She’d scarcely any idea of the layout of the house as yet, but Felicity felt sure there must be some staircase other than the one which led into the lounge. A peep over the balustrade of the balcony had told her that the Colonel was seated in the arm-chair from which he had risen to greet them; she couldn’t see if he’d adopted formal dress, but a black velvet jacket had replaced the Harris tweed he had been wearing on their arrival. Alaine was there too, facing Felicity’s direction. The smart brown two-piece she had traveled in was now replaced by a creation of wine-red silk which, almost reached her ankles, revealed a narrow instep and high-heeled satin slippers to match. The deep colour of her dress enhanced the creamy olive of her skin and the coiled knot of dark hair reflected the light of the glowing fire. She really was attractive, Felicity thought as, moving carefully so that the starched crackle of her uniform might not betray her, she set out to seek another stairway.
Her guess had been right and a moment later she stood outside a baize door which undoubtedly gave on to the kitchen quarters. A warm aroma of roasting assailed her nostrils as she ventured through the dividing door and as she entered the kitchen the savoury smell became even more pronounced.
“May I come in—just for a moment?”
Wiping her hands on her apron Mrs. Mackerley turned from the stove. Her opening remark was anything but encouraging. “And what were you wanting? I’m busy now, right in the middle of cooking the dinner, can’t take my eyes off it neither, not with this old-fashioned oven, things either burn or go off the boil, daren’t turn my back and that’s the truth.”
“Then please don’t let me interrupt you—you just get on with what you are doing.” Felicity paused, then added with truth, “What a wonderful kitchen and how beautifully you keep it ... how can you cook a meal and yet have everything so tidy?”
“That’s method, Miss, that is.” Mrs. Mackerley’s plump face now creased into a smile at the praise, Felicity’s opening remark could not have been better chosen. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Mr. Brenton’s dinner—on a tray—he has had such a tiring journey I don’t think he should dine downstairs tonight. I hate causing you extra trouble but it will only be for tonight.”
“I reckon the journey was tiring.” Mrs. Mackerley tossed her head. “I was just saying to Mackerley that Mr. Guy would have got better quicker without Miss Jason, she’ll likely fill the house with them noisy friends of hers, fair racket it is, she don’t give me a moment’s peace, coming out here too with her ‘Please Mrs. Mackerley this’ and ‘Please Mrs. Mackerley that’. Always wanting something for them flighty friends of hers—just a bit of savoury with the drinks—cups of coffee all hours of the day and night—I’ve only one pair of hands—meals!—” She threw her two hands despairingly above her head. “They just turn up when they’re hungry, why can’t they eat regular, like Christians?”
“I don’t expect the young lady come down here to listen to all that!” Mackerley interrupted while he gave the silver dish he was handling an extra rub. “She come down for a tray for Mr. Guy, there isn’t no call for you to go on like that.”
“Miss Jason may be all right in her way but she and me don’t see eye to eye and that’s the truth,” Mrs. Mackerley retorted, then turned again to Felicity. “I’ll fix a tray now. Miss—how about a drop of soup, it’s on the boil and I can snip off a bit of duck—he’s very partial to duck—and the potatoes and peas is just on ready too.”
“That’s marvellous—but you must let me help,” Felicity exclaimed, as following the older woman, she began to collect the cloth and cutlery.
By the time Felicity had left the kitchen, balancing the loaded tray—after a firm refusal to allow Mackerley to carry it for her—she was satisfied that as far as the Mackerleys were concerned, they’d give her any help she might need.
On re-entering Guy Brenton’s room Felicity found him, true to his promise, clad in dressing-gown and slippers, ensconced in the arm-chair before the fire, but the smile with which he had recently been greeting her arrival in his room at hospital was still missing and he scarcely acknowledged her entry. While she pulled up a small table and set the tray at his side, he remained immersed in the paper he was reading, and it was only at her reminder that his meal would get cold that he folded up the paper and gave his attention to the tray.
