Unknown (8 page)

Meg’s heart missed a beat. Supposing it
was
the last thing he did—

“Uncle Andra, would you like me to stay on?” she asked impulsively. “Because if you would, we could easily hire another caravan—”

“No, certainly not,” Uncle Andra said so decidedly that Meg knew it was useless to argue. Then, seeing her distress, he patted her hand and spoke in his usual kindly way. “Now stop worrying, Meg. I admit I’ve found life a bit of a strain since we came here, but I’m reasonably sure that’s over now. I’ve got a man coming over from Callerton tomorrow—and that ought to be far enough away for him to be able to make up his mind for himself. No, it’ll be all right, you’ll see. So off you go with an easy mind!”

And though she knew that she would certainly not be able to do that, Meg had to admit defeat. There was really no alternative.

Meg had a last, careful look in cupboards and drawers to make sure that she hadn’t left anything out of the cases she had packed except her requirements for this, the last evening she would spend at the hotel. She would start early in the morning, break her journey for a night half way between Netherbyre and Aunt Ellen’s home and arrive, with anything like luck, in comfortable time for the evening meal without needing to force her pace at all.

She would, she decided, go to bed early, and with that in mind, she went in search of Uncle Andra so that she could say good-bye to him now and not need to disturb him in the morning. She tapped on his bedroom door, but receiving no answer, went downstairs. He might, she thought, be having a nightcap in the bar, and if she joined him in it it might be easier for both of them. But half way down the stairs she met Jeremy coming up.

“I was just coming up to have a word with you, Meg,” he told her, and then, for the first time, she noticed that his face was set in serious, even anxious lines.

“Is something wrong?” she asked sharply.

“I’m not sure,” Jeremy replied. “Maybe I’m making a fuss about nothing, but your uncle went out soon after dinner and he’s not back yet. I hoped you might know where he’s gone to.”

“I didn’t even know he was going out,” Meg confessed. “Didn’t he tell you where he was going?”

“Not a word. Simply, after that telephone call—”

“Which telephone call?” Meg interrupted. “Who was it?”

“I’ve no idea,” Jeremy explained. “But it upset him to a considerable extent. When he rang off, he came into the bar, downed a couple of brandies in double quick time and went out. I don’t want to worry you, Meg, but—”

All sorts of terrifying pictures flashed though Meg’s mind at the significance of that unfinished sentence. Uncle Andra, helpless and in pain, unable to walk and too far from human aid for anyone to hear him call. Or even worse than that—

“We’ll have to go out and look for him,” she said shakily. “It’s the only thing to do.”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “I’ll organise as many men as I can and we’ll start at once.”

“I’m coming too,” Meg said firmly. “Of course I am! Just give me time to put on heavier shoes and get a torch—”

She was back in the hall within a few minutes, but to her surprise there were no signs of the preparations Jeremy had spoken of, and then she saw why. He was talking to Hector Heronshaw who, when he saw her, came straight towards her, his face grim. Her mouth suddenly dry, Meg waited for him to speak.

“Your uncle is at Heronshaw House,” he told her bluntly. “He’s had a stroke. I shall have to ask you to come with me.”

PERHAPS there is no way of breaking bad news gently. Certainly, if there is, Hector hadn’t attempted to look for it, and strangely, Meg didn’t resent his bluntness. On the contrary, it had the effect, as perhaps Hector had known it would, of bracing her to meet the need of the moment for instinctively she squared her shoulders.

“Yes, at once!” she said steadily, and began to walk towards the front door.

Jeremy, who had caught his breath at what he felt was Hector’s lack of consideration, put out a restraining hand as she passed him.

“Meg, would you like me to come with you?” he asked gently.

