The House of Discontent (7 page)

“It never occurred to me to tell you,” Patricia answered airily. “It wasn’t so very exciting, finding someone to carry one’s luggage and get one a taxi.”

“Oh, you are blasé!” Mary exclaimed in a shocked voice.

Patricia laughed outright. “Now stop asking questions,” she said, but at the same time she was wondering why it was that she had not told Mary about her meeting with this stranger in London and all the kindness he had shown to her. Why hadn’t she told her? It would have been the most natural thing to do.

“I know why,” she thought to herself suddenly. “It is because there are certain memories in life which to share is to lose. Just as a troubled conscience is supposed to be eased by confession, so a memory we want to keep intact somehow loses its potency when we tell it to someone else —like the scent of one’s powder when one leaves the lid of the box off. It is not wise to confide one’s happiness to others. They may pull it to pieces to see what it is made of.”

“I have told you all about Jim,” Mary was grumbling, “and you have never told me anything about yourself.” Jim was the young man to whom she had been writing.

“By
myself
I suppose you mean my love affairs,” Patricia replied, laughing. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never been in love.”

“But you must have known lots of boys?” Mary asked.

“Yes, any amount; and I’ve flirted with them and I’ve had a wonderful time with them, but I’ve never been in love.”

“And yet you are nineteen!” Mary said in an incredulous voice.

“Have you often been in love?” Patricia asked her.

“Oh, yes, I don’t think I’ve ever been out of it. There’s always been
someone.
I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t; but I’ve never before been in love in the way that I am with Jim, of course. Before that it has only been crushes on the girls or mistresses at school or some film star, and when I was a very little girl it was the village constable. But I’ve never in my life been heart-free!”

“Really, Mary, you are incorrigible!” Patricia laughed.

“But has anyone ever proposed to you?” Mary went on.

“Yes,” Patricia said, “a few people. But then,” she added hurriedly in self-disparagement, “girls are at a premium out East. There are so many men.”

“And did you refuse them at once, or did you ask them to let you think it over, or did you ask if you might be a sister to them?”

“Goodness, Mary, what questions! No, I refused them at once, and I hope I never ask any man if I may be a sister to him!”

“And have you ever kissed anyone?” Mary asked with a deadly persistency.

“No,” Patricia said firmly.

“Do you think it’s wrong?”

“It’s not a question of it being right or wrong; it’s a question of how you feel about it. I think it is very important so I would never kiss anyone who wasn’t very important to me.”

This silenced Mary. She was obviously thinking it over. They had come by now to the top of the hill.

“You go on first,” Patricia said. “Your bicycle is faster than mine and I’ll corner a bit slow to start with till I’ve tested my brakes.”

“All right,” Mary said. “I like going down here pretending I’m the wind ... I’ll wait for you at the bottom.”

And she was off like a flash, with Pookie bounding behind her, and in a moment she had rounded the first bend and disappeared from sight.

“Take care you don’t skid,” Patricia called out after her, but it was unlikely that Mary had heard.

Patricia found, as she had expected, that her own brakes were not at all good. She could put them full on without stopping completely, so she went very slowly, for she knew that the hill became increasingly steep. She would probably have to get off and walk later on. She rounded the first and second bends slowly, and then she had to slam on her brakes and jump off, half flinging herself into the ditch, because immediately in front of her in the road lay Mary on top of her bicycle.

Patricia acted swiftly. Half dragging and half lifting her, she moved Mary to the safety of the ditch and then dragged her bicycle out of the way. She noticed as she was doing so a nasty patch of ice on the road.

She knelt down by Mary. Her eyes were shut and she appeared to be unconscious, but there was no sign of blood or of any open wound. “She must have fallen on her head,” Patricia thought hurriedly. “Concussion probably ... Oh, I wish I had warned her sooner! These roads are so treacherous!”

Pookie was standing beside his unconscious mistress, wagging his tail and trying to lick her face. Patricia thought quickly: “What’s the best thing to do? If only a car would come by. This road is awfully little used. I might have to wait ages. Where shall I go for help?”

