The House of Discontent (14 page)

“Good-bye,” Camilla said to clinch the matter.

Patricia got up. “Good-bye,” she replied rather frigidly to Camilla. To Anthony she said: “I shan’t see you again, I’m afraid.”

“No,” he answered, “I’m going off at crack of dawn tomorrow.”

There was nothing more to be said. Anthony had stood up to say good-bye. She turned and left him and Johnny followed her. Once outside in the car again, he began: “I am awfully sorry to drag you away like that, but I’m afraid Camilla did mind our coming along. She ticked me off like anything while you were dancing.”

“Never mind,” Patricia said. “I rather gathered that that was what had happened.”

“Do you want to go anywhere else?” he asked.

“No, I think we’d better go home, don’t you?”

“I do apologize for Camilla,” he said. “I’ve never known her like this before. She must have got it worse than I thought.”

Patricia did not answer. She hardly heard. In her imagination she was dancing again with Anthony.

Johnny dropped her at The Knowle but he did not come in. He left her, promising to ring her up soon.

She was able to tell Edward when she got in that they had left the Camel the moment they had had tea so as not to spoil Camilla’s
tete-a-tete.
He had somewhat recovered his spirits.

“I realize I have been an awful fool,” he told her. “Not about not coming on to tea with you—I’m sure I was right there—but about the whole thing. I refuse to let Camilla, or any other girl, make me unhappy. Love makes one so dull—have you noticed that? It puts everything else out of one’s mind and quite stops one’s power of enjoyment. Well, I’m not going to let it do that to me. I’m going to cut it right out from now onwards.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Then you’re to be envied,” Patricia said.

That night before going to bed she borrowed a copy of
As You Like It
and took it up to her room with her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE next morning she took herself in hand and spoke sharply to herself. Facts had to be faced: Anthony had gone, and it was no earthly good pining for him in his absence.

If they had had the chance of coming to some sort of understanding before his departure—or if they could have become friendly enough to be able to write to each other—it would have been easier, but that had not happened, so she would have to make the best of it. By the time he saw her again he would probably have forgotten her very existence. He was going back to his work—to his farming and estate management—leaving her behind to her idleness, her loneliness and homesickness, and to the unhappy undercurrent of Dorothy’s hostility.

Well, there was nothing for it but to get a job of work to do without delay—real, useful work, in which she could become so absorbed that there would be no time left for idle dreaming or for building impossible castles in the air—no time whatsoever in which to think about herself.

Having come to this sensible conclusion, she suddenly found herself wondering whether Anthony had actually gone yet. Perhaps he was not going till the afternoon; perhaps, if she went early to the hospital to see Mary, she would run into him or catch a glimpse of him.

She brought herself up sharply. There she was, indulging again in hopeless possibilities the very moment after she had expressly forbidden herself to do so.

Nevertheless, she hurried up and was grateful when Edward suggested taking her to the hospital on his motorbicycle. On the way there she recalled that conversation she had had with Johnny about becoming a nurse at Brierleigh Hospital. She knew instinctively that nursing was the work she would like best, especially nursing in a children’s hospital. But quite apart from the work, the idea of living at Brierleigh, of being under Anthony’s roof, of looking out daily over his park, of being in view— almost—of the cottage where he now lived, made the prospect of this particular job extremely tempting. If only it could be arranged! If only there was a vacancy for a probationer!

The best thing to do, surely, would be to try to have a talk with the Matron and find out whether it could possibly be arranged. Or would it be better first to consult Lady Brierleigh?

As they went past the lake, Patricia kept her eyes skinned for a glimpse of Anthony, but there was no sign of him. Had he gone yet, or was he still at home? She wished she knew. It did not really make any difference, as she was not going to see him again, anyway, but all the same she did so wish she knew for certain.

Oh, if only she knew him well enough to be able to write to him! If only she could live in the hope of receiving a letter from him! How difficult it was to keep to her resolution of not thinking about him! Oh, dear, was this feeling going to remain with her all her life? Was she always going to have to fight against this almost irresistible temptation to day-dream about him?