Meg shook her head without speaking and Jeremy’s hand dropped. He scowled as Meg, closely followed by Hector, went out to his waiting car and the door shut behind them. Poor little Meg, he thought compassionately, what appalling luck that this should have happened at Heronshaw House, of all places! And then, for a moment, his thoughts were deflected from Meg’s predicament by something which had only just occurred to him. Andrew Ainslie had made no effort to conceal his dislike and mistrust of Hector. Why then had he paid him a visit, particularly at such an unconventional time? It must have been for some urgent reason—and then Jeremy remembered that telephone call. Had it been from Hector? Had it even been a request that Mr Ainslie should pay the visit? There was no way of knowing, but Jeremy made up his mind that sooner or later, he would get the answer to that. And if Hector Heronshaw was in any way responsible for Mr Ainslie’s condition, then he was going to pay for it, no matter how sacrosanct from criticism he might think he was! Then it occurred to him that it might not be necessary for him to ask questions. Meg would surely do that herself.

But for the moment, such an idea hadn’t entered Meg’s head. Sitting rigidly beside Sir Hector in the big, comfortable car, she only spoke once on the way to Heronshaw House.

“How bad is he?”

“That I can’t tell you,” Sir Hector replied, keeping his eyes steadily on the road ahead of him. “I can only tell you that I called in my doctor immediately and arrangements have already been made for your uncle to be taken to hospital. The ambulance should be arriving about the same time that we do.”

Meg’s hands, out of Sir Hector’s sight, clenched on the edge of her seat. As bad as that! It was impossible not to feel a sense of panic—only, of course, one mustn’t give way to that for Uncle Andra’s sake—

“I shall go to the hospital with him,” she said steadily.

“Of course,” he sounded somewhat surprised that she had thought it necessary to say that.

Neither of them spoke again, and a few minutes later they turned in at the massive gates, wide open now. Along a tree-lined drive, so dark that Sir Hector had to put on his headlamps. Then, suddenly, the avenue terminated and there was the house, grim, gaunt and grey and to Meg’s strained nerves suggesting a prison rather than a home. Lights were on in several rooms and as Sir Hector came to a halt, the vast, nail-studded front door swung open. Evidently someone had been waiting to do that so that there should be no delay— Meg jumped out of the car and ran up the steps without waiting for Sir Hector. On the threshold she was met by a grey-haired, middle-aged woman who took one of her hands firmly in hers and said quietly:

“Your uncle’s condition is unchanged. If you’ll come with me—”

Meg followed her across a vast, stone-flagged hall and past a nobly proportioned staircase whose beauty she naturally failed to appreciate.

“This way,” her guide said, and leading the way down a corridor, opened a door and stood back for Meg to enter.

Somehow she had taken it for granted that Uncle Andra would have been taken to a bedroom, but this room was a study and Uncle Andra was lying on a big old-fashioned sofa. She stood looking down at the man who had been almost a father to her and who, so far as she knew, had never had a day’s illness in his life. Now she didn’t need to be told that he was a very sick man. He lay very still, his face unnaturally flushed, his breathing heavy. His tie had been removed and his collar undone. His thinning hair, usually so smoothly neat, was ruffled and wispy—

The doctor who had been sitting beside the sofa stood up, though his fingers still held Uncle Andra’s wrist. Meg looked at him appealingly, but though his face was very kindly, it was also very grave.

“My dear, I can’t tell you yet,” he said gently. “I can only tell you that if we can pull him through the next twenty-four hours, I shall feel very much encouraged.”

Unable to speak, Meg swallowed a lump in her throat, and at that moment there was a slight stir behind her and she turned to see that Hector Heronshaw had come in followed by two men with a stretcher.

“Ah, good!” the doctor exclaimed with relief, and superintended the careful removal of Uncle Andra to the stretcher. “You’ll be coming with us, Miss Ainslie?"

"Yes,” Meg said, and prepared to follow the little cortege from the study.

Suddenly Sir Hector spoke.

“There’s just one thing—are there any other near relatives of Mr Ainslie’s who ought to be informed of his illness?”

Meg came to a halt, torn two ways. Of course she must go to the hospital with Uncle Andra, but equally, of course, Aunt Ellen must be told.

It was the grey-haired woman who solved the problem.

“His sister Ellen, of course,” she said briskly. “Give me her telephone number, my dear, and I’ll ring her up.” And then, seeing Meg’s surprise, she added an explanation, “Ellen and I knew each other very well when we were both younger. You can rely on me to tell her as considerately as possible.”

