Dazed by the doctor’s words, Timothia could only gaze at him, the substance of them reiterating in her head. She could not go home. She must remain in Leo’s house. She must stay here, in this bed, in this chamber, in Leo’s house. It was a plot, that was clear. A dastardly plot of providence! At any other time, had there never been this dissension between them, she would have fallen off her horse in some other place. But, no. That did not suit the fates’ notion of merriment. Far more of a jest to enmesh her in the embarrassment of lying beholden to the one man with whom she had been utterly at outs!
‘Meanwhile,’ Dr Preseley was continuing, ‘I believe we can make you a degree more comfortable.’ He turned to the housekeeper. ‘Cold compresses, Mrs Salcombe, if you please. A very light wet towel will serve the purpose. Try if you can to procure some ice.’
Ice? Timothia struggled to comprehend him, the shock of his insistence on her remaining here still operating so strongly that nothing seemed to make sense. What in the world had she to do with ice? But as he went on speaking it slowly entered her mind that he was promising some real relief.
‘A little crushed ice inside the compress will speed the process. We want to reduce that swelling for you, Miss Dulverton, with the added advantage that it will numb the pain. There is nothing like ice, I find, but very cold water frequently changed is almost as good.’
‘Do you mean to say that I may be freed from pain?’ she asked, between disbelief and hope, for the aftereffects of his examination were still making themselves felt.
‘I could wish I might say as much,’ he answered, with a rueful look. ‘I fear it will be some time before you are free from the ill effects of this accident. But we will certainly lessen their severity.’
He then called for a bolster, and Mrs Salcombe went off to despatch several maids to locate one. While he waited for its arrival, the doctor kept up a steady flow of gentle chatter, reminiscing about Timothia’s father in a way that she suspected was designed to lull her into relaxation. The bolster having arrived, he removed the cushion upon which Timothia’s leg was resting and showed Mrs Salcombe how to place the long pillow about the foot and leg in such a way that it both supported the ankle and prevented too much movement.
He then withdrew, with the promise to return in the morning to see how Timothia went on after having compresses applied, leaving in the interim his daughter to keep her company. He would send his gig for her later.
‘For Mrs Salcombe must set about procuring a compress, and indeed I dare say she has other duties to attend to. Jenny may nurse you, Miss Dulverton, and at the same time serve in the guise of chaperon until your own may be sent for. I understand that Lord Pentre has been despatched to bring her here.’
It was the first Timothia had heard of it. Would Edith come? Of course she would. Indolent she might be, but she was not the woman to shirk her duty. Timothia knew she would never abandon her. Meantime, she found herself with little Jenny Preseley taking up her station in the chair that Mrs Salcombe had lately occupied.
It was not an arrangement that recommended itself, but there was little she could do about it. The fates were busy today, she decided grimly. Was it not enough for them to tie her here? Must they also play an even crueller joke? What else could it be, that would throw Jenny Preseley at her head to come between herself and Leo?
Come between? Fool! What was there to come between? Had she not ended all association with Leo after their last encounter? Only now that episode seemed to belong to some other time. Some other relationship even. She had not quarrelled with the man who had dashed to her rescue today. That were impossible! This had been the old Leo, her dear friend who would not dream of leaving her to her fate. And he had been so very gentle—under the harsh manner he had used only to brace her up. She bore him no ill-will for that. Had their positions been reversed, she would have doled out much the same medicine. It was never of the slightest use to over-sympathise with an invalid. Leo had known that she would respond to a strong hand. He had dealt so capably with the crisis, and with so much understanding of her needs, that she was altogether in charity with him. Except that she did not want to remain indefinitely in his house!
A soft footfall drew her attention. Jenny was crossing quietly to the far window. She had forgotten that the girl was here! She watched her draw the drapes a little and then turn to see whether she had successfully shut out a shaft of sunlight that Timothia had not noticed creeping up towards her pillow.
‘Thank you, Jenny,’ she said impulsively, touched by the thoughtful gesture. ‘I am sorry to have neglected you. I was lost in thought.’
‘Pray do not regard me, Miss Dulverton. I wish only to be useful to you.’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ uttered Timothia impatiently, wincing as she incautiously shifted her foot.
Seeing it, Jenny cried out, ‘Take care!’ moving quickly to the bed.
Disconcerted, Timothia blurted out, ‘Oh, come! You are not a nursemaid, for all your father’s words. And I wish you will not address me as Miss Dulverton.’
