Plantation Doctor (13 page)

“Good lord!” Adrian was above her, raising her chin, casting his professional eyes over the grey, sweating face, the dark, burning eyes. “What the deuce do you think you’re doing—sitting around drinking cocktails. You’re not going home—you’re going to the hospital.”

Almost fiercely she pushed away his hand. “I’ll go to a doctor in town. Roger’s taking me. I can’t possibly stay here.”

To this, Adrian paid not the slightest heed. He turned to the plantation manager. “I’ll put her into the back of your car, John. Will you drive?”

Unconscious of the sympathetically attentive onlookers, Lyn took a swaying step forward.

“If
...
if you’ll send for Claud,” she muttered, and the next second was swept up into Adrian’s arms and carried down to the car.

Briefly, as the vehicle moved up the clearing, she tried to wrench herself from the circle of Adrian’s arm, but after that she gave up and the illness had its way.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For two day’s
she lay swimming in the hot seas of fever. Closely blanketed, by turns sweating copiously and shaking with teeth-chattering intensely, she emerged occasionally
to sip barley water. Her brain floated from the heavy dosages of quinine and her body was stiff and lifeless.

She was aware of the doctor bending over her, grimly patient, taking her temperature, filling a hypodermic syringe, massaging with ether the spot into which the needle would plunge. She didn’t care that it was Adrian who lifted her while the blankets were changed, nor did it matter that he saw her so helpless and pale and lacklustre. Her emotions were as dormant as her will.

She had no visitors, but was seldom alone. When Adrian or the colored nurse was not there, one of the hospital boys stood on guard just inside and to the left of the open doorway. Even at night she had only to twist in her bed for someone to come close and pull back the mosquito net, dab her brow, replace her pillow with a dry one, or give her a drink.

The third day she showed an improvement. The rigors were much less frequent and shattering and her temperature was down. Towards evening the big, colored nurse altered the blankets so that they tucked under the mattress instead of wrapping her round.

“That is better, eh?” she said in thick, subdued tones. “The doctor will be glad you are not so sick. He will be here any minute.”

“You’ve been good, Johanna.”

The wide, coffee-colored face beamed. “You know my name Johanna! That Missis Ducros tell you eh? She has been to see you but the doctor say she is too nervous, she might make you worse.”

“Has anyone else called?”

“Mr. Merrick and the lady, his sister; the lady was allowed to look in while you slept. The doctor has been very particular—he
watch you much himself, and yesterday he is angry to find a swamp in the garden of the house where you live in town. Swamps breed the anopheles mosquito—the dange
r
ous one.”

“Oh.” Already surprisingly worn with the strain of answering her, Lyn said no more. Johanna brought a fresh carafe and clean towels, and switched on the bedside lamp before departing to other duties.

Lyn lay with her face towards the window, where branches were visible, weaving against a darkening sky.
T
here was little noise save the ceaseless winging of the night beetles, a sound to which she had so long ago become accustomed that it did not now impinge upon her consciousness.

She heard Adrian come to the bedside and turned her head his way.

“Hello,” he said quietly, and put his fingers to the pulse in her wrist. “How goes it?”

“Better, I think.”

“The worst is over, but you’ll be weak for a bit.”

“Is it
...
malaria?”

“Yes, aggravated by the bathe. It’s the benign form of fever.”

“If this is benign, I hope I never meet up with the malignant type. Will it
...
does it ever
...
come back?”

“It may flare up again before clearing entirely, but it won’t be so bad as this lot.”

He pulled forward the hard, white chair, hitched his trousers and sat down. The glow of the lamp illumined his strong features and showed tired lines at the corners of his eyes. His manner was completely kind and considerate, but
his
expression showed no vestige of a smile. For the first time since she had known him he looked overworked and fed up.

“I must be in the way here,” she said. “How soon can I go to the Merricks?”

“You’re not going back there. Claud and his sister are vacating the bungalow,” he replied on a casual note.

