by Anne Doughty
‘Can I do anything?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Yes,’ she replied, rising. ‘Sit with John and Rose till I come back. I’ll only be a few minutes.’
She was grateful for the freshness of Sarah’s bedroom as she slipped inside and shut the door carefully behind her. It wasn’t worth lighting the lamp for the few minutes she would need, so she lit the bedside candle.
‘Sarah,’ she said softly, taking the cold hand that protruded from the bed clothes.
Sarah’s eyes opened slowly and filled instantly with anxiety.
‘It’s all right, Sarah, she’s still with us, but I shall need you soon. I want to explain what you have to do. Are you awake enough to listen?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she insisted, as she sat up and swung her legs out of bed. She was still wearing all her clothes, her school pinafore crumpled and creased. She pushed her feet into her shoes and tied them quickly.
Elizabeth spoke slowly and clearly, made sure she understood and then sent her downstairs to fetch Sam.
There was barely space to move in the bedroom when Sam and Hannah came back upstairs with Sarah. There was certainly nowhere for them to sit. Once Elizabeth took up her place again, Hugh offered to wait downstairs, but John stopped him. ‘No, stay where ye are, man. Sam’ll find ye a chair.’
Sam brought the chair from his own bedroom, settled Hugh beside his father and leant against the wardrobe door behind them where he could watch Elizabeth across the squares and diamonds of the winter quilt and observe Hannah and Sarah side by side at the bed’s foot.
They sat in silence, the only noise the reluctant, laboured breathing of wife, friend and mother, the unconscious woman who lay so unnaturally still, her head thrown back against the piled up pillows, the cloud of her dark hair spilling all around her.
The room grew quieter and yet warmer. Rose’s face began to flush slightly as the minutes passed. Elizabeth made no move to mix Friar’s Balsam or even to rub her chest and hands with lavender water. She sat, holding one hand, watching her face, as John also sat, his eyes never leaving her for a moment.
From downstairs they heard the chime of the American clock, a strange muted sound, as if it measured time in some different world. It gathered itself, rang the quarters and struck the hour. One, two, three.
There was a slight movement from those gathered round the bed, an intake of breath, an easing of weary muscles, but from Rose there was no movement at all.
‘Has she gone?’ John asked, his eyes dilated, as he looked away from Rose for the first time and stared at Elizabeth.
‘No,’ replied Elizabeth, leaning forward to wipe trickles of moisture from Rose’s face. ‘But she’s close.’
The park and gardens were familiar but to begin with Rose could not remember where they were. The long flight of steps up to the big house and the formal gardens on either side were far too grand for Currane Lodge, but not grand enough for Lady Anne’s new mansion in Gloucestershire which had fountains and a parterre.
She and Mary walked on, along shady paths and across little clearings dappled with sunlight and full of birdsong. From time to time through the trees, they caught sight of a lake, a bent old willow leaning over into the water, swans floating along serenely, their dazzling whiteness perfectly reflected in the unruffled water.
She felt better. And the idea of a little sleep under a shady tree was so appealing she could hardly wait to get there. There it was, out beyond a wide, sun-drenched stretch of lawn, a huge cedar, its branches spread wide, the lowest almost touching the ground. A pool of cool, dark shade softly spread with fallen fragments lay at its feet.
‘Ma-a, Ma-a, Ma-a.’
She paused on the edge of the woodland, looked around and wondered where the noise had come from. There were no birds to be seen in the bright sunlit space between her and the cedar. Perhaps it was one of the sheep in the park that lay beyond the house and gardens.
‘Ma-a, we’re over here.’
The voice seemed familiar. It was as if someone was calling her, but she couldn’t make out the words. She looked around. Mary had gone. The place where she still stood in the shadow of the trees was completely unknown. It was growing hotter and hotter. It was so hot she could hardly breathe.
‘Ma-a, we’re over here.’
She struggled to wipe the dripping moisture from her face, but now it seemed it was not just her face, she felt her legs, her arms, trickle with sweat. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. She took a deep breath and felt a flash of pain, as if someone had tied a cord tightly round below her breasts. She recognised the voice now. It was Sarah and she was calling her.
