THE HAND OF A FRIEND
What had happened to her? Slowly, with a sensation of doubt that seemed
to weigh her down, Anne rose to the surface of things, and looked once
more upon the world that had rushed so giddily away from her and left her
spinning through space.
She was horribly afraid during those first few minutes, afraid with a
physical, overwhelming dread. She seemed to be yet falling, falling
through emptiness to annihilation. And as she fell she caught the sounds
of other worlds, vague whisperings in the dark. She was sinking, sinking
fast into a depth unfathomable, where no worlds were.
And then--how it came to her she knew not, for she was powerless to help
herself--out of the chaos and the awful darkness a hand reached out and
grasped her own; a hand strong and vital that gripped and held, that
lifted her up, that guided her, that sustained her, through all the
terror that girt her round.
The light dawned gradually in her eyes. She found herself gazing up into
a face she knew, a lean, brown face, alert and keen, that watched her
steadfastly.
With an effort she clasped her nerveless fingers upon the
sustaining hand.
"Hold me!" she whispered weakly. "I'm falling!"
"Don't be afraid!" he made answer with infinite gentleness. "I have
you safe."
Someone whom she saw but vaguely came behind him and whispered in a
vigorous undertone. A large white hand, on which flashed many rings,
rested upon his shoulder.
He moved slightly, took something into his free hand and held it to her
lips. Submissively, in answer to an influence that seemed to fold her
about and gently to compel, she drank.
Slowly the mist of dread cleared from her brain. Slowly she awoke to full
consciousness, and found Nap Errol bending over her, her hand fast
clasped in his.
"What happened?" she asked him faintly. "Where am I?"
"You are at Baronmead," he said. "You were thrown and we brought
you here."
"Ah!" Her brows contracted a little. "Am I much hurt?" she asked.
"Nothing to worry about," Nap said with quiet confidence. "You will soon
be all right again. I will leave you to get a good sleep, shall I? If
you are wanting anything my mother will be here."
She looked at him doubtfully. Her hand still clung to his,
half-mechanically it seemed.
"Mr. Errol," she faltered, "my husband--does he know?"
"Yes, he knows." Very softly Nap made answer, as though he were soothing
a child. "Don't trouble about that. Don't trouble about anything. Just
lie still and rest."
But the anxiety in her eyes was growing. "He isn't here?" she questioned.
"No."
"Then--then I think I ought to go to him. He will think it so strange. He
will--he will--"
"Lady Carfax, listen!" Quietly but insistently he broke in upon her
rising agitation. "Your husband knows all about you. He couldn't come
to-night, but he is coming in the morning. Now won't you be content and
try to sleep?"
"I can't sleep," she said, with a shudder. "I am afraid of falling."
"No, you're not. See! I am holding your hands. You can't fall. Look at
me! Keep looking at me and you will see how safe you are!"
His voice had sunk almost to a whisper. His eyes dusky, compelling, yet
strangely impersonal, held hers by some magic that was too utterly
intangible to frighten her. With a sigh she yielded to the mastery she
scarcely felt.
And as she floated away into a peace indescribable, unlike anything
she had ever known before, she heard a woman's voice, hushed to a
sibilant whisper, remark, "My, Nap! You're too smart to be human. I
always said so."
When she opened her eyes again it was many hours later, and she was lying
in the broad sunshine with the doctor, whom she knew, stooping over her.
"Ah, you are awake at last!" he said. "And I find a marvellous
improvement. No, I shouldn't try to move at present. But I don't suppose
you can for a moment. You have had a wonderful escape, my dear lady, a
most wonderful escape. But for all that I shall keep you where you are
for the next fortnight or so. A badly jarred spine is not a thing to
play with."
"Is that all?" Anne asked.
He became cautious on the instant. "I don't say that is all. In any case
we will run no risks. Let me congratulate you upon having fallen into
such good hands."
He glanced over Anne's head at someone on the other side of the bed, and
Anne turned slightly to see the person thus indicated. And so she had her
first sight of the woman who ruled Lucas Errol's house.
She had heard of her more than once. People smiled, not unkindly, when
they mentioned Mrs. Errol, a good sort, they said; but, like many another
woman of inelegant exterior, how good a sort only her Maker knew. She was
large in every way. It was the only word that described her;
large-boned, large-featured, and so stout that she wheezed--a fact which
in no way limited her activity. Her voice was as deep as a man's, and it
went even deeper when she laughed.