“He’ll put up at the club and Hazel will stay over the way, at the house in which you lived. In a week or so you may share it with her.”

“It’s awfully sudden, isn’t it? Why have they given up the bungalow?”

A shrug. “You’ll hear the details later. They’ve acted wisely.” He paused. “You’ve nothing to worry about. By the time you’re ready to leave this ward you’ll be fixed up with a bedroom to yourself and all your things will be in it. Hazel promised that, and you can rely on Melia to guard every single one of your belongings.”

A jumble of questions came to Lyn’s mind, but she was not fit enough to sort them out. In any case, Adrian was apparently disinclined for much conversation. He sat on as if resting and thinking, but presently he pushed back his chair.

“Would you like a drink?”

“May I? Johanna’s been cutting me down.”

He placed his fingers to her temple. “You’re not sweating now and your temperature’s normal between rigors. It won’t hurt, if you take it slowly.”

From a bowl of melting cubes he half-filled a glass with ice water which he sharpened with lemon. His arm slipped under her back, raised her till her shoulder was against him. Lyn took the glass, felt him gently lower himself to the bed behind her, without altering her position. In her weakness his strength was comforting, not in the least disquieting.

His mouth must have been very close to her hair, for as he spoke the warmth of his breath stirred it. “I’ll get Johanna to change the bed round so that you have a different view, and as soon as you sit up you’ll be able to read. I’ll choose some books for you from my own shelves. Not depressed about having caught malaria, are you?”

“I think I am, a bit.”

“You mustn’t be. We’ve all had a dose at some time, but it’s by no means the curse it used to be, particularly now that we have the means to prevent the worst effects of a recurrence.”

“If I’d stayed at Denton I wouldn’t have got it.”

“You might, but that’s hardly important now. Had enough of that drink?”

“Yes. Thank you, Adrian.”

“Does your back ache when you sit up?”

“It does a little.”

“Right. Here goes.”

With light, economical movements he had her on her back and tucked in. Then he straightened and took a pace or two from the bed.

“Now that you’re this side of the border I’ll come in only once a day, when I make the morning round,” he said. “If you should wish to see me at any other time, tell Johanna and she’ll send me a note.” He got out his gold case, extracted a cigarette but did not light it. With a hint of his old cynicism he added, “The tempo is speeding up in these parts. To help matters along, my aunt—I told you about her once—is due to arrive at Palmas by yacht within the next couple of days. She once met Claud Merrick and was charmed by him. You and she should be friends.” He moved to the door, murmured, “Good night,” and walked out.

Lyn was not sorry to see him go. One had to be in first-class trim to stand much of Adrian when his mood turned acid. He filled the room and hardly left breathing space. She was too spent to cope with his threatening world.

During the following days Lyn was almost entirely in the hands of Johanna. Adrian made his official visit at nine each morning; he gave up taking her temperature and seemed to judge her wholly by her appearance and the nurse’s remarks concerning her appetite. After five minutes he would nod distantly and pass on to the large ward, and Lyn would settle into the lethargy which was to carry her through till next day.

Then came the morning, six days after the onset of the fever, When he did not come to the private ward at all. Lyn was disturbed, then painfully unhappy. She had intended to ask him if she could get up and have a visitor. She would give anything to see Hazel or Claud, or even Rosita Baird.

Johanna popped in to mention that she was rushed off her feet, after which Lyn was abandoned to her pile of magazines and the novels which Adrian had sent a day or two ago. At length the boy brought twelve-thirty luncheon, and at one-thirty the Venetian blind was lowered and she was left to sleep. Her nerves were so stretched that finally she did slip into an exhausted doze. She awakened to find the nurse at her side with a tea-tray. “It is cooler this afternoon, eh? You will like some tea.”

“Thank you.” Lyn struggled up and submitted to Johanna’s ministrations. “I’m so tired of this bed. Do let me sit in a chair for half an hour.”

