A Dream Come True

by Betty Neels

  Jemima heard the crash and went galloping out of the kitchen, to find Pooley huddled among the debris. She knelt down beside Pooley and looked at her white face. `Where does it hurt?'

  `My arm-this one-I think it's broken, miss. "

  `My poor dear! Stay still a moment, let's see if there's any other damage before we move you.'

  The rest of Pooley was intact, even if sore and bruised. Jemima was about to help her on to her feet when Lady Manderly appeared at the top of the stairs. `And what's all this?' she demanded. `I've never heard such a noise!'

  Jemima bit back a rude word or two. 'Pooley has broken her arm, Lady Manderly. Would you please go to the dining-room and get her some brandy-we've got to get her into the kitchen and see to it, but she's feeling a little faint.'

  For once Lady Manderly was at a loss for words. She swept past them, scattering odds and ends all over the hall, and returned presently with the brandy.

  `And now if you would give me a hand,' Jemima gave her an enquiring smile, 'I'll go on the injured side.'

  Getting Pooley comfortable took some time. The break was easy enough to see; just above the wrist and not, thank heaven, an open fracture. Jemima fetched a scarf and made a sling, produced Panadol from her bag and made a pot of tea. They all sat sipping it while she wondered what was to be done. She could try to reach the village, of course. She went to the front of the house and looked out of the windows. There was nothing to be seen but snow and even if she had known the countryside well, she would never have recognised it. The sky was a frightening yellow and the wind still howled; if she started out, she was sure she wouldn't get far. She might even get lost, and then what would her two companions do?

  She went back to the kitchen, refilled the cups and said cheerfully: 'They'll send a snow plough any time now, I should think. In the meantime we're warm and dry and there are still plenty of oats. I found some flour too, I'm going to make some bread. Thank heaven for the Aga!' She got up and rearranged the pillow under Pooley' s injured arm. `And you'll stay there, Pooley. I've got plenty of Panadol and you're to say the moment the pain gets bad. I'll get your tapestry work, and some books, Lady Manderly, so that you can be comfortable.'

  The house had become icy. She put on another sweater while she was upstairs and took down some blankets from the beds, to tuck round her companions. `I know none of us like the idea, but I believe it would be wise if we all slept here tonight.' She saw Lady Manderly's look of horrified outrage. `We can't afford to be ill,' she pointed out reasonably.

  The day wore on. Jemima hardly noticed it passing, there was so much to do. She was astonished when Lady Manderly offered to wipe the supper dishes, and still more astonished when she added: `You're a good girl, Jemima. When we've tidied up here, will you go and fetch the brandy? I think it would do us all good.' She added: `I suppose there's no question of a bath?"

  'I'm afraid not. I'll take a kettle of hot water up to your bathroom when you want it, Lady Manderly.'

  Getting ready for bed was a nightmare; there was a sofa in the sitting-room which Jemima pushed into the kitchen, where it took up a frightful lot of room. But at least Lady Manderly could sleep in comparative dignity. Pooley she made comfortable in the easy chair, and for herself she carried down the duvets off the beds and curled up on the floor. She hadn't undressed Pooley, only wrapped shawls round her, but Lady Manderly had put on a night gown and allowed herself to be tucked in, making almost no fuss.

  Jemima blew out the lamp and rolled herself up in the duvets. She was so tired that she could have slept on her feet. All the same, she had a little time to think with longing of Alexander. She had managed so far, but she felt that her patience was slipping; not only that, she was just a little frightened. Anything could happen.. .if only Alexander would come! She was on the point of dozing off, but she woke herself up again; she was being silly and childish; there was no earthly reason why he should come even if he were worried about his aunt. He would only have to get in touch with the local police.

  She had to get up in the night, to give Pooley more Panadol. She stayed with her until she had fallen asleep again, and was just about to blow out the candle when Lady Manderly's majestic snores ceased. `You've been awake long, Jemima?"

  'No,' whispered Jemima. `Poor Pooley was in pain-she's had something, though, and she's asleep.'

  `Come here for a minute.'

  She padded over to the sofa. `Is there anything you want?' she asked.

  'No-at least, there are a great many things I should like, but it would be pointless to say so.' Lady Manderly hesitated. `What exactly is our situation, and I don't want to be put off with untruths.'

  Jemima put down her candle and perched on a chair. 'I'm not quite sure-we haven't much food left, though we can last for quite a while yet-there's plenty of oatmeal and I'm saving the other chicken. There's some flour left for another couple of loaves and tins of caviare and peaches. But we have to be careful with the water and there's no milk. Pooley ought to see a doctor soon, and unless the weather clears I can't get at the coal.'

  `What do you suggest?"

  'To go on as we are and keep warm. Just as soon as it's possible I'll have a go at getting to the village. Do you suppose Martha and Angus will try and get help to us?"

  'Most certainly they will, but probably they're in a like case.'

  `Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that.'

  `I've been thinking,' whispered Lady Manderly, `I wonder what Gloria would have done in your place?"

