Dear Tiberius; (aka Nurse Nolan) (8 page)

“
You mean that she is not so well?
”

“
Today has been one of her worst days for a long time.
”

“
And to what do you attribute that?
”

“
I really wouldn
’
t like to say.
”

“
What do you mean,
”
he asked quickly,
“
you wouldn
’
t like to say?
”

“
Well
....”
Lucy could feel something that was almost a
kind of slow anger stirring in him, and it was so unusual that it caused her to study him rather closely. His face was set in lines of almost rigid disapproval, and the eyes were cold and hard and watchful. The thin lips appeared to be tightly compressed together. This evening he was particularly well groomed, his sleek hair well brushed and in no danger of falling forward over his eyes, and his white dress shirt accentuated the natural faint bronze of his skin. He appeared taller than usual—unless it was that she herself was wearing rubber-soled shoes, and she felt rather small and insignificant standing there in front of him—and elegantly spare.
“
Well?
”
he repeated, as she hesitated.

“
Well, perhaps the excitement—all the bustle and preparation that has been going on around her for the last few days, and the knowledge that visitors were expected
... That you were coming yourself—
”

“
Then in that case my coming is hardly a good thing for her, and it is better that she should remain the little, lonely prisoner in the tower?
”

His voice was very dry.

“
I
didn
’
t say so! I don
’
t even think so! But visitors—she is hardly accustomed to visitors—
”

“
Then she will now have an opportunity to become accustomed to them!
”

“
Yes,
”
Lucy murmured, and was turning away from him when he brought her up sharply with his next words.

“
But with regard to Miss Harling, and the time you allowed to elapse between the receipt of my message and your visit to her in her room, I would like you to understand, Nurse Nolan, that when you
do
receive such a message from me I like attention to be paid to it immediately! Either word sent back—as it could have been through Eva—that you could not possibly leave Miranda, or compliance with my request within a reasonable space of time! Is that now quite clear to you?
”

Lucy drew herself up to her full, slender height.

“
Yes, Sir John—perfectly clear!
”

“
Good!
”
She felt rather than saw that he relaxed slightly.
“
And if you will be good enough to pay some attention to Miss Harling
’
s ankle, I will be grateful for that as well. It has been troubling her a good deal today, and strengthening exercises, and so forth, are obviously what she wants.
”

“
Yes, Sir John.
”

He looked at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised a trifle quizzically.

“
You will be dining with us tonight, nurse?
”

“
I
’
d prefer it if you would allow me to remain upstairs near Miranda,
”
she replied a trifle stiffly.

“
Oh, of course,
”
But a quizzical gleam spread to his eyes.
“
I
notice, however, that you are now wearing your own clothes, so there would be no need for you to appear in the dining room in uniform, if that is against certain rules of yours.
”

“
It is not against any rules, Sir John, but I am here to look after my patient, and
I
would prefer to be as near to her as possible—if that is not in opposition to your own wishes?
”

Sir John assured her that it was not, and then smiled faintly as she once more turned away toward the door.

“
But
I
don
’
t wish you to feel like a prisoner yourself— sharing Miranda
’
s lonely lot!
”

“
Miranda will probably feel better tomorrow,
”
she replied, deliberately ignoring the sarcastic inflection in his voice.

“
We
’
ll hope so,
”
he said, and somewhat to her surprise, crossed the room swiftly from behind her and held open the door for her. He watched her departure with a queer, inscrutable, little half smile in his eyes.

Lucy ran swiftly up the stairs, and when she reached her own rooms she felt amazed because there was a kind of emotional disturbance going on deep down inside her. She attempted to subdue it by ringing the bell for Eva, and when the little maid appeared asked whether it would be convenient for her to have a tray served to her in her room that night.

“
Of course, nurse,
”
Eva replied,
b
ut the infectious excitement of all that was going on in the usually quiet house of Ketterings was still in her eyes, and she disappeared like a miniature whirlwind when Lucy thanked her.

Lucy took a bath and changed into a housecoat—nothing spectacular like Lynette Harling
’
s but comfortable and attractive at the same time. And then she settled herself with a book a
n
d her tray, when it arrived, after which she sat listening to the sudden, tempestuous wind that had arisen outside the house and was lashing the great trees in the park. The noise of it shut out all the noises that were occurring below her—the noise of slippered footfalls on the stairs, the booming of the great Burmese gong in the hall and the laughter and chatter that transformed the
dining room from the place of solemn silence she knew into a place of gaiety, brilliance and warmth.

Much later that night she stole along the corridor to look in on Miranda, who had been sleeping peacefully when she gazed at her last, and considerably to her surprise she found the door standing partly open. She hastened quietly into the room, half expecting to find that Fiske was there—but it was not Fiske who was standing, as if absorbed, beside the motionless, small figure in the bed.