Quickly Meg gave her the information and was just leaving the room when she heard Sir Hector say:

“When you’ve attended to that, Cousin Millicent, will you ring through to the hotel and tell them—”

Meg heard no more than that, for while she vaguely appreciated that of course Jeremy must know what she was doing, her whole mind was concentrating on Uncle Andra. She ran downstairs and out to the waiting ambulance, but as she was about to get into it the doctor, who had been bending over his patient, turned round.

“My dear, I’m afraid there won’t be room for you with us. But Hector will bring you—yes, there he is, waiting for you.”

He must have followed immediately behind her down the steps, for as Meg walked towards the big car, he was already in the driver’s seat, the lights were on and the car’s engine was gently thrumming. He opened the passenger door and Meg got silently in. There was nothing else to do, but it irked her that she had to accept still more help from this man whom she had no cause to like and who, she was quite sure, must resent having been forced into a position where he was compelled to be a Good Samaritan.

Perhaps, in the circumstances, she ought to thank him for his help, but the words stuck in her throat and it was Sir Hector who first broke the silence between them.

“I’ve arranged for a consultant to come over from Newcastle to see your uncle tomorrow morning,” he announced abruptly.

That was it! That was what was so annoying in the man!
I
have arranged—therefore it will come to pass without question! And while it was a relief to know that Uncle Andra was going to have every attention, Meg could not help delivering a little thrust.

“Is Dr Muir agreeable to that?” she asked deliberately.

“Oh yes. In fact, it was his suggestion. Muir is a first-class man in whom you can have every confidence, but just because he is good, he knows his own limitations. Have
you
any objections to the arrangement?”

“Of course not!” Meg replied quickly, conscious that he had read what was in her mind and had neatly put the onus for the decision on to her shoulders. Then, as the miles reeled by : "How far is it to the hospital?”

“About another seven miles,” he told her, and then, with the first hint of sympathy he had shown: “It probably seems to you if I’m going very slowly, but in fact there’s no point in us arriving before the ambulance, and in any case, the lanes are too narrow for me to pass in safety.”

And that, of course, was true. He was, in fact, driving very steadily, always keeping the rear lights of the ambulance within sight yet never closing in too closely. He was, Meg admitted, a good driver and a safe one. Suddenly she found that she could volunteer the thanks she had found impossible earlier.

“Thank you for—your help,” she said jerkily.

Sir Hector hesitated momentarily. Then he said harshly:

“I’m doing no more than anyone would do in such an emergency. You need feel under no obligation to me.”

Meg said no more, but despite her great anxiety she found herself wondering about this man who, though they were so physically close to one another, had no real contact. Each roused antagonism in the other and even in the present circumstances neither of them could overcome it. Her difficulty in offering her thanks; his ungracious reception when she had brought herself to giving them—unconsciously she sighed. She had always thought of herself as a friendly sort of person, but how could one feel friendly towards a man like this? Arrogant, self-opinionated, so sure that he was always right that he didn’t even bother to consider other people’s opinions—

And yet Meg experienced, not for the first time, one of those topsy-turvy sensations where Hector Heronshaw was concerned which were so disconcerting. He
was
all those things. She wasn’t the only person who thought so. Old Nanny, Uncle Andra, Fiona Heronshaw—all had come up against the stone wall of the man’s nature. And yet—

And yet, despite all those objectionable qualities, from the moment that he had spoken to her at the hotel she had known that she could rely on him. Having assumed a responsibility, however reluctantly, he would deal faithfully with it. And undeniably, that was both reassuring and comforting. But very perplexing. How could one possibly dislike and yet trust a man at one and the same time? It just didn’t make sense.

“Ah!” Sir Hector said suddenly as the ambulance slowed down and turned off the road. “Here we are!”

From then on everything moved with smooth, efficient speed. Uncle Andra was transferred to a waking trolley and whisked off down the corridor. Meg was shown into a waiting room by a nurse who took it as a matter of course that Sir Hector should come as well. However, he waited quietly in the background while Meg supplied all information which was required and had been told that Dr Muir would be coming to see her as soon as he felt he could leave his patient. Then the nurse left them and Meg, feeling suddenly forlorn, turned involuntarily to Sir Hector.