“OUT AT SEA”
Such confusion as existed in Fay’s flat that night Claudia had never
conceived possibly. Life in Circe’s household had been somewhat erratic
occasionally, but there had been a sort of order in the disorder, and a
certain peaceful current had always flowed over internal convulsions. But
in Fay’s home everything in the way of discipline and order—if there ever
were any—fell to pieces when she was carried home unconscious. The two
domestics wailed and sobbed—Polly at first went into hysterics, and had
to have cold water thrown over her—the telephone bell went incessantly,
and almost before Fay had been put to bed by Claudia, newspaper reporters
filled the hall with insistent inquiries.
Claudia, though she kept her head pretty well and controlled the panic
in her heart, had always been accustomed to have competent underlings to
do things for her, and she did not know what ought to be done in such a
crisis, what specialist should be fetched, and where to obtain a nurse at
a minute’s notice.
It was Colin Paton who came to the rescue in answer to her telephone
inquiries, and reduced order out of chaos.
Directly she saw him walk into the hall Claudia felt a sense of instant
relief. In a few minutes the reporters had all gone, the telephone-bell
rang no more, and the specialist and nurse were on their way. No one
seemed surprised that he should take command, the servants obeyed him
without a query. He seemed to have an almost mesmeric calming effect on
everyone.
“Where’s your brother?” he asked, as soon as he had a moment to spare for
essentials.
“He’s shut himself in the dining-room.” She told him of his attitude.
“It’s partly physical, just as some men—the bravest—cannot stand the
sight of blood. But I must talk to him.... Claudia, you are dead tired.
There’s nothing more to be done at the moment. She’s still unconscious.”
The clock in the room struck eleven, and she dropped wearily into a
chair. His keen eyes suddenly took on a tenderness that she did not see
as they searched her drawn face. “Have you had a meal this evening?”
She shook her head without raising her eyes, for she suddenly felt a weak
sort of feeling, so that she was afraid if she looked up and met his
gaze the tears would come running down her cheeks. He would despise her
for such an exhibition, but everything—everything seemed so wrong and
miserable.
“Then you’ll have one at once.... Yes, I know you feel as if you can’t
eat, but you must.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and there was
something so sympathetic and yet so invigorating in his touch that she
felt new courage flow into her veins. She did not know that the sight
of two tears that would escape down her cheeks ere she could overcome
her weakness nearly unnerved him, and made the cheap tawdry little room
suddenly blur before his eyes.
What he said to Jack, Claudia never knew, but ten minutes later Jack came
out of the dining-room looking like a whipped cur, but holding his head
with a certain forced rigidity, and his lips were steady as he said to
her:
“Claudia, is there anything I can do? I’ve been a beast, I know. Shall
I”—he could not control a wince of repugnance—“shall I go to her?”
She told him that she was still unconscious. “But when she recovers, if
she asks for you, you must go to her.”
“Yes, I will, I will. Only, Claud, for God’s sake don’t go away and leave
us to-night. I couldn’t stand that.”
Claudia looked at Paton inquiringly. Everyone seemed to be doing that
to-night. There was a slight pinkness of her eyes, and somehow, to Paton,
it gave her a new and rather pathetic character. The dark eyes were very
heavy but curiously beautiful in the white face, and the hard brilliancy
that had characterized them recently had temporarily vanished.
“I’ll stay, too, if you wish,” said Paton simply, “but in case she
recovers consciousness she might like to see a woman she knows as well
as her nurse. A woman is always such a comfort to another in time of
illness, don’t you think?”
“I hardly know,” admitted Claudia, trying to force some soup down her
throat, “you see, I’ve never been in contact with such things as—grave
illnesses. Of course I’ll stay.”
The specialist had arrived by this time, and Paton left the brother and
sister together. Claudia tried to comfort him as she would have a child.
“I don’t mean to be heartless,” blubbered Jack, his face working
pitiably, “only you don’t know how I feel.... I do love her.... I’m sorry
I was so cross about the pendant. She put it on for _luck_.... Oh, God!”
It struck Claudia what a ridiculously immature couple Fay and Jack were.
They were small ships that should have kept near shore, and now Destiny
had blown them suddenly out to sea. And she herself was tacking about in
the wind, blown this way and that, and finding no place where she might
safely anchor. Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew Frank Hamilton
was no permanent anchorage for any woman. Surely, the children of Circe
were not the luckiest of mortals!
It seemed ages before Paton came back to them. Jack was drinking himself
into a fuddled state, and Claudia was too anxious herself to keep
watch over him. Afterwards she realized that she could have written an
inventory of that commonplace room.
His face told them that he had no good news before he spoke.
“Tell us the worst,” said Jack thickly, “always better to know
everything.”
“The medical verdict is paraphlegia. Fatal injury to the nerves at the
base of the spine.... She’s coming round now. She can’t feel any pain,
that’s one blessing, poor child.”
“That means—she is paralysed?” whispered Claudia.
“From the waist downwards ... she may live for some time. I think,
Claudia, it would be kind of you to go to her. The strange nurse might
frighten her. I don’t think we ought—to tell her there’s no hope. The
doctor says it is always better in such cases to let the patient think
she will recover. Keeps the mind from dwelling on the inevitable. You
understand, Jack?”
Jack nodded, and then dropping his head on his hands, commenced to cry.
“My little Fay.... Never to dance again. I can’t believe it.... Never
still from morning till night.... I’m sorry I was cross about the
pendant....”
Claudia stole softly into the garish, pretentious bedroom that seemed
to mock them all with its air of coquetry. The nurse had reduced it to
something like order, but the thousand and one knickknacks were still
lying about, and Claudia found the pale blue satin bows odious. Two tiny
white satin slippers were on a chair. Claudia averted her eyes from them.
They would never dance gleefully any more.
She found Fay lying with her blue eyes fixed wonderingly on the nurse,
who was trying to induce her to take a restorative.
“Why are you here?” she was saying wonderingly. “You’re a real nurse,
aren’t you? I don’t understand. Why am I—Oh!” She gave a cry of
relief at the sight of Claudia that accomplished the conquest of her
sister-in-law’s heart. “You’ll tell me. I like you. What’s the matter?
Oh! I do feel that tired, too tired to move!”
“Don’t you remember, dear, the curtain came down and hit you. You—you
fainted, you know. We thought we’d get a nurse, because you—you’ll have
to stop in bed and rest for a while, and nurses know how to make one so
comfortable, don’t they?”
Her eyes jumped and snapped. “Ill? Me ill? Good gracious! then I can’t
play next week at Shepherd’s Bush? I say, I must let them know at once.
I’m topping the bill, and——”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Claudia soothingly, “we’ll arrange that
for you.”
Fay was silent for quite a minute, and Claudia wondered of what she was
thinking, but she did not dare to inquire. What was going on in that
unformed, unreflective brain? Had she any suspicion?
“I heard of a man being struck by a curtain once,” she said suddenly.
“I must claim damages immediately. You instruct Samuels.... The pendant
didn’t bring me luck, after all.... I ought to get heavy damages. I’ll
talk to Samuels about it to-morrow.”