The Reluctant Widow

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “Mutton and herbs make a very supporting broth,” suggested Miss Beccles helpfully.

  The valet bowed, but shook his head. “My master, thank you, miss, can never stomach mutton. I took the precaution of packing a pot of Dr. Ratcliffe’s Restorative Pork Jelly in the larger valise, and shall endeavor to persuade my master to swallow a spoonful every now and then.”

  An inquiry in the kitchen brought corroboration of this tale, and with it a tirade from Mrs. Barrow on the valetudinarian habits of a young gentleman who should, she held, be above coddling himself in such a fashion.

  “I disremember when I’ve seen Mr. Francis here without he took ill,” remarked Barrow dispassionately. “I mind one time he gave his ankle a twist and carried on like he was burned to the socket. I dare say we’ll have him here a se’n-night, setting us all by the ears.”

  “By Jupiter, we will not!” declared Nicky when this was reported to him. “I see his game, Cousin. He thinks to remain on till he may take us off our guard, but it will not answer! I’ll ride for Greenlaw myself—Rufus needs a good gallop, you know!—and see if I don’t get him to have Francis up out of his bed this very day! Yes, and on the road to London, what’s more!”

  “I wish you may!” she said. “But I do not know how it is to be contrived.”

  His eyes danced. “Don’t you, though? Smallpox in the village!”

  She was obliged to laugh, but doubted whether he would be able to persuade the respectable physician into perjuring himself so shockingly.

  “Oh, lord, yes, nothing easier!” Nicky assured her. “I can always make old Greenlaw do what I want. The only rub is that I may have to hunt all over for him. But I dare say I shall discover in which direction he has gone a-visiting. Everyone knows his gig!”

  He went off to the stables accompanied by Bouncer, whom, however, he brought back to the house, firmly shutting him in. Bouncer, having scratched vigorously at the front door for some time and addressed it in a crescendo of most distressful sounds, was lured away by Miss Beccles who held out a bone to him as a bait to follow her to the back premises. He there consumed the offering, afterward departing on a foraging expedition of his own through a low window which he found to be conveniently open. Elinor, who caught sight of him from an upper window, sternly bade him return, a command to which he turned a deaf ear. The chance to enjoy a morning’s sport had not come in his way lately, and he was never one to let opportunity slip. Elinor, accepting defeat, closed the window and went down to the kitchen for a prolonged conference with its chatelaine. Retreating at last from Mrs. Barrow’s volubility, she went into the bookroom, to write a careful letter of unconvincing explanation to her Aunt Sophia, who, one of her cousins had warned her, had formed the intention of sending her meek husband into Sussex to discover the truth of her unhappy niece’s reprehensibly secret nuptials. She was engaged on this task when Miss Beccles came in with an imposing inventory of all the linen in the house, written out in her delicate copperplate and copiously annotated with descriptions of rents, darns, and thin patches. Elinor thanked her and promised to read it carefully, a formality the little governess was insistent should be observed. Miss Beccles then trotted away again, zestfully determined to compile a further inventory, this time of all the pickles, preserves, dried fruits, and household remedies to be found in the stillroom. Elinor finished her letter, folded and sealed it, and laid it by for Carlyon to frank for her. To oblige Miss Beccles, she glanced perfunctorily through the inventory, initialed it as she had been directed, and folded the stiff sheets neatly. It occurred to her that Nicky should have returned by this time, and she glanced toward the clock on the mantelpiece only to be exasperated for the fiftieth time since she had come to Highnoons by the realization that it was not going. She got up, the folded inventory still in her hand, and walked over to the fireplace intending to discover if the clock was broken, as all had assumed, or was merely suffering from lack of winding. The works could only be reached from the back, so she laid the inventory down on the mantelpiece and carefully shifted the heavy clock round at right angles to the wall. The door to it was found to be locked and resisted her efforts to pull it open, so she was obliged to abandon the attempt and to replace it in position. She picked up the inventory again and was just adjusting the clock, which she had not set quite straight, when a faint sound came to her ears, as of a creaking board. Her hands dropped. She was in the act of turning round when something struck her a stunning blow on the head and knocked her senseless.