“Mrs. Mackerley seems to think this would suit you—a bit different from hospital food,” Felicity added with an attempt at levity. “You shouldn’t need any persuasion to eat this.”
“You’d better be getting down to your own dinner. Mrs. Mackerley is a dear old soul but she does hate unpunctuality at meals.”
Luckily Felicity was able to bite back the retort which sprang to her lips. She had longed to tell him that, from what she’d heard, Mrs. Mackerley was quite accustomed to that sort of thing when Alaine Jason was a guest in the house. Smothering the impulse, Felicity forced a smile. “Right, I’ll be getting along, but are you quite sure you have everything you want?”
“Everything, thanks.”
He really was in the most atrocious mood but, determined to ignore it, Felicity paused again as she reached the door. “You’d better have your shoulder redressed before you settle down tonight, I’ll get you a sleeping draught too, I imagine you’ll need it.” She opened the door but before closing it behind her, added, “I’ll come up again immediately after dinner.”
Colonel Brenton rose to greet her as she walked down the stairs and across the lounge towards the fireside. “So you have managed to get your way and Guy is dining in his room?” His brown eyes, so like his son’s, smiled down at her as he drew forward a chair.
“Whatever made you change into that hideous uniform?” Alaine interrupted before Felicity had time to reply to Colonel Brenton. “You look so much more attractive in mufti—perhaps you felt that you could get your own way with Guy more easily when garbed in all the trappings of your profession?” she ended laughingly.
Alaine’s words were far too near the truth for Felicity to find them amusing and she was glad to be saved the need for any reply by the Colonel’s timely offer of a glass of sherry.
“All right for you, my dear, or do you prefer one of those unpleasant concoctions known as cocktails?” he asked her, as seeing her comfortably settled in a chair, he reseated himself and picked up his own glass.
In the soft light of the small candle-shaped electric bulbs, the lounge had taken on an added air of homeliness. It still retained the stage effect which Felicity had felt when she had first entered but, as in her own bedroom, it was as if the very solidity of the heavy furnishings gave one a sense of security, the tapestry-covered chairs invited rest and even the family portraits offered her a smile of acceptance. “I prefer this, thank you.” Felicity was glad of the inward warmth which the sherry gave her, she even accepted a second glass, feeling sure that, before the evening was out, she might be grateful for the extra stimulus.
Dinner, served in an enormous dining-room which Felicity felt would easily have seated a regiment, was, surprisingly enough, a cheerful meal. She had to admit that on such an occasion Alaine’s chatter was a distinct advantage, and Colonel Brenton listened attentively to her vivid description of working in a film studio.
“I’m going up to say good night to Guy,” Alaine announced as she put down her empty coffee cup on the polished dining-table. “I promise I’ll not tire him,” she added with a laugh which Felicity had to admit held no vestige of rancour, in fact Alaine’s whole manner was so disarming that Felicity found it impossible to harbour any further resentment.
“More coffee, Nurse?” As Felicity smiled her refusal Colonel Brenton refilled his own cup, then went on. “There are quite a lot of things I want to ask you, but Alaine—well, the child is such a chatterbox that I haven’t had a chance.” He drew pensively at his cigar before continuing. “Tell me—will my son be all right—I mean his hand, you think he’ll regain full use of his fingers?”
“Yes, I real
ly think so.” Felicity spoke without hesitation, glad to see the look of relief which her assertion evoked. “The surgeon was worried alt first, a perfect result was very important in Mr. Brenton’s case. At first I know that Mr. MacFarlayne was deeply concerned; it seemed as if Mr. Brenton himself had lost heart, he made no effort to use his hand, he seemed so apathetic. Just lately he has made much more effort, the results have been most gratifying. It will be easier to tell when the plaster is removed but I know that Mr. MacFarlayne believes now that the chances of full recovery are excellent.”
