The Complete Five Towns Collections. Bennett Arnold
though under the circumstances there's nothing strange in that."
He feared she might be sickening towards influenza, caught from her uncle, but said nothing, lest he should alarm her without cause. The next day, however, his apprehension was justified. On his way to the house in the evening he met the doctor at the top of Carteret Street and stopped him.
"You're a friend of Mr. Aked's, eh?" the doctor said, examining Richard through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "Well, go and do what you can. Miss Aked is down with the influenza now, but I don't think it will be a severe attack if she takes care. The old fellow's state is serious. You see, he has no constitution, though perhaps that's scarcely a disadvantage in these cases; but when it comes to double basic pneumonia, with fever, and cardiac complications, pulse 140, respiration 40, temperature 103 to 104, there's not a great deal of chance. I've got a magnificent nurse, though, and she'll have her hands full. We ought really to send for another one, especially as Miss Aked wants looking after too.... Bless you," he went on, in answer to a question from Richard, "I can't say. I injected strychnia this morning, and that has given relief, but he may die during the night. On the other hand he may recover. By the way, they seem to have no relations, except a cousin of Mr. Aked's who lives in the north. I've wired to her. Good evening. See what you can do. I'm due in my surgery in two minutes."
Richard introduced himself to the nurse, explained that he had seen the doctor, and asked if he could render assistance. She was a slender girl of about twenty-three, with dark, twinkling eyes and astonishingly small white ears; her blue uniform, made of the same print as a servant's morning-dress, fitted without a crease, and her immense apron was snowy. On one linen cuff was a stain; she noticed this while talking to Richard, and adroitly reversed the wristband under his very gaze.
"I suppose you know the Akeds pretty well?" she questioned.
"Well, pretty well," he answered.
"Do you know any friends of theirs, women, who happen to live near?"
"I feel fairly sure they have practically no acquaintances. I have never met any people here."
"It is very awkward, now that Miss Aked is taken ill."
The mention of Adeline gave him an opportunity to make more particular inquiries as to her condition.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," the nurse said, "only she must stay in bed and keep quite quiet."
"I fancied last night she looked ill," he said sagely.
"You were here last night?"
"Yes, and the night before."
"Oh! I wasn't aware—" The nurse stopped a moment. "Pardon me, if I am indiscreet, but are you engaged to Miss Aked?"
"No," said Richard shortly, uncertain whether or not he was blushing. The nurse's eyes twinkled, but otherwise her impassive gravity suffered no diminishment. "Not at all," he added. "I am merely a friend, anxious to do anything I can."
"I will get you to do some marketing for me," she decided suddenly. "The maid is sitting with Mr. Aked—he's a little easier for the moment—and Miss Aked, I think, is asleep. If I give you a list, can you discover the shops? I am quite ignorant of this neighbourhood."
Richard thought he could discover the shops.
"In the meantime I will have a bath. I have had no rest worth mentioning for twenty-four hours, and I want freshening up. Don't come back for twenty minutes, or there will be no one to let you in. Stay, I will give you the latch-key." It was attached to her chatelaine.
Equipped with written orders and a sovereign, he went out. Though he was away barely a quarter of an hour, she was dressed and downstairs again when he came in, her face as radiant as if she had just risen. She counted the change, and checked the different purchases with the list. Richard had made no mistakes.
"Thank you," she said very formally. He had expected a little praise.
"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, determined not to weary in good works, however coldly his efforts were received.
"I think you might sit with Mr. Aked for a while," she said; "I must positively give some attention to Miss Aked, and half an hour's rest would not harm me. See, there are some slippers; would you mind taking off your boots and putting those on instead? Thank you. You may talk to Mr. Aked if he talks to you, and let him hold your hand—he'll probably want to. Let him have just a sip of the brandy and milk I will give you, whenever he asks for it. Don't mind if he grumbles at everything you do. Try to soothe him. Remember he is very seriously ill. Shall I take you upstairs?"
She looked at Richard and then at the door; and Richard, hesitating for a fraction of a second, stepped past her to open it. He managed it awkwardly because he had never done such a thing for a lady in his life, nor could he quite understand what mysterious prompting had led him to be so punctilious now. The nurse bowed acknowledgment and preceded him to the sick-room. He felt as a student feels just before the examination papers are handed round.
A smell of linseed escaped from the bedroom as the nurse pushed open the door.
"Stay outside a moment," she said to Richard. He could see the grate, on which a kettle was singing over a small fire. In front of the fire was a board, with a large bowl and spoon, and some pieces of linen. Then he was conscious of nothing but a loud sound of rapid, painful breathing, accompanied by moans and a strange rattling which came to his ears with perturbing distinctness. He knew nothing of sickness beyond what people had told him, and these phenomena inspired him with physical dread. He wished to run away.
"A friend of yours is coming to sit with you, Mr. Aked—you know Mr. Larch," he heard the nurse say; she was evidently busy about the bed. "You can go now, Lottie," she went on to the servant. "Wash up the things I have put in the sink, and then off to bed."
Richard waited with painful expectancy for the voice of Mr. Aked.
"Larch—did you say—why—didn't he come—before?" The tones were less unnatural than he had anticipated, but it seemed that only by the exercise of a desperate ingenuity could the speaker interject the fragments of a sentence here and there between his hurrying gasps.
Then the servant went downstairs.
"Come in, Mr. Larch," the nurse called pleasantly.
The patient, supported by pillows, was sitting upright in bed, and as Richard entered he looked towards the door with the expression of an unarmed man on the watch for an assassin. His face was drawn and duskily pale, but on each cheek burned a red flush; at every cruel inspiration the nostrils dilated widely, and the shoulders were raised in a frenzied effort to fill the embarrassed lungs.
"Well, Mr. Aked," Richard greeted him, "here I am, you see."
He made no reply beyond a weak nod, and signed to the nurse for the feeding-cup of brandy and milk, which she held to his mouth. Richard was afraid he might not be able to stay in the room, and marvelled that the nurse could be unmoved and cheerful in the midst of this piteous altercation with death. Was she blind to the terror in the man's eyes?
"You had better sit here, Mr. Larch," she said quietly, pointing to a chair by the bedside. "Here is the drink; hold the cup—so. Ring this bell if you want me for anything." Then she noiselessly disappeared.
No sooner had he sat down than Mr. Aked seized his shoulder for support, and each movement of the struggling frame communicated itself to Richard's body. Richard suddenly conceived a boundless respect for the nurse, who had watched whole nights by this tortured organism on the bed. Somehow existence began to assume for him a new and larger aspect; he felt that till that moment he had been going through the world with his eyes closed; life was sublimer, more terrible, than he had thought. He abased himself before all doctors and nurses and soldiers in battle; they alone tasted the true savour of life.
Art was a very little thing.
Presently Mr. Aked breathed with slightly less exertion, and he appeared to doze for a few moments now and then, though Richard could scarcely believe that any semblance of sleep was possible to a man in his condition.
"Adeline?"