I WANT LADYBIRD.
"So free we seem; so fettered fast we are."
--BROWNING.
A low sun was gilding the hill-tops when two doolies, borne by sturdy
_kahars_ and escorted by Wyndham and Mackay, passed between the
gate-posts of Desmond's bungalow. Honor stood with Evelyn at the head
of the verandah steps; but as the _kahars_ halted, and the officers
prepared to dismount, she moved back a space, leaving her to welcome
her husband alone.
The blood ebbed from Evelyn's face as she watched Theo mount the
steps, slowly, uncertainly, supported on either side by Wyndham and
the doctor--he who, in normal circumstances, would have cleared them
at a bound and taken her in his arms. His appearance alone struck
terror into her heart. Was this the splendid-looking husband who had
ridden away full of life and energy,--this strange seeming man, whose
face was disfigured and more than half-hidden by an unsightly bandage
and a broad green shade; whose empty coat-sleeve, slashed and
blood-stained, suggested too vividly the condition of the arm strapped
into place beneath?
It was all she could do not to shrink back instinctively when the men
moved aside, as Honor had done, to afford husband and wife some small
measure of privacy, and Theo held out his hand.
"They've sent me back rather the worse for wear, Ladybird," he said,
with a smile; "but Mackay will put the pieces together in good time."
"Oh, Theo--I hope so!--It's dreadful to see you--like that."
The hand she surrendered to him was cold as ice; and the attempt at
welcome in her voice was checked by a paralysing fear and constraint.
Thirty-six hours of severe pain in body and mind had failed to break
his spirit; but the thing was achieved by a dozen words from his wife.
He knew now what to expect from her; and for the moment he was
stricken speechless.
"I am so--sorry," she murmured, "about----"
"Yes--yes, I know," he took her up quickly; and there was an awkward
silence.
"Who--what--is in that other doolie?" she asked, in a hurried whisper.
"The Boy."
"But, Theo--you're not going to----"
"For God's sake shut up!"
He swayed a little in speaking, and promptly Paul was at his side. No
one had heard what passed; and when Mackay, returning to his post by
the wounded arm, gently urged Desmond forward, Paul signalled to
Evelyn to take his place, while he went back to the doolie.
"Just a minute, Mrs Desmond," he said in a low tone.
Evelyn, startled by the request, stood irresolute; and since there was
no time for hesitancy, Honor came forward and put her hand under
Theo's elbow. She felt a jar go all through him at her touch, and knew
that he had heard Wyndham's request.
"Ah, Honor," he said, by way of greeting, "I'm afraid I've come back a
mere log on your hands."
An undernote of bitterness in his tone gave her courage to speak the
thought in her mind. "We are only too thankful to have got you back
safe--in any condition," she murmured.
He did not answer at once; and she moved away to make place for Paul,
whose face was set in very rigid lines.
"Take me to the _duftur_," Desmond commanded curtly. "I'll not be put
to bed."
"No, no, man; we'll settle you up in your long chair," Mackay answered
soothingly. He perceived that by some means Mrs Desmond had jarred his
patient, and was in high ill-humour with her accordingly.
At the study door, Amar Singh almost laid his head at Desmond's feet.
Within the room they found Frank Olliver arranging pillows and a rug
on the deck-chair, and on a table beside it a light meal awaited him.
The meal ended, they all left him with one accord, instinctively
making way for his wife--who was crying her heart out in the next
room.
Paul was the last to leave. He remained standing by Desmond, resting a
hand on his sound shoulder. But there are silences more illuminating
than speech; and Theo Desmond knew all that was in his friend's heart
at that moment--all that could never be spoken between them, because
they were Englishmen, born into a heritage of incurable reserve.
"You're going to pull through this," Paul said quietly.
"Am I? Ask Mackay."
"No need for that--I'm sure of it; and--in the mean while----" A
tightening of his grasp supplied the rest.
"Thanks, old man. I know what you mean."
Then Paul went reluctantly out, and on into the drawing-room, where he
found Mackay and Honor Meredith in close conference. The little doctor
was laying down the law in respect of his patient with characteristic
bluntness.
"Now, Miss Meredith," he had said, as he met her in the hall, and drew
her aside into the empty room, "I'm a plain man, and you must put up
with plain speaking for the next few minutes. It's no light matter to
be responsible for a chap like Desmond. Not a morsel of use talking to
his wife! She seems to have upset him already. The Lord alone knows
how women do these things. Fools men are to care! But Desmond is what
you call finely organised; and you can't handle a violin as you would
a big drum. Frankly, now, his eyesight's in danger; and that wound in
his cheek is an ugly one in any case. He wants careful nursing, and I
refuse to put him into Mrs Desmond's hands. I'd deserve hanging for
murder if I did! Remains Mrs Olliver, or yourself. 'Twould be awkward
for Mrs Olliver to take his wife's place when there is a capable woman
on the spot. So now, will you take charge of Desmond for me, and put
yourself under my orders?--that's the real _mutlub_[28] of the whole
matter. You're welcome to say I don't think Mrs Desmond strong enough,
if you feel bound to tell a polite lie on the subject."