“That’s a great load off my mind—Guy hasn’t said much in his letters—I expect you know that the early ones he had to dictate and even lately he has only managed to scrawl a few somewhat illegible lines.”
“It isn’t easy to write with one’s right arm encased in plaster,” Felicity smiled.
“I’m glad to have him back here.” The old man sighed. “I think, however, it would have been more restful for him without his fiancée; she is such a high-spirited child, I can’t think what possessed him to bring her down until he’d had a few days’ complete rest and quiet.”
Felicity felt it might be scarcely fair to volunteer any explanation so, with a deliberate change of subject, she began to question her companion about the date and history of Weir Court. His response was immediate and Felicity found herself listening with enchantment to his vivid description of the old house as it had originally stood three hundred years earlier. He told her of the various families who had lived there, the wing that had been added and all the architectural changes through which it has passed until now it bore but little resemblance to the old yellowed and faded print which he took down from its place on the wall to show her.
Felicity had been so engrossed in the narrative that she had scarcely noticed the lateness of the hour. “If you’ll excuse me I think it’s time I persuaded Mr. Brenton to settle down.”
Much as Felicity hated the prospect of intruding, her sense of responsibility won and thrusting aside her doubts, she knocked firmly on Guy Brenton’s door, then, without awaiting a reply walked in. “I’m sorry to disturb you but it’s getting late—Miss Jason, if you don’t mind—” She broke off, it seemed scarcely necessary to put her wishes into words, Alaine should have sense enough to. know that she had stayed long enough already.
“O.K.—I daren’t argue with you now you are in that starchy uniform.” Alaine stifled a yawn as she rose from her seat on a low stool at Guy Brenton’s feet. Stretching her slender limbs she stood erect, then turned away from Felicity to address her fiancé. “Good night, darling, see you in the morning. I hope you’ll have shaken off all this invalid stuff by then and we can begin to have some real fun—how about a ride, think you’ll feel up to it?”
“Please wait until tomorrow, don’t make plans just yet,” Felicity interposed with an almost imploring look at Alaine.
Completely ignoring her words, Guy spoke. “Right, Alaine, leave a message for Adams to have the horses ready, and saddled by eleven—better get along now or Nurse Dene may have something to say!”
Felicity was sure that he had accompanied his statement to Alaine with a sly glance in her direction. Like a child, she thought angrily, enjoying the chance to flaunt authority and taking every opportunity to press the point home. Her expression was unsmiling as she drew back the bed covers, then, when he was comfortably settled against the pillow, she neatly folded his dressing-gown and laid it across the end of the bed. “Now what about a sleeping draught?” She tipped two capsules carefully into the palm of her hand. “There doesn’t seem to be any basin in this room, where do I get water?”
“This is one of the few rooms with an adjoining bathroom—over there, the door is concealed in the panelling.” Felicity returned with a tumbler of water and set it within reach. “I’ll leave the capsules here, you may not need them, I should try and sleep without them if you can.” Her tone was icily formal, his attitude forbade any further attempts at cajolement. “What about a fresh dressing, it will only take a few minutes, and will make you more comfortable.”
“Just as you like.”
The occupation was mechanical and allowed Felicity to keep her face lowered; she was glad of that for fear her expression might betray the inward tumult of her thoughts.
“Thanks—that’s fine.” He lay back again as Felicity re-rolled a bandage and replaced the sterile gauze in its package. “As you heard, I propose to follow my normal pursuits tomorrow, I can’t stand much more of this nursing. I think the rest must be left to Nature.”
Unconsciously Felicity tilted her chin a trifle higher as she turned to face him.
