement, but it was in a mood of considerable dismay that she went down, some minutes later, to the breakfast-parlour. Here she found Lady Wychwood eating bread-and-butter, with her infant daughter in her lap, and Lucilla watching this domestic picture with a kind of awed fascination. Miss Wychwood, knowing how anxious her sister-in-law was inclined to be whenever anything ailed her children, was much relieved to see her looking so calm. She said, as she bent to kiss her: “I am so sorry, Amabel, to hear that Tom is now a victim of this horrid influenza!”

  “Yes, it is most unfortunate,” agreed her ladyship, sighing faintly. “But not unexpected! I thought he would be bound to take it from Maria, for she had been playing with him the very day she began to feel unwell. But Nurse doesn’t think it will prove to be a bad attack, and I am persuaded I may have complete faith in Dr Tidmarsh. I formed the opinion, when I was talking to him the other day, that he is a perfectly competent person, which, of course, one would expect a Bath doctor to be. The worst of it is,” she added, her eyes filling with tears, and her lips trembling a little, “that I must not take care of Tom myself. Whenever he has been ill he has always called for Mama,and never have I left him for more than a minute! However, I do see that it’s my duty to keep Baby out of the way of the infection, and I don’t mean to be silly about it. I have talked it over with Nurse, and we are agreed that she is to look after Tom, and I am to have sole charge of Baby. Which I shall like very much, shan’t I, my precious?”

  Miss Susan Wychwood, who had been chortling to herself, responded to this by uttering a series of unintelligible remarks, which her mama interpreted as signifying agreement; and blew several bubbles.

  “What a clever girl!” said Lady Wychwood, in a voice of doting fondness.

  When the doctor arrived, he confirmed Nurse’s diagnosis; warned Lady Wychwood that Tom was unlikely to make such a quick recovery as Miss Farlow’s had been; and told her that she must not worry if he was still inclined to be feverish at the end of a sennight, because it was often so with obstreperous little boys whom it was almost impossible to keep quietly in their beds, since the instant their aches and pains subsided it was one person’s work—or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say two persons’ work, to prevent them from bouncing about, and even getting out of bed the instant one took one’s eye off them. “I have two little rascals of my own, my lady!” he told her, with ill-concealed pride. “Just such bits of quicksilver as your boy is, so you may believe I don’t speak without personal experience!” He then told her that she was very wise to preserve her baby from any risk of infection; complimen
ted her on Miss Susan Wychwood’s sturdy limbs and powerful lungs; and went off leaving her to inform Annis that he was quite the most agreeable and sympathetic doctor she had ever known.

  On Miss Farlow the news that Tom was ill acted like a tonic. She did indeed burst into tears, and say that she would never dare to look dear Lady Wychwood in the face again, but this threatened relapse into gloom was not of long duration. An opportunity to prove herself to be of real value had presented itself, and she seized it. She cast off her shawls, dressed herself, and emerged from her bedchamber, rather shakily, but determined to share with Nurse the task of keeping Tom quiescent. Nurse accepted her services graciously. “For there is no denying, Miss Jurby,” said Nurse, “that though she may be a hubble-bubble female with a tongue that runs like a fiddlestick, she does know how to handle children, and will sit for hours telling them fairy-tales, and the like, which makes it possible for me to get a bit of rest.”

  It began to seem as though Jurby’s bleak prophecy was going to be falsified, but two days later Betty, the young housemaid who had waited on Miss Farlow throughout her indisposition, also took to her bed, a circumstance of which Jurby informed her mistress with somewhat heartless satisfaction. “Which all goes to show how right I was, miss!” she said, opening the doors of the big wardrobe which housed Miss Wychwood’s dresses. “I told you troubles come in threes, and if it’s only Betty who’s got this dratted influenza there’s no harm done. Now, will you wear your blue cambric today, or shall I put out the French muslin, with the striped spencer?”

  “Jurby,” said Miss Wychwood, in an uncertain voice, “I think—I am afraid—that I too have the influenza!”