  'Just the same, I expect,' said Jemima untruthfully, and went back to her duvets.

  They breakfasted off porridge and milkless tea and Jemima's bread, and the morning was taken up with restoring the kitchen to some sort of order, seeing to Pooley and helping Lady Manderly to dress. The cold was biting and the old lady wrapped herself in her mink coat as they left her bedroom. She looked a little pale, Jemima thought uneasily as she opened a can of soup and peeled the potatoes. She hoped it was just tiredness and lack of fresh air. When, later that morning, Lady Manderly began to sneeze and complained of a sore throat, Jemima found herself on the edge of tears. Instead, she got out the brandy bottle and made hot drinks for the three of them. She felt mean not offering Panadol to the old lady, but Pooley needed them more.

  The snow stopped after midday, and she fought her way out of the door once more, only to find the snow had drifted in all directions so that she had no way of reaching the coal shed. It had frozen solid here and there, but it would be easy to step into a drift and be unable to pull herself out. She went back indoors and turned on the radio just long enough to hear the news. A voice recited an endless list of difficulties and the snow was expected to continue for the next twenty-four hours. She switched it off, more worried about Lady Manderly than the weather forecast. The old lady looked feverish and despite the fact that she was sitting bolt upright in her chair, working away at her tapestry, she looked as though she ought to have been tucked up in her bed. Jemima made the tea and went round checking her water containers. They were getting low.

  `I must say,' declared Lady Manderly as they ate their supper, `that I had no idea that a roasted potato could be so delicious, and is that a treacle tart I see on the table?'

  Jemima's heart warmed to her. She had been by no means an easy employer, and no doubt once they were out of this pickle she would be as testy and selfish as she normally was, but just now she was doing her best. Poor old thing, thought Jemima, she's got a fearful cold. If only I had the water to spare I'd put her feet in a hot mustard bath.

  She doled out the brandy instead; she had an idea that she had read somewhere that one shouldn't drink spirits when bitterly cold, something to do with blood pressure, but perhaps the writer had never experienced the kind of chill they were putting up with. It was worth risking anyway, because it made them all feel much better.

  No one had a good night. Lady Manderly coughed and sniffed and when she did fall asleep, snored most dreadfully, Pooley was in pain and unable
to sleep because of Lady Manderly, and Jemima, nipping in and out of her covers for first one and then the other, had no chance to close her eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. In the end they all dropped off as the dark night turned to a grey morning and woke late, stiff and still tired.

  Porridge and tea restored them a little. Jemima helped the two ladies to make a toilet of some sort, spent a fruitless ten minutes trying to bring order to chaos in the kitchen and since it wasn't snowing, decided to have another try for the coal. There wasn't much left now and at all costs the Aga must be kept alight.

  It was almost mid-morning but not really light, and the snow had hardened. Using the shovel as an awkward stick, she struggled towards where the shed would have been if she could have seen it. If the drifts around it weren't too frozen she might be able to get at the door. How she was going to get the coal back to the house was a problem she had quite overlooked.

  She stood, halfway to the shed, trying to make out where it was exactly, dizzy with tiredness and the glare from the snow, wanting more than anything else to put the shovel down and curl up and go to sleep. The snow began again as she stood there, blinding her and touching off the panic she was trying to ignore. Above the wind then she thought she heard the faint beat of an engine, but it was impossible to see anything and ridiculous that she should have thought it in the first place. She turned her head away from the driving snow and tried to get her bearings; it was impossible to get lost only fifty yards or so from the house, but she wasn't sure of her direction any more. She turned again uncertainly and just for a moment the wind dropped and she saw someone coming towards her-on skis of all things!

  The Professor fetched up neatly before her.

  `Hullo,' he said cheerfully. Jemima stared at him as though he had been something not real at all. Feelings, strong and quite uncontrollable, surged up into her throat.

  `So there you are!' she cried in a voice which would have done credit to a virago. `Where have you been?' and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IF THE Professor was surprised at this tempestuous greeting, he gave no sign, but if Jemima had been able to see clearly through her tears, she would have seen the sudden bleakness in his face. He took off his skis and the next moment she felt his arms around her. He only held her for a few seconds, while she struggled to stop crying, already regretting her wordswords she had never meant to utter anyway. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life before, but it hadn't sounded like it. She mumbled into his shoulder that she had been longing for him to come, but the wind carried away every word.

  After a moment he let her go and shouted, 'We'd better go indoors before we turn into snowmen!' and turned her round. Together they made their way back to the kitchen door and he opened it and thrust her inside and followed her.

  The kitchen was heavenly warm, although it looked frightfully untidy. Lady Manderly, who had been dozing, sat up straight in her chair. 'Ah, Alexander, I rather expected you would find a way of getting to us. How nice to see you!'

  He bent to kiss her cheek, smiling from a tired face. When he saw Pooley sleeping off yet more Panadol, he asked: `What happened?'

  Jemima had taken off her outdoor things and padded across the kitchen floor in slippers. `Give me those things,' she said urgently. 'I'm going to make tea in a few minutes.'