[28] Gist.
Honor had listened to the doctor's brusquely-delivered speech with a
growing sense of helplessness, as of a mouse caught in a trap. His
statement of the case was uncomfortably plain. He left her no loophole
of escape; and by the time he fired his final question at her, she had
decided on present capitulation.
"Yes, I will take charge of him," she said. "Only Mrs Desmond must
have some share in the nursing--for his sake and her own."
"Oh, well--well, I suppose she must. The less the better for his sake;
and you've got to consider Desmond before every one else at present. I
insist on that."
Honor smiled faintly at the superfluous injunction; and it was at this
point that Paul entered the room.
Mackay turned on him a face of open jubilation.
"Congratulate me, Wyndham! I've secured Miss Meredith's services for
Desmond."
"Thank God," Paul answered fervently; and he thanked Honor also with
his eyes.
"I shall move into the bungalow myself after the funeral, and give you
what help I can. He will need a good deal of companionship to keep him
from chafing at his helplessness. He wished the Boy to be brought here
and buried from his house. I am making all arrangements; and we shall
be round quite early in the morning. Can I see Desmond again
to-night?"
Mackay pursed his lips.
"He'll do best with just the women-folk this evening. Look in after
Mess, if you like--last thing."
"Was Evelyn with him when you left?" Honor asked suddenly, a flash of
apprehension in her tone.
"No."
"I must go and see what has come to her," she said, visibly disturbed.
"I shall see you both after Mess."
She hurried out, and listened intently at the study door. No sound
broke the stillness; and with an aching dread at her heart she passed
on to the next door.
The brief dusk of India was already almost spent; and finding Evelyn's
room in semi-darkness, she paused on the threshold.
"Are you there, dear?" she called softly; and was answered by a
stifled sound from the region of the bed, where Evelyn lay prone, her
face buried in the pillows. At that Honor came forward, and laid a
firm though a not unkindly hand upon her.
"Evelyn, this is childish selfishness. Get up and go to him at once."
The sole answer vouchsafed to her was a vehement shaking of the fair
head; a fresh paroxysm of distress.
"My dear--my dear," she urged, bending down and speaking more softly,
"you _must_ pull yourself together. This is no time to think of your
own trouble. He is wounded, anxious, and terribly unhappy and--he
wants you. Do you call this being a loyal wife? Remember, you
promised----"
Thus appealed to, Evelyn lifted her head, supporting it on one elbow,
and showed a grief-disfigured face.
"Yes, I know. But--couldn't you go to him, just for now, Honor? You're
not upset, like I am;--and say I--I'll come when I'm better."
Honor went white to the lips.
"No, Evelyn," she said, her anger rising as she went on. "There are
things that even _I_ must refuse to do for you. I have done all that
is in my power; but I _will_ not take your place with--your husband."
Astonishment checked Evelyn's sobbing, and a spark of unreasoning
jealousy shot through the mist of her tears.
"I don't _want_ you to take my place with him. He's _mine_!"
"Then don't ask me to go to him now."
The counter-stroke was unanswerable. Evelyn made a genuine attempt to
still the uncontrolled quivering of her body, and actually got upon
her feet. But abandonment to misery had so shaken her that, even as
Honor put out a steadying hand, she fell back among her pillows with a
choking sob.
"It's no use," she moaned. "Go, Honor--go _now_; and say I--I'm
coming."
The girl set her teeth hard. A strange light gleamed in the blue of
her eyes. She moved across to the washing-stand and poured out a stiff
dose of sal volatile.
"Here, Evelyn," she said, all the tenderness gone from her voice,
"drink this at once. Then get up as soon as you can, and make yourself
presentable. I shall not be gone many minutes, and you _must_ be ready
to go to him the instant I come back."
Evelyn choked and spluttered over the burning mixture.
"Oh, thank you, Honor, thank you. Only--don't look so angry about it,
please."
"I _am_ angry--I am bitterly angry," Honor answered with sudden
vehemence, and went quickly from the room.
Once outside, she paused; her whole soul uplifted in a wordless prayer
for strength and self-control. It seemed to her that Evelyn's
reception of Theo went far to make her own departure a matter of
imperative necessity, cruelly hard though it was to risk being
misjudged at such a crisis.
With heart and spirit braced for her ordeal, she entered the room.
