Sprig Muslin

Amanda cast a doubtful glance at Sir Gareth, but as she could think of nothing she could do to revive him, and the landlord seemed dependable, she allowed herself to be led by her disapproving hostess into the room beside the one to which Sir Gareth had been carried.

By the time Hildebrand returned to the inn, announcing that the doctor was following as fast as he could in his gig, not only had Amanda changed her gown, but she had further alienated Mrs Chicklade by demanding milk for Joseph. Mrs Chicklade said that she couldn’t abide cats, and wouldn’t have a pesky kitten in her kitchen, getting under her feet, but as her lord happened to come in just then, wanting to know whether the brick wasn’t hot enough yet, and told her not to be disobliging, Joseph got his milk.

Chicklade reported that Sir Gareth had come out of his swoon for a brief period, when his boots were being pulled off. He had muttered something unintelligible, and had sunk back into unconsciousness before he could be got to swallow any brandy, but Chicklade considered it hopeful that he had even for no more than a minute shown a sign of life. Hildebrand came hurrying in, to be met by these joyful tidings; and so great had been his dread that he would reach the inn only to find that Sir Gareth was dead that he burst into tears. This excess of sensibility did nothing to recommend him to Amanda, but considerably relieved the unbearable tension of his nerves. He was able, in a few moments, to listen with tolerable composure to the news that, during his absence, he had acquired two new relations.

‘Do you perfectly understand?’ Amanda asked anxiously. ‘Sir Gareth is our uncle, and you held him up because we had made a plan to play a trick on him.’

He was far from understanding, but he nodded, adding, in a hopeless tone, that when Sir Gareth came to himself he would promptly disown him.

‘Of course he will not!’ said Amanda. ‘He wouldn’t dream of doing such an unhandsome thing!’

This remark was quite incomprehensible to him, but before he could demand enlightenment the doctor had arrived, and he was left to puzzle over it in solitude.

The doctor was surprised to be received by so youthful a lady, and although he accepted without question that she was his patient’s niece he was much inclined to think that Mrs Chicklade would be a more competent assistant to him in any surgery that he might have to perform. But when he saw what she had already done for Sir Gareth he changed his mind. While he unpacked his bag, and Chicklade went off to bring up a bowl of hot water, he asked her a good many questions about the affair, shooting a curious look at her every now and then from under his bushy eyebrows. He said finally that she was a very remarkable young lady, and begged pardon for having doubted her fortitude.

In the event, the operation of extracting the bullet was a sight which tried her fortitude severely, and it was only by a supreme exercise of will-power that she managed to remain at the bedside, handing Dr Chantry the various instruments, and swabs of lint which he from time to time called for.

Sir Gareth came round under the doctor’s hands, and uttered a groan that made Amanda wince in sympathy. The doctor spoke to him in heartening accents, and he opened his eyes. After a bewildered moment, he seemed to realize what had happened to him, for he said, faintly, but perfectly clearly: ‘I remember. Not the boy’s fault!’

The doctor directed Chicklade, under his breath, to hold him, but after a very few minutes of endurance he lost consciousness again.

‘Ay, and just as well,’ grunted Dr Chantry, when Chicklade, rather alarmed, drew his attention to this circumstance. ‘It’s in devilish deep, I can tell you. No sense in bringing him round, poor fellow, till I have him tied up comfortably.’

It seemed to Amanda a very long ti

me before this last operation was performed, and she could not believe that Sir Gareth would find it comfortable. But the doctor said that by God’s mercy the bullet had not touched a vital spot, which made her feel very much more cheerful, until he added that no one could say yet how it would turn out, though he hoped that with perfect quiet and good nursing all might be well.

‘But he won’t die, will he?’ Amanda asked imploringly.

‘I trust not, young lady, but it’s a nasty wound, and he has lost a great deal of blood. I can tell you this: if you hadn’t behaved with such presence of mind he wouldn’t be alive now.’

But Amanda, who had always longed to play a heroine’s part, could only see herself as little better than a murderess, and impatiently brushed this aside, saying: ‘Tell me exactly what I must do to make him better! Everything I must do!’