  He did as she had asked and Lady Manderly asked: `Where did you find Jemima?'

  He turned and looked at her. `Brown mouse in the snow,' he said softly, `not quite what I expected either.' He raised his voice to answer his aunt. `I came by helicopter and landed a few hundred yards away from the lodge. I stumbled on Jemima in the middle of nowhere.' He turned again and looked at her. `Surely not escaping?'

  `Looking for coal.' She felt shy now. Perhaps he hadn't heard her when they had met, even though he had seen her burst into shameful tears. Nothing in his manner indicated it, and she took heart from that. `Lady Manderly's got a very bad cold and Pooley's broken her arm,' she volunteered, and blushed because she was telling him something he could quite well see for himself. But he only nodded at her gently. He hadn't missed the blush, but he didn't comment on it. 'We'd better splint that arm,' was his only comment, and when Jemima gave him a questioning look: 'I'm a doctor as well as an endocrinologist, you know. Now let's see; what can we use for splints?'

  He stood in the middle of the room dominating it, and Jemima at least was sure that all their worries were at an end. He looked surprisingly elegant; she admired him silently as she laid his things by the Aga to dry.

  `Still going to Huntsman for your suits, I see,' commented Lady Manderly in a sodden voice, and sneezed.

  `Of course, Aunt.' He was rolling up his shirt sleeves, having taken off his jacket.

  `And your shirts?' She sneezed again.

  `I prefer Turnbull and Asser.'

  How can they talk about shirts when we're in need of a good meal and a wash? thought Jemima, and made the tea.

  By the time she had poured it, the Professor had rooted round the mess in the kitchen and come up with an empty drawer which he proceeded to take apart and fashion into two splints with the potato knife. Pooley had woken up by now and he was talking to her in a reassuring way while he cut one of the kitchen curtains into strips. Jemima, watching him, felt ashamed that she hadn't thought of doing that herself.

  `Tea?' he asked, looking up suddenly and catching her gazing at him. He smiled to melt her very bones. 'I'm hungry, or are we out of food?'

  She produced the last of the bread and sliced it and used up the remains of the butter-a reckless thing to do, but she felt that it was an occasion.

  She sipped her tea, only half listening to his quiet talk with Lady Manderly. Coco had climbed on to his knee and he was stroking the woolly grey head. Jemima longed to ask just how he had got to them, but he might fob her off with one of his nasty smiles. She held her tongue, happily unaware of her appearance, which was regrettably tatty and grimy, but even if she had given it a thought she wouldn't have cared, though, she was tired and suddenly dispirited. None of this was real, and when they got back to London, he would look at her in that mocking way he had. They lived in two different worlds, he and she, and it would be as well if she remembered that.

  His voice disturbed her thoughts. `Come over here, Jemima, and steady this arm, will you?'

  He was very gentle, but Pooley fainted from fright before he had touched her.

  `Good. Hold her arm above the elbow and when I say pull, pull.'

  It took only a moment to straighten the bones; by the time he was binding on the splints, Pooley was recovering.

  `All done, my dear,' he assured her calmly. 'Jemima will give you some brandy.'

  `This is all there is,' Jemima said apologetically. `We've all been drinking it.'

  He smiled slowly. `A very good idea too. Jemima, go and pack Pooley's things, and I'll take her to Fort William; they're cut off there, but there's enough of everything to keep them going for days and the hospital's got emergency generators.' And when Pooley murmured protestingly. `Don't worry, as soon as this weather clears, we'll have you back in London. And you won't be alone. Lady Manderly and Jemima will be there too.'

  `What do you plan for us?' asked his aunt.

  `Why, a day or two there, Aunt and then Belling can come up by train and see you all safely back home. I'll have to go back as soon as possible, otherwise I'd stay with you.'

  Jemima had wrapped herself in one of the shawls and started for the door. She had reached it when the Professor caught up with her. 'I'll help you,' he offered. 'You'll have to pack for everyone.'

  It was too cold to talk in the hall or on the stairs, and Pooley's room was no better.

  `The cases are in the boxroom at the end of the passage,' she told him, and when he returned with the first of them: `Are we all going together?"

  'Lord no! Pooley first, I'll drop her off at the hospital; there's bound to be a taxi at the airfield. I'll come back for aunt and her lugg
age and settle her in at a hotel, and then come back for you. You won't mind being alone here for a little while?'

  Jemima wondered what he would do if she said yes. `Not in the least,' she told him coolly.

  He went back for the rest of the luggage, and she started to pack Pooley's things. Thank heaven they had none of them brought much with them. She was shivering by the time she had finished. The Professor took the case downstairs and she went along to Lady Manderly's room. He came back again before she had done more than open the first drawer.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. `There's no need for you to stay here,' she pointed out. 'I'll call you when I'm ready. It's far too cold.'

  He took no notice of this but came into the room and sat down on the end of the bed. `Why were you so furious when you saw me?' he wanted to know.