Suddenly she found herself in her own bed, gasping for breath and sweating so fiercely that drips of moisture rolled down her forehead and got into her eyes, blurring her vision as she struggled to make out the shapes around her.
‘Hello, Ma.’
She tried to reply but she couldn’t manage a sound. Someone was wiping her face with a damp cloth. She glanced up at her and recognised Elizabeth. Her eyes moved slowly round the room, rested a moment on each member of the gathered company and the tight immobility of her streaming face softened towards a smile.
‘She’s back,’ said Elizabeth quietly, as her eyes closed again and she drifted into sleep. ‘The fever’s broken. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we must give thanks.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
As soon as Elizabeth was able to reassure them the greatest danger had passed, Sarah and Sam agreed to go to bed. There would be plenty for everyone to do in the morning, she said, but now until the fever subsided, she and Hannah needed all the space they could get for changing Rose’s nightgown and the bed sheets.
Hugh returned to his seat by the stove, kept the fire going and made mugs of tea for them all at four o’clock and then again at six. Even John allowed himself to nod in his chair, though he’d not leave Rose’s side until the fever was past and she no longer needed lifting and sponging.
In the early dawn, Sam woke, dressed quietly and slipped out of the house without disturbing anyone. He walked briskly down the hill, arrived at his workplace in Tullyconnaught at the usual time and explained to the foreman why he had to go straight home. He arrived just as Hannah came downstairs to begin making breakfast and Hugh stirred in his armchair by the stove.
‘How is she now?’ he asked, as he hung up his cap.
‘Asleep,’ she said, smiling wearily. ‘Proper asleep, Sam. She looks different. You could sit with her while Da has his breakfast.’
‘What did you say, Hannah?’ Hugh said, yawning hugely. ‘I must have nodded off again. Quite disgraceful of me when you’ve been awake all night,’ he added sharply.
‘I can sleep later, Hugh, now Ma’s improving,’ she replied gently. ‘She’s managed to swallow some elderflower and honey and some water. I know Elizabeth’s pleased.’
‘She’s had no sleep either,’ said Hugh thoughtfully. ‘Have you been out, Sam?’ he asked suddenly, as Sam added his jacket to the row on the hooks by the door.
‘Aye. I went down to work to tell them I wou’den be in. It’s thawed in the night and still thawing. There’s a clear strip the whole way down the hill,’ he went on, looking pleased.
‘Great news, Sam,’ Hugh said, nodding as he pushed himself to his feet. ‘I have a thought to put to John and Elizabeth. I’ll need the brougham if they agree. Would you give me a hand to take Bess down to MacMurrays and get her harnessed up?’
‘I will surely. Say the word. That’s what I’m here for.’
They turned at the sound of feet on the stairs and waited till John had moved stiffly to the very bottom.
‘How is she, John?’ asked Hugh steadily.
‘She’s asleep, but she’s like herself,’ he said, with a great gusty sigh. ‘Aye an’ she knows us well enough but she’s that tired she can’t speak or do anythin’ to help herself. It’s a miracle, Hugh. That’s all it is an’ her that near gone,’ he said, sitting down abruptly in the
nearest chair and dropping his face in his hands.
‘This man needs his breakfast,’ said Hugh lightly, clapping John on the shoulder, as Hannah came back from the dairy with a jug of milk and a loaf of baker’s bread.
‘An’ so does your Elizabeth,’ said John, wiping away tears unashamedly and looking up. ‘She’s the only one of us has never closed an eye all night. An’ she’s still up there,’ he said wearily.
‘She is, and you’ll not shift her till she’s good and ready,’ Hugh came back at him, a small smile touching his sombre face. ‘But I may be able to get her some help,’ he added. ‘John, I have a mind to go over to Dromore to a doctor there she’s spoken of. I don’t know him personally, but she speaks well of him. I’ll leave Bess at The Grapes and take the train and bring him back with me as soon as he’s free to come. He may be able to advise us better than your man last night,’ he said dismissively. ‘What do you think?’
