THE UNFORESEEN BEFALLS
IN spite of the fears she had exhibited on her arrival, Paulina Dicks
was apparently content with her life at "Gay Bowers." As she appeared
cheerful, and was never one to disguise her feelings, we could safely
conclude that she was not dull. Of a highly nervous, energetic
temperament, she was for ever planning new enterprises, and whatever
she took in hand she accomplished most thoroughly.
When she wearied of cycling, she took to driving about the country
roads in Aunt Patty's little old-fashioned chaise. Sometimes her father
and sometimes Miss Cottrell accompanied her. Aunt was much afraid that
she overdrove the fat little pony, that had grown accustomed to an easy
life; but Paulina declared that he was far too fat, and she was doing
him good by rousing him from the silly jog-trot which was the pace he
preferred.
She played croquet occasionally, under protest, to please her father;
but she was indefatigable at tennis until she heard Alan Faulkner
say that the common was just the place for golf, and drew from him
an admission that he was extremely fond of this game. Then nothing
would do but she must learn golf. It was in vain that any one raised
objections. She made light of every difficulty suggested, and would not
rest till she had coaxed Mr. Faulkner into helping her to arrange a
course and get the requisites for the game.
"What Pollie Dicks wants, she'll have," said her father admiringly,
and he showed himself willing to meet all the expense which her scheme
involved.
But his words did not prove true in this instance, for Paulina had
to put up with something she did not at all desire and was far from
foreseeing as she made her plans, and with a business-like air wrote a
list of the things she would order when next she went to London. Not a
week passed without her going to town, and sometimes she would go two
or three times in the week. Her father seldom accompanied her. He found
the Chelmsford shops good enough for him, and if he wanted anything
special his daughter could get it. The bustle and stir of London, so
dear to Paulina, no longer attracted him. He was taking kindly to a
country life, and found himself the better for it.
One morning when Paulina came down prepared to start for London, as she
had informed us on the previous evening was her intention, I noticed
that she was pale and heavy-eyed and took little breakfast.
"You don't seem quite the thing, Paulina," I remarked in an undertone.
"Have you a headache?"
She nodded.
"Then why go to town to-day?" I said. "London is hardly the place to
cure a headache."
"Oh, it is nothing; I must go," she said impatiently. "I hate putting
things off. I want to start the golf while this fine weather lasts."
It was a lovely June morning. When I had seen Paulina off, I went round
the garden with basket and scissors, gathering fresh flowers for the
vases. I came to the corner where was Miss Cottrell's tiny domain, and
found her exhibiting its beauties to Alan Faulkner. She had certainly
done wonders in the short time she had had it in her care. The little
parterre was gay with flowers. She was especially proud of a cluster
of fine carnations of the striped variety which I believe is commonly
known as "strawberries and cream."
"They are splendid," said Mr. Faulkner, as he bent to inhale their
perfume; "I am so fond of carnations."
"I will give you a buttonhole," said Miss Cottrell eagerly. "Your
scissors, please, Miss Darracott."
In vain he protested that it would be a pity to gather them. Miss
Cottrell cut two of the finest blooms and presented them to him.
"Oh, I cannot be so greedy as to take two," he said. "Miss Nan must
have one. Yes, indeed, Miss Nan." And he insisted on giving me one.
"Here is a pin," said Miss Cottrell, as I tried to fasten the carnation
beneath my brooch. I adjusted it carefully, but no sooner had I done so
than Mr. Faulkner declared that the other was a finer one, and asked me
to change flowers with him.
"They are both fine," said Miss Cottrell. "What does it matter?"
But I had already discovered that in spite of his quiet manner Alan
Faulkner had a very strong will. Even in trifles I generally found
myself gently constrained to yield to him. So the flowers were
exchanged, and, to make sure that he would not give it away, Miss
Cottrell herself secured the Professor's at his buttonhole. Then he and
I took a stroll round the garden. I asked him about an article which
had recently appeared in one of the reviews. He said he had the review
in question, and would lend it to me if I cared to see it. He went into
the house to fetch the periodical, and while I sauntered near the door,
Miss Cottrell came up.
"I am glad he gave you that carnation," she said, looking fondly at it,
"but I am afraid Miss Pollie will get the other. She made him give her
the rose he was wearing last night."
"Really!" I said stiffly.
