by Norrey Ford
He was not sure where Guy stood in all this. Was he the villain of the piece; or wholly innocent, that old witch’s cat’s-paw? More important, did Jacqueline still mean to marry the boy?
His arms still ached with the sweetness of her running to him, clinging to him, with a glad little shout of his name. She had nestled in his embrace like a bird coming home.
Mollie took charge and ordered a hot bath and lunch in bed, with a hot bottle. Jacqueline protested about going to bed, but as she hadn’t a dry stitch of clothing of her own, she had to give in. Andy, though not normally allowed upstairs, sat on the eiderdown and accepted tit-bits from her tray.
Mollie took away the tray and brought back a selection of pretty nylon undies and a pale blue dress in fine wool which she thought would not be too big for her guest, but Jacqueline had fallen asleep, utterly exhausted.
She reported to the men. “Worn out, poor lamb. She looks as if she’s made of wax. I do blame myself for letting her go. What can have happened?”
Alan told them his part of the story; then there was nothing for it but to wait until Jacqueline had had her sleep out.
In an hour she came downstairs, her hair soft and pale after its wetting, the faint rose colour back in her cheeks. She wore the pale blue dress and a pair of scarlet and gold Eastern slippers which Mollie had had as a child.
“Can you bear to tell us now?” Mollie asked kindly. “Don’t if it’s too awful.”
The storm was over, the little sitting-room flooded with sunshine. “I’ll tell you. Parts of it are rather funny, I suppose. It was just being alone, and in that house one loses a sense of proportion.”
She told them everything quite simply.
“But,” Mollie said, aghast, “do you think she was going to poison you with those seeds?”
“I don’t know. I thought so at the time. All that about Michael’s gypsy mother knowing about herbs—and of course her scheme with the picture had gone wrong; the cord broke too soon.”
“It might not have broken at all, or gone in the daytime. She had to risk that. Maybe the seeds were a second string.”
Alan got up and started taking the things out of his pockets, laying them neatly on a bookcase. He was white under the tan, his eyes hard as sapphire chips. “I am now going to Timberfold, to take Guy Clarke to pieces, preferably with my bare hands. Don’t wait tea for me, Mollie—it may take time.”
For a moment Jacqueline couldn’t speak. He meant it, quite seriously and cold-bloodedly. Unless she stopped him, he would do it.
“No, Alan. I’m sure Guy doesn’t know anything of all this. He’s absolutely innocent. He just wanted to marry me. He didn’t realise, I’m sure, how far Connie was prepared to go to keep her position as mistress of the farm. It was an obsession with her, but I’m positive Guy didn’t know. He came to look for me—I told you. And he must be awfully worried this minute. We ought to let him know I’m safe, if we can.”
“He ought to have known.”
Mollie said lightly, “Men don’t know everything that goes on in a woman’s mind, Alan. If Jacky says he’s innocent, he probably is. Sit down and don’t look so murderous. I know you feel it—so do I. But there’s nothing we can do.”
He sat down, reluctantly.
Jacqueline went rather pink and said with a little gasp, “Would it be very awful if I didn’t marry Guy?” She drew the engagement ring off her finger slowly. “I did promise. But I can’t. I know all this isn’t his fault, but I just can’t marry him. It wouldn’t be fair to him, for one thing. I don’t love him and never did. But I promised, so do you think I ought to?”
“My dear child,” Mollie said earnestly, “nothing in the world—do you understand—justifies your marrying a man you don’t love. You shouldn’t have made a promise, but I’m sure you didn’t do it lightly or without reason. But don’t think yourself bound by it.”
“I’ll have to tell him myself. It would be cowardly to write. But,” her soft lips quivered, “I can’t marry him whatever Deborah says or does.”
Alan knelt by her side and took both her hands in his. “Deborah? What has she to do with it?”
Colour flooded her face. “I can’t tell you. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? To make you engage yourself to a man you didn’t love? Was she blackmailing you—holding a threat over you?”
“She wanted to get me out of the hospital. I think she was jealous.”
