Читать книгу The Abbey Girls at Home - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 6

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Jen came wearily across the lawn. The shock and the strain of the last hour had worn her out.

Rosamund met her at the door. “Come up to Joy’s room and tell her, Brownie. She’s in bed and dying to know the latest news. Jen, Betty isn’t——?” Her awed, anxious face finished the question.

“No, but she’s very badly hurt,” Jen said unsteadily. “Nurse is in charge, but I shall go back to the Abbey for the night. Betty mustn’t be moved. She’s in the little room, and Dr. Cairns says she’ll be much better there for a few days. He doesn’t want her carried even as far as this. Is Joy all right?”

“Quite all right, but she wants to know the latest.”

“We’ll go to her at once. I can tell her everything in five minutes. Then I have to ring up Betty’s sister; the man could give me their number, fortunately. They’ll be expecting her home soon now.” Her voice quivered. “It’s all right, Ros,” she added hastily. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

“You mustn’t sit up,” Rosamund remonstrated.

“I couldn’t possibly go to bed,” Jen retorted.

She sank down by Joy’s side in the chair Maidlin placed for her. The sight of her white face moved Joy to a fuller realisation of the seriousness of the position than Rosamund’s story had done, for Rosamund had deliberately made light of the trouble.

“Jen!” Joy whispered, really frightened. “Is your friend—oh, not that, Jenny-Wren!”

“She may pull through,” Jen spoke hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to scare you, dear. I suppose I’m a bit fagged; it’s been rather a shock. Betty’s very badly hurt, but she’s going on nicely, and we’ve done everything possible for her. Dr. Cairns is sending in a nurse for to-night; can you do without Nanny till the new one comes? He says we’d better have a day-nurse, too. Ann’s being a jewel; she produces hot water, and cold water, and bottles, and bandages, and splints, like magic. I’d never have believed your aunty could rise to the occasion so well, Maidie. She’d like to wait on Betty and nurse her; but Dr. Cairns says she’ll have enough to do waiting on the nurses, and, of course, she may have to go at any moment, if tourists come to see the Abbey.”

“We’ll close the Abbey to visitors,” Joy said quickly.

“No, we won’t. It isn’t fair, and there’s no need. People would be upset if they’d come for miles to see it. They won’t trouble Betty. We’ll bring her here as soon as she can be moved. She’d hate to know people had been turned away on her account.”

“Is she conscious?” Joy asked pityingly.

“Oh no. She hasn’t wakened at all. There’s concussion, of course. The doctor hopes that will pass off. One leg’s badly fractured, and her collar-bone; and there’s something wrong inside, but he wouldn’t say much about it. Nurse understands, and she knows what to do. I shall stay there, in case Betty wakes during the night.”

“Jenny-Wren, you’re going to bed,” Joy said firmly.

“Dear, if Betty does wake, I must be there to hold her hand,” Jen said quietly. “Do you suppose I could go to sleep, or even lie in bed, knowing she might have come round and be feeling all alone with strangers? She won’t know where she is or what has happened. I’m the only person here she knows. And she’s been hurt because she’d come to see me. Whenever she wakes I’m going to be within call. Once she understands, it won’t matter so much; but just at present no one would be any use but me.”

“Jenny-Wren, I am so sorry,” Joy said, deepest sympathy in her tone.

“If Betty wakes she may have pain. We don’t know yet. I said I hoped not; but nurse said she hoped she would! I think she meant that if there was no pain it would mean there was harm done to her spine. If Betty’s in pain, I’m going to hold her hand. I haven’t forgotten how Joan held my hand all one night, till mother came.”

Joy hid her face, for she had never ceased to blame herself for Jen’s accident four years ago.

“Silly!” Jen laughed and pulled the bronze plaits. “Look at me, as well and strong as a horse! Oh, if I could feel sure Betty would get over it as I’ve done!”

“I never stop giving thanks because I didn’t kill you, Jenny-Wren,” Joy said brokenly.

“Didn’t come anywhere near killing me, my dear. I take a lot of killing,” Jen said airily. Then her voice grew grave. “ ‘Traveller’s Joy,’ I mustn’t stay here gossiping. I just came to tell you the latest. I’m going to change into some sensible clothes; think of sitting up all night in a white frock! An old, warm woolly will be best. Then”—her voice quivered—“I have an awful thing to do. But it must be done; it had better be done first, I think, before I get any more frightened about it!”