Jenny wrinkled her nose in an expression of doubt that was both silly and endearing. ‘But I cannot call you Timothia. It seems so disrespectful.’
‘You may call me Timma. All my friends do so.’ Timothia grimaced. ‘As for respect, I am not so very much your senior.’
‘Oh, but you are so much more knowledgeable and mature!’ exclaimed Jenny, moving from the end of the bed to the side. ‘I have always thought so. It seems to me inappropriate to be invited to be upon terms of friendship with someone like you.’
Terms of friendship? She supposed she had so invited her. The chit was right to call it inappropriate. If Leo was to develop a tendre for her, they were more likely to be sworn enemies! As it was, Timothia knew she was doing her best to dislike the wench. But she could hardly say so.
‘You are making me feel like a maiden aunt,’ she said instead. ‘Why in the world you should regard me in this bizarre light, I am at a loss to imagine.’
The girl broke into her shy smile, and perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I beg your pardon. I never meant it to sound like that.’
She had removed the chip hat, and the loose curls trailing on her shoulders made her appear absurdly young. Timothia found herself hoping very much that Leo might not see her like this. A sharpening of feeling at her ankle told her that her muscles were tensing up. A fitting punishment, she told herself, for her uncharitable thoughts. What did it matter to her? If she did not want Leo, then she had no right to resent his liking another female. But this eminently sensible point of view had no effect whatsoever. She continued to resent Jenny Preseley—very much indeed. It made it very difficult to converse with her.
‘The thing is,’ continued Jenny, leaning a little towards Timothia in a confiding way, ‘that you always seemed to me so important a personage. And I heard of you only such things as made me feel myself to be quite foolish and ignorant by comparison. Only fancy your running Dulverton Park! I could scarce believe it to be possible. Only Papa insisted that it was so, and I have heard the same from a number of others. I admire you so much!’
This was a new experience. It was far more usual for Timothia to find herself looked at askance by members of her own sex, as if by her activities she did them some disservice. Even Susan, though she never expressed disapproval, had done her utmost to interest her friend in more feminine pursuits.
‘That is refreshing, to say the least.’ She found herself smiling. ‘To me it seems so normal a thing that I have ever found it hard to understand why people insist upon finding that occupation so odd in me.’
‘Well, but that is only because you are a female,’ said Jenny naïvely. She then astonished Timothia by blushing profusely, and looking away, while her fingers fidgeted unknowingly with the coverlet upon the bed.
Timothia could not have affected to ignore it for anything in the world. So very extraordinary a reaction to the girl’s own statement of the obvious demanded investigation.
‘What in the world is the matter, Jenny?’
Jenny bit her lip, looked quickly back at her, and then down to her lap, whither she drew her hands where they writhed about each other nervously.
‘If—if I tell you—’ with another quick glance which gave away her anxiety ‘—you will not laugh at me, will you?’
Intrigued and, despite herself, touched by the plea in the chit’s voice, Timothia quickly reassured her.
‘You may be very sure that I shall not.’
‘Well, I—well, you see, I—’ She seemed to gather herself, stilling her hands with some deliberation. Then she drew a breath, and looked full into Timothia’s face. ‘There is a reason why I admired you. You see, I never really wanted to go to parties in London. I don’t want to be a débutante. I want to be a doctor!’
Timothia gazed at her dumbly. It was the last thing she might have expected—and from this little slip of a thing. Her resentment faded. What an ambition, poor girl! A worthy one, heaven knew. But, oh, how was she to achieve it?
Jenny’s eyes were brimful of something between hope and fear. She was evidently at a loss to know whether she had done well or badly in betraying herself. Timothia spoke without further thought.
‘Have you told your father?’
Relief swept over the youthful features. ‘Oh, no. Not that I think he would disapprove or laugh at me. But he would be bound to tell me that it could never be.’
‘Perhaps he would be pleased,’ Timothia suggested. ‘After all, he has often spoken of his disappointed wish for a son to carry on the family tradition.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No, because he must know that I could never replace that wish. I—I have made up my mind to it that there is little hope of my being allowed to do it.’ She sighed. ‘I had thought perhaps I might marry a doctor instead. At least that would permit me to assist, if I might not learn the science in my own right.’
Timothia was finding it increasingly difficult to dislike Jenny Preseley. She seemed to have approached the barriers confronting her with a degree of common sense that could not but appeal. She should be applauded.
‘You did not meet any doctors in London, then?’
