Recollections of Rosings (37 page)

    When the gentlemen had gone, there followed for Lilian and her mother a disturbed and uneasy night, for Lilian became restless and feverish, muttering strange, incoherent scraps of sentences as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her head and limbs ached and her breathing was laboured. Mrs Giles came to sit with her to let Catherine get some rest, but she could not bear to leave her daughter's bedside, even for a few minutes. She had an easy chair brought in from her sitting room and, placing it close by the bed, sat in it for the rest of the night.

    Occasionally, out of sheer fatigue, she would nod off, but waking suddenly, she would anxiously feel her daughter's brow, which alternately became hot and fevered or cold and clammy as she would sweat out the fever. Catherine would moisten her lips with water, soothe her forehead with lavender, and pray as she had never done before, for her child's recovery.

    When Dr Bannerman called early on the following day, he was disappointed not to see an improvement in Lilian and indeed, to find a worsening of her mother's condition. Having had no sleep all night, Catherine was exhausted but determined to remain at her daughter's side.

    Dr Bannerman was sufficiently concerned to speak with Mrs Giles, who saw him to the door. Clearly, he said, the medication he had given her had not had the desired effect on Lilian; he prescribed more potions and would go into town to consult a colleague, who might recommend something stronger. Meanwhile, he urged Mrs Giles to ensure that her mistress was looked after, that she took some nourishment and rest during the day.

    "We cannot have Mrs Harrison falling ill, too," he said. "She must not fret, I am confident Miss Lilian will recover, though it may take some time. She is healthy and young, though not as sturdy as some young women. I intend to return and if she has made no progress, I will call in a physician from London, who has much experience in treating this type of condition."

    Reassured by his words, Mrs Giles went upstairs to Catherine, who, despite the doctor's counsel, had returned to her daughter's bedside. Her anxiety and grief would not let her leave the room, but when Mrs Giles brought in some soup, she partook of it gratefully and not long afterwards, seated in her chair beside the bed, fell asleep for the first time in two days.

    That afternoon, Mrs Giles entered the room and whispered that the two gentlemen from Rosings—Messrs Adams and Burnett—had called and were in the parlour.

    "Will you go down to them, ma'am?" she asked. "I will stay with Miss Lilian while you do."

    But Catherine shook her head. "No, Mrs Giles, it is not me they want to see. Mr Adams must be desperate to know how Lilian is faring. He will not be content with seeing me."

    When Mrs Giles looked confused, she added softly, "Tell them they can see her for a few minutes, if they are very quiet. She must not be disturbed. Then, bring them in."

    When Mr Adams and Frank Burnett entered the room, which had been darkened by closing most of the drapes, they took a while to get accustomed to the partial light. John Adams moved towards the bed and when he saw Lilian, he gasped, his heart deeply grieved by the sight. It was too much; he could not hold back the tears. Catherine went to him at once, as he stood looking at Lilian, lying pale and languid, so utterly different to the lively young woman he knew.

    Catherine tried to comfort him but she could not. His tears flowed down his cheeks and he ran from the room. It was then that Frank Burnett spoke softly to Catherine. He too had been shocked by the deterioration in Lilian's condition in so short a time. Not wishing to impose in any way upon her, yet wanting desperately to help, he asked, "Catherine, will you let me do something for you? May I send a message to your sister, Mrs Tate? I am quite certain she will wish to be with you and help you care for Lilian. I did consider sending a telegraphic message last night, but waited, not wishing to act without your consent. May I?"

    The thought, which had not even occurred to her, seemed to express exactly that which Catherine needed at that moment. It summoned up images of sisterly affection and assistance, which Becky could always be counted on to provide. Catherine knew there was nothing her sister liked more than to be asked to help in a crisis.

    She turned gratefully to him, "Oh Mr Burnett, if you would, please do. I cannot think of anything I would like better at this moment; Becky is very practical and kind. Thank you for your thoughtfulness, I have not yet had the time to say how very grateful I am for all you have done."

    He spent no more than a few minutes longer, telling her she must not think he expected gratitude. "Who could have done otherwise in the circumstances? If you must thank me, Catherine, let it be by looking to your own health, for I can see how exhausted you are and I beg you, do not allow yourself to fall ill through lack of care. That is all I ask of you just now. Will you promise me this?"

    Touched by his concern and remembering again the warmth of his affection for her, she nodded and promised to do as he asked. He was, for the moment, content, and taking one last look at Lilian, who was still asleep, he took Catherine's hand, kissed it, and left the room.

    She heard him descend the stairs and returned to her chair, deeply grateful to him. With Lilian ill and the rest of her family thousands of miles away, his strong presence in her life was her only comfort.

    Frank Burnett had found John Adams in the parlour, his face a picture of abject misery. He seemed convinced that his beloved Lilian was at death's door and could not be comforted. The inclement weather that had continued over the last two days seemed only to increase his despair.

    "Please let me remain here, Frank, I must wait until the doctor calls so I may know what his prognosis is. If I went away now, I would not have a moment's peace," he begged and Frank Burnett was loathe to deny him his meagre consolation. Presently, he left the house and rode into Hunsford, from where he despatched an urgent telegram to Mrs Rebecca Tate, telling her, while giving few details, that Lilian was gravely ill and her sister needed her help.

    It would be two days at least before Rebecca could be expected, and in the meantime they could only hope that Dr Bannerman's second application of medicines would be more successful than the first.

It was a long, anxious night.

    Neither Catherine nor Mrs Giles could sleep for long; both women had watched Lilian grow from a somewhat delicate child into the most promising member of the family. Her looks, intelligence, and generally sweet disposition had endeared her to everyone, and there were many waiting with keen anticipation to see her happily wed.

