It was near ten o’clock and the house was still astir when Robert Green, the footman-cum-valet, told Fanny Carter, the second housemaid, that he had been crossing the hall when the knock came on the front door; and that when he opened it there was no-one there. But there was a sheet of paper on the step. The drive seemed to be as bright as day, but he could see no-one; whoever had delivered the note had probably skidded into the bushes. ‘Well, there was scribbling on the paper,’ he said; ‘but…well, I couldn’t make it out in that light.’ He didn’t admit that he couldn’t read. ‘Mr Pickford,’ he went on, ‘was already in bed, it being his monthly day off, but nevertheless I had to wake him. He wasn’t pleased. Well, he wouldn’t be, would he? Because he’d had a load on. He always does on his day off. Anyway he said he couldn’t make out the writing. Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yes, of course,’ put in Fanny now, and she added pertly, ‘I can tell you what you had to do next, Robert, and that was to go out and wake up Peter Crouch to read it. When you think of it, it’s funny, you know, isn’t it? That there’s a yard man, the only one among us who can really read.’
‘Well,’ said Robert Green, ‘that’s only because he had it knocked into him in a home which was one step down from the workhouse, if you ask me.’
‘Aye, I suppose so; and that’s why you all try to take it out of him. But go on, tell me what happened next.’
‘Well, he read the note and we couldn’t believe it. It said: “Your daughter is lying injured under the wall near the river. She needs help.” Robert was afraid to take it in to the master,’ he went on. ‘We had to get Mrs Piggott to go quietly upstairs to find out which of the daughters was in. Miss Evelyn was undressing for bed, but Miss Marie Anne’s room was empty. I thought the master would have a seizure. I did. I did. As for the mistress, I only heard her speak to him once. “This is final,” she said; “something’s going to be done this time, d’you hear? Not must be done, but is going to be.” And I heard him say under his breath, “What about Father?” and her answer to this was, “Father or no Father she’s going to be restrained.”‘
‘Poor Miss Mary Anne.’
‘You’d better watch out with your Mary Anne. You know what the mistress thinks about Mary Anne.’
‘Yes, I do, and I know what I think about her.’
‘Shut your mouth! You know what’ll happen one day when it drops open too often.’
‘Well, this isn’t the end of the world, and if you had any sense you would know it.’
‘And if you had any sense, miss, you would realise you won’t get better anywhere else: food, togs, leave or anything else.’
‘Leave? Talk about leave! One day a month and that starts about one o’clock and you must be back before dark. Don’t talk to me about leave.’
He pushed her now, saying, ‘Get yourself back into your quarters.’
For answer she snapped at him, ‘Don’t push me, Robert Green,’ before turning and flouncing away.
He stood watching her for a moment the while shaking his head and wondering why he fancied her for, after all, she was only second housemaid and not likely to rise as long as Carrie Jones was about.
Mrs Lena Piggott, the housekeeper, was saying to Carrie Jones, ‘Get yourself downstairs quick and tell Bill Winter the doctor wants splints.’
‘Splints?’ questioned Carrie.
‘Yes, I said splints.’
‘Well, what size, Mrs Piggott? There’s splints of all sizes.’
‘Well’—the housekeeper paused, her head bobbing all the while—‘tell him it’s for a broken ankle. Get on with you, quick!’
Back in the bedroom, the bustling small body of the housekeeper changed to one of deferential submission as she stood by her mistress and whispered, ‘It’s being seen to, madam.’
Veronica Lawson made no reply. She was staring at the doctor as he hovered over her troublesome and nerve-aggravating daughter, and she demanded, though quietly now, ‘What does she say?’
Doctor John Ridley straightened his back but did not take his eyes off the young girl in the bed as he answered the woman, saying tartly, ‘I can’t make it out,’ yet at the same time he was wondering who it was this young girl thought was filthy, so filthy that she hated her. ‘I hate you. You’re filthy…filthy!’ is what she was muttering.