  Jurby turned quickly. Miss Wychwood was sitting on the edge of her bed, still wearing her nightgown, and although the rainy spell had given way to a hot, sunny day she was shivering so violently that the teeth chattered in her head. Jurby took one look at her, and then cast the French muslin aside, and hurried towards her, muttering: “Oh, my goodness me! I might have known this would happen!” She grasped Miss Wychwood’s hands, and instantly thrust her back into bed. “And there you’ll stay, Miss Annis!” she said, in a threatening tone. “It’s to be hoped you’ve nothing worse the matter with you than influenza!”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so!” Annis said faintly. “It came on me during the night. I woke up, feeling as though I had been beaten all over with cudgels, and with such a headache—! I hoped it would pass off, if I kept my eyes shut, but it didn’t, and I feel quite dreadfully ill. Don’t tell her ladyship!”

  “Now, don’t start fretting and fussing, Miss Annis!” said Jurby, laying a hand on Miss Wychwood’s brow. “I’m bound to tell her ladyship that you’re out of curl today, and mean to stay in bed, but I won’t let her come into the room, I promise you!”

  “Don’t let Miss Lucilla come near me either!”

  “The only person who’ll come into this room is the doctor!” said Jurby grimly, stumping over to the window and drawing the blinds across it. “Do you lie quiet now till I come back, and don’t get into the high fidgets, fancying the house will fall down just because you’re knocked up with all the trouble you’ve had, and mean to recruit your strength by staying in bed today, because it won’t!” She sprinkled lavender-water lavishly over the pillow, drenched a handkerchief with it, which she tenderly wiped across Miss Wychwood’s burning forehead, assured her that she would be as right as a trivet before the cat had time to lick her ear, and hurried away, first to send the page-boy scurrying down the hill with an urgent message for Dr Tidmarsh, and then to inform Lady Wychwood, who had not yet left her room, that Miss Annis was laid up, and that she had sent for the doctor. “I don’t doubt it’s nothing worse than the influenza, my lady, but she’s in a raging fever!” she said bluntly.

  Lady Wychwood started up instinctively, saying: “I’ll come at once!”

  “No, that you won’t, my lady!” said Jurby, barring her passage to the door. “There’s nothing you can do for her, and you’ve got the baby to consider. Miss Annis has laid it on me not to let you, or Miss Lucilla, come near her. Very agitated she is, for fear you should insist on seeing her and get ill in consequence. If you don’t want her to get into a stew, which I’m sure you don’t, you’ll do as she asks you.”

  “Alas, I must!” said Lady Wychwood, much distressed. “Why, oh, why didn’t I send the children home with Nurse the instant Miss Farlow took ill? Why didn’t I persuade Miss Annis to go to bed yesterday, and send for Dr Tidmarsh immediately? I could see she wasn’t quite well, but I never dreamed she was sickening for anything, because she is so very rarely ill! I might have guessed, though! Fool that I was!”

  “Well, my lady, I don’t see that it would have done a bit of good if the doctor had come to see her yesterday, because if she had the influenza on her there was nothing he nor anyone else could have done to drive it off. And as for not guessing she was ill, I don’t see that you’ve any call to blame yourself, for I didn’t guess it, and—if you’ll pardon me for saying so, my lady!—there’s no one who knows her as well as I do! I knew she wasn’t in very plump currant but I thought she was out of sorts, on account of having to dance attendance on Miss Farlow, on top of—” She checked herself, and ended her sentence by saying, at her most forbidding: “Other things!”

  They looked at one another. After a moment, Lady Wychwood said simply: “I know.” She then turned away to pick up her rings from the dressing-table, and said, as she slid them on to her fingers: “Give her my dear love, Jurby, and tell her that she mustn’t worry about the house, or about Miss Lucilla, because she knows she can trust me to see that everything goes on just as it ought. And tell her that I shan’t attempt to see her until Dr Tidmarsh says it is safe for me to do so.”