Lucy drew back with a little, quickly suppressed murmur of surprise.

There was only a dim light burning in the room, but it was sufficient for her to recognize Sir John
’
s tall form. He turned, and his expression was quite unreadable, although his quick action in placing his finger to his lips warned her that he did not expect her to speak. She backed out of the doorway, and he followed her into the corridor, closing the bedroom door carefully behind him.

“
Still on duty, nurse?
”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“
Not on duty, I only came to look at Miranda before going to bed.
”

“
She appears to be sleeping quietly enough.
”

“
Yes.
”

He stared at the pattern of the thick carpet, tracing it with the toe of his gleaming evening shoe. Then he looked up again at Lucy quickly, and this time she was certain that there was no detail of her appearance that escaped him, and it made her feel embarrassed. The dark, rich crimson of her housecoat suited her, she knew, but she knew also that her hair was slightly tumbled, and she had only flicked a powder puff over her face after her bath, and she wore no lipstick whatsoever. She felt as if he had caught her without the protection of any sort of armor.

“
I should say that you can go to bed now with quite an easy conscience if you want to.
”

“
Y-yes,
”
she stammered, and knew that a flood of color was rising to her cheeks under his thoughtful look.

“
You probably find it a little lonely up here by yourself?
”

“
Not at all. I
’
ve been reading.
”

His face remained inscrutable as he turned away from her.

“
Well,
I
won
’
t keep you from your beauty sleep,
”
he said.
“
Good night, nurse!
”
And he strode off down the corridor.

Lucy remained quite still, gazing after him. She wished that, just for an instant, that carefully controlled expression of his had slipped a little—especially when he stood there beside Miranda
’
s bed.

The next morning w
as one of those perfect September mornings when the threat of winter seems to have receded altogether, and a promise of spring has taken its place. There was the bright sparkle of sunlight over the lawns and the lake and the surrounding woods were all draped in a tender haze that promised considerable heat as the day advanced. That there were reds and golds amongst the green of the woods merely added to their enchantment, and on the wide terrace with its flower-filled urns and decorative lions, the sun formed molten splashes in which it was pleasant to relax and recline.

The entire house party seemed to be congregated there when Lucy wheeled Miranda in her chair around the angle of the house, and for an instant she paused, contemplating retreat. But the master of the place catching sight of them, lifted his hand, and there could be no ignoring his signal.

Miranda was wide-eyed and fearful when the chair came to rest outside the wide, open French windows of the drawing room. Lynette Harling was lying at full-length in a long
cane chair, and there were cushions stuffed in behind the flame red of her hair. She was dressed with an attention to detail that was more in keeping with the town than the country, but the quality of her tweeds was unmistakable, and the dainty snakeskin brogues on her slender feet were quite obviously the product of a craftsman, and never intended for muddy country lanes. She looked up at Miranda through curving eyelashes that were so strikingly black by contrast with her hair that they were quite fascinating.

“
So this is your daughter, John?
”
she murmured, and there was a kind of low, crooning note in her voice that Lucy disliked extremely—although she could not have told anyone quite why, unless it was because she disliked Lynette Harling herself.
“
She
’
s not a bit like you, is she?
”

“
Isn
’
t she?
”
Sir John was regarding his daughter himself with a somewhat odd and faintly quizzical air.
“
Well, no, I suppose she isn
’
t! And that means she must take after her mother.
”

“
It
’
s generally considered a lucky thing for a daughter to fa
v
or a father,
”
Lynette observed, rather more drawlingly. And then she smiled slowly at Miranda, and extended a languid hand to her.
“
You
’
ve none of your father
’
s inky dark looks, have you, my dear? You look as if a puff of wind might blow you right away—as if you
’
re all mixed up with moonbeams, and about as substantial!
”

Miranda gazed back at her unsmilingly, but offered a polite hand in response.

“
Do I
?”
she said uncertainly.

Lynette
’
s green eyes traveled over her.

“
I wonder how much you weigh? You must be badly below normal weight!
”

“
Miranda is very gradually regaining her weight,
”
Lucy could not prevent herself from saying stiffly.

Miss Harling sent her an oblique look—a faintly surprised look—but otherwise ignored her altogether.

“
You look as if you need fattening up somehow or other, but
I
suppose being pushed around in that chair you don
’
t get much exercise?
”
she continued to address Miranda.
“
I can, however, sympathize with you over not being able to walk, for I haven
’
t been able to walk very comfortably myself since I twisted my ankle—but at least I
’
m not doomed to be immobile for life!
”

Sir John leaned forward across her chair and spoke quickly to Miranda.