Victoria and the Nightingale Read online

  “And she looks as if she might be the family ghost. She’s awfully pale.”

  “And she’s obviously in some sort of trouble.” He coughed. “Excuse me—”

  Victoria sat up with a jolt and grasped at the arms of the chair. If someone had presented her with a mirror just then she would have understood why they both continued to stare so hard.

  “You are real, aren’t you?” Even he sounded doubtful. “Of course.”

  “Then you must have found your way in through the window. Are you looking for someone? Do you want something?”

  She shook her head.

  “Only to hear how Johnny is. And I think the doctor will be here any moment. . . .”

  But at that moment the door opened, and in came the doctor. He was a middle-aged man who had been in bed when he was sent for, and he wore his pajamas beneath an overcoat. He was accompanied by the housekeeper in a thick wool dressing gown, and the butler who was still in his formal black coat and pinstriped trousers. At sight of the two people who were standing staring at Victoria he looked mildly surprised, and then hurriedly explained.

  “There’s been an accident, Sir Peter. This young person was involved in it, and there’s a child upstairs who has been put to bed by Mrs. Grainge and at the moment seems to be settling down quite comfortably. I thought the doctor ought to take a look at this young woman first—”

  “You were quite right.” The doctor ignored the rest of them and moved forward to the side of the chair that contained Victoria and bent over her. He smiled at her reassuringly as he picked up her wrist and felt her pulse. “You’ve had a nasty shock,” he said. And then, over his shoulder, “I’d be glad if you would all leave the room while I make my examination ... all, that is, except Mrs. Grainge, whom I shall probably need.”

  The butler looked mildly scandalized at the very idea of Sir Peter being requested to leave his own library, but Wycherley took the young woman with whom he had entered the room by the arm and propelled her toward the door.

  “Out, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re not needed here.”

  She protested immediately, looking up at him with great dark eyes. She was a graceful slip of a thing in scarlet brocade, and not only was she attractive, but the depth and color of her dress emphasized her peculiarly exotic type of loveliness.

  “But, Peter,” she argued, “you can’t have your house turned into a kind of hospital just because there’s been an accident. We’re having a celebration, remember? And there’s the local hospital. . . .”

  “Probably they’re full up,” he replied, still urging her purposefully toward the door. “And Dr. Brown wants us out of here.”

  “But what about all the guests? You’re not going to break up the party?”

  “It’ll soon be breakfast time,” he said, fairly whisking her into the hall, “and it’s high time the party was broken up in any case.”

  As soon as they were outside, and the room was cleared, the doctor gave his undivided attention to Victoria. He pronounced, at last, that apart from a few abrasions and some rather bad bruises she appeared to have sustained little damage—which was, of course, remarkable; and at the moment she was suffering from shock. He could tell by her dilated eyes, and by the quality of her pallor, that she was suffering from rather serious shock, and his prescription was bed immediately, and on the following day he would look in and give her a rather more detailed examination just to make absolutely certain there were no bones broken, or anything of that sort.

  He gave her an anti-tetanus injection, which made her feel slightly worse than she had before, and then he took the housekeeper aside and issued a few instructions. Victoria, who realized she was putting these people to an enormous amount of trouble, and perhaps it wasn’t necessary if she could be fixed up with a hotel room, or the local hospital would take her in for the remainder of the night, interrupted the discussion to protest feebly that she was perfectly all right now, and she didn’t think she ought to remain. But the doctor crossed over to her again and smiled at her understandingly.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You’re not putting anyone to undue trouble, and this house is so full of rooms that are only infrequently used. Isn’t that so, Mrs. Grainge?” He appealed to the housekeeper.

  She was a motherly woman with a Scottish accent, and she answered at once.

  “That’s right, love.” She laid a hand on Victoria’s shoulder. “And Sir Peter’s a very kind gentleman and you mustn’t take any notice of what Miss Islesworth said because she’s only become engaged to Sir Peter, and tonight they were having a bit of a celebration ... an engagement party I suppose you’d call it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Victoria was sorry, and she looked faintly appalled.

  Mrs. Grainge patted her gently on the shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault, love. Accidents will happen, and the little lad upstairs is the one to be sympathized with if his father was badly injured in the crash. Let’s hope there’ll be some good news of him tomorrow.” She looked rather more curiously at Victoria. “Is the gentleman a relative of yours, my dear?”

  Victoria answered briefly, “My employer.”

  “I see.”

  The doctor looked impatient at this questioning, and Mrs. Grainge recollected what was expected of her. She withdrew to supervise the preparation of a bedroom for Victoria, and Dr. Brown took his leave after once more feeling the victim’s pulse and explaining that he had left a sedative for her to take, and that he would look in and see her early the following morning. He then made his way upstairs to have a look at Johnny.

  Victoria was once more alone when Sir Peter came back into the library and stood regarding her with a good deal of quite unconcealed concern in his eyes.

