by Anne Mather
Julie controlled the impulse to retaliate and herself provided Sandra with a tray. After the governess had departed Mrs. Hudson viewed the broken swing with some misgivings.
‘That was a spiteful thing to do, ma’am,’ she exclaimed, obviously unable to suppress her indignation.
Julie sighed. ‘I expect she thought it was justifiable. Emma has been naughty.’
Mrs. Hudson snorted. ‘More likely she resented the fact that the lassie got so much pleasure out of it. I’m sure I hope Mr. Hillingdon will be able to talk some sense into Mr. Robert, and then we’ll all have a bit of peace!’
Julie stared at her in surprise. It was the first time she had heard Mrs. Hudson get so heated about anything.
‘Yes, well, I shouldn’t be too optimistic,’ she remarked. ‘You surely know Robert well enough to realize that no one can make him do anything!’ She walked to the door of the kitchen. ‘I’d better go and see what she’s doing.’
Emma was in her room, lying on her bed, staring mutinously up at the ceiling. She barely glanced at her mother as she entered the room and Julie closed the door quietly, not wanting to draw Sandra Lawson’s attention to the fact that she had come to see her daughter.
‘Now what’s going on?’ Julie began brightly. ‘I hear you’ve been naughty again.’
Emma sniffed. ‘She’s cut down the swing.’
Julie sighed. ‘You spilt ink all over her book.’
‘No, I didn’t!’ Emma propped herself up on her elbows. ‘I knew she’d say that, but I didn’t. It was an accident.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. She bumped my arm and – well, the bottle turned over.’
‘But what was a bottle of ink doing near your arm?’
‘We were working at the table and she said for me to come round and see what she’d been doing and I went, and then – and then …’
‘The bottle was overturned.’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Julie sighed. ‘Well, I suppose she had every right to think you’d done it on purpose, hadn’t she? I mean, you haven’t exactly been behaving yourself, have you?’
‘No, but this was different.’
‘How was it different?’
‘Well, I wasn’t being naughty. I came round to her, just like she said, and then she bumped my arm and the ink went over her book. She was very angry with me. She said I was a disobedient little monster. Am I a disobedient little monster, Mummy?’
‘Of course not, darling. Miss Lawson was just upset, that’s all.’
All the same, Julie liked the sound of this less and less. It was possible that Emma was exaggerating, and surely Sandra would not be petty enough to take spite out of the child for what had happened last week-end, but even so, it was all most disturbing and distressing. She just hoped that Francis would have some success with Robert, but somehow she doubted it in the circumstances.
Looking down at Emma’s indignant little face, she changed the subject. ‘How about us taking a trip up to town, tomorrow? We could go and see about getting you some new clothes for the winter.’
Emma hunched her shoulders, sitting up cross-legged and resting her chin on her hands. ‘Will you be able to mend the swing, Mummy?’ she asked.
Julie sighed. ‘Oh, I expect so.’
Emma looked up. ‘Today?’ Her face brightened.
‘No, not today, darling.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know. In a few days, maybe.’ Julie sighed. ‘Does the idea of going up to town appeal to you?’
Emma obviously had only one thing on her mind at the moment. ‘Do you think Uncle Robert will be able to mend it?’ She frowned. ‘I ‘spect he could, don’t you?’
Julie contained her impatience. This was all Robert’s doing, after all. ‘If he comes again,’ she offered shortly. ‘Now, go and wash your face and hands. It will soon be lunch time.’
During the afternoon Sandra went out, and Julie breathed a sigh of relief. The atmosphere in the house changed subtly once the governess removed her quelling presence.
Emma disappeared upstairs to her room after Sandra had left and Julie seated herself in the lounge, unconsciously waiting for the telephone to ring. She felt sure Francis would call to let her know what Robert had said.
It was a bitterly cold afternoon, but it was cosy by the fire and Julie thought she could have relaxed if only she had known that Sandra would not be returning at teatime. However, there were other problems just as disturbing to her peace of mind to torment her, and eventually she left the lounge to seek Emma’s company.