At that, Jenny’s shy smile emerged again. ‘I did not expect to. But on the other hand I could not see how I was to meet any doctors in this district either. Then something Mrs Baguley said—I forget exactly what it was—made me think of another scheme.’
‘Which was?’ Timothia asked, more than ever intrigued.
‘It seemed to me,’ said Jenny seriously, ‘that a man of property might not object to it if his wife were to busy herself about the concerns of the people on his estate. It need not matter to him if she were to take to doctoring, in a small way. I have learned quite a lot from Papa already, you know, and I am forever reading his books. I do not think he would withhold his advice, were I to find a case that I could not manage.’
Timothia suffered a reversal of feeling. A man of property! Someone like Leo Wetheral, for instance. No, there was no doubt at all that her cousin would have no objection whatsoever to his wife interesting herself in his estate! Not, admittedly, quite in the way he had foreseen. But who was to say that Jenny Preseley, with a mind capable of learning to administer to the sick, could not equally learn how to administer an estate?
‘Do you think, Miss Dulverton, that it is very selfish of me to think of marriage for such a purpose?’
What a question! No, Timothia did not think it at all selfish—provided that the man chosen to pave her way was someone other than Leo. But who, other than Leo, had a taste for little red-headed waif-like females who, one could not deceive oneself, had a great deal to offer? Gentlemen found much to admire in innocence, bashfulness and modesty. She had a charming way with her, added to the natural attraction of youth. And she was undeniably pretty, with an abundance of brain to boot. What more could any man wish for?
‘Selfish? Nothing of the sort!’ she said untruthfully. ‘I wish you every success.’
Jenny beamed with pleasure, and Timothia was obliged to bite down on a number of unkind additions to her wish. The entrance of Mrs Salcombe, bearing the makings of the required cold compress, put an end to the conversation, to Timothia’s relief. It had so taken up her attention that she had been able largely to blot out the dull ache at her ankle. The prospect of fresh ministrations filled her with apprehension. Had she not borne enough?
Within a very few minutes, she was able to judge for herself the quality of Jenny’s doctoring. It did little for her peace of mind to discover that the girl had made no idle boast when she’d spoken of having learned from her father. She took the materials from the housekeeper, and with a profuse amount of thanks besought her to leave the whole to her and go on about her no doubt pressing duties. Since Jenny was detailed to remain until Mrs Hawnby should arrive, Mrs Salcombe waited only to see, for later reference, how the compress should be made up and applied before leaving Timothia in the capable hands of the doctor’s daughter.
And they were eminently capable. She had a deft touch, handling the limb with firmness, but with care that the least amount of discomfort should be felt. The relief was almost instantaneous, so that Timothia was much inclined to forgive her the incipient designs upon Leo’s hand and heart. A state of magnanimity that lasted until a knock upon the bedchamber door brought Leo himself into the room.
He did not seem surprised to see Jenny. But neither did he look—as far as Timothia could interpret his expression—particularly elated. She could not help a slight rise of triumph when he came directly to her bedside.
‘How is it now?’ Glancing across at the ankle, he added, ‘I see that Preseley has done something for you.’
‘Yes, but it is Jenny who has been applying the remedy,’ said Timothia before she could stop herself.
‘Oh, but only on Papa’s instruction,’ put in Jenny quickly, throwing an unmistakable plea at Timothia.
Evidently she was afraid that her late confession might be betrayed. She would not wish her quarry to know of her design beforehand. Naturally not. But if she imagined for one moment that Timothia would betray a confidence—even to Leo!—then she understood very little of her character. Not that she could ever have resisted that appeal, even had she any intention of divulging the girl’s secret.
But Leo appeared utterly uninterested in the matter, and Timothia was conscious of a feeling of pleasure at his continued interest in herself.
‘Is it helping you? Has the pain subsided at all?’
‘To tell you the truth, it is so effective that at this moment I hardly feel it,’ Timothia admitted.
Relief flooded his features, and he reached down his hand to her. Forgetting Jenny, Timothia put hers into it, and was gratified when he sat down on the bed and clasped it between both his own.
‘You cannot imagine how much that means to me! I feared that I had significantly worsened the condition.’
Timothia’s lilting smile dawned. ‘Oh, Leo, how can you be so stupid? If it were not for you, I might still at this moment be lying on a cot in a farmhouse—or a hurdle even—waiting for Edith to come and fetch me. It was the only thing I could think of at the time.’
He grinned. ‘Well, thank heaven Clent had more sense!’ Then he frowned. ‘But you are looking decidedly pale still, Timma. You must be worn out.’