  They were very pleasant—even exceptionally attractive—gray eyes, and for a man his eyelashes were unusually long and thick and dark. He was a slenderly built man a little above average height, and he had light brown hair and well-cut features, and a slight air of diffidence seemed to cling to him, although under normal circumstances his lips could curve humorously and there was often a humorous twinkle in his eyes. It was quite obvious that he had an excellent tailor, for his evening clothes were beautifully cut and fitted him to perfection, and the impeccable quality of his linen threw into prominence the rather dark cast of his countenance.

  Either he had lived abroad a good deal, and acquired a healthy tan, or his light brown hair should have been dark as a raven’s wing to suit the bronze of his skin and the strange blackness of his lashes.

  When he smiled at Victoria she felt strangely warmed and comforted by his smile. She certainly didn’t feel that he regarded her as a nuisance, even if his recently acquired

  fiancee thought of her as such.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, as she lay somewhat limply in the chair and he stood beside it and looked down at her. “I’m afraid you’ve had rather a nasty time. Was that needle of old Brown’s very painful when he gave you the injection?”

  She shook her head, and for a moment she felt too vague to answer him. Then she managed a rather husky whisper.

  “It didn’t hurt at all. But I’m feeling a bit confused. It all happened so suddenly,” she said in a more throaty whisper.

  “I understand.” He moved nearer to her, and for one moment she thought he was going to rest his hand on her shoulder as his housekeeper had done. “I’ve been up to look at the child, but I don’t think you have to worry about him too much. Children have a way of surviving these things better than adults.”

  She agreed with him that this was miraculously so.

  “I understand his father is—in pretty poor shape.”

  She nodded and agreed with him, this time soundlessly.

  “I telephoned the hospital. The report is not good. But of course it may be better tomorrow.”

  She made a faint movement with her lips. For the first time she realized that he was studying her hand—her left hand, which was completely ringle
ss.

  “The child is not yours?” he stated rather than asked.

  Her drugged blue eyes—and they were as deep and dark as harebells—expressed surprise.

  “No.”

  “But he is some sort of a relative?”

  “No.”

  Sir Peter Wycherley moved awkwardly. Perhaps he realized that this was no time for questioning.

  “My—my fiancee was a little upset just now,” he murmured. “You mustn’t think she objects to your presence in the house. As a matter of fact, she’s intensely sympathetic, and would like to provide you with everything you need during your stay here. Fortunately she, too, is staying here, and she has plenty of things with her.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Sleeping things and so on. She’s put everything you’ll require in your room.”

  “That—that’s extraordinarily kind of her,” Victoria murmured back, and then struggled to her feet because she thought that if she didn’t reach her room soon she might disgrace herself by being sick, or fainting, or something of the sort. She stood literally swaying on her feet and added: “In fact, you’re both very kind. You’re all being very— very—very k-ki—” And then her senses deserted her quite abruptly, and Sir Peter caught her in his arms before she fell and narrowly averted a further catastrophe as a result of her head hitting the stone hearth and possibly causing concussion. He held her for a moment as if she were a baby in his arms, and he thought how exceptionally fair her hair was, and how thin and pinched her face.

  Then without any further hesitation he bore her out into the hall and up his gracious curving staircase to the room that had been prepared for her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Victoria felt confused the following morning when she awakened in a completely strange room with morning sunlight finding its way into it round the edges of the drawn curtains.

  She lay in the pleasant twilight that filled the greater part of the room and tried to think up some convincing explanation of the reason why she was where she was, and the explanation had to include such trifling reassurances as a satisfactory excuse for her wearing a nightdress that most certainly didn’t belong to her; and for all the solid comfort and luxury that surrounded her.

  She was used to reasonable comfort in her surroundings, but this was comfort run riot. Facing her was a splendid tallboy with a degree of polish that made her blink, and over in the wide window space was the kind of dressing table she had often dreamed of possessing one day but never seriously hoped to do. It stood in a petticoat of flowered satin and had an oval mirror that appeared to be framed in beaten silver standing on it, and there were a lot of silver-topped bottles and some crystal flagons and things scattered about the plate-glass surface as well.

  She could see a vast wardrobe, and that, too, was shimmering as if housemaids worked on it constantly, and what she decided was a tall pier-glass or cheval mirror, and a long couch covered in the same flowered satin as that which provided a skirt for the dressing table. And there appeared to be a vast area of carpet, and it was rosily pink like a cloud; and some rugs that were white clouds floating on the pink cloud.

  She frowned as she lay looking at it all and decided that this was no hotel room. Johnny’s father couldn’t possibly afford a room like this. . . . And then all at once she remembered, and with memory surging back her head began to ache.

  Mrs. Grainge came quietly into the room with a tray of tea, and the first thing she did was draw the curtains, then she approached the bed and smiled at the occupant.

  “Well,” she said, “and how did you sleep? You’re looking better, I must say.”

  Victoria felt horribly confused still, but at least she knew now what it was all about.

  “Johnny—” she asked, and the housekeeper poured her a cup of tea and smiled even more complacently.

  “Doing nicely,” she assured her. “As bright as a button this morning, although a bit worried because you’re not around. Apparently you look after him, and he seems to think you’re his special property.”

  “I—I do look after him,” Victoria admitted.

  The housekeeper poised the sugar tongs above the sugar bowl.

