by Sara Seale
The old man stood anxiously by while James raised Sarah’s head and forced the liquid between her teeth.
“It isn’t the first time, sir,” he said. “I found her one day in my pantry. She said she was only giddy, but I didn’t like the look of her.”
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?” said James impatiently.
“I did tell Miss Brand,” said Pepper, and looked reproachfully at Sophie, who was bustling into the room, her hair wild, and her frock buttoned up the wrong way.
“About that little attack?” said Sophie, blinking sleepily. “Oh, dear, has she had another?”
“This is a good old-fashioned faint,” said James a little grimly. “And she’s taking some time to come out of it. Really, Sophie, you ought to know better than to take no notice of such things. What’s a woman for?”
“Well, you see, my dear, I suppose women are so used to that sort of thing,” said Sophie mildly. “Slap her hands, James; bum a feather or something. There, she’s coming round.”
Sarah opened her eyes and moved her head a little, and James slipped an arm behind her shoulders and held the glass again to her lips.
“Drink this. You’ll be all right in a minute,” he said.
She drank the brandy slowly, choking a little as it burned her throat, then she saw Sophie’s and Pepper’s faces watching her, and said weakly:
“What’s the matter? I thought I was in the barn with J.B. Did I—did I—?”
“You fainted,” said James briefly. “Stay quiet and you’ll be all right in a minute.”
“How silly,” she said. “I was afraid I’d do it in front of you one of these days, J.B.”
James sat down on the sofa beside her.
“Feeling better?” he asked. “Well, what about those other times? Do you make a habit of this sort of thing?”
“Never like this,” she said. “I’ve felt I was going to, but I’ve never gone right out till yesterday. J.B.—” She looked frightened. She had never been ill in her life. “Do you think there’s anything the matter with me?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said James with an assurance he was far from feeling. He was frightened himself. Probably been overdoing things a bit and it got to be too much for her.
“But I might do this sort of thing in the street, driving a car—anywhere,” she said. “You see, yesterday I had a kind of blackout in the train.”
“And you were going to say nothing about it, I suppose? You need looking after badly, my child,” he said. “Now you’ll stay here quietly until you’ve had your tea, then off to bed. I’m going to ring up Hervey now to come up and have a look at you, then we’ll know all about it.”
Sarah, reassured by his manner, began to feel more foolish than frightened, and when James finally ordered her off to bed, she protested that she was perfectly well and would rather stay where she was.
“You’ll do what you’re told for once,” he said good-humouredly. “Hervey’s coming at six and we can’t have you undressing all over the library. Run along now, or I’ll carry you there myself.”
“I’d like to be carried,” said Sarah meekly, and he picked her up and took her upstairs.
She snuggled into his shoulder and said contentedly: “You’re comfortable, J.B. You ought to have been a mother.”
He set her down outside her room and pinched her ear.
“Well, mother or no mother, I’m not going to undress you,” he said lightly. “I’m not at all sure that this isn’t another act of yours anyway. Browbeaten young ward swoons after scene with cruel guardian. Now, hurry up and get into bed.”
She smiled at him and disappeared into her room, but James went downstairs feeling decidedly worried, and Tom Hervey, arriving cheerily at six o’clock, slapped him on the back and remarked:
“You look more like the patient to me. Haven’t you ever heard of anyone fainting before?”
“Surely,” said James impatiently, “it’s not normal for a healthy young person to have these attacks without cause. I’m worried about Sarah. She’s much too thin, and she never keeps still a minute. As she said herself, she might go and do this sort of thing driving a car or anywhere. There must be something wrong.”
“Well, if there is, we’ll soon find out. Let’s have a look at the child,” the doctor said, and glanced at James curiously.
Tom Hervey and Sarah were old friends. He had seen her through the few childish ailments which had come her way, been treated to all the old dodges of thermometers stuck on hot-water bottles, spots produced with red paint, and once to a very realistic swoon which had lasted until he had tickled the patient’s feet, and he privately thought he would find nothing whatever the matter with Sarah Silver.