But when she reached Emma’s room it was empty. Frowning, Julie looked into the bathroom, but she wasn’t there either. The horrible thought that she might have entered Sandra’s room to wreak some awful vengeance on her property for the way she had cut down the swing that morning caused her to hasten quickly along the landing, but Sandra’s room was as coldly immaculate as the woman herself.
Julie shook her head and went downstairs again. Emma must be with Mrs. Hudson.
But Mrs. Hudson was in her sitting-room and she had not seen the child. Julie felt the first twinges of anxiety. Where could she be?
‘Perhaps she’s in the garden,’ suggested Mrs. Hudson practically.
‘Oh, of course.’ Julie breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I didn’t think of that. Not after she went upstairs earlier.’
Mrs. Hudson nodded. ‘I’ll come with you.’
The grey light of the afternoon shadowed the garden. A faint mist hung about the trees and the evening was drawing in, although it was scarcely half past three. It was so cold it caught Julie’s breath and she shivered. It was so quiet. Surely Emma could not be out here when there was no sight nor sound of her.
‘Emma!’ she called, urgently. ‘Emma darling! Where are you?’
There was no reply and Julie looked back at Mrs. Hudson just emerging from the house. The housekeeper looked troubled and shook her head. ‘Is she not here?’
‘No, I – that is – oh, God! is – is that her over there?’
Julie didn’t wait for a reply. She was running frantically across the lawn to where the broken fibres of the swing moved slowly in the frosty air. Below their slashed threads a small body was lying, a pool of blood seeping from a head wound.
‘Oh, God, Emma! Emma!’ Julie was almost sobbing, bending to her knees, resting her head against the child’s chilled forehead. She was scarcely conscious of Mrs. Hudson beside her, running a hand over Emma’s chest, feeling for the faintly palpitating beat of a small heart.
Julie looked up at her with agonized eyes. ‘Is she – is she dead?’
Mrs. Hudson shook her head, but her face like Julie’s was chalk white. ‘No, my love, she’s not dead,’ she managed, in a strained voice. ‘But she’s lost a lot of blood, and out here in this damp atmosphere—’ She glanced round. ‘Hurry into the house and call an ambulance!’
Julie hesitated, reluctant to leave her daughter, but then she realized that she was doing no good there and she sprang to her feet and ran swiftly through the hall to the lounge. Her fingers trembled violently as she tried to dial the numbers, and twice she misdialled before the sound of a car on the courtyard before the house caused her to rush to the window.
Robert was climbing out of the Aston Martin, his dark face showing little of his inner feelings. But at that moment Julie didn’t particularly care what feelings he might have. Emma was hurt, badly hurt, and he might conceivably be able to help her.
She rushed through the hall again and wrenched open the door just as he reached it. One look at her face was sufficient for him to realize that something was terribly wrong.
He caught her by the forearms as she swayed slightly, and demanded: ‘What’s is it? In God’s name, Julie, what’s happened?’
In stuttering sentences, Julie managed to tell him, and he put her aside and strode through the house and into the garden, going straight to where the child lay. He looked frowningly for a moment at the broken
swing and she thought he was about to question it, but then he went down on his haunches beside the unconscious child and examined the wound on her head.
‘How the hell did this happen?’ he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
Mrs. Hudson answered. ‘From what I can see from the state of her clothes, sir, I should think she climbed the tree and fell from that branch, there. She’s hit her head on the edge of the path … see!’
Robert nodded and rose abruptly. ‘Go and get a blanket to wrap her in, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll take her in to the hospital myself.’
Mrs. Hudson looked questioningly at Julie, who nodded shakily and then the housekeeper scurried away towards the house. Julie sank down on to her knees beside Emma again, taking one of her limp little hands and cradling it in both of hers. She was choked with tears and yet they would not come. Her throat was dry and an awful sense of shock was numbing her.
Robert put his hands firmly on her shoulders and drew her to her feet. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing you can do for her, and you’re only upsetting yourself. Do you want to come to the hospital with me?’