‘What is the matter with her…I mean, besides her ankle?’
He now turned fully towards the mistress of the house. He didn’t like the woman. He was glad she wasn’t his patient. This had been an emergency call; he himself usually dealt with the old gentleman at The Little Manor at the far end of the grounds. He got on all right with him, an altogether different person from his son’s family who peopled The Manor itself, although he understood the old gentleman was certainly the power behind the throne. ‘She has concussion,’ he said. ‘There is a large lump on the side of her head. She will sleep on and off for the next two or three days, but she’ll be in quite a lot of pain from her ankle. It will take some time to heal, and I would advise—’ here he paused and looked straight into Mrs Lawson’s eyes as he said, ‘that she is troubled in no way, I mean that she should be left to rest.’
Veronica Lawson stared back at this young doctor and repeated to herself, Let her rest. Oh yes, she would let her rest. But she herself would be hard at work making arrangements for the bone of contention to be taken out of her life. It was odd, she admitted, that from the day the child was born she had disliked it, and that her dislike had grown with the years. What was more, she could claim that it had been well founded, for if ever there was a changeling in this world it was her daughter…her last daughter, her last child, one that was begot through a struggle. She had fought him off before, but never as she had done that night. To give him five live children and two miscarriages was enough payment for being mistress of his house, surely; but then he had to give her the sixth. After the twins went to Canada she had felt that part of the load had been taken from her back, because they too had been a rowdy couple, and if she had been left with only Vincent, Pat and Evelyn, life would have been tolerable. And, indeed, it had been tolerable for a time. Invitations to The Grange had become more frequent, and, of late, to The Hall itself. And these had raised her hopes for Evelyn’s future.
Oh, what had gone wrong with Evelyn? It had started when she was eighteen and had become enamoured of that poverty-stricken young lieutenant. She had put a stop to that. But now, at twenty-five, she was still unmarried. Then there was Vincent. Oh, Vincent was a law unto himself. She wondered if Vincent would ever marry. She hoped he would, because the line should go on. The old man was anxious for it; not that he liked Vincent. No. Only too plainly he showed his feelings with regard to Vincent. Now if it had been Pat…everybody seemed to like Pat; he had a way with him. She turned and looked at the white face on the pillow. To her it was a strange face. The features were all too large, the eyes, the mouth, even the nose. But the skin was creamy, yet not of the thick kind that would have made the face look heavy; it was more elfin perhaps, strangely elfin, brought about by the shape of the eye sockets. She would have lived outside, if that had been possible. She was never content in the house except, she must admit, when she was at the piano. And wasn’t it strange that she was able to play as she did? Even when she got bad reports from the school, they would nevertheless state that she excelled in music. But then, perhaps the piano could be her own salvation if she could persuade Martha in London to take her, which was more than likely, she knew, because Martha would do anything for money.
What a relief her going would be, because no longer would she have to suffer her temper. Oh, that ferocious temper.
The doctor startled both the housekeeper and her mistress by first addressing the housekeeper, saying, ‘Did you send for those splints? I only require short pieces of wood, not a tree.’ Then to Veronica Lawson, and in much the same tone, he said, ‘Will you please fetch your husband? I shall need his assistance!’
Whatever ans
wer Veronica Lawson was about to give was checked by a short fit of coughing caused by the warning inside her, which told her not to bandy words with this man, but to make a complaint to Doctor Sutton-Moore about him. In her opinion he was no fit man to be a doctor: apart from lacking in respect towards her, his voice was coarse. He was coarse altogether, with not a single trait of a gentleman about him …
James Lawson and the splints arrived almost simultaneously in the bedroom.
As the young doctor examined the flat pieces of wood he did not seem to be listening to the terse tones of the master of the house as he demanded to know why he was needed, yet the answer came firmly and was accompanied by a straight look into the overfed face of James Lawson, ‘I am going to give her a drop of chloroform and I’ll need help,’ said young John Ridley.