“Then I suppose, sir—with your permission—I might as well leave in the morning. There appears to be no reason whatever for me to prolong my stay—it would, in fact, be unfair to Matron.” She found herself taking a deep breath as she went on. “You told me you were afraid of placing any added responsibility on the Mackerleys—you were quite right, I realize that with the staff difficulties that exist today, they have as much as they can manage already, but then I did not know Miss Jason would be here—as she said, she can easily give, you what help you need.” Although Guy Brenton made to interrupt, Felicity, ignoring him, went on. “I’m sure Miss Jason could learn to do your dressings and apart from the help which you’ll need until your arm is out of plaster—which no doubt Mackerley could give you—there remains only the question of guarding against any after effects of concussion. Mr. MacFarlayne didn’t want you, for the first few days, to take any strenuous exercise on your own.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I am sure Miss Jason won’t mind accompanying you.”
“But it was arranged, you were to—”
Deliberately she forestalled Guy Brenton’s argument. “Well, good-night. I shall not be leaving until the afternoon, that will give me an opportunity of showing Miss Jason what to do—there are one or two other details too, but don’t let that bother you, I’ll see that everything Is left in order.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With that perversity which is inexplicable, Felicity found herself not only willing, but anxious to get up long before anyone else at Weir Court appeared to be stirring. The sound of a cock crowing had been the first thing to penetrate her consciousness; to some it might be an annoyance but to her, as she lay in her four-poster bed, it was pleasing, that shrill note symbolic of the English countryside, nature’s call waking the world to another day. She had watched the rosy tints of dawn filter gradually into her room, bathing the dark furnishing with a soft radiance until suddenly the first rays of the sun swept away the lingering shadows and patches of bright light dappled the painted walls and danced on the satin eiderdown.
Sounds of movement now echoed through the house and, unable any longer to restrain her impatience, Felicity slipped from her bed and began to dress; her familiar uniform was her obvious choice and since she would be returning to hospital that day, clothes now seemed of slight importance. It was still barely eight o’clock and uncertain whether to make her appearance so early, she crossed to her window and throwing it wide, leaned out, her two hands gripping the sill. As she breathed in the sweet morning air and her eyes rested on the dew-drenched lawns and flower beds, she was overwhelmed by a deep sense-of nostalgia, a longing for her own home, for Somerset—for anything which would take her away from the closed-in atmosphere of London. If only she could have stayed here for a few more days, enjoyed a brief spell of all this loveliness—she stifled a sigh ... yet one day soon she’d hear from Tony and then a new life in a new world would stretch before her. But the thought was not unmixed with doubt, he’d arranged now to come home to fetch her, yet to leave England ... Felicity crossed deliberately to the door, there must surely be someone about now and anyway, it was time she attended to her patient’s breakfast.
“Good morning!”
Felicity looked up in surprise as through the opened door of the dining-room she saw Colonel Brenton already seated at the breakfast table.
Entering the room she returned his greeting.
“I had no idea you would be breakfasting so early, I was frightened to come down too soon,” she explained with an apologetic smile.
“We are early risers here—but that doesn’t mean we expect our guests to be early too.” He stood up to pull out a chair for her, then with that genial courtesy which marked his personality, waited for her to be seated.
“If you don’t mind—I think I should get Mr. Brenton’s tray first,” Felicity demurred.
“Sit down and have your breakfast, my dear. Guy finished his some time ago, he is round at the stables now.”
A warm flush mounted Felicity’s cheeks. “Oh—surely not!” she protested, unable to keep the note of concern from her voice. “I—I had no idea, he shouldn’t have done that— he ought to have sent for me—”
“Now don’t worry, sit down and eat your breakfast, he has got to accustom himself to managing alone so I suppose he felt, since you were leaving today, the sooner he made a start the better.”
“He has told you I’m leaving?” Felicity had now no alternative but to take the proffered chair, but the colour still stained her cheeks and there was an air of appeal in the glance she threw her companion.
“Yes, he told me at breakfast this morning,” Colonel Brenton admitted briefly, then, apparently unwilling to pursue the subject, busied himself passing her the dishes set out on the hot-plate.
“No—no, nothing, thank you, just coffee—and toast.” After a brief uncomfortable silence, she queried, “You do understand about me leaving, don’t you? I mean you do agree that it’s useless for me to stay?”
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