Saddle the Wind (37 page)

‘I came to say goodbye.’ Blanche spoke the words softly, awkwardly.

Sarah nodded silently, then put down the scrubbing brush and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘And I’m – I’m pleased to see you.’

Still they gazed at one another, then Blanche quickly stepped forward and held out her arms, and in the same moment Sarah moved to meet her. They stood holding one another for some moments and then Blanche broke free.

‘I must go. The carriage is outside. We’re on our way to Trowbridge to get the train.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t go without seeing you.’

The tears now shone in Sarah’s eyes too. She reached out her hands and Blanche took them.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ Sarah said.

‘I had to. I’m sorry, Mama – for everything.’

‘No, no, my dear. It wasn’t your fault. I’m to blame if anyone is.’

‘Don’t say that.’

They stood there for some moments longer, then, with a final pressure on her mother’s fingers, Blanche turned and moved to the door.

‘Goodbye, Mama. I’ll see you in the summer, when I get back.’

From The Towers over the following weeks Blanche wrote to her mother frequently, and Sarah wrote back, and through their letters they seemed to begin to regain some of their lost ground, to begin making up some of the lost time, and by doing so to come closer than they had at any time in years past. That this was so became evident through Ernest’s letters too, as he wrote to Blanche of his mother’s new-found contentment.

And the brief time afforded by the half-term holiday from school added to the closeness and understanding between Blanche and her mother. They spent more time together, and they talked together, and their conversation gradually developed a greater ease as the few days of the vacation passed by. By the time Blanche had to return to Clifton she and her mother had reached a greater understanding of one another. They would never be, Blanche knew, as other mothers and daughters were – their histories denied this – but at the same time they now knew a relationship in which they felt an increasing respect and affection for one another.

That summer Blanche and Marianne left The Towers for the last time. In September they would leave for
France, for the finishing school in Brittany. First, though, the summer was to be spent in Sicily.

In preparation, it was decided that they would accompany Marianne’s father on a trip to London where he had arranged to meet Edward Harrow – over from Sicily on business – and whilst there spend a day shopping in the West End. Consequently on the morning following their arrival the two girls took a cab from their hotel to Oxford Street where they spent some happy, carefree hours browsing in the fashionable shops, and making up their minds on what they should spend the allowance that Savill had made to them for the occasion. London for them was an exciting place; with all the electric light, the trams, and the motor cars, it offered a pace of life they had never experienced before.

Later that afternoon, exhausted, but with their purchases made, they returned to the hotel to rest and prepare for dinner, which, at Harrow’s invitation, was to be at one of London’s top restaurants.

They were five at dinner that evening, the fifth being one Alfredo Pastore, a Sicilian with property and business interests in Palermo and Messina and known to Edward Harrow who had run into him by chance in London that day. Pastore, whose father had once been a business associate of Harrow’s, was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. He had travelled extensively, and seated next to Blanche, he kept her amused throughout the meal with various anecdotes garnered from his travels.

The evening marked a further new experience in the lives of the two girls. They drank champagne and afterwards stayed up late in the hotel lounge, talking with the men. They had truly come of age now, it appeared, a fact further acknowledged by the attentions paid them by the handsome Pastore. When they got up to take
their leave of the men and go to their room he escorted them to the lift, there smilingly bowing and kissing their hands. He hoped, he said, that he would have the pleasure of meeting them again one day, perhaps during their visit to Sicily.

Lying in bed that night in the room which she and Marianne shared, Blanche thought back over the excitement of the day and its culmination in the dinner at the restaurant. She could see again Alfredo Pastore’s eyes upon her, feel the slight pressure of his hand as he had lifted her own hand to kiss. She doubted that she would ever see him again, but that did not matter. The certain knowledge that he, a wealthy, sophisticated man, had found her attractive had given the occasion an added sparkle that had nothing to do with the champagne.

The following morning Savill and the girls said goodbye to Edward Harrow before returning to Hallowford. He had further business to attend to in London before returning to Sicily, but, he said, he would see them there, and in his absence Gentry would look after them.