He patted her shoulder. ‘No, no, you’re too young, my dear! Now, don’t fret! I don’t anticipate that there will be any complications, but what we want is an experienced woman to look after him.’

‘I’ll send round to Mrs Bardfield, sir,’ Chicklade said.

‘Oh, the midwife! Ay, an excellent notion! There’s little to be done for him at present but to keep him quiet, but I shall send my boy over with a cordial, and some laudanum, in case he should grow restless. I’ve given him something to make him sleep, but if the wound should become inflamed he may develop a little fever presently. No need to be unduly anxious, however. I shall be over to take a look at him this evening, never fear!’

Fourteen

For a long time after the doctor’s departure, Amanda remained seated beside Sir Gareth’s bed. To her eye, Dr Chantry did not compare favourably with such members of the faculty as had previously come in her way, but she could see that whatever it was that he had obliged his patient to swallow had certainly been of benefit to him. He was still dreadfully pale, but he no longer lay in a death-like swoon. He seemed to be heavily asleep, but from time to time his hand, which was lying outside the blankets, twitched, or he moved his head restlessly on the pillow.

At noon, Chicklade came softly into the room, and whispered to her that Mrs Bardfield was below-stairs, having come up from her cottage at the other end of the village to take a look at her patient.

‘She’ll sit up with him tonight, miss. Doctor says he won’t want anything for a while yet, so I don’t doubt we can manage well enough till dinner-time. Will I bring her up, so as she can see how the gentleman is?’

Amanda gave ready permission. In emergency, she could act not only with courage, but with an inborn sense of what was needed; but confronted with a sick-bed she was conscious of ignorance. It was with a thankful countenance that she rose to greet a woman of experience of sick-nursing.

She suffered a severe revulsion of feeling. The lady who presently wheezed her way up the stairs, and entered the room with no light tread, was not one whose appearance invited confidence. She was extremely stout, and although she seemed from her ingratiating smile to be good-humoured Amanda thought her countenance very unprepossessing. She liked neither the expression of her curiously hazy eyes, nor their inability to remain fixed for more than a moment on any one object. The cap which she wore under a large bonnet was by no means clean, and there emanated from her person an unpleasant aroma of which the predominant elements were onions, stale sweat, and spirituous liquor. The floor shook under her heavy tread, and when she bent over Sir Gareth, she said: ‘Ah, poor dear!’ in an unctuous voice which filled Amanda with loathing. She then laid her hand on his brow, and said; ‘Well, he ain’t feverish, which is one good thing, but he looks mortal bad.’ After that, she adjusted his pillows with hearty good-will, and ruthlessly straightened the blankets that covered him. He was too heavily drugged to wake, but Amanda could bear no longer to see Mrs Bardfield’s rough and not over-clean hands touching him, and she said sharply: ‘Don’t! Leave him alone!’

Mrs Bardfield was accustomed to the nervous qualms of sick persons’ relatives, and she smiled indulgently, saying: ‘Lor’ bless you, dearie, you don’t want to worrit your head now I’m here! Many’s the gentleman I’ve nursed, ay, and laid out too! Now, I’ll stay beside him for a while, because Mr Chicklade’s got a nice bit of cold meat and pickles laid out for a nuncheon for you and the young gentleman, and a pot of tea besides. That’ll do you good, and you’ll know your poor uncle’s in safe hands.’

Amanda managed to thank her, though in a choked voice, and fled down the stairs to find Hildebrand. He was awaiting her in the small parlour, and when he saw her face he started forward, exclaiming in horror: ‘Good God, what is it? Oh, is he worse?’

‘No, no! I wouldn’t have left him if he hadn’t been better! It is that detestable old woman! Hildebrand, she shan’t touch him! I won’t permit it! She is dirty, and rough, and she says she lays people out!’

‘Yes, I know – I saw her, and I must own – But what are we to do, if you turn her off? You cannot nurse Sir Gareth, and Mrs Chicklade seems very unamiable, so that I shouldn’t think –’