Sister of the Housemaster (19 page)

Then he saw her, but she was floating, making no move herself. He struck out and reached her side, and saw that she was unconscious. Quick fear seized him, as he began to swim, with her, towards the side of the lake. The short distance seemed never-ending, but it was only a minute or two before he staggered out, carrying Ingrid to the safety of the sun-warmed grass. He laid her on a patch of smooth turf, his heart thudding in his anxiety, wondering if in
c
hallen
gi
ng
her to race in canoes, he had caused her harm. But almost at once relief flooded in, because he saw that she was breathing quite easily. She had, in fact, been a very short time in the water. He would have expected her to come up to the top, after her spill, to swim easily to the side and to be little worse for the adventure; and he could only suppose that, when she was thrown out, her head had struck the iron pipe that he had noticed. His hands in her hair discovered a large bump, rapidly swelling. He prayed that it might be nothing worse than a mild concussion.

Meanwhile, she was soaking wet, and must be got back to the others, and hurried home to dry clothes and a pla
c
e to rest. He glanced about him. The canoes, one the right way up and one capsized, were floating in the middle of the lake. He hallooed as loudly as he could, in the hope of making the others hear, not wanting to leave her as she was.

In spite of the warmth
of the sun, he felt the light breeze blowing chill through his wet clothes, and knew that it would rapidly chill Ingrid. He had no concern for himself. He had been too frequently wet through. But he was anxious for her. He leaned down to feel her arms and cheeks, and as he did so, she stirred a little on the grass. He waited, watching her, and she stirred again, and a little more. After a few restless moments, she opened her eyes, but their gaze was unfocused, blank; and then she closed them against the glare of the sun.

“
Ingrid,
”
he said, his hands warm on her cold arms.

“
Mmmmm,
”
she murmured sleepily.

“
Ingrid.
”

She made another effort to open her eyes. He placed himself so that he shielded her eyes from the sun. She looked at him, not quite so blankly this time, and managed a smile vaguely in his direction.

“
Patrick,
”
she said.

“
Yes, Ingrid. Will you be all right here while I go for help?
”

“
I am cold,
”
She said vaguely, and he realized she had not heard what he said. He gathered her into his arms to keep her warm, and then saw, to his relief, that Laurence had appeared over a rise in the ground, still some distance away. Patrick beckoned to him to come, but Laurence, who saw only that they seemed to be clasped in each other
’
s arms, turned away. Patrick shouted to him for help, and saw that Laurence started to r
u
n. At the same time, Ingrid started to talk, turning her head into Patricks
’
shoulder and nestling herself deeper into his arms. At the f
i
rst words, Patrick stiffened in astonishment, and looked down at her sharply, but it was obvious that she was still not fully conscious.

“
Hush, Ingrid, hush. Don
’
t talk,
”
he said, but she went on speaking softly, vaguely, and then relapsed into silence. As Laurence approached,

Patrick hoped she would stay silent, and was relieved rather than anxious when her eyes closed, and she was limp in his arms.

“
What happened?
”
asked Laurence breathlessly.

“
Ingrid
’
s canoe struck a pipe under water. She was thrown out, and I think she must have struck her head. We can carry her between us.
”

Laurence
’
s concern did not escape Patrick. Between them, they supported her in a chair-carry that made light work of their burden, and got her back to the picnic spot. Arnold and Sylvia were still on the water, but Pamela, seeing that something was wrong, hurried to meet Laurence and Patrick, exclaimed in dismay to see Patrick wet through, and realized that this was the end of the day
’
s outing. Arnold began to draw in to the edge of the lake, but Patrick did not wait for him.

“
I will get Ingrid back home at once,
”
he said,
“
and you, Pamela, can bring Arnold and Sylvia safely back. What about you, Laurence? You
’
d like to come with us?
”

“
I should,
”
said Laurence briefly.

“
I
’
m sorry about the canoes, Pamela
—
I
’
m afraid they are drifting at the other end of the lake.
”

“
I will see to them,
”
she said, bitterly disappointed at this ending to the picnic.

“
Explain to Arnold for us, please.
”
He smiled at Pamela swiftly, and rested his hand lightly on her shoulder.
“
There
’
s a good girl,
”
he added.

She thawed at once, smiling hack at him.

“
We will be there soon after you,
”
she said, and turned back to wait for Arnold and Sylvia,

Next morning, Ingrid awoke with a severe headache, and lifted her head reluctantly from the pillow to see if it was time to get up. As she
moved, such violent pain shot through her that
s
he put her hand up to her head, and discovered the large bump that the iron pipe had given her. She remembered then something of what had happened, and lay back on her pillow, wishing she could stay where she was, and
need not get up and tackle the duties of the day.