‘Chloroform? Why chloroform? I thought these splints were for a sprained ankle.’
‘Then if you thought that, sir, you’ve been misinformed. What your daughter is suffering from is a Pott’s fracture.’
‘A what?’ James Lawson’s face was screwed up and he repeated, ‘A what?’
‘I said it is what is known as a Pott’s fracture. To put it plainly, it is a very bad break and, as you can imagine, it will be most painful for her when I try to manipulate the bones into place. And by the way’—he now turned to the housekeeper—‘I haven’t enough bandages with me. Tear up some linen into two-inch-wide pieces and do it quickly, please.’
James Lawson stared at this young prig of a doctor: who did he think he was talking to, throwing his orders about? Veronica had been right about him: he didn’t know his place; and now when he almost barked at his housekeeper as she was about to leave the room, ‘Use fresh linen from the bales in the sewing room,’ he decided that it was he who should give orders in this house, and be seen giving them. Then making an obeisance with his head towards John Ridley, he said, ‘Well! What are you waiting for? Let’s get on with it.’
It was a good half-hour later when the young doctor stood washing his hands in a bowl of warm water that stood on the wash-hand stand in the corner of the room.
Patrick Lawson was sitting by the head of the bed and gently stroking the limp white hand of his sister where it lay on the top of the eiderdown, while he stared at what to him was a beautiful face, a childlike angelic face. Even so he knew that her character held little of the suggested qualities, for he was aware she was an imp at heart. And he smiled to himself as he thought, that’s all she is, an impish young girl. Why can’t they see her like that? He turned to the doctor, who was now putting on his coat, for he was saying, ‘I’ve left some laudanum drops there,’ and he pointed to a bottle on the side table. ‘She’ll be in a great deal of pain when she wakes, which won’t be until early in the morning, but nevertheless she will need something. Who will be attending her?’
‘Oh’—Pat shook his head—‘I don’t know as yet, but one of the maids, probably,’ and he looked more intently at the young man, who was now picking up his bag as he said, ‘Yes, surely.’
It was as if there were doubt in his words that his sister would be seen to, and so he was quick to reassure the young doctor by adding, ‘There are plenty of servants in the house. There’ll be someone with her night and day.’
‘You’ll see to it?’
‘No.’ Pat’s tone was high now and a bit stiff. ‘The housekeeper will. She’ll take her orders from my parents. What makes you think she’ll lack the attendance?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Only I wanted to make sure. Anyway, I’ll be round some time in the morning. Goodnight to you.’
‘Goodnight.’ Pat’s tone had been curt, and he now stared towards the closed door as he thought, he was actually intimating that she would be left unattended. What had given him that idea? Oh, well. He again looked towards the face on the pillow. If his mother had been on her high horse and his father not far behind, they certainly wouldn’t have given that young man the impression of parental care. Likely that was it.
When the door opened again, there stood his mother, and she did not speak in a lowered voice as she said, ‘You’re late in getting back. The trap was sent to the station over an hour ago.’
‘There was a hold-up on the line, Mother. The train was late getting in.’
She now walked to the foot of the bed, and her hand gripped the brass knob as she looked up the bed towards her daughter, saying, ‘Nice kettle of fish. Another escapade. They’ve got to stop.’ Then, without hesitating, she said to her son, ‘How did things go in London?’
‘Very well, both with business and socially.’
‘Socially? What d’you mean, socially?’
‘Just what I say, Mother. I was invited to a garden party at Lord Dilly’s; then to a house dance at the Admiral’s.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh, Mother. I thought about you on both occasions: you’d have been very impressed.’
Her momentary relaxed countenance stiffened again as she said, ‘Are you trying to be nasty?’
‘I had no intention of being nasty, Mother, but I know how you like these affairs, what stock you set by them; if Evelyn had been there you would’ve been planning wedding bells. As it was—’ he smiled now as he added, ‘I could hear them for myself, but they came from so many quarters it was difficult to choose.’
