Nurse in Waiting (16 page)

Joanna returned to her own work, wondering vaguely as she did so at the fact that Mrs. Carnehill had made no reference in her hearing to the sale of the mare. Most things were discussed across the kitchen or the dining-tables of Carrieghmere sooner or later. Yet though she must know how Shuan felt about it she had said nothing. True, she had been over to England for a few days when the mare was taken away.
B
ut it was not possible that she did not know of the sale.

But then came a day when she and Shuan discussed the training of the girl’s ‘second string’, Lady of Belmont. And Joanna realized that Mrs. Carnehill must have been agreeable to the sale of the other mare.

Every morning very early Shuan, accompanied faithfully by
René
, had Lady of Belmont out for exercise upon the springy turf of the bog land. Shuan declared she was pleased with the way the mare was shaping, and one day, shyly and diffidently, she came to Joanna to ask if she would temporarily take back the coveted duty of taking Roger’s morning tea to him.

“I can get out with
René
earlier, so,” she explained.

Joanna, smiling agreement, said: “With
René
?”

Shuan flushed. “Well, with Lady of Belmont of course! But
René
always comes, and he has to be back at work at half-eight. It isn’t that I don’t want to take Roger’s tea. Or that I want longer in bed, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

“It isn’t,” replied Joanna quietly. “Besides—you’re not as worried about Mr. Carnehill as you were, are you? You are quite happy about him now?”

A look of alarm flashed into the girl’s eyes. She gulped as she said quickly: “Yes. Yes, of course. Why—aren’t you? He is getting better, isn’t he? There’s nothing going wrong now?”

“Nothing at all, I hope,” Joanna assured her
.
But the memory of that look of fear in Shuan’s eyes remained with her for a long time.

Meanwhile she was surprised and rather ashamed of the ease with which the memory of Dale Woodward had slipped from her consciousness. True, since that last meeting with him she had been almost too
busy to think of personal things. And he had not attempted to write to her again, nor she to him.

All
memory of him was fading. Not only the memory of the ugly things about him—his jealousy, his unreasonable possessiveness over something
—
herself—which he had never found it necessary to claim as his own, but all the other, pleasanter things about their friendship, their easy acceptance of each other and the casual, desultory conversation which had been frequently all they had found necessary.

Now Joanna found herself wondering what they
had
talked about. And knew that, until the end, when they had both been restive and hurt, they had scarcely ever spoken of personal things at all. It had been as if they had been two ships, travelling the same way, which had converged by night upon a common ocean lane. They had exchanged signals and gone along, mere outlines to each other, until the dawn. Then their pace had altered; they had lost sight of each other over their particular horizons. Ultimately, without regret, they would reach different ports...

That Dale must feel the same was proved by a letter she received, a couple of months after his visit to Eire, from a friend of hers at the Marrone Nursing Home.

After a page or two of satisfying gossip and ‘shop’. Sister Allitsen wrote:

“By the way, what did you do to Dale Woodward on his visit to Eire? Before that, he would sometimes waylay one or other of us to ask what news we had of you. But since then—silence of the most profound!

“And now Carrick—her brother works in the same laboratory as Dale, you know—says he is engaged to a new girl assistant they have in the lab. Did you know about this? Even if you didn’t I don’t feel terribly ‘puss puss’ about telling you, because you know, Joanna dear, that I always doubted that you and Dale were suited to each other. Actually, I can’t help but be a little glad
...
Don’t be angry with me. I only know that I felt in my bones that there wasn’t the ‘real’ thing between you. And I knew—for you’d told me
—
that he had never given you the chance to
be
real. He had never asked you to be his wife.

“Now, it seems, he has asked this other girl. Don’t be too hurt about it, Joanna. And one day, tell me as much about it as you feel you’d like me to know.”