He was with Sarah nearly half an hour, and when he came down again James was pacing the library.
“Lord, man! Don’t look like that!” Hervey said, laughing. “You make me think of a young husband awaiting news of his first-born! By the way, Sarah wants a sherry.”
“Sherry?” James looked instantly relieved, then he frowned. “Is that all right?”
“One won’t hurt her. Do her good. You could do with one yourself, I should think. No, thanks, I won’t join you. I’ve still got some rounds to make. All right, a very quick one while I leave my instructions for your young monkey.”
The doctor accepted a cigarette and a drink, and stood in front of the fire warming his back.
“There’s nothing radically wrong with Sarah,” he said cheerfully. “Been overdoing it a bit lately, hasn’t she? I should cut her down on these London trips and make her rest more. Make her drink milk instead of whisky. Girls at this age often, go through a phase like this. Sarah’s still growing and she’s overtaxing her strength a little, that’s all.” He laughed, and tossed off his drink. “I don’t mind telling you, I thought at first she was probably stringing you to get out of something she didn’t want to do. She used to be an awful little devil as a child, and had old John Silver getting me up here at all hours for nothing at all. I think she liked to fool him. Grace and I have often wondered how you were making out.”
“Pretty well on the whole, I think,” James said, “considering I’ve never had much to do with the young before. She isn’t really such a problem, you know, as Heronsgill seems to think.”
“You probably understand her.” Hervey shot him a quick look. “She’s very fond of you, you know. I asked her how she liked having a watch-dog on the premises after these years of independence, and she said: ‘J.B.’s grand. It’s rather nice to belong to someone, Tom.’ Well, I must be off. There’s nothing whatever for you to worry about. Cut out the drinks and cigarettes and too many late nights—she started all that sort of thing when she ought still to have been at school, and this is the result. But the child’s always been perfectly strong. Given plenty of rest she’ll soon grow out of this.”
He dashed away, kindly, cheery, grumbling at the wet night and his old car, which was troublesome to start.
James went up to Sarah’s room, sat on the side of the bed and watched her sip at the sherry. In the shaded light she looked more herself again and she grinned up at him cheerfully.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me at all,” she said. “I’m a fraud.”
“For all that, young woman, you’re going to lead a quieter existence from now on,” he told her firmly. “No more London for a bit. Parties are definitely out.”
She made a face at him.
“As long as I don’t have to drink gallons of milk and take a filthy tonic,” she said.
“Milk and tonic both ordered, and I’m to see you take them,” he said. “Seriously, Sarah, if you don’t take it easy now you’ll find yourself with a strained heart, which might mean months on your back. There’s nothing really wrong now, but you’ve got to be careful.”
“Oh, dear!” She looked regretfully into the bottom of the glass, then put it down on the table beside her. “Were you really worried, J.B.?”
“Of course I was
worried! You gave me the fright of my life when you went down like that without any warning. And, Sarah, that’s one thing you’ve got to promise me.” He looked grave. “If it ever happens again and I’m not there, you’re to tell me, do you understand?”
She nodded.
“All right,” she said again, “anything you say.”
He smiled at her.
“I wonder if you really mean to be as amenable as you sound,” he said. “Now’s a good moment for the Meek and Dutiful Ward act, don’t you think?”
She looked at him gravely.
“I don’t want to put on an act with you any more, J.B.,” she said. “I just want to be me. When, do you consider, will you think of me as grown-up?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, and realised a little helplessly that he was going to find his position very difficult in the future.
“I don’t suppose you’ll ever quite grow up,” he said then. “Even when you’re married, with children of your own, you’ll still be half a child yourself.”
“Will I?” said Sarah, and sighed unaccountably. He got up to go and change for dinner, and she looked up at him, listening for a moment to the rain beating against the window.