Gentry …

Later, as Blanche sat beside Marianne in the train bound for Trowbridge, Gentry’s name kept going through her mind – just as his face kept appearing before her. She had tried to keep all thought of him away from her, but now she could do so no longer. Tomorrow he would arrive in Hallowford, and the day after that they would set off together, the three of them – he, Marianne and herself, to travel to Messina for the summer. And it mattered not at all that she told herself that the only reason she had been invited was to keep Marianne company; all she could think of was that she would be seeing Gentry again, that she would be spending time in his company. At the prospect she could see before her
nothing but a kind of sweet agony – she knew nothing could ever come of it – but whatever it turned out to be she knew that she could not give up the promised experience.

At the cottage in Hummock Lane that afternoon Sarah was baking cakes. She expected Blanche for tea. Blanche would call, she had said, on the way back from Trowbridge station after the trip to London. It was arranged that the carriage would let her off at the cottage and call back for her a couple of hours later.

As she busied herself about the neat little kitchen Sarah reflected that these remaining summer days could well be the last time that she and Blanche would really be together. Blanche was moving on. In a few days Sicily for the summer – and then France for the following year. And after that? The two girls would not remain in one another’s pockets forever. Marianne would marry. And perhaps, with luck, Blanche too would soon meet someone suitable – someone from the circle in which she moved.

Sarah looked at the clock. Just after three. Blanche would soon be there. Moving to the table she glanced briefly, approvingly at the two short ranks of small sponges that were cooling on a tray, and then began to set out cups and saucers and plates. Stopping momentarily, she put a hand to her head. She had a slight headache, which had been with her all day, a dull throbbing sensation that had continuously made its presence felt. She realized now that the headache was worse; not only that but there was a strange feeling of fullness in her head, added to which she felt slightly sick, as though she could vomit.

She swallowed hard, trying to force back the sensation of nausea and, setting down the little pitcher of
milk on the tablecloth, moved to a chair and sat down. The pounding in her head grew stronger.

As Blanche got out of the carriage at the end of the lane Mr Savill said he would send the phaeton for her at the appointed time. Blanche thanked him, said goodbye to him and Marianne and, as the carriage set off once more, made her way towards the cottage.

Rising with difficulty from her chair, Sarah walked slowly from the kitchen into the scullery, from which window she could look along the lane to the junction with the main Hallowford to Trowbridge road. Now, standing before the window, she gripped the small table in front of it as a wave of giddiness washed over her. On the lane she could see the slim, elegantly-dressed figure of Blanche as she came towards the cottage. Sarah registered the sight for a moment but then her awareness was swiftly dissolving under the pressure from the throbbing pain in her head. It was stronger than ever, and now she could hear strange noises in her ears, like the rushing of water. She staggered slightly and, reaching out, clutched desperately at the sink. Her fingers grasped it, but in the next moment her grasp was slipping away as consciousness left her and she fell to the floor.

Ernest, summoned quickly from his work by the son of a neighbour whom Blanche had sent to the farm, ran back to the cottage, the dog at his heels. He got there to find his mother lying insensible on the old couch, with Dr Kelsey in attendance and Blanche waiting worriedly close by. Their mother had suffered apoplexy, Ernest learned, and was paralysed down her left side. On hearing this he at once burst into tears. Blanche
comforted him, after which Dr Kelsey told them that their mother had a chance of recovery with careful nursing. But great care would have to be taken, he said. The stroke had been caused by a haemorrhage in the brain, due to the bursting of a blood vessel, and great care would have to be exercised to ensure that it didn’t happen again. The vital time, Kelsey added, would be over the next two or three days, during which time she must be kept extremely quiet and disturbed as little as possible. Any undue disturbance, he said, could bring about a recurrence of the attack.

‘Her – her paralysis …’ Ernest said. ‘Will she get over that?’

Kelsey paused before he answered. ‘We don’t yet know the extent of it – and won’t until she recovers consciousness. But if she’s much affected it’s very doubtful that she’ll make anything like a full recovery – though she might make a very good
partial
recovery. The next three or four weeks will tell. At the end of that time she should, with care, be out of danger. Also at that time you’ll see any signs of recovery of her powers.’

