Priscilla's Spies. George A. Birmingham
“But my ankle’s not broken,” he said.
“It may be. Anyhow I expect a jar is just as bad for a sprain. Very likely the lecturer said so and Sylvia Courtney forgot to tell me. Pretty rotten luck this, for you, Cousin Frank, on account of the fishing. You can’t possibly fish and the river’s in splendid order. Father said so yesterday. But perhaps Aunt Juliet will be able to cure you. She thinks she can cure anything.”
“I shall be all right,” said Frank, “when I can rest my leg a bit—I don’t think it’s really bad I daresay at the end of a week——”
“If Aunt Juliet cures you at all she’ll do it quicker than that. She had Father out of bed the day after he got influenza last Easter hols. He very nearly died afterwards on account of having to travel up to Dublin to go to a nursing home when his temperature was 400 and something, but Aunt Juliet said he was perfectly well all the time; so she may be able to fix up that ankle of yours.”
They have, so it is understood, tried experiments in vegetarianism at Haileybury; but Christian Science is not yet part of the regular curriculum even on the modern side. Frank Mannix had only the vaguest idea of what Miss Lentaigne’s beliefs were. He knew nothing at all about her methods. Priscilla’s account of them was not very encouraging.
“All I want,” he said, “is simply to rest my ankle.”
“Do you think,” said Priscilla, “that you could sit in a boat? That’s mine, the green one beside the slip. If you turn your head you’ll see her. But perhaps it hurts you to turn your head. If it does you’d better not try. The boat will be there all the same even if you don’t see her.”
They were passing the quay while she spoke, and Priscilla, who was a little behind at the moment, pointed to the Blue Wanderer. Frank discovered one of the disadvantages of an Irish car. The view of the passengers, even if each one is alone on his side, is confined almost entirely to objects on one side of the road. Only by twisting his neck in a most uncomfortable way can any one see what lies directly behind him. Frank made the effort and was unimpressed by the appearance of the Blue Wanderer. She was exceedingly unlike the shining outriggers in which he had sometimes rowed on the upper reaches of the Thames during earlier summer holidays.
“I expect,” said Priscilla, “that the salt water will be jolly good for your ankle, in reality, though Aunt Juliet will say it wont. She’s bound to say that, of course, on account of her principles. All the same it may. Peter Walsh was telling me the other day that it’s perfectly splendid for rheumatism. I shouldn’t wonder a bit if sprained ankles and rheumatism are much the same sort of thing, only with different names. But of course we can’t go this afternoon. Aunt Juliet will demand to have first shy at you. If she fails we may manage to sneak off to-morrow morning. But perhaps you don’t care for boats, Cousin Frank.”
“I like boats very much.”
He spoke in a slightly patronising tone, as an elderly gentleman might confess to a fondness for chocolates in order to please a small nephew. He felt it necessary to make it quite clear to Priscilla that he had not come to Rosnacree to be her playmate and companion. He had come to fish salmon in company with her father and such other grown men as might from time to time present themselves. Nursery games in stumpy green boats were not consonant with his dignity. He did not want to hurt Priscilla’s feelings, but he was anxious that she should understand his position. She seemed unimpressed.
“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll row you. You can sit in the stern and let your legs dangle over in the water. I’ve often done that when Peter Walsh has been rowing. It’s quite a jolly thing to do.”
It was a thing which Frank Mannix was quite determined not to do. The suggestion that he should behave in such a way struck him as “cheeky” in a very high degree. A lower schoolboy in Edmondstone House, if he had ventured to speak in such a way, would have been beaten with a fives bat. But Priscilla was a girl and, as Frank understood, girls are not beaten. He answered her with kindly condescension.
“Perhaps we’ll be able to manage it some day,” he said, “before I leave.”
They arrived at Rosnacree House and Frank was helped up the steps by the butler and the coachman. Sir Lucius expressed the greatest regret when he heard of his nephew’s accident.
“It’s too bad,” he said, “too bad, and the river in such fine condition after a fortnight’s rain. I was looking forward to seeing you get into your first salmon. But cheer up, Frank, I daresay it won’t turn out to be very tedious. We’ll have you hobbling along in a week or a fortnight. We’ve a good while before us yet. I’ll get up O’Hara this afternoon, our local practitioner. Not a bad fellow at all, though he drinks a bit. Still he’ll know what to do with a sprained ankle. Oh! by the way perhaps——”
Sir Lucius’ sentence ended abruptly. His sister entered the room. She greeted Frank and inquired whether he had enjoyed his journey. The story of the accident was told to her. It was evident at once that she took a keen interest in the sprained ankle. Priscilla, describing the scene afterwards to Rose, the under housemaid, said that Miss Lentaigne’s eyes gleamed and sparkled with joy. Every one in the household had for many weeks carefully refrained from illness or disability of any kind. If Miss Lentaigne’s eyes really did sparkle they expressed a perfectly natural delight. There is nothing more trying than to possess a power of healing and to find no opportunity for exercising it.
“Perhaps,” she said, “Frank and I may have a little talk together after luncheon.”
Sir Lucius was a man of hospitable instincts with high old-fashioned ideas of the courtesy due by a host to his guest. He did not think it quite fair to subject Frank to a course of Christian Science. But he was also very much afraid of his sister, whom he recognised as his intellectual superior. He cleared his throat and made a nervous protest on Frank’s behalf.
“I’m not sure, Juliet,” he said, “I’m really not at all sure that your theory quite applies to sprains, especially ankles.”
Miss Lentaigne smiled very gently. Her face expressed a tolerant patience with the crude ideas entertained by her brother.
“Of course,” Sir Lucius went on, “there’s a great deal in your idea. I’ve always said so. In the case of any internal disease, nerves you know, and that kind of thing where there’s nothing actually visible, I’m sure it works out admirably, quite admirably, but with a sprained ankle! Come now, Juliet, there’s the swelling you know. You can’t deny the swelling. Hang it all, you can measure the swelling with a tape. Is your ankle much swelled, Frank?”
“A good deal. But it’s not worth making a fuss about. It’ll be all right.”
Miss Lentaigne smiled again. In her opinion it was all right already. There was not really any swelling, although Frank, in his ignorance, might honestly think there was. She hoped, after luncheon, to convince him of these pleasant truths.
Sir Lucius was a coward at heart. He was exceedingly sorry for his nephew, but he made no further effort to save him from the ministrations of Miss Lentaigne. Nor did he venture to mention the name of O’Hara, the excellent, though occasionally inebriate, local practitioner. Frank, as yet unaware of the full beauty of the scientific Christian method of dealing with illness, was very polite to Miss Lentaigne during luncheon. He talked to her about Parliament and its doings as a subject likely to interest her, assuming the air of a man who knows the inner secrets of the Cabinet. He did, in fact, know a good deal about the habits and manners of our legislators, having picked up details of an interesting kind from his father. Miss Lentaigne was greatly delighted with him. So was Priscilla, who winked three times at her father when neither Frank nor her aunt was looking at her. Sir Lucius was uneasy. He feared that his nephew was likely to turn out a prig, a kind of boy which he held in particular abhorrence.
When luncheon was over he said that he intended to take his rod and go up the river for the afternoon. He invited Priscilla to go with him and carry his landing net. Frank, preceded by Miss Lentaigne, was conducted by the butler to a hammock