“Have you forgiven me for being such a fool?” she asked a little wistfully.
‘That’s all forgotten,” he told her gently, and bent and kissed her.
On the other side of the village, Tom Hervey got home from his rounds and said to his wife:
“Fane was clucking like a hen with one chick. I believe the chap’s in love with that little monkey, and I’m rather afraid he’s the type to do nothing about it.”
James kept his secret pretty well, and perhaps only Sophie, whose sentimental heart had always led her to suspect romantic situations in the most unlikely quarters, noticed those subtle little changes which gave him away. Sometimes she caught him watching Sarah with an expression that was momentarily revealing, and sometimes he seemed to withdraw a little from too close a contact with her.
At first Sarah rebelled against her enforced rest, for James was strict in the matter of milk, tonic, and early bed. Parties were forbidden until Christmas, and late nights were a good enough excuse for avoiding their neighbours.
“At least, said Sarah, resignedly, “that lets us out of the Bollards’ clutches.”
But soon she settled down to the new routine, and James, in his anxiety for her health, probably overlooked the fact that he was encouraging an intimacy which could only make matters more difficult for himself.
November passed quickly enough. It was a month of rain and fog, which kept them a good deal indoors. They read Hardy together, and the stories of Guy de Maupassant, and Sarah, listening to the rain’s steady accompaniment to James’s voice, would allow her attention to wander from the story, and watch the firelight playing on his face. Then her thoughts tumbled over each other in wild confusion. She wondered what he was like with other women, what he would be like if he shed his friendly authority and behaved like Mick or David, or even Pinto.
Once he looked up quickly and stopped reading.
“You’re miles away,” he said with a smile. “You’re not listening at all. What are you thinking about?”
She looked a little scared.
“I was thinking how awful it would be when I was eighteen and you stopped being my guardian,” she said unexpectedly.
He laid the book face downwards on his knee and regarded her with humour.
“I thought you were living for that day,” he said.
Her voice was childishly tragic.
“Not now. You see, I sort of belong now. It would be awful if it all stopped suddenly.”
“Why should it all stop suddenly?” he asked gently. “We’ll still be friends, I hope, and anyway, you’ve still got some time left in which to change your mind.”
“It isn’t fair,” she protested. “You’ve made yourself necessary to me now. Supposing you got married?”
“Well, supposing I did? Is that going to alter things much?”
“J.B., you aren’t going to, are you?” Her eyes were suddenly very wide and green, and he laughed.
“No, of course not, you silly child! But even If I did, you’re still my ward, Sarah, for better or for worse.”
This wasn’t exactly reassuring, and when a few days later James announced that Clare Rosenheim was coming for the week-end, Sarah’s worst fears were realised.
What had Peronel said?
“I think quite honestly our Clare is out to marry anyone with money ... it must be pretty galling for her to remember that if she’d stuck to James a bit longer, she’d have been sitting pretty.”
“But why?” she demanded of James. “Why is she coming here? I thought—” She stopped, and James said with gentle rebuke:
“Suppose you stop thinking, and remember she’s an old friend of mine.”
Sarah felt her heart thumping violently. An old friend! An old love, and J.B. had asked her to Fallow. That might mean—“Why did you have to ask her? Why did you have to ask her now?” she said passionately.
He looked at her a little curiously. It would be awkward if the child had taken a dislike to Clare. He didn’t think it necessary to explain that Clare had practically invited herself, but contented himself with saying kindly:
“I’m sorry if you object, Sarah, but it’s only for a week-end, and Clare takes a great interest in you, you know. I think she principally wants to come and see if I’m looking after you properly.”
“It’s none of her business how you look after me,” said Sarah angrily. “I shall tell her you beat me.”
“Sarah dear!” James foresaw trouble in this unwelcome week-end; “Well, whatever else you do, please be polite to the lady.”