‘Ach Hugh dear, sure the two of you’s been the savin’ of us. I’ll say yes to whativer you think. Will I go back up and let Elizabeth come down an’ talk to you.’
‘No, I’ll go, Da,’ said Sam promptly. ‘Have your breakfast. Call me when yer ready to go, Hugh, an’ I’ll come down the hill with ye.’
After the fierce cold of the previous day the quiet March morning seemed almost warm by contrast. By the time Sam had seen Hugh safely on his way into Banbridge, a few pale fingers of sunlight were catching the drifts of melting snow under the hedgerows, great shining drops hung like pale flowers on the saturated, bare branches and the wide puddles by the roadside reflected the first patches of blue in the clearing sky.
Hugh was tired and his body ached from fatigue and a night spent on one chair or another, but he was in the best of spirits as he manoeuvred the brougham out of MacMurray’s yard and let Bess pick her own path along the muddy road into town. He left her with the groom in the stableyard of the inn and splashed his way across The Square and up the slope to the railway station.
It was only seven miles to Dromore, by no means beyond Bess’s capacity, but he was glad he’d not attempted to drive. The open country to the north east had caught more of the snow and where the Dromore road lay sheltered from the south, its entire surface was still covered.
In the town itself there were few vehicles moving and he had some difficulty keeping his feet as he made his way to Doctor Richard Stewart’s house in Dromara Street.
‘Good morning,’ he said, to the dark-gowned woman who opened the door and regarded him dubiously.
‘I should like to see Doctor Stewart,’ he went on, returning her gaze directly. ‘I am quite aware how early it is but I am willing to await his convenience however long that may be,’ he said firmly.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’ she asked, as she waved him into a waiting room full of heavy polished furniture.
‘Hugh Sinton from Banbridge,’ he said, as he moved awkwardly past her and seated himself on the nearest chair.
‘I’ll tell him you’re here,’ she said, her cool, businesslike tone betraying just a hint of curiosity.
Only a few moments later, Richard Stewart himself appeared.
‘Sinton, you are early indeed. I trust you are well yourself,’ he said, looking at him closely, as he got to his feet.
‘I am, Thank God,’ said Hugh warmly, as he shook the outstretched hand. ‘But I have friends in great need. My sister is still there with them. I’d be grateful if you would come back with me and give us your advice.’
‘Certainly, I shall,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘But may I ask how you got here? The roads into Dromore from the south were all impassable last night, so my stableman tells me.’
‘I came by train,’ Hugh replied, smiling. ‘But you’re right enough. It’s thawing now, but I doubt if Bess could have managed it. I’ve left the brougham at The Grapes waiting for us, if you’ll be so good as to come back with me. Ballydown is about two miles out, towards Corbet.’
‘What time is the next train? Do you know?’ Stewart asked quickly, ‘I don’t often use the train myself,’ he explained, ‘my patients live in such awkward places I still find it easier to ride. Though maybe one day I’ll acquire one of these motor carriages,’ he said shyly.
‘An hour from now,’ Hugh told him.
‘Why, that would give me time to have a little breakfast,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I hope you’ll join me. If you’ll forgive a professional comment, I think you’ve had a rather taxing and tiring time,’ he said, glancing at Hugh again. ‘Indeed, I think I must insist,’ he went on. ‘In fact, I positively prescribe it,’ he added, beaming at Hugh.
Hugh laughed and decided it would be quite discourteous to resist such a genuine offer. Richard Stewart was still the agreeable man Elizabeth had remembered. He liked his directness and his warmth and he had a shrewd suspicion that those twinkling eyes missed nothing of what passed before them. A man in his forties, obviously unmarried, he was smooth-skinned and just a little plump. His manner had a soothing and reassuring quality. What interested Hugh was that the manner was not assumed. It was simply the man himself.
They breakfasted in a small dining room at the back of the tall, Georgian house, a south-facing room with French windows giving onto a long, narrow garden, still completely enveloped in snow.