"I am awfully amused at all I see," she went on. "Professor Faulkner is
pretty deep. What a smart dodge it is his teaching her to play golf!"
"I don't know what you mean," I said coldly.
"Don't you?" she returned with a laugh. "Well, I must say, Miss
Darracott, although you can talk so cleverly, you are stupid over some
things. It is plain enough to me that the Professor means to win the
millionaire's daughter."
I cannot describe the aversion I felt towards Miss Cottrell when she
said that. Before she could add another word Mr. Faulkner appeared with
the review. When I came to look into it, I found that it contained an
article from his pen. I read this first, for it interested me far more
than the one of which I had spoken to him. It was the first thing of
his which I had read, and it struck me as very clever.
Paulina came home that evening looking flushed and weary. I happened to
be in the hall talking to Mr. Dicks, when she entered, and I could see
that she was not well, but he, deceived by her colour, exclaimed:
"Well, Pollie Dicks, you look as if going to town agreed with you!"
"Of course it does," she responded.
But when I asked her in an undertone as we went upstairs how her head
was, she answered, "Simply raging!"
I tried to persuade her to lie down, but she insisted on preparing for
dinner as usual. But, though she sat down with the rest, she could eat
nothing, and was soon obliged to leave the table.
Aunt Patty went to her a little later, saw her to bed, and did what
she could for her. Mr. Dicks was sorely perturbed by the indisposition
of his darling. He hung over her, suggesting all kinds of possible and
impossible remedies, till Paulina peremptorily ordered him to go away,
and leave her in peace, whereupon he retired and despatched a note to
the doctor, who had attended him when he was ill begging him to come to
"Gay Bowers" as soon as possible on the following day. After a while
Paulina seemed inclined to sleep, and aunt and I went to bed, hoping
that her ailment would prove only temporary. Her father wished that
some one should sit up with her, but she would not hear of it, and, as
usual, obtained her own way.
I don't know what it was that made me awake about two hours later, but
in the stillness of the night I was aware of movements in the adjoining
room. Fearing that Paulina was worse, I rose, slipped on my dressing
gown, and went into the next room. A night-light was burning there, and
by its dim rays I saw Paulina standing by the washstand, bathing her
head with cold water. She said the pain she had in it was terrible. I
touched her forehead; it was burning hot, and so were her hands, yet
every now and then she shivered. I knew enough of illness to be sure
that this meant fever of some kind or other.
"If only I had some ice!" she moaned.
With some difficulty I persuaded her to lie down again. I placed wet
bandages on her forehead, and kept changing them as they grew warm.
"Oh, Nan, I feel so ill—don't leave me!" she said more than once, and
I promised that I would stay with her. When, after a while, she grew
drowsy, I stole into my room and brought away my blankets, in which I
rolled myself up on Paulina's sofa, for the night was growing chill,
as it generally does towards dawn. But I did not lie there long, for
Paulina was soon tossing to and fro and moaning again.
As the grey light of early morning was creeping into the room
she suddenly sat up in bed, her fevered face looking haggard and
distraught, and exclaimed in a tone of desperate conviction:
"Oh, Nan, I know what this means. I guess I've got smallpox."
"Oh, no, Paulina!" I exclaimed, shocked by the suggestion. "What can
make you think of such a thing?"
"I guess I'm right," she said gloomily. "You know how bad it has been
in London."
"Yes; but it is better now," I said. "The epidemic is over. There were
only ten cases last week."
"I don't care," she persisted. "I guess I'm one of the next ten. You
know it was very bad when first we came to London and father wanted me
to be vaccinated, and I would not. I thought I would trust to my luck."
"I feel perfectly sure that you are mistaken," I said, "so pray dismiss
that idea from your mind."
"I can't," she said. "It is such a horrible disease to have, and spoils
one's appearance so. I don't know what Charlie would do."
"Charlie?" I repeated.
"Oh, my cousin, I mean," she repeated impatiently. "You must have heard
me speak of him."
But I never had.
How long it seemed ere there was any sound of movement in the
household! When at last I heard a step on the stairs I opened the door
and looked out. Miss Cottrell was descending, clad in the short rough
skirt and jersey which she donned for hard work in the garden. She
loved to toil there for an hour before any one else was astir. She saw
me and turned back to ask how Paulina was. She came into the room,
looked critically at the sick girl and drew my attention to a rash
which was beginning to appear on her face and neck. When she had shaken
up the pillows and made the bed more comfortable, which she did in the
deft manner of one accustomed to such a task, speaking cheerily to
Paulina the while, Miss Cottrell beckoned to me to follow her from the
room.