  “Two lumps, dear?” she asked.

  Victoria nodded.

  “A kind of nursery governess, is that it, dear?” the housekeeper pursued. “I’d say he’s a bit old to need a nanny.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that. . . .” Victoria, despite the dull ache in her head, felt she ought to explain. "You see, I used to do welfare work, and I worked with children, and Johnny’s father was a widower, and needed someone to cook and look after Johnny. He was—he is,” she corrected herself for some reason that she didn’t quite understand—“a door-to-door salesman, and he doesn’t have much time to look after Johnny himself. The welfare people thought it would be a good thing for me to help him out, so I did ... I mean, I went and lived in and took charge of Johnny. We—we’re having a bit of a holiday now. . . .”

  “I see,” but the housekeeper didn’t sound as if she entirely understood.

  Victoria was groping her way through the confusion that clouded her brain.

  “How—how is he?” she asked huskily, remembering.

  Mrs. Grainge went across to the dressing table and

  started busying herself by altering the position of one of the cut-glass perfume bottles, and lifting the heavy silver-backed hand mirror from the tray. She replaced it after a moment, during which she had had time to make up her mind.

  “I don’t think Sir Peter has had any news from the hospital yet,” she said. “But he’ll tell you all about it when he does.”

  She returned briskly to the bedside.

  “Now, what would you like for breakfast?” she asked, the smooth and amiable mask on her face again. “I’m not going to let you get up yet, because I think you need a rest, and Dr. Brown wanted you to stay in bed until he’d seen you again. But I do think you need a good breakfast. What about scrambled eggs and some grapefruit beforehand? And coffee? Or would you prefer tea?”

  “Tea, please.” But Victoria struggled up on her pillows and felt certain that she ought to get up at once and satisfy herself about Johnny’s condition. After all, he was surrounded by strangers, and he was not the type to make friends easily. “I ought to see Johnny—”

  “After breakfast, if the doctor allows it.” Mrs. Grainge was quite firm, but she smiled pleasantly. “You must think of yourself as well as the child, you know.”

  “But he’s had a dreadful shock, and I’m the only one he knows. I ought to be with him.”

  “You can safely leave him to us. And believe me, he’s not at all unhappy.” Mrs. Grainge unhooked a dressing gown from off the door, and laid it across the foot of the bed in readiness for Victoria to slip into. “Miss Islesworth lent you this, and there are a lot of other things belonging to her in the wardrobe that you can wear if you want to. I’m afraid your own clothes are in a very bad condition.” For the first time that morning she looked at the girl in the bed with real sympathy in her eyes. “That was a dreadful accident you were involved in, and there’s a lot of blood and oil on your things.”

  “Blood and oil?” Victoria began to feel faint again. “But Johnny and I were practically unhurt....”

  Mrs. Grainge spoke quickly.

  “There, there, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it! And in any case, we can’t be absolutely certain that it’s blood. It could be marks from the road.” She was startled by the expression in Victoria’s eyes, and she hurried out of the room. “I’ll get your breakfast,” she muttered as she went.

  As soon as she was alone Victoria made a supreme effort and eased herself out of bed. Every bone in her body felt like an aching tooth, and she felt a little dizzy when she stood up. But her head was comparatively clear again.

  She slipped into the dressing gown, and it was the first time in her life that she had donned anything so luxurious so early in the morning. It was a white silk sheath, and when it was fastene
d round her she realized that the fit was perfect. She and Miss Islesworth must be almost the same build.

  She opened the door of the wardrobe and saw the clothes that had been put there for her. They, too, were unlike anything she had ever worn before. Under normal circumstances she would have been thrilled by the thought of wearing them. But now she was consumed by the urgent desire to dress and face the world, and she wasn’t at all sure how she was going to manage on her own.

  She moved slowly and painfully across the thick carpet until she stood in front of the dressing table, and she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection startled her. She had no color at all, and her eyes looked enormous. Normally they were blue—a dreamy, delightful blue; but with distended pupils and darkened irises they could have been black.

  Her small, heart-shaped face looked wan and pinched, and the livid bruise over her left cheekbone was acquiring some frightening hues. As for her hair—and she was proud of her soft, spun-silk, corn-gold hair—she had never seen it look so drab, and there were one or two burrs adhering to it that she had collected on her passage through the wood the night before.

  She picked them out with unsteady fingers, and then decided that before she could eat she must have a bath. And she was actually in her bath when Mrs. Grainge returned with her breakfast tray.

  The bathroom adjoined the bedroom, and the housekeeper waited with the white silk robe in her hands until she was ready to slip into it again. She shook her head at her and clucked at her as she sat down at last behind the breakfast tray, but even then she wasn’t really surprised when Victoria looked with horror at the scrambled egg, although she greedily drank three cups of tea.

  The doctor arrived before Victoria had had a chance to dress, and after one long and careful look at her he insisted that she go straight back to bed. Under the influence of more sedatives she slept for the greater part of that day, and the next morning she woke feeling almost like herself, and was horrified because she had allowed herself to lie drugged and supine while Johnny was in another part of the house and possibly needing her.