Wings Above the Diamantina

by Arthur W. Upfield

  “What do you think of her?” Elizabeth asked presently. “What? Oh, what this young lady needs is quiet and careful attention. Yes, and a little amusement to stop her thinking about herself. I think we will have her up and about in no time. I will come to see her again during the late evening, and meanwhile I will ask my colleague to drop in and see her. Au revoir, young lady. Remember now, no worry! Hetty will read you a book and talk to you, and to-morrow, perhaps, Miss Nettlefold will have the radio brought in.”

  Standing up, he then reached forward and took one of her palsied hands, which lay so still on the white coverlet.

  “Au revoir!” he again said softly.

  When in the corridor with Elizabeth, with the door closed behind them, he asked:

  “Have you discovered any clue about her? Any laundry marks or initials on her linen?”

  “Yes. Several articles have the initials M.M. worked on them with silk. That is all.”

  “Hum! She is rather lovely, don’t you think? Not more than twenty-five. Perhaps not twenty.”

  “What is the matter with her, Doctor?”

  “Candidly, I do not know yet,” he confessed. “Has she eaten?”

  “No. She can swallow, but she cannot move her jaw.”

  “All that she can do is to swallow and slightly, very slightly, move her eyes,” he said slowly, as though to himself. “No, I do not understand. I might in the morning when I have examined her again. What liquids have you given her?”

  “Milk.”

  “Good! Don’t, however, give her too much. Give her cocoa and beef tea. I will draw up a diet list before I leave. To-night give her a teaspoonful of brandy in coffee. Who will be with her during the night?”

  “I will from ten o’clock.”

  “Oh! I believe you will make an excellent nurse, Miss Nettlefold. I will look in before going to bed. Now we will permit Sergeant Cox to pay his official visit—as my medical colleague.”

  “Why as your colleague?”

  “Because I am not going to have my patient frightened by a policeman.”

  She took him along to the study where they found Cox taking notes from what the cattleman was telling him.

  “Well, do you know her?” asked the sergeant.

  “No. I have never seen her before,” Knowles answered, and Elizabeth looked at him intently.

  “May I have a look at her?”

  “You may,” Knowles assented, a little curtly. Then, when the sergeant stood up, he added: “My patient is suffering from a form of muscular paralysis. She is conscious and her mind is clear, but she is quite unable to articulate. I don’t care a sixpence who stole the aeroplane. All that concerns me is that she’s my patient, and I will not have her frightened or worried, you understand. She is powerless to run away and escape from you. I told her that my colleague would visit her, just to look at her. It is no use your putting questions to her, but by all means ascertain if you can identify her.”

  Sergeant Cox glared at the doctor, and Knowles strolled across to a wall cabinet where he could see a decanter, glasses and a soda bottle.

  “I won’t excite her,” Cox promised readily. “Do you think she could have stolen the aeroplane?”

  “No ... emphatically.”

  “Is there any basis for your opinion?”

  “So far there is nothing definite on which I could base any opinion,” Knowles replied, turning with a filled tumbler in his hand. “In her present condition it would, of course, be quite impossible for her to have flown the machine. I have never before seen a case even remotely like it. The general paralysis of all consciously controlled muscles may have been produced by physical injury, mental shock, or—” and he made a distinct pause: “or drugs. I can find no external physical injury, but I will examine her again to-morrow. I can conceive no mental shock of sufficient strength to produce such a result. Therefore I incline to the hypothesis that she has been drugged.”

  Cox pulled savagely at his grey moustache. Elizabeth stared with peculiar intensity at the doctor. Her father frowned down at his polished slippers, and began a hunt for tobacco plug and clasp knife.

  “If the poor thing has been drugged, Doctor, will not the drug wear out of her system in time?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Drugs are so varied in their effects,” Knowles replied. “If the patient has been drugged the drug may slowly lose its hold upon her. I stress the word ‘may’.”

  “And if it does not?” put in Cox.

  “Then she will inevitably die despite all our efforts to save her. The paralysis of the consciously controlled processes will have a grave effect on those that are involuntary.”