She had to make up her mind at once whether it would be better to go on to The Knowle for help or return to Brierleigh Cottage. Oh, if only there was a telephone box somewhere close by! It was actually a shorter distance back to Brierleigh, but The Knowle would be quicker as it was all downhill. On the other hand, if she went that way, hurrying, she might have an accident herself, or, as her brakes didn’t work properly, she might have to get off and walk, which would be much slower than returning the other way. (She had ascertained that Mary’s bicycle was too badly bent to be used.) Also, there was almost certain to be a car at Brierleigh Cottage so they could come and pick up Mary without delay, and failing the car there must be an ambulance at the hospital, and Mary could probably be treated at the hospital too. Yes, that was obviously the best thing to do.

All these pros and cons had flashed through her mind in the space of a few seconds, and having made up her mind, she hastily took off her coat and covered Mary with it and made a pillow for her out of her gloves and scarf, and then, getting an old envelope and a pencil out of her bag, scribbled a note which she left on Mary’s chest:
“
Have gone for help to Brierleigh Cottage.
”

“Now look after her, Pookie,” she said, and picking up her bicycle she almost ran, pushing it up the hill. Once she looked back over her shoulder: Pookie had mounted guard, sitting at Mary’s head.

Directly Patricia reached the top of the hill she jumped on to her bicycle and pedalled as if she had entered for a Marathon race. As soon as she came within sight of Brierleigh Cottage she noticed that there was a car parked outside the door, and she sent up a little prayer of thanksgiving.

“Lady Brierleigh home from church,” she thought to herself, and this assumption proved to be correct.

Lady Brierleigh and Anthony both had their skates on and were about to take to the ice when Patricia came along. A little breathlessly she told her story, making it as brief as possible. Anthony had his skates off in a trice.

“Come on,” he said, “we’ll go and fetch her. Mother, arrange for a bed in the hospital and ring up The Knowle.”

He was at the door of the car as he gave these instructions. Patricia scrambled in beside him, and they were already well away by the time she had got the door shut. He drove at breackneck speed.

“It won’t do her any good if we have an accident, too,” Patricia said.

He slowed down slightly.

“How did it happen?” he asked.

“Skid, I think. There was a bad patch of ice. Or else she put on her brakes suddenly for some reason and went over the handlebars. She must have fallen on her head, for I couldn’t see any wounds or bruises, and no bones broken as far as I can tell.”

“Not dead?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” Patricia said, a sudden little fear tugging at her heart. “Just concussed, I think.”

It did not take them long to reach the spot. Anthony drove past it and drew the car well up to the side of the road. He was out and had run back and was kneeling beside Mary before Patricia, who could not get out of the door nearest to her because it was squashed against the hedge, had squeezed under the driving-wheel and got out the other side.

She went quickly over to them. Anthony was feeling Mary’s pulse.

“How is she?” Patricia asked.

“All right,” he said. “It’s concussion, I’m sure, as you said. You showed great presence of mind in writing that note. Here, take your coat and put it on at once or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

He handed Patricia her coat, and then picked up Mary’s unconscious body as if it had been a feather-weight and carried her to the car.

Patricia pocketed her scarf and gloves and called to Pookie, and then followed them to the car. It was ridiculous that she should feel so pleased because he had told her that she had shown presence of mind. This was not the time to think of little things. She mustn’t think of anything or anyone but Mary now.

“Open the door of the back and get in first,” he said, and she jumped to obey him, furious with herself that she had not thought to get in and open the door without being asked. She got quickly into the back and he put Mary down gently on the seat beside her, and Patricia took her head on her lap. Pookie got in front beside Anthony and they left Mary’s bicycle by the side of the road.

He drove back very carefully so as not to shake Mary. He did not stop at Brierleigh Cottage, but drove straight on to the hospital.

“Will they take her there as it’s a children’s hospital?” Patricia asked.