‘I am a little tired.’
‘I think you should try to sleep.’ He released her hand and got up. ‘We will leave you.’
For a moment, Timothia did not take it in. But then she saw Leo cross to where Jenny had remained standing, at the end of the bed where she could more easily reach the ankle.
‘Come, Miss Preseley. I think we will do better to leave Miss Dulverton to rest.’
A jolt shuddered into Timothia’s breast. He was reaching out his hand to her! And she was smiling. That shy smile of innocence that hid a wealth of determination.
‘But Papa detailed me to look after Miss Dulverton until her chaperon should arrive, Mr Wetheral.’
‘Lord, that dragon will be hours yet! My friend Valentine has gone to fetch her, but I imagine she will take some time to gather together what may be needed. I told your father I would arrange for your return home in due course.’
‘But Papa was going to send the gig for me.’
‘Yes, but that would not have been until after he goes to visit at Brown’s some time after four.’
‘Oh, I had forgot. Yes, they have a case of fever there, and Papa must call every day. Oh, it is not contagious, Mr Wetheral. You have no cause to fear for Miss Dulverton.’
‘I am relieved.’
He cast a reassuring glance across at Timothia, who received it in silence. Her heart was beating so loud that she could not imagine why the two of them did not hear it.
‘Still,’ Leo went on, ‘I cannot have Miss Dulverton disturbed with idle chatter. She has had a severe shock, and suffered a good deal of pain. I must insist that she be left alone—at least for some little while.’
If Timothia could only speak, she would have told him in no uncertain terms what he might do with his insistence. She did not want Jenny, no. But even less did she wish her to be entertaining Leo rather than herself!
It was plain that Jenny did not feel equal to the task of withstanding Leo. Or perhaps she did not wish to? There came that smile again.
‘I am sorry to give you the trouble of getting me home, Mr Wetheral. It is most kind of you. And I must of course abide by your wishes.’
Oh, indeed? And just what were his wishes? Timothia was not left long in doubt. Leo was returning the smile, with one of quite revolting condescension, as he crossed to the door and opened it.
‘Perhaps you would care to walk in the grounds?’
‘Thank you,’ murmured the girl, although she cast a doubtful glance back to the bed before she moved. ‘Perhaps I might return later and change the compress, Miss Dulverton—if Mr Wetheral permits. But I will not wake you, if you should be asleep.’
‘You are very good,’ was all Timothia found herself able to utter. She forced the ghost of a smile, and watched the girl pass out of the room. To her dismay, Leo left the door open and came quickly back to the bed. Timothia schooled her countenance to an expression that she hoped might pass for satisfaction.
‘Sleep!’ he said softly. ‘Believe me, it is what you need. You look altogether distrait.’
A moment later, Timothia was staring at the closed door, the emotions burgeoning in her bosom a compound of indignation and a strong desire to go into hysterics. Distrait! And why in the world did he suppose she looked so? Her cousin’s capability was forgotten. Instead, Timothia railed against his arrogant, high-handed attitude.
What right had he to eject the girl from her chamber? Did he know better than the doctor? Oh, yes, he knew. So well that he had no need to enquire of her what she might be feeling. He was able to make his diagnosis at a glance! So convenient a diagnosis, too. Had he discovered Timothia sitting up in bed, and chatting in an animated way with Jenny, he might have found it a trifle difficult to lure her out of the room. A walk in the grounds! But how charming that he could devote himself to a chit of a girl when his cousin lay half at death’s door in one of his spare bedchambers.
Here, the absurdity of her thoughts caught at her reason. She could hardly be described as being at death’s door. She ought to be grateful for Leo’s care of her situation. It was true that she’d had a terrible morning, and she ought to be tired. Why in the world was she so agitated? What was it to her if Leo preferred Jenny’s company to her own?
To her increased distress, she found that tears were starting to her eyes. Oh, no. She had not even a handkerchief. She must not weep! But the perturbation of her soul would not give way to convenience. The tears continued to gather and fall, and she was obliged to blot them on the sheet, sniffing frantically.
The increased movement disturbed her foot, and the ache started up again. It was too much. Timothia gave way to sobs, pulling one of her pillows around her face and crying into it. Such was her condition that she barely took it in when a stealthy hand tucked a handkerchief into her fingers. Finding it there when the sobs abated, she made use of it, quite failing in the desolation of her spirits to wonder how it had come there.
She was past thinking, and it was not long before the accumulated pressures of the day took their toll, and she did indeed sink into slumber.
