‘Looks comfortable enough,’ he observed jovially. ‘Let us hope that this young woman will look after her as well as you have done, my dear. I only hope that you have not overtaxed your strength; you must take things easy.’
Deborah, standing by the bed, saw the pent-up rage in the old eyes staring up at him. There was something wrong and she wasn’t sure what it was but of one thing she was sure: it wouldn’t be of any use asking Dr Benson’s advice. He hadn’t spoken to her at all, addressing all his remarks to Mrs Vernon, but she took heart when she heard him telling her that since she was so anxious about her aunt he had arranged for a specialist to come and see the old lady. ‘I’ll bring him with me on Friday,’ he promised. ‘He’s one of the best men in the medical world.’
‘You’re doing very nicely.’ He bent over his patient and spoke rather loudly. ‘We must be patient.’ He patted her hand, nodded to Deborah and went away with Mrs Vernon.
Deborah skipped to the bathroom and filled a feeder with some orange juice. Rest was all very well but some extra nourishment might do no harm. Her gentle heart was shaken to see tears oozing from under the old lady’s eyelids. She put an arm round the elderly head and lifted it gently. ‘You’re going to get better,’ she said, ‘I’m quite sure of that. You’re going to have nourishing drinks and I’m going to rub your legs and arms so that when you can move again you won’t feel weak. I’m not a nurse but if you’ll trust me I’ll do my very best to get you better. Just don’t lose heart, because it will take the two of us.’
Florrie came presently so that Deborah might go down to her lunch. It surprised her very much to discover that she was having it with young Mrs Vernon, but only for that day it seemed, so that that lady could make her wishes known to Deborah.
‘Normally you may have your lunch in the morning-room at the back of the house and your supper too of course. Tea you can have upstairs and someone will sit with my aunt each afternoon for an hour or so. The village has a shop if you should need anything and when it can be arranged you may take a half-day—there’s a bus once or twice a week into Lechlade.’ She glanced at Deborah. ‘It’s an easy post—there’s really nothing to do but keep my aunt comfortable. She needs very little and has no appetite.’
Deborah murmured politely, not believing a word of it.
She walked to the village and back while Mrs Dodd sat with Mrs Vernon. It was a brisk spring day and her spirits rose in the open air. It was nice to have an aim in life; it would be marvellous if she could get the old lady a little better—well enough to sit in a chair perhaps and eat a little and have visitors. Deborah went back to the unwelcoming room armed with a bunch of late snowdrops she had picked and, since there was no one to see, a few daffodils from the garden.
She showed them to her patient and thought that she saw pleasure in the staring eyes. She put them where they could be seen from the bed and went to fetch the tea tray.
The next day followed the pattern of the last with no sign of the old lady’s niece and so did the day after that, but on Friday morning Deborah was surprised to see young Mrs Vernon come into the room.
‘See that my aunt is in a clean nightgown,’ she told Deborah after a meaningless ‘Good morning’. ‘Dr Benson will be here at half-past eleven with that specialist. Get the room tidied up too and remember to stand still and keep quiet while they’re here; you have no need to answer any questions, for I will be here.’
She went away again, leaving Deborah to finish brushing the silvery hair and to tie it back out of the way. She smiled at the old lady as she did so and was taken aback by the look in her eyes. ‘You can hear, can’t you?’ she asked gently, and when one eye winked, ‘I’m going to try and see the doctor—this specialist who is coming to see you; I don’t know how yet but I’ll manage something—I’m sure there’s more to be done than we’re doing. Shall I do that?’
She had another wink in answer.
She heard Mrs Vernon’s tinkling laugh before the door opened and they came in; she was talking vivaciously to Dr Benson and smiling charmingly at him and the man with him. He paused in the doorway and studied the room, its sparse furniture, the drab curtains, its lack of comfort; his eyes lingered for a moment on the bright splashes of colour afforded by the daffodils and snowdrops and last of all he looked at Deborah, neat as a new pin, her carroty hair severely pinned back, its colour vying with the flowers. He joined the others then and turned with a slight lift of his eyebrows to Mrs Vernon, then glancing at Deborah.
‘Oh, this is my aunt’s companion, or should I say attendant? She is quite a help to me—it is exhausting work, you know.’
The specialist crossed the room and held out a hand. ‘But very worthwhile work,’ he said and smiled down at her. ‘Miss …?’
‘Everett, Deborah Everett …’
Young Mrs Vernon broke in quickly, ‘This is Sir James Marlow, Deborah.’
Deborah held out a hand and had it engulfed in his large cool one. He was a giant of a man, nearer forty than thirty, she thought, and handsome with it, his fair hair already silvered, his eyes a clear blue half hidden under heavy lids. She smiled—here was someone she could talk to …
DEBORAH quickly discovered that there was to be no chance of saying anything. Young Mrs Vernon had a smooth answer for Sir James’s questions. Oh, yes, she assured him earnestly, her aunt had a varied liquid diet and she herself had massaged the flaccid arms and legs just as the nurse had told her to do. ‘Quite exhausting,’ she added, the very picture of patient effort.
Sir James had little to say; he nodded courteously and indicated that he would like to examine his patient. Deborah, waved away by Mrs Vernon’s imperious hand, stepped back and watched while that lady turned back the bed covers, observing, ‘Of course my aunt doesn’t understand anything, does she? There is absolutely no response …’
Sir James didn’t speak, but bent his vast bulk over the bed and began a leisurely examination of his patient. He was very thorough and when it was necessary to turn the patient from one side to the other it was Deborah who did it. ‘For,’ declared young Mrs Vernon, ‘I simply haven’t the strength.’ Dr Benson patted her hand in a sympathetic manner but Sir James took no notice, intent as he was on noting reactions from his patient’s feet. Not that there were any. Deborah replaced the bedclothes, squeezed one of the quiet hands on them and efficiently retired to her corner.
Sir James straightened his enormous back. He said clearly, looking at the old lady as he spoke, ‘I see no reason why Mrs Vernon should not recover at least two-thirds of her normal capacity. Perhaps we might discuss what is to be done …’
‘How splendid,’ observed young Mrs Vernon, not meaning a word of it, and Dr Benson looked doubtful.
‘It would mean treatment of some sort, presumably? But Mrs Vernon simply couldn’t allow her aunt to go into hospital—here she has all the care she needs.’
‘Perhaps if we talk about this downstairs?’ suggested Sir James and smiled at Deborah as he left the room.
Deborah whisked herself over to the bed. ‘He’s on our side,’ she said to the mask-like face on its pillows. ‘He said that you would get better, you heard him, didn’t you?’ She received
