Frederica

‘O my God!’ uttered Beenish. ‘He never said –’

‘Don’t suppose he knew it. Knew they were frozen, didn’t know he couldn’t use ’em. Only a boy – excited too!’

Beenish, looking at the Marquis, was plainly torn between a feeling of guilt and a desire to exculpate himself from blame. He said: ‘My lord, it wasn’t our fault! Maybe I should have sent him about his business, but he wasn’t doing any harm, and as Mr Oulton said himself, he’s such an intelligent little fellow – not like most of his age, only wanting to see the balloon go up for the marvel of it, and not caring for what makes it rise, or –’

‘Pray don’t think I blame

you!’ said the Marquis. ‘If anyone is to blame it is I, for he was in my charge.’

‘Not your blame! Mine – mine!’ Jessamy said, in a stifled voice.

‘The thing was, my lord, we never suspected what he meant to do! But I can’t deny I did say we should be happy to take him up with us, never dreaming – He begged us to, you see, and Mr Oulton answered him a bit sharply, telling him he was much too young, and – well, he looked so hurt – if your lordship knows what I mean? –’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said the Marquis grimly.

‘Well, that’s how it was, my lord! I told him we couldn’t take him without his father’s consent – and Mr Oulton bore me out! Yes, and it was him which said if we took up a boy which was under age, without his Pa’s consent, we should be clapped into jail, not me!’ A reminiscent grin stole over Mr Beenish’s face. ‘And damme if the little rogue didn’t throw it up at him, when we’d hauled him into the boat! “It’s all hollow!” he told Mr Oulton, game as a pebble! “You won’t be clapped into jail,” he said, “because I haven’t got a father!”’ A chuckle escaped him. ‘Pluck to the backbone!’ he said. ‘His nerves won’t ever lose their steel! When I saw him clinging to that rope, and the balloon rising fast, as they do, my lord, I thought he was bound to take fright, and do something silly, and much good it was for us to shout to him to hold tight! But he did, and we got him in, like you saw. Ay, and he enjoyed every minute of the flight, even though the teeth were chattering in his head!’ A groan from Jessamy made him turn his head. ‘We did the best we could, sir, but there wasn’t much we could do.’

‘No, I know. And you saved him. I – I am very grateful. Sir, where is he? Can I see him?’

‘Oh, yes, you can see him!’ replied the doctor. ‘He’s upstairs, snugly tucked into bed: first door to the right of the stairs. You go and sit with him, and tell the girl I left there that she can go back to the dairy. He’s sound asleep, and don’t you dare try to rouse him! And don’t fall into despair because his head’s bound up! I’ve had to put a couple of stitches in his face!’

‘No,’ said Jessamy humbly. ‘If he wakes shall I call you?’

‘He won’t wake: I’ve drugged him, for I want him to sleep for as long as possible. Off with you!’ He watched Jessamy hurry out of the room, grimaced at Alverstoke, and adjusted the sling he had knotted round Beenish’s neck. ‘I’ve done with you now,’ he said. ‘Let it be a lesson to you! If the Almighty had meant men to fly He’d have provided us with wings! You’d best sit still for a while.’

‘Oh, this is nothing!’ Beenish said cheerfully. ‘I’m in a capital way, doctor – thanking you for what you’ve done! I only wish the little fellow hadn’t had the worst of it. I’ll be off now to see if they’ve rescued the balloon.’

‘More guts than brains!’ said the doctor, as the door shut behind Beenish. ‘Balloons – ! What next, pray?’

‘Felix might furnish you with the answer: I can’t,’ replied Alverstoke, stripping off his driving-coat, and casting it over a chair. ‘Now, doctor, if you please! How seriously is that boy hurt?’