When Timothia emerged once more into wakefulness, she found her greatest friend sitting by her bed.
‘Susan!’
‘Dearest Timma, do not move, I beg of you!’ came the breathy response as Susan started up from her chair.
Timothia sank back, briefly clasping the hand that was preventing her from further motion. ‘But how came you here? I had not imagined that you could know of it.’
‘Valentine came to the Rectory,’ Susan told her, fussily straightening the bedclothes.
‘Oh, I see.’ She blinked a little on the remnants of sleep, and yawned, glancing towards the windows. ‘It is daylight still? I feel as if I have slept for hours.’
‘It must by now be close on three o’clock. Leo said he had left you to yourself some two hours since.’
Something of earlier events stirred in Timothia’s memory. The image of Jenny Preseley came into her mind. Jenny—and Leo. Walking in the grounds.
‘How are you feeling, dearest? Does the ankle pain you very much? Can I do anything to ease it?’
Timothia’s gaze came back to the anxious one above her. She was not aware of more than a dull ache at the injury, which, she was just able to see, was still covered by a compress. She could not feel it to be cold any longer, although she dared say it might have been changed while she slept. But a separate problem was beginning to present itself.
‘Not the ankle,’ she said, shifting her torso and arms to liven the deadened muscles. ‘That is troubling me very little. But I feel uncommonly stiff to one side.’ She passed one hand down the right flank and over her shoulder, feeling her protesting upper arm. ‘I must have fallen heavily.’
‘Yes, indeed, and you are bound to feel it, poor Timma,’ said Susan with ready sympathy. ‘Shall I massage it a little for you?’
‘Presently, perhaps.’ Timothia yawned again, sighing out a heavy breath and shifting her head from side to side to ease the muscles of her neck. ‘I was hot against Dr Preseley for confining me to bed, you know, but I confess I feel in no case to get up.’
‘I should think not,’ agreed her friend. ‘In any event, Leo would not hear of it. Now, are you hungry?’
The question spoke straight to the most basic of needs, and over the top of a vague irritation at the idea that Leo commanded her movements Timothia realised that she was ravenous. She’d had nothing to eat since early this morning—a mere snack before her ride. It was her custom to take breakfast afterwards, to avoid indigestion. On the other hand, the thought of consuming a meal gave her a slight nausea.
‘I suppose I ought to partake of something,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I am extremely hungry, but I have no strong appetite for eating, I must confess.’
‘I know what you mean,’ nodded Susan. ‘One never does, when one is ill. But I am sure you will be the better for some food.’ She added in a bracing tone, ‘Besides, I have strict instructions from Leo that you are to be fed upon waking, so I shall ring the bell. I dare say Mrs Salcombe has it all arranged.’
Timothia watched her rise to the bell-pull at the side of the bed, torn between gratification at her cousin’s concern for her welfare and burgeoning resentment that he should have taken over the ordering of her life. No doubt he had dictated the precise ingredients of her meal. Well, if she did not like what he had selected, she thought rebelliously, he might plead in vain. She would starve before she ate it!
But the likelihood of Leo’s pleading anything at all very quickly vanished, for Susan told her that he had elected to accompany Valentine to Fenny House to fetch Mrs Hawnby.
‘He has gone to my home?’ she repeated blankly, beset by a sudden, and hideous, sense of desertion. It found expression in a trivial complaint. ‘Pray, why could he not have waited to discover if there might be anything I particularly needed? If that is not a man all over!’
‘Now, Timma,’ uttered her friend in a chiding tone, reseating herself in the chair by the bed, ‘that is not fair. After everything he has done, dearest, it is ungrateful in you to speak so.’
Timothia knew it. She had the grace to amend her words at least—if she could not bring herself to withdraw them. ‘Well, I am grateful. It is good of him to take the trouble, I dare say.’
Only that Leo should leave her was a source of so much dissatisfaction that she could not help being shrewish. Yes, it was shrewish, Timothia Dulverton! What right had she to complain of neglect? Merely because he had left her to sleep while he disported himself with Jenny Preseley was no reason to object to his conduct in leaving her to the care of others, while he went off to fetch back her companion. So what, it suddenly occurred to her, had become of Jenny?
‘Has Jenny gone home, then?’ she asked.
Susan began fidgeting with the folds of her pink muslin walking-dress. ‘Well, yes, I believe—yes, she has gone.’
Timothia eyed her friend with a growing feeling of unease. ‘What is it, Susan? You may as well tell me at once, for you know you are useless at prevarication.’