But she was not laughing now. Her face was full of the most kindly
concern. "Lord bless the child!" she said. "She don't know me yet.
I'm Mrs. Errol, dear, Mrs. Lucas Blenheim Errol. And if there's
anything you want--well, you've only got to mention it to me and it's
as good as done."
She spoke with a strong American accent. A Yankee of the Yankees was Mrs.
Errol, and she saw no reason to disguise the fact. She knew that people
smiled at her, but it made no difference to her. She was content to let
them smile. She even smiled at herself.
"You are very good," Anne murmured.
"Not a bit," said Mrs. Errol cheerfully. "I'm real pleased to have you,
dear. And don't you think you're giving any trouble to anybody, for there
isn't anything that pleases me so much as to have a girl to look after.
It's the biggest treat the Lord could send."
Anne smiled a little, conscious of a glow at the heart that she had not
known for many a day. She tried weakly to give her hand to her new
friend, but the pain of moving was so intense that she uttered a quick
gasp and abandoned the attempt.
But in an instant Mrs. Errol's fingers were wound closely about her own,
the large face, wonderfully smooth, save for a few kindly wrinkles about
the eyes, was bent to hers.
"There, dearie, there!" said the motherly voice, tender for all its
gruffness. "You're stiff in every limb, and no wonder. It's just natural.
Just you lie still and leave everything to me."
She was, in fact, determined to take the whole burden of nursing upon
herself, and when the doctor had gone she began to show Anne how capable
she was of fulfilling the responsibility she had thus undertaken. No
trained nurse could have given her more dexterous attention.
"I've spent a great part of my life in sickrooms," she told Anne. "First
my husband, and then poor Lucas, that's my eldest boy. But Lucas won't
have me to wait on him now. He doesn't like his mother to see him in his
bad hours, and they are mighty bad now and then. So my nursing talents
would run to seed if it weren't for a casual patient like yourself."
It was so evident that she enjoyed her self-appointed task that Anne
could only smile and thank her. She was helpless as an infant and could
not have refused her hostess's ministrations even had she desired to do
so. She suffered a good deal of pain also, and this kept her from taking
much note of her surroundings during that first day at Baronmead.
She refrained from asking further about her husband for some time,
avoiding all mention of him, but she was possessed by a nervous dread
that increased steadily as the hours wore on. At last, as Mrs. Errol
seemed equally determined to volunteer no information, she summoned her
resolution and compelled herself to speak.
"My husband has not come yet?" she asked.
"No, dear." Mrs. Errol smiled upon her with much kindness, but her tone
did not encourage further inquiries.
Anne lay silent for a little. It was a difficult matter to handle.
"Did he send no message?" she asked at last, with knitted brows. "I
thought--or did I dream it?--that your son said he was coming."
"To be sure he did," said Mrs. Errol. "You would like to speak to Nap
about it, wouldn't you?"
Anne hesitated. Mrs. Errol was already on her way to the door. It was
plain that here was a responsibility she was unprepared to shoulder. But
Anne called her back.
"No, please!" she said, a slight flush on her face. "Don't call him in
again! Really, it is of no consequence."
But in spite of this assertion her uneasiness regarding her husband grew
rapidly from that moment--an uneasiness that she was powerless to control
or hide. Could it be--was it possible?--that he meant to leave her thus
abandoned to the pitying kindness of strangers? She could hardly believe
it. And yet--and yet--he had done un-heard-of things before. There were
times, times that had become more and more frequent of late, when she
doubted his sanity. Those devilish moods of his, whither were they
tending? Was he in the grip of one of them now? And if so--if so--what
would happen to her? What could she do?
As the hours passed, the torture of suspense so worked upon her that
she began to grow feverish. The afternoon was waning and still no
word had come.
She tried to reassure herself again and again, but each failure added to
her distress.
"You mustn't fret, child," said Mrs. Errol gently, when she brought her
tea. "It's the worst thing possible. Come, come! What is it?"
Anne tried to tell her, but could not. The very utterance of her
fears was more than she could accomplish in her present state. Words
failed her.
Mrs. Errol said no more, but presently she went quietly away, leaving her
alone in the firelight, chafing but impotent.