  Chapter XVI

  Nicky, entering the house by one of the side doors that opened into an anteroom, hung up his hat and whip and went striding off to the front hall, calling out to Miss Beccles whom he saw at the head of the stairs, “Where is Cousin Elinor? I had such a piece of work to find our doctor! But he is coming, never fear! Why, what’s amiss?”

  This exclamation was provoked by Francis’ voice, agitatedly raised in the bookroom. “Miss Beccles! Crawley! Barrow! Nicholas! Will no one hear me? Come this instant! Oh, dear, what can have happened?”

  Three bounds took Nicholas to the door of the bookroom. He was brought up short by the sight of his hostess lying inanimate on the hearth rug with Francis Cheviot on his knees beside her distractedly splashing water from a vase of snowdrops over her ashen face. The snowdrops lay scattered beside her, the cushion from one of the window seats had been cast on to the floor, and the casement was swinging wide on its hinges.

  “You villain, what have you done?” thundered Nicky, hurrying forward.

  “Do not waste time asking me what I have done!”

  Francis besought him. “Summon Miss Beccles, my dear boy! Burned feathers! Where is Crawley? Crawley will know what to do to bring her round! Oh, dear, what in the world can have come over her? My poor nerves!”

  By this time Miss Beccles had reached the scene, and with a cry had run toward the group by the fire. “Elinor, my love! Mrs. Cheviot! Oh, what is the matter? What caused her to swoon? Pray let me come there, Mr. Nicky! Run quickly to the kitchen and beg a handful of the pheasant’s feathers from Mrs. Barrow!”

  “Yes, yes, and call to that fool of mine!” Francis begged. “He is never where he is wanted! I must have my smelling salts and the hartshorn brought directly. She looks horridly pale! I do not know when I have sustained such a shock! How long has she been lying here? It is a mercy her clothes have not been set alight by a spark from that fire! Do hurry, my dear boy!”

  “What did you do to her?” Nicky demanded hotly.

  “Dear Nicholas, what could I do? I had no time to do more than snatch up that bowl of flowers and cast it over her, and it has not answered in the least! Do pray fetch Crawley! He is very knowledgeable, always knows just what to do in case of illness!”

  Nicky stood irresolute for a moment, but upon Miss Beccles’ adjuring him to make haste, swung round on his heel and hurried off to the kitchen. By the time he had brought both the Barrows bustling to the bookroom, he had had opportunity to reflect on the improbability of Francis’ having had any hand in Elinor’s plight. He could not imagine any conceivable reason for an assault on her and began to think that she must have been overtaken by a fainting fit. She was still unconscious, but Miss Beccles, in answer to an agitated inquiry from Francis, assured them that her pulse was beating. Francis, abandoning his attempts to assist Miss Beccles, had sunk into a chair and seemed to be almost as much in need of resuscitation as his hostess. So, at any rate, his valet thought, for when he arrived, in. response to Nicky’s shout, he instantly produced a vinaigrette from his pocket and held it beneath his master’s nose. It was waved away.

  “Take it to Mrs. Cheviot!” Francis said family. “I must not be selfish, and I dare say I shall not have one of my spasms if I keep very quiet for a minute or two.”

  The draft from the open casement was causing the fire to belch puffs of smoke into the room. Nicky said, “It’s all very well of you to have opened the window, but she’s more likely to be smothered by this smoke than to d
erive the least benefit from such a devilish draft!”

  “Open the window! You cannot suppose me to have been so imprudent!” exclaimed Francis. “Good God, I had not noticed it! Pray shut it this instant, dear boy! Do you wish me to die of an inflammation on the lung?”

  Nicky pulled it to, but turned to stare in surprise. “Did you not throw it open? Who can have done so, then? She would not be sitting here with that wind blowing into the room! And how came that cushion to be on the floor?”

  The smell of burned feathers began to mingle with the smoke. Miss Beccles looked up to say, “No, no, she would not have sat with the window open on such a day as this! I know it was not so when I came into this room only half an hour ago! Oh, what can have happened? Is it possible someone has been here and escaped by that way?”

  “Not with Bouncer in the house!” Nicky averred.