‘Oh, I know it!’ exclaimed her friend in evident agitation. ‘Only I did not wish to trouble you with my silly concerns at such a time.’
‘Your concerns?’ Timothia relaxed again. ‘Susan, I am not incapacitated. At least, I am tied by the leg, but that is all.’
‘Are you in pain?’ asked Susan quickly, rising again. ‘Shall I change the compress again?’
Timothia waved her down. ‘Don’t try to avoid the subject. What is it that you are not telling me?’
The pansy eyes gazed at her helplessly. ‘Valentine has driven her home.’ She reached out to clutch Timothia’s hand. ‘Oh, Timma, I am trying so hard not to mind it.’
‘Well, don’t mind it, for it means nothing at all,’ said Timothia stoutly, and with a conviction that she was far from feeling. From what she now knew of Jenny Preseley’s plans, she could not but feel that Valentine was no more safe than Leo. But it was a conjecture that she did not care to share with her best friend. Why worry Susan unnecessarily? Besides, she could not betray Jenny’s confidence.
She became aware that the large brown eyes were swimming. ‘Don’t despair, dearest Susan!’ she uttered, holding tightly to her friend’s fingers. ‘Pray don’t cry!’
‘Oh, no, no, I did not mean to,’ said Susan huskily, hastily withdrawing her fingers and hunting in an inner recess of her gown for a handkerchief. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and adopted an air of determined cheerfulness.
‘Pay no heed. I am being very silly.’ She could not forbear a sigh, however, much to Timothia’s concern. ‘The thing is that I had such a dreadful argument with Valentine.’
Timothia stared. ‘This is quite unprecedented. What in the world made you quarrel?’
To her surprise, a steely look came into her friend’s eye. ‘It was on account of your mishap. Oh, it had nothing to do with it directly; you must not feel that you are in any way to blame.’
‘But what happened?’ demanded Timothia impatiently.
Susan looked mutinous, clearly reliving the memory. ‘You see, when Valentine came to see me, he had meant only to apprise me of your misfortune before driving on to Fenny House. But that would not do for me, I can tell you! I insisted that he bring me to you directly.’
‘I am very glad of it,’ said Timothia, for she infinitely preferred the company of Susan to that of the Preseley chit. ‘But do you mean to say that he did not wish to do so?’
‘No, for he was bent upon carrying out Leo’s wishes. You must know they had been intending to go to Huntingdon to watch some hateful prizefight, and they were to go in Valentine’s coach.’
‘Expecting to come home foxed, of course,’ put in Timothia sapiently. ‘Else they would have gone in an open carriage.’
‘I do not know,’ said the less worldly-wise Susan. ‘But, however it was, Leo thought with his coach so handy Valentine could fetch Mrs Hawnby. And he had agreed to it, and had come out of his way, taking the longer route, especially to inform me of your accident. He actually said that he had thought himself to be doing me a favour—and Leo a disservice thereby!—when he chose to interrupt his mission.’
‘But what was his hurry? After all, I am unlikely to move from this spot before Edith arrives,’ Timothia pointed out.
‘Just what I told him,’ agreed Susan. ‘But, would you believe it, he turned it back upon me! What was my hurry? You may imagine how I felt. Why, you are my very best friend in the world! I asked him how he would feel if someone should prevent him from going immediately to Leo upon a similar occasion. Of course he had no answer!’
‘Of course not,’ agreed Timothia, fascinated by her friend’s new warrior guise.
‘So then,’ went on Susan in triumph, ‘I pointed out that it was a much shorter distance from Old Hurst to Wiggin than it was to Fenton, and would take him very little additional time. He could drive through Wood Hurst instead, after all, and get to Fenton all the quicker. I thought then that he must oblige me, but no. He offered instead to take me up on his way back from Fenny House.’
Indignation sparkled in the big eyes, and Timothia was obliged to exercise a degree of self-control to prevent herself from laughing. It was so very humorous and odd to see Susan out of charity with Valentine, of all people.
‘What did you say then?’
The bravado collapsed. Susan looked mortified. ‘I am afraid that I lost my temper. I cannot remember the half of the things I said—and to Valentine! I only know that I could not restrain myself, for I felt him to be so very disobliging and unkind that there was no bearing it.’ She paused, biting her lip, and Timothia saw that she was again on the verge of tears.
‘Susan, don’t be distressed. You did very well. I wish you had hit him!’