Suddenly Lance and Mollie weren’t there any more. She and Alan were alone.
“Jealous of what?” he insisted gently.
“Of you.” She lifted her head and looked into his face. “She was in love with you, I think. Or possessive about you, which isn’t quite the same thing.”
“My fault. I took her out a couple of times, but that was ages ago.”
“She thought she owned you. I’m sure she thought she could get you back again. So—so when you saved my life and were kind to me, she thought—” She hesitated shyly.
“She thought I loved you?”
“Oh no!” she said earnestly and quickly. “I wouldn’t—I mean I’m far too young and foolish for an important man like you. She just thought—there’d be gossip, and she said gossip was the worst thing for a doctor. And—and you said it was, too.”
He looked stern. “Wasn’t that my affair?”
“She said not to tell you. That you’d have to leave the hospital or I would. You see, she saw you bring me home that night, from the dance. And—and I’m afraid she told Diana Lovell.”
He seized his hair in both hands and tugged. “Women! What on earth has been going on? You and I never did anything to cause talk.”
“That’s what I kept telling them! But they wouldn’t believe me.”
“Listen, honeybunch. You’re not to worry about it any more. It’s true that gossip does tend to gather round a doctor—any professional man—if he’s indiscreet or foolish. That doesn’t mean he can’t speak to a girl at all, or fall in love, or do any normal, natural thing like that.” He chuckled softly. “Why, how do you think doctors and lawyers and parsons would get married?”
“Get married? That’s different. Aren’t you going to marry Miss Lovell?”
“Me? Certainly not. Who told you I was?”
“It was—sort of suggested. And once you said—when we were on the moor—that you had a passion which meant much to you. I thought perhaps it was Diana—she’s awfully pretty; and rich, too.”
“I meant my work. I think I said it meant more to me than the love of any woman.”
“Yes—that’s what you said. I’d forgotten the exact words.”
“I always believed it did—until lately. But now, you see, I’ve fallen in love and I know how silly I was. My work is still important, and if this girl marries me, she’ll many and many a time have to allow it to come first in our lives—but the most important thing will always be my love for her.”
“You mean you haven’t asked her yet?” She tried not to sound flattened, but when a man calls you darling and holds you tightly in his arms—and then...!
“I only found out last night. I suppose I knew always, from the moment I met her. She crept deeper and deeper into my heart, and I didn’t even realise it until I thought she was in danger—and that her being so was my fault for being so blind and stupid.”
A pulse beat wildly in her throat. When she spoke, her voice was a thread of sound. “Alan—who is this girl?”
When he lifted his face, she knew beyond all doubt. “Darling, darling girl! Will you believe I love you? I’ve always loved you, ever since the first day we met—but—oh, Jacky, I’ve been such a fool.” He bent his head and pressed his lips to her two hands. “When I think how I stood back and let you walk head-first into danger, I am ashamed down to my roots.”
She freed a hand and stroked his dark smooth hair. “You rescued me every time I needed rescuing. You stood back and watched until I needed you—and then you came riding, like a knight on a white horse in shi
ning armour.”
He grinned up at her. “Rather a tin-pot knight. I ought to have set you on my horse and ridden away with you months ago. I had to lose you before I learnt how much I wanted you.”
“Did you lose me, Alan?” Her mouth was grave and sombre but her eyes shone.
“I thought I had, but—is there hope for me? Could you love me, darling? I’m a bit old for you, and shockingly bad-tempered and impatient. My best friend couldn’t call me good-looking, and I’d never be on hand when you wanted me. I’m a bad bargain, but if you could love me, all my golden ships would come home, and all my birds would sing.”
She laughed very tenderly and gently. “My love! My dear one! Don’t you know I’ve been loving you and loving you?” She put her warm round cheek to his hard lean one. “You do not speak very well for yourself, but luckily for you, your heart speaks for you.”
“What does it say—my heart?”
“It says you love me and I love you, and we belong to each other for ever and ever.”
“And your heart?”
She gave a soft sigh of pure happiness. “My heart says the same as yours. The golden ships are in harbour and all the birds are singing.”