“I tell the doctor you are worrying for that and he say wait till tomorrow. One must be certain before taking the next step and you still look frail, he say.”

“I’m not in the least frail. How can
he know when he hasn’t been in?”

“Oh, but yes,” replied the nurse blandly. “He come while you sleep.”

“Just now?”

“Just now,” she echoed affirmatively. “But today you have a visitor—the doctor say it is allowed. The lady, Missis Merrick, is waiting.”

Hazel. She was a raft in a lonely sea. “Do let her come in now, Johanna.”

Hazel entered the room with that long-limbed, graceful stride, sat on the side of the bed and affectionately took hold of the slim white fingers which lay on the blanket.

“Poor old Lyn. It’s about a year since I saw you last. According to Adrian you had a nasty bout and risked pneumonia on top of it, through bathing. And all because you wouldn’t tell a soul you had a temperature and a bad head last Saturday morning.”

“Don’t I wish I had told you!”

“It’s been rotten for you,” Hazel agreed, “but done good in some directions; you yourself may ultimately benefit. I hope so.” From this cryptic utterance she hastened on, “I suppose you’ve heard that Mrs. Denton’s yacht put in at Palmas early this morning?”

“Not a word, though I did know that she was on her way.”

“It created quite a flutter. The yacht’s big and beautiful
—
white and gold, with an English crew. I haven’t seen Mrs. Denton yet, but she brought a young ward with her, pretty as paint and overloaded with vivacity. Her name is Marceline Greg, and she seems friendly. They’re both at Adrian’s house, of course.”

That explained his absence from the wards. He had probably examined the more serious cases and left the rest till after lunch. Mrs. Denton
...
and a girl named Marceline who was pretty and vivacious. Lyn fought down a choking sensation. If only she could throw off the bedclothes and go with Hazel, get away from this atmosphere which was Adrian, Adrian,
Adrian
!

Hazel’s next observation, however, sobered and cooled her. “Lyn will you do me a favor?” The grey eyes did not meet the blue. “Adrian is giving a sherry party for the whole settlement at six, and dinner afterwards for a few—a sort of welcome to his aunt; he wants her to meet everyone. He’s invited me to both, but my couple of frocks are definitely weary—the drawback to travelling by air is that you can’t carry much. I was wondering if I might borrow your green. I’d take care not to spoil it. I’m taller than you but it’s fairly long. Would you mind my wearing it?”

Valiantly, Lyn expelled all hollowness from her voice. “No, of course I wouldn’t. It’s a severe style and should suit you.”

“What a darling you are—the sort that we selfish ones impose upon. You ought to be going to the party too. I’ll try to slip over and see you during the evening.”

“Adrian doesn’t permit callers after supper. We’re all snug in the dark by eight.”

“Never mind. It’s not for much longer, and I dare say the rest is doing you heaps of good.” A short pause, then Hazel stood up. “Adrian said I mustn’t overstay my ten minutes. Any message for Claud?”

Lyn shook her head. Momentarily, she recollected that the Merrick bungalow was empty, that Hazel was installed near by and could have pestered Adrian for permission to see Lyn before today; he would have given in because he knew that Hazel was not excitable. But it hurt to think disloyal thoughts about the other girl, and Lyn wasn’t up to discussing such a topic.

She murmured good-bye and lay back. A sherry party
—
a lively affair for the whole settlement; then a cosy dinner party for eight people. Yes eight; there would be four women with Rosita Baird, and Adrian would pair them off. Himself and Hazel, or himself and Marceline? She, Lyn, was in for a night of miserable and profitless imagining.

Adrian had forgotten her, given her his skill and attention while she needed them and thereafter put her from his thoughts. Tonight he would preside as the suave host—and how well he knew how to do that!—facing his aunt down the length of the massive dining-table, and smiling impartially upon the lovely women to his right and left. The master of Denton.

Lyn blinked back the tears, excused them as a symptom
of physical malaise. By this time next week she should
be her reserved and controlled self once more.