Joanna folded the letter, feeling grateful for Joan Allitsen’s disinterested friendship. She remembered Dale’s own reference to his new assistant—
“
easy on the eyes but dumb
”
—that was how he had described her to Joanna. Perhaps, even then, he had been guilty of the thing of which he had accused
her
—of being over-casual on purpose in her references to Justin McKiley. But she dismissed the thought as unworthy. Dale, in his fashion, had at least been sincere. Now, in this other girl, he had found consolation and his own “reality”.
His
answer to the eternal question between men and women was not, and now would never be—
“
Joanna”.

One thing puzzled her slightly. Since she had left him to go to meet Dale in Dublin on the day when his paralysis had broken, Roger Carnehill had made no mention of, no further teasing reference to, her “hydrogen-bomb specialist”. On that same night he had been far too ill to talk. But he had known Dale had come out to Carrieghmere. For Mrs. Carnehill had mentioned that he had asked for her while she was off duty and she had told him about Dale.

Once or twice his name had almost arisen. But the subject had always been changed in time. Joanna did not particularly want to discuss him and Roger seemed to have lost interest. They tacitly left the matter there.

And so the day came when Roger was to leave his room for the first time.

The day was fine, and after luncheon the wide french windows of his room were opened on to the stone terrace beyond them.

Everyone was there. Dr. Beltane, beaming and rubbing his hands, Mrs. Carnehill, her blue eyes unnaturally bright and her high color paler than usual, Shuan, hovering nervously, and in the background Roseen and Cook, clutching each other by the arms and spasmodically giggling.

Joanna bent to tuck a corner of the rug about Roger’s legs as he sat in the wheel-chair which she was about to push out on to the terrace.

“You know. I’ve got the most depressing sense of anti-climax!” he said in a low voice.

“You mean—you’ve waited so long for this, now it doesn’t seem to mean very much after all?” she smiled up at him.

“Yes—that, perhaps. And perhaps”—he glanced about the room which had been his prison for more than two years—
“
I realize that I’m leaving a kingdom where I’ve ruled, for a strange country where maybe I no longer signify!”

Joanna shook her head. “I think,” she said quietly, “that you’ll find you ‘signify’ again very soon!” Then she wheeled the chair out on to the terrace where the others were waiting.

Beyond the corner of the house lay a view of the surrounding park which Roger had not been able to command from his bed. He heaved himself up in the chair in order to see it better. And with his eyes fixed upon the sharply outlined shadows of the grass he breathed quietly: “Bless it. It goes on—and on.”

No one spoke, respecting the moment in which he and his heritage were together. Then suddenly, as if she could control herself no longer, Shuan stumbled forward to fall upon her knees at the side of his chair and to burst into a storm of sobs.

Startled, he looked down at her bent head. Mrs. Carnehill cried: “Shuan—don’t distress Roger!” But it was Joanna who stooped to put an arm about the sobbing girl in order to draw her to her feet.

Evidently Shuan did not know what she was doing, for she turned her bent head to hide it upon Joanna’s shoulder and went on crying softly.

Joanna kept her arm about her while she urged softly: “Shuan, we know how much it has mattered to you. But it’s all right now. You simply can’t give way like this when all along you’ve been so brave!”

Shuan did not answer, being occupied, like a child, in controlling her tears. When she lifted her head at last she stood irresolutely by Joanna’s side, smiling tremulously down at Roger, who summoned an enormous wink and a grimace.

Then Dr. Beltane strode firmly across to her, took her round the waist.

“Now you, my gosson,” he ordered, “are going to take me round to the stables to find Michael. There’s a small matter of a gasket in my car
—”

She turned obediently. When they had gone Mrs. Carnehill said: “She is overwrought, poor child. She has minded so much—too much.”

And Roger, who had sometimes appeared impatient of or embarrassed by Shuan’s extravagances of expression, said with unexpected gentleness: “Bless her. She’d have stood it all for me if she’d been able—and more besides.”

During the brief hour or two of his permitted outing there was only one other discordant note. And that was when Justin McKiley came striding up from the Dower House.