    To her mother, whose elder children had been closer to their father and each other than to her, Lilian was more than a daughter; she was almost a friend to whom she could speak with little reservation. This unfortunate accident had only served to underscore how precious she was and how easily she might be lost to her.

    The following morning saw not only a return of warmer weather; it brought a renewal of hope, when Lilian at last showed some small signs of improvement in her condition.

    Catherine awoke from a short sleep to hear much less laboured breathing, a gentle movement of her chest as she slept, and best of all, at least to the touch, no sign of the fever!

    An hour later, Lilian opened her eyes, and asked for something to drink. It was the first time a coherent sentence had passed her lips and Catherine, having helped her take a few sips of water, raced down to ask Mrs Giles to have some weak tea prepared.

    Returning to the room, she was delighted to find that Lilian was able to sit up in bed and actually asked for the curtains to be opened to let in the light. Quite clearly the headache that had tortured her for two days was gone.

    As the day wore on, Lilian improved materially in every respect and by the time Dr Bannerman called, she was so much better he was able to interpret the symptoms and declare that she was out of danger. He did, however, take time to caution his young patient.

    "You are indeed a very fortunate young lady; but I must warn you, Miss Lilian, your recovery will depend upon persevering with your medication regularly for a further week, continuing to rest, and taking all of the nutritious food your mama will have prepared for you. If you do not," he warned, "there is always a danger of relapse, and I should not think you would wish such a thing upon yourself, especially not with a wedding in the Autumn, eh?"

    Lilian, who in her weakened state had no desire to argue with him, thanked him for his care and agreed to do everything Dr Bannerman and her mother asked. Indeed, so assiduously did she follow their instructions, by the time her aunt Becky arrived from Derbyshire she was well enough to come downstairs and sit for a few hours in the parlour each day.

    Often during these times, Mr Adams would find himself in the area and arrive with flowers or fruit or sometimes a new book, which he would read to her. During these days, Catherine observed how his concern and affection were expressed in all the things he would do for Lilian. It was something she remarked on to Frank Burnett, and even as he knew and understood her anxiety, he was happy that his young friend's concern for Lilian had not gone unnoticed. As for his own efforts, she had told him again and again how deeply they were appreciated, thus ensuring that he felt amply rewarded with her affection.

    With the terrifying ordeal of the accident and Lilian's subsequent illness behind them, she could proceed with plans for her daughter's wedding in the Autumn, with even more confidence in the certainty of her future happiness.

Becky Tate was not particularly disappointed to find, upon her arrival at the Dower House, that her niece had been declared to be out of danger.

    In fact, while she had responded instantly to Mr Burnett's message, making immediate preparations to leave her home and travel down to Kent with all possible speed to be at her sister's side, there had been another, quite different reason why she wished to be there.

    A letter had arrived from her husband, some days previously, causing her to take stock of her present circumstances, and she was exceedingly grateful to have the opportunity to confide in her elder sister and seek her counsel. It was therefore not at all incompatible with her intentions that with the immediate danger past and Lilian's recovery in progress, Rebecca should find that it suited her very well to be in her sister's house at this time.

    Catherine was very pleased to have her. Since her last visit, when certain matters concerning Lilian and Mr Adams had been discussed in depth and an understanding reached between the sisters, Catherine felt a great deal more comfortable with Becky. Besides, there was much to be done and with Lilian compelled to rest a great deal, she welcomed another pair of hands and the agreeable presence of another woman with whom she could speak in confidence.

    There was, however, one matter which she had as yet told neither Lilian nor Becky, and it would soon have to be done.

    Despite her determination to tell Lilian of Frank Burnett's proposal and her response to it, the events of that afternoon and Lilian's subsequent illness had thwarted her plans. There had been neither the time nor the inclination to speak of it. And now that Lilian's condition was much improved and Becky was here, there had been other, more pressing matters that demanded her attention.

    Most importantly, Catherine felt the urgent need to call on Mr and Mrs Barnaby and thank them for their attention to her daughter and Sally, as well as their assistance to Messrs Adams and Burnett on the night of the accident. Furthermore, some days later, Mr Barnaby had sent his man Thomas with a basket of fruit and farm produce and a note enquiring after the health of the young ladies. It was a generous and kindly gesture, which Catherine felt had to be acknowledged; she decided to visit them and take the good news of Lilian's recovery herself.

    "It will not be sufficient to write a note, it will seem a cold and formal thing to do, when they by their actions have probably saved Lilian's life," she declared and asked Frank Burnett if he would organise the visit. "I think we should take Becky with us," she added, "it will do her good to meet the Barnabys, whose generosity and kindness must far outweigh their lack of rank and title, even in her estimation."

    Frank Burnett could not agree more. He was happy to oblige and sent a note to Mr and Mrs Barnaby, advising of a short visit the following week, if that was convenient. Their speedy answer, inviting the party to afternoon tea, settled the matter.

    They borrowed the smaller carriage from Rosings for the occasion and set off on a fine afternoon, reaching the Barnabys' farm a little before teatime on a perfect Summer's day. They had brought with them the blankets, rugs, and scarves provided to the stranded travellers by the Barnabys and a basket of the finest roses for the lady of the house, of whose kindness both Lilian and Sally could not say enough.

    This time Mr Burnett, being the only member of the party who had met the family, went to the door and rang the bell.

    Both Mr and Mrs Barnaby awaited them in the parlour and greeted their visitors with such friendliness and warmth as to surprise and delight them all. When Catherine and her sister had been introduced, they were invited to be seated and partake of a truly splendid afternoon tea. Plates and dishes laden with a variety of cakes and dainty pastries, together with a pyramid of fruit— grapes, peaches, and plums—were there for their enjoyment. Catherine, always a somewhat abstemious eater, had long given up, in her home at least, the tradition of serving such lavish afternoon teas.