“They’ll have to,” he replied. “The Matron knows us very well.”

They passed Lady Brierleigh on the way. She was walking rapidly in the direction of the hospital. Anthony waved to her, but he did not stop.

The Matron was waiting for them at the front door and there was also a stretcher.

“She’s still unconscious,” Patricia said as they opened the door of the car. “There seems to be a big lump on the top of her head.”

“We’ll take her along to be X-rayed right away to see what the damage is,” the Matron said. “It is fortunate that Dr. Clarke happened to be here when Lady Brierleigh rang up.”

Mary was lifted out and put on the stretcher and carried away. Anthony and Patricia walked back a few yards to meet Lady Brierleigh. “My dear, how is she?” the latter asked. They told her as much as they knew.

“It’s so lucky to get a doctor so soon,” Patricia said.

“Yes,” Lady Brierleigh agreed. “Dr. Clarke happened to have a special case which he had to come up and see this morning. It is also very fortunate that we happen to have a free bed. So we can keep Mary, anyway, for a few days if necessary.” She felt herself to be so much a part of the hospital which was her chief interest in life that unconsciously she used the personal pronoun when speaking of it. “By the way, I rang up The Knowle,” she continued. “Edward is coming immediately on his motor-bicycle—I wouldn’t be surprised if that is him now—and I said that one of us would go and fetch Mr. and Mrs. Leslie in the car.”

“Shall I go and fetch them?” Patricia asked. “I can drive all right.”

As she spoke she was looking down the avenue. Lady Brierleigh must have had very keen eyesight, for Patricia could only just discern now a kind of smoky cloud in the distance which, however, did resolve itself into Edward on his motor-bicycle as it came rapidly nearer.

“No, I’ll go and fetch the Leslies,” Anthony said, “but you can come with me if you want to. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do any good here—anyway, for a while—and there’s no point in hanging around.”

“All right,” Patricia agreed. They were just getting into the car when Edward drove up. He jumped off his machine and at once asked Patricia for details of the accident. Patricia told him through the window of the car while he was taking off his goggles. “We are just going to fetch your father and mother,” she ended.

“All right, I’ll wait around here in case she regains consciousness.” He and Anthony had merely nodded to each other.

Patricia thought to herself: “And he probably hopes to get a glimpse of Camilla.”

As they started off she said: “It’s funny that you don’t know Edward.”

“I knew him as a boy,” Anthony replied. “He used to come to the skating parties and children’s parties we gave. But since we grew up I’ve hardly seen him. I haven’t been much at home, as a matter of fact.”

“But you know Mary?”

“Yes, I know her a bit better. She’s helped my mother with various bazaars.”

“You’ve been abroad a lot,” Patricia said. It was half a statement, half an interrogation.

“Yes,” he replied. “As much as possible.”

He said this slightly bitterly and Patricia wondered what exactly he meant by it. Why should he have wanted to get away as much as possible? Surely one would have thought that he had everything he could possibly want at home. Suddenly she recalled Mrs. Grey’s words. What were they exactly? Something about the mistake one made in thinking that people had everything in the world they wanted just because they had everything
you
wanted.

“Don’t you like this place?” she asked.

“I adore the place,” he answered with great feeling. “And the country,” he added. “I think there is some of the most beautiful country in the whole of England round here. Have you been on to the moors yet?”

“No.”

“No, I don’t suppose they would have taken you up there,” he replied. “I suppose you have spent your time going to tea-parties.”

There was so much contempt in his voice that she felt suddenly on the defensive. “Everybody has been extraordinarily kind to me,” she said. “Yes, they have asked me out to tea, but it is the most natural form of hospitality, isn’t it, when one isn’t well off.”

“You haven't understood what I mean,” he said.

“What did you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”

There was silence between them for a few moments, but eventually she broke it by saying: “I should love to go up on the moors.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake don’t try and go by yourself at this time of year. There was snow a fortnight ago and there will still be bad drifts. It is very dangerous up there.”