‘I should perhaps admit that I will take somewhat longer than you to walk to the station,’ said Hugh circumspectly, as the housekeeper removed their plates. ‘I needed a good ten minutes to get here.’
Stewart consulted his watch.
‘Time for another cup of coffee,’ he declared and refilled their cups.
‘That was a most excellent breakfast,’ said Hugh gratefully. ‘I must thank you for prescribing. Would that all medicine were so pleasant,’ he added smiling. ‘I didn’t know how hungry I was. My own fault entirely. Both my friend and his daughter tried to persuade me to eat at Ballydown.’
‘Good. Good.’ said Stewart, beaming with pleasure. ‘A hot breakfast will stand to you as we make our way to the station.
The journey back to Ballydown was achieved without difficulty, despite the thaw turning the road out of Banbridge into a sea of mud. Bess was never troubled by mud, or by rain, it was only ice made her nervous. They kept up a good pace though Hugh did not press her.
He took the opportunity to tell Stewart all he knew about the circumstances of Rose’s illness, both before the doctor had been sent for on Friday evening and what had happened afterwards.
In response, Stewart asked a lot of questions. Some of them surprised Hugh for they related to the members of the family and the parts each of them had played during the long night. Particularly, he asked about Miss Sinton, until Hugh persuaded him to be less formal, knowing they had once been close friends.
‘I must confess to knowing something of your sister’s nursing capacity,’ he admitted, as they drove along the last stretch of the main road. ‘I was at medical school in Edinburgh with Charles and I still keep in touch with another contemporary of ours, now in Manchester, who corresponds with her. He told me she’d once considered doing medical training. He finds her comments on nursing matters most pertinent.’
‘Yes, I fear I have probably deprived the medical profession of a good doctor,’ said Hugh honestly. ‘I and other members of my family whose needs she met, one after another,’ he added sadly. ‘It is so easy to be wise after the event, is it not?’
Jamie had almost finished his breakfast before the housekeeper appeared from the kitchen and bent over his chair.
‘There’s a message for you, Mr Hamilton,’ she said, in the rounded tones she used for dealing with Mrs Caldwell’s young gentlemen.
‘For me?’ said Jamie, startled.
‘Your brother came last night while you were out,’ she said, underlining the while you were out with a note of disapproval. ‘He said you were to get the first train home in the morning.’
Jamie bridled before he gave any thought to what the message might mean. What was
young Sam about, leaving orders for him?
‘Did he say why I was to come home?’ he asked sharply.
‘He may have done. I don’t remember,’ she said with studied vagueness. ‘He came in a cab long after I was in bed. I had to come all the way down to the front door,’ she went on, in an aggrieved tone.
‘There must have been some good reason,’ Jamie replied crossly, his voice revealing his first angry reaction now tempered by anxiety. ‘Is someone ill? Has there been an accident?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, I think there was something amiss. Your mother, I think,’ she said, her eyes glittering with unpleasantness. ‘I think that’s what he said,’ she added, as she swept up the dirty plates and took them to the kitchen.
Jamie got to his feet, ran his eyes round the oval table where the boarders ate their meals. There were empty chairs where one or two of those with longer journeys to work had already left, but most of the others were still munching toast and marmalade.
‘Harry, I have to go home early,’ he said, as he leant over his closest companion from his own drawing office. ‘I think my mother is ill, but old Biddy won’t tell me properly what my brother said. He came while we were out last night and she’s only bothered to tell me now. Damn her,’ he ended furiously. ‘Can you explain to the Boss for me. I’ve missed the first train already.’
Harry nodded, his mouth full of toast. ‘We were pretty late, after all,’ he said, swallowing quickly.
‘She could have left a note in my room.’
‘If she can write, Jamie,’ he said, with a sideways look. ‘Sorry about your mother. I hope you find her better. I’ll tell Harding why you’re absent. He can’t very well call you out if its serious,’ he added, helping himself quickly to more toast before the newly arrived rack passed to the other side of the table and emptied itself completely.