“My funny young angel! Will you marry me?”
She laughed tenderly. ‘Try to stop me! Mind you, I don’t think junior nurses are allowed to marry important men like you. I don’t know what Matron will say.”
He laughed and took her in his arms—and just then Mollie came back.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, my pets.”
“You are,” Alan said crossly. “This child has just promised to overlook my shortcomings and marry me.”
“You took your time, Alan,” Mollie said severely, hugging Jacqueline. “Lance owes me tuppence. I knew all the time you were made for each other. I’m sorry to spoil the moment, but Guy is here.”
“By heaven, is he? I’ve a thing or two to say to Guy Clarke.”
“No, Alan. He’s in desperate trouble. He spent ages searching for Jacky on the moors and nearly cried when I told him she was here and safe. But it’s Connie. She collapsed and he doesn’t know what to do. He has come for help. You’d better speak to him.”
“Send him in.”
Guy went straight to Jacqueline. “Thank God, you’re safe. I searched for you. I thought—I thought she’d hurt you...” He brushed his hand across his eyes. “She’s mad, Jacky—raving mad. She attacked me with the poker. I had to get it from her, and she fought like a wild cat. It was horrible.”
He sank on to a chair and buried his face in his hands. Jacqueline knelt beside him. “What happened then?” she asked gently. “Tell us, Guy.”
He looked at her. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I? I knew all the time you weren’t for me, really. I just kept hoping and hoping, trying to force things. I thought if you married me, it would be all right. But you were right—I couldn’t have been happy, knowing you didn’t love me or come to me of your own free will.”
“I’m sorry, Guy. It was wrong of me to let anyone force me into promising to marry you. I was cruelly unfair to you. Can you forgive me?”
“It’s for you to forgive me. She attacked you, didn’t she? I knew she had. She fooled me about the lumbago.”
“It wasn’t your fault. She was too cunning for you.”
“To think she had the brains to think it all out!”
She shook his shoulder. “Yes, but—tell us what happened to Connie.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I got the poker from her. She was screaming. Then suddenly she made a funny sort of noise and dropped on the floor. I thought she was going to die. I carried her on to her bed. After a bit she got quieter, so I came for help.” He looked up at Alan. “I locked her in the bedroom. It seemed safer.”
Alan nodded. “A sensible precaution, but I don’t think she’ll move. I’ll telephone the hospital; they must send an ambulance for her. Deborah had better come, too.” He dropped a kindly hand on Guy’s shoulder. “You’ve had a rough time. We’ll take care of it from now on.”
“Thank you. The worst part was not knowing what had happened to Jacky. She’s—she’s going to marry you, isn’t she?”
“Yes. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
“It does, but—funny, I only wanted her. I didn’t look beyond that, to everyday life. If I had, I’d have known she couldn’t live at Timberfold, with Connie, and share my sort of life. I hope she’ll be happy.”
Alan said gravely, “I’m going to devote the rest of my life to seeing that she is.”
Mollie said, “I’ve got the hospital on the line. You speak to them, Alan.”
“Thanks. What a competent person you are!” He spoke crisply to the hospital and in a few moments came back. ‘They’ll send straightaway. Come along, Jacky, let’s get going.”
She followed meekly to the car. When they were speeding towards Timberfold, she said, “I thought never to go to the farm again. I wonder which was right—the coin or the heather?”
“Coin?”
“I tossed up whether to go to Timberfold or not. The coin said don’t go! And if I’d obeyed it, I’d have saved myself a heap of trouble.”
“You would, indeed!”
“But there was a sprig of white heather, and I took that for a good omen and went on. If I hadn’t, we might never have met again, or at least,” she dimpled mischievously, “only at the hospital. And if I hadn’t set my mind on visiting Timberfold and the Moor Hen all those years...”
“We’d never have met at all. Look out, what’s that?”
He brought the car to a sudden halt. Guy, following, caught up and stopped too. “What’s up?”
“There—just off the road. A bundle of old clothes, or a man.”