‘Of course.’ The words were hard to articulate. She shivered and Robert drew off his sheekpskin coat and put it around her shoulders, glancing round impatiently for Mrs. Hudson. Julie tried to think. ‘Is – it all right to move her?’ she asked unsteadily.
Robert looked down at the small still form. ‘I don’t think there are any bones broken,’ he said. ‘And she needs to be moved from the dampness out here.’
Julie swallowed with difficulty. ‘Do you – do you think she’s going to be all right?’
Robert gave an ejaculation. ‘Of course. Yes, of course she’s going to be all right,’ he replied, almost irritably, but she guessed his nerves were frayed, too.
Mrs. Hudson returned with the rug and Robert wrapped it carefully round Emma, using the utmost patience when it came to moving her injured head from the ground. Julie looked away from the seeped pool of blood. She had the awful premonition that Emma was going to die without Robert ever knowing that she was his daughter.
The journey to the hospital just outside Farnborough was a nightmare. Julie sat with Emma’s head pillowed on her lap, and every now and then she removed the wad of cotton wool she had applied to the wound and replaced it with another. She was plagued with thoughts and recriminations and she could tell from Robert’s grim expression that he was thoughtful, too.
At the hospital they were expected. Mrs. Hudson had phoned ahead and immediately upon arrival Emma was transferred to a stretcher trolley and wheeled away. The doctor was very kind. He showed them into a waiting-room and asked if they would remain there until Emma had been examined and her head X-rayed.
A young orderly brought them a tray of tea, but Robert wouldn’t have any and Julie poured her own more out of the desire for something to do than anything else. Although Robert said little, merely inquiring whether she felt a little better now and commenting upon the coldness of the day, she was glad of his company. She was beginning to realize how dreadfully alone she would have felt had she had to come to the hospital without him.
A few minutes later, a nurse appeared in the doorway, looking rather agitatedly at Julie, who rose to her feet unsteadily.
‘Mrs. Pemberton?’ The nurse gestured with her arm. ‘Will you come this way, please?’
Julie glanced at Robert and he nodded reassuringly. They went out of the room and along the corridor to a small examination room where Emma was still lying unconscious on the trolley.
The doctor came round to Julie as she entered. ‘Ah, Mrs. Pemberton,’ he said, taking her arm.
‘Is something wrong?’ Julie looked searchingly at Emma and then back at the doctor. ‘What is it?’
‘Now, now, Mrs. Pemberton, calm yourself. There’s nothing wrong that we can’t deal with. Emma’s going to be perfectly all right, but she needs a blood transfusion.’ Julie gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth as he went on: ‘Unfortunately, Emma’s blood group is a rather rare group, A.B. negative, in fact, and we have no blood of this grouping here. We’ll have to send to one of the larger hospitals for it—’
‘Robert is that blood group!’ exclaimed Julie instantly, and then coloured as the doctor frowned.
‘Robert?’ he queried.
Julie’s fingers tightened round the strap of her handbag. ‘Yes – Mr. Pemberton. Emma’s – that is – my brother-in-law.’
‘Is he indeed?’ The doctor sounded interested. ‘And you think he would be prepared to be a donor—’
‘Oh, I don’t know – that is – perhaps,’ finished Julie lamely. She half regretted telling them, but this was for Emma. Emma’s life was more important than her discomfort.
Doctor Miller nodded to the nurse who had gone for Julie earlier. ‘Ask Mr. Pemberton to come here,’ he said, while Julie moved closer to the stretcher, looking down on Emma’s waxen cheeks and blood-smeared hair compassionately. Poor little girl, she thought bitterly. And all this because of the swing. She had no doubt that Emma’s intention had been to attempt to mend the swing for herself.
Robert entered the room behind the nurse, his eyes going first to Emma and then to Julie. The doctor approached him slowly, considering the notes on the pad he held in his hand. Then he looked up.
‘Ah, Mr. Pemberton,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been telling Mrs. Pemberton that Emma needs a blood transfusion, but unfortunately her blood group is a rare one and therefore we’re unable to perform the transfusion until blood is obtained from another hospital.’