When they got to the hospital they went straight up to see Mary, and found Lady Brierleigh sitting with her.

“It is all arranged for her to go home tomorrow,” Lady Brierleigh said. “I am sending the car for her at eleven, so that she will have time to get comfortably into bed before lunch. She is wanting to know when she will be able to get up, but I am telling her that she ought to stay in bed for another week or ten days at least.”

“It won’t be much hardship in this weather,” Patricia said. “We will make you beautifully comfortable, so that you won’t want to get up at all.”

“Will you read aloud to me?” Mary asked. “It still hurts my head to read, and I hate being in bed if I can’t read.”

“Of course,” Patricia replied. “We’ll start an exciting book.”

“When do you have to go back?” Lady Brierleigh asked Edward. “Anthony left at crack of dawn this morning.” Patricia felt almost a sense of relief at knowing for certain that he had gone. As there was no hope of seeing him any more, there could be no disappointment either.

“I’ve got nearly another week,” Edward replied.

“How nice for your mother,” Lady Brierleigh said. Soon Lady Brierleigh got up to go, and Patricia said quickly: “Can I have a word with you, please?”

“Yes, of course, my dear,” Lady Brierleigh replied in some surprise.

Telling Edward and Mary that she would be back in a moment, Patricia followed Lady Brierleigh out into the corridor and there told her as briefly as possible of her wish to work in the hospital. Lady Brierleigh was most interested and sympathetic, and suggested that they should go and have a talk to the Matron about it there and then.

“Between you and me,” she said, “I don’t think Camilla is going to stay here, and you might then be able to slip into her place. She has no official position, you realize, and it’s voluntary work—a mixture of ward maid, librarian and nanny! But I, personally, think it is very necessary. It makes all the difference, I feel, to a child’s quick recovery to have someone there to attend to its mental as well as its physical wants. The mind is so bound up with the body, and professionals are rather apt to treat patients as
cases
rather than individuals ... By the way, do you like children?”

“Yes, I love them,” Patricia replied warmly.

“Again this is between you and me, but Camilla is not quite the person I should have chosen for the job. She doesn’t really care for children ... Come along, let us go and find Matron.”

“But I should like to live in if that would be possible,” Patricia said. “You see there really isn’t room for me at The Knowle.”

If Lady Brierleigh guessed her true reason for wanting to leave The Knowle she did not say so. After she had spoken to the Matron on Patricia’s behalf, and the Matron had asked Patricia herself a few searching questions, Camilla was sent for and the whole matter was speedily arranged. It so happened that that very morning Camilla had informed the Matron of her desire to stop working at the hospital as soon as she could be replaced. Patricia wondered whether Anthony had said anything the day before to bring her to this sudden decision.

What had been quite a vague idea only that morning was a settled thing by midday. On the Monday morning Patricia would be leaving The Knowle to take up her residence at Brierleigh. Matron had no objection to her living in the hospitals. In fact she preferred it. She liked to have all her staff under her eye.

It only remained now to break the news to Aunt Dorothy, and although Aunt Dorothy had done her best to show that she disliked Patricia, and should therefore, be pleased at the idea of getting rid of her, Patricia did not somehow think that this would be the case. She was almost certain to be indignant because she had not been consulted. She liked to feel that she was managing people’s lives.

Patricia wisely told Edward of the new plan on the way home and enlisted his support. He was really more interested in the fact that Camilla was leaving the hospital than that Patricia was to take up work there.

“I wonder what she’ll do now,” he said gloomily. “Perhaps she’ll go and get a job in London and then she won’t even be here when I come back on leave. Oh, well, the sooner I forget her the better.”

That applied to Patricia’s own case too. The sooner she forgot Anthony the better. But if her real intention was to forget him was she doing a wise thing in going to live in his house? Wouldn’t there be things at Brierleigh to remind her of him every moment of the day?