  “Thank you, my lady! You can be sure I will! It will do her good to have that worry at least taken off her mind!” said Jurby, with real gratitude. She lingered, on the pretext of picking up a hairpin, and said: “I shall take the liberty of saying, my lady—being as I have been Miss Annis’s personal maid since she came out of the nursery—that I can’t help hoping that Mr Carleton will make some other arrangement for Miss Lucilla. Not that I have anything against her, for I am sure she is a sweetly behaved young lady, but I have always felt that Miss Annis was taking too much on her shoulders when she adopted her, as one might say. Particularly now, when Miss Annis is ill, and will be in a tender state, I daresay, for some weeks. I suppose you don’t know when Mr Carleton means to return to Bath? Or if he has gone away for good?”

  “No,” answered Lady Wychwood. “I am afraid I don’t know, Jurby.”

  Nothing more was said between them, but much that was unspoken was understood.

  Dr Tidmarsh, when he arrived less than an hour later, spent much longer with Miss Wychwood than he had found it necessary to spend either with Miss Farlow or with Tom, and when he came downstairs again, he told Lady Wychwood that while Miss Wychwood was suffering from no more serious disorder than influenza the attack was a severe one. He had found her pulse tumultuous; she was extremely feverish; and although he was confident that the medicine he had prescribed for her would soon reduce the fever, he warned her ladyship that it was possible—even, he was sorry to say, probable—that she might become a trifle delirious as the day wore on. “I tell you this, my lady, because I don’t wish you to be alarmed if she should wander a little in her mind. I assure you there is no cause for alarm! I hope that she will sleep, but if she should be restless you may give her a few drops of laudanum. Rather, I should say, her maid may do so, for you will, I trust, abide by your wise determination to stay out of the way of infection. I must add that the fear that you, or Miss Carleton, should run the slightest risk of taking influenza from her is preying on her mind, which is very undesirable, as I am persuaded you must recognize. In short, I consider it to be of the first importance that she should be kept as quiet as may be possible. The fewer people to enter her room the better it will be for her, while she is so feve
rish.”

  “No one shall enter it without your permission, doctor,” said Lady Wychwood.

  She was agreeably surprised, when she reported the doctor’s words to Lucilla, to see a look of chagrin in Lucilla’s face, for she had been inclined to think that for all her engaging ways and pretty manners she wanted heart. She had certainly not expected tears to spring to Lucilla’s eyes when she was told that she must not enter Miss Wychwood’s room until all danger of infection was over, and she was a good deal touched when Lucilla said forlornly: “May I not nurse her, ma’am?”

  “No, my dear, I am afraid not. Jurby is going to nurse her.”

  “Oh, yes, but I could help her, couldn’t I? I promise I would do just as she bade me, and even if she doesn’t think I’m old enough to nurse people I could at least sit with Miss Wychwood while Jurby rests, or goes down to eat her dinner, couldn’t I? I can’t bear it if I am not allowed to do anything,because I do love her so much, and she does everything for me!”

  Lady Wychwood was moved to put an arm round her, and to give her a slight hug. “I know how hard it is for you, dear child,” she said sympathetically. “I’m in the same case, you know. I would give anything to be able to look after my sister, but I must not.”

  “But you have your baby to look after, ma’am, which makes it quite different!” Lucilla said urgently. “I haven’t got a baby, or anyone who would be a penny the worse for it if I caught influenza!”

  “I can tell you of one who would be the worse for it, and that is my sister,” said Lady Wychwood. “Jurby tells me that she is in a great worry about us, and has made Jurby promise not to permit either of us to go near her. I know you wouldn’t wish to distress her—and to tell you the truth I think she is feeling too poorly even to wish to see anyone but Jurby. Wait until she is rather better! The instant Dr Tidmarsh tells us that she is no longer infectious I promise you shan’t be kept out of her room. As for sitting with her now, she isn’t ill enough to make it necessary for someone to be always with her, you know. Indeed, from what I know of her, I am very sure she would find it very irksome never to be left alone!”