  “Go along and find out if you know her, Cox,” urged Nettlefold.

  The sergeant nodded and followed Elizabeth.

  “Pardon me, Nettlefold,” said Knowles, “for helping myself to your whisky. Ah ... but I was perishing.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t perish, or let me perish either,” the big bluff manager returned warmly. “Three fingers is my usual measure.”

  The doctor turned again to the wall cabinet. Glass tinkled against glass, and the hiss of aerated water splashing into liquid were the only sounds to break the little silence which lasted until the doctor seated himself, having handed his host a glass.

  “It is quite a mystery, isn’t it?” he queried.

  “Too deep for me,” Nettlefold admitted. “An aeroplane is stolen at Golden Dawn, and it is then found undamaged one hundred and eighty-four miles away. In it is a drugged girl. The pilot is missing, and there are no tracks showing that he left the machine after he landed it.”

  “Your résumé contains several facts but one assumption. You assume that the girl is drugged. That is not proven yet.”

  “Then it is possible that she is suffering the effects of some physical injury?”

  “Yes. There is that possibility.”

  The door opened to admit the sergeant. He was alone, and before he spoke they knew he had been unable to identify the patient.

  “I do not know her,” he said. “I have been in control of this district for twenty-four years, and I am positive that she has never lived in it. I could swear that she was not in Golden Dawn yesterday. I was among the small crowd watching the air circus and seeing people taking trips in the de Havilland. You are quite sure, Mr Nettlefold, that you saw no tracks of the pilot leaving the aeroplane?”

  “Quite!” replied the cattleman with conviction.

  “Then he must have jumped out before the machine landed—if there was a pilot other than that girl.”

  “In that case, would not the machine have crashed?” Nettlefold asked the doctor.

  Cox looked steadily at Knowles.

  “My machine would go into a fatal spin immediately I left the controls,” he said. “Captain Loveacre’s monoplane, however, might not. There was the affair during the war when a German flier was shot dead when over the lines, and his machine made a perfect landing several miles behind our front. Better ask Loveacre how his monoplane behaves.”

  “Yes. And, by the way, I told him, Mr Nettlefold, that you would supply him with information how to get to Emu Lake. May I ring him up?”

  Dr Knowles again permitted himself to become the needle attracted by the magnet of the wall cabinet. There was something terrible in his steady drinking as well as in the extraordinary effects it appeared to have on him. The potent spirit attacked his legs and arms, but failed utterly to cloud his mind or thicken his speech. Before leaving the cabinet he refilled the glass to take with him to one of the lounge chairs, and into that he dropped to lean back his head to rest on the cushion and to stare up at the coloured lamp-shade.

  It was obvious that he did not hear, whilst the others were too much engrossed by the telephone to note Elizabeth’s quiet entry. She stood now just inside the door she had quietly closed, and there she continued to stand.

  She saw and heard her father speaking into the telephone. She saw Cox crouching forward across the large wr
iting-table. And then she saw the white, upturned face of Dr Knowles. He was staring at the lamp-shade, and the light fell directly on his face. It was devoid of expression, a cold white mask beneath the glaring electric light. The little silky black moustache and the fine black hair but emphasized the whiteness of the skin, an unnatural whiteness, considering that the man spent hours in the air every week.

  He was a clever doctor, she knew. She knew, too, that his medical studies had been interrupted by fifteen months in the Royal Air Force during the war. For a period of that time—how long she did not know—he and the owner of Tintanoo had been pilots in the same squadron. But, while John Kane often spoke of those days, Dr Knowles always avoided the subject of army flying.

  Her father having called good night, and the telephone receiver having been replaced on its hooks, she stepped forward and suggested supper. Not till then was Knowles aware of her presence, when he flung himself to his feet so precipitately as to indicate annoyance.

  “I am ready to eat—anything,” he said, smiling to conceal his confusion.

  “And the flight has sharpened my appetite instead of blunting it,” added Cox.

  “Then come along. I have to go on night duty at ten o’clock,” Elizabeth told them.