Sarah never felt less like being polite. As Saturday approached her resolve matched her uneasiness. Whatever happened, the G.I. must be saved from this, and to that end she must bring all her resources to bear.
“They mustn’t be left alone together,” she told Sophie firmly. “I shall cling like a limpet if I see signs of them going into a huddle, and if J.B. sends me to bed early, you must sit up, however sleepy you are, Sophie.”
“But,” said Sophie, who had been thrown into a state of wild speculation since Clare’s visit had been announced, “perhaps he doesn’t want to be saved from her. One must remember that James was once in love with Mrs. Rosenheim.”
“I’m not forgetting,” said Sarah grimly. “That’s why you’ve got to help me, Sophie. We can’t have J.B. thrown to the lions again, poor lamb. Besides, she’d disrupt our lives. You’d be awfully superfluous at Fallow if J.B. had a wife, darling. She’d soon send you packing.”
“Oh, dear,” said Sophie, “I hadn’t thought of that.”
The whole household seemed aware of the importance of this week-end. The maids, harried by Sophie, fell into a fever of cleaning and polishing, and old Pepper, filled with distrust, shook his head over the silver, and noted with misgiving the familiar signs of revolt in his Miss Sarah.
Only James himself was unmoved. It had seemed quite natural to respond to Clare’s plea for a quiet week-end in the country to “renew the acquaintance of your little ward.” Clare had been having a thin time since the death of her husband. James felt he at least owed her the hospitality he had been unable to offer her before, and if she took an interest in Sarah, so much the better. He was quite unaware of the significance of the visit for other people. That old affair now held such little importance for him that the fact that a different construction; might be placed on the visit never occurred to him.
But half-way through the week-end, he was bound to admit that the atmosphere was becoming strained. He had been delighted when Sarah announced her intention of coming with him to meet the train, and approved the fact that she appeared to wish to be sociable, and didn’t immediately disappear to the stables. But by Sunday, it became evident that Sarah, far from being offhand and difficult as he had feared, had every intention of
sticking to Clare every minute of the day. He watched, at first with amusement, and then with a slight feeling of irritation. Sarah was rather overdoing the attentive hostess. If Clare wanted to see the house, Sarah offered to show it to her; if James suggested a walk, Sarah insisted on coming too. If James and Clare escaped to his study, Sarah’s head would appear round the door requesting her guardian’s presence in the stables, and by .the time he had returned, Sarah was firmly showing Clare old photograph albums in the library while Sophie knitted by the fire.
By lunch-time on Sunday, Sarah had a look of the cat which has swallowed the canary, while Clare’s polite smile was becoming a trifle fixed. So far she had had no opportunity of a tête-à-tête with James.
“You look a little tired, dear,” she said to Sarah when lunch was over. “Jim tells me you haven’t been well. Why don’t you have a little rest for half an hour or so?”
“Oh, I curl up on the sofa sometimes just to satisfy J.B., but he stays and reads to me as a rule,” said Sarah cheerfully. “Today you can both talk to me, and then we’ll go for a good walk before tea.”
“That will be very nice,” Clare said rather faintly. “But I always think half an hour on your bed does you far more good than being with people. Why don’t you make her try it, Jim? I’ll wake you, Sarah, when it’s time for our walk.”
“I don’t see Sarah retiring to her room for a nice nap, somehow,” remarked James unhelpfully. “By the way, Sarah, have you had your tonic? I thought not. Here, bring me a glass and the bottle, you graceless child.”
Clare watched him as he measured out the medicine, and saw the anxious tenderness in his eyes, as, when she had set down the empty glass with a grimace, he put a hand under her chin and turned her face to the light.
“H’m—a little tired,” he said critically. “Tuck up by the library fire with Clare for a bit. I’ve got some letters I must write, anyway.”
“Yes, do that, my dear,” Clare said quickly. “And since you’re going to be busy, Jim, if you don’t think me rude, I’ll go to my own room for a bit, then Sarah can have the library in peace.”