"This is scarlet fever," she said, before she had properly closed the
door.
A thrill went through me as she spoke. In an instant I seemed to see
all the trouble, anxiety and loss that this outbreak of illness might
involve in such a household as ours.
"Are you sure?" I gasped.
"I don't think I am mistaken," said Miss Cottrell. "I have seen it
before, indeed, I've had it myself. I need not tell you to be brave,
Miss Darracott. We must keep our heads in this emergency or there will
be a panic in the household."
"Yes, yes," I said. "Mr. Dicks has written to ask Dr. Poole to call,
but something might be done to hasten his arrival."
"Certainly; a messenger must be sent for him," said Miss Cottrell.
"I'll go and break the news to Mrs. Lucas. You had better go back into
the room for the present, for you must not go near your cousin. Have
you ever had scarlet fever, by the by?"
I shook my head but smiled. I was determined not to be nervous on my
own account.
"Then I will soon come and relieve you," she said. "There is not great
danger of infection yet, but we must take every precaution."
When I re-entered the room I found Paulina in tears and knew that she
must have overheard Miss Cottrell's diagnosis.
"Oh, Nan, if it is scarlet fever, I shall die as my mother did. There
is nothing I dread so much," she sobbed, forgetting that a few minutes
before she had been in terror of quite another malady.
"Oh, come, you must not meet trouble half-way," I said. "I am not yet
absolutely sure that it is scarlet fever; but if Miss Cottrell is
right, you know that numbers of people have that fever who do not die
of it."
"But I shall," she persisted. "My mother died of it and my little
brother, so I do not suppose I shall escape. But, oh, I do not want to
die! I am so frightened, Nan."
Never shall I forget the look on her face, nor the sound of her voice
as she said these words. Face to face with the "shadow feared of man",
she felt herself utterly helpless. But a Helper there was. I knew the
strength of my own faith as I saw her need. I had to speak, though the
words were weak and poor in which I tried to give her comfort.
"Do not be afraid, Paulina; you will not be alone. You know the Bible
says that neither life nor death can separate us from the love of
Christ. Your life is in His hands, the hands that for your sake were
nailed to the cross. Is it not a comfort to remember that?"
But Paulina shook her head.
"It means nothing to me," she said drearily. "You know that I have
never been particularly religious. I cannot grasp what you say."
"That does not matter, dear, if only you will give yourself into the
keeping of the Lord Jesus," I said. "Our safety consists not in our
taking hold of Christ, but in His taking hold of us. The grasp of our
faith is too often weak and wavering, but neither life nor death can
draw us from the embrace of His love. Ask Him to take you into His
tender keeping, and bring you safely through all trouble."
"I cannot—I don't know how!" she whispered. "You ask Him, Nan."
I don't know how I did it—I had never prayed audibly in any one's
presence—but I knelt beside Paulina then, and asked the Lord to hold
her ever in His loving care, and to bring her safely through this
illness.
I had not long risen from my knees when Miss Cottrell entered the room.
She brought a cup of tea for Paulina, and she said brightly as she set
down the tray:
"There's one for you in my room, Miss Darracott. You will also find a
bath prepared for you, and clothes for you to put on. Your aunt gave
them to me, since you cannot go to your own room at present."
"That means that you are in quarantine, Nan," said Paulina. "You seem
pretty certain about the matter," she added, turning to Miss Cottrell.
"I know a few things," said that spinster with a smile, "but we shall
soon know whether I am right, for Mr. Jack Upsher has ridden into
Chelmsford to fetch the doctor. Now say 'Good-bye' to Miss Darracott,
for I have constituted myself your nurse for the present."
Tears sprang anew to Paulina's eyes. She stretched out her arms
appealingly to me, but Miss Cottrell interposed her person, and gently
pushed me towards the door.
"Good-bye," said Paulina with a sob, and I promised that if I might not
see her, she would be constantly in my thoughts.
"Stay in my room till I come to you," was Miss Cottrell's last mandate.
Thus strangely did the new day begin. How little we know what is before
us!