The two men looked at each other. Then upon a light note Justin said:

“Congratulations, old man. ‘Monarch of all you survey’ again at last?”

“Thanks,” said Roger coldly. “I hope so!”

And the hostility between them was something which could almost be felt.

That night Shuan went to bed early, leaving Mrs. Carnehill and Joanna alone together after dinner.

Presently Mrs. Carnehill went on her nightly visit to Roger, and when she returned Joanna thought she looked oddly tired and distressed.

“Mrs. Carnehill, you’ve taken a lot of strain,” said Joanna gently. “May I pour you some more coffee?
—
it’s still hot. Or would you rather go to bed with a sedative which I could mix for you?”

Roger’s mother turned strangely haunted eyes upon her. “No,” she said. “I’m all right.” But the emptily twisting hands in her lap belied her words.

“You are worried about Mr. Carnehill?” Joanna sat down beside her. “There’s no need
—”

“Not about his condition. Not any more. But, oh, Joanna, you’ve not an idea at all of the way I’ve hoped for and prayed for and—dreaded this day
—
!”

“Dreaded?” The word had a secret echo in Joanna’s own heart. But she must not think of that now
...

“Yes. I’ve known it had to come. Already he is asking questions—and I can’t put off the answering of them any longer. He insists now on having an account of our stewardship—mine and Justin’s. And
—
and that’s something that I can scarcely bear to tell him!”

CHAPTER
TEN

There was
silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock and the intermittent creak of an old tree beyond the window.

Joanna said gently, laying her hand upon the older woman’s: “I think I’ve known for a long time that there was something you were unhappy about. Would it help to tell me more?”

Mrs. Carnehill withdrew one of her hands in order to twist restlessly at the string of pearls round her throat. “Yes—yes. I suppose it would. I’ve been so worried. Though it isn’t as if—as if anyone had done
anything
wrong,
d’you understand
—
?” she said
rather pitifully.

“You mean you’ve been worried about the way the estate’s affairs have gone since your son’s accident? Is that it?”

“Yes. It has been going downhill ever since then. There’s never enough money now for anything—look at the state of the park wall, and the stables are just
as bad
—
And yet market prices haven’t altered
much, so I just don’t know why! And all Justin says is that it’s ‘inevitable’ or that it’s ‘just a passing fluctuation’. He doesn’t try to make it very clear, and I’m afraid I’m rather stupid.”

“Well, perhaps it is inevitable,” suggested Joanna thoughtfully. “The place had a complete change of management when Mr. McKiley took over.”

Mrs. Carnehill clutched at the idea as at a straw. “Yes. That’s what I hoped it might be. But”—doubtfully—
“
that ought to have righted itself by now, wouldn’t you think? Justin has been in charge for two years. Even with his different methods
—”

“Yes, you’d think so,” agreed Joanna. “Besides, I suppose you have auditors? You—you don’t suspect anything wrong—really wrong, I mean?”

“No. What would there be? Justin’s accounts are all right. It’s simply that Carrieghmere doesn’t seem to pay its way any more.”

“But if this is so,” urged Joanna, “oughtn’t you to have let Mr. Carnehill know? The place is his, and I believe that for a long time he has been anxious to take back at least some of his responsibilities towards it. You’ve known it too, haven’t you?”

“Yes—only too well. But, you see, in the beginning Justin had to take over completely—they wouldn’t let me bring to Roger anything which might have worried him. Then, later, I did not want to consult him lest it should bring on a relapse. Later still, I haven’t wanted him to guess at all what has been happening. I’ve known how antagonistic he and Justin are to each other and I haven’t dared to let things come to a real clash between them, for we couldn’t afford to lose Justin while Roger was so ill. So I’ve encouraged Justin to give him only general reports, hoping from month to month that things would right themselves. But they didn’t. And because I couldn’t sell anything—pictures or furniture or silver—without Roger’s consent, I had to try to make money in the only way open to m
e—”