Then she thought: "The poor thing's suffering horribly, she's probably
going to die before the doctor comes, and not one of us really knows how
to help her; how humiliating."
At that moment they heard someone hurrying upstairs. As the doctor came
into the room they stood aside. He examined the patient, touching her
gently, then he took dressings from his bag. He went to work with great
care and deftness, and Joan was filled with admiration as she watched
him. She had no idea who he was; he was not the Ogdens' doctor, this was
a younger man altogether. Then into her mind flashed the thought of
Richard Benson. She wondered why she had laughed at Richard when he had
talked of becoming a doctor. Was it because he was so conceited? But
surely it was better to be conceited than inadequate!
The doctor was unconscious of her scrutiny; from time to time he spoke
to Elizabeth, issuing short, peremptory orders. Elizabeth stood beside
him, capable and quiet, and Joan felt proud of her because even in this
extremity she managed somehow to look tidy.
"I think I've done all that I can, for the moment," he said. "I'll come
again later on."
Elizabeth nodded, her mouth was drawn down at the corners and her arms
hung limply at her sides. Something in her face attracted the doctor's
attention and his glance fell to her hands.
"Let me look at your hands," he said.
"It's nothing," Elizabeth assured him, but her voice sounded far away.
"I'm afraid I disagree with you; your hands are badly burnt, you must
let me dress them." He turned to the dressings on the table.
She held out her hands obediently, and Joan noticed for the first time
that they were injured. The realization that Elizabeth was hurt
overwhelmed her; she forgot the woman on the bed, forgot everything but
the burnt hands. With a great effort she pulled herself together,
forcing herself to hold the dressings, watching with barely concealed
apprehension, lest the doctor should inflict pain. She had thought him
so deft a few minutes ago, yet now he seemed indescribably clumsy. But
if he did hurt it was not reflected on Elizabeth's face; her lips
tightened a little, that was all.
"Anywhere else?" the doctor demanded.
"Nowhere else," Elizabeth assured him. "I think my hands must have got
burnt when I wrapped my coat round her."
The doctor stared. "It's a mystery to me," he said, "how you managed to
do all you did with a pair of hands like that."
"I didn't feel them so much at first," she told him.
The doctor called Mrs. Jenkins and gave her a few instructions; then he
hurried Elizabeth downstairs into the little shop, leaving her there
while he went to find a cab.
Joan stood silently beside her; neither of them spoke until the fly
arrived, then Joan said: "I shall come home with you, Elizabeth."
"I'll send in two nurses," said the doctor. "Your friend here will want
help too."
Joan gave him Elizabeth's address.
3
During the drive they were silent again, there didn't appear to be
anything to say. Joan felt lonely; something in what had happened seemed
to have put Elizabeth very far away from her; perhaps it was because she
could not share her pain. The fly drew up at the door; she felt in
Elizabeth's coat pocket for her purse and paid the man; then she rang.
There was no one in the house but the young general servant, who looked
frightened when she saw the bandaged hands. Joan realized that whatever
there was to do must be done by her; that Elizabeth the dominating, the
practical, was now as helpless as a baby. The thought thrilled her.
They went slowly upstairs to the bedroom. Joan had been in the house
before but never in that room; she paused instinctively at the door,
feeling shy. Something told her that by entering this bedroom she was
marking an epoch in her relations with Elizabeth, so personal must that
room be; she turned the handle and they went in. As she ministered to
Elizabeth she noticed the room, and a feeling of disappointment crept
over her. Plain white painted furniture, white walls and a small white
bed. A rack of books and on the dressing-table a few ivory brushes and
boxes. The room was very austere in its cold whiteness; it was like
Elizabeth and yet it was not like Elizabeth; like the outward Elizabeth
perhaps, but was it like the real Elizabeth? Then her eyes fell upon a
great tangle of autumn flowers, standing in a bright blue jar on the
chest of drawers; something in the strength and virility of their
colouring seemed to gibe and taunt the prim little room; they were there
as a protest, or so the girl felt. She wondered what it was in Elizabeth
that had prompted her to choose these particular flowers and the bright
blue jar that they stood in. Perhaps Elizabeth divined her thoughts, for
she smiled as she followed the direction of Joan's eyes.
"A part of me loves them, needs them," she said.
Very gently Joan helped her to undress; it was a painful and tedious
business. Joan noticed with surprise that Elizabeth's clothes were finer
than Mrs. Ogden's; it gave her a pleasure to touch them. Her nightgown
was of fine lawn, simple in design but very individual. Strange, oh!
strange, how little she really knew Elizabeth. She looked entirely
different with her hair down. Joan felt that in this new-found intimacy
something was lost and something gained. Never again could Elizabeth
represent authority in her pupil's eyes; that aspect of their
relationship was lost for ever; and with it a prop, a staff that she had
grown to lean on. But in its place there was something else, something
infinitely more intimate and interesting. As she helped her into bed,
she was conscious of a curious embarrassment. Elizabeth glanced at the
clock; it was long past tea-time.
"Good Heavens, Joan, you simply must go! And do see your mother at once,
and tell her what's happened. Do go; the nurse will be here any moment."
Joan stood awkwardly beside the bed; she wanted to do something, to say
something; a lump rose in her throat, but her eyes remained dry. She
moved towards the door. Elizabeth watched her go, but at that moment she
was conscious of nothing but pain and was thankful that Joan went when
she did.