  She led them to a cold supper set out in the dining-room. Her father carved from a great round of beef, the quality of which is never found on offer in a butcher’s shop. Everything was in keeping with the furniture, solid and homely, easy and comfortably luxurious.

  Beneath the conversation was an undercurrent of excitement, of expectancy. They could discuss nothing save the helpless young woman lying on Elizabeth’s bed, although the sergeant did make several attempts. Through the open windows came the subdued and methodical reports of the petrol engine running the station dynamo. From farther afield drifted the notes of an accordion. The night was silent and peaceful and warm. They each sensed rather than knew positively that drama had come to Coolibah.

  Chapter Five

  The Vigil

  ELIZABETH RELIEVED the housekeeper at ten o’clock leaving the men to depart for Nettlefold’s study.

  “I think she is sleeping, Miss Elizabeth,” Hetty reported. “I closed her eyes and turned her on her side half an hour ago. You will find the spirit lamp and the supper things in your dressing-room. Now, what time will I relieve you? Remember, you have not slept since last night.”

  They stood just outside the bedroom, the door almost shut. The corridor was lit by one electric bulb midway along it. The electric power had to be conserved, so that it had been decided to light an oil lamp, placed on a small table opposite Elizabeth’s bedroom door after all had gone to bed.

  “Mr Nettlefold and Sergeant Cox will be leaving for Emu Lake at six in the morning, Hetty,” Elizabeth said. “If you will, please get up in time to see that they have a proper breakfast and take good lunches with them. After they have gone you can relieve me. I have explained everything to Dr Knowles, and he tells me he will be staying until to-morrow afternoon.”

  “What does he think? Oh, Miss Elizabeth, will the poor girl get better?”

  “We hope so, Hetty.”

  “And Sergeant Cox!” Hetty’s hands began to flutter like a bird’s wings. “Has he found out who she is?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “No. He hasn’t found out yet. No one seems ever to have seen her before. Now, be off to bed, Hetty. You must be tired.”

  “Very well! Good night, Miss Elizabeth!”

  Again within her room, Elizabeth passed across to the bed to make sure that her patient was lying comfortably. That was more difficult than it sounds, because the girl was unable to voice a complaint or even subconsciously to move her body. For a while Elizabeth listened to her regular breathing, to become convinced that she was sleeping.

  The room was large and oblong in shape, the corridor wall taking one side and two pairs of french windows occupying spaces in the opposite side. The bed had its head to one of the shorter walls, while in the opposite one was the door leading to the dressing-room. As well as the small table beside the bed there was a larger one set against the corridor wall to the right of the door. On this table Elizabeth set the shaded electric lamp, and beside it she placed her chair so that she was able to face both the corridor door and the patient’s bed, the dressing-room door then being partly at her back and the two windows on her left.

  Before settling in her chair to await the doctor’s promised visit, she crossed to the windows to close one pair and to draw the light curtains before both. Here, in western Queensland, there was absolutely no necessity to lock and bar windows and doors, and from one year’s end to the other neither windows nor doors were ever locked at Coolibah.

  Shortly after eleven, Dr Knowles came in without a sound. He waved her back into her chair before closing the door, and, stepping across to the table, seated himself on the edge of it and scrutinized her closely.

  About him there was a faint aroma of alcohol. His face was flushed, and before he sat down she noticed that he staggered ever so slightly. Yet when he spoke his voice was steady, clear, and low.

  “You will have to guard against bed sores. Do you know how?” he asked.

  “If by constantly moving the patient...”

  “Exactly. During the night she must be moved from side to side, say every two hours. Most of us cannot sleep when lying on the left side, so you should be careful not to put your patient too far over that way. Throughout the day she may be allowed to lie on her back, but she must be constantly eased and half-turned to right or left, and maintained in those positions with pillows. Bed sores are the very devil to get rid of once they come, and our patient’s absolute helplessness will be productive of them unless every care is taken. You are still determined to nurse her?”

  “Yes! Oh yes!” was her quick reply.

  “Why?”