“What is it, Brownie?” Joy and Rosamund and Maidlin all looked at her anxiously.

“Can’t any of us do it for you?” Rosamund asked bravely. “Why should everything fall on you?”

“I want your help,” Jen said quickly. “I’ve a job for you, Ros. But I must do the other myself; I must ring up Betty’s sister and tell her.”

“Oh——! Yes, that is rather awful,” Rosamund admitted. “I suppose no one else could do that, Jenny-Wren.”

Jen rose, her face tense. “I’ll go and get it over. I’ll come in again before I go back to the Abbey, Joy.”

“Brownie, you must stay a little while with me. There’s something I must tell you,” Joy said urgently.

“I can’t stay to-night. You must see that, dear. I’m sure it will keep till Betty’s better,” and Jen kissed her as she lay. “Tell Maidie! I’m going to take Ros away for a few minutes.—Rosamund,” she said, as she closed the door, “I want you to go to the Manor and tell our mother and Aunty Shirley all about it. They’ll want to ask questions. I’ve ’phoned, of course; but they’ll want to see somebody, and I simply can’t spare time to go to-night. Will you do that for me?”

Rosamund made a grimace. “Brownie, I will. I don’t want to, but I’ll do it—for you. I’m shy of your mother-in-law; she strikes me dumb. But I won’t funk.”

“You’re a dear! She won’t scare you to-night, Rose; she’ll be too keen to hear everything.”

“I say, Jenny-Wren! I know what Joy wants to tell you!” Rosamund said impulsively.

“Oh?” Jen paused by the telephone, raising her eyebrows. “Did she tell you?”

“No, but I know. I was rude to her; well, I jawed her for not thinking of anybody but herself. She wants to ask you if it’s true.”

“It was hardly the time to do it, was it?” Jen asked soberly. “Why did you break out like that? I thought any of us could put up with anything from Joy at present.”

“You do think me a brute! And a baby!” Rosamund said warmly. “It wasn’t anything to do with me! She may say what she likes to me. I’d only say: ‘All right, old chap, if you like!’ whatever she said. But this was Maidie.”

“Oh!” said Jen again, and gazed at her thoughtfully. “Joy wasn’t horrid to Maidie, surely?”

“She was going to be. I told her off, and she thought better of it. Then I felt awful and I apologised. She isn’t mad; she was sweet about it. But she wants to ask you if she’s really as bad as all that.”

“You seem to have made the most of my brief absence,” Jen remarked. “If Joy merely wants to discuss her own character, that will certainly keep till Betty’s better. I’m glad to know it’s nothing serious. I was afraid you and she had been scrapping.”

“I thought nothing would induce me to scrap with Joy just now. But when she came out with, ‘Maidie isn’t really any use,’ I couldn’t stand that. Maidie would have had a fit if she’d heard.”

“She didn’t hear?” Jen asked sharply.

“Not a word. I saw to that.”

“Good for you, Ros! We don’t want Primrose upset too. Now give our lady mother our love, and tell her all about the trouble,” Jen nodded her farewell and turned to the telephone, her face grave again.

Rosamund fled, only too glad to escape. She had no wish to hear that conversation.

“Is that Mrs. Carmyle? I’m Jen Marchwood; Jen Robins, whom your sister, Betty McLean, came to see this afternoon. She hadn’t heard of my marriage. Yes, she’s still here; we knew you would be expecting her back. Mrs. Carmyle, I’m awfully sorry, but—well, Betty’s had a little accident. The car crashed, and she was thrown out.—Yes, getting on splendidly. We’ve put her to bed, and our doctor has seen her. We’re doing everything for her. She’s quite comfortable.—No, you couldn’t do anything, really. Please don’t come to-night. In the morning, if you must. But we’ll be very careful of Betty, and we’ll do everything.—Of course, I know you’ll want to come, but if you could wait till the morning—you see, we’re rather upset here. My sister-in-law has just lost her husband, Andrew Marchwood. You’ll know his name. She has twin babies, only three weeks old.—Yes, it was a shock to Betty. She was afraid she was intruding. But I showed her the twins and then she felt better. Yes, she loved them, of course.—Oh, please don’t feel that! Joy—Lady Marchwood—is only too glad to be able to have Betty here. It isn’t the least trouble. We’ve plenty of room, and there are heaps of us to look after them both. I’m going to sit up with Betty, and if she seems to want you to come I’ll ring you up, even during the night. Yes, I promise I will, if there’s any need.—Well, I’m afraid I can’t; I can’t tell you very much, because the doctor didn’t tell me. He’s sure she’ll be all right, but she must be kept quiet.—N-no, she isn’t exactly conscious. She banged her head, you know. But he’s sure that will be all right.—Oh, of course, if you feel like that you’d better come! But, honestly, it won’t do any good. You can’t do more for Betty than is being done.—Yes, we’re getting in a nurse, and I shall be there as well. I’ll ring you up if there’s anything at all to tell.”