Jacqueline’s blood ran cold. “Guy, it’s Michael, isn’t it?”
Alan shouted, “Come on.” And ran towards the crumpled heap.
It was Michael, wet to the skin and half delirious. The men carried him to the car.
Alan sniffed. “Whisky! But I don’t think this is altogether drunkenness. We’d better send him to the hospital, too. Put him in the back and we’ll cover him with my old raincoat. Doesn’t he smell ghastly! We’ll get those wet clothes off him when we reach the farm—the damp brings out the riper smells.”
Alan shook his head over Connie. “Nothing much we can do, I’m afraid,” he admitted to Guy. “Perhaps it is a mercy, after all. She made a homicidal attack on you?”
“She meant to kill me. But all the same, I don’t like to see her like this. She was kind to me, in her way.”
‘Then be thankful. I don’t think she’ll recover consciousness. Funny—how sometimes the thing we love best destroys us, if we love it in a selfish, grasping way. You might say Timberfold destroyed her. The threatened loss of it destroyed her mind.”
Jacqueline attended to Connie as best she could singlehanded. Then she went downstairs to have a look at old Michael. Alan helped her to remove the wet, dirty clothes and bundle the old man into Guy’s clean pyjamas.
“A few hours ago,” she said softly, “these two people were trying to kill me.”
“That’s the way it is. If I could save that woman by operating, I’d do it with all the skill I possess. Healing is a dedication, Jacky.”
She covered the old shepherd up with a blanket. “I always knew that. Now I’m learning it—in my bones, as the children say. How long will the ambulance be, do you think?”
“Not long.”
Michael opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position. Jacqueline supported him, no longer shuddering at his touch.
“You’re Peter’s little lass, aren’t you? I was looking for you, but you ran away. I wanted to tell you—” He choked a little. “She’s trying to get rid of you. Be careful. She made me give her those l’il seeds, but don’t you eat ‘em, lassie. Bad, they be for ye. Real bad.” He seemed to drowse away, then opened his eyes again. “She was a bonny little wench, you know. I alius loved her,
but she would have Saul. She wasn’t to hold nor to bind, but she would have him. She’d ha’ done better wi’ me. But she was bonny.”
“I’m sure she was, Michael.”
“Greed’s been the curse o’ this farm. Everybody grabbing and nobody giving. Young Peter knew. He wouldn’t thole it—not at no price. He got away, and you must get away, Peter’s lass.” He shook his head slowly. “I alius told her it was wrong to stop Peter’s letters getting to his Ma. That was cruel.”
Jacqueline looked up at Alan, tears streaming down her face. “So that’s how it happened. Poor Grandmother, poor Daddy.”
Michael clawed her arm. “But I loved her, I alius loved her, don’t mistake me. I did what she asked me, even if I thowt it wor wrong. Until she did wrong. Aye, very wrong she did. She killed my dog with her own hands.”
“Oh, Mike!”
“After she killed my dog, I knew she was wicked. Sin it was—sin. So I knew I had to tell you, to tell you she was trying to kill you. It was only a little drink I needed to give me courage, but when I’d drunk enough whisky, you ran away and I ran after you, but I couldn’t catch you.”
She said softly, “Never mind. I know now.”
“Here’s the ambulance,” Alan said quietly.
Jacqueline whispered, “Will he die?”
“Mike? Not he—tough as a cowhide, and well waterproofed with whisky.”
Deborah came in, brisk and competent in uniform. As she hurried upstairs, Guy came down.
The second nurse in the ambulance was Phyllis Arnott. “Why—Phyllis?” said Guy. “You here?”
“I didn’t come on purpose,” she said defensively. “It was my turn to come.”
Jacqueline drew Alan into the yard. “It wasn’t so much her turn,” she said quietly, “as her bit of white heather. What perfect timing! Guy’s life is empty just now, and Phyllis loves him.” She gave the old house a long, long look. A look of farewell. “What a home the right woman could make of it all!”
Alan put his arm round her. “I’m faintly jealous. You don’t regret Guy—or the house?”