  The interrogative was snapped at her. For a second she was confused. Then:

  “Perhaps the answer to this question will be my answer to yours,” she suggested hesitantly. “Why do you fly about the country so recklessly?”

  The dark brows drew closer together, and the white lids narrowed before the dark eyes. He was instantly on his guard, and Elizabeth knew it.

  “I never fly recklessly,” was his evasive answer.

  “Answer my question, please, if you want yours answered,” she persisted.

  He smiled faintly.

  “I believe I can correctly guess the answer you think I would make. No, I do not fly everywhere, and take what may be thought risks, because I am bored with life. In fact, if I had not found life most interesting, I should have departed from it years ago. How is it that life bores you?”

  “I am not bored ... now, Doctor. I was ... terribly. Dad is always happy to live here in the bush. So was my mother. I should be, too, but I am not. I have never been truly happy here after I gave up my studies to come home and look after Dad. You see, I don’t do anything. Managing Hetty who manages the house is not doing anything, really. I cannot be bothered with the garden, and horses and car driving no longer interest me. If my mother was living or I had sisters...”

  Knowles was staring at her—not rudely—merely as though he saw her clearly for, the first time.

  “After a while you will find nursing boring, too,” he warned her.

  “Oh no, I won’t!” she hastened to assure him. “It will give me something to do—something to think about. Do you know that for the last three years I have done nothing but read novels? I keep all the men supplied with reading matter.”

  “There are plenty of people who wish they could do just that, Miss Nettlefold,” he pointed out, and then began to scribble with a fountain pen on a writing-pad. When he had finished he went on: “I have drawn up a diet list for the time being. Follow it strictly. I may alter it later. As the patient is sleeping, I will look in at daybreak, and then, during the morning, we will make another and a more careful examination of her.”

&nb
sp; “You will let her stay with us?”

  “Until you relax in your duties or”—and he smiled for the first time—“or I find out that you think you know more about it than I do. Now, no temper, please! I think she will be better off here in your care than in the hospital at Winton, but should you tire say so instantly, and I will remove her to Winton, She has no claims on you, remember.”

  “Yes, she has,” Elizabeth said, a little fiercely. “She has conquered my boredom, and if only you knew what that means—”

  “Believe me, I know what boredom is,” he said, quietly cutting in. “There is only one thing worse than boredom, and that is memory. Boredom can be banished, but memory cannot be obliterated. Now, I’ll be off. If the patient wakes during the night—but no! Feed her with coffee containing a teaspoonful of brandy to the cup at one o’clock and at four o’clock. If you should see any change in her, call me at once. Good night ... Nurse!”

  They rose together.

  “Good night, Doctor!”

  Having smiled at her for the second time, he spent a few seconds beside the bed feeling the patient’s pulse, and then left. From the table in the corridor he picked up the newly opened bottle of whisky and the glass he had placed there before entering the room, and departed for his own.

  A few minutes after the doctor had gone, Elizabeth heard her father conducting the sergeant to his room; then heard the sergeant’s door quietly closed, and a moment later heard her father close his. The petrol engine running the electric light had long been stopped, and the accordion player now was fast asleep. The house was silent, and the world of the bush surrounding the homestead was silent, too.

  She tried to read, but, after a determined effort to be interested in the antics of alleged bohemians in Sydney, she put down the book and relaxed. The little clock on the table announced the hour of midnight. One of the stockman’s dogs chained beyond the men’s quarters began to bark—not frenziedly, but methodically—as though tantalized by the nearness of a rabbit. The animal was too far away to be a disturbing influence.

  She began to go over all the incidents of the afternoon. It was so stupid of them not to have searched the red monoplane for the girl’s belongings: her hat and coat and vanity bag, without which no woman dare leave her home. It was excusable stupidity, of course. Who would not have been astonished first when finding the machine, and then by the discovery of the helpless girl in it? Her very plight, which had so cried out for compassion, had swept aside all thought to look for articles proving her identity, especially when Emu Lake was on Coolibah and someone would have to come out for the aeroplane the next day.