But at sight of him, who was the incarnation of life, cheerfulness,
and vigour, lying stricken in heart and body, her courage deserted
her, and she could neither speak nor move. On the lower end of the
long chair Rob nestled in an attitude of perplexed watchfulness;
satisfaction and bewilderment contending for the mastery over his
faithful soul; and Desmond's right arm supported his stunned and
aching head.
As Honor paused on the threshold, he stirred uneasily. "That you,
Ladybird?" he asked; and his tone, if listless, was unmistakably
tender.
"No, Theo. It is I--Honor," the girl answered in a low voice without
moving forward.
"Where's Evelyn, then?"
"She's coming soon--very soon."
"What's gone wrong with her? Has she fainted? You might come a little
closer to a fellow, Honor. I feel cut off from everything and every
one, with this damnable green wall in front of my eyes."
At that cry from the man's tormented heart all thought of her own
pain, all doubt as to her own strength, was submerged by a flood-tide
of pure human compassion; and she came to him straightway, kneeling
close beside his chair, and laying one hand lightly on the rug that
covered him.
"There, Theo--there. Can you see me a little now?" she asked tenderly.
"You mustn't think hard things of--Ladybird--please. She let herself
go so completely after seeing you in the verandah, and it was
impossible for her to come to you while she was in such a state of
collapse. I have given her a strong dose of sal volatile, and she
begged me to explain things to you; so--I came. I can't tell you how
sorry I was that it should be--only me."
He raised his head at that.
"You've the grit of all the Merediths in you, Honor," he said, and his
changed tone assured her that she had, in some measure, fulfilled her
purpose. "I can't have you talking about 'only me' in that deprecating
fashion. Goodness knows what Ladybird would have done without you. No
doubt she'll pull herself together when she has got more used to the
hideousness of it all--myself included----"
"She will--I am sure she will," the girl declared with pardonable
insincerity; "and I really believe that if--if _I_ were not here,
Evelyn might make more of an effort to stand on her own feet than she
does now. Please don't misunderstand me, Theo,"--her brave voice
faltered on the words--"please believe that I myself would far rather
be here at a time like this. I would not dream of deserting my post if
I were not quite sure that there are many others ready to look after
you as carefully and willingly as I would do myself. Indeed, I am
honestly suggesting what I think would be best for us all
round--Evelyn especially. Won't you let me go, Theo, and at least try
how it works?"
Desmond shook his head with cautious deliberation, since hasty
movements had proved to be dangerous.
"My dear Honor," he objected, "you, who know Ladybird even better than
I do, must surely know by now that nothing will force her to stand
upon her own feet. To-day gives final proof of it. What's more, Paul
will probably establish himself here. I can't have him criticising
her, even in his own mind; and who but you can I rely on to prevent
it, by keeping her up to the mark? You see, I am taking you at your
word, and not misunderstanding you, and I ask you frankly to stand by
us till this trouble is over, when you shall both go straight to the
Hills."
"Very well, Theo; I will stay."
But her voice had an odd vibration in it. There was no refusing a
request so worded; but she knew her decision was only deferred to a
more seasonable moment.
"Thank you with all my heart," he said. "You'll not regret it, I feel
certain."
During the pause that followed, the wounded man made a futile attempt
to change his position. In an instant her hands were at his pillows,
shifting them quickly and dexterously, supporting his shoulders with
her arm the while.
"There, that's better, isn't it?" she asked; and the mother-note
sounded in her voice.
"It's just beautiful, thank you. Now--I want Ladybird."
Honor's colour ebbed at the words, and she may be forgiven if a pang
of rebellion stabbed her. All the hard tasks, it seemed, were to be
hers; while for Evelyn was reserved the full measure of a love and
tenderness which she seemed little able to rate to their true value.
But there was no trace of emotion in her voice as she replied, "You
shall have her at once; only she mustn't stay long. You have already
talked more than is good for you."
"Talked?" he echoed, with a sudden outburst of impatience. "What else
is there for me to do? I can neither read, nor write, nor move. Am I
to lie here like a log, with my own black thoughts for company? I'm
not ill, in spite of all."
"No, Theo, you are not ill now," the girl reasoned with him in all
gentleness, "but with a wound like that so near your temple you soon
will be ill, if you refuse to be moderately careful. Evelyn shall stay
for a quarter of an hour. After that you _must please_ obey me and lie
quiet, so as to get a little sleep, if possible, after your cruel
journey. Amar Singh shall sit here, and I will leave the drawing-room
door open and play to you;--something invigorating--the Pastoral, to
start with. Will that do?"
His prompt penitence caught at her heart.
"Forgive me, Honor," he said. "I was an ungrateful brute, and you're a
long way too good to me. I'll obey orders in future, without kicking
against the pricks. The music will be no end of a comfort. Just like
you to think of it!"