  “Oh, but the naughty doggie has gone off hunting! I should never have left her, but, to be sure, I never supposed—and in broad daylight, too!”

  “Are you telling me,” said Francis, in a failing voice, “that some desperate person has been able to enter this house without let or hindrance?”

  “They could have done so, for the side door is unlocked,” Nicky said shortly. “I came in through it myself. But that any should have dared—” He broke off, for a bell was clanging in the distance.

  “That’s the front door, that is,” Barrow said, thrusting the decanter of brandy he was holding into his wife’s hand and going off to answer it.

  “Crawley,” said Francis faintly, “if Miss Beccles is not using my vinaigrette, pray bring it back to me! Thank you—and perhaps a little of that brandy. Yes, that is enough. Now go and secure any door which you find open! I cannot understand how anyone could be so careless, for how can one tell what evil characters may be in the neighborhood only awaiting their chance to rob the house? I dare say there may be gypsies in the vicinity, and I have the greatest horror of gypsies! I cannot answer for the consequences if there is any possibility of the house’s being broken into again, for already I have the gravest fear that I may be going to have one of my spasms. Perhaps it would be as well if you, dear Nicholas, were to take the precaution of searching the grounds. I cannot be easy until I know that no one is lurking in those dreadfully overgrown bushes, as I feel might so well be the case.”

  “Ah, she is coming round!” Miss Beccles cried, fondly chafing Elinor’s limp hands. “There, my love! there, there!”

  A quick, firm tread was heard approaching across the hall. Another instant, and Carlyon had entered the room, still wearing his caped driving cloak and his gloves. One glance took in the scene. He stripped off his gloves, saying, “What’s this? What caused her to swoon?”

  “We do not know!” Miss Beccles answered. “Mr. Cheviot found her lying here and called to us to come to her. But she is better! See, she is beginning to stir and to recover her complexion a little! Elinor, my love!”

  “Ned, I found this window swinging wide and that cushion on the floor, as though it had been kicked off the seat! And look at this! I’ve this instant seen that the curtain is torn off two of its hooks!”

  Carlyon cast a cursory glance toward the window, but strode across the room to the fireplace to drop on one knee beside Elinor and to lift her up from the floor. He rose with her in his arms and walked with her to the sofa. She gave a moan and opened her eyes, murmuring something he could not catch. He said calmly, “Do not try to talk, Mrs. Cheviot! You will be better directly. Have the goodness to. pile up those cushions a little, Miss Beccles! Nicky, fetch me some brandy for her!”

  “It’s here, if Francis has not drunk it all!” Nicky said.

  “Then pour some into a glass,”. Carlyon said, lowering his burden onto the sofa, but keeping one arm under Elinor’s shoulders.

  Nicky hastened to place a glass into his imperatively outstretched hand. He put it to Elinor’s lips, carefully supporting her head, and said, “Try to swallow this, ma’am! You will feel very much better if you do.”

  Her eyes, blurred at first, began to grow clearer. She looked lip in a dazed way into his face, and whispered, “My head! Oh, my head!”

  He obliged her to drink some of the brandy. She choked over it but it revived her. She was trembling convulsively and one of her hands clutched his wrist. “Something struck me!” she said hoarsely. “Oh, I am glad you have come! Do not leave me!”

  “No, certainly I shall not leave you,” he responded. “But you will do better to be quiet for a little while. There is nothing to alarm you now.” He laid her down on the cushions as he spoke and she cried out as her head came to rest on them.

  “By God, someone did hit her on the head!” Nicky exclaimed. “Cousin Elinor, who was it?”

  She was lying with closed eyes, and a hand pressed to her brow. “I don’t know. I heard a noise. Then something struck me. I don’t know any more.”

  “For heaven’s sake!” said Francis in a shrill voice, “will no one go out to make sure that somebody is not lurking in the garden? How can you be so inconsiderate, Nicholas? Have you no regard for the nerves of others less insensible than yourself? If you will not go, then Crawley must do so, but tell him to arm himself with my swordstick, for it would be a shocking thing if he were to be injured by some ruffian! I cannot bear to have strangers about me, and if he were to be incapacitated I should be obliged to do so.”