She was soon back again, however, and a muffled word on the threshold
told Anne that she was not alone. She turned her head sharply on the
pillow regardless of wrenched muscles, hoping against hope. But she
looked in vain for her husband's tall figure, and a sigh that was almost
a groan escaped her. It was Nap, slim, upright, and noiseless, who
stepped from behind Mrs. Errol and came to her bedside.
He stooped a little and took her quivering hand, holding it in both his
own so that his fingers pressed upon her pulse.
"The mater thought you would like to speak to me," he said.
She looked up at him with eyes of piteous entreaty. She was long past any
thought of expediency so far as he was concerned. It seemed only natural
in her trouble to turn to him for help. Had he not helped her before?
Besides, she knew that he understood things that she could not utter.
"Oh, Nap," she said admitting him unconsciously in her extremity to an
intimacy she would never have dreamed of according him in any less urgent
circumstances, "I am greatly troubled about my husband. You said he would
come to me, but--he hasn't come!"
"I know he hasn't," Nap said. He spoke quietly, but she was aware of a
certain grimness in his speech. "I shouldn't worry if I were you. It
won't help you any. Is there anyone else you would like sent for?"
"I have--no one else," she said, her voice quivering beyond her control.
"How can I lie here and not worry?"
"Lord bless the child!" said Mrs. Errol vigorously. "What is there to
worry about, anyway?"
But Nap was silent. His fingers were still closed firmly upon her wrist.
"Mrs. Errol is very good," Anne said earnestly. "You mustn't think me
ungrateful or unappreciative. But I cannot go on like this. I cannot!"
"I am afraid you have no choice," Nap said.
She scarcely heard him. At least she paid no heed. "Will you tell me
exactly what has passed? Has he definitely refused to come to me?
Because, if so--"
"If so--" said Nap gently.
She summoned her wavering self-control. "If so--I must go back to him at
once. I must indeed. You will manage it for me, will you not? Perhaps you
will take me yourself in the motor."
"No," said Nap. He spoke briefly, even sternly. He was bending down over
her, and she caught the gleam of the firelight in his eyes and thought
that they shone red. "I would do a good deal for you, Lady Carfax," he
said, "but I can't do that. You ask the impossible." He paused a moment
and she felt his grasp slowly tighten upon her hand. "You want to know
what passed, and perhaps it is better that you should know even if it
distresses you. I sent a messenger in the motor to Sir Giles last night
to tell him of your accident and to beg him to return here with him. He
came back alone with no definite reply. He did not, in fact, see Sir
Giles, though the message was delivered. I waited till noon today to see
if he would come, and then as there was no sign of him I went myself in
the motor to fetch him."
"Ah!" Anne's lips parted to utter the word. They were quivering
uncontrollably.
"I saw him," Nap went on very quietly. "I practically forced an entrance.
He was in his study alone. I fancy he was feeling sick, but I didn't stop
to inquire. I told him you were wanting him. I was quite kind to him--for
your sake." She fancied the grim lips smiled. "But I regret to say he
didn't appreciate my kindness, and I soon saw that he was in no state to
come to you even if he would. So--I left him and came away."
"Ah!" Again that faint exclamation that was like the half-uttered cry of
a woman's heart. "He wasn't--wasn't rude to you, I hope?"
Nap's teeth showed for an instant. He made no reply.
"Mr. Errol," she said beseechingly, "please tell me everything! He did
not--did not--"
"Kick me?" questioned Nap drily. "My dear lady, no man may kick Nap Errol
and live. So I did not give him the opportunity."
She uttered a quick sob and turned her head upon the pillow. The tears
were running down her face.
The hand that pressed her wrist began to rub it very gently. "That's
the worst of telling the truth," Nap said softly. "It is sure to
hurt someone."
"I am glad you told me," she whispered back, "though I don't know what to
say to you--how to atone--"
"I will tell you then," he answered swiftly. "Stay quietly here and be
as happy as you can till the doctor gives you leave to go back. You will
have to do it in any case, but--if you feel you owe me anything, which of
course you don't"--he smiled again, and his smile when free from cynicism
held a wonderful charm--"do it willingly--please do it willingly!"
She could not answer him in words, but her fingers closed upon his.
Instantly she felt his answering pressure. A moment later he laid her
hand down very gently and left her.