Patricia’s instinct about Dorothy proved to be correct. She broke the news to her at lunch—perhaps a little abruptly, but then she was nervous. It was fortunate for her that she had Edward on her side, because Dorothy immediately flared up. She was furious because it had all been arranged with the help of Lady Brierleigh and she had not so much as been consulted. As usual, she resorted to heavy sarcasm in her indignation.

“That’s right,” she said. “Treat this house as a hotel. Suit your own convenience entirely. Don’t for a moment consult my wishes or those of your uncle. That would be too much to ask ... But I was brought up, no doubt quite wrongly, to believe in the value of a little thing called gratitude.”

And so she went on, and for once not even Edward was able to stop her. Peter was at the office, so Patricia could look for no support from him, and it was the threat of hurting
his
feelings by her ingratitude that Dorothy made the most of.

Patricia felt tired and miserable. She tried several times to say how sorry she was, and how truly grateful for the home which had been given to her and for all they had done for her, but it was no good, and in the end she relapsed into silence.

As soon as possible after lunch she went up to her room and began to pack. Oh, if only she could go at once; if only she didn’t have to wait till Monday! But it was necessary to see Uncle Peter and explain to him what she had done and why, and convince him, at least, that she was not ungrateful for all his kindness.

Uncle Peter was as kind and understanding when he heard of the new arrangement as Aunt Dorothy had been indignant. He assured her that she had done the right thing and that he understood absolutely her desire to get a job. He was glad she was going to work in the hospital as he was sure she would be happy there, and he was glad that she was not going far away. He gave her his blessing and hoped that she would often come and see them.

“I’m afraid you haven’t been very happy here,” he said to her in private, “but I want you to know that it has meant a great deal to me having you, and I want you to remember that your aunt isn’t herself. She hasn’t been at all well. If there is ever anything I can do for you—any help I can give you in any way whatsoever—you are not to hesitate to come to me. If you don’t want to come here you can always find me at my office.”

“Oh, but I will come here,” Patricia cried, “as often as ever I can! You see, there is Mary as well as you, and we have become such friends.”

“Yes,” he said, “that friendship has made me very happy. It has meant so much to poor little Mary.”

“Oh, darling Uncle Peter,” she cried impulsively, “you have been so, so wonderful to me. I shall never be able to thank you properly.” And she ran out of the room before he could have time-to reply.

CHAPTER TWELVE

PATRICIA found her new work as absorbing as she had hoped. There was no time during the day to think about herself, and at night she was so blessedly tired that she fell asleep the moment she got into bed.

She shared a room with two young nurses—nice girls with whom she soon became friendly. From the window of their room, which was on the third floor, there was a magnificent view over the beech avenue to the lake. She always looked out of the window while she was dressing in the morning. She could not quite see Brierleigh Cottage, but she looked always towards it

She did not go to The Knowle on her free afternoons, because she had no bicycle and it was too far to walk, but when it was fine Mary, now quite recovered, bicycled over to see her, and they would walk in the park or on the moors. Edward had now gone back to Germany, and Patricia gathered from Mary that the atmosphere of The Knowle was terribly strained again.

Patricia was never tired of exploring the park and the great woods which lay behind the house. There was a path through the woods which led directly on to the moors. It was a stiff climb, following the course of the stream which had its source just at the top where the path lost itself in the dozens of sheep tracks crossing the moors. It was wild and beautiful up there, but infinitely lonely if you were by yourself. Patricia had occasionally been up there alone, and the stillness had been so great that she had been badly frightened by a bird suddenly rising with a screech from the heath.

Although Mary was quite herself again by now, she had a new worry which she confided to Patricia. She was fast falling in love with Johnny, and could not help thinking that he had more than a friendly interest in her. He was stationed quite close to Church Carding, and came over to see her as often as he could. If only it had not been for Jim, her soldier correspondent, she would have been wonderfully happy.