The doctor, packing the instruments of his trade into his bag, said gruffly: ‘Ask me tomorrow, my lord. I wasn’t shamming it when I told you it was early days yet. Not but what I would have done so, while that brother of his was here! I know his kind, and I don’t want him on my hands as well. More nerves than flesh! Well, the other one – what do you call him? Felix? – ay, well, he’s broken no bones but what I told you, and you’ve no need to trouble yourself over a couple of ribs. He’s suffered a severe shock, however – which is why I’ve given him pretty well as much laudanum as he can hold! In general, I don’t do so – don’t believe in it! – but in such cases as this it’s of the first importance to keep the patient quiet. I don’t set much store by the head-pains, but there’s no knowing yet, and if you’re thinking of removing him from here, my lord, you’ll do it against my advice!’

‘Rest assured, doctor, that I have no such intention!’

‘Good! But, unless I’m much mistaken, the boy will need careful nursing, and there’s the rub. Judbrook is a decent fellow, but that sister of his can’t be depended on, and the devil of it is I can’t send in a nurse. There’s only one hereabouts, and she has a cross-birth on her hands –’

‘If,’ interrupted his lordship, ‘you are referring to a Mrs Hucknall, we need not waste our time in discussing her merits! Miss Judbrook has already informed me that when Mrs Hucknall enters the house, she will leave it. Let me reassure you on one point at least! Tomorrow, either Felix’s aunt, or, more probably, his sister, Miss Merriville, will come here to nurse him. Now tell me, without roundaboutation, what it is that you fear!’

Dr Elcot, strapping his bag, did not answer for a moment. He was frowning heavily, and at last said: ‘That boy, my lord, was cold to the marrow!’

‘My guardianship is of very recent date, but I have it, on the authority of Miss Merriville, that Felix is subject to some chest-complaint, which she called bronchitis.’

The doctor snorted. ‘Oh, yes! A new word for an old complaint! If nothing worse than that befalls him, he may think himself fortunate! I’m saying no more until I know more, my lord. We shall see! Polly Judbrook is a crossgrained spinster, but at least she had enough sense to wrap the boy up in blankets, and to put a hot brick to his feet. He’s a stout-looking lad, too – an excellent constitution, I should suppose!’ He added brusquely: ‘Send for one of your London practitioners, if you choose, my lord: I’ve no objection! He can tell you no more, at this present, than I can, and he wouldn’t give you any other directions. Keep the boy warm, and quiet, let him drink as much barley-water as he likes – I’ve told Polly to make some, and she’ll do it, never fear! – and, if he should be feverish, give him a saline draught! I’ll make one up, and send my man over with it. No hot wine, mind, or any other old woman’s remedy!’ He paused, and eyed the Marquis doubtfully. ‘I take it your lordship means to remain with him?’

‘Naturally! But as I have little or no experience of illness, and have never before attempted to nurse a sick person, I shall be obliged to you, doctor, if you will tell me exactly what I am to expect, and to do; and where, in case of need, you are to be found.’

‘Anyone here could tell you that; and if there were to be any alarming change in the boy’s condition Judbrook would send one of his lads to fetch me. I might come, too,’ he said, with a flash of mordant humour, ‘for you look to me like a rational man, my lord: not one to fly into a great fuss because a sick boy might become a trifle delirious when the drug wears off. His case isn’t desperate. I’ll visit him in the morning.’

When the doctor had gone away, the Marquis spent several minutes considering his situation. It was certainly unusual; and while he was prepared to deal with it without losing either his head or his sangfroid, he could have wished, glancing at the few scribbled reminders the doctor had given him, that these instructions had been rather more extensive. He looked a little ruefully at the paper, before folding it, and slipping it into his pocketbook, and going out to find Curry.

‘Properly in the briars we are, my lord!’ said Curry. ‘They tell me – Betty, and the old griffin – that Master Felix is going to cut his stick, but I hope and trust that ain’t so?’

‘No, I think not. Curry, I’m going to send you back to London.’

‘You are, my lord?’ Curry said, staring at him.

‘Yes, and as soon as possible,’ said Alverstoke, drawing out his watch. ‘You should be there well before midnight: change horses as often as you think desirable! You are going to take Mr Jessamy with you: he can do no good here, and Miss Merriville might well believe that matters are far more serious than they are if neither he nor I returned to London tonight. He may even be of assistance to her, and can at all events bear her company tomorrow, when I am very sure she will come to nurse Master Felix.’