‘Oh, don’t say so! It was quite bad enough as it was.’
‘But you got your way, did you not?’
Her friend nodded. ‘Oh, yes. He brought me here. But he was so f-furious with me that he s-said not one w-word to me the whole journey,’ she disclosed dismally. ‘And—and when Leo suggested that Jenny might go home since I had come Valentine immediately offered to take her up—just as if calling at the Preseley house before going on to Fenton would not inconvenience him, when he knows very well it is quite out of the way.’
‘You should have hit him,’ was Timothia’s verdict. The doctor’s residence was on the same road as Wood Hurst, but further south towards St Ives in the opposite direction. It would mean Valentine must double back. ‘I never thought Valentine could be so childishly vengeful!’
To her surprise, Susan brightened. ‘Do you indeed think that it might have been so? I did wonder if perhaps he was doing it to spite me. I own I could bear that more easily than that he should have been wishful for Jenny Preseley’s company.’
Timothia could not blame her. It might even betoken a stronger feeling for Susan than Valentine was himself aware of. Though this she would not confide to her friend for fear of giving her false hope. Then she recalled the other odd feature of this affair.
‘But I thought you said that Leo had gone with him?’
‘Oh, yes. He decided to do so then, I believe. For he said he should go because he thought he could better deliver the evil tidings to Mrs Hawnby.’ A rather watery giggle escaped her. ‘He said she was such a dragon that Valentine might take fright, and make a muff of it.’
Timothia did not share her amusement. All interest in her friend’s affairs had temporarily subsided. Why had she not thought of it at once? Leo had chosen to accompany Valentine only at the instant when his friend had offered to carry Jenny back to her home. Was he so taken with her that he must needs ensure that Valentine did not steal a march on him? And such a poor excuse!
But, try as she would to whip up a feeling of resentment, Timothia could do nothing to placate a dreadful hollow growing in her stomach. She was relieved when Mrs Salcombe entered the room, bearing a tray with covered dishes, for it enabled her to persuade herself that the hollow was only her hunger, growing too insistent to be ignored.
It took some minutes—and a deal of argumentative organisation—for her two would-be assistants to prepare her suitably to take her meal. Preoccupied, Timothia bore little part in the discussion until at length it penetrated her absorption, and she intervened.
‘You will not move me without a resurgence of pain, so for pity’s sake let us get it over with!’
She then sat up abruptly—provoking an outbreak of expostulation—and, gritting her teeth, lifted her leg as best she could from the confines of the bolster, and dragged herself backwards, wincing at the sudden onset of pain. Her whole frame protested, and she was glad to pause while the pillows were banked behind her. With a sigh, she relaxed into a sitting posture, and smiled at her attendants.
‘There, that was not so difficult.’
‘All very well, Miss Timma,’ said the housekeeper severely, ‘but you have disarranged your bolster.’
‘And you hurt yourself, dearest.’
‘Well, if you will renew the cold compress, I dare say I will soon cease to feel it.’
While Susan busied herself at this task, Mrs Salcombe attacked the bolster. ‘I only hope I can remember how the doctor did it.’
Fortunately, it did not prove beyond her scope to reproduce Preseley’s example. Timothia was just realising how very much more comfortable the doctor had in fact made her by placing the bolster there, when Mrs Salcombe brought the tray to the bed.
‘It is all very simple fare,’ she said, a note of apology in her voice, ‘but that is what Mr Leo requested.’
Timothia fought off an impulse to reject the food. But as the covers were lifted she was obliged to concede that her cousin had gauged her requirements with uncanny accuracy. A few slices of tender chicken breast, accompanied by two or three braised potatoes and fresh young peas, were offered, along with a jug of barley water, which was to be left on the bedside table, and a compote of summer fruits.
Her appetite quickened as she began to eat, and she was able to finish nearly all of the meal. It did much to improve her spirits. She felt a deal better, and since her ankle was benefiting from the fresh compress, which had been wrung out in water still extremely cold from the melted ice, she began to contemplate the possibility of removing on the morrow.
This scheme, however, was frustrated immediately upon the arrival, an hour or so later, of Edith Hawnby, who had come equipped with so many bandboxes that Timothia wondered aloud how it had all fitted into Valentine’s coach.
‘With difficulty,’ said her companion briefly. ‘But it is of no use to cavil. Between us, Polly and I had a time of it. I’ve brought that girl with me, by the by. No wish to leave her alone with only two male servants in the house. I dare say she can make herself useful here.’