His mother turned from the bed, saying, ‘You always had a humble opinion of yourself, Patrick,’ and she almost added, And you’re getting more like your grandfather every day, which, she hoped, did not augur that she would grow to dislike him too.
‘Who’s going to look after her?’ Pat said.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Just what I say, Mother. That young doctor challenged me with the same question that I’m putting to you: who’s going to look after her?’
‘That young man doesn’t know his place. I’m going to report him.’
Pat gave a short laugh now as he said, ‘From what I gathered of his personality, that’ll be like water off a duck’s back to him. Anyway, who are you allotting to her?’
He watched her thinking for a moment, and then she said, ‘She won’t need anyone at nights, she’ll be asleep. I’ll inform Mrs Piggott to let the second housemaid, Fanny Carter, take over during the day. That’s for the time she’ll be in bed.’
‘Well, that’ll be some time, don’t you think?’
‘What d’you mean, some time?’
‘Well, that doctor said it would be a three-month job.’
‘What!’ The exclamation was so loud he hissed a warning at her, saying, ‘Quiet! Mother. You could waken her, and she’ll be in a great deal of pain.’ He pointed to a table: ‘He’s left laudanum for her. Didn’t you see him before he left?’
‘No, I didn’t; and I haven’t any wish to see him again.’
He now watched her grip the brass rail of the bed with both hands as she repeated, ‘Three months! Three months!’
He said sharply, ‘How often should she need those drops?’ and nodded to the table.
‘I don’t know, but Mrs Piggott will know. I understand he spoke to her before he left.’
‘By the way,’ Pat said, ‘where’s Evelyn in all this? She should be the one sitting with her.’
‘Don’t be silly, Pat. You know they spark off each other like tinder. The greater the distance between them the better it is for them both. It always has been that way, you know that.’
‘I don’t know it, not as you mean it; I only know that Evelyn is ten years older than this child here and in a way has brayed her back as much as you have, Mother.’
‘Patrick! How dare you! How dare you say that to me!’ The words had come out on a hissed whisper, and now making swiftly for the door, she said, ‘I’ll talk to your father about your attitude.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Mother. You talk as if you were dealing with a boy. I’m a man and twenty-six years old. Don’t forget it, Mother.’ And now he moved closer to her and his words were low but definite: ‘And reme
mber this: Grandfather still rules the roost here. Father may act as the head of the family firm with Vincent playing the great I am, and then comes me, but I’m the one who keeps that business going, because neither of them have ever conducted one business meeting successfully. They don t know how to handle the staff, never mind competitors. I’ve wanted to say that for a long time, and this is’—he looked towards the bed now—‘a most awful place to come clean, but there you have it. In future, Mother, remember my age. And now you can go and tell Father and Vincent too, exactly what I have said, and if they deny it, I’ll let them go on the next assignment and see what happens. It’s happened before, hasn’t it? The trouble with this house, Mother, is that its main purpose is prestige. You and Vincent are breaking your necks every minute of the day to keep it up. And for what?…One last thing I’ll say, and I’m sorry I have to say this to you: remember that Grandfather isn’t dead yet and he’s a man capable of making changes. Big changes. Changes that would rock this God-appointed house to its foundations.’
When he turned from her and went to the bed again, she did not move. One hand was clutching the front of her dress, the other was across the lower part of her face and gripping her jaw as if to stop it trembling. As she stared at the back of this handsome son she knew that at this moment she hated him much more than she did her father-in-law, because her father-in-law had never spoken openly to her in this manner. He might have indicated what he thought by loud asides, but not even he had ever probed the core of her before. She almost staggered from the room.
At nine o’clock the next morning Emanuel Latvig Lawson actually burst into Marie Anne’s bedroom, only to stop short at the sight of her deadly pale face with the tears streaming down it and her breath coming in gasps as she made an effort to speak to him, saying, ‘Oh! Grandpa. Grandpa.’
The Branded Man Page 2