‘I see.’ Robert frowned. ‘And have you sent for this blood?’
‘I was about to do so, Mr. Pemberton, when your – when Mrs. Pemberton told me that you are the same rare blood group as the child.’
Robert looked taken aback. He looked quickly at Julie and then at the child. His puzzled expression revealed the way his mind was trying to assimilate what this information meant. ‘You’re saying, then, that I could provide the blood she needs?’
‘Yes, Mr. Pemberton. If you’re agreeable.’
‘Of course I’m agreeable.’ Robert was impatiently unbuttoning his coat, loosening the cuff of his shirt. ‘Just show me what you want me to do.’
Julie was beginning to feel faint. The whole thing was too much for her to take, and she swayed unsteadily, catching the back of the chair to save herself. Doctor Miller noticed her pallor and directed the nurse who had done all the running about to take Mrs. Pemberton out of the room and find her somewhere where she could rest for a few minutes.
‘Oh, but I want to stay,’ began Julie urgently, a choking sensation in the back of her throat.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ said the nurse reassuringly. ‘Come along. You don’t want to be unconscious yourself when Emma recovers consciousness, do you?’
Julie cast one last appealing glance in Robert’s direction, but it was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking. He was a master at disguising his thoughts, and besides, he seemed totally absorbed with what Doctor Miller was telling him.
Julie was left in the waiting-room for ages. It seemed like hours, but of course it could not have been that long. Once her head cleared, she paced the floor impatiently, eager to know what was happening, wondering where Robert was and whether he had given the blood yet. He must have done, so where was he? Had Emma been transfused?
She opened the door once and looked out on the corridor, but apart from various orderlies and nurses dashing about seemingly intent on their own business, there was no one to advise her what was going on.
Eventually, it was the young nurse who came to find her. ‘Come along, Mrs. Pemberton,’ she said smilingly. ‘Your daughter’s recovered consciousness. Would you like to see her?’
Julie nodded speechlessly, and followed the nurse along the corridor yet again. Emma was in a side ward now, and her head had been bathed and dressed and a white bandage added to the pallor of her skin. Yet for all that she looked much better, and Julie fell on h
er knees beside the bed and pressed her small hand against her cheek.
‘Oh, Emma!’ she exclaimed, as the grey eyes flickered open, and a small smile lifted the comers of Emma’s mouth.
‘Hello, Mummy,’ she murmured weakly. ‘My head hurts.’
‘I know it does, darling. You had a nasty fall. But you’re going to be all right now. You’re at the hospital, and everyone’s been very kind.’
Emma closed her eyes and opened them again. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Uncle Robert told me.’
Julie glanced quickly round the room. She had been so intent on reassuring herself that Emma was recovering that she had taken little notice of the other occupants of the room. But now she saw the doctor examining his notes at the foot of the bed and the Sister who was in charge of this ward beside him. But of Robert there was no sign.
‘Nurse is making Mr. Pemberton a cup of tea,’ remarked the Sister at her inquiring glance. ‘He thought you would prefer to see Emma alone.’
‘I see.’ Julie looked back at her daughter. ‘Apart from your head, darling, how do you feel?’
‘All right, I ‘spose.’ Emma frowned. ‘My arm hurts and I’ve cut my leg.’
‘All minor injuries,’ said Sister, coming to the other side of the bed. ‘Nothing to worry about there. And providing her head heals satisfactorily, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t go home in a few days.’
‘A few days!’ exclaimed Emma. ‘But I don’t want to stay here on my own.’
‘You won’t have to, darling,’ exclaimed Julie, and looked up at the Sister. ‘Can I stay? Is it possible?’
The Sister frowned. ‘Well, perhaps tonight,’ she agreed slowly. ‘Yes, I should think we could manage that. Would you like Mummy to stay tonight, Emma?’
Emma squeezed Julie’s hand. ‘Oh, yes!’
‘Very well, I’ll go and arrange it.’ The Sister walked away as Doctor Miller approached the bed.