Then she paused, biting her lips to steady herself, struggling to keep back her tears. A man’s voice was urgently demanding full particulars; Chris’s husband, Jen supposed.

Briefly she told the story of the accident,—the hen, the girls in the road, the swerve into the ditch.

“Betty’s leg and collar-bone are broken; there is slight concussion; the doctor fears some internal injury, but he can’t say yet,” she said, with desperate calmness. “There may be nothing very serious; nothing that time and patience won’t put right. Nobody can say yet. I’ll ring you up again as soon as there’s any definite news. You can come if you like, of course. I can get you put up in the village, but the hotel is very small. If you could wait till the morning, you could run down then and satisfy yourselves that we are doing everything. Betty can’t possibly be moved; and even if she could, we’d want to keep her here. I feel it’s my job to get her right again; she came here to see me. I want to go back to her now.—You’ll wait till to-morrow, then? Oh, I’m so glad! It’s good of you to trust us. Thank you very much! You really couldn’t do any more than we’re doing already. Yes, I will ring up again if there seems any need. I’ll let you have the latest news at ten-thirty to-night, shall I? All right; I’ll ring you up then. Your man will be coming home to tell you more about how it happened. The car’s rather badly smashed, but our people are helping him with her. I’ll see him before he goes and tell him anything more I can think of. I needn’t say how sorry I am about it all.”

Jen turned away, looking worn out.

Mary Devine had been waiting at the library door. She came forward quickly. “Jenny-Wren, dear, come and have some dinner before you change. It’s waiting for you. You must take care of yourself, if you’re going to sit up. I shall come with you, in case you want to send a message.”

Jen dropped into a chair. “Mary-Dorothy, you angel! I don’t want anything to eat, but I suppose I’m needing it. Mary, that was an awful thing to have to do!”

Mary set a plate of soup before her. “Were you breaking it to her friends? Brownie, dear, that was very hard on you.”

“There was no one else to do it. They had to be told. I was afraid they’d insist on coming to-night, and we don’t want any more people about. But I’ve persuaded them to wait till the morning. Will you come with me for a little while, Mary? I shall want to send word to them later in the evening. I’ve promised to do that.”

“Of course I’m coming. You don’t think I’d leave you alone with nurse and Ann Watson, do you?”

“It will be a strange nurse; that’s the trouble. If it were Joy’s dear woman I shouldn’t need any other company. But Nanny must be here for the night. The new one is sure to be good, but she’ll be a stranger. She won’t understand about Betty and me, and how I feel.”

“I shall be there,” Mary said decisively. “We’ll lie on Ann’s bed, and if Betty moves, nurse will call us. I’m going to see that you rest as much as possible, Brownie. You’re tired out.”

“There are so many things to think of. I had another idea while I was ’phoning,” Jen said eagerly. “I suppose Rosamund’s gone? I’ve sent her to the Manor. Mary, you might ring up the Manor, and ask them to send Ken’s car here for a few days. Joy’s is out of order, and we may need a car at any moment. We shall have to fetch these people from the station to-morrow, unless they’ve got another car from somewhere. Our car at the Manor isn’t being used.—Oh, how I wish Ken were here! He’d see to all these little things for me.—Mary, if you knew how I’m missing him!”

Mary bent over her and kissed her hair, as she took her plate away. “Brownie, none of us knows, except perhaps Joy. But we do know how plucky you are. It’s hard on you to have all this trouble, when he isn’t here to stand by you.”

“I feel so horribly alone,” Jen gave a rueful laugh. “You wouldn’t think one week of being married would make such a difference, but it does. I’m part of Ken, and part of me’s gone to Africa. I’m attending to all this business, but there’s only half of me to do it. I feel as much alone as Betty does without her twin.—Well! I must get back to her, Mary-Dorothy!”

“The half of you that’s here is a very useful, practical half,” Mary observed. “Go and put on a warm frock, Jenny-Wren.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, aunty,” Jen said gravely, and ran upstairs to change.