Timothia agreed to it, although there were servants enough in Leo’s house. But Polly could certainly not be left with Bickley and Padstow. Not that she had not implicit trust in both, but a country girl could not trifle with her reputation. Besides, Polly would probably have a wonderful time, put to the blush and giggling, among a crew of virile young footmen.
‘But what in the world have you brought?’ she asked, returning to the main issue.
Edith told her. The recital lasted several minutes, and at the end of it Timothia gave it as her opinion that her companion had gone stark, staring crazy.
‘You have brought sufficient for a month, I should think!’
‘But, Timma,’ cut in Susan in a voice of protest, ‘it is likely that you will be here that long. You cannot hope to walk upon that foot for at least a week, and then you will only get about with help. I should guess that you will not go home for at least three weeks.’
Timothia was so much horrified by this suggestion that she fell into a mood of unrelieved gloom, which deepened as time went on and her cousin made no attempt to visit her. She had roused herself to bid farewell to Susan, who had hurried away on hearing that Valentine was waiting to drive her home.
‘What in the world shall I say to him?’ she had whispered in frantic haste as she’d bent to kiss Timothia’s cheek.
‘Say nothing beyond what civility dictates,’ Timothia had advised in an undertone, for Edith had been busy directing Polly where to bestow the articles of clothing that had been brought for her mistress from Fenny House. ‘Unless he should open the subject, which I think most unlikely if I know Valentine, you need not refer to it yourself.’
Slightly cheered, Susan had gone on her way, but Timothia knew that she trembled and felt for her deeply. She had been herself in a like case in a way, for she had dissipated so much energetic thought upon Leo’s conduct that she could not help a trifle of apprehension at how she would receive him.
That she was not called upon to receive him appeared to have a deleterious effect upon her condition. A headache was added to the muscular stiffness on the side where she had fallen. The pain in her ankle became ever stronger as her leg grew tired and aching from remaining in the same place, and the cold compresses seemed no longer to afford relief. Every motion was an agony, and by the time darkness fell in the late evening she could no longer tolerate her position. She felt as if she had been lying in bed like this for days!
Turning with great difficulty, she lay on the side that had not been damaged in the accident, and for a short time found that the change lessened her sufferings. Even the ankle’s agonies gave way to it. But it did not take long for her bones to settle, and the aches started up again, one by one, as it appeared to her tortured body. Timothia knew enough to realise that tossing and turning would only worsen her state, but it proved hard to resist this seeking after relief.
There was no turning on her other side, and in the end she was forced to return to her original position on her back. But the cradling bolster had become dislodged, and her attempts to retrieve it with her sound leg served only to make her lose it over the end of the bed.
‘The devil!’ she cried aloud, and, bracing herself, leaned out of the bed to tug at the bell-pull.
Edith had retired to dinner herself after feeding Timothia with a sustaining broth, and she had not yet returned. It must be well after nine. Surely dinner was over? And what ailed Leo that he could not even pay her the courtesy of a visit? Had Jenny Preseley’s charms so affected him that he had utterly forgotten his cousin’s presence in his house? Impossible. For he was dining with Edith. Had he perhaps had an engagement? No, it could not be that, for he was to have gone to Huntingdon that day and would not have expected to return until well into the night.
A knock at the door produced Polly, who hastened to replace the bolster, and revealed, upon enquiry, that Edith had dined in private in the bedchamber allotted to her. An item that further depressed Timothia’s spirits, for it promised no news of Leo. Polly added that she was to keep watch through the night, and a truckle bed was being set up for her in the dressing-room next door. Edith, as Timothia learned, would be with her in a very few minutes.
Her companion duly arrived, and, having taken one look at her charge, delivered herself of a single word.
‘Laudanum.’
‘What?’ said Timothia stupidly.
‘I am giving you laudanum,’ repeated that redoubtable dame, waddling purposefully to the dresser where she had earlier deposited a number of bottles and jars seized haphazardly from Timothia’s bedchamber at home. Armed with a squat brown bottle and a large spoon, she obliged Timothia to take a liberal dose.
It had a rapid effect. Before she could rediscover the discomforts of her body, she slipped quietly into sleep. But it was a sleep punctuated with strange visions. She floated in mists, and the mists were peopled with shadows. One such seemed to sit in silhouette by one of the posts at the end of her bed. Its shape expanded, grew in volume looming over her, and then retreated again, shrinking back to its place.
The thing had stayed above her long enough for Timothia to recognise the face. It belonged to her cousin Leo.