  “Well, I will go out to look, but you may depend upon it there is no one there,” Nicky said. “If there was ever someone he will have made off long since!”

  “Go and see,” said Carlyon. He nodded to Mrs. Barrow who had brought in a bowl of water and some strips of old linen. “Thank you, Mrs. Barrow, that is all.” He waited until she had left the room and then bent over Elinor again. “Where does it pain you?”

  She had turned her head sideways on the pillow and now moved her hand cautiously to the back of it, just above the neck. Her own touch made her wince. She opened her eyes, saying, “Oh, I have such a bruise! I can feel the bump already!”

  “Will you let me raise you so that it may be attended to?” he said, slipping his arm under her shoulders again.

  She bore it mutely, but her senses seemed to swim, and she was obliged to lean her brow against his arm. Miss Beccles was already soaking a cold compress and would have laid it to the back of her head had not Carlyon taken it out of her hand and gently applied it to the bruise. Elinor sighed with relief and murmured, “Thank you. You are very good.”

  “If someone would call Crawley to me again I will desire him to mix a glass of hartshorn and water,” said Francis. “Two glasses, for I think I should take a little myself. My hand is shaking dreadfully still, and I feel quite unwell. The thought of this horrid violence, following, as it does, the shock I have already sustained, has been too much for me. If it were not that I do trust I was able to be of some slight assistance to Mrs. Cheviot, I should be almost inclined to wish that I had not left my room. But I thought it right to make the effort, and so I did. The windows in my room fit very ill. There is a shocking draft, and no good could come of my remaining there.”

  “Take a little more brandy, Mrs. Cheviot,” Carlyon said, picking up the glass again and wholly disregarding Francis’ remarks.

  “Oh, I had rather not!” she begged.

  “Yes, I dare say but it will do you good. Come!”

  She lifted a wavering hand to take the glass and sipped a little, murmuring between sips, “I am sure my skull is cracked!”

  “I am even more sure that it is not,” he replied. “You are feeling very dizzy and I dare say your head aches sadly, but it is only a bruise.”

  “I might have guessed you would be odiously unfeeling.”

  “Certainly you might, for you know I have not the least sensibility. Come, you are better already! You begin to talk more like yourself.”

  “If my head did not swim so there is a deal I have stored up to say to you! You have used me abominably!”

  �
��You shall tell me in what way I have done so presently,” he replied in a soothing tone.

  “I warned you that I should very likely be found murdered in my bed!”

  “Very true, but you have not been so found, and I cannot suppose it probable that you will be.”

  “I am sure,” said Francis, rising and tottering to the table, “I am happy to hear you speak so confidently, Carlyon, but I cannot share your sanguine persuasions! When I reflect that this, according to what I have been told, is the second time some ruffian has broken into this house and committed a brutal act of violence, I wonder that you should remain so cool! I envy you your happy disposition, upon my word, I do!” He refilled his glass and had just raised it to his lips when Nicky came back into the room.

  “What, still recruiting your strength?” Nicky said scornfully. “You may be easy! There is no one in the garden, and Bouncer is not come back. How do you do now, Cousin Elinor? Do you feel more the thing?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you! I am better. There is not the least need for you to hold that pad to my head, my lord, for I can very well do it myself.”

  “My love, let me wet it again, and then I will fashion a bandage to hold it in place,” said Miss Beccles, who had been hovering anxiously behind the sofa.

  “Cousin Elinor, was that window open when you were struck down?” demanded Nicky.

  “Oh, no! That is, I have no recollection that it was. The wind was blowing in at this side of the house, and I am sure I must have noticed. Why, did you find it open?”

  “Yes, wide open, and the curtain partly torn down!”

  She gave a nervous start and looked fearfully toward the window. “Do not say so! Did someone escape through it? But how did he come in? I heard nothing until a board, as I thought, creaked just behind me. Becky, you shut the door when you left me, did you not? Surely I must have heard it if anyone had opened it!”

  “Oh, no, my love!” said Miss Beccles, tenderly binding the pad in position again. “I wonder you should not have noticed that I had been rubbing soap on the hinges! It squeaked so horridly, you remember, but there is nothing like soap to cure a creaking door!”