The door opened slowly and cautiously, and Nora Everton
’
s head appeared round it. She smiled when she saw that Ingrid was
awake and came
into the room,

“
Good morning,
”
she said quietly
. “H
ow are you
?
”

“
I have a headache,
”
said Ingrid.
“
A bad one.
”

“
I
’
m not surprised. I
’
ll bring you some tea and some tablets, and you can stay where you are for today.
”

“
I can
’
t, Nora.
”

“
You can. I
’
m going to look after things. I
’
ll get your tea, and Patrick wants to come and see you before he goes.
”

“
Oh, don
’
t let him,
”
said Ingrid.

But it was Patrick who brought the tea for her. He came in softly, crossed to her side and put the small tray on her bedside table. He stood looking down at her and smiling. His smile was always charming but it seemed intimately so this morning. His eyes were bright, and his whole attitude was cheerful, almost jaunty.

“
Good morning,
”
he said.
“
I hear you have
a
bad headache.
”

“
You don
’
t have to look so pleased about it.
”

“
I
’
m extremely sorry about it.
”

“
Well, you look very pleased and cock-a-hoop about something.
”

“
And well I might. Did I not save you from a watery grave yesterday?
”

“
Did you?
”
asked Ingrid, in surprise.

“
Well, I fished you out of the lake unconscious.
”

“
I
’
m very grateful to you. Just what did happen
?
All I know is that I started to race you in a canoe.
”

“
There was a large iron pipe running just under the surface of the water. It was used when
the men were quarrying there. You didn
’
t see it, your canoes hit it, and out you went, bumping your head, presumably, on the pipe. So in I went after you and brought you out.
”

“
Good gracious,
”
said Ingrid.
“
And that finished off the picnic, I suppose?
”

“
I
’
m afraid it did. You were unconscious, I was dripping wet, Laurence was eaten up with anxiety, so everybody came home. May I congratulate you on getting out of it with no more than a bump on the head?
”

“
I hope you aren
’
t any the worse for it?
”

“
Me? For a short swim in the lake? I assure you I am much better for it, much better.
”

“
There is something suspicious about your good humor.
”

“
Did I not have an opportunity of rescuing beauty in distress? No, seriously, Ingrid, I am sorry you have a headache, but very much relieved there is nothing worse. After all, I challenged you in the first place to go in the canoe
—
my good humor is simply relief that I have nothing on my conscience.
”

“
Tell me what happened when you got me out.
”

“
I simply yelled for help, and Laurence heard me, and came round and helped me to carry you back. Then we both brought you here and Pamela followed with Sylvia and Arnold.
”

She breathed relief, and allowed herself at last to smile back at him. He leaned down and put his hand over hers for a moment.

“
I have to go now,
”
he said.
“
I should have gone last night, but waited to see how you were. Look after yourself, Ingrid. Don
’
t rush about for Sylvia
—
she is better able to look after herself than you imagine.
”

Then he was gone, and a few minutes later she heard his car start up and drive away. She drank her tea, and began to go over the events of the day before, as she remembered them and as Patrick had described them to her, trying to picture the scene, and finding nothing in it that could embarrass her or cause her mental discomfort. Laurence, Patrick had said, was eaten up with anxiety. Dear Laurence! Everybody seemed to take it for granted that she and Laurence were inseparable and thought more of each other than of anybody else. And even Patrick had fe
l
t some anxiety, if only as the instigator of the canoe race.

Patrick. What a strange mixture of a man he was, she thought. Temperamental. Lock how pleased he was with life this morning, eyes shining, smile irrepressible, good humor bubbling up inside him. And at other times so cold, so steely, so untouchable. A difficult man to live with, if he varied so much and so often
...
Not a bit like Laurence. Steady, lovable and dependable
—
one always knew where one was with Laurence. But was it really very interesting to live with somebody who was always the same? Steadiness, and reliability were admirable qualities, but could they not be allied to an occasional mercurial quality, to a variety of moods that would add zest to life? Ingrid was afraid they could not.

Many people came that day to enquire after her, for she had become a popular figure in
t
he school: Laurence, some of the boys, people connected with the staff or Cathedral, and Pamela.

Pamela wanted chiefly to speak to Sylvia, and they found an opportunity for discussion in the living-room.

“
I always thought,
”
said Pamela, when she had arrived at her reason for coming,
“
that there was some understanding between Laurence and Ingrid. Is that so
?
”

“
I don
’
t know. There is no engagement, but he is obviously devoted.
”

“
I had a strange feeling yesterday, when the men were carrying Ingrid back to the car, that Patrick was somehow involved.
”