Before the doctor left he gave instructions for Sarah’s nursing – though there was little that could be done for the present during her state of unconsciousness, he said, except to maintain extreme quiet and keep her lying down.

When the doctor had gone – with the promise to call again the next morning – Ernest and Blanche brought Sarah’s bed downstairs and erected it in the front parlour. Then, gently and carefully, they laid Sarah upon it. With nothing more they could do for their mother for the present, Blanche set about making tea for Ernest and herself.

As they drank it there came a knock at the front door
and Ernest opened it to find there James, the Savills’ groom, come to take Blanche back to Hallowford House. Blanche told him that her mother was ill and that she would have to stay with her. She would, she said, send Mr Savill a message the next day.

When James had gone, Ernest noticed dully that Blanche had changed into one of Sarah’s frocks; her own dress and cape, which she had worn to London, were now hanging behind the door of Sarah’s bedroom.

As Ernest sat at Sarah’s side, watching over her, Blanche prepared a meal for him, then sat near him as he ate, the plate on his knee, beside Sarah’s bed.

Later on Mr Savill himself came to the cottage to inquire after Sarah’s condition. Blanche brought him into the kitchen where they talked quietly. After a little while, exacting the promise from her to let him know if there was anything her mother needed, he left.

That night Ernest prepared to sit beside Sarah and watch over her. Blanche tried to persuade him to go to bed, but he would not, insisting on remaining there, sitting on the chair at Sarah’s bedside. Just after eleven o’clock Sarah showed signs of regaining consciousness, and minutes later she opened her eyes. Ernest, trying to keep back the tears, held her hand while she tried to ask what had happened. As he and Blanche had feared, she had difficulty in speaking; her speech was thick, as if her tongue would not obey her commands, while the left side of her face, particularly the muscles around the left side of her mouth, seemed to have fallen and to have lost their power.

Ernest told her that she had had a slight stroke, quickly adding, however, that she would be all right in time with careful nursing. The doctor, he added, would be calling to see her again in the morning. ‘Meanwhile
you’ll have to put up with Blanche and me looking after you,’ he grinned.

A little later Blanche again tried to persuade him to go to bed. ‘I’ll sit with her,’ she said. ‘You must have your sleep. You have work to go to in the morning.’

He shook his head. ‘How can I go to work? Someone’s got to be with her.’

‘I’ll stay with her. Don’t worry, I’ll care for her. And if she needs you I’ll send for you. In the meantime you go on to bed.’

He nodded and got up from the chair. Sarah was sleeping again now. After whispering a goodnight to her he moved silently away from her bedside. In the doorway he said softly to Blanche, a perplexed frown on his brow:

‘How are you going to make your arrangements – about going away?’

Blanche shook her head. ‘We won’t discuss it now. You go on to bed.’

‘But you’re leaving the country in a day or two.’

‘Go to bed, Ernest. Please.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. ‘Goodnight, Blanche. Wake me if – if anything happens.’

‘Don’t worry – I will. But she’ll be all right.’

Sitting in a chair beside Sarah’s bed, Blanche spent the night in alternate periods of sleeping and wakefulness. And even during the times when she slept it seemed that half her mind was alert for any sign of alarm from Sarah. When Ernest, followed by Jacko, came downstairs just on five-thirty he crept into the parlour and found both Blanche and his mother sleeping. After spending a few silent moments at Sarah’s bedside he went softly out of the room again. A faint noise from the kitchen a little later awakened Blanche and she went out there
to find Ernest washing. She told him that their mother had spent a restful night, after which he urged her to go back and try to get some more sleep. She would not, but set about preparing his breakfast. Following the long, uncomfortable night Blanche’s limbs ached and felt stiff, but after moving about the room for a few minutes she felt better. After feeding Jacko, Ernest ate the breakfast of oatmeal and eggs which Blanche had prepared for him and then, after looking in on Sarah once more – she was still sleeping – he called the dog to him and together they left the cottage.